Dream of Me (Harmony Falls, Book 1)

by Gaelen Foley

  He was just about to open the throttle when Dana called.

  “So you’re good with the plan?” she asked as soon as Harry answered, scowling briefly at the Bluetooth for interrupting his fun.

  “Got it,” he said loudly to be heard above the wind with the top down.

  They had ironed out many of the details of his trip last night. Dana had contacted Curt’s lady friend, Tammy Reese, who had eagerly provided her with the address and farm specs Harry would need for his negotiations.

  Dana had also arranged his lodgings at the Sweetwater Inn, a Victorian-style bed and breakfast on the main drag in Harmony Falls. But before checking in to his suite, Harry planned on going straight to the farm to meet the owner.

  Good, God-fearing farm folk had to rest on Sundays, right?

  “Good luck up there, Harry,” Dana said, always supportive.

  “Thanks,” he said, merging into the fast lane and reveling in Ruby’s effortless acceleration. “By the way, how’s Curt this morning?” Harry hadn’t bothered calling the boss yet today. He figured the cowboy would track him down eventually.

  “Sober, at least, but he’s still sure as hell this is what he wants to do.”

  Harry wasn’t surprised. On a follow-up call late last night, Curt had finally divulged the source of all the trouble.

  Apparently, Culpeper had humiliated himself at Silver Oaks’ shooting range yesterday, though he hadn’t meant any harm. It was just his raucous sense of humor gone a little too far, from what Harry could tell.

  “They’re too damned stuffy up there! Well, Monty always did have a stick up his hind end,” Curt had drawled. “Thinks he’s damned royalty, putting on airs.”

  It seemed the cowboy had just taken out a clay target at forty yards and proclaimed, “Hooo-weee! Got my Christmas goose early!” It had seemed funny at the time, he’d said, and only apropos to give the person standing nearest him their own Christmas “goose,” too.

  Unfortunately, Monty’s daughter, the blond, haughty Vanessa Montclair, senior vice president of Liberty Trust Bank, was not the jocular sort.

  Her Highness was not amused—and neither was her billionaire daddy.

  The frenemies had instantly gotten into it again.

  “How dare you touch my daughter? I’ll kill you!” and so forth. Harry could just picture it.

  Before long, Curt had been ushered out of Silver Oaks by security, with Monty warning him never to show his face there again.

  Ah well. Considering the gents had been at the gun range at the time, Harry supposed they should all just be grateful no one had gotten a bullet hole in him.

  But Curt’s pride was as outraged as Monty’s paternal instincts.

  The cowboy had had no choice but to leave with his tail between his legs, Miz Tammy clicking along in her high heels after him, furious and mortified once again, Harry imagined, by her beau’s “big” personality.

  Welcome to my world, lady.

  Afterward, Curt had apparently promised her nothing shy of the moon to make her quit crying and moaning that her reputation was ruined among “the better sort.” Somewhere in there, the topic of the Palmer Family Farm had come up—the price of her forgiveness, it seemed—and so, their plot had been hatched.

  Tammy Reese had gone back to her luxury log cabin to gather up the paperwork, while Curt had had his driver speed him back to his office in Pittsburgh, where he’d begun devising his countermove—and summoned Harry from the boxing gym.

  As the cowboy saw it, his longtime rival had just upped the ante, and he had to save face. Now that he was banished from Silver Oaks, he’d also need a new place to relax on the weekends.

  Buying the farm and turning it into a resort would give him his own made-to-order vacation destination. Curt had developed enough properties to know how to make it a profitable venture. Besides, the project would appease Miz Tammy, and most importantly of all to Curt, it would annoy the hell out of Peter Montclair to have a competing resort open up right down the road.

  The ultimate one-upmanship.

  As Harry drove on, he and Dana discussed some of the particulars of the potential buy. Despite their boss insisting money was no object, they agreed it would be best to start with a sensible offer and work their way up from there.

  Negotiating was familiar territory for Harry, so he wasn’t concerned that anything could go wrong. Tammy Reese must have just gotten off on the wrong foot with these folks.

