Mr. Valentine Read online

  Mr. Valentine

  Vicki Lewis Thompson

  Romance author Candy Valentine is actually the very rugged, very masculine Jack Killigan. But nobody knows that—including his publisher! So when Jack discovers he’s just been signed up to do a book tour, he’s stuck…until he convinces his best friend, Krysta Luekenhoff, to be “Candy” for the week. Only, between sharing hotel rooms and reading Jack’s steamy novel, Krysta’s curiosity is at a fever pitch. Can Jack make love as well as he writes it? There’s only one way to find out….

  New York Times bestselling author Vicki Lewis Thompson’s love affair with cowboys started with the Lone Ranger, continued through Maverick and took a turn south of the border with Zorro. She views cowboys as the Western version of knights in shining armor—rugged men who value honor, honesty and hard work. Fortunately for her, she lives in the Arizona desert, where broad-shouldered, lean-hipped cowboys abound. Blessed with such an abundance of inspiration, she only hopes that she can do them justice. Visit her website, www.vickilewisthompson.com.

  Books by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  HARLEQUIN BLAZE

  544—WANTED!*

  550—AMBUSHED!*

  556—CLAIMED!*

  618—SHOULD’VE BEEN A COWBOY*

  624—COWBOY UP*

  630—COWBOYS LIKE US*

  651—MERRY CHRISTMAS, BABY* “It’s Christmas, Cowboy!”

  687—LONG ROAD HOME*

  693—LEAD ME HOME*

  699—FEELS LIKE HOME*

  751—I CROSS MY HEART*

  755—WILD AT HEART*

  759—THE HEART WON’T LIE*

  To get the inside scoop on Harlequin Blaze and its talented writers, be sure to check out blazeauthors.com.

  Other titles by this author available in ebook format.

  With gratitude to Ed Hoornaert and Donna Lepley for inspiring this story.

  And to all the unsung heroes laboring behind female pseudonyms in the romance industry.

  Will you be my valentine?

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  1

  “WELL, CAT, I HOPE to hell this is sexy enough.”

  From her basket next to the computer, a butterscotch tabby watched with an unblinking stare as Jack Killigan packaged up the romance novel he’d just written.

  “Had to go back into the old memory bank,” Jack continued, “considering it’s been a while since I’ve had any hands-on experience.” He scratched behind the cat’s ears and looked into her green eyes as she began to purr. “But if you’ll pardon me for bragging, I make damn good love on paper. Damn good.”

  He smoothed the label onto the envelope, running his fingers across the pseudonym he’d chosen for the project. Candace Johnson. Although Manchester Publishing had invited any unpublished novelist to enter a manuscript in its Valentine’s Day romance contest, Jack firmly believed a woman stood a better chance than a man.

  A chilly dawn forced its way through the drizzle of another November day on Puget Sound. He had just enough time to climb into his coveralls and rain gear, make the wet motorcycle trip to Rainier Paper and clock in at the shipping dock at eight. He’d mail the manuscript on the way.

  Krysta would chew his butt again all through lunch about not getting enough sleep. He took off his glasses to massage the bridge of his nose. Then he put them back on and smiled. He doubted that she knew how much he enjoyed the self-improvement lectures she delivered on a regular basis while they shared a lunch table in the company cafeteria. Or how much she’d inspired this latest book.

  KRYSTA LUECKENHOFF WALKED into the contracts office of Rainier Paper at ten minutes before eight, the first one in the office, as always. She started coffee perking, turned on her computer and straightened the papers on her already neat desk in an effort to quiet the turmoil in her mind. The routine refused to comfort her today. She’d planned so carefully, yet nothing was working out the way she’d hoped. It looked as if she wouldn’t be able to afford live-in help for her father in September, after all.

