Perfect Harmony (Harmony Falls, Book Two)

By Elizabeth Kelly

He's worth the wait...

Grace knows she can never have what she wants most...

Her best friend’s brother.

Sheriff Gideon Walker is off limits, but the small-town life of Harmony Falls makes avoiding him impossible. Her childhood crush isn’t making it any easier on her... not when his strict hands-off policy has inexplicably disappeared.

But her parents’ history of conditional love has left Grace doubting her own worth.

Gideon knows being with Grace could tear the ties with his fragile sister apart.

So he’s spent the better part of a decade avoiding that forbidden fruit.

But when Grace needs his help, he can’t resist. Especially after discovering that between the sheets she’s more than happy to submit to his control.

Keeping their attraction hidden from his sister proves untenable, and as their relationship deepens, Gideon’s fears about losing Grace become impossible to ignore.

Will Gideon’s fear and Grace’s self-doubt tear them apart? Or will they finally realize they’re stronger together?

Author’s Note: “Perfect Harmony” is Book Two in The Harmony Falls Series. It is a stand-alone story in the series.

Please note that this book contains steamy and explicit sex scenes and may not be your cup of tea. It is intended for mature audiences only.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Elizabeth Kelly
• Release date: Mar 8, 2020
• ISBN: 9781774460078

Elizabeth Kelly

Elizabeth Kelly was born and raised in Ontario, Canada. She moved west as a teenager and now lives in Alberta with her husband and a menagerie of pets. She firmly believes that a human can survive solely on sushi and coffee, and only her husband's mad cooking skills stops her from proving that theory.Sign up for her monthly newsletter: https://landing.mailerlite.com/webforms/landing/r0h6b7Check out her website at: www.elizabethkelly.caYou can email her at:[e-mail] also writes contemporary and paranormal romance under her alter-ego "Ramona Gray". Check out Ramona's books at www.ramonagray.ca

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Seven years ago

Y ou about to pussy out on me?

Gideon shifted on the chair he was straddling before laying his arms across the back of the seat and resting his forehead on them. Keep going.

He could almost feel Preacher’s gaze burrowing into his throbbing back. A few seconds later, the buzz of the tattoo gun started again, and Gideon forced himself not to flinch.

Why the hell had he let the tattoo artist talk him into such a detailed tattoo?

The tattoo shop owner, a man inexplicably named Greaser, ambled over, bringing the scent of stale cigarettes and body odour with him. That lion’s looking pretty good.

Preacher grunted out a thanks, barely heard above the sound of the tattoo gun.

You gonna add some shading to that side?

The tattoo gun clicked off, and Gideon flinched when Preacher swiped across his abraded skin with a cloth. You gonna let me do my fucking job?

All right, all right. Greaser held his hands up. What the fuck crawled up your ass and died this morning?

Fuck off, Greaser, Preacher snarled.

Watch your mouth, Greaser said, but his words had no heat.

Gideon didn’t blame him. Preacher was the only guy Gideon knew who was bigger than him. Considering Gideon was just shy of 6’4" and Preacher had at least an inch on him, it officially put Preacher in the ‘do not fuck with me’ category for most people who met him. The tattoo artist was built lean like Gideon was, but Gideon figured he was still at least two thirty-five, maybe two forty.

The gun buzzed to life again, and this time, when he couldn’t help but flinch, Preacher snorted behind him. You need me to hold your hand for a bit. Maybe call your mommy for you?

Gideon grimaced as the needle danced over his skin. Tell me why I give you my money for this kind of pain again?

Because I’m the best artist in this whole fucking city, Preacher said. And chicks dig tattoos.

I thought it was scars they dug, Greaser said.

Gideon couldn’t see it, but from the way Greaser walked away, he figured Preacher was giving him the look. Gideon had been on the receiving end of it himself, but after four years of friendship with the tattoo artist, he was mostly immune to it. Mostly.

God, I hate that fucking asshole, Preacher said under his breath. He fucking sucks as a boss, and half the time he’s so fucking jacked on coke he can’t tattoo worth shit. He keeps fucking up the clients the way he is, and this place is gonna go under. He’s barely keeping it afloat now.

Give you a reason to open your own shop finally, Gideon said.

