Harvest Moon

Getting past the librarian’s guard…

Trent Jamieson isn’t one for virtual romance, but there’s something about the intriguing woman he meets on the Internet he can’t resist. Then the small town bachelor discovers the mystery woman who shares her secrets with him online is the laced-up librarian in his self-defense class! Veronica Sussingham may just be his toughest student yet. Because how can he show the vulnerable beauty that some men are worth letting your guard down for?

Veronica returned to her hometown seeking shelter for her shattered spirit. The last thing she needs is a
blue-eyed charmer who wants to show her how to live—and love—again. Then she discovers Trent is not just another admirer, but a man who knows her deepest secrets. Now Veronica must choose between running from her past—or finding future happiness with the kind of man she swore she’d never fall for….

“Struth has a gift for layering stories within stories while keeping them all connected.”

--
Library Journal

“Struth is an author to watch!”

--Laura Drake, author of RITA-award winner
The Sweet Spot

“Sharon Struth writes a good story about love and loss. She knows her characters and has a path she wants them to take.”

--Eye on Romance

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Blue Moon Lake Series

Share the Moon

Harvest Moon

Bella Luna

Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

A Blue Moon Lake Romance

Sharon Struth

LYRICAL PRESS

Kensington Publishing Corp.

www.kensingtonbooks.com

Lyrical Press books are published by

Kensington Publishing Corp. 119 West 40th Street New York, NY 10018

Copyright © 2015 by Sharon Struth

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First Electronic Edition: December 2015

eISBN-13: 978-1-61650-647-6

eISBN-10: 1-61650-647-4

First Print Edition: December 2015

ISBN-13: 978-1-61650-648-3

ISBN-10: 1-61650-648-2

Printed in the United States of America

To my beautiful and inspiring daughters, Nicole and Katie—whose interruptions into my writing cave really are a welcome break from my work. Or do you really come in to see the dog?

Never did I dream that when my first essay was published, six years later I’d be writing words of appreciation for my third novel. One word keeps playing in my mind as I consider my journey. Thankful.

There are so many people to thank for this book and my entire journey. I’ll start with Dawn Dowdle of the Blue Ridge Literary Agency, my fabulous agent, who works tirelessly for her authors and has given all of us a family-like atmosphere at her agency.

Thank you to Kensington Publishing/Lyrical press for believing in my series, bringing to life the town of Northbridge and all the great fictional folks who live there. A special nod of gratitude to my editor, Paige Christian, whose editing eyes are a saving grace.

To my adorable husband, your support goes a long way, baby! A thousand thanks!

To my mother…you are the best salesman an author could ask for.

To Linda Chiara, your encouragement made me believe in myself and I cannot thank you enough.

To Terri-Lynne DeFino, thank you for your friendship, being there when I need you, and your honest advice on this novel.

To my wonderful critique partner, Rachel Brimble, thanks for all the insights that helped this novel come to life and Diane Rondeau Bator for all the insghts on self-defense and your beta read of the book.

To my RWA Chapter—the best group of friends a writer could ask for.

And close friends…your constant support is immeasurable.

Three things shine before the world and cannot be hidden. They are the moon, the sun, and the truth…-Buddha

If Veronica Sussingham believed in signs—which she didn’t—this was the second one today suggesting she crawl back under the covers and avoid the world. She stood at the doorway and stared at the bed, too stunned to speak.

She drew in a calming breath. “Come on, Boomer. Can’t you ever give me a break?”

The two-year-old Newfoundland lifted his eyes while his full tail swished against the patterned quilt. He continued to chew the near-shredded tag dangling off Veronica’s brand new silk blouse. The expensive fabric bunched like a ball in his large black paws, and the same slobbery drool resting on his neck also soaked the blouse. Last week’s half-eaten electric bill and torn-to-shreds Sunday news was proof the dog had a paper fetish. But a clothing tag?

She marched closer, attempting a stern expression.

Chomp. Chomp. Chomp.
He avoided her gaze. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear she spotted a grin on his snout.

“Drop it.”

Boomer released the tattered tag, and it fell on her bed. At least the training they’d taken last year wasn’t a total waste. He hopped down with a thud and headed for the door, the nails of his large paws clicking on the hardwood floors.

She tossed the filthy shirt near the hamper, washed the slobber off her hands in the bathroom sink, then went to her closet to pick a new outfit. It would take more than an early morning broken hot water heater and ruined blouse to keep her from the annual librarian luncheon in Hartford.

She flipped through dresses, shirts, and slacks lined up in neatly separated groups, then arranged by color. A pretty red wraparound dress with capped sleeves caught her eye, one she hadn’t worn since the spring.

