Make time for friends. Make time for Debbie Macomber.

CEDAR COVE 16 LIGHTHOUSE ROAD 204 ROSEWOOD AVENUE 311 PELICAN COURT

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

THURSDAYS AT EIGHT

Dear Friends,

Welcome to Cedar Cove, Washington, whether this is your first visit or your third – 311 Pelican Court is the next instalment in this ongoing series. Cedar Cove is definitely a lively place – and everyone here is thrilled that you’ve decided to join us. As usual, there’s a lot happening around town; Olivia, Grace, Jack, Charlotte and all the others are eager to fill you in. Rest assured that in Cedar Cove there’s always a little mystery, a little romance and a lot of fun.

Those of you who live in a small town, as I do, will recognise that Cedar Cove is like small towns everywhere. The series is inspired by my own home town of Port Orchard, Washington, where there really is a library with a mural painted on the exterior wall, as well as a marina, a waterfront park and plenty of friendly folk. (All the grouches live in Olalla!) Of course, my characters aren’t based on anyone in town and any resemblance is purely coincidental.

Please join me now as my good friends in Cedar Cove continue to live their lives and tell their stories and head over to my website at www.debbiemacomber.com. Olivia, Charlotte, Grace and everyone else would enjoy a visit. Sign the guest book and you’ll get monthly updates from the characters themselves. They’d be delighted to hear from you and so would I! You can also reach me at PO Box 1458, Port Orchard, WA 98366, USA.

Now I invite you to sit back and enjoy…

Warmest regards,

311 Pelican Court

Debbie Macomber

www.mirabooks.co.uk

To Jo and Hayley

Because you’ve given so much and inspired others

Some of the Residents of Cedar Cove, Washington

Olivia Lockhart: Divorced, family court judge in Cedar Cove. Mother of Justine and James. Lives at 16 Lighthouse Road.

Charlotte Jefferson: Mother of Olivia, widow, lifelong resident of Cedar Cove.

Justine (Lockhart) Gunderson: Daughter of Olivia, married to Seth, mother of Leif.

Seth Gunderson: Justine’s husband. Co-owner, with Justine, of The Lighthouse restaurant.

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

Stanley Lockhart: Olivia’s ex-husband and father of James and Justine. Now lives in Seattle and married to Marge, his second wife.

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

Grace Sherman: Olivia’s best friend. Librarian. Widow. Mother of Maryellen and Kelly. Lives at 204 Rosewood Lane.

Dan Sherman: Grace’s dead husband.

Maryellen Sherman: Oldest daughter of Grace and Dan. Mother of Katie.

Kelly Jordan: Maryellen’s sister, married to Paul, mother of Tyler.

Jon Bowman: Photographer, chef and father of Katie.

Jack Griffin: Newspaper reporter and editor of The Cedar Cove Chronicle. Recovering alcoholic. Involved in a relationship with Olivia Lockhart. Father of Eric, who lives in Nevada with his wife, Shelly, and their twin boys.

Zachary Cox: Accountant, divorced from Rosie. Father of Allison and Eddie Cox, aged fifteen and nine respectively.

Rosie Cox: Zach’s ex-wife. Now working as a teacher. She and Zach share custody of their children.

Janice Lamond: Zach’s assistant at his accounting firm.

Cliff Harding: Retired engineer and now horse breeder living near Cedar Cove. Divorced father of Lisa, who lives in Maryland. He has an on-and-off relationship with Grace Sherman.

Cecilia Randall: Navy wife, living near Cedar Cove. Accountant. Married to Ian Randall, submariner. Lost a baby, Allison.

Bob and Peggy Beldon: Retired. Own the Thyme and Tide Bed and Breakfast at 44 Cranberry Point. Have two adult children.

Roy McAfee: Private detective, retired from Seattle police force. Two adult children. The McAfees live at 5 Harbor Street.

Corrie McAfee: Roy’s wife and office manager.

Troy Davis: Cedar Cove sheriff.

Louie Benson: Cedar Cove mayor and brother of Otto Benson, lawyer.

Pastor Flemming: Local Methodist minister.

One

From the moment Rosie Cox entered Cedar Cove’s divorce court, she’d felt a renewed sense of failure—not to mention betrayal. Who wouldn’t feel that way? After seventeen years of what she’d believed to be a reasonably good marriage, Zach’s infidelity was the last thing she’d expected.

He’d never openly admitted to the affair. She hadn’t found her husband in a compromising situation, hadn’t found any concrete evidence—no matchbooks from expensive restaurants, no jewelry receipts or motel bills—but in her heart she knew. A wife always does.

Rosie owned up to the truth—she was angry and she’d expressed that anger by making this divorce as complicated and difficult as she possibly could. Why should she go easy on Zach or walk away from their marriage without one hell of a fight? And fight she had, with both fists raised.

As she turned away from the judge, the final decree in her hand, she realized she’d made another mistake.

Rosie had assumed that once the divorce was granted, the anger and bitterness of these dreadful months would be lifted. Wrong again. An even heavier burden had been added. When the joint custody agreement she and Zach had so carefully worked out, point by point, was presented to Judge Olivia Lockhart, the judge had rejected it.

Instead, Judge Lockhart had stated that it was emotionally detrimental to kids to shuffle them between residences every few days. Allison and Eddie needed stable lives, according to Judge Lockhart, and they hadn’t asked for the divorce. Some people considered the judge innovative, Rosie thought, disgruntled. How about interfering? Or out of her mind? Because—of all the crazy settlements—she’d awarded the children their house. That meant Rosie and Zach would be the ones moving in and out.

Talk about ridiculous! Talk about impossible.

Now that the divorce was final, Rosie and Zach would have to figure out some kind of living arrangements. The ramifications of what they’d agreed to were starting to hit Rosie and she hadn’t even left the courtroom.

“Rosie,” Sharon Castor, her attorney, said as soon as they were in the silent hallway outside the courtroom. “We have to meet with your ex-husband.”

One look told Rosie that Sharon was as flustered as she was herself.

Otto Benson, Zach’s lawyer, joined them. Although he remained outwardly calm, his face was tense. She dared not glance in Zach’s direction. In fact, she’d avoided looking at her ex-husband from the moment she’d walked into the courtroom.

“Let’s get a conference room and discuss the details,” Zach’s attorney said.

Rosie peered at Zach, standing behind his lawyer. He didn’t seem any happier than she was with this decision, but she’d keel over in a dead faint before she let him know how she felt.

“Rosie and I should be able to work this out ourselves,” Zach said with an edge of irritation.

Given the way everything had gone so far, that suggestion wasn’t promising. “If you remember, it took us weeks of haggling to come up with this joint custody agreement,” she pointed out. She enjoyed reminding him what a jerk he’d been. Rosie supposed Zach was hoping to avoid more attorneys’ fees. Too bad. If he ended up with less money to spend on his girlfriend, that wasn’t her concern.

Fists clenched, Zach snarled something under his breath. Probably just as well she couldn’t hear it, Rosie decided, proud of her own display of self-control.

“What makes you think we’re capable of agreeing to anything without a mediator?” she asked sarcastically.

“Fine,” Zach muttered, with a pout reminiscent of their nine-year-old son. Staring at him now, Rosie had trouble believing she’d ever loved Zachary Cox. Not only was he smug and argumentative and self-righteous, he had no idea what it meant to be a husband and father. Granted, Zach was a handsome man; not only that, his appearance proclaimed his success as a businessman, a professional. Although, in her opinion, anyone with half a brain would instantly peg him for an accountant. He had that narrowed look about his dark eyes, as if he spent too many hours a day squinting at columns of tiny numbers. Despite that, he was appealing to the eye with his broad shoulders—which nicely set off his expensive suit—and thick, dark hair. At one time he’d been an athlete, and even now he routinely jogged and kept in shape.

Rosie had loved the firmness of his muscles as she stroked his back during lovemaking. Of course, it’d been months since they’d slept in the same bed, and much longer since they’d actually made love.

Rosie didn’t even remember the last time. Had she known, she might have appreciated it more, lingered a moment longer at her husband’s side, savored the feel of his arms around her. One thing was certain: Zach hadn’t been interested in her from the day he’d hired Janice Lamond as his personal assistant.

The thought of him entwined with Janice nearly suffocated Rosie and she forcefully shoved the image from her mind. Anger and revulsion at her husband’s—no, ex-husband’s—unfaithfulness rose like bile in the back of her throat.

Zach’s raised voice caught her attention; apparently he’d agreed to have their attorneys negotiate this added complication to their divorce decree. Otto was checking with the clerk for an empty conference room.

Once a private room in the law library was secured, Zach and his attorney sat at one side of the table, across from Rosie and hers.

Even the attorneys seemed perplexed by the situation. “I can’t say I’ve ever heard of such a decree before,” Sharon said, starting the conversation.

“Me, neither.” Otto frowned. “This is one for the books.”

“Fine,” Zach said in a curt voice, “it’s unusual, but we’re both adults. We can figure this out. I know I was sincere about putting the children first.” He glared at Rosie, as if to suggest she hadn’t been.

“If you were sincere, you would’ve had second thoughts about sleeping with that slut.” Rosie hadn’t intended to be argumentative, but if her ex-husband was so concerned about their children’s welfare, he would never have broken his wedding vows.

“I refuse to dignify that remark by responding to it,” Zach said through gritted teeth. “Besides, if you were home more instead of volunteering for every cause known to mankind, every cause except your children, you’d—”

“Well, I refuse to allow you to blame me for what you’ve done.” Her volunteer efforts were Zach’s big complaint. He had his wish; she’d had to resign from every position she held and seek paid employment. She hoped he was happy. For the first time since their children were born, Rosie wasn’t a stay-at-home mom.

“I thought we were here to discuss this divorce decree?” Zach asked with a bored look, an expression that was obviously for her benefit. “If we’re going to trade insults I’d rather not pay our attorneys to listen.”

That’s right, Rosie mused, deriving a small sense of satisfaction out of knowing that Zach was responsible for both sets of attorneys’ fees. He was the one with the high-paying job. She was currently taking summer classes to update her teaching certificate. Classes Zach was paying for. That was another notch in her belt—another concession granted in their divorce settlement.

Her application was in with the South Kitsap School District and, considering all her connections, she shouldn’t have any difficulty getting hired as a substitute teacher in September.

“Let’s make a list of what we can agree on,” Sharon said briskly, ignoring the antagonism between Rosie and Zach. “Despite the breakdown of your marriage, you both claim you want to keep the needs of your children first and foremost.”

Rosie nodded and so did Zach.

Sharon smiled. She was a no-nonsense woman who wasn’t swayed by emotion. “Okay, that gives us a place to start.”

“I want to compliment you both on your attitudes,” Otto said, removing a legal pad from his briefcase as if to prove he was earning his pay. Zach had chosen the best and, for that matter, so had Rosie. Both attorneys came with high price tags.

“Yeah,” Zach said sarcastically. “If we got along any better, we might’ve stayed married.”

“You know who to blame for that,” Rosie snapped.

“Yes, I do,” he snapped right back. “How many nights were you actually home? How many dinners did you cook? If you don’t remember, I do. Damn few.”

Sharon sighed audibly. “Okay, the kids come first, and at this point, they have the house, which means Rosie will need to find somewhere else to live for the three days a week when Zach’s staying with them.”

Somewhere else to live? Rosie’s head jerked up as the shock ran up and down her spine. The reality—the repercussions of the judge’s edict—had just started to sink in.

“And pay half the mortgage on the house,” Zach added, smiling at her benignly.

“But I can’t—” Rosie hadn’t realized, hadn’t thought that far in advance. “I don’t have a job yet—how am I supposed to afford an apartment on top of everything else?” This was grossly unfair. Surely Zach could see that such a demand was unreasonable. She had a life, too, and no way of building it if every penny she earned went into paying for two separate residences.

Rosie stared at Zach. He returned her look, unblinking.

“I have a suggestion,” Sharon said.

“Let’s hear it.” Zach’s lawyer sounded eager, if not desperate, for ideas.

“If Zach spends three days a week at the house with the children, then his apartment will sit empty, is that right?” She turned to Zach for verification.

Rosie studied him, too. In essence, Sharon was asking if Zach intended to move Janice into the apartment, Janice and her son, who was the same age as Eddie.

“The apartment will be empty,” Zach said emphatically.

“What if—” Sharon glanced from one to the other “—Rosie moves into the apartment during the time you’re at the house? You did say it was a two-bedroom apartment, didn’t you?”

Objections shot up like weeds in Rosie’s fertile mind. She didn’t want anything to do with Zach. She certainly didn’t want to be put in a situation where she had to deal with being around him or his things—or what had been their things. Nor did she want to be privy to any information regarding his relationship with his girlfriend.

“No way am I letting Rosie in my apartment.” Apparently Zach shared her qualms. “We’re divorced. It took months to get that way. Rosie wanted out and she got her wish.”

“You were the one who moved out,” she reminded him scornfully.

“Correction. You kicked me out.”

“If you’ll recall, you insisted I see an attorney.” She couldn’t believe how convenient his memory was.

Zach snorted and looked at Sharon. “More fool me.”

Rosie’s attorney raised both hands in a pleading gesture. “Listen, it’s just a suggestion—a way of saving money for you both.” She turned to Rosie. “You’ll be fortunate to find a place, even a studio apartment, for less than five, six hundred dollars a month.”

“Zach will have to pay—”

“The hell I will!”

“The divorce is final,” Otto Benson stated. “Zach isn’t responsible for anything more than what’s already been agreed to.”

Rosie’s gaze flew to her attorney, and Sharon reluctantly nodded. All at once, this was more than Rosie could bear. Not only had she lost her husband, but now she was being forced out of her home, too. Moisture welled in her eyes, and she managed to blink it away. Hell would freeze over before she let Zach know what he was doing to her.

A long moment passed before Zach finally spoke. “Okay, I’ll agree to let Rosie stay in the apartment on the days I’m at the house, as long as she’s willing to split the rent.”

Rosie was well aware that she had no choice, but she did have her pride and she was determined to hold on to that. “On one condition,” she insisted, lifting her head.

“Now what?” Zach asked with a long-suffering sigh.

“I don’t want you bringing that woman into the family home. I want our house to be a safe place for the children. In other words, I don’t want Allison and Eddie exposed to your women.”

“What?” Zach glared at her as though she’d spoken a foreign language.

“You heard me,” she said vehemently, meeting his angry eyes. “This divorce has been hard enough on the kids without you parading Janice or any other woman you decide to date through my home. I want the house off-limits to your…your floozies.”

