Dream of Me (Harmony Falls, Book 1) Read online

  As usual, the towering local war hero was surrounded by a rapt audience of customers and infatuated waitresses.

  Bea waved but figured she’d talk to him later, looking around and hoping her girlfriends hadn’t made it yet.

  A few mountain bikers, still muddy and sweaty, played darts in the corner. A couple of guys Bea knew from the local adventure outfitters racked balls at the pool table in the back. But the pair of expansive garage doors leading out to the pub’s back deck were wide open, letting in a delightful evening breeze. She headed toward them to see if the girls were out there.

  The jukebox, glowing neon blue even in the orangey twilight, played the final strains of a heart-heavy Bonnie Raitt song as she hurried past. Poking her head out back, she looked around and was relieved to find she had beaten the hikers here.

  She quickly staked her claim on a ring of empty Adirondack chairs on the deck, then dragged over a low table that nobody else was using and tossed her denim jacket down on it. She ordered a shandy from a waitress, finally sat down on one of the sloping chairs, and let out a long exhalation.

  For the first time all day—possibly all summer—Bea rested her tired bones.

  “Oh, thank you so much,” she said to the smiling waitress who delivered her pint. Drawing in a fizzy gulp of the light, lemony beer, she stretched her legs out like a tired cat.

  A rhythmic Bob Marley song started playing next from the jukebox, demanding she relax. The Onatah River’s shushing rapids nearby soothed her, but competitive shouts from the sand volleyball court on the lawn below the deck were anything but restful.

  Sounds like the testosterone club’s already here. With a curious smile toying at her lips, she got up after a moment and went to the wooden railing of the deck.

  Sure enough, down on the green below were four of her guy friends, cheerfully trying to kill each other, as they were wont to do.

  Of course, it was a damned good view, she mused, watching. Not for nothing had she and her girlfriends long since dubbed Harmony Falls the Home of the Hotties.

  Tanned, chiseled bodies arced, gleaming with sweat in the sunset’s ruddy glow, muscles flexed, and competitive snarls turned into roguish laughter as a pack of bronzed, athletic men spiked volleyballs like they were trying to take their opponents’ heads off.

  Murder-ball, they liked to call it.

  Competitive much? she thought in amusement. But this sort of thing passed for good, clean fun among that pack of adrenaline hounds.

  Jack had installed the sand court in an ideal spot where the pub’s lawn nestled into the bend of the fast, narrow river. People played volleyball there all summer, then in autumn, Jack would take down the net, making space for friends to toss around a football.

  There had also been certain disreputable paintball contests on the green down there, but it was no fun playing that against a bunch of large men with military, law enforcement, or survivalist training, unless you liked to lose.

  Sipping her beer, Bea leaned her elbows on the railing still garlanded with red, white, and blue from the pub’s recent Fourth of July celebration.

  Suddenly, between serves, the tall, bronzed, flashy Patrick Finn, outdoor guru, river guide, and owner of the local outfitters, noticed her there. Finn pointed at her, the fiery sunset reflected in his mirrored shades. “Bea, baby!”

  She tipped her straw cowboy hat to them in greeting, and the lean, sandy-haired helicopter pilot Zander Pierce yelled, “Hey, darlin’! Come and join us!”

  A guitar-obsessed musician on his own time, former Army medevac pilot Zander ran the executive helicopter service nowadays, shuttling bigwigs back and forth from the nearby resorts to the surrounding cities of the northeast.

  “Too tired!” Bea hollered back, and pointed meaningfully at her drink.

  “Nah, she’s just scared,” teased Mike Walker, the town’s movie-star handsome chief of police.

  “Hey, back off, chief!” Bea retorted with a grin. “I’ve been busting my butt all day, not sitting around eating donuts.”

  “Oh, I’ve never heard that one before,” he shot back with a scoff, though, clearly, there was not an ounce of fat on the young lawman’s lean, muscled body.

  Bea laughed, noticed he was drinking bottled lemonade, and realized he must be on duty later tonight. Born and bred in Harmony Falls, the son of the town’s long-serving mayor, Mike had that whole old-fashioned, genteel, small-town sheriff sensibility when it came to protecting his hometown; he had exactly five officers under him, one of whom was about eighty years old.