  “You should try to have some fun while you’re up there, Harry,” Dana urged him once they’d gotten business out of the way. “You work so hard. I hear the waterfalls are pretty amazing. You should hike up and see them. I’ve never been there myself. If you want, I could come down there and keep you company…”

  Her voice trailed off at his stoic non-response.

  “I’ll check in with you tonight. Let you know how it goes,” he finally said, and almost hung up.

  “Wait a sec!” she yelled. “I almost forgot. Curt wants you to swing by Silver Oaks while you’re up there. Snoop a little. See what kind of blowback this is having.”

  He lifted a brow. The dude can never let sleeping dogs lie. “Will do.”

  He had no sooner ended the call, itching to enjoy the open road, than his phone rang again. This time, an unfamiliar number popped up. He answered it. “Hello?”

  “Mr. Riley?” a perky female asked.

  “Speaking.”

  “Hiya! It’s Tammy Reese. I hear you’re Curt’s right-hand man,” the woman said excitedly.

  Harry furrowed his brow but smiled, keeping his eyes on the road. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Reese.”

  “Oh, please, call me Tammy. Sorry we haven’t had the chance to meet in person yet. Curtis speaks so highly of you!” she said. “I wanted to say thanks so much for your help in this matter. I usually don’t need to call in favors, but this is a hard case. That beautiful property is going to waste just sitting there. Wait till you see it. Curt’s making a really smart move here. Those rolling hills will be perfect for a golf resort.”

  Harry assured her he’d soon have the deal underway, and would get back to Curt about his progress this evening.

  “Great. You’re sure you know how to get there?” she asked before he could hang up.

  “I’ve got the directions in my GPS, and Dana gave me the rundown.”

  “Okay. If you need any help, I live nearby, just over in Ligonier. Feel free to call anytime.”

  Harry thanked her and hung up. Finally. Blocking out the world, he cranked the music, threw the Porsche into high gear at last, and went roaring off down the highway with the wind in his hair and a smile on his face.

  All too soon, he was exiting the turnpike and zooming along in Ruby across green-forested mountains, through valleys of patchwork farmland, around hairpin turns and over bridges, barreling through the occasional tunnel. It was a different kind of driving, but equally fun.

  Cows mooed and tractors chugged in the distance as he sped by with the top down. It was a spectacular day for a drive, and Harry got the strangest, fleeting feeling that he was actually on vacation. What a concept.

  The Laurel Mountains were beautiful, covered in mosses, ferns, and quietly swaying pine trees. He’d come here in the summers as a kid, to the best camp his mother could afford. One for city kids who rarely breathed fresh air, who were uncomfortable running barefoot through grass, and preferred the solid concrete beneath their torn sneakers.

  Aside from that one awful night on the lake that had basically scarred him for life, Harry had loved the great outdoors with every ounce of his being ever since he was ten. From going on creek hikes to learning archery to his first overnight in a sleeping bag, he felt a deep connection to the woods and the serene countryside.

  What a stark difference it had been to the way he had lived the other fifty-one weeks of the year throughout his youth: playing hoops at the rec center, sneaking cigarettes behind the corner store, skipping rocks off the train tracks, and discovering the fi
rst glimmers of his entrepreneurial streak by inventing little businesses while he was still in junior high.

  He wasn’t sure why, as an adult, he hadn’t forced himself out of the city more often for some R&R. Drive, duty, ambition?

  “In one hundred yards, bear right,” chirped Ruby’s GPS, interrupting his musings.

  “Bear right where, babe?” he said, noting no obvious turn. But he started paying closer attention.

  “You missed the turn,” the computerized voice said in disapproval. “Make a U-turn to get back on route.”

  “Okaaay.” Though confused, Harry obeyed. Maybe he really had missed the turn. He hadn’t seen one, but then again, he had been daydreaming…

  He slowed the convertible, looked around to make sure the country road was clear, then whipped Ruby about-face and proceeded in the opposite direction, slower this time, scanning carefully as he went.

  “Recalculating,” said Ruby. “In fifty feet, turn left.”

