Valentine's Secret Child

“Spoken like my own wonderful, protective big brother—and do not get yourself all worked up. I mean it. That’s an order.”

“Hell. All right.” He peered more closely at her. “You gonna be okay?”

“Oh, I hope so. I truly do.”

Chapter Three

Mitch got to the restaurant early. He’d called ahead and reserved a quiet corner table, but he wanted time to check it out personally before Kelly arrived, to make sure it was everything the guy who took his reservation had promised.

The place was nice. Kind of cozy. With an inviting bar, dimly lit, on one side, and a quiet dining room on the other. This time of year, the famous patio area was closed. But Mitch wasn’t complaining. The table he’d reserved was just as he’d hoped, tucked away in a corner under a muted overhead light. On the snowy-white linen tablecloth, there was a curvy candle, of clear glass, the kind that burned oil. And a white magnolia blossom floated in a square crystal vase.

“Thank you. It’s just right,” he told the host as he pressed a fifty into the man’s palm. He took the chair with a clear view of the entrance and ordered Tanqueray on the rocks. When the drink came, he sipped it slowly and suppressed an ironic smile.

Crystal, his friend in L.A. who insisted on telling people he was her brother, would have a good laugh on him if she were here.

Good thing she wasn’t—not only because she knew him too damn well and never had a problem blabbing what she knew, but because he desperately wanted Kelly to himself.

Hell. Desperately?

He was bad off here, no doubt about it. A few minutes with Kelly again after a decade, and she was all he could think about. He was head over heels and falling fast.

All over again.

Was he ready for this?

As if he knew.

The host reappeared in the arch at the entrance, with Kelly right behind him.

The sight of her hit him like a punch to the gut. Her soft brown hair was chin-length now. The cut brought out her blue eyes and her mouth like a red bow. There had always been something…retro about her. He could picture her living way back in the Roaring Twenties, with a long string of pearls and a hip flask, dancing the Charleston ’til dawn. She wore a gray skirt that clung to her hips and flared at the hem. And a red blouse under a short jacket. She carried her coat over her arm.

She spotted him. Their glances held as she came toward him. He saw excitement in her eyes, an eagerness to match his own. That ripe bud of a mouth trembled on a smile. Was she nervous?

If she was, he understood. He was nervous, too.

He rose as the host pulled out her chair. They sat in unison. Then, when the host left, she got up and draped her coat behind her.

She asked for a glass of white wine and the waiter returned with it in no time.

And at last, they were left alone.

She smiled at him, the light from the candle glowing gold in her eyes. “So how did the book signing go?”

“I sold a lot of books and talked until my throat hurt. I think you could call it a success.”

“Congratulations.”

He shrugged. “I only hope the rest of the tour goes as well.”

“And tomorrow you leave for…?”

“Seattle. From there, I move east. Minneapolis. Chicago. New York. Then London, Paris, Stockholm and Berlin. And then back here to the States, to Dallas and L.A.”

“Impressive.”

“Well, the publicist I hired to set up the tour seems to think so. And I figure it can only help to get the word out.”

“How long will all that take?”

“Three weeks. I’ll be ready for a long rest by the time I get home.”

“And home is…?”

“Mostly Los Angeles at this point. Though FirstJob.com is headquartered in Dallas, so I spend several weeks out of the year there.”

“Wow,” she said. “I can’t get over all this. You really have come a long, long way.”

He arched a brow. “From the Summer Breeze Mobile Home Park, you mean?”

She raised her wineglass. “Here’s to you, Mitch.” He touched his glass to hers and they drank.

“Now,” he said, “about you…”

Something happened in her eyes. A certain…apprehensiveness. So. She had her secrets. He wanted to know them. Damned if he didn’t want to know everything about her, to learn all that had happened to her in the decade since he’d lost her.

She asked, “What about me?”

“Tell me everything.”

“Got ten years?”

“All right, all right. I guess I’ll have to settle for the condensed version.”

“Let’s see. Where to begin? I’m the director of the Sacramento County Family Crisis Center.”

“Sounds like an important job.”

“Well, the service the center provides is important, that’s for sure.”

“Nonprofit, right?”

She laughed. He’d pay millions for that, just to listen to that laugh on a regular basis. Say, daily—morning, noon and at least twenty times a night. “Spoken like a true capitalist,” she said.

“It wasn’t a criticism.”

“Well, good. And yes. We’re nonprofit. We offer family counseling and a children’s shelter for kids who need a place to go, temporarily, when there’s a big problem.” There was a proud gleam in her eyes.

“You believe in the work you do.”