Preacher didn’t reply, and Gideon craned his neck to stare at him over his shoulder. You talk to Vic about that business loan yet?

Preacher continued tattooing, filling in stroke after stroke of the lion’s mane across the back of Gideon’s right shoulder. If Gideon didn’t know him better, he’d think Preacher’s concentration was so focused he hadn’t heard him.

He knew him better.

I gave you Vic’s number for a reason, Gideon said. He said he might be able to help. Call him.

Preacher shut off the tattoo gun and wiped across the tattoo. No bank manager is gonna give an ex-con a fucking loan.

You won’t know until you ask, Gideon said. At least call him and make an appointment.

I met with him this morning. Preacher’s jaw was tense, and a muscle ticked at his temple.

And?

Like I said, no bank manager is gonna give an ex-con a loan.

Gideon muttered a curse. Sorry, man.

Preacher just shrugged before he tilted his neck back and forth, working out the kinks. Gideon shook out the tension in his shoulders and arms, hating the thick disappointment that radiated from Preacher in waves.

If you can sit another couple hours, I’ll finish this today, Preacher said.

His back already felt like mincemeat, but Gideon nodded. Preacher would never come right out and say it, but he needed a friend right now. Sounds good.

He grabbed the bottle of water on the floor next to his chair and took a long drink before leaning forward and resting his arms on the back of the chair again.

Preacher started tattooing, and Gideon raised his voice above the buzzing. You wanna get a beer after this?

Thought you had a game tonight with your cop friends, Preacher said.

I can miss it.

Preacher huffed out a laugh. Bullshit. You never miss baseball.

You should join the league, Gideon said.

Sports aren’t my thing, Preacher said.

So, you try something new. It won’t kill you, Gideon said. The guys would love to -

You seriously trying to pull that horseshit on me? Preacher stopped tattooing. Your cop buddies can’t figure out why the fuck we’re even friends. You think I don’t see how they look at me on poker night?

They’re just pissed because you take all their money, Gideon said.

Not my fault they fucking suck at poker, Preacher said.

It’s kinda cute, you know. The cop and the robber being best buds, Greaser called out from his station. It’s like that cartoon cat and mouse … what the hell were their names again? Tom and Harry?

Jerry, you fucking moron, Preacher said. Now, do me a favour and mind your own fucking business.

Harry and Jerry don’t sound right, Greaser muttered before returning to his sketch book. Gideon stared at the floor as Preacher resumed tattooing. He knew the guys at the precinct found his friendship with Preacher strange, but he didn’t care. Preacher had served his time behind bars and kept his nose clean since his release. Hell, his parole would be finished in another two months, and he would have real freedom again.

Their friendship shouldn’t have worked, but it had since Gideon walked into the tattoo shop four years ago. Preacher didn’t exactly have a heart of gold, but he was a good man, despite how hard he tried to hide it.

The tattoo covered ex-con had become one of his closest friends – he was probably his best friend – since Gideon had moved to New Cassel. Homesick for his hometown of Harmony Falls and missing his family, he’d decided to get a tattoo on a whim. An old school rose on his left shoulder, like his father's. He’d booked an appointment at the first tattoo shop that came up on Google, choosing Preacher as his artist because he had the next available opening.

Gideon smiled a little. The rest, as they said, was history.

We still on for Friday night? Gideon asked.

Nah, man, I can’t make it this time.

Why not? Preacher might refuse to join the softball league but never missed their monthly poker night.

Got other plans.

Preacher’s voice sounded off. Gideon turned, eliciting a curse from Preacher as he yanked the tattoo gun away from Gideon’s back. The fuck, man? You trying to mess up your tattoo?

Gideon studied Preacher’s face. What are your other plans?

Who are you, my goddamn mother? I got plans, okay? Preacher made a twirling motion with his finger. Turn the fuck around so I can finish.

Gideon continued to study him, and Preacher rolled his eyes. "Dinner with some old friends. There, you happy, Mom?"

Why are you lying to me?

I’m not, Preacher said, but he wouldn’t look Gideon in the eye.

Preacher, what -

Drop it, Gideon, Preacher said.

Gideon turned back around. He hadn’t been a cop for all that long, but he’d already started to develop that tingling at the base of his skull that his partner, a twenty-five-year veteran named Maurice, called ‘cop sense’.

