Be My Valentine Page 21

  Her cat didn’t really care for the extra attention she was lavishing on him. He grudgingly endured her stroking his fur and scratching his ears. An extra serving of canned cat food and a fluffed-up pillow were appreciated, but being picked up and carted across the room to sit in her lap wasn’t. To his credit, Max had submitted to two or three sessions in which she talked out her troubles, but his patience with such behavior had exhausted itself.

  “Put on a pot of coffee and I’ll be over in a few minutes,” Jo Ann said, disturbing Bailey’s musings.

  “Fine. I’ll see you when I see you,” Bailey responded, then frowned. My goodness, that was an original statement. If she was reduced to such a glaring lack of originality one week after saying farewell to Parker, she hated to consider how banal her conversation would be a month from now.

  Jo Ann arrived fifteen minutes later, Bailey’s manuscript tucked under her arm.

  “You didn’t like it,” Bailey said in a flat voice. Her friend’s expression couldn’t have made it any plainer.

  “It wasn’t that, exactly,” Jo Ann told her, setting the manuscript on the coffee table and curling up in the overstuffed chair.

  “What seems to be the problem this time?”

  “Janice.”

  “Janice?” Bailey cried, restraining the urge to argue. She’d worked so hard to make the rewrite of Forever Yours work. “I thought Michael was the source of all the trouble.”

  “He was in the original version. You’ve rewritten him just beautifully, but Janice seemed so—I hate to say this—weak.”

  “Weak?” Bailey shouted. “Janice isn’t weak! She’s strong and independent and—”

  “Foolish and weak-willed,” Jo Ann finished. “The reader loses sympathy for her halfway through the book. She acts like a robot with Michael.”

  Bailey was having a difficult time not protesting. She knew Jo Ann’s was only one opinion, but she’d always trusted her views. Jo Ann’s evaluation of the manuscript’s earlier versions had certainly been accurate.

  “Give me an example,” Bailey said, making an effort to keep her voice as even and unemotional as possible.

  “Everything changed after the scene at the Pops concert.”

  “Parker was a real jerk,” Bailey argued. “He deserved everything she said and did.”

  “Parker?” Jo Ann’s brows arched at her slip of the tongue.

  “Michael,” Bailey corrected. “You know who I meant!”

  “Indeed I did.”

  During the past week, Jo Ann had made several awkward attempts to drop Parker’s name into conversation, but Bailey refused to discuss him.

  “Michael did act a bit high-handed,” Jo Ann continued, “but the reader’s willing to forgive him, knowing he’s discovering his true feelings for Janice. The fact that he felt jealous when she danced with another man hit him like an expected blow. True, he did behave like a jerk, but I understood his motivation and was willing to forgive him.”

  “In other words, the reader will accept such actions from the hero but not the heroine?” Bailey asked aggressively.

  “That’s not it at all,” Jo Ann responded, sounding surprised. “In the original version Janice comes off as witty and warm and independent. The reader can’t help liking her and sympathize with her situation.”

  “Then what changed?” Bailey demanded, raising her voice. Her inclination was to defend Janice as she would her own child.

  Jo Ann shrugged. “I wish I knew what happened to Janice. All I can tell you is that it started after the scene at the Pops concert. From that point on I had problems identifying with her. I couldn’t understand why she was so willing to accept everything Michael said and did. It was as if she’d lost her spirit. By the end of the book, I actively disliked her. I wanted to take her by the shoulders and shake her.”

  Bailey felt like weeping. “So I guess it’s back to the drawing board,” she said, putting on a cheerful front. “I suppose I should be getting used to that.”

  “My best advice is to put the manuscript aside for a few weeks,” Jo Ann said in a gentle tone. “Didn’t you tell me you had another plot idea you wanted to develop?”

  Bailey nodded. But that was before. Before almost all her energy was spent just surviving from day to day. Before she’d begun pretending her life was perfectly normal although the pain left her barely able to function. Before she’d lost hope…

  “What will putting it aside accomplish?” she asked.

