by Jane Charles
Valentine Wishes
Jane Charles
Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
About Jane Charles
Jane Charles’s New Adult Romance
Jane Charles’s Historical Romance
Copyright © 2016 by Jane Charles
Cover by Covers By Lily
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Created with Vellum
To Ava Stone,
Thank you for being an awesome critique partner.
But, most of all, thank you for being a true friend.
Jane
Chapter One
Baxter Art Camp – June, 2003
The red lights flash in my rearview mirror and I immediately take my foot off of the gas pedal. “Shit! Shit! Shit!” I grew up here. I know about that speed trap. I didn’t even see the cop sitting there, and it took him long enough to catch up to me. It isn’t like there are any other cars on the road.
I flip the blinker on and slowly pull into the parking lot of my grandparents’ plantation, now an art camp. I don’t need this now. Today. Ever.
After I lower the window, I turn off the ignition and place my hands on top of the steering wheel, just like my uncle told me, and watch in my side mirror as the door on the cruiser opens and the state trooper gets out. At least it isn’t someone from the sheriff’s department. Those guys are dicks.
He stops at the side of my car and looks at me. There’s a bit of humor in his brown eyes and he gives a slight nod. “License please.”
I’m glad stopping me has made his day because it hasn’t made mine.
I fish it out of my purse and hand it over. Another guy comes up and stands a little behind the trooper. He’s not in uniform, but slacks and a shirt. Is he a supervisor or something? He looks kind of young to be that. Cute too. If anyone should be supervising, I’d think it would be the older trooper. Not that he’s that old, maybe in his mid to late-thirties and wearing a wedding ring. The other one is closer to my age with light brown hair and blue eyes. At least, they seem blue from this angle in the mirror. Lean, fit and young.
“I’ll be back.”
I look up and smile, noting his nametag. “I’ll sit tight and wait, Officer Q. O’Brien.”
As he walks away I switch my focus back on the side mirror. The young one is walking back to the cruiser with the cop. Damn, he looks just as good going as he does coming. Nice, tight ass, narrow waist and wide shoulders. While the older one slides into the driver’s side and talks into the mic on his shoulder, the hot one returns to the front of the squad car and faces me. His feet are planted at shoulder width, arms across his chest, watching me. Those arms are nice too. Firm, tanned, a bit muscular. Too bad he wasn’t the only one to show up. I might just have tried to get out of this ticket. He’s all yummy and I’d be happy to work out a deal. Hell, I’d even let him cuff me.
Not that trying to get out of a ticket ever worked. Or, so I assume it never worked. My Uncle Gary is a cop and he’s told me all kinds of stories, and he’s seen more boobs than most guys see in a strip bar. In fact, as far as he’s concerned, the more women try to use their body or tears, the more likely they are to get a ticket.
I’ve never tried to get out of them before, and I’ve had a few tickets. Truth be told, I kind of have a lead foot. That’s something I should probably start worrying about more since I just started paying my own car insurance. Ouch, that first bill hurt.
Officer O’Brien gets out of the cruiser and stops next to the cute guy and says something I can’t hear. Shit! He’s holding the long metal case that has tickets in it and he takes out a pen. Cute cop nods and returns to the passenger side of the cruiser while the other one returns to my window.
“Do you know how fast you were going?”
I cringe. “Ten over?” I hope it isn’t more.
“About that. Why were you going so fast?”
“Late for work.”
“Where do you work?”
I nod toward the plantation house. “The camp. Our first group arrived this morning.”
A smile pulls at his lips. “Oh yeah? What do you do?”
Everyone around here is interested in the art camp. “Organizing events, the calendars, displays, performances, paperwork, supervising. All kinds of things.”
“Well, slow down.” He hands me the ticket. “Miss Baxter.” He practically whispers my name. Weird.
“I will.” I take the paper and don’t even look at it before shoving it in my purse. I don’t want to know what he clocked me at or how much this one was going to cost.
He gets back into his cruiser and I look into my rearview mirror one last time to see if I can get a look at the other cop. At least I assume he’s a cop even if he isn’t in uniform. Why else would he be in the car? His face is turned to the older trooper, so I only get the profile before they drive off. Which is just fine. Even in profile he’s hot.
With a sigh I start my car, pull further into the parking lot, and find my space. My brother, Theo, is standing at the end of the drive leaning against a post, just shaking his head as I get out of my car.
“One of these days you’re gonna lose your license,” he warns.
“Not gonna happen.” I brush past him. “Why aren’t you at work?”