“Floozies?” Zach smirked. “Fine, no floozies. And the same goes for you. I don’t want you bringing any men to the house, either. No studs, no hotties, no boy toys, no—”

“Oh, that’s rich,” Rosie broke in, putting an end to his ridicule. In seventeen years she’d never so much as looked at another man. Not since the day she’d met Zach.

“Do you or don’t you agree?” her ex-husband challenged.

“Of course I agree!”

“Good.”

“Perfect.”

With their attorneys present, they made decisions about a number of other issues, and Sharon quickly wrote up an agreement. Zach’s attorney reviewed it, and then both Zach and Rosie signed it.

By the time she left the courthouse, Rosie felt as if she’d been pummeled by wave after wave in a stormy sea. Strange as it seemed, her heart actually ached. For weeks she’d dreaded this day and at the same time longed for it, just so the divorce would finally be over. Now she wasn’t sure what she felt, other than this deep pain that threatened to overpower her.

Nine-year-old Eddie was shooting baskets when Rosie pulled into the driveway at 311 Pelican Court. In a little more than a month, school would start again. Perhaps then their lives would return to some semblance of routine.

Eddie caught the basketball and held it against his side as he waited for her to park the car in the garage. His sad dark eyes watched Rosie as he stepped aside so she could drive past.

Fifteen-year-old Allison was in the kitchen, microwaving a hot dog for lunch. She turned and stared at Rosie, eyes glittering defiantly. She resembled Zach so much just then.

“How’d it go?” Eddie asked, following Rosie into the kitchen. He continued to hold the basketball.

“All right, I guess.”

The microwave beeped and Allison removed the steaming wiener, devoid of a bun. As if it had suddenly lost its appeal, she set the plate on the countertop and studied Rosie.

“There’s been a…minor complication,” Rosie announced. She didn’t believe in hiding the truth from her children, especially when it involved something that would affect them.

“What kind of complication?” Eddie asked, pulling out a kitchen chair. He balanced the basketball on the table, one hand supporting it. Allison crossed her arms and leaned against the counter, pretending to be bored; still, she didn’t leave the room as she so often did.

With effort Rosie managed to show a bit of enthusiasm for Judge Lockhart’s decree. “Well…you guys won’t be moving in and out of the house every few days, after all.”

Allison and Eddie shared a look of surprise. Trying to sound positive, Rosie explained Judge Lockhart’s decision and briefly outlined how the switch would work.

“You mean Dad’s going to live here?” Eddie asked as if he didn’t quite understand. Rosie didn’t blame him for being confused. She was, too. Confused and irritated by this turn of events. Add miserable to the mix, and it pretty much described the way she felt about life in general.

“Your father will be at the house part-time,” Rosie said, so there wouldn’t be any misunderstanding. She’d agreed to turn what had been her sewing room into a spare bedroom for his use. The sewing machine could go in the master bedroom without a problem.

“Oh,” Eddie said. He seemed disappointed, but then his eyes lit up as he realized he’d have his father back, if only half the time. “I think it’s cool!”

“I don’t,” Allison shouted. “As far as I’m concerned, this entire divorce is bogus.” With that she stormed out of the kitchen.

Rosie watched her daughter go, wishing she knew how to reach her. She wanted to put her arms around Allison and hug her and assure her that everything would be all right, but the girl wouldn’t accept any kind of closeness. At least not from her…

“Don’t worry about Allison,” her nine-year-old said. “She’s really glad about Dad coming home, even if it’s only for a few days at a time, but she wouldn’t let you know that for anything.”

Two

Sweat dripped down Grace Sherman’s face, and the intense heat of the mid-July afternoon plastered her T-shirt to her skin. She dipped her roller in the tray and smoothly spread light-yellow paint across her bedroom wall. She was a librarian and, despite all the books she’d taken out on home maintenance, she wasn’t much good at renovations and repairs. Dan had always insisted on looking after the house. Alone at age fifty-five, Grace found that life continued to thrust her into unfamiliar and challenging situations.

“I hope you appreciate what a good friend I am,” Olivia Lockhart said from behind her. She, too, worked at covering the dingy white walls with yellow paint. Cautiously, Olivia—her lifelong friend—moved around the furniture pushed into the middle of the bedroom, protected by old sheets.

“You volunteered,” Grace reminded her, using her forearm to wipe the perspiration from her brow. The room felt stifling and the air was still, even with the windows partially open.

After learning that her husband of thirty-five years, who’d been missing since the previous April, was dead, Grace had developed insomnia. She didn’t understand it. Olivia had suggested she repaint the room, thinking a different color might signify a new phase in her life. Pale yellow was a calm, optimistic color. Maybe her subconscious would get the hint. At the time it had sounded like a good idea, especially when her friend had offered to help. It was just the kind of thing Olivia would do. Over the years, they’d supported each other through everything from minor domestic crises to life-shattering events.

“I can’t believe I thought we could finish this in one day.” Olivia groaned. Straightening, she planted her hands on the small of her back. “I didn’t have any idea how much work this was going to be.”

“How about a glass of iced tea?” Grace was more than ready for a break herself. The two of them had been painting for what seemed like forever but was probably only an hour or two. Still, they’d had to move the furniture and do the prep work first—laying a drop cloth on the floor and taping the windows.

Olivia set aside her roller. “You don’t need to ask twice.”

Grace wrapped both paint-coated rollers in a plastic bag, then headed into the kitchen. By the time Olivia finished washing her hands, Grace had poured the iced tea into tall glasses. Buttercup, her golden retriever, scratched at the screen door and Grace absently let her inside. Panting, the dog lumbered into the house and stretched out under the table, resting her chin on the cool tile floor.

Grace slumped into the chair and released the kerchief tied at the base of her neck, shaking her damp hair free. She wore it shorter these days, since she no longer needed to worry about her husband’s likes and dislikes.

After witnessing Olivia’s pain years before, Grace had never wanted to go through a divorce, but when Dan disappeared she wasn’t left with any options. For financial reasons, it was the only practical choice.

That had been months ago now. Afterward, even learning Dan’s fate was anticlimactic. She was relieved that his body had been discovered, but she’d already endured the worst of the grief and guilt: the not knowing, the doubts, the recriminations—all of which had befallen her after Dan’s disappearance. So this sudden bout of insomnia didn’t make sense to her.

“This was the best idea you’ve had all day,” Olivia said, sinking down on the chair. “Besides putting on a Credence Clearwater Revival CD,” she added. They’d both gotten caught up in the music of their youth and hadn’t realized how hot and uncomfortable they were until the last song on the CD ended.

“We may not have the moves we did thirty years ago, but we aren’t ready for walkers just yet,” Grace said, and Olivia agreed with an easy smile.

“I heard about your latest decree,” Grace said, smiling across the table at her friend. They’d been working together all afternoon, but with the music playing they’d barely had a chance to talk.

“You mean the joint custody case?” Olivia asked.

Grace nodded. “It’s all over town.” This wasn’t the first time Olivia had made a controversial decision in the courtroom.

Olivia rolled her eyes. “At least Jack didn’t write about it in his column.”

So Olivia was going to bring Jack Griffin into the conversation. Good. Grace had been looking for a way to introduce the subject. He and Olivia had been seeing each other for more than a year, and Grace loved Jack for the simple reason that he’d made her friend happy. Once Olivia had started dating Jack, the local newspaper editor, she’d been…more relaxed. More lighthearted. Then, a few weeks ago, Jack and Olivia had a falling out, a difference of opinion, really—and they hadn’t spoken since. Olivia was miserable, although she wasn’t willing to admit it.

“Speaking of Jack,” Grace asked brightly, “what’s new with the two of you?” In her opinion Jack was exactly right for her friend. He was witty and funny and just outrageous enough to be interesting.

Olivia looked up. “I don’t want to talk about Jack.”

“Then don’t. Tell me about Stan.”

Stan was Olivia’s ex-husband, who now lived in Seattle with his second wife, but he’d been making regular appearances in Cedar Cove lately. Something must be up; however, Olivia had kept suspiciously quiet about it.

“You heard about Stan and Marge?” Olivia asked, her eyes rounding with surprise. “Who told you? Mom or Justine?”

“Neither one told me anything. I’m waiting for you to enlighten me.”

Olivia took a deep swallow of her iced tea, then glanced up, an uncertain expression on her face.

“Something’s bothering you,” Grace pressed.

“Stan and Marge are getting a divorce.”

Shock waves went through Grace. This was news. Big news. No wonder Stan had been coming to Cedar Cove more frequently. His visits were often under the guise of seeing his daughter, Justine, and his grandson, who’d been born a little more than two weeks ago. Grace found his sudden interest in family somewhat suspect. Especially since Stan had deserted his wife and children back in the summer of 1986. Jordan, a bright, lively thirteen-year-old, had gone swimming with friends one hot August afternoon and drowned. Justine, his twin sister, had held his lifeless body in her arms until the paramedics arrived. Everything in Olivia’s life was marked by that day; it was the dividing point, the boundary between believing the world was a safe place and knowing it could be a treacherous one.

Olivia and Stan’s marriage fell apart after Jordan drowned, but Grace had always wondered if Stan had been involved with Marge before Jordan’s death. She’d never said this to Olivia’s face, but she had her suspicions.

“You haven’t got anything to say?” Olivia asked.

Grace was almost surprised that Stan and Marge’s marriage had lasted this many years. The ink on the divorce papers was hardly dry when Stan had married the other woman. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out,” she mumbled, which was slightly stretching the truth.

“I am, too,” Olivia said, looking melancholy and tired.

Then it came to her. Grace should’ve connected the dots much sooner. She felt like slapping her palm against her forehead in cartoon fashion. “Stan wants you back, doesn’t he?”

For a moment it seemed as if Olivia wasn’t going to answer, then she did with a nod of her head.

Outrage filled Grace. How dare he! How dare Stan walk back into Olivia’s life after all these years and expect her to welcome him with open arms. Of all the nerve! His timing was impeccable, too, she thought wryly. Naturally Stan would reappear just when Olivia had met Jack. He must hate the idea of his ex-wife seeing anyone else.

“I didn’t tell you about Stan for exactly this reason,” Olivia muttered. “You’re so angry your eyes are about to pop out.”

“I can’t help it,” Grace cried.

It occurred to her that Olivia might actually be considering a reconciliation with Stan. That was the worst thing she could do—and if Olivia didn’t know it, Grace wasn’t too shy to tell her. Stan had never appreciated his wife. He’d never seemed too concerned about what his leaving would do to her or to their remaining children. All Stan had ever cared about was himself and his needs, his wants.

“I know how you feel about Stan,” Olivia murmured.

“You’re not going back to him, are you? You wouldn’t really consider it, would you?” The thought was so repugnant Grace had difficulty getting the words out.

The perplexed uncertainty that came over Olivia was so unlike her that Grace had to make a conscious effort not to get up and hug her.

“I don’t know,” Olivia whispered.

Grace merely nodded, arranging her features in as neutral an expression as possible.

“The day Leif was born,” Olivia said, studying the inside of her glass as if it held the answers she needed, “Stan and I had the most wonderful time reminiscing.”

“You had three children with him,” Grace said, trying to suppress her own negative view of the situation.

“We were happy for a lot of years.”

Grace couldn’t deny that, but Stan had nearly crippled her friend emotionally. She above all others knew how long it had taken Olivia to recover her equilibrium following Jordan’s death and the demise of her marriage.

“What about Jack?” It was probably a mistake to introduce his name just then, but she was genuinely curious. “Does he know?” Her guess was he did, and that was the key to their current troubles.

As Olivia nodded, her hand tightened around her glass. “Do you want to know what he did?” Her brown eyes sparked with irritation. “I swear every time I think about it, I get mad.”

This sounded promising.

Olivia didn’t wait for an answer. “Jack gave me an ultimatum. He claimed Stan’s been after me for months and that I had to choose—either him or Stan.”

“Ye-es?” Grace said, dragging out the word. “And your point is?”

“My point,” Olivia said with exaggerated patience, “is that I’m not some trophy to be won. Furthermore, I’m not willing to play Jack’s silly games.”

“Games,” Grace countered. “It seems to me you’re the one playing games.”

“Me?” Olivia cried.

“Yes, you,” Grace said. “Do you expect Jack to hang around and twiddle his thumbs while Stan waltzes back into your life?”

“No, but I expect him to…to show some gumption. If I’m as important to him as he says, then the least he can do is let me know how he feels.”

Grace frowned. “You mean he hasn’t told you?”

“Told me?” Olivia repeated. “Oh, hardly. He stopped by the house at an inopportune moment about a month ago. Stan had spent the night—”

Grace couldn’t disguise her shock. “Stan…”

“Not you, too,” Olivia said, sounding utterly exasperated. “If you must know, he slept in James’s old room upstairs. It was completely innocent. I can’t believe you’d think I’d let him back in my bed….”

“I don’t know what to think,” Grace said, eager to learn what had taken place. “Go on, tell me what happened.”

“Jack and I were supposed to meet the next morning, but he showed up early with coffee and doughnuts, and there was Stan in my housecoat and fuzzy slippers. He looked ridiculous, but that’s beside the point.”

“And naturally Jack assumed the worst.” He’d jumped to conclusions, just as Grace almost had.

“Naturally,” Olivia echoed. “I went after him and tried to explain, but he wouldn’t listen. He said if I wanted to get back together with Stan, that was fine with him.”

Grace frowned again. “Are you sure that’s what he said?”

Olivia paused. “Maybe not in so many words, but that was his message. I have to tell you it upset me that he actually thought I’d sleep with Stan when the two of us had been seriously dating.”

A picture was beginning to take shape in Grace’s mind. “You haven’t heard from him since, have you?”

“No. Mom thinks I should phone him.” Slowly Olivia raised her eyes to meet Grace’s. “Is that what you think, too?”

Grace shrugged. If she was the one in this situation, she might, but then…

“The thing is,” Olivia said, biting her lower lip, “I want Jack to show some commitment here. Proof that he cares. If he honestly loves me, I think he should fight for me.”

“Fight for you?” The image that came to Grace’s mind, of Jack and Stan standing in the driveway, dukes raised, was comical. “You mean you want him to challenge Stan to a fistfight? Or—” she grinned, imagining them in Regency-era costumes, brandishing pistols “—a duel?”

“No, of course not,” Olivia said impatiently. “I want him to give me some indication, a sign that I’m worth more to him than his stupid male pride. That’s all.” She lowered her eyes. “He’s acting like a hurt little boy.”

