Make time for friends. Make time for Debbie Macomber.

CEDAR COVE 16 LIGHTHOUSE ROAD 204 ROSEWOOD AVENUE 311 PELICAN COURT 44 CRANBERRY POINT 50 HARBOR WAY 6 RAINIER DRIVE 74 SEASIDE AVENUE

BLOSSOM STREET THE SHOP ON BLOSSOM STREET A GOOD YARN OLD BOYFRIENDS WEDNESDAYS AT FOUR TWENTY WISHES SUMMER ON BLOSSOM STREET HANNAH’S LIST

THURSDAYS AT EIGHT

CHRISTMAS IN SEATTLE

FALLING FOR CHRISTMAS

Some of the Residents of Cedar Cove, Washington

Olivia Lockhart Griffin: Family court judge in cedar cove. Mother of Justine and James. Married to Jack Griffin, editor of the Cedar Cove Chronicle. They live at 16 Lighthouse Road.

Charlotte Jefferson Rhodes: Mother of Olivia and of Will Jefferson. Now married to widower Ben Rhodes, ,who has sons David and Steven, neither of whom lives in Cedar Cove.

Justine (Lockhart) Gunderson: Daughter of Olivia. Mother of Leif. Married to Seth Gunderson. The Gundersons owned The Lighthouse restaurant, recently destroyed by fire. They live at 6 Rainier Drive.

James Lockhart: Olivia’s son and Justine’s younger brother. In the Navy. Lives in San Diego with his wife, Selina, and daughter, Isabella, and son, Adam.

Stanley Lockhart: Olivia’s ex-husband and father of James and Justine. Now lives in Seattle.

Will Jefferson: Olivia’s brother, Charlotte’s son. Formerly of Atlanta. Now divorced, retired and moving back to Cedar Cove.

Grace Sherman Harding: Olivia’s best friend. Librarian. Widow of Dan Sherman. Mother of Maryellen Bowman and Kelly Jordan. Married to Cliff Harding, a retired engineer who is now a horse breeder living in Olalla, near Cedar Cove. Grace’s previous address: 204 Rosewood Lane (now a rental property).

Cal Washburn: Horse trainer, employed by Cliff Harding.

Vicki Newman: Local veterinarian, romantically involved with Cal.

Maryellen Bowman: Oldest daughter of Grace and Dan Sherman. Mother of Katie and Drake. Married to Jon Bowman, photographer.

Joseph and Ellen Bowman: father and stepmother of Jon, grandparents of Katie and Drake. They live in Oregon.

Zachary Cox: Accountant, married to Rosie. Father of Allison and Eddie Cox. The family lives at 311 Pelican Court. Allison is attending university in Seattle, while her boyfriend, Anson Butler, has joined the military.

Cecilia Randall: Navy wife, married to Ian Randall. Parents of Aaron. Lived in Cedar Cove until recently. Now transferred to San Diego.

Rachel Pendergast: Works at the Get Nailed salon. Friends with widower Bruce Peyton and his daughter, Jolene. Romantically involved with sailor Nate Olsen.

Bob and Peggy Beldon: Retired. Own a bed and breakfast at 44 Cranberry Point.

Roy McAfee: Private investigator, retired from Seattle police force. Two adult children, Mack and Linnette. Married to Corrie, who works as his office manager. The McAfees live at 50 Harbor Street.

Linnette McAfee: Daughter of Roy and Corrie. Lived in Cedar Cove and worked as a physician assistant in the new medical clinic. Leaving for North Dakota. Her brother, Mack, a fireman in training, is moving to Cedar Cove.

Gloria Ashton: Sheriff’s deputy in Cedar Cove. Biological daughter of Roy and Corrie McAfee.

Troy Davis: Cedar Cove sheriff. Married to Sandy. Father of Megan.

Faith Beckwith: Troy Davis’s high-school girlfriend, now a widow.

Bobby Polgar and Teri Miller Polgar: He is an international chess champion; she’s a hair stylist at Get Nailed. Their home is at 74 Seaside Avenue.

Pastor Flemming: Local Methodist minister.

Dear Friends,

It’s time for another visit to Cedar Cove. (And if this is your first visit, let me reassure you that it won’t take long to catch up.) Come and spend a few hours with Grace, Olivia and their families, plus Rachel (and Nate and Bruce) and Bobby and Teri Polgar and … a cast of hundreds. Well, maybe not hundreds, although it sometimes feels that way.

I created Cedar Cove because of the popularity of my earlier series, particularly MIDNIGHT SONS and HEART OF TEXAS. Every day I received reader mail that asked what happened to such and such a character. It occurred to me that I should write an ongoing series, one without a predetermined end. Each book would be an update on the characters, with multiple plotlines. The fact that you’ve stuck with me into the seventh book validates what all those early reader letters told me. You wanted to go back, or in this case forward.

Because Cedar Cove is based on the very real town of Port Orchard, Washington, some of you have come to visit us here. Welcome! A number of the businesses and streets are loosely based on those in Port Orchard, and I’ve put together a Cedar Cove map. You can either download it from my website at www.DebbieMacomber.com or stop by our Chamber of Commerce for a free copy. If you aren’t online just send me an SASE at PO Box 1458, Port Orchard, WA 98366, USA and I’ll be happy to mail you one.

By the way, I also love to hear from readers. You can reach me via my website or at the address mentioned above. I hope you enjoy 74 Seaside Avenue.

Debbie Macomber

74 Seaside Avenue

www.mirabooks.co.uk

To

Susan Plunkett, Krysteen Seelen,

Linda Nichols

and

Lois Dyer

All gifted authors

All treasured friends

One

Late Thursday afternoon, Teri Polgar went to the grocery store. Roaming the air-conditioned aisles, she decided to make her specialty—a macaroni-and-cheese casserole—for dinner that night. Some might consider it more of a winter meal, not really suitable for the middle of July, but Teri liked it any time of year. And Bobby—well, Bobby was hardly aware of what season it was, or for that matter, what time of day.

When she got home, she found her husband in front of a chessboard, deep in concentration. That in itself wasn’t unusual. But the board was set up on the kitchen table and her younger brother was sitting across from him. Two out-of-the-ordinary occurrences.

Johnny grinned sheepishly when she walked in with her bag of groceries. “I came by for a quick visit and Bobby insisted on teaching me,” he explained.

Bobby mumbled something, probably an acknowledgment of her presence. He often muttered to himself, lost in his own world of chess moves and strategies. To say her husband was a bit unconventional would be an understatement Bobby Polgar was an international chess sensation, one of the top-ranked players in the world.

“How’s it going?” Teri asked as she set the groceries on the counter.

Johnny answered with a good-natured shrug. “Haven’t got a clue. Ask Bobby.”

“Hi, sweetheart,” she said, moving to her husband’s side of the table. Slipping her arms around his neck, she kissed his cheek.

Bobby’s hand squeezed hers and he looked across at Johnny. “Always protect your queen,” he advised her brother, who nodded patiently.

“Can you stay for dinner?” she asked Johnny. A visit from him, especially on a weekday, was a pleasant surprise. Teri was proud of Johnny, but she also felt protective of him. That was only natural, she supposed, because she’d practically raised him herself. Her family—like Bobby, was unconventional—but in a completely different way. At last count, her mother had been married six times. Or was it seven? Teri had lost count.

Her sister was more like her mother than Teri had ever been, but at least Christie was smart enough not to marry the losers who walked in and out of her life. Not that Teri was exempt from some of life’s painful lessons herself. Particularly those that fell into the category of men-who-use-and-abuse.

Teri still had a hard time believing Bobby Polgar could love her. She worked in a hair and nail salon and considered herself the farthest thing from an intellectual. Bobby always said she had a real-world intelligence, practical and intuitive rather than cerebral, like his. She loved him for saying that and was even starting to believe it. In fact, she loved everything about him. The happiness she felt was still new to her and it actually frightened her a little.

She had reasons to be concerned, real-world reasons, she thought wryly, although she made light of them. Recently two men had approached her, bodyguard-types who looked like they belonged in an episode of The Sopranos. They had gangster written all over them. They hadn’t really done anything, though, other than scare her for a few minutes.

Teri wasn’t sure what that was all about. Apparently these goons had been sent as a warning to Bobby. The message seemed to be that their boss, whoever he was, could get to her at any time. Fat chance of that! Teri was street-smart and she’d learned how to take care of herself, although she had to admit those two had given her pause.

If Bobby knew who was responsible for the threat against her, he wasn’t saying. But she’d noticed that her husband hadn’t played in a single tournament since she’d been approached by those men.

“I gotta get back,” Johnny said in answer to her question about dinner.

“Just stay for another couple of hours,” she wheedled. “I’m making my special macaroni-and-cheese casserole.” That would entice her brother like nothing else. It was his favorite dish.

“Checkmate,” Bobby said triumphantly, apparently unaware of the conversation around him.

“Is there a way out of this?” Johnny asked, returning his attention to the chessboard.

Bobby shook his head. “Nope. You’re in the Black Hole.”

“The what?” Teri and Johnny said simultaneously.

“The Black Hole,” Bobby told them. “Once a player finds him or herself in this set of circumstances, it’s impossible to win.”

Johnny shrugged. “Then there’s nothing left to do but concede.” He laid down his king and sighed. “Really, there was never any doubt as to the outcome of this game.”

“You play well for a beginner,” Bobby told him.

Teri ruffled her younger brother’s hair, despite knowing how much he hated it. “Consider that a compliment.”

Johnny smiled. “I will.” He pushed back his chair and looked at Teri. “Ter, don’t you think it’s time you introduced Bobby to Mom and Christie?”

Bobby turned from Johnny to Teri and innocently said, “I would like to meet your family.”

“No, you wouldn’t.” She immediately busied herself unpacking the groceries. She set the cottage cheese—an essential ingredient in her macaroni recipe—on the counter, along with a box of Velveeta cheese.

“Mom asked me about you and Bobby,” her brother informed her.

“Is she still with Donald?” This was the latest husband. Teri had purposely avoided any discussion of her family with Bobby. They hadn’t been married long and she hated to disillusion him so soon. Once he met the family, he might well have serious doubts about her, and the truth was, she wouldn’t blame him.

“Things are shaky.” Johnny glanced over at Bobby. “Donald has sort of a drinking problem.”

“Donald!” Teri cried. “What about Mom?”

“She’s cutting back.” Johnny had always been quick to defend their mother.

Donald had showed promise in the beginning. Apparently he and her mother had met at an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. Unfortunately, they’d quickly gone from supporting each other in sobriety to becoming drinking buddies. Neither of them could hold a job for long. How they survived financially, Teri didn’t know. She had no intention of assisting them the way she did Johnny. It went without saying that any money she gave them would immediately go toward another bottle of booze or another night at their local bar.

Crossing her arms, Teri leaned against the kitchen counter. “Mom’s cutting back? Yeah, right.”

“Even so, you should have Christie over to meet Bobby.” He turned toward him. “Christie’s our sister.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you have a sister?” Bobby asked. He seemed perplexed that Teri had never mentioned Christie. He knew about her, of course, because he’d had Teri’s background checked—a fact he’d revealed in his usual dispassionate way.

She had her reasons for not mentioning her younger sister and Johnny knew it. She pointed an accusatory finger at him. “Don’t talk to me about Christie, okay?”

“What is it with you and her?” Johnny grumbled.

“You’re too young to understand all the details,” she said, brushing aside his question. She and Christie were, for all intents and purposes, estranged, although Teri maintained a superficial civility on public occasions.

“Come on, Ter, you and Bobby are married. He should meet the family.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You don’t want me to meet your family?” Bobby gazed up at her with a hurt expression. He didn’t realize that this conversation had nothing to do with him and everything to do with her mother and sister.

“Yes, I do … someday.” She gently patted Bobby’s arm. “I thought we’d get settled in the house before I invited them.”

“We are settled.” Bobby gestured around him at the gleaming appliances and polished oak floors.

“Not that settled. We’ll have them over in a while.” She was thinking four or five years—longer if she could get away with it.

“Mom and Christie would really like to meet Bobby,” Johnny said again.

Now Teri understood why her younger brother had shown up at the house unannounced. He’d been sent as an emissary by their mother and Christie. His mission was to pave the way for an introduction to the rich and famous Bobby Polgar, who’d been foolish enough to marry her.

“They’ll have to meet him sooner or later,” Johnny said with perfect logic. “You can’t avoid it forever, you know.”

“I know.” Teri released a slow sigh.

“Might as well be now.”

Teri could see that she wasn’t going to escape the dreaded family gathering, so she’d simply take Johnny’s advice. “Okay, okay, I’ll have everyone over for dinner.”

“Great.” Johnny gave her a wide grin.

“I’ll regret it afterward,” she muttered under her breath.

“Why?” Bobby asked, obviously still perplexed by her reaction.

She hardly knew how to explain.

“Are your mother and sister like you?”

“No way!” Teri had done everything possible to make choices that didn’t resemble theirs—with only partial success. While it was true that she never drank to excess, she’d made more than one mistake in the relationship department. Until she met Bobby … “I’ll like them, won’t I?” Bobby asked next, smiling at her with childlike faith.

She responded with a noncommital shrug. Her mother and sister were similar to each other in their behavior and their loser attitudes, although Teri didn’t think Christie had a drinking problem so much as a man problem. Put a man in front of her, any man, and she couldn’t resist.

“Is Christie still with …” For the life of her, she couldn’t remember the last man her sister had been living with.

“Charlie,” Johnny supplied.

“I thought it was Toby.”

“He’s the one before Charlie,” her brother said. “And no, Charlie dumped her last month.”

Oh, great. That meant her sister was on the prowl. This scenario couldn’t get much worse.

“Christie will make a play for Bobby,” she said.

Johnny shook his head firmly. “No, she won’t. You two are married.”

“Why would that stop her? It hasn’t before. Trust me, she’ll make a play—”

“Christie likes chess?” Bobby interrupted excitedly.

Clearly he didn’t grasp the exchange going on between Teri and her brother. “No, Bobby. But my sister will think you’re the most brilliant, handsomest man in the world.”

Bobby grinned. “Like you do.”

Despite her agitation, Teri nodded. “Only more so,” she said grimly.

“You’re jealous,” Johnny accused her.

“Not Teri,” Bobby said, getting up from the table. “She knows I love her.”

