Husband In Harmony

“I think it’s time we had a look around,” Adam said

Jane nodded, leaning against one of the metal filing cabinets that clearly had seen better days. “Sure. I’ll give you the nickel tour…. Sorry we’re short on the kind of fancy stuff you must be used to.”

But she didn’t look sorry, Adam saw. No, she seemed more amused than anything, as if she was waiting with considerable relish for him to avow needing state-of-the-art technology. Rather than give her the satisfaction, he decided it was time to wipe off that faint smirk.

“What I’m used to doesn’t matter,” he replied bluntly. “What counts is whether I’ll agree to try and pull off a miracle by making this place profitable.”

Her lips, as free of makeup as the rest of her face, thinned in a flash. “Will you?”

Despite the tension between them as they traded glances, he kept his expression bland. “I don’t know yet. We still haven’t finished the nickel tour….”

Husband in Harmony

Sharon Swan

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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For the Phoenix Desert Rose and Valley of the Sun chapters

of RWA and their group of great writers,

with many thanks for the terrific support

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Born and raised in Chicago, Sharon Swan once dreamed of dancing for a living. Instead, she surrendered to life’s more practical aspects, settled for an office job and concentrated on typing and being a big Chicago Bears fan. Sharon never seriously considered writing as a career until she moved to the Phoenix area and met Pierce Brosnan at a local shopping mall. The chance meeting changed her life, because she found herself thinking what if? What if two fictional characters had met the same way? That formed the basis for her first story, and she’s now cheerfully addicted to writing contemporary romance and playing what if?

Sharon loves to hear from readers. You can write her at P.O. Box 21324, Mesa, AZ 85277.

Books by Sharon Swan

HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE

912—COWBOYS AND CRADLES

928—HOME-GROWN HUSBAND

939—HUSBANDS, HUSBANDS…EVERYWHERE! *

966—FOUR-KARAT FIANCÉE

983—HER NECESSARY HUSBAND *

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter One

Adam Lassiter’s frown came fast and hard when he got his first good look at Glory Ridge Resort and Campground in the bright light of an Arizona summer day.

“Do you mean to tell me,” he said to the woman standing beside him, “that people actually pay to stay at this place?”

Jane Pitt stiffened, both at the words and the dry-as-dust tone, but managed not to answer in the same vein. She knew that giving as good as she got—normally her first response to any sort of confrontation—wouldn’t serve her best interests at the moment. However she might privately feel about slick business consultants who probably thought that slaving in a ritzy office was real work, she could put up with one if she had to.

And this one was slick as spit.

Fancy gray suit, fancy red tie, fancy black leather wing tips. Every long, lean inch of him shouted pricey.

“No one has paid to stay here lately,” Jane said with total honesty. She shoved her hands into the pockets of well-worn jeans and flicked her wheat-colored bangs aside with a shake of her head, reminding herself it was time to get the scissors out and whack some off. “That’s why I’m open to advice for changing the situation.”

“Free advice,” her companion pointed out in his low baritone voice. He gazed down at her with steely gray eyes, and for the umpteenth time in her life Jane wished she were taller. At five feet four and not much more than a hundred pounds dripping wet, looking as formidable as she would have liked was hard. But attitude could make a difference. She’d found that out early on.

“In exchange for a free stay at one of the cabins,” she countered. “I don’t want something for nothing.” She might not be big, but she had lots of pride.

His expression turned wary as he aimed another look at the small log cabins set against towering pines now rustled by a warm breeze. “Are there any safe enough to stay in? I’d hate to hear a roof collapsing on me in the middle of the night.”

“The roofs are sound.” She wouldn’t mention the leaks. “The whole place just needs some fixing up.”

“I’ll say.” He blew out a breath and ran a long-fingered hand through his dark, expertly cut hair. “From what I’ve seen, the best thing you’ve got going for you is the view.”

