﻿ Make time for friends. Make time for Debbie Macomber.

CEDAR COVE 16 LIGHTHOUSE ROAD 204 ROSEWOOD AVENUE 311 PELICAN COURT

BLOSSOM STREET THE SHOP ON BLOSSOM STREET A GOOD YARN OLD BOYFRIENDS WEDNESDAYS AT FOUR TWENTY WISHES

THURSDAYS AT EIGHT

Dear Friends,

Welcome back to Cedar Cove! Olivia, Grace, Charlotte, Jack, Justine and Seth are eager to continue their stories – and introduce you to a few other residents. Like small towns everywhere, Cedar Cove is a mixture of the good, the bad and the unexpected. That’s my way of telling you that a few surprises await you in this story. Yes, you’re finally going to discover what happened to Dan. and the Beldons will have a most unusual guest in their bed-and-breakfast…

My hope, as always, is that you’ll feel right at home in Cedar Cove – whether you begin the series with the first or the fifteenth book. Note that you’ll always be able to tell where the book appears in the Cedar Cove series by the address. Just look at the first number in the address. (for instance, 204 Rosewood Lane is the second book.)

If you’re wondering if there really could be a town like this, let me assure you there can…and there is. Cedar Cove is based on my own home town of Port Orchard, Washington. Naturally, my characters aren’t based on anyone in town, despite all the speculation over coffee at the Pancake Palace (not the restaurant’s real name). You see, i’ve lived in small towns all my life and i’ve learned that people really are the same everywhere.

Now, sit back and relax. My friends in Cedar Cove can’t wait to fill you in on everything that’s been happening. and when you’ve finished reading this book, please let me know what you think. You can reach me in two ways –through my website at www.debbiemacomber.com (write your comments in the guest book) or write to me at PO Box 1458, Port Orchard, WA 98366, USA. I’d love to hear from you.

Warmest regards,

204 Rosewood Lane

Debbie Macomber

www.mirabooks.co.uk

To Nina Lyman

and

her incredible cats.

What a blessing

your friendship

has been.

September 2002

One

Grace Sherman stared down at the legal form that would start the divorce proceedings. She sat in the attorney’s office with Maryellen, her oldest daughter, who’d come with her to offer support. Grace reminded herself that this should be straightforward, that her decision was made. She was ready to end her marriage, ready to piece together her shattered life. To begin again… But her hand shook as she picked up the pen.

The inescapable fact was that she didn’t want this—but Dan hadn’t left her with any other option.

Five months ago, in April, her husband of almost thirty-six years had disappeared. Vanished without a trace. One day everything was perfectly normal, and the next he was gone. Apparently by choice and without a word of explanation. Even now, Grace had difficulty believing that the man she’d lived with, the man she’d loved and with whom she’d had two daughters, could do anything as cruel as this.

If Dan had fallen out of love with her, she could accept that. She would’ve found enough pride, enough generosity, to release him without bitterness. If he was that miserable in their marriage, she would’ve gladly set him free to find happiness with someone else. What she couldn’t forgive was the misery he’d heaped on their family’s shoulders, what he’d done to their daughters. Especially Kelly.

Dan had disappeared shortly after Kelly and Paul had announced that after years of trying, they were finally, excitedly, pregnant. Dan had been thrilled, and Grace, too. This baby was going to be their first grandchild. They’d waited so long.

Kelly had always been close to her father and his disappearance at this critical time in her life had devastated her. She’d pleaded with Grace to postpone the divorce proceedings, convinced that her father would return before Tyler was born. When Dan did return, he’d have a logical reason and would explain everything to their satisfaction.

He hadn’t come back, though, and there’d been no further information. Nothing but doubts, questions and a churning, deepening anger that intensified in the endless weeks that followed.

When Grace couldn’t stand not knowing any longer, she’d hired Roy McAfee, a private detective and former policeman she trusted. Roy had done an extensive search, certain that Dan had left a paper trail, and he’d been right. What Roy had uncovered was a complete shock to Grace. A year earlier, Dan had purchased a travel trailer, paying cash for it. Grace had no idea where he’d gotten that kind of money, nor did she know anything about the trailer. He’d never mentioned it, nor had she seen it. To this day she had no idea where he’d kept it all those months. Or where it was now.

Given the mounting evidence, she had her suspicions. Grace believed that Dan had used the travel trailer to sneak away with another woman. There’d been one sighting of him and it had come late in May. It almost felt as if her husband had orchestrated this brief reappearance, as if he was taunting her, challenging her to find him. That day had been a low point for Grace.

A co-worker of Dan’s had spotted him at the marina and Maryellen had hurried to the library to fetch her. But by the time Grace reached the marina, Dan was gone. A woman had pulled up to the curb and Dan had climbed into the vehicle and driven away, never to be seen or heard from again.

In retrospect, she’d come to believe that Dan was providing her with the answers she so desperately needed. She could think of no other reason he would mysteriously arrive at the busiest place in town, where he was most likely to be seen—and recognized. The library where she worked was less than two blocks away. Clearly, her husband lacked the courage to tell her there was someone else. Instead he’d chosen another, crueler way to inform her; he’d humiliated her in front of the entire community. Grace knew without being told that everyone in Cedar Cove pitied her.

That sighting had settled the matter in Grace’s mind. Whatever love she still felt for Dan died that afternoon. Until then, she hadn’t wanted to believe there was someone else. Even when the VISA bill showed up with a hefty charge from a local jeweler, Grace had refused to accept that her husband was involved with another woman. Dan just wasn’t the kind of man who would be unfaithful to her. She’d trusted him. Not anymore.

“Are you okay, Mom?” Maryellen asked, touching her arm.

Grace’s hand tightened around the pen. “Fine,” she snapped, instantly regretting her tone. She hadn’t meant to sound so sharp.

Her daughter looked away. Grace focused on the divorce papers, hesitated a moment longer and then with haste signed her name.

“I’ll see that this is filed immediately,” Mark Spellman said.

Grace relaxed, leaning back in her chair. This was all there was to it? You could end a thirty-five-year marriage simply by signing your name? “That’s it?”

“Yes. Since you haven’t heard from Daniel in five months, I don’t foresee any legal complications. The divorce should be final in a few weeks.”

Almost four decades tossed out the window like so much garbage. The good years, the bad years, the lean ones, the years they’d scrimped and saved. Like all couples, they’d had their share of problems, but despite everything they’d held their marriage together. Until now, until this—

“Mom?” Maryellen whispered.

Grace nodded abruptly, surprised at the emotion that choked her. She’d shed all the tears she intended to. In the months since Dan’s disappearance, Grace had deeply grieved the loss of her marriage and the man she thought she knew. The truth of it was, she no longer had a choice; divorce had become inevitable. It was essential that she protect her financial interests. According to the attorney, she couldn’t afford the luxury of doing nothing.

Her legal situation was one thing, and she’d dealt with that, but the emotional impact had left her badly shaken. Despite her resolve, the grief hadn’t diminished. And the humiliation of what Dan had done was with her constantly. Everyone in town was aware of her circumstances and the fact that her husband had walked out on her.

Slowly, Grace set the pen aside.

“I’ll wait to hear from you, then,” she said to her attorney, rising out of the chair. Maryellen stood with her.

The attorney, a young man closer to Maryellen’s age than her own, escorted them to the office door. He began to say something, then merely looked down and murmured a brief goodbye.

Outside his small home office, the sky had turned a depressing leaden gray. Grace felt a burden of sadness settle over her; she’d known this appointment wasn’t going to be easy, but she hadn’t expected it to exact such a toll on her self-confidence.

Maryellen glanced at her watch. “I need to get back to the gallery.”

“I know,” Grace said. Her daughter had offered to go to this appointment with her for moral support. Although she was grateful, Grace had thought it unnecessary. But Maryellen was right.

Her daughter was divorced, too. Maryellen had married young and unwisely, and the marriage had ended in less than a year. The experience had so biased her against men, she’d steered away from relationships ever since. Grace had tried to assure her that she’d meet a wonderful man someday, a man waiting for someone exactly like her. Maryellen had considered that naive and refused to listen and now Grace understood why. Divorce hurt, and it was the kind of vicious pain that reached deep inside a person. Grace felt off balance and guilty, as though she had somehow failed. As though it was all her fault. Maryellen knew what it was like because she’d experienced these emotions herself when she was much younger and without the wisdom or perspective maturity brings.

“Will you be all right?” Maryellen asked, obviously reluctant to leave.

“Of course,” Grace said, forcing a smile. She ought to be feeling a measure of relief, after all. She’d finally taken action. She’d given Dan every opportunity, even issued a series of mental ultimatums and deadlines. He would come back when Kelly’s baby was born. By the Fourth of July. By their wedding anniversary. First one, then another, until she faced the truth. He wasn’t coming back. If she hadn’t heard anything from him by now, she shouldn’t expect that she ever would. Dan had no intention of being found.

“Are you going back to work?” Maryellen asked.

“No,” she said, refusing to allow herself to succumb to self-pity. “I’m going to lunch.”

“Lunch? It’s after four. You didn’t eat earlier?”

“No.” Grace didn’t add that her appetite had been nonexistent for days as the appointment with the attorney grew closer. Then, because she knew her daughter was worried, she added emphatically, “I am going to be all right, Maryellen.”

Maryellen gazed down the steep hill toward the waterfront, where boats gently bobbed in the protected waters of the cove. Vehicles cruised down Harbor Street, so close together they looked like one continuous line. The Bremerton shipyard workers were out, and traffic filled the roads as husbands and fathers hurried home to their families. The same way Dan once had.

“I’m so furious with Dad I don’t know what I’d do if I ever saw him again,” Maryellen said between gritted teeth.

Grace knew, though. She was convinced that Maryellen would be grateful, that she wouldn’t care what he’d done as long as he came home. And Kelly, their youngest, would shout with joy and tell them all how wrong they’d been. She’d run to her father with open arms, eagerly awaiting the excuse that would explain everything.

“I’m fine,” Grace insisted. “Really.”

Still Maryellen hesitated. “I hate to leave you.”

“I’ll get over this.” Although that was hardly the way she felt. But if Grace had learned anything in life, it was the importance of balance. For each loss, there were compensations, and she reminded herself to keep the good things firmly in sight. “I have so much to be grateful for. You and Kelly, and now a grandson. I’m so sorry it had to end this way with your father and me, but I’m going to come back stronger than ever.” Even as she said the words, Grace knew they were true. The sense of loss was profound, but balance would return to her life and so would joy.

It was Justine Gunderson’s lunch break, and all she wanted to do was run home and check the mail. She hadn’t heard from Seth in nearly a week. All right, five days, but each one of those days felt like a year. Her husband of little more than a month was in Alaska, fishing the crab-rich waters of the Bering Sea. Seth had warned her when she drove him to the airport that he’d be working sixteen-hour days. He’d assured her that he was crazy in love with her and would be back before she had time to miss him.

Seth had been wrong. Justine was miserable. They’d married, as the old western hit said, “in a fever,” unable to delay the wedding even one minute once they’d made the decision. Without telling either set of parents, they’d raced to Reno, gotten the license, found a preacher and afterward headed straight for a hotel room.

They were young and healthy and very much in love. Justine had known Seth nearly her entire life. He’d been her twin brother’s best friend—until Jordan drowned at age thirteen. Justine and Seth had been in the same high-school graduating class. In the ten years that followed, he’d lived in Cedar Cove but they hadn’t been in contact until recently, when they’d both reluctantly joined the committee planning their class reunion.

At the time, Justine had been dating Warren Saget, a local developer. Warren was quite a few years older than Justine; in fact, he was just a little younger than her own father. Warren liked having a beautiful woman on his arm and Justine suited him perfectly. It helped that she was willing to keep his little secret—while he might be successful in the boardroom, his powers didn’t extend to the bedroom. When they were together, she often spent the night at his plush hillside house overlooking the cove, but that was more for show than anything. She had her own bedroom in Warren’s home. Justine knew very well what people thought, but she’d never much cared.

However, her mother did. Olivia Lockhart shared the general assumptions about her arrangement with Warren and had plenty of opinions on the matter. Justine didn’t enlighten her because it was none of Olivia’s business. This disagreement between them had put a strain on the mother-daughter relationship. Her grandmother hadn’t been particularly pleased, either, but Charlotte wasn’t nearly as open in her disapproval. No doubt hoping to distract her from Warren, her mother had encouraged Justine to date Seth—although even Olivia had been shocked when Justine phoned to tell her she’d impulsively married him.

The marriage was practically as big a surprise to Justine as it was to her family. After a spat having to do with Warren, Seth had walked away from her. Justine couldn’t let it end like that, not with Seth, and she’d gone to him, hoping to make amends. To say they’d settled their differences was something of an understatement.

After the wedding, they’d only had that one weekend before Seth had to return to Alaska. In the weeks since, she’d heard from him intermittently, but he couldn’t call—or receive calls—while he was at sea, so their communications were few and far between.

Justine glanced at the time and tried to decide whether she should drive home and check the mail or not. If there was no letter, she’d feel depressed for the rest of the afternoon. On the other hand, if Seth did happen to send her a message, she’d be walking on clouds for days afterward. She needed a letter, a phone call, anything that would remind her she’d made the right choice in marrying him. Getting married was the only impulsive thing she’d ever done in all her twenty-eight years. She liked her life orderly and precise. The need for control had always ruled her choices—until she fell in love with Seth.

This commitment to order was one reason she fit in so well at First National Bank, rising quickly to the position of manager. Numbers made sense; they added up neatly; they were unambiguous. To the best of her ability, that was the way Justine lived her life—with strong convictions and with exactness, leaving little room for frivolity and impulse.

