Page 1 of Perfectly Matched: Harbor Falls Romance Collection

Suzie Hart pulled onto the rambling lane that led to Sweet Hart Inn, followed the drive around the house, and parked beside the yellow clapboard Victorian she called home. Switching off the ignition, she sat and stared straight ahead, her gaze landing on the tranquil scene of Harbor Falls Lake behind her house. Smiling, she paused for a moment, savoring a brief but welcome break from her frenzied day.

Of course, in her world, frenzy was normal. She liked keeping busy, but in an orderly, predictable way. Today, a day-long catering event at the American Legion Hall—a fundraiser for the local wounded warriors project—kept her hopping. There was corn on the grill to keep moving, pulled pork BBQ that forever needed replenishing, and coleslaw bowls that emptied way too quickly. It was busy and satisfying and worth it all at the same time. She wouldn’t change a thing if she could. She loved her life here in Harbor Falls, every single day. She was busy but busyness was truly a blessing.

She welcomed busy.

Busy made her temporarily forget about…things.

And that was good. Right? To forget?

She didn’t answer herself.

Blinking away the lake scene behind her house until later—when she could unwind with a glass of wine on her deck overlooking the lake—Suzie grabbed her keys and got out of her Mazda SUV.

Moving to the rear of the vehicle, she lifted the hatch.

Over the next few minutes she carried in empty pans and tubs, bags of plastic wear and paper plates, a couple of empty coolers, and more.

She’d dropped off the soiled tablecloths at the cleaner to be cleaned and pressed before she left town and had delivered the leftover food to the Harbor Falls Youth Center.

She knew the kids there always appreciated an unexpected spread.

She loved giving back to her community, and this was one way she helped.

No leftover food from any event was ever wasted. She always found someone in need.

Finally, she grabbed a couple of bags of groceries and slammed the hatch. She’d stopped for a few things at Ralph’s Food Mart—affectionately called The Mart or simply Ralph’s by the locals—before leaving town. With one guest arriving later this evening, she’d needed only a few supplies. Didn’t matter whether she was expecting one guest or ten though, she still had breakfast to fix in the morning.

Sweet Hart Inn was, after all, a bed and breakfast, first and foremost.

After trekking up the steps and through the back entrance of her home, she set her purchases on the oversized kitchen island and sighed.

“Whew. What a day.”

Pausing for only a few seconds, she inhaled-exhaled again, then started unpacking the groceries. One by one, Suzie lifted the items out of her cotton grocery bags and placed them on the butcher-block top, when a sinking feeling that she had forgotten something hit her.

She glanced off and bit her lip. What in the world did I forget? She clicked through the list in her head, touching each item as she said the name out loud.

“Flour.”

“Eggs.”

“Cinnamon, nutmeg.”

“Sugar.”

“Blueberries.”

“Butter.”

She glanced at the refrigerator. Darn it. Something missing. Why hadn’t she made a list? She always made a list. She knew better than to not make a list. She was a chef, for God’s sake. Chefs make lists! Why didn’t she make a list today? She had to get over this bad habit of second-guessing herself.

She opened the refrigerator door. Damn. Milk. She forgot the stupid milk.

And she was bone-dry out. She had planned to tweak her Harbor Falls Mountain Blueberry Muffins recipe tonight for her new cookbook—At Your Leisure: Recipes of Harbor Falls Sweet Hart Inn. Thinking about the new title she and her editor had just decided on, she smiled, then immediately frowned as she glanced toward the incomplete stash of groceries on her kitchen counter.

The plus side to baking tonight meant there would be muffins at the ready for morning, and she wouldn’t have had to get up as early and bake on a Saturday. But that scenario was not going to pan out this weekend, it seemed.

Double drat.

She could just bite the bullet and go back to Ralph’s and get the milk. It wasn’t that the grocery store was that far away, or that it would take her hours to run the errand. That wasn’t the point at all. It was the simple fact that getting back into the car, driving the ten minutes to the store, working her way to the very back corner, securing the milk, and making her way back to the checkout aisle would be another exhausting trip down memory lane. That was one stroll she didn’t want to take again today. She’d already been there an hour or so ago.

She could still hear them in her head…

“Suzie, honey, so sorry to hear about, well, you know, Cliff.”

Cluck, cluck. Old Mrs. Wilson. Her dementia had set in about a year ago and she recalled everything that happened exactly one year ago, repeatedly. Whenever she saw Suzie, all the older woman ever thought about was how Cliff, Suzie’s fiance of ten-thousand years or so, had left her—exactly one year ago. Poor, poor Suzie. Pat-pat on her hand.

“You feeling better, dearie? You look a bit off.”

Mr. Wilson moved his hand up her arm. Suzie knew better than to turn her back on the old man because he’d be pinching her backside before you could say.

“Howdy do.”

Then there was Betty Jo, grocery clerk, scowling across the melons.

“That sister of yours should have known better. She wasn’t raised that way.”

She shook her head.

Then Geraldine Weissmuller —tsk tsk—obviously on her way home from her daycare job as she had baby spit and some sort of green goo on her shoulder. Geraldine sidled up beside her.