The tingle was there now. So strong that it made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Preacher was lying to him. He didn’t know why Preacher was lying, but he had a bad fucking feeling about it.

Tell me something. Maurice glanced at him as he stopped at a red light.

What’s that? Gideon scanned the empty street around them. It was almost three in the morning, and anyone out at this time of the night would be suspicious.

How many ladies do you get just because of your weird eyes?

Gideon laughed. Knock it off, Maurice.

I’m serious. I’m fifty-two years old, and I’ve never met anyone with two different coloured eyes before. To tell you the truth, a guy with one blue eye and one green eye freaks me out a little, but I imagine the ladies go crazy for it. What’s it called again? The condition you have?

It’s called heterochromia, and it’s not a condition. You make it sound like I have some sort of disease, for God’s sake, Gideon said with another laugh.

Maurice just shrugged. The ladies like it, though, don’t they?

Yeah, Gideon admitted.

Knew it. Ain’t none of the ladies ever take a second gander at my eyes. Guess that’s what happens when they’re shit brown. Maurice stepped on the gas when the light turned green.

You starting to regret taking the extra shift? Maurice turned left and cruised down the quiet and empty street.

No.

You missed out on poker night. Maurice scanned the street as he drove.

Probably a good thing. The guys were getting tired of me taking their money, Gideon said.

Maurice grunted out a laugh. More like the ex-con taking their money.

The ex-con has a name.

What the hell kind of name is Preacher anyway? Maurice said. Sure as shit, he’s no fucking choir boy. I don’t care how good he’s been since he paroled out.

Gideon frowned when Maurice pulled over and parked. What are you doing?

Maurice jerked his thumb to a car across the street. Speak of the choir boy himself.

Gideon squinted in the darkness. The car was parked well away from the puddle of light the streetlamp cast on the ground, but he still recognized Preacher. A man his size was hard not to recognize.

What the fuck is he doing just sitting there? Maurice said.

I don’t know. I’ll find out. Gideon opened the car door as Maurice settled back in the driver’s seat, reaching for his phone. The Candy Crush music drifted from Maurice’s phone, and Gideon climbed out quickly, shutting the door to muffle the annoying music.

He crossed the street, tugging at his vest and turning his radio down. He stopped in front of the driver’s door. His big hands gripping the steering wheel, Preacher stared grimly out the windshield. After a moment, Gideon rapped on the window. When Preacher didn’t respond, he rapped again. Open up, Preacher.

Preacher rolled down the window. Hey. What are you doing here?

"What are you doing here?" Gideon said.

Preacher’s gaze dropped to his body cam.

I haven’t activated it yet, Gideon said. Whose car is this?

A friend’s, Preacher said. Why are you working tonight?

I took an extra shift. What’s going on? I thought you were having dinner with old friends?

Preacher just shrugged and looked out the windshield again. Gideon watched the bead of sweat roll down the side of his face. Look at me, Preacher.

Just go, Gideon. Preacher’s hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly that Gideon wasn’t sure how it hadn’t snapped.

Preacher -

Leave, Gideon.

Bright panic edged Preacher’s voice. Gideon’s cop sense kicked in, that tingling at the base of his skull that made the world a little brighter and a little louder. He bent down, putting his face near Preacher’s. Tell me what the hell is going on.

Preacher didn’t answer, but his gaze flicked to the right at the row of buildings before arrowing in on the road again. Gideon stared at the buildings. The street ran behind the back of a small strip mall. There wasn’t much in the mall, just a couple of higher-end women’s clothing shops, a Starbucks, a dentist's office, and - Gideon’s stomach tightened - a jewelry store.

Preacher had parked on the street directly behind the jewelry store. Gideon gripped the car’s window edge and glanced behind him. He could see the glow of Maurice’s phone and the vague shape of Maurice’s face as he played his Candy Crush game.

He faced Preacher again, pitching his voice low despite Maurice’s distraction and the emptiness of the street. Tell me what’s going on.

If you’re my friend, you’ll get back in your car and fucking leave, Preacher said.

It’s because I’m your friend that I can’t leave, Gideon said. You working a job?

Preacher’s jaw clenched so hard Gideon was surprised he didn’t hear molars cracking. What if I am?

Don’t do this, Preacher. Not when you’re so close to being free.

