Be My Valentine (2 page)

“D
amn,” Dianne muttered, scrambling through her purse for the tenth time. She knew it wasn't going to do the least bit of good, but she felt compelled to continue the search.

“Double damn,” she said as she set the bulky leather handbag on the hood of her car. Rain drops spattered all around her.

Expelling her breath, she stalked back into the Port Blossom Community Center and stood in front of the desk. “I seem to have locked my keys in my car,” she told the receptionist. “Along with my cell.”

“Oh, dear. Is there someone you can get in touch with?”

“I'm a member of the auto club so I can call them for help. I also want to call home and say I'll be late. So if you'll let me use the phone?”

“Oh, sure.” The young woman smiled pleasantly, and lifted the phone onto the counter. “We close in fifteen minutes, you know.”

A half hour later, Dianne was leaning impatiently against her car in the community center parking lot when a red tow truck pulled in. It circled the area, then eased into the space next to hers.

The driver, whom Dianne couldn't see in the dark, rolled down his window and stuck out his elbow. “Are you the lady who phoned about locking her keys in the car?”

“No. I'm standing out in the rain wearing a leotard for the fun of it,” she muttered.

He chuckled, turned off the engine and hopped out of the driver's seat. “Sounds like this has been one of those days.”

She nodded, suddenly feeling a stab of guilt at her churlishness. He seemed so friendly.

“Why don't you climb in my truck where it's nice and warm while I take care of this?” He opened the passenger-side door and gestured for her to enter.

She smiled weakly, and as she climbed in, said, “I didn't mean to snap at you just now.”

He flashed her a grin. “No problem.” She found herself taking a second look at him. He was wearing gray-striped coveralls and the front was covered with grease stains. His name, Steve, was embroidered in red across the top of his vest pocket. His hair, which was neatly styled, appeared to have been recently cut. His eyes were a warm shade of brown and—she searched for the right word—gentle, she decided.

After ensuring that she was comfortable in his truck, Steve walked around to the driver's side of her compact car and used his flashlight to determine the type of lock.

Dianne lowered the window. “I don't usually do things like this. I've never locked the keys in my car before—I don't know why I did tonight. Stupid.”

He returned to the tow truck and opened the passenger door. “No one can be smart all the time,” he said cheerfully. “Don't be so hard on yourself.” He moved the seat forward a little and reached for a toolbox in the space behind her.

“I've had a lot on my mind lately,” she said.

Straightening, he looked at her and nodded sympathetically. He had a nice face too, she noted, easy on the eyes. In fact, he was downright attractive. The coveralls didn't detract from his appeal, but actually suggested a certain ruggedness. He was thoughtful and friendly just when Dianne was beginning to think there wasn't anyone in the world who was. But then, standing in the dark and the rain might make anyone feel friendless, even though Port Blossom was a rural community with a warm, small-town atmosphere.

Steve went back to her car and began to fiddle with the lock. Unable to sit still, Dianne opened the truck door and climbed out. “It's the dinner that's got me so upset.”

“The dinner?” Steve glanced up from his work.

“The Valentine's dinner the community center's sponsoring this Saturday night. My children are forcing me to go. I don't know for sure, but I think they've got money riding on it, because they're making it sound like a matter of national importance.”

“I see. Why doesn't your husband take you?”

“I'm divorced,” she said bluntly. “I suppose no one expects it to happen to them. I assumed after twelve years my marriage was solid, but it wasn't. Jack's remarried now, living in Boston.” Dianne had no idea why she was rambling on like this, but once she'd opened her mouth, she couldn't seem to stop. She didn't usually relate the intimate details of her life to a perfect stranger.

“Aren't you cold?”

“I'm fine, thanks.” That wasn't entirely true—she was a little chilled—but she was more worried about not having a date for the stupid Valentine's dinner than freezing to death. Briefly she wondered if Jason, Jill and her mother would accept pneumonia as a reasonable excuse for not attending.

“You're sure? You look like you're shivering.”

She rubbed her palms together and ignored his question. “That's when my mother suggested Jerome.”

“Jerome?”

