Page 134 of Perfectly Matched: Harbor Falls Romance Collection

This was a bad idea. A very bad idea.

Rick lifted one eyebrow and glared another warning at his daughter. Her tilted chin and shining eyes flared a defiant challenge right back.

Be good, he mouthed behind Grace Hart’s back.

Izzie grinned sweetly—a grin he knew meant anything but sweetness—and followed alongside her father, desperately trying to keep in his stride.

Big, tough, little girl. What in the world made her that way? Was it him? Marci’s leaving? What?

He tried not to think about it. Surely Izzie wouldn’t turn on her shenanigans this morning. Of course, if that ball cap Rick was a precursor of things to come, he wanted to be prepared. Sometimes Izzie turned without warning. Other times she worked herself up to it. And her moody behavior in the car earlier was probably the first subtle warning that things might go terribly, terribly wrong today.

Oh hell. Not today. He was counting on this deal working out.

Pull it together, Price, he told himself. Trust that Izzie will be okay. Concentrate on the thing at hand.

And remember. This is for Izzie, even if she doesn’t know it or understand it.

Yet.

He forced himself to focus on the tall, willowy female in front of him. Perhaps force wasn’t the right word. Grace Hart was very easy on the eyes and nothing like he’d pictured. Of course, he’d only spoken to her on the phone, and briefly at that, a few days earlier. Her voice was pleasant and had sounded young. He’d be a liar if he hadn’t conjured up thoughts about what the face behind that voice might look like.

But he hadn’t pondered it for long. He’d been way too busy the past few days trying to tie up loose ends. His small, private law practice was consuming all his time, as usual, even though he’d already started weaning over projects to his associate Jack Roberson, the other half of Roberson and Price.

He wanted out. Jack knew it and was more than eager to take up the slack Rick had tossed his way the past few weeks. Plus, they had their eye on an up-and-coming young gun to bring into the fold. The young man was a couple of years out of law school and making a name for himself. And he appeared trainable, they both thought, to the kind of work they did. Time would tell.

Rick would remain a principal of the company and silent partner, and he would keep up his license while he figured things out. He and Jack had worked out some arrangements for Rick to take on some work on a case-by-case basis. He could handle that if it didn’t interfere with him being a parent. But who knew, if things went well in Harbor Falls, setting up a small-town law practice there might even be a possibility.

But he was getting ahead of himself. He needed to take one step at a time.

Even though he had not a clue what the coming months would offer, Rick did know that he had to get out of Asheville, and he had to get out of practicing law full time while Izzie was young. And soon. His biggest fear was that Izzie was making a beeline directly to six-year-old self-destruction and he was hell-bent on turning the child around.

A new town. A new career. A new way of life. That’s what he wanted.

He blamed himself and refused to blame Marci any longer. The lengthy hours at the office, the hours later working at home when he practically ignored his daughter—those were the things he blamed. Not Marci’s leaving. His pattern of the past three years had to change and change dramatically. Izzie was his priority now and he’d be damned if anything or anyone would stand between him and his daughter’s well-being.

“Well, this is it.”

Grace turned and smiled as she pulled the key from the lock and swung the door into the shop. Rick gave himself a mental shake, pulling his thoughts back to the task at hand. But at that point he felt something else, something foreign pull and tug in his chest. Subconsciously sweeping it away, Richard motioned for her to step inside. Watching her let herself into the shop in front of him, he allowed a brief sigh to exit his lips.

She was a graceful beauty whose name suited her well. Tall, long golden-brown tresses. Lovely.

“It really has a nice layout,”

Grace said as she led him further into the room. He watched the slight sway of her hips as she moved ahead of him. The movement reminded him somewhat of a feather being blown forward. Or perhaps, a dancer elegantly exiting the stage.

“The front room is large enough for just about any kind of shop or cafe or what-have-you. There is a nice storage area in the rear, which I’ll show you in a minute, and a small bathroom. And of course, as I mentioned, the apartment upstairs goes with it.”

She stopped and he sensed her staring at him.

“Mr. Price?”

He glanced away and cleared his throat. No, he’d been wrong. It was he who was staring at her.

“Yes, it is a nice layout.”

He glanced about the room, taking mental notes as he panned the area. Yes, it might just do. It needed some work, but he wasn’t afraid of hard work. In fact, after sitting behind a desk the past several years, he was looking forward to some mindless labor. He could almost feel the weight of a hammer in his hand.

“What about water? Other than the bathroom, I mean. Any problem with piping some plumbing into this main room? I can foot that bill, of course.”