  Finn, meanwhile, laughed, tossing the volleyball mischievously in one hand. “Ah, come on, Bea, don’t be such a chick. We’ll go easy on you!”

  “You wish,” she retorted a playful scowl.

  Finn knew full well the outdoorsy girls of Harmony Falls took that sort of good-natured taunting as a challenge, but he relented with a grin, then glanced through the net at the other guys. “You ready to die?”

  Zander clapped and got into position. “Bring it!”

  Finn tossed the ball, leaped up, and served the next murder-ball, and the speed, precision, and explosive force of the volley that ensued made her glad she had wisely stayed out of it this time.

  Shaking her head with a chuckle, she took another swallow of her shandy, then suddenly heard a familiar voice from inside the pub: “There she is!”

  Bea turned around as her best friend Chloe came practically skipping out, flaxen braids peeking from beneath the red bandana she had wrapped around her forehead and tied neatly in the back.

  Jules and Regina followed a few weary steps behind her, returning from their twenty-mile overnight trek, faces smudged with dust and sweat, but beaming.

  “Hey, you made it. Welcome back!” Bea got up to meet them with a smile from ear to ear. “How was it, you guys? I’m so jealous!”

  “You missed a great time, you poor workhorse,” Chloe said. The tall, willowy blonde greeted Bea with a quick hug. Chloe was a yoga instructor and something of a foodie.

  Regina, petite but regal, very tanned and darker blond, was right behind her. “Let me see the dirt under those fingernails, girl,” she chided as she took Bea’s hand and looked at it, then smiled at her. “You’re a veggie-growin’ badass, you know that?”

  “Why, thank you.” High praise, indeed, coming from the stern EMT and snow patrol medic. Regina worked each winter at the ski resort a few miles away, and with this crowd, Lord knew she was a very handy person to have around.

  Meanwhile, beside her, ginger-haired Julia bounced a bit on her toes. “Guess what, Bea? I didn’t fall in the river this year!”

  “Yay! I was worried about you, Jules.” Bea smiled, remembering last year’s hilarious episode when they had attempted to take the lovable but slightly clumsy town librarian wading in the river with them.

  Luckily, Reg had been there, or Julia might’ve drowned.

  To this day, all of them still laughingly quoted, when appropriate, the slogan Jules had coined as they had pulled her, sputtering, out of the rapids: “That almost sucked!”

  “Well, this year, I rocked,” Jules said, giving Bea a proud high five. “I do have some blisters, though.”

  “Badges of honor,” Regina crisply corrected.

  “Right. You know, I think I’m finally becoming a real tough girl—just like you guys,” Jules exclaimed.

  “You keep working on that, hon.” Reg unstrapped the waist cinch of her backpack.

  Chloe followed suit, letting out a weary sigh. “Well, I for one am not feeling too tough at the moment. I’m whipped.”

  “And parched,” Reggie added. “Barkeep!”

  “Bonjour, Jack,” Julia chimed in, waving eagerly toward the inside of the pub.

  “Be right there, ladies,” he called back from inside in his friendly baritone.

  Then the hikers swung the heavy, dirt-crusted backpacks off their shoulders and let them thump to the deck’s wooden floor.

  The girls had no sooner slumped down
onto the Adirondack chairs to let their muscles rest when Jack came striding out, beaming with pride as he looked around at them. “Round of shandies for my babes in the wild?”

  “Sounds perfect,” Chloe said, stretching.

  “Oh, Jack, better make it a double for me,” Jules groaned, peeling off her hiking boots to massage her aching feet through double-layered socks.

  The massive ex-marine flashed a grin. “You got it, Red.” In no time, he was back, carrying a tray full of golden, frothy pints. “So how did the trails treat you ladies?” he asked as he set their drinks down.

  “Oh, Jack, it was gorgeous. Breathtaking views coming down the mountain this morning,” Chloe said in a dreamy voice. “There were a million blueberries up there. I brought some home. See?” She unzipped her backpack and held up a small container filled with the squished purple fruits.

