“Were you in on this?”

He took a step back. “What do you mean?”

“Did you know Seb was going to leave the Beacon to both of us?”

Her outrageous accusation chased away all thoughts of offering comfort. “No. If you’re suggesting I somehow influenced him, you’re dead wrong. Why would I want a mess like this?”

“Half owner is better than being totally cut out, isn’t it?”

“Not if I have to work with you,” he ground out.

Dear Reader,

I love visiting small towns and making up stories about people who might live there. What are their lives like? What are their hopes and dreams, their joys, their disappointments and tragedies?

Eva’s Deadline is such a story. The drama takes place in Willow Beach, Washington, a fictitious town on Washington’s coast. Many times I’ve driven the same route that my heroine, Eva Sinclair, drives as she travels from her new home in Seattle to her hometown of Willow Beach. But, unlike Eva, I have always made these trips in happy anticipation.

Eva makes the trip to Willow Beach not for a vacation, as I have done, but because her father, Sebastian Sinclair, has suddenly passed away, and so for her, the trip is a sad one. The one saving grace is that she will soon be back in Seattle, where she can continue her promising career as a writer for a prestigious magazine.

Imagine her distress when Eva learns that her father had found a way to keep her in Willow Beach. Why, she wonders, would he do this, when he knew that what happened there eleven years ago caused her so much pain?

Mark Townson’s life has also been changed by Sebastian’s death, for it throws him and Eva together in ways that he finds difficult, if not impossible, to accept. But Mark loves his life in Willow Beach, and his job as editor of Seb’s newspaper is the fulfillment of a dream he’s not about to abandon. But, like Eva, he has a past that haunts him.

How these two deal with their challenges and, oh, yes, manage to fall in love, too, is what I envisioned happening in Willow Beach. I hope you enjoy reading the story.

Visit my website at www.lindahopelee.com. Email me at linda@lindahopelee.com or write to me at P.O. Box 238, Edmonds, WA. I am also on Facebook and Twitter (@LindaHopeLee).

Linda

Eva’s Deadline

Linda Hope Lee

www.millsandboon.co.uk

LINDA HOPE LEE lives in the Pacific Northwest. She likes traveling to new places, especially to small towns that might serve as settings for her novels. In addition to contemporary romance, she writes in the romantic suspense and mystery genres, as well. When she is not writing, she’s busy creating watercolor paintings or drawing in colored pencil or pen and ink. Another pastime is photography, which she uses as inspiration for her art and for her stories. She also collects children’s books and anything to do with wire-haired fox terriers.

To my new friend, Billy.

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER ONE

“I’M SORRY TO BRING you bad news,” Mark Townson said, “but your father is dead.”

“What?” The pen Eva Sinclair held slipped from her fingers and clattered onto her desk. When she’d answered the phone, the last person she’d expected to hear on the other end of the line was someone from her hometown. “No, no...”

“I’m afraid so.”

“When? How?”

“Early this morning. When he didn’t show up at the office or answer his home phone or his cell, I came over here to his house. I found him and called nine-one-one.”

“Do you know what happened?”

“Not for sure. He was slumped over the kitchen table where he’d been eating breakfast. My guess would be a heart attack. I’m sure someone official will be in touch with you soon. I just thought you should know right away.”

“Yes, but a heart attack... I didn’t know he had a bad heart.”

“I suspect there’s a lot you didn’t know about him.”

His reproachful tone stung. Yet, the statement was true. She hadn’t spoken to her father more than three or four times in the past five years, and those occasions had been short and strained.

“He told me about your, uh, disagreement,” Mark Townson said. “And that you chose moving to Seattle over staying in Willow Beach and working for him at the Herald.”

The Willow Beach Herald. Why would she want to write for a small-town weekly newspaper when she could work for a prestigious magazine like Seattle’s Best? But, of course, that wasn’t the only reason she didn’t want to stay in Willow Beach.

She wondered how much Mark Townson knew about the reason for her leaving. Not the entire story, she’d bet, because her father didn’t like to talk about the past any more than she did.

What Mr. Townson knew or did not know was not important now. His shocking news took precedence. At the age of fifty-two, her father, Sebastian Sinclair, was dead.

“I’ll drive to Willow Beach right away.” She checked her wristwatch. “If I leave by noon, I should be there by six.”

“Come to the Herald’s office when you get into town. We can get started on plans for a memorial.”

“Yes, I suppose there should be some kind of service, but you don’t need...”

“I want to be involved. Seb meant a lot to me and to the entire town. Everyone will want to say their last goodbyes.”

“Well...all right. We’ll talk about it when I get there.”

An hour and a half later, after informing her boss of her father’s sudden death and then driving to her Queen Anne Hill condo to toss some clothes into a suitcase, Eva headed south along the I-5 Freeway to Willow Beach. The blazing June sun turned the downtown skyscrapers into silver towers and glittered off the pewter waters of Elliott Bay.

As she left the city behind, her father dominated her thoughts. The most vivid recollection was his voice, deep and resonant when he was in a good mood and sharp and biting when he was angry. All too often, especially after her older brother, Brett, died, he’d been angry—and he’d taken out his anger on her. He’d pin her with a laser gaze and make his demands. Finally, after the ultimate battle over whether or not she would stay in their small town and work for him, she’d walked out.

At the thought of Brett, she fingered the silver chain she wore around her neck. A silver medal attached to the chain was hidden under her blouse. She visualized the words embossed there: First Place. Brett won the medal in a footrace on the beach the summer he was fifteen. Three years later, he was dead. Now she wore it. Although the memories were painful, she didn’t want to forget him, ever.

When she reached Olympia, Eva focused on taking the exit leading to the coast. A few miles later, a turn south swept her past logging operations where stacks of timber waited for transport to paper mills. The acrid smell of the mills filled the air. The towns grew farther and farther apart as the road wound through thick evergreen forests and flat stretches of undeveloped land.

The last leg of the journey took her directly west toward the ocean, where a string of towns dotted the coast like beads on a necklace. Soon the sign for Willow Beach, Population 3,521, greeted her. On Main Street, familiar establishments popped into view: Bon Ton Bakery, Barnett’s Drugs, Cooper’s Hardware. So far, nothing had changed in the five years she’d been gone. Had time really stood still for her hometown?

The question didn’t concern her, though. Her stay here was only temporary. Soon she’d be back in Seattle, where she belonged. Her father had been her last tie to the town, and now that fragile, final connection was broken.

A lump formed in her throat and her eyes misted. She blinked back the tears before they fell. Now was not the time to get emotional. Save that for later.

* * *

AT 6:00 P.M., in anticipation of Eva Sinclair’s arrival, Mark Townson cleared his desktop and turned out the lights in his office at the Herald. He was the only one left in the building. The shock of Seb’s sudden death had paralyzed the staff, and he’d sent them home early.

Instead of heading directly down the hallway to the reception area, on impulse he turned in the opposite direction, toward Seb’s office. He opened the door and, with his hand still on the doorknob, let his gaze sweep the room. He could still see the man in his high-backed black leather chair, head bent over his work, or leaning back, gesturing expansively while he talked on the phone.

Mark wouldn’t change anything about this room, not until after the funeral anyway. Maybe then Seb’s death would seem more real. Right now, it was as though he’d stepped out for a moment and would soon be back.

His gaze landed on the two gold-framed photos on the desk. He walked over to see them better. One was a picture of Seb’s son, Brett. Mark didn’t know much about him, except that he had drowned in a boating accident eleven years ago, when he was eighteen. Seb never wanted to talk about the incident, and Mark had respected his wishes.

Judging by the photo, which showed the teenager standing with feet apart, hands resting easily on his hips, a gleam in his eye and a tilt to his chin, Brett had been confident, fun-loving and maybe just a bit arrogant.

The other photo was of Eva, who was two years younger than Brett. It had been taken, Seb had told him, on her graduation from the University of Washington. She was dressed in traditional cap and gown, with the university’s buildings in the background. She smiled into the camera, her dark hair curling around her shoulders, her eyes sparkling with the enthusiasm of someone about to embark on a grand adventure. He guessed Seb had chosen this photo because he wanted to remember her as a happy person, rather than the angry daughter who’d left town five years ago.

Leaving the office, he walked to the reception area and stood looking out the front window. Traffic flowed smoothly along Main Street as shoppers and workers made their way home and tourists returned to their motels.

Mark checked his wristwatch. Almost six-thirty. Even with heavy freeway traffic, Eva should be here by now. He wanted to get their initial meeting over with so he could pick up Sasha and go home himself.

A late-model blue compact pulled into a parking space in front of the office. A young woman in a tan jacket, knee-length skirt and high heels got out. She had an oversize purse slung over one shoulder. Eva Sinclair. He’d bet on it.

Sure enough, she headed directly for the Herald’s front door. He walked over and pulled it open. “You must be Eva. Come on in.”

She nodded, and as she stepped inside, her perfume wafted past his nose.

“I’m looking for Mark Townson.”

He extended his hand. “I’m Mark.”

Her eyes widened as she slipped her hand into his. Her skin was soft, yet her grip was firm. At her continued stare, he asked, “Is something wrong?”

“No, it’s just that you sounded older on the phone.” She pulled her hand away.

He couldn’t help smiling. “I was thirty-one my last birthday. Some days, that feels mighty old.”

He took a moment to study her. Not surprisingly, she had changed since the day she’d posed for her graduation photo. Her dark hair was pulled back in a fancy twist. Her eyes were outlined with dark pencil and mascara, and the bright red lipstick she wore matched her fingernails.

