He was over her, wasn’t he?
Scott had been telling himself that Mike’s death had changed everything, helped him overcome an unwanted awareness of a woman he had no business being aware of.
He’d been wrong.
But he was surprised. By the way his gut twisted hard. By the way he stood watching her, practically holding his breath, waiting. He had no clue for what. But he did know that the only thing he could control in life were the choices he made. He’d already made this choice. Long ago.
No man he’d want to know would covet a friend’s wife. Period.
Riley glanced around and spotted him. “Scott.”
Her smile flashed fast and real. She held out her hands and headed toward him.
“Welcome home,” was all he had a chance to say before she was taking his hands and leaning up on tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek.
Dear Reader,
Pleasant Valley, New York, is a very real place that’s near and dear to my heart. And while this quaint town has grown up in the years since I spent time there, it’s a place filled with warm memories and wonderful people living life to the fullest.
Her Husband’s Partner combines my love of action and suspense with the very thing I love best about Harlequin Superromance—falling in love while dealing with the struggles and issues women know intimately. For Riley, returning to Pleasant Valley means facing a devastating loss and finding her footing as a single parent. She accepts those challenges and comes face-to-face with a few others she hadn’t anticipated. That’s life. Learning to roll with the punches. Riley does and in the process learns to live and love again. Life is too precious to waste a second.
Ordinary women. Extraordinary romance.
I hope you enjoy Riley and Scott’s love story. I love hearing from readers so visit me at www.jeanielondon.com.
Peace and blessings,
Jeanie London
Her Husband’s Partner
Jeanie London
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jeanie London writes romance because she believes in happily-ever-afters. Not the “love conquers all” kind, but the “we love each other so we can conquer anything” kind. Which is why she loves Harlequin Superromance—stories about real women tackling real life to fall in love. She makes her home in sunny Florida with her romance-hero husband, their two beautiful and talented daughters and a menagerie of strays.
Books by Jeanie London
HARLEQUIN SUPERROMANCE
1616—FRANKIE’S BACK IN TOWN
HARLEQUIN BLAZE
153—HOT SHEETS*
157—RUN FOR COVERS*
161—PILLOW CHASE*
181—UNDER HIS SKIN
213—RED LETTER NIGHTS “Signed, Sealed, Seduced”
231—GOING ALL OUT
248—INTO TEMPTATION
271—IF YOU COULD READ MY MIND
HARLEQUIN SIGNATURE SELECT SPOTLIGHT
IN THE COLD
To the real Camille and Jake,
because I love you both so very much
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
EPILOGUE
PROLOGUE
SHE KISSED MIKE GOODBYE, arms still immersed to the elbows in soapy dishwater at the kitchen sink. The twins hopped up from the table, eager to make the daily pilgrimage to the porch to see Daddy off to work. Mike, the twins, even the dogs, clustered around her, surrounding her as if she was the sun in their universe. Seraphic chaos, Mike always called it, and she could practically hear those unspoken words when he handed her the dish towel. A perfect moment.
“Got to run,” he said.
Without another word, she herded the troops toward the door. He needed to get out early to make court on time, and the traffic getting into downtown Poughkeepsie could be hellish. Judge Callahan ran an orderly courtroom, and Mike didn’t want to be late the day he’d be taking the stand. Not when he and Scott had worked for over a year to collar the gang leader on trial.
“Good luck,” she said once they made it to the porch, lifting her face for another quick kiss. “You’ll be great.”
He met her gaze with a deeply amused look as if he’d known she wouldn’t say anything else, and that he appreciated how she always thought he was great. No matter what.
Then he scooped up the twins, one in each arm, because at three they were still small enough for him to do that. She wondered what he’d do when they grew too big. Pick up Camille first because she was the princess and the oldest by twenty-two minutes? Or Jake, his little guy? Knowing Mike, he’d take turns and always manage to remember who went first.
Now they’d never know for sure.
Letting her eyes drift shut, Riley blocked out reality for another desperate instant, clinging to the details of that morning, details that had been looping in her head nonstop until she couldn’t sleep, eat, feel.
Had it only been days since life had been normal?
“Riley,” a voice prompted, forcing her back to reality.
Opening her eyes, she found Chief Levering extending a neatly folded American flag. He didn’t offer condolences to the widow. He didn’t have the words. She knew it, recognized the grief he bore in the worn lines on his face, the heartbreaking weight of a job that cost more than he had to give.
She wanted to thank him for caring, thank the entire force that had loved and respected Mike. She didn’t have the words, either. When she accepted the flag, her hands shook.
The chief stood there a moment longer, finally signaling his men to begin the salute to honor their fallen brother.