“They’re at orientation. Thought I’d sneak away.”
Theo is my youngest brother at eighteen and is a teen counselor at the summer long art camp my grandparents established at the plantation eons ago. Not that he does much counseling. Just watching, checking to make sure his group of campers don’t get into trouble and he helps with photography, his passion.
I glance at the cigarette between his fingers. He gives me a smirk and takes a drag.
“You really should quit smoking those vile things.” At least he isn’t smoking in front of the kids. Not that he’d be allowed to.
“It’s all I got.”
“If grandma sees you,” I
start to warn.
“She’ll scold, but not do anything.”
He’s got that right. Theo could get away with anything where Grandma was concerned. Her baby.
Theo takes another drag and then tosses the butt into the gravel behind the bushes.
I turn and shake my finger at him. “You know animals pick those up and get sick. Don’t you care about the environment?”
“I’m finding I’m not caring about much these days,” he says as he saunters past me.
That’s the problem. Theo doesn’t care about anything and it worries me. He does have a good heart, but the only time he’s ever happy is when he’s alone with his camera.
He turns, and walks backward. “Hey, I hear you have a date tonight.”
My stomach flips, but not in a good way. “Yeah.”
“Blind date, right?” He laughs.
My friend, Ashley, fixed me up with a guy she knows, but won’t tell me a thing about him, other than he moved here about a month ago to temporarily stay with family until he can find his own place. She knows him because he’s been working out at the recreation and fitness club where she works. She’s also said he’s hot, but we don’t always agree on what is hot and what isn’t. Hell, she could have just been describing how he gets when he works out. It’s also her opinion that I don’t date enough, if ever, and need to get out. And, the reason she won’t tell me a single thing, other than his name, is because she knows me too well. The more details I have the more reasons I’ll come up with not to go. “We probably both agreed to it to get her to shut up.”
Theo chuckles and shakes his head. “I bet you’re home by the time we’re roasting marshmallows if he’s anything like that last tool she set you up with.”
“Shit!” I slow the car and pull over, the back tire thumping with each rotation. This couldn’t be happening. I hop out of my car and go to the back. “Damn!” The tire is toast. What the hell did I run over? This isn’t a slow leak flat. I hit something. But, I don’t remember hitting anything. The road was completely clear. Maybe there was a leak and I just didn’t notice. Not that it matters right now. I’m still going to be late. The one thing Ashley told me when she set this blind date up was not to be late under any circumstances. She wouldn’t tell me anything else about my date except that her name was Jacqueline Baxter, and to not be late.
Apparently, Jacqueline takes offense to people not arriving on time and believes it’s disrespectful. The way Ashley talked, I have a feeling it was a guy that made her so adamant about respect of her time, but Ashley wouldn’t clarify one way or the other.
So, on the first time meeting this girl I’m going to be fucking late. I might as well not show if the flat tire is going to ruin everything before it starts. It’s not like I asked for this date. I’m going along so Ashley will quit telling me how perfect she thinks Jackie and I would be together and that I just have to meet her. I can’t even get through a damn workout without hearing about how perfect Jackie is at least five times. Of course, that’s all Ashley ever said besides don’t be late and that this Jackie is pretty, has a great bod, and is smart. The rest I am to learn on my own.
If I get a chance now.
No. I can’t think that way. Jackie’s got to be reasonable. I get just not showing and Jackie being pissed about that, but life does throw curveballs, or at least gives you flat tires, so she’s got to understand. I grab my phone and call Sullivan’s Pub, where I’m supposed to meet Jacqueline in fifteen minutes. I can change a tire, just not that quick.
“Sullivan’s,” the guy with a thick Irish accent answers.
“Seamus?” I don’t think the guy has ever taken a day off except when the place is closed for a holiday.
“Aye.”
“Hey, this is Brett Robak and I need a favor.”
“What can I do for you, Robak?”
“I am supposed to meet a girl there in about fifteen minutes but I have a flat tire. Can you tell her and ask her to wait?”
“Can’t ye call her?” He’s laughing. The man finds humor in everything.
“I don’t know her number.”
“Ye asked a girl out without her number?”
My face is heating. “A friend is fixing us up.”
“Ah, blind date.”
“Yeah, some first impression, huh.”
“I’ll make it right. Who is she?”
“Jacqueline Baxter.”
“She’s already here.”
“Shit!”
Seamus just laughs. “I’ll tell her.”
