My Funny Valentine

  My Funny Valentine

  By

  Rhonda Nelson

  Copyrights

  eBooks are not transferrable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of these works.

  This book is an original publication of the author who wrote the story herein contained.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  “My Funny Valentine” copyright © 2011 by Rhonda Nelson.

  Cover Art by Dee Tenorio, Laideebug Digital

  Formatting by Laideebug Digital, www.laideebugdigital.com

  All Rights Are Reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the authors’ rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Chapter One

  Conversation ground to a halt in Bella’s House of Beauty as the man stepped into the salon. Females, young and old alike, stared at the stranger, and all seemed to sense that there was something very different about this particular male. Oddly, even Dog—a perpetually sleeping, worthless lump of fur if one ever existed—lifted her head and acknowledged the stranger’s appearance through droopy eyes.

  Instinctively Bella knew he wasn’t a sales rep—he didn’t smile. Nor was he a delivery man—he wasn’t wearing a uniform. No, Bella thought with a silent sigh as she stared at the long, lean form of the man silhouetted in the front door, he was roughly six and a half feet of pure temptation and every woman’s secret fantasy.

  Regrettably, even hers.

  “I’m here about the apartment for rent,” the man said his voice a deep, decadent rumble. “I’m looking for Ms. Valentine.”

  Bella’s pulse leaped. Shears frozen above Mrs. Weatherby’s steely gray head, Bella blinked at him, then cleared her throat. “I’m Bella Valentine.”

  The man stepped forward out of the shadow of the sun. Swathed in black from head to toe, he looked like some sort of fallen archangel. Thick, jet-black wavy hair barely brushed his broad shoulders and a single diamond stud winked in his ear. A thin jagged scar streaked like a bolt of lightning from his temple to his jaw, adding mystery and intrigue to a face that didn’t lack either in the first place. Eyes the color of pale jade stared back at her from beneath a wide, intelligent brow. Mercy, Bella thought, the man was danger personified.

  With a single semi-quirk of his lips, he became lethal. “I’m Gray Cameron. I wondered if the apartment for rent was still available.”

  It occurred to Bella he was expecting a reply, but unfortunately, she couldn’t seem to muster the appropriate response. She was too busy staring at him. The sound of his voice was one of pleasure—watching the actual words form and leave that unbelievably sinful mouth was another. With supreme effort, she dragged her fascinated gaze away from his lips and made an attempt at intelligent conversation.

  “Yes, it is,” she breathed.

  Looking away, he poked his tongue in his cheek, then his humorous gaze found hers again. “Could I see it?”

  That would be the next obvious question, Bella realized belatedly, as heat rushed into her cheeks. She forced herself to stop gawking at him. “Oh—of course. If you’ll take a seat, I can show it to you in about five minutes.”

  Bella congratulated herself for coming up with a coherent sentence, then hurriedly began to finish with Mrs. Weatherby’s style.

  From the corner of her eye, she watched as the man who’d introduced himself as Gray Cameron ambled across the room, then settled himself into one of the Queen Anne chairs by the paned window. He picked up the latest issue of Cosmo and began to idly thumb through it. Dog trundled over, sniffed his ankle a couple of times, then promptly fell asleep.

  Though the man couldn’t possibly look any more out of place in her little Victorian-motif salon, Bella had the distinct impression that it would never occur to Gray Cameron that he didn’t belong anywhere. He seemed to simply dominate his space and obviously expected his surroundings to accommodate him. If anything, the lacy curtains and delicate antique furniture and accessories seemed to intensify his male presence.

  “He’s an ex-convict,” Mrs. Weatherby announced matter-of-factly. And loudly, since she’d forgone her hearing aid that morning. Her doughy face wrinkled into a scowl of distaste.

  Horrified, Bella’s gaze darted to the stranger. Only the slight grin on his lips made it clear that he’d heard Lila Weatherby’s tactless and completely unfounded remark.

  “Lila,” Fayrene Winslow admonished with a covert look at the man in questions as she wiped the cream bleach from her upper lip “How do you know that? You can’t know that.”