She shrugged off her terrycloth robe, slipped the garment over her head, and tied the side. Stepping to her dresser, she twirled her necklace carousel to her five strands of pearls, in varying gem size and length. Since receiving her first pearl necklace as a gift on her eighteenth birthday, a strand always draped her neck.

She lifted the graduated arrangement and slipped it on. The smooth beads rested against her collarbone, their touch in the familiar place always a source of comfort. She took a brush to her loose curls, dotted on some soft pink lipstick, and slipped into her black, open-toed pumps.

With some time until she needed to head into Hartford, she went into the living room, settled in front of her roll top desk, and logged into her computer. A quick perusal of e-mail showed mostly retailers, which she bypassed, in search of a reply from Ry. Nothing. She swept aside her disappointment and deleted the unwanted spam, but stopped when she hit an online invitation from PartyTime.com, a service she’d used last time she hosted a Christmas gathering at her place.

The subject read, “Gail and Eli’s End of Summer Bash.” Last year’s party had been fun, the annual event one of the few times she’d see her graduate school friends. She opened the invite, double-checked the date on her calendar, then responded yes. Fond memories of her friends brought a smile to her face. A section listed all invited guests, so Veronica figured she’d see who else might be coming.

Sometimes Veronica missed a good old-fashioned paper invite, but the Internet had changed the world. Her friendship with Ry was living proof.

Combing through the list, she noted how half the guests had profiles set up with personalized photographs, including hers—a photo holding Boomer when she first got him. Her gaze swept the faces and names, looking for her closest friends. She skipped past an unfamiliar couple, but then backtracked to take a closer peek. The man in the photo stared back. Panic rushed through her limbs.

For twenty years, Veronica hadn’t seen Gary Tishman’s face, but his image still haunted her. The clang of a silent alarm screamed inside her head, begged her to close the computer. Only she couldn’t move or figure out why he was on the invited guest list.

She scrutinized the face of the man who’d changed her life. Twenty years had added a few pounds, his handsome face slightly fuller. A soft sparkle rested in his eyes, set off by a warm smile. Veronica grimaced, recalling how it was the same bait he’d used to lure her to his side, a mask worn to hide the real monster lurking inside.

The woman at his side was her old friend Carin Cummings, who now wore her honey blond hair in a blunt cut, but otherwise still looked the same. Next to the photo, the name read “Carin Cummings-Tishman.” After grad school, Carin had moved west and rarely kept in touch with their posse of friends. She was now married to Gary? It didn’t make sense. They hadn’t mixed in similar circles back in college, so how did they meet?

Their response to the invitation remained unanswered. Still, sickness twirled in Veronica’s stomach as a cold reality hit. If she’d seen him on this online invitation, had he seen her? Did he remember her?

A slow chill tickled the hairs on her arms when a movement fluttered in her peripheral. She quickly jerked around, catching the flurries of her sheer curtains moved by the breeze from an oscillating fan. Taking a calming breath, she stood and went to the fan to shut it off. Outside the window, thick woods surrounded her small house, always giving her privacy and the illusion she lived in a protected fortress. The way her picture randomly appeared on the same website as Gary’s, however, told her otherwise.

Gail might be at the librarian luncheon today and could explain how Gary suddenly stepped into Carin’s life.

Enthusiasm for today’s event withered. Instead, horrible memories of the moment Veronica’s life and goals had changed shattered her well-being. For half a second, she considered changing her reply to “no,” only a voice inside her head whispered a challenge.
Hasn’t the past haunted you long enough?

Despite the warm breeze drifting through the window, she shivered again. First the broken hot water heater. Then her ruined blouse. Now Gary Tishman’s return into her world. Going back to bed and starting the day over wasn’t a bad idea.

Instead, she grabbed her purse and went out the door, glad bad things were said to only come in threes. Nothing else could possibly go wrong today.

* * * *

Forty-five minutes after leaving the quiet country roads of Northbridge, Veronica spotted the jagged Hartford skyline. She’d nearly forgotten her one errand before the luncheon and now ran a few minutes behind schedule. The GPS directed her straight to the corporate offices of Resorts Group International.

She pulled into the underground garage and parked. The envelope she’d promised her friend Sophie she’d take to Duncan—Sophie’s fiancé—sat on the passenger seat. She slid the package containing his cell phone and signed contracts into the side pocket of her large purse. Lucky for Duncan, Veronica had planned to come into the city today and could make the drop off. Sophie had said he’d woken up so anxious about today’s meeting to finalize the sale of his firm he’d forgotten to put on his socks, a surprise to Veronica because the successful executive always seemed to have a handle on all matters.