  “It will give you perspective,” Jo Ann advised. “Look at Janice. Really look at her. Does she deserve a man as terrific as Michael? You’ve done such a superb job writing him.”

  It went without saying that Parker had been the source of her inspiration.

  “In other words Janice is unsympathetic?”

  Jo Ann’s nod was regretful. “I’m afraid so. But remember that this is strictly my opinion. Someone else may read Forever Yours and feel Janice is a fabulous heroine. You might want to have some of the other writers in the group read it. I don’t mean to be discouraging, Bailey, really I don’t.”

  “I know that.”

  “It’s only because you’re my friend that I can be so honest.”

  “That’s what I wanted,” Bailey admitted slowly. Who was she kidding? She was as likely to become a published writer as she was a wife. The odds were so bad it would be a sucker’s bet.

  “I don’t want to discourage you,” Jo Ann repeated in a worried voice.

  “If I’d been looking for someone to tell me how talented I am, I would’ve given the manuscript to my mother.”

  Jo Ann laughed, then glanced at her watch. “I’ve got to scoot. I’m supposed to pick up Dan at the muffler shop. The station wagon’s beginning to sound like an army tank. If you have any questions give me a call later.”

  “I will.” Bailey led the way to the door and held it open as Jo Ann gathered up her purse and coat. Her friend paused, looking concerned. “You’re not too depressed about this, are you?”

  “A little,” Bailey said. “All right, a lot. But it’s all part of the learning process, and if I have to rewrite this manuscript a hundred times, then I’ll do it. Writing isn’t for the faint of heart.”

  “You’ve got that right.”

  Jo Ann had advised her to set the story aside but the instant she was gone, Bailey tore into the manuscript, leafing carefully through the pages.

  Jo Ann’s notes in the margins were valuable—and painful. Bailey paid particular attention to the comments following Michael and Janice’s fateful evening at the concert. It didn’t take her long to connect this scene in her novel with its real-life equivalent, her evening with Parker.

  She acts like a robot with Michael, Jo Ann had said. As Bailey read through the subsequent chapters, she couldn’t help but agree. It was as though her feisty, spirited heroine had lost the will to exert her own personality. For all intents and purposes, she’d lain down and died.

  Isn’t that what you’ve done? her heart asked.

  But Bailey ignored it. She’d given up listening to the deep inner part of herself. She’d learned how painful that could be.

  “By the end of the book I actively disliked her.” Jo Ann’s words resounded like a clap of thunder in her mind. Janice’s and Bailey’s personalities were so intimately entwined that she no longer knew where one stopped and the other began.

  “Janice seemed so…so weak.”

  Bailey resisted the urge to cover her ears to block out Jo Ann’s words. It was all she could do not to shout, “You’d be spineless too if you had a slightly used wedding dress hanging in your closet!”

  When Bailey couldn’t tolerate the voices any longer, she reached for her jacket and purse and escaped. Anything was better than listening to the accusations echoing in her mind. The apartment felt unfriendly and confining. Even Max’s narrowed green eyes seemed to reflect her heart’s questions.

  The sky was overcast—a perfect accompaniment to Bailey’s mood. She walked without
any real destination until she found herself at the BART station and her heart suddenly started to hammer. She chided herself for the small surge of hope she felt. What were the chances of running into Parker on a Saturday afternoon? Virtually none. She hadn’t seen him in over a week. More than likely he’d been driving to work to avoid her.

  Parker.

  The pain she’d managed to hold at bay for several days bobbed to the surface. Tears spilled from her eyes. She kept on walking, her pace brisk as though she was in a hurry to get somewhere. Bailey’s destination was peace and she had yet to find it. Sometimes she wondered if she ever would.

  Men fell in love with her easily enough, but they seemed to fall out of love just as effortlessly. Worst of all, most demeaning of all, was the knowledge that there was always another woman involved. A woman they loved more than Bailey. Paul, Tom and now Parker.

