# A New Hope

Robyn Carr

Starting over is never easy, but in Thunder Point, where newcomers are welcome and friends become family, it's possible to find yourself again. #1 New York Times bestselling author Robyn Carr takes us on a moving and rewarding journey as a young woman finds new hope.After losing her child, Ginger Dysart was lost in grief. But since moving to Thunder Point, a small town on the Oregon coast, Ginger is finally moving forward. Her job at the flower shop is peaceful and fulfilling, and she's excited to be assisting with the Lacoumette wedding.In spite of her lasting heartache, Ginger is swept up in the pleasure of the occasion. But the beauty of the Lacoumette farm and the joy of the gregarious family are ruined by an unfortunate encounter with the bride's brother, Matt. Struggling with painful memories of his own, Matt makes a drunken spectacle of himself when he tries to make a pass at Ginger, forcing her to flee the scene in embarrassment.But when Matt shows up at the flower shop determined to make amends, what started out as a humiliating first meeting blossoms into something much deeper than either of them expected. Everyone around them worries that Ginger will end up with a broken heart yet again. But if Ginger has the courage to embrace the future, and if Matt can finally learn to let go of the past, there may still be hope for a happy ending.

Starting over is never easy, but in Thunder Point, where newcomers are welcome and friends become family, it’s possible to find yourself again. #1 New York Times bestselling author Robyn Carr takes us on a moving and rewarding journey as a young woman finds new hope.

After losing her child, Ginger Dysart was lost in grief. But since moving to Thunder Point, a small town on the Oregon coast, Ginger is finally moving forward. Her job at the flower shop is peaceful and fulfilling, and she’s excited to be assisting with the Lacoumette wedding.

In spite of her lasting heartache, Ginger is swept up in the pleasure of the occasion. But the beauty of the Lacoumette farm and the joy of the gregarious family are ruined by an unfortunate encounter with the bride’s brother, Matt. Struggling with painful memories of his own, Matt makes a drunken spectacle of himself when he tries to make a pass at Ginger, forcing her to flee the scene in embarrassment.

But when Matt shows up at the flower shop determined to make amends, what started out as a humiliating first meeting blossoms into something much deeper than either of them expected. Everyone around them worries that Ginger will end up with a broken heart yet again. But if Ginger has the courage to embrace the future, and if Matt can finally learn to let go of the past, there may still be hope for a happy ending.

Praise for #1 New York Times and #1 USA TODAY bestselling author Robyn Carr

“The captivating sixth installment of Carr’s Thunder Point series (after The Promise) brings up big emotions.”

—Publishers Weekly on The Homecoming

“In Carr’s very capable hands, the Thunder Point saga continues to delight.”

—RT Book Reviews on The Promise

“Sexy, funny, and intensely touching.”

—Library Journal on The Chance

“A touch of danger and suspense make the latest in Carr’s Thunder Point series a powerful read.”

—RT Book Reviews on The Hero

“With her trademark mixture of humor, realistic conflict, and razor-sharp insights, Carr brings Thunder Point to vivid life.”

—Library Journal on The Newcomer

“No one can do small-town life like Carr.”

—RT Book Reviews on The Wanderer

“Carr has hit her stride with this captivating series.”

—Library Journal on the Virgin River series

Also available from ROBYN CARR and MIRA Books

The Thunder Point Series

ONE WISH

THE HOMECOMING

THE PROMISE

THE CHANCE

THE HERO

THE NEWCOMER

THE WANDERER

The Virgin River Series

MY KIND OF CHRISTMAS

SUNRISE POINT

REDWOOD BEND

HIDDEN SUMMIT

BRING ME HOME

FOR CHRISTMAS

HARVEST MOON

WILD MAN CREEK

PROMISE CANYON

MOONLIGHT ROAD

ANGEL’S PEAK

FORBIDDEN FALLS

PARADISE VALLEY

TEMPTATION RIDGE

SECOND CHANCE PASS

A VIRGIN RIVER CHRISTMAS

WHISPERING ROCK

SHELTER MOUNTAIN

VIRGIN RIVER

The Grace Valley Series

DEEP IN THE VALLEY

JUST OVER THE MOUNTAIN

DOWN BY THE RIVER

Novels

FOUR FRIENDS

A SUMMER IN SONOMA

NEVER TOO LATE

RUNAWAY MISTRESS

BLUE SKIES

THE WEDDING PARTY

THE HOUSE ON

OLIVE STREET

Look for Robyn Carr’s next novel

WILDEST DREAMS

available soon from MIRA Books

A New Hope

Robyn Carr


www.mirabooks.co.uk

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Praise

Also available from ROBYN CARR and MIRA Books

Title Page

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Extract from One Wish by Robyn Carr

Copyright

One

The Basque really know how to get married, Ginger Dysart thought. She hadn’t attended the wedding ceremony and she’d had doubts about attending this reception, given all the sadness she’d suffered over the past year. Her own marriage had barely begun when it ended in divorce. But she was so glad she’d come to the reception. It was an ethnic extravaganza—the Basque food, the music, the dancing. The bride and groom, Scott and Peyton Grant, had whirled around the dance floor a couple of times, then parted so Scott could dance with his mother and Peyton could dance with her father. And then there was a series of handsome dark-haired men who claimed the bride—brothers, cousins, uncles.

Paco Lacoumette presided over the party with all the aplomb of a king and was clearly in his element. The couples dancing would cease and the Basque men in their traditional dress of white with red vests and caps would take the floor and put on a show to the wild applause of the guests. Then more couples dancing. Even Ginger was dragged from her chair and pulled out to dance, despite her efforts to decline. She danced with men she knew—Cooper, Spencer, Mac, Scott—and men she didn’t know, those good-looking, dark Lacoumette relatives. At one point she spied Troy, Grace’s boyfriend, who must have just arrived. Grace, Ginger’s boss and owner of the flower shop in Thunder Point, thought Troy wasn’t going to make it and had been so disappointed, yet there he was, twirling Grace around with almost professional skill. And judging by the glowing look on Grace’s face, she was completely thrilled!

Wine flowed, food was constantly replenished, dancing and laughter filled the night. Ginger felt pretty for the first time in so long. She wore a new dress, cut to her slim figure. She’d lost a lot of weight in the past several months; men were looking at her in a way they hadn’t before, and she actually enjoyed the feel of their eyes on her. Those lusty, dark-haired Basque men did nothing to conceal their appreciative gazes.

The whole atmosphere was magical—teenagers were dancing or dashing about the grounds and orchard, sneaking behind trees for stolen kisses, children were riding on the shoulders of fathers, grandfathers and uncles, women were clapping in time to the music, laughing, singing, gossiping. Peyton and Scott were in much demand on the dance floor and in between songs many toasts were made. There were far too many Lacoumettes to remember all their names, but they made her feel welcome and appreciated, thanking her repeatedly for helping Grace bring the wedding flowers.

There was one darkly handsome man she’d noticed right away because he was the only one who seemed sulky and unhappy, and he was the one approaching her now as she stood beside her table. He had the swarthy good looks and fierce eyes of a pirate or maybe a serial killer. And with such precision timing, he had singled her out while everyone else from her table was dancing.

“Hey, pretty lady,” he said with a smile that was off-kilter. His words were slurred. That would at least partially account for the half-mast eyes and pouting expression—he was obviously drunk. Well, this happened at weddings with great regularity, especially weddings where the wine flowed so liberally.

“Time for a dance!” he said.

“Thank you, but I’m going to sit this one out,” she replied.

“Hmm,” he said, stroking his chin. “Then we should go straight to the hayloft!”

She was appalled. But she remained composed and confident. “I’m sitting that out, as well.”

“No, come with me,” he said. “You and me—let’s do this.” And then he reached for her. And grabbed her right breast.

She shrieked, shoved him away. His feet got tangled, he fell backward over a chair and went down, hitting his head on the way. And there he lay, motionless and unconscious.

“Help,” she said. Then louder. “Help!”

She got far more attention than she wanted or expected. And of course, there were the questions. What happened? Are you hurt? Did he pass out? Is he dead?

“He grabbed at me,” she said, waving a hand over the area of her breast without pointing or saying it. “I shoved him away and he fell and...I think he might’ve hit his head on the table.”

There he lay in a heap, on his back, his legs twisted awkwardly.

In just seconds Peyton and Scott were there, Scott crouching and lifting the man’s eyelids, looking at his pupils. “Well, they’re equal, but damn...they’re big. Does he take anything?” he asked his bride.

“Yes, wine,” Peyton said. “He killed a full skin before the dancing.”

Then Paco was pushing his way through the crowd, looking down. “I knew it would come to this,” he said. “There was no slowing him down.”

“I think we should call 911, get a head CT, make sure he didn’t crack his skull,” Scott said.

“His head is made of wood,” Paco said. “It would serve him right to be carried out of his sister’s wedding on one of those backboard things and spend the night in a hospital.” Paco reached for the ice bucket on the table. Everyone scooted back immediately, as if they knew what was coming. Peyton pulled Scott away while Paco took a bottle of white wine out of the bucket, put it on the table and doused the man with the ice water.

He sputtered and coughed and sat up.

“See what I’m telling you? Wood. George! Sal! Mikie! Get Matthew from your sister’s wedding! Hide his keys!” The men moved into action immediately. Paco looked at Ginger and said, “There’s always one. I apologize.” Then he took in the gathering crowd and clapped. “I think it’s time I dance with my wife!”

Grace arrived, pushing her way through the crowd. “Ginger! Is everything all right?”

“I’m not sure,” she said, looking as the men were leaving—three of them walking steadily and one weaving dangerously.

“My brother, Matt,” Peyton said. “He has issues. Divorce issues. He was divorced a little over a year ago but it appears he’s still very bitter. Weddings don’t seem to bring out the best in him. He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“He didn’t quite connect,” Ginger said. “I was about to say good-night anyway. I’m going back to my folks’ house in Portland for the night.”

“I might kill Matt,” Peyton said.

“Just enjoy the rest of your party,” Ginger said. “No harm done. To me, anyway. God, I hope I didn’t hurt him.”

“You heard my father—his head is made of wood.”

“I’ll call you in the morning,” Grace said. “Troy had some car trouble on the way up here and we’ll have to see where that stands in the morning and figure out how we’re all getting home. I’ve got the van, you take your father’s car back to him.”

Ginger turned to Peyton. “It was a wonderful reception. You look ravishing. And I was just thinking, the Basque people really know how to get married.”

* * *

Ginger’s parents, Dick and Sue, had waited up. That was definite evidence as to how concerned they were about her—they stayed up past ten when their usual bedtime was before nine. And when she walked in the front door, looking perfectly alive, they both stood from their recliners. They looked at her expectantly.

“Did you have a good time?” Sue asked hesitantly.

“I had a lovely time,” she said. “The flowers were beautiful, the wedding party was gorgeous and the party was like something out of a fairy tale. You wouldn’t believe the fun of Basque dancing and music! And the food? Oh, my God, the food was just amazing. And I’m exhausted—I’m going straight to bed.”

“Are you...comfortable in your room, Ginger?” Sue asked.

“Yes, of course. And thank you for making it so nice for me.”

She kissed them both on their cheeks and went upstairs. Upstairs to the large bedroom and small adjacent nursery that had been renovated especially for her when she’d come home to her parents’, pregnant and alone; to the room where she had cared for her little son for the four short months of his life.

Ginger had been staying with her father’s cousin Ray Anne in Thunder Point for the last month. It was through Ray Anne that she’d gotten the job in Grace’s flower shop, a job that was really saving her life, hour by hour. Before she came back to Portland with Grace for this wedding and weekend visit, Ray Anne had called Sue and asked her to pack up all those baby things that Ginger had been looking at since his death over nine months ago. The crib and mobile had been taken down, the clothes removed from the drawers, boxed up and stored, the necessary accoutrements like the car seat, bouncy chair, baby bean bag, bath items and changing table were all gone. She didn’t think her parents had given them away, but they were out of sight. Probably stored in the attic or garage. There was only one framed picture of Ginger and Josh that she found in the top drawer.

She took it out, put it on the bedside table and changed into her pajamas.

When her father had suggested, rather emotionally, that Ginger go to Thunder Point and stay with Ray Anne for at least a few weeks, she had not wanted any part of it. But it was plain to see her parents needed a break from her grief. Now she was so glad she had gone. When she was in Thunder Point, she at least had the illusion of getting on with her life. She had a new, improved appearance, at Ray Anne’s insistence. She had that lovely little job in the flower shop. She had slept well and had an appetite again. Oh, she’d longed for little Josh, like always. But she was marching on.

She crawled into the bed at her parents’ house, turned the picture of herself and her baby toward her, left the light on so she could see it and sobbed.

* * *

Troy Headly had missed the Lacoumette-Grant wedding ceremony and barely made it to the reception. His Jeep had broken down by the side of the road and AAA had to send a tow truck. At least the tow-truck driver had been willing to drop him off at the Lacoumette farm where the festivities were held, but it left him and Grace with her flower-delivery van to drive to a hotel in Portland. They left the valet to park the flower van so they could check in. The day was not going the way he’d hoped it would.

