“You just wanted an excuse to touch me.”

Something changed in her eyes. “What if I did? Could you take more of it?”

“Try it and let’s see.”

It took her forever to make the move. Then she finally put her hand to the side of his face.

He had to steel himself against a reaction.

Tonight, he was seeing another side to her. Even that resolve in her eyes seemed not about control, but about simple response. Her thumb ran lightly over his jawline, over his chin. The air left his lungs. Then she moved her hand so her index finger could explore his bottom lip. She leaned forward to plant a kiss there. Her lips were a millimeter from his, his parted and waiting for her… .

Dear Reader,

When I wrote Always Florence, my first Mills & Boon® Heartwarming™ book, I hadn’t intended a connected book. I became invested in Sandy’s and Hunter’s futures, however, and hope you did, too. There had to be a way to unite a woman who is single-minded in pursuit of the life she wants for her daughters and herself, and a man who has enormous personal and financial problems to solve and just wants to be left alone.

I think I found it.

Happy Spring!

Muriel

Love Me Forever

Muriel Jensen

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MURIEL JENSEN lives with her husband, Ron, in an old foursquare Victorian looking down on the Columbia River in Astoria, Oregon. They share their home with Cheyenne, a neurotic husky mix, and a tabby horde (there are only two, but they come in screaming, and she imagines them wearing armor and wielding swords as they eat everything in sight and take hostages for evening TV watching).

They have three children, eight grandchildren, four great-grandchildren, and a collection of the most interesting and generous friends and neighbors. They feel truly blessed!

To Adalyn Saysong Deth,

Tommy and Zoey Erickson,

and to Ashley

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 ONE

SANDY EVANS FELT DESERTED. The man she loved stood with his broad back to her, his rejection undeniable. Her mother thought she was insane, and her best friend had told her it was just wrong to offer Hunter Bristol thirty thousand dollars to marry her. “He’ll throw it back at you,” Bobbie Raleigh had warned.

Marriage wasn’t the point of the money offer, but—to be honest—she’d have loved it to be the ultimate outcome. So she’d ignored her mother and her best friend, and handed Hunter Bristol a check in that amount. His initial reaction was not promising. White shirt stretched across shoulders that were square and muscular, he’d been silent for about a minute, one hand jammed in the pocket of his gray slacks, the other holding the check between his thumb and forefinger as though it had been smeared with Ebola.

He turned around finally, and she knew Bobbie had been right. Sandy was about to have the check thrown back in her face.

Hunter Bristol was tall and athletic, a man built for action despite having the methodical, meticulous brain of a Certified Public Accountant. His light blue eyes radiated fury and his blond hair, a little too long and roughly styled, almost bristled with his effort to maintain some sort of control. Beyond the glass walls of his office, coworkers glanced their way, obviously wondering what was going on, though they pretended to look busy.

He waved the check at her and demanded, his voice just above a whisper, “Where did you get this kind of money?”

Suddenly tired of everyone’s displeasure when all she’d meant to do was ease Hunter’s financial problems, she folded her arms and stared boldly into his thunderous face. “I rolled an old lady for it,” she said.

He took a step toward her, then apparently thought better of whatever he’d intended and stopped. He glimpsed the outer office and saw that his employer, Nate Raleigh, her friend Bobbie’s husband, had come out of his office to talk to Jonni, his office manager, who sat at the front desk. But Hunter appeared to have more of Nate’s attention than Jonni did.

“You’re lucky,” Hunter said, leaning back against a dark wood work table, “that you’ve got so many witnesses. You want to try that again?”

She closed her eyes with a sigh and perched on his desk, a patch of carpet separating them. “I refinanced the house,” she admitted, attempting to sound reasonable. “You’re my friend. I’d like to help you get out of debt so we can...you know...be more.”

“Sandy!” His temper flared beyond his control despite their audience, and he flung his arms out to his sides in complete exasperation. “Are you totally deaf? We’ve had this discussion how many times in the months we’ve been going out? You will not pay my debts! I will not accept one dime from you.”

“It’s not out of my monthly income. This is—”

“No. No money from you. Ever.”

“Hunter,” she continued serenely, “it’s not as though you gambled away your money or spent it on women and alcohol. Someone you trusted embezzled from you! This self-imposed penance is unnecessary. Let me help you pay your creditors.”

He caught her wrist, pulled his office door open, and drew her after him toward the front door. Nate intercepted them, looking worried.

Nate was a bit taller than Hunter but leaner. The two had been good friends since Nate had moved to Astoria almost a year ago. Hunter had worked for Nate’s brother Ben. When Ben and his wife died in a boating accident, Nate, in charge of Raleigh and Raleigh’s Portland office, came to take over the Astoria branch and care for Ben’s two young boys. Hunter and Nate had grown close as Nate adjusted to life in Astoria.

Nate glanced from Hunter to Sandy. “Where are you going?”

Hunter rolled his eyes. “We’re going to sit in her car,” he said calmly, “where we might have a little privacy. I am tempted to kill her, but you know I won’t, so no need to be concerned.”

Nate considered a moment, then asked Sandy with a small smile, “Do you want him sitting in your car? I can call his mother, you know.”

Sandy had to smile back. Hunter’s mother was Nate’s housekeeper and nanny. “I feel perfectly safe,” she assured him, telling Hunter with a glance that she really did. His attempts to intimidate weren’t working. Well, they were, but he didn’t have to know that.

Nate stood aside. “All right, then,” he said. “Remember you have a client in ten minutes, Hunt.”

Hunter ignored him and drew Sandy out into the gray morning. May in Astoria, Oregon, on the northwest coast, did not guarantee springlike weather. The smell of imminent rain hung in the air.

“I’m parked around the corner.” She pointed in that direction, then dramatically favored the elbow he held. “I’ll need this at a later date, you realize. I carry Addie in this arm. I mix cookie batter, I scrub the bathtub, I...”

He silenced her with a glare as they walked to her little red Volkswagen Beetle. He opened the passenger side door, pushed her into the vehicle, then walked around to the driver’s side and let himself in.

“How true to our whole argument,” she joked, turning in her seat to face him as he climbed in behind the wheel. “You have to drive even when we aren’t going anywhere. And in my car.”

He rearranged his long body in the tight space so he could look at her. “I’ve warned you over and over that it isn’t safe to leave the car unlocked. And is it possible for you to be quiet,” he asked, anger still in his voice, “and let me talk?”

“Oh, sure.” She leaned her head against the door and made a face at him. “But there’s really no need for you to say anything. I know it all by heart. You intend to pay off the debts resulting from the embezzlement before you let yourself get into a serious relationship. And you won’t accept help from anyone. I happen to know that Nate made a gift to you in an amount that would take care of all you owe and provide a down payment on a house so that if we did get serious, I could move out of my little house and we could get married and buy something bigger together. But you gave the money back to him.”

He appeared surprised that she knew.

“Bobbie told me,” she explained, “but only because she was excited about it and thought it was great for us. She didn’t know you stashed the money away with the intention of returning it to him after you’d earned him some interest.” She shook her head at Hunter. “I appreciate your nobility in wanting to get all those debts paid off, how you sold everything and moved into your little apartment to reduce expenses, pay off what you could and meet your obligations. But at some point your nobility is just self-flagellation.”

His grim expression made her try harder to understand. “Hunter. Are you just mad at yourself for having trusted the employee who embezzled from you? Because you’re not the only person who has trusted and lost. I didn’t lose money, but I lost most of the faith I had in men when my father walked away from us and my husband left after Addie was born.”

* * *

HUNTER LOOKED OUT the front window and rested his wrist on the steering wheel. God, he hated being stupid. Jennifer Riley, his fiancée, had walked away with every penny in his personal and business bank accounts because he’d trusted her and given her access. And she’d taken Bill Dunbar, a tax-season hire, with her.

“You’re right,” he admitted. “I’m mad at myself because she was my fiancée. I loved her and thought she loved me. Then she stole everything and left with another man.”

He hated that he hadn’t even seen it coming. Building up his business had been a struggle, but he’d thought he and Jennifer were in it together. He was beginning to see the light when he’d gone to the office early on April 1, three years ago, at the height of tax season, to find she had cleaned him out and disappeared with the rest of his life.

Sandy stared at him for a full thirty seconds. Because she was seldom speechless, he let himself enjoy the moment. When she was quiet, she had an angelic quality about her. She had cocoa brown eyes, pink cheeks and a freckle right on the tip of her nose. She was just a little plump, and in repose, exuded sweetness and gentleness. But when she began to talk and take charge of anything and everything around her, the sweetness evaporated and the gentleness became a warrior-woman fierceness that had to be admired though sometimes strongly resisted.

Sandy drew a breath and the quiet moment was over. “You never told me you loved her,” she finally said. “I thought she was just an employee. We saw each other for months and you never thought to tell me that?”

They’d been keeping company since a committee meeting Nate hosted in the office’s conference room had brought them together seven months ago. At first, he’d thought her interest in him was harmless, but she turned out to be one determined woman. He was learning today just how determined.

“It’s a sore spot, okay? I...didn’t want to talk about it.”

“But that’s the kind of stuff people usually share.”

“I’m sorry. You know me—I don’t share well. It was a hard time for me all around.”

She looked hurt that he hadn’t explained about Jennifer, but she drew another breath and seemed to push the hurt aside. “Did she go to jail?”

“No, she escaped to Mexico, I think. The police lost her trail almost right away. I don’t know where she is now. And I don’t care. I’d just like my money back.”

“So, you don’t want vengeance, you just want your money.” She pointed to the check. “There it is. Let’s put that part of your life behind you and move on to what we can have together.”

Hunter closed his eyes against her suggestion, then held the check up and slowly, deliberately, tore it in half. He was running out of ways to make his point with this woman. She was pretty and smart, but she wouldn’t accept no for an answer.

