“Ted tells me I’m prissy and uptight, and that I should get over the incident between Francine and our daughter. He actually said he's nuts about Francine because, even though my IQ is higher, she’s fun to be with, she has big boobs and a nice butt and—get this—when they have sex, he feels he's died and gone to heaven.” She threw up her hands, then dropped them to her sides in bafflement. “All vestiges of sanity have disappeared from my life.”

“C’mere.” Before she realized his intent, Cam had his arms around her, enveloping her in sympathy and warm masculine strength. Instinct made her resist…but only for a heartbeat. She was still all worked up over the sheer unfairness of life at the moment, and the appeal of a friendly hug was simply too much to resist. Tears started in her eyes and she blinked furiously to hold them back. She sniffed.

“Without a doubt you have the higher IQ,” he told her softly.

She heard the smile in his voice and, turning her nose into his nice clean shirt, gave a shaky chuckle. “Ted said that, I didn't.”

“Because you would never boast about your IQ.”

“No, never.” Then, in a bewildered voice, she added, “But what good does having a high IQ do if you can’t keep a husband?”

“You would keep a decent one without even trying.”

Also by KAREN YOUNG

PRIVATE LIVES

FULL CIRCLE

GOOD GIRLS

In Confidence

Karen Young

www.mirabooks.co.uk

Dear Reader,

If you have read any of my previous books, you’ll know that I invariably come up with stories of women just like you and me, women who are dealing with the problems of contemporary life.

My heroines face the ups and downs of courtship or marriage, the stresses of parenting and family crises, divorce…and just about anything else you can think of. And all the while, of course, they’re usually pursuing a career with its thorny challenges.

I almost always throw in something more to complicate my heroine’s already complicated life. Rachel Forrester, the woman I write about in In Confidence, is certainly besieged by a host of unexpected—and painful—changes in her life. Her marriage of seventeen years ends when she discovers her husband’s infidelity. As a high school guidance counselor, she isn't supposed to fail at this most basic relationship, so it is a struggle to handle such a deep personal betrayal and at the same time maintain a loving and secure environment for her children.

She is also conflicted by her attraction to a true-crime writer who lives next door, but he blames her for failing to anticipate his teenage son’s suicide five years earlier. But much worse is her growing suspicion that something evil exists in her world, something that threatens the very fabric of her life, something that has already taken one young victim.

So settle back and prepare yourself for a story I’ve written about a shocking secret in a small Texas town…but it could happen anywhere.

Karen Young

I love to hear from readers. Please write me at P. O. Box 450947, Houston, Texas 77245. Or visit my Web site at authorkarenyoung.com.

Contents

Prologue

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

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Epilogue

Prologue

Rose Hill, Texas

April 1998

Right on time, the door opened and the interview Rachel Forrester had dreaded all morning was at hand. She often faced trying situations, but this was surely the worst in her experience.

“Mr. Ford?” Rachel Forrester stood behind her desk, extending her hand in formal greeting to the father of the boy. “I’m terribly sorry for your loss. I liked Jack so much, everyone who knew him did. He was a fine boy and a gifted athlete. He will be sorely missed here at Rose Hill High.”

Cameron Ford grunted a reply and barely touched her palm before saying abruptly, “I have a few questions.”

“Won’t you please have a seat?” She gestured to the chair in front of her desk.

“I’ll stand.”

She nodded, bracing for a difficult interview. As she eased down on her chair, he swiped a hand over a face ravaged with grief, fatigue and sleep deprivation. He was a tall man of rangy build with dark brown hair and gray eyes hooded at the moment. He seemed to vibrate with energy, which probably explained how he carried not a spare ounce of flesh on him. His clothes were rumpled, as if he’d thrown them on without giving much thought to the way he’d look, or to any first impression he made. He wouldn’t have recalled seeing her at Jack’s funeral. In his shoes, she certainly wouldn’t, she thought.

“I’ll be glad to answer your questions as best I can,” she told him.

He looked directly at her then from eyes that burned with accusation. “Why didn’t you do your job with Jack?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’m telling you right up front that I think you dropped the ball with Jack. You’re a shrink, right? I was told by Preston Ramsey that, as his guidance counselor, you saw my son no less than six times this semester. What’s your job if it’s not to spot troubled kids and step in before they wind up—” He turned away and paced to the window, keeping his back to her. “I want to know what went on in those six sessions that you didn’t guess he was suicidal.”

“Mr. Ford, won’t you please take a seat so we can talk calmly.”

He turned and took a step toward her desk. “I am calm. But I’m mad as hell and I intend to get answers, if not from you, then I’ll go beyond you and Ramsey. You were privy to his confidences and Ramsey was his principal. Are you honestly telling me you didn’t have a clue—either one of you—that Jack was contemplating suicide?”

Wary of his rage, Rachel felt her heartbeat up a bit, but she kept her tone even. “Yes, I’m telling you exactly that,” she said, folding her hands in front of her. “I didn’t think—”

“Yeah, what the hell were you thinking!” The sound of his hand slapped on her desktop was like a shot in the small office. “Do you people only notice when a kid winds up dead?”

“Please, Mr. Ford.” Rachel rose from her chair on shaky legs. “If you want to talk about this, I’m more than willing, but it’s not helpful to scream at me.”

“It seems to me the time for talking is about a week late,” he told her in a grim tone. “You had plenty of opportunities to get a fix on Jack in six sessions. Weren’t you listening? Isn’t that what shrinks do? Or did you hear what he said and just ignored it?”

“Nobody ignored Jack, Mr. Ford,” she said patiently, watching him pace. “His grades were slipping. I noticed he was withdrawing from his peers. He was skipping classes. His teachers were concerned. I was concerned. And I saw him for those sessions only because I dragged him in in an attempt to reach him. It wasn’t his choice.”

He stopped momentarily. “So what did the two of you talk about, the weather?” he asked sarcastically.

He was hurting, she knew that. Rightfully. He was entitled. He needed someone, something on which to focus his rage and pain. In that, he was no different from the other parents she saw who were bewildered and frustrated over their kids’ behavior. How much worse must it be to suffer the ultimate loss as Cameron Ford had? She drew a deep breath. “Something was going on, but he wasn’t willing to share it. At least, not with me.”

His eyes were icy with disdain. “And didn’t that tell you something?”

“What should it have told me, Mr. Ford?”

“Maybe you’re in the wrong business. Maybe these kids need someone who’s more skillful in connecting with them.”

She answered him coolly. “I can’t force a teenage boy to share his deepest thoughts.” Even knowing he needed to lash out, there was a limit to what she’d tolerate. “We can only do our best,” she said.

“Yeah, well, your best wasn’t enough to keep my son alive, was it?”

Out of compassion and professional restraint, Rachel bit back a sharp response. As the boy’s guidance counselor, she knew she’d done her best. She could have asked if Ford had done his best as a father. Where was he in Jack’s time of need? “I don’t think there’s anything to be gained by continuing our discussion just now, Mr. Ford,” she said quietly. “Maybe you need to give yourself some time to adjust to your loss, and then, if you’d like to talk, you know where to reach me.” Even before she’d finished, he was stalking to the door. “Just call the school to make an appointment.”

“Don’t hold your breath,” he said. Then, with his hand on the catch, he suddenly turned back. “Instead of answers, all I got from you today was a lot of evasion and bullshit. If this session is an example of your expertise, I think I understand why, when Jack was in trouble, you failed him. God help other kids in your care.”

One

Rose Hill, Texas

Five years later

Nothing about the start of the day hinted at the way it would end. Rachel Forrester’s routine didn’t vary from the moment she got out of bed at six in the morning. She showered first, as always, then she headed downstairs to get the coffee started and fix breakfast for the kids. When that was done, she took two steaming mugs back to the bedroom, timing it just as Ted was toweling off. Her husband was slow to get going unless he had an early surgery scheduled. Neither made much conversation. Ted didn’t like early-morning chatter.

“Is my black suit—the Armani—back from the cleaners?” he asked from the depths of the walk-in closet.

Rachel pulled the suit from half a dozen plastic-shrouded items hanging on her side of the closet. “It’s here with all this stuff that was delivered yesterday. I haven’t had a chance to separate it.”

Ted took it after she stripped away the plastic, then chose two dress shirts from the twenty-or-so hanging in his closet and walked to the large sliding glass doors where the light was better. “What looks best?” he asked, critically studying the effects of both shirts with the Armani jacket.

“Depends on the tie.”

He held up a smart black-and-gray tie. “This one.”

“Okay, the white French cuffs.” She paused in the act of buttoning her denim skirt and watched him put the shirt on. “Something special going on today?”

“I’ll be in Dallas. Walter finally convinced me that we should interview that internist out of Baylor. Fat chance persuading him to leave Houston to come to a town the size of Rose Hill.”

Rachel smiled. “Well, you’ll make a terrific impression.” Ted was an attractive man, still trim at forty-two, with just enough silver at the temples in his dark hair to add a distinguished touch. She walked over and took the cuff link he was fumbling with in his left hand and deftly fastened it.

“Thanks,” he said, then picked up his jacket.

“Will you be back in time to have dinner with us?”

He seldom did lately and she wasn’t surprised when he said he wouldn’t. After he left, forgetting the goodbye kiss she no longer expected, she stood looking at nothing in particular for a moment. She’d been thinking for a while that she needed to impress upon Ted the fact that he needed to make a little more time for his family. He was very busy, all physicians were nowadays, what with the strictures of HMOs and PPOs cutting into the profits and time off that doctors used to enjoy. It meant taking on more patients, and more patients meant more time at the practice and at the hospital. Still, Nick and Kendall needed their father. At fifteen, Nick, particularly, would benefit from seeing more of his dad. Maybe Kendall wasn’t quite so needy, but a nine-year-old girl deserved more from her daddy than she was getting.

With a sigh, she pulled a cotton-knit sweater over the denim skirt and added a leather belt anchored at her tummy. She quickly brushed her short, dark hair into its casual style, added a bit of blush on her cheeks and some soft plum lip gloss and—her one vanity—sprayed a bit of perfume near her throat. All done, she stood back and surveyed herself. No designer look to her, alas, more like a librarian. Still, if Ted had aged well, she hadn’t done too badly herself, she thought, even if she had to cover her best feature—unique amber-colored eyes—with reading glasses. At Rose Hill High School, her students were more comfortable sitting down with a guidance counselor in denim and a casual sweater than the latest designer fashions.

“Mom, where’s my CD player?” Nick appeared at the door of her bedroom. Tall and lanky, black-haired, with strong male features, her son was on the brink of manhood. She still couldn’t get used to her firstborn being six inches taller than she was!

“The last time I saw it was in the sunroom.”

“I had it after that.”

“Sorry, son. You know you’re supposed to be—”

“Responsible for my own stuff. I know, Mom.” He stood with his face wrinkled in thought. “I gotta find it. We’re—”

“It’s in the game room on the pool table,” Kendall called out from her room down the hall.

“Right!” Nick snapped his fingers. “Thanks, brat.”

Rachel made an exasperated sound. “Don’t call her—”

“Brat. I know. It slipped out.” Nick turned, headed down the hall. As he passed his sister’s room, he gave her door a friendly thump. “Thanks, sissy.”

“Ni-i-ick!” Kendall appeared, frowning ferociously, small fists propped on her hips.

“Oops.” He grinned and gave her ponytail a yank. “Thank you, Kendall Kate Forrester.”

“To the car in five minutes,” Rachel said, shoving her feet into a pair of Birkenstocks. Moving to the sitting area of her bedroom, she gathered up the dozen or so folders she’d worked on last evening. Each was labeled with a student’s name on a bright blue sticker. She often worked at night, as trying to concentrate in her busy office was often impossible. She paused a moment, taking in the chintz-covered love seat, the coffee table she’d restored herself, the pretty view of her backyard from the window beyond. She loved her bedroom. The design was hers alone. When she and Ted had built the house five years before, she’d planned for the master bedroom to be a retreat for both of them. Unfortunately, he spent only the time it took to shower, shave and get dressed there. Or to sleep.

Downstairs, Kendall was pouring kitty pebbles into the cat’s dish while a yellow-striped tomcat purred and circled in and out of her ankles. “Graham, be patient!” she scolded. “You’re gonna make me have an accident.” She set the bowl on the floor and stroked the cat a few times before standing up. She had chosen his name when they’d adopted him from the Humane Society, explaining that he was exactly the color of graham crackers. Rachel, feeling the push of the clock, found her purse and settled the strap on her shoulder.

“All set?” she asked Kendall. “Got your lunch money? Homework?” In her backpack and little denim jumper paired with a pink shirt, and sneakers that looked out of proportion, her baby appeared ready to go.

“Can I take my camera, Mommy?” She held up the inexpensive digital model she’d begged for on her birthday.

“You know you can’t, honey.”

“Puleeze, Mommy…”

“Do you want your teacher to confiscate it?” Rachel grabbed her coffee in a travel cup and opened the door.

“What’s conferskate mean?”

“Take it away from you.”

Mouth in a dejected droop, Kendall reluctantly placed the camera on the counter. She had probably gone through a dozen throwaway cameras before getting the digital for her birthday, and she treasured it above anything she possessed. At first, Rachel had been amused at a nine-year-old’s interest in snapping photos right and left, thinking the novelty of it all would soon fade. Then she’d realized Kendall’s interest went beyond a child’s obsession with a new toy. The pictures were sometimes quite good. To the little girl, photography was no longer a novelty, but a passion. Still, taking her camera to school was out.

Rachel shooed her through the kitchen and out the door that led to the garage, where Nick sat behind the wheel of the BMW, waiting for them with the motor running. Rachel hadn’t driven to school a single day since he’d gotten his student permit three months ago. She wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be satisfied to ride with her and Kendall, but a car of his own was not in his immediate future, no matter how intensely he lobbied for it. A camera for Kendall was one thing. A car for Nick was another entirely.

“Is Daddy gonna come home tonight and eat with us?” Kendall asked, studying the empty space in the garage where Ted’s Lexus belonged.

“I don’t think so, sweetie,” Rachel told her.

“So, what’s new?” Nick muttered as he backed out of the garage.

Finding no reply to her children that wouldn’t sound lame, Rachel turned her gaze to the spacious, upscale homes lining their street and said nothing.

Thirty minutes later, she was at her desk gazing into the pale face of a teenage girl. Ashley had been observed vomiting in the shrubs along the north side of the school before the morning bell. Had the observer been anyone but another teacher, Rachel probably wouldn’t have had this chance to talk to the girl. Fortunately, it had been a teacher.

“How are you feeling now, Ashley?”

A glance down at knotted fingers in her lap. “I’m okay.”

“Do you think you’ve picked up a stomach virus?”

“Probably.” Gaze still fixed on her hands.

“Then we should call your mom to pick you up. These things are contagious, you know. They spread like wildfire among the other students.”

“No!” Ashley’s head jerked up. “I mean…ah, it’s okay. I don’t think I have a virus. I’m feeling better now.”

“Did you have any breakfast this morning, Ashley?” Rachel opened a drawer in her desk and offered a blueberry muffin she’d picked up in the cafeteria.

The girl’s face went from pearl white to pea green. She put both hands to her mouth and closed her eyes, breathing deep. Rachel stood up and quickly brought her waste can within reach just in time to catch another spate of vomiting. However, this time, there was little left in her stomach for the girl to throw up. Rachel waited with a handful of tissues until the retching stopped, then poured a small amount of ice water from a Thermos carafe on her desk and urged her to take it. “Don’t drink much, honey. Just a taste.”

“Thank you,” Ashley whispered, then after using the tissues, she took a tiny sip or two, grimacing.

“Here, I think you’ll feel better lying down.” Rachel helped her to her feet, then led her over to an oversize sofa—one she’d purchased herself—and gently urged her down on the big cushions. She took an afghan and spread it over the girl, then watched her dab at tears, now trickling from the corners of her eyes. She looked absolutely miserable.

Rachel spoke with quiet understanding. “Are you pregnant, Ashley?”

The girl didn’t respond for a moment or two, then closing her eyes, she nodded.

“Have you told anyone?”

One bleak negative move of her head.

“Do you have any idea how far along you are?”

“Four months, I think.”

Rachel winced at the reply. Ashley wore an oversize sweater and jeans that she was probably having difficulty zipping all the way, but only a practiced eye would spot the signs. She was a bit overweight to begin with and apparently concealing her condition had not presented a problem. Unfortunately, she wasn’t able to conceal the bouts of nausea that sometimes accompanied pregnancy.

“Have you been to a clinic, seen a doctor?”

“No.”

“Have you told your boyfriend?” Ashley and Mike Reynolds, a star football jock, had been dating steadily since they were in eighth grade. Things, apparently, had progressed naturally when two healthy, sexually active kids had been unable to resist going all the way. Without protection.

“Mike knows.” Her face was turned away now. “He said I should get an abortion.”

“And you disagree?”

“I don’t know.”

“And since you haven’t told your parents, I’m assuming you don’t need to hear what they might think about such a decision.”

“They’ll hate me.”

Rachel sighed, pulled the chair over that Ashley had just vacated, sat down and took the girl’s hand. “They won’t hate you, Ashley. Just because you’ve made a mistake in judgment doesn’t mean your parents are going to stop loving you. And you need them now. You shouldn’t have to handle such a momentous decision on your own.”

“I know all that, Ms. Forrester,” she said, beginning to cry again. “But they’re gonna be so disappointed in me. I—I was supposed to g-go to college and now I’ve ruined everything. Besides, I think I’ve waited almost too late, as it is. Last night—” she gulped, wiping hard at her eyes with the tissue “—last night, I felt the baby move.”

“Then the sooner you talk with your parents, the better.” Rachel reached over and, with a gentle touch, brought the girl’s chin around to look into her eyes. “I will be happy to call your mother or both your parents—whatever makes you more comfortable—and help you tell them. Would you want to do that?”

“I guess so.”

“Is your mother at home today?”

“No, she’s in Dallas shopping with my aunt. But maybe she could come in Monday.”

Rachel stood up. “Tell you what. I’ll phone her now and leave a message. Then, when she calls, we’ll arrange to meet at a time we both agree on, okay? I’ll let her know that it’s urgent.”

“Okay.” Ashley was sitting up now. Her color was better. She brushed her mane of straight blond hair away from her face with both hands. Her blue eyes were red and slightly puffed, but she got to her feet easily, then stood with both hands cradling her tummy. Cautiously, she took a step toward the door.

“You’re welcome to stay and rest awhile until you feel able to take on the day,” Rachel said.

Now at the door, Ashley turned back. “No, that’s the funny thing. When this happens—the nausea, I mean—I just feel horrible, like I want to die. But then when it’s over, it’s completely over and I feel just fine.”

Rachel smiled, knowing the feeling after giving birth twice herself. “Pregnancy’s like that, Ashley.”

“I hate it.”

“Which is all the more reason to have this discussion with your parents and try to work something out.”

She nodded. “Thanks, Ms. Forrester.”

“You’re welcome, Ashley.”

After the door closed, Rachel sank back in her chair with a sigh and put her head in her hands. Sixteen years old and four months pregnant. She’d put a positive spin on it for Ashley’s sake, but the teenager’s life was drastically changed, no matter what her decision about the abortion might be. The only bright spot was that she’d been able to talk the girl into confiding in her parents.

A quick knock at her door brought her head up.

“Got a minute, Rachel?” Preston Ramsey, the school principal, pushed the door open and waited for her to wave him inside. She did, pointing to a chair, which he refused. “No time to sit. I’ve got a killer schedule today and that’s why I’m here. Is there anything of vital importance on yours? I need someone to go to Dallas.”

Rose Hill was located southeast of Dallas, about an hour-and-a-half drive. Rachel enjoyed an occasional trip into the city. She glanced at her watch. “If I stay in my office, something will come up, as you know. If you want me to go, I should leave before that happens. What’s the problem?”

