Book 7: A Small Town Romance
Love in Harmony Valley Series
On this page, you’ll find the story blurb, an excerpt, the story behind the story, and bonus content.
She’s had a set-back.
A devastating car accident cost Tracy Jackson nearly everything, including a high-profile advertising job in San Francisco. Still recovering from her injuries, Tracy returns to the slow-paced life in small town Harmony Valley and finds a job as a coffee barista in Martin’s Bakery.
When a handsome, smooth-talking travel writer shows up, ostensibly to highlight the charm of the town’s quirky Harvest Festival, the locals are thrilled. Harmony Valley has been undiscovered for so long that the town population has nearly dwindled down to nothing.
But a set-back doesn’t mean she’s a push-over.
When Tracy realizes the charming travel writer is known for his sarcastic, lampooning style, she leaps to the town’s defense, determined to undermine the scammer’s efforts and protect those she loves, despite her injuries.
Fans of movies about recovery and triumph over life-altering injuries,like The Rider, will love this uplifting, heartwarming, sweet romance with a happily ever after.
Readers love A Small Town Romance:
“I found myself regretting that it was over.” Goodreads Reviewer, 5 Stars
"I love this series. It has heart. Melinda Curtis always delivers." Goodreads Reviewer, 5 Stars
Excerpt:
It was the “what ifs” that drove Tracy Jackson crazy.
What if she could eat as many oatmeal raisin cookies as she liked and still fit in her skinny jeans?
What if she didn’t have to get up every morning at four a.m.?
What if she’d participated in that brain shock therapy after her car accident?
Yeah, like Tracy was going to let anyone attach an electrode to her head and send a jolt of electricity through it.
Hello, Dr. Frankenstein. Are you interested in making a bride?
Not on your life!
Since cracking her skull Humpty-Dumpty-style against a semi-truck, she’d gone from being a motor-mouth to being idle in a conversation. She talked in short sentences, especially when she got flustered. She had the occasional brain fart when she couldn’t remember a word. Doctors said her progress toward beating expressive aphasia was hindered by the stress Tracy put on herself.
Stress? How about high self-standards?
Before the accident, Tracy had been among the top of her class at Harmony Valley High School. She’d been a double major in college. She’d thrived in the fast-paced, competitive jungle of a large advertising agency.
After the accident, she’d used her advertising connections to land a television news production job.
Okay, so maybe television wasn’t the best fit for her current verbal skill set.
She’d had a meltdown live when the reporter she was working with vomited at a crime scene. Tracy took over the microphone and she’d gone as mute as a deer in on-coming headlights. Maybe that’s why her news station job had been phased out (their way of firing her without actually firing her). And maybe being canned had forced her to sit down and think about listening to what the doctors ordered so that her life wouldn’t seem like a dead end at age twenty-six, so that she could take another fork in the road and work on overcoming aphasia.
Mildred Parsons rammed her walker into the counter of Martin’s Bakery in Harmony Valley, bringing Tracy back to the fork she sat at in the road. “Two pumpkin spice scones and a latte.” With Mildred’s short, poofy white curls, her poofy pink cheeks and her round glasses, Mildred looked like Mrs. Claus. The had lenses of her glasses were as thick as ice cubes, which were apparently just as hard to see through. She squinted at Tracy and handed over her wallet. “I should have a five in there. Keep the change, dear.”
“Thanks.” That quarter tip would really help build Tracy’s retirement fund. She took the five and handed the wallet back.
Mildred bumped against the counter again as she turned. Bang-turn. Bang-turn. Bang-turn. A perfect one-hundred-eighty degree turn (not) that got her out of the way of the next elderly resident.
The morning rush was in full swing.
While Tracy made Mildred’s latte, she took Agnes Villanova’s order (hot green tea and a vanilla scone). Accepted Agnes’ exact payment—no tip. Plated the scones. Served them. Took Rose Cascia’s order (chai latte with soy milk, no scone). Admired the former ballerina and Broadway chorus girl’s kick-ball-change. Made change. Wondered what was keeping bakery owner Jessica in the kitchen (could use her help).
Greeted Mayor Larry in his neon green and yellow tie-dyed T-shirt (coffee, two packets of sweetener, no cream). Smiled patiently while Old Man Takata debated whether to order the bran muffin or the chocolate croissant. (There was no debate. He always went with the croissant.)
His indecision gave Tracy time to make another pot of coffee.
Tracy didn’t need to say much as a baker’s assistant. She just had to move quickly. She was the only thing moving fast in this remote corner of Sonoma County. In a town where the average age of the few residents was in the seventies, most things went at walker speed. Case in point: the game of checkers being played in the corner between Felix, the retired fire chief, and Phil, the should-be-retired barber.
The town council sat at a table in the middle of the bakery. Mayor Larry espoused the merits of controlled growth, while Rose, the no-growth advocate, tried to talk over him with her high-pitched, outside voice. Eunice Fletcher sat quilting in the window seat, occasionally glancing down at Jessica’s baby in a small playpen. She was about due for a coffee refill.
It was just another Friday morning in Harmony Valley. Tracy felt no stress at all.
