My Forever Valentine: New Zealand Happy-Ever-After Romance (Due South: A Sexy New Zealand Romance Book 5)

by Tracey Alvarez

  My Forever Valentine

  Due South Short Stories

  Tracey Alvarez

  Icon Publishing

  New Zealand

  My Forever Valentine (Due South Short Stories)

  Copyright © 2015 by Tracey Alvarez.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.

  Tracey Alvarez/Icon Publishing

  PO Box 45, Ahipara, New Zealand.

  www.traceyalvarez.com

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Book Layout ©2013 BookDesignTemplates.com

  Cover Art by Kellie Dennis at Book Cover by Design

  www.bookcoverbydesign.co.uk

  My Forever Valentine - Tracey Alvarez -- 1st ed.

  ISBN 978-0-473-31333-3

  Contents

  Shaye & Del

  Piper & West

  Carly & Kip

  Kezia & Ben

  About the Author

  Click here to sign up to Tracey Alvarez’s mailing list & receive your FREE book.

  Love small town romance and Happily Ever Afters?

  Dive into the Due South world to find out what your favourite characters are doing to celebrate Valentine’s Day with these four short and sweet romance stories.

  Shaye & Del

  Does Del’s stay in hospital after donating a kidney to his dad mean a Valentine’s Day spent alone? Not if his sexy fiancée, Shaye, can pull off some ninja moves and sneak into his room for a little romance…

  Piper & West

  Piper attempts to cook a Valentine’s dinner for two—guess how well that’ll turn out? But the results are a little unexpected…

  Carly & Kip

  An overnight hike on the beautiful Rakiura track is not what Carly had in mind for a romantic evening with her hottie barman. Kip, however, has an ulterior motive…

  Kezia & Ben

  Nothing will go wrong…the most dangerous phrase in the English language, especially when used to describe a Valentine’s Day surprise for Kezia and Ben.

  Shaye & Del

  “Ya know, you don’t have to sit with me all bloody day,” Bill grumbled.

  Del Westlake glanced up from his newspaper. Over the top of his dad’s e-reader, Del could just make out Bill’s beetled eyebrows and scowl. His skin still looked pale against the white hospital sheets, but the return of his normal grouchy temperament was a good indication he was on the mend.

  “Just keeping an eye on the goods. Making sure you behave yourself.” Del stretched out his legs. His tee shirt rubbed over the small wound on his side, and he winced but quickly covered the grimace with a toothy smile. “I’m not giving you my other kidney if you screw up this one.”

  His dad chuckled, tapping the e-reader to turn the page on the Tom Clancy book he was currently reading. It was Shaye’s e-reader—loaded up with a bunch of shoot-em-up, spy and action novels she knew his dad would appreciate while stuck in Invercargill hospital recovering from surgery.

  Del shifted again. Sighed. God, he missed her.

  “Got ants in your pajama pants, boy?” His dad tried to cover his concern with gruffness, but Del’s mom had whispered that the first thing Bill asked when the anesthetic wore off was, “Is my son okay?”

  “Just restless.” Del folded the newspaper and tossed it on the bed.

  “You’ll see her tomorrow.”

  When the hell had his father gotten so intuitive? “Yeah.”

  “Go have a nap. That’ll pass some time.”

  “Naps are for old men. You, for example.”

  His dad tapped the screen with his middle finger then casually flipped Del off with it. “An old man nap might take your mind off the part of your anatomy that’s making ya antsy.”

  “Whatever.”

  Del scratched the scruff on his jaw. He hadn’t shaved this morning after he’d seen the weather forecast and texted Shaye to order her to stay put on the island. Hating the one-hour crossing from Oban to the mainland at the best of times, she didn’t need to come all the way here in bad weather. Especially when he’d be discharged tomorrow.

  No need, except he missed her like frickin’ crazy.

  His dad lowered the e-reader and nailed Del with a stare. “You organized some flowers for my girlie?”

  “What am I? An idiot?” Del blew a huff of air out his nose. “Of course. And a kilo of organic cinnamon sticks.”

  An eye-roll from his father. “How bloody romantic. Cinnamon sticks on Valentine’s Day.”

  “She’ll love them.”

  “My son, the die-hard romantic.”

  They both laughed, and when Del met his father’s gaze, the warmth there soothed the ache in his side. Thank God the grumpy old bastard had made it through. Thank God the transplant had been successful.

  Outside, wind whistled around the building’s corner. Del breathed in the scent of antiseptic, cleaning products, and a faint trace of their lunch that day—egg and chive sandwiches.

  “Speaking of Valentine’s Day…” Bill said.

  His dad’s cheeks had gone from pale to mottled with pink patches. Was Bill…blushing? Del peered a little closer. Yep—his dad was definitely blushing.

  Del raised an eyebrow, folding his arms. “Something you’d like to tell me?”

  His father scratched a thumbnail up and down the length of the e-reader. “Oh, er... Well, I don’t want you to over react, but I had some flowers sent to your mother. She’s been very good to me over the last year.”

  Del squashed the laughter bubbling in his gut before it exploded out of him. “Bill Westlake, are you wooing my mother?”

