Valentine's Day Collection (A Timeless Romance Anthology Book 19)

  Janette Rallison

  Heather B. Moore

  Jenny Proctor

  Annette Lyon

  Heather Tullis

  Sarah M. Eden

  Copyright © 2017 by Mirror Press, LLC

  E-book edition

  All rights reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form whatsoever without prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief passages embodied in critical reviews and articles. This is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, places, and dialogue are products of the authors’ imaginations and are not to be construed as real.

  Interior Design by Heather Justesen

  Edited by Anna DeStefano and Lisa Shepherd

  Cover design by Mirror Press, LLC

  Cover Photo Credit: Shutterstock #276925928

  Cover Photo Copyright: Syda Productions

  Published by Mirror Press, LLC

  http://timelessromanceanthologies.blogspot.com

  eISBN-10:1-941145-97-3

  eISBN-13:978-1-941145-97-5

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  The Timeless Romance Authors

  Winter Collection

  Spring Vacation Collection

  Summer Wedding Collection

  Autumn Collection

  European Collection

  Love Letter Collection

  Old West Collection

  Summer in New York Collection

  Silver Bells Collection

  All Regency Collection

  Annette Lyon Collection

  Sarah M. Eden British Isles Collection

  Under the Mistletoe Collection

  Mail Order Bride Collection

  Road Trip Collection

  Blind Date Collection

  A Brush with the Law by Janette Rallison

  Other works by Janette Rallison

  About Janette Rallison

  Every Occasion by Heather B. Moore

  Other works by Heather B. Moore

  About Heather B. Moore

  Hold Your Breath by Jenny Proctor

  Other works by Jenny Proctor

  About Jenny Proctor

  The Ultimate Bachelor Challenge by Annette Lyon

  Other works by Annette Lyon

  About Annette Lyon

  Deal Breakers by Heather Tullis

  Other works by Heather Tullis

  About Heather Tullis

  Hey, Helen! by Sarah M. Eden

  Other works by Sarah M. Eden

  About Sarah M. Eden

  Chapter One

  It was going to be another great Valentine’s Day— at least for someone else. For Bethany Daniels it was another work day— one where her shoulders ached and she was splattered in paint.

  She took a step back from her mural, inspecting the work she’d done over the last week: violin-playing angels serenaded their music above Mr. and Mrs. Dupont’s bed, while a sunrise hovered near the ceiling, sending pale golden rays across the wall. Beautiful. It was moments like this that Bethany was glad she’d become an artist, despite what her parents thought of that decision. She’d been able to match the picture of Song of the Angels so well that William-Adolphe Bouguereau himself would have been impressed. Or sued her for copyright infringement, if he’d still been alive and of a litigious mind. At any rate, Mr. Dupont was going to love it. Hopefully Mrs. Dupont would love it just as much. The mural was to be a post-Valentine’s Day surprise for her when the couple got back from Paris next Monday.

  Right now the Duponts were probably off at the Eiffel tower, snapping selfies— or doing whatever wealthy, jet-setting people did on Valentine’s Day. Bethany wasn’t likely to ever be one of those people. She was the sort whose friends set her up on pity dates so she wouldn’t be completely alone on the one day a year dedicated to romance.

  Technically, at the time her best friend, Hannah, had told Bethany about her matchmaking plans, Hannah hadn’t called it a pity date; but that’s clearly what it was. Now Hannah was celebrating her first anniversary— yes, she’d gotten married on Valentine’s Day— by taking a Caribbean cruise. Two of their other friends had decided it was the perfect vacation to escape the cold, wet Seattle weather, so they’d signed up with their husbands, and the trip had turned into one big love excursion. But Bethany had needed to finish this mural, and more importantly, she didn’t have anyone to go with.

  Hannah had lectured Bethany about working too hard and told her that if she didn’t put herself out there, she was never going to find the right man. Then Hannah said that her husband, Greg, had an awesome friend she should meet. James was pre-law and supposedly to-die-for gorgeous. Which was how Bethany had ended up with a blind date scheduled for tonight. Sometimes it was easier to give into Hannah than to fight her edicts.

  Bethany took a few more steps backward, giving the mural another critical once-over. The angels had just the right amount of rosiness to their cheeks, the clouds were ethereal, and the lighting had the right mixture of illumination. She’d even managed to paint the Duponts’ Siamese cat— obviously their surrogate child— into the scene, without the effect seeming too kitschy. Everything was perfect, except for the opposite wall. She’d run out of the sky-blue paint she’d used to transform the rest of the bedroom and had forgotten to stop by the store to buy some more on the way to the Duponts’ townhouse.

  Also, she really should paint over that pigeon she’d doodled near the window. She’d created it on a whim— a startled bird that had apparently wandered into the room and was now looking around in confusion. The Duponts probably wouldn’t appreciate her humor. Few people did.

  She wiped her hands on a rag and glanced at her phone to check the time. It was nearly three, and she still had an appointment with a client to discuss faux finishing a room to look like marble. Then she was meeting James at the Santorini Grill at six forty-five. Still, she’d told Mr. Dupont she would finish painting today. No one would be around to let her in tomorrow. Marta, the Duponts’ housekeeper, was going away with her husband for the weekend. She’d already poked her head inside the room several times to check her progress.

