The Valentine Verse: A Contemporary Christian Romance

by JoAnn Durgin

  “You were right,” she said. “There were many fabulous things to see in there. It’s like The Smithsonian of powder rooms.”

  “Glad you enjoyed it. I thought I might have to send Rose in to get you.” Smiling, he motioned to the matching brocade-covered chair. “Please. Have a seat. Can I offer you anything else to drink? A glass of water or something hot?”

  “I’d better not, thank you.” Self-conscious all over again due to her lack of footwear, Vara sat near the edge of the chair. At five foot seven, she was thankful people of the Victorian era were shorter. When her feet reached the floor, she breathed a quick sigh of relief and made a mental note to bring shoes in a bag next time.

  “Is there a separate bathroom for men?” In her mind, Vara could hear both her mother and grandmother groaning.

  His lips twitched. “There is. If you’d like a tour, I could give you one.”

  “That won’t be, um, necessary. I was just—”

  “Curious. I get that impression.”

  Vara sighed. “You have to understand I’ve never been in a home as grand as this, and my Nancy Drew instincts are kicking in. I’ve toured Biltmore, but I’m talking about a house where people actually still…live in it.”

  “This house is hardly comparable, Vara.”

  “Oh, but it is! Just on a smaller scale. Does this house have a name?”

  Thornton cleared his throat. “It’s called The Field House, but I rarely hear anyone refer to it as such except during the occasional tour of historic homes. I’ll have Rose give you a tour soon.” He sat back in his chair, and Vara restrained her smile at the sight of his bare feet. “I’m assuming you were the SPL who worked with Charlotte in the hospital?”

  “SLP, and yes. Now that she’s home, we need to do follow-up visits to monitor her progress. Since Charlotte indicated group therapy isn’t a viable option, I’d like to set up a schedule to come to Cherish and personally work with her. I’m going to suggest twice a week.”

  Thornton studied her. “You must be very good at what you do.”

  “I appreciate the vote of confidence, but I suppose that will depend on the results. Thornton, I hope you can forgive my comments at Andrea’s. It was very unprofessional of me.”

  “No worries. I egged you on with my boatload of money comment, so I suppose I owe you another apology. My family has long supported Mercy Grace, and I appreciate your willingness to come out here on her behalf. Job or not, patient or not, I’m sure that’s not something the hospital is forcing you to do.”

  This man clearly wasn’t aware his grandmother had blown through two other speech and language pathologists before she’d assumed responsibility for Charlotte’s case. “It’s my honor to try and help her recovery. Charlotte is…” How could she best phrase it?

  “A challenge.”

  “That’s a diplomatic way to put it,” she agreed. “I embrace challenges.”

  “She can also be a cranky old broad.” At least he sounded amused, not vindictive.

  Vara’s smile escaped. “That’s not very politically correct.”

  “I meant no disrespect. In fact, that’s how Charlotte refers to herself.”

  “I realize I got to know her when she wasn’t at her best,” Vara said. “I’ve had patients much worse in terms of their irascibility.”

  “Lord help you.”

  “Oh, He does. All the time. Not to change the subject, but with all your traveling, do you have another home somewhere in the world? A condo, apartment, hut, cabin… Anything like that?”

  “Nope. No other homes. No wife. No kids.” He lifted his hands. “This is it. Just me.”

  “Then you really are a nomad?”

  He laughed. “That’s fair, but I prefer the term adventurer.”

  “I’m sure, but…I can’t imagine not having a home,” she stammered. “I mean, that’s kind of sad, isn’t it?”

  Thornton’s smile faded. “I suppose it depends on how you look at it. As I said, I consider this house to be my home. Don’t worry unnecessarily about my welfare, Vara. My life is full.”

  “I don’t doubt that, but what about close friends?” She was on a roll now. “Or a dog who licks your face, wags his tail, and plows you down flat on the floor because he’s overjoyed to see you when you come through the door after all your adventur…ing? Or a favorite hamburger or sushi place?”