  Bailey walked for what felt like miles. Somehow, she wasn’t altogether shocked when she found herself on Parker’s street. He’d mentioned it in passing the evening they’d gone to the concert. The condominiums were a newer addition to the neighborhood, ultramodern, ultra-expensive, ultra-appealing to the eye. It wouldn’t surprise her to learn that Parker had been responsible for their design. Although the dinner conversation with his parents had been stilted and uncomfortable, Parker’s mother had taken delight in highlighting her son’s many accomplishments. Parker obviously wasn’t enthusiastic about his mother’s bragging, but Bailey had felt a sense of pride in the man she loved.

  The man she loved.

  Abruptly Bailey stopped walking. She closed her eyes and clenched her hands into tight fists. She did not love Parker. If she did happen to fall in love again, it wouldn’t be with a man as fickle or as untrustworthy as Parker Davidson, who apparently fell in and out of love at the drop of a—

  You love him, you fool. Now what are you going to do about it?

  Bailey just wanted these questions, these revelations, to stop, to leave her alone. Alone in her misery. Alone in her pain and denial.

  An anger grew in Bailey. One born of so much strong emotion she could barely contain it. Without sparing a thought for the consequences, she stormed into the central lobby of the condominium complex. The doorman stepped forward.

  “Good afternoon,” he said politely.

  Bailey managed to smile at him. “Hello.” Then, when she noticed that he was waiting for her to continue, she added, “Mr. Parker Davidson’s home, please,” her voice remarkably calm and impassive. They were going to settle this once and for all, and no one, not a doorman, not even a security guard, was going to stand in her way.

  “May I ask who’s calling?”

  “Bailey York,” she answered confidently.

  “If you’ll kindly wait here,” He was gone only a moment. “Mr. Parker says to send you right up. He’s in unit 204.”

  “Thank you.” Bailey’s determination hadn’t dwindled by the time her elevator reached the second floor.

  It took Parker a couple of minutes to answer his door. When he did, Bailey didn’t wait for an invitation. She marched into his apartment, ignoring the spectacular view and the lush traditional furnishings of polished wood and rich fabric.

  “Bailey.” He seemed surprised to see her.

  Standing in the middle of the room, hands on her hips, she glared at him with a week’s worth of indignation flashing from her eyes. “Don’t Bailey me,” she raged. “I want to know who Lisa is and I want to know now.”

  Parker gaped at her as though she’d taken leave of her senses.

  “Don’t give me that look.” She walked a complete circle around him; he swiveled slowly, still staring. “There’s no need to stand there with your mouth hanging open. It’s a simple question.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “What does it look like?”

  “Frankly I’m not sure.”

  “I’ve come to find out exactly what kind of man you are.” That sounded good, and she said it in a mocking challenging way bound to get a response.

  “What kind of man I am? Does this mean I have to run through a line of warriors waiting to flog me?”

  Bailey was in no mood for jesting. “It just might.” She removed one hand from her hip and waved it under his nose. “I’ll have you know Janice has been ruined and I blame you.”

  “Who?”

  “My character Janice,” she explained with exaggerated patience. “The one in my novel, Forever Yours. She’s wishy-washy, submissive and docile. Reading about her is like…like vanilla pudding instead of chocolate.”

  “I happen to be partial to vanilla pudding.”

  Bailey sent him a furious look. “I’ll do the talking here.”

  Parker raised both hands. “Sorry.”

  “You should be. So…exactly what kind of man are you?”

  “I believe you’ve already asked that question.” Bailey spun around to scowl at him. “Sorry,” he muttered, his mouth twisting oddly. “I forgot you’re doing the talking here.”

  “One minute you claim you’re in love with me. So much in love you want me to marry you.” Her voice faltered slightly. “And the next you’re involved with some woman named Lisa and you want to put our relationship on hold. Well, I’ve got news for you, Mr. Unreliable. I refuse to allow you to play with my heart. You asked me to marry you…” Bailey paused at the smile that lifted the corners of his mouth. “Is this discussion amusing you?” she demanded.