He had proposed, however. In the pear grove at the farm while the revelers had partied under a big tent beside the grove. And Grace had said yes.

When he finally had her alone in the hotel room, he kissed her senseless. “Do you really like the ring, Gracie? Because we could go together to the jeweler and get a better one...”

“You’re not taking my ring!” she said emphatically. She placed it on her finger. “You picked it out yourself and I love it! I love you! I couldn’t wear it tonight and draw attention to myself like that—it’s Peyton’s day. But the second we get home, I’m going to be showing everyone.” Then she was the one who grew serious. “Are you sure about this, Troy? Because you didn’t want a wife so soon...”

He laughed and whirled her around and swept her onto the bed. He pulled off her pumps and ran a hand up her thigh. “I didn’t want children so soon, either, but guess what? We’re starting right now.” He covered her flat belly with his big hand. “We’re going to have to get better at this birth-control thing or we’ll end up with twenty.”

“I don’t think there’s time for twenty,” she said.

“Gracie,” he said, his hand roaming, his voice a little breathless. “Is this a garter belt?”

She shrugged. “I think you bring out the slutty underwear in me.”

“Oh, honey, you plan to drug me with sex and get at least ten babies out of me before I know what’s hit me. Is that right? Huh? When are we getting married?”

“We have a little time. Maybe we should elope before my mother tries to plan a coronation from her sickbed.”

“I don’t want to elope,” he said. “I want to party! Please, Gracie, take off this dress! Let’s do it, then we can argue about the wedding. I always get my way after I make you feel good.” He kissed her. “I know exactly how to get my way.” He pulled down the zipper on the back of her dress and helped her shimmy out of it. “God,” he said. “I’m going to make you very happy.”

* * *

George Lacoumette and his wife, Lori, insisted on taking Matt to the hospital...with a bucket in his lap. They didn’t really think he’d cracked his head open, they explained. They thought the likelihood of concussion was lower than alcohol poisoning. But there would be nothing as awkward as the untimely death of a member of the wedding party. In an effort to protect Peyton’s happy memories of her special day, they forced Matt into their car and then into the emergency room.

Matt was pissed as hell. He knew he’d been out of line and regretted it, but he wanted to be taken home. He still lived in the apartment he’d shared with his ex-wife, Natalie, a woman he still loved, except that he hated her. It was Natalie’s fault that he’d gotten smashed at the wedding. They’d been married on the farm and he was still in a state of anger and depression over the divorce, which had come much too soon after the wedding.

The ER doctor started an IV, then left the room as a bag of fluid ran into Matt. He sobered up fast.

The doctor returned after a while.

“Wow,” Matt said. “I only see one of you!”

“Welcome back.” The doctor laughed.

“I didn’t know you could do that! One IV, instant sobriety! Instant shame!”

“Yeah, it’s magic. So, you have a headache?”

“Right here,” Matt said, pointing to the back of his head. “Am I injured?”

“Possible liver damage, but we didn’t see any blood or bumps. Let’s check the eyes.” The doctor waved a light across his pupils. “I’m going to go out on a limb here and suggest you bumped your head on the way to passing out. So—this a problem for you?”

“Hitting my head and passing out?” he asked.

“No, drinking like a pig and falling down,” the doctor clarified. “Are you an alcoholic?”

“Ah, shit.” He rubbed his head. “I’m divorced. I got married in that same orchard a couple of years ago. It didn’t last long. The marriage, that is. It was kind of...what’s the word?”

“Painful? Embarrassing? Grievous? Lonely? Regrettable?” the doctor tried.

“Yeah, those are the words. I might’ve overdone it a little tonight.”

“So you’re not adjusting well?” he asked.

“My brothers and sisters have taken to calling me Mad Matt. Does that tell you anything?”

“You might want to consider some counseling. Before you really hurt yourself.”

“Doc, I appreciate your help, but if there’s one thing I don’t ever want to talk about it’s my ex-wife and my divorce.”

“Brother, there is life after divorce. I am living proof.”

“You?”

“Me. According to my ex-wife I keep lousy hours, I’m inattentive off the job, I don’t pitch in, I’m snarky and critical, a tightwad, insensitive, selfish, many negative things. The list is long.”

“I didn’t think anyone divorced a doctor,” Matt said, sounding surprised.

“The divorce rate among doctors is high,” he said. “I’m going to let you go home. If you have any problems or questions, call me. Don’t sit and wonder if you’re okay, just call me. And be done drinking for the day.”

“Funny,” Matt said, “the divorce rate among farmers is low. Yet...”

“Even if you were given a reason, that’s just one opinion,” the doctor said. “You going to be okay now?”

“Yeah,” he said, sitting up. “I have to come up with a good apology for my sister, the bride. I don’t think I’ll see her tomorrow. There’s the honeymoon and everything.” And she wasn’t the only one he should apologize to, but that other woman, whose name he never got, was long gone.

“Look, kid, you’re young,” the doctor said. “You’ll get past this divorce thing. It happens to the best of us. The next time you’ll be wiser and more patient about everything.”

“Next time?” Matt asked. “You’re kidding me, right?”

The doctor, who wasn’t that much older than Matt, clapped a hand on his back and said, “You’re like looking in an old mirror.”

* * *

Matt had fallen in love with Natalie instantly. True, he’d been all of twenty-five, but if that hadn’t been love he’d sure like to know what it was.

At the time he was giving a couple of lectures at Portland State; his master’s degree was in biology. His undergrad degree was in plant biology, he had minored in agricultural science and he was a farmer. He was also a visiting professor, which had made his father laugh. But Matt knew a lot about farming, pesticides, organic farming, water runoff, landscape contouring, animal husbandry, you name it. In pursuit of his degrees he’d studied agriculture, environmental science, and the care and breeding of animals, and that made him a valuable resource. It didn’t hurt that his father was the owner of one of the most prosperous farms in the state, with two of his sons, Matt and George, being associates.

And Natalie had been a biology department secretary, also twenty-five, with the longest legs he had ever seen.

She was so pretty and fun-loving and dating her had been sheer bliss. He hadn’t rushed into anything, despite that ER doctor’s assumptions. They went out for months before they moved in together. She wasn’t Basque, which suited him fine. She was of Swedish descent, with a few other European countries in the mix. She was very polite to his family but made it no secret, from their first date, she was never going to be a farm wife. He had no quarrel with that, either. He wasn’t looking for a farm wife, just as his sisters hadn’t been looking to marry farmers. She didn’t want a slew of children. He was okay with that, but he wanted a couple of kids and so had she. Later, she’d said. No hurry.

Matt loved the farm. But in order to commit to a relationship, one makes compromises. He and Natalie didn’t have to live on the farm. They’d build a house closer to the city, when they could afford it. He commuted from their small apartment near Portland and spent the occasional night on the farm when it was a real busy time—planting, harvesting or lambing. George had the sheep, but Matt was always there to help, too—with the breeding, shearing, lambing, inoculations, docking and castrating. Matt wouldn’t marry Natalie until it was clear—he wasn’t giving up the farm.

Knowing that, Natalie still wanted to get married. She chose the orchard as the venue—but the reception was held in a large hall in Portland. When a bee stung her forehead during the vows, causing a very large red bump, it should have been an omen. But even with that big red bump the size of a quarter right in the middle of her forehead, the wedding was a success. The wedding pictures had to be doctored, but they were beautiful. If you could predict the success of the marriage by the wedding, they should have made it fifty years. Not only were all the Basque relatives present but also every friend and family member Natalie had ever known.

Very soon after the wedding, before the last thank-you note had been written, Natalie was already growing unhappy. She didn’t like his hours or the dirt under his nails or those big family dinners on the farm with all the noise and chaos. Being married to a farmer, even a commuting farmer, was trying and boring for her. He was up at 4:00 a.m. and home, exhausted and hungry, at five, and in bed by eight. She’d rather have brunch at the Hotel Monaco than dinner with the Lacoumette clan. She liked clubbing and dancing. And she’d appreciate it if he could stay awake through one movie!

Natalie had many suggestions for alternate careers. Matt could get his PhD and teach full-time, even head a department. He could consult for companies. He could go to medical school; his degree was a premed qualifier. Or he could go to work for one of the big food companies, like Harry & David. He’d be president in no time!

As for Natalie, she was only working at the college to supplement her income, most of which she spent on clothes, while she built her modeling career. It was important for a model to look good and she did. Well, she definitely had the body for it—tall and lean and beautiful. She’d had a few modeling jobs, but that career choice wasn’t exactly taking off for her and she was already aging out of it. Matt tried to be supportive even though he thought her expectations were unreasonable if not delusional.

Thus, they argued quite a bit. Every day, in fact. A few times he’d stormed out and gone back to the farm for the night.

Though annoyed by the fighting, he tried not to take it too seriously. Sometimes he just laughed and kissed her ear. “I’ll try to get all the dirt out from under my nails before I come home, babe.” He encouraged her to do what she wanted and he would follow his dream and they could meet in the middle. He supported them and she spent her money on herself, which was perfectly fine with him. He just wished she could be more agreeable. He wasn’t sure what more he could do.

Everyone in his family had an opinion about his disintegrating marriage. There’s a period of adjustment, his mother had said. Women have to think they’re getting their way, at least most of the time, George had said. You’re both young and need to mature, Lori had said. You have to talk to the priest, Ginny had said. You worked out these details before the wedding, Paco had said. Tell her a deal’s a deal!

But it all unraveled. The fighting escalated; cruel and terrible things were said and done. There were tears and the sounds of hearts breaking. They didn’t make it a year. Both of them were in a great deal of pain with a complete inability to find any more compromises or solutions and, ultimately, an inability to forgive and repair the damage.

Matt spent many nights on the sofa while Natalie sobbed and raged. She wanted him to understand she felt trapped. She didn’t want to be stuck in a small apartment with a bunch of kids, held captive in a life that she didn’t sign on for, no nightlife, no romance, in-laws who treated her like an outsider—like a ridiculous child because she dressed nicely rather than in jeans and rubber boots. His work at Lacoumette Farms wasn’t a job, it was a life sentence! She never saw him, they argued but never talked like they used to and he never saw the need to court her anymore.

Then one fateful morning when Matt could go no further, he got up at his usual 4:00 a.m. and left her a note.

I’ll be at the farm if you have an emergency and need me. I’ll stay there until you move out. Please let me know when that will happen. Or, if you want the apartment, you can have it and I will live at the farm. It’s over.

Two

The flower shop was a safe haven for Ginger. She couldn’t possibly have handpicked a better place to rejoin the human race even though she found herself surrounded by pregnant women. She would have expected to be envious or frightened for them or thrown into worse depression over losing her own precious son. But strangely, it felt like exactly the right place for her, among this group of women. It allowed her to finally talk about her own pregnancy and childbirth, both of which were wonderful experiences. In fact, she had been so healthy and energetic, her son so perfect, he should be toddling around now, not gone.

Truthfully, she was a little envious. The caveat was she probably would never have the courage to try for another baby, even if she had the chance.

Talking with Peyton was particularly encouraging, however. Her medical training emphasized what Ginger had learned from the doctors and in her own reading—she had done nothing wrong. SIDS was extremely rare, one of those unpredictable flukes that was not likely to ever happen again in her family.

“As if I’d ever be brave enough to risk it by having another child,” Ginger said.

“I can’t imagine how fearful that concept must be,” Peyton said. “But the next time you’re blessed, your circumstances will be very different. You’ll have a lot more support. Not to mention close medical supervision. Just getting over this one is a big enough job for right now.”

And that’s what she was finally doing, one day at a time. And in the best possible place—in a quiet shop that did brisk business but was not crowded with people all day. She was becoming skilled at building and even creating the arrangements that Grace sold and those hours she spent by herself in the back room with the flowers were important to her healing. She was productive and she could think, but she didn’t think too much because Thunder Point was a town bristling with friendly people. Had she come here on her own, she might’ve remained a stranger for a long time, but she was living with Ray Anne. Everyone knew Ray Anne. And since Ray Anne had told her friends about Ginger’s circumstances, she had frequent company. People would drop by the shop to chat, stop her on the street or in the diner to visit a little; they’d include her in plans, or sometimes Ray Anne would invite a small group of women over to the house. Rather than feeling self-conscious and marked as the one whose husband left and baby died, she had an almost instant sense of belonging. There was abundant nurturing.

And she was needed. Boy, was she needed! Grace spent every morning in the shop, usually starting early. But in the afternoons she had other tasks. She was trying to get the house out on the beach ready for her mother. She’d bought the house from Cooper—it was one of three spec houses he’d built and it was perfect for her needs. Grace’s mother had ALS and was using a wheelchair most of the time now. Grace wanted her nearby—it was uncertain how much time the incurable condition would give her.