He wasn’t sure he liked this more sophisticated version of Eva Sinclair. He shrugged off the thought. Whether he liked her or not made no difference. Their association would last a week or two at the most, and then she’d return to her life in Seattle.

“I see you found the place okay,” he said and then could’ve kicked himself for the lame remark.

She shrugged. “No problem there. Nothing’s changed in Willow Beach.”

Mark was immediately defensive. “Oh, I don’t know about that. You stay here long enough, you’ll see plenty of changes.”

Eva adjusted the strap of her purse more firmly on her shoulder. “I’m here only for as long as it takes to bury Seb and settle his affairs. I’m hoping everything can be wrapped up in a week, tops.”

Her businesslike tone grated. They weren’t discussing a stranger; the dead man was her father. But then her shoulders sagged and she ran a hand over her forehead, and he pushed away his impatience. After her long drive to the coast, she must be tired. Not to mention still in shock over her father’s sudden death.

“Why don’t we talk over dinner?” he suggested. “Or did you eat on the way?”

She shook her head. “I threw some things in a suitcase and came straight here. I’m not really hungry, but I’d better eat something.”

“Me, too. So, fancy? Casual? What’s your preference?”

Judging by her outfit, he figured she’d want someplace upscale and was surprised when she said with a shrug, “Casual is fine.”

“Charlie’s Fish House is casual.”

A smile touched her lips, the first he’d seen since she arrived. “Charlie’s, my old teenage hangout. Sure, why not?”

“Okay, I’ll drive. My car’s out back.”

He locked the front door and then led her down the hallway, past the staff’s cubicles and his and Seb’s offices to the back door. His SUV, still covered with dust from his last camping trip, sat in the unpaved parking lot that bordered an alley. He opened the passenger door for Eva, then went around to his side and climbed in. She settled in the seat, her purse on her lap, charging the air with her perfume.

One of Sasha’s stuffed toys, a Pekingese with a faux-jeweled collar, lay on the console. He picked up the toy and tossed it into the backseat.

Noticing Eva’s raised eyebrows, he said, “My daughter’s.”

“You’re married, then.”

He started the engine and shifted into Reverse. “I was. Diane died three years ago. Sasha’s our only child. She’ll be six in a few weeks.” He checked the rearview mirror as he backed out of his parking spot. “Single parenting can be a challenge, but Sasha has a great caretaker. And she’s a good kid.”

The mention of his daughter made him wish he were on his way to pick her up instead of spending time with Eva Sinclair. Gripping the steering wheel, he vowed to do his best, though—for Seb’s sake.

* * *

EVA TOOK A BITE of the halibut she’d ordered at Charlie’s Fish House. Even with little appetite, she had to admit the crisply fried seafood was as good as she remembered. Charlie’s decor hadn’t changed since her high-school days, either—the same plain wooden tables and chairs, the same counter with red vinyl-covered stools, the same chalkboard menu on the wall. Outside, the surf sang as soft waves rolled onto shore, and the warm breeze carried the aromas of salt and seaweed and wet sand.

The one unfamiliar element was the man sitting across from her. Mark Townson. As she’d so tactlessly blurted out earlier, he wasn’t what she’d expected. Over the phone, his deep voice had sounded as though it belonged to someone older than a man in his early thirties. But Mark was definitely young—and fit. His blue knit shirt stretched across a broad chest, the short sleeves showing off impressive muscles. His hair was a dark brown and his eyes a deep sea-blue. He could’ve been a model for one of the outdoor recreation companies that advertised in Seattle’s Best.

He looked up and caught her staring. She scrambled for something to say. “So...you’ve worked for the Herald for about five years now?”

Mark finished chewing a bite of his burger. “Right. Since shortly after you left town. I started out doing ads and column writing, some general stuff. You know how it is on a small newspaper—everyone does a little of everything. Then three years ago, Seb decided he wanted to back off a bit and suggested I take over as editor.” He dipped a French fry into a pool of ketchup. “I take it you like your gig in Seattle?”

“Very much. I interned at Seattle’s Best when I was at the University of Washington. Went to work there shortly after graduation. Started out as copy editor. Now I’m a staff writer but hope to be assistant editor soon. The current assistant is leaving, and I’m pretty sure I’ll be taking her place.”

“Good for you. What you write is different from newspaper writing.”

“Vastly. Our aim is to discover the best Seattle has to offer in restaurants, fashion, housing and entertainment and get it out to our readers. I love what I’m doing.”

“Like I said on the phone, Seb told me how you didn’t want to stay here and work for him.”

“There’s no way I could be writing the kinds of articles here that I’m doing for Seattle’s Best.”

“Big disappointment to him, though.”

She leveled Mark a gaze. “But after I left, he found you, didn’t he?”

Mark frowned. “I guess you could put it that way. Or I found him. I was the one who came looking for a job.”

Eva just stared at him. “Whatever. Maybe we’d better get down to business. You want a big memorial, you said.”

“No question. If you don’t want to be involved, my staff and I can pull it off.”

“No, no, I’ll go along with that. There are other things to take care of, too, though.” She pulled her iPad from her purse and switched it on. “Forest Lawn can do the service and the reception. I’ll call them.” She tapped the keyboard.

“We’ll need an obituary. You’re the logical one to write that. We’ll put it on the website, too.”

She looked up and raised her eyebrows. “The Herald is online?”

“Yep. We’re not as backwoods as you think.”

“Good to know. Okay, how about flowers?”

Mark pulled a notebook and pen from his shirt pocket. “I’ll get April on that. She’s on our staff.”

Details about the memorial carried them through dinner. When they finished, they both had to-do lists. “I do appreciate your help,” she told him, slipping her iPad into her purse.

“You’re welcome.” Mark studied her a moment. “So, you’ll be here about a week?”

She nodded. “I can’t afford to be away any longer than that.”

“No, I suppose not.”

On the drive back to the Herald’s office, Eva gazed out the window at the growing darkness. Here and there, lights blinked on, but unlike in Seattle, they barely penetrated the rapidly approaching night. She’d forgotten how dark Willow Beach became once the sun dipped below the horizon.

When they reached Main Street and the office building, Mark drew up behind her car. Leaving the engine running, he stuck his hand in his jeans pocket and pulled out a leather key ring. “This is for Seb’s house....”

At the sight of the familiar key ring, memories crowded her mind. She pressed her fingers to her lips. “Oh, no, I couldn’t...not tonight. Besides, I have a reservation at The Gables.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Oh, yeah, the fancy B and B off the highway. Okay, but take the key. You’ll need it eventually.”

He was right. Sooner or later, she’d have to visit the house where she’d lived with her family. So many memories. So much pain.

She took the key ring, slipped it into her purse, then opened the car door.

He snapped his fingers. “Oh, I almost forgot. Did you know Seb had a will?”

Eva frowned. “He never discussed a will with me. He and my mother always kept financial matters to themselves. I’m not surprised, though. Why do you ask?”

“His lawyer, Lawrence Prentiss, has a copy. His wife called this afternoon when she heard the news. She said Lawrence is out of town. He should be back in a couple of days.”

Eva shrugged. “I can wait. Considering how we parted, I doubt the will has anything to do with me.”

“Just thought I’d mention it.”

“Well, thanks for dinner and for all you’re doing for my dad,” Eva said as she got out of Mark’s SUV.

“Of course,” Mark said as he waved, then he waited for her to drive away.

As she headed out of town, Eva passed the road leading to the freeway. Her fingers itched to turn onto it. She’d drive all night, if she could, to get away from here and return to Seattle. To her condo, her job, her friends—to all that was familiar, all that mattered.

A heavy blanket of fatigue settled over her. How was she ever going to get through the next couple of weeks? Then she thought of her father, whose weeks, days and years were used up too soon. Oh, Dad, why...why did you have to die?

CHAPTER TWO

AS SOON AS EVA’S CAR was out of sight, Mark took a deep breath and leaned back against the seat. Even though their meeting had not been as stressful as he’d expected, his shoulders ached with tension. Probably an accumulation of the entire day’s events, beginning with the discovery of Seb’s lifeless body slumped over his kitchen table.

He straightened and slapped the steering wheel. Enough brooding. He had a daughter to pick up. He started the car’s engine and headed down the street.

Five blocks later, he reached the Dugans’ yellow frame house, the porch light sending a bright glow into the night. He smiled as he pulled to a stop at the curb. It had been one lucky day when he’d found Eileen Dugan. After Diane’s death, he’d had no one to care for Sasha, and then a friend introduced him to Eileen and her husband, George. Already looking after three grandchildren, Eileen welcomed his Sasha into her brood.

Eileen answered the door. “Come in, Mark.”

He stepped inside and paused to sniff the air. “Ah, chicken and dumplings for dinner.”

Eileen chuckled and smoothed a lock of red hair from her forehead. “Your nose is right on, as usual. There’s plenty left over, if you’re hungry.”

“Thanks, but I’ve already eaten. Eva Sinclair and I had a bite at Charlie’s.”

Eileen pursed her lips. “So she’s back, is she? Couldn’t be bothered to come while her father was alive.”

“Yep, she’s back. But not for long.”

Eileen harrumphed. “I don’t know all that went on between those two, but it seemed to me she could’ve been more of a daughter to him. Janice passing quick like she did, and then Brett’s terrible accident. Only the two of them left. And what’s wrong with working at a fine newspaper like the Herald? You work there. You like it.”

“I do, very much. And, no, I don’t know what went on between them, but at least she’s here now.”

Sasha appeared in the hallway, arms outstretched. “Daddy, Daddy!”