“One of Coach Monk’s kids was picked up in Dallas last night on a DUI. It’s Jason Pate. Parents are divorced, lives with his mom, who’s single with three more kids, all younger than Jason. Anyway, Monk made some calls and arranged for Jason’s release if a representative of the school will vouch for him. Monk’s got a conflict today, a conference call with a college that wants to sign Pete Freidman.”

“The quarterback who performed so well this season,” Rachel murmured. “Monk’s doing the deal today?”

“Apparently.”

“And his record for signing his athletes to major universities is impressive.”

“He takes a personal interest in these kids, Rachel.” He was instantly on the defensive. It was well known to Preston that Rachel and Monk Tyson had had fierce disagreements several times over his blind ambition. To Tyson, performance at sports—whether football, basketball, baseball or track—took precedence over his athletes’ academic performance. Preston had had to step in more than once to mediate when neither Rachel nor Tyson would give an inch.

“Anyway,” he said now, “if you could go to juvenile detention—I’ve got the address here—and pick up Jason, it would help us out of a jam.”

“Not a problem,” Rachel said, getting to her feet. “When are they willing to release him?”

Preston glanced at the note in his hand. “The paperwork will take a while to process, but according to Coach Monk, he’ll be ready to leave around ten.”

“Then I’d better get going,” Rachel said, taking her purse out of her desk drawer. “I wish they’d release him later as Ted’s in Dallas today, and if I could find him, I’d let him buy my lunch.”

“Oh, too bad.”

“It’s okay. It’s a long shot, anyway.”

“I owe you one for this, Rachel,” her boss said, handing over the note with the address.

“No, Monk owes me.” She snapped off the light in her office and smiled at him. “File that for the next time we lock horns and you’re dragged into the fray.”

When dealing with bureaucrats, Rachel thought as she turned into the parking lot of a trendy restaurant in Dallas’s Turtle Creek area, nothing goes according to plan. She’d negotiated the city’s freeway, then fought a tangle of traffic to get to a maze of municipal buildings, finally found a place to park, only to be told that there was a glitch in the getalong with Jason’s paperwork, but they’d have it worked out by 2:00 p.m. She’d wished for a later departure time, so the glitch wasn’t a total lost cause. She called the practice, found out where Ted had reservations for lunch and decided to take a chance that she’d be able to join him and the interviewee they were considering. Rachel didn’t feel she’d be intruding. She’d been Ted’s office manager when the practice was just getting started and had left after several years in the practice only when her responsibilities there began to encroach on her responsibilities at home. She’d replaced herself with a hot-shot MBA type and then looked around for another venue for her skills and found it as the guidance counselor at Rose Hill High. There she had the same hours and holidays as her children. That had been eight years ago, and she truly enjoyed her job now. In spite of the fact that her “clients” were teenagers and their hormones were raging, she loved the challenge. Sadly, as happened with Ashley today, too many of the kids she saw were dealing with stress beyond their ability or experience to cope.

Ted, she was told by the receptionist at the practice, was having lunch at the Mansion in Turtle Creek. She was familiar with the area and easily found the restaurant. As she got out of the car, she glanced down at her denim skirt and Birkenstocks and thought, belatedly, that she was a bit too casually dressed for such a posh place, but a chance to have lunch with Ted was too rare to pass up.

“Do you have a reservation?” asked the elegantly clad hostess, a stunning blonde with flawless skin.

“No, but my husband is here somewhere,” Rachel said, looking beyond the woman to the crowded dining area. “I thought I’d surprise him.”

“Of course,” the hostess murmured. Leaving Rachel to do just that, she turned her attention to the party of four waiting to be seated.

Rachel moved just inside the dining room, scanned the crowd and was on the verge of leaving, thinking Ted must have changed his plans, when she spotted him at a table in the rear of the restaurant. His back was to the door, which explained why she’d almost missed him. Moving forward with a smile, she was almost upon him when she realized his lunch partner wasn’t the prospective internist for the practice, but a woman, one whom she recognized instantly. It was Francine, wife of Ted’s partner in the practice, Walter Dalton. What on earth…

Neither had yet seen Rachel and her pace slowed, almost to a full stop. In a heartbeat, her pleasure in surprising Ted vanished. She watched in disbelief as he reached for Francine’s hand, closing his fingers around hers in a way that could only be described as intimate. Ted had not touched her that way for a long time. She saw Francine’s face go soft and flush with arousal when Ted brought her hand up for what Rachel could tell was a slow, sensual kiss on her palm.

Rachel had stopped now, rooted in place with sheer surprise. She put her hand to her chest, felt her heart beating so hard that her head was filled with it, her ears rang with it. She could not see her husband’s face, but the look on Francine’s was unmistakable. Still, Rachel resisted what she was seeing. It could not be what it appeared.

“Excuse me, ma’am.” A waiter burdened with a large tray paused, needing to thread the narrow space between the tables. With a murmured sound, Rachel shifted and let him pass. Then, drawing a deep, painful breath, she moved directly to Ted’s table and stopped. It was a beat or two before he became aware of her. His eyes went wide with shock and he flushed a ruddy crimson.

“Surprise,” she said, and gripped the back of one of the unoccupied chairs before her knees gave way.

“Rachel—” Dropping Francine’s hand, he made to rise clumsily, then had to grab at his wineglass to keep it from tipping over.

“Is this a private party, or is there room for one more?” she said in a voice that wobbled a little.

“It isn’t what you think,” Ted said.

“Really.” She glanced from him to Francine and back again. “Then what is it, Ted?”

Francine stood up, laid her napkin on the table and groped for a small Chanel handbag on the seat of the chair. “I’ll wait for you outside,” she said to Ted, and walked away without once looking at Rachel.

“This is not the time or place, Rachel,” Ted said, with a warning look toward the other diners. A few nearby had picked up on the unfolding drama and were openly curious. Some watched with amusement, enjoying the show.

“What is it if it isn’t what I think?” Rachel demanded in a low but fierce tone.

Ted had his wallet in his hands now, pulling out cash. He dropped a number of twenties on the table and reached for her arm, intending to guide her out of the restaurant. “Rachel—”

Rachel jerked away. “Don’t…touch me.” Lifting her chin, she turned on her heel and strode through the tables, mortified beyond anything that strangers had witnessed her humiliation. Her color high, she looked neither right nor left until she cleared the room. Now at the entrance, she pushed blindly at the double doors before Ted could assist her, desperate to breathe fresh air. She was aware that he said something to her before addressing the attendant who’d valet-parked his car, but she was intent only on escape. Almost running now, she sought the refuge of her car and dashed across the circular drive into the parking area. In her shocked state, however, she forgot where she had parked.

She reversed direction suddenly and almost ran into Ted, who’d caught up with her. “What are you doing here?” he asked tersely.

“Looking for my car.” Rooting through her handbag, she found her car keys and, in a panic, pushed the remote. Somewhere to her left, she heard the chirp of her vehicle.

“I mean, what are you doing at this restaurant? How did you—”

“Find you?” Heading for her car, she simply shook her head. “What does it matter, Ted?”

“Were you following me?”

She stopped then and looked at him. “I didn’t think until ten minutes ago that I had any reason to follow you, Ted.”

He gave a sigh and, bending his head, began to rub a place between his eyes. Ted was prone to migraines and she suspected he’d be in real pain by nightfall. Come to think of it, his migraines had come more frequently in the past few months. She thought back rapidly—six months? Longer? “How long have you been seeing her?”

“This is not the time, Rachel.”

“How…long?” she repeated deliberately.

“Awhile.”

She felt a pain in her chest that was as sharp as if he’d actually struck her. He wasn’t denying it. Had she been thinking there was any other explanation for finding him in so compromising a situation?

“We were planning to tell you soon,” he said, not meeting her eyes.

“Tell me what? That you’re having an affair with the wife of your partner and friend in your practice? That you’ve decided to ignore the fact that you’re a married man? Were you going to tell me that you’ve broken the vows you took to be faithful?”

It was midday and sunny. Overhead, the vast Texas sky was a surreal blue with stunning formations of soft white clouds. Ted’s brown eyes crinkled at the corners as he squinted upward. “I know it looks bad,” he said. “Francine and I—well, we didn’t plan for this to happen. We tried to fight it. We—”

“You tried to fight it.” She gave him a look of disgust. “I didn’t see any sign of struggle when you swiped her palm with your tongue a few minutes ago. I haven’t noticed any battles with your conscience when you’ve made excuses to miss Nick’s ball games or Kendall’s recitals. And I’ll bet you haven’t fought the urge to hop into bed with her, either, right? So just what do you mean, you’ve tried to fight it, Ted?”

“Would you keep your voice down, for God’s sake? We’re in a parking lot, Rachel. I know we’re going to have to talk about this, but not here, okay?” He drove his fingers through his expensively styled hair. She suddenly recalled finding the two-hundred-dollar charge on their American Express card at one of Dallas’s premier hair stylists. She’d teased him about it, as his hair was obviously thinning and she’d assumed it was simply male ego. Well, it was ego and a lot more, she knew now.

She felt tears well up and she looked away quickly, not giving him the satisfaction of knowing how much it hurt. Through a haze, she saw Francine standing beneath the canopy at the entrance of the restaurant. She noted the trim black suit, the sleek, long legs made even more stunning by shoes with three-inch heels that had cost at least two hundred dollars. Rachel could afford to pay hundreds of dollars for a pair of shoes, too, but she felt there was something intrinsically…vulgar in such self-indulgence. Obviously, Francine felt no such reluctance.

“Is there an internist from Baylor interested in joining the practice,” she asked quietly, “or was that a lie, too?”

“He was interviewed last night.”

She nodded, her gaze still fixed on Francine now being helped into Ted’s car by a valet. They were so comfortable in their illicit affair that they didn’t even bother coming in separate vehicles. Where did they meet in Rose Hill? she wondered. Had Ted found time when she was at school to screw Francine in their bed at home?

She turned back and looked her husband in the eye. “Why, Ted?”

“He’s qualified. He’s young. He’ll build up a nice patient base in no time flat.”

“I’m not talking about the internist. I’m talking about us. Why? How did this happen?”

Now his gaze found Francine, who watched him from the passenger seat of his Lexus. It was a long moment before he shrugged and said, with his eyes still on his lover, “I couldn’t help myself.”

Rachel drove back to Rose Hill with a silent and sullen Jason Pate. He sat slumped in the seat beside her, the headset of his CD player vibrating at a decibel level that was certain to damage his eardrums. Accepting the silence as a missed opportunity on her part to try to do some good with the boy, Rachel’s own emotions were also in turmoil, and it was all she could do to hold herself together.

Actually, she felt numb. But she knew, as a professional, that when something shocking or hurtful or grievous strikes an individual, going numb is a temporary coping mechanism sometimes necessary for survival. She needed time to decide how best to deal with this. A part of her was still clinging to shocked disbelief. To denial. Ted couldn’t possibly be serious. This was a crazy, midlife crisis thing and he would get over it. Then, maybe the horror of telling Nick and Kendall, destroying their illusions about their father, would not be necessary.

On the other hand, if he was determined to carry on the affair, what then? She hadn’t asked him if he was planning on getting a divorce. In the first shock of discovering Ted’s infidelity, she didn’t think she was ready to consider ending her marriage.

Definitely denial.

Considering she’d left Dallas later than planned, she didn’t arrive in Rose Hill until after school was over for the day. She’d reached Nick on his cell phone after arranging with her friend, Marta Ruiz, a teacher at Rose Hill High, to pick up the kids and see that they were settled at home until she got back, leaving Nick in charge. Marta had been happy to oblige. Widowed after a brief marriage and childless, Marta had been Rachel’s friend since her first day on the job at Rose Hill High. At thirty-three, Marta was an award-winning honors English teacher and a great favorite with the kids, even while forcing them to read Thomas Mann and Shakespeare.

“Is everything okay?” she’d wanted to know. “You sound funny, Ray.”

“Everything’s fine,” Rachel had lied. “It’s been a hassle fighting bureaucrats in the Texas legal system.”

“We’re bureaucrats, too,” Marta pointed out dryly. “I’d think you’d have a leg up, being entrenched yourself.”

“Yes, but we don’t have to deal with lawyers,” Rachel said. “Anyway, I’ve got Jason now, and after I drop him off at school where Coach Monk awaits, I’ll go straight home. Are you sure it’s not an inconvenience to pick up the kids and drop them at my house?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll even stay awhile and watch Kendall if Nick wants to hang out with his buddies.” She paused. “I guess Ted couldn’t get away.”

It wasn’t exactly a question. “No, he’s tied up…into the evening.”

“Hmm.”

Marta never bothered to hide her disapproval of Ted. She considered him neglectful as a father and selfish as a husband. “It’s a doctor-thing,” she was fond of saying. “They’ve got too much ego and you’re so attuned to everybody else’s needs that you never stop to consider your own.”

“I don’t have any needs that go unfulfilled,” she’d disputed on the day of that conversation, “or at least none that cause me much heartburn.”

Now, recalling her words, she felt like a complete idiot. Of course she had needs, and now that she’d been slapped in the face with her husband’s infidelity, she admitted to sensing something wrong in her marriage for quite a while. Was this the prelude to divorce? Were she and Ted destined to go their separate ways? Would Nick and Kendall wind up as part of two “blended” families one day?

At a traffic light, she fought off a wave of despair. One thing she had decided during her soul-search on the way home—she wasn’t going to mention anything to the kids just yet. Before tearing their lives apart, she and Ted would have to talk, but it would not be tonight. She was too filled with conflicting emotions to face it tonight.

Her cell phone rang as the light turned green. She reached for it, glancing at the number without recognition. “Hello?”

“Is this Rachel Forrester?”

It was a man’s voice. She frowned, trying to place it. “Yes, who is this?”

“It’s Cameron Ford. Dinah gave me your number,” he said.

Cameron Ford. She was momentarily speechless. Why would he be calling her? They hadn’t spoken since that distressing confrontation in her office five years ago.

“I’m at the hospital,” he said.

“Yes?” She waited, still in the dark.

“It’s your mother.”

“My mother?” Her heart stopped. “Oh, Lord. What is it? What’s wrong?”

“She’s in the emergency room. She wanted me to let you know.”

Two

Cameron Ford ended the call to Rachel Forrester and stood, grim-faced, in the waiting room of the ER to wait for her. It had been a helluva shock to look out his kitchen window and see his elderly neighbor lying unconscious in her azaleas. It had been another shock—and this one almost as unpleasant—to learn that she was Rachel Forrester’s mother. Dinah Hunt had moved next door a couple of months before, but he had not made any of the usual hospitable gestures that he might have done to welcome her. He was pretty much a solitary type to begin with, plus he’d been on deadline with his book and, as always, nothing and no one got much more than momentary interest until he was done. He’d noticed the woman and felt relieved that she lived alone and would probably be a quiet, unobtrusive neighbor.

Which was his excuse for not being more attentive. But what, he wondered, was Rachel’s excuse? He did not recall seeing her over there in the weeks since Dinah moved in. You’d think her daughter would have put in an appearance or two. Too busy sticking her nose into other people’s lives to put in time with her aging mother, he thought. But he’d heard real panic in her voice when he’d called just now. He’d been unable to give her any information since he hadn’t been told anything himself when he’d arrived at the hospital with Dinah, incoherent and pale as the white gardenias she prized. But at least she’d been conscious, sort of. When he’d reached her after spotting her lying at the edge of the flower beds separating their two houses, he had been pretty close to panic himself.

“Sir? Excuse me, sir.”

He turned to find a woman beckoning to him from a cubicle behind a sliding glass partition. With a last look outside, he went to her. “What’s the problem?”

“We need some insurance information on Mrs. Hunt.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t help you. She’s my next-door neighbor, not a relative. I happened to see her when she fainted out in the yard.”

The clerk frowned. “I need to know how to bill this, sir.”

“If you’ll wait a few minutes, you can probably get everything you need from her daughter, who should be here any minute. Dinah told me flat-out that she wasn’t staying. I had a heck of a time just getting her here.”

The clerk sniffed and shuffled forms. “You should have called 911. EMTs are trained to deal with the elderly.”

“I’ll remember that next time,” he said dryly. He glanced again at the entrance just as Rachel rushed inside looking flustered and anxious. “Here’s her daughter now.” Cameron lifted his hand, catching her eye, and she hurried over.

“Where is she? What’s wrong? Is it a heart attack?”

“They haven’t given me any information, but maybe the clerk here can tell you something. For what it’s worth, your mother regained consciousness in the car and did her best to talk me out of bringing her here. She claimed she wasn’t having chest pains, so I don’t think it’s a heart attack.”

Rachel turned quickly to the woman. “Is that right? Is she okay? Can I see her?”

“Someone will be out soon to answer your questions,” the clerk said. “Meanwhile, I need—”

“What happened?” Rachel asked Cameron. “What do you mean, she was conscious and talking? When was she unconscious?”

“When she was flat on her back in her azaleas,” he said, making no effort to be gentle. “Once I got her up and on her feet, she was dizzy and disoriented, but after a few minutes, she seemed to rally.”

Rachel was still confused. “I don’t understand. How did you…I mean, are you saying you were at her house?”

“I was on my porch. I looked over and saw her.”

“Your porch. You looked over and saw her.” Rachel put a hand to her forehead before looking at him and asking incredulously, “You…live nearby?”

“I live in the house next door.” She didn’t look any happier hearing that than he did knowing it.

“How could that be?” She was asking herself, not him. “How did I not know that?”

“Because you don’t show much interest in your mother’s affairs?” It was a cheap shot, but Rachel Forrester had that effect on him. He had nothing against her mother, but he didn’t owe Rachel anything. Just the opposite, in fact. His feelings for her hadn’t changed since that day they had talked in her office after Jack’s funeral, five years ago. Seeing her now was like taking the lid off a pot that still simmered with bitterness.

“Did you call the EMTs?” she asked, ignoring his remark.

“I drove her. She wouldn’t let me call the EMTs.”

“I—thank you.” Rachel pressed the fingers of both hands hard against her lips. “Maybe it’s a stroke,” she whispered. “But the last time I was over there—”

“Yeah, when was that, Rachel?” he asked, fixing her with a hard look. “I see the neighbors dropping by, I see the postman chatting her up, I see the guy delivering her prescriptions from the pharmacy, but I don’t see much of you.”

He could see he had her attention now. She stared at him. “I do not neglect my mother,” she said stiffly.

“Yeah, well, you could have fooled me.”

“Dinah Hunt. Someone for Dinah Hunt?” Both turned as a young resident appeared and stood looking over the occupants in the waiting room.

“Here,” Rachel said, moving toward him. “I’m Rachel Forrester. Dinah Hunt is my mother. How is she?”

“I’m Dr. Carruthers.” He smiled at both Rachel and Cameron, who’d followed her. “Your mom’s just fine. In fact, she’ll probably be out here demanding to be taken home before I finish talking. She told me in no uncertain terms that she wasn’t about to spend a night in a hospital bed.”

“What on earth happened?” Rachel asked anxiously. “Mr. Ford said he found her unconscious outside where she was working in her garden.”

Carruthers nodded. “That’s her story, too. And it’s not uncommon in patients with hypoglycemia.”

“Hypoglycemia?” Rachel repeated blankly.

“We don’t have the results of her blood work yet, but she tells me she’s been diagnosed as borderline hypoglycemic and she confessed to spending most of the day doing yard work without stopping for lunch or even taking a break.” He paused. “How old is your mother?”

“Sixty-two.”

“Amazing. Couple that with her medical condition and the fact that she worked in full sun without a hat and you have a recipe for a blackout.”

“Hypoglycemia means low blood sugar, doesn’t it?” Rachel asked.

“Yes. You knew, of course?”

She was shaking her head. “No. No, I didn’t.”

“Well, now that you do, try to persuade her to make a few concessions to her body’s need for frequent, small meals, preferably high in protein.” He smiled again. “And perhaps pacing herself a bit when she plans to do yard work.”