When he’d met Sandy, her candor, her lack of pretense had fascinated him, and her two little girls had captivated him. Time spent with Sandy and the girls over Thanksgiving had deepened his interest, though her need to control everything and her kinetic energy drove him a little crazy. She not only did four things at once, but she also trapped him in her vortex. Which was a problem, because at this point he had to remain focused on his payback plan.

At Christmastime she had mentioned love. Sharing the holidays with her and their friends had been wonderful, but he had to constantly remind himself to keep his distance. Still, her girls liked him, and he liked them. To remain removed from children was hard; he’d never quite accomplished that with Sandy’s girls.

“Sandy, please try to understand this.” She was looking away from him and he couldn’t see the expression on her face, but he could sense her stubbornness. He had little hope of reaching her, yet he tried anyway. “I like you a lot, and under different circumstances, I’d want to see where our relationship could go. But, come on. We’ve talked about this already. I have things to do before I can consider marriage, and you’re impatient to get on with your life.”

She faced him finally. “Are you still in love with her?”

“Of course not.”

“Then, I don’t understand. You don’t love her, but you don’t care about us, either?” She let a beat pass, then shook her head. “So, that’s it? We’re just over? All those months of you being charming and letting the girls and me think you really cared about us meant nothing?”

“I told you in the beginning...”

“Right, right. Your life is all about staying single to pay off your debts. Money. It’s all about money. Well...” Her voice grew louder, further amplified in the tiny car. “I’m trying to give you thirty thousand dollars!”

“Well, if all the situation required was money,” he shouted back, “great, but it doesn’t! I have to do this. My father worked extra shifts to help me get through college. My business was started with my parents’ retirement fund. I didn’t want to take it but they insisted because they loved me, were proud of me, and trusted me to do something great with it. When Jennifer stole from me, it was as though she took their money.”

Again Sandy seemed at a loss for words, so he pressed on. He was now even angrier at her because she made him revisit the awfulness that had plagued his life for the past three years and would be with him for some time to come.

“You don’t want to understand, because you’re trying to buy the life you want. But you can’t do that. You can’t just decide what to do with my life so that it fits in with your plans.”

Her eyes widened with disbelief. “Pardon me, but aren’t you acting like all it requires is money? Money to pay your debts. Money to support a family. Money before you can decide to actually live?”

“Sandy, I need to fulfill a personal obligation. You just want me to fall in with your blueprint. I’m sorry, but a man doesn’t let himself get into a mess, then let someone else—particularly a single mother with two little children—bail him out.”

“I think you’re scared—” she folded her arms, her body language clear “—I am an island in shark-infested waters.”

But her voice gentled, despite its brutal message. “You picked the wrong woman once before and you’re afraid of doing it again.”

“You’re absolutely right. And shouldn’t you be scared? I mean, you believed in your husband when you married him and that didn’t work so well. Shouldn’t you be careful before you go to the altar again?”

Something died in her eyes at his reminder that she’d made a major, painful mistake. He felt almost guilty about that. She sighed, then cleared her throat. “Apparently.” There was a moment of loud silence before she asked stiffly, “Would you please get out of my car?”

She was finally pushing him away. This was what he wanted, what he needed. He hadn’t expected to hate it. “Sandy, you know where I stand. Eventually, things might be different, but for now...”

“If you won’t accept help, won’t take that generous gift from Nate, how do you intend to make anything different?”

He said what he knew she wouldn’t want to hear. “It’ll take time. I’ve been chipping away at the debt for a couple of years, now. It’s a slow process, but I have my self-respect.”

“Yeah. Well, I guess there’s no arguing with that.” She pushed the passenger side door open. “I have to go.”

Which was some kind of progress. But they still had to work together. “We have to find a way to be civil with each other,” he reminded her. “You’re the one who volunteered us to chair the opening of the Clothes Closet. We have to collect the clothes, plan some kind of event. There’ll be meetings, reports to Clatsop Community Action...” The Clothes Closet was a new arm of the Food Bank, being set up to provide warm winter clothing free of charge for those in need, and at a drastically reduced price to other shoppers.

“I can be civil,” she said. “Just don’t ask me to be friends.”

He opened his door, too. “Of course not,” he said before he climbed out. “That would require tolerance and respect for the other party’s opinion.”

The moment he got to his feet, she was there to push him out of her way and slip in behind the wheel. The wind whipped up from the river and a light rain began to fall. The atmosphere was perfect for the swan song of a love gone wrong. Or, less dramatically, for a love that couldn’t be. At least for now.

She yanked the door closed and he pulled his hand away just in time. He stepped back before she could run over his toes. She drove away in a squeal of tires.

* * *

HUNTER STUDIED THE new client in the chair facing his desk. He guessed the man was in his early sixties, and probably financially comfortable. When Hunter took the man’s raincoat, he noticed the exclusive label. He looked strong and fit and had lively brown eyes and white close-cropped hair.

Studying the business card the man had given him, he read the name—Harris Connolly. There was a Fairhaven, Massachusetts, address and a cell phone number, but no business name, no lofty title, no email address.

“I came through Astoria on a cruise ship a few years ago,” Connolly explained to Hunter as he leaned back in the chair and crossed his ankles. “I loved it here. I fell on the ship and broke my leg.” He grinned. “My own stupid fault. Nothing I could sue over, unfortunately. The ship had to go on without me, but the hospital took excellent care of me and arranged to get me a flight to Boston. They even found someone to drive me to the airport in Portland. I couldn’t believe how kind everyone was to me. I owe this town.”

“It’s a great place. We take good care of everyone, tourists included. So, you’re back to stay?”

“Maybe. I’m not sure.” Connolly had a warm, wide smile, but used it only briefly. He focused seriously on Hunter’s face. “I’ve scraped by for years running a little coffee shop in Fairhaven. Then I developed a new style of whoopie pie. Are you familiar with whoopie pies?”

Hunter laughed. “Whoopie cushions, yes. Whoopie pies, no. Are they a dessert?”

Connolly put a hand to his heart. “Oh, yes. And New Englanders love them. The dessert is basically a cream filling between two cakey chocolate cookies. Some are chocolate coated, some are rolled in nuts, all are scrumptious. But I developed one with cherries in the cream filling, and dipped half in milk chocolate, half in white chocolate.”

“Wow.” Hunter thought of Nate’s wife, Bobbie, and her love of all things chocolate.

“I served them à la mode in the restaurant and people came from as far away as Boston to get them ‘to go.’ I started shipping them, and caught the attention of Mrs. Walters’s Whoopie Pies. A big name among connoisseurs. She finally bought my recipe for a considerable amount of money. I’d like someone to help me manage the distribution of some of that money. I’m not good with figures, and investments just confuse me. I need help.”

“We’ll be happy to help you, of course. But we have an investment counselor connected to the firm, Suzanne Corliss. You might prefer to talk to her.”

Connolly shook his head. “I want you to help me. My aim right now is to give some money to Astoria. I thought you could figure out where it would do the most good.”

Surprised, Hunter dropped the pen he held onto his yellow pad and pushed both pad and pen aside. He smiled politely. “That’s very kind of you, Mr. Connolly.” The unwritten rule was never to let a potential client go for any reason, but he couldn’t imagine how this man had found him. Any nonprofit in town would be thrilled with a contribution of any kind, but surely someone in the mayor’s office would be more qualified to decide which groups that might be.

Connolly’s quick smile came and went again. “You’re wondering why I’m here and not at the Community Action office.”

“True.”

“It’s because last weekend I met someone you know and we got to talking; Clarissa somebody. I explained that I was searching for someone who knew about the various nonprofit agencies in town, and she said that you and your friends are active in community service. All that practical knowledge is just what I need to feel my money will end up in the right place.”

Hunter nodded. “Clarissa Burke. She’s pretty generous with her time, too.”

“Also,” Connolly shrugged and said with a curiously shy lift of his shoulder, “I’d like to keep this quiet, keep my name out of it. I hate fuss. So, I expect you’d like to do a little research into who needs what and get back to me?”

“I would,” Hunter agreed. “And just so that I know what we’re talking about here and how to distribute it, can you tell me what you’d like to give?”

“Sure. I was thinking a million dollars distributed among however many agencies you suggest. And if we could work it out so that some of that money is socked away somehow to provide them with long-term funding, I’d be very happy. What do you think?”

“Ah...” Hunter was aware that his mouth hung open. He closed it and swallowed then cleared his throat to reply. “Well thought out, Mr. Connolly,” he said, his voice raspy. “I’ll do this carefully.”

Connolly stood. He leaned across the desk and shook Hunter’s hand. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you. I’ve wanted to for some time.”

In the process of getting the man’s coat, Hunter turned, surprised at that. “You have? Oh, you mean...since meeting Clarissa?”

Connolly accepted his coat and threw it over his arm. “Yes.” He smiled and pulled on a blue plaid cap, then adjusted the bill with a debonair snap. “That’s what I meant. I look forward to hearing from you.”

“Give me a week.”

“Take all the time you need. I just subleased a condo on the river. You know the the building?”

“The Columbia House?”

“That’s it. I’ve written my new landline number on the back of the card, but the cell number on the front still works. Call me when you have a plan and I’ll make an appointment.”

Hunter walked him to the front door. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Connolly.” He offered his hand. “You don’t run into many philanthropists these days. Everybody’s struggling to keep themselves afloat.”

“I know. But life was generous to me and this town was so kind. I have feelings for Astoria. I’d like to share.”

“That’s highly commendable.”

“Nah. The more I give away, the less I have to worry about. Good to meet you. We’re going to do good things together.”

“Well, you’ll be doing—I’m just fact-finding.”

“That’s an important part of the process. We want to make sure the money goes where it’ll do the most good. I’ll wait for your call.”