“Hey, sweetheart.” He leaned down and swept her into his arms. Smoothing back Sasha’s fine blond hair, he planted a kiss on her soft cheek, inhaling her sweet, little-girl scent. “Were you a good girl today?”

“I’m always good. Aren’t I, Grammy Eileen?” Keeping one arm hooked around Mark’s neck, Sasha looked to her caretaker for confirmation.

Eileen patted Sasha’s shoulder. “That you are, my dear.” She turned to Mark. Behind her rimless glasses, her brown eyes shimmered with tears. “I still can’t believe Seb’s gone.”

Mark nodded and shifted Sasha in his arms. “Shocking, all right.”

Sasha’s brow wrinkled. “What happened to Mr. Seb?”

“I’ll tell you on the way home, honey.”

While Sasha collected her backpack, Eileen bustled into the kitchen. She returned with a plastic container, which she handed to Mark. “We made chocolate-chip cookies today.”

“I put in the chips,” Sasha said, “and stirred, too.”

Mark exchanged a grin with Eileen. “Good for you, Sasha. These will hit the spot with a glass of milk when we get home. By the way, any news from Dan and Rilla and the kids?”

Dan and Rilla were Eileen’s son and daughter-in-law. They were on a road trip to visit Rilla’s parents in Montana.

Eileen grinned. “They’re having a great time. I sure miss my three grandkids, though. Good thing I have Sasha.” She gave Sasha a hug. “Bye now, darlin’. See you tomorrow.”

“Bye, Grammy Eileen.” Sasha planted a smooch on the woman’s cheek.

Eileen walked out with them onto the porch. Then Mark tucked Sasha into her booster seat and they were on their way. The clouds parted to reveal a half-moon on the rise. Tall evergreens were silhouetted against the silvery sky. The salty smell of the ocean drifted in through his open window.

“What about Mr. Seb?” Sasha asked from her seat behind him.

“He died this morning.”

“Why?”

“Well, because his body stopped working and the doctors couldn’t fix him.”

“Like Mommy?”

Her forlorn voice tugged at Mark’s heart. “Yes, like Mommy.”

Sasha had been only three years old when Diane had died. He’d explained death as best he could, but doubted his daughter really understood. Then last year she began asking why she didn’t have a mommy like her friends. He’d given her a simplified version of the truth. The bus Mommy was riding in had an accident. Mommy was hurt so bad her body wouldn’t work anymore.

“I miss Mommy,” Sasha said now.

“I know, honey. I do, too.”

And he did. Even though she had betrayed him, he missed her presence, missed being part of a complete family. Since Diane’s death, he’d more or less stayed away from women. He had a date now and then, mostly when someone set him up and when accepting was easier than refusing, but nothing came of these encounters. He didn’t want to risk being hurt again. Or having Sasha hurt.

He’d never told their daughter why her mommy was on the bus or where she was going. No need to burden the child with the awful truth. Maybe when she was older.

Then again, maybe never.

Later, after they had their cookies and milk, Mark tucked Sasha into bed. He kissed her forehead and pulled the covers up around her chin.

She smiled at him. “’Night, Daddy.”

“’Night, honey.” He gazed at his precious child, his heart full of love.

In the living room, he settled into his recliner, the one Diane had insisted on buying because the blue upholstery matched the sofa she’d picked out. He’d rather have had a leather chair, but, no, blue cloth it had to be. After she died, he’d kept it, as he’d kept nearly everything else in the house that she’d had a hand in. For Sasha’s sake. He didn’t want her to forget her mommy, and having things around that reminded her of Diane would help to keep her memory alive.

Switching on the TV, he tuned in the local news to see what they said about Seb. The TV crew had been at the newspaper office that afternoon, interviewing him and the other staff. Sure enough, there he was, being quoted about what a shock Seb’s death was, and what a great newspaperman he’d been, and how much he’d be missed. Mark slowly shook his head. He still had trouble believing the man was gone.

He knew that despite their estrangement, Seb had loved Eva. He always spoke of her with pride and said what a good writer she was. But, as far as Mark could tell after meeting Eva this evening, she still seemed to harbor resentment toward her father. Indignation tightened Mark’s chest. Seb deserved better.

Yet, what right did he have to judge Eva? Wasn’t he still angry with Diane for what she’d done to him and Sasha?

He turned off the TV and headed for the bedroom. As he lay in bed, the thought of dealing with Eva, even for the brief time she’d be in Willow Beach, kept him tossing and turning.

* * *

EVA’S CHEST TIGHTENED as she watched the pallbearers lower her father’s casket into the ground at Forest Lawn Cemetery. Up until today, his death didn’t seem real, not even when she was making plans for this very event. It was as though she were talking about someone else, not her father, who had always been so energetic and full of life. That the life had gone out of him didn’t seem possible. Yet, this last goodbye was about to happen.

She let her attention stray to the nearby markers for her mother, Janice, and her brother, Brett. Her whole family gone now. Tears burned her eyes. She blinked them back. Now was not the time. Save that for when she was alone.

The pallbearers, including Mark, moved back from the edge of the grave. He walked over to join the rest of the Herald staff standing nearby. Eva surveyed the crowd gathered to pay Seb their last respects. At least four hundred people had been packed into the hall for the service preceding the burial, and more were expected to attend the reception following. Mark had been right: Seb had a lot of friends in Willow Beach. Eva recognized many of the crowd, including some of her old classmates at Willow Beach High, but there were a lot of mourners she didn’t know, newcomers to the town.

Pastor Jordan stepped forward. “Let us pray,” he began, and along with the others, Eva bowed her head.

Half an hour later, she stood in the middle of Forest Lawn’s reception room, holding a plate with an egg-salad sandwich and a scoop of pasta salad, refreshments provided by the funeral home’s catering service. Now that the burial was over, her tension had eased, but only a little. She still had to greet the guests and talk about her father and receive their condolences. They meant well, of course, but her alienation from Seb made talking about him difficult—and painful.

She looked over at the picture of him on an easel near the door. The Herald’s photographer, Cody Jarvis, had made the enlargement. The photo must have been taken recently because Seb’s hair had more gray than she remembered, and new lines bracketed his mouth and his eyes.

“He looks so lifelike,” said a voice behind her.

Eva turned to see her high-school friend Fran Oliver. “He does. Larger than life.”

“He’ll be missed.” Fran put her arm around Eva’s shoulder. “That was a beautiful service.”

“It was. Pastor Jordan did a wonderful job officiating.”

“It’s sure good to see you again, Eva.” Fran dropped her arm and stood back, regarding Eva with solemn eyes.

Eva nodded. “Good to see you, too. How’s the teaching going? Still love it as much as you did at first?”

Fran’s solemn expression relaxed, and she smiled and smoothed her short blond hair. “You bet. Chasing those high-school kids keeps me in shape.”

“Thanks so much for coming. I appreciate your and Jason’s support.” Eva looked around. “Where is your husband? I should thank him in person.”

“He’s over there talking to Mark. They’re basketball-team buddies.” Fran nodded toward the other end of the room. “But we’re not your only support. Alison and Trudi came, too. And some of the others from our class.”

“Yes. I spoke to them at the service.”

“You have more friends here than you might think.”

Eva looked away. “I know I haven’t been in touch much since I left....”

“I understand, but you’ve been missed.” She tilted her head. “Any chance you’ll be coming back?”

“No. I love my life in Seattle.”

“I’m glad you’ve found the place you want to be, hon, but that doesn’t keep me from wishing you were still here. Uh-oh, Jason’s waving at me. We need to pick up the twins from the babysitter’s.”

After Fran moved off, a man about her father’s age, with thick white hair and black-rimmed glasses, stepped to Eva’s side. “Hello, Eva, do you remember me?”

“Of course, you’re Hal Barnett. I’ve been in your drugstore many times. Your son was a year ahead of me in high school.”

Hal nodded. “I haven’t seen Carson for a couple years. Left town, same as you. What is it about our town that makes our kids want to leave?”

Eva shrugged. “Some of us just want to explore the rest of the world, I guess.” She thought of Brett, and her stomach twisted. That was what he’d wanted to do, but tragedy struck before he had the chance. Thinking of her brother prompted her to reach up and finger the silver chain that held his medal.

“We’ll sure miss Seb.” Hal slowly shook his head. “He did so much good for our town, ’sides publishing the news. Will you be comin’ back to help out at the paper? Not that Mark isn’t doing a bang-up job, but it’d be nice to keep the newspaper in the family, doncha think?”

“’Fraid not, Hal. I’ve found my place elsewhere.”

Hal’s mouth turned down. “What’s gonna happen to the Herald?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it.”

She spoke the truth. She hadn’t been involved with the Herald in the past, so she hadn’t given any thought to its future.

They chatted for a few more minutes, and then Hal excused himself to return to the buffet table. Eva finished her food and set the plate on a nearby cart. She turned to see Mark and a tall, slender man in his fifties heading toward her.

“This is Lawrence Prentiss,” Mark said when the two men reached her side. “He was your father’s attorney. I mentioned him the first night you were here.”

Ah, the man who had Seb’s will. She’d been so busy with other matters she’d all but forgotten about that. “Hello, Mr. Prentiss. I don’t think I remember you....”

Lawrence Prentiss extended his hand. “You wouldn’t. My wife and I moved here from Portland three years ago. I took over Sam Lambert’s business when he passed away.”

“I do remember the Lamberts.” Eva shook Lawrence’s hand, which seemed more bones than flesh.

“My condolences for your loss, Eva. Your father was a fine man.”

“Thank you, Mr. Prentiss.”

