Love, Valentine Style Read online

  “There is writing on the back,” Mrs. Tilton said.

  Charlie turned the tintype over. In what looked to be fresh ink on the back of the paper was a short message.

  My dear Charlotte, I think of you every day. Wait for me. I know we shall see each other soon.

  “Wow,” Charlie said. “That’s touching.”

  “He must have mailed it with one of the valentines. I wonder if he lived through the war.”

  “I’ll see. It shouldn’t be too hard to track down military records. I have an account with Ancestory.com. May I use your computer?”

  “Sure. I have other things to do before we open. Please excuse me.”

  “Mrs. Tilton,” Charlie said before she left. “Where did you find the tintype?”

  “It was on the floor near the display you set up.”

  Charlie’s breath froze in her lungs. She stared blankly at the museum director. Was this some kind of joke? She would have seen it yesterday, especially considering her accidental nap.

  “Oh,” was all she could say.

  Charlie sat in Mrs. Tilton’s computer chair and clicked onto the Internet. It didn’t take her long to bring up Elliot Lowery’s military record. She blinked at the words ‘killed in action.’ Emotion slammed into her like a tidal wave. Her breath caught in her chest and she brushed the tears out of her eyes. Well, not every love story had a happy ending. But she had been hoping he had lived through the war and returned home to wed his fiancé.

  Should she research Charlotte? Her fingers stalled on the keyboard. No, she probably married some other man and they had children. Including her side of the story would sully the valentines. She’d print up the end to their long distance romance explaining Private Lowery died during the Battle of Fort Donelson on February 11, 1862. It was only right to let patrons know what had happened. Miss Adams and Mr. Lowery weren’t the first and certainly wouldn’t be the last couple torn apart by war.

  An eerie feeling turned the air in the room cold and goose bumps rose on her arms. Had she had a deeper experience than a lonely woman’s dream? Had she … Charlie swallowed another drink of coffee, had she spent the evening with a ghost?

  Chapter Five

  The museum would open in a few minutes. Charlie stood in the bathroom doing last minute primping in the mirror. She had had a hard time deciding what to wear. Her little black dress was both professional and fitting for Valentine’s Day.

  Hopefully whoever had anonymously donated the Civil War valentines would come to the opening. She wanted to ask him or her several questions. Had they had dreams about Mr. Lowery, too? Did they think the valentines were somehow haunted? Had Mr. Lowery appeared to them as a ghost?

  She ran the questions through her mind and cringed. She sounded crazy. They’d probably laugh at her. Ghosts were a child’s fantasy. She just had an overactive imagination.

  Still, it would be nice to thank whoever had donated them to the collection. She’d let them know how much she appreciated the Civil War valentines.

  With a deep breath, Charlie straightened her posture and headed out of the bathroom. She’d expected a crowd, considering Valentine’s Day fell on a Saturday this year, but she hadn’t expected to see people lined outside the door waiting to get in. Was the history of Valentine’s Day that interesting?

  Mrs. Tilton unlocked the door and let the flood into the building. Those without a membership had to line up at the ticket counter to purchase admission. There was a big sign with an arrow pointing to the Valentine’s Day display. Charlie quickened her steps to get there before the mob descended upon all her hard work.

  Charlie smiled at the first couples to enter the room. “Welcome,” she said. “If you have any questions please let me know.”

  The couples – a mixture of middle-aged and older – circulated the room, pausing at one display and then another. Charlie watched them, a heaviness in her chest. They all seemed happy, smiling at each other, talking softly, occasionally sneaking a loving brush against their partner or holding their hand.

  She wanted that again. Despite putting up her best front, she was lonely. Last night’s dream reminded her of everything she had been missing since her divorce. She needed a man in her life.

  The initial rush faded to a constant trickle until late afternoon. It seemed the younger couples were night owls. So far no one had come up to her to say they had donated the Civil War valentines. What if the person wouldn’t show? Or maybe they wished to remain anonymous.

