Valentine Wishes: Baxter Academy ~ The Legacy, #1

By Jane Charles

Being a Baxter is all about giving — giving your time, giving money, and giving hope to those who have none.  While Jacqueline Baxter has plenty of time, money, and hope to spare, what she lacks is trust.  When Brett Robak, the FBI guy determined to win her heart, drops into her life, she has one rule — be there.  Be on time.  Be present.  Be hers.  But can Brett live up to her expectations?  

When tragedy strikes and Brett’s not there, how can Jacqueline ever trust him again? Will she be able to see past her own pain and loss to realize that love is more important than a series of coincidences and hands on a clock?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jane Charles
• Release date: Feb 9, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524247843

Jane Charles

Jane Charles has lived in the Midwest her entire life. As a child she would more likely be found outside with a baseball than a book in her hand. In fact, Jane hated reading until she was sixteen. Out of boredom on a long road trip she borrowed her older sister’s historical romance and fell in love with reading. She long ago lost count of how many fiction novels she has read over the years and her love for them never died.  Along with romance she has a passion for history and the two soon combined when she penned her first historical romance.  What turned into a hobby became a passion, which has been fully supported by her husband, three children and three cats. JaneCharlesAuthor.com Jane can be contacted at: [e-mail] Twitter and FB: JaneACharle  

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One

Baxter Art Camp – June, 2003

The red lights flash in my rearview mirror and I immediately take my foot off of the gas pedal. Shit! Shit! Shit! I grew up here. I know about that speed trap. I didn’t even see the cop sitting there, and it took him long enough to catch up to me. It isn’t like there are any other cars on the road.

I flip the blinker on and slowly pull into the parking lot of my grandparents’ plantation, now an art camp. I don’t need this now. Today. Ever.

After I lower the window, I turn off the ignition and place my hands on top of the steering wheel, just like my uncle told me, and watch in my side mirror as the door on the cruiser opens and the state trooper gets out. At least it isn’t someone from the sheriff’s department. Those guys are dicks.

He stops at the side of my car and looks at me. There’s a bit of humor in his brown eyes and he gives a slight nod. License please.

I’m glad stopping me has made his day because it hasn’t made mine.

I fish it out of my purse and hand it over. Another guy comes up and stands a little behind the trooper. He’s not in uniform, but slacks and a shirt. Is he a supervisor or something? He looks kind of young to be that. Cute too. If anyone should be supervising, I’d think it would be the older trooper. Not that he’s that old, maybe in his mid to late-thirties and wearing a wedding ring. The other one is closer to my age with light brown hair and blue eyes. At least, they seem blue from this angle in the mirror. Lean, fit and young.

I’ll be back.

I look up and smile, noting his nametag. I’ll sit tight and wait, Officer Q. O’Brien.

As he walks away I switch my focus back on the side mirror. The young one is walking back to the cruiser with the cop. Damn, he looks just as good going as he does coming. Nice, tight ass, narrow waist and wide shoulders. While the older one slides into the driver’s side and talks into the mic on his shoulder, the hot one returns to the front of the squad car and faces me. His feet are planted at shoulder width, arms across his chest, watching me. Those arms are nice too. Firm, tanned, a bit muscular. Too bad he wasn’t the only one to show up. I might just have tried to get out of this ticket. He’s all yummy and I’d be happy to work out a deal. Hell, I’d even let him cuff me.

Not that trying to get out of a ticket ever worked. Or, so I assume it never worked. My Uncle Gary is a cop and he’s told me all kinds of stories, and he’s seen more boobs than most guys see in a strip bar. In fact, as far as he’s concerned, the more women try to use their body or tears, the more likely they are to get a ticket.

I’ve never tried to get out of them before, and I’ve had a few tickets. Truth be told, I kind of have a lead foot. That’s something I should probably start worrying about more since I just started paying my own car insurance. Ouch, that first bill hurt.

Officer O’Brien gets out of the cruiser and stops next to the cute guy and says something I can’t hear. Shit! He’s holding the long metal case that has tickets in it and he takes out a pen. Cute cop nods and returns to the passenger side of the cruiser while the other one returns to my window.

Do you know how fast you were going?

I cringe. Ten over? I hope it isn’t more.

About that. Why were you going so fast?

Late for work.

Where do you work?

I nod toward the plantation house. The camp. Our first group arrived this morning.

