Make time for friends. Make time for Debbie Macomber.

CEDAR COVE

16 LIGHTHOUSE ROAD

204 ROSEWOOD AVENUE

311 PELICAN COURT

44 CRANBERRY POINT

50 HARBOR WAY

6 RAINIER DRIVE

BLOSSOM STREET

THE SHOP ON BLOSSOM STREET

A GOODYARN

OLD BOYFRIENDS

WEDNESDAYS AT FOUR

TWENTY WISHES

SUMMER ON BLOSSOM STREET

HANNAH’S LIST

THURSDAYS AT EIGHT

CHRISTMAS IN SEATTLE

Dear Friends,

Welcome back to Cedar Cove! There’s been lots going on in town since your last visit. Olivia, Jack, Grace, Maryellen, Jon and everyone else are eager to fill you in. You’re probably curious about who started the fire that destroyed The Lighthouse restaurant – and are you in for a surprise. So many of you wrote to tell me who you thought was responsible – and only one person guessed right.

In addition to the solution of that mystery, you’ll get an update on all the characters. I’m also going to introduce you to someone new, a chess player I loved the instant he turned up on the page. Bobby Polgar is one of my most unusual male characters. But wait – there’s more! (I love it when I get to say that.) If you’re interested in further updates on the characters, log on to my webpage and click on the Cedar Cove button. The characters themselves have written letters and as a bonus have included favourite recipes. (That’s because the author loves to cook and to eat – so the characters do, too!)

If you’re not online, you can contact me at my office, PO Box 1458, Port Orchard, Washington 98366, USA. I really enjoy hearing from my readers; I read and value every one of your letters.

Now relax and step out of your own world for a few hours and into the world of Cedar Cove. We’re so glad you stopped by. I hope you have a good time and that you’ll want to come again.

6 Rainier Drive
Debbie Macomber

www.mirabooks.co.uk

To Martha Powers

My walking partner, fellow career dieter and best of all

My friend

Some of the Residents of Cedar Cove, Washington

Olivia Lockhart Griffin: Family Court judge in Cedar Cove. Mother of Justine and James. Married to Jack Griffin. Lives at 16 Lighthouse Road.

Jack Griffin: Editor of the Cedar Cove Chronicle. Recovering alcoholic. Married to Olivia. Recently suffered a heart attack.

Charlotte Jefferson Rhodes: Mother of Olivia and of Will Jefferson. Now married to widower Ben Rhodes.

Justine (Lockhart) Gunderson: Daughter of Olivia. Married to Seth Gunderson. Mother of Leif. The Gundersons live at 6 Rainier Drive.

Seth Gunderson: Justine’s husband. Co-owner, with Justine, of The Lighthouse restaurant, which was recently destroyed by fire.

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

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

Will Jefferson: Olivia’s brother, Charlotte’s son. Married and lives in Atlanta.

Grace Sherman: Olivia’s best friend. Librarian. Widow of Dan Sherman. Mother of Maryellen Bowman and Kelly Jordan. Now married to Cliff Harding. Lived at 204 Rosewood Lane.

Cliff Harding: Retired engineer, now a horse breeder living in Olalla, near Cedar Cove.

Cal Washburn: Horse trainer, employed by Cliff Harding.

Maryellen Bowman: Oldest daughter of Grace and Dan Sherman. Mother of Katie. Married to Jon Bowman. Pregnant with their second child.

Jon Bowman: Photographer, married to Maryellen. Father of Katie.

Joseph and Ellen Bowman: Estranged father and stepmother of Jon.

Zachary Cox: Accountant, married to Rosie. Father of Allison and Eddie Cox. The family lives at 311 Pelican Court.

Anson Butler: Boyfriend of Allison Cox. Suspect in The Lighthouse fire.

Cecilia Randall: Navy wife, living in Cedar Cove. Accountant, working for Zach Cox. Married to Ian Randall. Mother of Aaron.

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

Bob and Peggy Beldon: Retired. Own a Bed & Breakfast at 44 Cranberry Point.

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

Linnette McAfee: Daughter of Roy and Corrie. Moves to Cedar Cove to work as a physician assistant in the new medical clinic.

Gloria Ashton: Police officer on Bremerton force. Linnette’s friend and neighbour – recently discovered to be her sister, adopted at birth.

Troy Davis: Cedar Cove sheriff.

Pastor Flemming: Local Methodist minister.

Teri Miller: Hair stylist at Get Nailed. Friend of Rachel Pendergast.

Table of Contents

Cover Page

Other Books By

Dear Friends

Title Page

Dedication

Some of the Residents of Cedar Cove, Washington

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Preview

Copyright

One

Justine Gunderson woke suddenly from a deep sleep, with the vague sense that something was wrong. A moment later, she remembered, and an intense sadness pressed down upon her. Lying on her back, she stared up at the dark ceiling as the realization hit her yet again. The Lighthouse, the restaurant she and Seth had poured their lives into, was gone. Gone. It had burned to the ground a week ago, in a blazing fire that lit up the night sky for miles around Cedar Cove. A fire started by an unidentified arsonist.

Without bothering to look, Justine knew her husband wasn’t in bed with her. Only a week had passed since the fire, but it felt like a month, a year, a lifetime. She didn’t think Seth had slept more than three or four hours at a stretch since that shocking phone call.

Folding back the sheet, she climbed slowly out of bed. It was barely four, according to the digital readout on the clock radio. Moonlight filtered through a gap in the curtains, creating patterns on the bedroom walls. Justine slipped her arms into the sleeves of her robe and went in search of her husband.

As she’d suspected, she found him in the living room, pacing. He moved ceaselessly, his angry strides taking him from the fireplace to the window and back. When he saw her, he continued to walk, looking away as though he couldn’t face her. She could tell he didn’t want her near him. She barely recognized this man her husband had become since news of the fire.

“Can’t you sleep?” she asked, whispering for fear of waking their four-year-old son. Leif was a light sleeper and although he was too young to understand what had happened, the child intuitively knew his parents were upset.

“I want to find out who did this and why.” Fists clenched, Seth turned on her as if she should be able to tell him.

Tucking her long, straight hair behind her ears, Justine sank into the rocker in which she’d once nursed their son. “I do, too,” she told him. She’d never seen Seth this restless. Her strikingly blond husband was of Swedish extraction, a big man, nearly six-six, with broad shoulders to match. He’d been a commercial fisherman until soon after their marriage. That was when they’d decided to open the restaurant. The Lighthouse had been Seth’s dream, and with financial assistance from his parents, he’d invested everything—his skill, his emotions, their finances-in this venture. Justine had been at his side every step of the way.

In the beginning, while Leif was an infant, she’d kept the books and handled the payroll. When their son grew old enough for preschool, she’d assumed a more active role, working as hostess and filling in where needed.

“Who would do this?” he demanded again.

The answer eluded her just as it did him. Why anyone would want to hurt them was beyond her comprehension. They had no enemies that she knew of and no serious rivals. It was hard to believe they’d been the target of a random firebug, but maybe that was the case. So far, there’d been little real progress in tracking down the arsonist.

“Seth,” she whispered gently, stretching her hand toward him. “You can’t go on like this.”

He didn’t respond, and Justine realized he hadn’t heard her. She longed to ease his mind, to reassure him. Her fear was that the fire had destroyed more than the restaurant. It had stolen Seth’s peace of mind, his purpose and, in some ways, his innocence. He’d lost faith in the goodness of others and confidence in his own abilities.

Justine’s innocence had been devastated one bright summer afternoon in 1986, when her twin brother, Jordan, had drowned. Justine had held his lifeless body in her arms until the paramedics arrived. She’d been in shock, unable to grasp that her brother, her twin, was gone. He’d broken his neck after a careless dive off a floating dock.

Her entire world had forever changed that day. Her parents divorced shortly afterward and her father had quickly remarried. To all outward appearances, Justine had adjusted to the upheaval in her life. She’d graduated from high school, finished college and found employment at First National Bank, then risen to branch manager. Although she’d had no intention of ever marrying, she’d been dating Warren Saget, a local builder who was the same age as her mother. Then she’d met Seth Gunderson at their ten-year high-school reunion.

Seth had been her brother’s best friend. She’d always felt that if Seth had been with Jordan that day, her brother might still be alive, and her own life would’ve been different—although she wasn’t sure exactly how. It was ridiculous to entertain such thoughts; she recognized that on a conscious level. And yet…it was what she believed.

All through high school she’d barely spoken to Seth. He was the football hero, the class jock. She was the class brain. And never the twain had met until that night nearly six years ago, when she’d run into him at the reunion planning meeting. Seth had casually mentioned that he’d had a crush on her during their high-school days. The look in his eyes told her he’d found her beautiful then and even more so now.

They hadn’t experienced an easy courtship. Warren Saget hadn’t wanted to lose her and made a concerted effort to pressure her into marrying him. He’d instinctively understood that Seth was a major threat. Warren bought Justine the largest diamond she’d ever seen, promising a life of luxury and social prominence if she agreed to be his wife.

All Seth had to offer Justine was a twenty-year-old live-aboard sailboat—and his love. By that time, she was so head-over-heels crazy about him that she could scarcely breathe. Still, she struggled, unwilling to listen to her own heart. Then, one day, she couldn’t resist him anymore…

“I’m calling the fire marshal this morning,” Seth muttered, breaking into her thoughts. “I want answers.”

“Seth,” she tried again. “Honey, why—”

“Don’t honey me,” he snapped.

Justine flinched at the rage in his voice.

“It’s been a full week. They should have some information by now, only they’re not telling us. There’s something they don’t want me to know and I’m going to find out what. If I have to bring Roy McAfee in, I will!” He looked directly at her then, probably for the first time since she’d entered the room.

“Seth, I like and trust Roy,” she said, referring to the town’s only private investigator, “but the fire department’s already investigating. So is the insurance company. Let them do their jobs,” Justine said in a soft voice. “Let the sheriff do his.”

Splaying his fingers though his hair, he released a slow breath. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to take my frustration out on you.”

“I know.” Justine got up and walked into his arms, pressing her body against his, urging him to relax. “Come back to bed and try to sleep,” she said.

He shook his head. “I can’t. Every time I close my eyes, all I can see is The Lighthouse going up in smoke.”

Seth had arrived a few minutes after the fire trucks and stood by helplessly as the restaurant, engulfed in flames, had quickly become a lost cause.

“I can’t believe it was Anson Butler,” Justine said, thinking out loud. She’d liked the boy and had trusted him—which, according to her friends and neighbors, had been a mistake.

“You don’t want to believe it’s him,” her husband returned, the anger back in the clipped harshness of his words.

That was true. Seth had hired Anson several months earlier. The teenager was paying off court expenses because of a fire he’d set in the city park. He’d had no explanation for why he’d burned down the toolshed. All Justine really knew were the few details Seth had divulged at the time he’d taken the boy on.

To his credit, Anson had turned himself in to the authorities and accepted full responsibility for his actions. That had impressed her husband, and on the recommendation of their accountant and friend, Zachary Cox, who’d become something of a mentor to the boy, Seth had agreed to give Anson a job.

At first the teenager had made an effort to prove his worth. He’d shown up early for his shifts and put in extra hours, eager to please his employer. Then within a few weeks, everything had fallen apart. Tony, another dishwasher, had taken a dislike to Anson and the two had exchanged words. From what she understood, they’d also gotten into a shoving match once or twice. As a result of their animosity, the tension in the kitchen had increased. Seth had talked it over with Justine and she’d suggested they separate the two boys. Seth decided to make Anson a prep cook. Tony didn’t like the idea of Anson getting a promotion, while he’d been on staff longer and remained a dishwasher.

Then money had gone missing from the office and, although others had access to the money box, both Tony and Anson had been seen entering the room. When questioned, Anson claimed he’d been looking for Seth because a supplier had a problem. Tony insisted he needed to talk to Seth about his schedule. Both boys were suspects, so Seth felt he had no choice but to lay them both off. The money was never recovered. Seth blamed himself because he’d left the safe open, lockbox inside, while he was briefly out of the office.

A week later, The Lighthouse had burned to the ground.

“We don’t have any proof it was Anson,” Justine reminded her husband.

“We’ll get proof. Whether he’s the culprit or somebody else is. We’ll find whoever did this.” Seth’s hard mouth was set with determination and his body tensed.

“Try to sleep,” she urged again. Despite his reluctance, she led him back to their bedroom.

Together they slipped under the sheets and she moved her body close to his. Seth lay on his back, eyes open, as she slid her leg over his and draped her arm across his powerful chest. He held her tight, as if she were the only solid thing left in a world that had started to crumble. Kissing his neck, Justine purred in his ear, hoping that if they made love, the restlessness in him would ease and he’d be able to relax. But Seth shook his head, rejecting her subtle offer. She swallowed down the hurt and tried not to take it personally. All of this would be over soon, she told herself; soon everything would be back to normal. Justine had to believe it. Without that hope, despair would encroach, which was something she had to avoid at any cost. She fought to maintain a positive outlook, for her husband’s sake and for the sake of her marriage.

When Justine woke again, it was morning and Leif was climbing onto her bed, wanting breakfast. Penny, their cocker spaniel-poodle mix, followed him, eyeing the bed.

“Where’s Daddy?” she asked, sitting upright, rubbing her hand tiredly over her face.

Her son dragged his teddy bear onto the bed, blue eyes soulful. “In his office.”

That wasn’t a good sign.

“It’s time we got you ready for school,” Justine said briskly, glancing at the clock. Quarter to eight already. Leif’s preschool class was held every morning, and even though their own schedules had fallen apart, Justine and Seth had done their best to keep Leif’s timetable consistent.

“Daddy’s mad again,” the four-year-old whispered.

