ONCE UPON A VALENTINE Read online

  Not that Shea wasn’t wholly feminine. She just wasn’t girly about it. And while he wouldn’t call her apartment girly, it was close.

  He almost felt like a bull in a china shop.

  The second she walked in, she dumped her pharmacy bag and jacket on the trunk in front of her couch and headed straight for the cat perch by the window, where she stroked her hand over the cat curled on top of it. “How’s Marsha-Marsha?” he heard her croon.

  He closed the door and moved her jacket to the coat tree by the door. “Where’d you come up with a name like that?”

  She picked the cat up off the perch and gave Pax a shocked look. “Didn’t you ever watch Brady Bunch reruns when you were a kid?”

  “I guess I saw a few,” he allowed. “I never watched much television.”

  She sat on the arm of the couch, cradling the cat to her chest. Even from where he was standing near the door, he could hear the cat’s motor running. “What did you do?”

  “Sports.” She didn’t have a lot of furniture. Just the couch, the trunk and an old metal thing situated against the opposite wall, holding a small television on top. The kitchen opened right onto the living area, and he assumed the bedroom and bathroom were along the short hallway opposite the apartment door.

  She didn’t invite him to, but he moved around the trunk and sat down on the opposite side of the couch. “When I wasn’t playing on some team, I was sailing. I still don’t get the Marsha-Marsha reference.”

  She slid from the arm onto the couch cushion, still holding the cat. “The show was about a blended family. Three boys, three girls. Marsha, Jan and Cindy.”

  “Right. I know that, at least.”

  “Okay. So, one episode, Jan was jealous of her perfect older sister.” She pulled the pin out of her hair and tossed it on the trunk. Her golden hair slowly unfurled, sliding in a coil over one shoulder. “Marsha-Marsha-Marsha,” she sing-songed. Then she made a face and suddenly leaned over to set the cat on the ground, but he saw the way her cheeks had gone red. “You had to be there, I guess,” she muttered.

  “Was that your favorite show?”

  “Mmm-hmm.” She pushed her fingertips through her hair, flipping it the rest of the way loose from the coil. “An idealized view of the perfect family.” Her lips twisted. “Then I finally realized there was no such thing.” She closed her eyes, still rubbing her head.

  “You need to be in bed.”

  “Probably,” she agreed on a sigh. “But you’re sitting on it.”

  He got up so fast he bumped his shin on the trunk. She opened her eyes and looked at him curiously.

  She had an infection. And he needed a cold shower. “Folds out?”

  She nodded, but she’d already kicked off her loafers and was stretching out on the couch. It wasn’t anywhere near long enough to accommodate him, but she was able to lie full length on it with no problem. “Too much work right now.”

  “Don’t you want a pillow or something?”

  “It’s in the hall closet.”

  He retrieved it, noticing that the hall closet also doubled as her clothes closet. He grabbed the pillow from the top shelf, carried it back to the couch and tucked it under her head.

  She sighed and lowered her lashes as she settled her cheek on the soft fabric. “Thanks.”

  He reached out to move her hair away from her cheek but caught himself. He curled his fingers into a fist and moved away from the couch, going around the short breakfast bar, which was the only thing separating the kitchen from the living area. She’d taken one dose of her antibiotic when they’d left the pharmacy. But the doctor had also told her she needed to drink plenty of fruit juice or water.

  One look inside her refrigerator told him that she had no juice. And nothing else either. Unless he counted tins of canned cat food, the shelves in her fridge were even emptier than the ones in his.

  She only had three cupboards. One contained pots and pans. The next held at least a dozen cookbooks that had him stopping in surprise. It didn’t matter to him whether she cooked or not, but the fact that he didn’t know at all was just another reminder of how much about her was still a mystery. He pulled open the last cupboard to reveal a few glasses and a set of plates and bowls.

  If she ever had company over for a meal, he was guessing she went the disposable cups and plates route.