“I imagine he is hurt.”

“Well, so am I. He instantly decided I’d spent the night with Stan, although we’d been seeing each other exclusively. If he really believes I’m that kind of woman, I’m better off without him.”

“Don’t give up on him so quickly.”

“It’s been almost a month, Grace.” Slowly, sadly, she shook her head. “What else am I supposed to think? He’s apparently content just to drop the relationship.”

“What about you?” Grace asked. “Are you willing to walk away from Jack?”

She didn’t answer immediately. “I don’t think so,” she finally said.

This was encouraging. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know,” she readily admitted. “Give it time, I guess.”

Grace nodded. She drained her tea, stood and set her glass in the sink. “Let’s get back to painting.”

“Just a minute,” Olivia said, stopping her. She was still seated. “While we’re on the subject of men, tell me what’s happening between you and that good-looking rancher.”

Grace wanted to groan out loud. She’d really prefer not to discuss Cliff Harding. They’d been seeing each other for nearly a year; they’d met shortly after Grace had filed for divorce. She hadn’t officially gone out with him until her divorce was final, but he’d let her know he was interested. Grace was interested in him, too; however, for some reason, their mutual attraction made her uncomfortable.

“What’s wrong?” Olivia asked.

“I’m not really sure,” she murmured. “That’s part of the problem.”

“You mean a decent, wonderful man comes into your life and you can’t figure it out?”

Grace ignored the light sarcasm. “Dan and I got married so young,” she said, and because it was apparent that Olivia wasn’t going to let her escape, she reclaimed her seat. “We were just teenagers, and then Dan went off to Vietnam. But despite all that, despite the difficulties we had, I never looked at another man.”

“I know,” Olivia said, her voice low and soothing.

“Given the least bit of encouragement, Cliff would ask me to marry him.”

“He was so kind the day of Dan’s funeral.”

Grace could only agree. Cliff had showed up at the house following the wake and tenderly looked after her. She’d been exhausted, mentally, physically, emotionally. That afternoon, Cliff had comforted her, tucked her into bed and made her dinner. Grace had never met anyone as thoughtful as Cliff Harding, and, frankly, the way that made her feel frightened her.

“I know Cliff wants us to be serious,” she said, her voice trembling, “but I haven’t dated anyone except him since Dan disappeared.”

“You think seeing a man exclusively—any man—is the same trap you fell into during high school?” Olivia asked. “Is that it?”

“I didn’t want to be divorced or a widow, but I’m both. I guess I don’t want to limit myself to one person at this stage. I don’t think I’m ready to be in a relationship.” There, she’d said it, and as soon as the words were out she understood what had been happening and why.

“Grace?” Olivia was studying her closely.

“That’s it,” she breathed. The insomnia, the anxiety, it all made sense to her now. She didn’t need her bedroom repainted to help release her from the memories of her dead husband. Yes, she had concerns about some information Dan had given her in the letter he’d written just before his death, information to think about, but Dan had very little to do with what had been churning inside her these last few weeks. All this angst was tied to her relationship with Cliff. What she needed was time and space and freedom to discover who she was—who she’d become—and what she wanted out of life. She needed a chance to be herself, by herself.

“Grace?”

“I adore Cliff,” she whispered. “I truly do, but I’m not ready to be as serious as he is. Not yet… I just can’t.” Although she was almost in tears, Grace experienced an incredible feeling of relief, and for the first time since Dan’s funeral, she knew she’d sleep through the night.

“You have to tell Cliff,” Olivia said urgently.

“I know.” She had to find a way to explain without offending him or losing his friendship. “I’d like to continue seeing him, but I want the freedom to see other men, too.” Said out loud, it seemed so unfair and selfish, but it was the truth and that was something Grace often had a difficult time admitting, especially to herself.

Three

As the morning light cascaded into her bedroom, Maryellen Sherman rolled carefully onto her back, astounded at the determined effort it took to shift her “nine-months-andcounting” pregnant body.

Her sister had warned her there’d be days she’d feel as big as the Goodyear blimp, and there were, but Maryellen couldn’t remember a time she’d been happier.

“Any day now,” she said, rubbing her hand over her tight, round abdomen. Catherine “Katie” Grace kicked and stretched, and Maryellen marveled as she watched her stomach extend and move. Glancing at the clock, she saw it was eight-thirty, time to get up. She struggled to sit, and with her palms braced against one side of the bed, Maryellen stared down at her feet and realized they were no longer visible. In fact, it’d been weeks since she’d last seen her toes.

She stood awkwardly and supported her back with both hands. It’d begun to ache, which was no surprise. That was what she got for sleeping on a worn-out old mattress. Once she started moving around, she’d feel better. On bare feet, she padded into the kitchen and put on water to make herself a pot of herbal tea; while she waited for it to boil, she sorted through the four maternity tops that were still decent enough to wear outside the house.

This pregnancy hadn’t been planned, and she’d tried to hide the fact that she was pregnant from the father—not a smart move on her part but a desperate one. Jon Bowman, an artist whose work had been displayed at the gallery she managed, had learned about the baby on his own. He’d been adamant about having a role in his daughter’s life. Maryellen didn’t like it, but she didn’t have any choice. It was either grant Jon visitation rights or fight him in court, something she’d rather avoid.

Maryellen was fond of him and respected his considerable talent. What she disliked most about Jon wasn’t his fault at all. With barely any effort, he’d managed to awaken her sensual nature. Until that November night last year, she’d assumed the sexual part of herself had been buried for good, along with her failed marriage. Jon had deftly proved otherwise.

The biggest regret in her life had come when she was a college student. Maryellen had experienced another unplanned pregnancy. She’d allowed her boyfriend, soon-tobe husband, to manipulate her, and at his insistence had aborted her baby. She hadn’t wanted to, and she’d never been able to forgive herself for doing it.

This time around, she was determined to protect her unborn child. This time she refused to listen to anyone or anything other than her own heart. She wanted this child, loved this child. What had begun as a terrifying mistake had become a valued second chance.

It had been a shock to find out that Jon intended to be part of Katie’s life. So much so, he’d threatened to take Maryellen to court if she excluded him from seeing his daughter. Maryellen had no grounds on which to keep him away, so she’d reluctantly agreed to his terms.

The kettle whistled as she finished laying out her clothes. Massaging her back with one hand, Maryellen poured the boiling water into the waiting teapot. “You don’t have any idea how happy I’m going to be to drink coffee again,” she muttered to her unborn daughter.

Maryellen showered and dressed, and because she was only working half days, she had a leisurely breakfast of toast and yogurt and tea. She didn’t need to be at the Harbor Street Art Gallery until shortly before noon. She loved her job, and enjoyed the friendships she had with many of the local artists. Jon was a photographer, and his work, mostly nature photography, was both breathtaking and insightful. After she’d rejected him, he’d decided to take his photographs elsewhere. At the time, his decision had seemed for the best, but the truth of it was, she missed seeing him and the gallery certainly missed the revenue his work had provided.

Jon’s talent was what had first attracted her, but she found the man himself intriguing. He was unpretentious and straightforward—and reticent about the details of his own life. Although she’d worked with him for more than three years, she knew nothing about his artistic training and next to nothing about his personal background. The one bit of information he’d given her was that he’d inherited a stunning piece of property from his grandfather, the property on which he’d built his house. When she asked him questions, he either walked away or changed the subject. For the most part, he declined invitations to social gatherings. She’d been surprised when he’d agreed to attend a Halloween party last year. She’d made up an excuse to invite him, never believing he’d actually show up. That night they’d shared their first kiss, which was the beginning of it all. In the days that followed, Maryellen had come to know him as well as anyone in Cedar Cove, and probably better. The baby kicked and she smiled to herself. Obviously she did know him better than most.

Still, she was impressed by the man who’d fathered her child. Jon had constructed his own home and worked as a chef for The Lighthouse restaurant, all while his reputation as a photographer grew in the Pacific Northwest and beyond.

“I didn’t expect you until noon,” Lois Habbersmith said when Maryellen walked into the gallery at eleven-thirty, a little ahead of schedule.

Until recently, Lois had been Maryellen’s assistant, but had been temporarily promoted to gallery manager during Maryellen’s maternity leave. She was confident Lois would do a more-than-adequate job.

“When’s your next doctor’s appointment?” Lois asked.

“Tomorrow morning.” The ache in her back seemed to be getting worse. Maryellen pulled out a chair and sat down.

Lois looked concerned. “Are you feeling all right?”

“No,” Maryellen admitted. “The truth is, I’m having this weird backache.” She realized the ache seemed to diminish and then increase fairly regularly. It suddenly occurred to her that perhaps this wasn’t a backache, but the onset of labor.

As if she, too, had reached the same conclusion, Lois walked all the way around her. “My labor pains always started in my back.” Then holding one finger to her lips, Lois said, “Maryellen, you think you could be going into labor?”

“I…I should probably time these…pains, shouldn’t I?”

Lois clapped her hands excitedly. “This is so wonderful!”

“Lois, Lois, I don’t know if I’m in labor. I just have this…strange feeling.”

Maryellen glanced at her watch and tried to remember when she’d last felt this odd pain that seemed to radiate from her spine.

“Your mom’s your birth partner, right?”

Maryellen nodded. She vaguely remembered that her mother had mentioned she’d be attending a librarians’ meeting in Seattle on Wednesday. Today was Wednesday. Grace had a cell phone, Maryellen knew, but she was constantly forgetting to turn it on, or off, in which case the battery would run low. No need to contact her mother just yet, she decided. There was plenty of time, and she wasn’t convinced she was officially in labor, anyway. She wondered if maybe this was false labor, which several people had warned her about.

A few hours later, at home by herself, Maryellen was no longer wondering. She knew. There was nothing false about this. What had started out as a dull ache in her back had ultimately worked its way around, and she was having contractions at five-minute intervals. She reached for the phone and dialed her mother.

Just as she’d suspected, her mother’s cell phone was off or not working or the battery was dead. Or whatever! Drawing in a deep breath, Maryellen closed her eyes. There was always her sister. Kelly had been wonderful ever since she’d learned Maryellen was pregnant. They’d grown closer than at any time since they were teenagers.

After five rings, Kelly and Paul’s answering machine came on. Hoping she sounded collected and in control, Maryellen left a message. “Kelly, hi. Listen, it looks like I’m going into labor. I haven’t called Dr. Abner yet and I’m sure there’s loads of time, but I thought you should know.” Then, not wanting her sister to guess how panicky she was beginning to feel, Maryellen added, “Mom won’t be back from that librarians’ meeting until this afternoon, so when you’re available maybe you could give me a call. I…I don’t have anyone to drive me to the hospital.” Any pretense of composure vanished by the time she replaced the receiver in its cradle.

As Maryellen turned away from the phone, she felt a pain so sharp it nearly doubled her over. Almost immediately water gushed from between her legs. Amniotic fluid.

Maryellen stood in a puddle of water and tried to think clearly. Fearing any movement might endanger her child, she stretched out one hand for the phone, then hesitated, not knowing whom to call.

Suddenly it became obvious. She had to get the number from directory assistance. As she punched it out, she prayed Jon was home and close to a phone.

When there was no answer at his house, she nearly wept with frustration. Panic started to set in; warding it off, she forced herself to remain calm. On the off chance that he was working, she dialed The Lighthouse restaurant.

The woman who answered was polite and friendly. Maryellen was put on hold. After an eternity, Jon came on the line, and his clipped greeting said he wasn’t happy to be called away from whatever he was doing.

Frightened, near desperate, Maryellen whispered hoarsely, “Jon…I need help—”

She wasn’t allowed to finish. “Where are you?”

“Home. My water broke.”

“I’ll be there in five minutes.”

Her relief was overwhelming. She blinked rapidly to keep from breaking into grateful tears. “Thank you,” she began, but the line had already gone dead.

Only a few minutes later she heard a car door slam outside her small rental house. By then, she’d called Dr. Abner and learned that her instincts had been right; he wanted her to go directly to the hospital’s birthing center.

Jon didn’t bother to knock but came barreling in the front door. He had on his white chef’s shirt and pants, both of which were stained. Obviously she’d caught him in the middle of the midday rush. She hadn’t seen him in weeks. The last time had been early in the summer when they’d agreed to visitation, and despite the frantic way his gaze darted to her now, he looked wonderful. By conventional standards Jon wasn’t a handsome man. His features were too sharp, his face long and narrow, his nose almost hawklike, but Maryellen had learned a harsh lesson when it came to attractive men. At first glance, Jon wasn’t going to cause hearts to flutter; it was only on closer examination that she’d recognized the strength of character she found so compelling.

“Hi,” she said weakly, staring down at the floor and the watery mess she was standing in.

“So you’ve got yourself in a little predicament here.” His smile warmed her.

“Were you serious about wanting to see Katie’s birth?” she asked. The panic was completely gone now that he was here.

“I’d like that if it’s possible.”

“Looks like you’ve just been nominated to drive me to the hospital’s birthing center.”

In three quick strides he was across the room and scooped her into his arms as if her considerable weight was of little consequence.

She wanted to protest, to suggest she was too heavy for him, but she didn’t. For the first time since she’d tried to reach her mother, Maryellen felt protected. Safe. He helped her change clothes and then carried her out the door.

He carefully placed her inside his vehicle. “Is your suitcase packed?” he asked.

She nodded. “All except my toothbrush.”

“I’ll grab that and your overnight bag and be right back.”

He left her and returned just as she was having a contraction. They’d gotten much stronger in the minutes since her water broke. Closing her eyes, she tilted her head back and exhaled, trying to remember everything she’d learned in her birthing class.

Jon was in the driver’s seat beside her when she opened her eyes again.

“You okay?” he asked.

He’d gone pale, she noticed. She attempted to reassure him with a smile.

Later, Maryellen remembered almost nothing about the ride from Cedar Cove into Silverdale and the birthing center. Jon didn’t speak, and she didn’t, either, concentrating on the breathing techniques she’d learned while he drove, expertly weaving through traffic.

When they arrived at the center, there seemed to be all kinds of activity going on around her. She was stripped, prepped, helped into bed and had a fetal monitor attached. Jon disappeared, and she wondered if he’d dropped her off and then left again. She supposed that made sense, since she’d clearly called him in the middle of his shift.

Then she was alone in a comfortable room with every modern device to distract her from the pain. There was soft music and a television with VCR should she care to watch, but none of that interested her.

The contractions were far more intense than anyone could have warned her. She mentally counted the seconds as each contraction came over her, working its way from her back to her front, tightening her belly.