“Is this a serious illness?”

“Not particularly, so long as a few common-sense precautions are observed.” He included both Rachel and Cameron in his next words. “If she seems reluctant to discuss it with you, just stop by my office and pick up a pamphlet. You need to be aware so that you can help her adjust. The pamphlet lists some suggestions that help prevent sudden drops in blood sugar, which is what caused her to faint. Again, I don’t have the results of her blood work and I might be jumping the gun here, but chances are we’re on the right track.”

Just then, Dinah emerged from a treatment cubicle and, spotting Rachel, headed directly over. She was dressed for gardening in a pair of loose-fitting denim overalls over a faded tie-dyed T-shirt and muddy, once-white sneakers. A neat size eight, she ordinarily looked ten years younger than her age, but her collapse had taken a toll. There was a liberal sprinkling of gray in her hair, which had probably once been the same rich, near-black shade as Rachel’s, Cameron noticed now. But whereas Rachel’s cut was short, sleek and smooth, Dinah’s style was wildly curly and much longer. She’d probably started the day with it confined at her nape in a leather thong, circa the sixties, but much of it had long since worked itself loose and the overall effect was one of a slightly aging flower child.

“As I mentioned,” Dr. Carruthers said with a chuckle, “I guessed she’d be out here before I was done.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Rachel murmured, turning back to Carruthers and extending her hand.

“My pleasure,” he said, shaking it. He looked then at Cameron. “You did the right thing insisting on having her checked out, Mr. Forrester.”

“Ford, not Forrester,” Cameron said, shaking the doctor’s hand. “And I’m just a neighbor.”

“Oh.” Carruthers paused for an awkward beat or two, then turned again to Rachel. “The results of the blood work should be available sometime tomorrow, Ms. Forrester. If there’s anything unusual, I’ll call you. Otherwise, the results will be mailed.”

“Call me, Dr. Carruthers,” Dinah instructed firmly, “not Rachel. I’m not too fragile to hear bad news, at least not yet.”

“I don’t anticipate giving you bad news, Mrs. Hunt,” he said, with a grin. “And remember, no working in the sun without a hat and no skipping meals.”

Dinah gave him a droll look. “I’ll try to remember that, as I sure don’t want to wake up looking at the underside of azalea leaves again.”

Still chuckling, he left them to enter another cubicle a few steps down the hall.

“Let’s go, Mom,” Rachel said, taking Dinah’s arm. “The insurance—”

“In a minute.” Dinah resisted being hustled away. “First, I need to thank Cameron.”

“You don’t owe me any thanks,” he said. Now that he knew the older woman wasn’t suffering a stroke or worse, he itched to get back to his work. He was only half done with the proposal for his next book.

“Well, of course I do. And I meant what I said in the car, Cameron. Anytime you feel like having a break, come over for coffee or some iced tea. I like to bake and usually have a little something on hand—cake or cookies. Nick and Kendall can vouch for that.”

“Nick and Kendall?”

“My grandchildren, Rachel’s babies.” Dinah moved over toward the area where the insurance clerk waited and presented the appropriate cards before looking back at him. “And thanks again for giving me a ride to the hospital, although I still say it was not necessary. I knew what was wrong the minute I began to feel dizzy. But by then, it was too late and I just keeled over. Plain bad judgment on my part,” she said, taking the clipboard that was passed through the partition by the clerk.

“You should have waited until the weekend, Mom,” Rachel scolded. “That’s the kind of work Nick can do for you. And this just proves what I was telling you about moving out of your apartment. The upkeep on a house and yard is arduous. You should have gotten a condominium.”

“Do I advise you where to live, Rachel?”

“No, of course not, but—”

“Then when I become senile, you can start advising me. Until then, I make my own decisions. Now,” she said briskly, “as I said, I exercised bad judgment today, but the day dawned so sunny and clear and the ground was nice and soft from that shower Wednesday. I knew I wouldn’t have a better chance to get those shrubs relocated and to tackle the weeds in that bed where the daylilies are planted.” She studied the form to be completed on the clipboard for a moment. “My word, I’m going to have to sit down to fill this thing out. Must be fifty questions on it.”

“Let me do that for you, Mom.” Rachel reached for the clipboard.

“I’m still capable of filling out my own medical history, Rachel.” She moved to a line of chairs against the wall, sat down and began writing.

Rachel drew a frustrated breath, then looked gamely into Cameron’s eyes. When she spoke, it was in a tone that Dinah couldn’t hear. “It’s frustrating trying to keep my mother from taking on more than she can handle, and since you believe that I neglect her, I’ll say nothing more about that. Nevertheless, I appreciate what you did this afternoon. Thank you.”

“No thanks necessary,” he told her, just as he’d told her mother. “I did what any decent neighbor would do.” She simply looked at him and something in her expression prodded the devil inside him. “Your mother’s not getting any younger. She bought the house she wanted and you should be gracious enough to help her enjoy it. An occasional visit would be nice.”

She flushed as his barb found its mark but, as good as her word, she didn’t offer any defense. Something flashed in her eyes and he caught it just before it was veiled by her lashes—very long lashes, he noted. Then whatever he’d glimpsed was gone. Still stonily silent, she gave him a curt nod—just a quick dip of her head—before turning on her heel and striding to a chair on the far side of her mother and taking a seat. She didn’t look at him again.

“Mom, won’t you please reconsider and come home with me tonight?” Frustrated, Rachel watched Dinah strip the leather thong from her hair and run her hands through the unruly curls. A couple of dried leaves and a broken twig landed on the bedroom carpet.

“For the tenth time, Rachel, I’m perfectly fine.” Sitting on the side of her bed, Dinah pulled off her dirty sneakers and handed them to Rachel. “Will you drop these in my washing machine on your way out, please? Don’t turn it on. I’ll need to throw in the overalls when I’m done with my shower.”

“You won’t forget to eat before going to bed then, will you?”

“How could I? I’m as hungry as a bear.”

Rachel went to the door. “I’ll make you something while you shower. How about an omelette?”

“Not necessary, Rachel. And instead of feeding me, shouldn’t you be worrying about Nick and Kendall?” Their eyes met in the mirror. “It’s dinnertime and I’ll bet Ted isn’t home yet, is he?”

“No, he’s…he has a meeting. He’ll be late. And I’ve called Marta. She’ll look out for the kids until I get home.”

Dinah held her gaze for a moment, then with a skeptical sound, began to work at the snaps on her overalls. “That man has so many night meetings, you’d think he was a politician instead of a doctor. If he doesn’t watch out, the kids are going to grow up not knowing him any better than they know the town’s mayor!”

“I can’t disagree with you on that, Mom.”

Holding the overalls against her, Dinah studied Rachel’s face. “Have you two talked about this? How long is he going to neglect his responsibilities? Have you discussed the importance of Nick and Kendall having both a mother and a father?”

“I wouldn’t define our encounters as discussions,” Rachel said frankly. “They usually wind up with me nagging and Ted clamming up.”

Dinah sank with a sigh onto the side of the bed. “I guess it’s not helpful to hear me harping on it, either, is it? I’m sorry, Rachel, but you’d think—”

“Speaking of the kids, I’d better be going.” Rachel stood in the shadows of the hall where her mother couldn’t see how her words had stung, especially tonight. “You’re sure you won’t reconsider and come with me?”

Dinah didn’t reply for a moment, but Rachel knew she wasn’t finished. “I’m sure.” She cocked her head, studying her intently. “How was your day? Those kids giving you more than the usual grief lately?”

“No more than usual. I counseled a pregnant sixteen-year-old this morning and then I drove to Dallas and picked up Jason Pate, Coach Monk’s star quarterback. He was being held by the Juvenile authorities on a DUI charge.”

“Oops.”

“Uh-huh. Jason is the heart and soul of the Mustangs. Hence, Coach Monk’s concern. Or rather the play-offs, which are in full swing, are his main concern and Jason is key to that.”

“And then you came home to find your ditzy mom had landed herself in the ER,” Dinah said with a grimace.

Rachel rubbed her temple with two fingers and managed a weak smile. “I suppose it has been one of those days.”

“And that’s all?” Dinah said, still trying to define something more she had sensed in Rachel’s mood.

“Unless you want to count the lecture I got from Cameron Ford.” She was still stinging from his unflattering assessment of her as a daughter. Five years ago, he’d been brutally judgmental about her ability as a counselor, now it appeared she hadn’t risen a jot in his estimation. Bad counselor then, bad daughter now. It made no sense for her to care what he thought. She must be particularly vulnerable and he’d hit a nerve.

“I guess I’m shocked to learn you’ve moved next door to a man who hates me,” she told her mother with a weak laugh. “If I’d known he was going to be your neighbor, I would have argued even more fiercely against you buying a house instead of a condo.”

She knew the man’s reputation as a gifted author and she bought all his books—on the sly, of course, as it seemed inappropriate somehow, considering how brutal and accusatory he’d been about her job. It would be awkward having him right next door every time she visited her mother, although she supposed he wasn’t any different from other Rose Hill residents who’d sampled life elsewhere before coming back home to live.

They’d both attended Rose Hill High, but Cameron had been four years older than Rachel, which made him as remote from her world as seniors are from lowly freshman girls. Even then, he’d been a brooding, nonconformist sort and she thought he wasn’t much changed today. It was silly to be bothered that he had a low opinion of her. She knew him to be a decent person, if somewhat aloof—if his press was accurate—which should be all she needed to know since he was going to be her mother’s neighbor. It wasn’t as if he’d be her neighbor. Thank God.

Dinah was frowning. “A lecture from Cameron? About what?”

“He thinks I neglect you. He told me I should find more time to visit. He thinks you get more attention from the postman and your neighbors than you get from me.”

“Ridiculous,” Dinah said with a dismissive click of her tongue. “Ignore him. Besides, we both know where his hostility is coming from.”

“His son,” Rachel said, giving a sigh. “He must still believe that I should have picked up on Jack’s depression and done something before it was too late.” She paused a long moment. “Maybe I should have, Mom. I’ve relived those last few weeks of Jack’s life many times. Maybe Cameron’s right.”

Dinah made an impatient sound. “If you could read the mind of every kid in an emotional tailspin at Rose Hill High, you’d wind up in one yourself. You do a good job with those children, Rachel. God knows, Jack’s suicide was a tragedy, and what makes it even more tragic for you is that you were in the process of working with the boy, but sometimes there’s just no foreseeing these things. Cam’s reaction today was simply that he wasn’t prepared to see you and it reminded him of what he’d like to forget.”

“Cam?” she questioned dryly.

“He told me to call him Cam,” Dinah said, rubbing at a smudge on her elbow. “Try not to dwell on what you may or may not have done. I, for one, know you always do your best.”

Rachel stared at the muddy sneakers in her hand, thinking back to that time. “Jack just didn’t strike me as suicidal, Mom. I must have spent a hundred hours going over those last few weeks of his life. There was something troubling him, I knew that. His grades were slipping and he seemed distracted. His teachers had noticed a change in him. Of course, he was adjusting to a new school in a new state. Big difference between New York and Texas. And his parents were recently divorced, so he had a lot to contend with. It made sense that he was unhappy. Almost any teenager would be. I had a talk with him the day before he…before it happened. Why didn’t I see it coming? If I could have just—”

“Could just what, Rachel? Live that day over? Be all things to all kids?” Dinah removed her socks. “This wasn’t the first tragedy that will happen on your watch, hon. And it won’t be the last. Cam is unable to let it go and maybe that’s understandable, but you’re in a different place. You must let it go.”

Rachel drew in a deep breath and managed a fleeting smile. “I know.” She scooped up the overalls that Dinah had tossed on the bed. “I’ll put these in the washing machine for you and then I’m going to make you an omelette before I leave. And don’t bother arguing, Mom.”

“If you must.” Dinah rolled her eyes and pulled her T-shirt over her head. “May as well throw this in with everything else.” Then, as if still trying to put her finger on something else in Rachel’s mood, she added, “Is everything okay with you and Ted?”

Rachel stopped with the washables bundled in her arms and smiled brightly. “Define ‘everything.”’

Dinah frowned in the act of donning a robe and looked hard at her. “You tell me, Rachel.”

“Maybe, as you say, Mom, I am feeling a little neglected.”

“Well, it’s about time,” Dinah said flatly. “You’ve been willing to put your own needs aside to accommodate Ted almost from the moment the two of you met. I’ll always resent that you dropped your own plans for medical school to help him get his M.D. and a specialty. And now, after all you’ve done—” Dinah was pacing, her hands waving and slashing with heartfelt emotion. It was no secret that she’d long believed Rachel’s sacrifice of her original plan for a career in medicine was a big mistake. She stopped suddenly. “You know what the problem is, Rachel? You’ve spoiled Ted rotten. You haven’t demanded enough from him. I’m happy to hear you finally say you’re feeling neglected. All you have to do now is tell him that.”

Rachel made a short, futile attempt to laugh. “Yeah, that’s all I have to do.”

Dinah gave her a hug. “Go home, hon. Forget my laundry and the omelette. Tend to your babies and then take a long, hot soak in the tub and practice how best to let him have it. I promise you won’t have another call to the ER about me.”

“You should have told me about the onset of hypoglycemia, Mother,” Rachel said with a chiding look.

“I know, but that would be just one more thing on your worry list.”

“You’re my mother. I’m supposed to worry about you.”

“Not if I can help it.” She gave Rachel a gentle shove toward the stairs. “Kiss the kids for me and tell that spoiled rotten husband of yours when he finally gets home that there’re going to be some changes made.”

Rachel wasn’t the only one thinking of changes. Ted stood at the glass doors in the master bedroom of the lake cabin in deep thought. Moonlight dancing on the surface of the lake hinted at the chill of the night, but inside it was cozy. He’d built a fire in the fireplace and had knocked back a couple of stiff drinks. It had helped erase the bad taste he had in his mouth over the scene with Rachel at the restaurant, but he had a headache now, not the beginning of a migraine, which struck him sometimes in the throes of stress or crisis, but a nagging, unpleasant nuisance of a headache. And the euphoria he usually felt when he was with Francine hadn’t quite anesthetized it.

He should be feeling good, he thought. The moment he’d dreaded for months had come and gone. Rachel knew about the affair now. She’d been shocked, as expected, and mad as hell, as she’d had a right. But all in all, it hadn’t been as difficult as it could have been. For a moment, in the parking lot, he’d thought she might turn really mean, but it hadn’t happened. There had been a horrific incident a couple of years ago in Houston when a woman caught her husband with another woman and after an argument in the parking lot of a swank restaurant, she’d climbed in her car and run him over. Not satisfied that she’d hurt him enough, she’d backed up and rolled over him again, killing him. No chance of that with Rachel. She was too practical to do something that would jeopardize the kids and their future. Or herself, for that matter.

Rubbing a hand over his face, he turned away from the view. The site for the cabin had been carefully chosen by Rachel when they’d decided to invest in real estate on the lake. She’d researched every lot available, looking for just the right one, and she’d hit a home run, as usual. She was good at that sort of thing. She managed time and her responsibilities so well that he often thought she could run the Pentagon if she wanted. The trouble was that she wasn’t what he wanted anymore. The type of person she’d been when he was in med school and then setting up the practice was okay, but now he wanted—needed—a woman who was more feminine, more hip, sexier. A woman who needed him and made him feel as if he was special. Sometimes he thought Rachel went for weeks without really looking at him. But when Francine gazed up at him, impressed by his opinions, interested in his experiences, and so damn responsive as a lover, God, he felt incredible.

She stood smiling at him now, shedding the black suit one piece at a time, moving slowly, her body language sensual and provocative. Apparently, she wasn’t feeling the same conflicting emotions as he about having their affair out in the open, but then they hadn’t faced the major hurdle of telling Walter yet. When she wriggled out of her skirt, all she had left were thigh-high stockings—black—a wisp of a bra and thong panties. When he looked at her delectable little ass in that thong, it never failed that his dick went hard and his mouth went dry.

Like a cat, Francine put a knee on the bed and with a playful growl began a provocative crawl over the mattress toward him. “You’re looking too serious, sugar,” she murmured, puckering her lips at him in a wind-kiss. “Get naked and let me make you smile.”

His brain went numb and his erection throbbed at the look of her stalking him across the bed, her sweet butt in the air and the heavy globes of her breasts threatening to burst out of that excuse for a bra. He knew she’d had breast enhancement, but it only made her more voluptuous, sexier. She was a wet dream come to life and she was his.

He pressed a palm against his erection and pushed thoughts of Rachel and Walter from his mind. Francine was across the bed now and her hands were at work unfastening his belt. Next, she’d have him freed of his pants, and with her already in position, one touch from her pink tongue would send him over the edge. He wondered if she gave Walter…

“Wait, Franny,” he told her as she reached for the zipper on his pants. “Hold on, baby.” He caught her hands and squeezed them, stopping her.

She looked up at him, moist lips parted. Seeing his expression, she sighed with resignation and rested her forehead against his abdomen. “What?” There was impatience in her voice. She didn’t like being interrupted.

“We need to talk about it, Franny.”

She moved away, drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. Her sexy mouth was now in a pout. “What’s to discuss, Teddy? She saw us, she knows now. There’s no turning back. It’ll make everything easier.”

“How do you figure that?” he asked. “Walter will find out, my kids will soon know. Everyone in the practice will be buzzing with it. Hell, within twenty-four hours, all of Rose Hill will be buzzing with it, trust me.”

“They’ll get over it, Teddy,” she said, speaking as if he was slightly dim. Her way of focusing solely on herself made him uncomfortable sometimes.

“It was easier before when nobody knew but us, Francine. Complications will begin to multiply, big time. We need to be prepared.”

“For what?”

She couldn’t be as unconcerned by the consequences as she seemed, he thought. He drew a breath and spoke patiently. “What I’m trying to say is that both of us need to be on the same page, especially with Walter. He’ll have questions. We need to settle between us what we’re going to answer.”

“Forget Walter. I’ll think of something. Whatever he says, I’ll handle it.”

“He’s not going to accept you sleeping with me, Franny. You need to make him understand this isn’t just some meaningless affair that’ll play itself out if he’s patient. You need to tell him it’s serious between us.” Ted rubbed at a temple, now throbbing. Maybe it was the onset of a migraine. He wished for a couple of Darvon tablets, but he’d taken the last of them just a couple of days ago. “Has it occurred to you that Rachel may be talking to him right now?”

“Rachel wouldn’t do that,” Francine said. She lifted one long leg and began removing the black stockings. It was an invitation, but he still wanted to try to settle this. She dropped the nylons delicately onto the floor. “She’s too…”

“Too decent?”

“Yeah, decent. Too nice for the real world. People like Rachel will always get the short end of the stick.”

Ted felt a prickle of unease at her attitude. She was a maddening, irresistible mix of female charm, sexy allure and street smarts. And the package was captivating. It made him uncomfortable to admit it, but he felt almost enslaved. He couldn’t get enough of her.

Sensing she’d crossed a line, Francine reached out and, with a wicked little smile, ran a finger down the opening of his fly. “C’mon, you worry too much.”

He removed her hand and sat down beside her. “You don’t worry enough. We’ve got to talk about Walter. When he finds out, he’s going to be one pissed-off son of a bitch. I’m not sure he’ll be able to control himself. He’s crazy where you’re concerned.” As crazy as Ted himself was, which was another fact that worried him.

She unhooked her bra and tossed it on the floor. “Like I said, let me worry about controlling Walter, sugar.” Up on her knees now, she slipped her arms around him from behind and began unbuttoning his shirt. She got it off him and pressed her naked breasts against his back as her hands moved all over the front of him. “Hmm, I love doing this,” she crooned, sifting through the hair on his chest. “Walter’s got a gut and he’s about fifty pounds overweight,” she complained, tweaking his nipples with her fingers. “Show me a man with muscles and a flat belly and I get really hot, sugar.” She was nibbling on his ear now and he felt himself weakening.