A smile pulls at his lips. Oh yeah? What do you do?

Everyone around here is interested in the art camp. Organizing events, the calendars, displays, performances, paperwork, supervising. All kinds of things.

Well, slow down. He hands me the ticket. Miss Baxter. He practically whispers my name. Weird.

I will. I take the paper and don’t even look at it before shoving it in my purse. I don’t want to know what he clocked me at or how much this one was going to cost.

He gets back into his cruiser and I look into my rearview mirror one last time to see if I can get a look at the other cop. At least I assume he’s a cop even if he isn’t in uniform. Why else would he be in the car? His face is turned to the older trooper, so I only get the profile before they drive off. Which is just fine. Even in profile he’s hot.

With a sigh I start my car, pull further into the parking lot, and find my space. My brother, Theo, is standing at the end of the drive leaning against a post, just shaking his head as I get out of my car.

One of these days you’re gonna lose your license, he warns.

Not gonna happen. I brush past him. Why aren’t you at work?

They’re at orientation. Thought I’d sneak away.

Theo is my youngest brother at eighteen and is a teen counselor at the summer long art camp my grandparents established at the plantation eons ago. Not that he does much counseling. Just watching, checking to make sure his group of campers don’t get into trouble and he helps with photography, his passion.

I glance at the cigarette between his fingers. He gives me a smirk and takes a drag.

You really should quit smoking those vile things. At least he isn’t smoking in front of the kids. Not that he’d be allowed to.

It’s all I got.

If grandma sees you, I start to warn.

She’ll scold, but not do anything.

He’s got that right. Theo could get away with anything where Grandma was concerned. Her baby.

Theo takes another drag and then tosses the butt into the gravel behind the bushes.

I turn and shake my finger at him. You know animals pick those up and get sick. Don’t you care about the environment?

I’m finding I’m not caring about much these days, he says as he saunters past me.

That’s the problem. Theo doesn’t care about anything and it worries me. He does have a good heart, but the only time he’s ever happy is when he’s alone with his camera.

He turns, and walks backward. Hey, I hear you have a date tonight.

My stomach flips, but not in a good way. Yeah.

Blind date, right? He laughs.

My friend, Ashley, fixed me up with a guy she knows, but won’t tell me a thing about him, other than he moved here about a month ago to temporarily stay with family until he can find his own place. She knows him because he’s been working out at the recreation and fitness club where she works. She’s also said he’s hot, but we don’t always agree on what is hot and what isn’t. Hell, she could have just been describing how he gets when he works out. It’s also her opinion that I don’t date enough, if ever, and need to get out. And, the reason she won’t tell me a single thing, other than his name, is because she knows me too well. The more details I have the more reasons I’ll come up with not to go. We probably both agreed to it to get her to shut up.

Theo chuckles and shakes his head. I bet you’re home by the time we’re roasting marshmallows if he’s anything like that last tool she set you up with.

S hit ! I slow the car and pull over, the back tire thumping with each rotation. This couldn’t be happening. I hop out of my car and go to the back. Damn! The tire is toast. What the hell did I run over? This isn’t a slow leak flat. I hit something. But, I don’t remember hitting anything. The road was completely clear. Maybe there was a leak and I just didn’t notice. Not that it matters right now. I’m still going to be late. The one thing Ashley told me when she set this blind date up was not to be late under any circumstances. She wouldn’t tell me anything else about my date except that her name was Jacqueline Baxter, and to not be late.

Apparently, Jacqueline takes offense to people not arriving on time and believes it’s disrespectful. The way Ashley talked, I have a feeling it was a guy that made her so adamant about respect of her time, but Ashley wouldn’t clarify one way or the other.

So, on the first time meeting this girl I’m going to be fucking late. I might as well not show if the flat tire is going to ruin everything before it starts. It’s not like I asked for this date. I’m going along so Ashley will quit telling me how perfect she thinks Jackie and I would be together and that I just have to meet her. I can’t even get through a damn workout without hearing about how perfect Jackie is at least five times. Of course, that’s all Ashley ever said besides don’t be late and that this Jackie is pretty, has a great bod, and is smart. The rest I am to learn on my own.

If I get a chance now.

No. I can’t think that way. Jackie’s got to be reasonable. I get just not showing and Jackie being pissed about that, but life does throw curveballs, or at least gives you flat tires, so she’s got to understand. I grab my phone and call Sullivan’s Pub, where I’m supposed to meet Jacqueline in fifteen minutes. I can change a tire, just not that quick.