  Charlie shook her head. There were still several hours left for this mysterious donor to make an appearance. It wasn’t very masculine for a man to collect valentines, but she couldn’t deny the inkling that this package came from a man. Maybe they had been in his family for several generations. He discovered them and wanted to share them with others who would appreciate their beauty, sentimentality, and historic value.

  Of course, that was probably wishful thinking on her part. She wanted a tall, dark handsome man to walk through the door, without a woman on his arm and ask her out.

  But how many single men would go see a Valentine’s Day exhibit?

  *

  Mrs. Tilton entered the room, beaming. “I never expected such a crowd. Your Valentine’s Day exhibit is a big hit.”

  “It is wonderful,” Charlie said with false enthusiasm. Seeing all these happy couples was depressing. She needed a date fast.

  “Thank you for agreeing to come to Seattle, Ms. Bristol.”

  Charlie nodded and then smiled at the two older couples currently looking at all her hard work. “It is always a pleasure to share the valentines with others.”

  “I see the sadness in your eyes,” Mrs. Tilton said. “Oh dear. I suppose your boyfriend is in New York.”

  Charlie shook her head. “No boyfriend.”

  “Ah. I’m sorry. Forgive an old woman for being nosy.”

  “Nothing to forgive.”

  One of the chocolate advertisements fell from the wall.

  “Oh dear.” Charlie rushed over and picked it off the floor before it was accidentally stepped on. She rose and realized Mrs. Tilton had followed her.

  “It looks like you’ll need the ladder. I’ll go get it.”

  “Thank you.”

  Mrs. Tilton put a hand on her arm. “Take heart, dear. You never know when Mr. Right will arrive.”

  *

  Charlie knew Mrs. Tilton was merely trying to be friendly. She’d kept hope through most of the day. Now it was dark outside and the crowd had dwindled. She had given up on Mr. Right walking through the door today. Likely every good looking man already had a date for Valentine’s Day. Mrs. Tilton’s voice came over the loud speaker announcing the museum would be closing in fifteen minutes.

  She walked into Mrs. Tilton’s office and retrieved her black dress coat. She twirled her pearl drop pendant in her fingers. She so had wanted someone to come and sweep her off her feet today.

  Charlie yawned, quickly covering her open mouth with her hand. It had been a busy day. A lady from The Seattle Times had taken her picture to do a write up on the display. She needed to either go to bed early tonight or buy another cup of coffee.

  She returned to her exhibit and opened the case containing the Civil War valentines. Reading the words of love to Charlotte Adams would soothe her pain. If only she was the Charlotte Adams.

  There was a shift in the air. A breeze rippled through the room. Had the heat kicked on?

  After reading and returning her third valentine, she felt someone’s eyes on her. A man in his mid-twenties stood near her, watching her every move. The barely concealed lust made her thrum with excitement. He looked sharp in a casual dark blue tux and white shirt.

  “Mrs. Tilton said you had displayed my valentines,” he said. His deep voice vibrated a familiar chord in her soul.

  She squinted at him and titled her head. Her mind worked so hard she feared he could hear the gears turning. This man was clean shaven with thick black hair and blue-gray eyes. He loo
ked different and yet oddly the same. “Mr. Lowery?” she asked. Her voice came out squeaky, full of uncertainty.

  He looked so much like the man in her dream only modern.

  He smiled. “Yes, Ms. Adams. I told you we’d meet again soon.”

  “But, but,” she stammered. Who was he? He clearly wasn’t one hundred and fifty years old. He didn’t look like a ghost either. He was solid, flesh and blood.

  Mr. Lowery took a step toward her and ran his hand up and down her arm. His familiar touch rekindled the spark between them. “No need to be afraid,” he said in a soft, husky voice.

  “I’m not afraid. I’m just … confused.”

  “May I kiss you, Charlotte?” he asked. The way he said her full name made her heart flutter.

  “Yes.”

  He bent his head, his lips venturing closer and closer to hers. He claimed her mouth at first chastely and then deepened the kiss until it seared with passion. Fire blazed between them, the air heating with each passing second.

  He pulled back and looked into her eyes. “You’re not a ghost,” she said breathless.