Teri wrapped her arms around Bobby and hugged him close. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“For what?”

“For loving me.”

“That’s easy,” Bobby assured her.

“Listen, you two lovebirds, I wish I could stay but I’ve got to get back. I have a research paper that’s due tomorrow.” With Teri’s encouragement, Johnny was taking a summer course to get a head start on the next school year. He pushed back his chair and stood. “So you’ll get in touch with Mom?”

“I suppose.” Teri sighed, already resigned to the inevitable.

“Christie, too,” her brother insisted. “She is our sister.”

“Mark my words. Bobby won’t be safe with her around.” And neither will my marriage, she thought darkly.

Teri hated to disparage their sister. But experience told her exactly what to expect. Sure as anything, Christie would throw herself at Bobby. The fact that he was married wouldn’t matter. Not to Christie. Every boyfriend Teri’d ever had, her sister had attempted to seduce. Bobby wouldn’t be the exception, and because he was her husband, Christie would probably consider him an especially worthwhile challenge.

Poor Bobby. He had no idea. He’d certainly never encountered a family like hers.

“Next weekend?” Johnny asked hopefully.

“No,” Teri said. She needed time to prepare herself for this. “Give me a week to get organized. Two weeks from Saturday.”

If Johnny was disappointed by the delay, it didn’t show. “See you then,” he said and kissed her cheek on his way out the door.

Bobby slid his arm around her shoulders. Teri reminded herself yet again that she loved her husband and he loved her. Despite that, she couldn’t entirely quell her fears.

While Bobby Polgar was unlike any man she’d ever known, he was still a man. He’d be just as susceptible to Christie’s beauty and her undeniable charm as every other boyfriend she’d had.

“I’m happy to be meeting your family,” Bobby said after Johnny had left.

Smiling proved difficult. Poor Bobby, she thought again. He didn’t know what he was letting himself in for.

Two

Troy Davis had been the duly elected sheriff of Cedar Cove for nearly seventeen years. He’d been raised in this town, graduating from the local high school. Afterward, like many of his friends, he’d enlisted in the army, where he’d served as an MP. He’d trained at the Presidio in San Francisco, and just before shipping out to a base in Germany, he’d spent a three-day leave touring the city. That was where, on a foggy June morning in 1965, he’d met Sandy Wilcox.

After spending the day together, they’d exchanged addresses and corresponded during his tour of duty. When he was discharged, Troy had asked Sandy to marry him. By then she was in college and he’d joined her at SFU in San Francisco. In 1970, they were married and settled in his hometown of Cedar Cove, where Troy had accepted a job in law enforcement. He’d worked as a deputy until he ran for sheriff and won. Life had been good to him, to both of them. And then Sandy had gotten sick….

“Dad?”

Troy looked up from where he was seated in the living room, staring down at the carpeted floor. “Pastor Flemming’s here,” Megan said quietly. She’d come over to help him organize Sandy’s things—figure out what should go where.

Deep in thought, Troy hadn’t even heard the doorbell. He stood as the other man walked into the room.

“I came to see how you’re doing,” the pastor from Cedar Cove Methodist church said. He was a soft-spoken, caring man who’d officiated at Sandy’s funeral services with compassion and sincerity. Many an afternoon, Troy had found Dave Flemming sitting with his wife, reading from the Bible or praying with her or sometimes just chatting. He’d been touched by the sympathy the pastor had extended, first to Sandy and now to Megan and him.

Troy wasn’t sure how to respond to the pastor’s concern. “We’re coping as well as we can,” Troy said.

No death was easy and although Troy had felt he was prepared to lose Sandy, he wasn’t. As sheriff, he’d certainly seen his share of death, and it wasn’t something he’d ever get used to. But this one struck at the very foundations of his life. Nobody was ever truly ready to lose a wife or mother, he supposed, and Sandy’s death had hit both him and Megan hard.

“If you need anything, just say the word.”

“I will.” Troy gestured toward the sofa. “Would you care to sit down?” he asked.

“I’ve made a fresh pot of coffee,” his daughter added. “Will you have some?”

Troy was proud of what a good hostess Megan had become. Ever since Sandy’s multiple sclerosis had become so much worse, his daughter often filled that role for him, something she’d continued to do after her marriage. Troy appreciated the way she’d willingly stepped in for her mother. She’d accompanied him to various functions in Sandy’s place, and occasionally held dinners for family friends. They’d grown especially close since Sandy had gone into the nursing home two years before.

“Thank you, no,” Dave told them. “I can’t stay. But I’d like to help in any way I can. If it’s too painful for you to sort through Sandy’s things, for instance, I’d be happy to ask some of the ladies at church to lend a hand.”

“No, no, we’re fine,” Troy assured him.

“Everything’s under control,” Megan said. She’d already begun packing up her mother’s clothes and personal effects.

“I’ll leave you two, then,” Dave said and after shaking Troy’s hand, the pastor let himself out.

“We’re going to be all right, aren’t we, Dad?” his daughter asked him in a tentative voice that reminded him of how she’d sounded as a child.

Draping his arm around her thin shoulders, Troy nodded. He usually managed to hide his pain. And for Megan’s sake he even tried to smile. She had enough grief of her own to carry.

“Of course we’re going to be fine.” With his daughter at his side he walked into the bedroom he’d shared with his wife for more than thirty years. Boxes crammed with Sandy’s clothes were scattered across the carpet. Half the closet was spread on the queen-size bed—dresses, sweaters, skirts and blouses, most of which had hung there for years without being touched.

Sandy had been in the nursing home for two years. He’d understood, when they settled her into the care facility, that she wouldn’t be coming home again. Still, he’d had difficulty reconciling himself to the knowledge that MS would eventually take her life.

It didn’t. Not exactly. As with most people suffering from this disease, her immune system was so compromised that she died of pneumonia. Although it could’ve been almost any virus or infection.

For her sake, Troy had made the pretense of believing she’d move home one day, but in reality he’d always known. He brought her whatever she asked for. As the months dragged on, Sandy stopped asking. She had everything she needed at the nursing home. Her large-print Bible, a few precious photographs and a lap robe Charlotte Jefferson had knit before she married Ben Rhodes. Sandy’s needs were simple and her demands few. As the weeks and months passed, she needed less and less.

Troy had left everything in the house exactly the way it was the day he’d taken her to the nursing home. In the beginning that seemed important to Sandy. It was to him, too. It helped perpetuate the pretense that she’d recover. She’d needed to believe it, until she no longer could, and he’d wanted to hold on to the slightest shred of hope.

“I’m not sure what to do with all of Mom’s clothes.” Megan stood in the middle of the bedroom, her arms hanging limply at her sides. Sandy’s half of the walk-in closet was bare.

“I had no idea Mom had so many clothes,” Megan said helplessly. “Should we donate them to charity?”

Troy wished now that he’d asked Pastor Flemming about that. Perhaps the church had a program that collected items for the poor.

“We should.” Still, if it was up to him, he wouldn’t change a thing. Or at least not for a while … He didn’t understand why Megan thought it was important to pack up the remnants of her mother’s life so soon. When she’d arrived with the cardboard boxes, Troy hadn’t argued, but frankly, he didn’t see the necessity of rushing into this.

“Most of them are outdated now.” Megan held up a pink sweater, one Sandy had always loved.

“Leave everything here for now,” he suggested.

“No.” The vehemence with which his daughter responded surprised Troy.

“Megan, let’s not do something we might regret later.”

“No,” she said again, shaking her head. “Mom’s gone. She’ll never hold her grandchildren. She’ll never go shopping with me again. She’ll never share a recipe with me. She’ll … she’ll …” Tears rained down her pale cheeks.

Troy felt utterly incapable of easing her grief. He’d never been good at dealing with emotions and was at an even greater loss now. Megan was an only child and she’d been close to her mother. Both Sandy and Troy had wanted more children. For years, they’d tried for a second child, until after the third miscarriage, when Troy had said enough. They should be grateful they had a beautiful daughter, he’d told her, instead of yearning for a larger family.

“It’s only been two months,” he reminded Megan as gently as possible.

“No, Dad,” she said. “It’s been a lot longer than that.”

Troy understood this far better than Megan seemed to realize. In the end, Sandy barely resembled the woman he’d married. Her death, while tragic, was a release from the physical nightmare that had become her reality. Sandy had lived with MS for at least thirty years. Not until after she miscarried the third pregnancy had she been tested. Then, and only then, were the physicians able to put a name to the seemingly random symptoms she’d been experiencing for years. Multiple sclerosis.

“Let’s not donate anything just yet,” Troy said.

“Mom’s gone,” Megan repeated in the same emotionally charged tone. “We both have to accept it.”

Troy didn’t have any choice but to accept the fact that his wife was dead. He wanted to tell Megan that he was well aware Sandy was gone. He was the one who walked into an empty house every night, the one who slept alone in a big bed.

Ninety per cent of his free time had been spent at the nursing home with Sandy. Now he was bereft and at loose ends. He knew he’d never be the same. Like him, Megan was hurting and she needed to vent her grief, so he said nothing.

“I’ll help you pack everything up and I’ll put the boxes in the basement,” he murmured. “When you’re ready … when we both are, I’ll bring them upstairs again. Then, and only then, should we think about donating your mother’s things to charity. If we decide to do it, I’ll ask Pastor Flemming to suggest an agency. There might even be one at the church.” If not, he’d go to St. Vincent de Paul or the Salvation Army, both organizations Sandy had supported.

For a moment it looked as if Megan wanted to argue with him.

“Agreed?” he pressed.

His daughter reluctantly nodded. Glancing at her watch, she gnawed on her lower lip. That told him how close she was to breaking down. “Craig will be home any minute. I should leave.”

“Go.” He gestured toward the door.

His daughter hesitated. “But the bedroom’s a mess.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

She shook her head. “That’s unfair, Dad. I … I didn’t mean for you to have to deal with all this.”

“All I’m going to do is fold everything, put it inside these boxes and haul them downstairs.”

“You’re sure?” she asked uncertainly.

He nodded. The truth was, Troy would rather be alone right now.

She edged her way into the living room and toward the front door. “I hate leaving you with this….”

“Don’t worry about it.” He was more than capable of packing away a few boxes of clothes.

Megan reached slowly for her purse. “You’ve thought about dinner?”

So far he hadn’t. “I’ll open a can of chili.”

“Promise?”

“Of course.” Not that skipping dinner would do him any harm. Troy figured he could easily afford to lose twenty pounds. Most of that extra weight had snuck up on him after he’d moved Sandy to the nursing home. Meals became haphazard after that. He’d fallen victim to the fast-food chains; there weren’t many in Cedar Cove, but the few that had opened in town he knew well. Because of his job and its demands on his time, he often missed breakfast and sometimes even lunch. Then he’d arrive home ravenous late in the evening and he’d eat whatever was quick and easy, which usually meant high-calorie processed food. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually made a green salad or eaten fresh fruit.

With Sandy gone, he’d lost his emotional balance. Troy felt a sense of emptiness, a gap where his love for Sandy used to be. He still loved her, of course, but the duties and responsibilities attached to that love had disappeared. They’d represented a big part of his life in the last few years.

Sandy dead at fifty-seven—it wasn’t supposed to happen like this. He should’ve been the one to die first; he was the one in a dangerous profession. Practically every day someone in law enforcement was killed in the line of duty. He should’ve died before his wife did. That was what all the statistics predicted. Then Sandy would’ve been able to live comfortably on his pension for another ten or twenty years. Instead, his wife was gone and he was floundering.

“I’ll give you a call later,” his daughter said as she walked to the front door.

“Okay.” Troy stood on the porch and watched her pull out of the driveway. He felt so drained, it took an inordinate amount of energy to step back and close the door.

The house had never seemed quieter. Standing by the threshold, he was astonished by the total lack of sound. Silence reverberated around him. Generally he turned on the radio for company, or if he was desperate, the television. But tonight, even that seemed to require more ambition than he could muster.

As he went back into the bedroom with Sandy’s clothes strewn about, Grace Sherman drifted into his mind. Grace Harding now, since she’d married Cliff.

Funny that he’d think about one of his high-school friends at a time like this. And yet, it made sense. What came to mind was an incident shortly after Dan’s disappearance. Hard to believe that had been six years ago. Dan Sherman was found dead a year later.

Troy never knew exactly what had driven the other man into his own private hell. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know either, although he suspected it had something to do with Dan’s experience in Vietnam. The war had left Dan permanently damaged in some way. Not in body but in mind, in spirit. He’d become reclusive, unfriendly, refusing to share his memories and fears even with other Vietnam vets like Bob Beldon.

When Dan disappeared, Troy had taken the missing-persons report. Several months later, he’d been called by a neighbor, who was concerned about Grace. In her pain and anger, she’d tossed Dan’s clothing onto the front yard of their home on Rosewood Lane.

Now, standing in his own room surrounded by Sandy’s things, Troy remembered the sight of Dan’s clothes scattered on the grass—and he understood the powerful emotions that had led Grace to explode in such an uncharacteristic display. A part of him didn’t want to deal with the residual effects of Sandy’s life. Just limping from one day to the next was painful enough.

His gaze fell on the pink sweater Megan had so recently shown him. He picked it up and buried his nose in the soft wool. There was still a hint of his wife’s favorite perfume and he breathed it in, deeply, greedily. She’d worn this sweater at Easter last year. Troy had pushed her wheelchair to the open-air church services overlooking the cove. Sandy had always been a morning person, even toward the end. He used to tease her that she’d been born with a happy gene.

Her smile was one of the things he’d loved most about her. No matter how much he growled or muttered in the mornings, she’d respond cheerfully, often making him laugh. He closed his eyes as the pain cut through him. Never again would he see Sandy’s smile or hear her joyful voice.

With a heavy heart, he carefully folded the pink sweater and placed it inside the box. He wasn’t ready to see someone else wearing his wife’s clothes. Since they lived in a small town, it was bound to happen sooner or later. Most likely when he was least expecting it or least prepared to deal with it. Troy would turn a corner and run into another woman wearing Sandy’s favorite dress. He didn’t know how he’d react to that. The mere thought twisted his gut.

The phone rang in the distance, and for half a second he was tempted just to let the caller leave a message—or not. But too many years as a cop had made it impossible to ignore a ringing phone.