Justine sighed. This was almost a daily occurrence, and she worried about the effect of so much tension on their son, who couldn’t possibly understand why Daddy was mad or Mommy sometimes cried.

“Did he growl at you?” Justine asked, then roared like a grizzly bear, shaping her hands into make-believe claws. With Penny barking cheerfully, she crawled across the mattress after her son, distracting him from worries about his father.

Leif shrieked and scrambled off the bed, racing for his bedroom. Justine followed and laughingly cornered the boy. Leif’s eyes flashed with delight as she set out his clothes. He insisted on getting dressed on his own these days, so she let him.

After saying a perfunctory goodbye to her husband, Justine delivered Leif to preschool. When she pulled back into the driveway, Seth came out the door to greet her. The April sky was overcast, and rain was imminent. The weather was a perfect reflection of their mood, Justine thought. A sunny day would’ve seemed incongruous when they both felt so fearful and angry.

“I talked to the fire marshal,” her husband announced as she got out of her car.

“Did he have any news?”

Seth’s frown darkened. “Nothing he was willing to tell me. The insurance adjuster’s taking his own sweet time, too.”

“Seth, these things require patience.” She needed answers as much as he did, but she certainly didn’t want the fire marshal to rush the investigation.

“Don’t you start on me,” he flared. “We’re losing ground every day. How are we supposed to live without the restaurant?”

“The insurance—”

“I know about the insurance money,” he said, cutting her off. “But we won’t get anything for at least a month. And it isn’t going to keep our employees from seeking other jobs. It isn’t going to pay back my parents’ investment. They put their trust in me.”

Seth’s parents had invested a significant amount of the start-up money; Seth and Justine paid them monthly and she knew Mr. and Mrs. Gunderson relied on that income.

Justine didn’t have any solutions for him. She recognized that he was distressed about more than the financial implications of the fire, but she had no quick or ready answers. “What would you like me to do?” she asked. “Tell me and I’ll do it.”

He glared at her in a way she’d never seen before. “What I’d like,” he muttered, “is for you to stop acting as if this is a temporary inconvenience. The Lighthouse is gone. We’ve lost everything, and you’re acting like it’s no big deal.” Justine recoiled at the unfairness of his words. He made it sound as if she was some kind of Pollyanna who wasn’t fully aware of their situation. “Don’t you realize the last five years are in ashes?” he railed. “Five years of working sixteen-hour days and for what?”

“But we haven’t lost everything,” she countered, hoping to inject some reason into his tirade. She didn’t mean to be argumentative; she simply wanted him to see that although this was a dreadful time, they still had each other. They had their child and their house. Together they’d find the strength to start over—if only Seth could let go of this anger.

“You’re doing it again.” He shook his head in barely controlled frustration.

“You want me to be as angry as you are,” she said.

“Yes!” he shouted. “You should be angry. You should want answers just like I do. You should—”

“More than anything,” she cried, her own control snapping, “I want my husband back. I’m as sick as you are about everything that’s happened. We’ve lost our business, and to me that’s horrible, it’s tragic, but it isn’t the end of my world.”

Her husband stared at her, incredulous. “How can you say that?”

“Maybe you’re trying to lose your wife and son, too,” she yelled, and before she could change her mind, she slipped back inside the car, slamming the door. Seth didn’t try to stop her and that was fine with Justine. She needed to get away from him, too.

Without waiting for his reaction, she backed out of the driveway.

With no real destination, Justine drove into town, a few blocks from where Leif attended preschool classes. Her son would be in school for another two hours, and she had nothing urgent to do, no one to see, so she walked down to the marina.

Struggling to find meaning in the disaster that was battering her marriage, she sat down on a wooden bench in Waterfront Park and gazed out at the cove. The sky was even darker now, and the water crashed against the rocks near the shore. She needed to think. Everything would be all right when she got home, she told herself. Seth would be sorry for what he’d said, and she—

“Justine, is that you?”

She glanced up to see Warren Saget coming toward her. She offered him a weak smile. She didn’t welcome his company—didn’t want to see anyone right now, but especially Warren, who’d let it be known that he still had feelings for her. When she’d declined his proposal, he hadn’t taken it with good grace, and she tended to avoid him.

Without waiting for an invitation, he sat down beside her. “I was sorry to read about the fire.”

The Cedar Cove Chronicle had published a front-page spread about the arson, and everyone in town had been talking about it all week.

“It was…a shock,” she mumbled, suddenly cold.

“You’re going to rebuild, of course?”

She nodded. She couldn’t imagine Seth not wanting to rebuild. Within a few months, all of this would be behind them, she told herself again. Everything would be all right. There was simply no other option.

A chill raced up and down her arms as she remembered that this was exactly what she’d believed the day they’d buried Jordan. It was over, she’d thought then. All the relatives would go home and school would start and everything would go on the same as before. Only it hadn’t. How naive she’d been, a thirteen-year-old girl who’d trusted her parents to maintain the steady course of her life. They hadn’t; they couldn’t. Their own suffering had made them unable to cope with hers, destroying their marriage and tearing their family apart. Far from being over, the grief had barely begun.

“Warren,” she said, panic rising inside her all at once. She reached for his hand, gripping it hard. She was hyperventilating; she couldn’t get her breath. She heard herself gasping for air. The world began to spin.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, and his voice seemed to come from a long way off. “Are you ill?”

“I…don’t know,” she said on a choked whisper, the panic settling in. Suddenly she felt an overwhelming need to find her mother.

“What should I do?” he asked, placing his arm protectively around her shoulders. “Should I take you to the clinic? Call for an Aid Car?”

She shook her head, feeling small and lost and childlike. “I…I want my mother.”

Warren didn’t hesitate. He leaped to his feet. “I’ll get her.”

“No.” She tried not to sob. She was an adult. She should be more capable of dealing with the events in her own life. Looking at Warren, she forced herself to take deep, even breaths. She forced her heart to stop racing.

“I think you’re having a panic attack,” Warren said, brushing damp hair from her temple. “My poor Justine. Where’s Seth?”

“H-home.” She couldn’t, wouldn’t tell him anything more.

“Should I phone him?”

“No! I—I’m fine now,” she said shakily.

Warren slipped his arm around her and held her head against his shoulder. “Don’t worry about a thing,” he whispered soothingly. “I’ll take care of you.”

Two

Clutching her textbooks, Allison Cox rushed from her first-period American History to her French class. She slid into her desk and ignored the whispers that ceased abruptly as soon as she entered the room.

No one needed to tell her the topic of conversation. She knew. Everyone was whispering about Anson. Her friends assumed he was the one who’d burned down The Lighthouse. He wasn’t! She refused to believe he was in any way responsible for the fire. Anson wouldn’t do anything so underhanded to the Gundersons. Not only had they been good to him, he wasn’t that kind of person. He wasn’t cruel or vindictive. Allison didn’t care what anyone thought or said—she wouldn’t lose faith in Anson or the love they shared.

Turning, she glared over her shoulder at Kaci and Emily. According to her so-called friends, she was walking hand in hand with denial. Fine, they could think whatever they wanted; it had nothing to do with her. They could condemn Anson, but she wouldn’t.

The class bell rang, and she slowly turned around, ignoring the flow of gossip. Yes, Anson had disappeared right after the fire. Yes, he’d burned down the shed in the park. But she just couldn’t accept that he’d had anything to do with what had happened at The Lighthouse.

She’d convinced herself that Anson would return to Cedar Cove soon. With all her heart, she believed he’d be back by graduation. She clung to that hope, focused on the date—June fourth—and refused to doubt him.

The afternoon dragged by. Every day had since she’d seen him the night of the fire. After her last class she couldn’t get away fast enough. She hurried off the school grounds to her part-time job at her dad’s accounting firm. As she walked to the building owned by her father and his partners, she reviewed the facts as she remembered them. She did this often; she went over and over every detail she could recall. Logically, she understood why someone who didn’t know Anson might conclude that he was an arsonist. Okay, so he’d made that one mistake last fall, with the park shed. But he’d owned up to it, taken his punishment and moved on.

It’d been a week since she’d seen him—the longest week of her life. She remembered how he’d come to her that night. She’d been asleep and he’d tapped against her bedroom window, waking her. It wasn’t the first time he’d appeared in the middle of the night, only now he wouldn’t come inside. He’d explained that the only reason he was there was to tell her goodbye.

She’d argued with him, but he’d been adamant, insisting he had to leave. So many questions remained unanswered, including the issue of the missing money. Anson swore he knew nothing about that and she believed him. Mr. Gunderson was wrong to blame Anson for a crime he didn’t commit.

Worse, according to the terms of his plea agreement, the agreement Anson had made with the court after the first arson, he’d pledged to stay in school and make restitution.

But Anson hadn’t been in school the week before the fire, and Allison had been worried sick, wondering where he was and what he was doing. No one seemed to have any idea, and no one seemed to care, either. Not even his mother.

Anson had said he was leaving and wouldn’t tell her where he was going or when he’d be back. He’d kissed her goodbye and although she’d pleaded with him to stay, to talk things out, he’d disappeared into the night.

The next morning, on one of the worst days of her life, Allison’s mother, Rosie, woke her and said Sheriff Troy Davis needed to ask her a few questions. That was when she’d learned about The Lighthouse. As best she could, Allison answered the sheriff’s questions—except she didn’t tell him everything.

She couldn’t.

Not even her parents knew the full truth.

She dared not tell her dad for fear he’d lose his trust in Anson—and in her.

Allison was grateful for this job at her father’s office. Even though it was only part-time, it distracted her from her troubles for at least a few hours a day.

Her father had tried to help Anson. Allison appreciated the way he’d stepped in and stood at Anson’s side after that fire in the park. Her father had been the only one, too. Anson’s own mother had turned her back on him; Cherry Butler had as much as said that her son deserved whatever he got. Nor did she seem terribly concerned that Anson had now disappeared. According to Cherry, he’d come back when he was ready, and until then, she wasn’t wasting any time worrying about him. Allison was horrified by his mother’s attitude.

If Allison had run away, she knew her parents would never stop looking for her. And they wouldn’t ever give up on her, like Anson’s mother had on him.

But then, that was what Anson had said the night he left—that Allison was lucky. She had parents who loved her and cared about her. Anson claimed no one gave a damn about him. He was wrong. Allison cared. Her parents, too, were concerned about him, although of course their primary goal was to protect Allison.

Some kids were born lucky, Anson had told her, and she was one of them. He wasn’t. He insisted that he had to make his own luck.

As she opened the front door of Smith, Cox and Jefferson, Allison noticed that the reception area was full of clients who’d waited until the last minute to file their taxes. With only four days to go until April fifteenth, she sensed the uneasiness in the room. It was like this every year.

Mary Lou, the receptionist, returned Allison’s smile. “There’s someone to see you in the kitchen,” she said.

For a fleeting moment Allison thought it might be Anson. It couldn’t be, though. The minute he showed up, the sheriff’s office would become involved. Her father would be duty-bound to call them. Because Sheriff Davis suspected Anson would try to contact her at some point, her parents had discussed the possibility and the action they’d have to take. The matter was out of her hands and her father’s, too. Allison had no choice but to accept that.

“Who is it?” she asked.

Another smile appeared on the receptionist’s face. “You’ll just have to check it out for yourself.”

Allison was puzzled, since it wasn’t like Mary Lou to be so mysterious.

The kitchen, located behind the office, wasn’t a real kitchen—more of a lunchroom, with a microwave and a small refrigerator, plus a table and four chairs. Most days, Allison stuck her schoolbooks and purse in a cupboard there. As she walked into the room, she saw a baby carrier—complete with baby-resting on the table.

“Cecilia!” she cried, delighted beyond words. Her father’s assistant had been a good friend to Allison, a better friend than either of her parents would ever know.

Three years earlier, Zach and Rosie Cox had divorced. It had been a terrible time for their family, especially Allison. She’d rebelled, hanging out with the wrong crowd. Her grades had slipped drastically and she’d stopped caring about much of anything.

When her father offered her a part-time job, she wasn’t fooled. She’d been well aware that the only reason he was willing to hire her was to keep an eye on her after school. She’d taken the job, but she’d gone into it with a bad attitude.

Then she discovered she wouldn’t be working for her dad. He’d assigned her to assist Cecilia Randall, and the young navy wife had helped Allison understand her own behavior—what she was doing and why. Cecilia’s parents had divorced when she was ten and she understood the pain Allison was feeling. Cecilia had guided her out of the self-destructive rut into which she’d stumbled.

As soon as Cecilia saw Allison now, she opened her arms wide for a hug. “I decided Aaron could do with a day out in the sunshine,” her friend said, wrapping her arms around Allison and pulling her close. The baby was only three weeks old, so Cecilia hadn’t been out of the office long. It felt like an eternity, though, because so much had happened.

Clasping Allison’s shoulders, Cecilia leaned back and studied her. “You look…”

“Dreadful,” Allison muttered. With everyone else, including her parents, she could pretend, but not with Cecilia. She wasn’t sleeping nights, and she’d grown so weary of carrying this burden of worry and fear.

“Anson,” Cecilia whispered.

Allison nodded.

The baby began to cry, demanding attention. He was loosely covered with the blanket Allison had knit. At first glance she thought Aaron resembled Cecilia’s husband, Ian, but as she studied the baby, Allison saw plenty of his mother in him, too.

“Oh, Cecilia, he’s adorable,” she whispered, giving Aaron her finger to hold. The infant immediately clutched it with one tiny hand, and she was surprised by the strength of his grip.

“He’s already spoiled,” Cecilia said, smiling fondly down on her son. “It’s bad enough that I’m at his beck and call, but you should see Ian. You’d think the sun rose and set on this baby.”