And then he walked in.
Morning sunlight glinted off the blond highlights in his brown hair and outlined his broad shoulders. His eyes were the dark brown of coffee, no cream. Those eyes catalogued everything in the bakery, as if he thought there’d be a test later.
The conversation in the room dwindled and died. Chairs scraped. All eyes turned toward the newcomer, because Harmony Valley wasn’t a pass-through town. It was practically the end of the road.
“Don’t. Scare. Him.” Dang it. Stress jabbed repeatedly at Tracy’s stilted speech button like a child playing ding-dong ditch. Tracy swallowed her sudden discomfort and waved the man to the counter.
“Who came in?” Mildred asked, voice on the max volume setting. Apparently, she hadn’t put in her hearing aids this morning, and couldn’t see through her ice cube lenses.
Mr. Golden Glow chuckled as he approached the counter. He moved out of the sunlight and became…No more normal. Still gorgeous. He walked like he owned the room, exuding a vibe Tracy had always admired—power, prestige, a winner of corporate boardroom games. Didn’t matter that he wore jeans and a polo shirt. That walk said suit and tie. His confident air said: I know people who can get you a job.
Tracy’s mouth went dry because she needed a better job. Unfortunately, she could practically feel the full extent of her vocabulary knot at the back of her tongue, clogging her throat.
She tried to remember her latest speech therapist’s advice. Breathe. Relax. Turn your back on the person you’re talking to.
Okay, that last one was Tracy’s antidote. But it worked. Not that there were many opportunities to turn her back mid-conversation or in an argument without looking like a total jerk.
And how could she forget the advice of her speech teacher in college? Breathe. Relax. Imagine your audience is naked.
“What’s good here?” Mr. Tall, Perfect, and Speech-Robbing stepped in front of her.
Tracy’s gaze dropped from his steel gray polo shirt to the counter.
Oh, for the days she dared imagine the opposite sex naked.
“Coffee.” That was good. Normal sounding. If you didn’t count the frog-like timbre of her tone. She cleared her throat. “Scones.” She waved a hand over one of the pastry cases that her boss, Jessica, worked so hard to fill.
“Why do you suppose he’s here?” Rose, never shy, asked the room, shuffling her feet beneath the table. That woman never sat still.
“Maybe he’s lost,” Eunice piped up from the window seat.
“Not lost,” the stranger said cheerfully, smiling at Tracy as if they shared a private joke.
The joke was on him. This was Harmony Valley, where people had no respect for personal boundaries and could have taught the FBI a thing or two about interrogation.
“Visiting relatives?” Mildred squinted his way.
“Strike two.”
Tracy had never been a believer in eyes twinkling. But there you go. His did. Despite that power-player vibe. Or maybe because of it. Her body felt a jolt of electricity, as if it ran on twinkles, not caffeine.
Old Man Takata held up a chunk of chocolate croissant. “Health inspector?”
“Thank you all for playing.” The newcomer grinned, scanning the menu board above Tracy’s head while the room erupted with speculative conversation.
Tracy felt the urge to apologize for her hometown homies. “We don’t get many…” She searched for the word amidst the nerve-strumming intensity of his very brown eyes. “…strangers here.”
“No worries. I’m a travel writer.” His voice. So silky smooth. Like the ribbon of chocolate Jess put on the croissants. “I’m here for the Harvest Festival.”
If he thought that would bring the room back to normal, he was wrong. The bakery customers exchanged dumbfounded glances. This was what Harmony Valley had been waiting for—exposure. No one really believed it would ever come, because the town had been off the radar for a long time. More than a decade.
When Tracy was a teenager, the grain mill had exploded. To this day, Tracy couldn’t think about her mother and her mother’s co-workers being burned alive without a sickening churn in her stomach. Back then, Tracy had been devastated, too young to understand the ramifications beyond the heart-wrenching grief over losing Mom. Without jobs, the majority of the population had moved away. Those who’d remained were mostly retired. But now there was a new employer in town. A winery, started by Tracy’s brother and his business partners. People were returning. New businesses were opening. What they needed were tourists and the dollars they’d bring. What they needed was this man and his readership—whatever that might be.
“Thought I’d come up early,” the travel writer added. “Find a room and do a story on the town and its winery.”
Mildred gaped. Rose gasped. Phil covered a snort with a cough and received several dirty glances.
Tracy sighed.
Yes, there was a story here. Probably too many. There just wasn’t a hotel within a thirty mile radius. Rumor had it the Lambridge twins were going to open a bed and breakfast—next spring. Mr. Travel Writer wouldn’t find a room this week unless he wanted to bunk with Mildred.
The Story Behind the Story
I first wrote about Tracy in Dandelion Wishes (Book 1). She was in a bad car accident and suffered a brain injury that gave her aphasia. I have a friend who had the same thing happen to her. Her case wasn’t as severe as Tracy’s, thankfully. But as with all setbacks, we each deal with them in a different way.
Bonus Content
If you read the book, make sure you download the free Bonus Epilogue.
This book was originally published by Harlequin and updated when I received the rights back. Here’s a look at the cover history of this title:
(coming soon)
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