  She picked up a framed picture on her desk and brushed a speck of lint from the glass. She’d taken the snapshot the previous June, when all four of her younger brothers had managed to get the day off from their summer jobs to celebrate Father’s Day. They’d had a picnic on the beach, her dad’s favorite place to eat, and for the picture his sons had lifted him out of the hated wheelchair and propped him against a large piece of driftwood. Then they’d clustered around him, their young, strong bodies obscuring his wasted legs, and for the first time in years, Krysta had caught a glimpse, through the camera lens, of the man her father used to be.

  Krysta put the picture down with a guilty start as Rosie Collins came into the office shaking rain from her umbrella.

  “Hi, there,” Krysta said, flashing a smile.

  “Don’t put on that fake grin for me.” The dark-skinned brunette had become Krysta’s friend in the two years they’d worked together in the contracts department. “When I first came in, there was tragedy all over that pretty face. Something’s wrong.”

  Krysta sighed. “After you left last night Juliet called me in and told me she won’t accept the vice presidency even if they offer it to her.”

  Rosie gazed at her with compassion. “Sorry, girl.”

  “Yeah. That means there’s no promotion for Krysta, either.” Krysta ran her fingers through her hair. “I can’t blame her. She’s decided to adopt a child and doesn’t want the added responsibility.”

  “No kidding?” Rosie took a mug from her desk drawer and walked over to pour herself some coffee. “Bancroft’s adopting a kid? That’s a shocker.”

  “A little girl from China, no less. It’s a very humanitarian thing to do, and you have to admire her for it, but I was so sure she’d accept the vice presidency and I’d get her job. And her paycheck.”

  “Listen.” Rosie walked around behind Krysta’s desk and gestured toward the picture of her family. “Ask those guys to help pay for your dad’s live-in help. I never thought it was right that you’re taking on the whole responsibility in the first place.”

  “They can’t, Rosie. Not and keep going to school, and that’s so much more important. Maybe if I request a transfer to marketing, I’ll have a better shot at a promotion.”

  Rosie shook her head. “All this jockeying for position makes my head spin. It wouldn’t kill your brothers to sit out a year and—”

  “It would kill me. Once out, they might never go back. And education is the key. They have to finish.”

  “Okay, Mother Teresa.” Rosie squeezed Krysta’s shoulder and headed back to her desk. “I hope all these guys you’re shepherding along appreciate you.”

  JACK CARRIED HIS TRAY over to the corner table where he and Krysta usually ate and waited while she hung her purse over her chair and took a seat before he settled down himself.

  Krysta cast a quick glance over Jack’s tray. “Coffee and carrot cake. My good friend, I hope that’s not all you’re having for lunch.”

  “Doesn’t carrot cake count as a veggie?” He nudged his glasses back into position. He really had to get the broken earpiece fixed one of these days. Tape wasn’t working worth a damn.

  “No, carrot cake does not count as a veggie.” She positioned her napkin in her lap before giving him a little smile. “Which you very well know.”

  He gestured toward his tray. “Actua
lly, this isn’t all I’m having.”

  “Thank goodness for that. A salad would be a very good idea, Jack.” She took a dainty bite of hers, a concoction full of things like sprouts and fresh spinach.

  “I was thinking in terms of three more cups of coffee. It’s made from beans, isn’t it?”

  Krysta laughed and shook her head, causing her hair to ripple and glint like antique gold under the cafeteria’s fluorescent lights. “You’re a hopeless case. Clever but hopeless. You need the coffee because you spent another night in front of the tube, I’ll bet.”

  “I did.” It wasn’t a lie, exactly. Computer monitors and television sets were similar, and he wasn’t about to tell anyone about his writing until he’d sold something. He felt more hopeful about that today than he had in a long time. Even he had to admit that his mysteries had been clueless, his horror too tame and his science fiction was on a technical level with Tinkertoys.

  “Jack, you have such potential.” Krysta dabbed at the corner of her mouth with her napkin. “You may not appreciate my bringing this up, but in high school you pulled down a B average, despite all the partying.”

