My Secret Valentine

“Well, if I’d known, I would have hauled you out by your hair. No daughter of mine is going to take to her bed and get all weepy over a man, of all things.”

“I’m not weepy,” Fiona said crossly. “And this isn’t about Justin. I’ve just had the worst weekend of my life. I’m recuperating.”

“You’re hiding. You’re letting him make your decisions for you, and no daughter of mine does that, either.” Delores leaned across to pull back the covers. “Go on. Get in the shower.”

She went only because she did happen to need a shower, and she didn’t want to tackle shampooing her hair and shaving her legs with Katy hanging on for dear life. But she wasn’t going to Roger Markham’s office, wasn’t dealing with a single problem outside her bedroom for the rest of the day.

So how was it that, a few minutes before ten, she carried a silent Katy into Markham’s conference room while her mother left to open the shop?

The lawyer sat at the head of the long oval table. The pastor from Golda’s church sat at the opposite end, and Golda’s weekly card group sat two on his left, two on his right. The college boy who’d helped her around the house was present, as well as the director of the homeless shelter and the president of the local animal aid group.

And, of course, Justin. He sat on the lawyer’s right. The only empty chairs were beside him and across from him. She opted for distance and sat across from him.

Once everyone expressed their concern for Katy, Mr. Markham got down to business. He explained that his father, also a lawyer, had prepared Golda’s will and that the elder Markham had reviewed it with her only a week before her death. His father, unfortunately, was out of town and Roger was handling it in his place.

Somewhere along there, Fiona stopped listening and let her attention wander—and despite her best efforts, where it wandered was Justin. He sat with his hands folded at the edge of the tabletop, his gaze directed at a point somewhere between them. His suit was the same gray one he’d worn to the funeral, this time with a white shirt and burgundy tie, and he wore the same impassive expression. He was incredibly handsome in an unfeeling-statue sort of way.

What had happened? When she’d met him, he’d been full of passion. Had he really become so cold and emotionless, or was this a mask to hide his true feelings from the world?

She preferred to think it was a mask. If he’d ever loved anyone, surely it was Golda. Maybe he hadn’t been as attentive as he could have been, but Golda had understood. He’d done his best, she’d said, and considering that he was a Reed, it had been pretty darn good. Neither she nor Justin had held the rest of their family in high esteem. Not being close to family was, for Fiona, unimaginable. She talked to her mother virtually every day, saw her sisters multiple times each week and joined them all at their parents’ house for dinner practically every Sunday. Golda had once told her that she hadn’t seen Justin’s father in over ten years. Amazing.

Unexpectedly Justin looked up, and in the moment it took Fiona to gather her wits, her gaze locked with his. Was there a slight softening in his dark blue eyes? A hint of regret? The memory of better times and more tender feelings? Or was she merely seeing what she wanted to see?

She didn’t have time to decide as Mr. Markham discreetly coughed. “Just a few minutes more, folks,” he said. “We’re down to the last three bequests. ‘To my dear friend Fiona Lake, I leave the mission style chairs in my attic and the Gustav Stickley table, chairs and sideboard in my dining room. And to her daughter, Kathleen Hope, my grand—’”

Fiona’s gaze jerked to the lawyer’s face. His eyes were wide with surprise, leaving no doubt in her mind what Golda had written. My grandniece. Everyone knew Katy had called her Aunt Golda, but they’d assumed it was merely a title of respect. No one had known that Golda called Katy grandniece—as in great, wonderful, positively grand, she’d always added.

Markham gave Fiona a disbelieving look, and she tried her best to warn him, plead with him, with nothing more than her own look. She wasn’t sure he’d gotten the message until he cleared his throat and went on.

“‘And to her daughter, Kathleen Hope, my grand…little friend, I leave all the jewelry I’ve accumulated over the years. I hope she’ll think of me when she wears it.’”

Fiona darted a look around the table. Golda’s fondness for jewels had led to quite a valuable collection, and everyone seemed to think giving such a gift to a five-year-old tomboy who was nothing more than a neighbor’s child was the reason for the lawyer’s surprise. Please, she silently prayed, let them continue to think it.