Sullivan’s, the guy with a thick Irish accent answers.

Seamus? I don’t think the guy has ever taken a day off except when the place is closed for a holiday.

Aye.

Hey, this is Brett Robak and I need a favor.

What can I do for you, Robak?

I am supposed to meet a girl there in about fifteen minutes but I have a flat tire. Can you tell her and ask her to wait?

Can’t ye call her? He’s laughing. The man finds humor in everything.

I don’t know her number.

Ye asked a girl out without her number?

My face is heating. A friend is fixing us up.

Ah, blind date.

Yeah, some first impression, huh.

I’ll make it right. Who is she?

Jacqueline Baxter.

She’s already here.

Shit!

Seamus just laughs. I’ll tell her.

And give her anything she wants to eat or drink. I’ll take care of it. I thrust my fingers through my hair and pace. Just keep her there. I’ll get there as soon as possible.

Will do, Robak.

Not that I don’t trust Seamus to tell her, I still call the club and hope Ashley is working.

Baxter Recreation and Fitness, a perky voice I recognize to be Ashley’s answers.

Thank God you are still there.

Who is this?

Brett Robak.

You are not going to try and ditch this date are you?

No, nothing like that, but I’ve got a flat tire and I’m going to be late.

Uh oh. I warned you.

Yeah. Yeah. Can you please call her since you won’t tell me anything but her name and make sure she understands?

Sure thing.

After I hang up the phone, I open the trunk of my car and grab the spare tire.

Two

Seamus sets a glass of iced tea down in front of me. Yer date has a flat tire.

Strike one. I frown and stick my straw into the glass. Should I even bother with waiting?

Don’t go hard on him, Jackie.

How late is he going to be or is he canceling?

He didn’t say, but I’m ta get ya anything you want ta eat or drink and he begged me to keep ya here.

I have half a mind to order everything on the menu and then leave, but I’m not that vindictive. Still, it pisses me off when people can’t be on time.

He can’t control a flat tire and he’s a good guy.

This gets my attention. You know him?

Robak? Yeah. Good guy. Wait him out.

I just nod as Seamus walks away.

At that second my cellphone rings and I grab it. Sure enough, it’s Ashley.

He’s not going to show, is he? I say instead of answering with a hello.

Before you get upset, he does have a flat tire.

So I’ve been told.

By who? she asked a bit surprised.

Seamus. He already called the pub.

Clearly he cares about not leaving you to just sit and wonder because he called Sullivan’s and me, to make sure you were told.

Begrudgingly I have to admit she’s right. A person doesn’t really have control over a flat. But, how do I even know he’s telling the truth? What if this is so unimportant to him that he lost track of time and is making up an excuse for being late. It wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened to me.

What does he drive?

Drive?

Yeah, what does he drive?

An old Honda Accord I think. Why?

What color?

Goldish.

What direction and what road would he be on?

Just because the two guys you dated over a millisecond were dicks, doesn’t mean you have to go check up on Brett.

She’s probably right, but I’d rather know now if this guy makes up lies if he’s running late before I invest anymore of my time. Not that I’ve invested all that much, but I don’t want to sit her and wait, endure a dinner and find out he’s no different than the rest. Road?

28 from the direction of 87, she says with reluctance. At least I assume since he’s driving, though that does seem odd…

Why?

Nope. Not telling you anything else.

Thanks. I click off my phone and grab my tea and walk to the bar. Can I get this to go and another?

He wanted me ta keep ya here, Seamus reminds me.

Well, it is hot out and if he’s stuck at the side of the road I should take him a beverage.

Seamus narrowed his eyes on me. Don’t be judging all men on the actions of a couple.

I won’t. I smile. I promise.

He shakes his head while he prepares two cups of iced tea and hands them to me.

Put it on his tab, I say as I walk out of Sullivan’s. My phone dings as I get to my car and I glance down at the text:

Dream girl unimpressed?

What the hell? I have no idea whose number that is and toss my phone in my purse. I’ll text back and tell them they have the wrong number later. Right now, I’m off to find an alleged stranded motorist.

Sweat is dripping down my back and face and this is so not the first impression I wanted to make. If I wouldn’t have run to Poughkeepsie to get a few things for work, I’d have been within walking distance of Sullivan’s and been on time.