“She seems to think I need help getting my feet wet.”

Steve glanced up at her again, clearly puzzled.

“In the dating world,” Dianne explained. “But I've had it with the dates she's arranged.”

“Disasters?”

“Encounters of the worst kind. On one of them, the guy set his napkin on fire.”

Steve laughed outright at that.

“Hey, it wasn't funny, trust me. I was mortified. He panicked and started waving it around in the air until the maitre d' arrived with a fire extinguisher and chaos broke loose.”

Dianne found herself smiling at the memory of the unhappy episode. “Now that I look back on it, it was rather amusing.”

Steve's gaze held hers. “I take it there were other disasters?”

“None I'd care to repeat.”

“So your mother's up to her tricks again?”

Dianne nodded. “Only this time my kids are involved. Mom stumbled across this butcher who specializes in…well, never mind, that's not important. What is important is if I don't come up with a date in the next day or two, I'm going to be stuck going to this stupid dinner with Jerome.”

“It shouldn't be so bad,” he said. Dianne could hear the grin in his voice.

“How generous of you to say so.” She crossed her arms over her chest. She'd orbited her vehicle twice before she spoke again.

“My kids are even instructing me on the kind of man they want me to date.”

“Oh?”

Dianne wasn't sure he'd heard her. Her lock snapped free and he opened the door and retrieved her keys, which were in the ignition. He handed them to her, and with a thank-you, Dianne made a move to climb into her car. “Jason and Jill—they're my kids—want me to go out with a tall, dark, handsome—” She stopped abruptly, thrusting out her arm as if to keep her balance.

Steve looked at her oddly. “Are you all right?”

Dianne brought her fingertips to her temple and nodded. “I think so….” She inhaled sharply and motioned toward the streetlight. “Would you mind stepping over there for a minute?”

“Me?” He pointed to himself as though he wasn't sure she meant him.

“Please.”

He shrugged and did as she requested.

The idea was fast gaining momentum in her mind. He was certainly tall—at least six foot three, which was a nice complement to her own slender five ten. And he was dark—his hair appeared to be a rich shade of mahogany. As for the handsome part, she'd noticed that right off.

“Is something wrong?” he probed.

“No,” Dianne said, grinning shyly—although what she was about to propose was anything but shy. “By the way, how old are you? Thirty? Thirty-one?”

“Thirty-five.”

“That's good. Perfect.” A couple of years older than she was. Yes, the kids would approve of that.

“Good? Perfect?” He seemed to be questioning her sanity.

“Married?” she asked.

“Nope. I never got around to it, but I came close once.” His eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“That's even better. I don't suppose you've got a jealous girlfriend—or a mad lover hanging around looking for an excuse to murder someone?”

“Not lately.”

Dianne sighed with relief. “Great.”

“Your car door's open,” he said, gesturing toward it. He seemed eager to be on his way. “All I need to do is write down your auto club number.”

“Yes, I know.” She stood there, arms folded, studying him in the light. He was even better-looking than she'd first thought. “Do you own a decent suit?”

He chuckled as if the question amused him. “Yes.”

“I mean something really nice, not the one you wore to your high-school graduation.”

“It's a really nice suit.”

Dianne didn't mean to be insulting, but she had to have all her bases covered. “That's good,” she said. “How would you like to earn an extra hundred bucks Saturday night?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I'm offering you a hundred dollars to escort me to the Valentine's dinner here at the center.”

Steve stared at her as though he suspected she'd escaped from a mental institution.

“Listen, I know this is a bit unusual,” Dianne rushed on, “but you're perfect. Well, not perfect, but you're exactly the kind of man the kids expect me to date, and frankly I haven't got time to do a whole lot of recruiting. Mr. Right hasn't showed up, if you know what I mean.”

“I think I do.”

“I need a date for one night. You fit the bill and you could probably use the extra cash. I realize it's not much, but a hundred dollars sounds fair to me. The dinner starts at seven and should be over by nine. I suspect fifty dollars an hour is more than you're earning now.”

“Ah…”

“I know what you're thinking, but I promise you I'm not crazy. I've got a gold credit card, and they don't issue those to just anyone.”