“Maryellen?” Jon’s voice was low.

Her eyes flew open and she found him standing in the doorway. Her relief and gratitude were instantaneous. Propping herself up on one elbow, she asked hopefully, “Can you stay?”

“If that’s what you want.”

She did. Until that moment, she hadn’t realized how much she wanted him with her, how much she needed him. Not just anyone. Him.

Coming all the way into the room, he sat on the chair by her side and studied the monitor as it recorded her labor. Although he hadn’t attended a single birthing class, he seemed to know exactly what to say and do to comfort her. When she moved onto her side, he rubbed her back and whispered reassurances. His voice was encouraging as he repeatedly told her what a good job she was doing.

The length and intensity of the contractions continued, and in the middle of one that lasted almost a minute—the longest minute of her life—the pain overwhelmed her. She whimpered softly.

“Do something!” Jon demanded of the nurse who happened to step into the room just then. “She can’t take this pain.”

The woman smiled benevolently. “Maryellen has opted for a natural birth. We’re simply respecting her wishes.”

“I’m okay,” Maryellen said, but she wondered how long she could hold out. “Would it be all right if I held your hand?”

Jon was on his feet and leaning toward her. He braced his elbow against the bed and offered her his hand. From that moment on, she clung to him. When it was time to bear down, Jon was with her, his head close to her own, his arm around her shoulders. Dr. Abner arrived, and that assured her it wouldn’t be much longer.

Jon introduced himself and then in a low, soothing voice, continued to offer Maryellen encouragement and support. Leaning against him, she strained, pushing this child from her body and panting wildly between pains.

With the next contraction she gripped Jon’s hand and pushed, groaning with the effort. Sweat poured off her. Then all at once, her daughter slipped free. Maryellen gasped as she heard Catherine Grace’s fragile cry.

Pride and love filled Maryellen and her eyes brimmed with tears. She smiled tremulously at Jon and was surprised to see that he, too, had tears rolling down his cheeks.

“Welcome, Katie,” she whispered.

Jon looked at her. “Katie, not Catherine?”

Maryellen nodded. She’d gotten in the habit of calling her daughter that. “Catherine seems a bit of a mouthful for such a tiny baby, don’t you think?” Katie was his mother’s name, too, and Maryellen wanted to do that for him—to honor the mother he’d obviously loved.

Jon studied their child’s red face, contorted by angry cries. “Thank you,” he whispered, and his arm tightened around her shoulders. Dr. Abner handed their wailing daughter to the nurse.

“You can come with me, Dad,” the delivery nurse told him. “I’m going to weigh and wash her up, and then you can hold your little girl.”

Jon seemed to be seeking her approval. With tears of joy and jubilation, Maryellen nodded. Nothing in the world could compare to this feeling. This wonderful sense of triumph, of joy, of love. Because Maryellen already knew that she loved her baby. The power of that love settled over her heart unlike anything she’d ever experienced.

Jon and the nurse were busy on the other side of the room. Maryellen couldn’t see everything that was happening, but she saw Jon’s face when the woman settled Katie in his arms. His look was one of such awe and elation, she felt profoundly moved. At just that moment, he glanced up and their eyes met.

“She’s beautiful,” he mouthed, cradling her protectively in the crook of his arm.

Wanting to hold her, Maryellen stretched out her arms and Jon crossed the room and placed Katie in her waiting embrace.

This was the way it would be with them, Maryellen realized. They’d have to learn to share their daughter. To work together. To put their own wants and needs aside—to put Katie’s first.

There was a knock at the door, which Maryellen ignored. Instead, she studied Catherine Grace. Her tiny face was still red and her eyes were squeezed tightly shut, as if the lights were too strong for her.

Jon offered her his finger and Katie’s tiny hand wrapped around it.

A young woman, apparently a volunteer, stuck her head into the room. “A Mrs. Sherman is outside. She says she’s supposed to be your birthing partner.”

“That would be my mother,” Maryellen explained, smiling.

The volunteer smiled back. “I’ll send her in.”

A couple of minutes later, both her mother and Kelly were in the room. Maryellen was bombarded with questions. Before she was even aware of it, Jon had disappeared. She hadn’t had a chance to thank him.

While she waited for the city council meeting to start, Charlotte Jefferson dug out her knitting. It distressed her that more people in the community didn’t concern themselves with local government. But then, this was only her second meeting in seventy-five years. Until recently, she hadn’t paid much attention to civic affairs herself.

“Hello, Louie,” she said, nodding politely when the mayor walked in. She sat alone in the front row.

“I understand congratulations are in order,” Louie Benson said as he strolled past her. The Bensons were an old Cedar Cove family. Louie’s younger brother, Otto, was a prominent attorney in town.

“Yes, I have a great-grandson,” she confirmed. “My first.”

“I understand Grace Sherman’s a grandmother now—for the second time, I think.”

“Just last week.” Grace was as proud of her first granddaughter, Maryellen’s baby, as she was of her grandson, Kelly and Paul’s little Tyler. Charlotte thought it had worked out nicely that her daughter, Olivia, and Olivia’s best friend could be grandmothers together. Those two had always been close and a blessing to each other.

“It’s unusual to see you at the council meetings,” the mayor said. “Not that it isn’t a pleasure.”

“I’m here for a reason.” Charlotte jerked fiercely on her yarn as she continued knitting.

“Anything I can do?” the mayor had the good sense to inquire.

Frankly Charlotte had hoped he’d ask. “I want to propose that this town open a health clinic. I think it’s shameful that we haven’t had one before now.” At a minimum, people had to drive ten or fifteen miles to the Bremerton area for medical attention, and it often meant waiting hours in the emergency room. A town the size of Cedar Cove could easily support a clinic. But Charlotte wanted a particular kind of health facility, a place for everyone in Cedar Cove.

“Now, Charlotte—”

“One that’ll take patients on a sliding fee scale,” she added, unwilling to listen to Louie’s objections. “I know Medicare and Medicaid patients would welcome the opportunity to avoid having to go all the way into Bremerton or Silverdale for their health needs.”

“I agree, but—”

“Too many of my friends are reluctant to see a physician for fear of what it’ll cost.”

“Yes, I realize that, but—”

“Louis Benson, you’re talking like a politician.”

“Now, Charlotte, you and I both know this is strictly a figurehead position. The town’s run by a hired manager. If you want to talk to Matthew Harper about setting up a low-cost health clinic, then go ahead, but I can tell you right now there’s no budget for it.”

Fine, if that was what it took, she’d discuss this with the manager. “I will.”

The mayor looked slightly uncomfortable and glanced over his shoulder. When he spoke again, he lowered his voice. “A bit of advice.”

“Anything you can tell me would be welcome,” she assured him, staring down at her knitting as if it demanded her full concentration.

“Get all your facts together before you see Matt Harper.”

“I will,” she assured him. Harper was reputed to be a tough bargainer, scrupulous about town budgets, but he’d met his match if he thought he could roadblock her efforts. If it was the last thing she did before she died, Charlotte fully intended to see that Cedar Cove got a health facility of its own.

The door opened, and the mayor quickly straightened. “How’s everyone at the Senior Center doing?” he asked, as if making polite conversation.

“Laura’s rheumatism is acting up,” Charlotte informed him. “She says it’s going to be a hard winter. Bess has had a cough all summer. I keep telling her she should see a doctor, but she’s afraid of what he might tell her so she refuses to go. If there was a clinic here in town, I’d make the appointment and drag her in myself. And Evelyn…” Charlotte paused when she realized Louie was no longer listening. His attention was focused elsewhere.

When he noticed she’d stopped talking, he patted her shoulder and said, “Good to chat with you, Charlotte. I’ll see what we can do about your suggestion.”

“You do that,” she said, but she already knew her words had gone in one ear and out the other. Louie Benson had given her a bit of helpful advice, however. She needed facts and figures.

Charlotte decided to leave as soon as she finished this purl row. No one wanted to listen to a cranky old woman. Least of all this roomful of men, each one struggling to appear more important than the next. The door at the back of the room creaked open, and assuming it was another councillor, Charlotte didn’t turn to look.

To her surprise, it was Ben Rhodes. He was a tall, distinguished man with a thick head of white hair. She might be seventy-five, but Charlotte had never been immune to a handsome man…and still wasn’t. Some of the ladies at the Senior Center thought of Ben as a Cesar Romero look-alike. He’d recently moved to the area and she didn’t know him well, but he was a popular figure at the center—for obvious reasons.

“Hello, Ben,” she said when he took a seat across the aisle from her.

He glanced in her direction; she could tell from the blank look in his eyes that he didn’t recognize her.

“I’m Charlotte Jefferson from the Henry M. Jackson Senior Center.”

A warm smile transformed Ben’s face as he crossed the aisle and sat one chair away from her. They hadn’t been formally introduced, but she’d seen him a number of times. Ben was at the Senior Center every Monday, the same as she, only he played bridge and pinochle and she was part of the ladies’ knitting group.

Ben always came alone and she’d wondered about his wife, but they’d never had an opportunity to talk. From the way the ladies fluttered around him like bees over a glass of lemonade, she guessed he was a widower.

She’d made a point of saying hello to him the afternoon Olivia was guest of honor at the once-a-month luncheons the center put on. But she’d spoken to so many people that day. It’d been glorious having her own daughter give such an impressive speech. Still, that was months ago now, and Charlotte wasn’t sure Ben even remembered that Olivia was her daughter.

“I didn’t know you were interested in politics,” Charlotte said, starting a fresh row despite her earlier decision to leave. There was no need to rush now that Ben was here.

“I don’t much care for political discussion, but I wanted to make a suggestion to the council. What about you?”

“I’m here for the same reason,” she declared. “Cedar Cove needs a health clinic.”

Ben’s deep-blue eyes widened. “That’s why I’m here.”

“A health clinic with a sliding fee scale,” Charlotte said, “so it’s affordable to everyone, no matter what age or income.”

Ben nodded fervently. “I couldn’t agree with you more.”

They sat through the meeting with one empty chair between them. When Matthew Harper asked if there was any new business, Ben stood, resting his hands on the back of the chair in front of him.

“If I might address the council,” he said.

Harper raised his head, glanced curiously at the two of them, and nodded.

Ben spoke eloquently. He talked about people’s right to quality health care and the advantages a clinic would bring to Cedar Cove. He finished with the statement, “Let’s work together to overcome the bureaucratic issues and get the approvals we need. If we can do that, we’ll have done what’s necessary to improve the health of everyone in our community.”

Charlotte felt like leaping to her feet and applauding. He’d spoken far more convincingly than she could have and without emotion. Ben somehow made it sound as though a clinic was eminently possible thanks to the council’s leadership and influence. Charlotte marveled at his finesse.

The council, all smiles, promised to look into the matter and report back at the next meeting.

Then the meeting was dismissed, and Charlotte tucked her knitting inside her bag. “You were wonderful,” she told Ben. “I could never have presented the case for a health clinic nearly as well as you did.”

“Thank you.” He stood and politely stepped aside, letting her exit the row ahead of him.

They walked out into the warm air. It was Thursday evening and music could be heard coming from the waterfront park. “I’ll have you know I skipped tonight’s Concert on the Cove for this,” she said, although it was no real sacrifice this evening. The organizers had hired puppeteers and the program was geared more toward youngsters.

“How about a cup of coffee?” Ben offered.

Charlotte’s heart fluttered wildly. This was silly, but it wasn’t every night she got such an attractive invitation. “All right.”

“Shall we go down to The Lighthouse?” Ben asked.

Charlotte beamed. “That would be perfect. My granddaughter and her husband just opened it, you know.”

Ben looked suitably impressed. “They’re doing a good job.”

Charlotte agreed, but it wouldn’t seem right if she bragged on and on about Justine and Seth. She was thrilled at how well the couple was doing, considering how little practical experience they had with restaurants. What they did have was a wonderful chef, good people skills and genuine business ability.

As it happened, both Seth and Justine were off for the night, which was just as well, Charlotte mused, as she sat out on the patio with a lovely view of the cove. The revolving beam from the lighthouse could be seen intermittently in the distance, and the lights from the shipyard shimmered over the dark surface of Sinclair Inlet.

They both ordered coffee and apple pie with ice cream.

“What a nice suggestion,” Charlotte said, slicing her fork into her warm pie. It was spicy with cinnamon and went perfectly with the rich vanilla taste of the ice cream. Dessert was an indulgence, but life was too short to do without the occasional treat.

“There’ve been times I wanted to stop by here, but it isn’t any fun eating by myself,” Ben confessed. Shaking his head sadly, he told her, “My wife died six years ago. I don’t know if I’ll ever get accustomed to being alone.”

“My Clyde’s been gone twenty years.”

“Then you know.”

Charlotte did understand. Even after all these years, she still felt the dull ache of a deep but long-ago grief. Clyde was her everything: her faithful friend, constant companion, her husband and lover. The empty space his death had left in her life could never be filled.

“I heard you’re retired Navy,” she said, changing the subject before they became too melancholy.

“Forty years,” Ben confirmed. “I enlisted shortly after World War II, when I was eighteen, served in Korea and Vietnam. Retired as an admiral.”

“Children?”

“Two boys. They’re both married and have families of their own. What about you?”

“You met Olivia, I believe.”

He nodded. “The judge.”

So he did remember. “I have a son, too. Will. He lives near Atlanta, Georgia. He’s a nuclear engineer,” she boasted.

“Steven, my oldest boy, lives in Georgia, too. Ever hear of St. Simons Island?”

“Clyde and I visited there one summer. Let me think—it must’ve been back in the sixties, but I still remember how lovely it was. All those giant live oaks dripping with Spanish moss.”

Ben smiled. “Joan used to love visiting the island.” At the mention of his wife’s name, his eyes grew sad. Because Charlotte understood how devastating it was to lose one’s life mate, she gently patted his hand.

“It does hurt less after a while,” she whispered. “Life is never the same, but gradually we adjust. Every year’s a little easier.” Perhaps it would help if he talked, she thought. “Tell me about her.”

Ben looked surprised. “You want me to talk about Joan?”

“Only if you’d like to.”

He did; that was soon apparent. “Joan went with me all over the world,” he said. “I was stationed in Europe and Asia and in a number of states. Never once did she complain. I promised her that when I retired we’d settle down in one place.”

“And you did?”

“California. We built a home there, had about ten years, but then Joan got sick. Cancer.”

“What brought you to Cedar Cove?”