Jane switched around to take in a scene that would impress the most jaded of people. Low mountains encircled the small, sun-splashed city of Harmony, located a hundred winding miles northeast of Phoenix and its lower desert regions. Glory Ridge ran along the side of one of those mountains. The resort named after the ridge became part of the picture back when Harmony was a much younger version of itself.

“I grew up there, you know,” the man at her side said matter-of-factly.

“In Harmony?” Jane faced him again. “I figured you might have when the top guy at Hayward Investments recommended you. He said you were his cousin.” In fact, Ross Hayward, who she’d been told by people in the know was good for some guidance, had suggested that Adam Lassiter’s talents were just what she needed. She had to hope it was so.

“I grew up on a small ranch on the other side of this mountain,” she offered by way of information.

He nodded. “So you’re a native of the area, too. Hmm. I can’t say that I remember the name Pitt.”

“Probably because my family didn’t get into town much,” she allowed. She could have added that her father, with his gruff-as-a-bear nature, had never been eager to spend time in a city that prided itself on its friendliness. “I was homeschooled until my mother died after a short illness. By then, I was fourteen and ready for Harmony High.”

“You don’t appear to be much more than fourteen now,” he stated, casting a critical eye over her.

Jane stiffened again in an automatic reaction. “I’m double that, Mr. Lassiter.”

If he heard the irritation underscoring that statement, he ignored it. “My own family moved to the Phoenix area when I was still a kid,” he told her. “I’m thirty-four now—and it’s Adam.”

She couldn’t even imagine him as a boy. The man he’d become was far too self-assured.

“I go by just plain Jane,” she said, well aware that truer words had never been spoken. She was plain down to her toes, something her late father had pointed out on a regular basis. At the moment, she could hardly deny that Adam Lassiter, with all his polish, made her feel even plainer. Well, to heck with it, Jane thought. She was what she was.

Adam caught the swift squaring of slender shoulders covered by a checked cotton shirt. He knew the woman he viewed was a long way from thrilled with him—had known it almost from the minute he’d pulled into the parking lot a short distance from the largest cabin in the group, which seemed to serve as the resort’s headquarters. After one clearly unimpressed glance at his low-slung sports car, her hazel eyes had fixed on him as she’d walked over to introduce herself, stray strands of her short hair ruffling in the wind. And what he’d seen in her gaze could hardly be called approval.

Not that he should care one way or the other. And not that he’d even be here if he didn’t have his own agenda. Whether he decided to take Jane Pitt up on her offer would depend on how much it suited his goals as well as hers.

“I think it’s time for a better look around,” he said.

She nodded. “Sure, I’ll give you the nickel tour.”

Which was all a tour might wind up being worth, Adam reflected. He had to admit that he’d been thrown off balance by what he’d seen so far. For all the beauty of the surrounding area, no one with eyes could deny that the resort was in sad shape—a lot sadder shape than he’d bargained on. “Should we start here?” he asked, keeping his tone mild as he indicated the larger cabin with a slant of his head. “I assume that’s where the office is.”

“Right.” Jane led the way down a short gravel path, then up a step and across a narrow covered porch. She tugged open an old screen door and stepped inside.

Adam followed her into a room bordered by thick log walls and saw mostly what he’d expected to see. The scene gave, he thought, a whole new meaning to the phrase no frills. Nothing had probably been altered much from the time the place was first built. A long counter, the green tiles topping it scarred with age, stood at one side of the room and an ancient refrigerator at the other.

Jane glanced over at him. “Want a can of cold pop?”

He would have preferred bottled water, but he only nodded. Something told him you took what you could get with this woman. “I can help myself,” he said.

For the first time, she smiled a faint smile, showing a hint of small white teeth. “Good. I like a man who doesn’t expect to be waited on.”

Adam let that comment hang and started for the refrigerator. When he opened it he found several varieties of soda sharing space with two large coffee cans. “Looks as though someone has a caffeine habit.”

