Find My Way Home (Harmony Homecomings) (7 page)

“Certainly. I completely understand.”

“But your portfolio showed great potential, and with a little guidance and help from our top designers, you’d be gaining a wealth of experience. And I know this was your dream job…”

Not exactly. This job was her ticket out. As for her dreams, they didn’t necessarily include slaving for other designers no more talented than she.

Bill continued to blather on about the great reputation of his firm. “…so, why don’t you give us a call in three months and we’ll see if there’s another opening for you. Hmmm?”

“Sure. Sounds great. I will definitely be in touch. Thank you so much for the offer and for understanding.” As she pressed End on her phone, she bit her lower lip and started counting to one hundred…and fifty thousand. By the time she finished, maybe her three months would be up.

***

Two hours later, Bertie stood on Keith’s porch, armed with designer ammunition worthy of the old Victorian’s grandeur.

“Honey, I’m home,” she called as she pushed the front door open, wrestling with bulky catalogs, wood samples, and paint chips in her bright orange leather tote. No signs of life except for the workers outside. The sconces had been removed from the front of the house, and her lips curled into a knowing smile. She dumped her tote and handbag on the wood floor in the foyer and then headed back to her car for more samples.

After unloading her car, she went around back to check on the painters, not expecting to see Mr. Cocky Athlete on a ladder, hammering up new replacement wood. Bertie touched the side of her mouth to check for drool. She wasn’t kidding when she said nothing made her heart pitter-patter more than a man who knew his way around tools—and this one happened to be totally hubbalicious in cargo pants held up with a tool belt. No shirt. Again. How could she expect to get any work done around here when he insisted on parading around half-naked? Where was Hal with the missing front teeth when she needed him? She inhaled a deep breath. Three months and one hundred and fifty big ones. She could do this.

She cupped her hands around her mouth. “Hey, Paul Bunyan! You wanna come down for a minute, so I can get your approval?”

Streaks of sweat trickled down Keith’s bronzed back, seeking refuge inside the top of his pants. She had never wanted to be sweat before in her life…until today.

Keith glanced at her, put his hammer and nails inside his tool belt, and climbed down the ladder. “What time is it?” he asked as he grabbed his T-shirt off the porch railing and wiped his brow.

Okay, now, cover up
. He hung the shirt around his neck, cocking his dark head to one side.
No. Please.
Not the sexy athlete poster pose, the one where sweat dripped down the chest and ripped abs while said athlete wore the cocky, self-assured expression that could launch millions of dollars in sales for hemorrhoid cream. Mouth dry, she tried swallowing. She could do this
.

“Time?” he asked again, pointing to her wrist.

“Oh”—she checked her bright yellow Michael Kors watch—“almost noon.”

“Good. I’m starved. I’ll shower. You order lunch.” Keith hopped back on the porch and reached for the back door.

“But…I have stuff…I wanted—”

“Over lunch. Give me ten minutes.” He disappeared inside the house.

“Good grief.” She fanned her overheated face with her hand and trudged back to her car parked in the driveway. She headed to the Dog, knowing she could grab lunch in less time than ordering a pizza. Besides, she needed to make sure Mr. Carmichael, her house-bound neighbor, had a meal too. She hoped she could survive another meal with Mr. Shirtless Stud.

Thirty minutes later, Bertie came through the front door with two bags of food. She pushed the swinging door to the kitchen with her hip and stopped. Keith glanced up from the beat-up farm table with Bertie’s drawings spread across it. Thank goodness he’d covered his chest in a black, long-sleeve polo. Hair still damp from his shower, he looked squeaky clean and good enough to eat. All of a sudden, the chicken mandarin salad weighing heavy in her hand lost its appeal. Keith appeared much tastier.

“What? You look stunned,” Bertie said, dumping the bags on the countertop.

Keith started pushing her drawings to one side to clear a space on the table. “I guess I’m pleasantly amazed.” He indicated with his hand. “Your drawings are pretty good. I like some of your ideas.”