He didn’t answer for a long moment. Dusk was descending, the lights’ reflection playing on the still waters. “I couldn’t stay in that house anymore. I moved to a condo in San Diego, but it didn’t feel right. I’d been up to Washington, the Seattle area, several times. Some friends had invited me to visit after the funeral, and then I came back almost every year. I took the ferry across to Bremerton a couple of years ago. On a whim, I went to Cedar Cove and walked around a bit. I liked it. The people were friendly and I was looking for somewhere new to live.”

“What about your sons?”

“David wanted me to move closer to him—he lives in Arizona—but that didn’t appeal to me. He was planning to take care of me, but I don’t ever want to be a burden to my family.”

“I know what you mean.” Charlotte had the same concerns. She sincerely doubted that Ben would ever be a burden to anyone. He was a proud, capable man, independent by nature.

“How long have you been here?”

“Over a year now.”

That didn’t seem possible.

Ben glanced at his watch and seemed surprised by the time. “My goodness, it’s almost nine-thirty.”

“It can’t be!” Charlotte was sure he’d made a mistake. They’d come here shortly after eight, since the council meeting, which started at seven, had lasted only an hour.

“You’re an easy woman to talk to, Charlotte.”

She felt her heart flutter at his praise. “Thank you.” What she didn’t say was that Ben Rhodes was an easy man to listen to—an easy man to like.

Four

Rosie Cox hadn’t taught grade school in years. Sixteen years, to be exact. When Allison was born, Zach and Rosie had made the decision that she’d be a stay-at-home mother. For years she proudly wore her Every Mother Is A Working Mother pin. Her views about women’s role within the family had leaned toward the militant. A mother’s love and care, especially in the early stages of child development, was vital. At one time, Rosie had prided herself on being the world’s best mother, best wife and best housekeeper. Okay, the housekeeping part was a stretch, but as far as parenthood went, she read all the books, talked to the experts and attended the latest classes. She’d been determined to do everything right by her family.

When Allison and Eddie were both in school, Rosie had briefly toyed with the idea of rejoining the workforce as a teacher. She had the credentials, the hours were ideal and she could have summers off with the kids. There hadn’t been any positions available, but she’d dipped her toe in the employment pool one autumn a few years back, when she’d worked as a cashier in a drugstore. That, however, hadn’t lasted long.

When Eddie entered first grade, Rosie was already involved in a handful of volunteer jobs, which she thoroughly enjoyed. She wanted to contribute to the community and initially Zach had encouraged this. If she wanted to volunteer her services, then it was fine by him, since they’d learned to survive quite adequately on one income. Later, her husband had come to resent the hours she gave to these organizations and complained that she was gone far too many nights. In the end, it was apparent that Zach didn’t want her working, but didn’t approve of her volunteering, either. What he wanted, she realized bitterly, was an old-fashioned wife, subject to his needs and desires. A glorified housekeeper, and never mind the bedroom part because he was obviously getting that somewhere else.

Volunteering had fulfilled her, but that was then and this was now. With the divorce final and the joint custody agreement in place—even if it was the most unusual one on record—Rosie had to find a way of supporting herself.

Her options were limited. After a few refresher classes, which she took over the summer, she was hired by the school district as a substitute teacher. She’d been counting on that. She was in line for a full-time position once an opening became available. Being a substitute, fewer hours equaled less pay, and that worried her until she was assured she could have as many hours as she wanted.

Sure enough, yesterday, the first day of school, she’d been called in to teach a second-grade class at Evergreen Elementary. This was Wednesday, day two of her new working life.

By late afternoon, Rosie’s feet were throbbing and she could feel the beginnings of a migraine. Teaching wasn’t easy, but it was manageable, she told herself. Mrs. Gough, the regular teacher, had had her appendix out over the Labor Day weekend and would be out of the classroom for two to three weeks, depending on her rate of recovery. As a result, Rosie would have a steady income for much of September.

It was almost five by the time she was ready to leave the school. Most, if not all, of the other teachers had gone for the day. The janitor was pushing a broom down the deserted hallway when she walked out of her classroom.

“Good night,” she said as she strolled past him, struggling to smile.

He acknowledged her with a nod and methodically continued his task.

Climbing into her SUV, she mentally patted herself on the back. She’d been awarded the vehicle, a Ford Explorer, as part of the divorce settlement. Zach had to either give her the Explorer or buy her an equivalent replacement, since her own car was old and becoming unreliable. He chose to give up the car, but then she’d known he would.

Both of them had sunk pretty low during the negotiations that led to their divorce settlement. Rosie had been unaware of how petty she could be, how…mean. She’d actually hated Zach for what he was doing to her and to their family, and she wanted to hurt him as much as he’d hurt her. He appeared to feel the same way.

Rosie turned onto Pelican Court and pulled into their driveway, heaving a giant sigh. It was good to be home. She was eager to talk to her children and learn how their days had gone. Allison attended Cedar Cove High School and Eddie was in fifth grade at Lincoln Elementary. Exhausted though she was, Rosie longed to hear about their classes. She might even order pizza, which would be a treat in these days of tight budgets. The three of them deserved something special.

The garage door was closed and Rosie frowned when it opened and she saw Zach’s new vehicle parked in her spot. What was that about? Getting out of the car, she slammed the door. The last thing she wanted to do was deal with him, especially after the day she’d just had.

She hesitated at the door, wondering if she should knock, then decided this was her house as much as his. Without bothering to announce her arrival, she barreled into the kitchen from the door off the garage.

Sure enough, Zach was in her kitchen wearing a ridiculous-looking apron. Both kids were with him, which irritated her further. Eddie sat at the table doing his homework, and Allison was standing at the sink peeling potatoes. This was a sight she could hardly believe, especially since the kids seemed to be performing these tasks willingly.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded, hands on her hips.

“What do you mean?” Zach asked, glancing up. His smile faded and his eyes narrowed. His hands were buried wrist-deep in a blue ceramic bowl full of what looked like hamburger and cracker crumbs. Ah, now she understood. This was his pitiful attempt at meat loaf. A year ago they’d had a big fight over her not serving him a three-course meal every night when he came home from the office. He seemed to think she had nothing to do all day but hang around the house and watch soap operas and trashy talk shows.

“Meat loaf?” she asked, making no effort to disguise her sneer.

“It’s my night with the kids,” Zach said. His hands froze as he glared malevolently at her.

The hell it was. “I don’t think so.” Rosie wasn’t backing down. It was bad enough having Zach in her house. She hated every minute of this switching back and forth. She’d memorized the schedule: she was with the children every Sunday, Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday, and then Zach was at the house Thursday, Friday and Saturdays, plus holidays. She’d felt triumphant about getting that extra day, but she’d had to give up the major holidays for it. The trade-off didn’t seem fair, but it was the best deal Sharon Castor had been able to get her.

“Monday was a holiday,” Zach reminded her.

Crossing her arms, Rosie gave him a slow, sardonic smile. “So?”

“Monday was Labor Day.”

“Dad has the holidays, Mom. Remember? So he’s supposed to get an extra day this week.”

Leave it to Allison to side with her father. Rosie frowned at her daughter. She’d asked her a thousand times to peel potatoes for dinner. In response Allison always gave her the beleaguered look of an overworked galley slave. But let her father ask…

“We decided last month that instead of me coming here on the less important holidays, we’d simply tack a day onto my usual week.”

“We did?” She vaguely remembered some discussion having to do with Labor Day, but it had slipped her mind with all the craziness that surrounded her first day of school. The situation would be the same for Columbus Day the following month, she realized.

“Do you want my attorney to mail you the paperwork—complete with your signature?” Zach asked.

“There’s no need to get sarcastic with me,” she replied.

Eddie slammed his book closed and covered both ears. “Stop it!” he screamed. “Just stop it.”

“Now look what you’ve done,” Rosie flared, placing her arm protectively around her son’s shoulders. Eddie had always been a sensitive child.

Zach’s gaze bored holes into her. “This is my time with my children,” he said, “and I’d appreciate it if you’d leave.”

Rosie opened her mouth, intent on arguing, but he was right. She was the one who’d made the mistake.

“Fine,” she said with as much dignity as she could muster, which at this point was very little. She sent her son and daughter a reassuring smile, then walked out of the house.

Tears burned just below the surface as she climbed back inside the Explorer. This wouldn’t happen again; she’d make sure of it. From here on out, she’d have the days clearly marked on the calendar so there wouldn’t be a repeat of this dreadful scene.

The apartment she shared with Zach was less than a mile away from the house. She pulled into the assigned parking slot and turned off the engine. The neighborhood wasn’t as good, but the rent was reasonable.

Everything inside the apartment was neatly divided. She had her own shelf in the refrigerator and Zach had his. She kept her personal items locked inside one bedroom, and his were locked in the other—not that she cared what he did or didn’t have.

The apartment was hot and, unlike the house, lacked air-conditioning. Rosie turned on the television for noise and then took two aspirin and plunked down in front of the television set. The news was on, but she had no interest in world events. It was all she could do to deal with what was happening in her own life.

She must have fallen asleep because the phone woke her. Startled, she leapt off the couch and raced into the kitchen.

“Hello,” she said breathlessly, not sounding anything like her normal self.

The person on the other end of the line hesitated. “I think I have the wrong number,” the woman said softly.

Rosie would recognize that voice anywhere. It was Janice Lamond, the home wrecker who’d stolen her husband. The woman who’d carefully planned to ruin Rosie’s life. She seethed with anger and resentment.

“Yes, I think you’ve made a mistake,” she said, letting the intense dislike she felt for the other woman show in her voice. Because nothing further needed to be said, she took delight in banging down the receiver. Her hand shook, and leaning against the kitchen counter, Rosie fought back angry tears.

Zach was dating. He had been even before the divorce was final. Even before he’d moved out. She was the one who’d honored her wedding vows, the one who’d cared for the house and the family while her so-called husband had an affair. It hurt even now to realize that the man she’d trusted implicitly and loved beyond measure had become involved with another woman.

Rosie poured herself a cold orange juice and walked back into the tiny living room. Slouching down on the sofa, she stared up at the ceiling.

Two could play that game, she decided. Rosie didn’t know why it had taken her so long to figure that out.

It was high time she found herself a boyfriend.

With the latest issue of The Cedar Cove Chronicle at the printer’s, Jack Griffin had a rare free afternoon, and a beautiful September afternoon it was. Normally he’d spend the time with Olivia, but now he was at loose ends and in a hell of a mood.

He’d been playing it cool, doing his best to hide his true feelings about Olivia. He wasn’t fooling anyone, least of all his best friend, Bob Beldon. Bob was more than a friend, he was Jack’s AA sponsor, and between them they had almost thirty years’ sobriety.

He parked his battered, fifteen-year-old Ford Taurus outside the Beldons’ B and B, Thyme and Tide. Jack paused long enough to take in the view from across the cove. It really was lovely. Breathtaking. In the distance, the huge green-and-white Seattle ferry was easing into the Bremerton dock. Seagulls hovered over the water. Closer at hand, statuesque herons walked delicately along the shore, picking at the exposed seabed with thin beaks while the tide lapped at their feet. A line of foam scalloped the rocky beach.

Peggy was busy clipping herbs in her garden, wearing a large straw hat to shade her face from the late-afternoon sun. She straightened when she saw him, a basket over her arm.

“Jack,” she greeted him warmly. “We haven’t seen nearly enough of you in the last little while.” Hurrying across the lawn, she kissed him lightly on the cheek. “Isn’t it a beautiful afternoon?”

“Sure is, Peggy.” He paused. “Is Bob around?”

“Sorry, no. He’s off with Pastor Flemming. I don’t know how he did it, but Dave Flemming’s got Bob working with the teenagers’ basketball team.”

Frankly, Jack didn’t know how the minister had managed it, either. “I didn’t realize you and Bob were churchgoing people,” he said, puzzlement in his voice.

“We didn’t used to be,” Peggy admitted. “Not until…” An unknown man had died in their home the previous winter, and—understandably—that had shaken them up. The circumstances were shrouded in mystery. The John Doe had arrived in the middle of a storm; he’d carried false identification and had yet to be identified. So many questions remained unanswered, and some people seemed to think Bob and Peggy might be involved. If the stranger had died at his house, Jack suspected he might start attending church, too.

Peggy, willowy and energetic as always, headed toward the kitchen as though she expected Jack to follow. He did so willingly. Peggy was the kind of woman who made everyone feel welcome. It was her gift and made her a natural in the bed-and-breakfast business.

She held the screen door open for Jack and set her basket on the counter. “I just made a fresh pitcher of iced tea,” she announced, and then, without asking, automatically poured two tall glasses. She arranged several large peanut butter cookies on a plate, as well.

With Jack carrying the tray, they walked to the patio. He set it down on the table and began to make an excuse to leave as soon as politeness allowed. He changed his mind; after all, he’d come here hoping for a distraction from his thoughts about Olivia.

“When do you expect Bob?” he asked.

“Around five, I guess,” Peggy told him.

A quick glance at his watch assured Jack that was only thirty minutes off.

“After Dan Sherman’s death…” Peggy began. She hesitated. “Bob took that hard.”

As a relative newcomer, Jack didn’t remember Bob being especially close to the former lumberman. Thinking about it, though, he recalled that Grace Sherman had asked Bob to speak at the memorial service held for Dan. That had surprised Jack at the time, but he hadn’t said anything.

As if reading his mind, Peggy explained. “Bob and Dan used to be good friends in high school. Dan’s death really disturbed him, and then of course there was…” She shrugged and met Jack’s eyes. He knew she was talking about the stranger.

“After Dan was buried, Bob decided he’d like to start attending church services,” Peggy continued. “I certainly didn’t mind. In fact, I’ve wanted to go for quite a while. Funny how death tends to unnerve us, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Jack smiled wanly, disinclined to chat. But after a few minutes, the silence became uncomfortable, so he tried to fill it with questions. “Bob and Dan didn’t see much of each other lately, did they?”

Peggy shook her head. “Not since they got back from Vietnam, but Dan was never the same after the war. They drifted apart. I don’t think Dan was much of a drinker, but Bob was…well, you know about his problems with the bottle as well as anyone.”

Jack nodded. “Friends can do that,” he said, thinking more about himself and Olivia than Dan Sherman and Bob. “Drift apart, I mean.” Only his relationship with Olivia hadn’t exactly drifted, it had been abruptly cut off. His gut twisted, and if he didn’t know better, he’d think he had the beginnings of an ulcer. When he reached for his iced tea, he noticed Peggy studying him.

“You’ve lost weight.”