“I like it as well as the next person,” Jane said, “but one of those cans happens to be home to some worms.”

Adam resisted the urge to grimace—he had a hunch that would please her far too much. Instead, he calmly chose a can of cola and closed the refrigerator.

“Ever been worm hunting…Adam?” she asked, using his given name for the first time.

“Not lately…Jane,” he replied, and popped the can open. He didn’t miss the amused glint in her eye as he took a long swallow. Okay, so he hadn’t gone digging for fish bait since he was a kid, and even then he hadn’t done it that often. If he wanted to be candid, he could tell her that he wasn’t much of an outdoorsman—not the kind who would find this type of setting familiar, at any rate. But why admit it? If he decided to stay here, she’d probably discover it soon enough.

He glanced toward another doorway. “Is that the office?”

“Uh-huh.” She started past him, her low brown boots scraping on the slatted wood floor. “Next stop on the tour.”

Now he did grimace. The office was a far cry from the spacious suite he shared with a tax specialist and an investment counselor on the upper floor of a chrome and glass building in downtown Phoenix. Here, modern efficiency obviously didn’t rule. In fact, it was nowhere in sight.

Both the small pine desk and tall metal filing cabinets had seen better days. Two chairs and a short table holding an empty coffeemaker—all of which might be judged antiques by some and junk by others—completed the furnishings. In the stark light streaming in through a bare window, everything appeared so much a part of the past that the contemporary phone and answering machine combination resting on the desk seemed out of place. The best thing he would say about the room was that it, like the outer room, was clean. Working up a shine would be hard, but dirt and dust had clearly been dealt with.

“Sorry we’re short on the kind of fancy stuff you must be used to,” Jane said as she leaned a shoulder against one of the cabinets.

But she didn’t look sorry, Adam saw with a sidelong glance. No, she still seemed more amused than anything, as if she were waiting with considerable relish for him to avow needing state-of-the-art technology. Rather than giving her that satisfaction, he decided it was time to wipe off that faint smirk.

“What I’m used to doesn’t matter,” he replied bluntly, turning to meet her eyes. “What counts is whether I’ll agree to try and pull off a miracle by making this place profitable.”

Her lips, as free of any makeup as the rest of her face, thinned in a flash. “Will you?”

Despite the thick tension between them as they traded stares, he kept his gaze bland. “I don’t know yet. We still haven’t finished the nickel tour.”

SHE STARTED the next leg of the tour with the word miracle still ringing in her mind. Was that what she expected Adam Lassiter to pull off? He’d just said so in no uncertain terms, and maybe he was right, Jane had to concede, even though his candor had spiked her blood pressure.

After all, she’d known from the day she’d become determined to put the resort back on the map that it wouldn’t be easy. But that didn’t mean she intended to give up. Not hardly.

“How did you wind up the owner of this place?” Adam asked as they strolled toward the weathered log cabin closest to the office. Like its fellow cabins, it had a name. The rough wooden sign over the narrow front doorway declared this one to be Squirrel Hollow.

“My great-aunt left it to me when she passed away this spring,” Jane explained.

He slid her a probing sidelong glance. Apparently, he caught at least a trace of sadness in her calm expression, one born of the recent loss of someone she’d both admired and been so fond of, because he said, “I’m sorry.”

Jane climbed two short steps up to a narrow porch that held a spindled rocker dulled by age. “Thanks,” she told him. “I appreciate the thought. Although,” she added with typical frankness, “I have to admit that Maude Pitt would be the last person to invite anyone to mourn her. She’d say that she lived a good life doing exactly what she wanted to do. Which was run this place as she saw fit without wasting time taking orders from the male half of the population.”

“Hmm.” Adam slid another glance her way. This time it was one more rueful than probing. “Why am I thinking that you take after her?”