He cleared his throat. “As you undoubtedly know, Sebastian left a will.”

“I didn’t know until Mark mentioned it. My father was a very private person. There was a lot he didn’t share with me.”

“I understand, but now that I’m back in town, we need to schedule a time when the three of us can sit down together and read it.”

Mark raised his eyebrows. “The three of us?”

Lawrence nodded. “You need to be there, too, Mark.”

“Why do we need a reading of the will?” she asked, folding her arms. “I thought that was something done only in the movies.”

Lawrence’s thin lips cracked a smile. “I know it sounds dramatic, but your father requested that you and Mark meet with me. I’m only following his instructions.”

“But I’m leaving for Seattle as soon as this reception is over. Can’t you just send me a copy?”

Lawrence shook his head. “No, I’m obligated to honor Seb’s wishes.”

Eva was tempted to stand firm on her “no.” But the man was only doing his job. She heaved a sigh. “Can you see us tomorrow?”

“I can. How about one o’clock?”

“Fine.”

Lawrence turned to Mark. “How about you, Mark?”

Mark rubbed the back of his neck. “Saturday? I’d planned a hike with Sasha, but, yeah, I’ll be there.”

“Great,” Lawrence said. “I’ll see you both in my office at one o’clock.”

* * *

AFTER HE’D TUCKED Sasha into bed that evening, Mark settled in his recliner with a cup of coffee. Satisfaction brought a smile to his lips as he thought about the day’s events, all fitting tributes to Seb.

Lawrence Prentiss’s insistence that he be present for a reading of Seb’s will left him scratching his head, though. Why would he be in Seb’s will? Then again, why not? Their relationship was more than boss and employee. They’d gone fishing together and played pool on Friday nights at Durango’s Tavern. Mark had become involved in some of Seb’s charity projects, such as helping out at the community center’s free Thanksgiving dinner.

Seb had often told Mark he was like a son. “I had a son...once,” he’d say. If they were in his office, his gaze would stray to the photos on his desk.

His thoughts returned to the will. Seb had probably left him a token of appreciation for his friendship and loyalty.

No surprise that Eva was in the will. Even though they’d been estranged, she and Seb were still blood. What a shame the two hadn’t spent Seb’s last years together in harmony.

* * *

“‘I, SEBASTIAN FRANKLIN SINCLAIR, of sound mind, do declare this as my last will and testament...’”

Seated at an oval table in Lawrence Prentiss’s office, Eva listened to the lawyer begin the reading of her father’s will. After waiting nearly half an hour for the meeting to get under way, and then having to sit through the lawyer’s small talk about the weather, she realized her nerves were more on edge than ever.

She glanced at Mark, who was seated across from her. His attention was on Lawrence, but he didn’t look any happier about being here than she was.

The first bequests were to charities, including the local hospital, the animal shelter and the University of Washington’s School of Journalism. The last designation didn’t surprise Eva; both she and her father were alumni.

The bequest to UCLA was puzzling, until Lawrence said to Mark, “I believe that’s where you studied journalism, isn’t it?”

Mark nodded. “That was nice of Seb to give them something.”

Lawrence turned to the next page. “‘To my daughter, Eva, I bequeath my property at 880 Oak Avenue and all structures thereon and all personal and tangible property contained therein.’”

The house she’d grown up in was to be hers? Why had Seb bothered to leave her the house? She didn’t want it and would never live there again.

She expected that to be the end of the reading, but Lawrence continued, “‘To my daughter, Eva, and to Mark Townson, I bequeath the entire holdings of the Willow Beach Herald. Each shall receive 50 percent of the total assets comprised by the newspaper...’”

Eva gasped, unable to believe what she’d heard. Besides the house, her father was leaving her 50 percent of the newspaper? Why, when she’d refused to work there or to have anything to do with his publication?

Lawrence cleared his throat. “‘...subject to the following provisions. One, that both Mark and Eva assume coeditorship of the newspaper for the period of one year.’”

“What?” Eva blurted and half rose from her chair.

Lawrence held up his hand. “Let me finish, please.”

“Sorry,” she mumbled and sank back into her seat.

“‘Two, if either party declines to accept the terms, neither inherits and the Herald shall be auctioned to the highest bidder. Neither party may bid on the Herald or in any way be associated with a bidding party.

“‘Three, after assuming coleadership of the Herald for the proscribed year, both parties are free to do as they please regarding their involvement with said newspaper.’”

“What on earth was Seb thinking?” Mark said, obviously as shocked as she was.

Eva shook her head in disbelief. “He must have been crazy. But it won’t work.”

“I’m afraid the will is ironclad.” Lawrence tapped the sheaf of papers with his forefinger.

“But the terms are impossible.” Eva looked from one man to the other. “I have a life, a career in Seattle. I can’t give up everything to come here for a year. It’s different for you, Mark. You already work at the Herald.”

He folded his arms. “I can’t see us working together.”

“Me, neither. No. Never. Not in a million years. Newspaper writing is not what I do.”

“And fluff pieces aren’t what I do.”

Eva drew back and stared at him. “I beg your pardon. Seattle’s Best is every bit as serious a publication as...as a rag like the Herald.”

“The Herald is not a rag!”

Lawrence spread his hands. “People, people, please. This is not the time to argue about who writes what.”

Mark leaned forward. “Okay, but are you sure there isn’t some way out of this?”

The lawyer shook his head. “You’re both free to obtain your own counsel, of course.”

“I intend to,” Eva said. “There is no way I will spend another year of my life in this town.”

“I understand your position,” Lawrence said. “But don’t forget that Mark’s future depends on what you decide. If you don’t accept the terms, Mark loses his inheritance, too, and the newspaper goes on the block. Is that what you want, either of you? Think about it.”

* * *

MARK STOOD OUTSIDE Lawrence’s office, scanning the adjacent parking lot for Eva. When she’d stormed out, he’d impulsively followed. He wasn’t sure why. What was there to say? That he didn’t want his half of the newspaper? That wouldn’t be true. The Herald and its future meant everything to him. From the day Seb had hired him, Mark had devoted himself to the newspaper and its success.

He ran a hand through his hair. What a disaster.

Eva’s blue outfit made her easy to spot. She marched along, head high, her straw purse swinging from her shoulder. A woman on a mission. He watched her for a moment, debating whether he really wanted a confrontation, and then he ran after her. Just as she reached her car, he caught up.

“Eva!” He grabbed her arm, jerking her to a halt.

She looked down where he gripped her arm and then up at him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

He let go of her and stepped back. “I, uh, look, I know you’re upset—”

“Upset doesn’t begin to cover my emotional state. I’m devastated. But Seb’s will isn’t going to happen. I’ll call my lawyer. He’ll know what to do.”

He was about to say he’d do the same, but before he could, she said in an accusing tone, “Were you in on this?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did you know Seb was going to leave the Herald to both of us?”

Her outrageous accusation left him momentarily speechless. “If you’re suggesting I somehow influenced him, you’re dead wrong. Why would I want a mess like this?”

“Half owner is better than being totally cut out, isn’t it?”

“Not if I have to work with you.” He turned and strode off.

CHAPTER THREE

“I HOPE YOU HAVE good news.” Eva was back in Seattle sitting in her cubicle at the magazine. She’d given a copy of Seb’s will to her lawyer, Nolan Cramer, and he’d finally called.

As he spoke, her spirits sank. “You’re sure there’s nothing I can do?” she asked when he’d finished.

“I’m afraid not, Eva. Sorry. My advice? Accept the terms. You might like the experience better than you think.”

Eva doubted that.

She ended the call and slumped over her desk, head in her hands. Nolan had just confirmed what Lawrence Prentiss had already told her—the will was ironclad. She’d held out hope that the will could be broken, but now that door had closed.

Was there no way out of this?

She sat there, her mind spinning, and sure enough, an idea popped into her head. If her boss, James Forsythe, would take pity on her, she could at least soften the blow. She picked up the phone and called him.

Luckily, he had time to see her, and half an hour later she sat in his spacious office. As she waited for him to finish a phone call, she gazed around the room, taking in its warm brown-and-yellow color scheme, the desk, the credenza, even an armoire for storing coats. Someday, this office would be hers. She just knew it. Whenever she was in here, she mentally ran through the changes she would make. For starters, she’d replace the hydroplane photos—James’s son was a champion driver—with the colorful giclée flower prints she’d seen in a Pike Place Market gallery. Add a runner to the top of the credenza, and place her pewter umbrella stand, shaped like a half-open umbrella itself, by the door. Personal touches that would put her brand on the office.

Today she didn’t dare play her little game. Too much rode on convincing James to accept her plan. She knew her boss liked her and valued her as an employee. Surely he would help her through this crisis.

He finally finished his call and turned to her, his back to the picture window. The incoming sunlight glinted on the silver highlights in his dark hair.

“I’m glad you’re back, Eva. I’ve been thinking about you down there in Willow Beach and hoping everything was going okay.”

“I appreciate that, James. Yes, I think my father would have liked his memorial service and the reception afterward. But now I have a new problem.” Clasping her hands and leaning forward, she explained about her father’s will. “I don’t want to leave the magazine,” she concluded. “I like working at Seattle’s Best. I think I have a good future here.”

“You do, Eva.”

“So I thought if you could grant me a year’s leave of absence, then I could return when I finish my obligation in Willow Beach. I’ll miss out on any promotion this year, but at least I’ll still be in the game.” She leaned back and held her breath. He would accept her plan. He just had to.

But he shook his head and looked apologetic. “A year’s leave? Much as I’d like to help you out, I’m afraid that’s impossible.”

