Falling for Grace

Falling for Grace

Falling for Grace

by

Maddie James

Copyright © 2010, Maddie
James

Cover Art Photo by Jimmy
Thomas

http://www.romancenovelcovers.com/

Cover Art Design by Kim
Jacobs

Print Release
4/2010

Previously published in
print by Kensington Books (2000) and Thorndike Press
(2002)

Published byTurquoise
Morning Press for Smashwords

Turquoise Morning,
LLC

www.turquoisemorningpress.com

Turquoise Morning,
LLC

P.O. Box 43958

Louisville, KY
40253-0958

Smashwords Edition,
License

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Chapter One

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Gracie listened closely. She arched a brow
and glanced toward the antique anniversary clock perched on top the
oak mantel she used as a display prop. Nope. It wasn’t the clock,
was it? She shook her head. It had to be. That damned, incessant
ticking was coming from the clock. Right?

Wrong.

The clock didn’t work. Hadn’t since she’d
placed it there six years ago. She knew that as well as she knew
her name was Grace Elizabeth Hart.

Damn but that blasted ticking wasn’t in her
own mind.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Shaking her head she
turned back to her work, only to end up staring at her computer
screen, trying hard to dismiss the troublesome click. She tried to
recall...when
had
it started? Last year? The year before that? She wasn’t sure.
But out of the blue one day that ticking just sort of erupted in
the middle of her thoughts, and she knew right then and there what
it was. No one had to tell her.

Tick. Tick.
Tick
.

Gracie slammed a hand down on the top of the
old library table she used as a desk. “Oh, all right! What in the
world do you expect me to do about it?” she said loudly. “I mean,
it’s not likely I can do much about the situation all by myself,
can I?”

She stood and paced the room. No one
answered her query. Not even Claire, her Calico shop cat, curled up
into a lethargic lump of cat flesh in the storefront window, lifted
an ear to her question.

No one had to tell her that the hands on her
baby-making clock were swiftly sweeping the numbers.

Glancing about, she took in the shop around
her. This was her second home. In fact, if she would go so far as
to count up the hours, she probably spent more time here than she
did in the apartment upstairs she called home. But that was to be
expected.

After all, she was a businesswoman. And to
run a successful business, one had to spend an enormous amount of
time and effort in seeing that that business flew. Everyone knew
that.

Especially during the first few years.

Well...ten years should more than do it, she
guessed.

And with the time she put into her shop, why
in the world did she think she would have time for a baby?

Tick. Tick.
Tick
.

There would be no denying
from anyone, she was certain, that
Romantically Yours
was a success.
Everyone said so. Her accountant. Her best friend, Amie. The
members of the Chamber of Commerce. The Book Club. Why, even old
Mrs. Talbot down the street complimented her every time she came
into the shop to buy bath salts.

Yes, little Gracie Hart, homegrown and
homespun, finally recovered from that awful experience in New York,
was a success. Everyone in the small, central Kentucky town of
Franklinville said so.

Then why didn’t she feel like a success? And
why was that incessant ticking still tapping away at her brain?

Time. It’s running out, Gracie.

“
Stop that. I know it. You
don’t have to remind me.”

She turned her back on her
computer and the anniversary clock then, and stepped to the rear of
the shop. Gracie poured herself a decadent rich
café
latte and sank into a forties
style, overstuffed chair in the corner. She crossed her legs and
perused her surroundings. Vintage clothing from the 1920’s graced
one wall. Reproduction Victorian jewelry dangled from a display
rack on the counter. Aromatherapy products, from candles to bath
salts to herbal sachets, were scattered about the shop.

On the back wall her collection of classic
romance novels and other vintage books waited for adoring customers
to lift them off the shelf and take them home. At the right back
corner of the shop, one could order custom-designed romantic gift
baskets. Everything from chocolate to wine to lingerie could be
included in the basket according to the tastes of the receiver or
the whim of the giver. Anything from her shop might do. Cards.
Romantic knick-knacks. Massage oil. Or any little trinket or
one-of-a-kind antique accessory she had hand-picked to be placed in
her shop for the romantically-inclined.

Reaching out, Gracie fingered an ivory,
crocheted doily sitting beneath a reproduction Tiffany lamp on a
dark cherry table. She lifted her hand to carefully turn down the
light. It was late, her shop had closed hours ago, and it was time
to dull the day’s events with some low lighting.

This was her favorite time of the day and
her favorite corner for lounging and mulling. She had arranged an
eclectic collection of overstuffed chairs and side tables where one
could sit and peruse a novel, partake in tea and scones, or linger
through her collection of catalogs from which Gracie would special
order. It was where the Book Club met on Friday evenings, the same
five women, week in and week out. It was where her regular
customers lounged and quietly gossiped about the town’s
affairs.

Or if one preferred, which Gracie did quite
often in the evenings, one could simply curl up in a chair and
silently reflect while a nice selection of classical music emanated
from the CD player, incense wafted a light, floral aroma, and
candles flickered a soft glow about the room. A glass of wine added
to that scenario was simply the crème-de-la-crème. Only thing that
came close to topping that was an hour long soak in her clawfoot
tub upstairs.

