To Laney, With Love Read online

  “Thank you for last night,” Laney said.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Books by Joyce Sullivan

  Title Page

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Copyright

  “Thank you for last night,” Laney said.

  “But I don’t want what happened to affect our friendship—or the boys’ relationship. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had and I don’t want the fact that we’ve had sex to ruin that.”

  Ben gazed down at the tousled silk of her hair and the flushed skin of her shoulders in disbelief. She actually thought he’d slept with her just to be nice! He wanted to be with her always. To be a real father to Josh.

  Maybe he was pushing things too fast and Laney was too upset over Reese’s betrayal and murder to even consider committing herself to another relationship.

  “Nothing’s changed since yesterday,” he said finally.

  “You can always count on our friendship. I don’t fly across the country for just anyone—just you.”

  The slight trembling of her jaw confirmed his suspicions. She wasn’t unaffected by their lovemaking. Just not ready. Well, he could respect that. And he could wait.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Joyce credits her lawyer mother with instilling in her a love of reading and writing—and a fascination for solving mysteries. She has a bachelor’s degree in criminal justice and worked several years as a private investigator before turning her hand to writing romantic suspense. A transplanted American, Joyce makes her home in Aylmer, Quebec, with her handsome French-Canadian husband and two casebook-toting kid detectives.

  Books by Joyce Sullivan

  HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE

  352—THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS

  436—THIS LITTLE BABY

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  To Laney, With Love

  Joyce Sullivan

  TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON

  AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG

  STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID

  PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  Laney Dobson—Was she or wasn’t she a widow?

  Ben Forbes—He loved Laney, but his personal code of ethics wouldn’t allow him to romance another man’s wife.

  Reese Dobson—How could a dead man send a Valentine?

  Graham Walker—He was a dead ringer for Reese.

  Kristel Walker—How much did she know about her husband’s life?

  Nelson Butterfield—He’d do anything to protect his sister Kristel.

  Yale Sheridan—He had a reputation worth millions to protect.

  Dallyn Vohringer—He and Graham Walker had an interesting partnership.

  Colombe Cyr—This child psychologist was Lanes’s close friend and confidante.

  Ivan and Rico—Who did these hoodlums work for?

  Scoff Forbes and Josh Dobson—They were best friends who wanted to be brothers.

  Chapter One

  To Laney, With Love.

  The familiar handwriting on the small, stiff white envelope she’d found tucked into her mailbox on her wedding anniversary made Laney Dobson’s heart palpitate. The advertising circulars dropped with a thunk to the snow-encrusted front step as she pulled off her fur-lined leather gloves and slid trembling fingers beneath the back flap of the envelope. The frigid Ottawa temperature numbed her fingers to the bone as she pulled out a beautifully ornate Victorian card that depicted a youthful, dark-haired rapscallion snatching a kiss from a rosy-cheeked, blue-eyed maiden.

  Laney fearfully opened the card. Written plain as day were a few lines in her husband’s hand:

  Love is a mystery that can’t be explained.

  The harder one tries, the more hopelessly tangled one becomes.

  Never doubt you’re my one and only, Laney.

  R.

  Laney shook her head, trying to rouse herself from what could only be a dream. Reese, her husband, was dead.

  The cold nipping her cheeks convinced her she wasn’t asleep and she wasn’t imagining the note. Forgetting the circulars, she opened the door of her sun porch and made a hectic dash back into the foyer of her house, needing to feel the security of the walls of the cozy cottage she’d shared with Reese for the nine years they’d been married, around her. The card and the envelope were still in her hands when she dared to look at them again. The writing still resembled Reese’s.

  Laney sagged against the wall, bumping into Josh’s hockey stick, which poked out from the umbrella stand of her oak hall tree. Hope flared in her heart. Reese’s body had never been recovered from the avalanche in the coastal mountains of Whistler, British Columbia. Could he have survived somehow?

  Why wait fourteen months to contact her, then?

  Laney examined the envelope. There was no postmark. It had been hand-delivered. Today was Monday. She’d been home working all morning. She and Josh had been in and out over the weekend for his hockey games Saturday and Sunday morning, followed by a family skating party for the team Sunday afternoon.

  They’d been so busy she’d forgotten to get the Sunday circulars from the mailbox. But she couldn’t believe Reese would come by the house and not let himself in. A spare key for Josh was still hidden inside a grinning verdigris frog strategically placed on a boulder in the shrub bed to the left of the front steps. At least she thought so. She stumbled outdoors to check. The key was still in the frog, right where it should be. Reese couldn’t possibly have delivered the note. If he were alive, he’d be here with them.

  So who had?

  Josh?

  The answer was so simple that Laney scolded herself as tears sprang to her eyes. He and his friend Scott had been rummaging through the boxes in the basement for clothes to conceal their superhero costumes. Maybe they’d found the card in one of Reese’s coat pockets—Reese had always been romantic about planting love notes in unexpected places—and Josh had decided to give it to her. It was sweet and thoughtful.... He’d probably tucked it in the mailbox before leaving for school this morning.