Grace made daily runs to the house to prod the workers and spent the rest of the time rounding up furnishings. Almost every day after school and on weekends, her fiancé, Troy, was pitching in at the house, trying to finish up. In what Ginger learned was typical of Thunder Point, Troy’s friends were always lending a hand. Together the newly engaged couple put up drywall, textured, sanded, installed molding and painted, trying to get the entire house done before Winnie arrived, or at least to leave just a few decorating details on the upper and lower floors. Troy and Grace planned to move into the lower level because between the two of them and their tiny apartments, there was no space for a baby. The lower floor with two bedrooms, a large bathroom and a game room was perfect for them.

“Yes, it seems like half the town is pregnant, though it’s only the three of them—Grace, Peyton and Iris,” Ginger told her mother during one of their phone calls. “In fact, their due dates are so close together it makes one wonder if there was a blackout or bad storm during one particular week in early April.”

“Maybe it was just spring,” Sue said.

It was a beautiful spring. There was something about the feeling of rebirth that lent itself to Ginger’s desire for a fresh start, a new beginning. And one thing she now knew for certain, she couldn’t make it in that bedroom in her parents’ house where she had lived when her baby died. Just that brief visit when she went with Grace to attend Peyton’s wedding had made it glaringly obvious. It was time for her to move on.

She hoped Ray Anne wasn’t feeling crowded in her small house. Given a little more time to get her finances in order she’d look around for an apartment or something. The woman never complained and seemed to genuinely enjoy Ginger’s company, but Ray Anne had Al, her boyfriend, and Al had three foster sons at home. She was aware that time alone for the two of them was hard to find since Ginger had come to town.

Late afternoon was Ginger’s favorite time, now that the days were longer and the weather milder. The middle of May was kind to the oceanside residents. Storms blew up at night sometimes but the afternoons were generally warm and sunny. Wildflowers bloomed on the hillsides that framed the town and bay. When Ginger was pulling in the shop’s sidewalk displays, people would stop to talk. Sometimes someone would insist on lending a hand. Waylan, a grizzly old coot who owned the bar across the street, had taken to her and she believed he watched for her to start her closing-time ritual so he could at least come pass the time. Al seemed to be mysteriously available as well, right when a strong arm would come in handy. Lou Metcalf often stopped by before heading out of town after her day teaching at the middle school. Lou was a close friend of Ray Anne’s and had twice invited Ginger for a cup of coffee at the diner. And it was usually right about the time Ray Anne was quitting for the day and would drive that little BMW of hers to the flower shop to talk about dinner. Would they stay in, just the two of them? Go out? Get something from Carrie? Cook? Have Al to dinner? Should it be every man for himself tonight?

But as she pulled in the big wooden Mother’s Day tulip, she saw a man walking down the street who looked vaguely familiar. Her brow wrinkled as she studied him. Where had she seen him? He was tall and handsome, she could see that much from a block away. Black hair, broad shoulders, jeans and boots, the common wardrobe around town, but a crisply pressed cotton shirt, sleeves rolled up to expose strong forearms and big hands. As he got closer she could see the jeans were in very well-preserved condition—this guy had not just stepped off a fishing boat. His hair, brows and eyes were black and he sported a slight, whiskery beard, a day or two’s worth. The moment she found herself thinking he was heart-stoppingly sexy in a very exotic way she also realized who he was. Oh, my God, it’s Peyton’s brother! By then he was upon her and gave her a slightly shy but brilliant smile. Complete with dimples.

He nodded his head, almost a bow. “Miss Dysart...Ginger...I came to apologize.”

She actually took a step back. “Um. Okay,” she said a little nervously. “You came all the way from Portland?”

“I came to see my sister,” he said. “And to apologize to you. To explain. I can explain.”

“Water over the dam,” she said. “You don’t have to explain...”

“I was drunk,” he said, as if he hadn’t heard her. “Stinko. I don’t get drunk and I don’t like drunks. I got married in that same orchard a while ago and the marriage didn’t take. I’ve been divorced over a year and it was bitter. I’m either going to stop going to those weddings or stop drinking. But I guess all the Lacoumettes are married now. If they have better luck than I did, we should be all right.”

“I’m sure Peyton understood,” she said.

He gave a bark of laughter. “She’s my sister. She’s going to make me pay for a long time. I didn’t hurt you or anything, did I? Because I remember reaching for you. I think I was going to drag you onto the dance floor. I’m a clod.”

“You groped me,” she said. “You said your intentions were to drag me to the hayloft but you missed my arm and got my...” She stopped. But he understood.

“Oh, Jesus,” he said, hanging his head slightly. “What an ass.”

“No damage done,” she said. “Apology accepted.”

“Listen, can I take you to dinner? To make amends?” he asked.

“Not necessary, Matt. It is Matt, right?”

“Matt Lacoumette,” he said, sticking out a hand. “I know it’s not necessary, but it would make me feel better if I could do something for you. Peyton says you’re one of the nicest women in town.”

Ginger tilted her head and her eyes rounded in surprise. And right then she heard the beep of Ray Anne’s horn as she pulled up in front of the shop.

Ginger still wore her green work apron. Ray Anne stood just outside her closed car door, the motor still running. “Quitting time?” she asked.

“Almost,” Ginger said. “Ray Anne, this is Peyton’s brother Matt. Matt, this is my dad’s cousin Ray Anne. I’ve been staying with her in Thunder Point.”

“It’s a pleasure,” he said. “I just invited Ginger to dinner and I’d be happy if you joined us.”

“Oh, you sweet boy,” Ray Anne said. “I just stopped by to tell Ginger I have plans for the evening, so you two go ahead. Ginger, I’ll see you a little later, honey.” She slipped back into her BMW and disappeared down the street.

Ginger looked back at Matt. “As it happens, it’s been a really long day,” she said. “I’ve been thinking about a quiet evening at home tonight.”

“I promise not to keep you out late. We can walk down to Cliffhanger’s or I can drive. I’ve only eaten there once before, but it was excellent. And probably the best way to get rid of me is to accept, let me make my amends, and then I’ll go back to the farm and leave you alone.”

“Matt...”

“I’ll behave very well.”

“Of course you will, but...”

“I’m kind of a pest until I’ve had a chance to apologize properly. Because, really—”

“That damn Ray Anne—she doesn’t have plans,” Ginger blurted. “At least she didn’t until you invited her to dinner and then she got an idea that she could be sure I went and I’m really not keen on the idea. And I don’t buy that you have to make amends over dinner or you won’t sleep at night.”

“Okay, you’re right. It’s not just amends. I really want to convince you I’m not a total asshole. I know how to treat women and I don’t do...” He shook his head. “I don’t do the things I did. Paco had his ways of training us in manners. In respect. Respect is very important in our family. I was disrespectful to you, to the bride and groom, to everyone. Paco has been reminding me daily.”

That made her smile in spite of herself. She raised one brow. “Ice water?”

He grinned. And really, it was a convincing grin. As handsome as he was, it was boyish. “Whatever is at hand,” Matt said. “Can I pick you up or would you like to walk down to Cliff’s with me?”

“I think I’d like to go home and change. I’m just closing now. Give me an hour? I’ll meet you there.”

“Can I help you move this stuff inside?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, you can.”

* * *

Matt had pulled that off perfectly while giving the impression dinner had been part of his plan from the start. It hadn’t been. The truth was he didn’t remember Ginger very well. Big surprise, since he had been completely toasted. All he really remembered was a blonde in a purple dress. In fact, he remembered the dress better than the blonde in it. Then when he saw her in jeans, green florist’s apron, simple knit shirt, so pretty, freckled, looking fresh as a schoolgirl, he was stung. He saw that she wasn’t really blonde-blonde. There was a little red in that hair streaked with gold and it looked so soft. And those green eyes sparkled in the afternoon sun. She didn’t wear much makeup—her cheeks were a peachy pink and her lips shiny. She had a fine arch to her light brows. And green stains on her fingers. At dinner, he would ask what it was like working with flowers.

When he got back to Peyton and Scott’s house, Peyton was spreading butter on a French baguette for garlic bread. There was red sauce bubbling on the stove and two empty Ragu jars on the counter. Peyton was not the cook his mother was.

“I’m going out for dinner,” he told his sister. “Sorry it’s so last-minute—I hope that doesn’t spoil everything you have planned.”

“Out?” she asked.

“I went to see Ginger. I apologized and I asked her to dinner to make amends. Just here in town. That restaurant at the marina.”

“Dinner?” she said.

“I thought it was the polite thing to do.”

“Listen, Matt,” she said, putting down the spreader. “Go easy on her, okay? She’s a sweet girl but she’s coming off some hard times. I’m sure she can take care of herself, but I don’t think she’s ready for a wolf.”

“Wolf? Me?”

“Yeah, you,” she said. “I know what you’ve been doing the last year and change. Chasing women, running through them fast, moving at warp speed...”

“That’s ridiculous,” he said. “I’ve been getting up at four and having dinner at the farm most nights. Dating hasn’t been a priority at all. In fact, I mostly avoid women.”

“Whatever,” she said, picking up the spreader.

But she was right. That’s why he kept the apartment he hated, to have a little privacy. He’d been whoring around since the day his divorce was final and he wasn’t sure why. Oh, he had a healthy libido, he knew that. He came by it honestly—his people were like that. But it was possible he was trying to change the taste Natalie left in his mouth. He might also get a little satisfaction from thinking it would make her unhappy if she knew, but then he never prowled around in her territory. Or maybe he just wanted to prove to himself that he could get along fine without a steady relationship because taking a chance on another marriage was out of the question. And sometimes when he had a woman under him, he forgot. After what he’d been through with Natalie, he didn’t even feel guilty. He did have the courtesy to warn them, however. He was temporary at best. It was amazing how many women were of a like mind.

“Come on, my hours are too long and dirty for women,” he told his sister.

“Right,” she said. “Be nice to Ginger or you’ll be answering to me.”

“You don’t want to be answering to her,” Scott said from somewhere. “She’s relentless. She forgets nothing!”

Matt looked around. “Where is he?”

“Under the table,” she said. “In the fort.”

He heard giggling, and Matt went to the dining room table, which was covered with blankets. He pulled aside the flap and there were Scott and his kids, Will and Jenny. “You are a strange, strange man. Aren’t you a little big for this?”

“We’re all getting a little big for this,” Scott said.

“Come on, you guys,” Peyton said. “I told you to put the fort away so we can eat at the table.”

“I’m not leaving for a little while. Want me to make you some bruschetta?” Matt asked.

She smiled. “That would be nice. You can have half of this baguette.”

It was his peace offering to Peyton, his favorite sister, and he had four to choose from. Matt didn’t need to be reminded that no one got away with anything with Peyton, nor that she was relentless and had the memory of an elephant. He grew up in that house, after all. Ginny was too bossy, Ellie was too critical and Adele was too much like him. But Peyton, several years older than Matt, had always seemed wise and he loved her independence, her strength. But she happened to be closest to George and Adele. And young Mike, who was getting his postgrad degree, worshipped Matt. Ginny, who got on Matt’s last nerve, adored and pampered him and called him Mattie. And so it went in big families. Feuds, alliances, shared failures, victories, spats, celebrations and reconciliations. But they were family and Matt would go balls to the wall for any one of them.

After supplying the bruschetta, he chose to walk down to the marina. Though it was Friday night, crowded and the closest thing to fine dining Thunder Point had to offer, at least half the people present were dressed as casually as he was. He took a seat at the bar, ordered a beer and asked if he could get a table for two in about fifteen minutes. The man behind the bar said it was no problem.

It was only five minutes later that Ginger walked in, also early. And if possible, prettier than before. She looked a little fresher, like she’d fluffed her hair and wet her lips. She’d changed clothes. Still jeans, but this time with a jacket and boots with heels instead of clogs. He stood and smiled at her and checked her hands. They weren’t green. He waved her over. “We’re ready whenever you are,” Matt said to the guy behind the bar.

“Hey, Ginger,” the man said.

“Hey, Cliff. How’s life?”

“Always good. Always. This a friend of yours?”

“This is Peyton Grant’s brother Matt. Matt, this is Cliff. This is his restaurant.”

After a little chat, mostly from Cliff about how grateful they all were that Peyton worked with Scott and that Scott had had the wisdom to marry her, though probably not for the sake of the town, he took them to a table in the dining room. He bragged a little about the lobster bisque, said anything on the menu with crab was outstanding and that there was mahimahi on the specials tonight. Ram—presumably the chef—didn’t fry too much, he recommended the blackened salmon or Cajun ahi.

Then they were alone.

“I see you got the green stains off your hands,” Matt said, smiling, making her laugh.

“Flowers are dirty work,” she said.

“Tell me about dirty. I’m in fruit. And potatoes. And sometimes sheep.”

“Sometimes?”