“What about a library card?”

“That, too, but I do have a book overdue. I was planning to take it back tomorrow.” She started searching through her purse to prove she had both cards before she saw that he was teasing her.

“Ms….”

“Dianne Williams,” she said stepping forward to offer him her hand. His long, strong fingers wrapped around hers and he smiled, studying her for perhaps the first time. His eyes softened as he shook her hand. The gesture, though small, reassured Dianne that he was the man she wanted to take her to this silly dinner. Once more she found herself rushing to explain.

“I'm sure this all sounds crazy. I don't blame you for thinking I'm a nut case. But I'm not, really I'm not. I attend church every Sunday, do volunteer work at the grade school, and help coach a girls' soccer team in the fall.”

“Why'd you pick me?”

“Well, that's a bit complicated, but you have nice eyes, and when you suggested I sit in your truck and get out of the rain—actually it was only drizzling—” she paused and inhaled a deep breath “—I realized you were a generous person, and you just might consider something this…”

“…weird,” he finished for her.

Dianne nodded, then looked him directly in the eye. Her defenses were down, and there was nothing left to do but admit the truth.

“I'm desperate. No one but a desperate woman would make this kind of offer.”

“Saturday night, you say?”

The way her luck was running, he'd suddenly remember he had urgent plans for the evening. Something important like dusting his bowling trophies.

“From seven to nine. No later, I promise. If you don't think a hundred is enough…”

“A hundred's more than generous.”

She sagged with relief. “Does this mean you'll do it?”

Steve shook his head slowly, as though to suggest he ought to have it examined for even contemplating her proposal.

“All right,” he said after a moment. “I never could resist a damsel in distress.”

“H
ello, everyone!” Dianne sang out as she breezed in the front door. She paused just inside the living room and watched as her mother and her two children stared openly. A sense of quiet astonishment pervaded the room. “Is something wrong?”

“What happened to you?” Jason cried. “You look awful!”

“You look like Little Orphan Annie, dear,” her mother said, her hand working a crochet hook so fast the yarn zipped through her fingers.

“I phoned to tell you I'd be late,” Dianne reminded them.

“But you didn't say anything about nearly drowning. What happened?”

“I locked my keys in the car—I already explained that.”

Jill walked over to her mother, took her hand and led her to the hallway mirror. The image that greeted Dianne was only a little short of shocking. Her long thick hair hung in limp sodden curls over her shoulders. Her mascara, supposedly no-run, had dissolved into black tracks down her cheeks. She was drenched to the skin and looked like a prize the cat had dragged onto the porch.

“Oh, dear,” she whispered. Her stomach muscles tightened as she recalled the odd glances Steve had given her, and his comment that it must be “one of those days.” No wonder!

“Why don't you go upstairs and take a nice hot shower?” her mother said. “You'll feel worlds better.”

Humbled, for more reasons than she cared to admit, Dianne agreed.

As was generally the rule, her mother was right. By the time Dianne reappeared a half hour later, dressed in her terry-cloth robe and fuzzy pink slippers, she felt considerably better.

Making herself a cup of tea, she reviewed the events of the evening. Even if Steve had agreed to attend the Valentine's dinner out of pity, it didn't matter. What did matter was the fact that she had a date. As soon as she told her family, they'd stop hounding her.

“By the way,” she said as she carried her tea into the living room, “I have a date for Saturday night.”

The room went still. Even the television sound seemed to fade into nothingness. Her two children and her mother did a slow turn, their faces revealing their surprise.

“Don't look so shocked,” Dianne said with a light, casual laugh. “I told you before that I was working on it. No one seemed to believe I was capable of finding a date on my own. Well, that isn't the case.”

“Who?” Martha demanded, her eyes disbelieving.

“Oh, ye of little faith,” Dianne said, feeling only a small twinge of guilt. “His name is Steve Creighton.”

“When did you meet him?”

“Ah…” Dianne realized she wasn't prepared for an inquisition. “A few weeks ago. We happened to bump into each other tonight, and he asked if I had a date for the dinner. Naturally I told him I didn't and he suggested we go together.”

