Read the book: «My Secret Valentine»
Your valentine: Justin
WON'T YOU
BE MINE?
Will you be my Daddy?
Mommy wishes you were….
Katy
My Secret Valentine
Marilyn Pappano
MARILYN PAPPANO
brings impeccable credentials to her career—a lifelong habit of gazing out windows, not paying attention in class, daydreaming and spinning tales for her own entertainment. The sale of her first book brought great relief to her family, proving that she wasn’t crazy but was, instead, creative. Since then, she’s sold more than forty others, and she loves almost everything about writing, except that she would like a more reasonable boss to work for, which is pretty sad, since she works for herself.
She writes in an office nestled among the oaks that surround her home. In winter she stays inside with her husband and their four dogs, and in summer she mows the yard that never stops growing and daydreams about grass that never gets taller than two inches. You can write to her at P.O. Box 643, Sapulpa, OK 74067-0643.
Contents
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 1
It was ten minutes after two when Justin Reed slipped into his seat at the weekly squad meeting and opened the file in front of him. Though his supervisor didn’t look up or miss a beat in his conversation, there was no doubt he knew that Justin had been late—again—and no doubt he would have something to say about it—again. He’d intended to be on time this afternoon—in fact, had started to leave his office five minutes early—but as he was walking out the door, the phone had rung. He could have left anyway, but he’d been playing phone tag with people all week and he wasn’t about to miss the chance to actually connect with someone.
And so he was late. Again.
At least he wouldn’t be put on the hot seat. His current caseload was nothing special, and everything was progressing steadily. Of course, there would be the perpetual question—Anything new on the Watkins case?—and the usual answer. No, nothing. One of these days, he’d promised himself, he was going to have an entirely different answer. Yes, sir, we apprehended Patrick Watkins this week.
Hey, a man could dream, couldn’t he?
His boss worked his way around the table, reviewing cases, asking for reports. He’d made it halfway when the door opened and his secretary stepped inside. “Excuse me, sir. Special Agent Reed has an emergency call.”
All eyes turned his way as his boss nodded toward the door. The muscles in his stomach tightening, Justin left the conference room and followed the secretary to her desk down the hall. The Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms wasn’t quite like the police. They didn’t get many emergency calls. Maybe Patrick Watkins had struck again, or something had happened to his mother in London or his father in Paris. That was about the extent of what he would consider an emergency in his life.
Picking up the phone, he tersely said, “This is Special Agent Reed.”
“Mr. Reed—Special Agent Reed, this is Roger Markham. I’m an attorney in Grand Springs, Colorado.”
Justin’s stomach knotted, and his fingers clutched the receiver so tightly his knuckles turned white. He had only two connections to Grand Springs, Colorado, and he didn’t want to hear bad news about either of them. He wished he could hang up, walk away and forget the call had ever been made, but of course he couldn’t. All he could do was take an unsteady breath and ask, “What can I do for you, Mr. Markham?”
“I’m calling about your aunt, Golda Reed. She— I’m sorry, Mr. Reed, but she died a short while ago. As far as the doctors can tell, her heart gave out on her. She fell asleep and just didn’t wake up. I’m sorry.”
So was Justin, sorry and filled with regret. He hadn’t been the best nephew Golda could have had, though he had been her favorite. He’d visited her a few times and called her when he thought about it, but…well, after his last visit nearly six years ago, there had been complications that made maintaining the relationship difficult.
His smile was thin and bitter. Complications. Yes, that was a good word to describe Fiona Lake and the way she’d made him feel. Trouble, decked out with red hair, hazel eyes, a sprinkling of freckles across her perfect little nose and a passion that could make a man weak.
Although he sometimes had trouble remembering. Had he been at his weakest with Fiona? Or when he’d dumped her?
“Mr. Reed?”
Giving a shake of his head, he focused his attention on the conversation. “I’m here. I just… Had she been sick?”
“The usual aches and pains you’d expect in a woman her age. But she was prepared for it. She had her funeral planned right down to the songs and the singers, and she reviewed her will regularly. The service is scheduled for Friday afternoon. Will you or anyone else from the family be able to attend?”