“Have I?” If so, he was grateful. He had a bit of a paunch that had come with middle age and a demanding desk job. There wasn’t much time for exercise, and meals often consisted of what he could get from a vending machine.

“I suspect it has something to do with Olivia. You’re obviously miserable.”

Now, that was below the belt. Jack nearly groaned aloud. “Unfair,” he muttered. “And Olivia’s off-limits.”

“Okay,” Peggy murmured, apparently content to abide by his wishes. “But I do have one thing to tell you and then I’ll shut up.”

“One thing?” he repeated. “Just one?”

“Yes,” Peggy said, “and I think you’ll find this interesting. I had to go down to the courthouse the other day and everyone in the whole building was buzzing about another of Olivia’s decisions.” She paused, as if waiting for him to bite.

Funny Jack hadn’t already heard about it. Curiosity got the best of him and he swallowed the bait. “What did she do this time?” he asked.

Peggy explained the controversial joint custody decision Olivia had made. “I wish more judges would take the children’s needs into consideration,” she said.

This willingness to employ common sense in her courtroom was what had first attracted Jack to Olivia. He’d been surprised—and impressed—when a year earlier, she’d basically denied a young couple a divorce.

Everyone in the courtroom could tell that Ian and Cecilia Randall were still in love. They’d lost an infant daughter, and the death of their baby had ripped them apart. Olivia had not only recognized their emotional confusion and their need for each other, she’d boldly acted upon it. The last Jack had heard, Ian and Cecilia were together again.

Peggy was staring at him.

“I haven’t seen Olivia in weeks.” Jack helped himself to a cookie. Six weeks to be precise, not that he was counting. All right, all right, he knew down to the day and the hour, which he wasn’t admitting to anyone.

“Jack, that’s terrible!”

No kidding. Well, he didn’t much like it, either, but he’d backed himself into a corner. It was an impossible situation, and his ego demanded he stay exactly where he was.

“You miss her, don’t you?”

He started to say that after a while it wasn’t so bad, then stopped abruptly. Hell, who did he think he was fooling? It was worse than ever, especially in the past few weeks. “She seems to be doing okay. I hear Stan Lockhart is hanging around a lot these days.”

“Is Olivia dating her ex-husband?”

“Not according to Charlotte.” Jack nearly bit his tongue in his eagerness to close his mouth. He hadn’t meant to let Peggy know he’d been commiserating with Olivia’s mother. Charlotte was his biggest supporter. She’d told him that she’d nagged Olivia to mend fences with Jack; unfortunately, Olivia didn’t seem inclined to admit the error of her ways.

Jack set the cookie aside, his appetite gone. “Apparently Olivia’s got some bug up her butt about how I should be making a play for her.”

“A play?”

“You know,” he said, growing impatient. “She wants me to—in her words—show some gumption and fight for her.”

Peggy frowned. “She wants you to fight?”

“Well, maybe not a knock-down, drag-out fistfight but… hell, I don’t know what she wants.” He assumed she was expecting him to come on bended knee and beg her forgiveness. He had too much pride for that. If she was interested in him, the same way he was interested in her, then that high-school, high-drama stuff shouldn’t be necessary. For a woman who supposedly knew so much about human nature, Olivia had fallen decidedly short on figuring this out.

“You might send her flowers,” Peggy suggested.

Jack had already thought of that. “I don’t have a reason.”

“Reason? What do you mean, reason?” Peggy repeated.

“You know…her birthday, Christmas, whatever.”

“Jack, Jack, Jack,” Peggy said slowly. “You have a reason. You want her back, don’t you? This nonsense has gone on long enough. That’s all she wants to hear. She’s waiting for you to make the first move.”

Yeah, well, Jack was waiting, too.

“You’re at a standoff,” Peggy said. “If you don’t do something fast, you’ll lose her. If she intended to get together with her ex, don’t you think she’d be with him by now? Good grief.” She shook her head. “Stan must be overjoyed by all this.”

Jack scowled ferociously. He’d thought plenty about that slimy bastard who’d once been married to Olivia, and heaven knew Jack didn’t want to do Stanley Lockhart any favors. “I suppose you think I should pour my heart out on one of those dinky cards, too.”

“No,” Peggy said. “That wouldn’t be like you.”

Thankfully she knew him well enough to recognize that. “What should I say, then?”

“Why say anything? Just write your name.”

“That’s it?”

Peggy nodded. “All Olivia needs is some indication that you care.”

It was that easy? Nah—couldn’t be.

“Are you going to do it?” she pressed.

“Maybe.” It sounded like good advice, and at this point, he was willing to try just about anything—especially if he could hold on to his pride at the same time.

Peggy shoved the cookie plate in his direction and Jack took the last one. “I hope you do it,” she told him.

Peggy had certainly given him something to think about, but now he was anxious to turn the subject away from Olivia. “I happened to run into Roy McAfee the other day,” Jack said. The retired Seattle police detective had put out his shingle as a private investigator shortly after he’d moved to Cedar Cove. Jack knew that Roy had talked to Bob and Peggy extensively about the John Doe who’d checked into their B and B—and never checked out. The medical examiner still hadn’t determined the cause of death.

“Is Roy still working on our big mystery?” Peggy asked, her eyes troubled.

“He didn’t mention anything, but I doubt it.”

Peggy became quiet and thoughtful. “I wish he would,” she finally said.

“Investigate your John Doe?” Jack prodded.

“It’s almost as if…as if he landed here from another planet.”

“You think Roy might be able to find out something the police can’t?” he asked.

“I…I don’t know.” She shifted in her seat and suddenly seemed uncomfortable. “It’s just that…” Again she hesitated.

“What?”

“It’s Bob. That night, he casually said there was something familiar about our guest. But with the way he arrived, so late and without a reservation, Bob couldn’t put his finger on it. I think there might be more to this than meets the eye.”

Bob and Jack were close. He knew Bob had scoured his brain looking for a connection and been unable to come up with one.

“I’ve been married to Bob for over thirty years…” Peggy’s voice dropped to a whisper. She darted a glance at him. “Did he ever tell you about his nightmares?”

He hadn’t. “We all have bad dreams at one time or another.” Jack hadn’t gone to Vietnam himself, but he knew plenty of men who had. Nightmares weren’t uncommon for a man who’d been to war.

“Twice now…” She sighed. “Sometimes, through the years, Bob’s sleepwalked.”

Jack leaned forward. “Surely you don’t think he had anything to do with your guest’s death?”

“Oh, no.” Her eyes widened in horror. “It’s impossible! The bedroom door was locked from the inside.”

But Jack knew they had a key, so that wasn’t a viable excuse.

“And there wasn’t a scratch on him.”

Jack nodded. That was true.

“Besides, you know Bob. He can barely swat a fly. It just isn’t in him to purposely hurt anyone or anything.”

Peggy was right. “Then why do you want Bob to talk to a private investigator?”

“I just want Bob to talk, I guess. It doesn’t matter to whom. After I saw how upset he was over Dan’s death, coupled with the recurring nightmares—well, I just think it would do him good to get it off his chest. He’s always so afraid that he might start walking in his sleep again.”

Jack could appreciate her concern. “Do you want me to say anything to him?”

She shook her head. “It might do more harm than good. If he thinks I’ve been talking about him—even with you—he’d just get upset.”

Jack noticed the way she clenched and unclenched her hands, and he realized that Peggy was afraid. Even though she’d denied it, she was afraid her husband might have had something to do with the stranger’s death.

Was that possible? Could Bob be involved?

Five

Sunday afternoon, the day Katie turned one month old, Maryellen paced the living room floor, holding her daughter against her chest. The doorbell chimed and she froze. Jon had come for Katie, to take her home for the night. This was the first time since she’d been born that Maryellen had to surrender her to Jon. Until today, he’d visited almost daily, usually staying only an awkward few minutes. Now he’d be taking her on his rotation days off, returning the next afternoon. Already she knew that abiding by their agreement wasn’t going to be easy.

Reluctantly, she set Katie back in her bassinet and opened the front door. Jon stood on the other side of the screen, dressed casually in jeans and a short-sleeved shirt. His long dark hair was pulled away from his face and tied in a ponytail.

“Hi,” he said. “You look great—both of you.”

“Jon.” Despite her resolve not to be emotional, her voice trembled.

If he noticed her distress, he ignored it. “Is Katie ready?”

Maryellen swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded. She held the door open for him. “I’ve packed everything you’ll need.” She reached for the diaper bag and pulled out a container of breast milk she’d pumped and several empty bottles. “She only takes about three ounces, sometimes four, at a time. You’ll probably have to get up twice during the night, and she isn’t all that accustomed to the bottle, so I don’t know how she’ll do.” She swallowed again, trying to hide her reservations. “You will hear her if she cries, won’t you?”

“I’m a light sleeper.”

That wasn’t the way Maryellen remembered it. On their one night together she’d managed to gather her clothes and sneak halfway down the stairs before he noticed she was gone.

“I put three extra outfits in her diaper bag in case she needs a change—and extra diapers, too.”

“All right.” He walked over to the bassinet, which she’d brought into the living room this morning. “Hey, I didn’t know they still had these.”

“It was mine,” Maryellen told him. “Mom saved it and then gave it to Kelly when she had Tyler. Kelly passed it along to me for Katie.”

Jon smiled down at his daughter; the infant seemed to smile back and started moving both arms. Jon placed his hand over her tiny stomach.

“She likes her yellow blanket best….” Maryellen said. “My mom knit it for her and I think she sleeps better with it.” She was rambling, but she couldn’t help herself.

“I’ll be sure the blanket is always with her.”

“You’ll need a car seat. State law demands that—”

“I already have one.”

Not once had his gaze wavered from their daughter, and Maryellen saw him make silly faces at her. The tenderness in his eyes made her want to weep.

“She tends to be fussy first thing in the morning,” she told him, and bit her lip to keep it from trembling.

“She must get that from you,” Jon said, briefly glancing toward her. “As I recall, you’re not much of a morning person, either.”

Apparently he was reminding her of their night together. Maryellen immediately wanted to defend herself, but she was afraid that if she said one more word, she’d burst into tears. His having Katie had sounded like a reasonable solution a couple of months ago. Katie was Jon’s daughter, and it was his legal right to spend time with her. But Maryellen hadn’t realized when she’d agreed to this how bereft she’d feel. How lost and unsettled…

Jon carefully bent down and scooped his daughter into his arms. It was all Maryellen could do not to rush forward at the clumsy way he handled their baby. Sheer determination kept her where she was. Jon wouldn’t appreciate her intervention.

“I’ll take her out and put her in the car seat,” he said.

Rather than respond verbally, Maryellen nodded. She followed closely behind, carrying the diaper bag. While Jon fiddled with the car seat, she waited anxiously to be sure he had Katie properly secured.

“What time will you have her back?” she asked, although she already knew.

“Before five.”

Twenty-four hours.

Jon closed the back door.

“You’ll phone if you need anything?”

He walked around the vehicle, a brand-new sedan, and opened the driver’s side door. “Of course. I have your number next to the phone.”

“Okay…good.” Maryellen clung to the top of the door while he climbed inside and inserted the key in the ignition. The warning bell instantly started to chime. Reluctantly she stepped back and Jon pulled the door shut.

“Everything will be fine,” he assured her through the half-open window.

“I know…it’s just that we’ve never been apart before.”

Jon’s eyes went blank as he looked past her. “You’re the one who wanted it like this. I’m only going along with your wishes.”

Her wishes, she longed to remind him, had been to keep him entirely in the dark about their daughter. She hadn’t originally planned to involve him because she’d believed Jon wouldn’t want anything to do with their child. But she’d been wrong.

Tears blurred her vision. Normally Maryellen wasn’t a volatile or weepy person, but the pregnancy and birth had thrown her hormones off-kilter. At the slightest excuse—a television ad, watching her beautiful daughter sleep, even folding baby clothes—Maryellen would find herself on the verge of tears.

Jon was about to drive away from the curb when he glanced at her and stopped. “Are you all right?”

She nodded forcefully and hurriedly wiped a stray tear from her cheek. “I’ve been feeling emotional lately. That’s all.” Wrapping her arms protectively about her waist, she moved onto the sidewalk.

“New-mother blues,” he said knowledgeably. “I read about it in one of the books I checked out of the library. It’ll pass in a few weeks.”

“Yes, I know,” she said. Maryellen could read, too, but pointing that out just now seemed childish and petty. She didn’t want to say anything to irritate him, especially when he had their baby in his vehicle.

“I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon,” he assured her.

“Okay,” she whispered. She could sleep in, Maryellen told herself. After a month of getting up at all hours of the night, sometimes two and three times, she should be grateful for a single night of uninterrupted rest. All this anxiety was a by-product of too many nights walking the floor and too little sleep. Not to mention those rampant hormones…

Once inside the house, Maryellen straightened the living room. She picked up the rattle, which was a gift from Jon; it had arrived in a huge basket of flowers he’d had delivered to the hospital. The burp rag draped over the end of the couch got tossed in the washing machine.

Tidying the bassinet, Maryellen sat up the large white teddy bear Jon had given Katie before she was born. The house was full of small gifts he’d brought either before or after the birth. Everywhere she looked there was evidence that he was determined to be part of Katie’s life. He was serious about it and she knew he wasn’t going to let his commitment slide, so she’d better get used to it now.

That night Maryellen slept miserably. She tossed and turned, certain that Katie needed her, certain Jon wouldn’t hear when she stirred in the middle of the night. A hundred regrets besieged her. She’d handed her daughter over to him without once checking to be sure he was adequately prepared to deal with an infant. Maryellen envisioned Katie crying in a wet diaper with an empty stomach while Jon slept, blissfully unaware that she needed attention.

By seven the next morning, Maryellen had worked herself into a near-frenzy. Three times she reached for the phone, but she was afraid she’d wake him, or worse, Katie. When she couldn’t stand it any longer, she dressed hastily and drove to her mother’s house.

Fortunately Grace was up, having coffee at her kitchen table. She opened the back door for Maryellen, and Buttercup greeted her delightedly, tail wagging. Maryellen stepped into the kitchen, took one look at her mother and burst into tears.

“Maryellen! My goodness, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing… Everything. Jon has Katie.”

Her mother poured her a cup of coffee. “Sit down and we’ll talk.”

Maryellen felt foolish and overemotional and everything she’d never wanted to be. This was so unlike her. “You have to get ready for work,” she said between sobs.

“Okay, I’ll get dressed, and while I do, you can talk to me.”

Dabbing her eyes, Maryellen followed her mother into the bedroom. She paused when she entered. “You painted in here.”