A wry smile tugged at her lips. “Because I just might in some ways, I suppose. I started helping out around here when I was still a child. Even though she was hardly the motherly type—she’d never had much desire to marry and raise a bunch of kids—Maude taught me a lot.” And provided a refuge from a family situation by no means always happy, Jane reflected.

What would she have done had she not been able to ride her bike over the mountain and Maude and Mother Nature had not taken her to another, far less quarrelsome, world? Jane didn’t have an answer for that question. She could only be grateful that Glory Ridge Resort and Campground had been there for her at a time when she’d needed it most.

It hadn’t taken her long as a young girl to fall in love with the place, that was for sure. And she still loved it, even though it had only continued to slide downhill during her aunt’s declining years.

That was why she was willing to deal with slick consultants—even one who might be the slickest of the bunch.

“This cabin will give you an idea of what the rest are like,” Jane said, opening the screen door, then the simple wood door behind it. She didn’t say that this was the best of the lot, although it was. It had two bedrooms. And no leaks in the roof. At least, she’d seen no signs of any.

Adam didn’t hesitate to investigate, checking out the small living room with adjoining kitchen and even smaller bedrooms—themselves large compared with the tiny bath.

“So it doesn’t get any better than this,” he said at last with a gusty sigh, clearly intimating that the cabin had seen few changes during the past several decades.

“That’s right,” she replied.

In fact, it got worse. Many of the cabins, including the one she occupied a stone’s throw away, had a single bedroom and a roof sporting at least a few holes. Still, the place she called home these days suited her, leaks and all. Like her great-aunt before her, she happily traded the comforts many considered a part of everyday living for the chance to experience another sort of life entirely. But this man…

“If you decide to stay,” she told Adam, “you can have this cabin. It’s not the Ritz—”

“You can say that again,” he muttered.

“But,” she said, forging on, “it has hot water, thanks to an electric water heater, and the stove, refrigerator and all the lights around the place work fine.”

She didn’t bother to point out that the appliances were downsized versions, a necessity rather than a choice with space at a premium; or that the overhead light fixtures and scattered lamps were a lot more functional than fancy. Not to mention that the rest of the cabin’s furnishings, including the sturdy pine living-room chairs with the faded plaid cushions, could be termed “old-fashioned rustic”—a definite emphasis on old. But Adam Lassiter had taken note of all of that, she recognized, though he started for the porch without saying as much. Or saying anything.

Once they were outside again, Jane resumed her role of tour guide with dogged determination. “Quail Lake is this way,” she said, and began to stride down a winding path through the trees. “A creek that feeds into it circles through the middle of the resort before it ends at the lake,” she explained. Moments later they came to an arched wooden bridge just wide enough to allow two people to cross side by side.

“I assume this is the creek, even though it doesn’t seem to be feeding water into anything at the moment,” Adam said, looking over a short, slatted railing at a hollowed-out patch of rocky ground.

“That’s why it’s called Dry Creek,” she told him. “It’s only wet when it rains enough higher up in the mountains to fill it with some of the run off. Then it can hold anywhere from a trickle to several feet of water. I even recall Aunt Maude saying that it overflowed its banks once.”

More cabins lined the path on the other side of the bridge. “Jackrabbit Junction,” Adam murmured, reading the sign on the first cabin they came to. Behind it, another was barely visible at the top of a small hill. “What’s that one called?” he asked.

“Eagle’s Nest.” Jane matched her stride to his, something she had to work at since her legs were nowhere near as long as Adam Lassiter’s.

“I suppose that fits,” he allowed.

The last cabin on the tour was Angler’s Lair, located only yards from Quail Lake. A bird whistled high overhead as Jane led the way down to her favorite spot at Glory Ridge, and in a matter of moments they were standing close enough to hear the gentle slap of water against a winding, grassy shore.

“Well, this is another plus for the place,” Adam acknowledged as he stared out at the deep blue lake sparkling in the sunshine.