His lust for Francine had been a keen motivating factor in the exercise program Ted had undertaken a year ago. As a result of hours in the gym, his abdomen was as flat as that of a man fifteen years younger, and his reward was the uninhibited enjoyment Francine took in letting him know it. God, it was a turn-on knowing he excited a woman like this.

One of her hands wandered lower now, slipped beneath the waistband of his briefs. He groaned as her fingers curled around him, and he gave up trying to have a practical discussion. Later, he promised himself as he fell back on the bed and let her strip off his pants and briefs. They could work on the practicalities of continuing their relationship later. Rachel might prove difficult once she’d had some time to come to terms with the fact that he was in love with Francine. And Walter was definitely a wild card. He was one possessive bastard where Francine was concerned and Ted could identify with that. But he’d go to hell and back before giving her up.

She had climbed on top now, smiling and tempting him with her lush, heavy breasts cupped in both hands. She still wore the thong and she moved like a belly dancer on top of him, bewitching and utterly sexual, an enticing siren of a woman. Francine called to something deep within him that he’d never known was there and that no other woman had ever tapped. With a groan, he fumbled at the thong, tore it off her and violently buried himself to the hilt. She might deny they were in for trouble, but Ted knew stormy times were ahead. But that thought was lost as he gave himself up to the lust of the moment.

Three

Rachel never had a chance to lay down the law to Ted that night, even if the opportunity had presented itself. Which it didn’t. Marta had fixed dinner for Nick and Kendall, but her loyalty as a friend did not extend to doing the dishes, and without Rachel’s supervision, neither had the kids. So, by the time Rachel had tidied up, supervised homework, monitored television time and urged the kids upstairs to shower and get into bed, it was late. Taking a minute for herself—finally—she had barely begun filling the tub for a long soak and some deep thinking about her marriage and Ted’s infidelity when the phone rang. It was Monk Tyson. She was in no fit shape to discuss Jason Pate’s problems, which she assumed was the reason for his call. She was swamped by her own problems. But Monk was insistent. Consequently, she was tied up for another half hour sharing the details of the boy’s arrest and release from Juvenile in Dallas. It was almost eleven when the call finally ended. And still no word from Ted.

She showered—forgoing the long soak—and turned the covers back on her bed. Waiting up for Ted was something she usually did, or rather, she’d been in the habit of doing so until his hours became so erratic. Now that she knew about the affair, that intimate little ritual of marriage was ended. She felt a pang, knowing Ted probably hadn’t valued that effort on her part for the past year, anyway, considering his infatuation with another woman. He’d be sleeping in the guest room now and was probably relieved to do it. She lay flat on her back, dry-eyed, her gaze fixed on the ceiling. She vowed he wouldn’t see her desolation or find her red-eyed and weepy when he finally showed up. But hours later as the clock struck two and then three, she realized he wasn’t coming home at all.

The numbness that had gripped her until then suddenly disappeared. Since the moment Ted had admitted the affair, her stomach had been in a knot, but she’d crammed so many other things into her day that her personal problems had been crowded out. How could he be in love with someone else, and Francine Dalton, of all people? Francine and Walter were their friends. Walter, older and more settled in Rose Hill, had partnered up with Ted when they’d first started the practice. A few years later, he’d married Francine, who’d been twenty years younger than Walter. Francine, Rachel thought now, was twelve years younger than Ted. It was ludicrous.

It was crushing. A sob caught in her throat. Just last month, she and Ted had celebrated their eighteenth anniversary at a restaurant with Walter and Francine. Had there been signs of Ted’s infidelity then? She thought of the new suits he’d suddenly decided he needed, the silk boxer shorts he’d begun wearing, the diet he’d undertaken to lose weight, the ambitious exercise program he’d been fixated on at the gym. Moments of sexual intimacy between them had become increasingly rare. She remembered the ongoing search for an additional partner in the practice that required trips to Dallas or Houston or Los Angeles, Boston, New York. Always excluding her. How had she been so blind? Didn’t a wife sense these things? Didn’t she somehow know deep down in her heart that her husband had fallen out of love with her? Is that what had happened? Had Ted fallen out of love with her and she hadn’t noticed? But how could that be? She was a psychologist. She was supposed to be able to read people, to see beyond the obvious. Was she a failure there, as Cameron Ford seemed to think, as well as in her role as Ted’s wife?

And now, what next?

There was no school the next day, Saturday, and fortunately Nick and Kendall were still sleeping when Ted finally came home. Standing on the sunporch drinking a cup of black coffee, Rachel waited while he went into the kitchen, poured himself some coffee and then went looking for her. At least, she assumed he was looking for her. She said nothing, unwilling to call out to him as she once would have done to let him know she was in the sunroom. After a few minutes, he found her.

For a moment, as he stood in the door, they simply looked at each other. He still wore the Armani suit from yesterday, she noticed, although it was somewhat wilted and he’d removed his tie. The ends of it dangled from his jacket pocket. His shirt was open at the throat and she saw a faint mark near the collar. Francine’s lipstick, she guessed, and felt a surge of raw rage. She took some satisfaction that he looked tired and his eyes were red-rimmed as if he’d had little sleep. She could guess the reason now.

“Where were you last night, Ted?”

“I stayed in the cabin at the lake.”

“And you didn’t think to call and let us—the kids and me—know that?”

He didn’t answer, but shrugged out of the jacket and tossed it onto a rattan chair. “We need to talk, Rachel.”

“Was Francine with you at the cabin?”

“For a while. Then I took her home.” He shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. “I apologize for not calling. I should have. I thought it was for the best last night…now that you know, I mean. I figured you’d need some time to come to terms with—”

“With the fact that my husband is a liar and a cheat?” She set her coffee down before he could see her unsteady hands. “After eighteen years, it takes more than a few hours to come to terms with something like that, Ted,” she said bitterly.

“I didn’t plan this, Rachel, I swear to God.” He eased himself down onto the chair. “And neither did Francine. I can’t explain it, how one day we were just friends, and then…the next thing we knew, it was something else. It just…happened. She and I—”

“It just happened that both of you ignored sacred vows? It just happened that you schemed and planned ways to sneak around? It just happened that you forgot what was at stake for you, the father of two children?”

“I know it sounds bad.” With his gaze fixed on his coffee mug, he shook his head. “I don’t expect you to understand, but what we need to do now is figure out how best to handle it.”

Rachel sat gingerly on the edge of the rattan settee. She was thinking back to the countless times they’d been together with the Daltons, two couples, compatible, friends as well as business associates. “How long has this been going on? How long have the two of you been sleeping together?”

Ted turned his face away, flushing with discomfort. “I don’t see any point in going down that road, Rachel.”

She gave him an incredulous look. “You don’t see the point? You tell me you’re in love with another woman and you can’t help yourself, but I’m not supposed to ask whether or not you were having sex with her at the same time you’ve been having sex with me? Then let me put it this way, Ted. Either you answer that question or this conversation is over and any hope you had that we can—” she used her fingers as quote marks “‘figure out how best to handle it’ is zero. So I ask again, how long have you been sleeping with her?”

“A year,” he replied tightly.

A year. Shocked, she stood up quickly and moved across the room. She and Ted hadn’t made love often lately, but they had certainly not given up sex altogether. Now she wondered how she could have been unaware that his heart wasn’t in it. Had he been imagining Francine as his partner? She was sickened at the thought.

“You say you spent the night at our lake house thinking,” she said, her tone quiet and just a bit unsteady. “You said we needed to discuss how to handle…it. I need to know what we’re to handle, the aftermath of your affair or a divorce?”

“It’s not that simple, Rachel.”

“Why not? The way I see it, there are only two options. You end the affair and we’ll see if it’s possible to save our marriage. Or, you continue the affair and I file for a divorce.” Her heart was pounding. Was this the end? Could he really be serious?

“I don’t want to give her up, Rachel. I can’t give her up.”

She stared at him. So his desire for Francine was that overwhelming. “Then you want a divorce.” White-hot pain settled in her chest. Rachel tried to imagine being so enthralled by passion that Nick and Kendall didn’t matter. Or being able to ignore her marriage vows when it was convenient. But she simply couldn’t.

“I thought we’d try a separation.” He rose and went to stand at the glass wall looking out. “Like I said, it’s not as simple considering the circumstances. There’s the practice. And Walter…Walter doesn’t know yet.”

“Yet?”

“Francine plans to tell him.”

“When?”

“When the time is right.”

Rachel laughed bitterly. “Would the time have been right for you if I hadn’t surprised you at lunch yesterday?”

“We knew we were on borrowed time,” Ted said, turning back. “What I’m asking for now is just that…some time. Let me try to figure out the best way to handle this. Hell, Rachel, I spent the whole night worrying about what to tell you, what—”

“After having sex with Francine, I assume.”

“—what to say to the kids,” he plowed on doggedly, “whether to move out, wondering what Walter will do when he’s told. It’s going to be a big mess. I don’t have to tell you that.”

“No, you don’t have to tell me that,” she repeated. “And as for Walter, I can guess what his reaction will be. He’s twenty years older than Francine and tends to be possessive. If you recall, she was married when they met. She got a divorce to marry Walter. He’s crazy about her. He’s an old-fashioned guy. He likes the idea that she belongs to him. He’s not going to take this lying down.”

Ted shrugged. “What can he do? She doesn’t love him anymore.”

“Oh, she loves you now?”

He looked her in the eye. “Is that so hard to believe?”

Was it? Was he saying he felt unloved by Rachel? Had they drifted into the familiar rut of married couples who took each other for granted? Did she no longer see Ted as sexy and desirable? Was it her fault that he’d looked for someone who did see him that way? But…Francine?

“How long will it be,” she asked him, “once the two of you finally get together, that she gets bored with you as she apparently has with Walter and begins looking for someone new?”

“That won’t happen.”

“Really.”

“Really.” After a moment, he sighed. “I don’t expect you to understand.”

Their gazes held, Ted’s defensive and stubborn, Rachel’s filled with disbelief and disgust. Then the moment was broken by the sound of the doorbell. But before either could react, it rang again. And then again.

Ted swore, glancing at his watch as Rachel hurried away to answer. “Who the hell can that be so early?”

Before she reached the foyer, the sound of the chimes gave way to the crash of a fist pounding on the door. At the peephole now, Rachel peered out, her eyes going wide with dismay. Walter Dalton. Quickly, she turned the deadbolt and, before opening the door, said to Ted, who’d followed on her heels, “It’s Walter, and if I were you, I’d get ready for a very dicey encounter.”

To Rachel, Walter Dalton had always looked more like a boxer than a physician. He was fifty-two years old and no more than five eight or nine in his stocking feet, with heavy shoulders and a neck thick from his years as an athlete in high school. But his short, iron-gray haircut and pugnacious features belied a gentle manner that sick children seemed to sense instinctively. There was nothing gentle about his demeanor now. Just the opposite.

He looked beyond Rachel to Ted. “What the hell’s going on with you and my wife, Ted?” he growled.

Rachel glanced quickly to check that no neighbors were out, then reached for Walter’s arm and pulled him over the threshold. “Come in, Walter,” she said, trying for a calm tone. “I’ve got fresh coffee in the kitchen. The kids are still asleep.”

“I don’t want any goddamned coffee. I want some answers.” He lowered his head on his neck and looked narrow-eyed at Ted. “When I got home last night, my wife met me at the door with some kind of crazy talk about you and her. I better hear you say it’s a lie or I swear to God, Ted, I’m gonna kick your ass from here to Dallas after I’ve sliced your dick off.”

“Calm down, for God’s sake, Walter,” Ted said, glancing toward the stairs. He reached for his partner’s arm, but Walter shook him off. “We can talk in the sunroom.”

“You’re not denying it?” he bellowed.

Rachel put her finger to her lips. “Please, Walter. The kids. I don’t want—”

Still breathing fire, he gave Ted a ferocious glare before muttering a gruff apology to Rachel and sending a quick glance to the stairs, still mercifully sans the children. Lowering his tone somewhat, he said to her, “Do you know what this son of a bitch has been doing with Francine behind our backs?”

She sighed, urging him along toward the sunroom. “I do.”

He frowned darkly. “You know they’ve been screwing around and you didn’t say anything?”

“I only found out yesterday, Walter.” They entered the sunroom, she still keeping a cautionary hand on Walter’s arm, Ted following warily. “Let me get you a cup of coffee and we’ll try to straighten all this out.”

“I don’t want any coffee. Make it bourbon instead.”

“I’ll get it,” Ted said, moving hastily to the small portable bar they kept stocked in the sunroom. He found the bottle of Jack Daniel’s and took a glass from a hanging rack, then tipped to pour it with a shaky hand. Warning him with a look, Rachel took the drink from Ted and handed it to Walter, who knocked almost all of it back in a single swallow. His eyes locked with Ted’s as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “You better have a good story, partner. Otherwise, life as you once knew it is over.”

“Let’s all sit down,” Rachel said, telling Ted with a look to find a seat across the room. Then, patting the place beside her on the settee, she managed a smile at Walter. “This is going to be difficult for all of us. And I think you’re right, Walter. Our lives are changed.”

Walter ignored the invitation to sit and instead looked hard at Ted. “It’s true, then? You’ve been screwing my wife?”

“We didn’t plan it, Walt,” Ted said. Sweat now glistened on his forehead and his face was pale. “Sometimes these things just happen.”

“Tell me, Ted, just how long have you been screwing her?” Walter’s tone was soft with menace.

Ted stood up. “I think you should discuss those details with Francine. She—”

Walter slammed his glass on the bar, took three steps across the room and grabbed the front of Ted’s shirt. “If I ask you for details, you bastard, then you be man enough to answer,” he said between clenched teeth. Although he was three inches shorter than Ted, he outweighed him by a good forty pounds. Tightening his grip, he gave a twist to the shirt and Ted suddenly couldn’t breathe. Feet scrabbling, he made a strangled sound, trying to keep his balance and loosen Walter’s hold at the same time.

“Walter!” Rachel pulled frantically at his elbow, but it was like trying to move a stone statue. “Please, Walter, stop! Don’t, please, don’t!” But Walter was past hearing…or caring. He drew his fist back and let fly a hard right at Ted’s face.

“Oh, my God!” Rachel watched helplessly as the two men crashed over the coffee table. The glass top shattered. Books, photos, a potted orchid and mementos went flying. Blood spurted from Ted’s nose. Both men rolled about, grunting and gouging and kicking, each trying to find an opening to strike a blow.

“Dad! Mom! Jeez, what’s going on?”

Rachel turned to find Nick in the doorway, staring in amazement. “Nick, oh, thank God, help me stop them!”

The boy hesitated only a second before dashing into action. “You take Dad and I’ll take Dr. Walt.” Wading into the fray, he got a good grip on the back of Walt’s collar and pulled tight, momentarily choking off the older man’s breath. Rachel didn’t need to do more than grab at Ted’s arm. Once he had a chance, he scrambled out of Walter’s reach and got hastily to his feet, swiping at his bloody nose with the sleeve of his expensive shirt. He stood heaving and trying to catch his breath, watching warily as Nick kept a firm hold on Walter.

“I’m okay,” Walter said to Nick, shaking free of the boy’s grip. “Sorry about that, Rachel. Nick.” Then he turned back to Ted. “No apology to you, you prick. And don’t think I’m done with you yet. Francine may be determined to leave me, but it’ll be a cold day in hell before she ever belongs to you.” Giving his shoulders a quick hunch, he straightened the collar of his golf shirt and began tucking in the tails. That done, he looked briefly at Rachel and Nick, standing stunned and silent before turning back to Ted. “What the hell’s the matter with you, you dickhead? You’ve got everything a man could want right here in Rachel and your kids and still you go poaching my territory. What, you think the grass is greener on the other side? My side,” he emphasized, jabbing his thumb toward his chest. Then, shaking his head, he crossed the room to leave, but at the door, he turned back for one final shot. “You’re a goddamn fool, Ted.”

Four

“Dad, Mom, what was that all about?” Nick demanded in bewilderment. “I heard the commotion and when I get downstairs I find my dad and his partner at fist city! Jeez.”

“It’s nothing,” Ted said curtly, tearing a paper towel from a roll behind the bar. “Go on back upstairs.”

He dampened the towel and pressed it to his nose, unaware of a cut near his eye, which Rachel could see beginning to swell. Walter’s first blow got him square on his nose, but he must have landed a blow that glanced high off the cheekbone. He’d have a shiner soon that wouldn’t fade before Monday, when he’d have to show his face at the practice. She wondered how he’d explain it to the staff.

“Go upstairs?” Hands propped on his hips, Nick stared at his father. “You’re kidding, right? You were in a fight, Dad. A real knock-down, drag-out with Dr. Walt. Jeez, he’s supposed to be your best friend.”

“Nick—” Rachel began, but he wasn’t finished.

“The coffee table is smashed,” the boy said, waving an arm at the desecration in the room, “you’ve got a busted nose and a shiner, and you say it’s nothing? I don’t think so.”

“It’s personal,” Ted said, talking through the towel. “I’ll explain later.”

Nick made a disgusted sound and turned to his mother. “What did Dr. Walt mean, that Francine would never belong to Dad?”

“Nick—” She put out a hand and felt something twist near her heart. “I’m sorry you had to see this. I don’t think—”

“Is Dad having an affair with Francine?” Nick’s face was pale, but his eyes burned.

Rachel looked at Ted. “Now is not the time for this discussion,” Ted said, grimacing at the bloodstains on the towel. “I can’t believe this! I’ve probably got a broken nose.”

“That’s it, isn’t it, Mom?” Nick persisted. “He’s screwing Francine.”

“Nick, please…” Rachel caught his hand and tried to guide him over to the settee. “You know we don’t allow that language. Sit down and I’ll try to explain.” But Nick stayed stiffly on his feet, glaring at his father. No one noticed Kendall standing in the doorway until she spoke.

“I want to hear, too.”

All eyes went to the little girl looking sweetly innocent in a nightie sprinkled with a pattern of tiny red hearts. Bunny faces on her bedroom slippers peeked from beneath the ruffle at the bottom and her camera hung by a cord around her neck. Gingerly avoiding the glass on the floor, she went to her mother. “I heard someone banging on the door and I wanted my camera, but it took a minute to find it. Then Dr. Walt started yelling, all mad and everything. I almost didn’t remember to take pictures when him and Daddy started to fight, but then I did. Why were they fighting?”

“You took pictures?” Rachel said faintly.

Kendall nodded, then looked at her dad. “So why were you and Dr. Walt mad at each other, Daddy?”

Rachel slipped an arm around the little girl’s waist and gave Ted another compelling look.

“I’m going to have to take care of this bleeding,” he mumbled. Face down, he ducked past his family. “Sorry.”

“I’m right, huh, Mom?” Nick persisted as Ted escaped. “He’s fooling around with Francine.”

Rachel took one of each of her children’s hands and paused for a moment, praying that she’d be able to tell them what was necessary in a way that would do them the least harm. “Sometimes,” she began, “people who are married to each other discover that even though they have many good things together, such as wonderful children and a lovely house and good jobs, that somehow they need something different. A change, maybe. Your…your dad—” she cleared her throat as it threatened to close “—your dad is experiencing something like that.”

“So the something different Dad needed,” Nick said, cutting to the chase as always, “was an affair with his best friend’s wife? Have I got it right?”

Rachel closed her eyes in momentary pain. “It…it appears that…he and Francine are involved, yes. At the moment.”

“What a dumb shit!” Nick stood up abruptly. He hadn’t put on a shirt before heading downstairs, so he wore only the bottoms of his Joe Boxer shorts. His sleek young torso heaved with emotion. Arms stiff at his sides, he clenched both hands into fists, working them open and closed. “Dr. Walt should have done more than coldcock him one. What he should have done—”

“Nick.” Rachel held up her hand. “It might feel good to rant and rave at your dad for the moment, but he is, and always will be, your father.”

“He’s sure acting like a piss-poor one, then,” the boy said bitterly.