  “Maybe it was because of the partying. The grindstone doesn’t rub everyone the right way, you know.”

  “I worked in the school office. I happened to see your SAT scores. Ninety-ninth percentile, Jack. You should be making better use of your brain than muscling paper bales by day and sitting in front of the television by night.”

  “That sounds like a line from my parents, if ever I heard one.”

  Her expression turned adorably serious. “If I repeat what your parents say, it’s because I happen to agree with them.” She put a hand on his arm. “Look, I know it will be hard to go back to college again after so many years, but education is extremely important. Don’t you realize your innate intelligence will atrophy if you don’t use it?”

  He knew he shouldn’t tease her, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. “I subscribe to Motorcycle Mania. Some of the articles are pretty good.” He grabbed a napkin as a sneeze took him by surprise.

  “That’s another thing. You get no sleep and then you ride around in the rain on that big old Harley of yours, catching colds.” She reached down and dug around in her purse. “Take these,” she said, shoving a bottle of vitamin C tablets in his hand.

  “No. They’re yours.” He set them back in front of her tray.

  “Please take them. I’ll pick up some more, but I know you won’t. Maybe that bottle will get you through the worst of the rainy season, although I wish you’d consider buying a car. I’m sure you could qualify for a loan.”

  “Why would I want a car? They use more gas than my bike.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Because,” she said with elaborate care, as if talking to someone of marginal intelligence, “no one will think of you as executive material if you hang on to that motorcycle. And you could use a good haircut. The shaggy look is out, Jack. I honestly wonder what you’re spending your money on. I hope it’s not something obnoxious like calling those nine-hundred numbers.” She wrinkled her nose in obvious distaste.

  He couldn’t help laughing at her suggestion that he might be interested in phone sex. “No, I don’t call nine-hundred numbers.” He didn’t tell her that he’d sunk all his spare cash into the best computer and printer he could find, because then she’d want to know why.

  “Then what’s your secret passion?” Fortunately she didn’t pause for an answer. “I suppose you have one of those sound systems that drives the neighbors crazy.” She took a drink of her mineral water and set the glass down with a decisive click. “Night school, Jack. That’s the way to get ahead. My management class was invaluable, and now the public speaking class is a perfect complement. Do you have a catalogue from Evergreen Community College?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll get you one. The fall semester is half over, of course, but you could certainly enroll for the spring. You really need to rev up the motors on that brain of yours.”

  “You seem more into this improvement business today than usual. Did you get another set of instructions from the folks back home telling you to work harder on reforming me?”

  A hint of vulnerability flashed in her eyes, then was gone. “No, no, I didn’t.”

  “Something’s eating you.” He paused. She always prided herself on being upbeat and in charge, a walking advertisement for the power of positive thinking. That brief glimpse of a chink in her armor was unsettling. “Is it something about your father?” Last Jack had heard, Hans Lueckenhoff had been forced by weakening leg muscles into using a wheelchair. Maybe his condition had deteriorated even more.

  “Everything’s fine, really,” Krysta said, looking deliberately cheerful. I—” Her gaze slid over his shoulder and up. “Oh, hello, Derek.”

  Jack grimaced. Derek Hamilton, the youngest vice president in the history of Rainier Paper, was apparently standing right behind him. Jack could guess why Hamilton was lurking around the company cafeteria instead of spending his lunch hour in the executive dining room. Company gossip reported that Hamilton had a thing for Krysta, and Krysta seemed to welcome the attention. Jack would have loved to find something to criticize about Hamilton, but there wasn’t much wrong with him except a slight tendency toward nerdiness. In today’s world, that might be a plus, he thought.

  “Excuse me for interrupting, but I have the symphony tickets for tomorrow night,” Derek said. “Shall I pick you up about sixish? We’ll have a drink, and then a light supper after the performance.”

  Krysta’s answering smile made Jack clench his back teeth together.