Out of habit, she looked up when the bank’s double glass doors swung open and watched as Warren Saget walked in, bold as could be. He moved directly toward her desk, his manner confident. Justine hadn’t seen him since her impromptu wedding. Unfortunately they hadn’t parted on the best of terms. Warren had been angry when he learned she’d married Seth and had made some ugly, spiteful remarks. Frankly Justine wasn’t up for a second confrontation.

She rose from her chair. At five-ten, plus her heels, she was as tall as Warren. She wore her straight brown hair long and parted in the middle, just as she had in high school, which emphasized her height. By standing, she sent a nonverbal message that she wasn’t about to let him intimidate her—and that she intended to keep this meeting short. She absolutely would not allow him to create a scene in front of her staff and customers. Zach Cox, a local accountant, nodded in her direction as he left the bank. Justine acknowledged him and returned her attention to Warren. “Hello, Warren.”

“Justine.” He met her eyes and the expression she read on his face told her that her fears were unfounded.

“I came to apologize,” he said. “I owe you that.”

“Yes, you do.” She crossed her arms and shifted her weight from her left foot to her right, conveying impatience.

“Can I take you to lunch?” he asked, then rushed to add, “It’s the least I can do. I said some things I shouldn’t have, and I’ve regretted it ever since.”

“I don’t think being seen together is a good idea.”

Warren’s pale brown eyes revealed his disappointment. “I can understand that,” he said, graciously accepting her refusal. To her astonishment, he sat down in the chair across from her desk.

Unsure what to expect next, Justine sank into her own seat.

“How’s Seth?” he asked. “Still in Alaska?”

She nodded. “He won’t be home for a few more weeks.” Twenty-eight days to be precise, if everything went according to schedule. She crossed off the days on her calendar every night as she slipped into her bed, alone and lonely. They hadn’t discussed the future; there hadn’t been time. One thing was certain—Justine hated the thought of her husband leaving her for several months each year. Already she dreaded next year’s fishing season, which would start in May.

“You’re looking good,” Warren said with a glint of admiration.

“Thank you,” she said, unsmiling.

He sighed. “I know you don’t believe me, but all I want is for you to be happy.”

Warren had been married and divorced three times and had asked her to be his wife on several occasions. Justine had always refused. She’d never had any interest in marrying Warren.

Aware of her growing attraction to Seth, Warren had purchased a startlingly large diamond ring in the hope of changing her mind. Justine hated to admit that the size of that diamond had briefly weakened her resolve. She knew Warren would have loved slipping the ring on her finger and claiming her as his exclusive property. But the man who’d pampered her was hurt and regretful now. He was asking her to forgive his angry reaction to her marriage.

“Well, perhaps we could go for lunch,” Justine said and knew she’d made the right decision when Warren’s face instantly brightened. She laughed at the way he bounded out of his chair, not bothering to disguise his eagerness. Seth wouldn’t mind her seeing Warren on a social basis now and then; Justine was sure of that. He respected her independence and her good sense, and he realized she’d never abuse his trust.

“Where would you like to go?” he asked. “Any place you want, you name it.”

“D.D.’s on the Cove,” she suggested, choosing his favorite restaurant.

“Perfect.” He smiled approvingly.

Justine reached for her purse and followed him toward the front door, which Warren held open for her. “Shall we walk?” she asked. D.D.’ s was only a couple of blocks away, but Warren usually preferred to drive.

“Sure,” he said. He was making a real effort to be accommodating. He stopped himself from taking her hand, she noticed, and was grateful. She’d actually missed Warren. Yes, he had his faults, but he could be a good conversationalist and had a sharp mind. There was a history between them, too, a history that had more to do with friendship than romance. In his own way he loved her and she cared for him, too, although not with the same intensity she did Seth. With her husband, the attraction was physical and powerful, but in the few days they’d spent together before he left for Alaska there hadn’t been time for much conversation. Their intense hunger for each other had overwhelmed them both. Justine didn’t need words to know how Seth felt. His lovemaking proved it again and again.

That weekend seemed like a dream now, and she wondered if what they’d discovered could possibly be real.

At the restaurant, Warren and Justine were seated outside. The patio wouldn’t be open much longer. Already autumn was in the air, but Warren chose to dine alfresco instead of at a table inside, knowing she enjoyed the sunshine.

“I hope we can still be friends,” Warren said, smiling as the waitress handed them menus.

“That would be nice.” She told herself again that lunch every now and then wouldn’t bother her husband. Seth wasn’t the jealous type and for that matter, neither was she.

Justine and Warren had a common interest in the financial world, so there was plenty to discuss. Their conversation over lunch went smoothly and the ache in Justine’s heart had lessened by the time they finished. She still missed Seth dreadfully, but didn’t feel nearly as alone and lost as she had earlier in the day. Warren hadn’t asked to see her again, hadn’t pressured her at all. After lunch they said farewell outside the bank, she thanked him for the meal and he left.

Later that afternoon, as she drove toward her apartment, Justine’s spirits were high, higher than they’d been all week. But when she approached the row of mailboxes outside her building complex, she hesitated, afraid to find out if there was a letter from Seth.

She needed to be reassured of his love because her greatest fear was that he regretted their sudden marriage. Her heart pounded as she unlocked the box and slid out the mail.

No letter.

She sorted through the advertisements, junk mail and two bills a second time, just to be sure. Another Friday night alone in front of the television, she thought. She could phone her mother, but Olivia had been dating Jack Griffin from The Cedar Cove Chronicle and was probably busy, anyway. Feeling defeated, Justine walked into her apartment and tossed her mail on the kitchen counter, kicking off her heels.

A few weeks ago, she would’ve relished a Friday night to herself. Warren almost always had plans for them. But all of that was irrelevant now, and feeling sorry for herself didn’t serve any useful purpose. If she missed Seth, then she should do something that would make her feel close to him.

His sailboat came immediately to mind. The Silver Belle was moored at the marina and Seth had given her the key. When he wasn’t fishing in Alaska he lived aboard the vessel. Or at least he had until their marriage. They hadn’t even talked about where they’d live when he got back…. That could wait, but right now, she needed the comfort of being in his home, among his things. If she spent the night there, she could wrap herself in his blanket, sleep in his clothes, breathe in his scent. She’d slept there several times and always felt better.

Pleased with the idea, Justine changed out of her business suit and into jeans and a sweatshirt. She collected a novel, a new CD for her Walkman and fresh clothes for the morning. She’d pick up dinner on the way to the marina.

She’d just reached the parking lot when she realized she’d left her cell phone behind. If Seth phoned, he’d call that number. Heading back to the apartment, she unlocked the door and opened it to hear the muted peal of her phone. She lurched for it, pushing the talk button with a sense of urgency.

“Hello, hello!” she shouted. “Seth? Seth, is that you?”

Only a dial tone greeted her question. Quickly she checked Caller ID—the number was unfamiliar, although prefaced by 907, the Alaska area code. She punched it in, letting the phone ring ten times before finally giving up.

Grinding her teeth with frustration, Justine sagged onto the edge of the sofa and rammed her fingers through her hair. It was Seth; it had to be. He must’ve called her from a pay phone on the wharf.

One minute away from her phone and she’d missed talking to her husband.

“I’m home.” Zach Cox let himself in the back door off the garage and stepped into the kitchen. His jaw tightened at the mess that greeted him. The sink was piled high with breakfast dishes, and the milk from this morning’s cereal was still on the countertop.

“Who left out the milk?” he demanded.

His two children—conveniently—didn’t hear him. Fifteen-year-old Allison was sitting at the computer in their home office, cruising the Internet, and Eddie, who was nine, lay prone on the family-room carpet in front of some mindless television program.

“Where’s Mom?” he asked next, standing directly over his son.

Eddie lifted one arm and pointed wordlessly toward the sewing room.

Zach ambled in that direction on his way to the bathroom. “Hi, Rosie, I’m home,” he told his wife of seventeen years. “What’s for dinner?”

“Oh, hi, honey,” Rosie said, glancing up from the sewing machine. “What time is it, anyway?”

“Six,” he muttered. He couldn’t remember when he’d last come home and found dinner in the oven. “The milk was left out again,” he said, thinking it would need to be dumped after sitting for ten hours at room temperature.

“Eddie fixed himself a bowl of cereal after school.”

Okay, he figured, the milk might be salvageable.

She lined up the shiny black material and ran it rapidly through the machine, pulling out pins as she went.

“What are you sewing?” he asked.

“A Halloween costume,” she mumbled with four or five pins clenched between her lips. “By the way—” she paused and removed the pins “—Eddie’s school is having an open house tonight. Can you go?”

“Open house?” he repeated. “You can’t be there?”

“No,” she said emphatically. “I have choir practice.”

“Oh.” He’d had a long, trying day at the office and had hoped to relax that evening. Instead, he was going to have to attend this event at his son’s school. “What’s for dinner?” he asked again.

His wife shrugged. “Call for a pizza, okay?”

It was the third time in the last two weeks that they’d had pizza for dinner. “I’m sick of pizza.”

“Doesn’t that new Chinese place deliver?”

“No.” He should know; he’d had Chinese just that afternoon. Janice Lamond, a recently hired employee, had picked up an order of sweet-and-sour shrimp for him. “Besides, that’s what I had for lunch.”

“What do you want then?” Rosie asked, busying herself with the cape that was part of the Harry Potter costume Eddie had requested.

“Meat loaf, mashed potatoes, corn on the cob and a fresh salad.”

Rosie frowned. “I think there’s a meat loaf entrée in the freezer.”

“Homemade meat loaf,” Zach amended.

“Sorry, not tonight.”

“When?” he asked, cranky now. It wasn’t too much to ask that his wife have dinner ready when he came home from work—was it? As an accountant, Zach made enough money to ensure that Rosie could stay home with the kids. This arrangement was what they’d both wanted when they started their family.

At one time, Zach had assumed that when Allison and Eddie were in school, Rosie would come and work in the office with him. The firm of Smith, Cox and Jefferson often required additional staff. Rosie had always intended to get a job outside the home, but it just never seemed to happen. The school needed volunteers. Then there was Brownies when Allison was eight or nine, and now Cub Scouts for Eddie. And sports, after-school clubs, dance lessons… It soon became obvious that the demands on Rosie’s time wouldn’t be alleviated as the kids grew older. Because they both believed their children’s needs should come first, they’d decided Rosie shouldn’t re-enter the workforce.

“I’m tired,” Zach told his wife, “and I’m hungry. Is it unreasonable to expect dinner with my family?”

Rosie took a deep breath, as though she was struggling to hold on to her patience. “Eddie’s got open house at school tonight, Allison’s coming with me to practice with the junior choir and I’ve got to finish this Halloween costume before Friday. Eddie needs it for his soccer team’s party. I can only do so much.”

He could hear the annoyance in his wife’s voice and resisted asking her what she’d been doing all day while he was at work.

Rosie glared at him. “If you want me to stop everything right now and fix you dinner I will, but I have to tell you, I think you are being unreasonable.”

He considered her words, and then feeling defeated and a bit guilty said, “Fine. I’ll order pizza.”

“Be sure and tell them no green peppers,” she said, refocusing her attention on the costume.

“I like green peppers,” he muttered, not realizing Rosie could hear him.

“Eddie and Allison hate them—they prefer black olives. You know that. Now stop being difficult.”

“All right, I’ll order sausage with olives on one half and green peppers on the other.”

His wife rolled her eyes expressively. “I’m not all that fond of green peppers myself, you know.”

So, in addition to being unreasonable, he was selfish. Well, at least he was batting a thousand. “Sausage and black olives, then,” he said.

“Great.” He walked over to the kitchen phone, having memorized the number for Pizza Pete’s. He placed the order and made his way to the master bedroom.

“Where are you going now?” Rosie asked as he passed the sewing room.

“To shower and change.”

“Do you have to?” she muttered.

“What’s wrong with that?” he demanded.

She pushed away from the sewing machine and stood up. “I thought you might wear your suit to the open house.”

“Why?” He’d been waiting all afternoon to remove his tie.

“It’ll make a better impression if you meet Eddie’s teacher wearing a suit. Mrs. Vetter will know you’re a professional.” She coaxed him with a smile, then brushed a piece of lint off his shoulder and smoothed away a wrinkle. “You look so handsome in your suit,” she said, smiling. “Maybe you should shave, though.”

Zach ran his hand down his face, feeling the bristle scratch against his palm. She was right. “If I shower and shave, then I’m changing out of this suit.”

Rosie’s frown deepened. “I don’t know why you have to be so difficult.”

“If I had a decent dinner every once in a while, maybe I’d be more inclined to do as you ask,” he snapped. He couldn’t help remembering how pleasant lunch with Janice had been. She’d joined the staff the first of the month and had already proved herself as far as Zach was concerned. She was a quick learner, competent, cooperative. Twice she’d gone out of her way to make sure he had what he wanted for lunch. Only that afternoon she’d insisted on driving over to Mr. Wok’s for the shrimp dish.

Sitting on the end of the king-size bed, Zach yanked off his jacket and laid it beside him. Unfastening the buttons at his wrist, he rolled up his shirtsleeves and headed into the bathroom.

He was running hot water for a shave when Rosie came into the room. “Do you have enough cash for the pizza guy?”

“I think so,” he said. “Check my wallet.”

His wife met his gaze in the mirror. “I’m sorry about dinner.”

“You’re busy.”

“It was crazy today,” Rosie said, sitting on the edge of the Jacuzzi tub. They’d special-ordered it when the house was built three years earlier and it’d taken months to arrive. Rosie had wanted it badly enough to give up using tile on the hallway and kitchen floors. Zach would have opted for the tile floors but he hadn’t been able to refuse his wife this small luxury. Yet he couldn’t remember the last time Rosie had actually used the tub. Like him, she was in and out of the shower, rushing from one obligation to the next.

She went on to tell him about her day, the committee meetings, Allison’s dental appointment and some library function she’d agreed to coordinate. “I don’t know how mothers who work outside the home get everything done.”