Grace Hart tossed a baffled glance his way then looked out over the room again.

“Water? In this part?”

“Just for a serving area,”

he glanced to his right, to the wall dividing his shop from Grace’s.

“maybe over there, against the wall.”

She followed his gaze.

“Serving area? So, you are thinking of a restaurant or a cafe, Mr. Price?”

Rick swallowed.

“Sure. Cafe. Yes.”

Well, that wasn’t exactly a lie.

Suddenly, her face brightened.

“That’s perfect! The little soup and sandwich place down the street closed a few months ago, so if you open down here, it’s sure to bring more business this way! I’m sure the Chamber of Commerce will be thrilled.”

She smiled broadly in acceptance of his so-called plan. Richard felt a twinge of guilt, and then pulled his gaze away from Grace Hart’s face. Panning the room, he tried to take his mind off his pseudo-lie and picture the plan that was in his mind, mentally transferring it to the space before him.

Yes. With some adjustments, it will do.

He wanted it badly. Bad enough to let a little white lie slip between his lips to get it.

“It’s darned near perfect,”

he said quietly, more to himself than to Grace Hart.

“It’s ugly, Dad.”

Horrified, Rick looked sharply at Izzie.

“Izzie. That was uncalled for. Apologize to Miss Hart.”

He bit out the warning, mentally chastising himself for being so blunt.

A small pained expression etched over Izzie’s face, tearing at his heart. Immediately, he reached out to touch her face and started to apologize himself. She jerked away.

“Well, you know, I’d really have to agree, Isabella.”

Grace laughed feebly.

Rick slowly turned his gaze back to her. His heart, however, was heavy with Izzie’s pain. Damn him. He’d gone and done it again.

“The last tenants left quickly and didn’t do a very good job at cleaning up. I’ve just been putting it off. Of course, I’ll have it cleaned before you would rent.”

“Still doesn’t give a child the reason to voice a rude opinion,”

Richard offered.

This time Grace’s face held the puzzled look.

“Really, it’s all right. She was just saying what she thought. There is no harm done.”

Rick glanced back at his daughter.

“I’d like for you to apologize to Ms. Hart, Isabella.”

“Really, there is no need.”

Rick ignored Grace and held his daughter’s gaze.

“Isabella?”

Izzie peered up at him through curled bangs. She held his stare for a minute then slowly turned to look at Grace. “Sorry,”

she muttered.

Rick didn’t think she meant it.

An instant later, Grace Hart stepped closer to Izzie and crouched down so that she was eye-level with the child. He watched as Grace took one of Izzie’s small hands in her long, slim fingers and smiled.

“Apology accepted,”

she said, while patting Izzie’s palm. After a moment, she continued.

“But I perfectly understand what you mean, Isabella.”

“Izzie,”

the child corrected.

Grace nodded.

“Oh yes, of course. Izzie. It’s a wonderful name, you know? I really like it.”

Rick watched a smug expression sprout across his daughter’s face. “So do I,”

she returned.

Grace smiled broadly and something caught in Rick’s chest. Her smile was infectious. Pleasant. Warm. Soothing almost.

Izzie must like it, too, because she was grinning right back her.

“You know,”

Grace began again, searching Izzie’s face.

“I bet a girl like you would like a little snack about now.”

She glanced at the watch on her delicate wrist.

“In fact, it’s almost ten o’clock. I think a mid-morning snack is in order. What do you think?”

Izzie cocked her head to one side and squinted.

“Well, I did have an early breakfast.”

“That clinches it!”

Grace dropped Izzie’s hands.

“Over in my shop, back in the corner where the big chairs are, there is a plate of cookies and a pot of tea. You do like tea, don’t you?”

Izzie frowned.

“Hot or cold?”

“Well, it’s probably lukewarm by now but I’m sure it’s just fine for you. It’s chocolate-raspberry.”

Grace smiled again.

“I’m sure you’ll like it.”

Izzie’s eyes widened.

“Chocolate tea?”

Grace nodded.

“Yes. Isn’t that fun?”

She glanced up to Richard and then rising, motioned toward the door.

“Please help yourself, Izzie.”

Rick watched his daughter’s gaze dart from him to the door, saw her tongue rake over her lower lip and her eyes glaze over in the hopes of a sugar rush. He had to head this one off at the pass.

He reached out and snagged Izzie’s arm before she got away.

“That’s very kind of you Ms. Hart, but—”

“Now, please don’t tell me your one of those parents who deprives your children of sugar, Mr. Price?”

Her eyebrows arched in anticipation of the answer to that question.

