Secrets of a Perfect Night

by Stephanie Laurens

  “For now.”

  “Forever.”

  He shook his head. “I will not accept that.”

  “You have no choice.”

  “Only for the moment.” He stared at her intently. “For tonight, at least allow me to present you with a small token of my affection. And my intentions.”

  “That’s very kind of you, but I really don’t think—”

  “Regardless, it was made with you in mind. I will not take no for an answer.” He pulled a small object from his waistcoat pocket and held it out to her. It glittered in the light from the ballroom.

  Her hand trembled and she took it hesitantly and held it close to see it better. It was wide and oddly shaped. Half a gold coin curved into the form of a ring. Her heart caught.

  “You kept it?” She could barely choke out the words. “All these years?

  “I said I would. Always.”

  She stared and tears stung the back of her throat. The barriers she’d built to save her sanity and her life shattered. A wave of emotion threatened to engulf her. George’s words rang in her mind.

  It is my most fervent wish that you do not close your heart to the possibility that what once was lost may not be gone forever.

  Wasn’t that exactly what she’d done? Closed her heart to protect herself from the intensity of the pain Jason’s leaving had brought, but in the process closed it as well to the love? Closed her heart to the one man, the only man, who truly shared her soul? The man who’d kept this token in memory of her regardless of the time or distance or circumstances separating them. The man she loved.

  “Would you put it on my finger?” She held out the ring, and her hand shook with her voice.

  “If you’d like.”

  He took the ring and she reached out. He tugged at the fingertips of her glove and slowly pulled it off.

  There, in the palm of her hand, was the other half of the coin.

  He drew a shocked breath and stared at the coin. “I never dared hope…You hated me so. Why—”

  “I meant to return it to you tonight.” Her gaze met his.

  “And now?” Intensity shone in his dark eyes.

  “Now I still think you should have it.”

  “Very well.” His voice was grim in the manner of a man who had at last accepted the inevitable. The manner of a man who was at last giving up.

  At once she realized the return of her half of the coin was the only thing that would ever force him to admit defeat. The one thing that would convince him of the futility of his quest. He didn’t understand that in the course of a few short seconds, everything had changed. He’d won.

  No, they’d won.

  “It seems only fair.” A tear slipped down her face, and another, and she barely noticed. “After all, I have your half. And if we each have our halves of the coin, it will keep us together, in spirit if not in body. Although it scarcely seems necessary.”

  His gaze searched her face. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying I absolutely forbid you to leave me ever, ever again.” The tears fell faster and the world around her blurred save for his dear face and the dawning realization lighting his eyes. “Not for the rest of my days. And if you dare to attempt it, even if you think I’m dead, if there is so much as one breath left in my body, I shall hunt you down to the ends of the earth before I will ever let you go.”

  “Not ever?” he said slowly.

  “No, never.” She sobbed. “I love you. I’ve always loved you.”

  He raised a brow. “You said you couldn’t love me.”

  “And you said you didn’t believe me.” She swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand and wondered at the tears that continued to fall. “You were right.”

  He pulled her into his arms and stared down at her with a wicked smile, softened by the joy in his eyes. “I knew I was right.”

  “You needn’t be so smug about it.” She sniffed. “You are an infuriating man and I don’t know how I shall ever put up with you.”

  “You shall have to learn.”

  “Indeed I shall.”

  He grinned and kissed her tears. “And will I have to put up with a weeping woman for the rest of my days?”

  “Yes.” She laughed through her tears and thought surely her heart was breaking again as it had the last time she’d cried like this. Because surely no heart could survive such happiness. She stepped out of his embrace and held out her hand. “Now take your coin and give me my ring.”

  He took the gold piece and slipped it into his pocket. Then he placed the ring on her finger, drew her hand to his lips, and kissed her palm. “At long last, Rachael, the two halves of the coin are reunited. The world is as it should be.”

  “Wrongs have been set right,” she murmured.

  It is my hope, dear Rachael, that you and Jason can find it in your hearts to forgive me my failings. Do not judge me too harshly. I did what I thought was best for all concerned. I pray these letters have served their purpose and wrongs have at last been put right.

  I loved you both.

  Yours,

  George

  In the end it all came down to love. For good and ill. And it was George’s love for them both, expressed in these last letters, in truth, letters of love, that ultimately brought them back together. It was one more thing for which he’d earned her gratitude. And for that, he would always have a place in her heart. A heart now open.

  Thank you, George, she said silently.

  “Did you say something?” Jason smiled down at her.

  “Just a prayer of thanks.” She gazed up at him. “Isn’t it about time you kissed me again?”

  “Past time.” He grinned and crushed her lips to his.

  Joy surged through her and at long last Rachael knew her life had indeed come full circle. She was with Jason where she was always meant to be. And like the ring that encircled her finger, the end joined with the beginning in a never-ending circle of the love they shared.

  Always.

  When Victoria Alexander discovered fiction was much more fun than real life, she turned from a career as an award-winning television reporter to a full-time writer. To date she’s written more than a dozen works ranging from time-travel to historical adventure to contemporary comedy.

