The Valentine Verse: A Contemporary Christian Romance

by JoAnn Durgin

  “Our what? What is…what you just said?”

  Taking her hat and gloves, Thornton hung them on an ornate, wrought iron coat rack to one side of the front door. “The Long Minnesota Good-bye. The opposite of an Irish Good-bye or the French Leave.”

  “Not helping.” She pointed to herself. “Girl from Florida here. I have no idea what those things mean. Let’s stick with the North State explanation.”

  “It’s the way we keep our conversations going and avoid going out in the cold. Unless a person’s antisocial, it’s a good way to extend a conversation for at least 20 minutes.”

  “Well, you native Minnesotans are a polite and clever species, I’ll give you that much. Since I know you’re not antisocial, what’s your personal best in the sport of The Long Minnesota Good-bye?”

  “I’ll let you know since I’m beginning to suspect you might be involved.”

  Oh. How should she respond to that? She didn’t know what to make of this man, especially when he said such things. He was clever, she’d give him that much.

  “Just as a point of reference, I don’t normally give female coffee strangers my last name until I can tell they’re not a stalker, serial killer, or otherwise weird.”

  “We’ve already established I’m not weird, but that makes us even,” she said. “I was thinking the same thing about you, but then you were nice enough to offer me a seat at your table.”

  “I could tell you were weighing my…personal attributes vs. the potential for doing you bodily harm.”

  Okay, then. “Not that a serial killer wouldn’t be polite and offer a woman a place to sit, but if you ever offer me a glass of Chianti, all bets are off.”

  He laughed heartily. “Yes, Clarice.”

  Vara held up one hand. “Okay, that was uncanny. A more-than-a-little-scary imitation of Anthony Hopkins. Silence of the Lambs is one movie I’ll never see.”

  “Duly noted. You should stick with Thor.”

  “I might have to take back my compliment about your honest face. That’s what I get for making assumptions. It seems your methods might be a little sneaky and underhanded.”

  “That’s why I said I’d tell you more about what I do for a living at our next meeting. I knew that would happen soon enough. I’m sorry if you feel deceived, Vara. I ask your forgiveness and trust you’ll accept my apology.”

  Those words were likewise unexpected, but she appreciated the sentiment behind them. “Too many people underestimate the value of asking for forgiveness, and you sound sincere.” She nodded. “Apology accepted.” Judging by his expression, he considered her a novelty. The feeling was mutual.

  Thornton’s gaze traveled to her feet. “Before we go into the living room, you might want to remove your boots. Rose doesn’t like snow tracked into the house.”

  “If Rose is Rosalinda, I know her well,” Vara said. “She was at the hospital with Charlotte every day.” Although she didn’t intend for it to be so, that statement might have come across as a criticism. Thornton must have had a valid reason for not coming home—much less to the hospital—after his grandmother’s stroke. He wouldn’t be the first person to hate hospitals. It was none of her business, really.

  She cleared her throat. “And I completely understand about the boots. My mother feels the same way about people tracking sand and mud into our house.”

  Quickly enough, Vara realized that removing her boots could be awkward. Normally she’d rest one hand on a wall or sit on a chair to tug them off. Having Thornton watch was unnerving enough. Wearing a skirt didn’t make the process any easier. She probably should have considered that she might be asked to remove her boots.

  Stop overthinking and do this already!

  “You can lean on me if you’d like.” Again, how could he know?

  “Since you offered…” Putting one hand on his arm, Vara slipped off one boot and then the other. “Thank you. Very nice forearm you’ve got there.”

  “Glad you approve. I try to exercise it regularly.” Taking her boots, Thornton set them on a small indoor/outdoor mat beside the front door. Even in such a fine home, a mat was a necessity to preserve the floors. “Charlotte’s running behind this morning. Are you on a tight schedule?”

  “I’m clear until mid-afternoon,” she said. “I figured this first session at the house might take longer.”

