Dear Friends,

Well, here it is—the tenth book in the Cedar Cove series. Can you believe it? We’ve reached our ten-year anniversary!

You might not have known that reader feedback is what prompted these stories. I’d written several shorter series in previous years. The idea of doing connected books started with the Orchard Valley series. Then came the six Alaska books in the Midnight Sons series, followed by the six Heart of Texas stories. After the publication of those books, my reader mail was filled with requests to write more, to “please tell us about———” (fill in the blank).

I realised that my readers didn’t want the series to end. You wanted to know what happened to various characters, how certain situations were resolved, how people and places changed. Frankly, it’s always been difficult for me to write the last book in a project, and your comments made sense. The characters become as real to you as they are to me; I felt, as you did, that their lives extend beyond the last page of the book. So, I thought … why not write more pages?

That’s when I approached my publisher with the idea of writing a long-term series about a fictional town. Naturally enough, the place I’m most familiar with is Port Orchard, my hometown, so I decided to set the series in my own back yard (so to speak). As you probably know, Cedar Cove is loosely based on Port Orchard.

The first ten Cedar Cove books have broken professional ground for me. They gave me my first No.1 New York Times placement—all thanks to you, I might add. Then, because so many of you wanted to see Cedar Cove for yourselves, my hometown opened its doors for Cedar Cove days.

As I write this letter, I’m working on the eleventh book and I won’t be stopping until all the stories are told. Only heaven knows when that will be!

Thank you for your interest and support. Now relax, grab a cup of something warm and enjoy visiting with all your friends in Cedar Cove.

PS I love hearing from readers. You can reach me at www.debbiemacomber.com or at PO Box 1458, Port Orchard, WA 98366, USA.

1022 Evergreen
Place
Debbie
Macomber

www.mirabooks.co.uk

To Marcia Hestead, a woman of grace and charm who has

blessed me with her friendship and many talents.

One

Almost home. Grateful for the end of his shift, Mack McAfee turned the corner onto Evergreen Place and approached his house, the duplex at 1022. He felt an instant sense of peace when he saw Mary Jo Wyse working in the garden, taking advantage of the longer days and the perfection of a Pacific Northwest spring. At six, the sun was still bright and the sky had the clean-washed look of early May. Mack had to smile as he watched Mary Jo. The young single mother was his tenant, his friend—and the woman he’d fallen for. Hard. Lovely as ever, she wore jeans and a pink, long-sleeved top that clung in all the right places. Noelle was asleep in a stroller a few feet away.

Mack had delivered the baby last Christmas—or assisted in her delivery; that was probably a better way to put it. He’d just joined the Cedar Cove Fire Department and as the most recent hire, he’d pulled duty on Christmas Eve. It’d been a quiet night until the call from the Harding ranch. A woman said she was about to give birth. Mack had taken a medical course and received his emergency medical technician certificate, but nothing he’d learned had prepared him for the exhilaration of being at a delivery. The moment little Noelle drew her first breath she’d completely won him over.

Noelle and her mother had laid claim to Mack’s heart.

Mack parked on his side of the driveway and climbed out of the truck. He was outwardly calm, but his thoughts were in chaos. He hadn’t seen either of them in two days.

With his help, Mary Jo had planted a small garden, which she tended daily. “Hi,” she said, getting up from her knees. She brushed the dirt from her pant legs and glanced at him with a shy smile.

“Hi,” he responded. Afraid that Mary Jo would be able to interpret his feelings, he studied the neat row of green seedlings that had begun to poke through the earth. Mary Jo was still suspicious of men, thanks to her experience with David Rhodes, although Mack was making a serious effort to gain her trust. “The garden’s starting to take shape, I see.”

He crouched down and peeked at Noelle, who slept contentedly with one small clenched fist raised above her head. The baby mesmerized him. For that matter, so did Mary Jo….

“I … missed seeing you the past couple of days,” she said in a low voice.

That was encouraging. “You did?” He hated to sound too eager since he was treading carefully in this relationship. He’d made a big mistake with her and was almost afraid of what would happen next.

“Well, yes. The last time we talked, well … you know.”

Mack straightened and nervously shoved his hands in his back pockets.

“You told me it wasn’t a good idea for us to continue with the engagement,” she said, although he didn’t need any reminder.

“That seemed for the best,” he muttered. “But—”

Before he could qualify his remark, she broke in. “And you’re right, it is for the best, especially if you don’t love me.”

Mack couldn’t believe he’d actually said that. “No, I just thought—”

“I understand,” she said, cutting him off again. “You proposed because you were trying to protect me.”

Mack studied her through narrowed eyes. “You didn’t hear from David Rhodes again, did you?”

“No.” She shook her head emphatically.

Noelle’s biological father had threatened, more than once, to take the baby from Mary Jo, which Mack felt was nothing more than a bluff. But it had frightened her so badly that she’d panicked and decided to move back to Seattle. Back to her brothers, who’d look after her and the baby.

Afraid he was about to lose them both, Mack had suggested marriage. Mary Jo had accepted, with the stipulation that they have a six-month engagement.

That wasn’t the only stipulation. She’d insisted there be no physical contact. That was when Mack had realized his mistake. Mary Jo’s sole reason for moving to Cedar Cove had been to escape her domineering older brothers. In offering to marry her, Mack was doing exactly what they’d done. His motive had been to keep a close watch over her, to protect her. Because he loved her, yes, but without recognizing it, he’d assumed the role her brothers had played in her life. No wonder Mary Jo had stalled their relationship.

A few days after they became engaged, he noticed the shift in her attitude. No longer did she treat him as her friend. No longer could they tease and joke and affectionately kiss. He’d taken control of a situation in her life, squelching Mary Jo’s first tentative efforts toward independence. She’d said yes to his proposal, but it wasn’t because she loved him.

A month passed before Mack figured out what was wrong and why he had to break off the engagement. In his eagerness to be with her, to marry her, he’d nearly ruined everything.

At least neither of them had mentioned the engagement to their families. For his part Mack knew his parents would’ve seen through his reasons immediately. They would’ve said it was too soon, pointing out that Mack and Mary Jo didn’t know each other well enough to make that kind of commitment.

They would’ve been right.

Mack had acted on impulse, his desire to protect her overcoming his better judgment. He needed to bide his time and let the relationship progress naturally.

One problem was his lack of finesse with women. Not that he was totally naive, but none of his relationships prior to meeting Mary Jo had been serious or long-lasting.

He did have a sister—two sisters, actually. Only he hadn’t known about the second one until a few years ago. He’d always been close to Linnette and had now begun to develop a friendship with Gloria.

Linnette had often advised him on relationships, but she’d moved to some Podunk town in North Dakota. They managed regular phone conversations; despite that, Mack hadn’t been smart enough to seek her opinion before he proposed to Mary Jo.

In trying to undo his mistake, Mack had committed another one. He’d broken off the engagement by telling Mary Jo that although he was fond of her, his real love was for Noelle.

It’d seemed like a reasonable approach at the time. He’d hoped to back out of the engagement and save face as he did—let her save face, too. Instead, he’d further complicated an already complex relationship. If there’d been a worse way to handle the situation, he couldn’t imagine it.

What he should’ve done was simply be honest. Whoever said honesty was the best policy—Ben Franklin? Mother Teresa? Bill Clinton? Oprah?—was absolutely correct.

Then the following morning, Mack had been on duty at the fire station. He’d felt uncomfortable and anxious about seeing Mary Jo ever since. This was their first encounter since that day.

“I don’t expect to hear from David again,” Mary Jo was saying. “Like you said, I think it was an empty threat. He only wants Noelle so he can manipulate his father into giving him money.”

Mack nodded. “If you do see him, call me and I’ll deal with him.” As soon as the words were out, Mack wished he could take them back. The whole point of breaking off the engagement was to let Mary Jo solve her own problems.

Instead of responding, she occupied herself with rearranging Noelle’s blanket.

Mack rocked back on his heels and removed his hands from his pockets. He wanted to groan. Why couldn’t he keep his mouth shut? “I guess I should check the mail,” he said with a sigh. He’d just headed over to the mailbox when Mary Jo called him back.

“I learned something about those letters.”

“Letters?” Mack asked in confusion.

“The ones I found under the floorboards in the closet.”

That box of World War II letters had completely slipped his mind. “Tell me,” he said quickly.

“I’d rather show you.”

“Okay.”