  Fayrene and Bella’s other regulars, Maggie Kramer and Hattie Martin, had immediately scurried over as soon as Gray Cameron had taken his seat. Like most small southern towns, Magnolia Grove possessed a distrust of strangers and laid claim to one of the fastest, most effective grapevines south of the Mason-Dixon Line. All four matronly chiefs were present and located at Gossip Central—Bella’s salon.

  “Well, if he’s not an ex-convict,” Lila huffed, “then he certainly missed a good chance. Look at him,” she told them with a none-too-subtle glance at the man in question. All four of her chins quivered. “Did you see that scar?” she hissed. “Had to have gotten it in prison. Besides, who’d wear black in this heat?”

  “Hell’s Angels, “Hattie said on an outraged breath. She quickly crossed herself, then clutched the rosary beads draped over her frail chest. “I’ll bet my Hummel collection that he’s one of those motorcycle ridin’ heathens.”

  “Hell’s Angel, my putootie,” Maggie Kramer predictably pish-poshed to Bella’s vast relief. In direct contrast to her perfectly made up face, Maggie snorted indelicately, “I saw him drive up and it wasn’t on a motorcycle.” She huffed a breath on her newly painted nails and polished them on her shirt. “He’s in a 1960 Cadillac convertible.”

  Fayrene, Magnolia’s retirement community siren, stopped her preening long enough to look at Maggie. “Humph. One year working at Ed’s Parts Palace doesn’t make you a car expert, Maggie. What makes you think you know what kind of car he’s driving?”

  Maggie smiled slyly. “I know, Ms. Know-It-All, because it just happens that John Kramer, Jr. was conceived in an automobile identical to that.” Her light blue eyes twinkled mischievously and she patted her stylishly short platinum hair. “I’m not likely to forget.”

  “Oh, you!” Hattie gasped, outraged, while the others laughed at Maggie’s audacious revelation.

  A smothered masculine chuckle from the other side of the room made all of the ladies, Bella included, gasp and turn around.

  “Now you’ve done it” Hattie hissed. “Bella, dial 911.”

  Bella’s lips twitched. “I hardly think that’s necessary, Hattie.”

  “Yeah, Bella’s right,” Maggie chimed in. “Go say a couple of Hail Mary's and take a nitroglycerine tablet, Hattie. We aren’t in any danger, for heaven’s sake.” Maggie snorted again. “He’s just a man.”

  Oh, but an utterly gorgeous man, Bella thought. Apparently, Fayrene concurred. She’d added another coat of lipstick and, not surprisingly, was presently sashaying across the salon to the only male in their midst.

  “Ugh,” Maggie groaned. “There’s nothing ore pathetic than a seventy-year-old tramp.”

  “Maggie Kramer,” Hattie breathed, eyes wide. “That�
�s not the way to talk about your best friend.”

  Maggie grinned. “Why not? She knows I think she’s a tramp.”

  Fayrene’s grin slid from her ultra-painted lips. Eyes narrowed, she glared up at Maggie. “Just like she knows, I think she’s an old bi—“

  “I’m ready to show you that apartment now, Mr. Cameron,” Bella broke in smoothly, a smile teasing her lips. She whipped the cape off Lila, whirled the chair around, then deposited her various beautician tools onto the antique buffet she used as her work station. “Dana,” Bella called to her virtually useless, gum-smacking teenage assistant. “Finish up with Mrs. Weatherby and shampoo Hattie for me.”

  Phone glued to her ear, Dana poked her head around the office door frame. “Gimme a sec”—smack, smack— “I’m trying to get tickets to the Stab Yo’ Moma concert.”

  Bella clenched her teeth, summoned patience and produced a tight smile for the benefit of her audience. “Is Ethan still asleep?”