“Oh? Which ideas?” She placed the containers of food on the table and Keith opened a drawer to grab silverware.

“I like the kitchen design. It’s modern but still in keeping with the style of the house,” he said, handing her a fork and knife. Bertie’s heart did a cartwheel. He grabbed water bottles from the refrigerator. “What took you so long? I’m starving.”

“I called in an order at the Dog and then I went to check on my neighbor, Mr. Carmichael. He’s old and sometimes forgets to eat.”

Keith paused, holding a chip. “Let me see if I’ve got this. First, you walk that poor mongrel, Sweet Tea, who is obviously battling issues over his dumb name, not to mention the stupid purple ribbon. And then you check on a senior citizen to make sure he’s eating? And I’m assuming you also help out at the Dog. With all these extra jobs, when do you find time to design?”

Bertie pushed the mandarin oranges around with her fork. She didn’t think it’d be smart to mention that she watered plants, shopped for food, and volunteered at Dwelling Place too. She knew Keith wouldn’t understand her desire or need to feel useful. Ever since the death of her parents, Bertie had filled the void in her life by helping others. Not because she dreamed of sainthood, but because she hated that empty, lonely feeling that consumed her and kept her up at night. That unsettled feeling that she didn’t really belong anymore. After her mom’s death, Bertie had filled her role by taking over all the cooking and cleaning. She kept hoping her dad would snap out of his depression if she showed him that nothing had changed. She worked so they could still remain intact as a family. Once her dad died several years later, Bertie had gotten used to juggling jobs to bring in extra money and to keep her mind occupied. She had a real knack for multitasking.

“Um…I find the time. My office is in my home and I…uh…work late.”

Keith studied her hard for a full minute. “This is a big job with a small window of time. I expect a hundred percent on your part.”

Bertie pasted what she hoped appeared a confident smile on her face. “Have no fear. I’m a master multitasker, and Gary and I will make sure—”

“There’s a lot of money riding on this job. Are you willing to risk losing it because you have to stop and walk Sweet Tea or mow someone’s lawn?”

“Let me assure you, Mr. Morgan. I will give your job top priority and you will get the best service possible,” she replied in a prim, professional voice.

Keith stabbed a piece of Bertie’s chicken with his fork, shoving the entire piece in his mouth, smiling while he chewed. Once he swallowed, he said, “As long as they’re
your
services and not Gary’s.” He winked and her stomach twisted into a delectable knot. “I still haven’t gotten over the fact that you thought I was gay. I’m going to need years of therapy.”

“Oh, I’m sure one session will suffice. Your monster ego seems pretty healthy to me.”

He laughed—a deep, confident laugh that had Bertie’s toes curling inside her clogs.

“Let’s get back to your services. Your professional services,” he added when Bertie narrowed her eyes at him. “Gutting the kitchen is good, and I want to add a master bath.”

Bertie stopped with her fork halfway to her mouth. “Really?” Definitely doable, and it would really enhance the house, but geez, she only had three months. “What else?”

“We need to review the furniture plan and incorporate my own pieces.” She raised her eyebrows. “Yeah, hard to believe I own more than a mattress on the floor,” he smirked. “I haven’t had the rest trucked up yet.”

Bertie sipped the cool water from the bottle. “I’m going to need pictures and dimensions. I can’t—”

“All under control. My guy in Miami is putting all that together for you.”

“What about the upstairs? I need to get started on your daughter’s room—”

“I want her to have the connecting rooms. One as her bedroom, the other as her playroom/TV room…whatever. Rip up the carpets and refinish the wood floors.” Keith paused, making a dent in his roast beef sandwich. “Start fresh with Maddie. New furniture, fabrics, the works.”

A softness came over him as he spoke about his daughter. A look of peace laced with a little sadness shifted across his features. Bertie wondered if he missed his wife. If he still loved her. If he’d ever love again.
Stop
it. Do not go there.
Just because he kissed like a god didn’t make him worthy of dating. Dating? What a joke. Bertie’s naughty alter ego wanted more than a date. She wanted to hula in her slinkiest lingerie and get down with his fine bootay.

