If I Loved You (Harper Falls Book 1)

by Mary J. Williams

  IF I LOVED YOU

  HARPER FALLS BOOK ONE

  MARY J. WILLIAMS

  Copyright © 2015 Mary J. Williams

  All rights reserved.

  Distributed by Smashwords

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Ebook formatting by www.ebooklaunch.com

  DEDICATION

  To Noan Brook Williams,

  For all your love and support.

  I couldn't have done it without you.

  Thanks, Mom.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  DEDICATION

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  EPILOGUE

  PREVIEW OF IF TOMORROW NEVER COMES

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  PROLOGUE

  IT WAS SOMETHING out of a fairy tale.

  Thousands of flickering lights dazzled her senses, almost as much as the tall, wickedly handsome man who so expertly danced her onto the shadowed balcony. The music that filtered from the nearby ballroom only added to the already magical atmosphere.

  Women dreamed their whole lives of a moment like this— prelude to a happily ever after ending. Ever so briefly, she let herself drift into that fantasy as if she was one of those women. For a moment, she let herself pretend that her childhood had been filled with the kind of whimsy that allowed those fantasies to be carried over into adulthood.

  But no, she wasn’t a romantic, hopeless or otherwise. She didn’t want a prince to sweep her into his arms and carry her away on his faithful steed. She was more than capable of rescuing herself. And she preferred it that way.

  The stars were in the sky, not in her eyes.

  “I’m glad you asked me to dance,” her partner whispered, pulling her closer.

  Suddenly she was nervous. The champagne she had downed earlier had completely worn off. No more floating on a cloud of false courage. If she was going to do this, she was going to have to do it on her own.

  “Jack,” she said. Damn, it was hard to sound seductive when your voice squeaked. “Jack.” That was better, lower and slightly husky. She’d read somewhere that guys liked husky voices.

  “Rose.”

  “Yes?”

  “Nothing, I just thought we were saying each other’s names.” He put his lips next to her ear. “I like the way you say mine.”

  “Jack.” Good Lord, she had to stop repeating his name. “I need a favor, Jack. A big one.” Or should she say, she hoped he had a big one. Rose groaned to herself. At least she hadn’t said that out loud.

  “I’ll help if I can.”

  “You’re the only one who can help.” She took another deep breath. “I need you to take me home and screw my brains out.”

  CHAPTER ONE

  ONE WEEK EARLIER

  “IT NEEDS TO be dirtier.”

  “If I had a dollar for every time I heard that I could retire.”

  “If I recall, you made your many, many dollars being very, very dirty.”

  Rose laughed. She could just imagine how that sentence would sound if someone heard it out of context. She knew what Frank meant, and it still sounded much more salacious than it really was.

  “Grind is sensual, not dirty,” she reminded her long-time friend and writing partner.

  At the moment, Frank Weller was over three hundred miles away in his New York apartment. Modern technology allowed them to work together without traveling or changing out of their pajamas. Well, she was still in her P. J.s. It was impossible for her to tell what Frank was wearing. For all she knew he was naked, as his chest was bare. And Frank being Frank, he was in all likelihood sitting around without any clothes on. Not that she was complaining, it was a pretty spectacular chest. He might as well show it off. But the point wasn’t to incite any sexual interest. Frank loved to tease. It was just like him to appear to be naked, hoping to get her to acknowledge his state of undress. They had known each other too long for her not to be on to his tricks. Frank provoked; Rose ignored. It was a dynamic that had worked to great success both personally and professionally.

  “Grind,” he reminded her, “is raunchy and filthy, and that’s why it is wildly successful. Don’t try to rewrite history at this late date.”

  Rose considered mounting a token argument, but she knew he was right. Grind was a song that never should have seen the light of day. She’d considered it the therapeutic equivalent of writing in a diary. Fate and a persuasive producer had had other plans. And it had turned out to be a multi-platinum, award-winning phenomenon. To this day she was asked who or what had inspired her to write a song that was so raw—so primal. In the early days of her career, Rose had dated some very high profile singers and producers. Everyone assumed one of them had to be the inspiration. Rose had become an expert at evading the questions. She usually just shrugged and gave what she hoped was a mysterious smile. Only her two best friends knew the truth, and Rose meant to keep it that way

  “The backstory or lack thereof, is part of why that song has never fallen off of the Billboard charts. Two years later and it’s still a huge seller.

  “I’d like to think it has something to do with it being a damn good song,” Rose grumbled good-naturedly. She considered all her songs to be her babies and, like any mother, she could be a bit defensive if she thought they were being insulted.

  “Absolutely,” Frank assured her. “But the mystery never hurts.” He leaned closer to the screen. “Now, let’s talk about getting you back to civilization. You’re too beautiful to let yourself waste away in that backwoods oblivion.”

  “Are you saying the backwoods are okay for ugly people?”

