When Harriet Came Home
Read When Harriet Came Home Online
Authors: Coleen Kwan
When Harriet Came Home
By Coleen Kwan
After ten years of exile, Harriet Brown is back in town. Things have definitely changed, but so has she. Now the confident owner of a catering business, she’s no longer the shy, overweight girl everyone—including her hot teenage crush—used to ignore. In fact, she’s determined to make peace with Adam Blackstone for her part in exposing his father’s secret affairs and corrupt behaviour as mayor.
But Adam has changed as well. No longer a pampered, rich pinup boy, he just wants to reestablish his family’s good name. He reluctantly agrees to a truce with Harriet, and is surprised by how changed she is. He doesn’t
want
to be drawn to her, but he can’t seem to resist her allure.
As Harriet struggles to come to terms with her past, her adolescent infatuation with Adam morphs into something more serious… Will she ever be accepted again? Or will ancient history ruin the chance of a future full of possibilities?
52,000 words
Dear Reader,
What do you get when you cross summer with lots of beach time, and long hours of traveling? An executive editor who’s too busy to write the Dear Reader letter, but has time for reading. I find both the beach and the plane are excellent places to read, and thanks to plenty of time spent on both this summer (I went to Australia! And New Zealand!) I’m able to tell you with confidence: our fall lineup of books is outstanding.
We kick off the fall season with seven romantic suspense titles, during our Romantic Suspense celebration in the first week of September. We’re pleased to offer novella
Fatal Destiny
by Marie Force as a free download to get you started with the romantic suspense offerings. Also in September, fans of Eleri Stone’s sexy, hot paranormal romance debut novel,
Mercy,
can look forward to her follow-up story,
Redemption,
set in the same world of the Lost City Shifters.
Looking to dive into a new erotic romance? We have a sizzling trilogy for you. In October, look for Christine D’Abo’s Long Shot trilogy featuring three siblings who share ownership of a coffee shop, and each of whom discover steamy passion within the walls of a local sex club. Christine’s trilogy kicks off with
Double Shot.
In addition to a variety of frontlist titles in historical, paranormal, contemporary, steampunk and erotic romance, we’re also pleased to present two authors releasing backlist titles with us. In October, we’ll re-release four science fiction romance titles from the backlist of C.J. Barry, and in November four Western romance titles from the backlist of Susan Edwards.
Also in November, we’re thrilled to offer our first two chick lit titles from three debut authors,
Liar’s Guide to True Love
by Wendy Chen and
Unscripted
by Natalie Aaron and Marla Schwartz. I hope you’ll check out these fun, sometimes laugh-out-loud novels.
Whether you’re on the beach, on a plane, or sitting in your favorite recliner at home, Carina Press can offer you a diverting read to take you away on your next great adventure this fall!
We love to hear from readers, and you can email us your thoughts, comments and questions to [email protected]. You can also interact with Carina Press staff and authors on our blog, Twitter stream and Facebook fan page.
Happy reading!
~Angela James
Executive Editor, Carina Press
www.carinapress.com
www.twitter.com/carinapress
www.facebook.com/carinapress
To Simon, Sabrina and Lewis, for all your love and support.
To Claytons Conference 2010, for sparking the idea for this book.
And to Denise Nielsen, for all her hard work and excellent advice.
Fathers are supposed to be invincible. When Harriet Brown was seven, her father rescued her from a burning house. To her he had seemed ten feet tall. But now lying unconscious in the hospital bed after a car accident, his fractured leg encased in plaster and bandages wrapped around his head, he looked frighteningly frail and vulnerable.
Harriet choked back a sob. She had driven three hours from Sydney to Wilmot gnawed with mounting anxiety, only to find him comatose.
“He’s going to be fine. It’s just the morphine,” the nurse told Harriet, giving her a curious look. Harriet hadn’t been back in Wilmot for ten years, and she didn’t recognise the nurse, but the curiosity wasn’t wholly unexpected. “So you’re Ken Brown’s younger daughter?” added the nurse. “I must say you don’t look anything like your sister.”