He hadn’t spared more than a glance at the rickety dock and the old rowboats tied there, some with outboard motors. No, right now the quiet lake, looking much as it probably had when the first settlers arrived, drew his attention, as it always drew hers.

“Quail Lake is a long way from being the biggest body of water in the region,” she said, “but it’s got to be the most beautiful.”

“You could be right,” he told her. “Is it part of the resort property?”

“Yes. The fact that the lake is privately owned has always been a plus, because fishermen don’t have to invest in a license to try their luck here.”

“Still, a lot of them have decided to try their luck elsewhere,” he said, shifting his gaze from the lake to her. And who could blame them? an ironic slant of his chiseled mouth seemed to add.

Refusing to bristle again, Jane opted for the simple truth. “Several other resorts targeting not only the fishing crowd but hikers and other outdoor types have opened in the area during the past several years, and since their facilities are newer, it’s taken its toll.”

He lifted a hand and ran it through his hair. “But you still want to make a go of this place.”

Although it was a statement rather than a question, Jane answered. “I do. I have some of Aunt Maude’s life insurance money left, plus what I’ve managed to save by taking whatever work I could find in Harmony, in addition to working here. It’s a considerable sum—or it is to me.”

Because tiptoeing around any subject had seldom been her style, Jane went on to disclose her current balance at the town’s largest bank. It was probably nowhere near a successful consultant’s bank account. Nevertheless, it had one of Adam’s eyebrows lifting.

“I guess you know how to save money,” he said.

She dipped her head in a brisk nod. “I don’t usually spend much on myself.”

For an instant, his eyes raked her from head to toe. She could all but hear him thinking, That’s obvious. However, he said only, “Well, it’s definitely enough to give you a good start on making some changes around here.”

Changes Jane was ready to make. Finally. Maude, for all her talent at plain talk, had put off discussing any improvements, even though her great-niece had pressed her more than once. The delay had served no purpose but to send still more outdoorsmen off to other places to spend their money. It was time—past time, Jane knew—to act.

“What I need now is some savvy advice on what changes would appeal to the most customers,” she said. Her gaze met Adam’s. “Will you take me up on my offer?”

He studied her for a long moment. “I just might…provided you can meet my conditions. One, actually.”

A condition? That was the first she’d heard of anything along those lines. “And what would that be?” Jane asked carefully.

“If I decide to act as your consultant, I want to bring my son with me when I come back to stay here.”

She was surprised and knew it showed. Somehow, she hadn’t imagined this man with children. Or a wife, for that matter. Despite telling herself on first seeing him that she wasn’t interested one way or the other, she’d noticed that he wore no wedding ring. He’d probably noticed the same thing about her—and not that he cared, either.

Jane arched a brow. “How, uh, old is your son?”

“Eight. His name is Sam.” Adam shoved his hands into the pockets of his crisply pressed trousers. “Although I share custody with my ex-wife, Sam stays with her most of the year and spends his summers with me. After Ariel and I divorced a few years ago, she moved back to Boston, where she grew up.”

He had—or used to have—a wife named Ariel? Talk about fancy, Jane thought. Then again, it only made sense that this man would have chosen a far-from-average woman as his bride. “How did your son wind up being called Sam?” she had to ask. Bestowing such a simple name seemed out of character for parents who were hardly ordinary.

“Actually, it’s Samuel Lawrence, after both his grandfathers,” Adam explained.

“I see.” She paused. “Is he here in Arizona now?”

Adam nodded. “He’s spending the day with my folks, who live in Scottsdale.”

Oh, right. Jane did a mental eye roll. Of course his parents would live in Scottsdale, one of the ritziest sections of Phoenix. She’d never been to Scottsdale. Or anywhere else, she had to admit. But that didn’t mean she was pining to see the world. She truly wasn’t. She was content—more than content—where she was.

“I suppose,” she allowed, “if a boy likes the outdoors, he might enjoy spending a summer in the mountains.”