“Steve Creighton.” Her mother repeated the name slowly, rolling the syllables over her tongue, as if trying to remember where she'd last heard it. Then she shook her head and resumed crocheting.

“You never said anything about this guy before.” Jason's gaze was slightly accusing. He sat on the carpet, knees tucked under his chin.

“Of course I didn't. If I had, all three of you would be bugging me about him, just the way you are now.”

Martha gave her ball of yarn a hard jerk. “How'd you two meet?”

Dianne wasn't ready for this line of questioning. She'd assumed letting her family know she had the necessary escort would've been enough to appease them. Silly of her.

They wanted details. Lots of details, and the only thing Dianne could do was make them up as she went along. She couldn't very well admit she'd only met Steve that night and was so desperate for a date that she'd offered to pay him to escort her to the dinner.

“We met, ah, a few weeks ago in the grocery store,” she explained haltingly, averting her gaze. She prayed that would satisfy their curiosity. But when she paused to sip her tea, the three faces were riveted on her.

“Go on,” her mother urged.

“I…I was standing in the frozen-food section and…Steve was there, too, and…he smiled at me and introduced himself.”

“What did he say after that?” Jill wanted to know, eager for the particulars. Martha shared her granddaughter's interest. She set her yarn and crochet hook aside, focusing all her attention on Dianne.

“After he introduced himself, he said surely those low-cal dinners couldn't be for me—that I looked perfect just the way I was.” The words fell stiffly from her lips. She had to be desperate to divulge her own fantasy to her family like this.

All right, she
was
desperate.

Jill's shoulders rose with an expressive sigh. “How romantic!”

Jason, however, was frowning. “The guy sounds like a flake to me. A real man doesn't walk up to a woman and say something stupid like that.”

“Steve's very nice.”

“Maybe, but he doesn't sound like he's got all his oars in the water.”

“I think he sounds sweet,” Jill countered, immediately defending her mother by championing Steve. “If Mom likes him, then he's good enough for me.”

“There are a lot of fruitcakes out there.” Apparently her mother felt obliged to tell her that.

It was all Dianne could do not to remind her dear, sweet mother that she'd arranged several dates for her with men who fell easily into that category.

“I think we should meet him,” Jason said, his eyes darkening with concern. “He might turn out to be a serial murderer or something.”

“Jason—” Dianne forced another light laugh “—you're being silly. Besides, you're going to meet him Saturday night.”

“By then it'll be too late.”

“Jason's got a point, dear,” Martha Janes said. “I don't think it would do any harm to introduce your young man to the family before Saturday night.”

“I…he's probably busy…. He's working all sorts of weird hours and…”

“What does he do?”

“Ah…” She couldn't think fast enough to come up with a lie and had to admit the truth. “He drives a truck.”

Her words were followed by a tense silence as her children and mother exchanged meaningful looks. “I've heard stories about truck drivers,” Martha said, pinching her lips tightly together. “None I'd care to repeat in front of the children, mind you, but…stories.”

“Mother, you're being—”

“Jason's absolutely right. I insist we meet this Steve. Truck drivers and cowboys simply aren't to be trusted.”

Dianne rolled her eyes.

Her mother forgave her by saying, “I don't expect you to know this, Dianne, since you married so young.”

“You married Dad when you were eighteen—younger than I was when I got married,” Dianne said, not really wanting to argue, but finding herself trapped.

“Yes, but I've lived longer.” She waved her crochet hook at Dianne. “A mother knows these things.”

“Grandma's right,” Jason said, sounding very adult. “We need to meet this Steve before you go out with him.”

Dianne threw her hands in the air in frustration. “Hey, I thought you kids were the ones so eager for me to be at this dinner!”

“Yes, but we still have standards,” Jill said, now siding with the others.

“I'll see what I can do,” Dianne mumbled.

“Invite him over for dinner on Thursday night,” her mother said. “I'll make my beef stroganoff and bring over a fresh apple pie.”

“Ah…he might be busy.”

“Then tell him Wednesday night,” Jason advised in a voice that was hauntingly familiar. It was the same tone Dianne used when she meant business.

