“I’m a screwup—always have been
and always will be, I guess.”
Sammy said the words bleakly.
“I don’t believe that.”
“You don’t?” He stared at the ground, unwilling to meet her gaze until she drew his attention by lightly clasping his hand.
“No. We all screw up. It doesn’t define us unless we let it.”
Aubrey squeezed his hand before letting it go. He expelled a short breath and stared out toward the field. “Yeah, well, actions speak louder than words and frankly, I’ve got people lining up to tell me what a jackass I’ve been, so what does that say?”
She smiled. “It says people care about you and know you can do better. People rise to the level of our expectations.”
“And what did people expect of you?” he asked, turning the tables on her.
Dear Reader,
Harlequin Books is celebrating its 60th year in publishing and I’m so proud to be part of this wonderful family. The first Harlequin book I read was A Thousand Roses by Bethany Campbell. I still have it, tucked away in a drawer, and every now and again I take it out and reread it. It’s that good.
Being a published author is a dream come true, from working with my wonderful editor, Johanna Raisanen, to seeing my book on the shelves. And it all started with that first Harlequin novel that found itself in my hands so many years ago.
A Man Worth Loving is my seventh novel published by Harlequin—I hope you enjoy Sammy and Aubrey’s story. Many readers have asked about Sammy Halvorsen, wondering if he was going to get his own story. Well, here it is. Probably not what was expected, but I think you’ll enjoy it.
Hearing from readers is one of my greatest joys (aside from really good chocolate), so don’t be shy. Feel free to drop me a line at my Web site, www. kimberlyvanmeter.com, or through snail mail at P.O. Box 2210, Oakdale, CA 95361.
Happy reading,
Kimberly Van Meter
A Man Worth Loving
Kimberly Van Meter
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
An avid reader since before she can remember, Kimberly Van Meter started her writing career at the age of sixteen when she finished her first novel, typing late nights and early mornings on her mother’s portable typewriter. Although that first novel was nothing short of literary mud, with each successive piece of work her writing improved, to the point of reaching that coveted published status.
Kimberly, now a journalist, and her husband and three kids make their home in Oakdale, California. She enjoys writing, reading, photography and drinking hot chocolate by the windowsill when it rains.
Love is a gift we all deserve. This book is dedicated
to anyone who’s ever had their heart broken in the
worst way, yet found the courage to love again.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
EPILOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
THERE WAS A TIME WHEN SOME might’ve said that Sammy Halvorsen lived a charmed life, but—as Sammy cracked his eyelids open and squinted against the harsh sunlight, the taste of last night’s party still on his tongue—those days were definitely over.
Those days ended exactly six months, sixteen days and four hours ago.
Dragging a hand across the scruff of his cheeks to wipe at his mouth, he struggled to a sitting position on the sofa just in time to hear his front door opening. He groaned silently. He’d forgotten—or maybe he’d just blocked it out of his mind—that his mother was coming with a friend to discuss something he had no interest in discussing.
“Samuel?” His mother’s sharp query clanged in his head and set off a riot of pain that would gain no sympathy from Mary Halvorsen simply for the reasons he was hurting. Tying one on didn’t rate on Mary’s Sympathy-O-Meter; neither did anything Sammy was doing these days. And Sammy didn’t have the energy to argue the fact with her.
“In here,” he answered with a scratch in his throat. He cleared it and tried again. “In the living room, Ma.”
She appeared in the doorway and the smile on her face froze when she took in his appearance. Deep disappointment or anger—he wasn’t really sure but neither boded well for him—flashed in her expression, but he was too hungover to try and charm his way back into her good graces. Everything these days took too much effort. Instead, he ran a hand through his hair and then gestured to the sofa. “Can I get you some coffee or something?” he asked, pulling himself up to walk with an unsteady gait to the small kitchen.
“Coffee would be fine, Samuel,” Mary said.
Sammy swayed when he reached for the dark roast blend, grimacing as the world tilted on its axis and he nearly lost whatever was souring his stomach. That would not go over well, he thought with dark humor. “Anything for your friend?” he asked, once he’d finally noticed the petite blonde standing beside his mother.
The woman shook her head and, following Mary’s lead, gingerly took a seat on the sofa where previously Sammy had crashed for the night, too drunk to even make it down the short hallway to his bed.
Sammy could hear murmured conversation between the two as he filled the coffeemaker and set it to brew. He wondered why he’d agreed to this meeting. Right now he was just wishing they’d go away so he could return to that blissful sleep of the inebriated. But, as he returned with two full mugs, one for his mom and one for himself, he knew the chances of that happening were slim to none.
This was an intervention Mary Halvorsen-style, and it would take more than his discomfort to sway her from her mission.
“Maybe we should come back another time,” the woman suggested, as if reading Sammy’s mind. He lifted his mug to her and cracked a grin but it must’ve come out looking more like a grimace, for she didn’t respond favorably. “You don’t seem…well.”
“He’s hungover,” Mary said before Sammy could answer, and he frowned. “Too bad for him, I say. I didn’t rearrange my schedule to accommodate this meeting just to reschedule because my son doesn’t have a lick of sense in his fool head these days.” She speared Sammy with a short look as she asked pointedly, “Where’s Ian?”
At the mention of his son’s name, Sammy took another bracing sip of his coffee and zeroed in on a dust bunny on the floor. “With Annabelle and Dean. I forgot about today. I needed to go out last night.”
“What you need is a nanny. Someone who can help you take care of Ian. It’s not fair to Dean