  “A little.”

  “Feel free to share the joke,” she said, motioning with her hand.

  “Lisa’s my sister-in-law.”

  The words didn’t immediately sink in. “Your what?”

  “She’s my brother’s wife.”

  Bailey slumped into a chair. A confused moment passed while she tried to collect her scattered thoughts. “You’re in love with your brother’s wife?”

  “No.” He sounded shocked that she’d even suggest such a thing. “I’m in love with you.”

  “You’re not making a lot of sense.”

  “I figured as much, otherwise—”

  “Otherwise what?”

  “Otherwise you’d either be in my arms or finding ways to inflict physical damage on my person.”

  “You’d better explain yourself,” she said, frowning, hardly daring to hope.

  “I love you, Bailey, but I didn’t know how long it would take you to discover you love me, too. You were so caught up in the past—”

  “With reason,” she reminded him.

  “With reason,” he agreed. “Anyway I asked you to marry me.”

  “To be accurate, your father’s the one who did the actual speaking,” Bailey muttered.

  “True, he spoke out of turn, but it was a question I was ready to ask…”

  “But…” she supplied for him. There was always a “but” when it came to men and love.

  “But I didn’t know if your feelings for me were genuine.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Was it me you fell for or Michael?” he asked quietly.

  “I don’t think I understand.”

  “The way I figure it, if you truly loved me you’d do everything in your power to win me back.”

  “Win you back? I’m sorry, Parker, but I still don’t get it.”

  “All right, let’s backtrack a bit. When Paul announced he’d found another woman and wanted to break your engagement, what did you do?”

  “I dropped out of university and signed up for paralegal classes at the business college.”

  “What about Tom?”

  “I moved to San Francisco.”

  “My point exactly.”

  Bailey lost him somewhere between Paul and Tom. “What is your point exactly?”

  Parker hesitated, then looked straight into her eyes. “I wanted you to love me enough to fight for me,” he told her simply. “Don’t worry. Lisa and I are not, repeat not, in love.”

  “You just wanted me to think so?”

 
“Yes,” he said with obvious embarrassment. “She reads romances, too. Quite a few women do apparently. I was telling her about our relationship, and she came up with the idea of using the ‘other woman’ the way some romance novels do.”

  “That’s the most underhand unscrupulous thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “Indulge me for a few more minutes, all right?”

  “All right,” she agreed.

  “When Paul and Tom broke off their engagements to you, you didn’t say or do anything to convince them of your love. You calmly accepted that they’d met someone else and conveniently got out of their lives.”

  “So?”

  “So I needed you to want me so much, love me so much, that you wouldn’t give me up. You’d put aside that damnable pride of yours and confront me.”

  “Were you planning to arrange a mud-wrestling match between Lisa and me?” she asked wryly.

  “No!” He looked horrified at the mere thought. “I wanted to provoke you—just enough to come to me. What took you so long?” He shook his head. “I was beginning to lose heart.”

  “You’re going to lose a whole lot more than your heart if you ever pull that stunt again, Parker Davidson.”

  His face lit up with a smile potent enough to dissolve her pain and her doubts. He opened his arms then, and Bailey walked into his embrace.

  “I should be furious with you,” she mumbled.

  “Kiss me first, then be mad.”

  His mouth captured hers in hungry exultation. In a single kiss Parker managed to make up for the long cheerless days, the long lonely nights. She was breathless when he finally released her.

  “You really love me?” she whispered, needing to hear him say it. Her lower lip trembled and her hands tightened convulsively.

  “I really love you,” he whispered back, smiling down at her. “Enough to last us two lifetimes.”

  “Only two?”

  His hand cradled the back of her head. “At least four.” His mouth claimed hers again, then he abruptly broke off the kiss. “Now, what was it you were saying about Janice? What’s wrong with her?”

  A slow thoughtful smile spread across Bailey’s face. “Nothing that a wedding and a month-long honeymoon won’t cure.”