  Bethany would just have to hurry to the store and buy more paint so both of them could head off to their respective fates. She could be to the store and back in half an hour. Wrapping up the mural itself wouldn’t take more than ten minutes. Then she could be done with her other appointment by five, which would give her plenty of time to go home and make herself presentable for Pre-law James.

  She grabbed her purse, headed down the three-story staircase, and yelled over her shoulder that she’d be back in a few minutes.

  Marta, in a less than happy voice, called out, “I need to leave by four.” She was a heavy-set older woman with jowls that made her look like she was perpetually frowning.

  “I’ll hurry,” Bethany promised.

  That promise, as it turned out, was what doomed her.

  The line for paint was three people long. Which in and of itself wouldn’t have been so bad, if the second woman in line hadn’t been certain that her paint was mixed wrong and made the guy redo her order. Then the cashier had some sort of problem ringing up Bethany’s paint and had to call a manager. By the time Bethany got to her car, it was twenty minutes to four.
She’d have to rush, or she’d be inconveniencing Marta by making her stay later.

  Bethany sped out of the parking lot and down the street, going as fast as traffic would allow. When a light in front of her turned yellow, she decided yellow was close enough to green on the color wheel to justify flooring the gas instead of slowing down.

  She was almost to the intersection before the light turned red. No car crashes ensued, so everything should have been fine. But no. A set of colored lights flicked on from one of the cars lined up across the street.

  How had she not noticed that a police car was sitting there? She moaned, pulled over into a nearby gas station, and waited for her impending doom. The patrol car pulled in behind her. A few moments later, an officer exited and sauntered toward her car.

  She rolled down her window, letting the cold air seep inside while she watched his approach. Did he look like the compassionate type? Probably not. He was in his late twenties. Tall and broad-shouldered. One of those guys who moved with power and confidence. He had short, blond hair and the kind of chiseled features that landed men in those Hot Cops Calendars. The guy was most likely perpetually Mr. October. He wasn’t the sort who would be moved by a doe-eyed eyelash flutter.

  And besides, even if he could be swayed by a pretty girl, she wasn’t that girl right now. Bethany’s gaze moved from his approaching figure to her own reflection. She was dressed in a splattered sweatshirt. Her long, strawberry blonde hair was pulled into a ponytail, and she wore only a hint of makeup. Blue flecks dotted her entire body, and white paint was streaked across her cheek. She rubbed at the spot, trying to remove it.

  The police officer leaned toward her window. “Ma’am, do you realize you ran a red light back there?”

  She sent him an apologetic smile. “Um… that depends. Will you go easier on me if I knew, or if I didn’t?”

  He looked at her patiently. “Ma’am, you endanger your life and others’ when you disregard traffic lights. People die every day in car accidents.”

  He was being a bit dramatic about a light that had been almost yellow— at worst, a pale shade of red. “The intersection was clear,” she pointed out. “The Grim Reaper was nowhere in sight.”

  His blue eyes ran over her with an unspoken sigh as though he didn’t think she was fully grasping his point. “Look, you’re young, so I’m guessing you have a lot to live for, don’t you?”

  She tapped her fingers against the steering wheel. “Oh, I don’t know. It’s Valentine’s Day, and all I’ve got going is a blind date. Seems like a good time to throw caution to the wind.” Some people got quiet when they were nervous. Bethany wasn’t one of them. She clamped her lips together, and then added, “I’m just kidding, officer. I’m sorry I ran the light.”

  He raised an eyebrow at her skeptically. “You’re on your way to a blind date dressed like that?”

  She shrugged. “If the guy is blind, it shouldn’t matter what I wear.” She blinked innocently. “That’s what a blind date means, right? I don’t know; I don’t get set up a lot.”

  He smiled politely at her joke. “I bet. Can I see your license and registration?”

  She handed both over. He nodded and returned to his car. She rolled up the window and slumped into her seat. A good time to throw caution to the wind. Honestly, what was wrong with her? She knew better than to joke around with police officers. They no doubt had their senses of humor surgically removed when they entered the police academy.

  She glanced in the rearview mirror to see what he was doing. He sat in the car next to his partner. Would having another officer around make this process go faster?

  Bethany impatiently watched the minutes tick by on her dashboard clock. Three forty-five. Three fifty. How long did it take to run her license? She didn’t have much of a record. She’d only ever received one other speeding ticket, and that had been when she was eighteen. Did tickets from seven years ago stay on your record? Three fifty-five. Oh, and there had been that unfortunate brush with the law when she’d been in college and rushing a sorority. The freshmen had been sent to steal the opposing football team’s mascot costume. That assignment really should have been Bethany’s first clue that the sorority life wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. The lot of them ended up down at the police station, and Bethany had her mugshot taken while wearing the cougar mascot outfit. The policewoman wouldn’t let Bethany keep the head on for the photo, which was too bad since it would have been a much better picture that way.