“I don’t, either,” Zach said, although he suspected that his associates’ wives put dinner on the table at night and still managed to work forty hours a week. He also suspected those other wives were better organized than Rosie.

“I’ll cook dinner tomorrow night,” she promised.

Zach spread shaving cream across his face. “Meat loaf and mashed potatoes?” He didn’t hold out much hope, but it sounded good to hear the promise.

“Whatever you want, big boy.”

Despite his irritation, he grinned. Maybe he was just being difficult.

Two

The credit card must belong to the woman who’d sat across the restaurant from him last Monday, Cliff Harding decided. He’d noticed her. It wasn’t like he could have missed her; they were the only two people in the Pancake Palace that afternoon. The lunch crowd had left and it was too early for dinner.

She was attractive and about his age, but she seemed distracted, caught up in her own thoughts. He’d be surprised if she even remembered he was there. They’d paid for their meals at about the same time and that was when it must have happened. His bill was correct, but it was Grace Sherman’s credit card he’d slipped back inside his wallet. She apparently had his.

All week he’d gone about his business, oblivious to the fact that he was carrying someone else’s VISA card. If an attentive clerk at the pharmacy hadn’t pointed it out, he might not have noticed for that much longer.

As soon as he was home, he’d looked up Grace Sherman in the phone book with no luck. However he did find a listing for a D & G Sherman at 204 Rosewood Lane, Cedar Cove. The voice on the answering machine was that of a woman, so he left a message and waited for her to return his call. Thus far, no one had phoned and he suspected he had the wrong Sherman. What he should probably do was give the credit card to the manager at the Pancake Palace and request a replacement for his own.

Lately Cliff had found plenty of reasons to drive into Cedar Cove. Charlotte Jefferson had called him in June regarding the grandfather he’d never known. Cliff certainly didn’t have any warm feelings toward Tom Harding, even if he was the famous Yodeling Cowboy, popular from the late thirties to the mid-fifties. Tom Harding had deserted Cliff’s father and grandmother in his quest for fame. Toward the end of his life, Tom must have regretted the pain he’d caused his family but by then it was much too late. Cliff was his only grandson and—at least according to Charlotte Jefferson—the old man had intended to contact him.

Charlotte had to be in her seventies, but she was a woman with plenty of spunk. She’d befriended his grandfather while doing volunteer work at the Cedar Cove Convalescent Center and had taken a liking to the old man. They were friends, Charlotte explained.

Old Tom had lost his ability to speak after a massive stroke, but apparently Charlotte was able to communicate with him just fine. She told Cliff that Tom had given her a key shortly before he died. Upon investigation, she’d found his personal effects in a storage unit and concluded that Tom was the onetime movie and television cowboy star. As Tom’s only surviving relative, Cliff was entitled to these mementos.

In the beginning, Cliff wanted nothing to do with the old man, but Charlotte wouldn’t hear of it. She’d made it her mission to make sure Tom’s things, which included posters, scripts and his six-shooter—were delivered to Cliff, whether he wanted them or not.

Once he met Charlotte, Cliff understood why his grandfather had felt so comfortable with the older woman, and over the course of the summer, they’d become quick friends.

He made a habit of stopping in to see her or giving her a call every couple of weeks. She appeared to enjoy these visits and bragged proudly about her two children and her grandchildren. Her son, William, lived somewhere in the south, if he remembered correctly, and a daughter, Olivia, was a family court judge right here in Cedar Cove. Cliff had yet to meet Olivia, although he did wonder if any woman could live up to everything her mother had said about her.

Now that Cliff had spent some time studying the items Charlotte had rescued from the storage unit, he’d come to appreciate what she’d done. He could think of no better way to thank her than by giving her one of the movie posters, which he’d had mounted and framed. Charlotte had genuinely loved Tom Harding and that was before she’d identified him as The Yodeling Cowboy.

Cliff parked his truck on the steep hill above the cove, angling his tires into the curb. Carrying the unwieldy poster, he walked up the few steps that led to the large family home. As usual, Harry, her “guard cat,” was curled up asleep in the living-room window. Even before he had a chance to ring the bell, Cliff heard Charlotte turning the door locks.

He’d never had the opportunity to count how many locks Charlotte had, but he suspected Houdini couldn’t have gotten inside. He wasn’t sure what she had hidden that was so valuable; he did know that anything precious was likely to be buried underneath a pile of panty hose. He was also aware that at some point in their conversation Charlotte was likely to ask him about his bowels.

“Cliff,” she said happily, unlatching the screen door, first one and then a second lock. “This is a pleasant surprise. I wish you’d let me know you were planning to stop by. I would’ve baked you a batch of cookies.”

That was exactly the reason he hadn’t phoned ahead. The woman was intent on fattening him up. Cliff didn’t need any assistance in that area—he already had a paunch that had come with middle age and he was trying hard to lose it. So far he was down ten pounds from the first of the year, although he swore it would’ve been easier to chip away rock. Until retirement, he’d never had to worry about his weight.

“I brought you a little something,” he said as she swung open the screen door for him. Harry raised his head, stared at him and apparently decided Cliff was a friend. The cat closed his eyes and resumed his nap.

“Sit down and I’ll make us a cup of tea,” Charlotte said. “And I’ve got some pound cake.”

“Don’t go to any bother.” He knew it wouldn’t do much good to protest, but he tried anyway. He was only going to stay for a few minutes. After leaving Charlotte’s, he’d drop off Grace Sherman’s credit card at the Pancake Palace. He might ask Charlotte if she knew Grace, since the older woman seemed acquainted with nearly everyone in Cedar Cove.

“You must be hungry,” Charlotte said, sounding hurt that he’d refused her offer.

“Charlotte,” he insisted, “open your gift.” It wasn’t wrapped, but the frame shop had slipped it inside a cardboard container.

Charlotte looked up at him quizzically. “This is for me?”

He grinned and nodded, enjoying her flustered reaction. Charlotte was the kind of person who was constantly giving to others but felt uncomfortable receiving anything herself.

She opened the cardboard, and Cliff helped her remove the frame. He held up the poster and heard the soft gasp when she realized what it was. She covered her mouth with one hand as her soft-gray eyes flooded with tears.

“Oh, Cliff, you shouldn’t have,” she said, blinking furiously. “This is far too valuable to give me.”

“Nonsense. I’m sure my grandfather would’ve wanted you to have it. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t even have any of these things.” Nor would Cliff have known anything about his grandfather, other than what his father had told him. He now saw Tom as more than a selfish, fame-obsessed bastard; he saw a regretful old man who would’ve liked to turn back the years and make different choices.

“You were a difficult nut to crack,” Charlotte reminded him, frowning.

He had to agree. She’d been persistent in calling and writing. If he hadn’t arrived on her doorstep when he did, Cliff figured she would’ve brought everything to him herself, venturing onto the freeway in a car he was sure had never been driven over forty miles an hour.

Charlotte reached for a lace-trimmed handkerchief in her apron pocket and blew her nose loudly. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Would you like me to hang it for you?”

“Oh, please.”

He’d come prepared to do that, assuming the task would require his assistance.

“Do you think it would be inappropriate for me to hang it in my bedroom?” she asked.

“I think that would be a perfectly fine choice,” he assured her. He followed her into the long hallway to the master bedroom at the far end of the house. The double bed against the wall had a plain curved headboard. An old-fashioned dresser with a large mirror sat on the opposite side of the room. She had a comfortable chair with worn green upholstery and a table with a reading lamp. Cliff guessed she did most of her reading there, gauging by the pile of books on the table.

“How about here?” Charlotte asked, pointing to a bare space on the white wall across from the bed.

Several pictures crowded the dresser top, but Cliff didn’t have a chance to study them. One did catch his notice, however. Charlotte saw what he was looking at and reached for the frame. “This is Olivia when she was six months,” she said, pointing to the picture of a baby. “She was an exceptional child even then.”

Cliff swallowed a smile. Six-month-old Olivia was sucking on her big toe and grinning with toothless delight. Cliff could only imagine what the judge would say if she knew he’d seen the photograph.

“Mom?” Almost as if the picture had conjured up Charlotte’s daughter, he heard a woman’s voice call from the living room. “Are you all right? The front door’s open and—”

“Oh, dear…” Charlotte rushed out of the bedroom. “Olivia?”

“The door was unlocked and you never—” Olivia said, meeting Charlotte in the hallway. She stopped abruptly when Cliff walked out of the bedroom.

Olivia stared at her mother and then Cliff.

“Hello,” he said, enjoying the perplexed look. Olivia had matured into a strikingly attractive woman. Now probably wasn’t the time to ask if she was still agile enough to lift her foot to her mouth. He couldn’t keep from grinning, though. The resemblance between mother and daughter was most apparent in the eyes, although hers were brown. If he hadn’t known Olivia was a judge, he would have guessed she held some responsible position from the dignified way she carried herself. She was medium height, close to his own age, and her hair was still a lustrous brown.

“I’m Cliff Harding,” he said, stepping forward and offering his hand.

“Tom’s grandson,” Charlotte explained. “He was just hanging up a poster of The Yodeling Cowboy for me.”

Olivia frowned as they shook hands. “Oh, my goodness, you’re Cliff Harding!”

“That’s what I just said,” Charlotte murmured.

“He has Grace’s credit card.”

Actually Cliff saw Grace as the one who had his VISA card. “You know Grace Sherman?”

Olivia nodded. “We’ve been friends for years. She was planning to return your call this evening.”

Charlotte glanced helplessly from one to the other, as if she’d somehow missed hearing the punch line to a good joke.

As best he could, Cliff explained the situation.

“You’d better take care of that right away,” Charlotte advised. “Personally, I don’t use credit cards. It’s like carrying Monopoly money.”

“I’d hoped to get my own card back,” Cliff said. “Do you think I could drop in on Grace?”

“She works at the library,” Charlotte told him. “You could leave your truck parked here and walk over there. It’s only a few blocks away and I don’t expect we’re going to have many more of these sunshiny afternoons.”

“I think you should meet Grace,” Olivia encouraged. She shifted her gaze from him, and Cliff wondered if he was missing something.

“Oh, yes,” Charlotte agreed. “Olivia’s right, you should meet Grace. She could use a male friend after what Dan did to her.”

“Dan,” Olivia added quickly, “is her husband, cor¬ rection…was her husband. He disappeared earlier in the year.”

The two women became engaged in a discussion about Dan’s whereabouts and their own suspicion—that he’d left Grace and run away with another woman.

“Grace filed for divorce last Monday,” Olivia told him.

The same day as the credit card mishap. No wonder she’d seemed distracted and preoccupied. No wonder she’d been alone. Although Cliff would’ve noticed her if she’d been in the middle of a crowd.

Grace Sherman was like…like a mountain wildflower. He wasn’t normally poetic and couldn’t really say why he thought of her in those terms, but that was the image that came to his mind. A flower that bloomed despite cold, wind and hardship. He’d tried not to be obvious, but she’d attracted him and he’d wondered about her. It’d been a very long time since he’d looked at a woman, any woman, the way he had Grace.

“I think I will take a walk over to the library,” he muttered.

“Good idea,” Olivia said brightly.

Charlotte’s daughter seemed eager to send him off. Perhaps she was trying to encourage him to meet her friend. If that was the case, Cliff didn’t need any prompting. After saying goodbye to Charlotte and Olivia, he left and strolled down the steep incline toward the waterfront. This was his first visit to the library and he stopped to admire the mural painted on the outside. The town sported several other murals, as well, which he’d often admired.

Grace Sherman stood at the front desk when Cliff entered the library.

She glanced up when he approached the counter. “Can I help you?”

“I’m Cliff Harding,” he said and waited.

It obviously took a moment for his name to register. “Oh, hi—you’re the one who has my credit card and I have yours. I’m sorry. I should have recognized you. If you’ll wait a moment, I’ll get my purse.” Grace took a deep breath, then said, “I was going to call you back this evening.”

“That’s what Olivia said.”

“You know Olivia?”

“We met this afternoon at Charlotte’s.”

Again she hesitated, as if needing time to connect all the dots. “You’re Tom Harding’s grandson. Charlotte’s often mentioned you. I apologize, I didn’t immediately realize who you were. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just be a moment.”

“Of course.”

She disappeared into a small office directly behind the counter and returned with her purse. His credit card was tucked inside a small white envelope. They exchanged credit cards, laughed about what had happened, then stood gazing at each other for an awkward few seconds.

It was now or never, Cliff decided. “I was thinking maybe we could laugh over this at dinner one night.” It’d been years since Cliff had asked a woman out on a date, and he felt a little uneasy. When she didn’t respond, he was sure he’d bungled the invitation.

“Dinner?” Grace finally echoed. “The two of us?”

Cliff spoke rapidly. “I’ve been divorced for the last five years. I haven’t dated since my wife left and… well, I think maybe it’s time I did.”

“I see,” she said, staring at him again. “I mean…” She paused and took another deep, audible breath. “Thank you.” She raised her hand to her throat. “You don’t know how flattered I am that you’d ask. Unfortunately, I’m not ready just yet.”

That was a fair reply. “When do you think you might be ready?”

“I…can’t say. I recently filed for divorce. I don’t feel it would be right for me to see anyone else until I’m legally free to do so.” She looked away. “I take it you heard about my husband?”

Cliff nodded slowly. “I’ll be waiting, Grace, and I’m a patient man.”

Her eyes met his and he saw the beginnings of a smile. That was something he hoped to see again. Soon.

“You’d better tell me what’s wrong.” Jack said, his stocking feet propped up against the ottoman in front of Olivia’s large-screen television. Tuesday night was their date night. Olivia had invited him over for dinner and The New Detectives on the Discovery Channel. Lately they’d taken turns supplying the meal. This week it had been Olivia’s turn and she’d baked a chicken casserole that was worthy of a cooking award. He generally brought takeout.

