Be Mine, Miss Valentine

by Patricia Kay

  "I see," Ronnie murmured. Curiouser and curiouser, she thought. "Well? What happened?"

  "After he stopped looking into my window like a common Peeping Tom, I opened my back door and told him to come in."

  "Told him to come in..." Ronnie echoed.

  "Veronica, if you insist on repeating every single word I utter, we will never get anywhere."

  Ronnie choked. "I'm sorry, Miss Agatha," she apologized. "It's just that what you say is so hard for me to believe."

  "Humph! You act as if I'm making this up. I seem to remember another time you scoffed at me, and look what happened then!"

  Darn Alex. If he hadn't lifted that Hummel, Miss Agatha wouldn't have a leg to stand on, Ronnie thought.

  "...So just trust me when I tell you that man is up to no good, and I think you should watch him closely!"

  It took Ronnie ten more minutes to soothe Miss Agatha's ruffled feathers, and in the end, Ronnie promised the older woman she'd do her best to keep Alex under her watchful eye.

  Later that day, after Ronnie had cooked hamburgers for herself and Alex, and they were sitting side by side on the glider on his back patio, she said, "I had a really strange phone call from Miss Agatha today." She sighed contentedly as she rested her head on his shoulder.

  "And what did Miss Agatha have to say that was so strange?" he asked, nuzzling the top of her head.

  Ronnie told him, and he laughed aloud.

  "I think she's lost her sanity, Alex. I'm worried about her. Maybe I should talk to Hannah about getting Miss Agatha to see a doctor."

  "That old lady is shrewder and more sane than either you or I," Alex said between chuckles. "No. She's got some reason for this cat and mouse game she's playing with us. In fact, I think I have an idea what she's up to."

  "You do? What?"

  "I'd rather not say until I'm sure."

  "Come on, Alex. What?"

  "I'm not going to tell you until I'm sure. Believe me, sooner or later the reason will become apparent. Then I'll know if I'm right or wrong."

  "I hope you're right. I really like Miss Agatha. I'd hate to think she's getting senile."

  "I'm right."

  "Do you really think so?"

  "Trust me," Alex said. "We'll find out what she's up to. I guarantee it."

  "And in the meantime?"

  "In the meantime we'll just sit and wait. But you can keep a close eye on me. I don't mind." His voice had dropped to a suggestive whisper, and his hand stole around the front of her.

  As Alex's insistent hands began to work their magic, Ronnie closed her eyes. A delicious weakness overcame her, and her breathing became shallow. "Oh, Alex," she whispered. "You're like a drug ... the way you make me feel."

  "Let's go inside," he whispered. "You can watch me even closer inside."

  Shaking with laughter and anticipation, Ronnie stood up, and hand in hand they walked inside, shutting the door on the world.

  * * *

  On a steamy August afternoon several days later, Ronnie pulled into her driveway at the end of the day and spotted Alex sitting on her bottom step, legs sprawled out in front of him and a silly grin on his face.

  She grinned back, a good feeling of warmth slowly spreading through her body. "Hi," she said.

  "Hi," he said. He stood up and stretched.

  Ronnie's heart did a lazy somersault as she watched his taut muscles ripple against the thin fabric of his clinging red T-shirt. Sweat glistened on his arms and legs and darkened the front of his shirt.

  "I was waiting for you," he said, his gray eyes as fathomless as a dark sea.

  "So I see." Her voice caught in her throat. She had an overwhelming desire to throw herself into his arms—to feel the heat of his body against hers—to make love with him here, now, in the hot sun, lying on the grass with the earth beneath them. The force of her desire stunned her.

  As if he knew her thoughts, could see right down inside her, his tongue moved slowly over his lower lip, and his eyes held hers locked in a tight gaze. "I've been thinking about you all day," he said.

  Ronnie dragged in a shaky breath. Her knees turned to pudding, and her heart thudded madly against her rib cage. Wordlessly, she reached for his hand, the feel of his warm palm sending slivers of desire into every corner of her body.

  "Come upstairs," she whispered.

  She had to release his hand to open her door, but the minute he kicked the door shut behind him, he reached for her, pulling her roughly into his arms. His hungry mouth claimed hers, and Ronnie's head spun dizzily as his tongue plunged deep into her mouth again and again.