  Four o’clock clicked by on the dashboard clock. Had Marta left the Duponts’ townhouse and locked up? Bethany had no way to contact her and tell her what was happening. Mr. Dupont’s was the only phone number Bethany had, and she couldn’t call him in France. It was midnight there.

  Mr. Hot-Cop October strolled back to her car window. She rolled it down so he could hand her a piece of paper along with her license and insurance card.

  “I’m letting you off with a warning this time.” The corner of the guy’s lips lifted in a suggestion of a smile. “But only because I’m no stranger to blind dates. I can’t bring myself to add to your suffering today.” His gaze went over her again. “Have fun painting the town. You’re definitely dressed for the occasion.”

  She tucked her license into her wallet. “Thanks. Truly. I promise I’ll be more careful.”

  His smile grew, blue eyes flashing. “And if the guy is blind… Well, it’s a tough call, but don’t let him do the driving.”

  Apparently, she’d been wrong about cops having no sense of humor. She’d gotten the one officer in town with comedic ambitions. “Yeah. Thanks again.”

  She didn’t reach the townhouse until ten minutes after four. Marta had just walked down the front steps. The woman glared when she saw Bethany getting out of her car.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Bethany said. “I was hurrying back when a police officer pulled me over.” She lifted the quart-sized can of paint. “It will only take me ten minutes to finish the job.”

  Marta pressed her lips together in a frown. “I already locked up. I told you I had to leave at four.”

  Bethany held up a hand, pleading. “I still have to finish one wall. The Duponts won’t be happy if they come home and it’s not done.”

  The woman’s frown didn’t change. “My husband won’t be happy either. I’m already leaving ten minutes after I was supposed to because I was waiting for you.”

  “Sorry,” Bethany said again. “I can come back tomorrow, if someone will let me in.”

  “It’s Saturday tomorrow,” the woman said, still unhappy. “No one will be here.”

  Bethany rubbed her forehead. “All right. I’ll explain to Mr. Dupont that I could have finished, but you had to leave.”

  Marta let out a tormented sigh and headed up the stairs. “Fine. I’ll let you in, but I can’t stay.” She unlocked the door with quick motions. “Don’t tell the Duponts I did this.”

  “Not a word,” Bethany said, following her inside. “Thanks so much.”

  The woman didn’t acknowledge Bethany’s thanks, just strode into the kitchen. “I’ll reset the alarm to turn on when you leave. Once you go out the front door, it will lock behind you, so make sure you take all your stuff with you. I stacked your things in the mudroom.”

  Marta had taken the art supplies out of the master bedroom? Well, that would make finishing this job take longer because now Bethany had to haul everything back.

  “Don’t leave any trash behind.” Marta emphasized this sentence, like she thought Bethany was likely to leave paint brushes lying around.

  Granted, her painting supplies had been at the Duponts’ all week, but only because she was using them. “The place will be spotless,” Bethany promised.

  Marta let out another sigh. “And don’t get anything dirty. I put clean towels in all the bathrooms, and I don’t want them messed up.” Without waiting for a reply, she left, shutting the door with more force than the task required.

  Lovely woman.

  As Betha
ny set off to find the mudroom, she calculated how much time the job would take. She wouldn’t get out of here until four-twenty, and she still had to stop by her other client’s house. Getting home would take another half hour. Longer, if the traffic was bad. And at that time of night, yeah, it was going to be bad. Maybe it would be best to call the other client and see if Bethany could come tomorrow. She wanted to allow herself enough time to get ready for her date. If the guy was as hot as Hannah claimed, he deserved smoky eyeshadow and hair that fell in soft curls around Bethany’s shoulders.

  She called her client to reschedule, and then found the mud room on the other side of the Duponts’ kitchen. Her clean brushes and the small paint bottles she’d used for the mural sat in a pristine sink. The drop cloths, paint roller, and pan were suspiciously absent. Had the housekeeper thrown them away? She wouldn’t have, would she?

  Bethany suspected she already knew the answer, even before she hiked up the three stories to the master bedroom. Yep, they were gone. Marta had probably shoved them in a trash can outside along with the empty tin of blue paint Bethany had used for the rest of the walls.

  Bethany headed downstairs, saying a lot of things to Marta even though the woman was no longer around. And none of what she said was very nice. The missing equipment hadn’t been expensive— cheap plastic drop cloths and a disposable paint roller, but still. Painting without a roller would take twice as long. And how was Bethany supposed to finish the job without a drop cloth? Even if she had the time, she couldn’t go to the store and buy new supplies. The door would lock behind her.

  She picked up her biggest paint brush along with the hammer she used to open and close paint cans, then headed back up the stairs two at a time. She’d have to improvise. She only had a small area to paint, so she didn’t need a big drop cloth; just something to catch any drips.

  She seriously considered using one of the precious clean towels in the guest bathroom and leaving a note explaining she’d had no other choice because the housekeeper had thrown away her drop cloths. But she wasn’t that vindictive. Her sweatshirt and jeans could do the job. Any paint that was already on them was long dry, and a few more spots wouldn’t matter.