  He laughed. “No, dear. I’m not. And I even know what day it is. I have another valentine for you.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded heart weaved together with strips of old newspaper. “I made this in the trenches. I never got to mail it.”

  Charlie carefully held the paper heart in her hand. It was old and fragile; she didn’t want it to tear.

  “Open it.”

  Charlie unfolded the heart and read the handwritten message inside.

  Charlotte, know that you carry my heart with you always.

  “I’ve been waiting a long time to be with you, Charlotte. That is, if you will be with me.”

  What was he talking about? Was she dreaming again? Her head swam with questions she couldn’t quite form. They were all too ridiculous to say out loud. “I’m not the same Charlotte. Your Charlotte.”

  “You are my dear, you just don’t remember. You reincarnated, and after I died I was stuck in the war, a ghostly form to wander the United States and mourn for my lost love.”

  She pointed at her chest. “I’m your lost love?” Even as she said the words they reverberated with a grain of truth. There was something about him, something about them together that was oddly familiar. “I-I kept you here?” Her words were small, heavy with sorrow.

  He ran his hand up and down her arm. It was a soothing gesture she also found arousing. He looked down at her with his sexy blue-gray eyes. “Don’t blame yourself, dear. I’m the one who chose not to go to the light. I didn’t want to admit I was dead. I wanted to return to you. And now I have.”

  Charlotte swallowed hard, the saliva barely sliding over the lump in her throat. That was possibly the strongest form of love. Love for her. It was enough to make any girl swoon.

  “I’ve been waiting for the right time to reappear to you. You got married and then thankfully you got divorced. His loss is my gain.”

  He’d been dead but watching me? The thought was unnerving and yet comforting at the same time. It was kind of like he was her guardian angel except he had more sex appeal.

  He showed off his dimples. “The waiting nearly killed me.” He laughed again deep and hearty.

  She didn’t find that joke particularly funny.

  “We have unfinished business,” he said, wrapping his arm around her back and slowly migrating his hand to the small of her back. The glint in his eye made her heart race. He was all man.

  He pulled her to him. She felt his chiseled body underneath his tux.

  “I had to make sure those valentines went to the right person—went to you. All the love we shared was poured into every line and your latent memories and feelings gives me the power to manifest. As long as you have those valentines I can live again.”

  Charlie blinked. Surely this was her overactive imagination again. She glanced at the case with the Civil War valentines and then back to him. Many questions circled in her head, but one kept edging out all the others. “So if I keep those valentines with me you’ll be able to be with me?”

  “You just have to have one with you at all times.” He took the newspaper valentine out of her hand and tucked it into her coat pocket, his warm hand briefly pressing against her thigh. “Keep that one. And I’ll be with you for as long as you want me.”

  She wanted him with her tonight and then they’d see how it went. Male company on Valentine’s Day—her coworkers wouldn’t believe it.

  He flashed another smile, showing his dimples. “I’ve noticed that women are much freer in the present day than they were when I was alive. It being Valentine’s Day maybe we could go back to your hotel?”

  The lust in his eyes and his masculine scent combined with his cologne gave her a heady rush. It would be the first time she’d been with him and the first time she’d been with a man since her divorce. Her nether region tingled. Lying in his arms would be the perfect end to the day. “Yes, I’d like that very much.”

  He grinned deepening his dimples. “I’ve waited a long time to feel all your curves pressed against mine.”

  “We did that in my dream last night,” she said.

  “Oh yes and I plan to hold you tight again and kiss you until I’m too tired to kiss you again.”

  Charlie’s eyes flared and she leaned her head against his shoulder. She didn’t know if he meant lovemaking or just more cuddling. She’d enjoy either.

  “We have a lot of catching up to do,” he said, leading her to the door. “If I can get you to remember me, maybe we’ll have another chance to get married.”

  She couldn’t believe she could recall being with him in a past life several generations ago. Her body seemed familiar with his and vice versa. So perhaps there was hope after all. Or she could learn to love him all over again.