  “Left?” Harry drove farther down the country road hugged on one side by a stand of ancient hemlocks, gigantic boulders on the other.

  Left, left, left…

  “I’m not seeing any turn here.”

  “Lost satellite reception.”

  “Ah, come on!” he shouted. “Ruby!”

  “Searching for satellites,” she replied.

  You gotta be kidding me. Harry was starting to get annoyed.

  There was a long silence while he decided with a scowl to turn back around and continue in the direction he’d been heading in the first place. As he passed a cornfield here, a gushing creek bed there, a cluster of sheep on a hillside, he checked the directions Dana had jotted down for him.

  According to what she’d written, he should be coming up on a bridge, with the town of Harmony Falls just a few miles beyond it, right here on the road he was already on. What was it called again?

  He stole a glance at Dana’s notes as he drove. Clover Highway. Right, and then Palmer Family Farm supposedly sat about another three miles beyond the town.

  “Ready to navigate,” the GPS voice said in a patronizing tone, suddenly coming back to life.

  “Nice of you to join us,” Harry muttered in frustration. His GPS was clearly malfunctioning, and you better believe he’d be calling the dealership about this—the damn car was barely four months old. And he didn’t even have a stinking map with him.

  “I haven’t looked at a paper map in a decade,” he’d told Dana when she suggested that he pack one.

  Harry checked his cell phone and frowned. No reception. “Figures.” He should’ve known better than to assume he’d get service on these secluded mountain roads. He wondered if he’d end up in Ohio or West Virginia before the day was out as he wended his way on the twisting, turning road under a forest of lush maple trees, emerald green as far as the eye could see.

  It was gorgeous, but it certainly felt remote. A smirk flicked across his face as the creepy “Dueling Banjos” theme song from Deliverance started playing in his mind.

  With a huge sigh, Harry had to face facts. As much as he hated to admit it, he was lost. Maybe in more ways than one. Sometimes his whole life felt like racing in a high-performance machine to a destination he wasn’t sure he even wanted. But as for being literally lost, he could only shake his head, pissed at himself. God, how humiliating. A guy in a ninety-thousand-dollar car should not be pulling over to ask for directions like a schmuck.

  Who am I gonna ask, anyway, a damn cow?

  “Searching for satellites…”

  “You know what, don’t bother. I’ll figure it out.” He slammed the unit off, since it was of no use anyway, and continued a few miles up the dusty road to Middle-of-Nowhere, hoping for any signs of civilization.

  Farther up Clover Highway—and why it was called a highway, he couldn’t fathom, since it looked like any normal, two-lane road to him—he came to a fork in the road.

  Great. He sat there for a second, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as he stared down both directions for a moment, debating his choices.

  Maybe this was the left Ruby was talking about. With a bewildered shrug and a shake of his head, he went left—and soon came to a quaint covered bridge.

  Aha. Finally something that matched his directions. He stepped on the gas, hurrying toward it with renewed hope.

  Wooden slats painted dark red formed the antique walls beneath the gabled roof of the single-lane bridge. It had a historic landmark plaque mounted next to it. He didn’t catch the year, but the old-timey letters painted across the entrance pronounced it Hooper Bridge.

  “Well, hot damn,” Harry mumbled. Slowing down, he entered the mouth of the dark tunnel and crept across the covered bridge, feeling like he was driving into a storybook world from the turn of the century.

  Hooper Bridge creaked with age as he proceeded. Crap, how old is this thing? It seemed pretty rickety. But if it had lasted well over a hundred years, he had to believe the ancient beams would hold together for another few minutes, long enough not to send him and his new Porsche tumbling into the gushing creek below.

  He listened anxiously to the sound of water crashing against the boulders beneath him as he crossed through the eerie twilight inside the tunnel. Halfway through, he glanced up and noticed some bats sleeping upside down from the beams in the vaulted ceiling—while he was crawling by in a frigging convertible.

  Oh, shit. Worried that the purr of the engine might wake the nasty little critters, he sped ahead. A heartbeat later, he burst out into golden sunlight on the other side.

