Finding Harmony
Finding
Harmony
by
JoMarie DeGioia
PUBLISHED BY:
Bailey Park Publishing on Kindle
Copyright
© JoMarie
DeGioia
All rights
reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or
by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by
any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of
the publisher, except where permitted by law.
1
“Hey!”
Harmony Brooks jumped at the deep voice, dropping her notes.
She looked up at the large man looming in front of her and her heart stopped.
Adam.
She blinked up at him, tilting her head to one side to block the late
afternoon sun shining over his broad shoulders. She took in a breath. Not Adam,
thank God. His features were stronger than Adam’s, and he looked to be about
thirty. He
was
good looking. If you liked the polished type. Well, she
didn’t. Not anymore.
“May I help you?” she asked.
He stepped closer. “What are you doing on this site?”
She took a few steps back. The low plastic tape marking the
edge of the work site hit her calves and she forced herself to stop her retreat.
This wasn’t Adam. This was just a stranger dressed in rugged outdoor clothes
from an expensive catalog. Then she noticed where his big booted feet were
planted. “Watch out, you’re—”
“Listen,” he cut in. “It’s my job to secure this site. This
project was contracted months ago.”
She pointed to the mound at his feet. “But you’re—”
“And by my guess, miss, you’re trespassing.”
As he started to recite some rehearsed corporate line, she
watched first one fire ant then another crawl up the perfect crease of his
right pant leg. A few more joined the march over his pristine hiking boots and
she opened her mouth to warn him again. Suddenly he cursed, slapping at his leg
as he fell on his backside. She bit her lip for a moment, then she lost the
struggle. She couldn’t help it. She laughed.
“Son-of-a… !” he yelled. “What the hell?”
She quickly sobered and stepped over the tape to reach him.
“Easy.” She brushed away the few ants still clinging to his pant leg, lifting
the cuff to make sure the culprits under it were gone too. She stood. “I think
you’re all right now.”
“Damn.” He pinned her with his gray eyes. “What was that? My
leg’s on fire.”
She picked up her backpack and returned to him. “Fire
ants,” she said. “They can really sting.”
He cursed again. “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”
She took out a water bottle and a spare T-shirt, pouring
the water onto the cotton. “This will help cool the bites.”
She crouched down and held the damp cloth to the red welts
rising among the crisp dark hairs on his skin. He had a nice build. Why he
bothered ironing his camp shirt and chinos was beyond her. He certainly had
strong legs beneath those pressed pants. “Is that any better?”
He closed his eyes and nodded. She ran her gaze over him as
he visibly relaxed. His hair was a glossy black, thick and rich, and he smelled
delicious, crisp and musky. Clean-shaven cheeks couldn’t hide the shadow of a
beard on his square jaw.
“Yeah, that’s better,” he said. He opened his eyes. “Thanks,
babe.”
She gasped as she stared into his eyes. They were as
gorgeous as the rest of him, a lovely gray like the lake on a cloudy day, and
framed by black lashes. Then his hand covered hers and a prickling of heat shot
up her arm, hotter than any fire ant’s bite. She jerked away, leaving the
T-shirt in his hand.
“Well.” She pressed her hand against her belly. “Um, what
were you yelling about before the ants bit you?”
His compelling eyes turned flinty. “You’re trespassing,
miss. On my work site.”
Back to that, then. Good. She could use the focus.
She straightened. “As much as I
hate
to break this
to you, you can’t build on this spot.”
He came to his feet and nearly stepped on the ant mound
again. She braced her hands on his chest and pushed.
His eyes widened as he stumbled and almost fell on his
backside again. “What the—? What are you doing?”
“The ant mound, buddy,” she said. “Sheesh.”
Her palms tingled with the memory of the hard muscles
beneath that ridiculously-crisp shirt and she fisted her hands. Oh, she could
smell him again. She swallowed. Hard.
“Thanks.” He cleared his throat. “We can’t build here? Since
when? Chapman Financial finalized the contracts for this job months ago.”