Her heart sank, but she wasn’t ready to give up. “Why?”

“A year is way too long. I might get the board to agree to a month, but a year? Never. I’m sorry. You know I’d do anything I could to help you, but my hands are tied.”

Her last hope crushed, Eva looked down to hide her reaction.

James rose, came around the desk and placed a fatherly hand on her shoulder. “I know you’re disappointed, but why not consider this an opportunity?”

“An opportunity?” she said. “Living in a nowhere town and working for a weekly newspaper? I don’t think so.”

Of course, James didn’t know about Brett and the terrible accident and the memories that haunted her, and she wasn’t about to tell him. She’d never brought her personal problems into the workplace. Absently, she reached up and ran her forefinger over the silver chain. As usual, the medal itself was concealed under her clothing, but she knew it was there.

James clasped his hands behind his back and paced to the window. He looked out at the Seattle skyline, then turned back to her. “You know where I started out? Writing restaurant reviews for a newspaper in California, in a town about the size of your Willow Beach. The experience was the best I could’ve had.”

“But I’m not just starting out,” she complained. “I’m five years down the road. And being exiled to Willow Beach feels like going backward.”

“Your life has taken a different turn. Look on the bright side. Running a paper could be a great opportunity.”

Eva shook her head. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, James, but you’ll never convince me that this situation has a bright side.”

Instead of returning to her desk, Eva bypassed her cubicle and continued on to the large window at the end of the hallway and its sweeping view of Elliott Bay.

She folded her arms and leaned against the window frame, idly tracing the progress of a green-and-white ferry on its way to the Olympic Peninsula. Her last option was to refuse the terms of the will. But that would take away Mark’s inheritance, and if the new owner chose to not keep him on, his livelihood, too. He had a daughter to support. Sure, he’d be able to find work somewhere else, but, if she’d understood him correctly, the Herald meant a lot to him. And her father had wanted him to have a part of it.

Eva scrubbed a hand over her forehead. She wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she denied Mark his inheritance. She had no choice but to give up her own career opportunities and spend a year in her hometown.

With a resigned sigh, she returned to her cubicle. Lying on the top of her desk was the latest issue of Seattle’s Best. The cover featured the title of an article she’d written, along with her byline. A lump formed in her throat. She stared at the cover for a minute or two, then picked up the phone and punched in Lawrence Prentiss’s number.

* * *

AS SOON AS MARK received the news that Eva had accepted the terms of Seb’s will, and because his own efforts to break the will had proven just as useless as hers, he called an emergency meeting of the staff. Such as it was. Only four people worked for the newspaper full-time and the rest were freelance. The employees dutifully filed into the lounge, poured themselves coffee and sat at the vintage Formica-topped table.

The fragrant aroma of the coffee mixed with the sugary smells from Bon Ton Bakery’s doughnuts. Mark bought the pastries especially for the occasion, hoping to soften the news they were about to receive. He’d filled his mug and taken a couple sips, even though he had no desire for either coffee or sweets.

“What’s up, Mark?” Bernie Sanchez, in charge of advertising, gripped his World’s Greatest Husband coffee mug, a present from his wife, Maria.

Dora Winters, circulation manager and, at sixty, their oldest member, looked up from the multicolored scarf she was knitting. “This meeting is about our future, isn’t it?”

“I bet it has to do with Eva.” Underneath eyebrow-grazing blond bangs, April Hensen’s eyes shifted warily. In her mid-twenties, April did double duty as receptionist and compiler of the Police Beat column.

Their photographer and webmaster, Cody Jarvis, also a twentysomething, fingered the digital camera hanging around his neck. “I thought she went back to Seattle.”

“She did,” Mark said from his seat at the head of the table. “But she’s coming back.”

“What?” everyone chorused.

He held up his hands. “Simmer down and I’ll explain.” He launched into his prepared speech, beginning with Seb’s will and ending with, “Both Eva and I tried to find a way out, and neither one of us was successful. So she and I will be coeditors for the next year.”

A stunned silence filled the room, setting Mark’s nerves even more on edge. But maybe silence was a good sign, and they were only taking time to digest the news.

Bernie was the first to speak. He looked at Mark, a frown wrinkling his forehead. “I was kinda hoping you’d continue to be our leader. Why do we need two bosses?”

“The only answer I have for you is that it’s what Seb wanted.”

“I got the impression she doesn’t want to be here.” Cody folded his arms over his chest, covering the Herald logo on his T-shirt. “And if that’s true, then what kind of a boss will she be?”

“She has a job in Seattle that she really likes,” Mark said.

April flipped her long hair over her shoulder. “Yeah, she thinks she’s better than we are because she works for a big-city magazine.”

“Now, April.” Mark leveled what he hoped was a reproving look at her. “I think you’re being a bit unfair. She prefers the magazine because that’s the kind of writing she wants to do, not because that kind of writing is better than what we do here.”

April’s scornful expression indicated she wasn’t buying Mark’s lame excuse for the impression Eva had made.

Bernie took his mug over to the coffee urn for a refill. “Didn’t she and Seb have a falling-out?”

“My understanding is, yes, they did,” Mark said. “Dora, you’re the only one of us who was working here at the time. Can you help us out?”

Dora put her knitting down on the table and smoothed a hand over it. “I was here. I’ve been working for the Herald for almost twenty years. I’m a real old-timer. Why, I remember when I hired on. That was when Seb and Boyd Carlstrom were partners, and, oh, my, did we have a time getting this operation off the ground—”

Mark cleared his throat. Sometimes, keeping Dora on track was a challenge. “I’m sure you did, Dora, but about Seb and Eva?”

Dora looked away. “A bad time, that was. It goes back to when Eva’s brother, Brett, died. He drowned in a boating accident, you know. On Pine Lake.”

“He was older than Eva, right?” Bernie slipped into his seat. “I heard some of the guys at Sam’s Garage talking about him. Said he was kinda wild.”

Dora nodded. “He liked a good time. And, yes, he was two years older than Eva. Seb had his heart set on Brett following in his footsteps here at the Herald. When Brett died, Seb went into hiding, and Boyd had to run the show. It was awful. Seb never got over losing his son. Never.”

“What happened to Seb’s wife?” Cody asked. “I’ve never heard much about her.”

“She died two or three years before Brett. Pancreatic cancer. Nasty stuff. Can take you just like that.” Dora snapped her fingers. “Janice was a lovely woman. Quiet and unassuming. Kept in the background. Seb definitely has been the boss in that family.”

“But what exactly caused Seb and Eva’s split?” Mark asked.

Dora shrugged and picked up her needles again. “Seb never wanted to talk about what happened with Eva. Maybe she just didn’t want to be second choice.”

“That doesn’t mean she has to take out her bad attitude on us,” April said.

“Not gonna be too good for morale around here,” Bernie grumbled under his breath.

“Remember, this is what Seb wanted,” Mark said. “And the terms are only for a year. We can handle it.”

A tension-filled silence descended on the group. Bernie drank his coffee and stared into space. Cody pulled a cloth from his back pocket and dusted the lens on his camera, while Dora concentrated on her knitting. April pouted and studied her fingernails.

Finally, Mark said, “I know you’re all upset about this turn of events. But I gotta say again, it’s what Seb wanted. He must’ve had his reasons. We’ll welcome Eva and do the best we can while she’s here. For Seb’s sake. For the Herald’s sake. Can I have your cooperation on that?”

The staff nodded their agreement.

When the meeting was over, Mark rinsed out his mug and hung it on the mug tree. Maybe Eva’s disappointment at being her father’s second choice to take over the business was the reason for her reluctance to accept the terms of his will.

Still, something told him there was more to the matter than that. Would he ever know? Judging by their relationship so far, he couldn’t see them becoming friends, much less confidants.

In the meantime, he must be careful to live up to the standards he’d set for the others. It wouldn’t be easy. As coeditors with different viewpoints, he and Eva were sure to clash over how to run the paper. Yes, the coming year promised to be challenging indeed.

* * *

“IS THIS ALL?” Eva glanced around the apartment’s combination living, kitchen and dining rooms, then shifted her gaze to Mrs. Halsey, the building’s owner.

Mrs. Halsey frowned and brushed a lock of gray hair from her forehead. “I’m not sure what you mean. What more do you want?”

“It’s just so...small.”

The apartment was on a corner of the town’s Main Street. It was on the second floor, above a mini-mall, with stores and antiques shops geared for the tourist trade—what there was of it in Willow Beach.

“Don’t forget the great view of the ocean.” Mrs. Halsey gestured to the picture window.

Eva walked over and gazed out. Mrs. Halsey had a point. From here she could see the ocean in all its glory, waves breaking on the sand, and she could even make out a couple of clam diggers trudging along with their buckets and shovels.

Still, she much preferred the view of Elliott Bay from her fifth-floor Seattle condo. Fortunately, she’d be able to return to the condo when her exile here was over. Her leaving coincided with her coworker Susan Jensen’s need for new living quarters, and Susan had happily sublet Eva’s unit. Plus, Susan said Eva could stay there whenever she returned to Seattle, something she looked forward to. She was homesick already.

“And this apartment is furnished,” Mrs. Halsey said. “You won’t find many furnished places around here.”

Eva tore her gaze away from the view to focus on the lumpy maroon sofa and two stiff-looking chairs upholstered in 1950s lime-green. Once again, she thought of her condo, with the beige sectional couch she’d purchased from Sigma Design, the fashionable furniture store on Queen Anne Hill.

Still, Mrs. Halsey was right about the dearth of furnished apartments in Willow Beach; Eva had searched all the ads she could find, and this was the only one offered.