“I work with Paco on the farm and George, my oldest brother, he has the sheep end of the business. When it’s time to shear or breed or anything real busy, I help. Everyone helps. And Uncle Sal has the vineyard—we go to the wine harvest on and off between August and the end of September, the same time we’re bringing in the pears. The whole extended family is running around the state—grapes here, sheep there, pears and potatoes.”

“That orchard,” she said. “One of the most beautiful places on earth.”

Cliff brought a glass of wine for Ginger, and they both ordered the same thing—Cajun ahi. “There’s a small butcher shop in Portland where you can get ahi steaks. They cost the moon but you can eat them with a spoon, they’re that fresh and good.”

“Portland? You live in Portland?” he asked.

“It’s where I’m from. I live here now. I really hope it works out and that I can stay. At least for a long time. I love the town, the shop.”

“Tell me about flowers,” he said.

“What can I tell you? I work for Grace, who owns the shop. I’ve only been there a short time but I’m learning to make very nice displays—bouquets, centerpieces, wreaths, wall hangings. I love it when she gets an order from a big hotel or resort and we do something huge, like an underwater obsidian stem in a tall cylinder glass vase. It’s more of a sculpture than an arrangement.”

“How’d you know you wanted to do that?” he asked.

“I didn’t,” Ginger said. “I was visiting with Ray Anne, just sitting around completely unmotivated while she went to work, and she told me I had to do something, no matter how small it was. That very day Grace asked me if I’d consider her shop. She was in desperate need of help and I had absolutely no experience. Honestly, I took it because it was there. I had no idea I’d like it. I shouldn’t be surprised—I like all those sorts of things.”

“What sorts of things?” he asked.

She laughed a little uncomfortably and looked down at her hands. “For lack of a better description, girl things. I’ve worked in retail, in clothing, in housewares, in domestics. I’m the youngest of three with two older brothers and am the only member of the family who doesn’t work in the family business, my dad’s trucking company. Small but pretty successful. My dad runs it, my oldest brother is the comptroller, my other brother is operations VP and my mother has been the dispatcher and scheduler since he had one truck. And I, the baby of the family and a girl, never found my niche. I’ve taken some college courses, never found a degree program. But boy, can I organize the house! And I know how to change the oil in the car, landscape the yard, bake a soufflé, hang wallpaper. The joke around the family is that since my mother has always been at the company, working with Dad, I am the only housewife in the family.”

“Landscape? Ever have a garden?”

“I rented a small house and planted flowers around the border.”

“You’d like my mother’s garden,” he said.

“I saw your mother’s garden. A small farm! Looking at it made me hungry!”

“We grow things for a living,” he said with a smile. “What was your last job before coming here?” he asked.

“I worked in a department store in the bridal registries. But I needed a change.”

Then it came to him suddenly. “Jesus, what a dunce! Dysart Trucking!”

“That’s right,” she said. “You’ve heard of them?”

He grinned. “We use them, Ginger. They take our crops to market. They’re a good-size company.”

“Locally,” she said. “My dad started with one truck.”

“My grandfather started with a small grove and a few sheep and a lot of debt, but every time he had two nickels to rub together he bought more land.”

“He invested in himself,” she said.

“He invested in his sons. My dad has the grove and sheep and potatoes, Uncle Sal has grapes, Andreas has a couple of fishing boats. As you no doubt noticed, there’s quite a lot of family.”

Then his phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and looked at it, sent the caller to voice mail, put it back in his pocket. Lucy. They’d gone out a few times. She’d like to go out a few more. Time to move on.

“I don’t mind if you take that call.”

“That’s okay, I’ll call back. So, everyone works in the trucking company...”

“Except me. I’m willing to help out but I don’t have any talent for it, except maybe washing rigs.” She laughed. “I’m very good at all the things people don’t get paid much for—cooking and cleaning, that sort of thing. I suppose when my parents are very old and infirm and I’m an old maid, I’ll be the one to take care of them. And all your family is involved in the farm?”

“No, only a couple of us. Peyton is here, Ginny and Ellie are homemakers and their husbands are not farmers, Mike will be a professor married to a professor, Sal is a CPA for a large winemaker in Napa. He’d like to buy a vineyard someday. I guess, named for Uncle Sal, it makes perfect sense. He’s good with numbers and has a very good nose. They’re all pretty successful. My parents pushed us hard.”

Through dinner they talked about their families, some of their childhood experiences, what movies and books they liked. He told her he was a part-time teacher and she told him about her three best friends from high school and how they’d all left Portland for big careers. He made her laugh and he was mesmerized by her sweetness and charm. They had a cup of coffee but neither wanted dessert. Two hours had flown by. She told him that as apology dinners go, this was the best she’d ever had.

“So,” he said, “what is it you like so much about this little town? Why do you want to stay?”

“The people have been so lovely. And that flower shop—it’s perfect for me. I’m around people sometimes but I spend a lot of time alone, making up arrangements, cleaning up the cooler and back room. I need that time—time to think. But I shouldn’t have too much time or I get caught brooding.”

“And what does a pretty girl like you have to brood about?” he asked, flashing his dimples.

“Peyton didn’t tell you anything about me?”

“Come to think of it, she told me you’d had a bad year and made me promise I wouldn’t be a wolf.”

“Well, we have maybe a couple of things in common. I’m also divorced. Just over a year.”

“Is that so? I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours?”

“You first,” she said.

“It’s not that interesting,” he said. “Everything Natalie and I talked about for the year leading up to our wedding, we agreed on. Immediately following the wedding, she was unhappy. She didn’t want to be married to a farmer, I got up too early, went to bed too early, had dirt under my nails, shit on my boots. She wanted me to go to med school or get a PhD and teach. She wanted fancy cocktail parties rather than big hoedowns at the farm. She was intimidated by the sheer size of my family. So we fought, and fought and fought. We’d married the wrong people. It was a damn shame, but there it is.” He shrugged. “See? Not interesting. Make yours at least interesting.”

She took a breath. She twirled the coffee cup around on the saucer. “Maybe I shouldn’t...”

“You don’t have to,” he said.

“I married the wrong person, too. I married a musician. A singer/songwriter with the voice of an angel. The first time I heard him sing was in Portland at a fair and he sang ‘I Guess The Lord Must Be In New York City.’ My bones melted and I fell right in love with him. I was young—twenty-one. He was older and had been trying to make a breakthrough in the music business for a long time. He traveled a lot but when he was in the Pacific Northwest, which he called home, we’d see each other. After a couple of years of that he suggested we live together, though he would continue to travel for every gig or business opportunity. He moved all his things into my little rented house. That went pretty well for a while. In fact, there were times it was a lot of fun—lots of musicians around, lots of music, a real party. We got married and he sang to me at our wedding. He also notified the newspapers and had a couple of photographers there. He was going to be the next Eric Clapton. I worked in a department store and he made a pittance on his gigs, barely enough to keep him in equipment and plane tickets. He did sell five songs to a big country star, they just never made the charts. That’s when I started to realize what a mistake I’d made—he made a hundred thousand dollars and bought all-new equipment. It was all about him. The big break that would set him up for life was always right around the corner. But of course marriage didn’t work. He didn’t want to be a husband. His music came first. He said, ‘I told you, Ginger—I have to concentrate on my music and I thought you were on board with that.’”

Matt gulped. Had he put the farm ahead of his wife? Would everything have been different if he’d given her ideas a try? “I’m sorry, Ginger.”

“Well, time to move on, right?” she said.

She was obviously trying to brighten up. He thought the pain of divorce must be much fresher for her. His phone vibrated and he looked. Lucy again. He’d call her later and explain he wasn’t in Portland and she’d have to find someone else for the night. He put the phone back in his pocket.

“Really, it’s okay...”

“Just my kid brother,” he lied. “I’ll call him back.”

“What if it’s an emergency?” she asked.

“If it was an emergency, I’d hear from Paco and Peyton and I’d answer for them because it would obviously be important. He probably has a work-related question. He’s working on a biochem degree. He’s researching.”

“Wow. You really do have an impressive family.”

He laughed. “So do you, Ginger.”

He walked her to her car. She told him again that it was the best apology dinner she’d ever had. “With my sister living here, we’ll see each other again. I can always apologize again.”

“You really don’t have to,” she said with a laugh. “Would you like a ride home?”

“No thanks. I like to walk, especially at night.”

“All right. Have a good visit then.” She put out her hand.

He pulled on that hand gently and kissed her cheek. “Thanks. Take care.” And he walked off into the night.

When he got back to Peyton’s house, it was kind of dark. They’d left the outside porch light on for him and when he went inside he found Dr. and Mrs. Grant were curled up together watching a movie. Peyton instantly put the movie on pause, flicked on the table lamp and sat up straight. “You’re back,” she said.

“I’m back.”

“Did you have a nice dinner?”

“I had a very nice dinner,” Matt said. “Have you ever tried the Cajun ahi at Cliff’s? Because it’s really good.”

“I meant with Ginger!”

“Did you realize that she’s Ginger Dysart of Dysart Trucking?”

“Who’s that?”

“The trucking company we use to take our crops to market. The company we rent our flatbeds from to take Christmas trees to market.”

“Huh. I didn’t realize.”

“You could’ve told me she was recovering from a divorce, just like me. I might’ve understood why you were acting so protective of her.”

“Well, it was a bit more than that. She told you about the baby?”

“What baby?”

Peyton sighed as if trapped. “Well, everyone knows. It’s been easier for her, really, since everyone knows and no one asks. She got pregnant and her husband left her, I don’t know the details. She said he didn’t want children. He wanted to devote his time to his career. So he left her.”

“Where’s the baby?” Matt asked with a sinking feeling.

“She moved back with her parents, had her baby as a single mother, and he died of SIDS at four months. That was almost a year ago. She’s just coming back to life.”

Matt thought he might throw up. “God.”

“She’s doing well now, considering. But you can see why I didn’t want you to be your tomcat self around her.”

“For the last time, I’m not a tomcat,” he said.

But he was. And he was damn lucky he hadn’t offended Ginger for the second time because he found her very attractive. Very desirable.

But now, knowing what he knew, he was going to get out of town and get back to Portland tomorrow. He’d make some excuse. He wasn’t staying the weekend, after all.

Three

Grace walked around the great room of the new house. It was freshly painted. She hoped her mother would approve of the colors she’d chosen—ivory with dark brown accents in the great room. Taupe with just a touch of mauve in it, dark accents, ivory ceiling in the master bedroom. It was restful, she thought. On Monday they would install the kitchen cupboards and light fixtures and continue work on the shower in the master bath. The thing she thought was the smartest and most practical—a curved glass cinder block wall rather than a shower door for accessibility and also for the elegant design—that was taking the longest. Workers had spent days on that one small project.

Troy was taking advantage of a warm sunny Saturday with only a light breeze rather than strong winds off the Pacific to seal the deck and steps to the beach. The sealer dried so quickly he was already on the second coat and it was early in the afternoon. Sealer had been sprayed on the underside of the deck before Troy brushed on the topside. Spencer, their next-door neighbor and Troy’s colleague at the high school, was at work on the steps—fourteen from the deck to the lower level, fourteen from the lower level to the beach. The main level of the houses was thirty feet above the beach.

She found herself standing just inside the great room doors watching Troy. His jeans were ripped at the knees and he wore a T-shirt with the sleeves torn off, exposing those biceps and forearms she loved so much. The jeans fit perfectly on his booty. He wore a cap to cut down on the glare, but he yanked it off regularly to wipe the sweat from his brow. He was just as sexy sweaty as he was all primped up.

He caught her staring and shot her that dazzling smile of his. “What are you looking at, little mama?”

“Dinner, I think.” And then she bit her lip.

There would be enough to do to keep them busy for quite a while, but she thought she could get her mother in the house in two weeks. And she suspected that her former skating coach, Mikhail, would be staying with them for some time. He had said, “I will come to this place if you could secure a little room in a cheap hotel. Just a bed is all I need—I despise to sleep on the floor. Someone should help get her settled. Winnie can be difficult. Then I will leave.”

Difficult? She could be a nightmare! But Winnie was ill now, losing her physical stamina, failing as ALS took over and the fatigue she suffered from made her more docile. It was true she had always listened to Mikhail. And Mikhail had said he was coming for two or three days and he’d been there over a month already. She’d better get that second upstairs bedroom and bath finished for him. She had a feeling Mikhail planned to stay much longer than he let on. There was an affection between Mikhail and Winnie that Grace couldn’t really identify. Not romance, certainly. Friendship, but more than the usual friendship. Partnership. Mikhail had been Grace’s coach for years, from the time she was fourteen until she was in her early twenties and quit competing, and through all that time he had stayed close to both Grace and Winnie.

Virginia, Winnie’s assistant, would stay in her position until that big albatross of a house in San Francisco was closed and all the possessions were dealt with. There were a few pictures Grace wanted for this house, but the rest of her mother’s art was going to a fine-art museum on long-term loan—it would be displayed as The Banks Collection. With the help of the now part-time housekeeper, some things were being packed and shipped to Thunder Point—just a few treasured pieces of furniture, some dishes, kitchenware, her mother’s precious bedroom rug, a valuable Aubusson. Then there would be an estate sale—the furs and most of the jewelry would be included. Grace would have to make a couple of quick trips to look through things—there were undoubtedly photo albums, books, mementos and keepsakes that should be preserved.

