Heart to Heart Read online

  Contents

  Hot Off the Press

  Minding Jackson

  Love Restored

  Once Upon a Wish

  The Unquiet Heart

  Summer Promises

  No Secrets in Spandex

  Edie and the CEO

  The Marrying Kind

  Romancing the Seas

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  Hot Off The Press

  Méline Nadeau

  Avon, Massachusetts

  This edition published by

  Crimson Romance

  an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.

  10151 Carver Road, Suite 200

  Blue Ash, Ohio 45242

  www.crimsonromance.com

  Copyright © 2012 by Méline Nadeau

  ISBN 10: 1-4405-4602-9

  ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-4602-0

  eISBN 10: 1-4405-4603-7

  eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-4603-7

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

  Cover art © 123rf/Vanessa Van Rensburg, istockphoto/tjhunt

  To Russ, the love of my life, whose love and support made this book possible.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  A Sneak Peek from Crimson Romance

  Chapter One

  Silent tears took streams of mascara down Leigh Cameron’s face as she wove her way through the early morning traffic. Dealing with her father’s death was one thing. But did it have to be now? And why was she so upset? They’d barely spoken over the past ten years. He certainly hadn’t lost any sleep over her happiness. It was just like him to drop dead without an ounce of warning, just when she was on the verge of achieving one of her lifelong goals. She slammed on the brakes to avoid driving into a gray minivan with Jersey plates. Sunday driver. Not like there was anything to see in the Midtown Tunnel.

  Her boss, Jack Lang, was out of his mind if he actually thought she’d take a month off. What the hell would she do with herself for four weeks? Grieve? No way. She’d take a few days to sort out her father’s affairs and leave her family’s painful memories behind, once and for all.

  Leigh yanked her glasses off and wiped them free of tears for the umpteenth time since she’d set off. She seldom wore the thick horn-rimmed frames, but she’d been crying so much she couldn’t wear her contacts.

  Her coworkers had taken her to a beautiful restaurant for her thirtieth birthday a few days before. Until then she hadn’t really given her age much thought. She’d spent the last ten years working. She’d thought she wanted to be a journalist to travel the world. The reality was she barely had the time to see the cities she worked in. The trips she took were press junkets where all her time was taken up with work. She’d spent her twenties working and building her career and hadn’t given motherhood or the opposite sex any real attention.

  But lately things were changing. She’d been trying not to think of the big “three-o” as an end but rather as the beginning of a new phase in her professional life — one where she would finally be taken seriously.

  She’d woken up the next day with a headache, feeling no older or wiser than before. Meanwhile, her biological clock — the one she thought was broken — had started making itself heard.

  Her boss’ last marriage hadn’t survived his promotions and ever-increasing workload. In fact, few of the reporters and editors she knew ever managed to juggle successful careers and relationships. Sooner or later, they all had to choose. Especially the women. The way she saw it, women could either get married and raise children or choose to concentrate on their work. None of the women she knew ever managed to have both. Even her mother had given up reporting after she’d been born.

  Leigh had lost her to breast cancer when she was a teenager. This time it was her father she’d lost, and she was a grown woman.

  Too bad being older didn’t lessen the pain any.

  God, she wished her mother were there. She’d been everything Leigh strived to be. She was beautiful, classy, and intelligent and brought joy to everyone around her. Their home had been filled with music and laughter, and Leigh had felt safe and loved. She imagined herself on her wedding day. In her fantasy nuptials, her mother helped her get ready while her father —

  Her father. Her eyes, dried out from crying, burned. It dawned on her. She was officially an orphan. Now over the initial shock, her sense of loss was beyond tears. She’d always thought there’d be time. That they would patch things up. That he’d tell her why. Why he’d chosen Watford over their home in New York City. Why he’d sent her away. And why he’d given his heart to another woman so soon after her mother’s death. But it was too late. He was gone.

  “We’re never going to be close again.” She veered to the right to avoid driving into a car she hadn’t noticed. “Never.” Her voice trailed off, and a new wave of anguish washed over her.

  A big furry paw came up from the back seat and dropped on her shoulder. Startled, she nearly drove into the car in front of her. “God, Zeus. You scared me half to death.” She sighed and wiped under her glasses with a jerk of the hand. Enough with the tears. She’d forgotten all about her dog. She sniffed loudly and tried to put on a brave face. “Come here buddy.” The large German shepherd gave her a suspicious look. He wasn’t allowed to sit in the front seat of the Mustang, and he knew it. Leigh almost smiled.

  “It’s okay, just this once, c’mon.” She reached over and gave old faithful an encouraging pat. Talking felt good. Even if it was to the dog.

  He wagged his tail and jumped to the front passenger seat.