  “Wooing,” his dad spluttered. “What sort of old-fashioned word is that? You don’t even know what it means.”

  “It means”—Del cocked a finger—“that now that you’re not going to die, you’re planning a campaign to get Mom back.”

  “Hmmmph.”

  A sideways glance and more fiddling with the e-reader told Del he was onto something.

  “And if I was campaigning…?”

  “I’d say about bloody time.”

  Though they’d been divorced since Del was a teenager, a deep vein of affection still existed between his parents. Now that he and Shaye planned to remain in Oban, he’d dreaded his mom announcing a return to her home in LA.

  “I wasn’t sure you’d approve.”

  “Everyone deserves a second chance.” Like Del had gotten a second chance with his father—not only to save Bill’s life but to begin repairing the damage caused by thirteen bitter years apart. “I think you’re both mature enough to make it work this time.”

  “Go on with ya, you cheeky bugger.” Bill spoke sternly but his eyes crinkled. Then he cocked his head at the approaching squeak of wheels on linoleum. “There’s the tea trolley. Better go back to your
room before you miss out on your cuppa.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Del stood and picked up his newspaper. “You just want to get rid of me so I won’t grill you about your wooing techniques.”

  His father chuckled as a young woman pushed the loaded tea trolley into the room. “Think in this instance you could teach me a thing or two. Now let me drink my tea in peace.”

  Before Del could self-censor his actions, he bent and kissed his father’s forehead. “I’ll give you some pointers after dinner, Dad.”

  Del shuffled in his newly purchased slippers down the corridor to his own room. Shutting the door behind him, he glanced at the storage cabinet next to his bed and the plush kaka toy Shaye had bought him the day before.

  “So you won’t miss your little buddy,” she’d said as she had given him one long, wet, smoking-hot kiss before returning to his dad’s room, where his mom and brother had been visiting.

  Del kicked off his ridiculous slippers and padded to the window, which overlooked the parking lot two floors below. Grey clouds scudded across the sky and an empty plastic bag twisted and flapped in a wind gust.

  Shaye would’ve left their little beach house and started on evening prep in Due South’s kitchen. Knowing she was working on Valentine’s Day was bad enough. Knowing she was working without him by her side was gut-wrenching. The dozen red roses he’d sent were a poor substitute for being able to hold and kiss her and tell her how damn lucky he was that she was his forever Valentine.

  Forever Valentine? Listen to him. Del shook his head. Maybe he did need an old man nap.

  ***

  While Shaye would rather eat instant noodles with a side of powdered macaroni cheese from a packet than get on the Stewart Island ferry unnecessarily, she had done so today.

  For Del.

  Yes, she’d told him she’d stay in Oban, seeing as he’d be discharged from hospital tomorrow. Yes, she’d agreed over the phone, they’d have lots of other Valentine’s Days together. No, she wouldn’t work too hard, since Due South was now the place to eat. And no, she hadn’t forgotten to pick up some peanuts so Bird-brain the kaka would get his daily fix.

  Even after all those promises, she’d still bribed her staff to run tonight’s dinner shift for her, because Shaye Harland would be damned if she’d spend her first Valentine’s Day as Del’s fiancée away from her man.

  Her heroic man, who’d just donated a kidney.

  Shaye glanced at the pale pea-green walls of Invercargill hospital’s public restroom visible in the reflection behind her. A toilet flushed, and a white-haired nurse in scrubs hurried out of the cubicle. Shifting in her cute ballet flats, Shaye continued reapplying lip gloss while the woman washed her hands.

  Peripheral vision revealed the nurse’s glare in the mirror. Oops.

  “No visitors on the ward between 3:00 and 4:30p.m. It’s the patients’ enforced rest time,” the woman said, wagging a finger.

  Shaye peeled her gloss-sticky lips apart in a smile and widened her eyes. “Oh, I’m not visiting. I’ve got an appointment in Gyno.”

  The woman, who reminded her of Mrs. Peacock from Zoe and Jade’s favorite board game, Cluedo, narrowed her wrinkled eyelids.

  “Gyno, hmm? You always get so fancied up for an appointment?”

  Shaye glanced down. Her 1950s-style trench coat had caught on the sink edge, gaping open to reveal her lace-top stockings, inches below the hem of her very short white skirt.

  Oh, cinnamon sticks!

  She tugged the coat closed. “A girl could do worse than snag herself a gynecologist.”

  Mrs. Peacock snorted, sticking her hands under the automatic dryer. “Wonder what your intended would have to say about that?”

  Shaye’s eyebrows shot up. How the heck had she…?

  “Ward on Fire, chickie. You and Del Westlake are the talk of the hospital.”

  “Crapola.” Shaye shoved the lip gloss into her handbag. “We’ll never hear the end of that damn TV show.”

  “Probably not, but because I’m still a believer in true love, I’ll pretend I don’t know you’re planning to sneak into Mr. Westlake Junior’s room.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Give me two minutes, and I’ll distract Nurse Brown at the front desk. You can slip past, and then you’ll be home free. Just keep the noise down, and don’t let him get too, er…excited.” The nurse wriggled her eyebrows and left.