  “Yes,” Frank answered with his usual bald honesty. “Oh, don’t give me that look. You are super model hot, not that you ever take advantage of it. You could have any man you wanted, but for some unfathomable reason you always pick fizzle over sizzle.”

  “I’m not going to have this discussion with you for the umpteenth time, Frank.” Rose had her reasons for avoiding high gloss, high maintenance men—reasons that were nobody's business but her own. “And my living in Harper Falls has nothing to do with my looks or who I date.”

  “You’re right. I want you here in New York, down the hall like you used to be because I miss you.”

  “I miss you too,” she admitted, then added slyly, “You could always move here.”

  Frank’s eyes widened in horror. “The people in that little town of yours wouldn’t know what to do with me. And I can’t imagine what I would do with them.”

  “You’d be surprised what goes on in Harper Falls, Fra
nk. Small town intrigue tops big city drama every time.”

  “You mean everyone knows their neighbor's business.” Frank shuddered. “I don’t even know my neighbor's name. I certainly don’t need to know what they’re getting up to behind closed doors. And I like it that way.”

  “That’s because you’re afraid they’ll start asking what you’re getting up to.”

  “Damn, straight.” Frank wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Or in the case of me and Len, not so straight.”

  “Two hot guys? You could sell tickets.”

  “Honey, it would be standing room only. But I like to keep my man to myself. And I like the anonymity of the big city.”

  “Well, I like knowing my neighbors,” Rose argued. She wasn’t about to admit how right Frank was about small town grapevines. As annoying as it could be, it was also part of the charm. Mostly.

  “But are your neighbors worth knowing?

  “Don’t be such a snob, Frank.”

  A lot of the people she dealt with in the music business tended to look down their noses at her small town lifestyle. There was no point in arguing, so she ignored them. But because Frank was a good friend and a colleague, she wanted him to understand that she didn’t find his insults amusing.

  “You’re right, love,” Frank said, genuinely contrite. “Sometimes I can be a real pain in the ass. I appreciate you calling me out on it.”

  “I know you don’t mean any harm, Frank,” Rose assured him. “But living here makes me happy. When the need arises, I fly to New York or Los Angeles. But Harper Falls is my home, it’s where I’m the most creative. That’s why I came back, and that’s why I stay.”

  “And I’m selfish enough to keep trying to get you to move back to New York. It’s been two years. Haven’t you gotten your yen for nature out of your system yet? And where do you go when you want sushi at three in the morning?”

  “Sushi is your thing, Frank. I like scrambled eggs. And before you ask, in spite of my lack of culinary skills, scrambled eggs I can make myself.” Sometimes they had the texture of rubber, but she was getting better. “Besides, eating anything at three o’clock in the morning is a bit out of favor around here.”

  “God, don’t tell me you’ve become Farmer Rose, all early to bed and early to rise.”

  Frank was so appalled at the thought that Rose decided to cut him some slack. “I’ll admit I’m still more likely to stay up for the sunrise than get up for it. But clubbing and all night parties are pretty rare.”

  “Don’t you miss it?”

  Rose shrugged. “I took advantage of the big city perks when I was there. Now I’m happy with a quieter day lifestyle. Besides,”

  Rose had lived in New York after college. Writing music was her passion, and she had been lucky enough to get some early success. There were so many more people to meet and work with, so many opportunities, that she thought staying there was her best option. But when she started to grow tired of the constant hustle and bustle, her thoughts turned to the first home she’d ever known. Harper Falls was where she learned about friendship and the stability that came with having people you could count on no matter what. New York was fun and exciting—an endless party. Harper Falls was more grounded; it provided her with a sense of community. As for career opportunities? She found that other songwriters and artists sought her out no matter where she lived. Talent and a string of hit songs made her location a minor inconvenience.

  “Sorry, Frank, I’m not changing my mind. Besides,” she reminded him, “I’ll be in New York in a few weeks to meet with Sam Laughton. I promise we’ll paint the town.”

  “So you’re going to do the movie?”

  Rose shrugged. “Nothing is settled yet. Either way he wants to meet. It’s a lot of work under the best of circumstances, but with the last songwriter not working out I'd be rushed to finish on time. I don’t know if I’m up to it.”

  “You are perfect for this project and Sam Laughton knows it. That last hack should never have been hired. Besides,” he added with a knowing look, “He has been trying to work with you for years. Though it isn’t just your music he’s interested in.”

  “Not my type,” Rose dismissed the thought with a wave of her hand.

  “Honey,” Frank snorted in disbelief. “He’s everybody’s type. Women, men. We all either lust after him or want to be him. In some cases, both.”

  Rose didn’t need to ask Frank which category he fell into. She’d never known him to envy anyone, professionally or otherwise. And since Frank was unapologetically gay—it had to be lust.

  “I didn’t know you had a thing for Sam. What does Len think about that?”