Keith wiped his hands on the paper napkin. “I want her room to be special. I want her to call this home.”

“I would love to meet her and find out what she really likes,” she said, realizing too late she sounded wistful.

Keith sat back, pushing his container away, and gave her a small, crooked smile. Heat crept up her chest and settled on her cheeks.

“Yeah? I’ll see what I can do.” His voice held a sexy, raspy quality.

“Did you check the color key? I really think the combination of blues and browns adds a—”

Keith jumped up, gathering containers off the table. “I really don’t care as long as it’s not pink and green or some other god-awful combination. No crazy, psychedelic patterns. This isn’t the Dog.”

“Not even for Maddie?” she challenged, tossing paper napkins in the garbage. She turned and Keith stood mere inches in front of her. Only a sliver of air separated her lacy tunic from his black polo shirt. His musky, outdoorsy scent filled her head.

“Maybe,” he said slowly. “How good are your skills of persuasion?” Keith brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, sending shivers down her spine.

Bertie cleared her throat and her head at the same time. “Well, I’ve made a few selections…and…the drawings…” Her voice sounded breathy. Yikes.

Keith moved back, a sexy smile played around his lips. “I’ve signed your proposal with a few revisions, and there’s a check on the counter for your retainer.” He grabbed a set of keys from a bowl on the counter and turned to leave.

“Hey…we’re not done here. You need to make some final decisions.” He kept moving toward the door. “I hope you like mauve. I plan to bathe your entire bedroom in it,” she said, following behind him.

Bertie let out a squeal as Keith turned suddenly and backed her against the bare dining room wall. He leaned forward, planting his hands on the wall beside her head.

“If I see any mauve anywhere in my house…including Maddie’s suite, I can assure you, you will not like the consequences.” He bared his teeth in a wicked grin.

Okay. Time to show him that he really didn’t intimidate her—or at least, time to pretend he didn’t. She plastered a bored look on her face. “I know plenty of men who like the color mauve.”

Keith’s hips pressed into her stomach and Bertie started from the shock. Christ on a cracker. He was hard…again.

“Do I need to prove to you that I’m not gay, Ms. Anderson?” he rumbled close to her ear, making her light-headed.

“N-n-no. I’m good,” she said, as she pushed at the brick wall that made up his chest. Keith didn’t budge. His gaze lowered to her mouth and remained for several long moments. He shook his head as if breaking a spell and dropped his arms.

“Another time, perhaps?” he abruptly turned to leave.

Why
not
now? Oh, shut up.
“I need your approval…where’re you going?” Bertie called to his disappearing back.

“Bride hunting. Where else?”

Inside the coffee shop at the Barnes & Noble in Raleigh, Keith flipped through a book on the economic crisis of the twenty-first century. He’d read the first chapter at least two times, not because he didn’t understand the theories, but because he couldn’t stop thinking about Bertie. Her luscious body and her big eyes that flared whenever he got near her, or touched her—or almost kissed her. Fuck. He needed to stay away from her, not think of ways to be inside her. He had a job to do. He needed to find a wife. No. Correction: a suitable mother for Maddie who would also happen to be married to him. Someone plain, simple, and sweet. Someone who liked to clean, bake cookies, and watch Disney movies with his daughter. Someone calm who wore Keds tennis shoes and cardigan sweaters buttoned all the way up with a strand of pearls around her neck and a black velvet headband in her hair. Not someone who looked like she could salsa all night in spandex and stilettos. Flashes of his late wife, Adriana, laughing and swirling around with a mojito in her hand burned inside his head. Not that again. No fucking way.