“Things have changed.” She focused on the scrubby plant to
her left. “There’s a protected species on this site.”
He looked around, his brows drawn together. “I saw some
grasshoppers big enough to be batter-dipped and fried. They’re protected?”
She shook her head and pointed to the wild buckwheat. “No. But
this is.” She gathered her notes and shook the sand off of them. “
Eriogonum
longifolium
. A wild scrub buckwheat.”
“Eriggigg… what?” He stared at her for a beat. “A plant? A
friggin’ plant?”
She braced a hand on one hip. “Look. I feel bad about the
fire ants, but this plant is endangered and construction can’t commence until
the Cypress Corners Institute says so.”
“That’s ridiculous.” He thrust the damp T-shirt toward her.
“You can’t make us stop because of one weed.”
She grabbed the shirt from him. “It’s not a weed,” she said.
“This is a valuable find.”
He snorted. “Is this about money?”
She ran her eyes over his perfectly pressed clothes. “I’m
not the one who bought out the Banana Republic.”
He pulled back. “Maybe you’re the one with her eyes on the
cash.”
She stiffened. “I don’t raise funds for the Institute. I
certainly have no financial stake in the development, if that’s what you’re
implying.”
He shook his head. “I’m not implying anything, miss. The
Institute approved this site and the Cypress execs signed off on it. We got the
damn contract. We have to get the thing finished before the year’s end.”
“The Recreation Café,” she said. “A snack bar so hikers can
take a break for gourmet coffee before continuing on the nature trails. Yeah, I
know all about it.”
“Look, there are people I need to answer to. Believe me,
honey. Some friggin’ weed won’t stand in our way.”
“That’s it,” she said. “I don’t have to listen to this. I
answer to the Institute and not to you.”
He smiled and, though handsome, it wasn’t a pleasant expression.
“We’ll see. I’ll speak with the developer. He’ll get with the Institute and
before you know it you’ll be out of here on your cute little butt.”
She blinked at the back-handed compliment. Cute little
butt?
She lifted her chin. “Do what you want to do. But I’ll do
what I
have
to do.”
He grabbed up his sunglasses and stalked back through the
brush, rubbing his leg as he limped a bit. She gave a sharp nod. Good for him.
She watched him for a moment, her heartbeat at last
returning to normal. He was sexy. His butt wasn’t so bad, either. His mood, on
the other hand…
She shoved her notes into her backpack and zipped it closed.
Another smooth city fool.
Well, she wouldn’t make that mistake again.
***
Rick’s leg was on fire. Fire ants? Beautiful. He hadn’t
counted on them. He hadn’t counted on the plant girl either. When she’d put her
hand on his leg she’d sent a spark straight up to his groin. He could still
feel her hands on his chest, delicate and strong as she pushed at him.
She’d caught his eye immediately, framed by the pink tape
marking off the construction site. A goddess dressed like the girl on the
Crocodile Hunter. Curly honey-colored hair pulled back in a long ponytail that
nearly touched the sweetest butt he’d ever seen, shown to perfection in worn
khaki shorts. She wasn’t tall, but what was there was nicely built. Shapely
tanned legs, small feet in trim hiking boots. Mmm…
And her front looked even better than her back. Full,
rounded breasts that pressed against her soft cotton shirt and a face like an
angel framed by wispy curls she brushed back from her flushed cheeks as she
wrote in that damn notebook.
She was gorgeous, with her hazel eyes flashing at him as
she defended that ridiculous weed. An endangered plant? It was ridiculous.
He’d thought this job would be quick. Now she was going to
delay his return to civilization for some scrubby plant? The hell with that. The
contract was written and the café would be built. He’d talk to the Institute
right away. He’d find a way to satisfy the contract.
He had to.
He climbed back into his borrowed golf cart and glanced at
his BlackBerry. No service. Big surprise. He started the cart and spun sand and
dirt with the wheels as he turned back toward the Welcome Center in the village of Cypress Corners. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck. Why was it so friggin’
hot in October?