Because Cecilia and Ian’s first baby had died shortly after her birth, Allison knew how precious this child was to her friend. Aaron started to fuss again, more loudly this time. Cecilia lifted him out of the carrier and sat down at the table. “I think I’d better nurse him for a few minutes,” she said, draping the blanket over her shoulder while she unfastened her blouse and expertly arranged her son.

“Sit,” she ordered Allison, gesturing with her head at the chair beside her.

Allison willingly complied. “I’ve wanted to talk to you so badly,” she said. Thankfully, no one had come in search of her. Busy though the staff was, they seemed to know that Allison needed this time with Cecilia, just the two of them.

“You can call me whenever you need to,” Cecilia assured her. “I worried about you when I didn’t hear anything.”

“I couldn’t—”

“I know,” Cecilia said as she nursed her infant son. Her gaze was focused on Aaron. With her free hand, she stroked the wisps of hair at his temple.

“Do you remember that when we first met, I was going out with Ryan Wilson?”

“The kid with the paper-clip earring?” Cecilia asked, grinning down at her son as if to suggest she dreaded the day he’d become a teenager. “I believe your father might’ve have mentioned him.”

Allison felt embarrassed now to recall how foolish she’d been. Ryan was trouble, and getting involved with him had been a blatant attempt to pay her parents back for their selfishness—what she saw now as their temporary insanity. Soon after that, her parents had reconciled, and before the summer was out they’d remarried.

“Anson isn’t anything like Ryan.” She shook her head. “People might think he is, but Anson’s a much better person. He’s smart and loyal and kind. Ryan isn’t any of those things. He isn’t even in school anymore. I have no idea where he is.” But she had no idea where Anson was, either…

“I know that,” Cecilia said calmly, “and the reason I do is your father. He would never have gone out of his way to help if he thought Anson would hurt you.”

“He has hurt me,” Allison protested, clenching her fists. “I don’t understand why he ran away.” She wondered if Anson considered what a terrible position he’d put her in. She realized that he didn’t have the luxury of thinking about anyone but himself. He had to escape, had to run. However, he’d left Allison to face his detractors, alone, and she was afraid.

“Sometimes people don’t know how to deal with pain,” Cecilia said, her gaze still on her baby. “The only way they can react is by running.”

“That only makes things worse,” Allison said.

“You’re wise to recognize that,” Cecilia told her. “But unfortunately, Anson hasn’t figured it out. My guess is he’s hurt and confused, and taking off was kind of a knee-jerk reaction to pain.”

“Where would he go?” As far as she knew, Anson didn’t have any family. His mother was a sorry excuse for a parent, and he’d never known his father. Not once had Anson mentioned grandparents or uncles or aunts. She’d racked her brain, trying to work out where he could possibly find a hiding place. She hoped he was safe and had enough to eat.

“Mom and Dad said the minute he contacts me I need to call Sheriff Davis.”

“And they’re right.”

Allison agreed, although she didn’t like it. “Anson is what the sheriff called a person of interest.” She was interested, too, darn it. She had questions of her own.

As soon as Aaron was finished, Cecilia buttoned her blouse and placed the baby over her shoulder, rubbing his back. “Everything’s going to work out, Allison. If Anson is innocent—”

“He is,” she said vehemently.

Cecilia raised her head abruptly, staring at Allison. Her dark eyes seemed to burn straight through her. “There’s something you’re not telling me, isn’t there?”

Allison swallowed convulsively.

“I can see from the look in your eyes.” Cecilia paused, waiting. “Allison? Have you heard from him?”

“No.”

“Allison?” she asked again, her voice calm. “You’d better tell me.”

“I…I’m not sure…”

“Why are you afraid?”

Lowering her head, Allison bit her lip. “No one else knows,” she murmured. Last week, when the sheriff had come to speak to her, she’d answered all his questions—to the letter. But he hadn’t asked about this particular thing, and Allison hadn’t volunteered the information.

“You can trust me,” Cecilia added. “You know I want only the best for you.”

Allison nodded. “You won’t tell anyone?” She tried to keep the pleading out of her voice.

“If you ask me not to say anything, I won’t.”

“Not to anyone,” she insisted.

“I promise.”

“Okay.” Allison took a deep breath. “If I tell you…you might think—you might believe Anson set the fire.”

“You’re not withholding evidence, are you?” Cecilia asked urgently. “Because that would change everything.”

“No! I couldn’t do that.”

Cecilia sighed with relief. “Good, because that would make you an accessory.”

Sheriff Davis and her parents had already explained this. “I answered all his questions truthfully,” she said.

Cecilia frowned. “This was a sin of omission, then?”

Allison slowly released her breath. “That night…when Anson knocked on my bedroom window.”

She glanced up and Cecilia nodded, encouraging her to continue.

“We talked, and…and then he came into my room.” Her mother had been really upset when Allison admitted that; she could only imagine what Rosie would say if she knew the rest.

“Yes?”

Allison hesitated again. “He…he was in my room for a few minutes and then he left and when he did—” She nearly choked on her words.

Cecilia leaned closer.

Allison could hardly make herself say it. “I…I could smell smoke.” Her throat was painfully dry. “Not at first, I didn’t, because all I could concentrate on was not letting him leave. I noticed a smell but I didn’t think about it. Later I did, and when I realized what it was, I cried myself to sleep.”

“Anson smelled of smoke?” Cecilia whispered the question.

“Like that other time,” Allison said shakily. “As if…as if he’d been standing close to a bonfire.”

Cecilia’s shoulders sagged and she closed her eyes.

It was just as Allison had feared. Now even Cecilia believed Anson had burned down The Lighthouse.

Three

Arching her back, Maryellen Bowman shifted positions on the sofa, her temporary bed. The family living room had become her prison as the pregnancy moved into its final trimester. Jon was gone for the afternoon with Katie, their three-year-old daughter, so the house was quiet, peaceful. Maryellen knew she should try to rest. The problem was, she couldn’t.

Worries assailed her from all sides. She worried about her unborn baby and this difficult pregnancy. She worried about the pressures her husband was under as he struggled to support their family now that The Lighthouse, where he’d once worked as chef, was gone. She worried about his photographic career, her marriage and all the mistakes she’d made. The worst one had come from the best intentions. Maryellen had tried so hard to heal the rift between Jon and his parents, and it had nearly destroyed her relationship with her husband.

She found it impossible to rest, and yet that was what the doctor had ordered—bed rest for the remainder of this pregnancy. She was forbidden to climb stairs or exert herself in any way.

Yet how could she lie around when so much needed to be done? Leaning against the sofa, she closed her eyes and fought back depression. It’d never been like this when she carried Katie. That pregnancy had been normal in every respect.

Then she’d miscarried their second child. The emotional costs of this third pregnancy had yet to be calculated. Still, they both desperately wanted their child. All Maryellen could do was follow her doctor’s instructions, try not to worry and pray that the baby would be born healthy and whole.

Because she was bedridden, everyone had pitched in. Her mother, especially, helped as much as she could, coming by twice a week with dinner and looking after Katie as often as her own busy life would allow. This gave both Jon and Maryellen a much-needed break. She hated to intrude on her mother, since Grace and Cliff were newly married and just now setting up house together. Grace had her own adjustments to make without taking on Maryellen’s problems.

The phone rang and Maryellen grabbed it, eager for any distraction.

“Hello,” she said, hoping her voice disguised the self-pity she’d fallen into.

“It’s Ellen Bowman. Is everything all right?”

Her mother-in-law’s sympathy nearly overwhelmed her, bringing her close to tears. Maryellen felt dreadful, about as low as she’d been in her entire life, other than during her brief first marriage. “I’m okay,” she managed to tell her.

“And Jon?” Ellen asked hesitantly.

“He’s…” Maryellen was willing to stretch the truth about her own state of mind and health, but she couldn’t lie about her husband’s. “Not well, Ellen. He’s not doing well at all.”

Her mother-in-law grew quiet. “Joseph and I thought that might be the case. I know Jon’s angry. He’s made it abundantly clear that he doesn’t want anything to do with either of us. His attitude’s killing his father. But I know you’ve tried to talk to him, and we both appreciate your efforts more than we can say.”

Maryellen had paid a high price for interfering between Jon and his parents and she dared not do it again. She and Jon had actually separated for a time, just before the miscarriage, because of her attempts to effect a reconciliation. Afterward, they’d sidestepped the whole issue. But earlier in the month, soon after she’d begun her regimen of bed rest, Jon had conceded that they didn’t have any choice other than to ask his family for help.

Yet he hadn’t made the phone call, hadn’t contacted them in any way, at least not that Maryellen knew about. Instead, they struggled from day to day until she feared their lives were about to implode. Neither Jon nor Maryellen could continue living with this constant, unrelenting stress.

“Jon was going to phone you,” Maryellen said. “He told me.”

“He was?” Hope elevated Ellen’s voice.

“He hasn’t, because, well, because he’s afraid, I think, and proud. Too proud.”

Ellen laughed softly. “He’s like his father in that regard.”

Maryellen smiled and tried to relax. This nervous tension was bad for the baby, bad for her, bad all around. At her last appointment, Dr. DeGroot had emphasized the importance of staying calm. When he’d said she should try to keep her life stress-free, she’d nearly laughed out loud.

“Joseph and I ordered the Cedar Cove Chronicle mailed to us here in Oregon,” Ellen said, “and we read about the fire at The Lighthouse. We know Jon went back to work there.”

“Yes, it’s terrible news.” Without his job as chef, Jon was left with only his photography earnings to support the family. His work was displayed in a Seattle gallery and sold well, but the money he made wasn’t nearly enough to cover their living expenses, particularly now that Maryellen no longer had medical insurance.

“Jon’s not working anywhere else, then?”

“His photographs are selling nicely,” Maryellen felt obliged to tell her. “He’s so talented.” It was through his art that Maryellen had first come to know Jon Bowman. He’d brought his photographs for display at the Harbor Street Gallery, where she was employed as manager. They were among the most popular in the gallery.

Unlike some of the other artists, Jon preferred to keep a low profile. It wasn’t until after Katie was born that she’d learned this man she loved had spent time in prison. In order to save their younger son, his parents had lied and Jon had been sentenced for a crime he’d never committed.

“Joseph and I want to help,” Ellen insisted. “What can we do?”

“I’m not sure…” She didn’t feel comfortable stating the obvious—that she needed someone here, in the house, looking after Katie, preparing meals, cleaning.

“There’s something wrong,” Ellen said sharply. “What is it?”

“I’m—I’m having problems with the pregnancy,” she admitted. “I’m on complete bed rest.” The baby gave her a hard kick as if to remind her.

“What about Katie? You can’t possibly be taking care of her if you’re confined to bed.”

“I’m not. I can’t. She’s with her father,” Maryellen said. Jon was doing his best to sell his work and take care of their child, run the household, and everything else.

“But how can he do that?” Ellen asked, clearly concerned.

“He can’t.” Maryellen was unwilling to explain further.

“We’re coming,” Ellen announced. “You both need us.”

Maryellen sighed, feeling a surge of relief and simultaneous anxiety about Jon’s reaction. “I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You didn’t,” Ellen said. “Our son will just have to swallow his silly pride. His family’s at stake here. As far as I’m concerned, this is God’s way of bringing us all back together. Jon can’t very well ignore us now. He’s our son, and Katie and this new baby are our grandchildren.” Ellen sounded like a force to be reckoned with.

“Let me talk to him first,” Maryellen urged.

“You do that if you want, but it doesn’t make the least bit of difference what he says. Joseph and I are coming to Cedar Cove, and that’s that. Leave everything to me, Maryellen,” she insisted in a determined voice. “I’ll be in touch.”

They ended the conversation and afterward Maryellen did feel better. She didn’t know what she’d say to Jon. Maybe she wouldn’t broach the subject, after all. Maybe she would leave everything to Ellen and Joseph. She was so weary of fighting him on this. He’d relented once and agreed to ask his family for help and then done nothing. She couldn’t face that battle again.

Just as she was beginning to think it was time for Jon and Katie to return home, she heard a car pull into the yard. Trying to look rested and relaxed, she attempted a smile, waiting for her husband and daughter to walk into the house.

Instead the doorbell rang.

Visitors? In the middle of the day?

Before Maryellen could move, the door opened and Rachel Pendergast and Teri Miller entered, letting in warm spring air and sunshine and laughter. They worked at Get Nailed, the salon where Maryellen had her hair and nails done. Or used to…

“Rachel? Teri?” Maryellen couldn’t have been more surprised—and delighted. “What are you doing here?”

“We are on a mission of mercy,” Rachel declared. She set a white take-out bag on the coffee table in front of Maryellen, then reached for her hand. Shaking her head, Rachel gave a disparaging sigh. “Just look at those nails,” she muttered.

“And I was thinking you could do with a haircut,” Teri said cheerfully. “And since we were coming, we decided to bring lunch for all of us.”

Maryellen felt like laughing and crying at the same time. “How did you know I’ve been longing for some TLC?” she whispered, endeavoring not to weep.

“A little birdie told us,” Rachel said, grinning. She walked into the kitchen and collected three plates.

“This place is beautiful,” Teri said. Hands on her ample hips, she glanced around. “Rachel said Jon did most of the work himself. Mighty talented husband you’ve got there, my friend.”

Maryellen had to agree. She liked both women immensely; Rachel had done her nails for years, while Teri had only recently started cutting Maryellen’s hair. Teri had a flair for the outrageous and was genuinely entertaining. More than that, she was a kind-hearted and compassionate person—as her visit today proved.

Over the years, Maryellen had gotten to know them both pretty well, and at one time had tried to set Teri up with Jon. Now she was astonished that she’d ever thought of such a thing. Teri and Jon were completely unsuited, but Maryellen hadn’t even considered that. She’d been fighting her own attraction to him and had managed to convince herself that if he turned his attention elsewhere, he’d forget about her and vice versa. However, Jon was interested only in her.