“Would you like to come by for dinner?” she asked. She bit her lip, as if she wasn’t confident that inviting him was such a good plan, after all. “I don’t want you to feel any obligation….”

“No, I want to,” he said with more enthusiasm than he’d intended. “I mean, if you’re sure about having me over.”

“I am.”

Mack checked his watch. “It’s quarter after six now. Shall we say in an hour?”

“An hour,” she agreed.

His spirits lifted. Maybe he hadn’t ruined everything the way he’d feared. “See you then,” he said with a relieved smile.

“Okay.” She smiled back, and he felt a sudden hopefulness.

Not until he was on his porch steps did it occur to him to ask if there was anything he could contribute. A salad? No, wine was probably better. He turned and, to his surprise, found Mary Jo watching him. Looking guilty, she glanced away.

“What can I bring?” he asked. “For dinner.”

She gave a half shrug. “I’ve got chicken-and-vegetable stew in the Crock-Pot and I’m making biscuits. I can’t think of anything else.”

“How about a bottle of wine?” When she nodded, he said, “See you around seven.”

After collecting the mail, Mack let himself into his side of the duplex, closed the door and breathed deeply. His sense of excitement was nearly overwhelming. In less than an hour he’d have a chance to make up for the foolish, clumsy way he’d ended the engagement—with a lie. He’d have a chance to start again, to reestablish their relationship on a more equal footing.

Fifteen minutes later, Mack had showered, shaved and changed clothes. He threw a load in the washing machine and set the dials. With another half hour to kill, he walked restlessly from room to room. This evening was important, and it could set the tone for many evenings to come.

In the past he’d often visited Mary Jo and Noelle. She’d regularly invited him over but not, he now suspected, out of any great desire for his company. Mary Jo was simply accustomed to having people around. Until recently she’d lived with her three older brothers.

She’d cooked for her family, although Mack knew they did their share of household chores. She was used to preparing meals for three hungry men; no wonder she always made enough to feed a family. So it was easy to invite an additional person, Mack told himself. She didn’t make extra with him in mind.

Not that he was complaining. Far from it. He liked spending time with her, being part of her life. Entertaining Noelle—that was his job most nights. He held and played with the baby while Mary Jo finished dinner preparations, and then later, they sat together and watched television or played cards. She had card sense, as his father would’ve put it. They talked, too, but not about anything deep or too personal. They’d talk about what they’d read or seen on TV, or mutual friends and acquaintances in Cedar Cove. Both were careful to avoid religion and politics, although he guessed they held similar views.

At the end of the evening, he’d kiss her good-night. After their so-called engagement, those kisses had become more brotherly than playful or passionate. That was what had initially convinced him the engagement was all wrong.

Considering the way David Rhodes had treated her, he understood that Mary Jo would be wary of entering a new relationship. Her trust in men—and in her own ability to judge them—had been badly shaken. But surely she’d come to recognize that Mack was a man of his word. That he genuinely cared for her and the baby and would never do anything to bring them harm.

He worried that he wasn’t as good-looking as Rhodes. He wasn’t as smooth, either, but that probably didn’t attract Mary Jo anymore, not after being involved with a player like David. Unlike Rhodes, Mack wasn’t tall, dark and handsome. He was just under six feet and his brown hair had a hint of auburn in it, which accounted for the sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of his nose. He was an average guy, he supposed. He might work for the fire department, but he doubted anyone would select him for one of those hunk calendars.

Mary Jo, however, was beautiful. He wasn’t surprised that someone like David Rhodes would notice her. Mack had long decided that her beauty was part of the problem; it put her out of his league. He was sure she could have her pick of any man she wanted. All Mack could hope for was that, given enough time, she’d want him.

When he knocked at her front door, Mary Jo immediately opened it, almost as if she’d been waiting for him, although that was unlikely to be the case. Noelle cooed from her seat and waved her arms, and he chose to see that as a greeting just for him.

“How’s my girl?” he asked. He handed Mary Jo the bottle of chilled pinot grigio he’d taken from his fridge, then walked into the living room and reached for the baby. As he lifted her in his arms he grinned at Mary Jo. “I’ve only been away a couple of days and I swear she’s grown two inches.”

“She changes every single day,” Mary Jo said. “I see it, too.”

He tickled Noelle’s chin and she gurgled back, which made him laugh.

“There are those World War II letters,” Mary Jo said, pointing at the coffee table.

Mack looked away from Noelle long enough to glance at the cigar box sitting there. He could tell it was faded and a little shabby. “How many letters were inside?”

“Dozens. It didn’t seem like that many when I found them, but the paper is really thin.”

She’d been enthralled by her discovery. Mack was interested, too—who wouldn’t be? These letters were a direct link to history, a personal connection to some of the most momentous events of the previous century.

“The article I read on the internet called this paper onionskin and it said the letters were referred to as V-mail.” She smiled at that. “I think the V stands for victory.” She sat on the sofa and Mack joined her, still holding the baby. He divided his attention between Mary Jo and Noelle.

“I’ve read them twice. They’re addressed to Miss Joan Manry.”

“I remember.” Mack recalled the recipient’s name, now that she mentioned it, although not the sender’s. He cocked his head but couldn’t read the return address. “Who are they from?”

“His name is Jacob Dennison and he was a major stationed in Europe during the war. Some of his letters have black marks on them, but a lot of them don’t have any at all. I assume those marks were put there by censors. You know, I read that there were over two hundred censorship offices. Their job was to ensure that military personnel didn’t reveal anything sensitive in their letters.” She paused. “Of course, that doesn’t explain why these letters were hidden.”

“I’m sure that had more to do with Joan’s circumstances than Jacob’s,” Mack said wryly.

“Well, even with the black marks, I’ve been able to follow quite a bit. They’re fascinating. I can hardly wait for you to read them.”

Mack nodded, caught up in her excitement.

“Joan worked at the Bremerton shipyard,” Mary Jo went on, “and she lived with her older sister. Elaine—that’s her sister—was married and her husband was somewhere in the South Pacific. I gather Joan met the major at a USO dance and they started writing after he shipped out to England.”

Mack gently bounced the baby, to Noelle’s evident approval. “I’d like to take a look at the letters,” he said.

“Here’s the first one. I put them in chronological order.” She unfolded the letter carefully and handed it to him.

Maj. Jacob Dennison

36354187 Hgs. Co.

Hgs. Cond. 1st

Service Platoon.

U.K. Base APO 413%P>M> N.Y., N.Y.

January 15, 1944

Dear Joan,

How’s my best gal? My only gal! I just got another letter from you. When I was given the envelope and saw the return address it gave me the biggest smile. I read it three times because it made me feel even closer to you. I’m awfully homesick, but I close my eyes and see your face and everything seems better. I think about you a lot; it helps me when I can remember familiar places and people I care about.

Until I joined the Army I’d never left the state of Washington. My mom and dad write me, too. My brother’s in the South Pacific and is seeing a lot of action. Sometimes I wish I’d joined the Marines instead of the Army because I’m eager to do my part to end this war. No one knows when the invasion’s going to happen. Soon, I hope. They have us training day and night. I’m getting to where I’m almost used to leaping out of an airplane. That sounds nuts, doesn’t it? My mother always said I was a daredevil. I guess she was right.

I’m glad you got the Christmas gift I mailed you. Sorry it arrived late. I hope that when Christmas rolls around this year I’ll be with you. I thought about that a lot when I heard Bing Crosby on the radio singing “I’ll Be Home for Christmas.”

I don’t know what to say about Elaine. I feel bad that she’s causing you problems. I wish I could figure out what she objects to about me. Would it help if I wrote her a letter? I’ll do whatever you say—anything other than not have you as my girl.

I’ll write more when I can.

Hugs and kisses,

Jacob

Mack finished the letter and set it aside. He read the next two in quick succession.

“Aren’t these letters wonderful?” Mary Jo was watching his reaction avidly.

Mack had to agree. “Yeah, they are.” He reached for another.

Maj. Jacob Dennison

36354187 Hgs. Co.

Hgs. Cond. 1st

Service Platoon.

U.K. Base APO 413%P>M> N.Y., N.Y.

March 3, 1944

Dear Joan,

How’s my best gal? I got a day pass earlier in the week and went to London and ate fish and chips. They were the most delicious I ever tasted, and that’s saying something, since I was born and raised near Puget Sound. My dad loved to fish and my mom fried up the best trout you can imagine. This fish was different and they served it wrapped up in newspaper. I even took the train to Stratford and got to see one of Shakespeare’s plays. Did you ever see King Lear? I’m not much for that fancy language, but it was a good story and it broke up the monotony. Some of the guys got drunk and didn’t get back to base on time. Don’t get me wrong—I drank my share of brew, but I was smart enough not to overdo it.