  He grabbed one of the glasses and filled it with water, then took it over to her.

  Her lips were parted, her breathing slow and deep.

  He silently sat down on the trunk, absently drinking the water that he’d gotten for her, and watched her sleep. She didn’t stir even when he let himself finally reach over and slide his fingers under the silky hair falling over her face.

  He gently tucked it behind her ear.

  The cat jumped up onto the back of the couch, giving him a wary look from her slanted green eyes, before delicately stepping down onto Shea’s side and arranging herself there.

  Shea didn’t even budge.

  She’d told him the cat was sixteen years old. He imagined she was well used to the cat sleeping on her by now.

  The feline settled her chin on her paws, but her eyes didn’t shift away from his face. “You her protector, Marsha-Marsha?”

  The cat’s ear swiveled at the sound of her name. He could hear her purring, but the second he reached out to rub his finger over her small, calico-colored head, the rumbling stopped.

  He lowered his hand, studying the cat and the woman for a long while.

  When it seemed clear that Shea wasn’t going to wake anytime soon, or that Marsha-Marsha wasn’t going to sleep as long as he was there, he refilled the glass with water and left it within Shea’s easy reach on top of the trunk. Then, just because it was time for Hooch to be fed and he figured Marsha-Marsha should be too, he uncovered the opened can of cat food that had been in the fridge and dumped the contents out into the empty dish sitting on the floor in the corner of the kitchen. The other dish next to it was still full of water.

  He’d seen a folded blanket in the closet along with the pillow, and even though Shea had been too hot all afternoon, he got it down and unfolded it near her bare feet. Just in case.

  Then he took the key that she’d dropped into a dish by the cat tree and let himself out of the apartment, locking it behind him.

  He gave up the parking spot and drove around until he found a grocery store and stocked up on everything he could think of. When he returned to Shea’s place, he ended up having to carry everything two blocks because that was the closest he was able to park.

  At least the cops were gone, but that was the only positive note. By the time he’d hauled everything he’d bought up the stairs, he was ready to personally pay to have the damned elevator fixed.

  When he finally reached her door, he had to set one armload of groceries on the floor so he could unlock it. He’d just slid the key into the lock when he spotted the kid watching him from the apartment next door. He nodded at him. “Hey.”

  The kid looked about ten and his eyes were narrowed suspiciously. “What’s wrong with Shea?”

  She hadn’t wanted him to tell his own family about her pregnancy, so he doubted she’d want him to tell her neighbors. “Nothing.”

  “Then why’re you here? Shea don’t have people visit her.”

  Interesting to note. “She does today.” He finished unlocking the door and picked up the grocery bags. “I’m Pax, by the way.”

  “I know. You’re the boat guy.”

  Pax hesitated. “How do you know that?”

  The kid’s lip curled. “My ma makes me read Shea’s paper. I seen your picture.”

  “Good for your mom.” He hesitated, looking at the kid again. “You like sailing?”

  “I dunno. Never been.”

  Which was a c
rying shame, as far as Pax was concerned, for anyone who lived near water deep enough to bear a boat. “Can you swim?”

  The kid shrugged as if he couldn’t care less. “Nah.” He turned sideways and disappeared through his doorway.

  Shea had admitted once that she didn’t swim. Used it as an excuse whenever he’d invited her to go sailing with him. Both things he intended to change. If she’d just give a little.

  He opened her door and went inside.

  She hadn’t moved an inch. She was still sound asleep, with the cat stretched out on top of her.

  He quietly put away the groceries as best as he could and left what wouldn’t fit in the cupboards on the counter next to the narrow stove. Then he made himself a sandwich from the provisions he’d bought, filled a glass with water for himself and sat on the hard, wooden stool at the breakfast counter to eat while he checked his cell phone and answered a bunch of emails from work.