  Thornton nodded. “She’s getting dressed, and then she’ll be taking her breakfast in the kitchen. I’m afraid you’re stuck with the grandson for now. In the meantime, I thought you could catch me up-to-speed on her progress. Can I take your coat or do you insist on hugging it all morning?”

  Taking her breakfast? This guy belonged on Masterpiece Theatre or Downton Abbey. “You know what? Let me get used to being in my stocking feet before I remove anything else.”

  Standing on the cold marble floor without footwear, in her bare feet, wasn’t ideal. As elegant as marble was, it wasn’t particularly hospitable. In the future, she’d wear hose so she’d be better insulated. Her legs below the knee were also now on full display. Thankfully, her natural skin tone wasn’t lily-white, her legs were newly shorn, and her toenails were painted a pretty pale pink—a saving grace, all of it. Not that she was vain, but a girl had to protect her pride.

  “As you wish.” Thornton smiled and waved his hand toward an open doorway. “Shall we?”

  “Wow, you really do have the whole butler thing down. Are you sure…?” He silenced her with a look. Hopefully, she’d regain her sanity and professionalism when her patient made her appearance.

  “Did you spend a lot of time here when you were growing up?” She wasn’t sure what prompted that question, but it seemed valid. Retrieving her laptop case, Vara headed in the direction he’d indicated.

  “Almost as much time as I spent in my own home,” he said. “My mom and dad traveled a lot, and I stayed here when they were gone. Ditto college breaks and summers. My mom died from cancer a long time ago, and my dad died of a massive heart attack five years ago. I rent the house I grew up in and stay here with Charlotte and Rose between business trips.” His tone sounded oddly flat. Clearly, there was history there.

  She could only pray it wasn’t bad blood.

  Thornton massaged the back of his neck with one hand. “It’s habit, it’s home, and it doesn’t make any sense to pad around alone in an empty house.”

  Unexpected tears stung Vara’s eyes. “I truly am sorry about your parents, Thornton. Do you have any brothers or sisters?” When he shook his head, her heart ached for him. In terms of family, he’d definitely pulled the short end of the stick while she had more than enough family members to circle the block. Again proving money can’t buy everything.

  “I’m telling you so you’ll have more family background,” he said. “In case it might somehow be relevant in treating Charlotte.”

  “It’s always good to know as much as possible about my patient.”

  Thornton walked beside her as they entered the spacious living room. “I call this The Victorian Room, perhaps for obvious reasons. The Victorian era was Charlotte’s favorite.”

  Vara surveyed the spacious room with wide eyes. “It’s spectacular, Thornton. Museum quality, even. There are so many wonderful pieces.”

  “It was a long era.” His tone was wry. “Lasting from 1837 when Victoria became queen until she died in 1901.”

  “You must know a lot about it then.”

  “I enjoy the history part,” he said. “I’ve heard about it since I was old enough to remember, meaning about four or five years old.”

  “Are they all valuable antiques?”

  Thornton crossed his arms and leaned against one of the chairs. “Some of the furniture in this room is priceless, others are high-end reproductions, and the paintings are all originals from well-known artists. I couldn’t tell you the difference, and I can’t tell you the names of most of the artists, but it’s what Charlotte loves, and that’s what’s most important. They’re not my personal taste, but I’m en
joying your reaction.”

  “Since I’m sure you already consider me rude, may I ask what your grandfather did for a living?”

  “Curiosity’s not rude. Grandpa Tom was a criminal defense attorney who worked out of a firm in Minneapolis. He also had a home office which is now my study.”

  Criminal defense attorneys must make more than she would have guessed. There had to be more to that story, as well.

  “Grandpa Tom died before I was born,” he told her. “Charlotte’s father, my great-grandfather, was a wealthy man who amassed his fortune in financial services. She grew up in Manhattan as his only child and sole heir. My great-grandfather had a saying about money that he passed on to my grandmother, and she’s never let me forget it. I doubt she ever will.”

  “What is the saying?”

  “The first generation makes it, the second generation spends it, and the third generation blows it.” He blew out a sigh. “I think Charlotte wants to ensure I’m not the de facto generation who blows it. She’s done an admirable job of managing and investing the money through the years, and I’ve been blessed by her generosity.”