“What do you mean what’s wrong?” she countered.

“You’ve barely said a word all night.”

Olivia sighed and rested her head on his shoulder. It’d been his lucky day, that morning nine months earlier when Jack had strolled into her courtroom. New to Cedar Cove and the newspaper, he’d visited the divorce court, jaded by his own experience and expecting to hear what he always did.

But Olivia was different. A young couple, Ian and Cecilia Randall, had stood before her, accompanied by their attorneys. Another divorce, two people with broken hearts pretending they were above the pain. Only it radiated from both of them. Jack saw it and wondered if anyone else did. He assumed all those involved in the legal process had become blind to the human wreckage that appeared before these judges. Couples walked in battered and broken, emotionally crippled by the pain husbands and wives so often inflicted on each other.

The Randalls had lost an infant daughter, Jack recalled, and were asking Olivia to rescind their pre-nuptial agreement so they could file for divorce. Olivia denied the petition and, in essence, had denied their divorce. Jack’s column that weekend had praised her courage.

Olivia hadn’t appreciated the unwanted attention, but she’d forgiven him. In the months since, he’d gotten to know Olivia Lockhart. They’d grown close, and he was beginning to hope this relationship had a future.

“Are you going to tell me?” he asked, wondering if he was reading more into her silence than he should. He’d had his own bit of troubling news this afternoon, but he wasn’t ready to disclose it.

“I’m worried about Justine,” Olivia said after a moment.

“How so?” As far as Jack knew, Olivia’s daughter was deeply in love with her fisherman husband.

“She was seen having lunch with Warren Saget last Friday.”

“Warren?” Jack had never understood what Olivia’s daughter saw in the land developer. Now that Justine had married Seth, he’d hoped Warren would move on to greener pastures—which in his case probably meant an even younger woman.

“You heard it or Justine mentioned it?”

“I heard it,” Olivia said and gnawed on her lower lip. “Justine doesn’t share much with me.” She gazed at him with wide anxious eyes. “I think…she regrets marrying Seth.”

Jack removed his feet from the ottoman and leaned forward. This was serious. He frowned, trying to think of something reassuring he could say. But he was hardly an expert on the parent-child connection. His relationship with his own son was on rocky ground and with good reason. As a child, Eric had suffered from leukemia. Jack had turned to the bottle for solace, and for years he’d emotionally abandoned his wife and son. Following the divorce, Eric hadn’t wanted anything to do with his father. Jack couldn’t blame the boy; nevertheless, it stung. Now after several years of sobriety and with Olivia’s encouragement, he’d made a determined effort to reestablish contact.

Olivia and her daughter struggled with their relationship, too, but on an entirely different level.

“Just ask her,” Jack advised. “She’d probably be willing to tell you.”

A quick shake of her head dismissed that idea. “I can’t… Justine will resent the intrusion. I don’t dare say a word unless she brings it up. Besides, I don’t want her to know I heard about her lunch with Warren. She’ll accuse me of listening to gossip.” Olivia dropped her feet and bent forward. “How is it,” she asked, “that I can make judgments in a courtroom that affect the future of our community and yet I can’t speak openly with my own daughter?”

It was the same question he’d asked himself with regard to his son. Each week Jack editorialized in The Cedar Cove Chronicle. He was never at a loss when it came to expressing his opinion. But talking to his only child—well, there his confidence disappeared. He was afraid of saying too much or not enough, of sounding either judgmental or indifferent.

“Eric phoned this afternoon,” Jack said bleakly. “He was upset and I didn’t know what to tell him. I’m his father, he came to me with a problem and I should’ve been able to help him.”

“What’s the problem?” Like Jack, Olivia knew it was a breakthrough in this difficult relationship for Eric to contact him at all. When he didn’t immediately answer, Olivia ran her hand down the length of his back. “Jack?”

“The girl Eric’s living with is pregnant.”

“They weren’t using birth control?”

“No. He didn’t think it would happen.”

Olivia laughed softly. “I don’t understand why any couple would take chances with birth control.”

Jack turned to face Olivia. “Since Eric had cancer as a youngster, the drugs and the different procedures left him sterile. The doctors told us that years ago.”

Olivia frowned. “You mean the baby isn’t his?”

Jack rubbed his hand over his eyes. “It can’t be, and Eric knows that.”

“Oh, dear.”

Jack had wanted to say something helpful to Eric, but he had no words of comfort or advice. He’d hung up feeling that once again he’d failed his son.

The Harbor Street Gallery was quiet for the moment. Taking advantage of the respite, Maryellen slipped into the back room to get herself a cup of coffee. Weekdays tended to be slow, especially in the fall. During the summer months, the gallery was a drawing point for tourists and constantly crowded. As the manager, Maryellen welcomed the lull that came with autumn, especially since the Christmas rush would soon begin. Already they were gearing up for it.

At some point today, Jon Bowman would drop by. She’d last seen him in June and remembered their meeting with embarrassment. Jon was a reserved, perhaps shy man, who had little tolerance for small talk. She’d hoped to engage him in conversation; instead she’d babbled on about all manner of irrelevant things. By the time he left, she’d wanted to kick herself for falling victim to her own eagerness.

No sooner had she poured her coffee than she heard footsteps on the polished showroom floor. After a quick, restorative sip, she set the mug aside, and hurried out front, prepared to greet her customer.

“Welcome,” she said, then brightened when she saw who it was. “Jon, I was just thinking about you.” His photography had long been her favorite of all the art they sold. The gallery carried work in a variety of artistic media: oil and watercolor paintings, marble and bronze sculpture, porcelain figurines and one-of-a-kind pottery. Jon was the only photographer represented at the Harbor Street Gallery.

His photographs were both black-and-white and color, and his subjects included landscapes and details of nature, like a close-up of some porous stone on a beach or the pattern of bark on a tree. Sometimes he focused on human elements, such as a weathered rowboat or a fisherman’s shack. He never used people in his compositions. Maryellen was impressed by the way he found simplicity in an apparently complex landscape, making the viewer aware of the underlying shapes and lines—and the way he revealed the complexity in small, simple details. This was an artist with true vision, a vision that made her look at things differently.

It was through his work that she knew Jon. As she’d discovered, he wasn’t a man of many words, but his pictures spoke volumes. That was why she wanted to know him better. That, and no other reason. Even if she found his appearance downright compelling…

Jon Bowman was tall and limber, easily six feet. His hair was long, often pulled away from his face and secured in a ponytail. He wasn’t a conventionally attractive man; his features were sharp, his nose too large for his narrow face, hawklike in its appearance. He dressed casually, usually in jeans and plaid shirts.

He’d started bringing his work into the gallery three years ago—a few at a time, with long lapses in between. Maryellen had worked at the gallery for ten years and was well acquainted with most of the artists who lived in the area. She often socialized with them, but other than to discuss business, she’d rarely spoken to Jon.

She found it odd that her favorite artist would resist her efforts at friendship.

“I brought in some more photographs,” he said.

“I was hoping you would. I’ve sold everything you brought me last June.

That news produced a small grin. Jon’s smiles were as infrequent as his conversations.

“People like your pictures.”

Praise embarrassed him. Whenever customers had asked to meet him, he’d refused. He didn’t explain why, but she sensed that he felt the public’s focus should be on the art and not the artist.

“I’ll get the photographs,” he said brusquely, disappearing out the back door.

When he returned, he held an armful of framed photographs of varying sizes. He carried them to the back room, placing them on Maryellen’s work table.

“Can I interest you in a cup of coffee?” she asked. She’d offered before and he’d always declined.

“All right.”

Maryellen was sure she’d misunderstood him. She told herself it was absurd to feel this elation that he’d finally agreed. She poured him a cup and gestured toward the sugar and cream. He shook his head.

They sat on stools across from each other, both staring into their coffee. “Your work is gaining recognition,” she finally said.

He ignored her remark. “You’re divorced?” he asked bluntly.

The question caught Maryellen off guard. She’d certainly realized he wasn’t much for small talk, but this verged on rude. She decided to answer him, anyway —and then turn the subject back to him.

“Thirteen years.” She hardly ever mentioned her marriage. She’d been young and immature, and had paid a high price for her mistake. As soon as the divorce was final, she’d reverted to her maiden name and chosen to put the experience behind her. “What about you?”

Jon apparently had his own agenda because he answered her question with one of his own. “You don’t date much, though, do you?”

“No. Do you?”

“Some.”

“Are you married?” She didn’t think he was.

“No.”

“Divorced?” she asked next.

“No.”

He certainly didn’t bother with sharing, nor did he feel obliged to offer much personal information in exchange for hers.

“Why don’t you date?” he asked next.

Maryellen shrugged, choosing a nonverbal reply instead of a lengthy explanation.

Jon sipped his coffee. “Don’t you get asked?”

“Oh, sure.” She preferred parties and other social events to individual dates. “Why the interest, all of a sudden? Would you like to ask me out?” she asked boldly. If he did, she just might be tempted. Then again, maybe not. Dark, mysterious men were dangerous, and she’d already learned her lesson.

“What did he do to you?” Jon pressed.

Maryellen got off the stool, uncomfortable with the way he continually parried her questions with his. Each question dug a little deeper, delving into territory she’d rather leave undisturbed.

“Tell me something I don’t know about you,” she said, challenging him with a look.

“I’m a chef.”

“You mean you enjoy cooking?”

“No, I’m a chef at André’s.”

The elite seafood restaurant was on the Tacoma waterfront. “I…I didn’t know.”

“Most people don’t. It’s how I pay the bills.”

Kelly’s voice rang from inside the gallery. “Anybody here?”

Her sister couldn’t have chosen a worse time to visit, and Maryellen glanced regretfully toward the showroom. “That’s my sister.”

“I should be going.” Jon took a swallow of the cooled coffee, then put down the mug.

“Don’t leave yet.” She reached out impulsively, touching his forearm. “I’m sure I’ll only be a moment.”

“Come to André’s one night,” he said. “I’ll make you something special.”

Maryellen wasn’t sure if he meant she should come alone or if she should bring a date. But it seemed inappropriate to ask. “I’ll do that,” she said as Kelly walked into the back room. Her sister stopped suddenly, her face filled with surprise and delight at finding Maryellen with a man.

“I’m Jon Bowman,” Jon said into the awkward silence. “I’ll leave you to visit. Nice seeing you again, Maryellen.”

“Bye,” she said, her feelings a mixture of surprise and regret. Anticipation, too, she admitted privately. And that was something she hadn’t felt in years.

Kelly watched him go. As soon as Jon was out of earshot, she asked, “Was that anyone special?”

“Just one of our artists,” Maryellen returned, not elaborating.

Kelly claimed the stool recently vacated by Jon. “How’s Mom holding up?”

“Better than I expected.” Making that first attorney’s appointment had been difficult, but her mother’s resolve had seen her through.

“Dad’s coming back, you know,” Kelly said.

Maryellen didn’t argue, although she’d long since abandoned hope that he would.

“You don’t believe me, do you?” Kelly challenged.

Maryellen had, in fact, given up. For whatever reason, their father had disappeared. When it came to men, she didn’t expect much, even from her own father.

Could Jon Bowman be any different? She wasn’t going to think about that now, she decided.

“Daddy will come back,” Kelly insisted again when Maryellen ignored the question.

“Time will tell, won’t it,” Maryellen said and reached for her coffee.

Three

She must be in the grip of some insanity, Justine decided as she stepped off the small commuter plane in King Cove, Alaska. It’d been almost two weeks since she’d heard from Seth and she couldn’t stand waiting another day.

She’d contacted the cannery where Seth and his father sold their fish and crab, but they didn’t have any information about the boat’s schedule. Justine had left a message with the frazzled secretary, although there was no guarantee Seth would ever receive it. She’d asked the woman to please let Seth know Justine would be arriving that weekend. She could only hope he’d gotten word of her impending visit.

Walking carefully down the steps of the ten-seater aircraft, Justine looked up expectantly, longing for Seth and praying he’d be at the small airport waiting for her. The wind stung her face, shocking her with its chill. The last weekend of September, and already there was evidence of winter’s approach in this cold Alaskan wind.

“Is someone meeting you, miss?” the pilot asked when Justine reached for her overnight bag in the cart outside the plane.

“My husband—I think.” But Seth wasn’t at the airstrip. She took a taxi into town and listened with half an ear while the driver droned on about life on the Alaskan coast. He dropped her at a waterfront motel with a partially burned-out neon sign that read TEL.

The room was small and plain and dreary with its utilitarian beige carpeting, stained in several places. The curtains and bedspread were a faded floral pattern that wouldn’t have been attractive even when they were new. She sat on the edge of the thin mattress, feeling sad and lost. Coming here had been crazy, a sign of how truly desperate she was. Now that she’d arrived in Alaska, she had to accept that this trip was a waste of time.

Her marriage had seemed right and perfect only a few weeks earlier, but now she was overwhelmed by doubts. She couldn’t believe she’d actually married Seth. She sighed, a long, heartfelt sigh. Quite simply, she needed to know he loved her. And since she’d only heard from him a handful of times, she was beginning to think he didn’t. Or rather, that his love was just a temporary passion, a desire he’d now satisfied.

Well, she could spend all weekend in the motel room feeling sorry for herself or she could try to find out where he was. Determined to locate her husband, she dressed in her warmest clothes and asked Betty, the lady at the front desk, for directions to the cannery. She was on foot, but it was only a short distance from the motel to the docks. The wind whipped her long hair about her face as she walked toward the water, her hands buried deep inside her pockets. Because it was late in the fishing season, plenty of boats were tied along the pier.

Justine talked to several fishermen. They were all familiar with Seth and his father, but no one had any information to give her. Disheartened, she headed back to the motel.