Virginia was looking for a roomy flat in the city where she could live and work until the estate was settled. Then Grace just might ask her if she wanted to continue to manage the estate after Winnie was gone.

Meanwhile, that handsome history teacher on the deck was trying to get a binding pre-nup. He wasn’t looking for half, he was looking for nothing. He never wanted it even suggested that he was interested in Grace’s legacy. That would be the money she would inherit because as of now she had a flower shop and about a year’s income in the bank, cautiously invested. Troy had been intimidated by Winnie’s house and furnishings. If he ever saw the actual bottom line, the net worth, he might stroke out.

Oh, they were going to make interesting neighbors. A teacher and flower shop owner, now expecting. A diva with ALS who would probably sit on the deck in a wheelchair wearing furs and diamonds. Full-time nursing help. And a little Russian coach who liked raisins in his wodka.

“Troy!” she called. “I think I’m going to do a little painting in the loft.”

He straightened and pulled off his cap. “You paint nothing! There are fumes. You can sweep. Or go arrange flowers. Or call your mother and tell her how helpful I am.”

“She already likes you more than she likes me,” she muttered.

“As it should be,” he said.

“Wow. Good ears!”

“I’m a high school teacher! I have to hear everything!” he shouted.

“And so do I,” Spencer yelled from the bottom step.

* * *

Matt Lacoumette had one of those grueling weeks where he had to be everywhere at once. There was fertilizing to do in the orchard—the flowers were giving way to buds of fruit and it was a delicate time. Some of George’s ewes had lambed but there were some late breeders ready now. He liked to shear the ewes to make their lambing easier, and Matt helped with that. Then they liked to get the ewes delivered so they’d be ready to breed by fall. Everything happened in spring and fall, over months—the planting, the harvesting, the pears, the grapes, the lambing, the breeding. And things were not going to calm down anytime soon—there was more shearing to be done after lambing so the sheep could grow nice coats over summer. On top of that, he had to teach a couple of classes before the end of term.

If all that wasn’t enough, he had to deal with Lucy, who kept calling him. Despite the fact that he’d been clear he was not in the market for a girlfriend, Lucy, like so many women, thought he’d change his mind. So she cried and he had to do his best to assure her there was nothing at all wrong with her—she was lovely and smart and sexy. It was him—he was not going to be anyone’s boyfriend. It was brutal.

And then, after leaving his last class of the week, he left the building to find Natalie leaning against his truck. She was sporting yet another hair color and style—this time it was jet black. The last time he’d seen her it was brown with red highlights. When they were together he’d gotten the biggest kick out of her change in looks, every variation beautiful. There it was again—he was feeling both lust and rage.

“What is it, Nat?” he asked.

“I thought maybe we could have a cup of coffee,” she said.

“Because...?”

“Because having you hate me is killing me! Please, Matt!”

He took a breath. “I don’t hate you,” he said patiently. It was a lie, he really did hate her. The problem was that he was also still drawn to her. He could love her if he’d just relax and let himself, but he’d be damned if he’d even entertain that notion. “We’re not having coffee. We’re not trying again or patching things up or being good friends. We thought we felt the same way about things and it turned out we felt the opposite way about important things. We made a mistake, Natalie. I have to go now. It’s been a long week.”

She didn’t budge. “And you have to get to bed!”

He ground his teeth. “I’ll call campus security,” he threatened. “And I’ll tell Dr. Weymouth I can’t give any more classes because his department secretary is harassing me.”

“You wouldn’t do that.”

“I would. I should. Now get out of here and please, no more of this.”

“But when are you going to forgive me?” she said, crocodile tears running down her cheeks.

“There’s something I just can’t forgive. Everything else is a distant memory, but that one thing—”

“God, who knew you were so Catholic!”

He clenched his hands into fists. They’d been over this, too. It wasn’t religious or political. It was his personal ethic about marriage, their marriage in particular, about how marriage had to work. There had to be give and take, they had to talk about deeply personal issues, they had to find a way to compromise. There had to be trust. They couldn’t lie to each other. They failed at marriage and it had nothing to do with his religion. As far as he knew every religion shared similar if not identical ethics.

He took out his cell phone.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Calling campus security. Then Dr. Weymouth...”

“Ugh!” she grunted, moving out of his way. Then she stomped back toward the building in her high heels with ankle straps, her short skirt and long legs more than distracting.

He grimaced. He should probably quit this gig anyway. He sure didn’t do it for the money. Most months of the year he could slip it into his schedule easily but spring and fall especially, it was a real inconvenience. It was just that he liked the students. There were only a few who took these particular classes to check off a box or try to get by with an easy class. Most of them were either premed or heading into agriculture or environmental science. They asked stimulating questions, created interesting dialogue and arguments, gave him something to think about. They were sharp.

He thought about going out for the evening or back to his apartment. Instead, he went to the farm even though he’d been there all morning. The nice thing about the family home, he didn’t need a reservation. The door was never locked; there was no possibility his parents wouldn’t be home. If they had plans, somewhere to go, he’d hear about it weeks in advance.

He walked in, found his mother in the kitchen and gave her a kiss. She acted like she barely had time for the kiss. “Coffee? Wine?”

He looked at his watch. “Wine, thank you. Rioja. The red. Do you have a full table tonight?”

“George, Ginny, their families. I have no trouble squeezing in one more.”

“Thanks. I’m starving.”

“And, as you can plainly see, I am cooking. I’ll have you some tapas in a minute.” She put a glass of wine in front of him. “You usually move in and out of this house without a word, unless it’s business. Tonight is different. You’re friendly.”

He laughed. His parents could really read their kids. Even as adults! “I wanted to speak to Papa but you’ll do. I want to give up that apartment—it’s too much trouble. But I don’t want to live in the house. What I’d like to do is build on Lacoumette land. If there’s a space that can be allotted to me for a house.”

Her eyes lit up and she was clearly excited. “For a family?”

He shook his head. “For me. Maybe someday there will be a family. But Mama, I still have wounds to heal, so not now please.”

“These wounds, Matt,” she said. “If you feed them too much they can heal on the outside and keep getting worse on the inside. Then you’re in trouble.”

His mother, who was not well educated in the traditional sense, knew all. “Yes, Mama. I’ll watch for that.”

“Paco will be so happy to give you your choice of land. Not too close to the house, eh? So we don’t see the hundreds of girls come and go?”

He laughed. He was going to change that, as well.

Then his brother and sister and their families started trooping in. George shook his hand and thanked him for the hundredth time for his help with the ewes. Ginny kissed and hugged him. Lori, George’s wife, did the same. The kids pretty much ignored him, as he was not an uncommon sight around here. Then Paco came in and gave him the traditional greeting, a hand on the shoulder and a swat on the cheek.

“Matt wants to build a house on the farm,” his mother said from the kitchen.

And Paco, surprised and clearly thrilled, grabbed his son and kissed him on each cheek. Then did so again. “There is a woman?” he asked.

“Just me, your bachelor son.”

“Good then. We’ll get you ready for a woman.”

* * *

It was about nine forty-five when Ginger’s cell phone rang. She didn’t recognize the number—it wasn’t a family member or Grace. She was in her room, reading. Ray Anne and Al were having a “date” up on Ray Anne’s private deck atop the garage. Ginger was committed to not getting anywhere near them. She was locked away so they could be alone. She wouldn’t even go to the kitchen; she did not want to hear moaning, panting or giggling.

Thinking it must be a wrong number, she answered uncertainly.

“Hi, Ginger. It’s Matt.”

“Matt?” she asked, sitting up on the bed. “Did I give you my number?”

He laughed. “You did not. I got it out of my sister and I had to swear I would be a perfect gentleman or she was going to do to me what we do to goats we’re not going to breed.”

“Ew.”

“Exactly. You tell her I was less than perfect and I’m a eunuch.”

She couldn’t help it, she laughed. “Gee, and Peyton seems so sweet.”

“Ha. Don’t let her fool you. She was the oldest of eight and could be mean as a rabid dog. She’d do unspeakable things to her younger brothers and sisters as long as there was no possibility she’d get caught.”

“You must have a reason for calling...”

“I do. Don’t think I’m a loser, okay? I had a really crazy week that ended pretty good and here I am, home, and have no one to talk to but my mother!”

“Your mother is there?” And she couldn’t help it, she thought red flag.

“No.” He laughed. “I had dinner at the farm, which I do a lot. There’s always plenty of good food and an unpredictable number of family members. And I talked to my mom for a while. But seriously, Ginger. A little chatting it up with Mom is not what I’m looking for and I remembered we had a pretty cordial conversation.”

“But what about Peyton?” she asked. “I bet you could talk to her anytime.”

“Peyton? The pregnant newlywed who threatened to castrate me?”

She settled back against her pillows. “Right. So what did you want to talk about?”

“My week was nuts. I was all over that farm and had to help George with shearing some ewes who came into season late and were just now ready for lambing and the fruit trees are budding early and had to be aerated around the roots and fertilized. Dirty work. And I had to teach a two-hour class at the college—I should give that up—it’s inconvenient. But it’s also dangerous. My ex was leaning against my truck when I came out of the building. She’s done this a few times—she wants to talk. I had to threaten her with campus security to get her to go away...”

“Oh, you didn’t!” she said. “Oh, Matt, she must be so desperate!”

“Well, that’s not what I wanted to talk about, but yes, she’s desperate. But why? I mean, we had that talk—we shouldn’t have gotten married and were not happy. We were worse than unhappy, we were miserable. But that’s not what I called about. I wanted to tell you something important.”

“Okay...”

“Shit,” he said. “I’m an idiot. This probably won’t be important to anyone but me. To me, it’s big. You’ll probably think it’s just dumb. Or a big nothing.”

“You’re so dramatic,” she said. “Just tell me.”

“I hate this little apartment I live in. It was my concession to Natalie. I’d be a farmer, but wouldn’t live on the farm. When we split up, I stayed here because she couldn’t afford it, but I hate it. I wasn’t cut out to live on top of other people. I can’t be happy without land. So I had this sudden epiphany and made a decision—I’m going to build a house on the farm. My father was so excited, he almost kissed me on the mouth! He wants to get together tomorrow to look at the land. George is the only other Lacoumette living on the farm and Paco is ecstatic. And guess what? I’m pretty excited, too. Of course I’m a year away from making the transition, but I just had to tell someone. I’m going to live in my favorite place.”

“You could live with your parents until your house is built,” she said.

“No, none of that,” he said, laughing. “I’m almost thirty. I’m not living with my parents. I do stay over when things are crazy at the farm, when we’re tracking possible bad weather at pear harvest or bringing in lambs or something that requires twenty-four-hour vigilance. But I need a little privacy, you know? But a house on the land...”

“The most beautiful place in the world,” she said.

“You think so?”

“I can’t imagine how much work it must be, but it’s incredibly beautiful...”

“Those pear trees don’t blossom year-round, you know.”

“It’s not just the blossoms, although just the scent is hypnotic. I love Portland in the spring when the fruit trees all over the city are in bloom! Everything about your farm is lovely—the house, the barn, the chickens...”

“The chickens?” he asked.

“I bet you take them for granted,” she said. “Fresh eggs in the morning...”

“Fresh chicken at night,” he added with a laugh.

“I hadn’t thought of that, but yes, I suppose...”

“Peyton hates killing chickens. My mother doesn’t like it, but she does it. If George is around the house she’ll send him to round up a few and she’ll cut them up and freeze them. She protects her best laying hens. It’s about time for her to hatch a bunch of eggs, replenish the henhouse—there’s an incubator in the barn.”

“I would love to see that, baby chicks,” Ginger said, a little breathless. “I don’t think I’d like killing them, either.”

“Maybe you’re just not a farm girl. Not everyone is. Peyton can do anything there is to do on the farm but she doesn’t like it. She’s funny, she loves the farm—she wants the fresh food, wants to snuggle the new lambs—but our Peyton, her majesty, does not shovel shit. She’s what we call a gentleman farmer—wants the land and animals, wants to pet the animals and eat the food, and other people have to do the work.”

“Can’t you be a farm girl and not like killing chickens?” she asked.

“The cycle of life is important on a farm,” he said. “You grow it, eat it, grow some more. We’re a commercial farm. It’s not just about fresh eggs for breakfast, it’s a business and has to support a lot of people. It has to support the land, too. We can’t deplete and not replenish or it will be a one-generation farm.” He paused and silence hung between them. “I’m sorry, I’m boring you.”

“No! No, you’re not. I’m really interested, believe it or not. I probably don’t have any intelligent questions to ask but I like hearing about it.”

“But you’d like to see the chicks or new lambs?” he asked.