Connolly climbed into a silver Lexus parked out front and drove off.

Hunter strode across the green-oak-furnished office and rapped on Nate’s open door. Nate glanced up from the computer. “Yeah?”

“You won’t believe this,” Hunter began as he took a client chair and told him Harris Connolly’s story and what he wanted to do for Astoria.

Nate stared then said finally, “Well, great. If Sandy’s still talking to you, you should get her to help you. She knows every group in town.”

Running a hand over his face, Hunter groaned. “Yeah, well, I don’t think that’ll work. She’s gone. I have to figure this out for myself.”

“She lives in Astoria. How can she be gone?”

“Not gone from town. Gone from my life.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t give up. We all know she has strong opinions on everything.” Nate’s expression was vaguely superior, Hunter thought, now that Nate had his love life in order. Then Nate’s voice became vague as he refocused on the computer. “You’ll fix it. She’d do anything for anybody, and you, particularly.”

Hunter stood to leave and sketched a wave in Nate’s direction. Though Hunter had done his best to discourage Sandy’s feelings, he knew Nate’s assessment was probably still true. Sandy took care of everyone.

She just had to understand that Hunter Bristol took care of himself.

CHAPTER TWO

DISAPPOINTMENT LODGED like an anvil in her chest, Sandy did what she’d always done in such situations—she got on with her life. She drove to the Maritime Museum, parked her car and walked to the railing to look out on the river. The day was chilly and gray, but she loved it when the weather was like that. Moody and intimate, the air smelling the way she imagined heaven would.

She fought to think positively about other things. She had the rest of the day off and the girls were at daycare. She could finish painting the back porch. She could make goodie bags for Addie’s fourth birthday party on Saturday; she could buy gift wrap and treat herself to lunch while she was at it.

She sighed and a strangled little sound came out with the whoosh of air. She put a hand to her chest and breathed in, letting that wood-and-river fragrance fill her up. So she couldn’t have the man she wanted. She would survive.

Her father had left without any explanation when she was fourteen, and she’d survived. Her mother had gone into a decline for a few months, and Sandy had kept them going and they had both survived. Her husband had left two months after Addie was born, unable to deal with the tyrannies of parenthood, and she’d come through again. But, every time she’d had to pull it together, she’d felt a little of her soft side erode. She’d wondered what it would be like to have a man in her life who would be there when she turned to him, who would love her forever.

Well, she thought bracingly, that wasn’t going to happen today. She inhaled another gulp of Columbia River air and wandered back to her car, considering the virtues of painting her porch against shopping and lunch out, when her cell phone rang. She didn’t want to talk to anyone, but it could be the daycare calling about the girls.

The caller ID read A. Moreno. Armando and Celia Moreno and their two little girls were her tenants, living next door to Nate and Bobbie in a little cottage Sandy had inherited from her aunt. Bobbie had rented it before she met and married Nate and moved in with him and his nephews. Because the Morenos had come upon hard times, Sandy charged them just enough rent to cover property taxes and homeowner’s insurance. They were embarrassingly grateful.

She answered the phone.

“Sandee!” Celia was breathless. “I took the leaky faucet off the top of the...the sink in the kitchen to try to...to fix it myself and water is like a fountain! I called Mando, but he doesn’t answer. They are painting the apartment house by the bridge today.” Hunter had gotten Mando a job with Affordable Painting, one of his clients.

Must be one of those days, Sandy thought. “There’s a knob under the sink, Celia,” she said. “Turn off the one under the cold water. I’ll hold on while you do that.”

Sandy heard scurrying, mutterings in Spanish, then, “I did, but it doesn’t stop!”

“It’ll take a second.”

“Oh.” She heard Celia’s sigh of relief. “Just a little fountain. It is stopped.”

“Okay. I’ll be right there with a new faucet. That one was ready to be replaced anyway.”

Celia made a commiserating sound. “I’m sorry. Bobbie says you are having a Sandy day.”

She was surprised to feel herself smile. “I am.” A pileup of disasters was a Sandy day.

After a quick trip to City Lumber, Sandy arrived at her rental house with her tool box to find pandemonium that had nothing to do with plumbing. Celia babysat for friends who couldn’t afford formal daycare, did housekeeping and baked goodies for a Mexican bodega on Marine Drive. There were three children under two in a playpen in the middle of the kitchen. They babbled along with a children’s show on television, squealing their delight at the antics of a furry puppet. Fortunately Celia’s children weren’t home yet to contribute to the melee. Her oldest daughter, Crystal, was in the second grade, and Elena, her youngest, in kindergarten.

A loud whirring sound competed with the television as Bobbie sucked up water with a Shop-vac. She waved at Sandy then turned off the machine as two women Sandy recognized as friends of Celia’s went through a cardboard box and a large leaf bag on the table. Sandy knew they didn’t speak English and simply smiled and offered a friendly greeting.

“They have brought coats from our friends,” Celia explained. “In the box, they are good. In the bag, they need sewing. For el Armario.” The three women smiled broadly at Sandy. “The Clothes Closet,” Celia translated.

“Thank you!” Sandy was thrilled. Except for a few things of her own and her girls’ that she’d put aside in a corner of her bedroom, this was the first contribution to the Clothes Closet since the idea was conceived at a Food Bank meeting a month ago. “¡Gracias!”

The women nodded and responded in Spanish.

“They are happy to help,” Celia said, “because you have helped me.”

The women left in a flurry of waves and Spanish exclamations.

“Hi.” Bobbie hauled the large drum and hoses away from the sink so that Sandy had room to work. She looked into her friend’s face, her sympathetic expression explaining that she’d read Sandy’s morning accurately.

Sandy fought with the packaging, finally won and put the new faucet aside. “I am so sorry,” Celia said, hanging over her as she cleaned the sink around the mounting.

“It’s all right, Celia. No harm done.” After putting the faucet assembly in the holes, Sandy crawled under the sink to place washers and nuts on the mounting studs and hand tightened them, then finished the job with the wrench.

“It always surprises me that you’re so strong.” Bobbie had crouched beside Celia and was watching also. “I can never make a wrench work that well.”

“There’s a hardware store in my checkered past, remember. I clerked when I was in high school.” Sandy pointed to her tool box on the floor in front of the refrigerator. “There’s another wrench on top. Would you get it for me, please?”

Bobbie retrieved the tool. “I forgot that. You fixed the john in our dorm room. But, now you’re just showing off. Two wrenches?”

Sandy took it from her. “One to hold the fitting and the other to turn the nut on the water supply line.” She did as she explained, then told Celia to turn on the cold water, then the hot.

Bobbie looked doubtful. “You want to get out from under there first?”

“No. It’ll hold.”

Celia did as Sandy asked. There were no leaks.

Sandy crawled out from under the sink and accepted Bobbie’s hand up.

Celia wrapped her in a hug. “Thank you, Sandee. You are the best landlady in the world!” She handed her a check. “Here is the rent. Mando says we must pay you more, but we have no—”

Sandy stopped her. “Celia, we agreed on the rent. It’s fine until Mando gets a promotion or you win the lottery or something.”

Celia’s eyes teared. “I will come and clean your house.”

“No, you don’t have to do that. When my mother babysits for me, she can’t sit still, so she does it. You and Mando are fine here, Celia. You can live here at this rent until the girls get hitched.”

Celia repeated her last word uncertainly. “Hitched?”

“Casado,” Bobbie provided. “Married.” When Sandy looked at her in surprise, she said, “Crystal taught me. Last art class we drew brides, princesses and warriors.”

Crystal, Celia’s seven-year-old, was in an art class Bobbie taught at Astor Elementary School. Bobbie had learned about the Morenos’ troubles through Crystal last Christmas and told Nate, who had called the legal office Sandy worked for to see if anything could be done. Since then, they’d all been allied to make life more livable for the family.

Celia understood her meaning and hugged her again, smiling. “Until the girls are casado, si. But Mando will not let them get casado until they are thirty. You will wait a long time for more rent.”

“It’s fine, Celia.” Sandy glanced at her watch. “I’ll take the box of clothes home with me, run a few errands and be back to make sure the faucet isn’t leaking.”

Celia nodded. “Then I will send you home with frijoles refritos and flan.”

Sandy would have told her she didn’t have to, but Celia’s flan was legendary. And she put chorizo and onion in her beans.

“That would be wonderful.” Sandy picked up the box and Bobbie came to open the door for her.

“You just want to say I told you so,” Sandy said under her breath as she passed her.

“Of course I do.” Bobbie walked around her to the Volkswagen. “Hunter threw the check at you, didn’t he?” she guessed as Sandy beeped the door open.

“No.” Sandy placed the box on the back seat while Bobbie held the door. “He tore it in two.

They’d been college roommates at Portland State and since then had supported each other through major life crises. They were dear friends. Bobbie’s tone turned from teasing to gently rebuking. “Sandy, he’s told you before in no uncertain terms that he won’t accept money from you. If you’re ever going to have a permanent relationship with him, you’ll have to pay closer attention to what he wants.”

“He wants to never get married.”

“That’s what every man wants. But he cares about you.”

“Yeah, well, caring isn’t loving. He wants his self-respect. I guess the girls and I rate somewhere behind that.” She closed the door on the Closet’s first official donation. At least that was off to a good start.

Bobbie patted her shoulder as they walked around to the driver’s side. “You do realize that many men in such a position would be happy to let you solve their financial problems and take care of everything? I think it’s to his credit that he won’t.”

Sandy gave Bobbie a hug. Despite her own anguish, she noted that her friend looked healthy and happy. After battling cancer, falling in love and relinquishing her dream to study art in Florence, Italy, she appeared remarkably grounded and serene. Her dark hair had even grown sufficiently to now curl around her ears. Sandy was happy she was doing so well. She got back to the subject at hand. “Did you know that Hunter was engaged to the woman who embezzled from him?”