To Troy’s surprise it was his daughter.

“Dad,” she said, “you’re right. Keep Mom’s things for now. Keep everything.”

Troy could tell Megan had been crying.

“Okay,” he said. “Okay, Meggie.”

“If you want, I’ll come back tomorrow and finish packing it all up.”

“I’ll do it,” he said. Hard as that would be, he was better able to deal with this one last task than his daughter. Megan’s composure had shattered, while he moved through his days in a state of numbness that masked the pain.

Three

Barbecued chicken, a green salad, garlic bread—a perfect dinner for a perfect summer day. With mixed berries and ice cream for dessert. Justine Gunderson enjoyed making her leisurely preparations for tonight’s meal.

She pulled the covered bowl of chicken breasts out of the refrigerator. She flipped them in their soy-and-honey marinade, then set the container back inside. Like many of her favorite recipes, this one had come from her grandmother, Charlotte Jefferson Rhodes.

Leif, her almost-five-year-old son, was playing in the backyard with his dog. Penny, a cocker spaniel-poodle mix, chased after the boy, barking excitedly. The pure joy of the moment made Justine smile as she stepped through the patio doors. Seth would be home soon and he’d barbecue the chicken while she put the finishing touches on the salad. Leif would start setting the outdoor table, since he loved arranging the napkins and colorful place mats.

As this little domestic scene played out in her mind, she felt a sense of tranquility. Even now, all these months after the fire that had destroyed their restaurant, Justine was unaccustomed to the three of them having an uninterrupted evening together.

So much of her life—their lives—had been consumed by The Lighthouse. The restaurant had completely absorbed their time and energy. Until the fire, Justine and Seth rarely saw each other. Everything was always done in a rush as they divided the duties involved in running the restaurant, taking care of the house and, most important of all, raising their son. Thankfully, they’d reached a compromise concerning the new restaurant they planned to open.

“Mommy, look!” Leif shouted, throwing a stick for Penny.

The dog instantly leaped forward, racing after the stick. She picked it up, then crouched a few feet away, tail wagging frantically, and challenged the boy to grab the stick.

“Penny, bring it to Leif,” Justine called out.

“She’s as stubborn as every other female in this house,” Seth said from behind Justine. “Well, the only other female.” He slid his arms around her waist and kissed the side of her neck. Leaning into her husband, Justine tucked her hands around his and closed her eyes, reveling in the moment.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” she said.

“Daddy, Daddy!” Leif shouted, dashing across the freshly cut lawn.

Seth scooped his son into his arms and lifted him high over his head. “I see you’re training Penny to play catch.”

“She won’t give me the stick.”

“She’ll learn,” Seth told him. “Come on, we’ll both work with her.”

While Seth and Leif played with Penny, Justine went into the house to pour her husband a cold drink. The doorbell rang; abandoning the glass of iced tea, Justine hurried to answer it.

Her grandmother stood there, clutching the huge purse Leif called her “granny bag.” Among other things, it contained her current knitting project, a roll of mints, a comb and a notebook—but no cellphone or credit cards. Delighted to see her, Justine threw both arms around Charlotte in a tight hug.

“I hope you don’t mind me coming by like this,” Charlotte said as Justine led her into the house. “I was in the neighborhood—well, relatively speaking. Olivia said you wanted to talk to me.”

“Grandma, you’re welcome anytime, you know that!”

“Well, normally I wouldn’t stop in without warning, but I was chatting with your mother this afternoon and she said you wanted to ask me about recipes.”

“I do.” Justine slipped her hand in Charlotte’s and they moved into the kitchen.

“I was just getting Seth a glass of iced tea,” Justine said. “Can I get one for you, too?”

“Please.” Charlotte set her large bag on an empty chair and sat down. These days, it was unusual to find her without Ben, her husband of three years.

As if reading her thoughts, Charlotte explained. “An old friend of Ben’s is visiting from out of town. I stayed long enough to meet Ralph, then made my excuses. All that talk about navy life is too much for me.” She pulled her knitting out of the bag and resumed the sweater she was working on. Her grandmother didn’t believe in idle hands.

Justine brought two glasses of tea and sat across from her.

“Now, what can I do for you?” Charlotte asked. “You need recipes for the tearoom?”

“Yes.” Justine rested both elbows on the table. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about it,” she said. Although the building process hadn’t yet begun, she had a clear vision of the kind of restaurant she wanted. The menu had to be exactly right, and Justine couldn’t think of anyone better to consult than her own grandmother.

“It’s a good idea to plan ahead.” Charlotte paused in her knitting to look at Justine. “Olivia told me you’re going to serve breakfast, lunch and a high tea, then close in the evenings.”

Justine nodded. “Seth and I decided we’d rather have our evenings together. Leif’s flourished in the last few months with both of us home.” The arson that had destroyed The Lighthouse had eventually—and unexpectedly—turned out to be a blessing in a very nasty disguise. She was grateful no one had been hurt or worse. And grateful that this crime had changed their lives in a positive way.

“You’re wise to put your family first.”

Justine suspected her marriage wouldn’t have survived another year at the rate they’d been going. She glanced out at the yard, where Seth frolicked with their son and Penny.

“You said you talked to Mom. Were you at the courthouse today?” Her grandmother liked to watch Justine’s mother at work. Charlotte sat proudly in Olivia’s courtroom and knitted away, although her visits had become less frequent now that she’d married Ben.

“Actually I ran into her this morning while I was in town. She was on her way to a doctor’s appointment.”

Justine tensed. She didn’t remember her mother mentioning that, and they spoke nearly every day. “Oh.”

“It’s nothing serious,” Charlotte said quickly. “Just a routine visit, she told me. For her mammogram.”

“Oh, good.” Justine relaxed in her chair, crossed her legs and picked up her own glass of iced tea. “I’d like some of your recipes, Grandma,” she began.

“Any in particular?” Charlotte’s fingers manipulated the needles and yarn with familiar ease.

“I was hoping to get the recipe you have for scones.” They were a long-time family favorite and Charlotte baked them for nearly every family function.

Charlotte seemed pleased. “The herb-and-cheese scones are the ones I like best.”

“Me, too.”

Her grandmother paused reflectively. “My mother used to make those scones, so that recipe actually came from her. I have a couple of other scone recipes I’ll write out for you, as well,” she added. “Clyde’s favorite was a walnut-and-butter scone. Ben prefers the herb-and-cheese.”

“Thanks,” Justine said. “But I’d be happy to copy them out myself if—” It suddenly occurred to her that her grandmother might have all these family recipes in her head, that she might never have written them down before.

“I’ll bring them to you tomorrow morning,” Charlotte went on. “In fact, you’re welcome to all my recipes, dear. Just tell me which ones you want.”

“Grandma,” Justine said, broaching the subject carefully. “You do have your recipes written down somewhere, don’t you?”

Charlotte laughed. “Good grief, no.”

“No!”

“I’ve been cooking for over seventy years. The recipes were taught to me by my mother and, well, I never thought it was necessary. I certainly wasn’t going to forget them.”

“What about the raspberry vinaigrette salad dressing?”

“Oh, that one,” Charlotte said with a sigh. “I got it from a newspaper article around 1959. I’ve changed it through the years.”

“Grandma, would you write them out for me? All of them?”

“Of course.” Her knitting needles made soft clicking sounds as she continued to knit. “Actually, that’s an excellent suggestion, Justine. I’m sure Ben will approve, too. He always says I should publish a cookbook, you know. He loves my peanut butter cookies.” She preened just a little.

“And your cinnamon rolls.”

“I think that man married me for my baking.”

Justine laughed at the absurdity of her comment. One look at Ben Rhodes, and anyone could see that he was crazy about Charlotte.

“Now tell me more about the tearoom,” Charlotte said conversationally.

Justine smiled. “Well, there’s been a change in plans.”

“Oh?” Her grandmother stopped knitting for a moment.

Justine uncrossed her legs and leaned forward. “Seth and I couldn’t tell anyone until all the details were settled. The builder, Al Finch, contacted us a few weeks ago and asked if we’d be willing to sell the property. He said he might have a buyer.”

Silence followed her statement. “I thought you and Seth weren’t interested in doing that.”

“We weren’t, especially if it meant that a fast-food franchise would be built on the waterfront. But this is the best part, Grandma. The man who inquired about the land, Brian Johnson, is a friend of Al’s. He’s owned a number of restaurants through the years. He retired but got bored. Seth and I met with him and we were both impressed. Brian said he’d like to rebuild The Lighthouse the way it was. He even wants to keep the name.”

“But that was your restaurant,” her grandmother protested.

“True, but he’s willing to pay us for the name and everything.”

Her grandmother paused again, as if she needed time to absorb the news. “Are you going to do it? And what about the tearoom? Where will you build that?”

Justine explained that Al Finch had shown them a piece of commercial property off Heron that he owned and was planning to sell. The location was perfect for The Victorian Tea Room. “We signed the papers earlier this week.”

There was another moment of silence.

“You aren’t disappointed in us, are you, Grandma?”

“No,” her grandmother assured her. “I think this is wonderful news.”

So did Justine. All the hard work they’d put into The Lighthouse wouldn’t go to waste now. Seth had given the new owner his suggestions on how to rebuild the restaurant, and now that she was no longer involved, she looked forward to seeing it emerge from the ashes.

“It’s happened so fast.”

“It has,” Justine agreed, “but it feels right. This new location is much better for the tearoom and there’s more parking. I can’t believe how all of this practically fell into our laps.”

“I’m pleased for both of you,” her grandmother said.

“I am, too.” Justine gazed longingly into the backyard. Seeing Seth with Leif brought her a feeling of contentment, of satisfaction. This was what she’d always wanted, what she’d hoped for in her marriage.

“I should get home,” Charlotte said. “Ben’s probably wondering what’s keeping me.” She finished her iced tea, put her knitting back in her bag and stood up.

“It’s wonderful to see you, Grandma.”

“You, too, sweetheart.” She kissed Justine’s cheek. “I’ll start writing down those recipes. I’ll do my best to remember them all, so if I forget any, let me know.” She frowned. “I’d better go through the ones I cut out from magazines, too. And the ones I was given at wakes.”

“Isn’t that where you got your fabulous coconut cake recipe? At a wake?”

“Yes—Mabel Austin’s. Back in ’84.”

Justine grinned at this, but she supposed that a great recipe wasn’t the worst memorial someone could have.

“I’ll just step outside and say hello to Seth and Leif,” Charlotte murmured as she carried her empty glass to the sink. “My goodness, that young man is growing. I don’t remember him being nearly that tall.”

“Seth or Leif?” Justine asked with a laugh. It was true; Leif was tall for his age, but then his father was a big man.

“Leif, of course,” her grandmother said, obviously missing the joke.

“By the way …” Justine opened the patio door. “We’re barbecuing chicken tonight and I’m using a recipe I got from you.”

“The one with soy sauce and honey? I picked that up at a wake, too.”

Justine couldn’t hold back a smile. “Whose wake? Do you remember?”

“Of course I do,” she answered in a dignified voice. “Norman Schultz. 1992. Or was it ’93?” With that Charlotte walked outside.

Penny and Leif ran toward her. Knowing he needed to be gentle with his great-grandmother, Leif pulled up short and then stood still, giving Charlotte the opportunity to hug him. Penny, however, felt no such constraint. With one sharp command, Seth controlled the dog, who promptly sat. After she’d finished chatting with Leif, Charlotte leaned over to stroke Penny’s fur. She gave Justine a final wave, then Seth walked her out to her car.

When he returned to the kitchen, he asked, “Is that for me?” motioning toward the glass of iced tea on the counter.

“Oh, sorry,” Justine said. “I was about to bring it to you when my grandmother arrived.” She removed an ice-cube tray from the freezer. “Here. I’ll add some ice.”

“Thanks,” he said, pausing to take a long drink of the tea. “Did you tell her we sold the property?”

“I did.”

“What did she think?”

Justine grinned. “That we’re too brilliant for words.”

Seth took another swallow of the tea. The ice cubes tinkled cheerfully as he set the glass down. “Your mother and Jack know, don’t they?”

“I told her this morning. Speaking of which …” Justine grew thoughtful.

“Yes?” Seth urged.

“She didn’t say she had a doctor’s appointment.”

“So? Should she have?”

“No, I guess not, but it makes me wonder….” She suspected there was a reason her mother didn’t want her to know about the appointment, and that concerned Justine. Charlotte might have said it was “routine,” but was Olivia expecting bad news?

As if sensing her unease, Seth brought his arm around her waist. She felt so thankful to have her husband back. The arson had briefly changed him into an angry, vengeful man, but after Warren Saget—a local builder and onetime boyfriend of hers—was arrested, a burden had been lifted from her husband’s shoulders. Seth was once again the man she knew and loved.

He held her for a long moment as though he, too, recognized how close they’d come to destroying everything that was important to them both.

“Do you want me to fire up the barbecue?” he asked as he released her.

“Please.”

“Can I help with dinner, too, Mommy?” Leif entered the kitchen with Penny at his heels.

“You sure can.” Justine smiled at her son. “You can help me set the table—after you wash your hands.”

“Okay.”

They all headed outside, and while Seth was busy on the patio, Justine and Leif wiped the glass-topped table and adjusted the umbrella. Leif took great pleasure in carefully arranging the bright green place mats he’d chosen and the napkins with their multicolored butterflies.

When they’d finished dinner, Leif and his father cleared the table. Justine dealt with the leftovers and cleaned up the kitchen. Until recently, she hadn’t realized how much she’d missed meal preparation; she’d always assumed that cooking wasn’t her forte. Her mother and grandmother were the ones who enjoyed working in the kitchen. Then she’d married Seth and in those first few months while they renovated the old Captain’s Galley and planned their new restaurant, Justine had taken pride in preparing their meals. She’d gone to Olivia and Charlotte for recipes and ideas, and for the first time as an adult, she’d connected with her mother in ways she never would’ve thought possible. Her relationship with her grandmother, always good, grew even closer.

“I talked to my grandmother about recipes,” she said.

“Recipes?” Seth repeated, washing his hands. “For the tearoom?”

She nodded. “You know, I’ve rediscovered how much I actually enjoy cooking.”

Seth blinked. “Hold on a minute. You enjoy cooking?”

“Yes.” She rolled her eyes at his feigned shock.