  Goodness, she needed to stop. What in the world had possessed her now? She’d made her point, and it was past time to let it go and move on. She was here for Charlotte, not to anger her grandson.

  “Just because I don’t pay a mortgage or stand in the line at the VFW meat raffle doesn’t mean I don’t have a place to call home.” His tone wasn’t defensive but sounded rather flat again. “I have what I need here in Cherish. Well, except there’s no sushi bar. I’ll get a dog once I ever settle down.”

  When his brow creased, guilt pierced her. Perhaps it had been better when her tongue was tangled, and she’d stumbled over her words. At least then she’d amused Thornton instead of stealing away his terrific smile.

  “Forgive me, please. I had no right to say those things. I have an unfortunate tendency to say whatever pops into my head. I have a big, vocal Greek family, and we speak our minds.” She hoped her offense hadn’t been too egregious. “That must have been my evil twin, Sarah, speaking.”

  “It takes more than questions about my lifestyle to offend me, Vara. I realize I’m not the norm, so to speak, and I can appreciate your interest. You asked what I do for a living.” He pointed to the ceiling. “Take a look. That might give you a clue.”

  Was Thornton a roofer? Or a painter? That might explain the paintings in the powder room. As her gaze moved upward, Vara’s jaw gaped.

  Chapter Four

  Suspended from the ceiling were replicas of flying machines—a fighter jet, commercial airliner, a helicopter, a colorful hot air balloon. Even a rocket. And was that a drone? They were larger than any model airplanes she’d ever seen. From her vantage point, Vara could tell they were well-made and intricate. How had she not noticed them? Her only excuse was that the ceiling was unusually high and The Victorian Room offered quite a lot to take in all at once.

  “Well, this is unexpected. And fascinating.” Not only that, the ceiling was painted to look like an evening sky as it becomes night—wispy clouds, shades of blue, streaming ribbons of yellow, pink and orange. “The sky effect is beautiful.”

  “Thank you. I can’t take credit for the painted ceiling, only the flying machines suspended below it.” Thornton remained quiet as she lifted from the chair and strolled around the room.

  “I’d say your grandmother has an interesting decorating style, but you made these?”

  “I did. I’m a functional prototype creator and static model aircraft designer.” The pride and love of what he did was evident in his voice. Now to figure out what he’d said.

  Vara tore her gaze away from his creations. “A what? I mean, it sounds impressive—and that’s a very long title—but I’ve never heard of a job like that…as such.” Great. Now he’d think she was mocking him.

  Unfolding from the chair, he seemed unfazed as he strode across the room to stand beside her. “After grad school, I worked for Lockheed Martin at their headquarters in Bethesda designing aircraft prototypes for various branches of the military. Full-scale prototypes.”

  “Prototype means a preliminary model, right?”

  “Correct.” Turning to her, Thornton narrowed his eyes with a faux threatening expression. “I can’t tell you anything more since that information is classified.” To heighten the effect, he’d uttered the last two words in a clipped, fake foreign accent.

  Is this guy for real? He was a puzzle, but if he were a book, she’d find it difficult to put him down. Okay, she was getting into rather weird territory now. But sure, she’d play along.

  She waggled her brows. “Maybe I’ve come to Cherish posing as a speech and language pathologist, but I’m actually a Russia
n spy who’s come to take photos of your military prototypes with my…secret camera ink pen.”

  He tapped one finger on his temple. “I know that can’t be true. There’s no guile in those green eyes, only pure honesty.”

  Vara swallowed. “You don’t really know me, Thornton. Not that I make a habit of dishonesty.”

  “I think you can tell a lot about a person in a 20-minute conversation, don’t you?”

  “Perhaps. I’d say you’re doing a decent job of playing the mystery man of the morning.” However, she refused to be drawn into another debate. “Do you still work for Lockheed Martin or is that also privileged information? I wouldn’t want you to divulge any confidences.”