Hell, I don’t even know if I’ll like this Jacqueline, but that doesn’t mean I want to show up with grease on my shirt, hands and slacks.

Finally! The last nut comes loose. I set the cross wrench aside and begin loosening them, working my way around the tire to keep it in balance, before I am able to take them all off and set them on the ground beside me. Just as I’m about to put the spare on, a bright red Mazda Miata pulls up behind my car and stops. I know that car. My uncle, Quinn O’Brien, wrote a ticket to the driver this morning. I just observed and never got the details on the driver, but I did study that sweet car.

Behind the wheel is a girl with dark brown hair, but I can’t see her eyes because of the sunglasses perched on her nose. She cuts the engine and opens the door and gets out.

Need any help? she asks.

I got it. Thanks. I lift the spare and put it on the hub.

She doesn’t leave like I expected. Instead, she walks over and stands next to me. I glance at her but from this angle, I’m looking right at her legs. Nice legs. Really nice legs. If I wasn’t already late for a date, I’d take time to get to know her.

I look further up to the blue and white striped skirt and white top. She’s smiling at me.

Are you sure you don’t need assistance? She takes her sunglasses and pushes them to the top of her head. Her full, red lips are smiling and those green eyes are studying me.

Thanks, but I’ve got this. I don’t need this distraction right now. I need to get this tire changed, get to Sullivan’s, and hope Jacqueline is still waiting and that I didn’t blow it.

She cocks a hip and anchors a hand on it. I can wait. Maybe we can get a drink when you’re done.

What the hell? She doesn’t even know me. I stand.

Do you make it a habit of stopping for stranded motorists and suggesting a drink? Stupid shit like that could get her killed. Any number of guys would take her up on the offer.

No.

I’m not even going to question why she decided to stop for me. Look, I’m already running late. I appreciate the offer to help, and the drink, but someone is waiting for me.

How late are you going to be?

At this rate, about an hour.

Are you sure she’s going to be waiting on you?

I push my fingers through my hair and then mentally curse. Now I’ll probably have grease in my hair too. I don’t know, but I’m not going to be a no show. So, if you don’t mind… I gesture to the tire.

I’ll wait.

I blow out a frustrated breath. Look. I’m sure you’re a nice girl. But, I have a date to get to.

Then, I’ll bring the drink to you.

I don’t say anything and get back to tightening the nuts on the spare. Maybe I should call Sullivan’s again to make sure Jacqueline is still waiting. If she’s not, I’ll just go home and shower and call it a night.

The Mazda doesn’t start up like I assumed it would when the car door opened, but I don’t even look in that direction. Maybe she’s some crazy chick and the only way she’s going to give up is when I leave without her number.

After I tighten everything down, I lower the jack and grab it to put it back in my trunk. When I turn, I notice she’s leaning against the hood of her car, sipping from a cup and holding another one out to me.

What kind of woman drivers around with a spare drink in her car? The hair stands up on the back of my neck and I make a note of her license plate. I’ll ask an officer to run it as soon as I’m out of here. I’m sure as hell not going to drink anything she is offering. Maybe it’s just my profession, but my first thought is that she’s put something in the drink to incapacitate me somehow. I don’t know her intentions, but I’m not going to play into her hands and find out. No thanks.

But I brought it for you.

Me? What the hell?

Hi, I’m Jacqueline Baxter. She grins. We’re supposed to have dinner.

Three

Ifeel bad that Brett has a flat tire, but happy that it wasn’t all a lie. So far, he’s scored points for calling not one person, but two to make sure I got the message. He scored more when trying to get rid of me, or at least, not being overly friendly, and explaining that he had places to be. And those points just kept mounting as I watched him change that tire. Damn, he looks hot in those black slacks and light grey button down shirt. And not hot in that he’s sweating and grease stained, but hot with muscles in all the right places. For once, Ashley and I agree on a guy.

His pants were hiked a bit while he squatted and lifted the tire and he’s wearing an ankle holster, which kind of surprised me. What kind of guy takes a gun on a date? Then again, he’s the same guy who was with the state trooper when I was stopped this morning. Maybe he’s an undercover cop or detective or something like that. Though, he’s kind of young to be a detective. He’s too clean cut to be undercover. Don’t they usually disguise themselves as unkempt druggies?

His ice blue eyes widen and then he relaxes, blowing out a breath. I am so sorry I was delayed.

