Welcome to Harmony Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  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

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Teaser chapter

  PRAISE FOR

  REWRITING MONDAY

  “Jodi Thomas again delivers a delightful, character-driven tale of modern Texas. . . . Heartwarming, heart-tugging, and just plain good reading.” —Romance Reviews Today

  “Thomas seamlessly weaves past and present into a gripping novel of contemporary romantic suspense, as Pepper begins to appreciate the accomplishments of previous generations and to enjoy true friendship and a sense of belonging for the first time in her life.” —Booklist

  “[Jodi Thomas] paints beautiful pictures with her words, creates characters that are so real you feel as though they’re standing next to you, and she has a deliciously wry sense of humor. . . . I enjoyed this book from page one until the end—and thoroughly recommend it.” —Romance Novel TV

  “If reading a new book is like opening a box of chocolates, then I got the one with cherry inside—my favorite—when I read Rewriting Monday. . . . This is quite a rich story with touching characters that seem real and behave like real people. . . . I loved it.” —The Book Smugglers

  PRAISE FOR

  TWISTED CREEK

  “Twisted Creek will weave its way around the reader’s heart. Compelling and beautifully written, it is exactly the kind of heart-wrenching, emotional story one has come to expect from Jodi Thomas.”

  —Debbie Macomber, #1 New York Times bestselling author

  “Jodi Thomas is a masterful storyteller. She grabs your attention on the first page, captures your heart, and then makes you sad when it is time to bid her wonderful characters farewell. You can count on Jodi Thomas to give you a satisfying and memorable read. Twisted Creek is absolutely delightful.”

  —Catherine Anderson, New York Times bestselling author

  “Thomas sketches a slow, sweet surrender, keeping the tension building to a rewarding resolution in this unsentimental, homespun romance.” —Publishers Weekly

  “Twisted Creek is a wonderful, character-driven tale that tells just what a family can be, even if it’s made up of a bunch of lonely friends . . . Romance blooms slowly, but for two nearly lost souls, it’s rewarding when it does . . . As usual, Jodi Thomas kept me up way later than normal! Twisted Creek could be anywhere, but Ms. Thomas makes it uniquely Texan with her wonderful characters and great dialogue. This is another thought-provoking novel to add to your Jodi Thomas collection.” —Romance Reviews Today

  “Romantic suspense and sweet women’s fiction are an unlikely combination, but in Twisted Creek, veteran storyteller Jodi Thomas makes the pairing work quite well. Allie’s love for her aging grandmother is sensitively portrayed, while her blossoming relationship with Luke simmers unforgettably in the background. This is a moving story about overcoming hardship and bitterness and about being brave enough to make a happy ending—no matter what it takes.”—Romance Junkies

  Titles by Jodi Thomas

  WELCOME TO HARMONY

  REWRITING MONDAY

  TWISTED CREEK

  THE LONE TEXAN

  TALL, DARK, AND TEXAN

  TEXAS PRINCESS

  TEXAS RAIN

  THE TEXAN’S REWARD

  A TEXAN’S LUCK

  WHEN A TEXAN GAMBLES

  THE TEXAN’S WAGER

  TO WED IN TEXAS

  TO KISS A TEXAN

  THE TENDER TEXAN

  PRAIRIE SONG

  THE TEXAN AND THE LADY

  TO TAME A TEXAN’S HEART

  FOREVER IN TEXAS

  EXAS LOVE SONG

  TWO TEXAS HEARTS

  THE TEXAN’S TOUCH

  TWILIGHT IN TEXAS

  THE TEXAN’S DREAM

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

  Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

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  (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)

  Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  WELCOME TO HARMONY

  A Berkley Book / published by arrangement with the author

  PRINTING HISTORY

  Berkley mass-market edition / June 2010

  Copyright © 2010 by Jodi Koumalats.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  eISBN : 978-1-101-18803-3

  BERKLEY®

  Berkley Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  BERKLEY® is a registered trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  The “B” design is a trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  Prologue

&nbs
p; JANUARY 2006

  A SLIVER OF A CRESCENT MOON ROSE OVER THE FARMHOUSE Stella and Bob McNabb leased five miles outside Harmony, Texas. Stella sat up in bed as if she’d heard a cannon.