As she left, she noticed a large commercial fishing vessel preparing to dock, its huge boom reaching toward the sky. The smaller picking booms stretched out like thin steel arms on either side of the vessel. A large muscular man with a blond head covered in a blue knit cap had his back to her; he resembled Seth in coloring and stature. Was it possible? Could she be this lucky?

Increasing her pace, she hurried down the dock toward the fishing boat. “Seth!” she called, but the wind carried his name away. Still, the man must have heard something because he turned. It was her husband. When he saw her, he took one gigantic leap from the vessel to land with both feet on the dock.

Justine ran down the wooden pier and, with a joyous shout, hurled herself into his embrace. He grasped her tightly about the waist, lifting her several inches off the ground. He was kissing her and every doubt, every question, vanished with that one frenzied kiss.

Justine heard men chuckling somewhere nearby, but she barely noticed and apparently neither did Seth.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, brushing the hair from her face. His eyes were warm with love. “How’d you know we were coming back in?”

“I didn’t—I just prayed you’d be here.”

He lowered his mouth to hers once more and murmured something about prayer being highly underrated just before his lips claimed hers.

“I have a motel room,” she whispered.

Seth glanced over his shoulder. “Wait here.” He hurried back to the boat, leaped aboard and quickly disappeared belowdecks. Justine was beginning to wonder what had happened to him when he reappeared with a dark duffel bag draped over his shoulder. Even though he needed a shave and a shower, he was the most handsome, thrilling, incredible man she’d ever seen.

“How long do we have?” he asked.

“Two days.” She slid her arm through his and leaned her head against his shoulder. “We need to talk, Seth.”

“We will,” he promised, but any conversation would come second if she read the glint in his eyes correctly.

“I see you found your husband,” Betty said as they approached the motel.

“I did,” Justine said, her voice light with happiness. By the time they reached her room, Justine had the key out and ready.

Seth hauled her into his arms the instant the door was unlocked and carried her inside, flicking on the light as they entered. What had seemed plain and ugly only an hour ago felt like a honeymoon suite just now.

Her husband set her on the worn carpet, and his hands delved into her hair, angling her mouth toward his. Their kiss was long. Passionate. “I need a shower,” he muttered impatiently when it was over. “Wait right here.”

“Okay,” she murmured, eyes closed, still consumed by his kiss.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

Justine opened her eyes and gazed into his. Seth was stripping off his coat and had started to unfasten the buttons of his shirt. “I’m starving,” she told him, but they both knew she wasn’t talking about food.

“Oh, Jussie, me, too.”

He was the only person in the world who dared to call her that.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” he said. He rapidly discarded his clothes, sitting on the far edge of the bed to remove his boots. He stood before her unzipping his pants. Even in his rush, he took time to drape his clothes over a chair. Then he stalked naked into the bathroom.

The shower had to be the fastest one on record. Justine had just slipped out of her shoes and pulled the sweater over her head. She’d started to unbutton her blouse when he returned. The intense look in his eyes stopped her, and her fingers froze on the last button. It was ridiculous to feel so shy with him. They were married and had already spent one glorious weekend together as husband and wife. But that had been weeks earlier and already seemed as distant as a dream.

Ever sensitive to her moods, Seth seemed to know her thoughts, to sense her apprehensions. With a tenderness that made her weak in the knees, he gently drew her to him. His mouth was warm and moist, and there didn’t seem to be any part of her that he didn’t want to kiss. Soon her blouse was on the bed next to her sweater.

Their kisses appeared to have the same knee-weakening effect on him because he sank to the bed and wrapped his arms about her waist. He kissed her belly, then reached up and released her bra, freeing her breasts. He moaned and she lowered her mouth to meet his.

Not long afterward, he urged her onto the bed with him and they were caught in a sensual tumult that lasted until Justine was breathless and spent. Wrapped in her husband’s embrace with only a sheet covering their legs, she rested her head on his chest, one arm flung about his waist.

Half inclined, his back against the headboard, Seth ran his hand along the length of her hair. Justine had closed her eyes, but not because she was sleepy. These moments needed to be savored, especially if they had to last her another few weeks.

“I don’t know what brought you here,” Seth whispered. “But whatever it is, I’m grateful.”

“I had to know,” she said, her voice more breath than sound. “I had to ask if you were sorry we got married.”

“No.” He was adamant. Tilting her chin up, he studied her eyes. “Are you?”

Her smile developed slowly. Feeling deliciously relaxed and sated, she had no problem giving him the answer he wanted. “I’m so in love with you it’s driving me crazy. I want us to be together, Seth. I hate having you so far from home.”

“It’s been hard on me, too,” Seth told her, his hand continuing its soothing motion. “I’ve always loved fishing, but my heart’s been with you from the moment I left.”

Justine stroked his shoulder, delighting in the smooth skin there. “I didn’t tell anyone at home what I was doing. I knew if I told my mother or grandmother I was flying up to find you, they’d tell me it was impossible, that I was taking too big a chance.”

“You’ve always had an incredible sense of timing,” Seth teased.

“I do, don’t I?” She rubbed her cheek against the hard muscles of his chest, loving the feel, the sight, the scent of this man. She eased her leg over his.

“When do you have to leave?” he asked.

“Late Sunday afternoon.”

His hands were in her hair again. “In that case, we’d better make up for lost time, don’t you think?”

Justine was in full agreement.

Grace woke early Monday morning, feeling more contented than she had in a long while. Buttercup, her golden retriever, who slept on the floor beside her, got to her feet, tail waving vigorously as Grace folded back the covers and climbed out of bed.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” she said, reaching for her robe. She wondered what Dan would think if he learned that she’d replaced him with a dog.

Buttercup ambled behind Grace into the kitchen and then let herself outside, through the pet door. While the dog did her business, Grace brewed a small pot of coffee. Humming softly to herself, she showered and chose a red plaid blouse and jean jumper to wear to the library. She slid her feet into a pair of matching red shoes, and then popped two slices of whole wheat bread into the toaster for breakfast.

When it was time to leave, Buttercup followed her to the car. Grace rubbed her companion’s ears, grateful that her dog would be waiting for her when she returned.

Buttercup was the perfect housemate: loving, obedient, reliable. She’d return to the kitchen through her dog door as soon as Grace left. And then, when Grace got home, Buttercup would come out to greet her again.

The sun was out, but rain was forecast for the afternoon. Grace loved the autumn months; she remembered that Dan used to feel the same way. Having worked as a logger most of his career, he’d always been at home in the woods. Only in recent years, with much of the forest land closed to lumbering, had Dan taken a job with a local tree service. He’d never complained, but she knew he’d hated it and longed to return to the woods.

The sadness was back, and Grace forced her thoughts away from her soon-to-be ex-husband. Wherever Dan was now and whoever he was with, she wished him happiness. She’d never been able to give him that, even in the early years. They’d married young. Grace was pregnant with Maryellen by the time they graduated from high school. She’d married Dan and he’d enlisted and gone off to Vietnam, but the man who returned wasn’t the same man who’d left. Almost forty years later, he still suffered from nightmares and memories he refused to share. She never knew what had happened in those dark jungles, and Dan always said it was better that she didn’t.

As usual, Monday morning at the library was slow after the heavy weekend activity. Grace decided to change the bulletin board and brought out the packet with a scarecrow, a black cat and a pumpkin patch. They had sets of cardboard cutouts for every season and holiday; Thanksgiving would be next, followed by Christmas. She was busily working on it, when she heard a male voice behind her.

“I’d like to apply for a library card,” Cliff Harding told her assistant, Loretta Bailey.

“I can help you with that.” Loretta pulled out a form and set it on the counter. She paused when she saw Grace watching her.

Cliff looked over his shoulder. “Hello, Grace.”

“Hello.” She hoped her voice didn’t betray how flustered she felt.

“I thought it was time I got a library card, since I’m in Cedar Cove practically every week.”

“We have the highest percentage of people with library cards per capita of any town or city in Washington State,” Loretta informed him proudly as she handed him a pen.

“I’m impressed,” Cliff said as his gaze moved back toward Grace.

She tried to ignore his appreciative stare but couldn’t. All at once she found herself fumbling and a tack fell and rolled across the floor. Bending to retrieve it, she nearly bumped heads with Cliff Harding as he, too, bent down. He was dressed in the same western style as he had been earlier, complete with a Stetson and boots. She even thought she detected the scent of hay on him.

“Are you ready to have dinner with me yet?” he asked in a stage whisper while both of them were crouched.

She glanced up at Loretta, who was carefully studying some paper or other, but Grace wasn’t fooled. Her co-worker was keenly interested in Grace’s answer, perhaps more so than Cliff.

“I…don’t think so.” She could feel the heat radiate from her face. His interest left her uncomfortable and out of her element. Her last date had been with Dan, when they were both teenagers. That was almost four decades ago—in a different century! The world was a vastly different place now.

“Would you consider having coffee with me, then?” Cliff asked.

Before Grace could respond, Loretta stood on her tiptoes, leaned over the counter and smiled down at them. “You can take your break now if you want.”

Grace resisted the urge to groan out loud.

“The Pancake Palace?” Cliff suggested, grinning boyishly. He seemed thankful for Loretta’s encouragement, even if Grace wasn’t.

“Five o’clock,” she said, none too pleased.

His smile broadened as he stood. “I’ll be there.”

Grace came to her feet and glared across the counter at Loretta. Cliff, meanwhile, had started toward the door.

“What about your library card?” Grace called out.

Cliff didn’t break his stride. “I’ll fill out the form next time I stop by,” he told her.

By five o’clock, Grace still wasn’t sure she’d meet Cliff Harding. Good manners won out. She might be nervous about seeing him, but she’d agreed to be there, and Grace believed in keeping her word.

Cliff slid out of a booth at the restaurant and stood when she approached. “I wasn’t sure you’d come,” he said quietly.

“I wasn’t sure I would, either,” she admitted and got into the red upholstered bench across from him. She righted the beige ceramic cup.

Cliff raised his hand in order to catch the waitress’s eye.

“I’m coming,” Goldie announced from behind the counter. The elderly waitress had been with the Pancake Palace for as long as Grace could remember—as far back as her high-school days. It was a new employee, not Goldie, who’d confused the credit cards.

Bringing the glass coffeepot, Goldie poured Grace’s cup first, then refilled Cliff’s. “You two planning to stay long?” she asked Grace. “The Chamber’s coming here for dinner.”

This was Goldie’s subtle way of informing Grace that if she didn’t want the entire business community to know she was having coffee with Cliff, she’d better cut this meeting short.

Grace wanted to kiss the older woman’s hand. “We won’t be long.”

“Up to you,” Goldie assured her with a wink.

“Thanks,” Cliff said.

“Yes, thank you, Goldie.”

Now that he had her attention, Cliff stared down at his coffee, avoiding eye contact. “I have a fairly good notion of how you’re feeling just now.”

Grace sincerely doubted that. “You do?”

“You’re nervous, a little agitated and your stomach’s full of butterflies. Am I close?”

Actually, he was. “Close enough. How’d you know?”

“Because I’m feeling the same way.”

“You said you’d been divorced five years?” Did that mean this state of tension in the presence of the opposite sex went on indefinitely?

“Yes.”

“Do you want to discuss it?” It’d help if he talked about himself because she had no intention of spilling out the private details of her life.

“Not particularly.”

“Children?”

“One daughter. She’s married and lives on the East Coast. We talk every week, and I make a point of flying out to see her once or twice a year.”

At least he kept in contact with his child, unlike Dan who’d abandoned both Grace and their daughters.

“Susan—my wife—fell in love with a colleague from work,” Cliff said. His hand tightened around the mug and she noticed a spasming muscle in his jaw. “According to what she said at the time, she’d never been happy.”

“Is she now?”

“I wouldn’t know. After the divorce I retired and moved to Olalla,” he said, mentioning a local community ten miles south of Cedar Cove.

“The locals call it Ou-la-la,” Grace told him.

“I can understand why. It’s beautiful there. I have forty acres and raise quarter horses.”

“It sounds lovely.”

“It is, except for one thing.” His eyes locked with hers. “I’m lonely.”

That was something Grace understood far too well. Her marriage had never been completely happy, but over the years Grace and Dan had grown content with each other. There was a lot to be said for contentedness—conversation over dinner, a night out at the movies, a repertoire of shared experiences. Dan had usually been there to greet her when she walked in the door after work. Now there was only Buttercup.

“I’m looking for a friend,” Cliff told her. “Someone who’d be willing to attend a concert with me every now and then, that’s all.”

The idea appealed to Grace, too. “That would be nice.”

“I was hoping you’d think so.” His tone was gentle and encouraging.

“But,” she hurried to add, “only after the divorce is final.”

“All right,” Cliff said.

“One more thing.” She met his eyes again. “I’ll call you next time. Agreed?”

He hesitated. “Agreed, but does that mean you don’t want me going into the library?”

“You’re always welcome,” she told him. “Just as long as it’s on library business.”

“Sure.” He reached for his mug and raised it to his lips, but not before Grace saw a smile lift the edges of his mouth.

She had the sneaking suspicion that he was about to become a frequent library patron.

Things had been strained between Rosie and Zach ever since the night of Eddie’s open house at school. Rosie blamed her husband for that. Zach simply didn’t appreciate how much she did. He seemed to think she sat around the house and watched soap operas all day while he was at the office. He didn’t understand how complicated her life was. She was so busy she sometimes left the house before he did and didn’t return until late in the evening. Now Zach expected her to cook a four-course dinner on top of everything else, she thought angrily.

She’d asked him to attend Eddie’s school function and he’d been annoyed with her for days afterward. Eddie was Zach’s son, too, and meeting his teacher was a small thing. Yet Zach had complained the entire evening. First about ordering pizza for dinner, then about the green peppers, and he hadn’t wanted to wear his suit to the school meeting, and… Later that night, despite her best efforts, their discontent with each other had escalated into a full-blown argument.