  Victoria grew up as an Air Force brat and now lives in a hundred-year-old house in Omaha, Nebraska, with her husband, two teenaged children, and a bearded collie named Sam.

  She firmly believes housework is a four-letter word, there are no calories in anything eaten standing up, and procrastination is an art form.

  And she loves getting mail that doesn’t require a return payment. Write to her at P.O. Box 31544, Omaha, Nebraska 68131.

  Now and Forever

  Rachel Gibson

  One

  BRINA MCCONNELL SLID her feet into a pair of five-inch kiss-my-ass high heels and buckled the tiny straps around her ankles. The shoes were red suede and looked like she’d found them in the closet of a well-dressed hooker. Brina loved shoes that boosted her height to a whopping five foot seven. They made her legs look long and lanky—something every short girl dreamed of and tall girls took for granted.

  She stood and, with the ease of a woman accustomed to balancing her weight on spiky heels and chunky wedgies, she walked to the mirror. She placed her hand over the butterflies in her stomach and eyed herself critically from the tip of her shoes to the top of her dark hair. The itinerary had indicated semiformal dress for the cocktail party, and Brina’s sleeveless red dress was perfect. It was simple and basic and hugged the curves that had developed only after high school. Her chocolate brown hair curled softly to the middle of her back, and she’d painted her lips a deep red and lined her hazel eyes with a kohl pencil. She looked dramatic and a bit exotic, and most of the time she was pleased with the woman she’d become. But not tonight. Tonight when she looked at herself, she saw the flat-chested skinny teenager her classmates had called “munchkin.” Of course, that had only been when they’d rem
embered her at all. Most of the time they’d just ignored her like she hadn’t even existed.

  Brina moved to the bedside table and reached for the itinerary that had been sent to her office in Portland. The words Galliton High School Class of 1990 Reunion were embossed across the top of the page. The weekend’s events were listed below, starting with tonight’s cocktail party and dance. The reunion committee had planned ski events and a tour of the old high school tomorrow afternoon, followed by a big New Year’s Eve celebration tomorrow night. The reunion ended with Sunday’s brunch.

  Brina wasn’t surprised that the high school reunion committee had chosen to hold the reunion the weekend of the New Year instead of a more traditional summer month. The small town of Galliton Pass revolved around the ski season, and with not much more to recommend it but the promise of the country’s best packed powder, the town all but shut down during the summer. In an effort to draw as many tourist dollars as possible, New Year’s Eve in Galliton Pass had always been a huge event.

  In the ballroom somewhere below, Brina’s classmates had already begun to assemble for the past half hour. There’d been 78 members of her graduating class, and she wondered how many had showed.

  One person she knew hadn’t made the trip was her best friend since the ninth grade, Stephanie. Stephanie now lived in East Texas and had just given birth to her second baby girl. No way would she leave a newborn, and bringing a tiny baby all the way to Galliton wasn’t an option Stephanie would ever even consider. Not to visit a bunch of kids who’d pretty much ignored her too.

  In Galliton Pass there really wasn’t much of a middle class. It was filled with the haves and have-nots, and there weren’t many in between. There were those who owned businesses in the resort town, and those who worked for them. Brina and her friends belonged to the latter.

  The paper fell from her hand to the hotel bed. She was stalling and knew it. She was a private investigator with the firm of Cane, Foster and Morgan. In her professional life, she traced missing people who didn’t want to be found, and she uncovered facts that were best left buried. In the beginning she’d investigated a lot of cheating cases, but now she mostly spent her days searching for missing people and things, or she investigated insurance fraud. On more than one occasion she’d proved she was just as tough as any man. She’d had to get really ballsy while going toe to toe with biological parents who didn’t want to pay their child support, or spouses who wanted to remain missing.

  Brina reached for her red silk shawl and wrapped it around her elbows. It had taken coming home to make her feel insecure and unsure of herself, but she’d had to come. She had to show them that she was somebody. That she wasn’t the insignificant girl who would have done just about anything to be included. The girl who’d lost something important when she’d tried.

  She grabbed her little silk purse, and without pausing to check her flaws one last time in the mirror, she walked out of Room 316 and into the hall of Timber Creek Lodge. She rode the elevator to the first floor, and as soon as the doors opened, she heard the party down the hall to her left. To her right, skiers relaxed in the lounge around a big fire.

  Brina took a left to the registration table. The line had dwindled except for a man and his very pregnant wife, and she waited for them to move on before she stepped forward and looked into the eyes of Mindy Franklin, head cheerleader and class secretary. Mindy was still cute in a perky sort of way, like she could still jump up and demand everyone show their school spirit. Only now her name tag read Mindy Burton. She’d obviously married her high school sweetheart, president of the ski team and future heir to Timber Creek Lodge, Brett Burton.

  “Your name?”

  Brina didn’t expect her to remember. Since graduation, she’d grown two inches taller, a full cup size bigger, and finally developed a butt. “Brina McConnell.”

  Mindy’s mouth fell open. “Brina McConnell? I wouldn’t have recognized you.”

  “I was a late bloomer.”