Harriet had heard that comment countless times when she was growing up. It didn’t have the power to vex her anymore—well, maybe not much.
“I thought Cindy and my mother would be here.” Harriet looked around the ward.
“They were here earlier, but they’ve gone for the day.”
Harriet sat with her dad for half an hour, hoping he would wake up and see that she was here, but he didn’t stir. She smoothed the grey tufts of hair springing from his forehead. Her dad had never let her down. He used to tell her she was the prettiest fairy in town when she knew she was too short and dumpy to be any kind of fairy. He had stood behind her through everything, the only one who had never openly blamed her for what had happened. Now he lay bruised and broken, his skin raw, his eyelids like crepe paper, the air rattling through his throat with every breath he heaved.
Harriet wiped away a stray tear and left. Outside, she drew in a lungful of brisk air and shivered in her thin sweater. Here in the upper Hunter Valley the evening temperatures dropped a lot further than in Sydney. Long autumn shadows stretched across the parking lot as she hurried back to her car. The ten-year-old hatchback looked slightly drunk, listing to one side, and she let out a groan when she saw the flat tire.
She bent down to examine it, and saw the nail embedded in the rubber. Great. Just what she needed. She glanced over her shoulder. The parking lot was deserted. Could someone have done this on purpose? As payback? No. She shook her head. She was just paranoid. No one would vandalise her car because of what she’d done all those years ago. Get a grip, she told herself, standing up and taking a deep breath. It’s just a flat tire. No big deal.
A dark blue pickup truck loaded with ladders and toolboxes pulled into the spot next to her. The man who got out looked familiar.
“Got a problem with your tire there?”
Her stomach went into freefall. She recognized that voice. She gulped hard.
It couldn’t be.
It was.
Adam Blackstone. Almost unrecognisable. Ten years ago he’d had smooth, boyish good looks, designer clothes, and a sports coupé—but now! Now his dark hair was close-cropped, he drove a truck, wore work boots, jeans and a plaid shirt, and he looked rugged and gritty as sandpaper. The prince had turned into a woodcutter. Even his eyes seemed different—still grey, but with tiny creases at the edges and a dark sombreness lying in their smoky depths. The only thing unchanged was the way his mere presence sucked all the oxygen and words from her mouth.
“Miss? Do you need help?”
Fudge.
He didn’t recognise her. Sure, she wasn’t a shy, overweight teenager hiding behind shaggy hair, glasses and baggy clothes anymore but… Was she that forgettable? Surely Adam would remember the girl responsible for his father’s downfall? Her damning photos of Warwick Blackstone, the Lord Mayor of Wilmot, receiving a bribe from a property developer had forced the long-time mayor to resign, and the disgrace had mounted as his financial woes and numerous affairs were subsequently revealed.
Harriet moistened her lips, her tongue feeling thick and useless. “Adam?” she ventured. “Uh, this is awkward. Obviously you don’t recognise me. I’m…”
His head jerked back as recognition crawled across his face. “Hamster Brown.” Sheet lightning flashed in his eyes.
Hamster.
She gritted her teeth. Kids at school used to call her that because she was brown and plump and quiet, but she was no hamster these days. Now she ran her own successful catering business, wore whatever took her fancy and didn’t take nonsense from anyone.
She tossed back her hair. “That’s right, but don’t let me keep you.”
“I didn’t…” A line appeared between his eyes. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I’m sorry about your father.” He sounded gruff.
Fresh tears stung the back of her throat. The last thing she’d expected from him was sympathy. She pinched her lips together and nodded. “I’ve just been to see him. He’s too drugged up to know I was there.” Adam’s dad had died in a car accident a year after the scandal. The local paper had hinted it had been a merciful release for the tortured man. Why was she thinking about that now?
Get a grip,
she told herself.
It wasn’t my fault.
Adam tilted his head toward the hospital. “He’s in good hands here. Everyone knows him.”