  “I’m an independent contractor and—depending on the assignment—commissioned by the U.S. government, airlines, toy companies, department stores, museums, private citizens, you name it. Even NASA and The Smithsonian.”

  “Always helps to keep your options open. That’s great,” she said. “I’m sure your previous work helped, but how does a person even get a job like that?”

  “It started six years ago after I posted photos on Facebook, Instagram, Pinterest, and other social media showing some of the static models I’d built as a hobby. Outside requests began to filter in, and I enjoyed working on the different assignments.”

  “How did Lockheed feel about your moonlighting hobby?”

  “It didn’t interfere with my work there, and they trusted I wouldn’t sell design secrets to the enemy.” His grin teased her. “I loved the options the projects offered in terms of variety and travel. The work expanded my creativity and allowed me to put my engineering training to good use. Then, another year later, the outside work was sufficient to pay my personal healthcare and living expenses and justify leaving Lockheed. As it is, computer modeling is being used more and more as a practical way to eliminate the creation of an actual physical prototype. That’s why the static models gave me more options and added versatility.”

  “Smart man. Your foresight made you a valuable commodity.”

  His gaze met hers. “Thanks. The work took off—pun intended—and I’ve never looked back. Basically, I’m hired to build either a functional prototype or else create a static scale model. I’ve been blessed, and part of the fun is never knowing who might contact me next.”

  “So, you call them functional prototypes if you’re hired by the military or an airline, and it’s a static model for your other clients?”

  “In essence, yes.”

  “No wonder your services must be in-demand.” Vara stood beneath the hot air balloon. “They’re amazing and clearly in line with your interests and talents.” She wasn’t sure she understood it all, but she’d been introduced to a whole new world she’d known nothing about until this morning.

  “I have a website if you’d care to take a look.”

  “I’d like that. Do you have a business card?”

  “Check your coat pocket when you leave.”

  Vara gasped. “Why, you reverse pickpocket! Do your government clients know this?”

  Humor crinkled tiny lines around his eyes. “I wanted you to have my contact information in case you need to reach me. To discuss Charlotte’s therapy or anything else.”

  Again, she wasn’t sure how to respond. “I’m surprised you didn’t get stung by my pocket zinger…thingie to ward against pickpockets.” This was getting ridiculous.

  Time to act like a grown-up, Vara.

  “Not this time. I prefer your verbal barbs to your zinger thingies.”

  “Very good, Mr. Fielding. But like I said, your methods might be a little sneaky. Based on your tan, you must have been somewhere warm recently.”

  “How do you know I didn’t just return from a mid-winter Caribbean vacation?”

  “Did you?”

  “No, but it’s tempting. I’ve been working on the West Coast the past six months and took advantage of getting out on the open water as much as possible.”

  “Sailing?”

  “Parasailing, jet boating, windsurfing, you name it.” He winked. “Lots of rowing to exercise the old forearms.”

  “I get the feeling you don’t travel for vacation. You come home instead.” Standing below the fighter jet, Vara continued to study the various models hanging from the ceiling. Being careful not to walk into the furniture, she slowly canvassed the room. “Some would say you’re living the dream.”

  “You’re not living your dream, Vara?”

  Feeling slightly dizzy from staring at the ceiling, she met his gaze. Bad idea since it made her feel even more off-kilter. “In my professional life, yes.” She’d leave it at that and let this man believe whatever he wanted. “I imagine they’re dust collectors with all the movable, intricate parts. How do you take care of them?”

  “We had a special air purifier and filtration system installed, and a cleaning crew comes in twice a month. Watch this.” After crossing the room, he lifted a small painting from the wall to reveal a steel box similar to a circuit breaker. When Thornton flipped a switch, the hot air balloon began to slowly descend from the ceiling, halting a few inches above her head.

  Vara watched in amazement. “That’s very clever! I should have known a man who can build flying machines like this would have a way to clean and protect them.”

  “Go ahead.” Thornton gestured to the balloon. “Check it out.”