  “You’re not the only one. Wait until you see Thomas Mack.” Mindy handed Brina a name tag. “But you probably see him all the time. Wasn’t he your boyfriend?”

  Yes, for a short time Thomas Mack had been her boyfriend, but before that, they’d been friends since the first grade. An image flashed across her mind of a boy with big blue eyes and long black lashes. He’d always been tall for his age, so skinny his bones stuck out, and so damn smart he’d been offered scholarships from the top universities in the country.

  She pinned the name tag to her dress and answered, “No, I haven’t seen Thomas since twelfth grade.” Not since she’d dumped him their senior year for Mark Harris, quarterback and all-around popular muscle neck.

  For eleven years she and Thomas had been close friends. For six months in the summer and fall of 1989, they’d been more, but for the last ten years, they hadn’t spoken. Not since the night she’d gone to his house to tell him Mark Harris had asked her to the Christmas prom, and she’d said yes. She’d ruined her relationship with Thomas over a guy like Mark. Thank God she’d grown up, and somewhere along the way learned that she was perfectly okay exactly the way she was.

  Back then she supposed she’d been a bit starstruck. In a town the size of Galliton, the quarterback of the football team was a local celebrity, eclipsed only by the captain of the ski team. Mark had been somebody, and he’d notice her.

  She hadn’t wanted to hurt Thomas, hadn’t wanted to lose him, and she’d gone to his house that night hoping they could remain friends. She should have known better. The night she’d broken up with him, he’d looked at her through eyes turned cold and had said, “You always did want to sit at the big table. Here’s your chance. Just don’t expect me to pick up the pieces. I won’t be around.” And he hadn’t been. Exactly one month later, Mark had dumped her flat, and Thomas had moved on. After that, whenever they’d been in the same room, he’d looked at her as if she were a stranger.

  “I guess he’s really successful now.”

  “Who?”

  “Thomas Mack. He started a computer software company. I heard he recently sold it for millions.”

  Good, Brina thought. Thomas had always boasted that he’d be a millionaire by the time he was thirty. It sounded as if he’d done it. One of the outcasts, a guy whose parents had been killed when he’d been a baby. A boy who’d been raised by grandparents who’d loved him, but had little money to provide for a child, had made it big. It would be good to see him again.

  “I’m sure I’ll see you around,” Brina said, and walked into the ballroom.

  The room was decorated with white streamers, and white balloons lay strewn about on the floor. On the far side, a stage had been erected and was swathed with white bunting and silver glitter. A band had set up their instruments, but for now the stage was empty. On a dozen or so easels about the room sat different blown-up photos of the class of 1990. Crowds had gathered at each easel and were reliving their high school glory days. Brina didn’t bother to look at the pictures. She knew she probably wasn’t in any of them.

  The huge floor-to-ceiling windows and doors on the left side of the room led out to a deck and overlooked a ski run thick with moguls and aptly named “Showboat.” The glass reflected wavy images of the people inside, and if Brina looked hard enough toward the top, she could see that it was snowing outside.

  She made her way through the round tables set up on the perimeter and spotted several faces she recognized. At the bar, she ordered a gin and tonic and glanced about the room, searching for a tall gangly man with unruly hair. Her gaze skimmed from table to table, then stopped dead on a group standing near the champagne fountain. She knew them from band class. All except one.

  As if he felt her gaze on him, the man she didn’t recognize turned his head and looked at her, and a little tingle joined the butterflies in her stomach.

  His dark hair was cut short, and unlike some of the men around him, he looked like he would still need a comb for many years to come. She couldn’t se
e the color of his eyes, but they were deep set and a bit intense as he stared back at her. His cheeks were wide, his jaw perfectly square, and his deep blue suit fit his broad shoulders with the flawless tailoring that could only come from a designer label. One side of the jacket was brushed back, and he’d shoved a hand in the pocket of his trousers. His white shirt fit flat against his chest, and his blue tie was held in place by a thin gold clasp.

  Brina raised her glass to her lips. Some lucky girl’s husband, she thought, until his bold gaze slid over her, touching her lips and throat and lingering over her breasts. Normally, she probably would have been offended by his unrepentant staring, but it didn’t feel as if he were looking at her with sexual interest. More out of mild curiosity, as if he were inspecting her instead of checking her out. But when his eyes moved to her hips and legs, then began the slow process all the way back up, an appreciative smile curved the corners of his mouth, and she about sucked in the lime slice from her drink.

  Perhaps not a husband after all, she amended. Probably some girl had begged a hunky guy to escort her tonight. Or hired an underwear model. Brina had thought of that too, but in the end she hadn’t because it made her feel as if she wasn’t okay by herself.

  “Brina McConnell?”

  Brina tore her attention from the man across the room and looked at the woman in front of her. Instantly she recognized the light green eyes and long auburn hair. “Karen Johnson, how are you?”

  She and Karen had been president and vice president of The Future Homemakers of America together, and they’d gotten drunk on Karen’s daddy’s home-made wine on more than one occasion.

  Karen spread her arms wide, then laid her hand on her very rounded tummy. “Pregnant with my third,” she said.