My Charming Valentine (2 page)

Her smile showed
she was intrigued. “Why didn’t you say that in the first place?”

Patrick shook
his head and beckoned to her. She took his hand and allowed him to settle her
onto the couch.

“Don’t move,” he
instructed.

“Ah, we’re
playing freeze tag!”

Patrick chuckled
as he left the room. He returned balancing one of her silver serving trays on
the palm of one hand. A bud vase held a single rose. Beside it lay a red
envelope, her name written in silver script across the front.

Smiling, she
bent forward to sniff the heady fragrance of the flower before picking up the
envelope. She looked up, her eyes bright. “May I open it?”

“Please,” he
said, putting the tray on the coffee table and taking a seat beside her. She opened
the envelope and pulled out a heavy piece of parchment that was folded in half.

Looking up, she
grinned. “I’m playing the part of Sherlock Holmes… or am I supposed to be
Watson?”

Patrick shook
his head. She had a tendency to go with the first thing that popped into her
head. She’d need to restrain that tendency. Tapping the paper, he read the
written phrase aloud. “
The Game is Afoot
–
what does that mean?”

She looked down
and he could swear he could hear gears turning in her head. After a moment, she
smiled. “Well, it was a play, but since this is a game, I’m guessing you are
going with the definition that game means some sort of diversion?”

Patrick was
impressed. “Yes, but not exactly a diversion. More like a game where you will
use your mind to solve clues. Perhaps I should tell you the rules.”

“There are
rules?”

“There are
always rules, my dear. And, of course, consequences for breaking those rules.”

“I thought there
were prizes.”

“Staying with
the Sherlock theme, the prizes are really ‘spoils’. The only rule is that the
outcome of the game depends on your skills. If you are successful, you’ll have
plenty of bounty. Every time you need assistance, there will be a penalty to
pay.” He gave her a moment, but when she remained silent, he continued. “You told
me that you used to pretend you were this girl and loved to solve puzzles. This
is my attempt to let you relive a bit of your favorite game.”

“A scavenger
hunt,” she whispered, her smile growing. “You’re sending me on a scavenger
hunt.”

“Yes, and what
role shall you play?”

She had no idea where this was going, yet
realized she was already having fun. He was usually so serious but was acting
more like the man she’d fallen in love with almost forty years ago. They had
married young, she having just turned twenty and Patrick being twenty-two. The
fact that he’d obviously given this game a lot of thought had her heart
filling. She’d started the game when the kids were young. Being on a tight
budget, having to solve clues to find their presents had not only stretched out
the fun of Christmas morning, it had become a beloved tradition. Patrick had
turned the tables and she couldn’t think of a better way to spend the day.

Phoebe smiled,
remembering hours when she’d sat in the bathtub, the water slowly going colder
as she lost herself in a book. Her favorites were those written by Carolyn
Keene. The bathroom was the only place where she would not be bothered by her
little sisters, and she’d traveled to faraway places, solved mystery after
mystery and had her first crush on Nancy’s friend Ned. She had read each of the
books at least three times. Looking up at him, she gave her answer, “Why, Nancy
Drew, of course.”

He nodded and
tapped the card in her hand. She lifted the flap of the note and read the first
clue.

Nancy’s Mysterious Letter

Closing her
eyes, she watched titles pass beneath her eyelids as she sought the one she
needed. Remembering Patrick had said that the game would be a walk down memory
lane, obviously involving things that had special meaning for their life
together, she only opened her eyes when she felt she had the answer.

“In the book,
Nancy and her friends are having cocoa and snacks. There is a postman and they
invite him to join them. He leaves his mail pouch outside on the porch.” She
smiled as she stood up. “So, since I’m married to my own postman, I’m guessing
the mail box?”

Patrick gave a
small bow. As she headed towards the door, he stopped her. “It’s cold out, get
your coat if you’re going outside.”

“I’m just going
to the mailbox,” she said, and continued across the room.

“Deciding to pay
a penalty already?” he asked, in a tone that had her freezing for a moment
before turning to look back at him. He wasn’t holding a single implement and
yet she felt her bottom clench. He was very adamant about her health, as she’d
had pneumonia more than once.

Changing
directions, she headed towards the closet instead. Opening the door, she
gasped. Usually full to overflowing, the jumble of coats, jackets, and sweaters
had been pushed apart to leave a single item hanging in the center. Looking
back again, she saw that Patrick had moved to stand behind her.

“You can’t be
Nancy without the proper clothing.” He smiled and stepped around her to remove
the coat from its hanger. It was a trench coat, like the ones the young sleuth
was wearing on a few of the book covers. Unlike Nancy’s, this was red, the
lining a black, white and red plaid fleece. After he helped her into it, tying
the belt with a square knot, he kissed her cheek. “Now you may go get your next
clue, Nancy.”

Stroking a hand
down the soft suede of the coat, she first went up onto her tiptoes to kiss
him. “Thank you, honey. I think I love this game.”

“Just remember
that if you find yourself having to pay a penalty.”

She giggled and
walked out to get her next clue. Opening the mailbox, she found another red
envelope.

Another card was
inside and she opened it to read the clue.

An angel’s box arrived when I was filled
with gloom – until my buddies and I each found a spoon.

The memory
flooded into her as if it were yesterday. Passing her husband, she immediately
went into the kitchen. “This one is far too easy,” she said, as she walked to
where the cookie jar sat on the counter. Lifting the lid, she put her hand
inside and withdrew it, only to find a rather stale looking cookie in her hand.
Puzzled, she looked into the jar to see nothing else inside. Confused, she
replaced the lid, not even conscious of the fact she had actually taken a bite
of the cookie. Her stomach protested the dry, crumbly fare with a loud rumble.