“And give her anything she wants to eat or drink. I’ll take care of it.” I thrust my fingers through my hair and pace. “Just keep her there. I’ll get there as soon as possible.”
“Will do, Robak.”
Not that I don’t trust Seamus to tell her, I still call the club and hope Ashley is working.
“Baxter Recreation and Fitness,” a perky voice I recognize to be Ashley’s answers.
“Thank God you are still there.”
“Who is this?”
“Brett Robak.”
“You are not going to try and ditch this date are you?”
“No, nothing like that, but I’ve got a flat tire and I’m going to be late.”
“Uh oh. I warned you.”
“Yeah. Yeah. Can you please call her since you won’t tell me anything but her name and make sure she understands?”
“Sure thing.”
After I hang up the phone, I open the trunk of my car and grab the spare tire.
Chapter Two
Seamus sets a glass of iced tea down in front of me. “Yer date has a flat tire.”
Strike one. I frown and stick my straw into the glass. Should I even bother with waiting?
“Don’t go hard on him, Jackie.”
“How late is he going to be or is he canceling?”
“He didn’t say, but I’m ta get ya anything you want ta eat or drink and he begged me to keep ya here.”
I have half a mind to order everything on the menu and then leave, but I’m not that vindictive. Still, it pisses me off when people can’t be on time.
“He can’t control a flat tire and he’s a good guy.”
This gets my attention. “You know him?”
“Robak? Yeah. Good guy. Wait him out.”
I just nod as Seamus walks away.
At that second my cellphone rings and I grab it. Sure enough, it’s Ashley.
“He’s not going to show, is he?” I say instead of answering with a hello.
“Before you get upset, he does have a flat tire.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“By who?” she asked a bit surprised.
“Seamus. He already called the pub.”
“Clearly he cares about not leaving you to just sit and wonder because he called Sullivan’s and me, to make sure you were told.”
Begrudgingly I have to admit she’s right. A person doesn’t really have control over a flat. But, how do I even know he’s telling the truth? What if this is so unimportant to him that he lost track of time and is making up an excuse for being late. It wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened to me.
“What does he drive?”
“Drive?”
“Yeah, what does he drive?”
“An old Honda Accord I think. Why?”
“What color?”
“Goldish.”
“What direction and what road would he be on?”
“Just because the two guys you dated over a millisecond were dicks, doesn’t mean you have to go check up on Brett.”
She’s probably right, but I’d rather know now if this guy makes up lies if he’s running late before I invest anymore of my time. Not that I’ve invested all that much, but I don’t want to sit her and wait, endure a dinner and find out he’s no different than the rest. “Road?”
“28 from the direction of 87,” she says with reluctance. “At least I assume since he’s driving, though that does seem odd…”
>
“Why?”
“Nope. Not telling you anything else.”
“Thanks.” I click off my phone and grab my tea and walk to the bar. “Can I get this to go and another?”
“He wanted me ta keep ya here,” Seamus reminds me.
“Well, it is hot out and if he’s stuck at the side of the road I should take him a beverage.”
Seamus narrowed his eyes on me. “Don’t be judging all men on the actions of a couple.”
“I won’t.” I smile. “I promise.”
He shakes his head while he prepares two cups of iced tea and hands them to me.
“Put it on his tab,” I say as I walk out of Sullivan’s. My phone dings as I get to my car and I glance down at the text:
Dream girl unimpressed?
“What the hell?” I have no idea whose number that is and toss my phone in my purse. I’ll text back and tell them they have the wrong number later. Right now, I’m off to find an alleged stranded motorist.
Sweat is dripping down my back and face and this is so not the first impression I wanted to make. If I wouldn’t have run to Poughkeepsie to get a few things for work, I’d have been within walking distance of Sullivan’s and been on time.
Hell, I don’t even know if I’ll like this Jacqueline, but that doesn’t mean I want to show up with grease on my shirt, hands and slacks.
Finally! The last nut comes loose. I set the cross wrench aside and begin loosening them, working my way around the tire to keep it in balance, before I am able to take them all off and set them on the ground beside me. Just as I’m about to put the spare on, a bright red Mazda Miata pulls up behind my car and stops. I know that car. My uncle, Quinn O’Brien, wrote a ticket to the driver this morning. I just observed and never got the details on the driver, but I did study that sweet car.
Behind the wheel is a girl with dark brown hair, but I can’t see her eyes because of the sunglasses perched on her nose. She cuts the engine and opens the door and gets out.
“Need any help?” she asks.
“I got it. Thanks.” I lift the spare and put it on the hub.