There was always her father’s house, which was now hers. She could live there until she finished cleaning out the place and put it on the market. She shook her head. Better to stay here in this dingy rental than to be surrounded by all the painful memories.

She turned to Mrs. Halsey. “All right, I’ll take the apartment.”

Mrs. Halsey beamed, then opened a file folder she’d been carrying under one arm. Extracting two sheets of paper, she handed them to Eva. “Here’s the lease. First and last month’s rent due up front.”

“Of course.” Eva scanned the lease, then signed her name to both copies. She gave one to Mrs. Halsey.

The older woman squinted at her signature. “Eva Sinclair.” She looked up. “Are you Seb’s daughter? Heard you were in town.”

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Had to miss his memorial. Had to take care of my sick mother in Morganville.” She slowly shook her head. “I’m sorry for your loss. Seb was a wonderful man.”

“Thank you,” Eva said. Was there anyone in this town who did not think her father wonderful?

“You’re here to take over the Herald, then?” Mrs. Halsey tucked the lease into her file folder.

“Uh, no, just helping out for a while.”

“Good to keep it in the family.”

“Yes, well, I’d better start unloading my car,” Eva said hurriedly, not wanting to continue a discussion that made her uncomfortable. She stuffed her copy of the lease into her purse and headed for the door.

* * *

TWO DAYS LATER, Eva sat at the kitchen table in her new apartment, lingering over toast and coffee and putting off reporting for work at the Herald. When she could delay no longer, she stacked her dishes in the sink and collected her purse from the bedroom. On the way out, she glanced in the mirror on the bathroom door. She smoothed her chocolate-brown top over her beige slacks and tucked an errant lock of hair into the faux-pearl clip at her nape. At home, she would’ve worn a skirt, but this outfit ought to do just fine for the Herald. From what she’d seen of the staff, she doubted the newspaper had a dress code.

Leaving her car in its designated spot behind her apartment, she headed for the Herald’s office on foot.

Willow Beach hadn’t changed much, not the stores anyway. The window of Barnett’s Drugstore still displayed the same duck holding a placard that said Get Your Prescriptions Filled Here. And she would swear Macon’s Diner sported the very same café curtains in what was still an ugly black-and-white checker pattern. The Bon Ton Bakery still kept its door open, allowing enticing aromas to drift along the sidewalk.

Two blocks later, she arrived at the Herald, located between The Book Nook and Mac’s Barbershop. As she placed her hand on the doorknob, her fingers froze. Then, filling her lungs with a deep breath, she opened the door and stepped inside.

The receptionist, whose name Eva remembered was April Hensen, looked up from her desk situated behind a semicircular counter. She had pale blond hair as fine as corn silk and high cheekbones any model would envy. Unfortunately, her checkered, sleeveless blouse was more appropriate for housecleaning than for meeting the public. Eva was right. The Herald had no dress code.

She shut the door and crossed the room. “Good morning, April.” She hoped her cheerful tone sounded authentic rather than forced.

“Morning,” April said in a flat voice. “I’ll let Mark know you’re here.” She picked up the telephone and punched a button. “He’ll be right out,” she said when she’d hung up. She turned back to her computer.

Feeling more like a customer than the new coeditor, Eva gazed around. She hadn’t taken much time to survey the place the night she’d arrived. The shock of Seb’s death had preoccupied her.

The reception area was as drab as it had always been, with half a dozen molded plastic chairs bracketed by two small tables. In one corner, a terra-cotta tub held a tired-looking philodendron. She thought of Seattle’s Best’s reception area and its elegant black leather sofa, matching side chairs and glass-topped coffee table with its bouquet of fresh flowers provided weekly by a local florist.

Spotting a stack of the latest edition of the Herald on the counter, she walked over and picked up a copy. Tabloid-size, with Willow Beach Herald printed in big letters across the top, the paper had at the most ten or twelve pages. Compared to Seattle’s Best, a publication of at least fifty glossy pages, many in color, the Herald seemed hopelessly dull.

At the sound of footsteps, she turned to see Mark walking down the hallway. He wore his usual jeans and short-sleeved shirt—today’s was blue—that showed off his tanned, muscular arms.

Mark’s long-legged stride quickly brought him to her side. She thought he was going to reach out and shake her hand, and she braced herself for his touch. But he rested his hands on his slim hips and let his gaze sweep over her.

“Looks like you’re all ready to go to work.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” she said with the same forced cheerfulness she’d used on April. She had the feeling she’d be calling on that voice a lot in the coming days.

“Right. First, though, we have a little surprise for you.”

Eva narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t look so worried,” he said with an easy grin. “It’s a nice surprise. In the staff room. You’ll see.” He glanced over his shoulder at April. “C’mon, April. You, too.”

April frowned. “I need to be here to answer the phone.”

“Did you forget about the extension in the staff room?”

“Oh, all right.”

April stalked around her desk, arms hugging her slender waist, lower lip thrust out, and fell into step behind Eva as Mark led the way. Her flip-flops slapped on the tiles as she shuffled along.

Mark took them down the hallway, past the staff’s cubicles—all empty, Eva noticed—to the employees’ lounge. A yellow banner stretched across the ceiling. Welcome, Eva! proclaimed the bold red letters.

Eva stared. She hadn’t expected anything like this on her first day. Unexpectedly, she choked up. Were they really welcoming her? Did they really want her to be here?

Several tables had been pushed together to make a large square. In the center sat a tray of doughnuts and a stack of red paper plates and yellow napkins. The scent of fresh-brewed coffee filled the air.

“I think you know everyone.” Mark gestured to the three people standing near the tables.

“I do. You’re Cody.” She nodded at the tall twentysomething man wearing a T-shirt bearing the Herald’s logo and then turned to a stocky dark-haired man. “Bernie, in Advertising, right?” Bernie nodded. “And of course I know you, Dora Winters. You’ve been Dad’s circulation manager forever.”

She focused on the gray-haired woman, who barely came up to Bernie’s shoulder. The yellow tote she clutched had knitting needles sticking out the top. “Still knitting, I see. How many scarves have you done?”

Dora smiled. “Too many to count. Good to see you again, Eva.”

“Have a seat and dig into the doughnuts.” Mark strode to the table and pulled out a chair, motioning to Eva. “Bon Ton Bakery’s best. April picked them out. She’s our official doughnut buyer. Aren’t you, April?”

April scowled. “If you say so.”

Ignoring the ill-humored response, Mark pointed to the chair. “Come on, Eva. Sit and enjoy.”

Eva had no desire to add any food to her already queasy stomach, but she dutifully sat. Mark picked up the plate of doughnuts and held it out. She selected one with white icing and sprinkles. He crossed the room to the coffeemaker and picked up a mug. “You take anything in your coffee?” he asked over his shoulder.

“Black is fine.”

At home, she’d have stopped on her way to work to buy her favorite hazelnut latte. But she wasn’t at home. She was in Willow Beach having coffee and doughnuts with her new staff. With the possible exception of Dora Winters, a staff that obviously wasn’t any happier about her being here than she was.

Dora sat across from Eva and began adding stitches to her scarf. Bernie grabbed a mug that said World’s Greatest Husband and stood behind Mark at the coffee urn. Cody pulled out his phone and studied the screen. April heaved a sigh and rolled her eyes.

Mark brought Eva’s coffee and one for himself. Bernie joined them, then Cody and finally April, who sat as far away from Eva as she could.

Eva had to give Mark credit for trying to build a conversation, but each attempt drifted off into uncomfortable silence. She nibbled her doughnut and sipped her coffee.

Finally Cody looked at his wristwatch, and his eyes widened. “Hey, I’ve got a shoot scheduled. I need to get going.” He grabbed his camera, jumped up and, with long-legged strides, headed for the door.

Chair legs scraped the tile floor as the others mumbled their excuses and fell in behind Cody. They disappeared out the door and down the hallway.

Eva glanced up at the banner. So much for a welcome. “Well, you tried,” she said to Mark, forgetting to use her cheerful voice and resorting to sarcasm.

Mark rubbed the back of his neck. “They’ll loosen up when they get to know you.” He drained his coffee cup. “We’d better get you set up with an office.”

“Right.” Eva stood and carried her cup to the sink. This was going to be a long day.

CHAPTER FOUR

“THIS IS WHERE I hang out.” Mark pointed to the open doorway of a small office near the back of the building. He nodded at an adjacent closed door. “You can have this office.” He stepped forward and put a hand on the knob.

“Wait,” Eva said. “Isn’t that my father’s?”

“Yeah, it is...was.”

Eva raised both hands. “No. No way am I going to use his office. Why don’t you take his and I’ll take yours?”

Mark frowned. “Why should I move, when you could just as well use his?”

Eva shook her head. “You’re not hearing me. I said no.”

They glared at each other.

Eva’s heart thudded, but she wasn’t going to back down. She didn’t belong in that office. She would never belong there. A lump rose in her throat.

She swallowed and tried again. “Why don’t you want to take my father’s office now? You’ll eventually be there anyway. Once I’m gone, you’ll be on your own here.”

“We don’t know that for sure,” Mark said.

“That still doesn’t explain why you don’t want to move into his office now.”

“You haven’t given me a reason why you won’t take it,” Mark pointed out.

No, and she wouldn’t, either. Eva expelled an exasperated breath. “We’re going around in circles.”

“It’s his or a corner of mine.”

“What about the broom closet?”

“We don’t have one.”

“We do, too. I remember one down that way.” She pointed to where the hallway angled off to the right.

Mark jutted out his chin. “Don’t be ridiculous. The paper’s editor working out of the broom closet?”