“I thought it
meant the time—” Not completing her thought, she dropped the cookie into
the trash and turned to face Patrick. “Ange’s Angel Cakes! That’s right, isn’t
it?”

Patrick grinned,
already shrugging into his own coat. “Hints are given after a penalty is paid,
remember?”

Stepping around
him, she retrieved her knit hat and gloves from the pocket of her old coat and
pulled them on. “No hint needed. If I’m wrong, at least we’ll get to have
something delicious for breakfast.”

When her husband
handed her a wicker basket, she giggled. “Now I feel my role is Little Red
Riding Hood.”

“You’ll need it
to carry your bounty,” he explained as he opened the door for her. “It’s a
beautiful day so we’ll walk.”

Despite the snow
on the ground and the chill in the air, Phoebe nodded. Ignoring her protests,
he had instigated an exercise regimen that included a daily walk. She’d
received at least a dozen spankings to adjust her attitude until she realized
that not only were the walks making her actually feel physically better, but
they almost always ran into others in their community and stopped to chat and
catch up on the goings on around the Bend. Even if they didn’t meet a solitary
soul, walking hand in hand with the man she’d wed over thirty years ago was
still very romantic.

“Too bad it’s
cold or else we might have enjoyed some music from the CB orchestra,” she
quipped, only to provide the first note herself as his hand connected to her
backside.

“Walk faster, or
you’ll sing an entire aria by the time we get there. I’m starving!”

They were both
beyond hungry by the time they reached the bakery owned by Angela O’Brien.
Patrick opened the door after they stomped the snow off their boots. The
heavenly aroma of freshly baked treats gave testament as to why the bakery’s
name referenced an angel. Several people were milling about, looking into the
glass display cabinets, taking the time to make sure they purchased the perfect
confection.

Phoebe went
straight to the display where cookies were arranged on trays, the sight
instantly confirming that her guess had been correct. She giggled as Ange
walked over, rolling her eyes.

“It’s about time
you showed up,” she groused, giving Patrick’s arm a light punch. “Do you know
how embarrassing it is to have to explain to customers that I haven’t lost my
skills?”

Patrick rubbed
his arm and laughed. He’d asked Ange to help in the game by preparing some
chocolate chip cookies. She’d been on board until he’d explained exactly how
he’d like to see them in the display. Looking at the tray, he had to admit
she’d done an exemplary job. Instead of perfect rows of cookies, these were
crumbled and a bit burnt.

Lizzie Mayfield
joined them as Ange went behind the counter. “Don’t let her fool you, she’s
been telling the story to everyone who comes in. I bet she’s sold more cookies
this morning than ever before.” Ignoring Ange’s huff, Lizzie gave Phoebe a hug.
“That was a very sweet thing for you to do, my dear.”

Phoebe smiled as
Ange boxed up the entire tray for the couple. “What’s romantic is that my pen
pal didn’t tell me they’d arrived so broken he had to eat them with a spoon
until years later.”

“Hey, even
crumbled and burnt, they were still the best cookies we’d eaten in a year. Just
opening the bag had every soldier on the floor at my door. They were already
jealous that every mail call had at least one letter for me; homemade cookies
just ensured that I was a very popular guy that day.”

Ange opened the
box. “Just let me trade these out for some fresh ones. I can’t let such a sweet
story have a less than perfect ending.”

“No!” Phoebe
said a bit too loudly. Giggling, she softened her tone. “I mean, these are just
perfect.”

Shaking her
head, Ange sighed, mumbling something about her impeccable reputation.

“I promise to
keep the boxed closed and not tell anyone you baked them even if I’m captured
and tortured,” Phoebe promised, accepting the bakery box and tucking it into
her basket.

“How about we make
it up to you?” Patrick said, and ordered two of the huge cranberry-orange
muffins and two coffees.” Slightly mollified, Ange told them to take a seat,
she’d bring their order right over. Once seated at a small table, Phoebe
reached across and squeezed her husband’s hand.

“This is so
sweet. I can’t believe you remembered that. I spent an entire day baking and
never even considered how they would arrive.”

Patrick grinned.
“Well, babe, they did have to travel thousands of miles, but I swear, not a
single crumb was left in the bag. And what I said about mail call was true.
Before we started writing, I never even bothered going down but once I read
that first letter, I never missed another. I can still see my buddies’ faces
when my name was called again and again on some days. Believe me, if I’d given
out your address, you’d have had a dozen pen pals – but I claimed
exclusive rights.”

She felt a rush
of emotion as she looked across the table. She’d been eighteen and very much in
love, or at least she had thought she was. After accepting a marriage proposal
from her high school sweetheart, it had taken her only a month to realize he
wasn’t the one for her. Though a good man, the chemistry just hadn’t been
there. It had been her mother who had given her the courage to break off the
engagement. She’d told her that marriage was too precious to settle for just
anyone, and that she’d be doing her young man a favor even though it felt like
she was about to break his heart.

When her
favorite cousin had been drafted and stationed in Berlin, Phoebe wrote him long
letters. This was well before computers or cell phones, and she loved to sit
and write news from home, making sure it was uplifting or at least comical. On
a whim, she’d asked him in one of the letters if he knew of anyone who wished
to write to a blonde-haired, blue-eyed Texan. The next time she received mail
with an airmail stamp, it hadn’t been from Keith but had been from his
roommate, Patrick. The rest was history. They had corresponded for a year
before physically meeting each other when he came home for a furlough. They’d
spent a week together, and when he’d pulled her across his knees one evening
and given her that first spanking, she’d truly lost her heart. She’d traveled
across the ocean to see him again a few months later and by the time she
stepped onto the plane, she had tears running down her cheeks and an engagement
ring on her finger. Lost in the memory, she wasn’t aware of Ange approaching
until a plate with two muffins was placed between them.