Tension tightened every muscle in his body. After all the domestic battles and accusations with Adriana that had spewed forth as though from a broken sewer pipe, he used to think of Maddie and calm down. Knocking up Adriana may have been a mistake, but making his baby was the best thing he ever did. Whenever he was home, he’d take the tiny bundle in his arms and rock her to sleep, holding her well into the night. Calmness would flow through him and fill in all the gaping wounds. If he was on the road, he’d pull out Maddie’s pink, stuffed lamb named Smiley from his overnight bag. The innocent scent would reassure him. Maddie made the ceaseless arguing and Adriana’s endless affairs, careless nights, and drama-filled days all worth it. He would do anything for Maddie, which was why he was pouring money into a dilapidated old home in Harmony and speed hunting for a wife.

He needed a real, live Mother Goose. That was what his brain told him. His body had other ideas. But he could do this…for Maddie and for himself. He didn’t need to entertain fantasies about Bertie and her curvaceous figure and how great her breasts felt smashed against his chest or how she always smelled of blooming gardenias. He didn’t need to recall how she tasted like cinnamon and sin when he kissed her.

He needed to find someone fast, before Bertie found her hands full of more than mere fabric swatches. Keith slammed the book closed. A couple of patrons glanced up from their laptops and gave him curious stares. He leaned back in his chair, locking his hands behind his head, plotting ways to get back at Aunt Francesca for forcing him into this predicament in the first place. He hated ultimatums and hers was a doozy. How the holy hell was he supposed to find someone to marry in a slow-moving, sleepy, small town? Or even the surrounding cities? Raleigh wasn’t exactly a hotbed of great entertainment and nightlife. They still rolled the sidewalks up around midnight. And finding someone to agree to marriage in the short span of three months—which would include dating, meeting the parents, and convincing Maddie it was all for the best—was beyond ludicrous. He didn’t think his fucked-up life could suck any more than it already did, but he guessed he was wrong. Way wrong.

Keith fished for his cell phone and texted,
Luv u Maddie Poo!
and then added a goofy smiley face. He knew she didn’t have her phone with her, or he
hoped
she didn’t because the boarding school didn’t allow access to cell phones until after dinner. But he wanted his message to be the first thing she saw when she turned on her phone. Gathering the stack of books he chose to purchase, he headed for the register when a perky Barnes & Noble employee stopped to ask if he needed help.

“Did you find everything okay?” she asked, smiling, her cornflower-blue eyes twinkling.

“Yep. A little light reading.” He chuckled, indicating the heavy books on economics and stock options he held in his hands.

“Allow me.” She reached for the stack of books, brushing his fingers in the process and blushing a pretty shade of pink. “Everyone has their passions. For me, it’s cookbooks. I love to bake,” she said as she turned toward the front of the store and the register counter.

Suddenly Keith felt as if a dark cloud had lifted and the sun’s rays beamed through the roof of the store. He stopped in his tracks and stared at the perky blond. She wore blue Keds on her feet. He raised his gaze to the acoustic tile ceiling and let out a huge breath.
Thank
you, Jesus!

His long stride ate up the space between him and the answer to his prayers. “So, Gail, is it?” he asked, checking out her nametag. “What else do you like to do besides read cookbooks? I bet you’re a fantastic cook,” he said, pouring on all the charm ever instilled in him from too many boarding schools. Cute, flat-chested Gail gave a light laugh.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say fantastic, but I do make a mean batch of peanut butter cookies. I’m afraid I have a bit of a sweet tooth,” she ended in a shy voice. Keith stared to see if a halo glowed around her head.

“Don’t we all,” he mumbled.

“But I really love my job.” She continued to speak in a soft, well-mannered voice as the scanner pinged at the barcodes. “I’m head of the children’s department, and we have story time, plays, and all kinds of fun activities to get the kids interested in reading.”

Keith froze, listening for the Hallelujah chorus. “Excuse me?” He’d missed something very important, spilling from her perfect, pale-pink lips.

She gave a nervous laugh. “Nothing. I was asking if you had any children…Mr…?”

“Morgan. But call me Keith. All my friends do,” he said, ramping up his famous Morgan smile. “And yes, I have a very precocious daughter. She’s ten going on twenty-one,” he added with a chuckle.