She sighed. “I would love that. Maybe I’ll visit my parents on a weekend when that’s happening and I could come by the farm on my way back to Thunder Point. If that’s all right?”

“It would be great. You have to eat, however. No one comes to the farm without eating something.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose...”

“Didn’t you notice how much my family loves feeding people? Not everyone enjoys it, by the way, but it’s possible Scott married my sister for the food.”

“Tell me about the classes you teach.”

“I just guest lecture in the biology department. I usually talk about either plant biology or animal husbandry. I can lecture on the biology of the farm, the microbiology of soil. The students love talking about cloning and two-headed sheep. We’re making great progress as a biological as opposed to organic farm because we still use small amounts of chemicals and we immunize the sheep, but we’re cautious. We fertilize mostly with chicken manure, kill pests on the trees organically, stick to nature where we can.”

“Sure,” she said. “You have to take care of the fruit...”

“We have to protect the bees. If we kill the insects and the bees disappear, we’re doomed. The balance is delicate and the health of the plants and animals and consumers is... Am I putting you to sleep?”

“No!” she nearly shouted. “I never thought of farming as a science...”

“It is indeed a science. Paco is not a scientist but his experience and instincts are flawless. Everything he taught me holds up scientifically. Almost everything, at any rate. It is not true that if you put a statue of Saint Isidore the Farmer in the yard you will have a good crop year.”

“Is there a statue of the saint in the garden?”

“My mother has one in the garden, yes. Also Saint Maria and the Virgin. Not overwhelming in size, but obvious. And her garden is plentiful.”

They were quiet on the phone for a moment. “Matt? Why did you really call me?”

“Peyton asked the same question.”

“What did you tell her?”

“I told her there was a special bonding moment when I groped you and you knocked me out...”

She laughed almost uncontrollably for a moment.

“Really,” he said. “It’s because you felt like a friend. Strange as it might feel to you, I think we somehow became friends. I hope you’re okay with that.”

She smiled. “Everyone can use a friend.”

* * *

Ray Anne had a sweet little hideaway on top of the garage, a deck. From there she had a great view of storms rolling in over the bay. Or, when it wasn’t storming, just starlight so deep and wide it was otherworldly. She and Al dragged out the bean bag chairs, he had a beer and she had a glass of wine. They reclined together, talked about their week, he told her about the boys and she reported on Ginger, who seemed to be doing better all the time. They kissed and fondled and made sneaky love under a blanket, then talked some more. It was almost eleven when Al carried down the bean bags and blanket and Ray Anne carried her glass and his bottle. They stood in the kitchen for a moment, safe in each other’s arms, reluctant to say good-night.

There was a sound in the house, a soft lilting coming from the bedroom. They both froze to listen.

“Oh, God, that’s Ginger!” Ray Anne said. “She’s crying!” She turned to go to her.

Al grabbed her hand, stopping her. “Ray,” he whispered. “Listen!”

She froze and listened. With their arms around each other’s waists, they moved closer to the bedroom door.

“She’s laughing,” Ray Anne whispered. “She’s talking on the phone and laughing!”

Al smiled down at her. “I don’t think she needs rescuing.”

“Who in the world is she talking to? Laughing with?”

“Maybe if you’re very sneaky, you can worm it out of her.”

Four

Matt had talked with Ginger for over an hour and he’d congratulated himself that he’d been right—she was a genuine person who could be a friend with no agenda to redesign him. She wasn’t a woman who wanted to sleep with him and then change him into at least a boyfriend, at best a husband. They didn’t talk about it, but it was implicitly understood they were both too vulnerable to take on new partners. Ginger, like Matt, was in recovery from her own short, extremely disappointing marriage. And yet they had so many things in common. More than Ginger realized. No doubt she thought it was just their divorces. That was enough.

But Matt, who had dated half of Portland, knew it was more. It was as though it balanced with his loss somehow. She’d wanted a family and fate had cruelly snatched it away from her. He wanted a family and hadn’t had a chance at that.

They might never talk about these things, he realized. He really didn’t want to tell her or anyone how selfish and cruel his ex-wife had been.

But here was Matt with a new friend and he felt very tender toward her. He wasn’t about to get involved, but she had already changed everything. He was going to stop fucking everything that moved, for one thing. That hadn’t worked for him and he’d probably hurt people in the process. He was going to clean up his act, show gratitude for friends and family and carry on in a much more chivalrous manner. He’d done a few insensitive, careless things himself—he wasn’t proud of that. Somehow Ginger reminded him that at his core he was a good man. He would at least behave in a way that wouldn’t shame his mother and infuriate his father.

Matt already had an idea of where he’d like to build a house, if Paco agreed. On the far side of the orchard, just within sight of his parents’ home, there was a perfect spot. From the front he would see the grove, from the back, the mountains, to the west the big house. He’d have to grade a road. He tried sketching out a floor plan. He had inherited many of his father’s ways, but living lean to the bone wasn’t one of them. He was frugal but he intended to have plenty of bathrooms in the house and an indulgently big master bedroom and bath. He’d be more than happy to extend the use of those extra bedrooms to the family who showed up at shearing and harvest to help them. Even though he didn’t watch a lot of TV, there would be at least two in his house. And they would be large.

Later in the week, he called Ginger again. “I’ve taken to sketching out a floor plan that I think I like and I’ve learned something important.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

“Architects are geniuses. Do you have any idea how hard it is to string a bunch of rooms and hallways together? The rooms I want to be the largest look the smallest on the drawing and vice versa. I think I took mechanical drawing in high school. How come I can’t do this?”

“Just be sure to put those sliding shelves in the kitchen,” she said.

“Huh?”

“Well, you open a lower cupboard door and pull the shelf out instead of getting down on your hands and knees and practically crawling in to find what you need. They’re so awesome!”

He was quiet for a moment. “Ginger, I’m going to live next door to my mother, who will probably cook almost every meal I eat. I won’t even be able to fill the kitchen cupboards.”

“That may not be the case forever,” she said. “I know you don’t think so now, but you might actually get over this marriage phobia and meet someone nice who wants to live on the farm. And cook. In that kitchen.”

“Highly unlikely. Will you? Get over it? Try again?”

“Sure,” she said. “When I’m fifty.”

“I might just look you up when we’re fifty,” he said. “Then if it works out, you can put in the sliding shelves.”

“That seems pretty reasonable,” she said. And they both laughed.

“What’s happening in Thunder Point?”

“A lot, as a matter of fact. Grace has been spending a lot of time at the new house so she can get her mother moved here. You know, I told you, her mother has ALS and is weakening by the day. Grace’s fiancé is helping her whenever he can because he really wants Grace to meet his family and they’re having trouble finding a time to do that. She can’t move her mother into the house and leave her to go south to meet Troy’s family. And he hasn’t told his family that Grace is pregnant because he said they will all immediately pile into cars and head this way, invited or not. So...everyone around town is putting every effort toward getting that house ready for them. Even me. That stretch of beach has taken on a life of its own—it’s like a barn raising.”

“Sounds like the Lacoumette family,” he said.

“Peyton confirmed that. Except for the cultural dress, wine and dancing, it looks like it, too.”

“Peyton is out there, too?”

“Sometimes. She’s busy with the clinic and Scott’s pretty busy with the clinic and being on call. But they can’t seem to stay away. If they’re not out there working, they’re checking on the progress.”

They talked for over an hour and covered every subject. They laughed a lot; they were both good at puns. There was even a little cautious flirting going on, starting with hooking up at the age of fifty and touching on her reassurance that she was now convinced he could be a gentleman.

“Didn’t you tell me you’re usually asleep by eight o’clock?” she asked.

“I think I’ve been a little excited about the prospect of getting out of this apartment. It’s almost ten. Late for me,” he said.

“For me, too. I’ve been getting up very early to get into the shop and get things rolling so that when Grace comes in, she feels comfortable leaving it in my hands so she can do what she has to do.”

“You’re vying for employee of the year,” he said.

“I’d far rather be awarded friend of the year.”

When they hung up Matt lay on his back on his bed with his phone in his hand. The phone was hot. Matt was hot. I have to stay away from Thunder Point, he thought. Very scary place to go.

Ginger was so sweet. So kind and generous. Here she was, still hurting after being treated like crap by her husband and losing a baby she was devoted to, and what concerned her most right now was helping Grace and Troy, helping her new friends. Ginger didn’t have a single sharp edge anywhere. She was pleasant, soft, unselfish...nice. She was nice.

Mad Matt never thought about that when he thought about women, at least not lately. He thought about long legs and perky boobs. He thought about pretty, buoyant, confident and lively. When he fell for Natalie he was willing to make almost any compromise to keep her satisfied, to keep her home, but he hadn’t ever once thought about if she was unselfish or how caring. He thought about not forcing her to deal with his overbearing family too much, about trying to balance her need for fun and a social life with his need for sleep, about trying to be sure none of the farm stayed on his hands or boots when he went home to her.

Ginger was so nice, but she was not bland. When laughter took her by surprise, she sounded wicked and playful, which triggered his memory of her smile. Her smile could melt a man’s heart. And he loved those freckles. Maybe it was the freckles that made her seem almost childlike to him, innocent, in need of a strong arm.

Stay away from Thunder Point, he told himself.

The thing about Matt—he’d been with a lot of women, before and after Natalie. He wasn’t bad-looking, he was pretty smart, usually stable. Before Nat he was probably searching for someone permanent without really acknowledging it. After Nat he was looking for a way to get over her. But there was one thing, probably a cultural thing, a family trait—marriage was sacred. He didn’t need a High Mass wedding to feel that way, it was just a thing with him. Once you pledged yourself to a woman, she became everything. Naturally it followed that he would be her everything, that she would do anything to see him happy and content. Between them there would always be complete honesty, trust. Everything would be shared, discussed, dealt with as a team. It was true that he had some firm, unshakable beliefs. That kind of went with the Lacoumette territory, especially the men. Stubbornness and passion might prevail, they might act like the king of their castle, but it was all a show. The women ran the castle. The men worked tirelessly to support their families and they served their women.

He spent Saturday around the farm though his father and George hadn’t been expecting him. If it wasn’t crazy season, he usually took a couple of days off a week. On Sunday morning, he woke at four like a bad habit. He showered and got in his truck. He grabbed a fast-food breakfast he could eat on the road and he drove south. Fast, along a deserted highway. He was in Thunder Point before nine in the morning. He drove right out to the parking lot behind Cooper’s place. It was no mystery where the action was—there was already a lot of activity around the third house down from the bar.

The garage door stood open, and three men he happened to know were armed with paint rollers and painting the inside walls of the garage. A truck holding four large ceramic planters filled with small trees was parked on the road.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” Cooper asked Matt.

“I heard there was a barn raising and I was curious, thought I’d check this out. And since I’m here, maybe you can use a hand.”

“I didn’t know you were coming down,” Scott Grant said. Scott was covered in paint and it was still early. “Are you staying over?”

“Can’t. Monday morning Paco is snapping his whip early. We’re temporarily caught up at the farm and I had a day, so...”

“Does Peyton know you’re here? Did you stop by the house?”

“I didn’t. Didn’t call her, either. Spur of the moment. What can I do?”

“I don’t know,” Cooper said. “Project manager is Troy. Really, it’s Grace, but she’s letting him think he’s running things. Last time I saw him he was struggling with the light fixture in the kitchen. Apparently it’s complicated...”

“I got that,” Matt said with a laugh.

When he got inside, Troy was apparently supervising while a big guy in a blue T-shirt was on a ladder installing track lighting. He was introduced to Al, whose name he’d heard in conjunction with Ray Anne. The great room was cluttered with furniture covered in plastic, several boxes and picture crates. And a lot of women with rags, mops, brooms and shelf paper were opening boxes, looking things over, organizing.

“Matt!” Troy said in surprise.

“Matt?” a tall curly-haired woman he couldn’t remember asked.

“Iris, this is Matt Lacoumette, Peyton’s brother,” Ray Anne Dysart said. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

“Last minute, I know, but I thought since I had a day, maybe I could help.”

They all eagerly accepted the offer. Ginger, a kerchief tying back her strawberry-blond hair, flushing slightly under her freckles, just smiled at him. He smiled right back at her.

“We’re down to finishing touches,” Grace said. “Lots of finishing touches. Furniture was just delivered, my mother’s assistant shipped some personal and household items that have to be put away after the cupboards and closets are cleaned, the basement and garage are getting painted today, light fixtures and bathroom fixtures have to be installed as well as washer and dryer hookup. And obviously serious cleanup. What’s your pleasure?”

“I can clean like I was trained by Corinne Lacoumette and I’m pretty fast with a screwdriver.”

“Great. You’ve got bathroom fixtures. Four bathrooms, the fixtures all in boxes in the bathrooms. One loft bathroom, master and main floor bathrooms, one bathroom downstairs.”