Justin gave a moment’s thought to his caseload, though it wouldn’t have changed his answer. “I’ll be there, and I’ll notify the rest of the family.”
“Good. If you’d like, we can go over her will on Saturday. Golda always impressed upon me what a busy young man you are.”
Yeah, sure, too busy to spend time with her. Too busy—and too afraid of running into Fiona. And if he’d gone to Grand Springs, he would have undoubtedly run into Fiona. After all, she lived right next door to Golda. They chatted on their porches in the evenings and shared flowers from their gardens.
At least, they used to.
“Of course, you’re welcome to stay in Golda’s house while you’re here, or, if you’d prefer, we could make reservations for you at one of the local hotels.”
“I’ll—I’ll figure that out before I get there.” Stay in Golda’s house without Golda? With Fiona next door? With powerful memories and more powerful guilt for company? An anonymous hotel would suit him just fine.
“I’m looking forward to meeting you, Mr. Reed, though I’m sorry it’s under these circumstances. If you need anything between now and Friday, feel free to call me.” The lawyer gave his number, then hung up.
After a long, still moment, Justin hung up, too, and found the secretary watching him sympathetically. “I’m sorry about your aunt,” she murmured, then explained. “When I told Mr. Markham you were in a meeting, he told me why he was calling.”
“Thanks.”
“Can I do anything for you?”
His first impulse was to refuse. On second thought, he asked, “Could you get me round-trip reservations to Grand Springs, Colorado? I need to get in by noon Friday and leave late Saturday night.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
He didn’t return to the meeting but went to his office instead. He’d been sitting there, numbly staring out at the city, for some time when his supervisor knocked at the door, then came in.
George Wallace had been with the ATF since Justin was a kid. He’d sought a job in law enforcement because he figured carrying a gun and a badge might stop the endless teasing his name subjected him to, or so he claimed. He knew more about explosives and the people who tended to use them than all the other agents on their squad combined, and he wasn’t at all shy about sharing his knowledge.
He sat down in front of Justin’s desk. “The secretary told me about your aunt. I’m sorry.”
Justin acknowledged him with a nod.
“You need some time off?”
“Just a day. The funeral’s Friday afternoon, the reading of the will Saturday. I’ll come back that night.”
“You can take a couple extra days.”
“There’s no need to.” Golda had told him many times that she was leaving the bulk of her estate to him, but he couldn’t do anything with it until the will had been probated. That would give him at least a few weeks to consider it.
“Were you close to her?”
“She was my dad’s sister, older by about eighteen years. She helped raise him. After my folks split up, she helped raise me, too. I didn’t see her as often as I should have, but I liked her. I liked her a lot.”
“Why don’t you go on home? You must have people to notify.”
There was his mother in London, who would be too busy playing hostess to her latest husband the earl to feel much more than a twinge of regret. His father, living in Paris with his latest spouse—a twenty-something poster girl for eating disorders—probably wouldn’t even feel a twinge. He might have better luck with his father’s two older brothers, their wives and children, though he wouldn’t swear to it. With little chance of being included in Golda’s will, there was little chance they would care she was dead.
The Reeds were nothing if not greedy, he thought with a cynical smile.
Fiona would care. Whether she profited or not, she would be sorry that Golda was gone. She would miss her, and know life was poorer without the old lady in it.
“Justin?”
He gave George a weak smile. “Yeah, I need to call the family. It’s already evening in London and Paris. If I don’t get my mother and father before they go out, I may not get them.”
“Go on home. Take tomorrow off if you need it. And if you want a few extra days when you get there…”
“Thanks.” As his boss left, Justin packed the papers he wanted to take home in his briefcase, then signed out. By the time he got to the apartment he called home, the news had sunk in, and he was feeling less dazed and more regretful. He should have been a better nephew, should have made more of an effort to keep in touch with Golda. He never should have let fear compromise the one healthy lifelong relationship he had.
But it was too late for regrets now.
When he reached his mother in London, she was dressing for a party. She said all the right words, but, as usual, they lacked sincerity. And she wondered why her marriages never lasted.
It was 10:00 p.m. in Paris and his father, surprisingly, was in. He said the right words, too, but when Justin asked if he would return for the funeral, he sounded genuinely perplexed. “It’s a hell of a long flight to Colorado, and what would be the point?”