  Laney choked back a sob. Good thing Josh hadn’t been here when she’d discovered it, because her blubbering would probably have upset him. Josh was the most wonderful gift Reese had ever given her. It broke her heart that her little boy was going to grow up without a father. Laney lovingly pressed the card to her lips and stood it on the glove box of the hall tree so Josh would know she’d found it. Then, heading outside, she wiped her damp cheeks to prevent her tears from forming into icicles while she scraped the frost off her car windows.

  If she didn’t hurry she’d be late for a planning meeting at Carleton University, where she worked as a line editor for the university press.

  “Heavens, you look terrible,” Colombe Cyr proclaimed twenty minutes later when Laney barreled into the meeting room, hefting her leather satchel.

  “Oh, thanks,” Laney said, flashing the tall, silverhaired child psychologist a harried smile. Colombe was here on sabbatical from Dalhousie University in Halifax, working on a joint research project with a Carleton University child psychologist on the challenges of parenting blended families.
They were in the midst of putting the final manuscript together. Laney had hit it off right away with the quirky Haligonian prof when they’d met almost a year ago. The fact they were both widows gave them an immediate empathy for each other. “I’m racing as usual. Are we still on for lunch? In between the gossip, I want to pick your brain about something personal.”

  “Sounds interesting. Is it male-related?” Colombe grinned behind narrow, raspberry-pink eyeglass frames that softened the innately inquisitive sharpness of her owlish brown eyes.

  “Sort of—it’s about Josh.” Actually, Laney hoped to solicit her friend’s advice about how Josh was coping with Reese’s death.

  “Ah, one of my favorite males. I’m all ears. How about the Faculty Club? I feel like celebrating. We’re almost done with the project.”

  Laney smiled, glad she wouldn’t have to lunch alone on her wedding anniversary. She could raise a glass of wine and toast Reese.

  VALENTINE’S DAY was two weeks away. Ben Forbes looked at his day planner on his desk and tried to figure out what sticky rules of etiquette applied when a man wanted to ask out the mother of his son’s best friend. After his wife Rebecca had died of breast cancer four years ago, he’d had his fair share of dates since returning to the singles scene. Why did this one make him so nervous?

  He knew exactly why. Because it was Laney. He’d never met a woman whose personality sparkled so brilliantly in her eyes. Those blue eyes danced with animation when she spoke. When she smiled, his heart spun like a puck on ice, and the sound of her musical laugh was enough to make him want to grovel at her feet.

  And her body...oh, God! Every cell of Ben’s body went rigid at the thought. Laney’s soft, curvaceous body was a vessel for joy and Ben anticipated each minute he’d spend in her company like a teenager in the throes of his first crush.

  The truth was, he’d been in love with her since two days before Christmas. She’d helped the boys bake sugar cookie angels, which the boys had then tied to helium balloons that Laney had bought to send their homemade gifts heavenward to Josh’s dad and Scott’s mom. Ben would never forget the joy on his son’s face when Laney had given Scott a permanent marker so he could write a message to his mom on the balloon. He’d written, “I love you. I’m on the Olympics hockey team this year. Dad’s the best coach.”

  Ben swallowed hard and wiped away the moisture forming in his eyes. Laney had given Scott his mom back. She’d opened a connection that felt real to Scott. Ben would have given anything for a bough of mistletoe just then so he’d have an excuse to see if Laney’s kisses were as warm and fiery as the auburn of her hair. He’d settled for slipping his arm around her waist and drawing her close to him as they’d watched the yellow balloons ascend toward the heavens. He’d vowed right there and then that somehow, some way, the Dobsons and the Forbeses were going to become a family.

  Ben scowled at the calendar. If the information from a nine-year-old informant—Laney’s son—could be believed, Laney hadn’t dated at all since Reese’s death. Was Valentine’s Day too soon? Maybe he should wait until the boys’ hockey season was over.

  If Laney turned him down, they’d both be spared the awkwardness of avoiding each other in the change rooms before and after the Olympics’ games. Not that they wouldn’t have to see each other when the boys played together after school and on weekends. Scott had spent the night at Laney’s house last weekend. Ben had shared a cup of coffee with her Sunday morning while the boys finished blueberry pancakes and scurried downstairs to the basement to put on their hockey gear, chattering excitedly.

  Lord, it had been sheer bliss. The only thing that could have made it better would have been to wake up beside her and thoroughly love every inch of her creamy skin before breakfast.

  Ben gripped his pen so tightly his fingers cramped. No, he couldn’t wait until the end of the season. It had to be Valentine’s Day. Laney had a romantic streak. Her house was filled with flowers and bows and hand-painted china. Not to mention the pieces of art that Reese had brought her as gifts from his travels all over the world working as a financial analyst for CDN Investments. Reese had been Mr. Romance, apparently. Ben had learned that last October when he’d fixed a leaky tap in the master bathroom suite Reese had given Laney one Valentine’s Day. The tub had a waterfall, for Pete’s sake, plus a bank of mirrors and enough candles to light a church.