A gunshot cracked the silence, then another and another, each exploding before the whine of the previous one had faded. The deafening blasts rattled the morning, should have rattled her. But each came as if from a distance, the volume almost too low to make out.
She was disconnected, numb, the only person left alive on the planet though a thousand people surrounded her, fanned out in every direction from the grave site. But they were just background noise, too. Not one of those people could come between her and the reality of that gaping hole in the ground.
Not one could come between her and the extravagant flower sprays with their blossoms so jarringly alive, the bright colors violent against the misty gray morning.
Not one could come between her and her husband’s wooden casket, polished to a high gloss that reflected her image, an image as disjointed as she felt.
Had it been only days since Riley Angelica’s dream had become a nightmare?
CHAPTER ONE
Two years later
“DADDY’S HERE?” Camille sounded unsure, so Riley glanced in the rearview mirror to find her daughter peering through the minivan window with a disbelieving expression.
Despite grief counseling, Camille’s idea of a cemetery clearly wasn’t lining up with the sight of lush forest and crowded gravestones whizzing past.
“Daddy’s in heaven,” Riley prompted. “Remember what we talked about with Ms. Jo-Ellyn? This is his special place on earth so we can visit him whenever we want.
”
“Like God at church,” Jake explained, the caring brother.
“That’s exactly right, sweet pea.” Riley caught her son’s gaze in the mirror and gave him a smile. “We can always talk to God because He’s everywhere, but church is His special place.”
Jake nodded slowly, looking so serious that Riley knew he wasn’t convinced about this cemetery business, either. Tough little guy was just looking after his “girls.” She didn’t think he could actually remember when his daddy had charged him with that responsibility….
“You’re the man around here while I’m gone,” Mike had always said. “Take care of our girls for me.”
Obviously Jake had been affected on some level. One thing Riley had learned during the past two years of grief counseling was that the human mind had an amazing capacity to cling to long-ago details. She also knew caring for “his girls” was a big responsibility for a five-year-old.
She maneuvered the minivan down one of the narrow paths winding through St. Peter’s Cemetery. Left. Left. Right. Left. She made each turn as if she’d just visited the grave site yesterday.
Her mind definitely had an amazing capacity for the past.
In some ways Riley felt as if she’d lived a lifetime since that last time she’d been here. Yet she didn’t even have to close her eyes to see the place as it had looked then. Stark during that bleak time of year before spring breathed even a hint of promise. Just mere months after Mike’s death, when she’d finally accepted she wasn’t going to forge through the healing process like the strong widow.
Riley had intended to deal with grief head-on. She knew it would be hard, the hardest thing she’d ever tackled in her life, but she was practical and had every reason in the world to cope with this unexpected turn their lives had taken.
Two very precious reasons—both securely strapped in the back seat of the van.
Much like Jake felt the responsibility of caring for his girls, Riley’s responsibility was to care for the family in Mike’s absence, to make their dreams happen even though he wouldn’t be with them.
It had never even occurred to her that the healing process wouldn’t be hers to manage and control, that the process had a mind and a will all its own.
The Law Enforcement Support Network provided a variety of services for family members who’d lost loved ones in the line of duty. She’d read every word of the literature, followed every counselor’s suggestion, listened attentively to other grieving folks in the support group. She’d accepted the help of loving family and friends though her inclination was to put on a determined smile and tell everyone, “I’m good. It’s all good.”
She hadn’t been good at all.
It had taken months to accept that fact, months to realize that her decision to grieve in a healthy fashion for herself and her kids didn’t matter. Not when everywhere Riley turned she’d been bombarded by memories of Mike, their wonderful life together and all the dreams they’d made for the future.
Riley could barely stand to be inside the house. She couldn’t sleep. She couldn’t eat. She couldn’t concentrate long enough to write a 1200-word article. No matter how hard she tried, she simply couldn’t believe that Mike wasn’t coming home. Ever.
Part of the problem, she knew, had been the investigation. While Mike had managed to kill his murderer on the courthouse steps, there’d been other gang members who had organized the shooting behind the scenes, a revenge killing against the cop responsible for building the case that would send one of their own to prison. Mike’s partner and the entire police department had been determined to bring down each and every one.
Even if she could have avoided the newspaper headlines and television and radio sound bites, she would have had to burn the city to the ground to avoid the reminders of gang graffiti on street signs and bus stops and the sides of buildings.
Every time Riley drove through downtown Poughkeepsie—and her job as a reporter for the Mid-Hudson Herald brought her there often—she’d witness the visible displays of anger and violence that had cost Mike his life.
In that fragile emotional state, she hadn’t wanted to make decisions about selling their farmhouse in Pleasant Valley, Mike’s twenty-five-acre dream home for the horses he loved.