“Answer me this,” her husband teased. “Exactly who was standing over a hot barbecue this evening?”

“Seth Gunderson, flipping a few chicken breasts on the grill is not cooking.”

“It is as far as I’m concerned.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“Am not.” He laughed, then caught Justine around the waist.

She laughed, too. Everything was going to be better now. In fact, it already was.

Four

Rachel Pendergast dumped a load of towels in the washer at the Get Nailed salon. Adding the soap, she closed the lid and turned the dial, waiting to be sure the water had started. She was taking advantage of a break between customers to deal with the laundry, a chore that needed to be done every day. When she left the small lunchroom she discovered her best friend, Teri, sitting in the chair at Rachel’s station.

“Teri!” Rachel couldn’t restrain her excitement. It’d been less than a month since she’d seen her but it felt longer. Not only did she miss Teri, but Nate, her navy boyfriend, had recently been transferred to San Diego.

Teri slid off the chair. She held her arms wide and they hugged and giggled like teenagers. The salon just wasn’t the same without Teri’s wisecracks and her caustic but funny view of life. Rachel had missed chatting with her about Nate. And Bruce.

“Thank heaven you’re back at work,” Rachel cried. Looking Teri in the eye, she said, “You are back, aren’t you?”

“We’ll see. I need to talk to Jane first.”

Rachel was sure there wouldn’t be any problem getting Teri on staff again. “Jane’s at the bank. She’ll return any minute.”

Rachel didn’t really understand why Bobby had insisted Teri leave her job. She knew there’d been some kind of threat against Teri, although she assumed it actually had more to do with Bobby.

Two men had confronted Teri in the parking lot, and soon afterward, Bobby had asked her not to work at the salon until he got everything straightened out. Although Jane had hired a perfectly adequate replacement to fill in, the other woman wasn’t Teri.

“I finally managed to convince Bobby that either I went back to work or I’d go insane,” Teri explained, smiling over at Jeannie who was cutting a young woman’s hair nearby.

“Where’s Bobby?”

“At home,” Teri said. “I love that man to distraction, but I couldn’t stand his overprotectiveness.” She paused, glancing over her shoulder. “The only way I could get him to agree was to promise I’d have James drive me to and from work. James is supposed to be my bodyguard.”

“James?” Rachel couldn’t believe it. Bobby’s driver was no bodyguard. First of all, he was as thin as a beanpole without any apparent muscle. If Teri found herself in danger, she’d probably end up saving James.

“So, can you stay this afternoon?”

“I can until I talk to Jane, but after that I’ll need to get back to the house. Otherwise, Bobby’s likely to send out a search party.” She laughed at her own joke. “Bobby isn’t overjoyed about me working, but he understands that I like my job and want to be here.”

“I’m glad he’s decided to be reasonable.”

“Trust me, I am, too,” Teri said with a sigh of relief.

Rachel looked closely at her friend, struck by how lovely Teri was. She’d always been impulsive, gregarious and outrageous. A little cynical, too, especially about men and relationships. And then she’d met Bobby Polgar. She remained her larger-than-life self, but over the past few months she’d changed. She’d become … softer, Rachel thought. More hopeful, less cynical. And it was all due to Bobby.

Only love could explain the way two such dissimilar people had fallen for each other. A deep, true love, the kind that changed people for the better. The kind that offered acceptance and trust. Bobby came alive when he was with Teri. Anyone who’d ever met him or seen him in front of a chessboard would acknowledge that he was a genius and a bit … she cast about for the right word … eccentric. With Teri, he became human—likeable, and on occasion even funny. Although he usually didn’t mean to be. He was simply naive in ways that were endearing.

Whether she and Nate had a love like Teri and Bobby’s, she didn’t know. She suspected they needed more time, and this enforced separation wasn’t making their situation any easier.

“So,” Teri said, sitting down in the chair again and crossing her legs. “Bring me up to speed. You miss Nate?”

Rachel nodded. “A lot,” she said, feeling bereft without him. Talking on the phone helped, but it wasn’t enough. “He calls me almost every day.”

“Like Bobby used to?” Teri asked.

Rachel laughed. “Not quite. Nate phones when he can, and that’s usually in the evenings.” While courting Teri, Bobby had faithfully phoned at precisely the same hour every day, Pacific Standard Time, regardless of where he happened to be.

“What about Bruce?”

“What about him?” Rachel asked, her voice sharper than she’d intended.

“Are you seeing him?”

“No!” she returned vehemently. Bruce, a widower, had become a friend and his daughter, Jolene—well, Jolene was special to her. In many ways Jolene reminded Rachel of herself as a girl. She, too, had lost her mother at an early age; she’d been raised by an aunt who’d died a few years ago. Jolene needed a female influence in her life, and that was the role Rachel played.

“Why do you say no as if it’s the most repugnant thought imaginable?” Teri asked. “You make it sound like dating Bruce is something you could never even consider. We both know that isn’t true. The two of you are just so well suited.”

Rachel frowned. “What makes you say that?”

Teri shook her head, implying it should be obvious. “It’s like you’re already married. That’s what anyone seeing you together would think if they didn’t know better. You practically finish each other’s sentences.”

Rachel dismissed that observation with an airy wave of her hand. Teri was fond of Bruce, which made her partial to the idea of Rachel’s being involved with him. “We’re friends,” she said firmly. “That’s all.”

Teri cocked her head. “He’s kissed you.”

Rachel rolled her eyes. “Do you have a hidden camera? Are you watching every move?”

“No,” Teri said. “You told me about it.”

“I did?”

“It’s true, isn’t it?”

“Well, yes, but it was a—”

“Friendly kiss,” Teri finished for her.

“Sort of.” In retrospect, she thought Bruce might’ve wanted it to be more. His kiss had come as a surprise, but as kisses went, it was nice. She mulled that over and decided nice was a weak description. Nice sounded so bland, like unsalted popcorn. That wasn’t really how she’d felt about it—but maybe it was all she wanted to feel. “I like Bruce, don’t get me wrong, just not in that way.”

“You mean it?” Teri asked.

“Don’t you remember when I first started spending time with Jolene? Bruce made it abundantly clear that he had no interest in getting involved.” She wasn’t likely to forget the look on his face the day Jolene announced that she’d chosen Rachel to be her new mother. Bruce had nearly swallowed his tongue. He’d wanted it understood that he had no romantic intentions whatsoever. Rachel had taken him at his word. She simply didn’t see him in those terms. Besides, she had a boyfriend.

“I’d rather talk about Nate,” she said, preferring to change the subject.

“I’d rather discuss Bruce,” Teri countered.

“Why?”

Teri shrugged. “For one thing, I find him more interesting than Nate.”

“In what way?” Rachel asked coldly—knowing she shouldn’t have responded at all.

“Well, Bruce is down-to-earth and he doesn’t have an inflated ego and … and he’s a good dad.”

“Right,” Jeannie said, entering uninvited into the conversation. She pointed her curling iron at Rachel as she stood behind her client. “Bruce called her the other day.”

“To see if Jolene could spend the night on Friday.” Rachel wondered how her love life had become the business of the entire salon.

“She was on the line for a l-o-o-ong time,” Jeannie told Teri, dragging out the word.

“It was my cell,” Rachel explained, in case anyone thought she’d been tying up the business line with a personal call.

“You did seem to be enjoying yourself. I heard you laughing.”

Bruce was witty, or he could be. But Rachel ignored the comment. To acknowledge it would only invite further conversation and she was trying to avoid that.

“Whenever she’s on the phone with Nate,” Jeannie went on to say, “it’s like she wants to cry.”

“I miss Nate,” Rachel said, throwing her hands in the air. “We’re in love, and we have to be apart.”

“I still think you should pick Bruce,” Jeannie said stubbornly.

“Why don’t we take a poll?” Teri suggested. She got up and turned in a complete circle, indicating that everyone in the salon should take part in the vote.

“This is crazy,” Rachel said, refusing to listen. Teri could organize her vote, but she wasn’t sticking around to participate. It didn’t matter what other people thought.

She was in love with Nate and had been from almost their first date, which she’d bought at the Dog and Bachelor charity auction three summers ago. Okay, he was younger by five years, but that had never bothered him and it didn’t bother her, either. What did concern her were his political connections; his father was a Pennsylvania congressman with higher political aspirations.

Then she’d met his mother, and that hadn’t gone well. Unfortunately, Nate had been oblivious to the verbal jabs the other woman had directed at her. He thought Rachel was imagining things, but she knew. Although Patrice Olsen didn’t actually say so, she considered Rachel an inappropriate choice for her son.

Teri, who’d obviously abandoned her plan to hold a runoff vote between Nate and Bruce, trailed her into the kitchen. Rachel had just slipped a frozen entrée into the microwave. The washing machine churned nearby, and the sound of sloshing water punctuated her angry thoughts.

“Don’t you remember what it was like when you met Bobby?” Rachel said, whirling around to face her friend.

“I didn’t want to fall in love with him.”

“But you did.”

A sigh escaped Teri’s lips. “Bobby made it impossible not to. I’ll never forget the night he brought me a dozen romantic greeting cards, flowers and about fifty pounds of expensive chocolate.”

Bobby had been trying to romance Teri, and according to his “research,” that was the way to do it. Naturally, being Bobby, he’d gone completely overboard.

“How could I turn him down when he asked if he could kiss me?” Teri said plaintively.

“You couldn’t,” Rachel agreed.

“What can I say? The man swept me off my feet.”

“You feel about Bobby the way I feel about Nate,” Rachel said and hoped Teri would leave it at that. All this talk about her and Bruce had unsettled her. She didn’t want to think of Jolene’s father as anything more than a friend.

“No, you don’t,” Teri said softly. “You forget I know you, Rachel, probably better than anyone else here. We’ve been friends for a long time.”

Rachel grew even more uncomfortable. She opened the microwave and took out her lunch. Steam rose from the entrée as she gingerly lifted it onto a small plate and carried it to the two-person table.

“I know Nate wants to marry you.”

Rachel had shared that information with Teri and regretted it now. “Your point is?”

“My point is if you truly loved him, you wouldn’t have hesitated. You would’ve accepted his proposal, packed up your life and followed him to San Diego. You didn’t.”

“Oh, honestly, Teri, if you’re gauging my feelings on that, you’re completely off-base.”

“Am I?”

“Yes,” she snapped. Sitting down at the table, she reached for a napkin and smoothed it over her lap. “Would you mind if we discussed something else now?”

“I guess.”

“Good.” She picked up the fork and sampled her first bite.

Jeannie stepped into the compact kitchen. “Listen, about Bruce Peyton—”

Rachel set down her fork with a clang, interrupting Jeannie’s statement, whatever it was. She didn’t want to hear his name again. If it wasn’t Teri, it was some other friend or colleague. People just wouldn’t let the subject drop and frankly she was bored with it. “What about him?” she asked with exaggerated patience.

Jeannie opened the small refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of cold water. “A couple of my clients are hot to trot with him.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“He’s not hard on the eyes,” Jeannie said, twisting off the cap and taking a deep swallow. “They’ve been noticing him….”

“Good for them,” Rachel murmured, returning to her lunch. “I hope it works out for him and whoever he’s dating.”

“I don’t think he’s dating anyone,” Jeannie told her.

“I have no idea.” That wasn’t actually true. Jolene kept her informed, and while Bruce did go out on occasion, those dates had never amounted to anything.

Jeannie left the lunchroom, but Teri stayed. After a moment, she gently pressed Rachel’s shoulder.

“You’ll know,” she murmured. “When it’s the right man, everything will be clear and you’ll wonder why it took you so long to see what was already there in front of you.”

“That’s how it was with you and Bobby?” she couldn’t keep from asking.

A joyful smile softened Teri’s face. “I promised myself I wouldn’t marry him. He had James deliver this huge diamond but I wasn’t going to do it. I had absolutely no intention of marrying Bobby Polgar. Good grief, I hadn’t even been to bed with him and here he was insisting I marry him.”

Rachel smiled at the memory of Teri’s misery the night she’d come to see her. Miserable and in love and so afraid she’d ruin Bobby’s life if she married him.

But Rachel could see, even then, that they were meant to be together. Bobby knew it, too, because he refused to let her go. Teri had figured it out fast enough; Rachel could only take hope from that.

Jane walked in just then, breaking into Rachel’s musing. The happiness that lit her face when she saw Teri was all Rachel needed to know. Teri would be back at the salon where she belonged.

Five

Linnette McAfee’s heart was broken. She’d been in love for the first time in her life and it was over. Just like that. Over. Cal had gone off to rescue wild horses and while he was away, he’d fallen in love with Vicki Newman, the local vet.

Linnette still couldn’t understand how it had happened—and yet, she could. It was her. Something was wrong with her. Not Cal. Not Vicki. Her. Fresh tears filled her eyes as she indulged in this bout of self-pity.

The doorbell chimed and she jumped at the sound. The last thing she wanted now was company. It could only be one of two people—her mother or her sister, Gloria—and she wasn’t in the mood to deal with either of them.

Everyone was angry with her because she’d decided to leave Cedar Cove. Her friends at work, especially Chad Timmons, had said that if anyone left, it should be Cal. Well, he wasn’t leaving, and Linnette didn’t have it in her to watch Cal and Vicki together and pretend her heart wasn’t broken. All right, she was overreacting. She was being overdramatic. But she didn’t care.

The doorbell chimed again, longer this time. She couldn’t ignore it, so she wiped the tears from her cheeks and forced a smile. It crumpled the instant she saw her mother.

“Hi, Mom.”

Corrie McAfee opened the screen door and stepped into the second-floor apartment. With comforting, cooing sounds, she put her arms around Linnette. “Oh honey, I’m so sorry.”

“I know, I know.” Despite her efforts to be strong, Linnette buried her face in her mother’s shoulder. Sometimes a girl needed her mother and Linnette wasn’t too proud to admit it.

“Let me make some tea,” Corrie said, leading her into the kitchen.

While Linnette sat at the small table and pulled one tissue after another from the box, her mother set a kettle of water on the stove.

“I was hoping to leave before this,” Linnette blubbered between hiccuping sobs. She wanted her mother to understand that she wasn’t going to be talked out of moving. “But the clinic needs me until a replacement can be hired and trained.”

“You are going to stay a bit longer, aren’t you?”

