by Holly Jacobs
“Now, Carly, why would you think I don’t dance?” Chuck asked
“I don’t know. It doesn’t seem very macho. I mean, when I think cops, I think guns drawn, kicking in the door and taking down the…perps?”
He laughed. “Call me a Renaissance man, because I can draw a weapon and lead a pretty woman around on the dance floor.” He twirled her once, twice. “So, is this our song?” Chuck asked, joking.
Carly must not have noticed the humor in his question, because he could feel her body get tense.
“Chuck, we won’t be together long enough to have a song, remember?”
He should probably kick himself for asking something like that. It broke all his keep-things-light rules. Instead of backtracking, he said, “Whether we’re together or not, we can have a song. Tell you what, every time I hear Jimmy Buffett, I’ll think of you.”
“Oh, so we won’t just have a song, we’ll have a whole singer?” Her tone was light, and her body relaxed—she sort of melted into him. “And I guarantee that I will think about you, about this moment, every time I hear Buffett.”
They didn’t talk any more after that…they didn’t need to. Even when the band switched to a faster song, they continued dancing, swaying to a beat it felt as if only they were following.
Dear Reader,
Saying no is hard.
I know it’s not just me. A lot of my friends find it difficult to say no, as well. Carly Lewis, our heroine, has always had a problem with saying the word. And somewhere along the line, as she said yes to everything and put everyone’s needs ahead of her own, she lost herself.
In Once Upon a Valentine’s, Carly is desperately trying to discover who she is. Carly thinks that means she has to stand on her own two feet. Alone. But her friends Samantha and Michelle teach her that she can lean on friends without feeling guilty. And maybe Chuck Jefferson can convince her that she can be whoever she wants to be, as long as she lets him stand by her side. Maybe this is the one time when saying no isn’t in Carly’s best interests?
I’ve got to confess, I’ve really loved visiting Erie Elementary with this trilogy. Watching Samantha (Once Upon a Thanksgiving), Michelle (Once Upon a Christmas) and Carly (Once Upon a Valentine’s) form a friendship that can withstand kids, jobs, new loves—and even the PTA Social Planning Committee—was so much fun. I hope you enjoy this last installment and will watch for my next Superromance novel, available later this year. You can drop by my Web site, www.hollyjacobs.com, for updates, or drop me a line at P.O. Box 11102, Erie, PA 16514-1102!
Happy Valentine’s!
Holly
Once Upon a Valentine’s
HOLLY JACOBS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
In 2000, Holly Jacobs sold her first book to Harlequin Enterprises. She’s since sold more than twenty novels to the publisher. Her romances have won numerous awards and made the Waldenbooks bestseller list. In 2005, Holly won a prestigious Career Achievement Award from Romantic Times BOOKreviews. In her nonwriting life Holly is married to a police lieutenant, and together they have four children. Visit Holly at www.HollyJacobs.com, or you can snail-mail her at P.O. Box 11102, Erie, PA 16514-1102.
Books by Holly Jacobs
HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE
1232—ONCE UPON A THANKSGIVING
1238—ONCE UPON A CHRISTMAS
HARLEQUIN EVERLASTING
17—THE HOUSE ON BRIAR HILL ROAD
SILHOUETTE ROMANCE
1557—DO YOU HEAR WHAT I HEAR?
1653—A DAY LATE AND A BRIDE SHORT
1683—DAD TODAY, GROOM TOMORROW
1733—BE MY BABY
1768—ONCE UPON A PRINCESS
1777—ONCE UPON A PRINCE
1785—ONCE UPON A KING
1825—HERE WITH ME
This one’s for the real officers
of the Erie Police Department, who put so much on
the line every day to keep my favorite city safe. And
to a certain captain who, I’ll confess, is my favorite!
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Epilogue
Prologue
September
Carly Lewis threw her books into her bag and hollered, “Sean. Rhiana. If you’re not in the car in two minutes I’m leaving without you.”
She heard hurried scuffles and groaned responses from upstairs and knew her two seventh-graders believed her warning. She actually had followed through on this particular threat last year, right after she and the kids had moved from their upscale Millcreek subdivision to the small bungalow on Erie’s upper east side. They’d been running late, and she’d had enough and left without them.
Of course, even though their school was within walking distance, she’d felt guilty seconds after she’d pulled out of the driveway so—soft touch that she was—she’d simply circled the block. She’d pulled back in front of the house and found them standing there. They looked so much alike they could be actual twins rather than siblings born ten months apart. They’d appeared so forlorn and unsure. And as always, simply looking at the two of them melted her heart.
As they’d climbed into the car she’d told them that next time she wasn’t coming back and they’d be forced to walk to school. They seemed to take the threat seriously, which helped with her rather hectic morning schedule. But she knew she’d always come back. That’s just what mothers did.
“One minute,” she called as she surveyed her bag, hoping she’d remembered everything.
Thirty-two and finishing her nursing degree—it’s not what she’d intended. Thankfully, almost all her old credits had carried over. If she could get through this last term, she’d have it made. She’d have her degree in December and in the new year she’d be ready to start a new life.