“I don’t know, Dad. What would be the point of showing up for your only sister’s funeral? Maybe showing that you cared about her? That you respected her? That at least you were grateful for everything she’d done for you?”
“What did she do for me?”
Justin bit back an obscenity. “Forget I even asked. I’ve got to go—”
“Don’t you want to say hello to Monique? Talk about respect… Calling halfway across the world, then hanging up without even saying hello to your stepmother is a fine way to show your respect for her.”
“Give her my best. I’ll talk to you soon.” Justin hung up before his father could say anything else, before he could blurt out what he really wanted to say—that Monique wasn’t even old enough for him to lust after, so she for damn sure wasn’t old enough to be his stepmother. That he felt little respect for her and none for his father. That with Golda gone, so was the Reed family’s last chance at decency, generosity and humanity.
Without Golda, the entire rest of the family was nothing but a bunch of coldhearted, self-absorbed bastards.
Himself included.
Next he talked to his uncles and five of his six cousins, leaving a message for the last one. There might have been one or two genuine I’m sorrys in their responses, but he couldn’t say for sure.
After the last call, he took a beer from the refrigerator and went to stand at the balcony door. As the sky darkened and lights came on across the city, he lifted the bottle in a salute to the west. “The family’s gonna let you down again, Aunt Golda. But that doesn’t surprise you, does it? We always disappointed you while you were alive. Why should it be any different now that you’re dead?”
Unexpectedly his throat tightened with more emotion than he’d felt in years. “I’m sorry, Aunt Golda,” he murmured as his eyes grew damp. “I loved you…and I’m so damned sorry.”
“He’s coming back.”
Fiona Lake looked up from the table she was polishing to meet her mother’s gaze. Delores looked both regretful and triumphant. The triumph came from her success in finding the answer to the question that had haunted them both since learning of Golda’s death two days ago. Her regret came from the answer itself.
So Justin was coming to Golda’s funeral.
He had every right to be there. He was her nephew, and she’d loved him like a son. It was only fitting that he honor her one last time by being present for her funeral. If he hadn’t come, Fiona would have hated him for it.
Oh, but she didn’t want to see him!
“How did you find out?” Fiona asked as if it wasn’t important.
“I asked Roger Markham. He was Golda’s attorney, you know. He called Justin at work Wednesday to tell him that she’d passed, and Justin said he would be here.”
How many times had Fiona tried to call Justin at his Washington office six years ago? Eight? Ten? And yet he’d always been conveniently out. Now she knew she should have asked Roger to call for her—or anybody else in the world whose name wasn’t Lake.
“What are you going to do?”
“Nothing. I’m going to Golda’s funeral, and I’m going to pretend that Justin and I have never met.”
Delores snorted. “Oh, yes, I can see you pulling that off. And what about after the funeral? When you go home and he’s right there next door?”
“I’ll be home. He’ll be next door.”
“What about Katy?”
Fiona’s hand trembled at the mention of her daughter. Almost five years old, Katy was the light of her life. She loved her daughter more than she’d known she was capable of loving—more than she’d ever loved Justin, more than she’d ever hated him. She’d needed all that love to make up for the father who’d never given a damn that Katy existed, to atone for her sin of falling in love with a man who could be so coldhearted and selfish.
“What about Katy, Mom? He didn’t care about her before. He’s not going to care now.”
“Are you going to let him see her?”
“I’m not going to hide her away like something to be ashamed of. But no, I’m not going to make a point of bringing her to his attention.” She wasn’t going to do anything to bring herself to his attention, either. Golda had had hundreds of friends. The church would be packed to overflowing this afternoon, and virtually all of them would want to express their regrets to Golda’s only relative in attendance.
All of them except her.
“Nice table,” Delores said as Fiona stepped back to study its shine. “What is it?”
“Rosewood. Mrs. Owens picked it up on her last trip to Europe, paid a fortune to have it shipped here, then decided it really didn’t go. She traded it to me for that armoire that had been collecting dust in the corner for two years.” Fiona looked around for something else in need of cleaning, but she’d been dusting and polishing practically nonstop since hearing about Golda’s death. Everything in the shop looked fine.