They hadn’t resolved it in the days that followed, either.

After two weeks of this nonsense, one of them had to make a conciliatory gesture. Despite the fact that she’d been up past midnight reading over the committee report for the PTA planning meeting scheduled that evening, Rosie rose at the crack of dawn and fried bacon and eggs. She used to take the time to cook a real breakfast for her family. She hoped Zach would realize she was trying and that would appease him.

Rosie broke the eggs into the pan once she heard Allison stir. The kids were on different schedules now that Allison was in high school, which made coordinated meals more difficult. But if it was important to her husband that she spend half the morning in front of a stove, she’d do it in order to maintain the peace.

“I have eggs cooking for you,” she told her daughter when Allison stepped into the kitchen.

“I hate eggs,” Allison said, slamming her backpack onto the table.

“Since when?”

Her daughter eyed her as if Rosie were mentally lacking. “Since forever.”

“I forgot.” Vaguely Rosie could recall long-ago battles over breakfast. “What about some bacon then?”

“Yuck.” Her daughter opened the refrigerator and pulled out a soda.

Rosie was appalled. “You can’t have that!”

“Why not?” Allison looked at her with disdain. “I have a pop every morning. Why can’t I now?”

“Fine, if that’s what you want.” It wasn’t worth a fight. All the books Rosie had read about raising teenagers recommended carefully choosing your battles. Giving in on the soda seemed minor compared to not letting Allison pierce her nose.

Rosie turned off the burner and slid the fried eggs onto a couple of plates, together with the fast-cooling bacon. Walking down the hallway she knocked and opened Eddie’s bedroom door. His room was an environmental disaster area, and as much as possible, she averted her eyes. Her son was sprawled across his bed, comforter on the floor.

“Are you interested in breakfast?” she asked.

Eddie lifted his head and blinked at her. “Mom?”

“Do you want breakfast?” she repeated.

He sat up, suddenly wide-awake. “Yeah,” he said with enthusiasm.

This was more like it.

“The chocolate ones are my favorite.”

“Chocolate what?”

“Pop-Tarts.”

“I fried you bacon and eggs.”

Eddie wrinkled his nose as if she’d suggested he dine on slugs. “No, thanks.” He flopped back on his pillow and reached for the comforter on the floor.

All right, so much for that. Venturing toward the master bedroom, she found Zach just as he was coming out of the walk-in closet, dressed in his suit and tie.

“I cooked breakfast,” she said, a bit stiffly.

He nodded as though he approved.

“Are you ready to eat?”

“I can’t now,” he said, looking down at his watch. “I’ve got an early-morning appointment.”

That was just great, dammit! No one appreciated her efforts or the fact that she was functioning on less than five hours’ sleep. Whirling around, Rosie returned to the kitchen, dumped the congealed bacon and egg in the garbage and forcefully opened the dishwasher. She shoved in the plates.

Zach entered the kitchen. “I’m leaving now.”

“Have a good day,” she muttered under her breath.

“You, too.”

Her husband stopped in front of the door leading to the garage. “Would you like to meet for lunch this afternoon?”

So Zach did realize what she was doing. Now he was making an overture, too. “I think that’s a lovely idea.” She offered him a grateful smile and he smiled back.

“Eleven-thirty?”

Rosie nodded and he walked over to her and kissed her cheek.

“Dad,” Allison called, racing into the kitchen. “Can I get a ride with you?”

“Only if you hurry.”

“I’ll just be a minute.”

“Meet you at the car.”

Allison dashed toward her bedroom and returned two seconds later with her sweater, grabbing her backpack from the table as she went.

“Do you have your lunch money?” Rosie asked.

“Duh? Of course I do.” Allison kissed her cheek in the same fashion Zach had and was out the door.

No sooner had they left than Eddie appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Is my Pop-Tart up yet?”

“Almost,” she muttered and searched the cupboards until she located a box of her son’s favorite breakfast food.

An hour later, Eddie left to catch the school bus and Rosie straightened up the kitchen, turning on the dishwasher. Still in her ratty, ten-year-old housecoat, she went to the bedroom and pulled open the dresser drawer to take out fresh underwear.

It wasn’t until she was in the shower that she remembered she had to be at the school by noon as a lunch volunteer for Eddie’s class. She groaned and raised her face to the water. She’d be away tonight, too. As it was, Zach didn’t approve of her chairing this PTA committee. She’d taken the position a year earlier and had promised to serve until the end of term and no longer. But last June not a single parent had stepped forward to volunteer. Rosie had no choice but to continue as chair.

She dressed and was about to call Zach’s office when the phone rang. A half hour later, she was rushing out the door, about to ward off an emergency concerning the new choir robes at church. Somehow their order had gotten switched with that of another church, somewhere in Florida. It was imperative that the correct robes show up before the end of the month. At the church, she painstakingly repackaged the robes, made half a dozen phone calls and took the boxes to the post office to return to the company. Not until eleven-thirty did she realize she still hadn’t called Zach. Taking out her cell phone, she punched in the number to her husband’s office.

“Smith, Cox and Jefferson,” came the pleasant—and unfamiliar—female voice.

Rose eased to a stop at a red light. “This is Rosie Cox. Could I speak to my husband, please?”

“Hello, Mrs. Cox, this is Janice Lamond. I don’t believe we’ve met, have we?”

“No, we haven’t,” she said. The light changed to green and she sped forward.

“I’m sorry, but Mr. Cox left the office. I understand he was meeting you?”

They hadn’t agreed to meet anywhere, at least not that she remembered. Where the hell would Zach go? Think, think, she ordered herself.

“Did he bring his cell phone?”

“I’m sorry, he didn’t. Mr. Cox said he didn’t want to take any calls.”

Rosie groaned. “Did he tell you where he was headed?”

The woman hesitated. “I believe he mentioned D.D.’s on the Cove.”

Of course. It was her favorite and Zach always took her there for her birthday.

“Are you going to be late?” Janice asked. “I could phone the restaurant and let him know, if you’d like.”

“I can’t make lunch at all,” Rosie muttered, truly regretful. Zach would never forgive her. Especially when he learned she had to cancel because she was volunteering yet again.

“Is there anything I can do?” Zach had never mentioned how helpful this new employee was. Rosie liked her already. She pulled into the school parking lot and cut the engine.

“You wouldn’t mind phoning him for me?”

“It would be my pleasure.”

“Thank you so much.”

“Would you like me to tell him where you can be reached?”

“No,” she said quickly, not eager to have Zach call her in the midst of a volunteer activity. “Tell him I’ll explain everything once I’m home.”

“I’ll see to it immediately,” Janice said.

Rosie appreciated that the firm’s new assistant was so friendly and accommodating.

If Zach was upset with her for skipping out on lunch, he didn’t give any sign of it when he walked into the house that evening. Rosie was thawing hamburger in the microwave for spaghetti, Eddie’s favorite dinner, when her husband came in. As usual, she was in a hurry to get out the door.

She tried to gauge his mood. “I’m so sorry about lunch,” she told him.

Zach shrugged as he flipped through the mail. “It was fine.”

“I should’ve checked my calendar. Did the assistant reach you?”

“Actually she joined me.”

“You had lunch with your secretary?” Rosie wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that.

“She’s not my secretary, she’s my assistant,” he explained, his back to her. “I left the office early because I wanted to get a table by the window. When Janice called with the news, I said it was a shame to let that table go. I was only joking when I suggested she come over since you couldn’t, but she took me up on it.”

“Oh.” Rosie was silent for a moment. “Did you have a nice lunch?” She’d eaten a candy bar out of a machine.

“It was all right,” he muttered and headed toward the bedroom for a shower, but she noticed he was whistling.

“I can meet you for lunch any day next week,” she called after him.

“Sorry, honey,” he said as he strolled past her. “I’m booked solid.”

Four

Having her nails done every other week was Maryellen’s one luxury. Although beautifully manicured fingernails were an extravagance, she couldn’t make herself give it up. Even more than that small pleasure, though, Maryellen enjoyed her friendship with the “girls” at Get Nailed. They were close to her age and single, but unlike Maryellen they wanted men in their lives.

Every second Wednesday morning, Maryellen listened while they bemoaned their fates. She was often amused by the crazy schemes they devised for meeting men. Frankly, she couldn’t understand why Rachel, her nail tech, hadn’t found a decent man. Maryellen considered her attractive and savvy.

The third Wednesday in October, Maryellen arrived for her appointment. Rachel was, as usual, ready for her. As soon as Maryellen was seated, Rachel doused a cotton swab in nail polish remover and reached for her hand.

“How’s it going?” Rachel asked.

“Great, how about you? Meet anyone last weekend?”

“I wish,” Rachel returned with a long sigh. “I’m not getting any younger.”

Maryellen knew that Rachel had made it her goal to find a husband by age thirty, and her birthday was only a few months away.

“I read something interesting this week,” Maryellen told her. “It’s about a town in Ireland named Lisdoon-varna. Every September and the first week of October, eligible men come to town looking for wives. Apparently it’s a tradition that’s been going on for years.”

“This is a joke, right?” Terri asked from across the room.

“No, I swear to you this is real.”

“Where do these women come from?” Rachel asked.

“All over the world. According to the article, a woman flew all the way from Australia to find a husband—and she did.”

“I can’t afford to go to Ireland,” Rachel muttered.

“No, but maybe we could hold our own festival,” Terri suggested.

“You could do that,” Maryellen said, wanting to encourage the other women. She didn’t want to get involved herself, but she did hope the crew of Get Nailed would do something with the idea.

“A Marriage Fest?” Terri’s voice picked up speed with her excitement.

“Yeah, but who’d come?” Rachel asked. “I can see it now. We’d make headlines ‘cause we’re throwing a party in order to meet potential husbands, and not one man would show up.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Terri said with a discouraged sigh.

“If I want to get out of a relationship, all I have to do is mention the word marriage and the man drops me like a hot potato.” Rachel frowned as she concentrated on Maryellen’s chipped thumbnail.

“You’re right about that,” Jane, another tech, added. “Men in America have got it too good.” There was a chorus of agreement.

“I’ve given up on Prince Charming. I’d be happy to meet the guy who grooms his horse,” Rachel said.

Maryellen smiled, and so did petite, blond Jane.

“Actually, forget about the guy grooming the horse,” Rachel went on, “I’d settle for a man who knows how to change the oil in my car.”

“I dated a guy like that once,” Terri told her. “Larry’s head was constantly under the hood of a car. He was far more interested in listening to an engine purr than me. It’s too bad because he was basically a nice guy.”

“Why’d you break up?”

“He got grease on my white silk blouse.”

“You broke up with a great guy because he ruined your blouse?”

Terri nodded. “What can I say? That blouse cost me seventy bucks, and Larry didn’t seem to think it was any big deal. The way I figure it, if a guy can’t appreciate a seventy-dollar blouse, then I don’t want anything to do with him.”

“I’d like to meet a man who has his head screwed on straight when it comes to money,” Jane said. “Everyone I’ve ever dated expects me to pick up the tab because they’re constantly broke.”

“I met this rich guy once, but he was dead boring,” Jeannie said, leaping into the conversation. “We dated for three months and I broke up with him because I had more fun washing my hair.”

“I’ll take a boring guy over a user any day of the week,” Jane informed her.

“What about you, Terri?” Maryellen asked. Terri, who dressed in bold, bright colors, was tall and big-boned, with soulful dark eyes. “What kind of man interests you?”

“I want a man who appreciates good food and isn’t afraid of a woman who likes to eat,” she said without hesitating. “I’m sick of men who want skinny women. I want a man to take me to a fancy restaurant and ask me to order an appetizer and suggest I save room for dessert. Better yet, I’d like a man who did the cooking himself.” She glanced around the shop. “Does anyone know someone like that?”

A sudden silence cut off the lively conversation. “Well, actually, I do know someone who cooks,” Maryellen said slowly, thinking of Jon Bowman. “Jon’s a chef at a truly wonderful restaurant.”

“Why’d you break up with him?” Rachel asked.

“We’ve never, uh, actually dated.” Nor would they, despite her curiosity. Maryellen loved Jon’s work and he intrigued her as a person, but her interest in him wasn’t romantic. No men in her life, no matter how attractive: that was her Number One rule. “I’d be willing to introduce you, Terri, if you wanted.”

“You would?” The other woman’s voice lifted with enthusiasm.

“So what do we do next?” Rachel asked, glancing around the shop. “It looks like we’ve all dated a man who meets someone else’s criteria, which is great but isn’t helping any of us right now.”

“We could throw a party,” Jeannie said. “Sort of drag out our discards for the others to sort through.”

“A rummage sale of old lovers,” Terri suggested. Her client laughed, and the other women at the shop joined in.

“I’ll wear my black blouse,” Rachel said decisively. “I don’t care if Larry ruins that.” Then, looking at Maryellen, she added in a whisper, “I can’t afford to be picky. My car’s in sad shape.”

Jane reached for the calendar. “We could make it a Halloween party,” she announced. “What do you think?”

The immediate consensus was that a Halloween party was a good idea.

“That’ll give us a little more than two weeks to come up with some fun ideas. Let’s get this organized.”

“Yeah.”

“You bet.”

“Count me in.”

Maryellen wasn’t sure how it happened, but despite her original reluctance, she soon found herself involved.

“How are we going to get the guys to come?” Jane, the most practical of the group, asked. “I don’t think Floyd would be interested in dating me again.”

“Larry could be married for all I know.”

“Ask,” Maryellen said. “And you need to be up-front with them. Explain to the guy that you’re bringing him to the party as your guest, but he’ll be meeting other women once he gets there.”

“I’ll let Larry know that someone’s dying to meet him,” Terri said.

“Perfect!” Rachel sounded absolutely delighted.