Thank you for writing. I can’t tell you how much your letters mean to me. The instant I see 1022 Evergreen Place on the corner of the envelope, my spirits rise. Meeting you was the best thing that ever happened to me. I love you, Joan. You said it’s too soon for me to tell you that, but I know what I feel. It isn’t just being away from home like you suggested, either. This is real. You said you can’t really get to know a person through letters. I think you can. I feel as though I know you, and can you honestly say you don’t know me? When I get home, God willing, I’ll ask you properly, down on one knee, to be my wife.

I’ll write again tomorrow. Write me again, too. I’ll keep in touch as much as I can. It’s lights-out so I’ll sign off for now.

Hugs and kisses,

Jacob

Mary Jo leaned forward slightly. “Were you able to find out anything about the previous house owner?” she asked. “I want to learn whatever I can about Joan and Jacob.”

Mack had forgotten that he’d volunteered to check with “the landlord”—although it was hardly necessary, since he owned the duplex. He regretted now that he’d lied to Mary Jo about that. He knew she’d be upset at the low rent he was charging her if she realized he was her landlord. She’d feel he was patronizing her or maybe that he expected something in return. Mack suppressed a despairing sigh. He just kept digging himself a deeper hole. One of these days he’d have to tell her the truth—and he would, when the time felt right. Although he wasn’t quite sure how he’d recognize that moment of clarity …

“I did say I’d look into that, didn’t I? I apologize, but I haven’t got to it yet.”

“That’s okay,” she said, accepting his answer easily enough. “Ready to eat?”

He saw that the table was set, with the pot of stew and a plate of biscuits placed in the middle of the table, wine and water glasses by each plate.

“I fed Noelle before you got here,” she told him.

That was his cue to put the baby back in her seat and sit down at the table, which he did. Mary Jo was an excellent cook—as good as his mother, and that was a real compliment. Her own parents died when she was still in high school, and she’d taken over kitchen duties, more out of necessity than desire. Still, she seemed to enjoy cooking and took pride in putting together meals that were nutritious as well as appealing.

He was no slouch in the kitchen, if he did say so himself, but until she’d moved in next door, his meals had been haphazard affairs. Other than when it was his turn at the firehouse, he never really bothered with cooking. He usually relied on frozen microwave dinners or the various fast-food choices available in Cedar Cove. He didn’t make a habit of dropping by unannounced at his parents’, but whenever he did, his mother always insisted he stay for dinner. Mack didn’t often refuse.

“Hey, this is great,” he told Mary Jo after the first bite. And it was. Tender chunks of chicken, fresh vegetables that weren’t cooked to mush, lots of flavorful broth. The biscuits that accompanied it melted in his mouth. “A guy could get used to eating like this,” he said jovially.

Mary Jo didn’t comment.

Oh, boy, he’d done it again. Would he never learn? “I, uh, didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I just wanted you to know the meal’s delicious…. I’m not suggesting anything else.”

Mary Jo carefully set her fork next to her plate. “I was afraid of this.”

“Afraid of what?” He swallowed before he’d finished chewing, and the biscuit nearly stuck in his throat.

“It’s still awkward between us, don’t you think?”

He nodded, grabbing his wineglass and gulping down a mouthful.

“You don’t need to work so hard, Mack.”

He frowned, unsure what she meant.

“We’re friends, right?”

“Friends,” he repeated.

“Good,” she said. She seemed satisfied. “Friends are comfortable with each other. We shouldn’t worry that what we say is going to be taken wrong or out of context.”

He coughed and nodded again.

“Then relax and enjoy yourself. Stop worrying that I’ll be offended, okay?” She sent him a dazzling smile.

“Okay,” he said. This comment was supposed to put him at ease, and yet her words had the opposite effect. Yes, they were friends, but Mack had hoped they would be so much more.

Two

It still felt strange, yet, oh, so wonderful, to wake up every morning with his wife beside him. Linc Wyse had grown accustomed to married life with a speed that astonished him. He’d been caught up in a whirlwind from the moment he met Lori Bellamy.

Less than two months ago, her car had broken down on the highway. Linc had been in Cedar Cove checking up on his stubborn little sister, who’d moved out of the family home and into a duplex next door to McAfee. The firefighter had delivered Noelle, and next thing Linc knew, the guy was her neighbor. He seemed to be over at Mary Jo’s far too often, and Linc considered it his responsibility—his duty—to make sure nothing untoward was going on. He wasn’t entirely comfortable with the situation his sister had gotten herself into now. One man had already taken advantage of her, and Linc wasn’t letting that happen again. He didn’t care how many times Mary Jo told him to butt out and to stop interfering.

Lori made a faint, waking sound, then yawned and arched her back before snuggling into Linc’s arms. “Is it morning?” she asked, still groggy with sleep.

Linc kissed the top of her head. Mornings with Lori were the very best of his life. “So it seems.”

“I’ll make coffee.” She leaned over to turn off the clock radio, cutting off a traffic report in midsentence.

When she started to toss aside the covers, Linc stopped her. “No need to get up so soon, is there?” He nuzzled her neck and slipped his arm around her, bringing her closer. She was warm and soft and infinitely lovely.

“I didn’t think you were the sort of man who liked to linger in bed,” Lori teased as she slid her arms around his neck. Her breasts grazed his chest and he briefly closed his eyes at the sensation.

“I never used to be,” he murmured. “Until now.” She had no idea how true that was. As the oldest, Linc had held the family together after his parents died—the family and the business.

He was the first one at the car repair shop every morning and the last one to leave at night. All he’d done was work and worry. He worried about his family, about the business, about the economy. If there was something to lose sleep over, Linc was ready to take it on.

Then he’d met Lori.

His relationships with women had always soured and he’d never been able to figure out where he’d gone wrong. But it was definitely a pattern; he’d meet someone, things would be great for a while and then it was over. He didn’t understand it. Mary Jo claimed he was too “bossy” and “controlling” but she wasn’t exactly a relationship expert, so he ignored her opinion—and the cycle of ever-shorter romances had continued. But all of that changed the night he’d stopped to help when Lori’s car had broken down.

He’d nearly driven past. He’d already put in a long day and he was still annoyed by the heated argument he’d had with his sister. But he’d stopped, because if it was Mary Jo stranded there on the highway Linc would want someone like him to help. So he’d pulled over. Lori’s car had run out of gas and he’d taken her to a service station. They’d ended up having dinner together, and then spent hours talking during the next few days.

Linc had learned that Lori had recently come out of a broken engagement—to a man who’d gone to prison for theft. Not surprisingly, it had left her disillusioned. Linc knew the feeling well. She was an old-fashioned kind of woman who expected a man to behave honorably. He was an old-fashioned kind of guy who demanded honor from himself and others. On impulse, before they could talk themselves out of it, they decided to get married.

It was crazy. It was wonderful. Linc had never in his life felt this happy and carefree.

“Why are you smiling?” Lori asked, rising up on one elbow to study his face.

Just looking at his wife made his chest tighten. “I never in a million years thought I’d sleep in a canopy bed under pink sheets and be okay with it.” He paused. “More than okay.”

Now it was Lori’s turn to smile. “I told you it wouldn’t be so bad, didn’t I?”

“Not that I remember. What I recall is the promise you made when you lured me to your bed.”

“Lured you?” She raised her eyebrows. “As I recall, you hauled me into your arms, slammed my bedroom door and carried me across the room caveman-style.”

“Caveman? Please.”

“He-man, then.”

He-man, he could live with. “After that, I didn’t even notice the canopy, which was what you intended all along.”

“Do you mind it now?” she asked.

Linc shrugged. He’d lived with his brothers for so many years, he didn’t pay attention to all the froufrou stuff women had. Mary Jo probably had it, too, but she was his baby sister, so that was different.

Everything about Lori had his attention from the moment she’d stepped out of her car that first evening. And when she’d emerged from the bedroom in that black silk piece-of-nothing on their wedding night … The memory still excited him.

“I’ll make coffee,” she volunteered again when he didn’t respond.

“Not so soon,” he said, kissing her until they were both breathless. He watched as her eyes widened and she realized what he wanted. “Linc! I have to get ready for work!”