  Traffic on the interstate leaving the city was starting to flow. Most of the morning commuters were headed in the opposite direction and rush hour was almost over. She smirked. Well, rush hour never really ended in the five boroughs, but at least they weren’t at a standstill. She looked at the winding stretch of cars dotting the concrete road ahead. She would have kicked herself if she could have. Crying had given her a nasty headache and made her late. It would take her at least an hour to clear the city and four more to get to the small New England town her father had called home.

  Zeus yawned then straightened as a car pulled up on their left, a little white dog yapping at the window. Leigh smiled at her guardian whose big strong tail waved back and forth as he tried to climb onto her lap.

  “No.” She gave him a gentle but firm push. “Stay on your side.” Without missing a beat, Zeus’s happy tail hit the right passenger window in rhythm with the thumping in her head.

  Leigh rubbed her brow to calm the nagging throb. Then out of habit, she twirled a stray curl between her thumb and index finger while she waited for the traffic to move. Outside, the familiar edgy sounds of rush hour grew louder, and light rain speckled the car windows. She shivered despite the warm summer breeze. The air clung to her skin, heavy and damp, and dark ominous clouds gathered in the sky above The Bronx. Her pleasant five-hour drive had just turned into a seven-hour slog.

  • • •

  David Stone jumped out
of his Jeep Cherokee and ran for cover. The warm summer rain came down in sheets against the Georgian Colonial’s pediment, dripping into the old wine barrels positioned under the stately building’s eaves.

  Since he’d been promoted to managing editor of The Watford Sun, he left most of the field-reporting to his staff. But with the small paper’s limited number of reporters, everyone had to pitch in. He’d always hated doing “pick-ups” — collecting photos from a bereaved family for their loved one’s obituary — but this one was different. Besides, it felt good to be out of the office for a while, especially today.

  The rain waned as he ran up the walk to McDonald & Sons law offices. The door squeaked on its hinges as it opened, rattling the door chimes. The foyer was empty. The strident whistle of a kettle echoed through the hall followed by Bruce McDonald’s familiar baritone.

  “I’ll be right out.”

  David had been twelve years old and the latest addition to Watford Middle School’s seventh grade when he’d first met the lawyer. His so-called new friends had dared him to break into the navy blue Cadillac parked at the side of the law office and bring back proof of the act. Little did he know that car belonged to the Ben Cameron, Watford’s very own Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist and most famous resident.

  David had pushed an old metal hanger between the car window’s glass and frame. When he’d finally gotten the door open, he’d turned, victorious, only to look directly into the owner’s deep-set eyes. The only thing he’d felt sure of at that moment was that he was heading straight for jail. Just like his old man.

  Sure enough, within seconds, the publisher’s lawyer, Bruce, had come out of the nearby law offices to join the fray. Bruce thought they should call the police, and let the little hoodlum sweat it out in Juvie. But Ben had convinced him not to. Instead he’d taken David to Shopsey’s for a milkshake and a man-to-man talk. No one had ever treated him like an adult before. David had been working for The Sun ever since.

  Blood rushed to his face, and his chest filled with hurt as he remembered getting the unexpected early morning phone call from Ben’s dearest and oldest friend. He clenched his jaw and brushed his dripping hair away from his eyes. It wouldn’t be long before the whole town knew of Ben’s death. But now was not the time to get all choked up about it. He had photos to pick up and an obit to write.

  David watched the sixty-something barrister shuffle down the hall, a cup of tea in one hand.

  “Hey, kid. Thanks for dropping by.”

  The term of endearment brought a smile to his lips. Even though David was now in his thirties, Bruce McDonald would, no doubt, always see him as a kid.

  They shook hands in silence. Sadness hung between them, heavy in the air.

  David followed the lawyer through the large foyer flanked on either side by a sweeping open stairway. From the mahogany trim in the Balinese tile floor in the kitchen to the deep red walls of the library, each room provided the perfect backdrop for the McDonald’s law practice and for Bruce’s collection of old black-and-white photos. Of the many faces he didn’t know or recognize, a few images always caught his attention. Today, it was a picture taken on Ben’s wedding day. He stared at the yellowed snapshot. In it Vivian and Ben smiled and waved at the camera from their convertible. They were so young. And now, both gone.

  The smell of clam chowder tickled his nostrils, pulling him from his thoughts. He followed Bruce to the kitchen. On top of being a lawyer, Bruce was two things: a confirmed bachelor and a great cook.

  “Have a seat.” Bruce plunked bowl of soup on the table in front of him. “Here. Eat something.”

  David did as he was told. He smiled and rubbed the itchy stubble on either side of his chin while staring at his dear friend. Bruce’s nickname had been “Old Bruce” for as long as he could remember and today, the name fit. Ben’s death had left its mark.

  “Looking for a few photos?”

  “Yeah. The file photo we have of Ben is too stodgy. I want people to remember the Ben Cameron I knew. The big man who was always there to lend a helping hand or share a laugh. I thought of asking Andrea, but I figured she had enough to deal with for one day.”

  Bruce shook his head. “And they say married men live longer.”