His kind words made everything worse. She could feel her lip quivering with emotion. Bad enough running into her old schoolgirl crush, especially when he must despise her, but excruciating to sense he felt sorry for her.
“I’d better be on my way.” She fumbled with her car key and plopped herself into the driver’s seat.
Damn, that flat tire. She would have to call her mother to come and fetch her, assuming her mother was in a fit state to drive. Judging by the near-hysterical phone exchange they’d had earlier, Harriet doubted it. Maybe she’d have to call Cindy. The thought of asking her sister for a favour made her grimace.
A light tap at her window startled her. She wound down the window and peered up at Adam in surprise. She’d assumed he would have disappeared faster than a hot dog at a football final.
“Harriet? I don’t suppose you want a lift home?” He dragged the words out. His reluctance was almost palpable, as was his effort to remain polite.
Harriet’s mouth fell open. “Um…ah…” she stuttered, feeling hot and foolish as she stared into his cool, crisp eyes. “If—if it’s not too much trouble…”
“It’s only a five-minute drive.” He shrugged, unsmiling.
How many times had she fantasised about him offering her a lift? Handsome, heavenly Adam had been every girl’s dream, and Harriet nursed secret, hopeless feelings for him for years. She’d spun visions of riding with Adam in his sports coupé with the top down and the wind blowing through her hair. He would be charming and she would be witty and make him laugh at her jokes. But that was a teenage fantasy; reality was a sobering surprise.
His pickup truck was clean but utilitarian and smelled of wood and paint. The rolled-up sleeves of his plaid shirt revealed brawny, tanned forearms, his dusty, denim-clad thighs seemed too close to her for comfort, and his hands on the steering wheel were big and blunt, with nicks and grazes across the knuckles.
“So, you’re a builder now?” she said tentatively.
He nodded, steering the vehicle down Wilmot’s main street, a wide, four-block avenue shaded with plane trees.
“I didn’t know.”
“Surprised?” An edge shifted into his voice.
She moistened her lips. “I thought you’d have gone back to university…”
“I had other things on my mind.” His eyes crackled with warning at her. “I’m sure I don’t need to remind you.”
Oh boy. She sunk lower in her seat and pretended to study the shops lining the street. Way to go, Harriet. This was precisely why she never came to Wilmot anymore. Ten years ago she’d thought she was doing her civic duty in exposing the mayor, but now she knew better.
The truth is no one likes a snitch.
Especially not in a small country town like Wilmot where everyone and everything was so interconnected.
They cruised past the restaurant her dad had run for twenty-five years, and a dull ache settled in her stomach. The Tuckerbox should have been ablaze with lights, welcoming its early diners which, in Wilmot, were a considerable number. No haute cuisine here—just plain, no-nonsense food. Harriet remembered the peach sundaes and fried chicken her dad used to make whenever she needed cheering up. How she would help him in the kitchen chopping up vegetables and tasting everything. Now the shopfront was dark, its doors locked. She wondered how long it would stay that way.
She glanced up as the vehicle slowed to a halt. A senior citizen was attempting a parallel park without much success. Wordlessly Adam shifted the gearstick into neutral and sat back to wait without a trace of impatience. She darted a look at his impassive profile. When she was growing up the Blackstones had been rich, with the kind of wealth steeped in generations of history. They’d owned vineyards and hundreds of acres of farm land.
Adam was a year older than she, and they’d attended the same school. She’d known him all her life, but prior to today he’d spoken to her maybe six times tops. Each time she’d been too beet-red and tongue-tied to do much more than stutter and stare at her shoes.
Except that one time. She’d fallen off her dad’s dirt bike and Adam had come to her rescue. He had strapped up the cut on her arm, found her glasses for her and dusted off the bike. She’d been anxious—she wasn’t supposed to ride when her parents were away for the weekend—but Adam had assured her the bike was fine. For the first time he’d talked to her as if she was a real person. He’d even seemed impressed she could ride a dirt bike. Afterward, at school he still ignored her, but she didn’t mind. She didn’t expect him to be friends just because he’d come to her aid. She was happy enough that they’d shared a moment of understanding. Now however, as the silence thickened between them, that moment was just a distant memory.