“I don’t understand,” Kendall said, her small brow wrinkled in confusion. “What’s Daddy doing that’s wrong?”

“He’s fooling around with Dr. Walt’s wife, brat. That’s a big no-no.”

“It’s not okay for Daddy to be friends with Ms. Francine?” Kendall looked in bewilderment first at Rachel, then at Nick.

“They’re more than friends, Kendy,” Nick said, softening his tone.

“Dad and Ms. Francine have special feelings for each other,” Rachel explained. “They want to be together…like Nick says…as more than friends.”

“But what about you if they want to be together like that?” Kendall asked, her frown returning.

“Dad has decided that he wants some time to live apart from me right now, Kendall. He’ll probably move to our cabin on the lake, so he won’t be here with us like he has been.”

Kendall’s eyes widened. “He’s going to sleep there and eat and…and everything?”

“For the time being, yes,” Rachel said, nodding. “But he’ll be close by when you want to see him. The cabin is only an hour from Rose Hill. It’s just that he won’t be living in this house.”

Kendall studied her mother’s face for a long moment. “Are we getting a divorce?”

Rachel brought the little girl’s hand up to her cheek. “Who said anything about a divorce, sweetheart?”

Kendy looked worried. “But you won’t, will you, Mom? I have friends who’re divorced and it’s not good.”

How Rachel wished she could make that promise. “I don’t think your dad is going to move to Dallas or any place other than Rose Hill, Kendy,” she said, trying to sound reassuring. “His practice is here and he won’t be leaving that. So even though he’s living at the lake, he’s still here for you when you need him.”

“Yeah,” Nick muttered, glancing at the door where Ted had escaped. Then he added in a tone not overheard by his little sister, “Just don’t count on him when the going gets tough.”

“Francine? He’s having an affair with the wife of his partner?” Marta stood up and began pacing the length of the sunroom. “Has he lost his freakin’ mind? Walter Dalton will kill him!”

“He came close to it this morning,” Rachel muttered dryly.

Marta stopped. “What? Walter knows?”

Rachel sat with her arms wrapped around her knees. “He appeared before seven today, not ten minutes after Ted, who’d spent the night at the lake cabin. And you’re right. He was so furious when Ted didn’t deny the affair that he lost it, Marta. One minute he was hurling threats and insults and the next, he was at Ted’s throat, literally. If Nick hadn’t appeared just then and helped break them up, I don’t know how the fracas would have ended.”

Marta motioned toward the coffee table. “Is that why you have a coffee table with no top?”

“Glass went everywhere. They were like two schoolboys, Marta. It was dreadful. And to have Nick and Kendall see it all made it ten times worse.”

“They fought in front of the kids?”

Rachel sighed. “Kendall took pictures. You know she carries that camera everywhere she goes.”

“Oh, boy.”

Rachel rested her cheek on her knees, looking beyond Marta to her beautifully landscaped yard. “I had no choice but to tell them, Marta. Or, at least, I had to try to give them some kind of explanation once they saw what happened between Ted and Walt, plus they heard what Walt said. I’m not sure they’re convinced things are as dire as they really are, but personally, I believe Ted’s serious.”

“Classic male midlife crisis,” Marta muttered with disgust. “Or just your basic male propensity to cheat.” Marta, who had been engaged several years ago to a cop, had walked into his apartment unexpectedly one day and found him with his partner, a pretty brunette rookie fresh out of the police academy. She’d immediately broken the engagement and in less than six months had married Jorge Ruiz, a quiet, mild-mannered music teacher at RHH, who’d died of Hodgkin’s disease eighteen months later.

“Whatever you call it,” Rachel said, “he’s definitely infatuated with Francine right now, so much so that he seems blind to what it ultimately means to his children.”

“Or to you.”

“That, too.”

“What are you going to do?”

She shrugged. “What can I do? I think I owe it to the kids not to do anything rash just yet.”

“You mean in case he changes his mind and decides to let you forgive him and y’all just pick up where you left off?”

“I guess I’d be a dope to do that. You certainly didn’t give Pete a second chance.”

“Ted’s the dope, not you,” Marta said. “And Pete didn’t ask for a second chance, not that I would have considered it for one minute.” She reached over and patted Rachel’s knee. “I know you’re hurt and in a state of shock right now, Ray, but for too many years Ted’s been a selfish, narcissistic bastard—pardon me, but it’s true. You’ve spoiled him rotten.”

“Now you sound like my mother.”

“An astute woman. At least she’s never looked at Ted through rose-colored glasses.”

“The feeling was mutual,” Rachel said, thinking of the tension that had existed between the two for years. It had been difficult, as she’d felt pulled in opposite directions. “Mom and Ted are almost always disagreeing over something.”

“The miracle is that Ted’s found someone else willing to put up with his ego. I give it six months, max.” Marta straddled a chair and folded her arms on the back. “Can we assume this is the first time he’s cheated?”

That thought had been on Rachel’s mind ever since the scene in the Dallas restaurant. “I’m not sure,” she murmured, recalling the sexy, young workout coach Ted had been very friendly with at their club a few years ago. Rachel, whose weight had crept up a bit, had talked Ted into enrolling as they both needed more exercise. Kendall had been entering preschool and Rachel had been run ragged trying to juggle her responsibilities managing Ted and Walt’s practice and caring for the kids. Ted had admired cute little Wendy from the start, and although Rachel did whittle down to a size eight, Ted had thrown himself into the fitness program a hundred and ten percent. After six months, he was as buff as a college boy. Without admitting to herself that he showed more interest in Wendy than was appropriate, Rachel had concentrated on giving him extra attention. She’d planned special outings, a five-day cruise, a surprise birthday party for him, an intimate candlelight dinner on their anniversary.

Then Wendy had moved to Denver.

But what if Wendy hadn’t moved? she wondered now. Had she failed to heed signs that he didn’t hold his vows to be as sacred as she did? Had she closed her eyes to Ted’s true character then? Had circumstances alone saved the day when Wendy left town?

Marta took a sip of cola. “If the kids know, there’s no way you can keep this from your mom,” she said, adding dryly, “I’d love to hear her take on the situation. Dinah’s gonna want to hang him by his cheatin’ balls.”

“I know.” Rachel sighed and glanced at her watch. “Kendall has a soccer game at two, then the whole team’s going somewhere for Amy Milton’s birthday. As soon as the game’s over, I’ll stop by and tell her. I need to check on her, anyway, but I’ll have to do it after Kendall’s game. No chance of Ted showing up for that. As for telling Mom, best just to get it over with. I can imagine her reaction and it won’t be pretty.” Lifting her hand, she studied the wedding ring on her finger somberly. “I wish there was some way to avoid having the world know what’s happened, Marta. It’s painful and humiliating for me, but it’s going to be worse for Nick and Kendall. I see kids at school coping with the breakup of their parents’ marriage. The reaction of their peers is not always sympathetic. I hate subjecting Nick and Kendall to that.”

“It’ll be rocky at first, sure. But they’re tough, Rachel, and your relationship with them is great. Plus, you’re strong, and you’ll need that strength now. You’ll come through this well, whether your marriage survives or not. As for the kids, there’ll be as much moral support from their friends as otherwise. Even more. For the others—” she finished her drink and stood up “—when shitty people speak, just consider the source. The worst thing is, it’s all Ted’s doing and he’ll be distanced from a lot of the fallout living at the lake, the rat. Not fair, but that’s the way real life works.” She grabbed her keys, leaned over and gave Rachel a kiss on the cheek. “Call me if you need me.”

Cam seldom took a break for lunch as it tended to break his concentration, but he’d been interrupted this morning by a call from his agent, Ben Eckstein, who was hot to start negotiations for a new contract. Nothing distracted Cam like contract negotiations. So, after firmly quelling Ben’s enthusiasm—and failing to pick up after Ben had interrupted—he remembered he hadn’t eaten the night before, so he wandered into the kitchen and made himself a sandwich. He was standing on his back porch eating it when he saw the kid leave Dinah Hunt’s patio and start across the lawn.

The boy was lean and lanky, in his mid-teens, Cam guessed, feeling a catch in his chest. Looked athletic, too, moving with an easy gait in spite of the fact that he hadn’t yet grown into those long limbs and big hands and feet. A lot like Jack. And just about Jack’s age when—

Dark memories instantly killed his appetite and he tossed the sandwich, food for the squirrels. Standing motionless, he watched the kid step around Dinah’s newly planted herb garden, then move through the thick growth of azaleas that separated the boundaries of her property and his own. Her grandson, Rachel’s boy? No sign of a car in the driveway, so apparently it took more for Rachel to find a moment for visiting her mother than a brief collapse in the garden.

As the kid drew closer, he tried to come up with a name. Dinah had mentioned it. Nick. Yeah, Nick. And no mistake about it, he thought with a scowl, the kid was heading straight for his porch.

“’Scuse me, sir.” He stood looking at Cam, hesitant and polite. But determined.

Shit. It was too late to turn on his heel and go inside. “Nick, right?”

“Yes, sir.” The boy ventured closer, stopped at the bottom step. Dark hair like his mother’s and those same odd gold eyes, Cam noted. “Dinah Hunt is my grandmother.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Nick glanced down at his feet, as if to gather his thoughts. Or courage. Then he looked back up at Cam. “My mom told me how you happened to see Gran when she fainted yesterday and that you took her to the hospital. I just wanted to come over and thank you for doing that.”

“No need.” Cam took a couple of steps down to bring himself more in line with the boy. While inside, the memory of Jack was as heavy as lead, only a robot would be unmoved by the appeal in the boy’s face. “It was sheer luck that I happened to be out when it happened. You would have done the same. Anyone would.”

“Maybe. But I just wanted to, you know, say thanks. I mean, I know my mom was grateful. And Gran, too, of course.” Fiddling with a smooth stone he’d picked up, he gazed at his grandmother’s house a moment before turning back to Cam. “And I need to ask you a favor.”

Ah, Jesus, what now? Warily, Cam braced himself. He was promising nothing. “A favor?”

“Yes, sir.” Nick tossed the stone. “My mom…she’s got a lot of things on her mind lately. She’s a guidance counselor at RHHS. I don’t know if you knew that, but—”

“I knew.”

“Well, a lot of kids sort of rely on her when they get in trouble or have personal problems and stuff.” He shrugged. “Not that she complains. She says it comes with the territory, but it can get so that she doesn’t have a lot of time left over for—”

“For her mother?”

He gave Cam a startled look. “No, sir. Well, not exactly. Gran’s pretty independent about that. Doesn’t want any advice most of the time.” He hesitated, then went on. “What I mean about my mom is she doesn’t have much time left over for anyone, not even herself. And if she did, she wouldn’t do much for herself, anyway. She’d be thinking of Kendy or me or…or Dad. Gran, too.” He paused, watching a squirrel eyeing the tossed sandwich. “And my dad, he’s…ah, kind of…I guess you could say…preoccupied right now.”

“Preoccupied.”

“It’s a long story.” Nick shifted so that he faced Cam squarely. “Anyway, Mom’s going to be really maxed out for some time because of this, uh, personal stuff that’s come up.” He paused and then went on in a rush, “And so the favor I had in mind was this. If you could just sort of keep an eye on Gran when Mom isn’t around—or me—it would mean a lot.”

“Does your Gran know about this?”

“You mean that I’m asking you to keep an eye on her? Jeez, no! She’d kill me. She’d come after me with my own bat. Mom, too. Anyway, Gran doesn’t think she needs any help, but where would she have been yesterday if you hadn’t just lucked out and happened to see her faint?”

She would have come around in a few minutes and fixed herself something to eat, Cam thought. And it would have taught her a lesson. But then again, if it had been the heart attack he’d feared at the time, then this boy’s concern was well placed. “It isn’t necessary to ask me to keep an eye on your grandmother, Nick,” he said. “After what happened, I was planning on it. Within reason. But just so you’ll know, I’m a writer and I often get caught up in what I’m doing and lose track of time. You can’t depend on me exclusively.”

“Yes, sir, I understand that. I’ll be checking on her myself. A lot.”

They both watched the squirrel scamper across the ground and up into a tree, carrying a piece of Cam’s sandwich. “Speaking of bats,” Cam said, “do you play sports?”

“Yes, sir, baseball.” He propped a foot on the bottom step. “I started with T-ball when I was six and I’ve been playing ever since.”

“What’s your position?”

“First base. For the B team, right now. I mean, I’m in the ninth grade and I won’t have a shot at varsity till next year. Maybe not even then, but by eleventh I should be in.” At ease now, Nick slid his hands into his hip pockets, comfortable talking about a subject he knew well. “Now, my buddy, Ward—Ward Rivers—he’s real good. He’s a pitcher. He might even get a shot at varsity this year, he’s so good. His brother Jimbo’s five years older and he got a scholarship to play for UT.”

He knew him. Jimbo Rivers had been a pallbearer at Jack’s funeral. “I’ve heard of him,” Cam said.

“Well, Coach told us he’ll probably be tapped by one of the majors at the end of this season. Is that cool or what?”

Yeah, cool. Cam clenched his jaw hard. His chest actually hurt, deep down where he kept a lock on everything that made him think of Jack. “The coach would be Monk Tyson,” he said.

“Yes, sir. You know him?”

“We’ve met.”

Nick nodded. “He’s put a lot of athletes into the majors. I mean, they play college sports and then move right on up to the big leagues.”

“Remarkable for a small town like Rose Hill,” Cam said.

“That’s what everybody says. Well…I need to get back. I didn’t tell Gran where I was headed and she’ll be breakin’ out the blueberry muffins any minute now.” He flashed a quick grin. “She likes to push food at me when I come and I’m sure not complaining. You should try her pecan pie. Man, it’s to die for!” He hesitated, then stepped forward and stuck out his hand. “Thanks, Mr. Ford.”

Drawing a deep breath, Cam took the boy’s hand. Bony, young, strong. Like Jack’s. “Cam, not Mr. Ford. And, like I said, don’t rely on me exclusively regarding your gran.”

“Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir, I won’t.” He started off, but then stopped and looked back. “If you notice anything that me or Mom should know about, will you let us know?”

“Yeah, I’ll do that.”

Five

Rachel had an eye out for Nick at Kendall’s soccer game, but he didn’t show, which was unusual. Since the beginning of the season, he’d made it a point to go to nearly every game because somehow Ted never could. Kendall always beamed after spotting Nick in the bleachers, and her teammates almost swooned with delight over her big brother. But today there was no sign of Nick.

The team won, anyway, and Rachel saw Kendall off in an SUV with Amy Milton’s mom driving, then headed over to see Dinah. As she got out of her car in her mother’s driveway, she glanced with new interest at the house next door, now that she knew it belonged to Cameron Ford. A rambling forties-style cottage, it was a soft shade of buttery yellow with elaborate gingerbread trim painted white. Clearly, it had been added on to more than once over the years and the result was charming, she had to admit. In the front yard, a huge oak with wide-spread limbs furnished deep shade and beauty that no amount of professional landscaping could match. Underneath the ancient tree was a white wrought-iron lawn set, a table and four chairs that would be the perfect place to enjoy morning coffee while reading the paper or to laze away a summer afternoon with a book and a glass of ice-cold lemonade.

She’d noticed the house a couple of years ago when she’d called on a student’s parents who lived nearby, never dreaming her mother would one day decide to move to the neighborhood. At the time, she seemed to recall this particular house showing dire signs of neglect. Cameron must have decided to restore it.

She saw movement of the lace curtain at the upstairs window and wondered if he was watching her now, probably thinking her visit to her mother was in response to his lecture about neglecting Dinah. Turning away, she hurried up the flagstone walk to her mother’s front door.

As soon as she got inside, Dinah called out from somewhere in the rear of the house. “I’m back here! Pour yourself some wine, Rachel. It’s six o’clock somewhere.”

Not a bad idea, Rachel thought. An opened bottle of a good cabernet sat breathing on the kitchen counter with one of Dinah’s unique wineglasses ready and waiting. She poured the wine and went in search of her mother.

“Hi,” she said, upon finding Dinah curled up on a chaise on her patio. Afternoon sun had taken the chill off the day, not unusual in this part of Texas in February. Rachel held up the wine. “Were you expecting someone?”

“You,” Dinah said. “Nick dropped by earlier.”

“Oh.”

“He’s mad as hell at Ted.”

“Well, that makes five of us, I guess.”

“Who’s the fifth?” Dinah ticked off on her fingers, “Me, Nick, Kendy, you and—”

“Marta.” Rachel sat down on the porch swing. “I should have guessed Nick would come straight to you. I hoped I would get over here before you heard it from one of the kids. And you’re right, he was very angry. It may be a long time before Ted can mend what was destroyed this morning. If ever.”

“Hmm.” Dinah took a sip of wine. “The only thing that surprised me was the fight with Walter. It’s hard to imagine Ted actually getting into a physical confrontation with anyone. Over anything. I wish I’d been there.”

“It wasn’t Ted’s doing, believe me.” Rachel rubbed her left temple and added in an unsteady voice, “And, trust me, Mom, you wouldn’t want to see it. I was already dreading having to tell the kids their father is having an affair and wants to move out, but to have them learn it that way made it even more traumatic. The whole thing still seems so unbelievable.” Tears started in her eyes and she abruptly leaned over and set her glass on a small wrought-iron table. “Ted with another woman,” she murmured, pressing her fingers to her lips. “I’m still in a state of shock.”

“Excuse me, ladies.”

Rachel looked around, startled to find Cameron Ford at the edge of the patio. She turned away, quickly swiping at both eyes as Dinah greeted him. How long had he been there, she wondered frantically. How much had he heard?

“Are you knocking off early today, Cam?” Dinah asked.

After a keen look at Rachel’s face, he replied to Dinah. “Just taking a break. I realized when I got home from the hospital that I had some personal items of yours. When they removed your watch and earrings, they gave them to me for safekeeping.” He handed her a small plastic bag.

“Thank you,” Dinah said, peeking into the bag. “I realized this morning that I’d left them at the hospital, so I would have wasted a trip going back for them.”

“I spotted you sitting out here from my kitchen window and didn’t realize that you weren’t alone. I can see my timing’s off.”

“Not at all,” Dinah spoke, stopping him as he turned to go. “There’s more wine. Rachel, go inside and pour a glass for Cam. Or there’s beer, if you’d prefer that.”

He looked directly at Rachel then. “No, thanks.” He seemed to hesitate, then he blew out a breath and squared his shoulders. “I suppose now’s as good a time as any to apologize.”

“Apologize?” Rachel knew traces of tears were still in her eyes and wished she had a tissue. Almost as the thought was born, he produced a neatly folded handkerchief.

“Here, looks like you’ve had some bad news.”

She hesitated briefly, then took the handkerchief, murmuring thanks before pressing it to her eyes. There was no hiding the fact that she’d been crying. “What are you apologizing for?”

“For being out of line at the hospital yesterday. It was the wrong time to jump you about something that’s none of my business.”

Dinah chuckled. “But you’ll reserve the right to jump her at another time, huh?”

A smile threatened before he bent down to pick up a leafy twig that had blown onto the flagstone surface. “Maybe if I count to ten, it’ll save me from sticking my foot in my mouth again,” he replied, settling his gaze again on Rachel.

“Just so you’ll know, Cam, Rachel makes more time for me than I deserve.” Dinah disregarded a murmured denial from Rachel. “And if I felt neglected, she knows I wouldn’t be shy about saying so.”

“Like I said, I was over the line.”

“Forget it,” Rachel said, wishing he’d go.

“One more thing,” Cam said, studying the twig in his hands before looking up into her eyes. “I’ve spit out the apology, so I might as well be in for a penny as in for a pound. I couldn’t help overhearing the reason you’re upset. For what it’s worth, if Ted has screwed around and messed up your life and his kids’, too, then he’s a bigger fool than I figured.”