  He was watching the local news with the sound turned off and the closed captioning turned on when the cat suddenly leaped off Shea and returned to the perch. A second later, Shea stretched and sat up. Her bleary eyes found him sitting on the floor in front of the couch and she rubbed them, as if expecting him to disappear. “Why are you still here?”

  “Not going to leave you alone. Not sick. And not here.”

  Her lips compressed, but all she did was swing her feet to the floor and push herself off the couch. She walked around it and stopped short. “You bought groceries.”

  No point in denying the obvious. He looked over his shoulder at her. “If you’re hungry I’ll make you a sandwich.”

  She lifted her hand to her head and looked at him. “You can’t stay here.”

  “It’s after eleven. I’ve been with you for more ’n twelve hours and you haven’t eaten one thing. If you don’t want a sandwich, I bought fruit and soup and a bunch of other stuff.”

  “There’s no room for you!”

  More stating the obvious. He’d had to push the trunk off to one side just so he’d have room to sit on the freaking floor. He’d had more room in the tiny place he’d rented in Amsterdam than Shea had in her studio apartment. “Then we’ll pull out the bed.” He pushed to his feet, managing not to wince at how stiff he’d gotten sitting on the floor. He stepped past her into the kitchen, grabbed the loaf of bread he’d bought and started unwrapping it.

  She threw up her hands and stomped down the short hall. He heard her slam the bathroom door closed.

  He continued making the sliced turkey sandwich, and it was sitting on a paper towel when she returned a few minutes later. She pulled out the wooden stool and sat down in front of the food.

  “There’s tomato and lettuce if you want it.”

  Her lips pressed together. She shook her head and picked up one half of the sandwich. He’d cut it in two for Shea, only because it was the way his mom always served it.

  She took a slow bite then set it down again. He nudged a glass of water toward her.

  “Surprised you’re not insisting on milk,” she murmured.

  “The doc said juices and water for now.” He reached over and felt her forehead. “Still warm.” But not burning like it had been earlier. “Still have a headache?”

  She chewed on her lip and shook her head. Then her shoulders rose and fell with a huge sigh as if she’d come to some decision. “Pax.” She folded her hands together on the counter and looked up at him. The sleepiness had cleared from her blue eyes, and now they were just determined. “I—

  “No.”

  She frowned. “You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”

  “And I know my answer is no.” He picked up the sandwich and held it in front of her mouth. “Unless you’re in danger of yakking this up, take a bite.”

  “That’s disgusting.” But she still grabbed the sandwich out of his hand, took a bite and set it back on the paper towel. She chased it down with a gulp of water. “I appreciate the sandwich, but—”

  He leaned on the counter. “No.”

  She gave him an annoyed look. Her lashes lowered for a moment, and when they lifted again, she gave him a saccharine-sweet smile. “Let’s get naked and have hot, crazy sex.”

  He knew she didn’t mean it but his body still leapt eagerly. “Yes.”

  She huffed, rolled her eyes and turned her back on him. But she’d grabbed the sandwich first. “Is this what you’re going to be like for the next seven months?”

  He smiled at the back of her head. “It is if you’re going to insist on staying in this crapshack for the next seven months.”

  She shot him an offended look over her shoulder. “Don’t call my apartment that.”

  “I’m calling the building that, not your apartment.”

  Mollified, she took another bite of the sandwich and looked away again.

  He eyed the back of her tangled hair. It had looked the same way the morning after the ice storm. He’d wanted to wind his fingers in it then, and he wanted to do it now.

  He deliberately relaxed his hands. “You’ve got a real storage problem, though, considering you need to stuff half your clothes inside that trunk.”

  “I don’t—” She broke off and hopped off from stool. She turned and set the bread crust, which was all that was left from the sandwich, on the paper towel. She wiped her fingers carefully on the edge of the paper. “What’s your point, Pax? You want me to move to a better neighborhood?” Her lips curved with sarcasm. “One more in keeping with the standards of someone like you, who keeps J.T. Hunt on his speed dial?” She stretched out her arms, encompassing the apartment around them. “I’m not changing who I am just because I’m pregnant with your baby! You’re all interested right now about this, but I’m not going to change my whole life just because you say so.”