  "I need you," he muttered, his breath ragged.

  I need you, too, she thought. More every day. Desperately and incessantly.

  His hands pulled at her uniform, and in his haste, a button skittered to the floor. Then his hands and hot mouth found her breasts, and Ronnie shivered and moaned at the barrage of sweet torture.

  She never knew how they managed to rid each other of the rest of their encumbering clothes—their mutual need driving every other thought from her mind.

  Together they tumbled to the floor, and there, in the sultry heat of the August day, in the middle of Ronnie's kitchen floor, with the late afternoon sun pouring through her windows in fiery brilliance, they greedily came together in a torrid, all-consuming union of sizzling urgency and wild abandon.

  As shudders of ecstasy radiated through her quivering body, Ronnie gripped Alex's sweat-slick shoulders and knew there was no other person in the world who could ever bring her to this place of blazing splendor or ever make her feel like this except this man ... the man she loved. Only you, she thought. Forever. I'll belong to you forever.

  "Ronnie, sweet Ronnie," Alex murmured as he gently feathered kisses on her face and neck. Then, when mutual need had been sated, and Ronnie lay with her head cradled on Alex's shoulder, basking in the golden glow of glory that always followed their lovemaking, he said, "Sorry. I didn't mean to attack you. I didn't hurt you, did I?" His fingers touched her breasts, and Ronnie smiled.

  "Hurt me? I loved it, Alex. Couldn't you tell?" She clasped his hand against her breast to still his teasing touch. "Don't you know that sometimes a woman wants to be taken like that? Wants to feel she's needed desperately—that her man can't wait—can't be gentle because he needs her too much?"

  "You know, I never intended to need anyone again," he said gruffly.

  Ronnie held her breath. Was he finally going to tell her about Margo?

  "I thought ... after my marriage broke up ... when I was so unhappy ... that I never wanted to feel that way again."

  "Tell me about it," Ronnie said softly.

  He sighed deeply and stroked Ronnie's hair. "Have you ever felt like everyone else in the world knows a secret you don't know?"

  "Yes." She'd felt that way about love until she'd met Alex, but she didn't say it.

  "Well, it seems to me now that I always felt that way. From the day my parents died and I went to live with my aunt Isabel, I felt like all the other people in the world knew what life was all about, but I was just a spectator. I always felt this void. Now, of course, I realize I just felt as if no one loved me. Then I met Margo."

  His voice changed when he said her name, and Ronnie's chest felt tight. Did he still love her?

  "She was like a fresh breeze in a room filled with cigar smoke. She had a laugh like tinkling bells, and she was breathtaking ... gorgeous ... everyone loved her. People swarmed around her like honeybees around a rich, beautiful flower.

  "I was just as bad as the rest of them. I couldn't take my eyes off her. She seemed like sunshine in a dark room. When she noticed me, when she acted as if she liked me, I floated around on clouds. I didn't come down to earth again for a long, long time..."

  Ronnie knew how he had felt. She'd been floating around on that same cloud for weeks now.

  "We were married two weeks after we met," he continued. "My delirium lasted six months." His voice was now dry and emotionless, and
he rapidly related the rest of his story. "And that's what it was—delirium. We partied and stayed up until the wee hours every night and made love and ate too much and drank too much and generally led a life of the pursuit of pleasure and little else.

  "When I got tired of it all and tried to settle back to a normal routine ... to writing ... Margo would pout and tease and wheedle until I'd do whatever it was she wanted. When I refused, she'd go without me. Then I started hearing rumors about her and another man. I couldn't stand it. I wanted to kill her.

  "One night after we'd been married about a year, we had a terrible fight. We shouted at each other, and she threw something at me, and I grabbed her ... and nearly hit her. The shock of realizing how close I'd come to violence really threw me. It was only then I realized how low I'd sunk ... how bad for me our relationship was.

  "She left the next day. She packed up everything and went off to Europe. That was over two years ago, and the only word I've had from her has been through her lawyer."

  He's never forgotten her, Ronnie thought. Her arms tightened around him.