  “That would be great, Derek,” she said. “You know Jack Killigan from shipping, don’t you?”

  Jack pushed back his chair and stood. Turning, he stuck out his hand. Hamilton took it and initiated a bone-crushing handshake, a technique Jack had encountered a few times from men shorter and slighter than he was. After months of working on the dock, Jack could have broken several bones in Hamilton’s fingers if he chose to retaliate.

  He didn’t. Hamilton had the power to get him fired, and he still needed a regular paycheck to support his writing habit. The job was perfect, a purely physical one so he could keep his brain fresh for the nightly writing sessions. “Nice to see you, Mr. Hamilton,” he said.

  “For heaven’s sake, call me Derek.” Derek retrieved his hand. “Shipping’s one of our most efficient departments. I’m glad to meet one of its members.”

  “Jack’s family and mine know each other back in Mount Vernon,” Krysta said.

  Jack wished she hadn’t felt obligated to explain that, as if that was the only reason she was sitting at the table with him. Maybe it was. What a depressing thought.

  “Really?” Derek looked relieved by the news that Jack was an old family friend. “It’s a small world, isn’t it?” With that, he made a show of consulting something that looked like a Rolex.

  Jack observed the gesture with malicious intent. A Rolex second hand made a clean sweep of the dial; an imitation jerked with each second that passed. Hamilton’s watch jerked. Jack smiled to himself.

  “Gotta run,” Hamilton said with breezy efficiency. “Big meeting with marketing in five minutes.”

  “Are you planning to present my idea?” Krysta asked.

  “I certainly am. I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow night.”

  Krysta’s smile was dazzling as she looked at Hamilton. “See you then, Derek.”

  “What idea?” Jack asked when Hamilton was out of earshot. He didn’t even want to think about the impending date for the symphony.

  “Rainier’s been researching materials other than lumber to use for making paper. I suggested doing an infomercial that might boost the company’s image.”

  Jack nodded, impressed. “So Hamilton’s going to present your idea to marketing?”

  “That’s right. And that’s how you can get ahead, Jack,” she continued. “By demonstrating your abilities to the people who count.�
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  “Hamilton can count, too? The man’s a veritable genius.”

  Krysta frowned. “That’s so typical of you, joking around when I’m trying to make an important point.”

  He wasn’t joking around. He really disliked the idea of her dating Hamilton, which wasn’t fair. Hamilton had several things to offer Krysta that Jack couldn’t, and he should be happy for her. “I’m sorry. Please make your important point. I’ll be good.”

  “Just like they said in my management course last semester, it’s important to make a plan and then follow it. And it’s obvious to me you have no plan, Jack. If you had one you would have had more to say when meeting Derek, some discerning comment that would make him notice you.”

  “I thought about saying ‘Love your fake Rolex.’ Guess I should have.”

  She put her hand over her mouth but her eyes gave away the smile. She cleared her throat and composed her features. “You promised to be serious. And besides, that is not a fake. Derek told me he bought it from a reputable jeweler in Seattle.”

  “Probably the reputable kind who conducts business on the sidewalk.”

  “Your attitude is terrible. You know that, don’t you?”

  Jack grinned at her as he stretched his tired muscles. “Blame it on lack of sleep.” He pushed back his chair and picked up his tray. “Well, gotta run. I have a meeting with a two-hundred-pound bale of paper in five minutes.”

  “Jack, Jack, Jack. I’m concerned about your future.”

  “That’s okay. You have enough future for both of us.” He stood. Then he paused and gave her a long look. “Remember, if you ever need anything, I’m here. And I’m a good listener.”

  The vulnerable expression returned. “Thanks, Jack.”

  He set down his tray and returned to his seat. So he’d be late. “Talk to me, Krysta.”

  Immediately her expression cleared, and she gave him a big smile as she stood. “Don’t be silly. Everything’s fine. But it won’t be if we don’t get our fannies back to work. See you tomorrow. And take the vitamin C.”