Rachel stared, unsure how to respond to such a straight-on insult to Ted, even if she’d been in a mood to defend him. A more tactful person would have ignored what was clearly a personal conversation, wouldn’t he? While she was trying to think of a reply, he straightened, adding as he was half-turned to leave again, “Did it really come as a shock to you?”

“Yes. Of course.” And was instantly shocked that she’d answered. The subject was devastatingly personal and he was, after all, a virtual stranger. Frowning, she gave a confused shake of her head. “Do you know Ted? Have the two of you met?”

“It’s a small town. I’ve seen him on the golf course and…around here and there. He’s a jerk. Beats me what you saw in him to begin with, but with two kids and a pretty solid history together, he’s the loser in this, not you.”

“Why don’t you tell us what you really think?” Dinah put in dryly.

Rachel hardly noticed, she was so riveted by what he was telling her. Later, she’d probably figure out that he still felt so hostile toward her that it had been easy to speak with brutal honesty. Which gave her more information than she’d get from her friends, even if they’d known about Ted. “Since you’re into plain speaking about my husband,” she said stiffly, “I’d like to know if you were aware of other times when he…he…”

“Cheated?” Cam broke the twig in half and tossed it in the grass. “If I did, I wouldn’t tell you. What good would it do? You’d only feel worse than you do already.”

“My sentiments exactly,” Dinah said.

Again ignoring her mother, Rachel rose slowly from the swing. “Then you do know something?”

“What you need to do now,” he said, ignoring her question, “is to beat him to the punch in case my reading of his character holds. Go to the bank and make sure he doesn’t clean out your accounts, which would leave you in a financial bind just when you don’t need that kind of grief. And since he’s caused the upheaval in your life, you and your kids shouldn’t be forced to alter your lifestyle. Do you have a lawyer?”

“A lawyer?”

“Yeah, trust me. You need a lawyer.”

Her expression turned frosty. “I don’t see what concern—”

“It’s not my concern. I’m just telling you that your first step should be to call a lawyer. And not someone used to handling both your business affairs. Get someone new, and while you’re at it, get someone who’s good.”

“You should call Stephanie Roscoe, Rachel,” Dinah suggested.

“Wait—” Rachel pressed her fingers against both temples. “Enough, please. This is crazy. We—I—don’t know if any of this is necessary. Ted’s probably going through a midlife crisis. That’s usually a temporary thing. It’s common for men of his age.” She glanced at them and got only bland stares in return. “And even so, I don’t think Ted would take advantage that way. He—”

She was interrupted by her mother’s snort of disgust. “You just found out he’s been cheating on you for a year, honey. And until you saw it with your own eyes, you probably didn’t think he’d do something like that, did you?”

Rachel sat back down again. “This is insane,” she murmured.

Cam propped a foot on the edge of the patio. “It happens all the time.”

She looked up at that, hearing more than a trite cliché in his tone. “It happened to you?” It was a personal question, but he’d opened the door himself.

“Call it the voice of experience.” He shrugged, stepping back to leave. “And if I had it to do over again, I’d react differently. I wouldn’t waste time in denial. You sound as if you’re ready to defend Ted, but he’s not showing the same sensitivity to you or your kids, so forget him and think about the kids and…just in case…take some common-sense precautions, that’s all I’m saying.”

He brushed grit from his hands. “And since I’m so full of advice today, I’ll just make this one other suggestion. Don’t waste time wondering what you did or didn’t do that made him cheat. That’s mostly a road to nowhere when you need to be concentrating on what you and the kids’ll do with the rest of your life.” He then stepped off the patio and walked away as abruptly as he’d appeared.

“Whoa,” Dinah said softly as soon as he was out of earshot. “And here we thought he was surly and insensitive and had a deep-seated grudge against you.”

“I still think that,” Rachel said, watching him make his way across the lawn, setting a fast clip to cover the distance between her mother’s property and his. “Yesterday, he could barely be civil to me and today he’s doling out advice, but not in a very loving way. He’s probably getting some kind of sick satisfaction knowing my life is falling apart.” She gave a push on the swing with one foot and settled back while it swayed gently. “Whatever his motives, I don’t need his advice.”

“I wouldn’t dismiss it so lightly, hon. To hear him tell it, he’s been there, done that. Besides, it can’t hurt to call Stephanie and simply run the situation by her, just to hear what she might suggest.”

Rachel looked at her mother. “Mom, for Ted to do what Cameron said would be a betrayal as bad as his cheating in the first place. Do you really think he would be so…so low-down?”

“I’m hardly unbiased, but I’ve seen some pretty sneaky things done when couples begin talking divorce. You—”

“We haven’t decided to divorce! Ted’s moving to the lake cabin, but it’s more like a separation. He’ll come to his senses, I’m sure of it. The consequences of an affair with Francine are just too dire. For one thing—if we’re talking assets—Ted’s whole financial life is tied up in the practice and the affair jeopardizes his position there. He had a taste of Walter’s reaction this morning, for heaven’s sake. He can’t think Walter will simply stand aside while Ted steals his wife and yet expects to continue to work alongside him every day, can he?”

“Betcha a dollar to doughnuts that he’s telling himself he’ll figure a way to get around that sticky issue.”

“I grant you his behavior is pretty disgusting,” Rachel said as she bent forward and picked up her wineglass, “but he won’t just dismiss eighteen years of marriage and our two children like one of his used suits. You’ll see.”

“Just promise me you’ll call Stephanie.”

That lowlife, Cam thought as he made his way back across the lawn. And stupid to boot, screwing around with his partner’s wife. Although he didn’t know Ted Forrester beyond a few casual encounters at the golf course, he’d seen him a couple of months ago at a restaurant in Dallas with a woman and it wasn’t Rachel. With no connection to Rachel other than the few minutes he’d spent in her office five years before, he’d thought nothing of it. But now…somehow after overhearing her talking to her mother and knowing the boy’s concern, he couldn’t quite manage the detachment it took to stay clear of sticky situations.

Back inside his house now, he went to the fridge for a beer. Unscrewing the cap, he headed back onto the porch and stood squinting through the afternoon sun at Dinah’s patio where both women still sat talking. Ever since Nick’s surprise visit this morning, he’d been trying to figure what in hell was behind the boy’s request. Well, now he knew. With his father shirking his responsibilities as keeper of the Forrester cave, the son felt obliged to assume the man-of-the-house role. Apparently that included helping his mom manage things on the home front and seeing to the welfare of his little sister and his grandmother…even if it meant forgoing his pride and seeking help from someone who was a virtual stranger. A daunting task for a fifteen-year-old.

His beer forgotten, he stared at the two women as thoughts of Jack and his own desolated family rushed back. He’d spent five years wishing he could turn back the clock, wishing especially that he wasn’t haunted by that last telephone call from Jack.

It had been late at night and he’d been in the throes of his usual deadline angst, trying to work through a book that was giving him problems. He’d rewritten the dialogue of the killer at least four times, trying to get it right. It was a crucial scene, one that would shed a glimmer of understanding about a man who had murdered half a dozen teenagers in the local lover’s lane of a small town in California. The crime had actually happened, and only God—or the devil—knew for certain what the killer said or thought as he prepared his young victims for sexual torture and death. Cam’s extensive research into the case had provided a lot of facts, but little psychological insight. If he’d pulled the story out of his imagination, he could invent whatever drove a monster to kill. But his genre was true crime, and his evaluation of the killer’s psyche had to be solid. After three bestsellers, nothing less for his next book would satisfy his fans or Cam himself.

In the back of his mind, he’d heard his phone ringing but ignored it. Everyone knew to leave him alone when he was working to a deadline. The book had to be on his editor’s desk in two weeks, and even working fourteen-hour days, he’d have to push to get it done. It was on the fifth ring that the answering machine picked up.

“Hi, Dad. It’s me.”

Jack. Cam dropped his head and groaned. It was the third time this week that his son had called, and Cam was still clueless over the reason for the calls. Lately when Jack phoned, he seemed to have something on his mind besides playing ball and the latest movie or rock group. When Cam tried probing deeper, all he got was evasion or Jack suddenly had to hang up.

Now Cam turned to look at the answering machine, silent except for Jack’s breathing. It could simply be that Jack wanted to see Cam, whether in a visit to New York or in Texas, where he lived with his mother. He hadn’t come out and said so, but that had to be it. He knew it was not possible. It was the middle of the school year. Besides, he knew Cam was on deadline. Jack understood these things. Or he used to understand these things.

“Dad, will you pick up?” There was urgency in his tone now. “I need to talk to you.”

Maybe it was Cara. Now that Jack was in the full throes of adolescence, maybe they were at odds over some things. Girls. Sex. Algebra. But, hell, it would kill Cara if Jack actually pushed to come and live with Cam in New York and leave her.

“I know you’re on deadline, Dad, but—” Jack’s voice caught on something that sounded like a sob.

Cam picked up. “Hey, Jack. What’s up, son?”

“Not too much.” Cam heard a sniff, then in a muffled tone, Jack said, “I guess you’re working, huh?”

Cam looked at the blinking cursor on his monitor. “I’m trying to wrap this one up, yeah, but maybe taking a break’s a good thing. How’s it going with you, son?”

“We had a game tonight. I scored eighteen points.”

“Well, hey! Next year, you’ll make the varsity team in a cakewalk.”

“If I don’t break a leg or something.”

Cam smiled. “It’s hard to break a leg that’s only fifteen years old. Now, you take my legs—”

“Nah, Dad, thanks. You can keep both of ’em.” Jack laughed, but to Cam’s ears, it seemed shaky, not quite right.

“Is something wrong, Jack? Everything okay with your mom?”

“Mom’s okay. I think she’s serious about this guy Anthony.”

“You like him?”

“He’s cool, I guess.”

“How about school? Those grades went a little south last term. Are you having a problem?”

“It was my own fault, Dad. I just…f—ah, messed up and it got away from me. I’ll bring ’em around next term, okay?”

“I know you can do it, son.” Cam rubbed a hand over his face, knowing he should be the one helping Jack, but how the hell could he when they were separated by the breadth of the whole country? It had been a stupid idea for Cara to move back to Texas after the divorce. What the hell had she been thinking? Why had he let her do it?

“Dad…”

“Yeah?”

“I—ah, I mean, I wish we could—” Jack made a strangled sound. “When do you think you’ll finish your book?”

“Couple of weeks, Jack. I’ve run into some problems with this one, but I’ll work them out eventually. Soon as it’s done, I’m outta here and coming to see you.” Using the mouse, Cam idly scrolled back to the chapter he’d written the day before and scanned the text. After a second or two, inspiration struck. Suddenly he knew how to write the scene he’d been wrestling with.

“…some trouble with the guys on the team,” Jack was saying. “I was thinking maybe you could come down and—”

“Hold a second, Jack.” Cam clicked the mouse and wrote a couple of phrases before losing his thought. “Now, what’s that you were saying?”

“It’s—oh, nothing, Dad,” he replied in a deflated tone. “I guess you need to get back to work.”

“I can tell there’s something on your mind, son. The minute this book’s done, I’ll get on a plane and be there. We can talk it over.”

“You really think it won’t be too long, Dad?”

“Two weeks, maximum, Jack. I promise.”

“Well—”

“I’ll get this thing in the mail and we’ll spend some real time together. You know your grandparents’ house is empty now they’re gone, so I don’t see why I can’t arrange to stay for the summer. No reason why I have to be here in New York. How ’bout that?”

“It’s great, Dad.” Jack spoke quietly and Cam thought he heard a break in the boy’s voice again, but the line went dead before he had a chance to reply. And he was soon lost in the scene that had been giving him trouble.

It was three o’clock in the morning when his phone rang again. Groggy from a sixteen-hour marathon at his computer and disoriented, he didn’t pick up until it finally penetrated who was speaking on the answering machine.

“Cara, what in hell—”

His ex-wife’s reply was muffled with sobs. Cam sat up then and said in a voice sharp with alarm, “What’s wrong, Cara?”

“It’s—it’s Jack, Cam. Oh, my God, it’s Jack.” She made a small, despairing sound. “He’s gone. Oh God, oh God, oh God, I can’t bear it.”

“What do you mean, he’s gone? He’s run away?”

“C-Cam…”

“Come on, Cara. What about Jack?”

Her voice steadied slightly as she managed to pull herself together. She breathed in and said dully, “Jack is dead, Cam. He’s committed suicide.”

He realized he was still standing on the porch, still focused on the two women with the pain of losing Jack a deep, black hole inside him. His life had been forever changed with that phone call. And what he wouldn’t give to have what Forrester was idiotically jeopardizing. Still, it was none of his business and he’d already broken one of his hard-and-fast rules by even acknowledging Rachel’s situation. He hadn’t expected to find her sitting with her mother when he dropped off Dinah’s jewelry, otherwise he’d have put off returning it. Then he’d compounded his mistake by apologizing. But he’d been out of line attacking her at the ER and he’d been out of line offering advice. Another stupid error. He’d made every mistake in the book handling his divorce and its consequences, so what could he offer that her vast circle of friends and family couldn’t?

He raised the bottle to take another drink and looked thoughtfully across the lawn. He’d honor his promise to the kid to keep an eye on Dinah, he decided as he turned to go back inside, but that was as far as he would go.

When Rachel got home later that day, she found that Ted had moved out. In their bedroom, she stared in shocked disbelief at the empty racks in their closet. By seizing a moment when no one else was in the house, he’d avoided what was sure to be a difficult scene. And he’d left her with the task of dealing with Nick and Kendall when they came home and found their father had cleared out.

She stood with a torrent of emotion roiling in her chest. It was one thing for Ted to tire of her as a wife and to want to avoid all the sticky stuff that women dished out to cheating husbands, but it was sneaky and cowardly to walk out on Nick and Kendall without at least taking a moment to sit down and reassure them that they’d still have a father even though he was no longer in the house with them. By leaving this way, it looked like he was abandoning them along with their mother. That was sure to be the way the kids would feel.

Fury, like nothing she’d ever felt, rose in her. How dare he! Since Friday, when she’d caught him red-handed, she’d managed to keep her emotions under control. Except for a few bewildered tears and some agonizing self-examination, she’d tried to handle his infidelity without unraveling emotionally. She’d told herself that for the sake of the kids she couldn’t afford to fall apart.

But the kids weren’t here right now, she thought, stalking across the room. And she was tired of behaving like the only grown-up in this farce. Stopping at Ted’s armoire, she jerked the doors open. Empty. In the bathroom, she discovered he’d even cleaned out all his toiletries. Moving like a woman possessed, she dashed down the stairs, swept up her purse and car keys and stormed out to her car. It was an hour’s drive to the lake cabin. Chest heaving with rage, she backed out and, with a squeal of tires, drove off to confront him.

Forty minutes later, she was still fuming as she pulled up in front of the cabin. Parking behind the small Porsche she recognized as Francine’s, she got out of her car, deliberately blocking the Porsche. Unlike the scene at the restaurant, this time, if Francine wanted to escape an uncomfortable confrontation, she was out of luck. She couldn’t move her car until Rachel was finished. And if the door was locked, Rachel planned to use her keys and walk right in. She didn’t give a damn if she found them naked and having sex. In fact, she wished exactly that would happen. Catching them in an embarrassing situation would give her unholy satisfaction.

She took the four porch steps in two quick strides and, without knocking, tried the unlocked door and went inside. There was an immediate let-down when she didn’t see them right away in the great room, all of which was visible from the front door. The thought of barging into the bedroom where they might actually be having sex was suddenly too disgusting. But as she stood with some of her anger fading, she heard their voices. They were in the hot tub.

She was flooded with a fresh wave of fury. Ted hated the hot tub. It had been her idea to install it when they’d remodeled the cabin. Ted hadn’t wanted it, had argued against it. The lake was great for fishing and boating, and a swimming pool was impractical in the wooded location, but she’d finally persuaded him that a hot tub was relaxing, even therapeutic after the hours both spent in stressful occupations. It could also be romantic, she’d suggested. That had been around the time she’d sensed Ted’s interest in Wendy at the health club. The hot tub had been one of the little gambits she’d dreamed up to add some spice to their love life. It hadn’t worked for them, she thought, now moving through the cabin to the deck, but apparently it had worked for Ted and Francine.

They actually were naked.

Spotting Rachel, Francine shrieked. Ted turned. His jaw dropped, but surprise quickly changed to irritation. He stood up, scowling, and grabbed two robes lying within reach. Moving in front of Francine, he managed to shield her as she scrambled into it, giving Rachel only a glimpse of her in the buff. Then he climbed out without any obvious haste. Rachel avoided more than a glimpse of his shriveled penis by looking beyond him while he donned a robe. Francine hovered warily just behind him, looking as if she thought Rachel might be armed.

Later, in telling Marta about it, Rachel had found some humor in the situation, but she felt no inclination to laugh now. She knew suddenly with a sick, sad resignation that her marriage was truly over. It would not be possible to get beyond actually seeing Ted with Francine this way.

“What do you mean by barging in here like this, Rachel?” Thanks to Walter, his left eye was puffy and half closed, making his outrage seem almost comical. She could not tell if his nose was broken, but she could always hope.

“Isn’t it obvious, Ted? I’m mad as hell and you’re going to hear about it whether you like it or not.”

“For God’s sake!” he said in disgust. “What does it take to convince you? Didn’t you hear anything I said this morning? I’m in love with Francine. She loves me and we want to be together. We’re going to be together whether you like it or not. Go home and get a life.”

Rachel mastered an urge to leap over the hot tub and scratch his other eye out. “I’m not here because I want anything from you, you thoughtless bastard! I’m here because of the sneaky way you packed up and left. Why didn’t you wait until Nick and Kendall came home so you could at least try to reassure them? Don’t you give a damn about your kids anymore? Is…is this—” she threw her arm out to include the house, the deck, the hot tub, Francine “—all you care about now?”

He looked irritated and anything but repentant. “I was planning on calling them later tonight.”

Fresh from a romp in the hot tub, he was still too dazzled to feel any guilt, Rachel thought. “Are you sure you can spare the time?” she asked sarcastically.

“Give it a rest, Rachel.” He stuck his feet into rubber slides and reached for his Rolex. “I still love my kids and I’ll explain how this happened.”

“How exactly will you explain it, Ted?” she asked, seeing that she wasn’t getting through to him. “Like you explained it to me? One day you and Francine were friends and the next you were having sex together? I think they’ve got that part already, thanks to the scene in our home this morning. And Nick, for one, is mad as hell over it. Kendall is simply bewildered.”

“It’ll take some getting used to, but they’ll be okay with it,” he said, dismissing almost casually something that was going to turn his children’s lives upside down. “That is, unless you go behind my back and paint me as evil incarnate.”

“You know better than that, Ted.”

His face was tight, his eyes hard. “These things happen a lot, Rachel. Probably half Nick and Kendy’s friends are part of blended families.”

“Blended families,” she repeated. “That has such a benign sound, doesn’t it? But I know from dealing with those kids every day that there’s pain and depression and jealousy jockeying for position in ‘blended families.”’ She used her fingers to make quotation marks. “And you don’t have a clue, Ted. So, don’t try to spin the effect of what you’re doing to me. It’s going to be devastating for Nick and Kendy. Even the most amicable divorces do terrible damage to the children involved.”

Ted let out an exasperated breath. “You sound like you’re reading some kind of research paper, Rachel. You’re exaggerating, as usual. You see only the screwed-up kids in your job. Nick and Kendy will be fine.”

Was he really so obtuse? She stared at him, her husband of eighteen years. He seemed totally unaffected by her attempt to bring him to his senses. When had it happened that this man whom she’d known more intimately than any other had become a stranger? “And what if they aren’t, Ted?”

“Ted…” Francine finally spoke, touching his arm. “Any discussion about your kids is between you and Rachel. It doesn’t concern me. Why don’t I—”

“Excuse me?” Rachel gave her an incredulous look. “You claim to be in love with Ted and the two of you want to be together, but you have no concern about the future of his children?”

“I don’t know anything about kids,” Francine said, looking uncomfortable. “Walter and I chose not to have any.”