  He looked past her shoulder to the images on the silent television screen, letting his sudden anger tick down to a manageable level.

  Only when he thought it was under control did he focus on her again. Her lips were parted, her chest moving with her harsh breaths. “Your life has already changed. Right now,” he emphasized quietly. “You. Are. Pregnant.” His fingers dug into the cheap laminate countertop between them. “By definition, that means a baby is going to arrive. Our baby. Our son.”

  Her gaze flickered. Her nose reddened.

  The level wasn’t so manageable after all.

  He wanted to shake her. He wanted to kiss her.

  And he was damned close to doing both.

  He rounded the breakfast bar, hearing the almost-silent way she sucked in her breath. He pushed her chin up with his thumb until her wide eyes met his.

  “Change is already here, sweetheart. And the sooner you accept that, the better,” he finally said. Then he let go of her, and he walked out of her apartment.

  Chapter Eight

  Shea sat across the desk from Cornelia Hunt in the woman’s elegant office and tried to keep her mind on what she was saying rather than letting it drift to the brick building next door.

  Since Pax had walked out of her apartment two days ago, she hadn’t heard one word from him.

  “—disappointed, of course. You’re really certain?”

  She belatedly tuned back into Cornelia, realized she’d completely missed what the other woman had just said and wanted to kick herself. She couldn’t afford to lose this job. Especially after Harvey had blown a fuse when she’d turned in her story about the charity auction and it had been missing his one required element—a heavy dose of Paxton Merrick. Unfortunately, with no time to resolve that before they went to press, he’d yanked the article altogether, which just left Shea feeling worse than ever because Beatrice had done a lot of work and Fresh Grounds deserved better.

  “I’m sorry,” she said now, looking at Cornelia. “What did you say?”


  Cornelia folded her hands together on top of her spotless off-white desktop and the gigantic pink diamond on her wedding finger winked in the light from one of the crystal sconces on the wall. Her softly lined face creased in a kind smile. “Why don’t you tell me what’s bothering you, Shea?”

  She wanted to squirm in her chair like a child caught out by her favorite teacher. Since she’d arrived that afternoon to pick up her latest assignment from the woman, she’d been waiting for Cornelia to say something about Pax asking her to intercede with the hospital and Dr. Montgomery’s supposedly full patient load. To say that she knew Shea was pregnant.

  But she hadn’t.

  Which left Shea realizing that Pax hadn’t spilled the beans to Cornelia after all.

  “Nothing,” she insisted. “I...I just know you’re disappointed about Elise Williams. I know she said her ex-husband was the one to incur those gambling debts, but that’d be tough when she’s never been married at all.” The woman had misrepresented a lot more than that, which Shea had also included in her report.

  Cornelia made a soft “mmm” sound and turned slightly to rise from her desk. She crossed the spacious office, passing the set of imported loveseats situated in the center of the room and stopping in the corner, where windows looked out over the marina in one direction and Pax’s building in the other.

  Her silver-blond hair was smoothed back in its usual twist, but with the sunlight low on the horizon behind her she seemed to glow a little as she stood at the windows. She was old enough to be Gloria’s mother, but as much effort as Shea’s mother put into remaining ageless, she’d never achieve what Cornelia exuded so naturally. “Phil is more disappointed about Elise than I am. She believed the woman’s story and it’s never nice to know you’ve been lied to. Which is why we have you.” Cornelia poured herself a fresh cup of coffee and glanced at Shea to see if she wanted some.

  “No, thank you.” Among other things, Dr. Montgomery advised her new obstetric patients to limit their caffeine intake, and she’d already had a small coffee that morning. It was tough, though, particularly when Cornelia carried her cup—delicate-looking china complete with saucer—back to the desk and the rich scent of Seattle’s Best reached her.