Laying the cloth aside, she walked behind the counter and sat down in a circa-1920 oak desk chair. Nearly an hour remained before they had to leave for the church, and she had nothing left to do but think. Remember.
And she didn’t want to remember.
Her mother came to stand behind her and gave her a shoulder rub. “You’ll get through this, darlin’. I know it’s tough, losing Golda and having to see Justin again at the same time, but you’re strong. You’ll survive.”
“I know I will, Mom. It’s just…” Hard. Hard saying goodbye to her good friend and neighbor, and even harder having to do it with him there. Hardest of all was having to face him, remembering his sweet words of love, his solemn promises to come back to her, his long years of silence. Sometimes she’d thought it would have been easier if he’d simply told her it was over. But how much clearer could a message be than no message at all?
Lord, she wished things were different! This wasn’t at all where she’d thought she would be at the age of thirty. Not that she didn’t have a lot to be grateful for. She owned her own house. Past Times, her antique shop, was well established and provided her with a comfortable living. She had family and friends, and best of all, she had Katy. In fact, the only thing she’d thought would be different was her lack of a husband. She’d assumed she would become a wife before becoming a mother. She’d thought her life would be more traditional, like her parents’ and sisters’ lives.
Of course, when she’d made those assumptions, she hadn’t counted on falling in love with a man like Justin Reed. She hadn’t known she could misjudge someone so badly.
He’d come to spend two days with Golda before continuing his vacation out west. Instead he’d stayed ten days, and she’d known before the first one was over that she’d met the man she was going to marry. They’d gone from strangers to lovers in the space of a few hours, had fallen head over heels in love soon after.
At least, she had. He’d told her he loved her, told her she was the most special woman in his life and talked of their future together—of the places they would go, the things they would see, the babies they would have. When his job cut his vacation short and called him back to the East Coast, he’d sworn he would come back as soon as he could. He’d asked her to visit him in Washington, had promised he would love her forever and told her he already missed her.
She had believed everything he said, and it had all been lies. Wonderfully romantic, just-what-she’d-wanted-to-hear lies. Carefully-calculated-to-seduce lies.
Seeing him would be hard, all right, but she would manage. As her mother said, she was strong. She would survive. But, please, God, she hoped there was a limit to how many times she was expected to survive Justin’s intrusion into, then disappearance from, her life.
“We’d probably better go,” Delores said, bending to give her a hug. “I told your sisters we’d pick them up on the way to the church. You don’t mind, do you?”
“Of course not.” Fiona switched on the answering machine, got her coat and purse from the back, then flipped the Open sign on the door to Closed. After locking up, she followed her mother to her car and settled in the passenger seat.
Though the day was cold—after all, it was January in Colorado—the sun was shining brightly. She was glad for that. Golda hadn’t minded dreary, gray days, but she’d absolutely reveled in sunny ones, no matter what the temperature. It was only right that she be laid to rest on a bright sunshiny day.
Her mother chatted idly, requiring no response from Fiona, on the way to first Kerry’s house, then Colleen’s. Her sisters lived three blocks in opposite directions from their parents’ home, while Fiona’s house was two blocks north. Unlike Justin’s family, the Lakes stayed close to home and liked it—though five years ago, she would have moved away with him if he’d asked, and been happy to do so. She would never consider such a move now. Family, she could count on to always be there for her. Justin had taught her that she couldn’t count on a man for anything besides heartache.
And the most beautiful little girl in the entire world.
When they reached the church, space was at a premium, both in the parking lot outside and in the pews inside, seating them much closer to the front than Fiona wanted. Given the opportunity, she would have escaped to the standing-room-only crowd at back, but with her mother on one side and Kerry and Colleen on the other, she didn’t get the opportunity.
Kerry squeezed her hand and gave her a smile. “It’s all right. We’ll stick close.”
“It’s silly to be so nervous.”
“I’d worry if you weren’t nervous. If you could see him for the first time since he—”
Betrayed her, Fiona filled in when her sister hesitated. Abandoned her. Broke her heart.
Kerry settled for a shrug. “—and not be nervous, then you’d be colder-hearted and more unfeeling than he could possibly be.”