Bobbie looked surprised. “No, I didn’t. Geez.”

“Yeah. And he never told me.”

“Maybe he was embarrassed that someone he loved stole from him.”

Sandy growled. “Then wouldn’t you want to tell everybody how badly you’d been treated? But not him. He keeps his distance.” Sandy climbed in behind the wheel. “Thanks for the help. And thank you for coming to Celia’s rescue with the Shop-vac.”

“I was in the backyard and heard her screaming. I ran over to investigate. I couldn’t do the plumbing, but I could get the water up. You know, you’re a pretty handy warrior goddess. Did you tell Hunter you can do plumbing? It might change his mind.”

“Cute. You can joke about my pain.”

“What are friends for? If you have more flan than you can eat, call me.”

Sandy drove home and turned into her driveway lined with yellow and orange nasturtiums. Her small, gray two-bedroom on Fifteenth Street had a beautiful view of the Columbia River from the front and a fenced backyard for the girls. Built in the sixties, it was the only single-level house in a block of two-story Victorians constructed around the turn of the Twentieth Century. With the girls already beginning to stretch their personalities, the house was starting to feel too small. Still, it was affordable and, she reminded herself archly that she had just refinanced it, so she had to be happy with it for now.

She carried the box up two steps onto the porch formed by a brick wall with built-in flower boxes. In another month, they’d be filled with purple petunias. She put the box down, unlocked the door then hefted the box again and walked into the cool, cozy living room. Her furniture wasn’t new, but after Charlie had left she’d reupholstered it herself, unable to look at the blue-patterned sofa and chairs he’d picked out. She’d repainted the walls pink and chosen a largish lavender-and-white floral pattern for the upholstery. The curtains were lace and the other furniture pieces a motley collection of things from friends—a white spindly bench from her mother, a pair of ginger jar lamps Nate and Bobbie had given her when they’d redecorated after getting married, and an old trunk she used as a coffee table. That had been her grandmother’s. She had photos of the girls all over, and a few of Bobbie’s paintings.

Bobbie also did calligraphy on handmade paper. When she was still living in Southern California, she’d done a piece of calligraphy for Sandy’s birthday that read, “A friend is never known till a man have need.” The quote by John Heywood, who lived in the sixteenth century, was on handmade paper with tiny leaves in it, and set in a filigree frame.

Sandy valued the work for more than just its wonderful, esoteric quality, because Bobbie had done it while ill and struggling to get from day to day. She’d said she wanted Sandy to know how touched she’d been that Sandy had left the girls with her mother and flown to Southern California to sit with her for her first chemo session. Sandy always looked at it whenever she walked through the living room.

In her cream-and-yellow bedroom, she dropped the box in a corner, designating that space for the Clothes Closet things. Then she sat on the foot of her bed and let herself plop backward.

So much time had passed since she’d shared this room with anyone. She hadn’t forgotten what it felt like to love a man and be loved in return, but the process seemed to have forgotten her.

She wondered if something was wrong with her. Oh, everyone liked her, men were attracted to her, and she had the opportunity to meet many of them in her job at the law office and her work for the community. But she seldom had long-term relationships.

Her mother insisted that Sandy was too competent, but always smiled when she said that. “Thank goodness for your competence. Remember when your father left and I couldn’t pay the rent? The landlord was so mean to me, and you went and told him off, though I pleaded with you not to.”

She did remember. They were still living in Salem. She’d been mad and scared and had trembled inside, but she knew if they had to leave the apartment, the only place they could go was a shelter or the street. Her mother’s depression prevented her from explaining the situation to Mr. Fogarty, the landlord, so Sandy had taken charge. First, she told him how cruel it was for a man who had several businesses and an apartment house to evict a woman and her daughter who were destitute through no fault of their own. Then she told him she’d seen the Help Wanted sign in the window of his hardware store. She said if he’d give her the job, he wouldn’t have to pay her until she’d earned the amount of their rent. “I can work weekends and after school,” she’d told him.

He’d folded his arms and frowned at her. “You’re not old enough to work.”

“I’m fourteen.” She stood straighter to give herself more height. “I have a social security card and an Employment Certificate from the State of Oregon. I can start this weekend.”

And that was how she’d helped get their lives on track again. Her mother had been amazed and grateful.

Sandy remembered those days well and was happy they were behind them. She’d had a part-time job until she graduated from high school with a scholarship. The summer before she went away to school, Mr. Fogarty had given her a raise, full-time work, overtime opportunities and a bonus that provided her with spending money for school. Her mother had gotten a job scheduling appointments and doing the billing in a doctor’s office and had even saved a little to help Sandy on her way.

No, competence wasn’t the reason men didn’t want a permanent relationship with her; most men now realized women could do most things they could do, even those involving muscle. The smart ones appreciated that.

Maybe it was because Sandy had two lively, often loud little girls. Hunter had dealt well with them, whereas even she needed to run for cover sometimes.

No, not that reason, either. It must be something about her personality, not her skills. Life had made her strong and independent. It wasn’t her fault that she knew her own mind and recognized Hunter as the ONE. Of course, her mind had once led her to Charlie, and that relationship hadn’t been anything to boast about.

The simple fact was that she didn’t want anyone halfhearted about her or her girls. If Hunter couldn’t be completely committed, she didn’t want him—even if he was the ONE.

Okay. That was it. No more agonizing. She got to her feet, put in a load of laundry, straightened up the kitchen, then went back to Celia’s. The faucet continued to work beautifully.

Celia sent her off with a casserole and three ceramic cups of flan. Sandy took them home to the safety of her refrigerator, then headed for town and the peaceful, quiet lunch she’d promised herself.

She shopped first, and found a large tube of giftwrap with the Cars design patterned after the children’s movie of the same name. While Zoey loved princesses in all forms, Addie’s passion was Tow Mater, the movie’s loveable tow truck character whose greatest skill was driving backward. Sandy’s mother predicted that Addie would be the Danica Patrick of her generation, the first woman ever to place in the Indianapolis 500. Addie ignored doll houses and Barbies and loved everything that had wheels, motors and loud noises.

Sandy found Cars pajamas, a Tow Mater bank and a bright yellow jacket for herself made from a redesigned sweatshirt.

Her cell phone rang as she was finishing a jalapeño burger at the Wet Dog, a brew pub that was a local favorite.

She saw the name of her employer and answered, thinking someone in the front office must have gone home sick and her free afternoon was about to disappear.

“Sandy!” Darren, her immediate supervisor, said her name cheerfully. “What are you doing?”

“Having lunch,” she replied. “What’s going on? Somebody sick?”

“No. I wondered if you could come in this afternoon for a quick meeting. I know you asked for the day off, but something’s happened that I need to talk to you about.”

“What’s that?”

“We’ll talk about it when you get here. Can you come in?”

She didn’t want to, but she did a lot of things she really didn’t want to. “Sure. Half an hour?”

“Perfect.”

She hurried home to freshen up, trade her jeans jacket for the new yellow one, and wondered what the meeting was about as she drove to the office. It might be scheduling. A new partner had come to the firm several months ago and brought along his secretary. The woman had been remote and superior, and had complained about most things since she’d arrived, but she was good at her job.

Or maybe it was the mundane business of coffee and rolls for the morning meetings. Sandy usually picked them up at the coffeehouse when she drove in, but she’d been told not to bother last week, that someone else would handle it.

She walked through the office, smiling and waving at the other women she’d worked with for six years since moving to Astoria with Charlie. His dream of making a fortune fishing had been short-lived when he got seriously seasick and decided he didn’t like twelve hour shifts after all. When Charlie left, Sandy’s mother had moved to Astoria. Life had been good since then.

Sandy had so enjoyed managing the office, answering the phones, directing clients to the right person to solve their problems, working with various organizations in town to coordinate a client’s needs and obligations. Those contacts had made her community work easier.

But the minute she arrived at Darren Foster’s office she knew that something had changed. She felt it in the air. Darren, one of the partners, who also supervised the front office staff, was usually lighthearted, eager to make people feel comfortable. But, today he sat focused on the open file in the middle of his desk and barely looked at her except to greet her with a perfunctory smile and invite her to sit down.

Sandy’s throat went dry and her heartbeat accelerated. She sensed danger.

“You have been the most loyal, hardworking office manager we have ever had,” Darren said, eyes still on the file.

She noticed the past tense. Not are but have been.

She struggled to remain calm, not sure what was happening. “Thank you,” she said.

“Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t find fault with your work.”

“Thank you.”

Darren looked up at her under his eyebrows. “That’s what makes this so hard.”

Her heart thudded against her ribs. Oh, no. No. She asked calmly, “What is this, Darren?”

He closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair.

“Just say it.” She sat a little straighter, bracing herself. “It’ll be easier on both of us.”

He opened his eyes and leaned his forearms on his desk. His gaze held regret for just an instant, then relaxed in that curious manner middle managers in an awkward position acquire. “When Palmer joined us and brought Janice along, we got a sort of twofer. She’s a trained legal secretary, and she’s good on the phone and...” His voice seemed to lose power. “We think she can manage the office.”

Sandy was out. Jobless. That was her new reality. She laughed nervously. “Darren, she bought oat cakes and herbal tea instead of donuts and mochas for the office meeting. You said you hated that.” Of all the examples Sandy could have brought up in her defense, that one was pathetic, but she wasn’t at the top of her game at the moment.

He nodded grimly. “The people who count thought it was innovative and appropriately considerate of our good health.”

She knew Kevin Palmer had been brought in because Jim Somerville was in his late seventies and finally thinking it was time he retired. Palmer was an impressive litigator and had clients in Portland, Seattle, and several in Hawaii. His billable hours had been a lot of his appeal.