When Maryellen left Get Nailed, her head was spinning. She really hadn’t meant to become part of this scheme, although she’d started the conversation.

She didn’t know how the others planned to handle this, but she certainly wasn’t going to wait for the last minute to mention the party to Jon. When Terri had talked about wanting to meet a man who enjoyed food, he’d come instantly to mind. In retrospect, Maryellen regretted mentioning his name. She didn’t know what had prompted her. It was probably because he’d been in her thoughts ever since their last meeting. This latest group of photographs was some of his best work to date, and she’d been almost sorry they’d sold so quickly.

Considering that she’d suggested the direct approach to the others, she felt obliged to follow her own advice. She waited a week, and then dialed the phone number listed in her Rolodex.

Jon answered on the second ring. “Hello.”

“Jon, hello, this is Maryellen Sherman.” She hesitated, waiting for some kind of acknowledgment. “The manager of Harbor Street Art Gallery,” she added.

“Yes, I know.”

She’d swear he sounded amused, which only served to fluster her more.

“I’ve been invited to a Halloween party,” she said, rushing to explain the reason for her call. “Everyone’s supposed to come with a date—well, not a date exactly. We’ve been asked to bring someone, a man, to introduce to someone else. I have this friend who’s really lovely and she likes to eat.” She grimaced, thinking that sounded kind of dumb, but plunged on, anyway. “She enjoys her food and well, her biggest wish is to meet a man who likes to cook and naturally, I thought of you.” She realized she was rambling and stopped abruptly.

There was no response.

“Would you be interested in attending the party?” she finally asked. “You’d be under no obligation.” She wanted that understood. “Basically, you’d be doing me a favor.”

“By meeting this friend of yours.”

“Yes.”

“The one who enjoys a good meal.”

“Yes. Her name’s Terri, and she’s a lot of fun. I think you’d like her.”

“You’d be there?”

Maryellen sighed. “Yes, of course. I’d introduce you to Terri. So—what do you think?”

“Can I let you know later?” he asked after another long pause.

“Of course.” She figured she should feel encouraged that he hadn’t rejected her outright.

“Then I’ll be in touch.”

“Great.”

“Listen, before you go, did you get a chance to look over my pictures?”

“Oh, yes, and they’re fabulous! I’ve sold every one of them already. I was hoping you’d be bringing me more.”

“I’m working on it.”

“That would be great.” This was by far the longest and most involved conversation of their three-year working relationship.

“You haven’t come into André’s,” Jon said. “I was looking forward to cooking for you.”

“I appreciated the invitation, really I did, but I’m worried about giving you the wrong impression. Like I explained, I’m divorced and I’m not going to remarry and this party is just a friends thing…. If you came, that would be fabulous but only because I want you to meet Terri. Oh, did I mention we’re holding it at The Captain’s Galley, in the bar?” She managed to get all that out in a single breath. “Halloween night,” she added.

“I’ll get back to you.”

Maryellen thought that was fair enough.

After two glorious days and nights with her husband, Justine no longer had any doubts about her marriage. She was more in love than she’d dreamed possible.

Flying up to Alaska on the spur of the moment like that, without making any arrangements, had been preposterous, and yet she’d found Seth. Justine considered it a sign. Seth was truly meant to be her husband.

In a few weeks he’d be home, and they could discuss the future and make the necessary plans for their lives together. There had been so many pressing questions she’d wanted to ask him. But once they were together, none of them had seemed all that important. The only thing that mattered was lying in Seth’s arms, sharing their love.

Justine vowed that if Seth asked it of her, she’d live aboard his sailboat for the rest of her life. But she suspected he’d probably want to move in with her. Staying in her apartment was more practical than living at the marina.

She’d told him about sleeping on his boat at her most desperate moments, seeking to feel closer to him. From his reaction, she knew he’d been touched by her fears. He’d kissed her again and again as she described her doubts, all the while whispering reassurances and promises. Justine had left Alaska feeling deeply loved.

The following Friday night, Justine dropped by her mother’s house on Lighthouse Road. She hadn’t been avoiding Olivia, but she hadn’t sought her out, either.

By the time Justine pulled up in front of the large two-story house with the wide wraparound veranda, her mother was at the door, waiting for her.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Justine! I’m so glad to see you,” Olivia said, hugging her tight. “You haven’t come to the house in ages.”

“I’ve been busy—in fact, last weekend I flew up to Alaska to see Seth.”

“You were in Alaska? You might’ve let someone know.” The disapproving edge was back, but Justine chose to ignore it.

“You’re right, I should have,” she agreed mildly. She wasn’t here to fight with her mother.

“Come inside,” Olivia insisted, wrapping her sweater more snugly around her. “It’s cool this evening.”

Justine obediently followed her mother into the house. The kitchen was the most comfortable room and it seemed natural to sit there. “Tea?” Olivia asked. It was one of their long-standing rituals.

“Please.”

Her mother turned away as she put water on to boil. “How is Seth?”

“Wonderful. He’ll be home soon. I miss him so much. That’s the reason I flew to Alaska—I just couldn’t stand being so far away from Seth and I had all these air miles from my credit card. I called the airline, got a seat and off I went—without even knowing if I’d find him or not. I was afraid to tell you what I was doing for fear you’d try to change my mind.”

“You went through all that to be with your husband?” her mother asked.

“Oh, yes. I really am in love with him, Mom.”

Justine expected this news to be exactly what her mother wanted to hear. Instead Olivia was frowning.

“What?” Justine asked.

Olivia pulled out a chair and sat across from her. “Does Seth know you had lunch with Warren?”

So that explained it. Her mother knew. For that matter, so did Seth, and while he hadn’t asked her not to see Warren again, she could tell he wasn’t pleased that she’d accepted his invitation to lunch. Justine had been a bit surprised by that, but she wouldn’t do it again.

“Warren wants you back, doesn’t he?” her mother said when she didn’t immediately respond.

“Did I mention that Maryellen Sherman and I met for lunch earlier this week?” Justine said, pointedly changing the subject. Warren was off-limits as far as she was concerned. “She wanted to congratulate Seth and me.”

Her mother set the bowl of tea bags in the center of the table. “So you’d prefer not to discuss Warren.”

“That’s right.”

Olivia squared her shoulders and nodded firmly. “Then we won’t. Tell me about Seth. When will he be back?”

Justine filled in the details. The longer she spoke, the more relaxed her mother became—and Justine understood why. Her mother finally had complete confidence in her love for Seth. Olivia now knew that nothing Warren said or did was going to change the way Justine felt about her husband.

“How is Maryellen?” Olivia asked as she poured them each a second cup of tea. “I see Grace every week at our aerobics class, but we seldom have a chance to talk.” She laughed. “Actually we need all our energy just to breathe. Did Maryellen tell you Grace filed for divorce?”

Justine nodded. “By the way, what happened with Maryellen’s marriage?” It’d never occurred to her to ask before. Justine had only been fourteen at the time. All she remembered was her mother and Grace, her best friend, talking on the phone a great deal. Maryellen had moved home for a while, and she’d taken back her maiden name as if she’d never been married at all.

Her mother stirred a teaspoon of sugar into her tea. “I don’t think anyone really knows, not even Grace. When Maryellen got married, I remember Grace telling me she didn’t feel Clint Jorstad was a good match for her daughter.”

“Apparently she was right,” Justine said. Then a frightening thought occurred to her. “What do you feel about Seth and me?” she asked, raising hopeful eyes to her mother, trusting her judgment and wisdom.

“Oh, Justine, I think the world of Seth. I couldn’t be more pleased for you both. Seth’s perfect for you.”

Justine smiled. “I think so, too, Mom, I really do.” For the first time in a while, she thought about her brother. Seth and Jordan were best friends, and then Jordan had drowned the summer they were all thirteen. Seth was in Alaska with his father and hadn’t learned of the accident until he’d returned home. Justine had been with Jordan that dreadful August day. She’d held his lifeless body until the paramedics arrived. He was her twin, her best friend and her brother. Her entire world had changed that summer. Only a few months afterward, her parents had divorced and within a shockingly short time her father had remarried. Her younger brother, James, seemed oblivious to the uprooting of their security, but Justine had felt it all, lived it all.

“What are you thinking?” her mother asked, a slight frown on her face.

Justine shook her head. “Nothing important,” she said, which wasn’t true. But she didn’t want to bring up the one memory that would never stop hurting. The one death her mother could never recover from. Drinking the last of her tea, she carried the cup and saucer to the sink and said, “I’d better get home.”

“Thank you for coming by.” Olivia touched Jus-tine’s cheek. “I’m thrilled about you and Seth. Honestly.”

“I am happy, Mom,” Justine said and impulsively hugged her mother. “Next time I won’t wait so long to visit.”

“Good.” Olivia walked her to the porch and waved as Justine drove off.

When Justine got back to the apartment complex, she found a note from the manager taped to her door; it said she’d accepted a delivery on Justine’s behalf.

After dropping off her mail, she hurried down to the manager’s office and learned that a huge flower arrangement had arrived. The large crystal vase was filled with an array of carnations, pink lilies, irises and a handful of others she couldn’t name, as well as artful sprigs of greenery. It could only be from Seth.

Justine could hardly wait to read the card. Seth loved her, missed her, and her sweet, wonderful husband must have realized she’d need an emotional boost to get her through the next few weeks.

Justine discovered almost immediately how wrong she was. Only one word was written on the card.

Warren.

She groaned with disappointment and tossed the small card onto the kitchen counter. She set the vase carelessly on the table, cringing every time she looked at it.

An hour later, while she was scrounging around her refrigerator, seeking out something easy and edible for dinner, the doorbell rang.

She answered it to find Warren Saget standing there, wearing a flashy thousand-dollar business suit and an even flashier smile. “Hello, Justine.”

“Hello, Warren,” she said without enthusiasm.

“Did you get my flowers?”

She didn’t invite him inside. “I did, but I wish you hadn’t.”

“I wanted to thank you for having lunch with me.”

She’d guessed as much. “It was very thoughtful.”

He met her eyes, then stared at the handle on the door. “Can I come in?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” If her mother had heard about their lunch date, Justine wondered how many other people in town already knew. She had no intention of adding to the gossip by having Warren’s visit to her apartment reported next.

“All right,” Warren said, looking hurt and a little confused. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“You didn’t, it’s just that…” She stopped herself from saying more. Warren was far too clever when it came to getting his own way and she wasn’t going to make it any easier.

He waited for her to continue and when she didn’t, he asked, “Do you have any plans tonight?”

She certainly wasn’t telling him that the most exciting plan she had was a rerun of Nash Bridges. “Why?”

“I was hoping you’d have dinner with me. No pressure. It’s just that I figured you might be lonely with Seth gone for so many weeks. I thought you might enjoy a night on the town.”

“No thanks, Warren.”

He shrugged. “No harm in asking,” he said with a forced smile.

“Actually I think there might be.”

He arched his eyebrows as if she’d surprised him.

“The two of us shouldn’t be seeing each other. It’s…inappropriate. In fact, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t visit me again—either at work or at my apartment.”

The hurt-little-boy look was back. “Justine, you don’t think I’d purposely do anything to jeopardize your relationship with Seth, do you?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think. I mean it, Warren, stay away from me.”

“You told him, didn’t you?” Warren’s eyes narrowed. “That big Swedish oaf is jealous.” He laughed, although the sound was humorless.

She refused to defend Seth or make excuses for him. Her husband was uncomfortable with her seeing Warren and that was the end of it. Her relationship with Warren was over; it had been for a long time, regardless of their recent lunch date. Nothing he said or did was going to change her mind.

“The next thing I know,” he said bitterly, “you’ll be telling me that big oaf got you pregnant.”

“Warren, please.” She dragged out his name, implying that this conversation was boring her. “Just go.” She wasn’t willing to stand in the doorway and argue with him. She started to close the door, but Warren’s words stopped her.

“You are pregnant, aren’t you?” he demanded. “Don’t you see what he’s doing to you?”

“Warren…”

“Don’t let it happen, Justine. I’d hoped you’d come to your senses before—”

She was through listening and shut the door with a resounding bang.

Leaning against it, Justine felt weak with relief. He was gone. She’d been an idiot to go out for lunch with him that day. She saw now that it was disloyal to Seth; furthermore, Warren was too competitive to ever be a friend, as she’d naively thought. Not only that, Cedar Cove was a small town, and perceptions mattered. She couldn’t risk humiliating her husband by allowing people to think she was seeing Warren—her supposed former lover—behind his back.

Warren had brought up an interesting point, though. Pregnancy. Shortly after Jordan’s death and her parents’ divorce, Justine had decided she didn’t want children. But now that she was married, she realized her views had changed. She could only hope Seth felt the same way.

Jack Griffin slapped cologne on his freshly shaved cheeks and blinked at the sting. He caught his reflection in the spotted and foggy mirror and wiggled his eyebrows a couple of times.

“Tonight,” he said aloud, reminding himself that this could very well be the evening he lured Olivia Lockhart into his bed. Their relationship had been progressing nicely—very nicely. But they were both mature adults, and with those years had come a certain… patience. A kind of caution. They weren’t twenty-year-olds at the mercy of their hormones. Still, he was a man in every sense of the word, and he’d like nothing better than to take their relationship to a physical level. Beyond kissing and cuddling… He was ready to make the leap and hoped she agreed.

The divorced family court judge wasn’t like other women he’d known. Olivia had class and culture, and he was a no-account drunk who remained sober one day at a time.

Grace Sherman had told him about Olivia’s upcoming birthday and he was grateful. This was exactly the occasion he’d been looking for, a chance to show her exactly how much he cared. Jack had searched long and hard for the perfect birthday gift. His quest had been to find something that would let her know the message of his heart. Something that suited a woman who was both sophisticated and unpretentious. The diamond tennis bracelet was it.