  "My ego must have been very fragile," he said. "Intellectually I knew I hadn't done anything wrong, but emotionally I felt as if there was something lacking in me if I couldn't keep my own wife happy. It's taken me a long time to realize that neither of us were at fault. We simply didn't belong together. We hadn't taken any time to get to know each other. We were blinded by our strong sexual attraction and obsession, and we let ourselves think it was love.

  "I ... I'm not sure I ever really loved Margo," he said. "But I did need her desperately, and I was crushed when she left me. I hadn't done any writing while we were married, and after she was gone, I still couldn't write ... not for a long time. The loss of the ability to write was worse in its way than the loss of Margo. I felt completely alone ... completely abandoned.

  "It took almost a whole year before I began to write again, and even then, the writing was missing something. It wasn't until I came up here that I really recovered. It's been a long, difficult fight to regain peace of mind and the confidence to be able to write well again."

  Ronnie sighed. "Thank you for telling me, Alex. I've wondered, of course."

  "I vowed I'd never let myself need anyone like that again." His voice softened, and he turned her face so that he could look into her eyes. "But I hadn't counted on meeting you, sheriff. You've managed to disrupt every plan and shatter every promise I made. I'm still trying to figure out how you did it."

  Even as he said it, Alex knew that wasn't what he was trying to decide. He knew how she'd done it. She'd done it by being the person she was—sweet and giving, passionate and loving, vulnerable and strong, charming and funny. His Veronica. The only unanswered question was what he was going to do now.

  Chapter 8

  It was the beginning of the last week of August, and Alex would be leaving in eight days. Eight days. The words drummed in Ronnie's mind like a tom tom. Eight days. I won't think about it, she told herself over and over again, but like a burglar creeping soundlessly in the night, the knowledge peeked around corners, catching her off-guard and vulnerable, so that a sudden, sharp pain would catch at her heart, and the words would beat relentlessly in her mind. Eight days. Only eight days. Then he'll be gone. Oh, God. How can I stand it? She squeezed her eyes tight, and the hot tears that had threatened to spill over were forced back.

  "Ronnie? Are you all right?"

  Ronnie blinked. Maisie stood in the open doorway, a quizzical look on her narrow, freckled face.

  "I was just coming back from the restroom when I saw you, and you looked like something was hurting you," Maisie explained in a rush.

  Ronnie frowned. "I'm all right. Just a headache."

  "Better take something."

  "I will." Why didn't Maisie go away?

  Finally she did, and Ronnie forced herself to push all thoughts of Alex out of her mind.

  At three thirty that afternoon, Maisie buzzed her on the intercom and said, "Elmira Crutchins just called, Ronnie." Her voice rose in excitement. "She said you'd better hurry over to the Jacobsens' house because Pete is at it again ... and this time it sounds real bad!"

  Ronnie jumped up, grabbed her holster and revolver, jammed her hat on her head and raced out her door. "Come with me!" she called to William. "I might need help."

  Ten minutes later, as they careened into the Jacobsens' yard, Ronnie prayed that Laurie Jacobsen would be all right. She and William raced up the sagging porch steps, and William banged on the screen door. An ominous quiet answered their knocks.

  "Pete! Laurie!" Ronnie shouted. She and William looked at each other as the quiet persisted. William pulled at the door, but it was hooked from the inside.

  "Cut the screen," Ronnie said and watched as William pulled out his pocket knife and quickly slit the screen around the perimeter. Then he reached inside and unlatched the door. He opened the door, and Ronnie walked into the hot, dark house. The stale odor of onions and grease hung heavily in the air, and she wrinkled her nose.

  "Laurie?" Ronnie called again.

  Ronnie heard the sound of a door slamming, and she darted into the kitchen. Then she saw them.

  Laurie lay on the kitchen floor next to one of her little boys. Her wispy brown hair was clotted with blood, and she had a mottled, purple bruise on her right cheek. The boy had an angry red welt on his forehead and a cut on his upper lip. Laurie's mouth was puffed up, and blood oozed from a cut under her left eye. Her eyes were closed, and Ronnie dropped to her knees. She lowered her head to Laurie's chest and listened.