  “What happened?”

  “The doctors say his heart just stopped. There was no way we could’ve seen it coming.” Bruce put his hand to his own heart. “Andrea was on her way up to bed when she found him. Ben had been reading in his study, and he dozed off. Just like always. Except this time she couldn’t wake him up.”

  David sat silent, his jumbled emotions like lead in the pit of his stomach.

  “I always thought I’d be the first to go.” Bruce leaned in and put his hand on David’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

  “Thanks … . The paper … I’m not sure I can run it the way he did.”

  “You’ll do fine. We’ll all be fine. You, me, Andrea,” he paused. “Leigh.”

  Leigh. David held Bruce’s gaze, careful not to let his feelings for his mentor’s estranged daughter alter his expression. “Has anyone called her?”

  “I broke the news to her this morning.”

  “How’s she taking it?” This time sarcasm rang through.

  A shadow passed over Bruce’s face. “We’re about to find out.”

  • • •

  Leigh pulled up in front of the three-story Federal mansion that had housed The Watford Sun since its inception. She’d taken the Princess Street exit out of habit and ended up at the family paper rather than at the manor. She took a deep breath and began reacquainting herself with her past. Gabled roof, floor-to-ceiling double-hung windows on either side of the entrance, stone lintels, intersecting tracery — the place looked exactly as it had when she’d last visited a good ten years before. Although it did seem smaller than she remembered.

  She looked at the dog in the seat next to her. “You, stay. I’ll be right back.”

  The dog licked her hand and curled up into a ball on the front seat.

  She walked into The Sun’s front lobby. The receptionist’s desk still sat by the front door, unchanged. For a fleeting moment she thought she smelled her father’s cologne clinging to the air. But Ben Cameron would never walk through those doors again, and today the front desk sat empty.

  A tall blond man carrying a camera with a very large lens walked out into the lobby.

  “Leigh? Is that you?” He stopped dead in his tracks. “Oh my God, honey.”

  “Geoffrey,” Leigh said, looking into his big watery blue eyes. She kissed him on the cheek and pulled him in for a hug. Geoffrey Williams was the only person from Watford she’d actually seen in the last ten years. He’d come down to the city for one of his getaway weekends and she’d taken him to a hot new Italian restaurant in the Village. They’d drunk too much wine and gotten caught up but that must have been four or five years ago and she hadn’t seen him since.

  “It’s so good to see you,” she added, resting her head on his shoulder.

  “You look amazing.” The photographer pulled back framing an imaginary shot with his hands.

  “Thanks.” She forced a smile. “I sure as hell don’t feel amazing.”

  “Honey, I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice breaking.

  “I know,” Leigh whispered as the lump in her throat swelled up again. “Me, too.”

  He pulled her into his arms again and held her close. The throbbing in her head lessened as she rested it on the shoulder of the one person in Watford she had missed after she had stopped spending summers there.

  His crisp blue shirt smelled of fabric softener and expensive cologne. He’d been wearing that same sweet fragrance since they were teenagers. Back then, they’d been inseparable. How could she have let that friendship slip? They stood in a silent hug in the lobby while people walked in and out of the
building.

  “Honey, we are going to be the talk of the town,” Geoffrey whispered into her ear. “Everybody’s going to think I’ve finally found a woman I like.”

  “Sure you don’t want any of this?” she said, squeezing him tight.

  He swept her up in a big bear hug then released her and grabbed her by the hand. “I still can’t believe how sexy you’ve become,” he said motioning to her new, curvaceous physique, “You’re all woman, now.”

  Leigh’s face grew hot from the compliment. She grinned. “Sure. That’s the first thing that comes to my mind when I’m trying to squeeze my butt into a pair of jeans.”

  Geoffrey laughed. “C’mon. Let’s get out of here.”

  “I thought you’d never ask.”

  Geoffrey took her to the side of the building where, judging by all the cigarette butts, The Sun’s smokers hung out. Leigh leaned against the outside wall while he lit a cigarette.

  “Have you been back to the house yet?” he asked, blowing out a big puff of smoke.

  “No. I just rolled into town.” She turned toward her parked car. As if on cue, Zeus wagged his tail and pressed his nose against the car’s passenger side window.

  Geoffrey smiled and took another drag. “I had you pegged more as a cat person.”

  She coughed and frowned at him in disapproval. “And I had you pegged as a health nut.”

  “This? I’m quitting. Don’t change the subject. What are you doing here when you could be at Bunny Woods having a hot shower?”

  Leigh smiled at Geoffrey’s reference to their childhood nickname for Oak Hill Manor. “I couldn’t decide which would be worse, coming here or going home first. So, I picked the lesser of two evils.”

  “Wow, that makes me feel special.”

  Leigh gave him a light punch in the arm. “You know what I mean.”

  He feigned being mortally wounded. “Have you spoken to Andrea?” he said, serious again.