  He looked at the berries and then at the blonde, and leaned a hand against the back of her chair. “So, are you making me a blueberry pie? ’Cause then I might just have to marry you. Fair warning.”

  Reg and Jules hooted while Chloe looked askance at him, her blue eyes twinkling.

  “At ease, marine,” Bea ordered with a playful scoff.

  Chloe was undeniably lovely, but it was her baked goods that often had that effect on people, especially those of the male persuasion.

  “You are such a flirt,” she chided the giant ex-warrior, shaking her head.

  “Hey, Jack, if you see Finn, tell him there’s a tree down on that hairpin turn leading up to Monarch’s Peak,” Reg reported, all business.

  “Oh, you can tell him yourself—he’s already here,” Bea interjected, pointing toward the game of murder-ball in progress.

  “Great, I will.” The medic’s trademark intensity lightened up a little at the news. Reg and Finn, though opposites, were oddly simpatico. “He needs to get a few of his guys up there to clear out those branches before he takes his next tour group down the river. That storm last week must’ve ripped the root system right out of the ground. It looks dangerous.”

  “Yeah, the falls are really raging right now.” Jules nodded, her green eyes wide. Then she tilted her head quizzically. “I don’t think we’ve had this much rainfall since, hmm…the spring of 1998…”

  Bea and Chloe exchanged a tickled glance while the auburn-haired bookworm searched her jam-packed brain for the factoid of the moment.

  Truly, Jules was like a walking almanac, and knew every detail about their quaint little town’s history, dating all the way back to the time when the only people who lived there were the Iroquois. But for now, she shrugged off the latest bit of meteorological trivia. “Anyway, it was pretty.”

  “Spectacular,” Jack drawled in amusement, glancing around at them. “Can’t wait to get out there myself. I’m glad you all had fun, but, you know, I’d have come along if somebody would’ve remembered to invite me.”

  “Girls only,” Chloe said, poking him in his washboard abs.

  Jack gave her a chiding frown. “Excuse me, but who’s gonna protect you poor, innocent damsels in the deep, dark forest?”

  “Yeah, right!” They all scoffed loudly at his attempt to get their independent spirits riled up, and he laughed.

  “Hey, there are bears,” he informed them. “And wackos.”

  “Yeah, I think I see one now.” Reg folded her arms across her chest and looked at him matter-of-factly.

  Jack laughed. “I’m serious! You should invite me next time. I might even bring my own sleeping bag.” He cast them a cocky wink, then swaggered back to his post behind the bar.

  “Do you believe him?” Chloe whispered, shaking her head.

  They laughed and huffed with feigned indignation over his flirty remarks while Bea got up to grab some pub menus off one of the nearby tables. But before they could even decide what to order, the hikers started diving into tales from their adventure.

  Listening to her girlfriends’ stories of frolicking in the forest, Bea couldn’t help but notice their tousled hair, the streaks of dirt on their faces, and the sweat beads on their noses. While they talked of traipsing through mud bogs and being awakened by howling coyotes on their overnight camping trip, she wished away a mild pang of envy.

  “It sounds wonderful,” she told them.

  Chloe put an arm around her. “Yeah, we really missed you, honey.”

  “You work too hard,” Reg said flatly.

  “Well, I need a good, long bubble bath after that. And a book,” Jules declared.

  “You earned it, sister,” Reg replied, lifting her glass in a toast. “Cheers!”

  “Cheers,” the others chimed in. Laughing, they all clinked their glasses together, relishing the hikers’ accomplishment and the beautiful summer evening.

  Before long, the guys came up from the volleyball court and pulled seats over to join them. Jack took a break to hang out for a while, as well, and they ordered some food.

  While the big red sun began to sink behind the mountains, the crickets sang and the river roared nearby, and the girls shared stories from their adventure until Bea’s stomach hurt from all the laughter.

  Soon the staff brought out their meals, someone cranked the tunes, and Bea caught herself reflecting on how much she’d grown to love her life here in Harmony Falls. Despite all the scrapes, sweat, and tears she’d endured since she’d started down this precarious path four years ago, she wished with all her heart that things would stay just as they were in this moment, forever.