“We brought you teriyaki chicken with rice and veggies,” Rachel said as she pulled containers from the white sack.

Maryellen’s appetite had been almost nonexistent for weeks. Jon had to coax her to eat at every meal. But all at once she was ravenous.

“That sounds fabulous.”

“Good.” Rachel handed her a filled plate and a pair of chopsticks.

Maryellen sat cross-legged on the sofa while her two friends arranged ottomans on the other side of the coffee table. The three of them dug into their lunch as Teri explained that it was from a new take-out place on the outskirts of Cedar Cove. They all proclaimed the food to be delicious and worth getting again. Teri had been considerate enough to leave a menu with Maryellen. “For when you guys just want to order in.”

“I think I should cut your hair short,” Teri said next. “Really short. You’ve got better things to do than fuss with your hair.”

Maryellen smiled. It was all she could do to get it combed every day. “Jon won’t like that.”

“Hey, he isn’t the one who has to wash it and brush it,” Teri said. “He’ll get used to it.”

Maryellen could imagine how he’d react. The last time she’d had more than a trim was soon after Katie’s birth. Until then, Maryellen had worn her dark hair long and straight, reaching the middle of her back, much as it did now. Jon had never actually said he didn’t like her new style, but she could sense that he’d been disappointed. He often told her how much he loved her long, glossy hair, how beautiful he found it.

“Okay, what do you mean by short?” Maryellen asked.

Teri’s dark eyes twinkled. “Wait and see.”

“I hope you realize I can’t afford this,” she felt obliged to remind her friends.

“That’s not your concern,” Rachel was quick to tell her. “It’s all been taken care of.”

“And,” Teri added, “included in the fee was a more-than-generous tip.”

“Who did this?” Maryellen asked, although she could guess.

“Your fairy godfather,” Rachel told her. “That’s all I’m going to say.”

“Cliff.” Just as Maryellen had thought. Her new stepfather, Cliff Harding, had arranged this.

“Like I said,” Rachel scolded, drawing two fingers across her mouth, “my lips are zipped.”

The next two hours were such a pleasure. Teri washed her hair in the sink, and while she cut, dried and styled it, Rachel worked on her nails. God bless Cliff for this—and so much else. Ever since her mother and Cliff had met, she’d been impressed by what a loving, thoughtful man he was.

“Tell me the latest gossip,” Maryellen said as the two women continued their beauty treatment.

“Well,” Teri said, sighing deeply, “the biggest news is that Nate Olsen’s back in town.”

Nate was the young warrant officer Rachel had been seeing. Her friend had an ambiguous relationship with a widower named Bruce Peyton, which had gone on for three—or was it four?—years. Then this navy man had entered her life. Maryellen wondered which one Rachel would eventually choose.

“Would you stop!” Rachel cried. “Nate and I are dating casually, that’s all.”

Maryellen doubted the “casual” part but didn’t comment.

“What about Bruce?” she asked, knowing how close Rachel was to Bruce’s daughter, Jolene.

“We’re just friends.” She brushed off the questions, sounding a bit impatient, but Maryellen suspected Rachel’s feelings for Bruce went deeper than she realized.

“You know what I don’t understand?” Teri said, expertly wielding her scissors. “Rachel has two men on the line and I haven’t hooked a single one.”

“You should’ve put in your bid at the bachelor auction,” Rachel teased, referring to the charity event at which she’d “bought” Nate.

“Those men were far too expensive for my pocketbook,” Teri muttered, still clipping. Long pieces of hair fell to the floor.

She bent to gather up Maryellen’s hair. “Want to donate this to make a wig for a cancer patient?” she asked.

“Sure!” Maryellen felt good about giving to someone in need—especially since she’d received so much herself. “That’s a wonderful idea.”

A few minutes later, Teri switched on the television to check the weekend weather. “Hey,” she said, stepping back from the screen as the local news broadcast concluded. “There’s a big chess championship coming to Seattle.”

“Do you like chess?” Maryellen asked.

Teri shrugged. “I don’t know much about it. It’s a lot like checkers, isn’t it?”

Rachel and Maryellen exchanged looks.

“Well, not really,” Rachel answered. “It’s a little more complicated.”

Soon after the two women finished, packed up their supplies and left, Jon and Katie got home. He seemed exhausted and Katie did, too. When Jon saw Maryellen, he did a double take.

“Do you like it?” she asked tentatively, putting her hand to her head. Then she went on to explain how this change in her appearance had come about—mentioning her satisfaction at donating her hair for a cancer wig.

Jon nodded. “That’s great,” he said. “And I love your new look. I’ve always liked your hair long but this is…nice. Nice,” he repeated. “It suits you and I can see that it’s much more practical.”

Maryellen was pleased at his response, which seemed exactly right to her. Katie crawled into her lap then and laid her head against Maryellen’s shoulder. Within minutes, the little girl was fast asleep. Maryellen settled Katie on the sofa beside her.

She didn’t ask Jon how his day had gone. His weary expression told her everything she needed to know. He’d spent the day doing errands—getting groceries, film, visiting the library.

“Sit with me awhile,” she urged, sitting upright.

“I’ve got stuff I have to do.”

She patted the empty space next to her. “Jon,” she whispered. “Please.”

He hesitated, and she knew he felt torn between the need to work while Katie napped and his desire to be with his wife. Her smile must have won him over because he sank down at her side and slipped one arm around her shoulders.

“I love you so much,” she said.

Jon kissed her forehead. “I love you, too.”

“In a few months, this will all be over.”

“It feels like it’s gone on forever,” he murmured.

“Getting through these last few weeks of the pregnancy…That’ll be the most difficult. Things will get worse before they get better.”

He released a deep, pent-up sigh. “We’ll be fine.”

“I think so, too.” She turned her head in order to meet his gaze. “Your stepmother phoned this afternoon,” she said, not bothering with a preamble.

Jon stiffened but said nothing. Then he asked. “Did she call or did you?”

“She phoned,” Maryellen assured him, refusing to take offense at the question. “They read about the fire at The Lighthouse because they get the Chronicle. She called to see if everything was all right with us.”

He didn’t respond for a long moment. “So they know I’m not working?” he finally asked. “At a job, I mean?”

“They know,” she said. “I told her about the problems with the pregnancy, too.”

He wasn’t happy about that, she could tell, but he didn’t say anything.

“I didn’t ask her to do it, I want you to understand that.”

“Do what?”

“Come here and help. Ellen insisted. She said these are her grandchildren and we need help.”

Still Jon refused to comment.

“Say something,” she said, fearing his reaction. On top of everything else, she couldn’t bear his anger. It would break her.

“They can’t stay here.”

She nodded.

“I don’t want them around the house when I’m here.” The arm that cradled her lay heavily on her shoulders.

“I’ll make sure they understand that.”

He sighed. “I don’t like this, but I’ll do it for you and Katie and for the baby.”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“It doesn’t change anything, Maryellen.”

“I know.” She pressed her head against him. A minute later, she felt him relax again.

“Love does that to a man, doesn’t it?”

“Hmm?” she murmured.

“Makes you do things you don’t want to for the people you love. Things you never thought you’d do.”

Maryellen knew what he was saying. Jon had vowed that he would not allow his family back in his life after what they’d done to him. Yet here he was, setting aside his deepest convictions because Ellen and Joseph were willing to help in this impossible situation. He’d agreed to let them into the fringes of his life for Maryellen’s sake and Katie’s. There might be no forgiveness in his heart, but he’d set aside his anger to serve his wife’s needs.

“Love makes us put other people first,” she said. “Isn’t that what you mean?” Isn’t that what love is?

Four

Justine could barely stand to look at the burned-out husk that had once been The Lighthouse. Most of the structure had collapsed and the charred remains were a blight against the vivid blue backdrop of the cove. Yellow crime-scene tape stretched across the parking lot. Even now, two weeks after the fire, the acrid smell of burned wood and smoke hung oppressively in the air.

Seth stood at her side and Robert Beckman, the insurance claims adjuster, was with them. He made notes on a clipboard as they surveyed the site together. Leif, thank goodness, was in preschool. As much as she could, Justine wanted to protect her son from all this.

Her panic attack the week before had shaken her. She hadn’t told Seth about meeting Warren. There seemed no reason to do so. Knowing she’d been anywhere close to the other man would only upset him, although her husband had nothing to worry about. Her love for Seth and their family was rocksolid. Warren had been kind to her, and for that she was grateful. He’d asked her to join him for lunch; she’d declined and hadn’t talked to him since.

“How much longer will the investigation take?” Seth asked, keeping pace with the adjuster.

Justine wrapped her hand around his arm in silent entreaty. Seth was still bitter and impatient, yearning to move forward after the fire and resentful of every delay. Already he was talking about rebuilding, eager to get their business and their lives back on track. More than eager, he’d become obsessive. Every drawback, every question, frustrated him. He couldn’t sleep and the stress had begun to affect his emotional health.

“I know it seems to be taking a long time,” Robert said in a soothing voice. “But—”

“It’s already been over two weeks,” Seth snapped. “What else is there to investigate?”

“You’ll have to forgive my husband, Mr. Beckman,” Justine said quietly. “As you can imagine, this fire has been very difficult for us.”

“I completely understand,” the older man assured her. “As I was saying, I know it seems like a long time, but I do promise you that we’re working as quickly and efficiently as we can.”

“I didn’t mean to snap.” Seth gave a helpless shrug. “It’s just that every day we’re not open for business we lose customers and staff.” Word had come that morning that their head waiter had taken a job in Tacoma. Dion wouldn’t be easily replaced. It was inevitable that the rest of their staff would find other employment, as well. No one could go without a paycheck for long.

“The company recognizes that, but we can’t do anything until the fire marshal gives us an opportunity to survey the damage thoroughly. And because this is a criminal investigation, it’s simply going to require more time.”

Justine knew that Seth had made numerous phone calls to the fire marshal in an effort to get the investigation moving.

“I’ve contacted an architect,” Seth explained, and Justine barely managed to conceal her shock. She’d had no idea. “We’ve been discussing design plans,” he went on, “and I’d like to set up a construction schedule. I can’t do that until the fire marshal releases the property.”

“Well…you may have to wait a while.”

“When can we rebuild?” Seth demanded.

Robert Beckman slowly shook his head. “Since the fire appears to have been arson, the company would like to bring in a ‘Cause and Origin’ investigator.” He paused. “This is in addition to what your local people are doing.”

“What will he do?” Justine wanted to know. “Your investigator, I mean.”

“His—or her—primary purpose is to confirm the preliminary finding of arson. Our investigators do that by looking at flame patterns to see where the fire started.”

“How could anyone tell anything from a heap of ashes?” Impatience rang in Seth’s voice.

“It’s astonishing the information they can derive from the site. They’re able to distinguish exactly where the fire originated. They can determine the accelerant. Sometimes there are other clues they can find by sifting through the debris. There are certainly cases in which their investigations have led to the apprehension and conviction of arsonists. I remember one instance in which—”

“That’s all well and good, but what should I tell the architect?” Seth broke in. He ran his fingers forcefully through his hair.

Justine was horrified that Seth had already spoken to an architect and wondered when he’d done this. He’d been gone a couple of afternoons but hadn’t mentioned where he was or with whom. Nor had Justine questioned him. The truth was, it had been a relief to have him out of the house. Seth found it impossible to remain in any one place. When he was home, he stalked from room to room, unable to work at anything or even read for more than a few minutes. Unable to relax.

“Your policy covers loss of income for a year,” Robert Beckman continued, flipping a page on his clipboard. “If construction time goes over that, we can request an extension.”

“So the sooner we get started, the better, don’t you agree?” Seth asked. “For the company and for us.”

Robert gave another of his soothing replies, and unwilling to listen to any more, Justine walked across the parking lot to stand at the farthest edge, which over-looked the cove. The wind carried a briny scent on this overcast day, shrouding the pungent smell of smoke.

The view of the cove always calmed her. She absorbed that peace now, needing it to settle her pounding heart. Seth had taken matters into his own hands; without so much as talking to her, he’d held discussions with an architect. When they’d first conceived the idea of The Lighthouse, Justine had been involved in every aspect of the planning. Now Seth had excluded her.

The fire and its aftermath were so much worse than she would ever have believed. Her husband had turned into a stranger, a man Justine neither knew nor liked. The temptation to escape, to pack a suitcase and disappear, grew stronger every day. Warren had offered her the use of a summer cottage on Hood Canal. It sounded so peaceful there. Leif would love to walk along the beach, exploring, wading in the water. She could picture him now, digging for clams with his small shovel, his laughter spilling out into the wind. Not once since Leif was born had they taken a family vacation. The Lighthouse had filled every waking minute. Only in the absence of the restaurant and its demands was she beginning to see how completely it had taken over their lives.

“Justine.” Seth placed his hand on her shoulder as he came up behind her. “Everything’s going to be all right, sweetheart,” he said, his voice conciliatory.

“I know.” The fire, the destruction of the restaurant, was no longer her main concern. What worried her was the effect it’d had on her husband.

“I realize I’ve been a little cranky lately.”

She smiled and pressed her hand on top of his. To say he’d been “a little cranky” was an understatement of major proportions.

“Everything will be all right,” he said again, “once we find out who did this to us.”

“Will it?” she asked, but apparently Seth didn’t hear her because he didn’t respond.

Justine tilted her head to one side so her cheek could rest against his hand. “You’re already talking about rebuilding,” she murmured.

“Of course. I want to get started as soon as possible. Don’t you?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know anymore.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” He laughed and seemed to assume she was joking. “We’re in the restaurant business. This is how we make our living. Unless we rebuild, we won’t have an income.”