Fiona would bet Justin wasn’t nervous about the prospect of seeing her again. For all she knew, he might not even remember her. And to be able to turn his back on his baby, he was definitely colder-hearted and more unfeeling than she could ever be.
The time for the funeral drew nearer, and the front row, reserved for family, remained empty. Just when Fiona was beginning to wonder if he hadn’t betrayed Golda, too, Delores bent close and whispered, “Take a deep breath, darlin’. There he is.”
Fiona didn’t have to turn her head more than a few degrees to see the man she’d loved and hated and prayed to never see again, walking down the aisle alongside the minister. He wore a steel-gray suit with a shirt and tie in softer dove-gray, and his black hair was trimmed short enough to control its wavy tendencies. His gaze was directed to the floor as he ignored the hundreds of people around him, and his jaw was set so tightly that she could see the tension from where she sat.
Colleen gave a sigh as the two men passed their pew. “He’s still handsome.”
Of course he was—possibly the handsomest man Fiona had ever met. Years ago she’d figured she thought that because she was so much in love with him, but no, she admitted regretfully. It was the truth. She certainly didn’t love him now, but he was still gorgeous.
And that was all right. Finding him handsome didn’t mean she was still a sucker for his lies. It didn’t mean he had any effect at all on her. She could admire the package without caring what was inside, because she knew what was inside—nothing worth having.
The service started promptly at two. Fiona listened to the eulogy, the prayers, the songs, and said a silent, final goodbye to her friend. With some bitterness, she hoped to soon do the same to Justin, who sat stiffly on the front row. He didn’t bow his head for the prayers, showed no emotion during the songs. He reminded her of nothing so much as a statue.
For the first time in five years, she felt truly relieved that he wasn’t a part of Katy’s life. Her daughter might need a father, but she didn’t need her own father. She was better off without him. So was Fiona. And so was Golda.
After the final prayer, Delores leaned across. “I’m going to pay my respects.”
Kerry and Colleen looked at Fiona, who shrugged. “Go ahead. I’ll wait here.”
She followed their progress part of the way up the aisle, then went to study the nearest of a dozen stained-glass windows that stretched the length of the church. She was restless, impatient to leave, to collect Katy from the baby-sitter, take her home and shut themselves off from the rest of the world until Sunday. Maybe they could go somewhere for the weekend—pack their bags, get in the car and head off on an adventure. Or maybe they could go to Denver—
“Fiona.”
Tension streaked through her body, clenching her muscles and bringing a sick feeling to her stomach. She said a quick prayer that she would turn and find her friend Rebecca’s husband Steve, or maybe Juliette’s husband Colton, but she knew Steve’s and Colton’s voices. More importantly, she knew his voice. It had seduced her, haunted her, taunted her…and then gone silent on her. No, It’s over. No, Goodbye. No, I don’t want you anymore. Just silence.
Forcing all emotion from her expression, she slowly turned to face him. Watching him walk past at a distance was nothing compared to seeing him up close. Handsome? Try incredible. This close she could see the deep blue of his eyes, the straight line of his nose, the perpetually stubborn set of his jaw.
She could see the resemblances to Katy that she’d conveniently persuaded herself weren’t there.
She thought of all the things she’d promised herself she would say to him if she ever saw him again. Every sentiment, every accusation, could be condensed into two harsh words—Damn you—but she didn’t say them. She didn’t say anything at all.
He shifted in a manner that should have screamed He’s nervous! Of course, it didn’t. It just seemed natural. Calm. “I wondered if you were going to speak to me.”
“Actually, no. Speaking to you makes it harder to keep up the illusion that I’d never met you.”
“And you like pretending you never met me.”
She smiled coolly. “I’d like it better if I really had never met you, but this is the next best thing.”
A faint hint of bitterness came into his eyes, and his mouth formed a thin line. After a moment, he flatly said, “I’m sorry about Golda.”
“Everyone here is sorry about Golda.” But in some tender place inside, she was touched by his acknowledgment that losing Golda was a bigger loss to her than him. After all, she’d seen the old lady every day. He’d stayed away for six years.
Because of her? Or because he hadn’t cared any more about his aunt than he had about Fiona?