“You won’t be late,” he promised as he urged her onto her back and brought his mouth to hers.

Ah, yes, marriage had a lot to recommend it, and Linc was going to enjoy every minute.

A half hour later, having forgone coffee, Lori was rushing to get dressed when Linc stepped out of the shower. Her makeup—not that he felt she needed it—was done. She wore a business skirt and was pulling on a soft blue sweater. “What are you doing today?” she asked as she adjusted the neckline.

“I’m signing the closing papers on the garage.”

She looked surprised. “The deal went through already?”

Linc stood in the doorway to the tiny bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist. “It sat empty for two years and the owner really wanted to sell.” Linc planned to open a branch of the family business, Wyse Men Auto and Body Shop—formerly Three Wyse Men—in Cedar Cove. His brothers were competent enough to handle everything in Seattle. By starting a second shop, he was giving them an opportunity to succeed on their own. Besides, one of the three needed to be close at hand to keep an eye on Mary Jo, although he had to admit that was more of an excuse than a reason. Linc liked living in Cedar Cove.

Okay, to be honest, he liked living with Lori.

“I only work until three this afternoon,” Lori said, moving about the room. She slipped her arms into a black jacket that didn’t match the skirt but looked good with it, then pinned a cameo to the lapel. Even Linc, most comfortable in a T-shirt and jeans, recognized that Lori had a real sense of style. He supposed it was why she worked in a high-end dress shop in Silverdale. She dabbled in designing, too, and knew how to sew.

“I’ll get groceries on the way home.” She brushed her hair, slung her purse over her shoulder and was about to leave.

Linc grabbed her hand. “Aren’t you going to kiss me goodbye?”

A smile made her eyes sparkle mischievously. “No, kissing leads to other things and I’m already late.”

“One kiss,” he begged. “Please?”

“Linc,” she groaned, but then complied.

Her kiss left him weak in the knees. He had to clear his throat before he could speak again. “I’ll be back from the title company around four.”

“Great. I’ll pick up a bottle of wine so we can celebrate.”

“Good idea.”

“See you later,” she said, and kissed him again, letting her mouth linger over his. She was well aware of what she was doing to him, and he nearly staggered backward when she abruptly broke away.

“You’re an evil woman, Lori Wyse,” he called after her.

Linc headed out fifteen minutes after Lori. He had several stops to make, plus he needed to drive into Seattle and meet with his brothers about the business there.

By the time he returned to Cedar Cove, he had to sign the papers for the garage. That all took longer than he’d expected and it was almost five when he’d finished.

Linc collected the keys to the garage and went home, hoping to pick up Lori and take her down to see the garage. He had a notebook filled with ideas on how to build the business. He wanted to tell her about them, and above all, he wanted to share this moment with her. They’d take the wine over to the property and toast there.

When Linc arrived home, he saw a black Town Car parked in the very spot where he normally left his truck. Even before he reached their apartment, he heard raised voices.

“Don’t say that, Daddy!” Lori cried. She sounded close to tears.

Oh, boy. Lori hadn’t told her family yet that they were married. Linc didn’t understand why she’d delayed, but the decision was hers. When he’d asked her about it, Linc could see how uncomfortable the subject made her, so he’d dropped it.

Now her father was upset, and frankly, Linc didn’t blame him. He’d do his best to set things straight.

Squaring his shoulders, Linc opened the door and walked into the living room. Lori stood next to the fireplace, her father—a balding, heavyset man—no more than a foot away. One of his hands was raised, as if he’d been wagging his finger at her. The other was clenched at his side. At Linc’s entrance, they both turned to stare at him.

“Hello,” Linc said, hoping he sounded calm and composed. “You must be Lori’s father. A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Bellamy.” He thrust out his hand, which the older man ignored.

Instead, Leonard Bellamy turned back to his daughter. “Is that the man?”

“Daddy, this is my husband, Lincoln Wyse. Linc … this is my father.”

Linc walked over to Lori’s side and placed his arm protectively around her shoulders.

Bellamy continued to ignore him. “You’ve pulled some stupid stunts in your life, but this takes the cake.”

“Mr. Bellamy, I realize—”

“If I want to hear from you, I’ll say so,” the older man shouted. “Don’t you have any sense, Lori Marie? You married this man and you don’t even know him? What about his family? Who are his people?”

“If you’d allow me—”

“You,” Leonard said, pointing an accusing finger at Linc, “mind your own business. This is between me and my daughter.”

Lori squeezed his arm, indicating that Linc should do as her father said. He didn’t like it, but he clenched his jaw and waited impatiently for the other man to get to the end of his rant.

“First, you were engaged to that … that felon.”

“Geoff was a mistake.”

“A mistake!” Leonard shouted. “So that’s what you’re calling him. He was a major embarrassment to the whole family. How do you think your mother and I felt when we had to cancel the wedding? We couldn’t even say it was wedding-day jitters or make up a decent excuse. Oh, no. Geoff’s name was plastered across the front page of every newspaper on the Kitsap Peninsula. Everyone in the entire county knew why the wedding was canceled.”

“I … I didn’t know what kind of man Geoff was,” Lori said, defending herself. Her voice quavered with mortification. “I agree I misjudged Geoff, but you liked him, too, remember?”

Her father brushed off her comment. “What makes you think you have better judgment this time?” he demanded. “How long did you two know each other, anyway?”

“Long enough,” Linc said, unable to remain silent.

“I asked you to stay out of this,” Bellamy shouted. He started pacing, then stopped and glared at Lori. “What were you thinking?” Briefly he closed his eyes. “What on earth possessed you to marry a stranger?”

“Daddy …”

“Can you imagine how your mother felt to have a friend—mind you, a friend—announce that you’d recently married?”

“Daddy, please …”

“You couldn’t have told us yourself?” he bellowed, refusing to let Lori explain.

“Mr. Bellamy,” Linc said, trying again.

Lori covered her face with both hands and began to sob.

“You’ve really done it this time,” Leonard said. “You’ve consistently shown poor judgment, and worse, you never seem to learn from your mistakes.”

Frowning, Linc took a step forward. He understood why Lori’s father was upset, but the man was crossing the line now.

“No one in the family has ever done anything like this. Your mother’s beside herself.”

“I’m sorry,” Lori sobbed.

“As you should be. You made one stupid mistake and then you immediately followed that up with another.” He whirled around and studied Linc through narrowed eyes. “A mechanic, Lori? For heaven’s sake, why would you marry a mechanic? It isn’t embarrassing enough that our daughter elopes without a word to her family, but then you have to marry a man with oil under his fingernails, an uncouth, uneducated … mechanic? What’s the matter with you, girl? Don’t you have a brain in your head?”

“Mr. Bellamy,” Linc said, his voice hard. It was one thing to belittle him, but Linc wasn’t going to stand idly by while Lori’s father chastised her as if she were a child. “I can see why you’re upset. I’ll be the first to admit that we rushed into this marriage, but that doesn’t give you the right to come to our home and ridicule my wife.”

“Your home?” The other man’s face reddened.

Lori’s hand tightened around Linc’s forearm and she squeezed hard. “This building belongs to my parents,” she whispered. “I don’t pay rent.”

Linc hadn’t known that—and wished she’d told him. “If you want us to move, we’ll be out by the end of the month,” he offered.

“I want you out, all right,” Bellamy raged, jerking one thumb at the door. “Out of my daughter’s life.”

That wasn’t going to happen. Rather than argue, Linc shook his head. “Lori and I are married.”

Her father snorted contemptuously. “You saw a good thing, didn’t you? Lori was easy prey. She was at a low point in her life and you decided to take advantage of her because of her name.”

The name meant nothing to Linc. “Bellamy?”

“Lori comes from a wealthy family and you were trying to—”

“Now, just a minute here!” Despite his efforts, Linc was fast losing his temper. “I don’t need your money or your name.”

Bellamy scowled back at him, his expression filled with disbelief and disdain. “We’ll see about that.” His threat hung heavy in the air.

Linc wouldn’t allow Bellamy to intimidate him. “You might own this building, but you don’t own your daughter. I suggest you leave now, before we both say or do something we’ll regret.”

Bellamy jabbed his index finger at Linc several times, then whirled around and stormed out the door. He slammed it so hard the windows rattled.

The room seemed to vibrate with tension. Lori burst into tears, and Linc put his arms around her. He held her tight against him, his shirt absorbing her tears as he gently stroked her hair.