“Yes, but…”

Her husband went still for a moment. “I can’t go back to fishing, Justine.”

Being a professional fisherman was a hard, dangerous life, and they’d agreed that Seth would give it up for good. His father had encouraged him in that decision.

“I wouldn’t want you to fish,” she said, turning so she could slip her arms around his middle. “I’m just not sure I want to be a restaurant owner anymore.”

Seth gripped her shoulders, his fingers digging into her flesh. “You don’t mean that. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I…I do,” she countered. “At least I think I do. We went into this business with absolutely no knowledge of what we were letting ourselves in for. We were totally naive about what owning a restaurant takes out of you.”

According to statistics, eight out of ten new businesses fail, and restaurants headed the list. The only reason theirs had been successful was the sheer force of their combined efforts—and a degree of luck.

“We made a few mistakes,” Seth said, then added with a wry grin, “okay, we made a lot of mistakes in the beginning, but we learned quickly and we’ve come a long way.”

“We hardly spend any time together, as a family.” This was the one thing that distressed Justine the most.

Seth didn’t agree or disagree with her.

“You were at the restaurant all hours of the day and night, and so was I.” She supposed that now wasn’t a particularly opportune moment to broach her concerns, not while Seth was still so upset.

“I had to be there. You know that.”

“I’m not blaming you for any of this,” Justine told him, gazing into his intensely blue eyes. He was frowning at her and in him she read confusion and pain.

“Are you suggesting I haven’t been a good husband?” he asked.

“No! That isn’t what I meant at all. I love you and you love me. I could never doubt that.” Then, reluctantly, she said, “I’m afraid, Seth.”

“Afraid? Afraid of what?”

“I’m not sure. I had a panic attack last week. I didn’t know what it was at first. I felt like I wasn’t getting enough air and that I was going to pass out.”

Concern darkened his eyes. “When? Why didn’t you mention this earlier?”

“How could I? You’ve been so angry, so restless. I didn’t want to add to your worries.”

He slid his arms around her, drawing her close. “I’m sorry, my love. So sorry.”

“I am, too. About everything.”

He lifted his head. “What do you have to apologize for?”

“Because I don’t think I can go back to the way things were before, with you gone so many hours. With me at the restaurant virtually every day. I don’t want our son spending every night with babysitters. I don’t want to go back to the constant worries over money and meeting payroll. It was always something, wasn’t it?” Once she started listing her concerns, she couldn’t seem to stop. “This was never our plan, remember? I was going to do the books and fill in occasionally, but occasionally became every day. Leif is being raised by strangers and you have less and less time for us.”

Seth frowned at her. “You never said any of this before.”

“That’s because I hardly ever saw you, and when I did, we were usually talking about the restaurant. We wanted to have a second child and kept putting it off.”

“But—”

“We’ve had practically no time to be a family. It doesn’t make sense to have a second baby.” She stared at him. “I know what you’re thinking.”

“I doubt that.”

“You’re thinking that you aren’t about to let all this hard work go to waste. That you didn’t slave away for the last five years to end up with nothing more than a pile of rubble.”

He looked startled, as though her observation had surprised him.

“We both need to decide what’s really important,” she said, nearly choking on her words. “Is working thirteen- and fourteen-hour days worth what it’s doing to us, to our son and to our marriage?”

“Yes,” he stated without question. “You’re exaggerating, Justine. It isn’t all bad.”

“I agree, but for me, the bad outweighs the good. I’m no longer sure the sacrifice is worth it. I love you so much,” she whispered, bringing her hands to his face, blinking back tears. “I want my husband back—the man I married. The man who proved to me I could love and be loved. I want to find what we once shared and I’m so afraid it might be too late.”

Seth crushed her to him then and held her tight. She felt him shudder, and he didn’t speak for a moment.

“I had no idea you felt this way,” he finally said.

“I didn’t know it myself until the fire,” she admitted.

“What do you want?”

“That’s a mystery to me, too,” she said with a shaky laugh. “I guess I want us both to think long and hard before we decide whether or not to rebuild The Lighthouse.”

She could tell from his sudden tension that he’d prefer not to reconsider but to go ahead with his plans to rebuild. Justine swallowed, wondering if anything she’d said had gotten through to him.

“I’m not making any promises,” Seth told her.

“But we can talk?” she asked.

“All right,” her husband agreed. “We can talk.”

Five

“With the Cedar Cove Chronicle folded to the classifieds, Cecilia read through the listing for rental houses one more time. Other navy couples had warned them that it was next to impossible to rent in a middle-class neighborhood without including the wife’s income. Cecilia and Ian didn’t want to do that. They’d never be able to save for a house if most of their monthly pay went into rent. They wanted a home of their own, especially now that they had Aaron.

“The house is at 204 Rosewood Lane,” Cecilia said as Ian drove. She turned to check on Aaron, who was sleeping peacefully in his carrier in the backseat.

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Ian warned.

“It’s too late—they already are.” Cecilia so badly wanted this to work out. Her parents had divorced when she was young and from that time forward, Cecilia and her mother had lived in apartments. She’d always dreamed of one day having a home with a yard and a garden and a real neighborhood. Ian had grown up in a house, and living in one again didn’t mean nearly as much to him as it did her. He was willing to wait until they could afford their own.

She’d phoned about several possible places, and the one on Rosewood Lane was represented by an agent. Judy Flint, who worked for Cedar Cove Real Estate, was meeting them at the house.

He drove onto Rosewood Lane and Cecilia immediately liked the area. The street was lined with elm trees already in leaf and there were tulips and daffodils in front of almost every house. This was the kind of neighborhood where children rode their bicycles in the street, and the sidewalk was used for jump rope and other kid games. She saw a white picket fence and held her breath, hoping that 204 was the house number there.

It was.

“Oh, Ian, look!” she cried, breathless with excitement. “It’s perfect.” In fact, it was even better than she’d dreamed. It was a white, two-story house with a large dormer over the front porch. Although this was clearly an older home, that didn’t bother Cecilia and if anything, made its appeal stronger. She especially liked the wide porch and brick columns.

“It’s all right, I guess,” Ian said as he parked the car by the curb.

Cecilia playfully slapped his arm. “You like it, too.”

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “Looks like a good family home.”

He’d hardly put the vehicle in park when she unfastened the seat belt and climbed out. Judy Flint, the agent, was waiting at the front door, and the owners were due to show up later, if warranted. It seemed a bit unusual, but they’d requested a meeting with any potential renters.

Ian extracted the baby carrier from the back seat and carried a napping Aaron onto the porch with him.

“Aren’t you adorable?” The agent smiled at the baby. “I see you’re right on time,” she told Ian and Cecilia in a friendly voice, still smiling at Aaron.

Cecilia had been ready an hour early and the wait had seemed interminable.

“I think my wife wants to rent it sight unseen, but I’d like a tour,” Ian said, teasing Cecilia.

“Step inside,” Judy invited as she held open the screen door.

Gazing all around, Cecilia walked into the house. Even without furniture, the living room had a sense of warmth that came from the brick fireplace, polished oak floors and off-white walls. It was easy to imagine what this place would look like filled with their things.

She was still examining the living room when Ian called from the kitchen.

“It’s a little small in here.”

“I’ll be there in a minute,” Cecilia called back. She was studying the fireplace with its built-in bookcases on each side. This was the perfect location for a rocking chair, where she could nurse Aaron, read, daydream…

Ian returned to the living room. “Remember this is the first house we’ve seen. We’ve only started to look. There are plenty of other rentals on our list.”

“I’ll remember,” she promised, but Cecilia had made up her mind. This was it. All she had to do now was convince her husband. If they delayed, someone else would quickly snatch it up.

Ian disappeared, and a few minutes later she heard him say, “I’m going to check out the garage.” Apparently he’d already been through the ground floor and she had yet to move beyond the living room.

Taking in every detail, Cecilia made her way into the kitchen. Ian was right; the area was smaller than she would’ve liked but it was adequate. She noticed that the back door had a doggie entrance. Perhaps they could get a dog sometime, she thought dreamily. A compact laundry room off the kitchen led to a hallway. She followed that and came to the larger of the two bedrooms. The master bedroom was painted a soft shade of yellow that looked fresh and new. The closet was small but again adequate.

“There are two other bedrooms upstairs,” Judy, the agent, told her. “Four bedrooms in all.”

“Four bedrooms,” Cecilia repeated. It felt like a mansion.

“The basement is unfinished.”

“It has a basement, too?”

“The owner didn’t use it for anything other than storage.”

Ian bounced back into the house and the instant he did, Cecilia could tell he was happy. “The garage is great! Want to come see?”

“Sure.” Cecilia exchanged a smile with Judy Flint. Men and their garages. She trailed him outside and into the detached garage. Judy went with them and highlighted a number of features. There was plenty of room for Ian to work on his car, while leaving space for storage.

“I do want to remind you that this is the first house we’ve seen,” Cecilia teased, throwing his own words back at him. “So don’t get too excited.”

“This is the best home I have available in your price range,” Judy inserted.

Ian’s eyes held Cecilia’s. “What do you think?” he asked.

“I think we’d be foolish to let this opportunity pass us by.”

Ian reached for her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“Would you like me to contact the owners?” Judy Flint asked.

Ian responded with an enthusiastic nod.

The agent walked outside, and Cecilia watched as she opened her cell phone.

“It’s everything I’d hoped for,” Cecilia whispered. “Everything.”

“Four bedrooms is a lot for just the three of us.”

“There’ll be other babies,” Cecilia said. “We could fill those bedrooms in no time.”

Ian’s eyebrows shot up and Cecilia giggled.

She was so happy she could barely contain herself and she could see Ian was just as pleased.

She thought he might have kissed her right then, except that the agent returned. “The owners are in town and they’ll be here in about ten minutes.”

As Cecilia and Ian finished exploring the rest of the house, including the two upstairs bedrooms, she noticed that another car had parked out front. An older gentleman, wearing a large cowboy hat and boots, and a middle-aged woman started up the walkway toward the house.

Judy Flint opened the front door for them and introduced Grace and Cliff Harding. Cecilia smiled shyly at the other couple. When Aaron began to fuss, she lifted him from the carrier and held him against her shoulder.

“I know it’s unusual for the owners to ask for a meeting with potential renters,” Grace said.

“We don’t mind,” Cecilia assured her. She recognized Grace from the library. Before she had her own computer, Cecilia had made several trips to use the ones in the library whenever Ian was at sea, so she remembered Grace, who’d been helpful and friendly. “We like your home very much and we’ll take the very best care of it.”

The older gentleman put his arm around his wife. “Grace and her family lived here for over thirty years and she wants to be sure it’s in good hands.”

“It will be,” Cecilia promised her. She understood why Grace would want to interview anyone who might be renting her house. It must be hard to let strangers move into a place that you’d lived in for much of your life. And yet Cecilia understood why she was willing to walk away from her home of thirty years. Cliff Harding cherished her. She saw it in the way he touched his wife, the way he looked at her.

“You’re in the navy?” Cliff Harding asked Ian.

Ian nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“So you could be transferred,” Grace said, glancing at her husband. She seemed a little unsure.

“We could.” Cecilia’s heart would break if they had to leave Cedar Cove but she’d go wherever Ian was assigned.

“Ms. Harding is asking for a one-year lease,” Judy explained.

Ian paused. “That could be a problem,” he said. “There’ve been a few rumors about the George Washington being transferred to San Diego. That might not mean anything, but then again, it could.” He’d mentioned this to Ceclia earlier, and she could only hope the rumors came to nothing.

“Would you consider a lease-to-own option?” she asked. She should’ve talked this over with Ian first and wished she had, but if that was an option, she wanted to know.

Again Grace looked at her husband. “I…don’t know. I’d like some time to think that over.”

“Sure…Ian and I aren’t even sure we could afford to own a house this big.”

“We’ll discuss all of that later.” Ian gestured around him. “As my wife said, we’d take care of your home the same way you have,” he told Grace. “But if you need a one-year lease, we won’t be able to sign it.”

Cecilia held her breath while she waited for Grace’s response.

“Should we look elsewhere?” Ian pressed.

After the briefest of hesitations, Cliff Harding shrugged and seemed to leave the matter up to Grace.

Cecilia wasn’t sure what else to say, so she asked, “Is there space to plant a garden?”

“Oh, yes, I’ve always had a garden—roses and bulb flowers and perennials. Pretty well everything should be coming up, but there’s certainly room for more. And the yard gets plenty of afternoon sun.”

“I’ve always wanted a garden,” Cecilia confessed. She patted Aaron’s back gently and soon the baby was sleeping contentedly on her shoulder.

Together the four of them walked around the house, while Judy waited inside. Ian and Mr. Harding were deep in conversation, and Cecilia had some questions for Grace, as well.

“I do hope you’ll agree to rent to us even without a lease,” Cecilia said when they’d finished.

Grace smiled at her husband and nodded. “My hope was that this home would go to a family just like you. This neighborhood’s a good place for a family and you’ll fit right in.”

For a moment, Cecilia thought she might cry. “Thank you both so much.”

“Hey,” Mr. Harding said, raising his hands. “This is strictly Grace’s decision.”

Judy Flint rejoined them then. “I’ll get the paperwork going right away,” she announced. “Are you prepared to write me a check this afternoon?”

“Sure am.” Ian removed his checkbook from his hip pocket.

“When could we move in?” Cecilia asked, and had trouble keeping the excitement out of her voice.

The Realtor turned to Grace, who smiled. “As far as I’m concerned, once the paperwork’s signed, you have my blessing.”

“Thank you,” Cecilia said over and over. “Oh, thank you.” She couldn’t stop smiling.