“These shops haven’t changed much in ten years,” she burst out. “I could be eighteen again.”
He grunted, keeping his gaze on the car in front. There was a long pause. “Your dad will be pleased to see you back in Wilmot.”
A flush of heat rose in her chest as guilt kicked into her. She used to have valid excuses for not returning to Wilmot. At first she’d been too busy studying at hotel school, and then she’d moved away, working interstate and overseas, but for the past three years since she’d returned to Sydney, she hadn’t had a proper excuse. Oh, she gave herself all sorts of reasons—setting up her own catering business took all her time, weekends and holidays were her busiest days, and besides, her parents came to visit her in Sydney every few months or so, didn’t they? Despite her justifications, deep inside she knew she’d neglected her parents, especially her father.
“Hi there.” A tall, cool blonde dressed in riding jacket and jodhpurs leaned in at the driver’s side, one manicured hand resting on the window.
Adam nodded at her. “Portia.”
An old yet familiar sensation, like wire threading through her veins, gripped Harriet. Portia Ellerston, Adam’s cousin, had been in the same class as Harriet at Brescia High, but that was about the only thing they had in common.
“Coming to tonight’s committee meeting?” Portia focused all her attention on Adam.
“Of course.” His expression remained wooden. “I’m just giving Harriet a lift home.”
Harriet felt the blood beating in her cheeks. Portia’s careless gaze drifted over her, summing up and dismissing her in an instant. Harriet plastered a bright smile on to her lips. “Hi, Portia! What a surprise running into you. Still into riding, I see.”
Portia’s elegant eyebrows arched up as she looked down her nose at Harriet. “Have we met before?”
The car in front finally manoeuvred into the parking spot. Harriet stretched her smile wider. “Only about a thousand times.”
From behind someone in a hurry leaned on their horn. Portia’s eyes turned to slits as she stared at Harriet. She pursed her lips. The car behind honked again.
Adam put the truck into gear. “Gotta go. I’ll see you at seven.”
Portia backed off, still grimacing at Harriet.
Harriet held her tongue as Portia sauntered off and the truck rumbled forward, but the steam built up inside her head until she felt like a pressure cooker about to blow, and Adam’s silence only added to her frustration.
“Okay,” she finally burst out. “I know I haven’t been back in a long time but heck! People don’t change that much in ten years, do they? Am I completely unrecognisable?”
He actually winced, and she knew she’d taken him by surprise. His hands shifted and tightened on the steering wheel and she thought he was going to ignore her outburst.
“You have changed a lot.” As they swung round a corner, his eyes flickered over her. “For a start you don’t wear glasses anymore, and your hair’s different, and you’re…ah…not so, um…”
She dug her fingers into the seat. “Fat?” she spat out.
He scratched his stubbled jaw then shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah, fat.”
Her breaths came out quick and sharp. Okay, so she had said it first, but he didn’t have to repeat it, did he? She tugged at her purple skirt, suddenly wishing the hem were a few inches longer. She’d thought the skirt flattered her diminutive stature, but maybe she just looked like a freak in it. Maybe she should stick to baggy trousers and oversized sweaters, like she used to.
“It’s not just the weight thing,” Adam continued. “You’re more…sassy, I suppose. That’s why Portia didn’t recognise you.”
Harriet compressed her lips.
Sassy
was just another way of saying
rude,
wasn’t it? Well, she didn’t mind being rude to the Portias of this world anymore. She folded her arms across her chest. “What unfortunate committee has Portia roped you into?”
“Portia hasn’t roped me into anything.” He shot her another penetrating look. “I’m the chairman of the organising committee of the Harvest Ball. It’s being held in a few weeks’ time.”
He gestured toward the church hall next to Saint Luke’s as they drove past, and Harriet spied a big white banner advertising the upcoming Harvest Ball.
“Harvest Ball?” She wrinkled up her brow. “I’ve never heard of it.”