  Here the road straightened out, the forest thinned, and he was relieved to spot a picturesque little fruit stand on the side of the road with bright yellow sunshades.

  He sped toward it, but his heart sank and his brow furrowed. Damn, the place looked vacant.

  There was an old heap-of-junk pickup truck parked nearby, but that thing couldn’t possibly run. It had probably broken down on the side of the road and just been left there.

  Since he saw no other signs of life, he whizzed past angrily—but at the very last minute, from the corner of his eye, he saw her.

  A skinny, bronzed brunette in cutoffs and boots lounging in the sun behind the farm stand.

  Oh, thank God. Another human! Harry slammed on the brakes, already well past the little structure.

  He checked the rearview mirror and noticed, first, that the young woman was stop-and-gawk hot, and second, she was scribbling something in a notebook. “Hold on right there, darlin’,” he mumbled. “Don’t go anywhere…just stay put for a second. Come on, Ruby. Let’s get this over with.”

  Harry cringed at the thought of that last resort hated by males everywhere, but he was just going to have to suck it up and ask Daisy Duke over there for directions. His ego already smarting at the undignified prospect, he spun the nimble Porsche around, the engine revving like his own growl of irritation.

  Let’s hope she’ll throw a city boy a lifeline.

  # # #

  Bea had done a booming business at the crowded farmers’ market this morning, and as usual, she had found the weekly event a lot of fun, but her workday wasn’t over yet.

  Determined to take advantage of busy weekender traffic, she had opened up the small market stand on the country road that led out to the turnpike.

  It was nothing more than a sturdy wooden shed she’d cobbled together out of two-by-fours one afternoon with the help of the few teen skater boys who worked for her during their summer break. They were good kids. Her grandparents knew their families from church. Her energetic crew of high schoolers, whom Gram had dubbed “the dudes,” had helped Bea paint the market stand white, decorate it with a few bright yellow sunshades, and haul it out to the roadside on a trailer.

  Keeping the stand open until evening through the summer had proved a lucrative way to finish out her Sundays. As Harmony Falls’ cabins, lodges, and B&Bs emptied for the week, Bea happily sold flats of blueberries and heads of lettuce to sunburned vacationers
on their way out of town.

  A steady trickle of visitors to the roadside stand this afternoon had further boosted revenue, and as she jotted down notes to herself for her endless to-do list, the flashy red sports car had gone speeding by, heading toward town.

  Definitely not a local, she thought as it caught her eye. People from Harmony Falls drove Jeeps and pickups, not zippy little speed machines like that.

  And it was odd, because by now, most weekend vacationers had already made their way out of town, trading in their kayaks and mountain bikes to return to their urban lives and office jobs.

  There’d be nothing much happening in town for a visitor to do on a Sunday afternoon, except maybe play some jukebox roulette at the Knickpoint. In fact, she only planned on keeping the farm stand open for another hour or so before calling it a day.

  “Whatevs,” she mumbled, feeling lazy after the five o’clock wakeup this morning. With the farmers’ market behind her and no customers needing service, she just wanted to close her eyes and steal a moment to relax.

  She knew she really ought to be writing the next post for her farm blog, but this was the closest to a vacation she was likely to get before November, so she figured she might as well enjoy it. Setting her notebook and pen down atop the overturned lettuce crate she was using for an end table, she stretched her back under the hot midday sun.

  As an afterthought, she gently tugged her ponytail free. Long tendrils of her sun-streaked brown hair tumbled over her shoulders. Massaging her scalp, Bea crossed her ankles in her dusty boots and let her head dip back to gaze up at the azure sky. A sigh of contentment escaped her.

  It felt wonderful to relax, however briefly. Of course, she still owed her parents the weekly phone call. But thank God, that would have to wait. She couldn’t call them from this spot even if she wanted to.

  There was no signal to be had in this valley. Just as well. They were probably schmoozing friends at the country club right now, Dad golfing with his partners from the law firm, Mom lounging in the sun with all the other ladies-who-lunch.