Rick swallowed the words on his tongue.

“Well, actually—”

“That’s what I thought.”

Grace crouched down to look Izzie in the eyes again.

“Now why don’t you run along and find those cookies and the tea so your father and I can talk business for a few minutes. We’ll join you in a little while.”

Izzie’s gaze met Rick’s once more. Briefly.

“Okay!”

she replied and then was off in a flash.

“Izzie!”

Rick started after her.

“She’ll be fine, Mr. Price.”

“But you don’t understand.”

He started toward the door.

“Mr. Price.”

Rick felt a warm hand on his lower arm and it momentarily threw him off-kilter. He glanced down and took in the slim fingers resting there.

Grace Hart tapped those fingers on his forearm.

“She’ll be fine. I promise,”

she said.

“Now why don’t you and I finish looking over the shop and get down to business.”

Rick met Grace’s gaze again for about the hundredth time in the past fifteen minutes. This time, however, their gazes seemed to interlock and mingle and play some sort of betcha-I-can-hold-the-stare-longer game.

Suddenly, he was only thinking of one thing. Just what kind of business did Ms. Grace Hart really want to get down to?

He was misreading her, he was certain.

Grace Hart was all business, right down to the core. Feminine? Yes. Savvy? Definitely. Sophisticated? Absolutely. Sexy? Well, yeah. That, too. But he was trying not to think about it.

Above all, she’d showed some heart and compassion with Izzie a few minutes earlier, and that was an attractive attribute that caught his attention.

There was more to Ms. Grace Hart than business, but business was the name of the game right now. Nothing less, nothing more.

Izzie. My God. The havoc she could wreak next door. Praying that she would behave, he turned away once more to glance toward the door still open to the street.

It was at that instant he heard the tinkering, lingering, oh-God-don’t-let-that-be-what-I-think-it-is crash—then an impish shriek followed by a loud, child-like gasp.

He knew that shriek and gasp all too well.

Abruptly, he looked back into Grace Hart’s face and watched her eyes grow rounder than the elegant saucers he’d spied on the dainty table with the fancy cookies and the delicate tea pot in the prim and fancy shop next door a few minutes earlier.

Oh, hell. Hell!

****

“Izzie!”

Gracie watched as Richard Price took off in a flash toward her store. Her heart leapt to her throat just seconds earlier at the thought of poor Izzie lying amid shards of glass and splinters of china.

She raced after him.

It was her fault. All her fault.

Dammit!

He’d tried to stop her, tried to tell her he didn’t want his child to have cookies and tea. But no, she had to push the issue. Some minute, maternal instinct had wormed its way to the surface and manipulated her into plying the child with cookies and tea, which now, of course, was leading to disaster.

Her brain was spinning like a carnival ride.

Oh, Lord, she silently prayed, please let the child be all right. And please let Richard Price not be too mad. And please let this be just a minor little skirmish that won’t prevent him from wanting to rent the place from me.

She didn’t really understand why, but she needed Richard Price. She needed him to rent the place next door and she needed him for—oh hell, some reason she really didn’t quite understand yet. But more than that, she had the distinct feeling that he needed her. Izzie, too.

When and where she’d decided that, she wasn’t quite sure. Perhaps it had something to do with the way Izzie looked into her eyes a few minutes ago.

Gracie rushed through the door and into her shop. Damn, damn, damn maternal instincts!

What the hell do I know about maternal instincts? For all I know mine could be cracked off-kilter since the opportunity to be maternal has not yet once presented itself into my life.

She entered her shop just behind Richard and raced to the back. Her eyes darted back and forth, scanning the room, trying to find Izzie. She didn’t see her.

Richard stopped abruptly in front of her and she plowed into him from behind with an oof!

“Sorry,”

she said as she planted her feet and peered around him. Richard, unmoving, didn’t answer.

She glanced at the table, the glass inset piece teetered off the edge.

The place was a mess.

Her teapot was a goner.

The cookies were smashed to smithereens.

Her favorite cookie plate was now in three distinct pieces.

And even worse, it seemed upon closer inspection, that Izzie had vamoosed.

“Izzie!”

Richard bellowed.

Gracie backed up, the sound of his stern voice startling her. She studied him from the side. Etched into his face was worry and anger and frustration and a host of other things probably, that she couldn’t quite define. The tendons of his neck were taut and prominent, and his jaw was firmly set.

“Isabella!”

Silence. Gracie slipped her gaze away from Richard’s face to pan the room again, more slowly this time. Izzie couldn’t have gone far, there wouldn’t have been time.