“My mother’s friend Brenda owns the dress shop and … she must’ve told Mom. She promised she wouldn’t say anything until I’d spoken to my parents but …”

“It’s okay, Lori,” Linc whispered into her hair. “We should’ve told them sooner.”

“I know … I know—but I was afraid of what my father would say, what he might do….”

“He’ll get used to the idea soon enough.” Linc said, hoping that was true.

“You don’t know my father.”

“We’ll give him time,” Linc said. “I’ll do everything I can to prove to your family that I’m going to be a good husband.”

“It won’t matter,” she whispered. “Daddy will never forgive me…. He was still angry about Geoff and—and then I married you.”

“Do you want to end the marriage?” he felt obliged to ask.

“No, never,” she said, her arms tightening around him.

“Me, neither,” Linc murmured, and he thought he felt her smile against his shoulder. “Come on,” he said, easing her out of his arms. “We have some celebrating to do.”

She looked up at him blankly.

“I signed the final papers for the garage this afternoon, remember?”

Lori smiled weakly, then slipped her arms around him again. “I don’t care what my family thinks. I’m grateful I married you.”

Linc was grateful, too. Swinging her into his arms, he moved toward the bedroom.

“Will it always be like this?” she asked, sighing as she kissed his jaw.

“I hope not,” he said with a chuckle. “This much happiness just might kill me.”

Three

Staring at the phone on his desk, Will Jefferson mentally prepared to call Shirley Bliss—again. Twice now she’d come up with a convenient excuse to turn down his invitations. Either the woman had an incredibly active social life or she wasn’t interested. Without being vain, he found that difficult to believe. Okay, he was a little vain. He knew he was a good-looking charmer—smooth but not too smooth. Smart, successful and sexy, the latter according to more than one woman.

He was also persistent. He hadn’t come this far in life without a healthy dose of good old-fashioned grit. He’d returned to his hometown, purchased a failing art gallery and was determined to make a fresh start.

Admittedly he’d made his share of mistakes. If he had it to do over again, he would’ve done certain things differently. For one, he would’ve paid a lot more attention to his kid sister’s best friend, Grace.

Years later Grace did attract his notice, but by then it was too late. They’d reconnected shortly after Will learned of Dan Sherman’s death. He’d sent her a sympathy card and, on a whim, added his email address. Not long after that, they’d begun a friendly correspondence.

Will hadn’t known about the crush Grace had on him while they were in high school. That information had soothed his ego. His marriage was deteriorating; he and Georgia were just going through the motions. About five years into the marriage he’d stumbled into an affair with one of the women from his office. Naturally he regretted it and begged Georgia to forgive him. She did, and he was grateful. Yet his indiscretion had always been there between them, like a bad break that had never totally healed. A broken limb could remain weak forever after, unable to tolerate pressure or stress.

Her forgiveness hadn’t been complete, he realized now. It was as if she’d been waiting for him to do it again.

And he had.

But Will didn’t blame Georgia. After all, he was the one who’d strayed. Still, his wife had given him the cold shoulder for so long that when a friendly young waitress flirted with him, he’d been flattered and receptive. Sally was young, attractive and impressionable, and he’d responded.

Georgia knew about it. She had to have known, but she didn’t say a word and neither did he. Sally wanted him to leave Georgia and he might have if not for the fact that Georgia was diagnosed with breast cancer. He couldn’t walk out on his wife when she needed him most. After two years Sally ended the relationship.

Thankfully Georgia recovered and for a while he thought they might be able to have a successful marriage. He’d tried to make her happy, to recapture what they’d shared in the early days. Each week he brought home flowers and gifts; he’d suggested date nights and made a genuine effort to win back his wife. Yet nothing he did seemed to bring the light of love and affection to her eyes. Apparently it was too late; he’d cheated not once but twice, and she never trusted him again.

At that point, he was only in his late forties and, except for convenience and companionship, his marriage was dead. In the years that followed he had several other affairs. Georgia no longer seemed to mind and after a while these little flings didn’t bother his conscience, either. As it was, he and Georgia lived more like siblings than husband and wife. And yet they stayed together. He supposed it was easier for both of them than not staying together, particularly since their business and social lives were intertwined.

He’d misled Grace into thinking he was divorcing Georgia. He didn’t want to lose her the same way he had Sally. He’d fully intended to explain his situation … when the time felt right. Grace was everything he wanted, but Will had blown it. Before he could explain the whole complicated mess, she was out of his life. Nothing he said or did afterward changed her resolve. What she never knew, what he’d never had a chance to tell her, was that if she’d asked he would’ve left Georgia. Not right away but soon. As soon as he’d made the necessary arrangements.

Will had done more harm than good in his efforts to get her back. By this time Grace had met and fallen in love with Cliff Harding. She wanted nothing more to do with Will. Desperate to prove he cared, Will had acted like a total fool at the farmers’ market and started a fist-fight with Cliff. He must’ve been out of his mind. The incident still made him cringe with embarrassment.

It was at this stage that Will’s life began to fall apart. Georgia found out about Grace, although they hadn’t done anything more than email and talk on the phone. Still, his online relationship was the crack that broke his marriage wide-open. After all the years, all the extramarital affairs Georgia had purposely ignored, she left him because he’d sent a few emails to an old friend. Ironic, to say the least.

In retrospect, Will was relieved. His marriage had been over for years. Although he’d never expected to reach retirement age alone, that was his life now. Hard as it was to accept at the time, he and Georgia were better off apart.

Once the divorce was final, Will had moved home, back to Cedar Cove and the only family he had. Returning to town after all these years hadn’t been easy, especially since he’d arrived with nothing but a rental truck and a few suitcases. He’d sublet an apartment while he searched for some way to fill his time.

Olivia was the one who suggested he consider buying the art gallery. Leave it to his sister to steer him toward a worthy purpose. The gallery had been about to close, and he’d bought the business, any remaining stock and the building itself, which was one of the oldest in town and in need of repair. To this day Will wasn’t sure why he’d thought he could make a success of this. But then, he’d always enjoyed a challenge.

Drawing a deep breath, he picked up the phone. He knew Shirley Bliss’s number by heart. He’d called so often that his fingers hit the numbers automatically.

Shirley, a widowed artist whose work he’d displayed, interested him in a way no woman had since Grace Sherman—Grace Harding now. He’d fallen for Grace and come so close to making her part of his life; the fact that it hadn’t happened still depressed him.

“Hello.” Shirley’s teenage daughter, Tanni, answered his call.

“Hello, Tanni,” Will said cheerfully. “How’s it going?”

“Okay, I guess.”

“You heard from Shaw lately?” he asked. By pulling a few strings he’d been instrumental in getting Tanni’s boyfriend into the San Francisco Art Institute. He wanted Shirley to be in his debt, although so far she’d shown little appreciation.

“Not really.”

The girl’s voice tensed. Clearly this was a delicate subject and one he should avoid.

“Is your mother home?” he asked next. Not having had children, Will felt at a distinct disadvantage while talking to teenagers.

“She’s in the dungeon.”

“The dungeon?”

“The basement,” Tanni said. “Where she works.”

Oh, her studio. “Would you mind letting her know I’m on the phone?”

The girl hesitated. “Mom doesn’t like to be disturbed when she’s working.”

Evidently Tanni was prepared to stand guard over the moat leading to the castle—and the dungeon. “Just tell her I’m on the phone, if you would.”

“All right.” She didn’t seem pleased about it.

Will heard Tanni set the phone down and walk away, her shoes tapping against the floor. Then he could hear her shout into the basement. After a few minutes she returned and picked up the receiver. “Mom says if you sold another piece, would you please put the check in the mail.”

“I didn’t. Tell her I have a question for her.”

“Okay.”

Once again Will heard her set the phone down, trot across the room and shout. He didn’t hear anything for another minute or so.

Then … “This is Shirley.”

If he’d recognized the lack of welcome in Tanni’s voice, it came through even more clearly in her mother’s.

“I hope I’m not interrupting you.” Will forced himself to sound his most charming.

“It’s fine.” Some of the irritation left her voice. “I was in the middle of something but I needed a break, anyway.”

He relaxed a bit. “I called to see if you were available this Saturday night. I have tickets for the Playhouse.” He didn’t give her a chance to reject yet another invitation. Instead, he continued in a conversational tone. “Peggy Beldon stopped by earlier in the week. She’s redecorating the master bedroom and bought an original piece—a collage. She mentioned that Bob’s starring in the production of Fiddler on the Roof. That’s a favorite of mine and I like to support our local theater.”