“It’s business,” Darren said, firming his voice, clearly unwilling for the meeting to go on longer than necessary. “Things have been a little tight for us the last few years. We bill a lot of time, but we don’t collect on a lot of it.”

“Everybody’s broke.”

“The economy’s picking up.”

“But...you just said things are tight.”

He frowned at her challenge. “It’s picking up where Palmer’s clients are, but not here. Not yet. Maybe if things turn around...” he began.

She stood, unwilling to listen to him tell her they might want to bring her back. Hunter had dangled the same nebulous promise in front of her, too, as though the future might somehow improve her appeal. “Do you need a couple of weeks?”

He stood, too. “No. You’re free to go today.” He reached into his middle drawer and handed her an envelope. “Severance. Two extra weeks and your vacation pay.” He drew a breath and asked in a rush, “Can I have your key?”

She accepted the envelope, desperately trying to hold on to her dignity. She struggled to get her office key off the ring and finally resorted to using his letter opener to hold the ring open while she pulled the key off. Then she handed the key to him.

“Thank you.” He looked embarrassed for a moment then seemed to harden himself against her distress. All the years she’d gone above and beyond to do her job well counted for nothing in the face of a tight cash flow.

“Goodbye, Darren.” She angled her chin and forced a smile.

He nodded. “Bye, Sandy.”

She intended to take the photos of her girls and her mother off her desk, thinking she would pack up her other belongings later, but Vi, who had the desk beside hers, already had everything in a document box.

She handed it to Sandy, her eyes brimming. “I’m going to miss you.” No one understood office politics like the worker bees.

Sandy leaned forward to touch her cheek to Vi’s with a quick thank-you, then turned to leave. All eyes were on her. She smiled, waved and left before she fell apart.

CHAPTER THREE

LORETTA CONWAY OPENED her back door and smiled at Sandy in surprise. Sandy’s mother, her hair all gray but worn spikey, was a small-framed woman in her fifties who still looked great in jeans and a sweater. “Hi, sweetie! I thought you had the day off.” Her eyes went over Sandy’s new jacket with approval. “New duds? How pretty.” Then her gaze settled on Sandy’s face and she grew serious. “What?” she asked anxiously.

Sandy threw her arms around her and just held on. She allowed herself a spate of tears, then pulled herself together.

“I just had the worst day off in the history of the world. Can I have a glass of wine?”

“Of course. Come in.”

Sandy followed her mother into a huge kitchen with a giant work island, high stools pulled up to it on all sides. Loretta had been a sous chef in her youth and loved to cook for friends and family. Her house, with two bedrooms upstairs, was small otherwise, but she often said she’d bought the cottage, which had belonged to an Astoria restaurateur, for the roomy kitchen.

Hiking herself onto a stool on a corner, Sandy watched her mother pour wine into two tulip glasses, then place one in front of her. “What’s happened?” her mother asked.

When it took Sandy a moment to answer, her mother sat at a right angle to her and said softly, “I was right about Hunter and the check, wasn’t I?”

Sandy swiped away a single tear. “You were right about his reaction. I still think I was right about the situation. But, he yelled, tore up the check, and we broke up.”

“Oh, sweetheart. I’m sorry. Your offer just had disaster written all over it.” After that bit of frankness, she added bracingly, “Of course, part of your charm and your life success is that you jump in, whatever the prevailing opinion, and do what you think is right. And it’s served you well many times.”

Sandy sighed, thinking about her job and trying not to succumb to panic and more tears. She said with an attempt at humor, “Well, it hasn’t served me well today. I got fired.”

“What?” Her mother responded with flattering indignation. “Why? And who will they ever get to show up on Sundays to meet clients and get signatures on whatever those lawyers enjoying their weekends need signed but aren’t willing to drive over to the office for and get signed themselves?”

“Apparently, it was an economic decision. The new partner’s secretary is a two-fisted talent, so I’m told, and she’ll be doing my job and hers.”

“For the same money?”

“Well, she earns more as a secretary, but I doubt she’ll earn more for doing my job as well, because then the move would no longer be economical.”

Her mother waited a beat then asked gently, “Have you had time to think about what you’ll do?”

“No, actually. It just happened.” Sandy took a long sip of her wine, felt it trail warmly down her throat into her stomach, then shook her head over the day. “I wonder if anyone else has ever lost the love of her life and a job she really enjoyed in the same day. While fitting a plumbing job in between.”

At her mother’s look of concern for her mental stability, Sandy explained about Celia’s call for help.

“Ah. She’s such a good housekeeper. She did this place in three hours flat last week.”

“You hired her?”

“No.” Her mother looked surprised. “She said you paid her to do it. You didn’t?”

Sandy rolled her eyes and took another sip of wine. “She’s always trying to pay me back for letting them rent Aunt Lacey’s house. Honestly. She’s been trying to clean my house, but I told her you always clean it when you babysit, so I guess she thought she’d be sneaky.”

“Well, she was thorough. I recommended her to some friends and I think she’s picked up a couple of jobs.”

“That’s great. Maybe she’ll get big enough to hire me.”

“Oh, honey, you don’t have it for housekeeping.”

Sandy would have been offended had it not been true. She kept the house tidy enough, but her preference for playing with the girls or taking them to a movie often compromised her attention to detail.

“If worse comes to worse, you and the girls can always move in here. I promise not to kill you, if you promise not to kill me.” Her mother was right about the potential for disaster. They were alike in many ways, but completely incompatible in sharing living quarters.

“I do have thirty thousand dollars, so I’m not immediately desperate.”

“Yes, but letting that get eaten up on monthly bills would be criminal. Have you considered selling your aunt’s house?”

“No. I promised the Morenos they could live there forever, and I’ll do anything before I take that away from them.”

“I know you have a wonderfully giving nature, but you have a right to consider yourself and the girls first.”

“I just keep imagining myself in Celia’s shoes. Being so short of money that your husband steals cash from a store, goes to jail, and you have to somehow support two young girls. If it hadn’t been for my firm responding to Nate’s call for help on Bobbie’s behalf...” She stopped short. It was no longer “her” firm. “Anyway, thank goodness the little house was empty when Armando got out of jail and they had to leave their old apartment.”

“I worry a little about you being involved with a...a criminal.”

“Mom. He didn’t use a gun—the clerk went to help a customer and left the register open and unattended. Armando couldn’t feed his family and felt desperate. Anyway, booting the Morenos out is not an option.”

“Right. Well, there’s got to be a solution. Maybe you’ll find something in the classifieds. Want me to pick up the girls from daycare and bring them here so you can relax a little tonight?”

“No, thanks.” She sipped more wine and was beginning to feel steadier. Not better, but steadier. “I’ll take them to McDonald’s. They never fight when we eat out. Then, after they go to bed, I’ll check out the want ads. There has to be something in Astoria for a hardworking, fund-raising—” she slid off the stool and quoted her mother “—‘wonderfully giving’ woman.”

“I’m sorry you’ve had such an awful day, Sandy,” her mother said, walking her to the door, “but I have complete faith in your ability to work things out. You did it for us when your father left and I wasn’t much help for a while. You survived Charlie leaving. And the girls are smart and happy. Which is quite an accomplishment for a woman having to do it all herself.”

“I’ll be fine,” Sandy assured her mother. She kept her worry about the dearth of jobs in Astoria to herself. “Thanks for the wine and the shoulder.”

“Anytime.”

* * *

DINNER AT MCDONALD’S was peaceful. Turning off her concerns about the day, she watched Zoey, who looked and generally behaved like a princess, talk about one day marrying Sheamus Raleigh, Nate’s nephew, who was eight. The girls saw a lot of him and eleven-year-old Dylan when Bobbie and Sandy exchanged babysitting.

Platinum hair in a messy ponytail she’d made herself, Zoey held the sock monkey wearing a tutu that went everywhere with her in one hand, and a glittery magic wand that Nate and Bobbie had brought her back from Disneyland in the other. She put down the wand to pick up a nugget of chicken. “Where’s Hunter?”

“He’s—um—working tonight.”

“Taxes?” Delicate eyebrows rose over bright blue eyes as she asked the question.

Sandy was astonished. She was sure Zoey had no idea what taxes were, just that Hunter and Uncle Nate had worked hard because of them the past couple of months.

“No.” She pulled extra napkins out of the dispenser and wiped a smear of ketchup off Addie’s mouth. “Tax season is over. That’s when they work really hard to get everything done on time. This is just regular work.”

“Sometimes Hunter wishes he was a cowboy.” Zoey examined a French fry, then snapped off a bite.

“How come?”

“They only have to count cows. Counting money is a lot of trouble.”

Sandy swallowed hard. Zoey quoted Hunter all the time, a reminder that when he was with the girls, he talked to them, enjoyed them, saw that they were never left out of the conversation. He’d never kept the distance from them that he’d kept from her. He would have been a good father.

Addie, about to be four, and smaller than her sister but already giant in personality, leaned over on her elbows toward her mother. Her hair, the same color as her sister’s, was wild and stuck up out of a tiara, also from the Raleighs’ trip to Disneyland. Addie’s dark blue eyes were alight with intelligence. “Hunter’s coming to my birthday!” she said.

Great, Sandy thought. But she smiled at that news. “That’s nice.”

“She told him he had to bring a present,” Zoey ratted, sounding disgusted.

Making a face at her youngest, Sandy said, “It isn’t nice to ask for things, Ad. Even when it’s your birthday. When did you see Hunter?”

“He brought stuff to Rainbow,” Zoey replied. Rainbow was the daycare center. “We were having lunch and Addie ran to see him. You’re not supposed to leave the table.”

Sandy knew that Raleigh and Raleigh did the books for the daycare center. In the tradition of small towns, Raleigh staff often delivered reports or payroll to their clients.