“Works for me.”

Mark shook his head. “You are something else.”

Neither said anything. Mark stared at the floor. Eva crossed her arms and tapped her foot. In one of the cubicles, a phone jangled. Mark finally looked up. “Okay, there is one other possible place for you. We have an extra cubicle that freelancers use. You can park there.”

“Where will the freelancers work?”

“I’ll fix up a corner of Seb’s office. Somebody will get some use out of it.”

“All right.”

Mark led her down the hall to the cubicle. Eva peered at it. About half the size of the one she had at Seattle’s Best, it contained a desk with a computer and a phone and a two-drawer file cabinet. “Pretty basic, isn’t it?”

Mark shrugged. “You had your choice.”

“Okay, now that I have a place to park, as you put it, what am I supposed to do?”

“We need to discuss that. Come on into my office.”

Mark’s office was considerably larger than the cubicles but as simply furnished, with the exception of a high-backed black vinyl desk chair. Her father had had a chair just like that, she remembered. A worktable near the window held a stack of file folders and several books.

He directed Eva to a straight chair on the other side of his desk and then sank into his chair, swiveling around to face her. He picked up a copy of the Herald lying on the desktop. “Seen our latest issue?”

“I glanced at it when I first came in, but I haven’t read it.”

“Don’t suppose you’ve seen any back issues, either.” He picked up a thick file folder.

“Not a one.”

“Didn’t think so.” He slid the newspaper and the folder in her direction. “Take a look. I think you’ll find the paper has changed a lot since you worked here.”

Eva laced her fingers together in her lap and, with studied patience, said, “I never worked here. I helped out summers when I was in high school. Opening the mail, mostly.”

Mark shrugged dismissively. “Whatever.”

Eva picked up the paper. She turned the pages, scanning the headlines: “Local School Board Loses Longtime Member,” “Facts About Home Buying,” “Traffic Increase Prompts Study.”

Bor-ing. Aloud, she said, “Looks like quite a variety of articles.”

“News articles. The Herald reports important happenings around town.”

She met his stern gaze. “What are you trying to say, Mark? That what I write at Seattle’s Best isn’t news? What did you call my writing when we were in Lawrence’s office? ‘Fluff’ pieces?”

“A publication like Seattle’s Best has its place.”

“But obviously a less prestigious place than a newspaper like the Herald.”

Mark shook his head. “I’m not trying to pick a fight. I just wanted to make our mission clear.”

“Trust me, you have,” she said crisply.

Mark cleared his throat. “Getting back to your role here, I figured the closest to what you’ve been writing would be the Our Town column. Notices of club meetings, food drives, activities at the senior center, that sort of thing.”

“Who’s been doing that up to now?”

“One of our freelancers. A sweet lady named June Baker. She was very disappointed when I told her we wouldn’t be needing her anymore.”

“I don’t want to take anyone’s job. Isn’t there something else I can do?”

“Besides the Our Town column? You can help me with the overall layout and editing. And I’m sure we’ll find some other tasks to keep you busy.”

Eva raised an eyebrow. “So that’s the main objective—keeping me busy?”

Mark ran a hand through his hair. “Come on, Eva. This is tough for both of us. You’ve given me the impression you don’t want to become involved while you’re here, that you’re only marking time until your year is over.” He studied her closely. “Am I off base on that?”

Eva looked away. “No, you’re not.”

“I’m trying to make the year as easy for you as I can. You want some other assignment, okay, you pick it.”

“Never mind,” she said. “I’ll do the column.”

They spent the next few minutes going over various routines and procedures. At last, Mark leaned back and said, “That about covers it. Any questions?”

“No. I’ll go to my cubicle now.”

“June’s files are all there. They should help you get in the groove.”

Before she could make her escape, voices sounded in the hallway, and a little girl burst into the room. Except for her white sandals, she was dressed all in pink: blouse, skirt and tights. Looped over one arm was a pink plastic purse with a large daisy stuck to the side.

“Daddy! Daddy!” Arms outstretched, she ran to Mark.

He swiveled away from his desk just in time for her to jump into his lap. “Hey, sweetheart! I didn’t expect a visit from you today.”

An older woman, presumably Sasha’s caretaker, hurried into the office. “We’re on our way to our ballet lesson,” she said. “And she insisted on visiting first. She’s her daddy’s girl, that one.”

“I’m always glad to see my girl.” Mark bestowed a kiss on the child’s forehead.

Eva had little experience with children, but judging by her impression of Sasha at Seb’s memorial, the child was a charmer. She obviously had her father twisted around her little finger.

Eileen turned to Eva. “Your first day on the job, I bet. I’m Eileen.”

Eva smiled. “Nice to meet you. I’m Eva.”

“Heard you rented Lola Halsey’s place. Seems strange, when you could be staying in Seb’s house.”

Eileen reached up to her topknot and adjusted the chopsticks, or whatever they were, that were stuck through it.

“I’ll be getting the house ready to put on the market,” Eva said.

“If you need an agent, see Morgan’s Realty on Main Street. Jeb’s my cousin. Tell him I sent you.”

Eva smiled indulgently. “Thanks, Eileen, I’ll make a note of that.”

Mark turned Sasha around to face Eva. “You remember Eva from Mr. Seb’s memorial, don’t you, honey?”

Sasha beamed her luminous blue eyes on Eva. “Yes, I ’member.”

“I remember you, too,” Eva said. “How are you today?”

“Fine. I have a new purse.” She pointed to the purse hanging over her arm.

“Very nice. It matches your outfit. I bet pink’s your favorite color.”

“Uh-huh.” Sasha grinned shyly.

“She always has to be color-coordinated.” Eileen favored her charge with a smile. “Not like me,” she added, pointing to her orange blouse and red cardigan sweater.

“I like my outfits to match, too.” Eva gestured at her brown shirt and slacks.

“You look pretty,” Sasha said.

“Why, thank you.”

“Hey, Sasha, I thought I heard your voice.”

April Hensen, clutching a piece of paper in her hand, entered the room. Her flip-flops slapped across the floor as she headed for Mark’s desk. Leaning down, she gave Sasha a hug.

As April straightened, her free hand brushed Mark’s shoulder in a gesture that seemed intentional, rather than accidental. April always seemed to hover around Mark. Were they more than boss and employee?

Mark and April’s relationship was no business, or concern, of hers.

“Here’s the flyer for the picnic.” April laid the paper on Mark’s desk. She looked around wide-eyed. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

“No problem, April.” Mark lowered Sasha to the floor and turned his attention to the paper April had brought.

Sasha danced over to Eva. “Are you coming to the picnic?”

“What picnic is that?”

“The Fourth of July picnic. Huh, Daddy?” Sasha looked to Mark for confirmation.

Mark sat back in his chair. “Right, sweetie.” He looked at Eva. “It’s at the City Park and sponsored by the Chamber of Commerce. The entire town is invited. We’re including these flyers in the next edition of the paper.” He tapped the sheet in front of him. “We’re covering the event, of course.”

“You have to come,” Sasha said. “There are games and prizes and fireworks!”

Eva didn’t want to spend the Fourth of July—or any holiday—in Willow Beach. This occasion would be a good time to take Susan up on her invitation to stay in Seattle. “Yes, the picnic’s always been a popular celebration. It sounds like fun, but I plan to go home that weekend.”

Sasha’s brow wrinkled. “Home?”

“To Seattle. That’s where I really live.”

“Eva’s only here in Willow Beach for a year,” Mark said. “Then she’s going back to her home in Seattle.” He turned back to Eva. “But about the picnic—you’re writing the Our Town column, right?”

“Yes, but—”

“And doesn’t the picnic sound like an event for your column?”

“Ordinarily. But it’s the Fourth of July. Won’t that rate a front-page feature? And wouldn’t that be you?”

She glanced at the others. Eileen and April had their gazes glued to Mark, anticipating his answer. Even Sasha, who’d been fussing with her purse, was now focused on her father.

Mark folded his arms and glared at Eva. She set her jaw and glared back.

Seconds passed. Finally, he shrugged. “Go to Seattle. We’ll get along just fine without you.” He turned away and shuffled some papers on his desk.

“I’d already made plans before I knew about the picnic,” she felt obliged to say. True enough, even though she hadn’t yet checked with Susan to see if that weekend would work for her, too. But Susan had said to come anytime, hadn’t she?

“I wish you could come to the picnic,” Sasha said.

“Never mind, honey.” April patted Sasha’s shoulder. “We’ll have a good time.”

Eileen grasped Sasha’s hand. “We need to go, honey. We don’t want to be late for your ballet lesson.”

“Bye, Sasha.” Eva waved. “Nice to see you again.”

“Bye.”

After Sasha and Eileen left, Mark turned to April. “Was there something else, April?”

“I need to talk to you.” She rolled her eyes and tipped her head in Eva’s direction.

Seizing the blatant hint as a chance to escape, Eva stood. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll get to work.”

* * *

“HAVE A SEAT, April.” Mark nodded at the chair Eva had vacated.

April sidled to the chair and perched on the edge. The slight flush to her normally pale complexion sent tension rippling across his shoulders.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked.

“I, um, thought you and Sasha might want to come to my place for dinner tonight. I’m making spaghetti, and my housemate has a night class at the junior college.”

Yep, as he’d suspected, her reason for lingering was personal. “That’s nice of you, April, but I’ll be working late. I’ll only have time to grab a bite at the deli.”

April’s forehead wrinkled. “Sasha could come, though, couldn’t she? She and I always have fun together.”