I have to, he said.

No, you don’t, Gideon said. Your parole is done in two months. Don’t fuck that up.

Preacher sucked in a breath. I’m never going to get a loan. If I want my own shop, I need money. This is how I get it.

This is not how you fucking get it, Gideon said. You think being a getaway driver for a bunch of two-bit thieves will give you your dream? How’d that work out for you the last time you did this? Huh?

Preacher didn’t reply, and Gideon reached out and squeezed his shoulder. Four years you were behind bars, man. Four goddamn years. Do you want to go back to that place? Do you want to be that guy again?

Preacher stared out the windshield, his shoulders as rigid as concrete.

Drive away, Gideon said.

I can’t. I need the money.

Not like this. Gideon glanced behind him again. Maurice gave him an impatient look, and he raised his hand in a ‘one minute’ gesture. I’ll help you get the money to open your shop. I swear. We’ll find a way to make it work together. All you have to do is leave.

I leave, and I’ll never have my shop.

You will, Gideon said. I promise you.

When Preacher stayed silent, Gideon said, Simon, trust me.

Preacher’s nostrils flared, and he sucked in another deep lungful of oxygen.

Gideon stepped away from the car. Drive away, Simon. Please.

A muscle ticking rapidly under his left eye, Preacher turned the car on and, with a final look at Gideon, drove away.

Gideon activated his body cam and pulled his gun from his holster before glancing behind him at Maurice. The older cop was already climbing out of the car. Gideon walked toward the service door of the jewelry store, checking his surroundings as he drew closer to the building.

The door swung open, and he raised his gun, pointing it at the two men who walked out. They stared at him in silent shock, black cotton masks over their faces, each holding one of those reusable grocery bags.

As Maurice’s footsteps drew close, Gideon smiled at the two men. Good evening, gentlemen. I’ll need you to raise your hands, nice and slow.

CHAPTER 1

G ideon? What are you still doing here? Ian stuck his head into Gideon’s office.

Just finishing up some paperwork, Gideon said.

Your shift ended an hour ago.

I know. Gideon leaned back in his chair and rubbed at his eyes. Staring at his laptop screen for longer than an hour always made him feel like he had sixty-grit sandpaper for eyelids.

Ian dropped into the chair across from Gideon’s desk. He looked as exhausted as Gideon felt.

Twins get you up last night? Gideon asked.

Ian nodded. Yeah. Rose has figured out how to climb out of her crib.

Seriously? She’s only two.

I know, but you know how smart she is. It’s only a matter of time until she teaches Megan. I’ll need to switch them to beds sooner than I thought.

The deputy rubbed at the back of his neck. Gideon had no idea how Ian managed to get everything done. Not only was he employed full-time as a deputy, he was a single dad to twin toddlers, and he owned a hobby farm with a small pack of goats, chickens, and two ginormous pigs.

Gideon, you were supposed to be at your sister’s house for a barbeque twenty minutes ago. Wanda, one of their full-time dispatchers and the unofficial mother hen of the department, walked into his office. The tall and elegant Black woman had been a dispatcher for Harmony Falls Sheriff's Department since Gideon was a boy, and Gideon would be the first to admit that the entire department would fall apart without her.

I know, I’m running a bit late. You’re supposed to be finished with work, too. Is Sophie not here? he said.

Sophie was their night shift dispatcher and wasn’t known for her promptness.

She’s here. Wanda sat gracefully in the chair beside Ian, giving him a once-over. You look tired, sweetie. Girls keeping you up?

Rose learned how to climb out of her crib, Ian said.

Oh, that sweet girl is a firecracker, Wanda said.

How’s Murray doing? Ian said.

He’s good. A soft smile crossed Wanda’s face. He had his check-up with the doc yesterday, and it’s official – he’s in remission.

That’s fantastic, Ian said.

You all know how stubborn my husband is, Wanda grinned. I think he might have beat back the cancer by sheer willpower alone. Speaking of which, Gideon, I have a favour to ask.

What’s that? He shut down his email.

You know I’m doing a silent auction and dinner as a charity fundraiser for cancer. Wanda’s voice took on a cajoling tone.

Yeah. I already told you that the department would be happy to donate, Gideon said.