“I’ll go get my toolbox,” he said, leaving them. As he was walking out to his truck, he heard the unmistakable sound of women giggling and whispering. And it made him smile. He remembered something Paco had told him long ago: try fooling women all you want, you’ll never get away with anything. How true. He wanted to stay away from Ginger; he wanted to be with her if he could.

Everyone worked ferociously and work crews came and went. Cooper went home to take care of his little daughter and tend his bar while his helper, an old guy named Rawley, replaced him. Al left to go to work, Devon left to go home and Spencer replaced her—someone had to watch the kids and this “work in progress” was no place for little ones. Peyton showed up and apparently got the word Matt was on the premises right away because she found him in the downstairs bathroom, head in the cabinet under the sink with a wrench, fixing a leaky pipe.

“I suppose you think you’re fooling someone,” she said.

He sat up abruptly and hit his head. He scooted out cautiously. Women, it seemed, were a serious threat to his cranium. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Why are you here?” she said.

“Ginger told me about this project, about the urgency because Grace’s mother is not well, and I am a very neighborly guy.”

She completely ignored his virtues. “You’re pursuing Ginger and I told you not to. It makes no sense. It’s not like you two got off to a good start.”

“Peyton,” he said very patiently. “Boxers are sometimes friendly outside the ring. On weekends defense attorneys play golf with prosecutors. But you’re wrong, I’m not pursuing her. We’ve talked a couple of times and neither of us is interested in a new relationship. For obvious reasons. We’ve sworn off, all right? But we’re friends now.”

“This is a bad idea.”

“Bugger off,” he said. “And don’t piss me off.”

“Or what? Huh?”

“I will do something terrible to you, without causing you any distress to your pregnancy. But you’ll never forget it, it will be so bad and dangerous.”

“How can you talk like that to your pregnant sister?”

“Gee, I don’t know,” he said. “Didn’t you threaten to castrate me? Now, leave me alone. I can pick my own friends. And for your information, Ginger is very nice.”

“I know!”

“And she likes me!” Matt said, standing up and facing her. “Why is it you’re so upset at the idea of me being friends with her? I admit, I made an awful mistake at your wedding, but she’s accepted my apology and I’ve been perfectly perfect.”

“That’s now,” she said. “You’ve been... Well, Matt, you have a reputation. A love-’em-and-leave-’em reputation. That’s the last thing a nice girl like Ginger needs right now.”

He got it. Everyone thought he left Natalie because of a lot of annoying arguing. Because no one knew the whole story. And no one could know. “Okay, okay. I give you my word, we’re friends and I will not do anything to hurt Ginger. I like her. She’s a good person. I’m here today because she told me how everyone is helping Grace and Troy so they can get their families together and get married and I thought it was sweet and kind. She told me you and Scott were helping, even though you have little kids and a clinic to run. She told me she was going to be here all day working, even though she worked all week at the flower shop. I came to help. That’s why I came.”

“You swear?” she asked.

“I swear. Now, can I get back to my plumbing?”

She gave him one last withering glare, then left him. She was no longer his favorite sister. He rubbed his head. He bet no one ever accused Peyton of being a kind girl. No one who was related to her and really knew her at any rate.

After the plumbing fixtures, he helped finish installing a couple of light fixtures, something Troy seemed to find a challenge. Cooper’s wife, Sarah, brought over a huge tray of sandwiches from Cooper’s bar. Right behind her was Cooper with a cooler full of cold drinks for everyone. The work party moved out to the deck to picnic in the warm afternoon sun, and Matt had to focus his attention on the men because his nosy sister wouldn’t leave.

After lunch, they were down to cleaning so that the area rugs could be rolled out, furniture uncovered and placed, kitchenware and linens put into drawers, closets and cupboards, beds made up. The cleaning went from top to bottom, cupboards, countertops first, floors last. He bravely took his life in his hands and joined Ginger in the kitchen.

“I was so surprised to see you,” she said. “What a good guy you must be, driving all the way down here to help out.”

“Tell my sister, will you? That I’m a good guy.”

“I have two brothers,” she said, laughing. “I know about that brother-sister thing. Not easy. You’ll just have to be satisfied that I think you’re good.”

“Thank you. I have to drive back tonight. We start early on Monday mornings. But I brought a change of clothes. I could clean up at Peyton’s house and we could go out for something to eat. Something casual. Mexican? You like Mexican?”

“I love Mexican!”

“That’ll save us a phone call.”

“You know a place around here? Because I’m new in town,” she reminded him.

“I’ll find one. Someone around here will know a good place.”

“I don’t want you to stay too late and drive home tired...”

“But I’m here, Ginger. Let’s do something. Fun. Let’s have some fun.”

“Aren’t you having fun?” she asked him with a wicked grin.

He leaned toward her. “I’m glad to help, but I came for you. Just, don’t tell my sister.”

“Why not?”

“Because Peyton thinks I’m a bad bet. And I’m getting real sick of hearing about it.”

* * *

Peyton watched Matt and Ginger from the deck as she swept up crumbs and collected empty cans and plastic bottles from lunch. Scott and Spencer carried a large potted plant through the house and out to the deck, placing it where they’d been told to. Then Scott was by Peyton’s side.

“If you frown and scowl and brood like that any longer, you’re going to wrinkle,” he told his wife.

“As soon as Matt leaves Ginger alone, he’s going to get an earful of my opinion of his behavior,” she muttered.

Scott grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her to face the bay. He put an arm around her, holding her there. “No. He’s not,” Scott said. “You’re going to keep your mouth shut.”

“Huh? Listen, I can handle him.”

“I said, no,” Scott said firmly. “I command you.”

She glanced up at him and laughed.

“Figures you would think that’s funny. I want you to listen to me, Peyton, because when it comes to your family, you’re a little on the blind and deaf side. He might be a little brother to you, but you’re not in charge of him anymore. You have to leave him alone. He’s thirty and he’s obviously experienced some difficult times.”

“He’s been divorced over a year. And that marriage, it was very short and very miserable. And—”

“I’ve only known the Lacoumette family for a year and the whole time Matt has been silent. A little cranky. Very absent. Your mother and some of your sibs have apologized for him, said he was one of the best-natured men in the family. That short marriage obviously took its toll and he’s been nursing some big wounds.”

“And he’s been coping by having a different woman every week!”

“Peyton, he’s smiling. He’s laughing. For that matter, I haven’t seen Ginger look so good since I’ve met her—she’s smiling and laughing.”

“Hanging out with my brother, she could get hurt!”

“If you get in his business any further, you’re going to get hurt. You’re going to get spanked!”

“And just what big man is going to do that?” she asked, laughter in her voice.

“This big man, your lord and master,” he said.

“Oh, you’re really pushing it...”

“We’re going to finish up here, grab the kids from next door where they’re watching a movie and we’re going to go home, without saying one word, because if it were you in there, flirting with me, and someone got in your way, you’d be furious. They’re adults. They appear to like each other. They’re two people who have been through a lot and they’re having a good time for once. I suspect they know more about what they need right now than you do.” He shook his head. “You’ve got a really scary big-sister thing going on. Don’t be a bully.”

She gasped. “I just don’t want either one of them to go down the wrong path with the wrong person. It seems dangerous to me. And I don’t approve of the way Matt has handled himself the past year or so, but he’s my brother. I love him. It won’t make me feel good to see him hurt, either. After all, the past couple of years has been hard on everyone.”

“I know. Letting go isn’t easy. But I’m right about this. He has to find his own way. And Ginger does, too. You told Matt about Ginger. Matt isn’t going to use and abuse her. Can you really imagine he would? He might be your naughty little brother, but I’ve gotten to know him.”

“He probably wouldn’t,” she relented.

“I saw a sweetheart side of Matt today I didn’t even know existed and I’ve known him for a year,” Scott said. “He’s not fooling anybody—he’s here because he heard about this barn raising from Ginger.”

“He says they aren’t involved,” she said. “That they’ve sworn off relationships.”

“And maybe they have. But something there is helping them heal. When I let you turn around, look at them. They’re enjoying each other, enjoying the day. They’re up to their armpits in hard, dirty work and they’re smiling like kids. Honey, I want you to do something you have a hard time doing. I want you to have no opinion.”

“Oh, now—”

“None. Zero. Nada.”

“Now you’re making me sound like a real buttinski! Like I’m in everyone’s business!”

“You’re related to half of northern Oregon, Peyton. And you are certainly not the only one in the family who butts in.”

“Well...it’s a hot-blooded family.”

“Will you stay out of his business? Out of hers?”

“All right, all right. Hey, you don’t have some kind of spanking fantasy, do you?”

He grinned at her. “Only if it’s you spanking me.” He turned her around. “Look,” he said, indicating the couple in the kitchen. Ginger had a knee on Matt’s shoulder while she reached for the highest cupboard above the refrigerator with a rag; he braced her with hands stretched up and holding her at the waist. He snuck one hand upward to tickle her ribs, but he held her safely. She laughed as she wiped out the cupboard, and he lowered her to the floor gently. “You going to leave that alone?” Scott asked Peyton.

“Yes,” she said tiredly. “And I’m not spanking you.”

“Oh, nuts,” he said, laughing at her.

* * *

The house on the hill above the beach was empty of helpers now. Smoke was rising from Cooper’s grill on his deck two doors down. There were people walking along the beach and as the sun set, lights from the town were starting to pop up like fireflies. Grace sat on one of the newly acquired chairs next to the newly acquired outdoor table, facing the ocean. Troy trudged up the outside deck stairs, wiping his hands on a rag.

“That’s that. Downstairs bathroom is scrubbed and outside deck swept. I haven’t put the sheets on the bed down there, but it wouldn’t take five minutes if you want to stay here tonight. Makes more sense to go to your loft, though, where all your stuff is. We can get moved in this week, unless you changed your mind...”

She looked at him with moist eyes. “They did this for us,” she said softly. “They cleaned, installed, unpacked, hung pictures. The window guy is putting in the shutters tomorrow. It’s ready, Troy. Our friends got it ready.”

He sat down in the chair next to her. “Because they don’t want us to say ‘I do’ minutes before I have to rush you to the hospital. You really want to move here right away? You don’t want to let your mother settle in first?”

“Once we have furniture in the game room it’ll be just like our own apartment. You can store your toys in the garage. After we let your parents use your apartment for their visit, we can bring your couch over for downstairs. Then you can give up the apartment and we can live here.”

“Listen, we’ve talked about this a little bit, but this is serious business. Even though that downstairs is like a private residence, we’ll be living with your mother, your old Russian coach—because we both know he’s never leaving—and there will hopefully be nursing help. I can’t have my pregnant wife making them all comfortable, directing traffic or waiting on an invalid day and night. We’re going to have to agree on how we’re going to handle this situation. Gracie, it’s not going to be easy. It usually takes a staff of five to manage her.”

“I know. I think we’ll be okay. School’s out soon. Maybe we can tell your family on the phone, move into this house, let your family use the apartment and the loft for a visit and just get married while they’re here. On the beach?”

He pulled her close. “I married you in my head weeks ago. We should give my son a proper name.”

“It’s a girl, Troy.”

“It’s a boy, Gracie. I know it.”

“It’s a girl. Bet?”

“When can we find out?”

“I don’t know. Twenty weeks? We have things to do, Troy. Next we have to make a baby room.”

“We’ve just done so much. Can we have a day off?”

“I’m going to call my mother tomorrow and tell her the house is ready. I think she can be up here by the end of the week.”

“I’ll call my mom and dad tomorrow, too,” he said. “Are you going to insist your name be Gracie Dillon Banks Headly?”

“I’m going with Headly,” she said. “The most adorable history teacher at Thunder Point High.”

“Not adorable, Grace. Hot. The girls think I’m hot.”

Five

“When I was a little girl I made very little houses,” Ginger told Matt. They sat at a small table in a dimly lit Mexican restaurant. She nursed a glass of wine and he had a beer and there were chips and salsa on the table. She had a plate of enchiladas and he had a mammoth burrito. “I made miniature houses and people out of everything—Q-tips, cotton balls, pipe cleaners, shoe boxes, paper cups and paper clips. I used twigs and flowers and leaves and gum wrappers. Eventually, when I had the supplies, I used cardboard, paper and glue. In winter when I was outside I used snow and made castles. When I was about seven my parents gave me a great big dollhouse for Christmas—the obvious gift, right? And I wanted nothing to do with it. It just sat in a corner of my bedroom because I liked the sloppy little houses I built.”

“All little girls play house,” he said. “My sisters played house. Peyton was always the mother. And she was a very strict mother.”

“What’s your earliest memory?” she asked him.

“Hmm. I’m not sure if it’s an early memory or some family story that’s been repeated so often I think I remember it. It might be when Mikie showed up. My parents had two cribs and a bassinet in their bedroom. We were all lined up to meet him. Ellie was two, Sal was one and Mikie was in the bassinet by the bed. My mother said, ‘This is your new brother, Michael, and from now on your father is sleeping in the barn.’ I didn’t know what that meant for a long time. Eight kids in a little over ten years.”