  “Believe me, Len has nothing to be jealous of,” Frank assured her. Len was the love of Frank’s life and had been even before he and Rose had met. Rose thought of them as one of the few exceptions that proved the rule when it came to happy romantic relationships. “But we can both look and admire from time to time. And in Sam Laughton’s case there is plenty to admire. I think yummy says it all.”

  “Again,” she reiterated, “not my type.”

  “So, branch out, love. You may think you like middle of the road, cookie-cutter bland. I say a trip to the wild side is just what the doctor ordered.”

  “Nope.” She liked mild-mannered, easy to figure out men. She had seen what high drama relationships did to a person. She enjoyed the company of men, but she would never make one the focus of her life. “The men I date are perfect for me. I don’t see any reason to change.

  “I read once that change is good for the soul.”

  “I think that’s chicken soup.”

  “Oh, very clever,” Frank said sarcastically. “Though, those books are pretty good. Len got into them a few years ago, and I was surprised by how much they moved me. You know, Rose—”

  “And speaking of change,” Rose said, bringing the conversation back to where it started. Frank was easily distracted, and she wasn’t in the mood for any of his rambling philosophies. “I have a date tonight and I need to start getting ready.”

  “Let me guess. Average height, average build, average everything. Where do you find this string of unremarkable men?

  “There’s a website. Only the mediocre need apply.” Rose said with a straight face. “Goodbye, Frank.”

  “Fine,” Frank finally conceded. “Since we've almost finished the song; we can wrap it up next week. Oh, and call me with the details on your date. I’ve been having trouble sleeping lately, and that should work better than a couple of Ambien.”

  “Goodbye, Frank.”

  Rose closed the laptop with a decisive snap. It didn’t help that Frank was right. Her dates were routine, even boring. The men she went out with were nice. So why was that a bad thing? Since when was nice a crime? And who was to say her dates were the problem. Maybe she was the boring one. Maybe the next day they regaled their friends with stories about how they could barely stay awake through the appetizer.

  Rose scrubbed a hand over her face. Not for the first time she thought about taking a break from dating. The only reason she hadn’t done so before now was because it seemed like admitting defeat. People needed other people. Human contact was necessary, right? Going out with friends was great, but now and then she needed at least to make an effort with the opposite sex. Unfortunately, sex rarely had anything to do with it. It had been a while. Longer than she wanted to think about. And damn it, Rose liked sex. And she liked sex with men. That meant now and then she was required to have some social interaction with one. Too bad the sex was usually as forgettable as the men. Again, maybe it wasn't all the guys fault.

  As Rose put away her guitar, she gave a quick look around her office/music room. Located in the basement of her home it was professionally soundproofed, partly for the benefit of her neighbors, but mainly because she considered her music to be intensely personal. What she created here was a part her. Even though most of it would one day be shared with the world while she was working, and creating, and sweating
through every note, she wanted it kept private. Strictly for her ears only.

  She closed the door and made her way up the narrow staircase that led to the kitchen. Rose took a glass from the cupboard and opened the nearby refrigerator. Her friends kidded her about using the state of the art stainless steel appliance for storing nothing but bottled water, orange juice, and yogurt. But she liked knowing the room was a gourmet’s delight. She could cook if she put her mind to it. When, on the rare occasions she felt like entertaining, everything she could need was right at her fingertips. When it was just herself, she was content to eat out or buy fresh vegetables for a salad.

  Rose took a drink of juice and looked around the room with a sigh of satisfaction. She loved the renovations she had had done right after she’d purchased the four-bedroom fixer-upper. It was a small house located on the corner Magnolia and Dewey. Harper Falls, Washington wasn’t a large town, but it had very distinct neighborhoods. When the town had been founded just after the turn of the twentieth century, there had been two kinds of residents. Those who had money and those who worked for them. Over the years that had changed, for the most part. Though some of the people who lived in the big mansions on the north side of town disagreed, the change had been a good thing. New businesses were opening all the time, and the jobless rate was one of the lowest in the state. Unlike so many small towns that lost their youth because of lack of opportunities, people who grew up in Harper Falls tended to stay. Or move back.

  Rose had come here at the age of nine, left for college at eighteen and returned seven years later. She had promptly bought the dilapidated house that she used to walk by every day on her way to school. As a girl, she had secretly dreamed of owning the yellow and white cottage. She’d dreamed of having a home of her own. At the time it had seemed impossible. Her mother was dead. Her aunt and her new husband had sent her away to school, and she was living with a family that desperately needed the small amount of money that they were being paid to board her. Even though Rose had secretly started writing songs, it had never occurred to her that there would come a day when anyone would pay to hear them. But now, at twenty-seven, she had the home of her dreams, fully renovated to her taste. And she had done it all on her own. If she wanted a man in her life, it was for his company or his body, not his bank account.