Six

Linnette McAfee had been looking forward to this afternoon with Cal all week. Because of her work as a physician assistant at the Cedar Cove Medical Center, her days off rotated. Fortunately, Cal’s job with Cliff Harding allowed him to adjust his work schedule to hers. If not for such an understanding employer, Cal and Linnette might never have found a chance to be together.

Linnette’s mother, Corrie, had purchased a date for her with Cal at the Dog and Bachelor Auction, a charity event for the local animal shelter. For more money than Linnette could believe, her mother had set her up with Cal Washburn and at the same time purchased an Australian shepherd for her brother, Mack. Both gifts had worked out exceptionally well. Lucky had become her brother’s constant companion, and Linnette—well, she’d fallen in love with Cal. That wasn’t how she’d felt about him in the beginning, however.

All she’d known about Cal Washburn was that he was a horse trainer and that he talked with a mild stutter. Besides, she’d had her sights set on Dr. Chad Timmons. Chad, however, wasn’t interested, despite Linnette’s continued attempts to attract him.

Her mother had pestered her to go out with Cal, and Linnette had finally capitulated. To her surprise, she’d enjoyed herself. When he’d asked her out again and kissed her, Linnette was even more surprised. She hadn’t expected to enjoy his company, much less his kisses.

And so their courtship had begun. Courtship was an old-fashioned word and that suited Linnette, because she considered herself an old-fashioned woman. Cal seemed to appreciate that about her. Their relationship moved slowly—which, she had to admit, she was starting to find a tiny bit frustrating—but she recognized that this was the kind of people they were. Cal’s stutter made him rather shy, even with her.

Cal was waiting for her when Linnette pulled onto Cliff Harding’s horse ranch in Olalla, about twenty minutes south of Cedar Cove. His welcoming smile made her smile, too. Linnette was thrilled by their feelings for each other, but she was also a little intimidated because of the physical attraction between them. In her early twenties she’d been so intent on her medical studies, she’d never really had a serious relationship. Cal was the first.

“Hi,” she said, as she climbed out of her car. He was tall and lean, with deep blue eyes. Their color was so intense she was convinced she’d never seen any bluer.

“H-hi. Hello.” He didn’t need to say any more for her to know he was glad to see her. He didn’t need to speak for her to know how he felt. Almost before she was ready, he slid his arms around her waist and, after checking to be sure no one was watching, he pulled her close and kissed her with a hunger that sent her mind whirling into space.

When their kiss ended, she leaned her forehead against his chest and dragged in a deep breath. “You missed me, didn’t you?”

“I—I d-did.”

“Cal,” she said. Because his kisses had such a powerful impact on her, she had to clear her throat. “Cal,” she said again. “I got your message and packed us a picnic lunch. What did you have in mind?”

“Y-you’ll s-s-see.” He took her by the hand and led her into the barn, where he had two horses saddled and ready to ride.

Linnette hesitated. “Ah…Have I mentioned that I’ve never been on a horse?”

“Yes. D-d-don’t worry.”

“I am worried,” she protested. “Okay, I have ridden before. I remember it now. When I was five years old, my dad let me ride a pony at the Puyallup Fair. I was terrified and he had to walk around the circle with me.”

Cal chuckled. “You’ll be ok-kay. Sheba—” he pointed toward the brown horse “—is an older m-mare. V-very gentle.”

“Promise?” The horses Cal had chosen were a whole lot bigger than that pony had been. Although she might be projecting her own fears, the mare seemed to give her the once-over and then snorted as if to say Linnette would regret it the minute she climbed onto her back.

“Promise,” Cal assured her.

She figured Cal had a romantic interlude planned, and her nervousness was about to ruin everything. In an effort to buy time, she returned slowly to her car and retrieved two sack lunches from the passenger seat.

Cal walked with her and kept his hand on the base of her neck. “D-don’t-t-t be afraid.”

“Afraid? I’m not afraid,” she lied. She thought she did a good job of it.

Cal seemed to believe her—or else he was equally good at pretending.

“So Sheba’s mine?” she asked as he took the sack lunches out of her hands and stored them in saddle-bags on the larger of the two horses.

“Yup.” He gestured with his head toward the mare. “L-like I said, Sh-Sh-Sheba’s gentle.”

“Gentle is good,” Linnette murmured as she walked around and stood in front of Sheba, allowing the mare to get a good look at her. Sheba nodded her head a couple of times, apparently acknowledging Linnette’s presence. Maybe in Sheba’s view, Cal had vouched for her, Linnette thought whimsically. Tentatively, Linnette raised her hand and petted the mare’s dark muzzle.

With Cal’s help she mounted. As soon as Linnette was in the saddle, Cal adjusted the stirrups and handed her the reins. She felt very high off the ground—and correspondingly vulnerable. A fall off this horse could cause her serious injury. And yet she didn’t dare let Cal know how frightened she actually was.

After asking if she was comfortable, to which she nodded in response, Cal mounted the other horse, a chestnut gelding. He led the way out of the huge barn. Without needing any direction from Linnette, Sheba obediently followed Webster, Cal’s horse.

Although it was barely noon, the sun was out and the day promised to be glorious. Cal had given her some basic instructions, but riding was awkward at first. Linnette bounced and her teeth chattered until she learned to relax. Cal kept their gait slow and easy. When she felt confident enough to raise her head, she stared avidly at him, so handsome in the saddle, so natural. She remembered what she’d heard Cliff say once—he was a born horseman.

“Gloria?” Cal asked in that shorthand way of his.

He was asking about her sister, the one she’d only recently met. Her parents had fallen in love when they were both in college. Her mother was still a teenager when Gloria had been conceived—and then the romance had fallen apart. Disgraced and afraid, Corrie had moved back home with her family. Several months later, she’d had a baby girl and given her up for adoption. After the birth she’d returned to college. Without knowing about their child, Roy had sought out Corrie and they’d reunited. Only after they were engaged did Corrie tell him she’d had his baby. They’d agreed never to speak of the matter again, and they hadn’t, until Gloria tracked them down.

Needless to say, it was a shock to discover she had a sister. Linnette had been astounded, overwhelmed, bewildered. At the same time, she was excited. She’d always wanted a sister and, unbeknownst to her, the woman who lived in the same apartment complex and had already become her friend was also her sister. The bond between them had grown steadily stronger.

“Gloria’s fabulous,” Linnette told Cal. “We went out to dinner on Monday after work. The whole family’s getting together for Easter, and Gloria will be joining us.” This would be a real test for their family, Linnette realized. She knew her parents loved Gloria and welcomed her into the family.

It wasn’t the same, though, and Linnette recognized that, as did Gloria. Her adoptive parents had died in a plane crash and she had virtually no family left. She’d gone in search of her birth family for that very reason. Linnette’s parents, Corrie and Roy, were trying to make up for lost time, trying to fill in the gaps, exchanging information with Gloria about her history and theirs.

Cal was watching her intently as she spoke.

“It isn’t that we don’t want her or don’t love her,” Linnette went on to explain. “You know we do. What we don’t have is a shared past. She had another mother and father who raised, loved and nurtured her, and they’re her true family, her true parents.” Everyone, however—including Gloria—was determined to make an effort. This Easter would be their first holiday as a family.

The horses trotted in single file now as they entered the woods. Linnette followed Cal on a narrow path, which made conversation difficult. The scent of fir and ocean mist pervaded the morning air.

It was just as well that they couldn’t continue their conversation, Linnette decided. She had something important to discuss with Cal and had to figure out how best to approach it. She’d been doing a lot of thinking about his stuttering and wanted to tell him about the research she’d done on speech therapy. Yet she also wanted to make sure he understood that she loved him for the man he was.

After ten minutes or so, they emerged from the forest and onto a shore. Wavelets lapped against a pebble beach; the tide was in and sparkled in the sunlight.

“Oh, my goodness,” Linnette cried, astonished at how secluded this beach was. Mount Rainier, capped with snow, rose off in the distance. Puget Sound spread out before her like an emerald blanket, with Vashon Island so close it seemed she could easily swim over.

“Y-you like it?” Cal asked, his blue eyes clear and alive.

“I like it very much.”

Cal slid off his horse and then helped her down. He left both horses to roam while he set a blanket down on the beach and brought out their lunches. Leaning against a large driftwood log, they sat side by side to eat.

It was perhaps their most romantic date. When they finished their lunch, they stayed where they were, absorbing the beauty of the view. Cal slipped his arm around her and every now and then they’d kiss. His kisses were soft, sweet, his mouth lingering on hers.

Linnette thought about what she wanted to say and almost lost her nerve. She was reluctant to mention anything that might destroy the tranquility of the moment.

“Can I ask you something?” she said after several minutes. “Something I’ve never asked before.”

“O-k-kay.”

“Have you had the stutter all your life?”

As she’d feared, Cal tensed.

“Cal,” she said, scrambling around. She knelt in front of him and cradled his face in her hands. “I have a reason for asking. Please don’t take offense.”

His eyes delved into hers, as if to gauge how much he could trust her. She didn’t flinch, didn’t back down and held his look with her own, letting her love shine through her eyes.

“Always,” he said. “All m-my 1-life.”

She rewarded him with a series of slow kisses. “Did you know that when we’re kissing and touching, you don’t stutter?”

He frowned briefly. “I don’t?”

“Nope. When you’re talking to the animals, you don’t, either.” She’d observed this earlier and been struck by it.

Again he seemed unsure he should believe her.

“Have you ever been to a speech therapist?” she asked.

Resistance narrowed his gaze and he glanced away. “N-n-no.”

She turned his face back to her so he couldn’t avoid meeting her eyes. “That’s what I thought.” She took a deep breath. “There’s an excellent therapist here in Kitsap County.” She’d investigated therapists in the region and checked out their credentials.

“Y-y-you w-w-w-want me to g-go?”

“That’s entirely up to you,” she told him, ignoring the fact that his stutter had instantly become more pronounced, which seemed to happen as a reaction to stress. The gravel on the beach was cutting into her knees; still, she stayed where she was. “I’m just letting you know there’s help if you want it.” She placed the emphasis on him. This was up to Cal, and whatever he decided was fine with her.

When he didn’t respond right away, Linnette sat down beside him once again. Cal draped his arm around her shoulder and brought her against his side. She felt peaceful and calm in his embrace.

“W-would y-you go with m-me?”

“For the first visit, anyway—if that’s what you want.”

Leaning over, Cal kissed the top of her head. “Y-you g-got on Sheba.”

He was telling her that although she was apprehensive about riding, Linnette had climbed into the saddle-and that he was willing to take a risk, too. He would see a therapist about his speech impediment, despite his intense need to protect his own privacy.

“I owe my mother a big debt of thanks,” Linnette whispered more to herself than to Cal.

“Oh?”

“She paid a lot of money at that auction so I could meet you, and now that I have, I think she got the bargain of the century.” She grinned. “What I really mean is that I did.”

Seven

As Rachel Pendergast was putting a load of clean clothes in her dryer, the phone rang. She reached it just before the fifth ring, which was when her answering machine always came on.

She’d been waiting to hear from Nate all day and dove breathlessly for the receiver. “Hello.”

“Rachel?”

It was a young girl’s voice, instantly recognizable as that of nine-year-old Jolene Peyton. They’d been good friends for the last four years. Soon after widower Bruce Peyton had brought his young daughter into the salon for a haircut, Jolene had decided she wanted Rachel to be her new mother. At the time, it had created an embarrassing situation.

Bruce still grieved for his wife, who’d died in a car accident on her way to pick up Jolene from kindergarten. He’d been adamant about having no interest in any kind of romance—with anyone, Rachel included. She accepted him at his word and over the next few years, as Jolene and Rachel continued to meet, Bruce and Rachel had become friends. They occasionally went out to dinner, mostly to discuss Jolene, since Bruce often sought her advice. Because she’d lost her own mother when she was relatively young, Rachel identified with the child.

In other words, there was nothing romantic between her and Bruce. Rachel was seeing Nate Olsen, although the time they actually spent together was limited, since the navy’s demands came first.

“I need someone to take me shopping,” Jolene said in a small, uncertain voice. “Dad said I could buy an Easter dress.”

“I’d be happy to go with you,” Rachel assured the youngster.

“My dad wants to talk to you, all right?” The little girl’s voice was more cheerful now.

“Rachel,” Bruce said. “Would it be a bother?”

“Not at all.” The truth was, she could do with something new herself. “I’d love it.”

“When can you go?”

Since Easter was the following weekend, Rachel figured it would need to be soon. “How about this afternoon?” she suggested. She had a rare Saturday free, which she’d arranged on the off-chance that Nate would be available. But it was already midafternoon and she hadn’t heard from him, so she assumed he wouldn’t be calling.

“This afternoon is perfect,” Bruce said.

Rachel heard Jolene shout with glee in the background.

“I’ll bring her by in an hour if that works for you,” Bruce said.

“That would be great.”

They discussed a price range for the new outfit and after a few words of farewell, ended the call. Rachel always enjoyed her “girl-time” with Jolene. When she’d started fourth grade, Jolene had asked her to attend the school’s open house, and with Bruce’s blessing, Rachel had gone. Afterward Jolene had written her a lovely thank-you note, which Rachel treasured. She had a stack of artwork that Jolene had colored or drawn or constructed for her. These were things a little girl would normally give her mother, and Rachel felt honored to play that role—part-time surrogate mom—in Jolene’s life.

As Rachel finished brushing her hair, her phone rang again. Even before she answered, she had the sinking feeling it would be Nate.

It was.

“Are you free?” he asked.

“I will be later,” she told him. Nate was working on some major project aboard the aircraft carrier. Because of it, they hadn’t been together in more than a week.

“I thought you took the day off,” he complained.

“I did.” She didn’t mention how many favors she’d had to call in to arrange a free Saturday. “When I didn’t hear from you, I figured you were still hung up on this project.”