She laughed happily at that.

“You have little leprechauns in your eyes.”

“My mother’s side of the family, I guess. We’re the only green-eyed members of the family. And I’ve met most of the Lacoumettes—no leprechauns there, I think.”

“That’s for sure,” he said. He put down his fork. “What happened to your marriage?”

“The marriage?” she asked, like that was an odd question. “Matt, I told you, I fell for a musician. A singer with a guitar. He played other instruments, too, but mostly guitar and piano. What I didn’t tell you, I was a groupie. He was in and out of Portland and for three years I followed his gigs. He called when he was in town or even near town, like Seattle or Vancouver or Astoria, and would ask me to come. It was nothing for me to drive three hours just to be with him. On and off, off and on. He’s ten years older and even though he’s had a few breaks here and there, he doesn’t really have a pot to piss in. He wasn’t interested in marriage or family or settling down, though he did move in with me because I had a freestanding garage he could use as a studio. So one night when he said, ‘Hey, babe, maybe we should just get married,’ I jumped on it. Brilliant, yes? I was all over it because hey, I was over twenty-five by that time and all I’d ever really wanted was to be a wife and mother. So I married a self-centered, absent, maybe even adulterous musician who rarely remembered to even call me. My mother thought I’d lost my mind. My brothers hated him. My father still wants to kill him. I married him as fast as I could before he changed his mind. We were married for seven days when he got a job in San Francisco of uncertain duration and he not only took it, he said I wouldn’t enjoy myself, given his terrible hours, and besides, I had to work. He said he’d probably be back in a few weeks. Turned out it was sooner, but he left again a week later, that time for a month. When I tried to talk to him about it he said, ‘Hey, I told you I’d be a lousy husband. I’m just not into it. My music is really important to me and I’m so close. Baby, I’m so close. And you love my music.’ Also, he usually needed money. And I stupidly gave him what I could.”

Matt’s mouth hung open. He was speechless. If there was one thing about the Lacoumette men, they would die before they’d live off a woman. “You’re making this up.”

She gave him a rather patient smile. “I could not make it up. I fell for a singer because he had what I thought was a beautiful voice and I believed that once he saw how happy I could make him, he would never want to leave me again. Oh—he would write music and play music, but our love for each other would come first. That was the lie I told myself. There was one part of the equation I hadn’t taken into consideration. He didn’t love me.”

“You married him when he hadn’t even said he loved you?” Matt asked.

“Of course he said it,” she said. “He said it all the time, along with a lot of beautiful things. Sometimes I even heard them again and again in songs he wrote. He was extremely romantic. But he didn’t mean them. He’s a poet, Matt. A dreamer. A liar.”

“And you left him?”

“Sort of. I left after he told me he just couldn’t do it—that whole traditional marriage and family thing. He sat me down, told me how wonderful I was, how he didn’t deserve me—boy, wasn’t that the truth. And he said it just wasn’t for him. No wait, he said it wasn’t his scene.” She took a sip of her wine. “I thought he’d change his mind, come around. He didn’t. I know you know, Matt. That I lost a baby to SIDS.”

“How do you know I know?”

“Because everyone knows. It’s kind of strange—I thought that might be terrible, having everyone know. But it’s not. It’s easier, in a way. Because I don’t have to explain to anyone that yes, I have baggage. Heavy baggage. My newly pregnant friends are so careful—they try not to talk about their happy new pregnancies too much. I wish they didn’t have to guard my emotions like that. But it’s so thoughtful, don’t you think?”

“I’m sorry, Ginger. Sorry for your loss. Yes, Peyton told me. If she hadn’t, I don’t know how I would have guessed. You seem...” The sentence trailed off.

“Normal?” she asked. “Catch me some early, early morning when I wake up from a dream and can’t breathe. Or maybe on a sunny afternoon when I wonder if he’d be walking yet. Or in a store when I see something that would look so cute on him.” She took another sip of her wine. “Or maybe, take a look at me having dinner with a beautiful man I can never be more than friends with because my track record is...just...too much. I don’t even make sense to myself. What was I thinking?”

“You have to remember, my track record sucks, too,” he reminded her. “How long did it last? Your marriage?”

“About three years.”

He smiled. “I made it seven months. I didn’t fall for a singer but I did fall for the prettiest girl in the biology department. She was a part-time model. Completely self-absorbed. She thinks farming is inconvenient, dirty and boring. We have completely different values.”

“Maybe we should introduce her to Mick. He’s anything but boring.”

“Wait a second. Mick?”

“My ex. Mick Cantrell. His real name is Edward—he changed it to Mick because he thought it was sexier.”

“You’re kidding, right?” he asked. He dunked another chip. “I should’ve known better. Hell, she told me she didn’t want to be a farm wife.”

“And Mick told me being a husband and father wasn’t his scene.”

“I hope you’re not still in love with him,” Matt said.

“I don’t think I am. Not only wouldn’t I give him another chance, he doesn’t want one. But don’t give me any credit for being smart there—just look at what I put up with first. But you? Are you still...?”

He shrugged. It would be terrible to lie to her. “Some days,” he said. “When I have those days that I don’t understand why everything went to hell. My hours were terrible before we got married and I thought we were happy. She was the one who wanted to be married so bad it made her teeth ache. Why the hell would she marry me? I was the worst person for her to marry. And now she wants to have coffee. Or drinks. She wants us to be friends, to get over it, even try again...” He shook his head. “Aw, God, don’t tell Peyton that, please. I don’t want to talk about that with my family.”

“I’m not going to say anything to anyone about this conversation. But can I say one thing? It’s good to have someone like you to talk to.”

He reached for her hand. “We have some things in common. But Ginger, once we’ve gone over the details of all this crap in our rearview mirrors, we’re going to talk about other things.”

She squeezed his hand across the table. “Like what?”

“Like, can you still make little houses? Do you read anything I might like? Is there time in your life for adventure? Would you have a dog? Or a cat? Or a bird? Are you sensitive to insect bites?”

She laughed at his questions and the twinkle in her eyes was back that fast. “Do you have a dog?”

“We have working dogs, a bunch of ’em. I don’t even know how many. They’re mostly with George—they mind the sheep. There’s a golden and a black Lab around the orchard—they hunt and keep predators away from the chickens. There are no animals in the house.”

“Well, I want a dog in the house,” she said. “On the bed, in fact. And on the sofa! I want a good old happy dog who looks at me with sad loving eyes no matter how late I get home...”

“And dog hair in the soup.”

“And dog hair in the soup,” she agreed, laughing.

He lifted his beer. “You’re all right, Ginger,” he said before taking a drink.

The conversation blessedly turned from bad marriages and other catastrophes to family humor—what her brothers did to her miniature people and houses, what his sisters did to him. Peyton and Ginny were older and tried to dress up the little boys like dolls and make them play roles as their babies. He had her laughing hysterically at the tales of ten people and one bathroom. She told of the fun game her older brothers had of tossing her back and forth, until someone missed and she broke an arm. Matt told of numerous fractures on the farm, all from doing things they were forbidden to do, like swing on the rope in the barn from the loft to the ground.

They had each driven their own vehicles to the restaurant so that when Ginger went home Matt could just head north to his apartment. He walked her to her car and stood with her right outside the driver’s door. He put his forehead against her forehead. “For the first time in a long time, I’m a little bit happy. Because you’re my friend,” he said.

“Me, too. Will you do something for me?”

“Sure, Ginger. What do you need?”

“When you get home tonight will you give me a call? Just so I know you made it without problems. I promise not to keep you on the phone.”

“Sure,” he said. He looked at his watch. “I’ll be waking you up in about four hours.”

When he called her, it was already after eleven. And then they talked for two hours.

* * *

Thank God for Ginger, Grace thought for the millionth time. She was in charge of the flower shop while Grace was at the new house preparing a nice dinner for her mother and Mikhail. And sadly, she was hoping that Winnie would prove to be too fatigued to be argumentative, demanding or feisty, because there were things she had to be told right away.

Oh, how she hoped her mother liked the house. They’d all worked so hard.

Troy had gone to the airport to fetch them. Winnie and Mikhail had come by private jet. She was standing in the kitchen when she heard the garage door slide up, the hum of the Jeep as Troy pulled in and she went to the kitchen door. She saw Troy get out and go around to the passenger side. He lifted Winnie into his strong arms and carried her into the house.

“We’re here,” he announced to Grace. “Let the party begin!”

And Winnie, God bless her, blushed and slapped at him. “Stop it, Troy! My partying days are long over.”

Grace kissed her cheek while Troy still held her very capably. “I’m so glad you’re here. How do you feel?”

“Oh, you know. Just always so tired.” And then she looked around the great room and kitchen. “Very nice, Grace,” she said.

And Grace felt every tight muscle in her body relax. She was surprised she didn’t sink to the floor in sheer relief.

Troy put Winnie on her feet then helped her to the chair near the open French doors, facing the ocean, and Grace pushed the ottoman over, lifting her feet up. Winnie shrugged out of her wrap while Grace sat on the ottoman and pulled off her mother’s shoes. She held Winnie’s feet in her lap and gently massaged them.

“You used to do this for me when I had a long day of skating,” Grace said.

“Seems so long ago now,” Winnie said.

“You’ll want to see the rest of the house but we’ll take it a little bit at a time. It’s actually a large house, but everything you need is on this floor. I’ve cooked us a little dinner...”

“I’m not very hungry, darling,” she said.

“I have a little soup if you’re tired and don’t want much to eat. But I hope you have enough energy to hear some news. It’s going to be a little exciting around here soon—and we’ll try to keep it manageable with regard to your health. We’re going to get married, Mama. We want to get married anyway but we’re going to put a little rush on it because I’m pregnant.” She covered her belly with one hand. “Due around Christmas.”

Winnie looked up and over her shoulder at Troy. “You do realize she’s never been in a relationship before, don’t you?”

Troy’s eyes shone. He gave a nod. “She’s very good at it,” he said.

“And she obviously knows nothing about birth control,” Winnie added.

“Or I don’t,” Troy suggested.

“I’m just going to let all that go,” Grace said. “It won’t be flashy, Mama. I think we’ll get married on the beach, right in front of the house, as soon as possible. School is out soon. While you’re still up and about and can enjoy it if you squeeze in a good nap. Troy’s family will come but I think they’ll stay in town, maybe at his apartment and my loft above the store. I promise to keep your stress low.”

“My dress,” Winnie said. “You’ll want my dress!”

Grace shook her head. “It’s not necessary. I’ll find something much simpler.”

“My dress is simple. We can take off the train and pitch the head gear. I hated that head gear anyway. My mother insisted on that. You need something more your style. But the dress is one of a kind.”

“I wouldn’t want to get sand and sea all over it...”

Winnie laughed, and her face looked bright. “Why not? Did you think I was going to use it again? Now, if it’s the matter that you don’t really like it...of course we’ll alter it. I don’t care what you do to it, but if it can work for you in any incarnation, it’s yours. Before you decide, look at it. I’ll have it sent.” She looked around. “This is a nice little house, Grace,” she said.

“We have the downstairs,” Grace said. “It’s large enough for me, Troy and a baby. And the top floor—two bedrooms and a small bath—perfect for Mikhail.”

“Excellent,” he said. “I might stay day or two.”

“Maybe we should get the luggage inside and then toast the new house,” Troy suggested.

“Excellent,” Mikhail said.

“Troy, darling,” Winnie said. “Before you do all that, is there a chair on that deck out there that could accommodate me? If it’s warm enough, of course. Could you take me out there first?”

“Of course,” he said. “Gracie, can you pull the cover off that chaise?”

“Absolutely,” she said. Then she added, “Troy, darling.”

Troy scooped Winnie up in his arms and carried her to the deck, gently placing her on the chaise.

“My daughter was definitely thinking of me when she let herself love you,” Winnie said. “I think I’ll be very happy while you’re around.”

Troy winked at Grace.

Flirt! Grace mouthed back.

“And my phone,” Winnie demanded. “Who has my phone?”

Mikhail took it out of his pocket and handed it to her.

“Virginia still works for me, doesn’t she? Because I have things for her to do.”

“You know she still works for you, Mama.”

The luggage was brought in, unpacking was accomplished, drinks and tapas were served. The sun was beginning to set, making the beach and the deck bright. Troy put out the awning to provide a little shade. Winnie tried the soup Grace had on hand but though she claimed it was delicious, her trembling made it a messy dish. Grace made her a new plate—very small portions of roasted chicken, scalloped potatoes, steamed asparagus—just a few bites of each. The others loaded up their plates and enjoyed chocolate cheesecake from Carrie’s deli. Troy, Grace and Mikhail carried their plates to the table outside while Winnie balanced a tray on her lap and enjoyed the sound of the waves and the sinking of the sun. Troy showed her the corner where an outdoor hearth would be built and described the activity on the beach in the summer and fall. He explained all the neighbors and his job three doors down at Cooper’s beach bar.