“Grandma’s going to make your birthday cake,” Sandy said, trying to divert the conversation. “And it will have Tow Mater on it.”

“Sweeet!”

Sweet was Addie’s new favorite word. Especially when drawn out, the way the Raleigh boys said it.

“When I grow up,” Addie said seriously, “I’m gonna have a tow truck.”

Sandy smiled supportively. She was raising a grease monkey. While other little girls were dreaming of horses, Addie wanted a tow truck. Sandy hoped that somewhere out there another mother was raising a young man who could fall in love with an unconventional woman.

On the way home, the girls sang “The Wheels on the Bus” song until Sandy turned into the driveway. They did all their usual evening things—watched television, had a snack, took their baths—then Sandy tucked them into bed.

Now, with a thick black marker in one hand and a cup of decaf in the other, Sandy sat at the kitchen table, opening the Daily Astorian to the classifieds section. She scanned the Personals, the Lost Pets, all the interesting things for sale, then zeroed in on the Help Wanted columns.

There were all kinds of ads for workers with skills she didn’t have—pipe layer, concrete finisher, licensed insurance agent, bus driver. A logging company was looking for choker setters and rigging slingers. She lingered over that ad. She would have loved to choke or sling someone.

Discouraged, she circled the hotel housekeeping ads in Seaside and Cannon Beach. Tourist season was coming and housekeepers were always in demand. Her mother was correct about Sandy not keeping her own house spotless, but she could certainly do it for someone else—particularly if she was being paid.

Waitressing was not an option because she simply didn’t have the skill to carry three plates on each arm. Cannery work was out because of a similar lack of dexterity and the lethal nature of those filet knives.

Tomorrow she’d prepare a résumé. There. She felt better. Nothing like being proactive.

Her positive attitude lasted about a minute, until she remembered Hunter. No amount of proactivity would help her with him. How unfair, she thought, that irresponsible, obnoxious men were out trolling for wives, but charming, thoughtful men wanted no part of marriage.

That was fine. Life went on. She kept reading.

Business Opportunities. She leaned closer to read the column of franchise offerings and businesses looking for investors. Then she spotted a block highlighted in yellow, which meant it was a new ad in today’s paper.

“Coffee Cart for sale. Money Maker with established clientele. Great location. Fully equipped, big inventory, helpful staff. Priced to sell quickly. Owner headed for Chicago. Call Crazy for Coffee.” The ad listed a number.

Sandy felt a jolt of excitement. Crazy for Coffee! The cart just off the Astoria-Megler Bridge was where she bought coffee most mornings on her way back from dropping the girls at daycare. Bjorn made the best caramel-vanilla latte she’d ever tasted. She always had to wait in line, so “money maker” was probably not an exaggeration.

A coffee cart! She felt another jolt of excitement, then drew herself back, thinking logically. Long hours on her feet; early, early start to a day that involved children and a daycare that didn’t open until seven o’clock; and... She couldn’t think of anything else negative.

The positives. She could afford it. She could learn to do it. She could set her own hours. She could handle the long hours on her feet by wearing comfortable shoes. Maybe her mother would help her with the girls in the morning.

She had to know more. Pushing her coffee aside, she dialed the number.

* * *

HUNTER SAT AT his mother’s kitchen table, sorting through her tax receipts. Stella Bristol made a space in the middle of the piles he’d created and set down a cup of black coffee.

“How’s it going?” she asked.

He dropped the stack of brokerage statements in his hand and leaned back in his chair to frown at her. “It’s a good thing I filed for an extension for you, Mom. I can’t believe that the woman who encouraged me to be an accountant, who helped put me through school, who works for my boss, also an accountant...” His voice rose. “Would keep her tax documents and receipts in a shoe box!” He’d been sorting for three hours, and he barely had her paperwork organized enough to assess where to begin. “This is the bad joke of all accounting offices. Didn’t I buy you an accordion folder last year?”

“I’m sorry,” she said, but the apology didn’t ring true. “I do have a full-time job, you know. I haven’t had much time to get organized. And it’s not a shoe box. An elegant pair of candlesticks came in that box.” She pointed to a low table behind the sofa, where they stood with yellow tapers in them. “And I have recipes in the accordion folder.”

Of course. “Mom, you’re missing the point.”

“No, I’m not. I hired you to do my taxes because I don’t have a brain for numbers. Therefore, I don’t have a brain for organizing the things in which you put numbers.”

He thought about that a moment, and when it still didn’t make sense, he shook his head. “You hired me? You mean I’m getting eighty dollars an hour for this? Because that would make the job much easier to take.”

She patted his shoulder as she walked away. “Don’t be silly. You’re doing this because you love me.”

He caught her wrist to prevent her escape. “Not so fast. Tell me about these checks to Toads and Frogs. Is it a bar? A conservation group? What?”

She sat down opposite him, her manner suddenly defensive. “It’s a yarn shop. Why? I had a little extra from my investments so I decided to bet on a friend.”

Looking at her blankly, he repeated, “Toads and Frogs is a yarn shop.”

“Yes. A toad is a knitting project you really wanted to do but never finished, and frog means you’ve quit a project. Like “I frogged that hat because the pattern was too hard.”

A moment of silence followed, then he asked patiently, “So you’ve invested your hard-earned money in a woman who named her shop using two words that suggest failure?”

“No! You know Glenda. She was my neighbor when I first moved here after your father died. That little rental on Alameda? She’s really very good at what she does. Her goal is to provide a place where customers won’t give up on projects, because she’s there to help them figure out how to complete them. So, you’d go to Toads and Frogs to succeed, not to fail.”

Glenda. He had met her a couple of times. A formidable woman with a single gray braid. Made a great banana bread, as he recalled.

Drawing a breath for patience, Hunter nodded. “Sometimes, you scare me, Mom. But, okay. So these checks are investment in a business?”

“Yes.”

“Are you a partner?”

“No. Just a sort of...capitalist. I give her capital when she needs it.”

“Does she pay you back?”

“She will when she’s on her feet.”

“Does she have a business plan? Something that tells you when that might be? Do you two have a contract?”

“A verbal one. We’re playing it by ear.” She smiled in the face of his disbelief.

“You don’t play business by ear, Mom.”

“Maybe in banks and accounting offices, you don’t. But in yarn shops, you trust your friends and play it by ear.”

He sat back in his chair, frustrated with trying to protect her financial interests. “Don’t you have any sense of self-preservation? You worked hard to get some financial stability after Dad died. Now you keep giving money away. You lent me money to resettle here after I closed the business.”

She sat across the table from him and covered his hand with hers. Her joking responses suddenly took a serious turn. “Hunter, you can get your debts paid without putting your entire life on hold. You know, the guilt you feel is completely unnecessary. No one blames you for what happened. I understand that you feel responsible to your father and me because we wanted so much to help you. But, if your father were here, he’d be the last to criticize you or to regret giving you the money. Please, please, let yourself be happy.”

“I’ll be happy when I’ve paid all my debts and returned your investment.”

She growled and punched his arm playfully. “You are so much like my father. Stubborn through and through.”

“Mmm. I think he passed that quality on to you, and that’s how I got it.”

“Okay, let’s go with that. Stop thinking like an accountant. Toads and Frogs is a wonderful place to put my money, and you know why?”

She required an answer. He looked up. “Why?”

“Because while money is a sometimes-you-win-sometimes-you-lose investment, love invested is always a win-win. Glenda is always there for me.” She put a hand to his face maternally. “You are a bean counter, darling. You have to start counting—I don’t know. Flowers. Stars.”

She patted his cheek and turned toward the kitchen. “You need a sandwich.” She disappeared and left him with her scary accounting.

Count flowers and stars. Good Lord.

By the time he had the rest of her paperwork organized, all the things he couldn’t fix at the moment he pushed to the back of his mind.

He decided the world was lucky Stella Bristol had chosen to invest in a yarn shop. Anything more serious and she could have undermined Wall Street in a week and a half.

By nightfall, he’d finished a Reuben sandwich, had agreed to fix a sticking cupboard door and was setting the water heater in the basement up a notch because the stairs were steep and his mother didn’t feel safe on them.

She provided him with a large envelope to put her documents in so he could take them home. “You’re sure you don’t want something more to eat before you go?”

“Thanks, but no. I’ve got to get some sleep.”

He had one foot on the porch when she said his name. He knew the tone. Reluctance overcome by the lioness-guarding-her-cub syndrome. This would have to do with Sandy. He’d been so close to escaping.

He stopped reticently and faced her. “Yeah?”

She put up both hands to ward off the protest she seemed to think was imminent. “I’m just worried and want what’s best for you, so I have to ask.”

How many times in his life had he heard her say that?

“You’re sure you’re right not to let Sandy help you with a little money? Especially since you won’t take help from me, and you gave Nate his money back.”

He was a hairsbreadth away from a primal scream. But he replied calmly, “It wasn’t a little money, it was thirty thousand dollars. And, who told you...?”

“Loretta and I talk.”

“That’s nice.” Great. All he needed was his mother and Sandy’s collaborating. “Mom, I’m not getting involved until I have my bills paid. Sandy does well on her own. She doesn’t need to be mixed up in this.” He kept going when his mother tried to interrupt him. “I know you and Loretta both have our best interests at heart, but, for now, anyway, Sandy and I are pretty much over. Just give up on whatever happily-ever-after scenario the two of you had going.”

His mother frowned.

“Mom, she refinanced her house to help me pay off my debts. I’m not letting her do that, so she’s mad at me.”

“Do you know that her husband just walked away when Addie was born? And that was after her father left them when she was just a teenager?”

“She told me. But, Mom it’s more complicated than just all the debris in my life. It’s her. Sandy doesn’t understand anything that isn’t part of her plan. Which seems to consist of putting a responsible man in her life because the others have flaked out on her.”