“Now, tomorrow evening you come over for dinner and we’ll have meatloaf and pie and lemonade. You’ll forget all about that terrible ordeal and that little...um, your sister.”

Best meatloaf in town. At least she thinks so. Suzie begged to differ.

Sympathy run amok.

She didn’t need any more sympathy run amok, thank you very much. Or any more hand-patting. Or clucking after her ex-fiance. Or tsk-tsking her sister. Or meatloaf.

She didn’t need any of that.

She didn’t need a man, either.

No.

She needed milk.

Dammit. Just milk.

And she wasn’t going to get it today, that was for certain, unless she hauled her butt back out to her car, drove into town, and braved the gossip mill.

Ralph’s Food Mart, here I come.

Besides, it had been over a year since Cliff ran off with her little sister. She was over it. She was! When would they—meaning the entire town of Harbor Falls, North Carolina—give it up, too?

Talk of the town. Yep. Little Suzie Hart. She was that.

But she was tired of the whole sordid affair. Er, situation. Seemed like she and Cliff stirred up more gossip around these parts since, well… Since Pammy Gruber ran off to Nashville in ‘68 with the preacher from the Church of Christ to some free love music festival out in California.

Times like these she wished she didn’t live in a small town where everybody knew not only your name, but your business too. Where everybody wanted in on your business in the worst way.

Argh!

There were days she just wanted to run away.

But wait— She tried that once, didn’t she?

How did that turn out for you Suzie?

****

Brad Matthews stood in front of the old lodge, gave it a quick once-over, then turned to the real estate agent standing beside him.

“I’ll take it.”

“You understand the deal is as is.”

Brad nodded.

“I understand.”

He looked up at the neglected structure and wondered what it was like in its heyday. Hell, he knew the answer to that—he’d done a good bit of research on the old place before he’d approached the agent with an offer.

“The land alone is worth the asking price,” he added.

“What will you do with it?”

James Martin, the agent, studied him from the side.

“I have a plan.”

James harrumphed.

“Others have had plans, too. I assume you have the financing for renovation? It is on the historic register and there are federal guidelines you’ll need to follow.”

“I understand that too—and your assumption is correct.”

Brad suddenly had financing for just about anything he wished.

“I see.”

“I want to move forward as quickly as possible.”

“You’re in town for a few days?”

“Yes. Indefinitely if need be.”

“Then I can make it happen.”

“Good.”

Brad knew his answers were vague. That was intentional. He’d always been wary of small town types—it was difficult to know what they’d keep confidential or announce in the coffee shop the next morning. That was the last thing he wanted, or needed—the whole town of Harbor Falls, all seven-thousand-plus of them, chewing on his business. Not until he was good and ready.

Raised an Army brat, he didn’t fully understand the connections of people who lived in one place for their entire lives—for generations even—and he had difficulty understanding how people could pin themselves down to a world so small. Settling in for a few years in Asheville, for the last chef gig he’d had, was the longest period of time he’d lived in one place since he was a kid. Back then, he and his parents had lived the first five years of his life in Atlanta. To him, small towns were often close-minded, lacking in diversity, and unaccepting of strangers.

Well, that was something he was going to have to deal with in the near future. If all went as planned, and if he did relocate to Harbor Falls—lock, stock, and barrel—adjustment to small town life and all that entailed would be a high priority on his agenda. Right after—

“Falls Lake Lodge is pretty special to folks around here.”

James interrupted Brad’s rambling thoughts.

He shook himself back to the present.

“I figured as much,”

he told James. Figured he’d also have a fight on his hands when they learned what he wanted to do with the old lodge. They’d come around though, when they realized how the community would benefit. After all, he intended to settle here, why would he do anything detrimental?

They’d understand—eventually.

“Pretty special to me.”

Brad left it at that and turned to James.

“I’d like to move on this today.”

James rubbed his chin with his forefingers.

“Well. Your loan is secure. The bank holding the note is motivated. We can get the paperwork started this afternoon. I’ll get it to their agent right after.”

Brad felt a lazy grin stretch across his face.

“What else needs to be done?”

James studied him.

“Well, for starters, I’d check with zoning, a local contractor or two, temporary utilities, and so on.”

Good idea. Those were kinds of tasks that would keep him busy while waiting to take possession—get the details out of the way so he could get right to work. Brad smiled.

“I like the way you think.”

Perhaps he and James could be good friends.

James thrust out a hand to shake Brad’s.

“Good dealing with you, Mr. Matthews. Got a place to stay while you are in town? I can recommend the Sweet Hart Inn if there are vacancies.”

The Sweet Hart Inn.

For the first time since his arrival in Harbor Falls, trepidation skipped down Brad’s spine. Slowly, he angled his gaze behind the lodge and looked off toward the lake. The view was the same one featured in an old Falls Lake Lodge brochure he’d dug up at the Harbor Falls library. The one that forty years ago drew tourists to the mountains and the lake in droves.

If he had anything to do with it, they would again.

His gaze drifted and then rested across the way on a moderate-sized, two-story home that sat nestled in a grove of trees bordering the lake’s edge.

His heart warmed.

“Yes. I have a place to stay.”

He turned to James and shook his hand.