Fortunately she hadn’t had to. Their college-age nephew had become caretaker as a way to move out of his family home since he hadn’t earned scholarships for dorm housing.
Riley had made arrangements to stay with her mother and stepfather in Florida. On that long-ago day, she’d come to the cemetery on her way out of town to apologize to Mike for abandoning their life until she could figure out some way to heal and go on. But Florida wasn’t meant to be forever, and now she and the kids were coming home.
Steering the van off the path, she came to a stop in the grass so a car could squeeze past if one happened along, not that she could see another living soul around. The place was quiet, but with that lively silence of summer. Birds twittered. Insects chirped. Fat squirrels scampered around trees. Though there wasn’t much of a breeze, leaves rustled sharply as a squirrel leaped in a daredevil arc from one branch to another.
These antics of nature were familiar reminders of the life they’d left behind in Florida. A life spent largely outdoors with play group visits to parks and the beach. The twins couldn’t remember the reality of an upstate New York winter, and Riley hoped the novelty of snow would ease their transition through the upcoming, and unfamiliar, season changes.
“We’re here.” She forced a brightness into her voice she didn’t quite feel and turned the key in the ignition. “Let’s grab the things we made for Daddy.”
She’d barely gotten the words out of her mouth before seat belts snapped open, the minivan door rattled on its hinges and sneakers hit the ground, ready to run.
She didn’t bother repeating her direction, didn’t stand a chance against the twins’ curiosity and excitement. She just said, “Hang on,” while retrieving the backpack from the floor of the van.
“Where is he?” Camille scanned the sea of gravestones impatiently.
Riley handed her daughter a bouquet of bright tissue-paper flowers and her son the Popsicle-stick frame showcasing him displaying the foot-long bass he’d caught on his latest fishing excursion with Grandpa Joel.
“Follow me.” She directed them down a winding path, careful not to tread on other folks’ resting places. Her two high-energy little kids grew eerily quiet.
“Here we are,” she finally said, placing a hand on each small shoulder as they gathered around Mike’s grave.
Riley couldn’t bring herself to look down, not yet, so she watched her kids instead, the sun glinting off their pale blond heads as she tried to gauge their reactions.
Jake frowned intently, the spattering of freckles across his nose crinkling with the effort. Camille’s crystal-blue eyes took in every detail, and she could barely contain her need to move, a need that had her bouncing up on her tiptoes excitedly.
As fraternal twins, Jake and Camille resembled each other as any brother and sister might, but they were entirely their own little people. While both were towheaded with fair skin that held enough of Mike’s Italian heritage to let them tan to a deep golden brown, they had distinctly different features. Jake’s eyes were a deep, almost sapphire blue while Camille’s were startlingly light, the sparkly blue of ice.
The last time Mike had seen them they’d been adorable three-year-olds. Not quite kids, but no longer babies, either. Now they were all kid, each with his and her own personality and opinions, both raring to get out into the world, which at this age meant kindergarten—the very reason Riley had decided now was the time to come home and get settled.
Unsurprisingly, Camille was the one to make the first move. She launched forward with a hop-skip and sank down in front of the headstone, propping her bright bouquet against it.
“Hi, Daddy,” she said in her singsong lilt. “I made this for you at Chiefie school. Jakie made one, too, but Ryan knocked
over his juice bag and grape juice squirted all over it. The flowers melted on the table.”
“Ms. Kayleigh said it wasn’t my fault so it was okay,” Jake added in a hasty defense, taking a few tentative steps toward his sister.
Chiefie school had actually been a child-care class in a public high school. The program was designed to give student teachers hands-on experience in child care while gearing up preschoolers for kindergarten. Since Chamberlain High School’s mascot was a Native American chief, the preschoolers had been known as chiefies. With four student teachers caring for each little chiefie, the mornings the twins attended the program had been filled with structured fun and a lot of caring attention.
“Here, Jakie. Give Daddy your present.” Camille mothered her twin every step of the way, even reaching out to take the frame he held tightly in both hands. Jake pulled away and held it away from her. Camille just shrugged, familiar with her brother’s unwillingness to accept help, and told her daddy, “Jakie made you a frame for his fish picture.”
“It was a bass, Camille,” Jake corrected, still clearly put out that she’d tried to take his gift. Slanting his gaze toward the headstone, he steeled his nerves and said, “Grandpa Joel said it was the biggest bass in the lake, and he showed me how to bend the hook so his mouth didn’t have a big hole when we threw him back in.”
The thought of Mike watching this show from heaven helped Riley shift her gaze down to the headstone, too.
Michael Jacob Angelica
Beloved Husband and Father
4/4/1975—2/2/2008
Always in our hearts
Her Husband’s Partner Page 1