  Bob tugged off his headphones, flipped on the reading light, and waited. He hadn’t been asleep, but Stella always insisted they go to bed together, so most nights he plugged in to a ball game on the radio and listened while she wiggled herself to sleep.

  “I’ve had a vision,” she announced. “A terrible vision, all black smoke and fire.”

  In the forty years they’d been married, she’d had a hundred visions and as far as he knew none of them had come true. “Now, Stella, just because you play the fortune-teller at the 4-H fair once a year doesn’t make you psychic. The vision’s probably tied to the three enchiladas you had for supper.”

  She glared at him, and he couldn’t help but think she was one woman who definitely looked better with makeup on. Lots of makeup.

  “But I saw it, Bob. Some strange kind of storm’s coming. A big one. The kind of storm that shatters lives.”

  He patted her hand. “Don’t you worry about a storm. We could use the rain.”

  She turned away from him and wiggled back down into the covers. “I got Gypsy blood in me on my mother’s side and I know things. We better get ready, ’cause trouble’s coming.”

  “All right, hon, I’ll stay awake and worry. You go back to sleep.” He put on his headphones and stared out the open window at the cloudless sky, knowing nothing much ever happened in Harmony, Texas. Odds were, nothing ever would.

  Chapter 1

  FEBRUARY 2006

  AS THE OLD FORD PICKUP STOPPED AT THE FIRST STREETLIGHT past the city limit sign, Reagan jumped off the back. Harmony, Texas, population 14,003.

  She doubted the driver even noticed her departure. At the truck stop in Oklahoma City he’d only looked at the pint of whiskey she offered him in exchange for the ride.

  That was the way Reagan preferred it. In the sixteen years of her life, any time someone had bothered to watch her closely, trouble followed. No one could track her this time. By morning the farmer would have a hangover and little memory of her.

  For once, no one would look for her—thanks to a runaway who’d taken her bed at the shelter. Even if the impostor was discovered, foster care wouldn’t search too long or hard for her. In fact, if she guessed right, they’d mark Reagan Moore off their rolls by noon as if she were resting in Resurrection Memorial Cemetery in northwest Oklahoma City. The druggie who’d climbed in to sleep in Reagan’s bed had found a place to rest, and Reagan had found a way to disappear.

  Flinging her backpack over one shoulder, Reagan slipped into the shadows. Harmony had been her goal for almost a year and, finally, she was here. It didn’t matter if the place measured up to her dreams—nothing ever had—but at least she’d made it. She’d accomplished what she set out to do. She found the little town in the middle of nowhere. Reagan couldn’t help but smile.

  Six months ago she decided this place was her hometown, so she had to at least see the small farming community. No one would ever know this was her first time to set foot in town. For her, and for them, she was simply and finally coming home.

  Walking in the shadows, she took in the place like an art student taking in the Louvre. Brick streets. Storefronts without bars that pull down at night. A movie theater at the far end of Main with lights blinking. Traffic moving as slow as if passing time and in no hurry to get anywhere. She felt like she’d stepped into an enchanted world.

  This street was called Old Main, she remembered from an article she’d read. New Main was at the other end of town, where tire stores, a shopping mall of four one-story stores, and five small restaurants had been built. But here, on Old Main, was the way she always imagined the town to be.

  The jukebox music from a diner, almost a half block away, drew her like a pied piper toward the center of town. A painting of a midnight sky and a full moon ran the awning. Above the shade were the words BLUE MOON DINER. Reagan felt as if she’d stumbled blindly into a picture-book story. She’d heard the words but never seen the drawings, and now they were coming alive around her.

  The place was ten years past needing a coat of paint, but the light glowed golden from windows in need of washing just as old Miss Beverly at the Shady Rest Home had said it would.

  The old lady would always say, when she talked of the diner, “You ain’t been to Harmony until you’ve eaten at the Blue Moon.”

  Reagan walked inside feeling like a preacher who’d studied heaven all his life and finally set foot in it. The diner even smelled like she thought it would. A mixture of grease, baked apples, and burned toast.

  A year ago she’d been cleaning rooms in a nursing home in Oklahoma City for eight bucks a room when she’d found a newspaper, the Harmony Herald’s Centennial Edition. Reagan had read every article, what happened in the past, what was happening in the fall of 2005, what folks hoped would happen in the future. Somehow, the town filled a place inside her. A place that had always been empty.

  Home.