Romance surrounded her all day long. Her
shop was her life. And it damned well had better be. It was the
only romance she was getting. Hard pill to swallow for someone who
was known as the local Diva of Romance.

Tick. Tick.
Tick
.

“
Oh, shut up, won’t
you!”

“
And to whom might you be
talking?”

Jumping to her feet and grabbing her heart,
Gracie whirled toward the voice. “Amie! You scared the heck out of
me!”

Stepping into the shop, Amie Clarke gave a
quick twist of the key on the fake Tiffany lamp, turning up the
light and breaking the ambiance. She glanced about. “It’s like a
tomb in here, Gracie. Don’t you want some light? And who were you
talking to? Yourself again? And shouldn’t you be getting upstairs?
It’s way past ten. Oh, and you have to lock that back door, one of
these days the boogie man is going to get you.”

Sighing, Gracie stood, still trying to quell
her rapidly beating heart. She stepped toward her computer and
muttered, “Perhaps I should let the boogie man in. He would be the
first man to grace my back doorstep in quite some time.”

“
What? You were expecting
a man to grace your doorstep?”

Gracie put the computer to
sleep then eyed her friend and snorted. “Oh yeah, Amie. I was
waiting for a clandestine liaison with the boogie man. He’s hiding
in the back room waiting for you to leave.” She gestured toward the
rear of the shop. “And do you ever
not
talk in circles?

Amie smiled. “Never.”

Gracie shook her head. “I know that already.
You’re like a bull in a china shop and a whirlwind all in one. You
never shut up. You never make any sense.” Gracie looked up at her
friend then and smiled. “And you’re about the best friend a girl
could have.”

Amie stepped up to the counter and fingered
through some chocolate samples sitting in a crystal candy dish.
“Mind if I eat these? I’m starving.”

Gracie shrugged. Again the subject was
changed. “Help yourself. I’ll put out fresh candy in the
morning.”

Amie smiled and munched for a few minutes
and Gracie set about to closing up for the night. Going through the
same motions she did every evening, she glanced about to make sure
nothing was out of place and then stepped to the front door to
recheck the lock.

Main Street Franklinville was relatively
quiet this Thursday evening, which was not uncommon. Soft,
flickering street lights lent a warm glow to the late spring
evening. A few vehicles passed by on occasion but for the most
part, the town was shut up tighter than a drum.

She glanced at the closed
library across the street and up and down toward the other
Victorian shop-fronts lining the up-scale, traditional little town
sitting smack in the middle of Kentucky horse country. The
cafés
. The antique and
craft stores. The fudge shop next door...

“
So when do you think
you’ll find a renter for the other side?” Amie called out, breaking
the silence.

After a moment, Gracie turned and faced her
friend, trying not to frown. She swallowed down the momentary
upsurge of panic she always got when she thought about just that
question. She didn’t want Amie or anyone else to know just how
crucial it was that she rent out the other half of her building.
Financially, she relied on that rental income, and six months was
too long for it to go empty without her pocketbook feeling the
effects. “Hopefully tomorrow. Someone is coming to see the shop and
the apartment in the morning.”

Amie munched another caramel-nut candy and
nodded. “Cool.”

* * * *

“
Isabella, do you remember
everything I’ve told you?”

“
My name is
Izzie.”

Carson Price frowned. “Today it’s Isabella.
Now, do you remember?”

“
Yes, Daddy. Of course I
remember. You’ve told me a hundred times already. But do I
have
to wear this
dress?”

“
Yes, darling, you have
to. Now buck up and be a good girl. Daddy is counting on this
meeting today. Hear me?”

“
But,
Dad-dy...”

“
Isabella!”

“
Oh...all right,” the
child muttered.

Carson tried to ignore the rumbling under
his daughter’s breath as he eased off the exit from Interstate 64
onto U.S. Route 60 toward Franklinville. The trip from Louisville
was only a little more than an hour but more than enough time for
Izzie to get fidgety and start resenting the fact that she was made
to wear a dress today. And, he probably had to admit that he’d
drilled the scenario for the morning’s appointment in her head for
way too long.

He wasn’t quite sure where his head was
earlier in the week when he’d made the appointment with Grace Hart.
He’d forgotten that school was out today. He had definitely not
planned to drag Izzie along on this business venture, not today at
any rate, but it seemed that she was destined to be here
anyway.

Kate, his babysitter, was out of town and
Carson was at a loss to find anyone else. It was his own fault, he
knew. He’d totally forgotten to look at the school calendar and
didn’t realize the private school Izzie attended had scheduled a
professional development day for the teachers.

Well, there was nothing to be done about it
now. Izzie was here and he just had to hope for the best.

Mentally he crossed his fingers and sent up
a silent prayer. Izzie was known not to fare too well in social
situations.

“
Are we gonna move to this
town?” she said.

Carson glanced to his right and took in his
daughter’s questioning face. “It’s possible, Iz. I don’t know yet.”
They had talked about the prospect of moving, but not in
detail.

“
I don’t wanna. I like my
school.”