  The seconds ticked by on Shaye’s watch with excruciating slowness.

  “Three…two…one...” She slipped the strap of her backpack which held her change of clothes—like hell would she wear this outfit on the ferry ride over—on her shoulder. “Time for some patented Shaye Harland ninja moves.”

  She ducked out of the restroom, and, keeping her back to the wall, edged along to peer around the corner. The corridor stretching ahead remained deserted. Perfect.

  Only sneaking down the corridor would be trickier than she’d anticipated. She hadn’t a lot of options if a nurse or aide should appear—other than barging into some poor patient’s room and scaring them half to death.

  So don’t get caught, Shaye-Shaye.

  Shaye’s ballet flats squeaked on the linoleum as she hustled her butt toward Del’s room. Thankfully, the heavy swinging doors separating the main corridor from the ward where Bill and Del were didn’t squeak as she eased through.

  True to the older woman’s word, the nurses’ station was empty, but Shaye still crouched down and duck-walked under the line of sight of the reception desk. Soft voices drifted out of the glass-walled room behind the desk.

  Thank you, Mrs. Peacock.

  She bustled past Bill’s closed door—less than forty-five minutes before visiting hours started again. Outside Del’s room, her chest heaved, her heart galloped, and bubbles of anticipation popped in her stomach.

  Forty-five minutes was just long enough for what she had in mind.

  ***

  The door to Del’s room hissed open. He remained facing the window, looking out at the churning clouds and spots of rain splattered on the glass.

  “Good thing you’re not still wearing that hospital gown that showed off your spectacular ass to all the nurses.”

  His heart-beat exploded into a frantic thunder the moment his ears registered the first few syllables spoken in Shaye’s snarky, adorable voice.

  Without turning away from the window, he fired back, “I’ve already flashed it by accident to half the surgical staff downstairs. My ass and I are quite famous.”

  He turned, and there she stood. Long nutmeg-brown hair tied up in a ponytail, pretty pink gloss on her pouty lips, hands on her coat-covered hips, slender calves covered in…nylons? There was a skirt under the voluminous folds of the coat?

  His eyebrow twitched up. Hmm.

  For the first three days during and after his surgery, she’d stayed in Invers so she could be at his bedside. She’d had to return to Due South to relieve their staff yesterday and today, but on each day she’d spent at his side she had worn casual shorts or leggings. Because who wanted to sit around a hospital room in their Sunday best, right?

  Del mentally shook his head. He didn’t give a crap what she wore. Shaye was here. He crossed to her, grinning, he was sure, like an imbecile. “You’re meant to be at home.”

  She stopped him with a palm braced against his chest before he could enfold her in his arms. The warmth of her fingers slipped through the thin cotton of his tee shirt and soaked through to skin, heating a handprint-sized section around his heart.

  “And you’re meant to be in bed, resting.” Her tone rivaled that of Nurse Brown, a woman who would do well as a drill sergeant.

  “How did you get past Attila-the-Nurse out there?”

  She crooked an eyebrow. “You’ve never seen my ninja moves, have you? I am the shadow who stalks the night, baby.”

  He laughed then winced—and of course, she noticed.

  “Bed,” she growled and poked him in the breastbone, hard.

  “Ow! Okay…
but kiss first.” He puckered up and made kissy noises.

  She relaxed her hand, allowing him to move close enough to her that the sweeter-than-chocolate aroma of Shaye filled his sinuses.

  “You’ll have to earn a kiss by being good and getting back into bed. So a hug will have to do.”

  She pressed her nose—icy cold, as usual—into the crook of his neck and slid her arms carefully around his waist, snuggling all her delicious curves up close and personal. He hadn’t realized he’d been so tense until he melted into her.

  “The roses are beautiful,” she said. “And I can’t wait to bake you some of your favorite cinnamon scrolls with real cinnamon.”

  “Nailed it, huh?”

  “You’re the Valentine’s Day king, Del.”

  “So you came all the way here to thank me for the flowers?” He chuckled into her hair.

  A strand tickled his nostrils and he scrunched up his nose—sneezing would be a really bad idea.

  “Nah. I had some excess macaroons from Bree’s birthday yesterday.” Her lips brushed his throat, sending all sorts of haywire sensations skittering up and down his spine. “Thought you might like the leftovers.”

  “You brought me macaroons?”

  He tugged her ponytail, and she pulled back to smile her dazzling smile at him.

  “Among other things. Get into bed, Hollywood, and I’ll show you.”

  “You know I love it when you go into bossy chef mode.” He released her reluctantly and climbed onto his bed. Goddamned narrow, uncomfortable thing.

  She unzipped her backpack and removed a small plastic container.

  “For later,” she said, setting it on his bedside cabinet.

  The movement caused the neckline of her coat to gape, exposing a hint of white fabric and the even more tempting glimpse of boobage. Boobage, as opposed to cleavage, which in his opinion was manipulated by those fancy shove-up bras that some women used. His woman, however, didn’t need fancy bras to make him pant like a hound dog.