Grace nodded. “Do you like it?”

Maryellen shrugged. “I guess… I didn’t think there was anything wrong with the old color.”

“There wasn’t, but I had some things I needed to work out in my mind and painting helped.”

Caught up in her own world, Maryellen feared she’d failed her mother, that she hadn’t paid enough attention to the difficulties Grace was confronting. This summer had been traumatic for them both. “Anything I can do to help?” she asked as she sat on the end of her parents’ bed. Her mother pulled a blouse and jumper from her closet.

Grace shook her head. “No, but thanks. Besides, you didn’t come here at this hour to ask about me. Now, tell me what’s got you so upset.”

Maryellen wasn’t upset as much as she was worried. “Jon’s never had Katie before…. I’m afraid she’ll miss me. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

Her mother pulled a full-length black slip over her head. “Wait until eight-thirty or so and then give him a call,” she advised. “My guess is that Jon will be more than happy to hear from you.”

Maryellen hoped that was the case. She didn’t want him to think she was intruding on his time with Katie, but he had to understand how difficult this was for her.

“Come on,” Grace said as she finished dressing. “Let me put on my makeup and fuss a bit with my hair, and then I’ll buy you breakfast before I go to work.”

Maryellen declined with a shake of her head. “I can’t eat.”

“Yes, you can,” her mother insisted. “And you will. Now, come on, it isn’t every day I offer to treat you to breakfast. The Pancake Palace has an early bird special. All-you-caneat pancakes for a buck.”

Her mother was right, Maryellen realized. She needed a meal—and a distraction.

By the time she left the Pancake Palace, Maryellen felt worlds better, although they’d done more socializing with others than talking between themselves. The restaurant obviously did a thriving breakfast business. They’d run into Charlotte Jefferson and the members of the New Knee Club who met there once a month. Everyone at the long table had gone through knee-replacement surgery. Charlotte introduced them to her friend Ben Rhodes, a distinguished-looking older man. They appeared to have a relationship that was more than friendly, at least in Maryellen’s opinion. She couldn’t help wondering if there was a romance in the offing. It was kind of cute.

She got home after nine and headed directly for the phone, figuring Jon would be up with Katie by now. When there was no answer, she left a short message on his machine and dejectedly replaced the receiver.

At ten she called again. Still no answer. She couldn’t stand not knowing and drove to Jon’s home near Olalla. Her heart pounded frantically as she parked and climbed out of her car.

Even before she reached his front door, Jon had it open. Katie was in his arms, held firmly against his shoulder. She was astonished to see her daughter raising her head and peering around.

“Maryellen,” Jon said, stepping aside. “Come on in.”

His home was almost complete now. On her last visit, the finish work had only been partially done. But today she saw that there was a carpet in the living area—a lovely Berber rug in soft greens and grays—and the oak woodwork around the windows overlooking Puget Sound was beautifully varnished. She could see Vashon Island in the distance, and the view of Mount Rainier, majestic and serene beyond the island, was stunning enough to make her heart skip.

Now that Maryellen was here it was obvious to her that Jon had managed just fine. “You…you didn’t answer the phone,” she stammered, “and…and I didn’t know what to think.”

“You called?”

“Twice.” She gave a quick shrug. “I was worried, but I can see that everything’s gone great.”

“I must’ve been in the shower,” he explained, “or on the balcony.”

He seemed so easy with Katie now. During his brief visits, he’d lifted her as if she were a bag of unwieldy potatoes, and now he was as natural with her as a…dad.

Maryellen’s anxiety had been for nothing. She felt embarrassed about rushing out to rescue her daughter. Jon had everything under control.

“Would you like to see Katie’s room?” he asked.

Maryellen nodded. Hindsight being what it was, she should’ve checked on all this before she handed over their daughter.

Jon led her up the open stairway. She loved the house and the fact that he’d done most of the construction work himself. There didn’t seem to be anything Jon Bowman couldn’t master.

His bedroom was at the top of the stairs, and the French doors leading to the balcony were open. She could imagine him sitting there at first light, holding Katie and talking to her about the panorama outside.

Maryellen glanced into the bedroom and caught sight of his unmade bed and the photograph of her, beautifully framed and positioned on the opposite wall. She’d first seen it on display in a gallery in Seattle, where the majority of his work was now sold. It had been taken on a foggy afternoon while she stood on the pier next to the marina; she’d had no idea he was there. Her back was to the camera and she’d raised her arm to toss popcorn to the seagulls. The photograph had an exciting, dynamic quality, and yet the misty air gave it a sense of whimsy, too.

Jon seemed a bit flustered that she’d noticed the photograph. “That’s one of my favorites,” he said. “Do you mind that I have it here?”

The odd thing was she didn’t. It gladdened her to see that he kept it in this room, although she didn’t dare analyze the reasons. “I don’t mind,” she said.

“Good.” With that, he took her down the hallway to Katie’s room.

Maryellen swallowed a gasp of delight when she saw the charming room. Jon had painted a zoo scene on one wall. Giraffes and elephants, zebras and monkeys appeared in a variety of realistic poses.

“You did this?” she asked, astonished.

“I haven’t quite finished.” He pointed to an area that had been drawn but not yet colored.

All the furniture was new. He’d bought an infant swing and a crib with a canopy. A high chair stood in the corner; presumably he’d move it down to the kitchen when Katie was ready for it. Maryellen’s previous worry seemed even more ridiculous.

“It’s wonderful,” she told him. “I made a fool of myself coming out here like this.” She couldn’t look at him. “I’ll go now.”

Jon stopped her by stretching out his arm. “Katie and I want you to stay,” he said, his eyes holding hers.

The lump in her throat eased as she gave him a smile. She wanted very much to spend this day with Jon and Katie.

Six

Tuesday evening, as the setting sun cast golden shadows over the cove, Grace left the library. She’d spent much of the day training a new assistant, so had stayed late to deal with her own paperwork. She was tired to the point of exhaustion. Times like these, she missed Dan the most. It would’ve been good to go home, have a quiet supper with him, maybe relate an anecdote or two. He’d disappeared the year before last, vanished without a word and without a trace. He’d hidden in a trailer deep in the woods, where he’d eventually committed suicide. His experience in Vietnam had never left him—the guilt and the horror of it.

After his body was found, Grace had been assailed by doubts, wondering if she could’ve known, could’ve helped, could’ve reached him somehow. She suspected it would not have been possible because of the agony that consumed him, an agony he’d never spoken about. To her or anyone….

Most recently there’d been this sadness, this emptiness she couldn’t shake. Her husband was dead and she’d lived without him for a long while and yet she couldn’t get used to his absence. That confused her. Theirs had never been a vibrant, happy marriage, but they’d made the best of it. They’d loved each other; that much she knew. She’d been wrong to think she’d be ready for another relationship so soon. She’d assumed all the grieving was over. Now she wondered if it would ever end. What she wanted was the life she’d had before Dan disappeared.

While he’d never been an overly affectionate husband, there was a certain comfort in the routines they shared. He’d bring in the mail and the newspaper every afternoon. She cooked the meals. In the evenings, they’d sit side by side and watch television or talk, whether about their daughters or about inconsequential things—incidents at work, household concerns, local news. Once a week, she’d go off to aerobics class with Olivia. Dan hadn’t liked having her gone, but he’d never asked her to stay home. He understood how important Olivia’s friendship was to her. Now the evenings were silent. Lonely. Now it was Grace who dragged the garbage can out to the curb, Grace who struggled with the lawn mower and edge trimmer, Grace who read the fine print at the bottom of the car insurance policy—and she hated it.

Walking to the parking lot behind the library, she tried to shake off her depression, reminding herself—as she often did—that she had much for which to be grateful. After years of longing, she was a grandmother twice over. Her daughters were close to her and to each other. She had good friends, especially Olivia. Her finances were in order, and while she was a long way from living a life of luxury, she earned enough to support herself. She had the answer about Dan’s disappearance, even if she didn’t like it.

Life was good, or it should be.

Buttercup greeted her happily when she got home. The dog came through the pet door at five-thirty every day to wait for her; she’d been well trained by her previous owner and didn’t budge from her appointed place until Grace arrived, even if she was late, as she was today. She collected the day’s mail and the newspaper, murmuring apologies and endearments to Buttercup. She flipped through the advertisements and bills as she walked back to the house and paused midstep when she came across a letter from Atlanta. The return address told her it was from Will Jefferson, Olivia’s older brother. Grace eagerly ripped open the envelope. She’d always been fond of Will.

Standing on the sidewalk, she quickly scanned the neatly typed, one-page letter. While in high school, Grace had idolized Olivia’s brother from afar. He’d been a heartthrob way back then, and the years had done little to diminish his appeal. She’d seen him just recently when he’d flown home for Charlotte’s surgery. Grace was amazed at how attractive she found him even now, thirty-seven years after she’d graduated from high school.

His letter was one of condolence. He told her how sorry he was about Dan, then wrote briefly about the changes he’d noticed in Cedar Cove. He said it had felt good to be home for more than just a brief visit after all these years. He added that he’d enjoyed seeing her. Since his return to Atlanta, he’d been talking to his wife about retiring in a few years and said he’d like to consider moving back to Cedar Cove.

Grace knew Olivia and Charlotte must be thrilled at the prospect. Then she saw that under his signature, Will had included his e-mail address. He didn’t ask her to write, but there it was, like an open invitation.

On her way into the house, Grace went through Will’s letter a second time, trying to read between the lines. There didn’t seem to be anything out of the ordinary, nothing beyond his sincere sympathy and a bit of chatty news about his future plans.

She replaced the letter inside the envelope, fed Buttercup and then turned on the television. These days her TV was more for companionship than entertainment. The evening was unseasonably warm and she dug around her refrigerator, deciding she’d just have a salad. She found herself humming as she shuffled the milk carton around two small yogurt containers.

Grace stopped abruptly and straightened. When she’d left the library, she’d been feeling melancholy, but now her spirits were soaring. A feeling of happy anticipation filled her. The only thing she could attribute this change to was Will’s letter. Was she so fickle, she wondered with some dismay, that a letter from an old friend—a high-school crush—could improve her mood so radically?

She didn’t get the opportunity to consider that. Buttercup barked once and trotted to the front door just seconds before the bell rang.

Grace walked over to answer it and discovered Olivia standing on the other side of her screen.

“Do you have a minute?” her friend asked. She looked upset, which shocked Grace, since Olivia was normally so composed.

“Olivia! Of course. What’s happened?”

Her friend gestured hopelessly as if she didn’t know where to start. “I can’t believe this.”

“Believe what?”

“First I hear from Stan, and then after weeks of silence, from Jack, too. This was within a few hours of each other—it’s as if those two have radar and know exactly what the other is doing.”

This was fabulous news as far as Grace was concerned. “Jack? You heard from Jack?” She sat down on the sofa.

Olivia nodded. “The man is a weasel, that’s what he is.”

“Jack?” Grace asked, puzzled. “What did he do this time?”

Olivia flopped down next to Grace. “He had flowers delivered to the house. They’re gorgeous and the colors are incredible. It must’ve cost him a fortune, but that’s not the half of it.”

“Jack sent you flowers?” Grace cried as though outraged. “Why, that low-down, dirty rat.”

“I called to thank him.”

“A mistake for sure,” Grace said. She enjoyed seeing her friend so obviously in love with Jack—and so confused by him—although she wished Olivia could sort out her feelings. Naturally Stan was eager to distract her, eager to have her back, and feeling as unsettled as she did, Olivia might weaken and return to him.

Grace would say one thing for Olivia’s ex-husband: his timing was impeccable. The minute Olivia got involved in another relationship—up popped a repentant Stan, hoping to lure her back.

“You won’t believe what he said to me.”

“Jack or Stan?” Grace was losing track.

“Both of them,” Olivia cried.

“Start with Stan.” If Olivia was ready to have Jack arrested for sending her flowers, Grace could only imagine what her ex-husband had done.

“Stan phoned and wanted to take me to dinner.”

“He didn’t,” Grace said, feigning a gasp. “Lock him up and throw away the key!”

Olivia glared at her, eyes glittering with irritation. “You’re making fun of me, Grace Sherman.”

Grace laughed. She couldn’t help herself. “No one’s sending me flowers and asking me to dinner these days. There’s got to be some other reason you’re so annoyed. Are they trying to outdo each other?” That made sense—but on the other hand, it seemed to be what Olivia wanted, judging by her earlier complaints.

Olivia unfolded her arms and stroked Buttercup’s silky head. “Actually, Stan started it. He wants me to have dinner with him in Seattle on Friday night.”

Grace arched her eyebrows. “Why Seattle?”

“He’s got a corporate dinner he’s required to attend and he didn’t want to go alone. He has a hotel room and—”

“One room?”

Olivia rolled her eyes. “He seems to think I’m too naive to know what he’s got in mind. Oh, sure, the room will have two beds, but I wasn’t born yesterday and I know Stanley Lockhart. He has plans.”

“What about Jack?”

“The flowers arrived,” she said dreamily. “Grace, after all these weeks, I have to tell you I was so pleased to get them.”

Grace was equally thrilled. Although it had taken Jack long enough…. “What did the card say?”

Olivia dropped her gaze. “He signed his name. That’s all.”

Smart man. “In other words, he made the first move and the rest is up to you?”

“Exactly.”

“You phoned him?”

She nodded. “I did, and he answered on the first ring—almost as if he’d been sitting there waiting for me to call. It felt wonderful to talk to him again. We were getting along famously until—” Her eyes narrowed and she heaved a deep sigh.

“Until what?”

“He asked me to dinner on Friday night, and I made the mistake of saying there must be something in the air because I was getting dinner invitations right and left.”

Not the most brilliant comment, Grace agreed, but Olivia already knew that.

“It took Jack about two seconds to realize the other invitation came from Stan. Then he got all weird on me and said he was busy on Friday, after all. He wished me a lovely evening with Stan, and before I could say another word, he made some excuse and was off the phone.”

Grace wanted to groan out loud.

Olivia’s shoulders sank. “Now you know why I’m upset.”

“You aren’t going to dinner with Stan, are you?” Grace asked, just to be sure.

“Not hardly,” Olivia muttered.

“I’m free Friday night. Want to go to the movies?”

Olivia laughed. “You’re on, my friend. Who needs men, anyway?”

Maybe, Grace decided, she’d find a way to get Jack Griffin to the theater on Friday evening. Apparently there were times when romance could use a helping hand.