Nate groaned. “Can you cancel whatever you’ve got planned?”

Rachel refused to do that to Jolene. “No. It’s Jolene. I’m taking her shopping for an Easter dress.”

The line went silent. “All right,” he said reluctantly, his disappointment obvious. “I would’ve phoned sooner if I’d had the chance.”

“I know.” Rachel was disappointed, too. “What about later?”

“What time?”

“I’m not sure.” She wouldn’t know that until she got to the shopping mall. “Say six?”

“That’s too late,” he muttered. “I have a commitment this evening—a stag I have to go to. Dinner and, uh, entertainment. The whole deal.”

“Well…we’ll get together soon,” she assured him. It was the best she could offer.

“Soon,” Nate agreed with a sigh.

They spoke until the doorbell rang. Assuming it was Bruce and Jolene, Rachel ended the conversation with Nate and opened the door to discover Teri Miller waiting there. “Turn on your television,” Teri insisted, storming into the small rental house.

“My television?” Rachel said. “What for?”

“Remember when we were over at Maryellen’s last week?” Teri moved toward the television and reached for the remote. Not giving Rachel a chance to respond, she turned on the set and flipped though channels until she found the one she wanted.

Rachel stared at the screen, unable to figure out the program, which seemed to be some sort of…sporting event? She quickly surmised that it had nothing to do with sports. A group of mostly men were gathered around game boards, and everyone seemed intent and deadly serious.

“They’re playing chess,” Rachel said. She couldn’t imagine why this was important to her friend.

“It’s one of the biggest chess tournaments in the world, and they’re in Seattle.”

“Seattle,” Rachel repeated. “Right. I remember. We heard the announcement at Maryellen’s.”

“Bobby Polgar is playing,” Teri said excitedly, standing transfixed in front of the television. She pointed at a man bent over the board just as the camera closed in on the slouching figure.

“Who?” The name was vaguely familiar but Rachel didn’t care about chess. She knew the basics of the game, or had at one time, but that was it.

“Bobby Polgar is the top-ranked player in the United States,” Teri explained. Again Rachel wondered why this mattered to her friend. “He’s in a match with some guy whose name I can’t pronounce. From Ukraine.”

“And this interests you?” Rachel asked.

“Yes. At least, Bobby does. I think he’s kind of cute.” She shrugged dramatically. “I know why Bobby’s losing this match.”

“You do?” She sent Teri a puzzled frown. “I don’t get this, so give me a hand here,” Rachel said. “As I recall, you know next to nothing about chess.” She remembered that Teri thought chess was a lot like checkers, which of course, it wasn’t.

“I have no idea how to play,” Teri said. She glanced at her watch and immediately became agitated. “But that’s beside the point. Listen, I’ve got a ferry to catch. I’m going to Seattle to help Bobby.”

Rachel stared at her. Life-of-the-party Teri was going to “help” a chess grand master? Someone she’d only seen on television? Someone who was expert at a game she didn’t know the first thing about? “Teri, are you all right?”

Her eyes widened. “Of course I’m all right. This is a mission of mercy. By the way, can I borrow twenty bucks?”

“I’ll get my purse.” They often helped each other out when one was short of cash. Rachel retrieved her wallet and took out the money. This was so unlike Teri. She knew her friend to be impetuous, but this was extreme.

“I realize you just have a few minutes, but start at the beginning. Just talk fast.”

Teri drew in a deep breath and spoke in a rush. “I was cutting that snooty college professor’s hair this morning. That Dr. Uptight.”

“Dr. Upright,” Rachel corrected.

“Whatever. The point is, the entire time I was cutting her hair she was on her cell phone getting updates on the chess championship. She couldn’t believe Bobby Polgar was behind. I was curious, so after I finished her haircut, I turned on the TV at the salon and I saw him playing his first match, the one he lost.” Teri said all this apparently without taking a breath.

“And?” Rachel urged.

“And he needs a haircut.”

“Bobby Polgar needs a haircut?” What did that have to do with anything?

“Yes, he does,” Teri said. “He kept brushing his hair out of his eyes. His hair is distracting him. He’s long overdue for a cut and I decided to do something about it. I’m going to the tournament and I’m going to offer to cut his hair.”

Rachel could list at least a dozen obstacles her friend was likely to encounter before she got to Bobby Polgar, if she ever did. However, Teri wasn’t easily dissuaded once she’d made up her mind.

“I’m doing this for my country,” she announced with melodramatic flair.

“Good for you.” Grinning, Rachel patted her on the shoulder. “Let me know what happens, okay?”

“I will,” Teri promised, practically running out the door to her car.

No sooner had Teri left than Bruce and Jolene arrived. Rachel was still waving Teri off when the nine-year-old dashed up the sidewalk toward her, hugging Rachel around the waist. Bruce followed at a much slower pace. “What time should I pick her up?” he asked.

“I’ll drop her off at home,” Rachel told him. He didn’t live far out of her way and it wasn’t as if she had other plans.

“I’ve got a better idea,” Bruce said. “Why don’t I meet you somewhere and the three of us can have dinner together?”

“Can we, Rachel?” Jolene asked, pigtails bouncing as she leaped up and down. “Can we? Can we?”

“That sounds like fun.”

Three hours later, Rachel and Jolene pulled into the parking lot at the Pancake Palace, where they’d agreed to meet for dinner. The food was cheap and plentiful, and this was Jolene’s favorite place in Cedar Cove to dine. She liked to dip her French fries in her cream-topped hot chocolate, a culinary activity that made Rachel wince.

Bruce was waiting for them in a booth near the front. The moment they walked in the door, he gestured to them. Jolene ran to his side as if it’d been weeks since she’d last seen her father. Rachel joined them a few seconds later.

“How’d it go?” Bruce asked, sliding over so his daughter could slip in beside him.

Rachel hid a smile when Jolene chose to sit beside her, instead.

“Daddy, we had so much fun. Shopping is great! We bought me a pink dress on sale, so we had money left over for tights and a purse.”

“Men don’t generally appreciate fifty-percent-off sales unless it involves hardware,” Rachel told the little girl. She reached for the menu and scanned it, deciding on a ham-and-cheese omelet.

The waitress came for their order and disappeared with quiet efficiency. Jolene chattered for a while, then selected a crayon from the juice glass filled with them and started to color the paper place mat, which had a connect-the-dots outline of a bunny.

Rachel and Bruce picked up the conversation. They always seemed to have plenty to talk about, although she saw Bruce infrequently. Over the years they’d become comfortable with each other. They’d shared a kiss now and then, but they had no romantic illusions. In any case, Bruce still loved his wife, and Rachel was seeing Nate. In fact, Bruce was someone she’d confided in when she’d first learned Nate’s father was a U.S. congressman.

“I didn’t think you ever had a free Saturday night,” Bruce said in an offhand way. “Don’t you and Nate usually go out?”

“I wish. The navy comes first, and he’s working on some hush-hush project that’s kept him tied up for a few weeks now.” She didn’t point out that although they did manage to talk every day, it was almost always late at night when they were both exhausted.

She and Bruce lingered over coffee, while Jolene had a second hot chocolate. It was after eight by the time Rachel returned home. She’d enjoyed dinner as much as she had the shopping—which had netted her two new sweaters. Afterward, they’d all gone down to the Cedar Cove waterfront for a walk and an ice-cream cone. She’d described her odd meeting with Teri, and Bruce had laughed.

“If anyone can get past security to see Bobby Polgar, it’ll be Teri,” Bruce said.

“You think so?”

“I know so.” Bruce nodded confidently. “She isn’t one to let a little thing like security guards or TV cameras stop her.”

Rachel suspected he was right. If anyone could talk her way into meeting the top-ranked American chess champion, it’d be Teri.

She’d just unlocked her front door when the phone rang. Running to answer it, she threw down her shopping bags. As she’d hoped, it was Nate.

He told her he was calling from the stag, and she could hear shouts and laughter in the background. He didn’t seem to be enjoying himself.

“Where were you?” he demanded, sounding tired and argumentative.

“I told you I took Jolene shopping.”

“Until after eight? You said you’d be back by six.”

“Yes, but…” But he hadn’t suggested anything after that, since he’d had his own plans. “We finished up around six and then met Bruce for dinner at the Pancake Palace.”

Nate went quiet for a long moment. “You didn’t say anything about you and Brucie having dinner,” he muttered sarcastically.

“Well, no,” she agreed, “that didn’t come up until later. Don’t tell me you’re jealous.”

“Yes,” he stated matter-of-factly, “I am. I haven’t seen you all week.”

“I know, and I’ve missed you like crazy. This dinner thing didn’t mean anything, Nate. You know that. It was Bruce’s way of thanking me for taking Jolene shopping.”

“Okay,” he said in a grudging voice.

“Dinner meant nothing, I promise you.”

“Okay,” he said again. “Look, I’ve got tomorrow afternoon free. Do you think you could squeeze me into your busy social calendar?”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Good.”

They arranged to meet at the waterfront, and after a protracted good-night, Rachel replaced the receiver. She took a long shower, then got into an old flannel nightgown and sat in front of the television, hoping the ten o’clock news would have a story on the chess tournament. She half expected to see an item about a disruption, with Teri being hauled away by armed guards.

As the news began, her mind wandered back to the dinner with Bruce. She felt that their relationship had subtly changed in the last few months. She wasn’t sure how it’d happened or what it meant. She hadn’t lied or misled Nate; dinner tonight wasn’t a romantic tryst. Far from it. Yet something seemed different. Rachel could only wonder why that was.

When the news anchor spoke about the chess championship, she mentioned only a few of the details-the most prominent being that after his stunning first-match defeat, Bobby Polgar had taken the second match and then the third, winning the championship.

Eight

After pacing the hallway outside the sheriff’s office, Seth Gunderson sat restlessly on a nearby bench. Apparently Troy Davis had some news about the fire. Even after nearly a month, Seth had trouble adjusting to the reality of his and Justine’s loss. It felt as if he were in the middle of Leif’s toy kaleidoscope, the pieces of his life tossed about willy-nilly, forming random patterns that made no sense to him.

Despite his best efforts, Seth discovered himself lashing out at those around him. He felt guilty about the way he’d behaved and was thankful for Justine’s patience, although they’d had a spat just that morning.

Her comment a couple of weeks earlier that she might not want to rebuild had come as a shock. In his opinion, she wasn’t thinking clearly. He refused to let some unknown arsonist make his decisions for him. And the more his wife tried to convince him to consider options other than rebuilding, the more he shut her out. One thing was certain: Seth couldn’t sit around the house like this much longer. He was going stir-crazy, with nothing to do but fret and fume. Since Justine’s announcement, he hadn’t even found any pleasure in considering new designs for the restaurant.

The office door opened, and Troy stepped into the hallway. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” the sheriff said, extending his hand.

Seth stood and the two exchanged handshakes. Troy gestured toward his office, then went back inside and sat at his desk. Seth took the chair across from him.

“I was on the phone with the fire marshal when you arrived,” Troy explained.

Anxious to hear the latest update, Seth leaned forward. “So what’s the news?”

Troy tipped his chair back and locked his fingers behind his head. “There’s one detail that might be significant, but I’ll get to that later. The inspector hired by the insurance company confirmed what we already knew—that the fire was purposely set. An accelerant was used, probably gasoline. It started near the kitchen, then spread to your office and quickly engulfed the main dining room.”

“Suspects?”

“As you know, I’ve interviewed the employees,” Troy told him, dropping his arms and picking up a folder on his desk. “Plus former employees,” he added.

Seth frowned. “Tony Philpott?”

Davis nodded slowly. “He’d recently been laid off, correct?”

Seth pressed his hands against the side of his chair. “I was forced to lay off both Tony and Anson Butler because of the money missing from my office. Both had access and opportunity. Between you and me, I think Tony was the one who took it, but I can’t be sure. We never found it, and I don’t have any proof. It was an unfortunate situation, and I probably didn’t handle it as well as I should have.”

Seth wished now that he’d dealt with the whole mess some other way. In retrospect he could understand Anson’s anger. Yet he did have a bad track record and despite the boy’s attempt to prove himself, Seth wasn’t entirely satisfied that he could trust him.

“Philpott was out of town at the time of the arson,” Troy said. “His alibi checks out.”

Seth released a sigh. He didn’t want to think Anson had anything to do with the fire, and yet what else was he to believe? The boy was already responsible for one arson in town, and The Lighthouse had gone up in flames right after he was laid off. All the pieces seemed to fall together, and for once the pattern made a horrible kind of sense.

“Have you ever seen this?” Troy surprised him by asking. “It’s what I was referring to earlier.” He held out a photograph of a large pewter cross, then passed it to Seth.

Seth studied the photo and shook his head. He couldn’t remember seeing it before, but that wasn’t saying much. He never paid much attention to jewelry.

“Where did you find it?” The cross looked partially melted, so it must have been either in the fire or close to it.

“The fire inspectors came across it in the rubble, near the office. It might mean nothing, but then again…” He shrugged. “At this point we just don’t know. I’ll keep you updated on anything we learn.”

Seth stood up. “Thank you, Sheriff. I appreciate everything you’ve done.”

On his way out of the office, Seth checked his watch. Ten. The entire day stretched before him, about as empty as a discarded beer bottle. This past month was the first time since he’d bought the old Captain’s Galley restaurant and remodeled it that he’d had nothing to do.

Before this, there weren’t enough hours in a day. His schedule was full; he’d constantly had meetings and plans and new ideas. His lack of purpose was killing him. Of course, he could go back home, but his relationship with Justine was strained. He loved his wife, but he didn’t understand her anymore. Right now, he needed breathing room, a place where he could collect his thoughts, try to figure out what came next.