Cypress was a contradiction he couldn’t figure out. Expensive
homes, state of the art fitness and recreation and upscale retail space were
bracketed by areas conserved for nature and wildlife. Strange.
This wasn’t where he expected to be this fall. He was here
to oversee the building and staffing of a nine-hundred-square-foot snack bar to
satisfy his company’s investors. He preferred Colorado or even Maine to Central Florida, but the company had to finish the job they started last year when
they put their clients’ money into the main restaurant and banquet facility. They
had until the end of the year to collect the last installment, then planning
could start in earnest on the recreation center slated for the lakeside.
His boss was counting on him, and Rick wanted to prove
himself. He needed to prove himself. He’d just focus on doing what he did best:
get in, get the job done and get the hell out.
He crossed back into cell service and his BlackBerry
chirped. Back in the land of the living. As he neared the center, the cell rang.
He stopped the cart and looked at the screen. Damn. The boss.
He jabbed the answer button. “Yeah?”
“Chapman?” the voice barked. “That you?”
He nodded. “Hey, Dad. Yeah, it’s me.”
He listened to his father’s latest rant as he absently
rubbed his burning leg. Bill Chapman was the kind of man you didn’t interrupt,
which pleased Rick at the moment because he didn’t really want to talk to him.
“The snack bar should be started already,” Rick’s father
said. “Tell me you saw the site today.”
He thought about the plant angel again. Yeah, he saw the
site.
“I did,” he said. “But there’s a problem.”
“A problem?” He could practically feel Bill’s irritation
from there. “What kind of problem?”
He took in a breath. “The Institute says we can’t build on
that site.”
“Bull,” his father said. “That site was approved by the
damn Institute, Rick. Get on it.”
“I can’t,” he said. “There’s this species of endangered
plant—”
“A plant?” his father cut in. “This is about a
plant
?”
The echo of his earlier words struck him and he squeezed
his eyes shut. Was this how he’d sounded to the plant girl?
“I’m working on it,” he told his father. “I’ll get with the
developers.”
His father blew out a curse. “Good. I dealt with those
tree-huggers at the Institute and got the main club and restaurant built. This
should be easy, even for you.”
He let the barb slide and thought of the girl again. Hot,
spirited and self-righteous. Easy? He doubted that.
“Yeah, sure,” he said.
“Damn it, I made promises,” Bill went on. “Promises our
investors are counting on me to keep.”
Promises? Rick doubted his father had kept one to him in
his whole life.
“They’ll get their return, Dad,” he said.
“They better,” his father said. He took in a breath. “Ah,
well.”
He knew his father shifted gears and braced himself for
what would come next.
“Are you coming up to Boston for Thanksgiving?” his father
asked.
God, no. “I hadn’t planned on it,” he said.
“Tiffany would love to have you.”
He didn’t doubt that. Tiffany was his father’s fourth and
latest trophy wife, and she was no prize. She was clawing and manipulative and
the reason he was in Central Florida right now instead of waiting for a more
desirable project to open up. At least she was the most obvious reason.
“I doubt I’ll make it, Dad,” he said. “Work will keep me
pretty busy here.”
“Yeah, yeah,” his father said. “The tree-huggers. Let me
know what the Institute says. We’re on a deadline, Chapman. Time is money.”
He nodded, certain the call was over. He and his father had
little to say to each other for the past fifteen years. This phone call
wouldn’t be any different.
“I’ll call you after I meet with them,” he said.
Without another word his father broke the connection. He
stared at the phone for a moment, then pocketed it. Bill Chapman wasn’t one to
waste time on emotion or affection. Hadn’t Rick’s mother learned that lesson
the hard way years ago?
He still felt the loss of his mother deeply, along with
Bill’s defection three years before that. He’d get this damn thing built and
finally prove his worth to the old man. God, he was twenty-nine years old and
one call from his father could make him feel like a little kid.