Linnette didn’t have any other choice. She couldn’t let the clinic go short-staffed; she’d worked there since it opened and the place meant a lot to her. But her job wasn’t the only problem. She’d signed a lease for the apartment and it was either pay the rent or find someone to sublet. That very day, she’d posted an ad online and in the local paper. She’d also talked to a rental agent. Unless she managed to get someone to take over the lease, she’d have to stay much longer than she wanted to.

“I can’t stand to see you hurting like this,” Corrie said, taking two mugs from the cupboard. “This is as hard on me as it is on you. I don’t know what Cal was thinking.”

“Oh, Mom! Cal can love anyone he wants.” Even after he’d ended the relationship, she couldn’t stop defending him. That was another reason she had to leave. Linnette still loved Cal, and because of that, she wanted him to be happy. If it meant he was with another woman, then … then she’d simply leave.

The kettle whistled and steam shot into the air. Her mother removed it from the burner and poured the boiling water into the waiting pot, then added tea leaves. When she’d finished, she carried the pot of steeping tea to the kitchen table.

Years ago, when Linnette was a schoolgirl, her mother had made tea for her whenever she was sick. But it wasn’t the flu or a stomachache that bothered her now, and she seriously doubted a cup of tea would ease her aching heart.

“I’ve decided to put my things in storage,” Linnette said. She’d been considering what to do with her furniture for some time. Not that she had much to store. At first she’d assumed she could keep her belongings in her parents’ basement, but then she realized it was her responsibility, not her parents’.

“Dad and I can keep them for you,” her mother offered, exactly as Linnette had known she would.

“No, Mom, this is what I’m doing.” It would be easy to let her mother talk her out of her plans. The whole process would start with something small, some favor like the one she’d just suggested, and then gradually, Corrie would wear her down. Next thing she knew, Linnette would be staying in Cedar Cove.

Her mother seemed surprised by Linnette’s persistence and shrugged her shoulders. “If you’re sure.”

“I am,” Linnette reiterated.

Corrie reached for the teapot and filled both their cups, muttering, “It’s a waste of good money.”

“Perhaps.”

“So …” Corrie tensed. “Where do you plan to go?”

“I don’t know yet,” Linnette said noncommittally.

This news appeared to startle her mother. “You mean to say you’re just heading out the door with no destination in mind?”

Linnette nodded. “I guess so.”

“That’s so unlike you.” Corrie looked even more distressed.

“I’m sorry, Mom, but.” Linnette didn’t know how to finish her response; she had nothing reassuring to say.

Her mother was right. Acting this impulsively was unlike her. She craved structure, needed it. Once she’d decided to become a physician assistant, she’d listed all the required courses, and calculated how long it would take to obtain her degree. Then, with the full force of her determination, she’d set out to achieve it. Never before, not on a trip or in life, had she left without a road map. Until now.

“In other words, you’re running away,” her mother said anxiously.

Linnette had no intention of denying it. “You could say that.” She took a sip of tea and not surprisingly it burned her mouth. She set down the mug.

“Do you think that’s wise?”

“Probably not. I’ll admit it’s not a rational decision, Mom. I’m responding to pain. I’m fully aware that none of this makes sense to you or anyone else. All I can tell you is that leaving feels right.”

“Cal should move,” Corrie said in a stubborn voice.

“Mother!”

“He doesn’t have family here and you do.”

“No one has to move anywhere,” she said. “I’m the one who wants to get out of Cedar Cove.”

“Then go,” her mother said. “But don’t do it like this,” she pleaded. “Request a leave of absence from work. Take however long you need. But to quit like this, pack up your belongings and move out of your apartment, it’s so …”

“Drastic?” Linnette inserted.

“Yes, drastic,” her mother agreed. “I can’t imagine why you feel the need to flee like this with … with your tail between your legs. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Cal and Vicki didn’t either. I’m walking away because I’m the one who’s hurting.”

“And therefore the one least qualified to be making this kind of decision,” her mother said.

“Mother, don’t you see.” Linnette began. She sighed. “It’s time for me to do something that’s more … out of my comfort zone. My life is so regimented, so … so, I don’t know, so perfect.”

“In other words, you’re looking for a way to screw it up?”

That made Linnette smile. “No. I’m looking for a way to escape. I’m seeking adventure,” she said grandly.

“But you’ve always been so responsible.”

“Exactly my point,” Linnette told her. “I’m tired of meeting all these expectations.”

Her mother’s eyes narrowed. “Your father and I never meant—”

“Mom.” Linnette leaned across the table and placed a hand on her mother’s arm. “It’s not your expectations I’m talking about but my own. I’m the one who put them on myself. As of right now, I’m taking a long, hard look at my life. I’m setting out to discover what I really want. All I know is that it isn’t in Cedar Cove.”

Her mother seemed about to break into tears. “And you have to run away from your family?”

“Yes.” It was the simple, straightforward truth.

“Oh.” Corrie picked up her tea and her lips trembled as she bent to take a sip.

Linnette understood how difficult this was for her mother. “Think about the positive side, Mom,” she said, forcing a note of cheerful optimism into her voice.

“What’s positive about my daughter running away?” Corrie asked.

“Well, this’ll be a wonderful opportunity for you and Gloria to get to know each other without me there always directing the conversation.”

Her mother’s eyes widened. The situation with Gloria remained awkward, although everyone was trying to make her feel like part of the family. Gloria had been given up for adoption as an infant and then found her biological family. She was a full-blooded sister Linnette had never known she had—or at least not until two years ago.

A little while before that, Linnette had moved practically next door to her own sister and they’d struck up a friendship. Gloria had been a tremendous comfort to Linnette since her breakup with Cal.

“I love you both equally,” her mother said in low tones. “I always have.”

“Of course you do, Mom, but you don’t really know Gloria. Like I said, this is your chance to bond without me being there.” So far, it’d always been the three of them. Now, both Gloria and their mother could benefit from some private time together. Without Linnette who, as she readily acknowledged, tended to be the center of attention.

She finished her tea and, feeling a little stronger—perhaps the tea had helped—she brought her cup to the sink. Her mother stood, too. “I should go. Your father expected me back at the office half an hour ago.”

“I’m surprised that he didn’t call your cell.”

Corrie smiled. “I suspect he knew where I was.”

She was probably right. Linnette admired her parents’ marriage and the way they understood each other, the way they worked together. It was what she wanted for her own marriage and was determined to have one day.

Her mother left soon afterward. Linnette hugged her, and they both managed to smile, despite Corrie’s disappointment. Everything she’d said was true, and yet nothing was going to change. Linnette instinctively knew she’d made the right decision. She needed to leave Cedar Cove.

She rinsed out the cups and set them in the dishwasher. She’d just returned to her packing when the doorbell rang again. It would be either her brother, Mack, or Gloria, she figured. Most likely Gloria.

But Linnette was in for a shock. Vicki Newman, the woman Cal loved, stood on the other side of the screen door. For a long moment the two women did nothing but stare at each other.

“I hope you don’t mind that I’ve come,” Vicki said shyly, her brown eyes imploring Linnette.

“Does Cal know you’re here?” Linnette couldn’t help glancing over the woman’s shoulder. Then she looked back at Vicki, with her plain face—there was no other word for it—and her carelessly braided hair. And yet Linnette had begun to realize why Cal loved her so much. For one thing they shared a view of the world, including their passion for animals; Vicki was a veterinarian and Cal a horse-trainer who worked for Grace Harding’s husband. The way it had all happened, though—Linnette still found that hard to believe. But she respected him for caring so deeply that he was willing to stand up to the barrage of criticism directed at him because of the pain he’d caused Linnette.

In response to Linnette’s question, Vicki shook her head. “Cal wouldn’t like it if he found out I’d stopped by.”

Knowing him as well as she did, Linnette agreed. Unlatching the screen door, she pushed it open to allow the other woman inside.

As Vicki walked into the apartment, her gaze darted about the room, taking in the boxes that littered the floor. “So it’s true. You are moving.”

Linnette ignored her comment and gestured toward the sofa. “Would you like to sit down?”

Vicki declined with a shake of her head. She gazed down at the carpet. “I heard you were leaving, and I just wanted to tell you how … how sorry I am.”

“Sorry that I’m leaving?”

“No … sorry that I hurt you.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I.” Vicki looked up then and seemed to reach some decision. “I’ve been in love with Cal for a long time,” she said. “Long before he met you. He didn’t know it and I … I didn’t know how to tell him, so I said nothing. I never thought he could possibly love me.”

“It’s because of Cal that you volunteered to help with the mustang rescue, isn’t it?”

Vicki nodded. “Well … partly. The cause is important to me too, of course. Anything to do with horses.”

“I understand.” After a brief silence, she asked, “You knew about me?”

Vicki nodded again. “I tried not to love him.”

Linnette wasn’t sure of the other woman’s purpose in confronting her. Perhaps she felt guilty. Perhaps because of that she was hoping Linnette would yell at her, curse her, condemn her for taking the man Linnette loved. A week earlier, that was exactly what might have happened. Not now. “I’m the one who’s trying not to love him,” Linnette whispered.

“I’m sure there’ll be lots of other opportunities for you. You’ll find someone else to love—someone who’ll love you,” Vicki said urgently. “But for me.” She cleared her throat. “I communicate better with animals than I do with people. I always have. As soon as I met Cal, I felt we should be together. He has the same feeling about animals.”

Linnette suddenly had a sharp clear memory of the time she’d come to visit Cal and overheard him crooning to an injured horse. He hadn’t known she was there. Linnette had felt as if she was intruding on a private moment, a private world.

“Cal’s asked me to marry him,” Vicki said in a low voice. “I want to.”

“Then you should,” Linnette said.

“We both feel so guilty.”

“Don’t, please.” She reached out to touch Vicki’s arm. In the beginning she’d hated this woman, but she no longer felt that way. “I want you both to be happy.”

“You mean that?” Vicki asked, frowning.

“With all my heart.” Linnette took a deep breath. “If you’ve come looking for my absolution, then you have it.”

“Can I tell Cal we’ve talked?”

Linnette nodded. “You’re right, you know. I will find someone else.” For the first time she actually believed it.

Six

It was the Saturday evening of the dreaded family dinner.

Teri couldn’t stop fidgeting. She checked the ham roasting in the oven, along with a huge casserole of scalloped potatoes. She’d chosen fresh green beans for the vegetable; they were simmering on the stove. Although it was summer, ham had always been served on special occasions, and Teri wasn’t about to break with tradition. The table was set with her formal dishes—even the concept of “formal” and “everyday” dishes was a new one for her—and sparkling crystal glasses. Nothing but the best for Mom, Christie and the gang, she thought with no small degree of irony. Against her better judgment, Teri was introducing her family, such as it was, to her husband.

“Bobby,” she called, leaving the kitchen and pulling off the apron she’d donned to protect her pale-green shirt. She’d worn it for confidence, since Bobby loved that color on her. When he came toward her, she drew in a calming breath. “Remember what I told you?”

Her husband regarded her blankly.

“About Christie.”

Judging by the blank look he gave her, he didn’t recall a word. She’d wanted to warn him so he’d be prepared. Her sister, slim and lovely, would do everything in her power to attract him—and steal him away if she could.

Teri suspected that Christie had coerced Johnny into arranging this meeting just so she could prove yet again that any man would prefer her. Christie was thinner, prettier, sexier, and she made sure Teri knew it. Not for a minute did Teri discount her sister’s charms.

She sighed at Johnny’s naiveté. She didn’t really blame him for engineering this … this fiasco-to-be; her little brother desperately wanted them all to live in peace and harmony—as though they actually liked each other.

She sighed again. “My family will be here any minute.”

Bobby stared back at her, then slowly smiled. “I love you, remember.”

“I’m not the one who needs to be reminded.” Christie could be subtle while she was busy flattering some unsuspecting man. She’d be completely absorbed in Bobby, hang on his every word. He’d fall for it, too, she thought grimly. It seemed that every guy she’d loved had been lured away by her sister. Whenever Christie met any man in Teri’s life, he was no longer interested in her. Even if Christie had a boyfriend at the time, she had to take her sister’s, too.

No one had mattered to Teri as much as Bobby. If Christie assumed she could waltz into Teri’s home and play her games, then her little sister had a real surprise awaiting her.

“Tell me their names again,” Bobby said.

“My mother’s name is Ruth and her husband, my stepfather, is Donald.” Teri had to stop and think. “No, sorry, Johnny phoned and told me Mom’s left Donald and now she’s planning to marry Mike. I haven’t met him yet.” She shook her head. Out of seven men, Ruth had yet to pick a decent one as far as Teri could tell, and she doubted Mike would be the exception.

“Ruth and Mike,” Bobby dutifully repeated. “And your sister’s Christie.”

“Christie Levitt.” She bit out the name, hoping she didn’t sound as angry as she felt.

He nodded.

“I told Mom we wouldn’t be serving any alcohol.”

“Okay.” Bobby studied her.

Bobby could be completely oblivious to what was going on around him—the time of day, the weather, even what month it was. However, when it came to Teri, he seemed to notice more than she sometimes realized.

“Is your sister like you?” he asked.

Now, that was an interesting question. Christie wasn’t like her, and yet she was. Two years younger, Christie had tagged after her for the first twelve years of Teri’s life. Anything Teri had, Christie wanted—and generally got. Teri could say without hesitation that their mother had always favored her younger daughter. And yet Christie was capable of kindness on occasion, which Teri found all too easy to forget. She knew enough about human nature to understand that she and Christie shared an insecurity that probably stemmed from their mother’s selfishness and neglect. Ruth might have preferred Christie and spoiled her but both girls had suffered. They just expressed their insecurity with contrasting kinds of behavior.

“Well, in some ways Christie and I are alike,” she conceded.

“Then why are you afraid?”

“Concerned,” she said. She had to learn to trust her husband. The biggest test would come this very evening, and she’d know once and for all if Bobby truly loved her.

“Does Donald play chess?” he asked next.

“Mike,” she corrected. This time around, her mother hadn’t bothered to introduce the new man in her life. Well, for that matter, Teri hadn’t introduced Bobby, either—but for entirely different reasons.

“Does Mike play chess?” He revised the question.

“I don’t know.” Teri loved Bobby all the more for asking. He wasn’t comfortable in social situations and didn’t handle them well. For the most part he avoided even small gatherings; they tended to overwhelm him.