“Thank you, Mr. Martin. Let’s head down to your office.”

James waved and turned toward his older model Jeep.

Brad watched him stroll across the broken asphalt parking lot. The guy was going to enjoy the commission he’d make from this sale. Well, good for him. He imagined he could use the money. Might as well let Brad’s inheritance contribute to the local economy.

Turning away from the lodge, he eyed his newest toy—a brand spanking new Harley Davidson street bike—and swung a leg over the warm leather seat. Felt good to be in the saddle. In control. Two dreams coming true, two pieces of his plan falling together—a hog of his own and becoming his own boss real, real soon.

He was a man with a plan, and he knew exactly what he wanted.

He kicked the bike into gear and the rumble broke the mountain calm. Now all he had to do was execute the biggest, and most important, piece of his plan.

****

She didn’t get the milk.

Suzie just didn’t have it in her to wade through the gossip mongers one more time today. She loved everyone in this town but there were times she didn’t need to be around them. When things were hopping and she was around people all day, she needed down time. Alone time. Time to un-people and let the chatter in her head die down. Tonight, was one of those nights. She’d work on the muffin recipe next week. After all, the deadline was still far enough out. Nothing pressing. Tonight, she’d plant the hostas she’d picked up yesterday from Jack Ackerman at the nursery. It promised to be a perfect evening for it.

There was something very basic and elemental, if not soothing and calming, that happened when she dug her fingers into dirt. It grounded her. The idea of that and to rid herself of the voices still lingering in her head, was promising.

Truth be known, Suzie knew that no matter how much she disliked the fact that small towns were nosy, she could never leave Harbor Falls. Here, people stayed put. It was sort of like a rule. Harbor Falls was her hometown and she had no plan to leave. Here, she was safe, secure. She was surrounded by family and friends and beautiful countryside. Harbor Falls was home.

And zero chance of running into unexpected people, er person, who might flip her hormones sideways…

Enough of that.

Suzie shook herself. She was as homegrown and homespun as they come around these parts. She couldn’t imagine herself living anywhere else, especially in a big city. She’d tried once—it didn’t work out for her.

No use dwelling on that.

Harbor Falls was where she belonged, and Harbor Falls was where she’d stay. And she’d fight to keep this small town, and the lake behind her house, and the mountains they all loved so much the way they were—the way they had always been, no matter the quirks or the characters. Or the steadily declining local tourist economy….

Of course, there were others in town who wanted Harbor Falls to change.

Sighing, Suzie put all that out of her mind, picked up the dozen eggs still sitting on the kitchen island, and headed for the refrigerator. Hell’s bells. She’d just have to get up earlier than normal in the morning and go get the darn milk. It shouldn’t take that long. She had a guest coming in later this evening and she wouldn’t need milk before breakfast, anyway. In her usual professional style, she’d have quite the spread out at seven-thirty, one guest or a whole family in attendance.

After all, she had her reputation to stand on, right? Well, Sweet Hart Inn’s reputation, at the very least. Hers might be questionable.

If one gave any stock to the gossip mill.

She stopped short of the refrigerator and stared toward the back door. The gossip mill indeed. The other half of the talk of the town story was that she, Suzie Hart, must have done something wrong to make poor Cliff go and do what he did. And the way he did it! Cliff had always been such a good guy, they’d said—albeit a tad boring. What in the world was wrong with little Suzie Hart that, a) prevented Cliff, her boyfriend of a dozen years and her fiance of two from actually tying the knot? and, b) made him run off with her little sister? Everyone in Harbor Falls knew that Suzie and Cliff were destined to marry since they were in high school. Right?

And if that weren’t enough, the town biddy speculation was like fuel to the fire. Just why had Suzie up and moved to Asheville, anyway, for those couple of months before Cliff ran off with Shelley Hart and eloped?

Like she’d give them fuel for that discussion.

The groceries. Put away the groceries, Suzie. Quit reliving on the past. You’re as bad as Mrs. Wilson.

Reaching for the refrigerator door, she simultaneously glanced at her land line phone sitting on the counter and noticed a missed a call—and a message. She paused and punched the voice mail button.

The recording crackled.

“Um, Suzette?”

She froze. Only one person in the world called her Suzette. And that one person was not anyone she wanted to talk to, or see, or get messages from. She smashed the stop button and cut off any pending dialog. Panic raced through her. He couldn’t have found her.

Could he?

Her brain raced with just how he might have found her. She’d changed addresses since living in Asheville. The inn had a new phone number. But heck, it’s a small-town right? Crap.

With an intake of breath, Suzie held it and hesitantly pushed the voice mail button again and then turned to put the eggs on the top refrigerator shelf. Like, if she didn’t pay too much attention the message wouldn’t have too much importance.

Yeah, right.

“Um, Suzette? It’s Brad. I’m...”

Mumble, mumble, mumble.

“...in for a... Here’s my number. I, uh...proposition...you.”

In a split-second, the full dozen eggs smashed to the floor. Startled, Suzie jumped back and swatted at the phone, sending the thing skidding backward against the backsplash. Dammit. Milk and eggs.

Please, God, no.

“This can’t be happening.”