“And you’re not that man?”

“No. At least not now. And she’s an immediate kind of woman. She wants what she wants, and she doesn’t want to wait for it. Usually, I’m not a man to be talked over, ridden over or shoved over. Jennifer managed to do that to me when I wasn’t looking, but nobody’s going to do that to me again.”

“Hunter. You’re not comparing Sandy with Jennifer.”

He was now exhausted. “Of course not,” he said wearily. “But Sandy is pushy, and I’m in no mood to be pushed right now. Good night, Mom. I’ll run your numbers through the computer and let you know what comes up.”

Her voice followed him down her front walk. “Then how will you do the Clothes Closet opening together? It’s already been announced in the paper.”

Several bad words raced through his mind. “We’re adults,” he replied over his shoulder. “And neither one of us cares about us anymore. We’ll be able to focus on the project. Good night.”

Depression sought to pummel him as he drove home, but he fought it off. He would pay off his debts and start over. He figured getting square with the world would take him another five years. Thirty-nine wasn’t too old to pull his life together.

His apartment on Grand Avenue was dark and cool when he got in. He flipped on lights, then turned on the television in the small living room furnished with a brown tweed sofa and chair from his old place and a coffee table he’d gotten from Goodwill. He went into the kitchen to nuke a cup of coffee. The landlord had called the kitchen small and efficient, everything within easy reach, when he’d shown him the place. Hunter should have realized it was a warning that he’d always be slamming into a cupboard door he’d left open or banging his knee on a drawer. But the rent was reasonable, the other tenants pleasant and quiet. He could do this for five more years. He looked out his window to the lights on a freighter at anchor in the river and the nostalgia of early evening overtook him. Leaning against the window molding, he felt as though his stomach had caved in.

Five years was a long time to be lonely.

CHAPTER FOUR

SANDY STOOD IN the middle of the dark, overcrowded box that was Crazy for Coffee and, inexplicably, felt her small world open up. She smiled at Bjorn, who watched her a little worriedly. He was in his early forties and going home to Chicago to help his parents manage their deli because his father was in poor health. She bought a caramel-vanilla latte from Bjorn a couple of mornings a week, and he was a client of the law firm she used to work for, so she knew him fairly well. They’d had a long talk on the phone the night before.

“What’s the matter, Sandy?” he asked. “Are you claustrophobic? Because if you are, you’ll go nuts in here.”

“I’m not claustrophobic,” she assured him. She held up the folder he’d given her with the last two years’ tax returns and several other financial reports. “I’m very, very interested.”

“Okay, I don’t mean to be nosy, but how will the law office get along without you?”

“Easily, I think. They let me go. So, I’m looking for something else. Be nice to be my own boss for a change.”

Her research showed that a coffee cart had relatively small operating costs, an easily sold product, and a good profit margin. She figured that with careful management and hard work, she could do this, and do it well. She had confidence in her ability to make anything work. Well, she didn’t seem that great with relationships, but she could make everything else work.

He laughed at her. “Owning your own business definitely has its perks, but you’re It in a crisis. Or any other time, really. There’s no one else to turn to when you have a problem. Are you ready for that?”

She shrugged. “It’s just like parenting, or owning a home, or living your life. You’re It, the last word. I have a lot of experience being It.” She looked around herself and nodded. “I’d like to buy Crazy for Coffee, Bjorn.” Since Hunter didn’t want a future with her, she’d set out bravely on her own.

“You would?” He appeared surprised, then probably realizing that was not good salesmanship, added quickly, “Don’t you want to see the books? Talk to my accountant? Sales are up about 12 percent since I bought the business two years ago.”

“I did a little research on you and the business. And whenever I come for coffee in the morning, I’m usually fourth or fifth in line, so I know you have the customer base. And you can’t beat the location, on a concrete slab allowing access on both sides, right on 101 and just off the bridge.” She gazed at the supplies, the bottles of syrups, the refrigerator filled with cream, milk, fruit and other necessities. “Does the price include the inventory?”

“No. But I can tally that tonight when I close and give you a final figure in the morning.” He excused himself to respond to a honk at the north window, quickly prepared a mocha grande, handed it out the window, then dropped a few bills and a handful of change into the register.

She held out her hand. “So, we have a deal?”

“We have a deal.” He took her hand and shook it. “Great.” Then he looked troubled. “My lawyer is one of your bosses. Your former bosses. Are you okay with meeting me there tomorrow to draw up the papers?”

“Sure. I’ll have a check for you. When did you want to turn it over to me?”

“The first of June is in eight days. Does that work? What about employees? I do mornings, and two high school girls come in in the afternoon. They’re pretty reliable and from the feedback I’ve gotten, they make good drinks. They just have to be reminded not to chat too long with friends driving through. Since school shuts down for the summer in two weeks, you can schedule them earlier in the day instead of just afternoons.”

“Great. I’ll keep them on if they want to stay. Think I can learn the ropes in that short a time?”

“Of course you can. But you realize how it is. You won’t officially know it all until you’ve worked it for a couple of months.”

They agreed to meet at her old office the following afternoon as soon as his staffer came on after school.

Sandy had dropped the girls off early at daycare, and went home to take a quiet moment and make a list of all she should do today. At home she sat down at the kitchen table and wrote: “acquire a couple of pairs of jeans and shirts to work in, transfer money out of savings, buy something pretty” (since it would probably be the last thing she’d be able to buy herself for some time to come), “tell Mom and Bobbie that I now own a business and see if Mom will help with the girls, take a long walk and appreciate that freedom.” There would probably be precious little for a while.

For Zoey and Addie, this would be the same as when she worked in an office all day—possibly even a little better, because she’d be home slightly earlier. Of course, she’d have to leave earlier to be ready to open at five o’clock.

A loud knock on her front door startled her out of her strategy planning. She pulled the door open, thinking it might be UPS with the Cars bedspread and pillow she’d ordered for Addie’s birthday.

It wasn’t UPS. It was Hunter.

* * *

HUNTER WASN’T PREPARED for the pretty picture she made against her blue door. Her red hair was caught up in a knot, long, straight strands of it falling to her chin. Her cheeks were flushed, her brown eyes alight as though something had already brightened her day. She wore a white sweater, and white always made her look somehow molten.

“Ah...” He had to think a minute. He’d come over because he required some information from her, but he hadn’t expected her to look so...cheerful. He was getting the distance from her he sought, but it put him in a pit of depression. He really missed her. Why was she happy? “I know I’m the last person you want to see today, but the Food Bank called me at the office this morning and wanted a date for the opening of the Clothes Closet. And the Daily A said they could get us sponsored advertising, but, again, we need a date. We have to talk about these things.”

“I suppose we should.” She sounded halfhearted. “But, I’m sorry, I have a lot going on today, and I...”

“Sandy, come on. I have to be able to depend on you for this. You’re the one who volunteered us. The Food Bank said they couldn’t reach you. What’s happening? If you’re going to pout about the breakup, tell me now so I can make other plans.” He was sure that would get her. She couldn’t stand accusations of a childish display, couldn’t stand being disconnected from the goings-on.

“I am not pouting,” she denied, a little royal indignation in her attitude, “and I’d like to help, but you’ll have to cut me a little slack. I’ve had a slight change of plans.”

“What plans?”

“You know. Life plans.”

“How so? I have another big project I could really use your help on.” He hesitated, plotting how best to approach her about Connolly’s gift. “What kind of slack do you need?” he asked at the same moment that she asked, “What big project?”

“You first,” she told him. “What big project?”

“Astoria has a benefactor,” he blurted, sure it topped her news.

She focused on him more intently, suddenly interested. She even stepped out onto the porch. “What do you mean? Who?”

He explained about his client, the man’s previous visit to Astoria when he’d been treated so kindly, then his sale of the dessert product for big money and his retirement to Astoria. Honoring Connolly’s wish, he kept other details to himself.

“That’s wonderful,” she said. “But what does that have to do with me?”

“He wants me to distribute a million dollars to our nonprofits. I thought since you’ve raised money for most of them at one time or other, you’d be a good resource for the project.”

Her mouth fell open. It was a lovely, supple mouth. He could almost feel it on his own. But—then—words would come out of it and ruin everything.

“A million...?”

“Yes. Do you want to help or not?”

She cocked her head and scolded, “Who wouldn’t want to help since you asked so nicely?” Then her look became troubled. “But my situation’s changed a little and I...I’m not sure if I can.”

“So you said. But, how? What’s changed?”

“I just bought Crazy for Coffee!” she said, appearing a little surprised by her own news.

He was stunned. Bjorn Nielsen was his client. So, she was the caller Bjorn had told him was interested in his coffee cart. Hunter had gone into the office at four in the morning to run off reports he then delivered to Crazy for Coffee.

Sandy was changing her life? He was no longer involved with her so that shouldn’t bother him, but he knew how she was—headstrong and impulsive and impervious to suggestion. Small business was a killer of dreams ninety percent of the time.

“Have you thought this through?” he asked.

Immediately her expression turned defensive. She folded her arms. “Of course I have.”

“What if you lose everything?”

“Thank you for your expression of faith in me,” she replied. “It’s so nice to know that after all we’ve meant to each other...”

He held a hand up to stop her. He was a little amazed when it worked. “What I meant was, have you investigated the business?” He knew Crazy for Coffee was sound, but that could change in a month with careless management. She’d never be deliberately careless, but things could happen she might not be prepared for. “There’s a lot to...”

“I saw his tax returns, his P&L and balance sheets.”

“Good. What about lease assignments?”

“What?”

“Lease assignments. Bjorn happens to be one of Raleigh and Raleigh’s clients. I handle his account. As I recall, he leases a few things. You’re responsible for taking those over. That’ll add to your monthly expenses.”