The doorbell chimed, and Teri felt herself tense. “This is going to be a perfect dinner,” she said aloud. Maybe voicing the words would make it happen, although she was pretty sure she sounded more sarcastic than hopeful. The last time the entire family had been together was two Christmases ago, and it’d been an unmitigated disaster.

Ruth and Mike were already drunk and in the middle of a pointless argument when Teri arrived for Christmas dinner. Johnny was late and their sister had left in a fit of anger, furious over something trivial. Teri was stuck refereeing between her mother and her worthless fiancé.

She’d done her best to be festive and cheerful, and all she got in return was anger and resentment. No one else, apparently, was interested in celebrating anything. Because she’d wanted to see Johnny, she’d waited until he got there; she’d spent an hour talking to him, then went home, glad to make her escape. That year, she’d spent the rest of Christmas Day propped up in bed with a good book and a large chocolate bar. She’d felt guilty about abandoning Johnny to their lunatic family, but she couldn’t have been happier to get away. Yet, here she was, willing to try all over again.

When she opened the door, Christie stood on the other side. Teri should’ve known her half sister would show up right on time. She looked awestruck—and envious. The house was impressive, Teri had to admit.

“Some digs you’ve got here,” Christie said. “Mom and Mike are parking the car and they’re going to have a smoke before they come in.” Her gaze immediately shot past Teri and flew to Bobby.

“Hello,” she cooed and practically shoved past Teri in order to greet Bobby. “I’m Christie.” She held out her hand, and when Bobby moved to shake it, she deftly slipped into his arms for a gentle hug. “We’re family, after all,” she said, smiling up at him with undisguised admiration.

Bobby extricated himself and stood beside Teri, resting his hand on her shoulder. “Bobby Polgar.”

“I know all about you,” Christie told him. “I read your story on the Internet. You’re, like, the most popular checkers player in the world.”

“Chess,” Teri muttered. Reaching for her husband’s hand, she gave it a squeeze. “Bobby plays chess.”

“Oh.” Her sister’s face fell. “Well, I remembered it was one of those board games.”

Unlike Teri, her sister was tall with curves in all the right places, and she knew how to use them. Her blouse was cut low in the front, displaying an almost indecent amount of cleavage. Bobby, bless his heart, didn’t seem to notice.

“Shall we sit down?” Teri suggested. Dinner was ready, so there was nothing to distract her in the kitchen. The last thing Teri intended to do was give her sister time alone with Bobby.

They walked slowly into the living room, then sat and stared at each other. They were like aliens from different planets meeting to negotiate a peace settlement—like on Star Trek, Teri thought. Except there was no Captain Picard to guide them. Silently Teri pleaded with Bobby to say something. Anything. He cast her a helpless look in response.

Teri clutched his hand as if it were a lifeline that connected her to the mother ship as she drifted around outer space.

“I’m surprised my sister caught such a handsome man,” Christie said in a bright voice.

“Surprised?” Teri repeated, gritting her teeth.

“Handsome?” Bobby repeated at the same time.

Teri glared at him. Not Bobby, too. Her heart sank.

“Handsome and rich and famous.”

“My husband the checkers player.” Teri stared up at Bobby with an exaggerated starstruck expression. For further effect, she batted her eyelashes.

Bobby looked uncomfortable and confused.

Christie laughed softly. “Don’t tell me you’re worried that I’d try to lure Bobby away from you. My goodness, Teri, are you really that insecure?”

“I … I.” She hated to admit that she was—that they both were. Her sister’s need to compete, to win, brought out the very worst in Teri, especially when there was a man involved. Christie knew her deepest fears and manipulated them. And Teri allowed her to do it. That was a pattern she recognized but couldn’t explain. Maybe it was simply habit, all those years of playing certain roles, feeling certain emotions.

Christie hadn’t been in the house two minutes and already Teri hated her—and hated herself.

Clearing her throat, she decided then and there that she wouldn’t play the role Christie always assigned her. The loser. The unattractive one. The rejected woman. “You can try all you want,” she said with a look of unconcern. “My husband loves me, and I trust him. So go ahead, little sister. But it isn’t going to work.”

Christie blinked, obviously taken aback by Teri’s directness.

“Maybe I’ll do just that,” she murmured. “We’ll see what happens.”

Rather than watch, Teri excused herself to check on their dinner. She’d made her stand and now she had to step back and trust her heart—and her husband. Finding busywork in the kitchen, she gave Christie ten full minutes.

When Teri returned, Christie seemed more than a little befuddled.

“I don’t suppose you have any beer?” her sister asked.

“No, I didn’t think it was a good idea to have alcohol around when Mom’s going to be here.”

“I could use one.”

Teri caught her husband’s eye and, to her utter astonishment, Bobby winked. Teri grinned and so did he. Bobby knew—and he’d put Christie in her place. Teri had no idea what had gone on while she was in the kitchen. But in that moment all she wanted to do was throw herself at her husband and make love to him, regardless of who was in the room.

Her husband recognized her look, and his eyes briefly flared. They shared a smile and an unspoken promise. He’d get his reward later.

Teri’s mother and Mike showed up next. As soon as her mother walked inside, she oohed and aahed over the house. After introductions were exchanged, she turned to her older daughter. “Teri, this is just lovely. Give me a tour, would you? I want to see every room.” She brought one hand to her throat as she roamed from living room to kitchen to dining room, commenting on each feature. Like an obedient puppy, Mike silently trailed behind.

“Teri’s got the bucks now and she can flaunt it,” Christie said. The words had a deflated quality that Teri chose to ignore.

Johnny arrived last and a genuine smile lit up his face when he saw Teri. He immediately hugged her and whispered, “It’s not so bad, is it?”

“Not bad at all.”

“Great.”

Her mother left to go to the car and returned with a case of beer. “This is Mike’s and my contribution to dinner,” she said, setting it down on the kitchen counter. Before Teri could protest, Christie had pulled out a bottle, twisted off the cap and taken her first swig. Ruth and Mike followed in quick succession.

Johnny met her eyes and shrugged. There was nothing either of them could do now.

The evening deteriorated from that point on. Ruth and Mike, along with Christie, sat in the living room and drank beer while Teri served appetizers they mostly ignored. Bobby and Johnny gamely swallowed cheese puffs and shrimp.

“I baked a ham,” Teri announced. Bobby got up and stood behind her, as if protecting her from harm.

“I hope everyone’s hungry,” Johnny added, joining them. “Looks like Teri’s been cooking all day.”

She’d taken real pride in this dinner, but that was beside the point. She smiled gratefully at her brother.

“It looks like she’s been eating all day, too,” her mother said, and seemed to find herself exceptionally funny.

One hand on her hip, Teri said, “No more beer for you, understand?”

Ruth’s head came back as though she’d been struck. “What did you say?”

“I said this is my house and if you want to drink, you’ll do it elsewhere.”

“Fine, I will.” She stood and the still-silent Mike stood with her.

Although she’d threatened to leave, Ruth didn’t seem to be in any rush. “You think you’re so smart because you’re married to this hotshot checkers player,” her mother spat. “Just because you’ve got money doesn’t mean you can tell people how to run their lives.”

Everyone froze, and then Bobby stepped forward. Without saying a word, he picked up Ruth’s handbag.

“What’s he doing with my purse?” she demanded.

Marching into the entry, Bobby set her mother’s purse down by the front door.

“Are you kicking me out?” Ruth cried. “I can’t believe this! My own daughter’s asking me to leave her home.” She glanced around the room, seeking support and finding none. Then she headed toward Mike, grabbing his arm.

“I thought you said you were leaving anyway,” Christie commented.

“Yeah, Mom,” Johnny said cheerfully as he held open the front door. “You drink, you go. That’s Teri’s rule.”

Ruth hesitated in the doorway. “Don’t think I’m going to forget this, Teri. One day you’ll need me, but I’ll tell you right now—you can forget it.” With her chin so high she was in danger of tripping over her own two feet, Ruth walked out with Mike once again trudging obediently in her wake.

There was a startled silence. Teri felt like weeping; she’d known something like this would happen, although she’d suspected Christie rather than her mother would cause the scene.

“Are you going to leave, too?” Teri turned to ask her sister.

“No.” Christie hiccuped. It was obvious that she’d already had too much to drink. A glint of admiration shone in her eyes. “I’ve never seen you stand up to Mom that way,” she muttered. “I wish I had the guts to do that.”

Teri blinked, hardly able to believe what she’d just heard. She’d actually confronted their mother any number of times. Apparently Christie hadn’t been around to witness it—probably too busy dating one of Teri’s old boyfriends.

“We should all sit down and eat,” Johnny said after a moment. “It’d be a shame to let a perfectly good dinner go to waste.”

“I agree,” Bobby said.

To her surprise, the meal went smoothly. Without complaint, Christie switched from beer to tap water. The two of them talked in an unusually friendly fashion. Comfortable with each other, Johnny and Bobby chatted about chess, cars and Star Trek. Bobby was polite toward Christie but conveyed in unmistakable terms that he wouldn’t be swayed by her many charms.

“Would anyone like dessert?” Teri asked, her mood hovering close to joyous. She’d always known that she’d married a wonderful man, but he was even more wonderful than she’d realized. Every time she thought about the matter-of-fact way he’d delivered her mother’s purse to the front door, it warmed her heart. Bobby wasn’t about to let anyone insult his wife. He hadn’t spoken a single word, but his message was clear. She couldn’t wait to show him her love and gratitude, and from the gleam in his eyes, Bobby knew exactly how she intended to do that.

Christie must have noticed the look they’d shared because she followed Teri into the kitchen. “He loves you,” she murmured.

“He does.” Teri started to load the plates into the dishwasher. “No man’s ever loved me like that.”

“Where’d you meet him?”

“Not in a bar,” Teri said pointedly.

“I thought you’d say that.” Christie rinsed off the dishes and handed them to Teri.

Teri couldn’t remember ever working side by side with her sister before. Not as an adult, at any rate.

“He’s a decent guy, you know,” Christie said thoughtfully. “I’m not likely to meet someone like him.”

Teri had to agree that she’d been fortunate. “Don’t be so sure,” she told her sister. “Think positive.”

Christie snickered. “A lot of good that’ll do me.”

Teri made a pot of coffee while Christie sliced the homemade coconut cake. Together they carried dessert into the dining room.

Half an hour later, Johnny prepared to leave for Seattle. He hugged both of his sisters and as he walked out, he gave Teri a thumbs-up.

“We’ll drive you home,” Bobby said when Christie told them it was time for her to leave as well.

“Oh, no, I’m fine,” Christie insisted. “I’ll walk.”

Bobby wouldn’t hear of it. “James is outside waiting.”

“James?” Christie asked, glancing at Teri for an answer.

“James Wilbur, Bobby’s personal driver.”

“Oh.” Christie struggled with little success to hide a smile. “I guess that would be all right.”

Teri and Bobby escorted her to the vehicle. James, looking distinguished as usual, stood by the passenger door, waiting to open it for her.

“La-di-da,” Christie said, clearly impressed. She inclined her head. “Thank you, James.” Giggling, she gestured regally. “Home, James.”

Without cracking a smile, James held the door and Christie slid inside. As soon as she was seated, she lowered the tinted window. “Wow, this is really something.” She sounded about ten years old, and Teri was touched by this glimpse of a more innocent Christie.

“Come and visit us again,” Bobby said.

“I will,” Christie promised. Then, with an exaggerated flourish, she pressed the button to raise the window.

When James pulled onto the drive, Teri leaned against her husband. “That was nice of you.”

“Yes.”

It was just like him to acknowledge his own generosity. But then—why shouldn’t he? “So,” she said. “What do you think of my family?”

“I like Johnny.”

“I know.”

“And Christie.”

Her defenses immediately went on alert. “You … like … Christie?”

“I do, but it’s you I love.”

“Excellent answer, Mr. Polgar.”

Bobby chuckled. “I’m tired. Let’s go to bed.”

Teri knew it wasn’t sleeping he had in mind. “It’s too early.”

“No, it isn’t,” he said. “In fact, it’s two or three hours later than I would’ve liked.”

Oh, yes, Teri Polgar loved her husband. At least as much as he loved her….

Seven

Grace Sherman Harding cradled the sleeping infant in her arms. The overwhelming love she felt for this tiny being was almost more than a single heart could hold. This was her new grandson: Drake Joseph Bowman. She smiled; that was quite a handle for such a small baby.

She’d experienced the same sense of wonder when she’d held Tyler and Katie as newborns.

“Is he still sleeping?” Maryellen asked, bringing two glasses of lemonade into the living room.

“Oh, Maryellen, he’s so precious.” This had been a difficult pregnancy for her daughter. Maryellen had spent the last five months bedridden. Both Grace and Cliff had done what they could to help, but it wasn’t enough. Thankfully, Jon’s parents had come from Oregon and were able to visit every day; otherwise, Grace didn’t know how Maryellen and Jon would’ve managed. Not with a three-year-old underfoot and Jon working all hours to support his family.

“Drake was worth every second of discomfort,” Maryellen said.

“How’s Katie doing?” Grace asked.

Maryellen sat down on the sofa opposite Grace’s chair. “She’s enthralled with being a big sister. Jon and I were afraid she’d show signs of jealousy. But so far, she hasn’t.”

“Good.” The baby’s eyes fluttered open and he stared up at Grace. Some might say she was imagining things, but she was sure he’d smiled at her. Grace smiled back. “Hello, handsome boy.”

“I see he’s awake and I’ll bet he’s hungry,” Maryellen said. “He probably needs a diaper change, too.” She reached for her son, and Grace watched as Maryellen changed him out of a soggy diaper into a fresh one.

“How’s Kelly doing?” Maryellen asked when she’d finished.

Grace’s younger daughter was due in the next two weeks.

“She envies you,” Grace said wryly. “She’s definitely ready for this baby to be born.”

“The last two weeks of this pregnancy were the longest of my life,” Maryellen said as she nestled her son to her breast.

It was a joy to see her daughter this content. Suddenly Grace felt an intense sadness that took her completely by surprise. Dan was missing so much. Her first husband had been dead for six years now. After his disappearance, Grace had met Cliff Harding; once Dan’s body was recovered—with his suicide note—she’d allowed herself to find happiness in loving Cliff. Earlier that year, she’d finally married him.