  “What can I get you?” The waitress startled her as Reagan stuffed her backpack under the table. “We ain’t got much pie left, but if it’s fries and drinks, we’re still open.”

  Reagan looked at the menu written on the wall. “Fries,” she said, “and a water.”

  “Chili or cheese?”

  Reagan stared at the chubby middle-aged waitress who looked like she’d already had a long day. Her apron was spotted, her eyes tired, but her smile was real.

  “You want chili or cheese on them fries? It doesn’t cost extra after ten.” The waitress tapped her pencil on her pad in rhythm to an Elvis tune.

  “Both,” Reagan answered, thinking the doughnut she’d had for breakfast had been far too many hours ago.

  The woman winked. “You got it.”

  Reagan leaned back in the booth and took a deep breath. “Finally,” she whispered as if she could wish it true. “I just know this time I’m home.”

  She’d cleaned that nursing home room for a week before she’d met Miss Beverly Truman and began to stay after work to read the old woman her mail. Beverly must have been pen pals with half the town.

  After they’d read all the gossip, they’d talk about Harmony. Miss Beverly might forget where she put her teeth, but she remembered every detail about the town where she’d lived most of her life.

  Reagan closed her eyes as if filling in a blank on an invisible test: The night waitress at the Blue Moon Diner was named Edith. Miss Beverly always said she had a good heart and a husband who wasn’t worth the iron in his blood.

  She pulled her tattered manila folder from her pack and spread it out on the table. Someone had handed it to her years ago when she’d been moved from one foster home to another. It had a big label on the front with her name and nothing else. Like no address had ever belonged to her long enough to stick to paper.

  She’d hidden the folder away while in transport and kept it. One envelope held all that was her. Birth certificate listing father as unknown, a copy of her mother’s death certificate, a school picture from the fourth grade, and an award she’d won once in an art class. Tugging out a pencil, she scratched out her last name and wrote Truman in its place, then, with a bold hand added Harmony, Texas under her new name.

  “I put the chili in a bowl so it wouldn’t get your fries soggy.” The waitress was back.

  Reagan slid the envelope aside. “Thanks, Edith.”

  The woman seemed in no hurry to leave. “You from around here?”

  “Yes.” Reagan ate, chewing down the lies along with the fries. “But I’ve been gone a long time.”

  Edith studied her for a few minutes. “You must be one of the Randall kids that used to live north of here. Their youngest girl would be about your age.”

  “No,” Reagan said just before she shoved another spoonful in her mouth. “This is great chili.”

  The waitress was on a quest and refused
to be distracted by the compliment. “You Willa May Turner’s granddaughter? I heard you might be coming to live with your grandparents.”

  Reagan shook her head. “As far as I know, I don’t have a single living relative here now. Not one that would claim me, anyway.”

  The woman smiled. “You never know. Everybody’s related in this town. We laugh and say if the gene pool gets any shallower in these parts we’ll have to declare a drought.”

  Reagan swallowed down water and began her new life with another lie. “I’m Beverly Truman’s granddaughter.”

  “I thought I saw Truman blood in you. Don’t know where you got that red hair, but your nose is shaped just like every Truman I ever knew. Old Jeremiah Truman still lives on the homestead place a few miles out on Lone Oak Road. He’s as mean as Beverly is nice; it’s no wonder no woman in the county would marry him. We all miss Beverly, but we don’t blame her for moving a state away just so she wouldn’t have to live with him and clean around his collections.”

  Edith slid into the booth across from her. “How is your grandmother? We used to buy all our cream pies from her. Folks would come in here after the movies just for a slice of Miss Beverly’s coconut pie. Cut our profits in half when she moved.”

  Reagan chose her words carefully, thinking of how Beverly would have answered. “I haven’t heard lately; she may have passed on to be with the Lord.” In the year she’d known the old woman, Reagan had never seen a visitor and, when she died, Reagan was the only one who cried. She guessed that made her more a relative than anyone else.

  Edith leaned over and patted Reagan’s hand. “We all have to make that journey, child, and you can bet your sweet grandmother made it on the express flight if she passed. Both her grown children and her husband going before her must have left her in a powerful hurry.”

  Before the waitress could start asking questions Reagan didn’t have the answers to, the front door bumped open and the number of customers in the diner doubled when one man entered. He looked like he could have been a model for western wear except for the anger in his eyes. Tall, broad shouldered, and furious.