With nothing left to do but agree, Dianne said, “Okay. I'll try for Thursday.” Oh, Lord, she thought, what had she got herself into?

 

She waited until the following afternoon to contact Steve. He'd given her his business card, which she'd tucked into the edging at the bottom of the bulletin board in her kitchen. She wasn't pleased about having to call him. She'd need to offer him more money if he agreed to this dinner. She couldn't very well expect him to come out of the generosity of his heart.

“Port Blossom Towing,” a crisp female voice answered.

“Ah…this is Dianne Williams. I'd like to leave a message for Steve Creighton.”

“Steve's here.” Her words were followed by a click and a ringing sound.

“Steve,” he answered distractedly.

“Hello.” Dianne found herself at a loss for words. She'd hoped to just leave a message and ask him to return the call at his convenience. Having him there, on the other end of the line, when she wasn't expecting it left her at a disadvantage.

“Is this Dianne?”

“Yes. How'd you know?”

He chuckled softly, and the sound was pleasant and warm. “It's probably best if I don't answer that. Are you checking up to make sure I don't back out of Saturday night? Don't worry, I won't. In fact, I stopped off at the community center this morning and picked up tickets for the dinner.”

“Oh, you didn't have to do that, but thanks. I'll reimburse you later.”

“Just add it to my tab,” he said lightly.

Dianne cringed, then took a breath and said, “Actually, I called to talk to you about my children.”

“Your children?”

“Yes,” she said. “Jason and Jill, and my mother, too, seem to think it would be a good idea if they met you. I assured them they would on Saturday night, but apparently that isn't good enough.”

“I see.”

“According to Jason, by then it'll be too late, and you might turn out to be a serial murderer or something. And my mother found the fact that you drive a truck worrisome.”

“Do you want me to change jobs, too? I might have a bit of a problem managing all that before Saturday night.”

“Of course not. Now, about Thursday—that's when they want you to come for dinner. My mother's offered to fix her stroganoff and bake a pie. She uses Granny Smith apples,” Dianne added, as though that bit of information would convince him to accept.

“Thursday night?”

“I'll give you an additional twenty dollars.”

“Twenty dollars?” He sounded insulted, so Dianne raised her offer.

“All right, twenty-five, but that's as high as I can go. I'm living on a budget, you know.” This fiasco was quickly running into a big chunk of cash. The dinner tickets were thirty each, and she'd need to reimburse Steve for those. Plus, she owed him a hundred for escorting her to the silly affair, and now an additional twenty-five if he came to dinner with her family.

“For twenty-five you've got yourself a deal,” he said at last. “Anything else?”

Dianne closed her eyes. This was the worst part. “Yes,” she said, swallowing tightly. The lump in her throat had grown to painful proportions. “There's one other thing. I…I want you to know I don't normally look that bad.”

“Hey, I told you before—don't be so hard on yourself. You'd had a rough day.”

“It's just that I don't want you to think I'm going to embarrass you at this Valentine's dinner. There may be people there you know, and after I made such a big deal over whether you had a suit and everything, well, I thought you might be more comfortable knowing…” She paused, closed her eyes and then blurted, “I've decided to switch brands of mascara.”

His hesitation was only slight. “Thank you for sharing that. I'm sure I'll sleep better now.”

Dianne decided to ignore his comment since she'd practically invited it. She didn't understand why she should find herself so tongue-tied with this man, but then again, perhaps she did. She'd made a complete idiot of herself. Paying a man to escort her to a dinner wasn't exactly the type of thing she wanted to list on a résumé.

“Oh, and before I forget,” Dianne said, determined to put this unpleasantness behind her, “my mother and the kids asked me several questions about…us. How we met and the like. It might be a good idea if we went over my answers so our stories match.”

“You want to meet for coffee later?”

“Ah…when?”

“Say seven, at the Pancake Haven. Don't worry, I'll buy.”

Dianne had to bite back her sarcastic response. Instead she murmured, “Okay, but I won't have a lot of time.”

“I promise not to keep you any longer than necessary.”