“This Saturday?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, Will, I’m sorry but I promised Miranda I’d attend the fundraiser at the library this Saturday.”

Okay, he’d half expected this kind of response. “I might be able to trade in the tickets for another night.” He wasn’t giving up that easily.

“Unlikely,” Shirley said, and he heard a hint of regret in her voice—or thought he did. “I read in the Chronicle this morning that the tickets have completely sold out. The theater might add extra shows.”

“Well, maybe we can go to one of those.”

“Maybe,” Shirley said.

“What about Sunday?” he blurted out, not sure what to suggest. A stroll along the waterfront? A movie? Coffee? He’d tried all those before and gotten nowhere.

“That won’t work, either. Miranda and I—”

“Just who is Miranda?” Will asked, gritting his teeth. He’d never heard the other woman’s name before and all of a sudden it was Miranda this and Miranda that. He hadn’t even met the woman and already he had the distinct feeling she was a troublemaker.

“Miranda’s a good friend. We’ve known each other for years. We drifted apart but after my husband died we reconnected. Miranda lost Hugh, her husband, about five years ago. You might’ve heard of him—Hugh Sullivan, a landscape painter. Anyway, she’s been helping me navigate widowhood.”

Will wanted to be the one to guide Shirley to new love and a new life. He’d hoped they could find this path to happiness together.

“I think it might be best if we tried to get together another time,” she said with finality.

Before he could propose another potential outing, Shirley ended the conversation. “Thanks for calling, Will. Bye now.”

He couldn’t come up with anything fast enough to stop her from disconnecting. When he started to sputter something, the telephone droned in his ear. Shaking his head, he hung up.

Perhaps he was losing his touch. It wasn’t his looks. Even now that he’d grown older, his brown hair with its silver accents gave him the distinguished appearance of a man who was confident and comfortable with himself.

He routinely worked out; he wasn’t fanatical about exercise but he kept in shape. Although he’d recently purchased the gallery, he’d managed his finances effectively. He wasn’t rich, but he was well off.

Georgia, being Georgia, had been more than fair in their divorce settlement. Apparently she felt guilty for filing. Another irony, since he was the one who’d cheated on her. He knew his mother and sister kept in touch with his ex. He didn’t. Contact between them would be just too … awkward.

Will didn’t know what it was about him that scared Shirley Bliss away. So many women fawned over him, and attracting the opposite sex had never been a problem until he met Shirley.

Despite her skittishness, Will sensed that she was attracted to him, that she wanted to know him better. For whatever reason, Shirley couldn’t or wouldn’t let him get close.

Then he understood.

The answer should’ve been obvious. Shirley did want to date him. She felt, just as he did, that they’d be terrific together. She felt the same sparks Will did.

But Shirley was afraid.

That was understandable. He should’ve recognized it long ago. After years of being married to the same man, Shirley was terrified of what would happen if she allowed herself to have strong feelings for someone else.

Now that he’d figured it out, Will decided he could afford to take some time to work on a strategy to convince her….

Saturday night, after closing, he looked through the gallery windows and caught a glimpse of the flickering lights of the shipyard across the cove. Down at the marina, sailboats bobbed on the gentle swell of the wake created by the Bremerton ferry. From there, his gaze moved toward the library. He’d read about the fundraiser but hadn’t thought much about it until Shirley said she had plans to go with her friend.

Doubt flickered in his mind. He couldn’t help wondering if what she’d said was true—if she really was at the fundraiser. The only way of confirming it was to show up there himself. He didn’t have any other plans, since he wasn’t willing to attend the theater on his own. So Will made the sudden decision to become a library supporter. He still found it uncomfortable to see Grace, but she needed to know he’d moved on, too, and there was no better way to prove it.

He shaved and splashed on a light dose of citrusy cologne, then put on a gray vest his mother had knit him on impossibly small needles. He couldn’t begin to imagine how many hours this had taken Charlotte. Will tended to wear it on special occasions and this evening, he felt, was special—an opportunity to make a real connection with Shirley.

With his hands in his pants pockets, Will walked casually down the hill to the library. Even before he reached the end of the block he could hear the music drifting up from the open library doors. Grace had brought in a chamber music group; this event was more formal and elegant than he’d assumed.

As he entered the library, the first person he saw was his sister, Olivia. Her husband, Jack Griffin, stood attentively by her side, and Will recognized the concern on his face. His sister was recovering from cancer. Just before Christmas they’d nearly lost her to a massive infection with temperatures high enough to make her delirious. The episode had shaken the entire family, as well as her many friends. Like Grace.

Will had viewed Olivia with fresh eyes after seeing her so ill. The surge of love and protectiveness he’d felt had taken him by surprise. He hadn’t realized how deeply he loved his little sister.

Will wasn’t aware that he was blocking the doorway until someone politely asked to step past.

“Sorry,” he mumbled as he went farther into the room.

Waiters moved among the throng hoisting trays with champagne flutes and tiny hors d’oeuvres. It occurred to Will that he might need a ticket. He saw a woman at a table collecting money and hurried toward her. While he waited in line, he glanced around, hoping to find Shirley. A moment later he did. She stood talking to Grace; the woman beside her must be Miranda.

As if Shirley’s friend felt his gaze she turned in his direction. Her eyes locked on him and then ever so slowly narrowed. Will stared back.

Miranda said something to Shirley, who instantly looked at him. Then she nodded.

So Miranda had asked about him. That was interesting, he thought, as he surreptitiously observed Shirley’s friend. She stood nearly a head taller than Shirley. Will suspected Miranda was close to six feet; he was six-one. By contrast, Shirley was petite, delicate, fine-boned. Miranda was none of those things.

He paid for his ticket and decided to approach Shirley. Perhaps they could mingle for a while and then ditch her friend and go to dinner. He didn’t see any need to waste a beautiful evening. On his way over to Shirley, he grabbed a flute and took a sip. Not real champagne, but a decent sparkling wine, probably a California label.

Shirley gave a small wave and started toward him. Miranda came with her. Both women held half-full flutes that they balanced carefully as they walked.

“Will,” Shirley said, smiling up at him warmly. “I didn’t expect to see you here. Weren’t you going to the theater?”

“Last-minute change of plans,” he said, returning her smile. He flicked a glance at her friend.

As if suddenly realizing she needed to make introductions, Shirley said, “This is the friend I mentioned. Miranda Sullivan, Will Jefferson.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Miranda said, sounding anything but.

Her attitude annoyed him. “Same here,” he responded, matching her tone. What was this woman’s problem, anyway? She seemed to disapprove of him for some reason, even though she knew next to nothing about him.

Shirley appeared to notice because she looked quickly from one to the other.

“I was just telling Miranda how grateful I am for all your help with Tanni and Shaw.”

He bowed his head. “I was happy to be of assistance. Shaw is a talented young artist who deserved a hand up.”

Miranda smiled cynically but didn’t comment.

“Speaking of Tanni, I see she came, after all,” Shirley said breathlessly. “If you’ll both excuse me for a moment, I think I should check on her.” She headed toward the door, leaving Will alone with Miranda.

He didn’t usually take an immediate dislike to anyone, especially a woman. He supposed he was reacting, at least partially, to her dislike of him. He couldn’t understand it, unless she’d heard rumors…. Perhaps his reputation had preceded him. However, he wasn’t particularly worried. Instead, he made up his mind to treat her as a challenge. She was Shirley’s friend, and if he could make her an ally, his chances with Shirley might improve.

“So you’re a good friend of Shirley’s?” he asked.

“A very good friend,” she told him, and brought the flute to her lips. “What makes you ask?”

She was direct and, as he’d guessed, didn’t seem too fond of him. Switching tactics, Will decided to be equally direct. “The look you gave me.”

Her dark eyebrows arched slightly. “I gave you a look?”

“Didn’t you?” he asked.

“No.”

He smiled softly and had to admit he was rather amused by this silly game. “Liar.”

She laughed. “The fact is, Mr. Jefferson, I don’t think I like you.”

He should’ve asked why, but the truth was, he didn’t really care. He met her eyes. “Actually, the feeling is mutual, but we do have one thing in common—our high regard for Shirley.”

Miranda answered with a short nod.

“So that gives us common ground, agreed?”

She studied the bubbly liquid in her glass. “Agreed,” she finally said.

“Don’t you feel it would be easier on Shirley if we made an effort to get along?”

This required more consideration on her part. “Perhaps.”