“‘The remainder of my estate, I leave to my nephew Justin, the only other Reed to ever amount to anything. I also leave my dearest wish for him—that he learn these lessons well—mistakes can be set right, forgiveness is vital, and love is possible. Forget our disreputable family and trust yourself. Trust your heart. I know you have one.’”

Fiona smiled faintly. Golda had had an endless supply of faith. That last line proved it.

Mr. Markham looked up from the pages and shrugged. “That’s it. Any questions?” When no one spoke, he gestured to Justin. “Mr. Reed will be in town indefinitely, staying at Golda’s house. Those of you whose bequests are property—teapots, jewelry and so forth—can make arrangements with him to pick them up. And that takes care of it. Thank you for coming.”

Fiona tried to lower Katy to the floor, but the child refused to go. With a deep sigh, she settled her on her hip as she stood and left the office before anyone could delay them. When they reached the top of the stairs, she shifted Katy to her other hip. “How about a deal, sweet pea? I’ll carry you down the stairs, and then you can carry me to the door. Sound fair?”

Katy’s only response was to lay her head on Fiona’s shoulder. The only verbal response came from behind them.

“Maybe she’ll let me carry her,” Justin said. “Hi, Katy. Remember me? I’m Justin.”

She hid her face, then peeked at him.

“You’re the shy type, huh? Cat got your tongue?”

After another quick look, she stuck her tongue out at him.

“Kathleen Hope,” Fiona admonished. “Get that tongue back inside your mouth.”

“She’s just showing me that she’s still got it,” he said, his manner easier than she would have thought possible. “Aren’t you?” He lifted Katy’s chin with one finger—a surprise—and she let him—another surprise.

As they started down the stairs, he asked, “How is she?”

“Still clinging. Still not talking.”

“Any problems sleeping?”

“I put her to bed in her room last night and woke up this morning with her snuggled on top of me. If she had a bad dream, it didn’t wake me, but obviously something woke her.”

“I wish this hadn’t happened.”

Fiona looked sidelong at him. His expression was grim, the set of his features hard. For six years, she’d believed he was coldhearted, but not even she could think he would wish harm to a child, even if it did give him another chance to catch the man he’d been investigating for years.

In the lobby, she stopped at the bench that flanked the door to help Katy into her coat. It wasn’t easy when she refused to stand on her own feet and clutched Fiona’s hands tightly in her own.

“How did you manage to drive over here with her?”

“I didn’t. My mother brought us. She’s at the shop. We’re meeting her there.”

“Want a ride?”

She glanced out the glass door. It was bright, chilly, sunshiny—a good day to be out. “No, thanks. We’ll walk.”

“Mind if I walk with you?”

Yes, she minded. She minded tremendously. But she didn’t say so, maybe because he’d given her that regretful look in Mr. Markham’s office. Maybe because Golda had loved him, and she’d loved Golda. Maybe because he was a part of the daughter she also loved.

With a shrug for an answer, she picked up Katy again and waited for him to open the door.

“Whenever you’re ready to take Golda’s jewelry, let me know.” He spoke casually, as if they weren’t discussing a small fortune in gems, some that were family heirlooms, others that he’d given Golda himself. She knew people who would fight over a loved one’s prize ring, and yet he didn’t seem to care about these family diamonds at all.

“You don’t mind her leaving it to Katy?”

“It was her jewelry. She was free to leave it to anyone she chose.”

“Will the rest of your family see it that way?”

“The rest of my family will think you exerted undue influence on Golda in her doddering old age, but she never cared what the rest of them thought. As far as she was concerned, they could go to he—” With a glance at Katy, he bit off the word and substituted a shrug instead. “I have no doubt she made certain her will was airtight, just for their benefit.”

“I was sorry she couldn’t be closer to her family.”

He gave her a wry look as they waited for a car to pass before crossing the street. “You don’t get close to that bunch. Trust me, she was better off without us.”

“You…” Fiona drew a quick breath that smelled of Katy’s baby shampoo and warned herself that getting personal wasn’t a good idea. With Golda dead and her decision whether to tell him about Katy still unmade, the only connection between them was his investigation. It was purely professional, and she’d be a fool to change that in any way.