“Oh, well, maybe our reading program will interest her. Maybe your wife could bring her in.” Adorable, cookie-baking Gail said “wife” with the right amount of hesitation topped with curiosity.

Keith handed over his credit card. “Maddie’s mom died when she was four.” Gail’s cornflower-blue eyes flared wide with horror.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t apologize. You didn’t know.” Gail handed back his card and Keith signed the receipt. “But maybe I can bring her to one of your reading circles. When are they scheduled?”

Plain vanilla Gail graced him with a beatific smile as she handed him his bag of books. “Follow me and I’ll give you a schedule.”

“That’d be great.” Keith fell into step beside her. “Better yet, why don’t I buy you a cup of coffee while we discuss it,” he said to a beaming, sensible, khaki-wearing Gail. “How do you feel about Disney movies?” he asked, leading the way to the coffee bar.

“Who doesn’t love Ariel in
The
Little
Mermaid
?” his perfect little homemaker said.

***

WELCOME TO HARMONY,

NORTH CAROLINA

POPULATION 11,339

WHERE EVERYONE SINGS AND

LIVES IN HARMONY

Liza Palmer’s blue BMW idled outside the city limits of Harmony. She drummed her fingers on the leather steering wheel, contemplating her next move.

It would be easy to pull back onto the narrow highway and drive those few short miles to her parents’ house. The house that Liza used to call home. But now she had no idea what
home
meant. Not since she’d been fired.
Fired.
Her. She closed her eyes as a fresh wave of pain washed over her.

She’d left home four years ago as one of Harmony’s rising stars. After graduating top of her class at law school, she’d landed a very prestigious job at a law firm in Chicago, where she’d earned her stripes and made partner in only three short years. She’d always been driven to reach her goals, even if it meant stepping on a few toes along the way. However, she had no idea how much it hurt until someone stomped on hers. Now, she felt lost…and betrayed. No shiny orange carrot to chase. Just an empty, hollow feeling that settled in her chest.

Numb to the core, she’d driven away from the Windy City with no direction in mind and had been wandering for over two weeks until she found herself staring at Harmony’s welcome sign. Liza lowered her window and inhaled the fresh smell of pine mixed with green grass. Something she never smelled or even saw trapped in the high rises of her big-city world. She gave a long sigh. All roads led to home. But not for long. She simply needed enough time to start the healing process and to figure out what she wanted to do next. Yes,
home
. Maybe she’d curl up on the screened porch with a good book and give her mother all kinds of smothering time. Nothing sounded better. She’d give it two weeks—infinite possibilities.

Liza pushed the familiar beat-up door to the Daily Grind and stepped inside. Not much had changed, except maybe a few more displays of packaged snacks on a rack. Flavorful coffee smells permeated the air. Earl was busy behind the counter filling some tall guy’s order. Liza moved toward the cooler on the back wall where she spied slices of Annie Mae’s homemade cheesecake and cups of banana pudding. Her favorite. It had been a long time since she’d indulged her sweet tooth. She opened the cooler and grabbed one of each. Maybe she’d save one for later…then again, maybe not. She moved toward the counter, hugging her loot, when the tall guy ordering coffee turned with two cups in his hands. He looked familiar. She peered at him until realization struck.

“Hey. Aren’t you the Prince?” she asked, placing her goodies on the counter. He went still and his dark, hooded eyes moved over her with unhidden masculine appreciation. It happened all the time.

“Yeah, Keith Morgan. And you?” he said in a nice, raspy voice.

For once, Liza felt nothing. She hadn’t driven halfway across the country to start up a fling. Not even with Keith Morgan, ex-pro tennis player, looking every bit like sex on a stick, with his wavy, dark hair and rock-hard body.

Earl chuckled behind the counter. “Hey there, Liza. You just get into town?” He jerked his head toward Keith. “Our famous new resident. He bought the old Victorian over on Carver. Gonna fix it all up and guess who’s helping him?”