When Dan had first gone missing, Grace had been sure she’d never feel contentment again. She didn’t sleep, didn’t eat and was scarcely able to function. Only recently had she begun to understand the kinds of demons that had chased her husband and compelled him into such a drastic solution.

Kelly had always been close to her father, and his disappearance had been hardest on her. She’d been pregnant with Tyler at the time, utterly convinced her father would return for the birth of his first grandchild. Until the very end, Kelly had believed Dan would have a perfectly rational explanation for disappearing.

“Mom?” Maryellen said. “Is something wrong?”

Grace smiled despite her sadness. “I was thinking about your father and how proud he would’ve been of his grandchildren.”

Maryellen looked away and, when she turned back, her eyes brimmed with tears. “I think about Dad a lot. I miss him. I didn’t expect I would…. I was so furious with him for what he did. Now … now I’m not. I just feel so sad for him and what he’s missing.”

Grace leaned forward. “I miss him, too. We’ll never fully understand why he chose suicide, and there’s no point in trying to find a logical reason. He wasn’t himself.” And hadn’t been for years, she thought but didn’t say.

“I know.”

Grace heard sounds from upstairs indicating that Katie had awakened from her nap. “I’ll get her,” she told Maryellen, wiping the tears from her own cheeks as she walked up the stairs to collect her granddaughter.

Still tired and a little cranky, Katie crawled into her grandmother’s arms and pressed her cheek against Grace’s shoulder. Moving carefully on the steps, Grace carried her granddaughter back to the living room. She settled down on the sofa again and held Katie close.

“I heard the art gallery isn’t doing so well,” Maryellen said. She met her mother’s gaze. “Lois phoned the other day and said sales are way down.”

Lois Habbersmith had taken over as manager when Maryellen had to quit. Grace knew that Maryellen had always had reservations about Lois’s ability to cope with the job’s responsibilities. Her daughter’s instincts had proved to be right. Lois was overwhelmed, and the gallery seemed to be suffering. Grace hated to see all of Maryellen’s hard work erode.

It was at the gallery that her daughter had met Jon Bowman. What a blessing he’d been to Maryellen—to the whole family.

“There’s talk that the gallery might have to close,” Maryellen murmured. Grace recognized frustration as well as sadness in her daughter’s voice.

“That would be a real pity.”

“I think so, too, but I can’t go back to work.” Maryellen sighed. “I’d like to, but it’s impossible. Besides, I’m managing Jon’s career now. With two children under four, plus getting Jon’s photographs out to the various agents, I have all I can deal with.”

“I know,” her mother said. “The gallery’s not your obligation anymore.”

“It’s just that I put so much time and energy into the place,” Maryellen said regretfully. “It really bothers me to see it failing. I’m positive that, given half a chance, it could be profitable again.”

Grace believed that, too. None of the artists her daughter had worked with depended on income from The Harbor Street Gallery as their sole support. But sales there had supplemented many of the local artists’ revenue, including Jon’s.

Katie squirmed down from her lap, and Grace took her into the kitchen to let the little girl choose her own afternoon snack. Katie decided on a graham cracker and juice.

When she returned, Maryellen had finished nursing Drake. “Olivia came by yesterday with a gift for the baby.”

Olivia and Grace had been best friends nearly their entire lives. Before Grace could comment, her daughter continued. “She said something interesting.” Maryellen studied her closely.

Grace had a feeling she already knew what this was about. “Does it have to do with Will Jefferson?”

Maryellen nodded.

Slowly expelling her breath, Grace sat down. Will was Olivia’s older brother. In high school Grace had a huge crush on Will, but he’d hardly known she was alive. He’d gone off to college, married and moved to Atlanta. She’d married Dan and stayed in Cedar Cove.

Decades later, after Dan’s death, Will had contacted Grace to tell her how sorry he was. Their e-mail relationship had started out innocently enough. Then it turned into an affair in every sense but the physical—and that would’ve happened within a matter of weeks. Grace wasn’t blameless by any means; she knew Will was married. He’d lied, though, and said he was divorcing his wife, Georgia. Because she so badly wanted to believe him, she’d agreed to meet him in New Orleans, where they planned to share a hotel room. She was mortified when she’d learned, quite by accident, that Will had no intention of leaving his wife—for her or for any other reason. Fortunately, she’d found out before she went to Louisiana.

That betrayal had nearly destroyed Grace’s relationship with Cliff Harding. Over time, he’d forgiven her for the pain she’d brought him. Now she considered herself the luckiest woman in the world to be his wife.

“Olivia told me he’s divorced—and that he’s moving back to Cedar Cove,” Maryellen said, still studying Grace.

“I heard he might do that,” she said through numb lips.

“Why now?” Maryellen demanded.

Grace could only shrug. Apparently, seeing other women was nothing new to Olivia’s brother. Grace wasn’t his first indiscretion and she wasn’t his last. Finally Georgia had had enough and filed for divorce. Now, after nearly forty years of marriage, she wanted out.

“You aren’t going to see him, are you?” Maryellen asked.

Grace shook her head adamantly. “Not if I can help it.” In fact, she intended to do whatever she could to avoid Will Jefferson. The problem was, he hadn’t taken her rejection lightly.

He’d come to Cedar Cove once before, hoping to talk his way around his lies and her objections. There’d been an ugly incident, and Cliff had become involved. Just remembering it made Grace want to bury her face in her hands. Until Will had reentered her life, she hadn’t realized how quickly she could lower her principles or how stupid she could be when it came to love. Or, more accurately, infatuation.

“Does Cliff know?”

Grace shook her head again. She should tell him. That went without saying, but even while she acknowledged it, Grace told herself she wasn’t quite ready. She’d do it, of course. Just not yet. The time wasn’t right.

Getting past how she’d misled Cliff—no, how she’d lied to him—had been a major hurdle in their relationship. Unfortunately, his first wife had cheated on him, so Cliff recognized all the signs. He’d heard the excuses. This was a path he wasn’t walking twice. It’d taken Grace months to prove herself to him. Now she was unwilling to put her marriage at risk over a man who meant absolutely nothing to her. His lies had destroyed any feeling she’d had.

The sound of a car coming into the driveway interrupted her thoughts.

“Daddy’s home,” Maryellen announced for Katie’s benefit.

Scrambling out of her chair, Katie ran toward the door, her face lit up with joy. “Daddy, Daddy!”

Jon entered the house and swept the three-year-old into his embrace. With her arms wrapped tightly around his neck, Katie smeared kisses across her father’s cheek.

“How are my girls doing?” Jon asked.

Maryellen looked up at him and smiled. “Your son might take exception to being called a girl.”

“Oops,” Jon said and, leaning down, he kissed the baby’s head. “I keep forgetting about you.” He chuckled at his own joke.

Maryellen gazed at the baby, gurgling contentedly in her arms. “Let’s remind him around two this morning, shall we, Drake?”

“Hi, Grace.” Jon greeted her with a lazy grin. “Good to see you.”

“You, too.”

“Did my parents come by?” Jon asked as he walked over to the kitchen counter and sorted through the mail.

“This morning,” Maryellen told him. “They decided to stay in town until the end of the month.”

He nodded.

“Daddy, Daddy, come see.” Katie grabbed her father’s hand, pulling him toward the puzzle she’d completed before her nap.

Seeing that the young family was busy, Grace decided to leave. She put a casserole in the oven, then said her farewells and kissed both her grandchildren.

By the time she pulled into the yard at her home with Cliff in nearby Olalla, she still hadn’t decided what she should do about Will Jefferson. Sooner or later her husband would learn that Will was retiring in Cedar Cove. If she mentioned the fact, it might place more significance on the event than warranted. She didn’t care where Will Jefferson chose to live. He could take up residence on Mars if he wanted to.

But by the same token, not telling Cliff might make it seem significant in a different way—as if she had something to hide.

When Cliff heard her car, he came out of the barn, smiling. Buttercup, her golden retriever, wandered over from her perch on the front steps, plumy tail wagging.

Her husband opened the car door for her. “Welcome home,” he said.

Grace slipped her arms around his middle and kissed him warmly. When they broke contact, Cliff leaned his head back. “Wow! What did I do to deserve this?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary.”

Arm in arm, they strolled toward the house. “You’re late,” he said casually.

“I went to see Maryellen after work.”

“Ah.”

“Missed me, did you?” she asked with a teasing smile.

Grace suddenly realized that if she told Cliff about Will, he’d suspect she was with the other man anytime she was late. She couldn’t bring herself to tell him. And yet … Eventually he’d find out. What then?

Eight

Troy Davis walked into the house and dejectedly tossed the mail on the kitchen counter. He hadn’t even bothered to look at it. He already knew it was nothing but junk with a couple of bills thrown in. Just like it always was. He felt bored, depressed, lonely. In fact, he was downright crumpy, a word Sandy had invented—grumpy plus cranky—to describe him when he was feeling low. Whenever she’d said it, he’d had to smile.

Sandy. He missed her, missed her so much.

Although she’d been in the nursing home for two years, he’d gone there almost every day after work and weekends, too. The nursing home had become an extension of his own home and, apart from his job, visiting Sandy was his routine, his life. Now that she was gone he had time on his hands. Time he didn’t know how to fill.

Turning on the television, he sat in his favorite chair and watched ten minutes of a Seattle news broadcast. There had to be more to life than this … this emptiness. Because Sandy had required so much of his time, he’d never developed hobbies. He supposed he could now, but he couldn’t think of a single thing that interested him enough to devote his efforts and resources to. This didn’t bode well for retirement.

Restless, he got up and wandered into the kitchen. He’d been preparing his own meals for years now. Generally he picked up something easy at the grocery store or got takeout from a fast-food place. He’d learned basic cooking skills and mastered the microwave. He could barbecue a steak, nuke a potato and pour salad dressing over lettuce with the best of ’em. Nothing fancy, though.

His stomach growled, reminding him that he should eat. But even the thought of a T-bone steak didn’t excite him. With no energy and no inspiration, he opened the bread drawer and pulled out the peanut butter and jelly. The bread was relatively fresh, and the peanut butter would provide some protein—something Sandy constantly used to harp on. Good enough. He’d make do with a sandwich.

Sandy would be horrified to see him eating over the kitchen sink. But that way, if the jelly dripped, he didn’t have to worry about wiping off the counter.

His wife had been a real stickler about sitting down for meals. He felt guilty as he wolfed down his dinner staring out the window into the backyard. When he’d finished, he chased the sandwich with a glass of milk. It smelled a little sour and he should probably check the expiry date. On second thought, better just to empty the rest of it down the drain.

Moving to the counter, he flipped up the lid of the garbage can—the “circular file,” as Sandy used to joke—and started sorting through the mail. As he’d suspected, the top three pieces were advertisements. Without reading any of the chance-of-a-lifetime offers, he flicked them into the garbage. The fourth piece was the water bill and the fifth was a card. Probably a belated sympathy card. They were still trickling in.

The return address read Seattle, but F. Beckwith wasn’t a name he recognized. A friend of Sandy’s? He stared at it for a moment and set it aside while he looked through the last few pieces. Then he picked up the envelope, tore it open and removed the card. His gaze immediately went to the signature. Faith Beckwith.

Faith Beckwith? Troy didn’t know anyone named Beckwith. He’d known a Faith, but that was years ago. He glanced at the opposite side of the card and read,

Dear Troy,

I was so sorry to hear about your wife. How very special she must have been. I’ve almost forgiven her for stealing you away from me.

My husband died three years ago and I truly understand how difficult the adjustment can be.

Faith Beckwith was the married name of Faith Carroll, his high-school sweetheart. Faith had mailed him a sympathy card? He smiled and almost before he could rationalize what he was doing, Troy reached for the phone. Directory assistance gave him the Seattle number he sought and without hesitation he dialed it.

Not until it began to ring did he consider what he should say. He’d never been an impulsive man. But he didn’t need to think about what he was doing. Instinctively he knew this was right.

“Hello,” a soft female voice answered.

“Faith, this is Troy Davis.”

The line went silent, and Troy felt her shock.

“Troy, my heavens, is it really you?”

She sounded exactly the same as she had when they were high-school seniors. Back then, they’d talked on the phone for hours nearly every night. They’d been in love. The summer after their graduation, he’d gone into the service. Faith had seen him off with kisses and tears, promising to write every day, and in the beginning she had.

Then the correspondence had abruptly stopped. He still had no idea what had gone wrong. Soon afterward, a friend told him Faith was dating someone else. It’d hurt, the way she’d handled their breakup, but that was easy to forgive now. They’d both been so young. Besides, Troy wouldn’t have married Sandy if Faith hadn’t severed their relationship. And he couldn’t imagine his life without Sandy….

“I got your sympathy card,” he said, explaining the reason for his call. “How did you know?”

“My son lives in Cedar Cove,” Faith said. “I was visiting him and the grandkids, and I saw the Chronicle. I always read the obituaries and …”

“That’s where you read about Sandy?”

“It is. I’m really sorry about your loss, Troy. I wasn’t sure you’d want to hear from me. That’s why I didn’t mail the card right away.”

Troy didn’t know what else to say until he glanced down at the sympathy card and reread her short message. “What did you mean when you said Sandy stole me away?” His memory of their breakup was quite the opposite. Faith had dumped him.

Her laugh drifted over the phone. “Come on, Troy. You have to know you broke my heart.”

“What?” He shook his head in bewilderment. She couldn’t have forgotten the callous way she’d treated him. “As I recall, you’re the one who broke up with me.”

There was a silence. “How can you say that?” she said. “You quit writing to me.”

“I most certainly did not,” he returned. He’d always wondered what had happened and wasn’t too proud to admit she’d hurt him badly. But none of that was important anymore. Hadn’t been in years.

“Hold on,” Faith said. “One of us seems to have developed a selective memory.”

“That’s what I was thinking.” Strangely, Troy found he was enjoying this. He knew beyond a doubt that the selective memory was Faith’s—but he was willing to forgive her.

“Yes,” she said, “and it’s not me.”

“Well, then,” he said, “let’s review the events of that summer.”

“Good idea,” she concurred. “Practically as soon as we graduated from high school, you went into basic training.”

“Right.” Troy was with her so far. “I remember clearly that you promised me your undying love when we said goodbye.”