  Dana nodded, instantly smiling when Bella mentioned her son’s name. Were it not for the feather-brained dimwit’s uncanny ability to handle her rambunctious four-year-old, Bella would have sent Dana in search of another job months ago. As it was, Ethan adored the teenager, and for all her other faults, Dana reciprocated his unconditional affection. Bella supposed suffering through Dana’s incompetence as an assistant justified the end result: Ethan’s happiness.

  Satisfied that things were under control for a few minutes, Bella looked at Gray Cameron. Of their own volition, her lips curved into a goofy grin. Her heart tripped and a long-forgotten warmth fluttered low in her belly. As much as she needed the rental income her little upstairs apartment generated, Bella suddenly wished with all her heart that Gray Cameron wouldn’t find it to his liking. For reasons which escaped her, she knew intuitively his presence would wreak havoc with her newly reordered life.

  A life which—since her husband’s death three years ago—only had room for one male, Ethan.

  ***

  As they excited the main room of the salon, the elderly woman Bella Valentine had addressed as Hattie clutched her rosary beads and eyed Gray with equal parts of curiosity and distrust. He smiled to himself and resisted the adolescent urge to leer at her and yell, “Boo!”

  “Sorry about them,” Bella apologized. “They tend to get, er…carried away.”

  “My parole officer would be glad to hear it,” Gray remarked drolly, trailing along behind her.

  She shot him a nervous glace and her cheeks pinkened becomingly. She didn’t comment, however, and Gray found himself oddly disappointed. He’d discovered the sound of her voice was very pleasant. Soft, yet, deep, with a distinct southern drawl that moved over him like a good blues tune.

  A thick, waist-length braid of silvery blond hair swung to an enticing rhythm with her softly rounded hips as she led him through the house. She was stunningly beautiful, almost angelic. Large, deep blue eyes complemented her alabaster complexion and fine bone structure.

  For a man who made his living with words, Gray found himself curiously unable to come up with a more eloquent description. But more worrisome than his inability to put her image to words was the instantaneous, elemental attraction he’d felt for her. Sadly, he couldn’t afford the time nor the distraction.

  Bella paused in what Gray presumed to be her living room and picked up a toy fire truck, then tossed it into a large plastic bin sitting against the wall. “Please excuse the mess,” she told him, a soft smile playing on her lips. “Clutter is something I’ve learned to live with since my son was born.”

  Gray inwardly winced with regret. Generally, the presence of a child heralded the presence of a husband. Nevertheless, he was in Magnolia Grove to work—specifically, to do research—not play around. His deadline loomed ahead like a giant hazard sign. Gray had never been late with a book, and didn’t intend to start now. He returned her smile. “So I’m told.”

  “Do you have any children, Mr. Cameron?” she asked as they entered the kitchen.

  “No.”

  And he didn’t plan to have any either. After a series of failed relationships in which he’d been the one mostly at fault, Gray had decided to remain a bachelor. His career was his life. He’d been known to get so involved with a story—or the research for it—he’d forget to eat, much less remember a dinner date. He’d yet to find a woman who was willing to put up with the demands of a writer’s life and his own eccentricities. He’d drawn the conclusion that one didn’t exist and had resigned himself to that end.

  “That’s too bad,” she said with a small frown. “Ethan would have loved to had a playmate.” She turned away and began to flip through a set of keys.

  While she was occupied, Gray surveyed his surroundings and noted the freshness of the air with a small grin. He’d almost gotten light—headed from the various odors of permanent waves, hair color, and Lord only knew what else he’d been subjected to while waiting in the salon. Breathing deeply, he redirected his thoughts to the layout of the rooms.

  From what he could discern, the two front rooms of the old antebellum house had been converted to accommodate her salon. The rest of the bottom floor belonged to Bella and she’d apparently renovated the upstairs into a two-bedroom apartment.

  The kitchen, his favorite room thus far, boasted tall ceilings and white glass-paned cabinets. Old plates and various other porcelain doodads had been hung on the walls, adding a homey, old-fashioned ambiance. Instead of tiling the kitchen, she’d restored the hardwood and the floors gleamed dark and rich beneath his boots. A set of how-to books which sat on the counter snagged his attention, and Gray wondered briefly if she’d done all of the renovations herself.