  # # #

  Meanwhile, seventy miles away in the heart of the Steel City, Harrison Riley was venting his frustrations on a heavy bag at the grungy, warehouse-style boxing gym where he liked to train.

  Rough Cutz, owned and operated by former boxing pro, Tyrone “Typhoon” Williams, bore no resemblance to the sleek executive fitness centers where his rivals for the big chair at Diamond Enterprises worked out—and that was kinda the whole point. Harry came here to forget about them and the job. Clear his head. Besides, the unpretentious place helped him keep his private vow never to forget where he came from.

  The evening sunset glowed through the high warehouse windows as he finally found his rhythm, his shoulders and biceps burning, the bag swinging with the steady beat of his fists slamming into it—jab, jab, cross. Jab, jab, cross.

  He was in the zone, pouring with sweat, all the pain-in-the-ass details of last week’s merger melting away when his phone suddenly whistled to life with that old familiar cowboy walking into a saloon ringtone.

  Ah, man. Chest heaving, he stopped punching while the rest of the guys around the gym thundered on and looked over at it wearily. What now?

  Old Ty, making the rounds nearby, smirked at the devil’s device. “Damn, boy, it’s nearly Saturday night. Don’t that crazy boss man of yours ever leave you alone?”

  Harry snorted. “You know better than that, buddy.” Ripping the Velcro wristband back with his teeth, he drew off the boxing gloves to take the call. “’Scuse me, Ty.” Mid-workout, he had barely caught his breath as he answered the inevitable summons.

  Culpeper’s executive assistant, Dana, was beside herself, and the brief call ended the usual way, with Harry saying, “Yep. Be right there.”

  Before long, he had slammed his locker shut and was jogging back to his sleek loft condo by the river, where he quickly showered and dressed.

  Making himself presentable in twenty minutes flat, he left the top two buttons of his starchy white dress shirt undone and skipped the tie altogether.

  Swinging a sports jacket over his shoulder, Harry grabbed his cell phone and keys off the bowl on the entry table, then made his way down six flights of stairs from his loft out into Pittsburgh’s bustling Strip District.

  Culpeper had ordered him to hustle, but Harry decided to walk at a good clip rather than drive. It would give him just a few extra minutes to brace himself for the cowboy’s latest emergency assignment for him to handle.

  One that, naturally, couldn’t wait till Monday mo
rning, but so be it.

  As managing director of a high-powered, high-risk venture capital firm, Harry’s schedule was demanding and unpredictable, and he had to remain flexible.

  Especially now that the company’s eccentric founder and CEO, Curtis Culpeper III, had announced he’d be retiring at the end of the year. With any luck, by Christmas, Harry would be pronounced Diamond Enterprises’ next CEO.

  His income would quadruple. His influence would reach international acclaim. His vision for the company could finally take shape. Then, once and for all, he could install some sanity into Curt’s crazy little kingdom, and get the final say in major business deals—as long as he stayed well ahead of the pack of contenders vying for the position.

  No doubt, he conceded as he strode down the sidewalk, his colleagues, Sherman, director of group strategy, and McMonagle, business operations head, were good guys and competent businessmen. But usually it was Harry and Harry alone who could soothe the most irate clients, or more commonly, put out the fires Culpeper started himself with his big personality.

  Sure, it sometimes felt like he’d become Curt’s personal disaster cleanup crew—and some of his assignments were downright bizarre—but Harry somehow managed to find his over-the-top boss’s endless scrapes kind of endearing.

  Besides, the payoff would be worth it. But it did mean he was never truly off duty.

  Never a dull moment.

  As he strode from Smallman Street up to Penn Avenue, the restaurants and bars were already packed with the Saturday night droves. Street food vendors grilled up smoky barbecue sandwiches, and artisans displayed booths piled with jangly jewelry while mariachis trumpeted an up-tempo medley as they strolled along the Strip.

  Taking a quick detour to follow the waterfront promenade, he soaked in the brilliant pinky-orange sunset shimmering over the Allegheny River. It had been wicked hot today, but a cooling breeze skimmed the rippling current.