Cypress Corners Boxed Set (Books 1-3)
Cypress Corners Boxed Set
Books 1-3
by
JoMarie DeGioia
PUBLISHED BY:
Bailey Park Publishing at Smashwords
Copyright © JoMarie DeGioia 2015
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.
Ebook ISBN: 978-1-944181-00-0
Table of Contents
Copyright
Finding Harmony
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Epilogue
Taming Jake
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue
Loving Cassie
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Epilogue
About the Author
Discover More Books
Connect with Me
Finding Harmony
by
JoMarie DeGioia
PUBLISHED BY:
Bailey Park Publishing
Copyright © JoMarie DeGioia 2013
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.
Cover Artist: Pat Dengate
Chapter 1
Cypress Corners, Florida
“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. 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.
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, round 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 ugly 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. “Yeah, Dad. 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 all the way from Boston. “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 was shifting 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.
“Pitiful,” he grumbled. He got out of the cart. He’d hit the beach and leave the deep thinking to tomorrow.
***
Harmony headed to her camp on the far side of the property to clean herself up before going to the Cypress Corners Institute. She adjusted her backpack on one shoulder and walked down the path, her sturdy boots making soft footfalls on the sand beneath her feet. Thick cotton socks cushioned her steps and the sun warmed her through her camp shirt. She tilted her face up to the sun and took in a breath, smelling earth and pine and fresh air. It almost made her forget the confrontation with the guy from Chapman.
It was October, but true autumn was months away. She loved Central Florida, especially the subtle change of seasons. Tourists seldom noticed the slight variations of color in their surroundings, focusing instead on the nearest theme park or closest beach. She pitied them, mostly Northerners cramming as much “fun” as possible into their weeks’ vacation. Thankfully, few of them came here for their holiday. Cypress Corners didn’t hold that kind of attraction for them. She, however, loved it.
She’d landed her dream job here five months ago, and it seemed her work as a plant conservationist would finally make a difference. The size of the property, sprawled over ten thousand acres of some of the prettiest land in the region, meant she had little human contact except for checking in at the Institute. That suited her just fine. Plants were much easier to figure out than people. Their needs were clear cut, and there was no duplicity or manipulation in their world.
It was quite unusual that more than half the land was set aside as a sanctuary for native plants and animals, but that pleased her to her toes. The rest of it was dedicated to expensive homes, retail stores, and recreational facilities, but she felt no lure toward those aspects of the community.