  Adjoining the kitchen, a screened-in porch with white wicker furniture and overstuffed cushions invited one to sit and watch a sunrise.

  This was a home, he realized with a burst of insight. A real home, with a history of love, loss and family. It was everything his sleek modern apartment back in San Francisco wasn’t. Gray pulled in a deep breath as an unfamiliar pang struck him. He decided the unsettling sensation was simply hunger and turned to Bella Valentine. She’d unlocked the door.

  “It smells a little musty,” she told him as she led the way up the stairs. “My last tenant moved out more than three months ago. It’s been vacant ever since.” She paused at the landing. “Like the ad said, it’s a furnished two-bedroom, one bath, with a small kitchen and den. Parking is in the back and I have a space reserved for storage out in the garage should you need it. Rent’s due the first of the month and I’ll need a security deposit. Unfortunately, there isn’t a washer and dryer hook-up, but you’re welcome to use mine. Just tell me what day, and I’ll make sure that my laundry is done and out of the say.” Bella smiled. “Anything else you need to know?”

  Suitably impressed, Gray shook his head. “I’ll just take a look around.”

  It was pointless, of course, if she’d rent to him. Gray had already made up his mind the moment he set foot on the landing.

  He wanted this apartment.

  Aside from the fact that it would suit his needs, he simply liked it. The rooms were large, modestly furnished with accents that could easily please a person of either gender. Ceiling fans circled lazily over-head, making Gray think of iced tea and palm fronds. The bathroom, complete with an antique claw-foot tub, sat at the back of the apartment and overlooked the beautifully landscaped backyard.

  Gray made another walk-through, taking note of the sturdy oak desk in the second bedroom which he instantly decided would serve as his office. A thought occurred to him.

  “I’d like to add a second phone line for my computer and fax. I’d pay for it, of course. Do you have any objection to that?”

  Bella shook her head. “No, not at all. Would you like to look at the rental agreement?”

  Gray crossed his arms over his chest, leaned against a doorjamb and grinned. “Does it have anything in it that I might object to?”

  Bella paused thoughtfully
. “Do you have any pets?”

  “Aside from my python, no.”

  She visibly gulped. “P-python?”

  “Aw, yeah.” He grinned, tongue in cheek. “All of us Hell’s Angels have pythons. It’s part of the initiation process.”

  Shoulders slumped in relief, she returned his grin. A teasing glint lit her dark violet gaze. “Hmmm. Must have been difficult to find someone to car for your, er, pet while you were in prison.”

  “Not as hard as you might think. My cousin, Sammy the drug lord, didn’t mind. Said it gave him an edge with the chicks.”

  “Yeah, I can see where that would be a real turn-on.”

  “Anything else I might object to?” he asked.

  “I have a no-party rule.

  “I doubt that’ll be a problem…what with my record and all.”

  Bella chuckled. “They’re outrageous, but harmless. Magnolia Grove is a small town. Getting a new stop sign is news.” She quirked a brow and a little smile captured her petal-pink lips. “Having a stranger move to town is more than news…it’s entertainment. They’ll be speculating about your for months. Think of it this way—you’re a star.”

  “I’ll try to remember that next time my character is maligned.” Gray replied, chuckling. Hell, literary critics were mild compared to those four sharp-tongued elderly women downstairs.

  “I want the apartment,” he told her at last. “When can I move in?”

  “After you fill out the rental agreement and I call your references.” She paused. “Provided everything checks out, you can move in immediately.”

  “Oh, merciful heavens,” one of the women from downstairs breathed loudly. Gray recognized the voice as Lila’s. “She’s letting him move in! Can you believe that? His cousin’s a drug lord and she’s letting him move in! Bella, have you lost your senses?” Lila cried.

  “Drug lord?” Maggie said. “I’d be more worried about that unholy snake he’s talking about. Why, little Ethan would make a tasty snack for the slithering beast. And what about Dog? By the time that old furball woke up, she’d be partially digested.”