  “Meaning I can touch it?” When he nodded, Vara reached for the door at the front of the basket. Feeling like a kid, she carefully opened and closed it a few times. Then she touched the wires and ran her fingers over the curve of the brightly colored balloon. “How tall is it?”

  “A foot, top to bottom for the actual envelope.”

  She lowered her hand. “Envelope?”

  “That’s the technical term for the actual balloon portion.” He shrugged. “I have no idea why it’s called that.”

  “Is it made from the same material that’s used for full-sized hot air balloons?”

  “It is. This is one of my static models. As much as they support my work, Charlotte and Rose wouldn’t have appreciated a live flame.” He tossed her a grin. “The original model is in the Albuquerque Balloon Museum.”

  “Isn’t Albuquerque where the international hot air balloon festival is held every year?”

  “Yes, in early October. Everyone should try to get there at least once in their lifetime.”

  “It’s on my bucket list.” Vara watched as he walked back to the box and flipped the switch. “May I ask another question?”

  “Sure. Ask me anything.” After the balloon reached its position, he replaced the painting.

  “Why do you have them suspended from the ceiling in the first place? I mean, visitors could better appreciate them if they were displayed on tables or inside a glass case.” She rubbed her neck. “Or somewhere where people could see them without getting a crick in their neck. That’s not a criticism,” she added quickly. “They’re terrific, but it’d be nice to—”

  “Touch them? That’s exactly why they’re hanging out-of-reach.”

  “Then thank you for allowing me the privilege.”

  “You’re welcome. Most of these are reproductions,” he said. “My clients get the original prototypes or models. Or, if my clients no longer have a need for them, I request they be shipped back to me when they’ve served their purpose. Charlotte’s a sport to allow me to store and display them here at the house.”

  Sport wasn’t exactly a term she’d use to describe Charlotte Fielding, but Thornton was right. “That’s what you do for someone you love. I’m sure she’s very proud of your work.”

  His jaw tightened. “I’d like to believe that’s the case.”

  “Charlotte’s clearly willing to share her Victorian living room with your creations,” she said quietly. “She also had the ceiling painted like the sky.”

  Their gazes met again, and he angled his head to acknowledge her comment. “We have kids come here to the house on occas
ion, and we had a close call last year.” Lifting his chin, Thornton glanced up at the rocket. “I’m thankful they’re curious, and I love nothing more than showing people how they work, but I prefer to be around when they’re handling them.”

  “They’re your babies, so that’s understandable. Do any of your prototypes actually fly?”

  “Yes, all the prototypes do since that was their intended purpose,” he said. “There are concessions, of course, but I make them as accurately functional as possible. By their very definition, prototypes will represent some compromise from the final product, but there are differences due to materials, processes, and design fidelity.”

  Vara shook her head. “That sounded like Thornton the Engineer talking. I’m assuming that was your degree.”

  He nodded. “Mechanical engineering at The University of Michigan.”

  “Your passion for your work is evident, Thornton. But, as you suggested, we should discuss Charlotte’s ongoing care before she and Rosalinda join us.”

  “Right. That’s for the best.” Thornton ran a hand over his hair. Not that he seemed reluctant, but she had the strong impression he either felt awkward or uncomfortable discussing his grandmother’s stroke. She’d do her best to allay his fears or apprehensions.

  As she settled in the chair again, Vara resisted pulling out her laptop. Making notes during a sensitive discussion with a family member had always struck her as disrespectful, impersonal, and clinical. “To start, I have a personal question as it pertains to Charlotte’s therapy.”

  Thornton settled in the chair opposite hers. “Fire away.”

  Chapter Five

  Vara inhaled a quick breath. “Are you planning on staying in town for long?”

  “You mean this time around?” Thornton’s smile surfaced. “I appreciate your directness. I’m hoping to stay at least a month, maybe six weeks, depending on the next project. I’m currently between clients. While I’m here, I’ll be working out of the home office to some extent. I’m putting together a few bids for some possible new projects.”