Hey, you couldn’t help it.

He takes the cup of tea and sips from the straw. How did you know where I’d be?

Ashley told me what kind of car you drive and what road she thought you’d be taking into town.

Thanks for the tea. I was thirsty. He takes another sip and shakes his head. I can’t believe you came looking.

I bite my lip. To tell you the truth, I wasn’t sure if you were trying to get out of the date.

He chokes on his drink. And if you hadn’t found me?

I’d have gone home, and enjoyed two iced teas instead of one. I shrug. On you, of course. I laugh. I told Seamus to charge them to you.

I’ll make sure and settle the tab. He laughs. I’d still like to take you to dinner, but… He gestures to his clothing and holds out a dirty hand. I’m not sure you want to be seen with me right now.

Maybe he is trying to get out of this. I’d be disappointed, of course. He is good looking and seems nice. We can grab a pizza and go sit somewhere, I offer and wait for him to make up and excuse.

Really? His blue eyes light with hopefulness. You wouldn’t mind?

He really does want to have dinner and I can’t help the giddiness bubbling inside, even though I try desperately to appear calm. You know that little park area on Baxter Lane, right past the planation?

The one that runs along the lake? The private drive?

Yep. There’s a picnic area and beach on the lake. We can go there.

That’s private property, he reminds me.

I laugh. I know. My family owns it. More specifically, me and my brothers own that small piece of land. It was my parents’ property but they never got a chance to build on it before they were killed. None of us will be building on that site now and turned it into a park like place to be used by all of the families for large gatherings. Let’s call and order a pizza from Antonio’s and take it there.

He’s grinning. Perfect. What do you like on your pizza? He asks as he grabs his phone.

Anything but anchovies, I answer, grinning. This is going to be so much better than sitting at Sullivan’s. Not that I don’t like Sullivan’s. But it was getting noisy with the Friday night dinner crowd, and at the lake, I’ll be able to have Brett Robak all to myself.

He calls in the order and closes his phone.

I’ll meet you at Antonio’s and then you can follow me to the lake.

Sounds like a plan.

Then he completely surprises me by walking me to the driver’s side of my car and opening the door. I can’t remember the last time a guy opened a door for me. I think I’m liking this guy even more and more.

She could have waited for me in the car, but Jacqueline follows me into Antonio’s and goes to the counter with me. The pizza isn’t ready yet so I duck into the bathroom. I can’t believe Jacqueline still wants to go out with me. Not only are my hands dirty, but there is a smudge of dirt on my forehead. Probably from wiping the sweat away. I grab paper towels and get them wet and soapy and try to scrub as much gunk from my face and hands as I can. Nothing can be done about the clothes, which are probably ruined, but at least the rest of me is clean.

She’s standing with the box of pizza and a plain brown sack when I come back out.

You clean up well, Brett Robak. She laughs.

I go to the counter to pay for the pizza but she already has. I could have gotten it.

This date has already cost you a tire and two iced teas. It’s the least I could do.

I follow her out and help her into the little red car then get into my own and follow her to the lake. I’ve only been back here once, and that was when I was riding with Uncle Quinn and he was showing me the area. It’s a very quiet, private community. Does Jacqueline live in one of those large lakefront houses? She said her family owned this land. Which made sense. She is a Baxter. One of those Baxters, who are rich and into the arts. They even run a summer art camp for underprivileged kids.

Jackie pulls into a small dirt parking lot and stops her car. I follow and she takes me to a picnic table closer to the lake and puts the box down. It’s a great night. The temperature is in the upper seventies, the sky is blue and the lake calm.

She opens the sack and takes out two sodas, plastic forks and knives, as well as napkins before opening the box. You can’t pick up a slice of pizza from Antonio’s. You need a knife and fork to cut into it. The lid of the box has a perforation and she tears it apart and we instantly have two, cardboard plates.

I take a seat across from Jacqueline and wait for her to take a slice before taking one for myself.

So, tell me about yourself, Brett. She gives me a jaunty grin. Where are you from? she asks before taking a bite of the pizza.

Buffalo. You? I want to know about her. Not talk about me.

Originally from Chicago, but my family moved here when I was ten.

Siblings? I ask.

Two younger brothers. You?

Four sisters. No brothers. I look over into her light green eyes that remind me of the fresh sage mom used to grow in her garden. "If Ashley would have bothered to tell either of us anything, we could have had all these