The life of a single, self-supporting college graduate and mother.
The phone rang.
Carly glanced at her watch. And even though she knew she shouldn’t, that a phone call this early was never good news and answering it was probably a mistake, she picked the portable up. She wasn’t any more able to walk away from a ringing phone than she was able to drive away and leave her kids. “Hello?”
“Hi, Carly. It’s Heidi.”
Answering the phone wasn’t just a mistake, it was a huge tactical error. One she might never recover from.
Heidi.
She didn’t have to ask Heidi who.
Heidi.
The PTA President for the last three years.
Heidi.
The perfect, terminally optimistic, sunny force of nature who practically ran Erie Elementary.
Carly’s sense of dread intensified as she realized she’d missed last night’s first PTA meeting of the year. And the fact that Heidi was calling this morning said that missing it had been a bad, bad mistake.
“I’m about to leave for school, Heidi. Juggling the kids, work, a nursing internship and classes is about killing me. Can I call you back later?”
Like when hell froze over.
Yep, that would be about the time she’d return Heidi’s call.
“It will only take a moment,” Heidi said fast, as if she was afraid if she didn’t spit the words out quickly, Carly would hang up on her. “I’m sending a packet home with the kids. It will have everything you need to get started.”
Carly didn’t want to ask because asking would make it real, but to her horror the words slipped out of her mou
th.
“Get started with what?”
Chapter One
December
“It will be a cakewalk. You’ll simply go in front of the judge and waive your rights to a preliminary hearing. Then the assistant district attorney will tell him we’ve come to a plea agreement, and the judge will tap his gavel and it will all be over.”
“It’s that simple?” Carly asked, her voice echoing in the marble-tiled Erie County Courthouse hallway. She’d never been in the building before, and while she hoped she never had a reason to be in it again, she couldn’t help but admire its classic, stately beauty.
“It’s that simple.” Her attorney, Henry Rizzo, was an Erie Elementary parent, albeit a recent one. His daughter, Izzy, was in the second grade, and cute as a button. “Really, Carly, it will be fine. It’s not like you habitually set your neighbor’s shed on fire. It was a one-time accident and you’ve already paid the restitution.”
“That’s true.” Three weeks ago, Carly had thought she was putting her past behind her.
Well, she’d certainly managed that, though not in the manner she’d anticipated.
She glanced nervously around the room, and found two cops sitting in the back. The cute young patrol officer—she thought his name was Masterson—who’d been so nice and understanding when he’d taken her to the police station. And the other one. The one who’d arrived on the scene first and stood with her during one of the lowest moments of her life, as she watched her shed and her neighbor’s go up in flames.
Lieutenant Jefferson. She’d never forget his name.
He was taller than her—which was no shock, since everyone in the world seemed taller than her five feet and three inches—but he wasn’t too tall. Maybe five eight? His plain brown hair was military-length short, but looked as if it would be soft to the touch. For a moment, at the fire, as he’d walked toward her, she’d stopped crying and simply admired the view. But then the fire truck pulled up and the officer had made it apparent he wasn’t overly sympathetic to her plight.
All she could think of now, as she looked at him, was that he’d been there that day and that he’d seen her cry. By the time the young cop had arrived on the scene, she’d gotten herself under control, but Lieutenant Jefferson had witnessed her sobs. And she didn’t cry pretty like they did in the movies. She was the type of person whose face and eyes turned red while her nose ran like a spigot. The only other person who’d ever witnessed her cry like that was her ex on what had been the absolute lowest day of her life.
Carly didn’t normally cry. She actually avoided it at all costs, but sometimes it was the only thing left to do.
“Carly Lewis,” a bailiff called from the courtroom door, interrupting her sad memory.
“That’s us.” Henry rose to his feet and waited for her.
Carly stood as well, and tried to ignore the wobbly feeling in her legs. Appearing in front of a judge wasn’t something she was accustomed to.
She wasn’t sure what to expect—maybe a television, Perry Masonish sort of courtroom, something in keeping with the grandeur of the hallway. What she found instead was a smallish room that looked as if any kind of business was conducted in it. There were a few ordinary tables, some chairs, and people milling about.
The man sitting behind a raised bench wasn’t precisely what she’d imagined, either.
In Carly’s mind a judge should be gray-haired with wire-rimmed glasses and a kindly but tough expression.
The judge was her age. In his mid-thirties tops. He had unruly-looking brown hair that looked as if, given a little more length, it might curl. Henry said Judge Anderson Bradley was tough, but fair. She hoped so.
Carly concentrated on following Henry to one of the two tables in front of the judge’s bench.
The ADA, Jacqueline Kelly, smiled at her as she walked by. The woman had an abundance of dark hair that would have overwhelmed Carly’s petite frame. But on the very tall Jackie the straight, long hair lent an air of warrior woman. And Carly was glad they’d reached an agreement before coming into the courtroom, because Ms. Kelly looked as if she’d be an intimidating opponent.
Things unfolded just as Henry had said. As Ms. Kelly laid out the plea agreement, Carly felt some of her tension ease. It was going to be all right.