He shifted again, and this time he did look… Not nervous. Uncomfortable. As if he wasn’t at all accustomed to the position he found himself in—the grieving nephew, the polite ex-lover. “I understand your being here has nothing to do with me, but…thank you anyway.”
“You’re right. Nothing in my life has anything to do with you.” Hoping her hand wouldn’t tremble, she gestured toward the center of the church. “You should probably get back over there. There are people waiting who actually want to talk to you.”
With a solemn nod, he turned and walked away, leaving her feeling… Edgy. Guilty. Ashamed. She wasn’t a rude person, and had never been cruel a day in her life. She could blame it on Justin. She hadn’t been a lot of things until she’d met him—easy, foolish, careless, dreamy, gullible, broken-hearted, pregnant. She hadn’t been so strong until she’d loved him and lost him. She needed that strength now to get through the next thirty hours.
She needed it desperately.
Justin turned onto the three hundred block of Aspen Street and slowed to well below the speed limit. The houses on the block were moderately sized, reasonably priced and in good shape considering they were nearly double his age. Golda’s was in the middle of the block on the left side of the street. Fiona’s was one closer.
It looked the same as it had six years ago. It wore a fresh coat of white paint on the siding, dark green on the shutters and door. The same car she’d driven then was parked in the driveway in front of the two-car garage, and what appeared to be the same lace curtains hung at her bedroom windows on the second floor.
But there were a few differences. A bike with training wheels was parked at the bottom of the steps. A kid-size basketball goal stood in the driveway next to the car. A red wagon on the porch held a soccer ball and a basketball among other toys. A remote-control Jeep lay upside down near the curb.
Maybe the toys belonged to her nieces and nephews, he reasoned, or maybe she’d been baby-sitting a friend’s children. But the cold, hard place that formed deep in his gut said otherwise. Fiona had a child.
Which meant she also had a husband.
He wondered how long she had waited for him before moving on. A few months? Six, maybe eight? And then she’d replaced him, gotten married and started the family she’d promised him. She was another man’s wife, raising another man’s child. Damn her.
And damn him. He’d promised he would come back, but he never had. He hadn’t written, hadn’t called, had ignored her calls. Plain and simple, he’d been afraid. All the intense emotions she roused in him had seemed perfectly normal when he was with her, but with distance had come doubt.
His parents had seen to it that he’d grown up with little belief in love and no faith at all in marriage. Their own marriage had been a mistake, and so had the ten or so they’d made since their divorce from each other. They’d acted on impulse every damn time, completing the meeting, lust, so-called love and marriage in record time, only to wake up with strangers they neither knew nor liked. Within a year, often less, the divorce was in the works and they were looking for the next person willing to make a fool of them.
He’d watched it happen time and again, often from the same household, usually from a distance, and he’d sworn it would never happen to him. If he ever married, it would be to someone he’d known a long time, someone he considered a friend, someone who didn’t believe in fairy tales of love and romance any more than he did. And if the marriage ended, he wouldn’t be so emotionally vested in it that it disrupted his life. He would deal with it like a mature adult and move on. He’d been so confident, so determined.
And yet the first time he’d mentioned marriage to Fiona, he’d known her all of seventy-two hours. After only three days, he’d been willing to tie the knot with a woman he hardly knew merely because she made him feel things he’d never felt before. He’d been not only willing but eager to follow in his parents’ footsteps, and that had scared the hell out of him.
So he’d cut her out of his life. Refused her calls at work. Let the machine pick them up at home. Ignored her quiet pleas. With eighteen hundred miles separating them, he’d convinced himself that Fiona had just been a fling, that the affair had been about sex and not love, that nothing so hot and intense could last. It hadn’t been difficult. He came from a long line of emotionally-stunted bastards. He’d had excellent role models.
Just past Fiona’s house, he pulled into Golda’s driveway and shut off the engine. He’d intended to spend the night at a motel, but his timing wasn’t the greatest. There was no room at the inns, and so the wayward nephew was left with no choice but to stay at Golda’s. Next to Fiona.
The lawyer had given him the key at the funeral—just in case. Taking his bag from the trunk as well as his briefcase, he let himself into the quiet, old house.