  “I’m thankful you can recognize the blessings in your life.” That sounded inadequate, but Vara didn’t know what else to say. Beneath the surface—one minute Old World charm and the next more down-to-earth—Thornton Fielding was much more complicated than she could have known.

  Moving across the room to one of the more comfortable-looking armchairs, Thornton rested a hand along the back. “Would you like to sit down?”

  “I’m almost afraid to touch anything much less think about sitting on the furniture.” A glimpse of a gleaming hardwood floor peeked out beneath the largest Oriental silk rug she’d ever seen. “Even high-end reproductions cost more than everything combined in the house I grew up in. Not that I’m complaining.” Her family home was filled with love and chaos. A water stain on a table wouldn’t cause an uproar the way it probably would in this house.

  “Trust me, you can’t do any damage to anything in this room that I haven’t already done in my wayward, rebellious past. I wasn’t mean spirited, just spirited,” he added.

  “An important distinction. I guess we have that in common.”

  Thornton returned her smile. “When I was four, I discovered that spraying furniture polish on the banisters made it a lot easier to slide down them. When I was five, I found a tube of Charlotte’s red lipstick and decided to color a settee. Sometimes I can still hear her blood-curdling scream ringing in my ears. She locked herself in the bathroom for an hour because she didn’t trust herself around me.”

  “She was smart to do that. You have to realize that was your grandmother’s way of protecting you from her wrath.” Now she was saying words like wrath? Vara certainly wasn’t born to the manor—and Thornton clearly was—but it was rather fun, much like when she’d used her Greek words earlier.

  “I know.” He rubbed a hand over his beard. “Under normal circumstances, Charlotte can be a force to be reckoned with. I’ll spare you the details of my other misadventures, but the settee example might explain why I have an aversion to women who wear red lipstick.”

  Was he joking? Vara moved her fingers to her lips.

  “Bright red,” he specified. “As in fire engine red.” He was almost too intuitive for her liking. She was also much too obvious. She had to wonder if he called his grandmother anything other than Charlotte. With his breeding, it’d probably be Grandmother or…something like Babs.

  Thornton’s gaze captured hers as he perched on the arm of the chair. He probably shouldn’t do that, but he was entitled. “Look, I’m not sure why I didn’t say anything at Andrea’s. Maybe because we were having a fun discussion, and I didn’t want to change the subject. Or maybe because I thought the element of surprise might be fun.”

  When she frowned, he lifted his hands and then clasped them together on his lap. “For what it’s worth, I’d do it again to see the look in your eyes right now.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You’re even more beautiful when you’re riled. Your eyes flash, and your cheeks are a very pretty pink color.”

  She squared her shoulders. “I’m not riled up. Any eye flashing and…cheek color…must be from the cold.”

  “You’re also smiling.”

  “My smile is probably frozen in place,” she stammered. “I’m afraid my car isn’t much warmer than the outside elements.” She wasn’t sure whether to be irritated or flattered. Irritation seemed the better option to keep this man at a safe distance.

  “Don’t forget I offered you a ride.” Thornton walked across the room and retrieved a couple of logs stacked neatly beside the hearth. Crouching, he moved the fire screen to one side.

  “A ride I probably should have accepted.” Shivering, Vara hugged her arms across her body. “My heater needs servicing. In the SUV.” Her nervous laughter escaped, prompting him to cast a curious glance over one shoulder after he added the logs to the fire.

  “Are you all right? Feeling delirious?” The logs crackled and popped as he repositioned the fire screen.

  “Not delirious, but apparently I get a little punchy when I’m—”

  “Half-frozen,” he said. “Have you considered it might be a sugar rush from your suicide by chocolate?”

  “Death. Death by chocolate,” she said before blowing out a sigh. “It doesn’t even matter. Thornton, I don’t know what it is, but something about you makes me…”

  He held her gaze. “I feel the same way. I think we understand each other.”