Choosing a clean shirt, he reached for the gray velvet box and examined the bracelet. It was stunning, if he said so himself. He’d never bought anything as beautiful as this, not even for his ex-wife. The jeweler had sold him on the quality, and had then shaved off an extra ten per cent when Jack showed more than idle interest. Nothing wrong with being practical, he figured. The extra cash would go toward a fancy dinner at The Captain’s Galley. He enjoyed imagining Olivia’s reaction when she opened the box. Twice now he’d wrapped it, and then because he wanted to be assured it was as lovely as he remembered, he’d unwrapped it just to take another peek.

Whistling, Jack finished dressing. Tonight, he said again, his blood already heating at the thought of Olivia lying in his arms.

A sound came from the direction of his living room and he stuck his head outside the bedroom door. “Anyone here?”

No response.

Jack frowned, then checked his reflection one last time.

“Dad?”

Jack froze. Eric was here? Now?

“Eric?” Jack stepped out of the bedroom to find his twenty-six-year-old son standing in the middle of his living room, a suitcase in his hand.

“You were on your way out?” Eric asked.

“I’m not expected for a while,” Jack assured him. The boy looked dreadful, his complexion pale with pain. His shoulders were hunched and his misery was evident in every line of his body. “What’s wrong?”

Eric shrugged.

Experience had taught him that only a woman was capable of bringing a man to this point. “Did you and Shelly have a fight?”

Eric’s returning snort was devoid of humor. “You could say that.”

Glancing at the suitcase in his son’s hand, he assumed this was more than the usual disagreement. “She kicked you out?”

Eric nodded.

His son slumped onto the sofa and gazed pleadingly up at Jack. “Do you have time to talk, Dad?”

Jack’s relationship with his son was tenuous at best. For almost his entire life, Eric had lived with his mother. Even after Jack became sober, Eric had rejected every effort he’d made to establish a relationship. This year, this past spring, was the first time Eric had agreed to see Jack. Afraid he might inadvertently say or do something to distress his son, Jack had invited Olivia along for the initial meeting. They’d all had dinner on the Seattle waterfront. Buoyed by the success of that outing, Jack and Eric had gotten together every month or so since.

Jack was thrilled with the prospect of having a good relationship with his only child. He had a lot to prove, both to Eric and himself. He didn’t want anything to injure this fragile beginning.

“Of course I have time. Tell me what’s on your mind.” Jack sat down across from his son, leaning forward so Eric would know he was interested and that he cared.

“It’s Shelly and her pregnancy,” Eric murmured.

That much Jack had guessed, but he didn’t say anything.

“The baby can’t be mine. I told her that and she blew up at me. She said if I seriously think she’s pregnant by someone else, then I should get out of her life.”

“I’m sure she didn’t mean it,” Jack murmured. “Women say things like that when they’re upset.”

“She meant it enough to throw me out of the apartment.”

So much for that pearl of wisdom, Jack mused. He cursed himself for not being better at this.

Eric looked as if he was about to weep. “She said she never wanted to see me again.”

“I’m sure she didn’t mean that, either.”

“I think she did.”

“Perhaps she did when she said it, but she’ll have a change of heart later.” Jack winced at his own glibness. “Soon,” he added. “She’ll ask you to come home soon.”

“I hope she does,” Eric said emphatically. “The apartment’s leased in my name,” he added, “but I don’t want her to move. She can have the apartment if she wants.”

“What about you? Where will you go?”

Eric hesitated, then glanced up. “Would you mind very much if I stayed here with you? Just for the time being.”

“Me?” Jack echoed, and was instantly sorry. “Me—well, I guess we won’t get in each other’s way too much, if it’s only for a few days.” So much for romantic evenings with Olivia any time in the near future.

“It probably won’t be for long.” Eric sounded hopeful.

“Of course not,” Jack said, his voice as confident as he could manage. “My guess is that Shelly will call tomorrow, wanting you to come home.”

“You think so?” Eric’s eyes brightened.

“Sure thing.”

Eric shook his head, his expression grim. “I doubt it, Dad. First of all, I didn’t tell her I was coming here and secondly…” He paused and rubbed his face. “Do you think the doctors might’ve made a mistake about me?” The appeal in his eyes was painful to see.

“You mean about being able to father children?”

“Yeah. Is there any chance?”

Jack looked at him thoughtfully. “It was a lot of years ago. There are ways of finding out about these things, you know.”

“Yes, but Shelly says…” He sighed deeply. “I wouldn’t suspect her of being with another man, but a little while ago she mentioned this new guy she’s working with and they seemed to be real buddy-buddy. They were doing a lot of overtime together—and now she turns up pregnant. What else am I supposed to believe?”

Jack glanced at his watch. Olivia was expecting him to pick her up in five minutes.

“You have somewhere to go, don’t you?” Eric asked. “You should leave,” he urged, but if anything, he sounded worse than when he’d first arrived.

“Let me see what I can do,” Jack said, his own heart sinking fast. He couldn’t leave Eric like this. The boy was hurting and needed to talk. For so many years, he hadn’t been any kind of father to his son, and he wasn’t about to fail Eric again.

“Let me call Olivia,” he said. “She’ll understand.”

“You’re sure?” Eric asked.

“Of course.” Disheartened, Jack sequestered himself in his bedroom and dialed Olivia’s number.

She answered almost immediately and seemed surprised to hear from him.

“I have to break our date.”

“Our date tonight?” She sounded as disappointed as he was.

“Eric’s here,” Jack explained.

“Oh.”

“Shelly kicked him out and he came to me. He needs to talk. And he may end up staying here for a few days.” He sighed. “I hate to do this to you, but you understand, don’t you?”

“Of course,” she said softly. “He’s your son.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry about this.”

“I’ll call Mom and keep the reservation. I’d rather have dinner with you, but I understand. Children—regardless of their age—always need to come first. You know how strongly I believe that. Thanks for telling me, Jack, and good luck.”

Jack understood that she was praising his effort to communicate with his son—and with her. The one thing Olivia hated above all else was secrets, a lesson he’d learned early on in their relationship when he’d tried to hide the fact that he was a recovering alcoholic.

“I’ll talk to you later,” she said.

“Later,” Jack repeated and then because he’d almost forgotten, he added, “Olivia?”

“Yes?”

“Happy Birthday.”

Five

“Do you have plans for tonight?” Grace phoned to ask Olivia late Friday afternoon, the following week. It was a clear, crisp day toward the end of October, and Olivia had been waiting to hear from Jack ever since his phone call on her birthday.

“Plans? I wish…” Olivia said. “Do you have any suggestions?” she asked with a little more enthusiasm.

“How about taking in a football game?” Grace said. “We could go to dinner afterward. It’s been ages since we had a chance to catch up.”

Olivia was delighted that Grace had called her. During the months since Dan’s disappearance, Grace had closed herself off from almost everyone. She’d kept her conversations brief and superficial, clearly unwilling to disturb the bedrock of pain and grief that had become the basis of her life. Again and again she’d found excuses to postpone visits or social plans. Olivia was concerned, but she respected her friend’s need for privacy. It was no reflection on their long and very solid friendship. Grace was dealing with the loss of her marriage. Olivia stood by her, encouraged her with notes and cards and called frequently, just to maintain communication and to let Grace know she was there. This was the first time in a long while that Grace had called her to suggest an outing.

“I’d love to take in a game,” Olivia told her friend.

“I thought you would,” Grace said. “Have you heard from Jack yet?”

“Not a word.”

“Damn.”

Grace had that right. Olivia was tired of making excuses for him, even in her own mind. He’d been absent from her life all week. He hadn’t called once. Nor had he shown up for their usual Tuesday night get-together. She couldn’t help being disappointed that he’d had to break their date on Saturday; she certainly understood. But at the same time she’d hoped he would, at the very least, leave a brief message telling her how Eric was doing—and maybe saying he missed her. He could’ve called to make a tentative plan for next week or even the week after that. Instead, he’d ignored her.

“Meet me at the football field at seven,” Grace said.

“I’ll be there.”

Olivia was grateful to have somewhere to go and something to do. Especially with her best friend, who seemed to be emerging from her self-imposed isolation. Her social life had revolved around Jack for months. Almost always, they spent part of a weekend together.

At seven o’clock, Olivia met Grace just outside the chain-link fence at Cedar Cove High School’s football stadium. The field was ablaze with lights and the stands on both sides of the field were quickly filling up. Grace had dressed in gray wool slacks with a blue-and-green plaid wool jacket. She wore her thick salt-and-pepper hair shorter these days, and it suited her. Dan had always preferred a shoulder-length style, reminiscent of her high-school appearance, but Grace didn’t need to please Dan anymore.

“You look great,” Olivia commented as they stood in line to purchase their tickets.

“Of course I do. The only thing you ever see me in these days is my sweats for aerobics class.”

Olivia smiled because it was all too true.

“Remember in high school when we used to come and cheer on the team?” Grace asked as the line moved slowly toward the ticket counter.

“Do I ever. Bob Beldon and Dan were our football heroes—” Olivia paused. She regretted bringing Dan’s name into the conversation.

Grace touched her arm. “I was thinking the same thing. Dan was a wonderful athlete when he was young. I still remember the year he scored the winning touchdown that put Cedar Cove in the playoffs for the first time in a decade.”

“So do I,” Olivia said, glancing at her friend. “It doesn’t hurt to talk about Dan?”

Grace gazed into the distance. “Not really. But it’s easier to think about the early years, before Vietnam.” She was silent for a moment. “I don’t know why he left me the way he did. I’ve gone over it a thousand times and can’t come up with an answer. I just don’t understand how he could do this. I realize I might never know. All I can say is that this was his choice. I have my own choices to make, and I need to move forward with my life.”

“You always were a strong woman,” Olivia said, not hiding her admiration, “but you’re stronger now than ever.”

“I wish that was true,” Grace murmured and then she changed the subject, looking up at the night sky. “I love this time of year.”

“Me, too.” The weather in the Pacific Northwest had taken a decided turn in the last couple of weeks. Soon the autumn rains would start, and the clear bright evenings would become storms of wind mingled with a steady drizzle.

After paying for their tickets, they purchased a program from one of the drill team members hawking the small booklets just inside the field. Making their way toward the stands, Olivia paused to see what seats were still available.

“Olivia! Grace!” Charlotte’s voice rang out from the home field section.

Olivia glanced around until she found her mother waving her right arm high above her head. Charlotte sat next to Cliff Harding about halfway up. Her lap was draped with a small red quilt and Cliff was wearing a fringed leather jacket and his ever-present cowboy hat.

“Do you mind sitting with Mom?” Olivia asked, although her real question had to do with Cliff Harding.

“No, it’s fine.” Grace’s eyes were on Cliff and she gave a slow smile.

Now, that was an interesting development, Olivia mused as they climbed the steps.

Olivia hugged Charlotte as she edged past her mother. Moving down, she left plenty of room for Grace. Cliff sat on the outside of the row, closest to the stairs.

“What a pleasant surprise to run into you two,” Charlotte said, sounding positively delighted. “Cliff’s never been to a Cedar Cove football game. My column in the newspaper this week was about supporting our youth, you know?”

“I read it, Mom, and it was a great piece.” Her mom derived real pleasure from writing the Seniors’ Page for The Chronicle.

“Cliff read it, too, and I told him he’d never be part of the community until he’s cheered for our football team.”

Cliff was studying the program and seemed impressed with all the community advertisement that supported the team. “The last time I was at a highschool football game was when I was in high school myself.”

“This town takes its football seriously,” Olivia told him.

“I can see that.” The game was about to start and there was standing room only. In addition to the football team itself, the school band, the cheerleading squad and drill team were all present.

“Do you two have plans for after the game?” Cliff asked, but Olivia noticed that he directed the question at Grace.

“Olivia and I are going to dinner,” Grace explained.

“Cliff invited me out, as well,” Charlotte said. “Why don’t you two join us?” She glanced from one to the other.

“Sure, that sounds like fun,” Olivia said. From Grace’s reaction to seeing Cliff, she knew her friend wouldn’t object.

The game was close, and at halftime the score was tied. Olivia was, once again, amazed by how many people her mother knew. Not a moment passed without Charlotte calling out to one person or another. Her weekly column had increased her recognition among the townspeople, and she was obviously well-loved for her charitable activities, including her volunteer work at the local convalescent center where she’d met Tom Harding.

Cedar Cove High School won in the last five seconds with a field goal. The mood was festive as the stadium emptied. Since the Pancake Palace would definitely be crowded after the win, Cliff suggested The Captain’s Galley in the downtown area.

They met there and were quickly escorted to a table for four. Olivia noticed that Cecilia Randall still held the position of hostess, but there wasn’t time to chat with the young Navy wife. Once they were seated, conversation was light and flowed smoothly both before and after they ordered.

Try as she might, Olivia found her thoughts wandering to Jack, and that distracted her. Without being obvious, she’d searched for him throughout the game. He generally wrote the sports articles for the highschool teams, simply because he loved going to the games. Olivia had given up counting the number of sporting events they’d attended together. But if he was at the game tonight, she hadn’t seen him.

Of course, she could phone him. They weren’t fighting, although she had to wonder why he hadn’t called her. Perhaps Eric was still with him, but his son couldn’t possibly take up every minute of Jack’s time. Olivia was getting downright irritated.

Conversation ceased as their meals arrived and then it resumed. They’d moved from the football game to the state of the local economy. Olivia added a comment every now and then as she nibbled at her crab salad, but her spirits weren’t high and she struggled to keep her thoughts away from Jack.

Even though she’d dated occasionally since her divorce, she hadn’t gotten close to another man the way she had with Jack. Because their personalities and backgrounds were so different, he brought balance and spontaneity to her rigid schedule. With him she was free to laugh and shed the formality that had taken over her life after she was elected to the bench. Jack was unconventional, witty, fun—and, damn it all, she missed him.