“Do you even like kids, Francine?”

She shrugged, said nothing.

“What about that, Ted?” Rachel asked.

“What about it?” he repeated with some resentment. “Francine and I haven’t decided on our own future yet, so all this talk about kids is premature.”

“Is it premature to ask you to find an hour away from your love nest to talk to Nick and Kendall?”

“I told you I’m planning on it.”

“Not on the phone. In person. It’s the least you can do.”

“All right, all right.” He reached for Francine and slipped his arm around her waist. “But the next time you get a wild idea to come charging out here, have the decency to knock first.”

Rachel was still furious as she drove away from the cabin. As much as she hated to admit it, Cameron Ford had been right. She needed a lawyer. Worse yet, she must have sounded like a naive twit defending Ted. Well, so be it. Since it was now obvious that she couldn’t protect them from Ted’s callousness, she could at least try to protect the lifestyle they were accustomed to. Knowing time was now of the essence, she picked up her cell phone, punched the information number and asked for a listing for Stephanie Roscoe.

Six

By the middle of the week, the news was all over town that Ted Forrester was having an affair and had left Rachel and the kids. It was impossible for word of the scandal not to reach into every nook and cranny of Rose Hill. Everywhere she went—from church to the grocery store, from the shopping mall to staff meetings at school—Rachel felt herself the object of pitying looks and worse, the morbid curiosity people had about infidelity when it struck someone they knew.

“I feel like an all-too-familiar cliché,” she told Marta in the break room on Wednesday. “I’m the nearly forty, boring wife who’s been dumped for the more exciting, sexy younger woman.” She stirred powdered cream into her coffee. “And you know what, Marta? It happens so often that it doesn’t even shock people anymore. I’m the only one who’s shocked. What they say is true. The wife’s the last to know. What galls me the most is that I should have seen it coming.”

“How could you when you just don’t think that way? And you aren’t boring.” Marta worked at the tab on a can of soda. “Besides, you’d never cheat even if you were bored to death and sexually frustrated to boot. You’d look for solutions.” She stopped with the can at her mouth. “I guess you’re thinking of suggesting counseling to him…or something like that, huh?”

Rachel leaned against the counter holding her coffee. “It takes two, Marta. And Ted’s not interested in trying to save our marriage. He just wants to get on with the transition from husband and father to unfettered bachelor, ASAP.”

“What a guy.”

Rachel stood in silence for a few moments. “I’ve retained a lawyer.”

Eyes wide, Marta set her can down hard. “Now you’ve surprised me. This is good. This is smart. What did he say?”

“She. It’s Stephanie Roscoe. She urged me to be at the bank when it opened Monday morning. I thought Ted probably wouldn’t be devious enough to fool around with our finances without consulting me, but after that scene at the lake, I wasn’t willing to risk taking the chance. Besides, I’d only learned about the affair on Friday and I assumed he wouldn’t have had time to do anything.”

“I think I hear a ‘but’ coming.”

Rachel still felt stunned. “But apparently, right after the scene with Walter, he went to a branch of our bank that’s open on Saturday and drew out almost all our ready cash, then he fixed it so that nearly everything else is blocked. So until we work out some agreement for the division of our joint assets, I’m pretty much dependent on what he sees fit to dole out. It’s humiliating to be the object of everyone’s pity now that his affair is public, but this makes it even worse. On top of being infuriated, I’m frustrated as hell, Marta.”

“What happened to ‘I only want a separation,”’ Marta asked, looking openly disgusted.

Rachel’s effort to laugh fell short. “After I ripped into him at the cabin, I think he’s probably rushing to have divorce papers drawn up. Which is fine with me.” She was still furious over the sneaky way he’d moved out, but her tirade had prodded him into facing the kids. He had shown up soon after they came home that day and made a lame attempt to explain why he was leaving. Nick was stoic, for the most part. And Kendall was a little weepy, bless her heart. Rachel had remained silent, and after Ted left, she’d had a hard time keeping her own resentment from showing when they’d plied her with tons of questions.

“What does Stephanie say?”

“That I’m certainly not to sit still and let him take advantage of me. She and I worked out some terms of the separation on Sunday and he was served with the papers Monday morning at the practice.” Making a face, she set her coffee aside. “I’ve tried to reach him ever since, but he’s obviously avoiding me. I just hope there aren’t any other stunning surprises in store.”

Both looked up as the door to the break room opened and Monk Tyson entered.

“Hey, Rachel. Marta. How’s it goin’, gals?” Lifting the coffeepot, he poured himself a cup and turned, propping one hip against the small table, his feet crossed at the ankles.

“Just peachy,” Marta said. “And you?”

“Same here. Couldn’t be better.” Rose Hill’s coach and athletic director looked exactly what he was—an athlete just past his prime. His broad shoulders were a little too thick and he wasn’t as buff as he’d once been. But he was a good-looking man with strong features, very light blue eyes and a full head of sandy-blond hair.

“Morning, Monk.” Rachel was not in the mood for Monk’s chitchat. Just the opposite. He’d ignored the last note she sent him about Ferdy Jordan, one of his athletes who was one point away from academic probation. As a coach, he needed to take a stronger hand in encouraging his athletes academically instead of helping them get around the standards established by the school. It was an ongoing battle between them that she was determined to win for the sake of the athletes.

He leaned against the counter with his coffee and spoke to Rachel. “Hey, I heard about Ted and it stinks to high heaven. What’s wrong with that guy? He’s got steak at home and he wants hamburger instead?” He shook his head. “I hope you don’t let it get you down.”

“I think I’ll survive,” she said coldly. Inside, she cringed with humiliation. She’d had no doubt that all of Rose Hill was buzzing with the scandal, but having Monk chatting about it so casually was particularly embarrassing.

“Hard to figure what comes over guys when they get to that stage,” he said.

“What stage is that, Monk?” Marta asked in an even tone.

“Well, you know.” He turned back to get a paper napkin. “They’re forty-something, they get an itch, they spot a sweet thing and, wham, they lose their minds.”

With both hands around her can of soda, Marta looked at him. “Hmm, that is deep.”

Unfazed, he looked at Rachel. “I’m glad I ran into you, Rachel. I’d planned to drop by later today.”

“You got my note about Ferdy?”

“Yeah, but he’ll be okay. I’ll jack him up and he’ll get it together. It’s Nick I wanted to talk about.”

“Nick?” She paused, her cup in midair.

Using the napkin, he wiped at a few drops of coffee on his shirt. “He’s been looking real good in practice lately, so much so, that I’m thinking he’ll work into first-base position next year. It would hurt if he was to let this get next to him, trip him up enough to take the edge off his performance.”

“Let what get next to him, Monk?” she asked carefully.

“The divorce. It sometimes takes the juice out of a kid. Trust me, I see it all the time.”

Beyond winning ball games, Monk ranked low on a list of people she trusted to be sensitive to a boy in emotional turmoil. If Nick was too demoralized over Ted’s abandonment to play baseball, then she didn’t give a damn what Monk thought about it. She knew his priority was the athletic program. All that mattered now was Nick’s survival.

“As for my alleged divorce, I don’t know where you heard that, Monk, and I certainly don’t intend to discuss my private life here,” Rachel said. And with Monk, never, she wanted to say, but didn’t. It was a struggle to keep her voice steady. “Ted and I are having some difficulties. It would be ludicrous to deny that, under the circumstances, but divorce…no.” At least, not yet.

“Well, sure,” Monk said easily. “But I just thought I’d mention it, in case it comes to that. Kids overreact to this stuff. And the hurt can extend to every little corner of a kid’s life.”

“You mean, as in his position on the team?” Rachel guessed. “I’m touched by the depth of your concern.”

“Well, hell, Rachel, you know what I mean,” he said, undeterred by her sarcasm. “It would hurt us all, Nick as well as the guys on the team. You know our stats are high so far this season and the Mustangs are gonna make the playoffs if all goes well and the creek don’t rise. We need everybody to stay focused. So, what I’m saying is I hope you’ll be on the lookout for trouble or for signs that he’s not handling this too good, divorce or not. A kid sees separation of his parents as traumatic as the real thing.”

“As a guidance counselor, trust me, I’m aware of that,” Rachel said, now openly sarcastic.

“You bet. So if that happens, you call me. I stand ready to listen if he wants to talk. Better than that, I’m willing to spend extra time with him. I just want you to know that.”

“Thank you, Monk,” she said. “I appreciate your concern.”

“Hey, I’m glad to do it.” Hearing no irony in her voice, he turned to go.

“Just a minute…before you go…” Rachel set her cup down and followed him to the door. Tyson’s remarks about Nick were out of line, but she couldn’t let her personal bias about the man keep her from tending to the needs of at-risk students. And one of his athletes was definitely at risk. “I’m trying to persuade Jason Pate to come in and talk to me,” she told him. “I have a feeling he’s troubled about something and his drinking is a way of coping. But so far he’s resisting. It’s alcohol now, but drugs will be the next crutch if something isn’t done, and I don’t think his parents are going to be much support right now. Maybe you could suggest that talking to me is a good thing. From the little I got from him on our way home from Dallas, your approval would do it.”

“Aw, I just think he’s one of those kids who like to binge. I don’t think he’s headed for alcoholism or anything. If that’s what you’re worrying about, you can let it go. He’s okay.”

“Bingeing is an early-warning sign, Monk,” she said stiffly.

“Well, we’ll see.” He flashed her a smile. “I’ll mention it. The kid’s got a future in pro ball if he doesn’t screw it up.”

“I’d really like to talk to him.” She was pushing, but it was necessary. She’d misread Jack Ford with tragic consequences and she was determined not to make the same mistake with another boy ever again.

“Hey, I’ll try.” He shifted to see around her and, spotting the trash, tossed his empty cup toward the can in a basketball-like free throw. It went in smartly. “Gotta go, gals.” He left, grinning.

“I have never been able to figure that guy out,” Marta said as she and Rachel watched him stride confidently down the hall. “Have you ever noticed when you see him interact with those young athletes? They’re all around him, buzzing like little bees around the queen.” She grimaced at her own metaphor. “Planets, I guess I should say. They’re like little planets around the sun, Monk being the sun.”

“Yes, I’ve noticed,” Rachel said, picking up her coffee. “He definitely has a way where they’re concerned. Charisma, I suppose.”

“Or something,” Marta said dryly. “To tell the truth, I never got it. Too pushy and jocklike for my taste. But, whatever he has going for him, we know it works. Like he said, they’re headed for the play-offs and will probably finish first in the division again this year.”

Rachel gathered up paperwork she’d meant to scan and fell into step with Marta. “We know he’ll do anything for his precious sports program, but does he care at all about those boys’ future beyond sports? I wonder sometimes. I’ve dealt with him for the past five years and I still don’t know the answer to that.” She made a mental note not to depend on Monk to persuade Jason. She’d do it herself, somehow.

But even as she dismissed Tyson’s disinterest about Jason, his remarks about Nick made her uneasy. So far, Nick had not shared what he felt about Ted’s leaving with her, but she knew there was a lot going on inside him. He was moody and uncommunicative and Rachel guessed he needed time to get his head around such a drastic change. Ted had been neglectful lately, but at least he’d been in the house. Not being a presence anymore, albeit a shadowy one, was the new reality for Kendall and Nick. Coach Monk’s offer might be a welcome distraction, she thought, frowning with concern over Nick again. The man seemed to have the right touch when it came to his players. And at least he’d recognized the fact that Nick’s life was turned upside down, which was more than she could say about Ted.

Nick walked into the locker room, stripping off his practice jersey as he went. He’d been off his game today and there was nothing he hated worse. “I really sucked out there today,” he complained to Ward in disgust. “I should never have let that grounder get past me.”

“It happens.” Ward Rivers, who’d been in the same class as Nick since kindergarten, pulled his locker door open and tossed his cleats inside, then stripped off his jersey. “Coach didn’t say anything, so don’t sweat it.”

Nick sat down on a bench to remove his cleats. Coach had a reputation for being a hard-ass, but so far Nick hadn’t seen that side of him. He’d always been pretty nice. He rose to put the cleats into his locker as three athletes rounded the corner. Jason Pate, in the act of removing his jersey as he walked, hardly noticed him or anyone else. But Ferdy Jordan, second-string outfielder, stopped and so did his butt-ugly sidekick, B. J. Folsom, who was practically Ferdy’s shadow. Everybody knew B.J. didn’t take a dump unless Ferdy told him how.

Ferdy grinned slyly, while idly passing a baseball from one hand to the other. “Hey, Forrester! Heard about your old man.”

B.J. snickered. “Whoa, way to go, Forrester. Gettin’ it on with the partner’s wife.”

“Knock it off, you jerks,” Ward said with disgust. He slammed the door of his locker shut. “I think I hear your mothers calling.”

“Wait, wait,” Ferdy said, pointing to Nick. “His mom’s supposed to have all the answers, right? She tells everybody what to do and how to do it, and now we find out she don’t know how to run her own life. So, Nicky, what’s her take on old Teddy-boy screwin’ around?”

Nick dropped the cleats and leaped over the bench, bent on ripping Ferdy’s face off, but before Ward could step in, Jason Pate suddenly appeared from the next bank of lockers and quickly got a choke hold on Ferdy’s neck. “Get a life, you dumb shit,” he told Ferdy, then gave a nod to Ward to force Nick, still bristling, back over the bench. When he saw that Nick was restrained, he let Ferdy go. “What the hell you guys doing?” The question was meant for Ferdy and B.J.

Ferdy, not dumb enough to challenge somebody of Jason’s stature, moved backward with his hands up, palms out. “Hey, man, we were just horsin’ around.”

“Yeah, right.” Jason shoved Ferdy’s ball glove back into his hands with a little more force than was necessary. “Then next time, horse around with somebody who appreciates redneck humor.” And with a disgusted look, he swept up his jersey and headed on back to the senior lockers.

Ward still kept a restraining hand on Nick and watched as both Ferdy and B.J. couldn’t leave fast enough. “You okay, Nick?”

Nick tossed his cleats into the metal locker and slammed the door. Then he stood a moment just looking at the puke-green surface. His heart was pounding and he felt a deep, red rage building inside. He wanted to take somebody’s head off and Ferdy Jordan was his first choice. Ferdy had no class. He had no talent on the field. He had nothing but a smart-ass mouth and one day—

“Sometimes I think I hate him, Ward.”

“Yeah, well, Ferdy’s the kind of jerk you do hate, man. He’s worthless. Forget him.”

“Not Ferdy. I meant my dad.”

“Oh, jeez, Nick.”

Nick pulled a towel from around his neck and stuffed it into his gym bag. “How could he do this? What was so awful about us that he’d want to cut out? I know it’s happened to other people and all, but you don’t know how it feels until it happens to you.”

“Yeah, it’s the shits, man.”

Nick just stood holding his bag for a moment. “And you’re right. Ferdy’s a jerk. I guess I lost it there for a minute.”

“Hey, shit happens.” Ward gave him a punch on his shoulder and Nick felt some of his rage ease. He might not be able to depend on his dad any longer, but Ward would never let him down.

They’d been playing baseball together from the time that his mom had signed him up for T-ball when he was six. Ward’s folks had been right here with him, too. And from the beginning, both had felt real passion for the game and a strong desire to win. After a loss, both would agonize over what had gone wrong, where had they messed up, how they could avoid it next time, and what each needed to do to get just that tiny edge that made the difference between winning and losing.

And both had watched Ward’s brother, Jimbo, do the ultimate—after getting a scholarship at UT, he’d snagged a contract with one of the majors.

With a sigh, Nick opened his locker again to get his shirt. He could have ended his own chances of playing for Coach Monk when he went for Ferdy that way. He owed Jason Pate and Ward for stepping in. Coach would have shit a brick if he’d seen it. But, damn it all, it was embarrassing for Jason to overhear what Ferdy said.

Nick shook out his T-shirt, getting ready to put it on, when Coach Monk appeared from the area of the senior lockers. Nick and Ward were instantly at attention. “You were lookin’ good out there this afternoon, Ward-boy,” he said, clamping a large hand on the boy’s bare shoulder. “You want to spend some quality time perfecting your curve ball, son. It’s breakin’ a little short.”

“Yes, sir. I will.”

“I’ve got some time tomorrow, so plan to stay late. With me spotting, we’ll correct the problem.”

Ward managed to contain his grin. “Yes, sir,” he said, and quickly pulled his shirt over his head.

“So, Nick,” Coach turned, folding his arms across his chest, “I like the way you’ve been shaping up at first lately. ’Course, you had an off day today, but it happens. Yesterday, two doubles in one inning. That’s good—” he was nodding “—very good. Plan to come tomorrow with Ward and we’ll work out a couple of plays. The two of you make a solid pair, Ward pitching and you at first.”

“Thanks, Coach.”

“Hang in there.”

“I plan on that, sir.”

Then, leaning against the closed lockers, the coach sobered. “I heard about your folks, Nick. Too bad about that. It’s tough.”

Extremely embarrassed, Nick looked at his feet. “Yes, sir,” he mumbled.

Tyson pushed away from the lockers and reached out to grip Nick’s shoulder in a gesture of gruff sympathy. “Hey, it’s one of those things, son. You don’t want to think you’re one of a kind there, no way. You ask around, you’ll find a quarter of the kids in the school been through the same thing.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Your mom and I spoke about it this morning,” he said.

Nick looked up, startled.

“Yeah. I promised her I’d find time to talk if you want.”

“That’s okay, Coach,” Nick said, mortified. “I’m okay. Honest.”

“Well…” Smiling, Tyson stepped back. “If you need a friend—besides Ward here,” he laughed heartily, “you know all you have to do is knock on my door.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now, you two finish dressing and get your butts outta here. Practice is over, it’s chow time.”

Both boys were motionless, watching the coach head out past the shelves of neatly-stacked sports equipment. Just then, Jason emerged from the lockers, and when Tyson spotted him, he motioned him over and slung his arm around the quarterback’s shoulder. Coach had a way of bonding with his athletes that paid off big time for them. Sportswise, he’d put Rose Hill High and the Mustangs on the map in Texas, and that was saying something, considering the size of the town and the passion that infused high school sports in the state. In a moment, three more varsity players appeared and fell into step with Jason and the coach. Like Jimbo and others before them, the four made up the core elite of the Mustangs, and with the magic of Monk Tyson’s coaching setting the stage—barring any accidents or injuries—all were destined for outstanding careers in sports. Just like Jimbo.

“Jeezum-pete,” Ward breathed as the group moved along with the coach like a god in their midst. “What do you make of special attention from The Man himself?”

Grimly, Nick pulled his shirt over his head, then grabbed his glove and stuffed it inside his gym bag. “I don’t know.”

Hearing something in his voice, Ward turned. “What’s wrong?”

“Can you believe my mom?” he asked, zipping the gym bag with a vengeance. “Coach’ll think I’m some kind of chickenshit weakling, like I need somebody to hold my hand and tell me everything’s gonna be all right now that my dad’s walked out on us.”

“Aw, I think you’ve got him wrong, Nick. He’s just being, you know, nice. Like, some of the guys here are closer to Coach Monk than to their own dads…those guys he’s talking to now, f’r instance. He was probably just paving the way if you should need, you know, help…or something.”

Nick straightened up and looked at him. “Do I look like I need help?”

Ward shrugged. “Maybe not that kind of help. But he’s offering to coach us, like privately, so I don’t know about you, man, but me—just name the time and place and I’m there.”

Standing with his gym bag in his hand, Nick eyed Coach’s chosen few with a mix of awe for their talent and envy for their good luck in being part of a tight circle. All were older than Nick and Ward—juniors and seniors mostly. It would be tough to penetrate that clique, Nick thought, but Ward was right. Coach had opened a door just now and he wasn’t about to refuse. The trouble with his mom and dad made him feel pretty rotten, but he couldn’t do anything about it. Grown-ups were going to do what they were going to do and what he thought didn’t count. He didn’t have control over anything in his life anymore except here at school. Making varsity next year—a year earlier than ninety-nine percent of high school athletes—was a hard goal, but with Coach Monk’s help, he was going to bust his butt to do it.