Seth had always done his best thinking on the water and it seemed natural to go down to the marina. He kept his sailboat moored there but couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken her out. The air was crisp and clean, and he breathed deeply as he strolled over to the waterfront. Sailboats and motorboats of various sizes were secured in their slips, bobbing gently, peacefully, in the dark-green waters.

“Seth.”

At the sound of his name, he turned to see his father walking toward him. Seth smiled. He’d always been close to his family. He and his father had once been partners in a fishing enterprise, which took them to Alaska for a number of months each year. The money was good, but the work was dangerous, and when Justine came into his life, Seth knew it was time to make a career change. His father’s help had been instrumental in starting the restaurant.

“You spoke with the sheriff?” Leif Gunderson asked when he joined him.

Seth nodded. He hadn’t mentioned this to his father, which meant Leif had been talking to Justine. “There’s nothing new to report about how the fire was set—we already know that—or by whom. The inspector found a pewter cross in the ashes. That’s the biggest news. But I have no idea who it belongs to and we can’t be sure it’s even connected to the arsonist.”

Leif frowned, as if pondering this latest bit of information. They sat on a park bench outside the marina. “How are things at home?” his father asked.

Seth figured his wife had given him an earful. Then again, it wasn’t like Justine to share their personal problems with others. “What makes you ask?” Seth murmured. He reached down and picked up a pebble and threw it into the water.

His father picked one up, too, and tossed it toward the cove. “I didn’t mean to pry. It’s just that you looked like you wanted to talk.”

All at once Seth realized he did need to confide in someone. Someone who knew him well, yet could maintain a perspective on the whole situation and everyone involved. Someone whose advice he trusted. Who else but his father? Sighing deeply, Seth braced his elbows on his knees. “Justine and I had an argument this morning. It wasn’t over anything important. We’re both on edge these days with the fire and all.”

His father didn’t respond for a moment. “That doesn’t sound good.”

“The problem is, I don’t know what to do with myself these days. I wanted to start rebuilding as soon as possible. Then, a couple of weeks ago, Justine dropped this bombshell about not being sure rebuilding was such a good idea. She seems to believe we should just forget about the restaurant.” Seth lowered his voice.

He sucked in his breath and waited for his father’s reaction. He assumed Leif would react the same way he had—with shock and disbelief. The fact that he didn’t immediately say anything surprised him. “So, what do you think?” Seth pressed.

His father leaned back, closing his eyes. “Did she give you a reason?”

Seth had been too shocked to take in much of what Justine had said. At the time, he’d figured it was simply her way of dealing with the aftermath of the fire. “My wife is talking nonsense,” he said. “We need the restaurant. It’s how we make our living. Okay, she’s right—I do put in a lot of hours and the work is demanding. The profit margin isn’t exactly what we’d hoped, but we were doing pretty well.”

He looked at his father, but Leif still didn’t give any indication of what he was thinking.

“It’s total nonsense,” Seth insisted a second time. “Of course we should rebuild!”

“What do you plan to do while you’re waiting for everything to come together?” his father asked instead.

If Seth had the answer to that, he wouldn’t be hanging around the marina. “I don’t know.” This gave the matter of rebuilding top priority in his mind. Filling his days with the reconstruction project would ease his depression. Seth had been raised with a strong work ethic; he’d worked summers and after school from the time he was thirteen. He didn’t know what to do with himself when he wasn’t working. Outside of his role as a husband and father, his identity, his sense of who he was, came from what he did. Without work, he had no purpose.

Leif quirked a brow in his direction. “Do you love Justine?”

That question came as another shock. “More than my life.” Seth had loved her when they were in high school and he’d carried a torch for her years afterward, too. She’d gone off to college and he’d half expected her to marry some rich boy there. But she’d returned to Cedar Cove, starting work at the bank. He’d never believed she would love him, didn’t even think it was a possibility.

“You might listen to her, then,” his father advised.

“I do listen, but she’s talking foolishness.”

“You might be listening, but you’re not hearing her.”

At that, Seth turned to stare at his father. “You’re saying I should let all those years of work go down the drain?”

“No. I’m saying you need to listen to your wife.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Seth flared. Everyone seemed to have an opinion but no one had offered him a solution.

His father didn’t answer. A moment later, he casually continued the conversation. “I was talking to Larry Boone the other day,” Leif said as he tossed another pebble in the water. “You remember Larry, don’t you?”

Seth nodded. His father had purchased a fishing boat from the other man. Seth had owned a half interest in the boat and when they sold it, they’d invested that money in the restaurant.

“Larry’s looking for a salesman and asked if I’d be interested in coming out of retirement. The way he figured it, I’d been around fishing and boats all my life. He’s selling pleasure crafts, too, and offered me a commission that sounded almost too good to be true.”

Seth thought his father was probably glad of an excuse to go back to work. Adjusting to retirement hadn’t been as easy as he’d assumed it would be. “Are you going to do it?” he asked.

“I considered it,” his father said, grinning. “But then I talked to your mother, and she was dead set against it.” Leif rubbed the side of his face. “She’s been waiting all these years for us to travel. She’s got her heart set on buying one of those RVs and driving across the country. She isn’t about to let me take up a second career at this stage.”

Seth chuckled, understanding his father’s advice. “So that’s the reason you’re telling me I need to listen to my wife. You’re listening to yours.”

His father chuckled, too. “You know your mother. When she wants something, she makes sure I hear about it.”

Seth did know and love his mother, and he had to agree she generally found ways of getting what she wanted. He loved the give and take of his parents’ marriage, and their ability to compromise.

“I don’t much like the idea of driving one of those battleships,” Leif admitted, “but I’ll do it, and by the time we get back, my guess is I’ll be able to park that thing as slick as any boat I ever steered.”

Seth didn’t doubt it for an instant.

“I phoned Larry this morning,” he went on, “and told him I had to refuse.”

“Was he disappointed?”

“He was,” Leif said, “so I gave him your number and suggested he call you.”

“Me?” Seth asked. “You think I can sell boats?”

“Why not? You know as much about fishing as I do, and what you don’t know about pleasure crafts you can learn. The money’s good, and it’ll help you fill in the time until you decide about the restaurant.”

Seth needed to talk to Justine. This idea suddenly seemed right to him, but he wanted a few days to mull it over.

He sat with his father a while longer, chatting companionably about friends and neighbors, then headed home. Justine was vacuuming when Seth walked in and didn’t hear him. He stopped to admire her as she worked. Her long hair flowed unrestrained down her back and her lithe body moved gracefully as she pushed the vacuum cleaner. Justine’s concentration on any task was always complete; it was one of the many traits he loved.

He regretted their argument and was sorry for the things he’d said.

When she turned and saw him standing just inside the door, she jumped, startled. “Seth!” She switched off the vacuum cleaner. “When did you get home?”

“Just now.” He walked toward her. “Where’s Leif?”

“Preschool. I need to pick him up in half an hour.” Her gaze didn’t meet his as she swept the hair away from her face. “Did the sheriff have any news?”

He shook his head. “He showed me a picture of a pewter cross. You might take a look and see if you recognize it, although there’s no guarantee it’s connected to the arsonist.” He paused. “If the sheriff doesn’t get any leads from that, I feel we should contact Roy McAfee.”

Justine didn’t respond to any of those statements. “I’m sorry about this morning,” she murmured instead.

“I am, too.” He walked toward her, and she stepped into his embrace. “We need to talk,” he said, holding her close.

“Okay.”

“How about if I take you and Leif out for lunch,” he said. “I ran into Dad, and he had a suggestion I want to discuss with you.” He went on holding her. For the first time, he saw clearly that his anger was putting their marriage at risk. He loved Justine and his son. Dammit! He wasn’t going to lose them, too.

Nine

Olivia Lockhart-Griffin wondered if job shadowing was such a good idea. The high-school guidance office had contacted her a couple of weeks earlier to make the arrangements, and in a moment of weakness she’d agreed. The high-school girl sitting in front of her looked terribly young, but her eyes glowed with sincerity and keen interest. Olivia had believed in the justice system as a girl of that age, and she did now. The difference was that years of experience had shown her its weaknesses as well as its strengths.

“So you’d like to be an attorney?” Olivia glanced down at the girl’s name on the sheet of paper. “Allison?” she added. Allison Cox. Cox. That name sounded vaguely familiar.

“Yes, Judge, I would,” Allison said, her back straight.

“Any particular reason?” Olivia asked.

The girl nervously flipped a strand of dark hair over her ear. “I’m hoping to learn how to use the law to help someone who doesn’t have a lot of options.”

Olivia nodded. It sounded as if the girl had a personal agenda; however, there wasn’t time to delve into that now. She needed to get to court. “I’ll be spending the morning in court, listening to a variety of cases. You can sit in the jury box near the court reporter. We’ll take a short break midmorning, and then stop for lunch around noon. I have a luncheon engagement with my mother. You’re welcome to join us if you’d like, and then we’ll return to court about one-thirty.” She smiled at the girl, who nodded. “Depending on the cases, I generally stop for the day at four. I stay a bit longer to read case files for the next day, but you’ll be free to go then.”

Allison made a notation on a yellow pad. “Thank you for giving me this opportunity.”

“You’re welcome. Is there anything you’d like to ask me before we head into the courtroom?”

The girl offered her a tentative smile. “I…I asked the guidance counselor if I could be assigned to you specifically. You might not remember this, but about three years ago my parents were in your court. They were getting a divorce.”

That was why the name seemed familiar. Olivia did recall the couple and their situation.

“Mom and Dad had decided on joint custody of my brother and me. You said you didn’t like Eddie and me moving between houses every few days, so you gave us the house and had Mom and Dad move in and out.”

Olivia smiled. “I remember. But professional ethics prevents me from discussing any case if there’s a possibility the parties might come before me again.”

Allison nodded. “They remarried, you know.”

Olivia didn’t, and was pleased to hear it. “That’s wonderful.” Checking her watch, she stood and reached for her black robe. Pulling it on, she left her chambers. Allison followed and she introduced the girl to the court reporter, who escorted her to a seat near the bench.

The court cases on that morning’s schedule probably opened Allison’s eyes wider than anything she’d read or seen on television. The child custody cases always tore at Olivia’s heart. The state’s position was to leave the child with the primary residential parent, in most cases the mother, if at all possible, as long as the child’s welfare wasn’t in jeopardy. More times than she cared to admit, Olivia wanted to shake these young parents and ask them to take a hard look at what they were doing to themselves and their children. Too often, their minds were addled by drugs or alcohol. Sadly, she doubted anything she said would sink in. Of course she dealt with other cases, too, but these were the ones that stood out most prominently.

Olivia noticed Allison taking copious notes and could only imagine what the high-school senior must be thinking, looking at the ravaged lives of those who stood before her.

Shortly after court went into session, Charlotte Jefferson Rhodes slipped onto a bench at the back of the courtroom. Within about a minute, she’d taken out her knitting. Olivia smiled. Charlotte was an inveterate knitter. More than that, she was exceptional in every way, and Olivia’s admiration for her continued to grow.

Case in point, her mother and friends were responsible for the new medical clinic in town. It’d taken a senior citizens’ demonstration and an arrest to get the council to respond. Word of Charlotte’s arrest had spread faster than chicken pox through their small community. Not long afterward, the council had made some major concessions that allowed the establishment of a medical facility in town.

The irony of it was that this same medical center had saved Jack’s life. Olivia’s husband had suffered a heart attack the year before, and the EMTs had told her that if they’d had to drive him all the way to Bremerton, Jack wouldn’t have survived.

At the time of the demonstration, Olivia had been embarrassed by her mother. Now she’d be forever grateful that there was a medical clinic in Cedar Cove, and it was mostly due to Charlotte, her second husband, Ben, and their friends.

Olivia was accustomed to seeing her mother in court, although she didn’t come by as often as she used to. Since Ben Rhodes had entered her life, Charlotte had better things to do than sit and listen to Olivia.

At noon, the court broke for lunch. Allison and Charlotte met Olivia in her chambers, and Olivia made the introductions.

“Would you care to join us?” Olivia asked the teenager. She didn’t expect the girl to accept, and she was right. They agreed to meet again at one-thirty.

“What a lovely young lady,” Charlotte commented after Allison had excused herself.

“She is,” Olivia agreed. “Where would you like to have lunch?” Her favorite place had always been The Lighthouse. Olivia missed it even more than she would’ve thought.

“How about the Wok and Roll,” Charlotte said. “Grace tells me Maryellen likes their chicken hot sauce noodles, and I have a hankering to try that.”

“Sounds good to me.” Olivia was just grateful her mother didn’t suggest The Taco Shack, which happened to be Jack’s favorite. She’d had about all the tacos and enchiladas she could stand for a while.

“Speaking of Grace, have you seen her lately?” Charlotte asked as they walked through the courthouse and to the parking lot behind.

“She’s so busy, we haven’t talked all week. She’s had to temporarily give up her Wednesday night aerobics class.”

“My goodness, you two have been going to that class for years,” Charlotte exclaimed. “What’s happening? Is Cliff keeping her all to himself?”

“No.” Using her remote, Olivia unlocked the car doors and opened the passenger side for her mother. “Nothing like that. She’s helping Jon and Maryellen as much as she can. Kelly’s pregnant, too, you know.” Olivia slid into the driver’s seat. “Grace rented out the house on Rosewood Lane and you won’t believe who her tenants are. The Randalls! Do you remember them?” At her mother’s blank expression, Olivia elaborated. “You were in court the day I denied their divorce. A young navy couple. Apparently they have a baby now and were looking for a house to rent and Grace met them. She remembered the case. Then, while she was talking to Mrs. Randall, my name came up. That’s when Grace learned this was the very same couple. It’s a small world, isn’t it? Grace wanted me to know how well everything worked out.”

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