  "She's breathing," Ronnie said. She lifted Laurie's limp wrist, felt its clamminess, and put her fingers over the weak pulse. "I can still feel it," she told William, who was lifting the boy.

  "He seems all right; his eyes are open now," William said.

  "Where's the other boy, I wonder?" Ronnie said. "Go lay him on the couch in the front room; see if you can find the other boy."

  While William followed her orders, Ronnie wet a washcloth and squeezed it out, laying it on Laurie's forehead. Then she straightened up and looked for the telephone. She spied it on the wall, but when she lifted the receiver, the line was dead. Probably didn't pay their bill, she thought. She walked out to the living room, and through the screen door she could see Elmira Crutchins standing on the porch.

  Ronnie opened the door and shouted, "Elmira, call the hospital and ask them to send an ambulance, will you? Laurie's hurt, and so is one of the boys."

  Elmira nodded, and without a word, she spun around. Her fat legs carried her faster than Ronnie would have thought possible.

  As Ronnie turned around, William came down the hall from the bedrooms with the other little boy in his arms. The child hid his face against William's chest.

  "He's okay. He was hiding in the closet," William explained.

  When the ambulance arrived, Ronnie stepped back and allowed the attendants to take charge. One of them, a tall, dark-haired young man, said, "The kids are okay. All they really need is some aspirin and rest, but the woman needs a doctor's attention."

  "Take her," Ronnie ordered. "I'll take care of the kids." She made a quick decision. "Load the kids in the car, William. We'll take them with us." That way, she thought, if Pete should come back, he couldn't vent his anger on them again.

  "Where are we taking them, sheriff?" asked William as they headed back toward the center of town.

  "To my house."

  "Your house?"

  She heard the incredulity in his voice. "Oh, I'm not going to keep them myself. I'm going to ask Sam to keep them temporarily."

  "Do you think he will?"

  "I'm positive he will," Ronnie said. Inwardly, she wondered if she were right. Maybe Sam would be so bent out of shape at her neglect of him, he'd refuse to help her.

  But he didn't disappoint her. His dark eyes clouded with concern as Ronnie explained what had happened.

  "Poor little tykes," he said. "Of course they can stay with me." He
turned to the boy who had been hiding in the closet and patted the pale blond head. "Do you like to watch T.V.?"

  Ronnie grinned as she saw the almost instant empathy and understanding pass between the two. The kids would be all right, she thought. "Thanks, Sam," she said softly.

  He put his arm around her shoulder. "How are you doin'?"

  "I'm just fine."

  "You look terrific."

  "Thanks."

  "Ronnie..."

  "Yes?"

  "Ronnie, look at me."

  She turned her head, and Sam's brown eyes searched hers. She smiled. "You're still worried about me, aren't you?"

  He nodded. "You're in love with him, aren't you?"

  Ronnie started to say, "Don't be ridiculous," but she swallowed against a sudden lump and whispered, "Yes."

  His hand tightened on her shoulder. "Be careful, Ronnie. Don't let him hurt you."

  "I won't."

  "Just remember I'll be here if you need me."

  "I know," she said. Then she lifted her head, and in a calm voice, she said, "I'll be back later. I want to get over to the hospital to see Laurie."

  * * *

  Ronnie pushed open the door to Room #315, and the smells of antiseptic and pine cleaner assailed her. There were two women in the room. One, a dark-haired, large-boned young woman, lay propped up in the bed nearest the door while she watched the television set mounted on the wall. She smiled at Ronnie, and Ronnie smiled back.

  In the bed near the windows, Ronnie could see Laurie, who lay on her side facing the windows. Ronnie walked to her and around the bed.

  "Hi, Laurie," she said.

  Laurie's watery blue eyes stared up at her. Her hair had been brushed back from her forehead, and the purplish bruise looked even angrier. Her mouth was swollen and discolored. She closed her eyes.

  "Can you talk?" asked Ronnie.

  Laurie shrugged.

  Ronnie could feel her hopelessness and despair. Anger flooded through her. Damn that Pete! How could he do this to a woman he professed to love? What was wrong with a man when he could allow himself to beat his wife and children? What perverse pleasure did this give him? "Do you mind if I sit here for a while?"