I know, but what I really need is some more volunteers. We’ve had four drop out in the last forty-eight hours, and I’m in a real bind.

Gideon groaned. I’m not the volunteer type, Wanda.

Sure you are. You just don’t know it yet, she said. Please, Gideon? You’d be doing me a real favour. You know how important this is to Murray and me, and without you, it might not happen.

This is emotional blackmail, you know, Gideon said.

It is. But the last I heard, a person couldn’t get themselves arrested for emotionally blackmailing their boss into volunteering for an amazing cause that will not only help out his favourite dispatcher and her cancer-riddled husband but also show the community a softer and sweeter side of their good sheriff.

Ian snorted. There isn’t anything soft or sweet about Gideon.

Wanda poked him in the leg. Hush, you, or I’ll change my mind and make you volunteer too.

What? Why aren’t you asking Ian to volunteer? Gideon said.

The man has twin toddlers, Gideon. He barely has time to wipe his own ass, Wanda said.

It’s true, Ian said solemnly.

I have a one-hundred-and-seventy-five-pound Great Dane who is extremely needy, Gideon said. Doesn’t that count for something?

Are you seriously comparing caring for Tank with caring for the twins? Ian said with a laugh. Because I know Tank can be a handful, but, buddy, there is no comparison to twins.

It was worth a shot, Gideon grumbled.

It’s an election year, Wanda said. The good citizens of Harmony Falls will remember you volunteering come the fall when they’re deciding who to vote for as sheriff. You know I’m right.

Gideon’s got the election in the bag, Ian said. No one else wants to be sheriff.

Thanks, I think, Gideon said.

So, the first meeting is on Thursday, at seven pm at my place. I’ll provide munchies and drinks.

Wanda, I’ve got a lot on my plate right now and…

Gideon trailed off as Wanda stared silently at him.

He sighed. Yeah, okay. I’ll be there.

Thank you, Sheriff Walker, Wanda said with an impish smile. Now, get your butt over to your sister’s before she starts calling here and asking where you are. Ian, walk a lady to her car, would you?

Yes, ma’am, Ian said.

They left Gideon’s office, and he slowly logged off the computer. If he didn’t go in the next five minutes, Kira would be pissed at how late he was. Of course, he could also stay in the office, text Kira and tell her there was a work emergency and he needed to skip the dinner.

Chicken.

Maybe a little. But Grace would be there, and lately… his usual iron-clad willpower to resist his sister’s best friend was weakening. Being chipped away at by his constant fantasies about her. Fantasies that involved a naked Grace handcuffed to his bed and his handprints all over that perfect ass of hers.

He'd managed to avoid seeing Grace for the last few weeks. He’d needed to avoid her. After what happened the last time they were alone together… what he’d said to her…

Sweat beaded on his forehead. Kira had volunteered Grace to feed Tank when Gideon was stuck at work. While he didn’t want Grace in his house, didn’t want her lingering scent and the knowledge that she’d been in his space to drive him crazy with need, he couldn’t very well say no. But he hadn’t expected to come home and find Grace asleep in his bed.

Walking into his bedroom and seeing her in his bed immediately sent the blood rushing straight to his cock. Having your number one fantasy unexpectedly come to fruition did that to a guy.

It wasn’t exactly what you wanted.

No, it wasn’t, and God help him, he’d been tempted to make his exact fantasy come true. Grace had woken quickly and watching her stumble toward him, her dark curls sticking up every which way from her skull, her gorgeous green eyes filled with confusion and drowsiness, had only made his urge to fulfill his fantasy even stronger.

He hadn’t, though. He couldn’t.

It was bad enough that he’d told her exactly what his fantasy was.

She liked it.

He squashed that dangerous voice deep down inside. When he’d told Gracie if he found her uninvited in his bed again, he would handcuff her to his bed on her hands and knees, pull her panties to her thighs, and spank her, she hadn’t been turned on. Only his wishful thinking made him think he saw a quick flare of desire in those pretty green eyes before she’d run out of his bedroom.

Some women liked a little kink in the bedroom and a little pain with their pleasure. Some women craved giving up control.

But he couldn’t fool himself that Gracie was one of them. If he even tried to put her over his knee for a spanking, she’d knock him on his ass.