“On a different but related matter, I’m looking for someone who’s knowledgeable about the local art community to pitch in at the gallery when I need it.” He remembered what Shirley had told him about Miranda’s husband. “I gather from Shirley that you’re eminently qualified,” he said. A stretch, perhaps, but whatever worked … “Would you be willing to consider doing that?” He really could use the help, she could probably handle the work and, with her at the gallery, he might be able to gain information about Shirley. In fact, this idea might be impetuous but it was a stroke of genius.

“My husband was an artist,” she murmured.

“Hugh Sullivan, the landscape painter.” He made a mental note to do some quick research on Hugh.

She smiled, a smile he found a trifle condescending. “I’ll think about it, Mr. Jefferson.”

“Good.” He seemed to be winning her over and that pleased him. Now he had the larger task of working his way into Shirley Bliss’s affections.

With—he hoped—the blessing of her friend Miranda.

Four

Sunday afternoon—more glorious weather. As Mack worked in the yard, Mary Jo diligently washed the outside windows. She’d gone to church earlier that morning while Mack was finishing his overnight shift at the fire station. He got home at about the time she returned from services and they’d decided to spend this beautiful afternoon outdoors.

Mack reveled in the sense of peace and companionship he felt as they both worked quietly; he seeded bare portions of the lawn and she cleaned every window and wiped down every sill. Since Noelle was asleep inside the house, Mary Jo kept her front and back doors ajar so she could hear the baby. When they were done, she and Mack made small talk, complimenting each other’s work, then put away their supplies. The windows gleamed from their washing, the lawn was greening and the garden—vegetables and flowers—now looked like a real garden. The lettuce leaves had started to sprout and Mary Jo had planted pole beans, corn and peas earlier in the week. The bulb flowers had sprung up in vivid color.

“I need to go to Wal-Mart,” Mary Jo announced at about four o’clock.

“Do you want company?” There was nothing he needed himself, but he couldn’t think of anything he’d rather do than spend time with Mary Jo.

“Sure, if you want. I have to get diapers and a few other things. I won’t be long.”

“I can take you out to eat afterward, if you’d like.” He spoke casually, but his heart pounded with anticipation. It seemed that whenever he was making headway in this relationship, something would set the whole thing back. He knew he had to tread lightly with Mary Jo.

“You don’t have to take me out, Mack, but thanks.”

“It’s the least I can do,” he argued. “To pay you back for all the dinners you’ve made me.”

“No, really, I’m happy to have your company. Besides, I’m used to cooking for my brothers. I always make far more than one person could eat, anyway. You’re actually doing me a favor.”

That was exactly what he’d told himself earlier in the week, but he didn’t like hearing it now.

He shrugged, smiling, as if her comment amused him, although what he felt was frustration. How was it that he could fall in love with the one woman in the world who was determined not to venture into romance again? He could only hope she’d eventually start to trust him, eventually return his feelings….

Noelle was awake and cheerful when Mack, having showered and changed, joined them in the driveway. He picked up the baby seat and made silly noises that delighted Noelle as he fastened the carrier in Mary Jo’s car. She’d suggested they take her vehicle; he offered to drive and she accepted.

On the way to Wal-Mart, they said very little.

“Have you found out any more about the letters?” she asked after a while.

“I thought of something that might help us,” he said.

“What?” Her interest was immediate.

“In one of the letters, the one where Jacob mentions eating fish and chips, he wrote about being raised in the Pacific Northwest.”

“Yes, I remember,” Mary Jo murmured. “So he wasn’t just at a base in this area, it was also his home.”

“Right. So, it should be easy enough to check local high school records from that time—say, the mid-thirties through early forties. Her surname might have changed, but not his.”

“Maybe we can learn his family’s address that way,” she said excitedly. “I’ll start checking them out tomorrow. Also, could you talk to your friend?”

“My friend?”

“Yes, our landlord. Maybe he can tell us about the previous owners, or at least the most recent ones.”

“Ah …” Mack quickly recognized that this was a troubled path, one he didn’t want to follow. Lying didn’t come naturally to him but he was afraid to tell her the truth, afraid that if she knew, she’d pack up and move out, angry about being manipulated.

“Yeah, I will,” he promised.

“Soon?”

“Soon,” he agreed, trying to change the subject.

“It’s just that I’m so curious about those letters,” she burbled on. “Oh, Mack, I wish you’d read more of them. They’re so beautiful.

“I was thinking,” Mary Jo continued, “that if anyone could tell us about the previous owner it would be Charlotte Rhodes. Maybe she even knew the Manrys.”

“Yeah, good idea.” He’d ask her, but he’d do it when Mary Jo wasn’t around. He was worried that his mother might have told her friend that he’d bought the duplex.

“She knows everyone in town,” Mary Jo was saying.

“Right,” he said curtly.

Mary Jo sent him an odd look, which he chose to ignore. He pulled into the Wal-Mart parking lot and heaved a sigh of relief, grateful for an opportunity to direct the conversation away from the duplex, the letters and talking to Charlotte Rhodes. He found an empty space not far from the entrance and turned off the engine.

When Mary Jo had retrieved Noelle from the backseat, the three of them went into the store. Mack grabbed a cart and Mary Jo set Noelle safely inside.

“Do you want me to push?” he asked.

“Please.”

This felt good to Mack, almost as if they were a young married couple. Maybe it was foolish, but he liked to pretend they were and hoped to make that vision a reality one day.

Mary Jo walked toward the baby department with Mack and the cart behind her. He was making vroom-vroom noises, his attention on Noelle, when he suddenly heard Mary Jo say, “Look! There’s Charlotte and Ben.” She pointed at the book and magazine section.

Mack’s head snapped up. Great. Just his luck. He wondered what Charlotte might know regarding the letters, but he was worried she’d reveal more than he was ready to divulge.

“Maybe she’s in a hurry….”

“Don’t be silly.” Mary Jo bustled after Charlotte, and Mack had no choice but to follow, pushing Noelle in the cart.

“Charlotte!” Mary Jo called loudly, and the older woman turned around.

Charlotte was with her husband, Ben Rhodes, Noelle’s grandfather. Her eyes brightened as soon as she saw Mary Jo, Mack and Noelle. “Oh, my, this is a pleasant surprise,” she said, moving toward them with her hands extended. After hugging Mary Jo and Mack, she smiled down at Noelle. “I can’t believe how much she’s changed since we last saw her.”

“It wasn’t that long ago,” Ben said mildly. He was leaning forward, chucking Noelle under the chin.

Ben was still distinguished-looking, and Mack had no difficulty picturing him as an admiral. He knew Ben Rhodes was an honorable man who took his responsibilities seriously. His son David had deeply hurt him by his actions.

“If you like, I could bring Noelle by once a week for a short visit,” Mary Jo offered. “You’re the only grandparents she has.”

Charlotte and Ben exchanged a glance. “We’d love that,” Charlotte said enthusiastically. “Thank you, Mary Jo. That would mean so much to us.”

“Wednesdays would be best for me if that’s okay with you? I can come by when I’ve picked her up from Kelly’s.”

Kelly Jordan was Noelle’s day-care provider.

Again, the older couple conferred with a single glance. “That would be perfect,” Ben assured her.

“I’ll stop by after work, then. I won’t stay long, I promise.”

“You stay as long as you like. Ben and I will look forward to seeing our granddaughter—and you, too, of course.”

“Actually, Mack and I were just talking about you,” Mary Jo told Charlotte.

“Oh?”

“We discovered the oddest thing in the duplex. I found a box of old letters under the floorboards of my bedroom closet.”

Mack moved closer to Mary Jo.

“They’ve been there for years,” Mary Jo said. “The letters were written in the early 1940s to a woman named Joan Manry, who lived in the house.”

“Joan Manry.” Charlotte slowly repeated the name.

“Does that sound the least bit familiar?” she asked hopefully.

Charlotte’s forehead wrinkled. “I can’t say it does. I was a young bride myself back then. Clyde and I had just married, against the wishes of my parents, mind you. I was far too young, but these were desperate times and Clyde was about to go off to war.”

“From what I’ve been able to decipher, Joan lived at 1022 Evergreen with her sister and worked in the shipyard.”

“As I did,” Charlotte said. “I’m sorry, but the name doesn’t ring a bell. Let me think about it, though.”

“Who wrote the letters?” Ben asked. “A soldier?”

“Yes. His name was Dennison,” Mack supplied. “Jacob Dennison.”