“I did and I meant it.” She spoke without hesitation. “I wrote you every single day.”

“In the beginning.” He’d lived for Faith’s letters, and when she’d stopped writing he hadn’t known what to think.

“Every day,” she reiterated, “and then you stopped writing.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you.”

Troy grew quiet. “I didn’t stop writing you, Faith.”

“I didn’t stop writing you, either.”

“I phoned,” he said, “and your mother said you were out. Later, someone else told me you were seeing some other guy. I got the message.”

“I didn’t date anyone other than you until after I left for college that September.”

The silence seemed to hum between them.

“My mother,” she breathed slowly. “My mother was the one who took out the mail every day and collected it, too.”

“She didn’t like me?” Troy couldn’t remember Mrs. Carroll being particularly hostile toward him.

“She liked you fine, but she thought we were too young to be serious,” Faith said. “I made the mistake of telling her I hoped you’d give me an engagement ring for Christmas.”

The irony was, Troy had planned on doing exactly that.

“You mean to say you believed I’d just stopped writing?” Faith asked. “Without saying a word? You honestly believed I’d do that to you?”

“Well, yes,” Troy admitted. “Just like you believed I’d given up sending you letters.”

She hesitated, then reluctantly agreed. “Did you try to get in touch with me when you finished basic training?” she asked. “You came home on leave, didn’t you?”

“Of course I did,” Troy told her. “I went to your house—that was in late August—but by then you’d already left for college. I wanted to talk to you, but when I asked for your new address, your mother said it was probably best not to contact you.”

“My mother,” Faith groaned. “I never suspected she’d do anything like that.”

“I didn’t, either.”

They both seemed at a loss as to what to say next.

Finally she whispered, “You broke my heart.”

He hadn’t come out of the relationship unscathed, either. “You broke mine,” he told her.

Faith exhaled softly, then said, “It seems my mother has a great deal to answer for.”

“Is she still alive?” Troy didn’t figure there was much point in dwelling on the sins of the past.

“No. She died ten years ago.”

“Despite everything, our lives worked out well, didn’t they?” he said. “Maybe not the way we expected, but …”

“Yes,” Faith said. “I met Carl at Central Washington and we got married in 1970.”

Funny little coincidences. “Sandy and I were married the same year. In June.”

“What day?”

“The twenty-third. What about you?”

“The twenty-third.”

This was too weird. They’d each been married on the same day and in the same year—to someone else.

“Children?” he asked.

“Two—a boy, Scott, and a girl, Jay Lynn. Scottie lives in Cedar Cove, like I said, and teaches at the high school. Jay Lynn’s married and the mother of two. She’s currently a stay-at-home mom. What about you?”

“One daughter, Megan. She works at the framing shop down by the waterfront.”

“Oh, my goodness! Scottie just had her frame a picture I gave him of his great-grandparents. It was taken in the 1930s on the family farm in Kansas.”

Their lives had intersected more than once. And in the last few years, she’d visited town to see her family; they could have run into each other at any time, yet never had.

“So you’re the sheriff these days,” Faith said.

“Yeah, Cedar Cove’s always been my home. I never wanted to live anywhere else. There aren’t that many of us from our graduating class around anymore.”

“I heard about Dan Sherman’s death,” Faith told him. “Poor Grace. Scottie called me when his body was discovered.”

“That was a rough one,” Troy said. He knew Dan but they’d never been close friends. “Grace is remarried—to a local rancher.” He paused. “You’d like Cliff. He’s a down-to-earth, no-nonsense kind of guy.”

“What about Olivia?”

As he recalled, Faith and Olivia had been fairly good friends in high school.

“I always meant to keep in touch with Olivia, but life sort of crowded in.”

“Olivia married a guy called Stan Lockhart when she graduated from college. They were divorced the year their son died.”

“I knew she’d become a judge but I hadn’t heard that she’d lost a child. Or that her marriage broke up.”

“It all happened more than twenty years ago now. You never attended any of the class reunions, did you?” He should know; he’d been to every one.

“No. What about you?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” Troy would’ve preferred to avoid them, but it was hard since he lived in town. And he’d been one of the senior class officers, so people expected him to plan the event. Against his will, he’d done it for most of the reunions, thanks mainly to Sandy and her organizational skills. His daughter had helped with the last reunion. He’d rather have stayed home.

“You were going to be a nurse, weren’t you?”

“I was … am,” she said, correcting herself. “Although I don’t work in the medical field now. I burned out about ten years ago.” She hesitated, as if uncertain she should continue. “I write a little but it’s no big deal. Articles about health, that sort of thing.”

“Really? I’m impressed.” Troy had never been good at putting his thoughts on paper. Other than crime reports, of course, and that was a matter of getting the facts and stating them clearly.

“Don’t be. I dabble at it.” He could almost see her shrug. “I guess it’s a way to use some of my medical background.”

They chatted for another few minutes and then there didn’t seem to be anything more to say. Troy searched for something to keep Faith on the line. All he knew was that he didn’t want to break the connection for fear it would be half a lifetime before they spoke again. If ever … “How often do you get to Cedar Cove these days?”

“Not a lot. But Scottie’s been encouraging me to move back to town and I’m considering it.” She paused. “Why do you ask?”

“I was thinking,” he said, shifting uncomfortably on his feet, “that we could get together the next time you do.”

“Okay,” she said immediately.

“We could have coffee and pie at the Pancake Palace.” They used to go there on dates, only it’d been a soda and fries.

“Not Coke and French fries?”

“You remember that, too?” he asked.

“Of course I do. We always shared both. I liked more salt than you did.”

“Do you know when you’ll be in town?” he pressed. “I could come next Saturday,” she said, “if that’s convenient.”

It was convenient. In fact, it couldn’t have been better.

Nine

This was the last day of Anson Butler’s two-week leave from army training. In the morning he’d be flying to the east coast for advanced study in computer technology, working with army intelligence. Allison Cox was proud of him, proud of his success and determination. And she dreaded not being able to see him for another eight weeks.

Her parents had been wonderful to him. Together, as a family, they were sending Anson off with a big barbecue dinner. Even Eddie, her annoying younger brother, had helped decorate the patio with streamers and balloons. All their friends from school would be there, even the ones who’d believed Anson had been responsible for the fire that burned down The Lighthouse restaurant. He’d forgiven them, and if Anson could, then so could she.

Allison had baked a cake that afternoon and was putting the finishing touches on it—smoothing out the chocolate frosting, adding candied flowers. After that, she’d go and pick up Anson at his mother’s place.

“You invited Mrs. Butler, didn’t you?” her mother asked.

Allison nodded, although she knew even before issuing the invitation that Cherry Butler would refuse. The truth was, she’d never been much of a mother. “Cherry said she’d think about it.” Allison would definitely prefer it if his mother decided not to come. Cherry’s presence would be uncomfortable and, especially if she drank, she was almost guaranteed to embarrass her son.

The kitchen door opened and her father came in from the garage. “Looks like there’s a party going on here,” he teased.

“How’d it go with Allan Harris?” her mother asked, referring to a local attorney who’d asked to meet with him, despite the fact that this was Sunday afternoon.

Allison’s parents exchanged a brief kiss.

Her father started to loosen his tie. “Martha Evans died last night.”

Her mother’s face went soft with sympathy. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Rosie, she was more than ninety years old and ready to go.”

“You’re the executor of her estate?”

Zach nodded. “Allan asked me to notify Martha’s family, none of whom live in town. They’ll be making the funeral arrangements.”

Allison watched as her father sighed. “Martha’s lived on her own all these years. Pastor Flemming’s the one who found her body. He’d been going over there once or twice a week to check on her.”

“He’s a good man.”

Allison liked Pastor Flemming, too. Everyone did.

“Charlotte Rhodes has offered to organize the wake.”

“When will Martha’s family—”

Her mother didn’t get a chance to finish the question before Eddie shouted through the open sliding glass door. “Should I light the barbecue?”

“Not yet,” Zach answered. “I want to change clothes first.”

“Eddie!” Allison cried, irritated by her brother’s impatience. “I haven’t even gone to pick up Anson yet.”

“All right, all right. I was just trying to help.”

“We appreciate that, Eddie,” Rosie said, mixing chopped green pepper and tomatoes into the lettuce greens. She turned to Allison. “Perhaps you should drive to Anson’s now.”

“In a minute,” Allison said, arranging tiny silver pearls on the border of Anson’s cake.

“Be sure and let his mother know she’s welcome to join us.”

“I will,” Allison promised. With a last critical look at the cake, she collected her purse and the car keys and headed out the door.

Anson’s mother lived in a trailer court off Lighthouse Road. Allison remembered the first time she’d met Cherry Butler, who’d been if not hostile, certainly unwelcoming. Even she—his mother—had believed Anson was responsible for the fire.

Anson’s disappearance had been difficult for Allison. She hadn’t known where he was, whether he was safe, what he was doing. To learn that he’d enlisted in the army—well, that had come as a complete shock.

Allison pulled into the trailer park, following the dirt road to the last single-wide trailer at the back of the lot. When Anson didn’t step outside after a minute or so, she turned off the engine and climbed out.

Before she could walk up the three steps, the door opened and Cherry Butler stood in the entrance. She wore a short skirt and a skin-tight sweater. Her hair had been dyed coal-black. Leaning against the door jamb, she held a cigarette loosely in one hand and glared at Allison. Slowly she raised her cigarette to her crimson lips and inhaled.

“Anson’s not here,” she announced when she’d finished blowing the smoke upward.

“Oh.”

“Don’t look so worried.” Cherry seemed to enjoy her discomfort. “He’s with Shaw. He should be back any minute.”

Shaw was one of Anson’s best friends and her friend, too, and she realized that Anson would want some private time with his buddy before he left.

“He did it for you, you know.” Cherry puffed at her cigarette again. “I didn’t want my son in the military. He knows that. Some recruiter fed him a crock and he believed it. Now see what’s happened.”

“Anson told me he liked the military.”

“Sure he does. You’d like it, too, if you could hide away all safe and sound while the police are searching for you.”

Allison stared up at his mother and wished she knew what to say. A moment passed in awkward silence.

Then, gathering her courage, Allison resolved to speak her mind. “You’re Anson’s mother.” She took a step closer. “You should be proud of him, Mrs. Butler—”

“Didn’t I tell you the first time you came by that I ain’t never been a Mrs. Anybody?”

“Ms. Butler.” Allison tried again. “I meant what I said. Anson’s the only one in his basic training class who was selected for this specialized course. He’s smart and … and … I love him. You might think eighteen’s too young to understand about love, but I know what my heart feels.”

Cherry Butler exhaled a thin line of smoke. “Listen, Abby.”

“Allison!”

“Whatever. You just pine your little heart out for my son all you want. He’s leaving, and my guess is he’ll find some other girl soon enough. Men are like that, so do yourself a favor and forget about my son.”

“Forget Anson,” Allison repeated incredulously. “I could never do that.”

Cherry laughed. “Suit yourself. But take my word for it—he’ll break your heart. He’s no different from any other man. Look at me. I was such an idiot, I actually thought his father would marry me when I told him I was pregnant.” She paused to take another drag on her cigarette. “Couldn’t do it, though, ’cause he already had a wife.”

“Anson isn’t like that.”

“Believe what you want.” She shrugged carelessly. “One thing I’ll say about Anson. He’s got his daddy’s brains. Sure as hell didn’t get ’em from me.”

Allison badly wanted this evening to be special for Anson. She took a deep breath. “It would mean a great deal to Anson if you’d come to the party.” She loved Anson, so she was willing to put aside her own preferences. If, despite everything, he wanted his mother there—and he did—Allison would try to persuade her.

“Party, is it?” She cocked her eyebrows as she flicked the lit cigarette onto the dirt road.

“A farewell party,” she elaborated.

Cherry shook her head. “You won’t need me for that.”

“Anson would like you there,” she said. “Please, Mrs.—Cherry.”

Again his mother declined, shaking her head. “I got things to do.”

“What could be more important than sending Anson off to his new course?” she asked, not understanding how his mother could feel so little pride or concern.

Allison glanced up as a car came toward the trailer, leaving behind a trail of dust. She recognized Shaw’s old Chevy Malibu. He dropped Anson off, waved to Allison, and pulled out again. They’d see him later at the party.

“Sorry I’m late,” Anson said, smiling at Allison and then his mother.

“I was just inviting your mother to join us,” Allison said pointedly.

“And I was just telling your girlfriend I got better things to do than go to some rich man’s house and make nice.”

“It won’t hurt my feelings if you’d rather stay here,” Anson said, not meeting his mother’s eyes.

“I didn’t figure it would,” Cherry told him.

Allison felt him stiffen at that response. Then he turned deliberately away. “Come on, Allison, let’s get out of here.”

“Bye-bye,” Cherry said with a flippant wave. She moved inside the trailer and pulled the door shut.

As soon as his mother was gone, Anson cast Allison an apologetic look. “How long did I keep you waiting?”

“A couple of minutes, that’s all.”

“Did she get on your case?”

“About what?”

“Me and the military.”

Allison shrugged. “Not really.”

Anson released his breath. “She blames you.”

Allison wasn’t worried. Cherry could blame her, for all she cared.

“The military’s my way out, Allison,” he said as if he needed to explain his motivation. “Without it I wouldn’t have a chance of getting an education. Cherry doesn’t seem to grasp that.”

“I know.” Anxious to leave now, she tugged at Anson’s hand. “Come on, let’s go.”

They both climbed into the car and Allison left the trailer park. She drove cautiously to avoid the kids and dogs playing in the dusty roads.

“Is your family expecting us right away?” Anson asked.

“I … I suppose. Why?”

He sent her a quick, secretive smile. “Can we go to the waterfront for a moment?”

“Sure. Anywhere in particular?”

A slow, happy grin spread across his face. “Somewhere private.”

Allison did take her eyes off the road then. She knew a good place down Lighthouse Road and went in that direction. The tide was out, so she pulled onto a stony area near the beach, glancing around to make sure it was as deserted as she’d expected it to be.

There was no one around.

Anson got out of the car and Allison did, too. When he joined her, he took her hand; together they walked the short distance to the water. A log had drifted up onto the shore and they stepped over it, making their way along the pebble beach. A pair of long-legged herons waded in the shallow water and seagulls cawed overhead.

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