Still didn’t stop him from fantasizing about it, though. Or, he grimaced inwardly, climbing into his bed the second Grace was gone and masturbating to the scent of her on his sheets.

His phone buzzed with a where are you text from Kira.

Everything would be fine. The house was big enough that he could avoid her. He’d have a quick bite to eat, then make excuses and leave.

Grace parked in her best friend’s driveway and stared at the house. Trepidation and exhaustion made her hands shake. She stared fixedly at them, trying to will them to stop trembling. Her eyes ached, and it felt like razorblades lined her eyelids when she blinked.

She should have stayed home. She should have tried her usual sleeping techniques and hoped for the best. She was in no shape to face him, not after weeks of broken sleep and now nearly three days without any sleep, but she couldn’t stay home and stare at the bedroom ceiling. Couldn’t lie there, needing to sleep, wanting to sleep, but wide awake until the morning light seeped into her bedroom.

She took a deep breath. Driving had been a mistake. Her cognitive abilities were severely impaired, and her reaction times were frighteningly slow. Unease settled in her stomach. There had been a few brief periods that she had zero memory of from the drive over. She’d driven to Kira’s house on auto pilot.

She shuddered, her trembling hands gripping the steering wheel before releasing it and climbing out of the car. She slammed the door shut and walked toward the front porch. It was fine. She was fine. She’d had worse insomnia than this in the past.

Have you, Gracie?

Her inner voice sounded… afraid. The unease grew until she could taste it in the back of her throat, bitter like the green tea that Addie was always trying to get her to drink.

She would sleep soon. She had to. Sure, it would be jagged and dream-filled, but it would be better than nothing. She paused at the bottom of the steps, her hand gripping the railing as a wave of dizziness swept over her. She thought longingly about her last real sleep, almost a month ago when she’d fallen asleep in Gideon Walker’s bed.

She waited for the familiar heat in her belly to start like it always did when she thought about the man she’d been in love with for the last nine years.

There was nothing. Apparently, exhaustion trumped lust.

She swallowed her bitter laughter. So, the key to getting over her inappropriate, never-gonna-happen crush on her best friend’s older brother was complete and utter exhaustion.

Noted.

So, how bad is it in there?

She shrieked and whirled around and nearly tripped over her own feet. The man standing behind her grabbed her arm and steadied her. Whoa, sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.

The little rush of adrenaline was already fading, leaving her more exhausted than ever. She blinked owlishly at the man. God, why did he look so familiar to her?

Grace, right? He cocked his head at her. You okay?

She stared up at him for almost thirty seconds before it clicked in. Lucas. You’re Connor’s best friend.

That’s right. Are you okay? There was concern etched into Lucas’s face.

Yes.

He studied her for a moment longer before jerking his chin toward the house. That bad, huh?

What do you mean?

You’ve been standing at the bottom of the steps for almost three minutes. Connor told me it was just a barbeque, but now I wonder if something more sinister is afoot. Lucas grinned at her.

Nope, just a plain old barbeque, she said. I was woolgathering.

Lucas looked her up and down in a way that was charming rather than lecherous. You do look like the woolgathering type.

I didn’t realize that woolgatherers looked a certain way, she said.

Is woolgatherers even a word? Lucas said.

Of course it is. It means one who gathers wool, Grace said.

Lucas laughed. Touché. It’s nice to see you again, Grace.

You as well, Lucas.

He followed her up the porch stairs and into the house. She pointed down the hallway. Take a right at the end of the hallway. There’s a door leading into the sunroom, and the patio doors are just off of that. Everyone will be in the back yard.

You’re not coming with? Lucas asked.

Be there in a minute, she said.

He headed down the hallway, and she ducked into the kitchen. As she suspected, Kira was in the kitchen. She stood at the counter stirring a giant jug of lemonade.

Hey, honey.

Gracie, hi! Her best friend didn’t look up. We’re almost ready to eat, so you can go ahead and put the potato salad outside with the rest of the food rather than in the fridge.

Shit, Grace said.

Kira glanced at her, her vigorous stirring slowing to a stop. Did you forget the potato salad in the car?

"I forgot to make the potato salad, Grace said. Dammit, Kira, I’m sorry."

Kira shook her head. Her blonde hair was pulled into a ponytail, and her face was free of makeup. Her skin glowed, and Grace didn’t think