“Oh.” Her eyes narrowed. He suspected she hadn’t thought of that. “We’re meeting at my old office tomorrow. I used to work for lawyers, remember? They’ll make sure everything’s covered.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Used to work for lawyers? You mean you’ve already quit?”

“No, I mean they fired me.”

“What?” His annoyance at that news matched her mother’s and made up a bit for the “what if you lose everything” remark. “Why?”

“It’s a long story that involves the economy, office politics and a new partner’s secretary who can do her job and mine. Hence, the coffee cart.”

“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely. He knew she’d loved her job and had done it well.

“I’ll survive. I always do.” Deep in her eyes, he saw a suggestion of fear, then she drew a breath and it was gone.

“About the coffee cart. Do you have help?”

“Help?”

“Hired help. Employees. Or do you plan to work seven days a week, twelve hours a day?”

“Yes, I have help. Two high school girls in the afternoon.”

“Do you know how to do payroll?”

Telling when she was truly annoyed was never hard. The pink in her cheeks flamed, and her eyes ignited. “Don’t treat me like an idiot, Hunter. I know what I’m doing. If you don’t want to be part of my vision for my future, then I’m taking it in another direction. And you have nothing to say about it.”

She’d done this with the money she’d tried to give him, the money from refinancing her home. Before he could say that buying the coffee cart was reckless, possibly even ill-advised, she turned around and walked back inside.

He took a step forward as she prepared to close the door on him. “Tomorrow in my office,” he said. “What time can you be there? We’ll set a date for the Closet opening and make a plan for the money for the nonprofits.”

“I’m meeting with Bjorn to sign papers tomorrow.”

“Can you meet Monday?”

“That’s Memorial Day. Aren’t you and the Raleighs going to Fort Stevens for the Civil War reenactment? I’m working with Bjorn.”

“That’s right. Tuesday, then?”

“I’ll call you. The way my life is right now, we may have to do it over the phone.”

That was what he should want—dealing with her over the phone rather than sitting across a table from her or side by side in a restaurant booth. It would simplify his life.

“All right. But, I promised the Food Bank an answer by Friday.”

“I’ll phone you in the middle of the week.” She started to close the door.

“Incidentally...” The single word stopped her. “What about the girls?”

“What do you mean?”

“If you have to open at 5:00 a.m., what about the girls?”

There were sparks in her smile. “I thought I’d sell them into slavery for some operating capital.”

He groaned at her. “I meant, daycare doesn’t open that early.”

“And how would you know when daycare opens?”

He waited a beat. “Rainbow Daycare is my client. I know a lot about them.”

“Well, it was a stupid question, Hunter. When have you known me not to consider my girls? I have to go. Goodbye.” She closed the door.

He stared at it for a moment, thinking he might want to simplify his life, but it didn’t seem to be happening.

* * *

SANDY CALLED HER MOTHER from the sidewalk in front of Toni’s Boutique, an elegant clothing store for women on Commercial Street, absentmindedly noting the colorful resort wear in the window.

“You did what?” her mother exclaimed after Sandy told her about Crazy for Coffee.

“I needed employment, so I bought a business so I could hire myself. Makes good sense to me.”

“Oh, sweetheart. Working for yourself only means more bills, not necessarily more income.”

“Mom, Hunter just did his best to discourage me. Come on. I need positive input. And Toni’s is having a sale. If you’ll watch the girls for me in the mornings between 4:30 and 7:00, when you’ll to take them to daycare, I’ll buy you an outfit.”

She heard her mother gasp. “Four...?”

“And a jacket,” she added quickly. “Just until I can hire someone for those hours. And a pair of shoes.”

Her mother was silent.

“And a car!” Sandy continued with theatrical extravagance. “Mom, I realize it’s a lot to ask...”

“Okay, Okay,” her mother said finally. “You’re lucky I’m an insomniac. I’ll do it. But it better be some car.”

CHAPTER FIVE

LORETTA SEPARATED PAPER plates while Sandy placed squares of cake on them. Bobbie added scoops of vanilla ice cream and Stella delivered to the crowd of little children gathered around two picnic tables in Sandy’s backyard. The yard sounded like Times Square on New Year’s Eve!

Bobbie scooped heroically from the two-gallon tub. “Who’d have thought such a big noise could come out of such little children?”

Sandy glanced up in surprise. “I don’t even notice noise anymore. The girls are always giggling or shrieking. My head rings continually.” She turned toward Stella, who stood in the yard near one of the tables and held up two fingers. “Okay, guys. Two more, then maybe we can have coffee and a piece of cake.”

Grateful for the rare sunny day in the coastal Oregon spring, Sandy smiled at the sight of her daughter and her daycare and neighborhood guests wearing their jackets and the plastic superhero capes she’d provided. She had fashioned the capes out of tarps she’d cut to shape, Bobbie had painted familiar superhero symbols on them, and all they’d had to do was convince the children to turn the capes around to the front when they sat down to eat.

Dylan, Bobbie’s eleven-year-old nephew by marriage who was helping keep order by tossing balls and leading races around the yard, frowned at Sandy. “Now those superhero capes are just bibs,” he accused.

Sandy whispered back, “Yes, but no one’s noticed yet, so please keep it to yourself.”

“Hmm. Trickery. Sweeet!” Dylan was clever and observant, and surprisingly patient with the younger children, unlike Sheamus, who found them childish from his lofty eight-year-old perspective.

The doorbell rang. “I’ll get it.” Dylan ran off while Sandy went out into the yard to investigate a sudden scream that rang out above the din. By the time Sandy reached a boy and girl throwing punches while rolling over each other in the grass, Stella was pulling them apart.

“What happened?” Sandy asked, drawing the boy toward her and dabbing what looked like a smear of blood on his forehead. Mercifully, it was only frosting.

Towheaded and freckled, Danny Hankins jabbed a finger at the sturdy girl with blunt-cut dark hair who was fuming. “She kissed me!” he shouted in disgust.

Stella bit back a laugh. Sandy, relieved nothing worse had happened, tried to sound reasonable. “But a kiss is a nice thing. Why would you punch her?”

“Because when I wouldn’t kiss her, too, she punched me! I was just offending myself.”

“Defending yourself. Molly.” Sandy leaned over the little girl, whose eyes betrayed hurt under the anger. Considering her own situation, Sandy felt a certain sympathy for her. “It isn’t nice to hit. And you can’t make somebody kiss you. They have to want to.”

“Well. You do understand that.” A taunting male voice made Sandy straighten. She looked up into Hunter’s smile. He wore jeans and a dark blue T-shirt with the Raleigh & Raleigh emblem on the pocket.

“Hello, Hunter.” Her tone was polite but stiff. She noticed a giant package held against his side. “What on earth...?”

He swung a red kiddie car, large enough for a child to ride in, out from under his arm. His smile developed an edge. “If you can tolerate me long enough to let me wish your daughter Happy Birthday, I promise not to stay.”

“Wow!” Danny put a pudgy hand up to stroke the car’s bumper.

“That’s mine!” Addie declared with four-year-old vehemence, arriving at his side in a flash, wearing her tiara. She looked up at Hunter, avarice in her eyes. “Isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is.” He put it down on the grass, having to urge the growing circle of children around them to back up. Addie climbed right into it and uttered a little scream of delight. “My car!” she squealed, and heartlessly ripped off the rainbow-striped bow stuck to the windshield.

“Your car.” He squatted to point out the controls to her. Then he indicated the walkway that ran all around the yard and protected the flowers growing against the stockade-style fence. “It’ll work best on the walkway. You can’t go out of the yard with it or it’ll stop working. Okay?”

Sandy had to appreciate his instructions. He turned to her, his expression neutral. “Can she take it for a spin?”

“How fast does it go?”

“Two and a half miles per hour.”

“Then, yes.”

“Okay.” Hunter lifted Addie out and she squealed in protest as he carried the kiddie car to the walkway. She ran behind him and climbed back in the moment he placed it on the stone strip. “Please be careful with the flowers. And watch when you get to the corner so you can make the turn. That’s what real drivers do.”

Addie was off, the mob of children deserting their cake to follow her, screaming their delight at this new excitement and pleading for their chance to ride. Hunter turned to greet his mother, then Loretta and Bobbie. “Good afternoon, ladies. Addie invited me.”

Bobbie indicated Addie behind the wheel of her car. “Addie’s thrilled that you’re here, and it’s her party, after all.”

Addie did three circuits of the yard before she stopped, her eyes sparkling and her cheeks flushed.

“Do you want to let your friends have a ride?” Sandy asked, already knowing the answer.

“No.” Addie’s reply was clear and concise.

“But they’re your guests.”

“No.”

“Everyone brought you presents. It would be nice if you let everyone...”

“No.”

“When you go to their houses,” Hunter said, “they’ll let you play with their stuff if you let them play with yours today.”

Addie thought about that. “No,” she finally said.

Danny hung over her. “You can have my spy nightscope for a day if I can ride your car around the yard just one time.” Danny could often be seen in front of his home after dark, night goggles on, their pop-up spotlight activated. Addie lusted after them. Sandy had a mental image of the two of them off on a spy mission in Addie’s car and with Danny’s goggles.

Addie thought again, then looked into his face, her expression fierce. “Promise?”

“Promise.” He crossed his heart and held his palm up in an oath.

She climbed up and shouted orders as Danny climbed in. “You can’t hurt the flowers, and you have to go slow there.” She pointed to the corner.

Danny rode off, the children running the perimeter with him.

“That was good, Addie,” Sandy praised, though her daughter had made the good choice out of greed, not generosity. But, truth be told, Sandy still made some of her own decisions that way. “Look at how much fun your friends are having.”

Addie caught up with the crowd of cheering children as Danny navigated the turn, slowing as instructed, before heading toward the house.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.