  But what did a civil engineer who dealt in waste management know about romance—beyond the obligatory bouquet of roses? He and Rebecca had met in university. She’d been an engineer, too. Romance to them had been a six-pack of beer and a pizza. Laney was accustomed to a higher standard.

  Ben sighed and kneaded his brow. Whatever he did, it had to be good.

  JOSH HAD DONE IT AGAIN. Laney stared at the pink envelope in her mailbox, addressed in Reese’s handwriting, and wondered if her son had found a stash of Reese’s notes in the basement. But why today, the fifth of February?

  Was Josh worried because she’d blown a fuse when he’d dropped the pitcher of orange juice on the kitchen floor at breakfast? The day had gotten off to a bad start. She’d stayed up way too late the night before line-editing a manuscript and didn’t hear the music on her radio-alarm clock for a good twenty minutes this morning. In the frantic race to mop the floor and pack his lunch, she’d realized she’d forgotten to buy granola bars for Josh’s lunch box. How could the lack of chocolate-coated oatmeal ruin a kid’s day? Probably for the same inexplicable reason that her day had soured when Josh announced he couldn’t find one of his mittens. Her lecture that he needed to be more responsible for his belongings earned her a guilt-inducing, “Scott’s dad is a single parent and he never yells at Scott for dumb things like losing a mitten.”

  Laney sighed. Ben Forbes was perfect in Josh’s eyes. To be honest, Ben Forbes was perfect in just about any woman’s eyes and he had the social life to prove it. Sleek black hair, heartbreaker blue-black eyes and a wide, generous smile that she was finding increasingly hard to ignore. No wonder he was the buzz of minor-league hockey. And he was wonderful with the kids. Especially Josh. Josh was the only kid on the team whose dad wasn’t around—at least occasionally—to lace up his hockey skates. Laney just didn’t have the right touch. Josh always complained his skates were never tight enough when she did them. But they were perfect when Ben laced them.

  It was one of those mysterious rites of boyhood that Laney didn’t understand. She was just glad Ben didn’t mind helping out.

  Laney tore open the envelope and found a gilded, peephole valentine. Unease fluttered in her stomach when she saw the slumbering cupid framed in a vibrant red, heart-shaped border. With hesitant fingers, she lifted the top flap of the card. The cupid lay on a bed of white satin strewn with flowers, reminding her morbidly of the pink, red and yellow roses she’d thrown into the crevasse where Reese lay buried beneath three hundred feet of snow.

  Her throat tightened convulsively as she read Reese’s words:

  To Laney, with love

  From your one and only Valentine

  I know you have questions but I can explain

  The Rendezvous 1:00 p.m. Christine’s.

  Whistler, Valentine’s Day.

  Make this our little secret. No police.

  R.

  Laney swayed and gripped the wooden railing as her knees gave out. Her thoughts alternated between disbelief and shock. This couldn’t be happening... there must be some mistake. How could he be alive? She scanned the message again, her hand trembling so badly she could hardly read. “Make this our little secret” and “No police” conveyed a sinister, illicit context that made her stomach chum.

  Laney sank onto the wooden steps and laid the card in her lap. Her head swam with confusing thoughts. Had Reese delivered the other note on their wedding anniversary a couple of weeks ago? Josh hadn’t said a word about the card she’d propped up on the hall tree. But then, he didn’t like talking about his dad.

  Anger cut a swath through the confusion swirling in her br
ain. How dare Reese do this to her and Josh! What possible explanation could justify putting her and Josh through the agony of thinking him dead? Not to mention the legalities. Her heart skittered around like a stone in her rib cage as she thought about the money she’d collected on Reese’s life-insurance policy. Had she committed fraud?

  Resting her head in her hands, Laney struggled between the temptation to call her lawyer and not go to Whistler at all, and her obligations to her wedding vows and to Josh.

  The chill of the steps permeated the thick insulation of her coat and numbed the bones of her spine as the improbable story lines of various soap operas and TV . movies-of-the-week fueled a tenuous hope that her husband was about to be restored to her on the most romantic day of the year.

  Maybe Reese had survived the avalanche and had been in a coma or suffered amnesia. Or maybe he’d witnessed a crime and the accident had been staged so he could be put into a witness protection program.

  Or, a tiny voice pointed out, it was possible he’d used the avalanche as an excuse to walk away from them. He’d always been an independent man who’d needed his space. He traveled a great deal on business and often took a few days off to ski or golf, depending on the season. He always made time for a side trip to Whistler when he was in Vancouver on business. Now she wondered if his need for these solitary trips was an indication he wasn’t happy in their marriage. Maybe deep down he’d felt pressured into marrying her because she was pregnant and the thrill of being in love and being a father had worn thin for him. Laney tried to quash the tiny doubting voice. She told herself that Reese loved her and their son.