Unless, of course, she’d slipped out the back door.

“Isabella Price!”

Richard was still unmoving, as though he’d played this game before with his daughter, and that the name of the game was: when he bellowed, she jumped. Well, so far, Izzie wasn’t jumping.

She wondered when the middle name—

“Isabella Marcia Price!”

There. There it was. Gracie now wondered if the child would appear.

More silence.

Slipping away from Richard, Gracie edged toward the back of the shop. He bellowed out his daughter’s name once more and she had to wonder why he thought the girl would come out of hiding with subsequent bellowings, if she didn’t emerge after the first one.

Perhaps paternal instincts were somewhat different from maternal ones.

Mentally shrugging, Gracie traveled quietly toward the rear of the store, silently easing her way through the half-open door and glanced to her right into the storage room.

Her shop was the mirror image of Richard’s. The rental side had the storage area to the left, bathroom to the right. Hers was the opposite. The units shared the back stairway that led to the apartments above each shop. The bathrooms were tucked beneath that stairway.

Funny, she was already thinking of the shop and apartment as Richard’s. Hm. She shook off that notion and returned to her task—finding Izzie.

Upon quick inspection of the storage area, Gracie realized that Izzie wasn’t there. She supposed she could have hidden behind some boxes or underneath her worktable, but she didn’t think so. Gracie turned to her left.

The stairwell was empty, but something drew her to it. At that point Richard came bursting through the door beside her. He was about to bellow out again, but Gracie put a finger to her lip and tossed him the most urgent look she could muster. He stopped dead in his tracks, a bit perplexed it seemed, and waited.

It was then that she noticed the smear of blood on his forefinger. It looked as if he’d wiped it off the floor or the table or something, it was laced with crumbs and sugar.

“Wait here,”

she said to him, pleading more with her eyes than with her words. Suddenly, she was frightened for Izzie and with the bellowing that man was doing earlier, she didn’t want him to frighten her any further.

Silently, she crept up the stairs, carefully avoiding the steps that creaked, a trick she’d learned over time. Her last tenant of six years had complained incessantly about her climbing the stairs to her apartment late at night after she’d finished her work day, waking him every time.

She made the first landing then followed the stairway’s angle to the left. There she found the child, hunched near the wall clutching one hand with the other, a small trickle of blood oozing out between her fingers.

“Izzie, you’re hurt.”

Gracie crouched down in front of her.

“Let me see.”

The child looked a bit lost and confused at first, not to mention a bit vulnerable, then her eyes caught sight of her father moving up the stairs behind Gracie.

Izzie puffed up her chest, set her jaw, tilted her head, and stuck both hands behind her back.

“Ain’t nothin’,”

she remarked.

Gone was the frightened little girl of a second ago. In her place was one tough little ladyfinger.

Gracie sensed the reason for that tough exterior and tossed a glance over her shoulder. If he bellowed one more time, she told herself, she was going to rudely bellow right back at him.

But he didn’t. Crouching down beside her, getting closer to his daughter, he reached out his hand.

“Izzie, let me see, honey.”

Gracie looked at Mr. Richard Price again. His face was ashen, and beads of perspiration were popping out on his forehead. He was worried. And scared. He may just have redeemed himself in her eyes.

“Okay, baby? Let me see what you did,”

he crooned softly to the child.

“Ain’t nothin’, Dad. It will be okay.”

“You’re bleeding.”

The child shrugged.

“No big deal.”

“Yes, it’s a big deal. You’re hurt and I want to help you. Let’s take a look.”

Isabella Marcia Price glanced from her father, to Gracie, and then back to her father again. After a moment, she slowly pushed her hand forward.

The fleshy part of her palm, right below her thumb, sported a small cut. Gracie noticed that the child’s eyes never left her father’s.

Gingerly, he took her impish hand in his large one and cradled it there.

“This has gotta hurt a bit, Iz. I know it has to.”

She nodded slightly.

Gracie leaned forward. She thought she saw something glimmer in the child’s hand, a reflection of the overhead stairwell light.

“I think there is a piece of glass in there,”

she offered.

Richard looked at Gracie and then back to study his daughter’s palm.

“I think you’re right. Do you have a pair of tweezers around here anywhere?”

Nodding, she replied.

“Sure do. Let’s head upstairs to my apartment.”

Gracie realized then, just as those words escaped her mouth, that this was the first time she’d invited a man into her apartment in, oh, about a thousand years. She wasn’t quite sure she was prepared for it but there was no time to ponder that situation.

There were more pressing things at hand.