She’d already paid Julian, next door, for the shed she’d accidently burned down. Actually, he’d been downright sweet about the whole thing. He’d gone through a difficult divorce three years ago, and said he totally understood wanting to make a fresh start. That’s what his move to Pennsylvania had been, a fresh start.
“No,” the judge said in a loud, clear voice. “That is not acceptable.”
“Pardon?” the ADA asked politely.
Carly looked at Henry, who looked as confused as she felt.
“Mrs. Lewis, would you please stand?”
Carly obliged, feeling a jolt of nerves. She tried to tell herself the judge was only a man, but sitting there in his robes he was intimidating.
“Ms. Lewis, you burned down your neighbor’s shed. Do you realize you could have burned down your entire neighborhood with your stunt?”
She nodded. “Yes, Your Honor, and I’m so very sorry.”
“I’m sure you are. Being brought before me tends to make many criminals sorry. However, there’s no excuse for your wanton disregard of your neighbor’s property, as well as your inability to comprehend that your act might have unforeseen consequences.”
Carly was willing to apologize, was willing to take her browbeating as stoically as possible, but the judge glaring down at her in his oh-so-condescending way didn’t seem to understand. “Pardon me for saying so, Your Honor, but there is an excuse.”
“Do tell,” Judge Bradley commanded with definite sarcasm in his voice.
“You see, I was dating Dean when my parents died. In hindsight, I suspect losing my family had something to do with why I married him—I was only twenty and felt so alone. I was a junior in college, and he was a senior. I got pregnant almost immediately, and I quit school to work full-time and put him through law school. I was supposed to go back to college and finish my last year as soon as Dean passed the bar, but he said he needed me at home, supporting him, and that my working so much would short-change the kids—we had two by then—and so I should stay home. I thought I’d go back and finish my degree after they got older—”
Judge Bradley looked bored. “Mrs. Lewis, I’m sure this would be an interesting story if someone were looking to be entertained. Maybe you should consider writing your autobiography? I hear memoirs are all the rage. What I want to know is what sort of excuse you have for burning down your neighbor’s property?”
“I’m getting to that, sir. I became a perfect lawyer’s wife. I decorated the perfect house Dean insisted we buy even though I hated it. At his prodding, I joined all the appropriate organizations. I dedicated my life to my family. Last year, for Dean’s birthday gift, I even decided to redecorated his office. It was another piece of perfection, Your Honor. A steel-gray wool carpet.”
In her mind’s eye, she could still see the room. “I spent months shopping for the perfect antique mahogany desk. The painting. The Tiffany lamp. The only thing that I couldn’t find was a couch. Functional but antique. It would be the focal point for the whole room. Four months, Your Honor. I spent four months combing thrift shops and estate sales. Finally, I found it on eBay, and drove to central Ohio to pick it up. Then I spent two weeks putting new fabric on it, a pattern that pulled everything in Dean’s office together.”
“Is this the couch you burned?” the Judge asked, looking a bit more interested now.
She nodded. “Yes, but we’re not quite to that part of the story, sir. You see, I’d finally moved the couch into Dean’s office—his office was done. I stopped by with a surprise picnic. He was working late on a big case, and I thought we’d celebrate. And that’s when it happened.” She paused, the horrible sight still fresh in her mind, still able to cause her pain.
<
br /> “Mrs. Lewis?”
“It was six o’clock,” she said softly, lost in that moment. “I walked in with dinner in my hands. His reception area was empty, but that wasn’t a surprise. I hadn’t expected to find anyone there that late. I opened his inner office door and…sir, I smiled. I looked at the beautiful office I’d worked so hard on for Dean—I saw his desk and the wall of law books behind it. It looked so stately, so perfect, then a movement caught my eye and there they were.”
“Who?”
“My husband and his secretary…on the couch.” She stopped as the embarrassment, the humiliation, the shock of that moment hit her again. “On my couch. On the couch I spent months searching for. The couch I’d driven to Ohio to get. There was Dean, with his secretary. Together with his secretary, if you know what I mean. How much of a cliché is that? His secretary.”
“I’m not sure I follow. How does catching your husband and his secretary together offer an excuse for arson?”
“Your Honor, when my ex and I split our assets, the biggest sticking point was that couch. I wanted it. I was the one who’d found it, who’d put that whole office in order. Dean could keep the rest, but I deserved that couch. He didn’t want me to have it because the office was, in fact, wonderful. Eventually he wanted to conclude the settlement more than he wanted a perfect office, so I got the couch.”
“And? I do have other cases to hear today, Mrs. Lewis.”
“And he brought it to my house the day after Thanksgiving. I had him move it into the backyard. I needed to put that portion of my life to rest. All the bitterness, all the anger. Those kind of emotions can be draining. So, I went into the garage, got the can of gas, poured it on that fabric I’d so painstakingly chosen and I lit it…and well, you know the rest. I only wanted to burn the couch, sir. Not my shed. And certainly not my neighbor’s shed. So you can see, burning anything but the couch was an accident.”