  “Good night, Mrs. Tilton,” Charlie called. “I will see you in the morning.”

  The museum director seemed to be the only other person left there. She watched them leave, a knowing glint in her eye. Charlie’s cheeks stained pink. She lowered her head a little, trying to hide her embarrassment.

  Elliot held the door open for her. She could get used to being with a perfect gentleman for a change. Men had much better manners during the era when chivalry still existed. Mrs. Tilton would surely ask her questions about the man she left with. What would she think when she said his name was Elliot Lowery?

  A laugh built up inside her gut and exploded. She gasped for breath being unable to get control of herself.

  “Are you all right?” Mr. Lowery asked, his eyes filled with concern.

  “Yes,” she said. Bringing a manifested ghost home to meet her parents—now that would be hard to explain!

  But first, she just wanted to finish celebrating Valentine’s Day.

  *

  About Haley Whitehall

  Haley Whitehall lives in Washington State where she enjoys all four seasons and the surrounding wildlife. She writes historicals set in the 19th century U.S. When she is not researching or writing, she plays with her cats, watches the Western and History Channels, and goes antiquing. She is hoping to build a time machine so she can go in search of her prince charming. A good book, a cup of coffee, and a view of the mountains make her happy. Find more books by Haley at Amazon.

  Forever My Valentine

  Raine English

  She left him… He loves her… A snowy Valentine’s gives them a second chance.

  Returning home after a disastrous job relocation, Miranda is determined to avoid the man she left behind—and whose heart she broke. Until she finds a hidden treasure in a music box. An engagement ring engraved with a decades’ old date. And the only man who can help reunite the precious ring with its owner is the last man she wanted to see.

  When Ian sees Miranda walk into his antique shop, his defenses go up. She walked away from him once without a backward glance. Since then he’s given up on love. But when their eyes meet and sparks fly, he wonde
rs if maybe there’s a Valentine’s Day miracle in store for them.

  A snowy night’s journey to bring the ring to its elderly owner turns into a second chance at romance for Miranda and Ian. But as the frost melts from around their hearts, it exposes old hurts and deceptions. This Valentine’s Day could be the start of something wonderful. Or the proof that their love was never meant to be.

  Chapter One

  Miranda Kane wound the beautiful Victorian carousel music box, and three white porcelain horses adorned with Austrian crystals spun around the base while the Blue Danube Waltz played. The box was a perfect addition to her collection and would look great in the curio cabinet along with the others. As she set it down on the kitchen table, she looked at her mother standing beside her and smiled. “You really outdid yourself this time, but you didn’t have to be so extravagant.”

  Beatrice Kane had been buying Miranda music boxes for Valentine’s Day since she was three years old. Her first one had been a snow globe with Winnie the Pooh and Eeyore.

  “Don’t be silly,” Beatrice chided. “I’ve no one else to spend money on. I know it’s a few days early, but I thought I’d better give it to you today in case I don’t see you on Saturday. Who knows, maybe you’ll have a hot date.”

  Fat chance of that. More likely she’d be home alone curled up on the sofa watching old movies and eating chocolates she bought for herself. Miranda hugged her mom and whispered against her coiffed hair, “Thanks, Mom.”

  “Besides, Ian gave me a very generous discount.”

  Miranda’s arms dropped to her sides. “I can’t believe you bought the music box from my ex-boyfriend.”

  “My dear, you’re the one who broke his heart, not I. And you know I’ve always had a soft spot for him. If only I were twenty years younger…”

  Miranda couldn’t believe her ears. Her mother knew Ian wasn’t the only one who’d been devastated by the breakup. It was true, Miranda had been the one to call things off. But what choice had she had? It would’ve been impossible to maintain a long-distance relationship. Dallas, Texas was over fifteen hundred miles from Pleasant View, Massachusetts, and the job offer that had been presented to her was one she’d waited years for and was way too good to pass up. Besides, she’d thought she could get Ian to make the move with her. After all, they’d been living together for two years. They weren’t getting any younger—both were approaching thirty—and had discussed getting married several times.