Rosie finished writing out the words her second-graders had to copy. She set the worn chalk down on the blackboard ledge and brushed the dust from her hands.

The bell rang, indicating class was dismissed for the day. “Don’t forget to remind your parents that Open House is tonight,” she told the students. Open House introduced the teacher to the parents, and it usually occurred in the third week of September.

The children leapt up from their desks, grabbed their bags and backpacks, then dashed out. All except Jolene Peyton. The little girl with the long dark pigtails wore a forlorn look as she walked, head bowed, to the front of the room.

“Can I help you, Jolene?” Rosie asked gently.

The little girl kept her eyes lowered. “Only my daddy can come tonight.”

“That’s wonderful. I look forward to meeting him.”

Jolene slowly raised her head until her eyes met Rosie’s. “My mommy died in a car accident.”

“I know, sweetheart, and I’m so sorry.” Rosie’s heart went out to the motherless little girl.

“Every week Daddy and I put flowers by the road where she died.”

Rosie knew that, too. The flowers and balloons often caught her eye at the busy intersection.

“Well, I’m glad your father’s coming to the Open House,” Rosie said.

Jolene nodded. “He said it was one of those things Mommy would do if she was still here.”

Rosie tucked her arm around the seven-year-old’s shoulder. It was apparent even now, almost two years after the accident, that Jolene missed her mother.

“I told my daddy that I need a mommy, and he said he’d think about it.” She sighed deeply. “He says that a lot.”

So did she, Rosie thought with a grin. “I’ll think about it” was in every mother’s repertoire.

That evening as the classroom started to fill with parents, Rosie made it a point to seek out Jolene’s father. The little girl led him into the classroom, then rushed to bring him juice and cookies from the table set up at the front.

While he waited for his daughter, Bruce Peyton stood in the background, not mingling with the other parents. He was nice-looking, but he had a somber air about him, a remoteness, which was perfectly understandable. School events such as this evening’s must be a painful reminder that he was alone. He was of average height and on the thin side. His clothes hung loose on him. Rosie could only assume this was due to a recent weight loss. His eyes were an intense blue, compelling her to steal glances in his direction.

It’d been many years—decades—since Rosie had really looked at another man. Her flirting skills had rusted from lack of use, although she was confident Janice Lamond could teach her a thing or two.

When Rosie was free she made her way toward Bruce. She smiled and held out her hand. “Hello, I’m Rosie Cox, Jolene’s teacher. I just want to say I’m very sorry about your wife.”

“Thank you.” The widower’s smile was fleeting and he clasped her hand for only a few seconds. “I’m pleased to meet you.”

“Mrs. Cox is a good teacher, but she’s not my real teacher,” Jolene told him earnestly.

“I’m taking over until Mrs. Gough recovers from surgery,” Rosie explained. “This is my first time back in the classroom after, uh, several years. I was recently—divorced.” The word nearly choked her. To Rosie’s horror, tears filled her eyes and she had to turn away before she embarrassed them both.

Through sheer force of will, Rosie managed to hold on to her composure. While she talked to several other parents, Bruce lingered; Jolene showed him her desk and led him to the play area at the back of the room.

By eight o’clock, just a few parents and children remained. Rosie carried the empty punch bowl and cookie plate to the cafeteria kitchen, and when she returned, Bruce and Jolene were the only two left.

“If Jolene needs extra help with her reading or spelling, please let me know,” he said.

“I’ll be happy to,” Rosie assured him. “It was nice meeting you.”

“You, too.” He reached for his little girl’s hand, then hesitated. His gaze briefly sought hers. “I’m sorry about your divorce.”

Rosie looked down and nodded. “I…am, too.”

He left after that, and not a moment too soon. Once again Rosie found herself blinking back tears.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. To all outward appearances, Zach was having the time of his life. When Allison and Eddie were with him they cooked together; the three of them got along famously. It didn’t work that way on the nights Rosie spent with her children. Allison and Eddie bickered incessantly and her teenage daughter challenged Rosie’s authority at every turn. She’d clearly taken Zach’s side in the divorce.

Feet dragging, Rosie entered the small apartment she shared with Zach. He was with the children this evening, and she doubted Eddie had made a fuss at bedtime. Those bouts of temper were reserved for the nights Rosie spent with the children. Allison had probably volunteered to wash the dinner dishes. Rosie had given up asking her daughter to perform even the most routine household tasks. It just wasn’t worth the argument.

Oh, yes, she was a real catch, Rosie thought wryly. She was a recent divorcée with two rebellious children. It wouldn’t be long before dozens of eager men lined up at the door, all eager to date her.

Yeah, sure!

Seven

As a Seattle police detective, Roy McAfee had always had a hard time letting go of a case, no matter how cold. That hadn’t changed, although he was now retired and living in Cedar Cove, where he’d become a private investigator. His dogged determination served him well in his new job. He liked his work, liked the diversity of cases that came across his desk. He was good at what he did, and he knew it. Roy had discovered through his years of police work that if he was patient enough and lucky, he eventually discovered what he needed to know. However, things didn’t always turn out exactly the way he expected.

The disappearance of Dan Sherman was a prime example of that.

Grace had come to him shortly after her husband had disappeared. She was a strong woman. In his experience as a private detective, Roy had been hired by several women looking for answers regarding their husbands’ activities or whereabouts. Twice he’d been asked to track down errant spouses. In one case, he’d started the investigation on a missing husband and had only gotten a week into the search when his client told him to quit looking. She’d claimed that in retrospect she was better off without the bastard. She didn’t want to know where the hell he was. If he’d taken off with another woman, as she suspected, then the other woman was welcome to him.

From the little bit he’d learned about the missing husband, Roy figured his client had made a good choice.

It surprised him that Grace Sherman had contacted him again. Dan had been found, dead from a self-inflicted gunshot wound, and laid to rest. Roy assumed the case was closed. She had the answers she needed, but not necessarily the ones she wanted.

He heard the outside door open and glanced at the small clock on the corner of his desk. Twenty-five after twelve. A minute later Corrie, his wife and business manager, stepped into his office.

“Grace Sherman is here for her twelve-thirty appointment.”

She ushered Grace into the room. Corrie’s eyes met his, and she shrugged as though to say she was as much in the dark about this meeting as he was.

“Have a seat,” Roy said, gesturing to the upholstered chair across from his desk.

“Would you care for a cup of coffee?” Corrie asked.

Grace declined, and Corrie left, closing the door behind her.

“What can I do for you?” Roy began. He leaned back in his chair and waited.

Grace held her purse in her lap, her hands nervously gripping the clasp. “I came because I wasn’t sure where else to turn,” she said, gazing down at the floor. “It has to do with Dan.”

“Unfinished business?”

She nodded. “Before he—before he killed himself, he wrote me a letter. Sheriff Davis gave it to me.” She opened her purse. “The letter has some…information and I don’t know what to do with it.”

Roy didn’t remember hearing anything about a letter. “What kind of information?”

Grace reached inside her purse for the envelope and handed it across the desk to Roy. “No one else has read this. Not even my daughters.”

“What about Sheriff Davis?” Roy asked.

“I…I think he might’ve started reading it and then realized it was personal, and out of respect for Dan and me, he…” She paused, then shook her head. “I don’t know if he read it or not. I doubt it.”

Roy slid the letter out of the envelope. The writing in the first few lines was even and precise, as though Dan had carefully considered each word. Halfway down the second page the writing grew large, slanting downward. At the bottom, where Dan had signed his name, it was barely legible.

Roy turned back to the first page and began to read. Dan Sherman apologized to his wife for killing himself, and for the hell he’d put her through during their marriage.

Then Dan relayed the details of an incident that had happened in Vietnam when he’d walked into a village and killed a woman and her child. He’d mowed them down with bullets, murdered them out of instinctive fear. In the desperation of a young man willing to do anything to get out of the war alive, he’d killed innocents. Others had, too. How many had died in the village that day might never be known.

When he’d finished, Roy looked up and discovered Grace staring into the distance. She was pale but seemed composed.

“Dan was never the same after he came back from the war,” she said in a hoarse whisper. “Now I know why.”

“It was a long time ago,” Roy said reassuringly. Regret tightened his chest. He’d been a nineteen-year-old kid when he’d arrived in Vietnam. Thankfully he’d never been faced with the kind of situation Dan Sherman had found himself in.

Dan hadn’t indicated the number of people killed, but it appeared to have been a free-for-all. “The shooting just never seemed to stop,” he’d written. He’d lived with that guilt all these years. Sometime back, Roy remembered reading that as many Vietnam vets had died by their own hand in the years that followed as were lost in the war. The causes were varied, although plainly it was guilt that had driven Dan to such drastic action.

“Was this incident ever reported?” he asked.

“Reported?” Grace repeated. “That I wouldn’t know, but I doubt it.”

“What would you like me to do?”

“That’s just it. I…I don’t know what should be done with this information.” She studied him, clearly hoping he’d offer a solution. He had none to give her.

“Should I hand the letter over to the army brass and let them deal with it?” she asked.

He didn’t respond, merely raising one shoulder in a shrug.

“Or should I give it to Sheriff Davis and leave it up to him?” Her voice rose in agitation. “Here’s an idea,” she cried. “Maybe I should put the letter away and pretend I never read it. Better yet, I should destroy it completely.”

Roy understood her dilemma, and didn’t envy her. “I can’t tell you what to do, Grace.”

“Dan didn’t want Maryellen or Kelly to know. They’ve just buried their father. That was hard enough without asking them to deal with this, too.”

Roy agreed, but unfortunately this was a decision Grace had to make on her own.

“It happened almost forty years ago. It was a horrible time in our country’s history. We sacrificed fifty thousand men…. No one wants to uncover another My Lai.” She shook her head. “He didn’t say how many others were involved.” Her voice was soft, and Roy had to strain to hear. “I want to know what’s happened to the other men in the patrol. How have they managed to live with what they did? Have their lives been a living hell, too?” Her voice throbbed with emotion. “Did they walk the floors at night the way my husband did? Have their souls been tormented?” Her eyes held his. “Tell me what to do, Roy. You’re the only one I can ask. You’re the only one I trust enough to point me in the right direction.”

Roy leaned toward her. He wished he could supply the answer, but he couldn’t. From the dark circles under her eyes, he knew she’d been tormented by the responsibility Dan had imposed on her.

“It’s as though he couldn’t deal with it any longer and he laid the problem at my feet.” Her words confirmed his own feeling about the situation.

“For weeks—ever since Dan was found—I couldn’t sleep. I thought it was because of…something else, and it was better for a while, but it’s begun again. The insomnia.”

So she was the one walking the floors now.

“I’ve always been an easygoing sort of person, but lately…lately I’ve been depressed.”

“Have you been to see a physician?” he asked.

“What am I supposed to tell a doctor? That my husband was a mass murderer who recently committed suicide? Oh, by the way, this murder happened thirty-six years ago and has the potential to tear our country apart all over again?”

Roy sighed. She had a point. “Like I said, Grace, I can’t advise you what to do.”

“What if I decide to destroy the letter? The only people who’ll ever know what it said are you and me.” She chal lenged him with a narrowed look.

“Then so be it.”

“That’s not what I came to hear.”

He heard the desperation in her voice, but there was nothing more he could say.

“I’m paying you to help me figure out what I should do.”

“Do you want me to track down the other men?” he asked.

Grace shrugged. “I wouldn’t know where to start. Dan never spoke about his war experiences and he never mentioned who those other men were.”

Suddenly Roy wasn’t so sure Grace did want the truth.

“I could find that out for you.” He had connections in the Department of Defense; it would be a simple matter of a phone call or two.

Grace hesitated, closing her eyes. “I’ll think about it and let you know.”

“All right.” Roy knew that Grace wanted an answer but not the one that would rip apart her own life—or those of others. He’d wait to hear from her.

The morning Katie turned six weeks old, Maryellen bathed her, the way she usually did. She watched joyfully as her daughter flung out her arms, splashing and cooing with unrestrained delight. Katie sent a spray of water toward her, hitting Maryellen in the face.

Katie smelled of baby lotion and shampoo as Maryellen dressed her in a soft pink sleeper. Six weeks ago, Maryellen’s entire life had changed. Her daughter had given her purpose and such profound joy, it was all she could do not to close her eyes and thank God for this precious gift.

The doorbell rang, and Maryellen held Katie against her shoulder as she walked through the living room to answer it. The leaves on the oak tree were turning deep autumn shades and had started to litter the front lawn.

To her surprise Jon stood there, looking self-conscious. His eyes immediately went to Katie and a slow smile crossed his face.

“I developed some new pictures,” he announced. “I realize this isn’t my day to have Katie, but I wanted you to see them.”

“Nonsense, you’re welcome anytime.” Maryellen had been overwhelmed by the number of pictures Jon had already taken of their daughter.

“To be honest, I was having withdrawal symptoms. I figured this was a good excuse to see my little girl.” He held out a large envelope. “Trade you?”

He knew how much she loved his photographs. “Deal,” she said, giving him Katie and taking the envelope. While Maryellen sat on one end of the sofa and examined these latest pictures, Jon cooed at his daughter. It was difficult to pay attention to the photographs, drawn as she was to the sight of Jon with Katie. Letting him drive away with their daughter twice a week hadn’t become any easier, but she could never doubt his love.

As she reviewed the pictures, one in particular caught her interest. It was taken the morning Maryellen had gone to his house. She’d sat in the rocking chair in Katie’s nursery, breastfeeding their daughter. Her back was to the window and light spilled in around her. The cheerfully painted wall blurred in the background and only Maryellen and Katie were clear and vivid. Somehow Jon had captured the tenderness and love Maryellen felt for her daughter. Her focus was entirely on Katie, her smile a private one, for their baby alone. It was a classic image of mother and child, reminding her of paintings by Botticelli and Rembrandt.

She recalled that he’d had his camera with him that morning. She’d clowned around for him and he’d snapped picture after picture, but she hadn’t expected anything like this.

“I see you found it,” he said, watching her as she studied the photograph.

“How do you do it?” she asked softly. “How do you know the precise moment to catch a woman’s heart?”

He frowned as if he didn’t understand the question. For that matter, Maryellen wasn’t sure she understood it, either. She loved her daughter. Loved Katie so much that just the sight of her made Maryellen’s heart stop beating for a second or two. That was the love Jon had revealed so perfectly on film.

“I thought you didn’t take photographs of people,” she said. “Other than Katie, of course.” But she couldn’t help remembering the picture in his bedroom….

“Only you.” Jon kissed Katie on the forehead. “If it bothers you, I won’t again.”

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