  She understood nothing.

  Walking to her, he motioned for her coat. “If your little dance outside was the result of too much caffeine, I can show you where the—”

  “I don’t need the powder room, thank you. It wasn’t like I guzzled the drink, and it was worth every sinful ounce.” Avoiding his gaze, she began to fumble with the buttons, working her way down the front of her coat. “But maybe I should get something without chocolate chips melted into it next time. That could possibly be my downfall.” How many buttons did this coat have? She nearly ripped off the last button as she finally opened her coat. “And wear a zippered jacket. At least you’ve got that part down pat.”

  “I also grew up here.” Ah, the little quirk had come out to play. “Are you one of those people who questions everything?”

  Vara gave into her grin. “Are you one of those people who’s right most of the time?” she called to him as Thornton returned to the entranceway with her coat. “And not that this has anything to do with that question, but it might be a good idea to visit the powder room, after all.”

  He reappeared in the doorway. “Follow me.” To his credit, he didn’t appear smug, and he wasn’t wearing a self-satisfied grin. Nor was he wearing his boots. Not even socks, oddly enough. When had that happened? She could have sworn he’d had on boots when she’d first come inside. Whether or not it was a sign of solidarity, it made her feel better.

  A formal dining room was farther down on the left, a large kitchen to the right, as Thornton led her through a long central corridor. Houses this grand didn’t have simple hallways. Stopping just past the kitchen, he motioned to a door. “Try not to get lost.”

  “Meaning?” Surely that wasn’t intended as a slight.

  “It’s a big room with lots of pictures and interesting things for ladies.”

  Things for ladies? Vara’s quiet laughter slipped out. “Should I ask?”

  “Antique things like fancy scissors, handkerchiefs, beaded purses. Things I doubt you’d find in many bathrooms. Not that I make a habit of going into...” A tinge of color pinked his cheeks beneath the tanned skin. “You’ll see soon enough when you go inside.”

  “I’ve never been so curious about a bathroom!” She clapped a couple of times before opening the heavy wooden door. Even the doorknob was made from nickel inlaid with Mother of Pearl. “I’ll be back shortly.”

  Closing the door behind her, Vara leaned against i
t as she tried to catch her breath. She really needed to tone down her flippancy but couldn’t seem to help herself. Maybe she should ask Thornton to explain. We understand each other, she mimicked.

  Wait a second. This bathroom had stalls? Not only one, but three! Opening each door, Vara took a quick peek inside. Gracious, the largest one even had handicap accessible handrails, and the backs of the stall doors featured hand-painted watercolor designs—soothing ocean and pastoral scenes. In all her 30 years, she’d never seen anything like this in a private residence. The reasoning behind the paintings intrigued her, especially their placement, but she wouldn’t speculate.

  The spacious room—at least triple the size of the bathroom in her apartment—boasted an intricate inlaid pattern in the black-and-white tile floor, side-by-side black marble sinks with swan-neck faucets, and fine quality, surface-mounted wall lighting fixtures she figured were Swarovski crystal. Wow, she mouthed.

  One thing she’d never understood was the coldness of homes like this. While museum-worthy, that’s where this bathroom belonged. “A home needs to be filled with warmth and lived-in,” her mother always said. Never had that sentiment rung more true than while standing in the middle of this grandiose powder room. Call it by a fancier name, but it was still a bathroom.

  As she washed her hands a couple of minutes later, Vara marveled at a framed program on the wall from an 1832 West End London production of Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream. She leaned forward to investigate it more closely as she grabbed a disposable fingertip towel. The program appeared authentic.

  Thornton was right. She could spend a half-hour in this room and still not see everything. She’d need to pay a return visit sometime.

  Smoothing her gray wool skirt and ensuring her ivory silk blouse was neatly tucked in, Vara headed down the corridor. The fire was blazing nicely now, the room temperature noticeably warmer. Thornton was seated in one of the more comfortable-looking armchairs and rose to his feet as she entered the living room. The man certainly exhibited gentlemanly manners.