“Sorry, I’ve already arranged for her to have dinner at Eileen’s.”

April lowered her gaze and shifted in her chair. “I hope things between us won’t change now that Eva is here,” she said in a low voice.

At the mention of an “us,” Mark inwardly cringed. A few months ago, he and April had seen each other at a concert on the beach, and he’d invited her for a bite to eat afterward. Since then, she’d had the idea he was personally interested in her. As gently as he could, he’d tried to make it clear that wasn’t the case. She was a valued employee and a good friend only, and he didn’t want to hurt her feelings.

“I’m still your boss,” he said carefully, “but Eva is a boss, too.”

“I’ll take orders from her if I have to,” she said in a petulant tone. “But that’s not what I meant. What about us?”

Mark spread his hands. “I’ve explained that I’m not ready for a new relationship. Don’t take it personally.”

April pushed out her lower lip. “It’s been three years since your wife died. I’d think that would be long enough to wait before moving on.”

Mark kept his voice firm. “I’ll decide when I’m ready, okay? Now, what about your Police Beat column? I’ll need your copy by the end of today.”

April huffed, “I know when my deadline is.”

After she left, Mark leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath. Dealing first with Eva and then with April had drained him of the energy and enthusiasm he usually brought to the job.

Seb created this mess, he realized, and for a moment, he shared some of Eva’s resentment toward the man. Had he really thought Mark and Eva would get along and be able to keep the Herald running smoothly?

* * *

EVA SHIFTED FROM side to side in the green vinyl chair, trying to get comfortable. No luck; the seat part was too short for her long legs, and the wooden arms extended at an awkward angle so that her elbows kept falling off. The small TV set that had come with the furnishings was broadcasting the evening’s news, but she wasn’t watching. She was mulling over her first day on the job at the Herald.

She’d read June Baker’s files, which, as she’d suspected, were full of the kinds of articles that appealed to the citizens of a small town: local woman bank teller promoted to manager; high-school graduate awarded scholarship to prestigious school; local truckers lamenting the high cost of gasoline.

At lunchtime, instead of eating alone at one of the town’s diners, she’d walked back to her apartment and made a tuna sandwich.

In the afternoon, Mark had emailed her an article from one of their freelancers to edit. The topic was a recent quilt show at the community center. Eva had to admit the accompanying photos were bright and colorful, but the article itself was, in her opinion, pedestrian. Still, she’d performed the best editing job she could do without drastically altering the text. When she’d ventured to suggest to Mark that the article was uninteresting, his response was that Lettie Snow, who’d written the piece, was, in his opinion, one of their most talented writers and suggested that if she thought she could do better, she was welcome to try.

This terse exchange had taken place in the hallway in hushed voices. Still, Eva had noticed Dora’s and Bernie’s heads popping up from their cubicles to see what was going on. She’d told Mark no, thank you, and marched back to her own cubicle.

After work, not feeling like cooking and not being much of a cook anyway, she’d stopped at the supermarket and bought the makings of a salad.

Now the evening stretched before her like a yawning hole. She’d never be able to last an entire year. Never.

At least she could escape for the Fourth of July weekend. She was sure Mark and the others no more wanted her at the picnic than she wanted to be there. Which reminded her that she’d better let Susan know she was coming.

She picked up her cell phone and punched her friend’s number on the speed dial.

“How’d your first day go?” Susan asked when she came on the line and they’d exchanged greetings.

“Stressful, but I managed to make it through to the end. What’s new at the magazine?”

“Rolling along at high speed, as usual. Today a bunch of us went to lunch at the Four Seasons.”

“Oh, one of my favorite places.”

“I know, and you were missed.”

“Has anyone been hired to replace me yet?”

“Nope. Still interviewing.”

“I’d like to think it’s because my shoes are hard to fill,” Eva joked.

Susan laughed. “No doubt.”

They chatted for a few minutes, then Eva said, “Okay if I come up for the Fourth? Trying out my own guest room will be fun.”

The silence that followed raised an alarm. Then Susan said, “Oh, Eva, I’m sorry, but my cousins Julie and Lanette are coming for the holiday. You could sleep on the sofa, though.”

Eva pictured the curved sofa in her living room, comfortable to sit on but hardly suitable as a bed. “No, I don’t think that would work.”

“How about the weekend after that?”

“I really wanted to come for the Fourth.”

“I don’t know what to say, except I’m sorry.”

They talked a few minutes longer and then said goodbye. Eva punched off the call, heavy with disappointment.

Now, unless she wanted to hide out in her apartment or go someplace other than Seattle, she had no excuse for not attending the Willow Beach Fourth of July celebration.

CHAPTER FIVE

IF THERE WAS ONE THING Eva wasn’t going to give up with her move to the coast, it was exercise. At home, she belonged to a health club located in downtown Seattle, not far from the office, so she could stop in before or after work. Sometimes, she even squeezed in a short session during her lunch hour. The club had an indoor track, various exercise machines, a swimming pool and a hot tub. Everything she needed to stay fit.

Such a place was not to be found in Willow Beach. Knowing that, she’d brought a few weights to use in her apartment. For running, there was the outside track at the high school, but it was far enough away to require driving. That left the beach. The hard-packed sand near the water’s edge provided a good running track and, best of all, it was only a couple blocks from her apartment.

After her third day at the newspaper, Eva put on her jogging shorts, an oversize T-shirt and running shoes. She buckled on her waist pouch and tied a scarf around her head, then left her apartment and headed along the access road to the beach. Weaving through grass-topped dunes that rose and dipped like tiny mountains, she made her way to the shoreline. Overhead, seagulls searching for their supper swooped and cawed while shorebirds on stick legs dodged the breaking waves.

She stopped and took in the scene, memories rolling over her. When they were little, the beach had been a playground for her and Brett. Their mother would sit on a blanket and read while they waded in the water and dug in the sand and chased the seagulls. Years after that, Brett would race along the shore in the car their father bought for him. And now they were gone, all three of them. And she was back here in Willow Beach with only her memories.

Pushing away those troubling thoughts, she took a deep breath and started off, relishing the fresh air and cool sea breeze. The sun had dipped low in the sky, and the surrounding clouds promised a spectacular sunset. Other walkers and joggers were out today, and a few cars passed by, but given the beach’s considerable breadth, there was room for them all.

A man jogging toward her caught her eye. Mark? She squinted across the expanse separating them. Yep, it was Mark. Oh, great. After spending the workday together, she didn’t relish seeing him off-hours. She’d acknowledge him and keep running.

When they were almost abreast, Eva lifted her arm, but Mark skidded to a halt.

“Hey, Eva!”

Reluctantly, she broke her stride. “Mark. Didn’t...expect to see you...here.”

His sleeveless T-shirt showed off more of his arms than usual and his running shorts revealed legs just as strong as she’d imagined. She tried not to stare.

Mark puffed his cheeks and whooshed out a breath. “That...goes for me, too. Didn’t know you were into running.” His gaze swept her from head to toe. “Not that you aren’t, uh, fit—”

She hid a smile. So he was checking her out, too. “I belong to a health club at home. No such thing here, though.”

“There’s always the track at the high school. If I’m not there, I’m out here. Clears my head. And what better setting?” He made a sweeping gesture at their surroundings.

“I’ve always loved this beach,” she admitted.

He propped his hands on his hips. “So, not everything about Willow Beach is a bummer.”

“No, not everything.”

Conversation died, yet neither made a move to resume running. Eva retied her scarf, wondering what kept her rooted to the spot.

Finally, she said, “Well, see you tomorrow.” She took a step forward.

“Eva—”

She stopped and turned. “Yes?” Oh, man, she sounded so...eager. Where had that come from?

“How about I join you for the rest of your run and then we grab a cup of coffee or something? The Beach Café on Seaview Avenue has outdoor tables. It’s a nice evening....”

Spend more time with Mark, when she’d told herself moments ago she didn’t even want to stop her jog to speak to him? Still, the prospect of returning to her drab apartment once her run was over held little appeal. Why not accept his invitation?

She tilted her head and adopted a teasing tone. “I don’t know.... Think you can keep up with me?”

He lifted his chin. “I’m not worried. Are you?”

“Not in the least. You’re on.”

“Okay. The café’s in the direction you’re headed.” He pointed down the beach. “My car’s at that end, too, and when we’re finished, I’ll give you a lift home.”

She wasn’t sure about the lift-home part, but she’d worry about that when the time came. She nodded, and they started off. Despite her bragging, Mark’s stride challenged her, but she kept up well enough to earn an admiring glance or two.

After a while, he slowed and pointed toward a pile of driftwood above the tide line. “How about taking a break?”

“Tired already?” she teased.

“Nope. Just thought watching the sun set would be nice.”

She glanced toward the horizon, where the sun blazed a brilliant trail of orange and yellow as it slid toward the sea. “Okay. Looks like it’s going to be a good show.”

She jogged with him to the driftwood. After taking a few minutes to stretch and cool down, they sat side by side on one of the logs. The lowering sun spread its glow through drifting clouds and along the horizon while the outline of a freighter appeared and disappeared with the undulation of the waves.

Mark leaned back and propped his elbows on the log behind them. “How far do you usually run?”

“A couple miles. At home, there’s an interurban trail I use or, if it’s raining, I run a track at the health club.”

“So that’s how you keep in such good shape.”

She laughed. “Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself.” She slid a sideways glance down the muscles of his outstretched legs all the way to the heels of his black-and-white running shoes. Nice. “Is running your main exercise?” she asked.

He picked up a stick of driftwood and idly poked the sand. “That and hiking. Ever do any?”

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