“Hey, Earl. Can I have a skinny latte, please? Large.” Then she turned back to the Prince, now leaning against the snack display, wearing a curious expression. “Liza Palmer. I’d shake your hand but looks like it’s full.” She indicated his coffees to go. “I followed your tennis career, hated to see you retire.”

His lips curled into something resembling a smile as a look of pain flashed behind his eyes. “Thanks. You still live in Harmony?” he asked.

Earl handed Liza her coffee and she fished for her wallet inside her Louis Vuitton cross-body bag. “Not any more. Just visiting. Who’s helping with your home? Some big designer from Miami, I bet,” she said with a chuckle, handing Earl some bills. Liza remembered that Keith had lived and trained in Miami for years.

“No.” Keith shook his head.

“Now, why would the Prince go and do something like that?” Earl interjected as he opened the register drawer. “We’ve got the best right here in our own backyard.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Harmony didn’t have the best of anything, except maybe Annie Mae’s homemade desserts.

Earl half hooted, half laughed. “Oh Liza, Harmony may not be like your town, Chicago, but we hold our own.”

“Ah, the Windy City. Came home to thaw out?” Keith gave her a wink.

“Yeah, something like that. So who’s working on your house? I can’t think of any—”

“That’s funny,” Earl chortled. “Like you’ve been away that long. You know it’s Bertie.”

“Oh no.” Liza slid her gaze to Keith. “Really?” The Prince didn’t appear embarrassed, just uncomfortable. He nodded, confirming Earl’s gossip. Liza couldn’t stop herself. She threw her head back and laughed out loud for the first time in weeks. “This I’ve got to see.”

***

Keith said nothing as the pretty blond with the long ponytail had a good laugh at his expense. What strange luck today. First, sweet Gail who loved children and baking cookies, and now this big-city, edgier blond who loved to laugh…at him, and probably chewed small children up and spit them out for lunch. Plain Gail would be better mother material, hands down. Sharp Liza would be good company and maybe a good date, another distraction. And he could use all the distractions he could find. So far, he hadn’t found a cure or an escape, because he still wanted Bertie Anderson in a really bad, bad way. Keith dragged his mind out of the gutter and refocused on laughing Liza.

“If you’re finished doubling over with laughter, maybe you’d like to share one of those desserts. If you can manage to give one up. You’re clutching that bag as if you’re gonna get mugged.”

“Oh no. You’re not getting any of my dessert. I’ve waited way too long.” Her head shook, making her ponytail swing across her shoulders. “Who’s the other coffee for? You got some hot date waiting in the car?” she teased with a smirk on her face. Clearly she had read some of the tabloid stories.

“Nah, but I am meeting someone.”

Earl leaned over the counter. “You don’t know the half of it, Liza. The Prince here has to find a wife and he’s only got three months. Francesca Balogh, his aunt, has apparently laid down the law.”

Thanks, Earl, for spilling the beans
. How the hell did he know the story? Geez, he was well aware that Harmony was small, but he didn’t realize that he’d be the hot topic on everyone’s tongue. Keith guessed that made him the official town idiot. Of course his affairs would be fueling the town gossip, this being Mayberry and all. Screw it. The whole town was bat-shit crazy.

“What?” Liza looked as if she might burst from laughing. “Surely, he jests,” she said in a tone of disbelief.

Keith shot Earl a glare. “Nope. It’s so
out
there, they could write a sitcom around it. Come on and I’ll give you all the hilarious details.” He gestured with his elbow for Liza to follow him out.

She trotted after him. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world. Man, I’m glad I came home.”

***

Keith climbed the stairs to the second floor of his home looking for Bertie. Liza followed close behind. They’d both finished their coffees and shared Liza’s cheesecake on a park bench in the middle of town square, down the street from the Daily Grind. Keith found Liza to be funny and insightful. He only confirmed what Earl had told her. He didn’t elaborate on his fucked-up life or the fact that Francesca threatened to fight for Maddie.