Nick slung the gym bag onto his shoulder. “Let’s go, Ward. You heard Coach. It’s chow time and I’m hungry.”

It would have been easy for Rachel to slack off at her job because of the meltdown in her personal life, but she’d learned a lesson when she’d failed to sense Jack Ford’s despair and a young life had ended tragically. As much as she’d like to take a leave of absence and devote herself to the care and comfort of her own children as her family tried to adjust to the change in their lives, there were kids at Rose Hill High whose needs were just as urgent. Jason Pate, to name one.

Not that Jason wanted her help. He sat across from her now in her office, polite, respectful and so bent on stone-walling her that she was truly tempted to give up and just point him to the door and dismiss him from her mind. She couldn’t recall ever having a more arduous time trying to coax dialogue from a student. But there was something wrong when an eighteen-year-old star athlete had begun bingeing on beer every weekend—even sometimes during the week. So, with Jack Ford always lurking in the back of her mind, her own personal reminder that a beautiful, talented athlete and gifted student could shock everybody and go off the deep end, she couldn’t give up on Jason. It wouldn’t happen to this boy, she vowed. Not if she could help it.

“I see you have a sister, Jason,” she said, attempting to draw from him a clue to his home life.

“Yes, ma’am. Jennifer.” One knee bounced restlessly. He seemed to realize it suddenly and shifted in the chair, then put his hands on his knees as if to keep himself under control.

“She’s thirteen,” Rachel said, looking at his file, then up into his eyes. She smiled. “Some say that’s a difficult age for girls.”

“She’s okay.”

Dead end there. Okay. Rachel knew the boy’s mother was battling breast cancer. The whole family was probably in crisis over that, which sometimes left the kids feeling adrift, even abandoned. “Are you worried about your mother?” It was a direct question, but she was fresh out of ideas on how to approach him subtly.

“I guess. The doctor said she’s done great with the chemo treatments. He says her tests show her cured.”

“That’s really wonderful news,” Rachel said warmly. “I’m as happy to hear that as you and Jennifer must be.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She cast in her mind for more small talk in the effort to get him to open up. “Is she going to be able to get out now and see you play?”

“She’s not much of a sports fan. And my dad’s been real busy looking after her, but that’s okay. I understand.”

Did he really? As a result of his mother’s cancer, they’d missed most of his games this season, which had probably overshadowed everything else in the family, Jason’s sports career included. Was he drowning his disappointment? Could it be that simple? “Coach Monk tells me you’re one of his most promising athletes. There’s bound to be a scholarship when you graduate. Possibly more than one.”

“Yes, ma’am. So he says.”

She paused, picking up a note of…what, irony? “You don’t doubt what he says, do you?”

He gave a short laugh. “Nobody doubts what The Man says.”

“Do you have a problem with Coach Monk?”

He stared at his hands. “If I did, I wouldn’t be playing varsity quarterback.”

Okay, maybe there was something going on, possibly having to do with politics on the team or maybe trouble trying to please Monk Tyson. Hopefully that wasn’t it, as this boy didn’t need any more stress than he was already dealing with, considering that until lately he’d probably believed he might lose his mother. Rachel didn’t think there was much chance that Jason would confide anything negative that might get back to “The Man.” She was surprised he’d even given a hint of intrigue in Tyson’s little kingdom. But if Jason was drinking to avoid dealing with whatever it was troubling him, the effect was still dangerous and it still put his future in jeopardy. Maybe it was time to quit beating around the bush.

“Drinking the way you do could destroy your chances at a professional career in sports, Jason. You must know that.”

“I guess.” His knee was bouncing again and he looked tense. Rachel sensed he was on the verge of springing up out of the chair and leaving.

“Jason.” She rose, moved around the desk and sat down in the chair beside him. “Why would you keep on doing something that is going to have such dire consequences? Have you thought about that?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She waited. He said nothing. “And—” she prompted.

He shrugged, remaining mute.

She sighed. “There is help out there, Jason. Have you considered that? There’s AA, there’s—”

“I don’t need any of that!” he said, finally showing real emotion. His face was suddenly flushed and he was breathing hard. Both hands were clenched into fists. “I don’t need it because I know what—”

Rachel waited, holding her breath. He turned from her, but not before she’d caught a glimpse of tears in his eyes. “You know…what, Jason?” she urged softly.

He met her eyes then and her heart swelled with sympathy. There was anguish there, and such pain that she wanted to lean forward, put her arms around him, as she would if he were her own and tell him everything would be all right.

“How do you know if you’re gay, Ms. Forrester?”

Seven

Just when Rachel was thinking Ted had apparently dropped off the face of the earth, she found him waiting for her when she got home that evening. The session with Jason had taken a lot out of her, and she really didn’t feel up to a sparring match with Ted. But she’d driven out to the lake several times since discovering what he’d done with their finances with no luck, so if she wanted a conversation with him, it was probably going to be at his convenience, not hers. Apparently, he and Francine were taking no chances on being subjected to another of Rachel’s temper tantrums and were making themselves scarce. There’d been no answer when she tried his cell phone, either. Frustrated, she’d left numerous voice mail messages asking him to name a time when they could talk. Now, four days later, it seemed he’d finally decided to come out of seclusion.

“Where have you been, Ted? I’ve been trying to reach you for days.” What energy she had left might as well be used up front. She watched him pour himself a drink at the bar and down most of it in one swallow.

“I’ve been busy.”

“I noticed that when I went to the bank and discovered you’d emptied our checking account and frozen most everything else. It’s a despicable thing to do, letting me find out when my ATM card was rejected for insufficient funds. Why didn’t you tell me when I saw you at the cabin? What’s gotten into you, for heaven’s sake! What do you expect the kids and me to live on?”

He removed his sunglasses and revealed a fading bruise around his eye. With a sigh, he massaged the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger. “I did it to avoid the possibility of us getting tangled in a financial squabble since I’d had a sample of the way you’ve decided to react about Francine and me.”

“Oh, bullshit! You thought I’d rush to the bank and grab everything, so you acted to beat me to it.”

“It’s happened before when couples divorce.”

She propped her hands on her hips. “So you’ve definitely decided. It’s a divorce, not a trial separation?”

He sat down, dangling the half-empty drink between his knees. “I just know I want to be with Francine.” Gone was the defiant lover he’d been at the cabin. Instead, he was now glum. He also looked as if a migraine was coming on. At one time, she would have been sympathetic. Now she felt no urge to find his pills or to say something soothing. Just the opposite.

“Listen to yourself, Ted! You sound like a teenage boy in the throes of a mad crush. Give me a break, please. I have to deal with adolescents every day at school. This is serious. This is the future of our children you’re monkeying around with. Have you considered the consequences? Have you really thought through what you’re doing?”

“I haven’t been happy for a long time, Rachel.”

She simply stared at him, wondering at his selfishness. “I think you’ve managed to convey that message now, Ted. But, just out of curiosity, if I hadn’t seen you and Francine together, when were you going to tell me you were unhappy?”

“I knew you’d freak out. Or start a campaign designed to fix the problem.” He took a drink. “Some things can’t be fixed.”

She gave a bitter laugh. “I don’t know if my reaction over your infidelity was freaky or not, but I can tell you I certainly freaked out when you pulled the financial rug out from under me and your children. I’m not going to sit by while you grab everything we’ve worked for in eighteen years. I’m fighting you on this, Ted.”

“It’s a moot point, anyway, now,” he said, running a palm over his two-hundred-dollar haircut. “I’m the one who’s had the financial rug pulled out from under me.”

She frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“Walter. He talked the other doctors into voting me out of the practice. When I got there Monday morning, they’d already met over the weekend and had a document drafted with the buy-out terms. It’s totally unacceptable. It’ll be a cold day in hell before I let him grab my practice. I’ve spent twelve years building up that practice. Who the hell does he think he is?”

“I think that’s pretty obvious. He’s your partner and you stole his wife. It’s a betrayal of the most hurtful kind.”

“That wouldn’t have happened if Francine had been getting what she needed from him,” he said, staring into his drink.

Rachel sank back against the chair’s cushions. “Then I can assume the same thing? You weren’t getting what you needed from me and you could get it from Francine?”

“I told you, it just happened. We didn’t plan it.”

“Uh-huh. And I heard you the first time.” She stood up. “As for the manner of Walter’s revenge, you must have had a clue when he stormed over Saturday morning with blood in his eye. You can’t steal a man’s wife and expect him to have no hard feelings. And you can’t expect the other doctors in the practice to turn a blind eye either. Everything that’s happened is so predictable, Ted. How did you not assume there would be some negative fallout? Walter simply chose the most effective way to retaliate.”

“I’m not taking this lying down. I’m fighting them in court.” Setting his drink aside, he reached for an envelope in his jacket. “You’ve got a stake in this, too. Think about it. If their offer stands, it will affect you and the kids, too. If Walter screws me in this deal, our joint net worth is cut in half. No way is he getting away with this.” He gave her the envelope. “Here, my lawyer drew this up.”

She took it, frowning. “What is it?”

“It started out to be the terms of a tentative separation settlement, but it had to be revised after I arrived at the practice Monday morning. Everything’s changed.” He glanced toward the stairs. “Are the kids here?”

“No, Nick’s still at baseball practice and it’s Kendall’s day for gymnastics.” She glanced at her watch as she pulled the folded document from the envelope. “I have to pick her up at six-fifteen,” she said, scanning the first page. She frowned, struggling through the usual legalese until she finally reached the meat of it. Then her eyes widened in disbelief. She looked up at Ted. “You can’t be serious!”

“When have you ever known me to joke about money?”

She held the blue-bound papers as if they were poisonous. “You’re seriously suggesting we sell the house? This house? What makes you think I’d even consider such a crazy thing? This is Nick and Kendall’s home, Ted. It’s not yours to use to get your tail out of a crack.”

“If you can come up with a better idea, I’m open to suggestions.”

As he rose from the chair to freshen his drink, the front door crashed open and Nick burst into the room. “Mom, I gotta talk to you!” He broke stride only momentarily when he spotted his dad, then ignored him to light into his mother. “You have really messed up.”

She gave him a stern look. “Can’t you see your dad and I are having a discussion now, Nick? We’ll be done in—”

“Why did you tell Coach about Dad walking out on us?”

She gave him a startled look. “What are you talking about?”

“Coach saw me after practice and offered a shoulder to cry on, Mom. It was—” Tossing his jacket on a chair, he shook his head as words failed him. “Jeez, Mom. Ward heard it and I don’t know who else. I can see it now, I’ll be trying to live this down for the rest of my life. I don’t believe you did something so bogus!”

“I did not tell Monk Tyson your father walked out.”

“Then how’d he know it?” Nick demanded, his face filled with outrage.

“This is a small town. Word gets around, Nick.” Rachel drew a deep breath, knowing this was not the last time she would have to try to ease the fallout from Ted’s desertion. “Monk mentioned it in the break room this morning,” she explained. “He expressed concern, nothing else.”

“And you let him think I’m such a baby that I might not be able to handle what’s happened?”

Ted finally spoke up. “Nobody thinks that, Nick. And of course you can handle it. If you ask me, it’s a good coach who’s aware of more than just a kid’s stats on the ball team.”

Nick turned on Ted furiously. “What the hell would you know about stats, Dad? You haven’t made one of my ball games this season.”

“Don’t talk to me like that, boy,” Ted ordered. “You know the rules around here about profanity.”

“Yeah, and I guess you’re going to leave it to Mom to enforce the rules as usual, right?”

“Please…” Rachel lifted a hand to stop them. “Let’s all calm down. Nick, my conversation with Monk was not personal, so you have no need to feel embarrassed. He offered to help if you seemed to need it, that’s all. There’s nothing for you to be upset about.”

“Except the whole team is thinking what a trip this is,” Nick said bitterly. “You should have heard Ferdy, then you’d understand. You’re a guidance counselor, Mom. This isn’t supposed to happen to you. Everybody thinks you’re supposed to fix things.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Ted said. “You’re looking at real trouble if you start listening to what everybody says.”

“I’m sorry, Nick,” Rachel said quietly, ignoring Ted. “I didn’t see this coming and I can’t fix it. But we’ll get through it. Now, why don’t you go to the kitchen and get yourself something to eat. I picked up a pizza on my way home. We’ll talk later.”

Nick turned on his heel. “I’m not hungry.” He snagged his jacket from the back of the chair and stalked out.

When he was gone, Rachel gave Ted a meaningful look. “What was that you were saying about the kids being fine with this?”

“They will. It’ll take some getting used to, but Nick’s tough. He’ll adjust.”

She looked briefly at the ceiling, praying for patience. “Okay, Ted. Whatever you say.” She realized she still held the legal papers in her hand. “Was there anything else you wanted to tell me about this? Like Nick, is there anything more I need to adjust to besides the fact that you want to sell the house out from under us?”

“As I said, I’ve talked to my lawyer. According to the terms of the original agreement when the practice was established, if Walt and the others are unanimous in any decision—and that includes demanding the ouster of any partner—they can do it. The only negotiable is how much they’ll agree the departing member is worth. And that’s where it all gets sticky. If I don’t accept what they offer—and I’m not about to—then I have to take them to court. Who knows how long that’ll take. Could be months. A year. I’ll need the money—” He paused, then started again. “We’ll both need income while this is ongoing. Your salary at school won’t cut it. The money’s there…once we sell the house.”

“What does Francine have to say about all this?”

“She’s shocked, naturally. She says Walter’s just doing it to hurt her.”

“He’s probably feeling pretty hurt himself, seeing his wife has been sleeping with a man he thought was his friend.” She waved him quiet when he started to argue and said wearily, “Never mind trying to spin what you and Francine have done as anything except the trashy thing it is, Ted. What you and I have to do now is figure out what to do to survive this disaster and to help our children.” She gestured with the papers. “First of all, I hope there’s some place in the fine print here that establishes a regular income to the kids and me while you pursue this lawsuit.”

“There is, but it’s not enough to maintain this house and all the other perks of our current lifestyle.”

“You’re planning to stay in the cabin at the lake, I assume.”

He nodded. “For the time being.”

“We could sell that, I suppose,” she said, looking beyond him at nothing in particular as she considered various possibilities.

“There’s one obvious solution that will take care of everything,” Ted said. Something in his tone caught her attention, but he turned away and, with his back to her, tossed off the rest of his drink.

“And what would that be?” she asked.

“You and the kids could move in with Dinah.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s the logical thing to do, Rachel.” He tipped the bottle and poured himself a fresh drink. “Now that Dinah’s out of her apartment and settled into her new house, I bet she’ll be happy to have you and the kids for a visit.”

“A visit.”

Hearing her lack of enthusiasm, he made an impatient sound. “It won’t be forever, goddamn it! Just phone her and see what she says before you blow off the idea. That’s all I’m saying.”

“It’s an imposition, Ted. Think about it. She’s a widow in her sixties. She isn’t used to young children. It’s too much to ask.”

“Explain the problem. She’ll understand.”

She stood looking at him, wondering at his audacity. “You’re really serious about this,” she remarked.

“Yeah.”

“And is it really only a separation, Ted? Or have you decided you want a divorce?”

“The only thing I’ve decided is that I want to be with Francine right now. I don’t know where that’ll go.” He brought the drink up, then set it down again. “It’s Walter who’s caused all this trouble, Rachel. He’s being a first-class son of a bitch.”

She stared. “Walter.”

“I just told you what he’s doing.”

“Ted. Wake up and smell the coffee. Walter isn’t the cause of your trouble. I can’t believe you! The trouble is your own selfish insistence on having an affair and damning the consequences.”

“Let’s not get started on that again, Rachel. Just tell me you’ll mention to Dinah the possibility of moving in with her temporarily. She’s crazy about the kids. It’ll be okay, you’ll see. And by the way, I’ve talked to a real estate agent. We can make a ton of money on this house.”

“You talked to an agent before even mentioning it to me?”

“I just asked,” he said, shrugging. “I figured you’d be happy to hear what a good investment we’re sitting on.”

Rachel simply gazed at him in silence for a long moment. “If you thought I was freaked out over your shoddy affair, Ted,” she said in a dangerously soft tone, “then you will really be shocked if you hang around another minute.”

“Oh, for crying out loud, Rachel.”

She pointed to the door. “Out, Ted. Now.”

Muttering an obscenity, he slammed his drink on the bar in disgust and left.

Eight

Three months later

Cam’s first job on his to-do list after finishing his book was to repaint the trim on his porch. Trying to keep the old place in good repair was a never-ending challenge, but he’d found that he liked tinkering around the house where he’d been raised. It was surprisingly satisfying. Not only was the house shaping up, but while doing the work, he found that with his hands occupied, his mind was free to flesh out the proposal for a new book. It was nearing midday now and he was almost finished repainting the trim when he heard the roaring sound of a huge moving van gearing down, then braking to make the turn at the corner of the street. New neighbors…and close by, he thought, since Morningside was a short street. He stopped what he was doing, balanced the paint brush on top of the can and reached for a rag soaked in turpentine to clean his hands.

The van appeared to be slowing to a stop. With a frown, he saw the driver peering at the number on his own house and then his neighbor’s, Dinah Hunt. Cam watched, assuming the driver had stopped to get his bearings, but then a car turned the corner, pulled in front of the moving van and stopped at curbside. Out of it came Rachel Forrester, her son, Nick, another teenage boy in a baseball cap and a little girl. This couldn’t be what it appeared, he thought, even as he watched Rachel approach the van driver.

With a sense of impending doom, he saw the driver’s helper get out and head toward the back of the van. Once the doors were opened, he adjusted the load ramp and disappeared inside. The little girl raced up Dinah’s sidewalk yelling, “We’re here, Gran! We’re all ready to move in!”

It couldn’t be, but it was. Tossing his paint rag aside, Cam slapped the lid on the can and gave it a smart thump with a hammer, heedless of the color splattering his shoes. Scowling, he snatched up the newspaper he’d used to protect the porch floor and stuffed it into a plastic trash bag while out of the corner of his eye he saw the boy, Nick, break away from his buddy and head his way. Just what he needed right next door, Rachel Forrester and her son, highly visible and constant reminders of Jack and how he’d died.

“Hi, Mr. Ford.”

He straightened slowly, scooping up the smelly rag. “Cam,” he reminded the boy. “How’s it goin’, Nick?”

“I guess you can tell we’re moving in with Gran today.”

Looking up from scrubbing paint off his shoe, Cam saw the first load—three large boxes—was now being wheeled down the ramp on a dolly. “I figured that out.”

Nick’s gaze drifted back to the van where the helper was carefully handing a cat carrier over to the driver. Inside, a big yellow tom meowed in protest. “It’s sort of a family emergency. Nobody’s happy about it except Gran and Kendy.”

“Kendy. That would be your little sister.”

“Yes, sir. Kendall. She seems to think it’s some kind of vacation, us going to live with Gran. The truth is, my mom and dad are getting a divorce.”

And Rachel was screwed out of the house? Had she let him con her into using the same lawyer, playing on her denial that he wouldn’t take advantage of her? His infidelity alone should have given her grounds to take him to the cleaners. Instead, here were Rachel and the kids being displaced, not Ted. Cam swiped one last time at his Nikes and tried to keep what he thought off his face. He found it gave him no satisfaction that he’d been right about Forrester. Straightening, he said, “I’m sorry about that.”

Nick shrugged with a kid’s fatalistic acceptance of having no power over grown-ups and their decisions. “Mom says the move’s only temporary,” he said, watching Kendall coax the scared cat out of the carrier. “We’ll have to wait for the details of the divorce to be worked out before finding another house, but it’ll be in Rose Hill.” This he said with certainty, but a scowl darkened his face. “No way we’ll move somewhere else.”

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