“Jacob Dennison.” Charlotte frowned thoughtfully. “His name does sound familiar but I can’t recall why.”

“I’d love to find out what happened to those two,” Mary Jo said, her voice full of enthusiasm. “I want to know if Dennison survived the war and if he and Joan ever got married. If so, I’ll bet their children and grandchildren would treasure these letters. They’re beautifully written and very moving.”

“Hidden away like that, too,” Charlotte commented.

“Yes, I can’t imagine why she’d do that. The only thing I’ve come up with is that, for some reason, Joan’s sister didn’t like Jacob.”

“Maybe,” Charlotte murmured. “I’ll see what I can learn about those names for you,” she said.

“That would be great.” Mack felt some of the tension ease from between his shoulder blades.

Mary Jo turned to Charlotte again. “You don’t happen to know who lived in the duplex in the forties, do you?”

Charlotte shook her head. “No, sorry, but I do know it wasn’t originally a duplex.”

“When did it become one?”

“Oh, heavens, I’m not sure. It must’ve been twenty years ago. The previous owner hadn’t kept up the place, but that all changed when Mack bought it. He’s made such a difference.”

Mack’s heart sank all the way to his feet. He glanced covertly at Mary Jo and was surprised she didn’t react to the news.

“Mack’s made improvements, then?” she asked without letting anything slip.

“The difference is like night and day,” Charlotte said.

Mack stayed quiet, for fear that any remark he made would damn him all the more in Mary Jo’s eyes.

“I’ve kept you long enough,” Mary Jo said after a moment. “I’ll come by on Wednesday with Noelle.”

“Ben and I will see you then.” Ben started to push the cart away when Charlotte turned back. “I’ll find out whatever I can about Joan Manry and Jacob Dennison in the next couple of days and tell you what I learn on Wednesday.”

“Oh, thank you. I can’t wait.”

Mary Jo yanked the cart away from him and steered it back to the diaper aisle at a clipped pace. Mack had to hurry to keep up with her. The anger and betrayal she felt seemed to radiate from her rigid back and stiff shoulders. Unsure how best to proceed, Mack trailed silently behind her.

Not a word passed between them as Mary Jo finished her shopping. He stood, still silent, as she paid for her purchases and exchanged pleasantries with the friendly cashier. The woman’s name tag said Christie. He thought he’d seen her before, but troubled as he was, Mack couldn’t remember where.

Mary Jo seemed quite cheerful—until he caught her eye. Her gaze narrowed and Mack knew there’d be no reprieve for him. She was upset and she wasn’t going to forgive his deception easily.

Once she’d paid and collected her bags, Mack dashed ahead of her and unlocked the car, opening Mary Jo’s door. Usually he put Noelle in her infant seat but this time Mary Jo did it, not giving him a chance. With nothing more to do, Mack slid into the driver’s seat, and simply waited until Mary Jo got in. His hand on the ignition key, he looked at her.

“Can we talk about this?”

“No.”

Her voice was stark.

“Uh, can you let me know when we can talk about it?”

She didn’t answer.

“I guess that means it won’t be anytime soon?” he asked, attempting a bit of levity.

“Probably not.” She stared out the passenger-side window.

Mack exhaled slowly, then backed out of the parking space. He drove in silence.

“Just when I thought I’d met a man I could actually trust,” Mary Jo blurted out five minutes later, “I discover that not only did you outright lie to me but you continued with the fabrication when you had every opportunity to set the record straight. Were we not discussing this very matter no more than thirty minutes ago?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Can I trust anything you have to say?”

“Yes,” he insisted.

“I doubt it.” She looked pointedly out the passenger window again, her arms crossed.

“Would it help to say I’m sorry?” he asked. And he was. But once he’d told her someone else owned the duplex, he couldn’t ever find a way to introduce the truth. He wished now that he’d tried harder.

“No.”

“That’s pretty harsh, don’t you think? Okay, I screwed up. I admit it.”

“Fine, apology accepted.”

Despite what she said, it certainly didn’t sound as if she meant it. “Thank you.”

“Why did you lie?” she demanded.

“Okay, good question. I was afraid—”

“Of what?”

“Afraid you wouldn’t agree to the lower rent payment if you knew I owned the duplex.”

She threw him an angry look. “You’re right, I wouldn’t have. What I want to know is why you felt it was so important for me to move next door to you.”

“Because.” He didn’t have an answer that would satisfy her. He couldn’t very well say he’d fallen completely and totally in love with her and that he couldn’t stand the thought of losing Noelle. Not that she was really his to lose …

“‘Because’? Oh, that explains everything.”

“I wanted to be nearby in order to protect both of you,” he returned, losing his own patience. “What’s so underhanded about that? If David showed up, I wanted him to deal with me, and leave you and Noelle alone.”

“I can take care of my own problems,” she snapped. “I don’t need a knight in shining armor riding to my rescue.”

More like tarnished armor, he reflected, but didn’t say anything.

“Besides, David did show up,” she added.

“And you panicked,” he reminded her.

“Yes, I did panic, and then you jumped into hero mode again, asking me to marry you.”

That hadn’t been one of his finer moments.

“Of all the ridiculous solutions to come up with,” Mary Jo muttered. “And I was frightened enough and foolish enough to say yes.”

“We came to our senses,” he said.

“Yes, thankfully.”

He sighed. “I’m sorry, Mary Jo. I was wrong to mislead you.”

“You did more than mislead me. You lied.”

“Okay, I lied.”

“I don’t appreciate it.”

“That I get,” he said drily. “I just want you to know I regret the lie—and the, uh, misguided proposal.”

No response.

They arrived at the duplex, but neither seemed ready to get out of the car.

“Where do we go from here?” Mack finally asked.

Mary Jo didn’t answer for the longest time. When she did, she turned sideways and looked at him, her eyes wide and imploring. “Can I trust you, Mack?”

“Yes.” He said it without hesitation. “I’d do anything for you and Noelle.”

“Why?”

His shoulders rose as he took a deep breath. He was afraid of Mary Jo’s reaction if he confessed his feelings. She’d probably leave, go back to Seattle, uproot the life she’d created here.

“You don’t know?” he asked instead.

“No,” she said. “I don’t.”

“You need someone. You don’t want to admit it but you do, and I want to be that someone.” He’d toned down his feelings and hoped she’d understand—and not take offense.

“Of all the people I’ve met since Noelle was born, you were the one I felt I could trust the most. I’m devastated to learn otherwise.”

“Will you give me another chance?” he asked. He wouldn’t plead with her, wouldn’t state his case. The decision was hers; this was make-it-or-break-it time. He’d faltered badly but, God willing, Mary Jo would look past his error in judgment and agree to move forward.

“I’m not making any promises,” she said.

“I’m not asking for any.”

She nodded. “Just don’t ever lie to me again.”

“You have my word.” The second he spoke, he realized that expression was a poor choice.

“Your word,” she repeated. “For what that’s worth.”

Mack would need to show her that his word was good and his lie of omission was the wrong thing done for the right reasons.

“From this point forward I’ll pay fair market rent,” she insisted.

Mack didn’t feel he could argue, so he let it go. But he had to acknowledge, if only to himself, that he was relieved the truth had come out.

Five

Christie walked out of her sister’s house and slumped against the closed front door. She didn’t know how Teri managed with three tiny infants. Identical triplet sons.

After a single afternoon of helping Teri with the babies, Christie was completely exhausted. Thankfully Teri’s husband, Bobby, had insisted on a live-in nanny; otherwise, Christie had no idea how the family would’ve coped.

Nikki, the nanny, was off on Wednesdays, and Christie had arranged to have her afternoons free on the same day so she could come over and assist Teri. To her surprise, she’d discovered that when she focused her attention on others, she was a happier person. She’d learned that lesson over Christmas, which had otherwise been a miserable time for her. James, Bobby’s closest friend and chauffeur, had vanished. In an effort to divert herself from her unhappiness without him, Christie had helped distribute food and gifts to the needy. It turned out to be the best thing she could’ve done. Christmas Day was another matter, but she didn’t want to think about that. And then weeks later, he’d returned, without apology or explanation.

The apartment door above the garage opened, and James stepped onto the small porch. While he didn’t invite her into his apartment, he made it clear that he’d welcome her company. The fact that he stood there quietly, waiting, told her as much.

Tired though she was, Christie couldn’t walk away. She loved James. He’d hurt her badly when he’d disappeared without a word—and then seemed to think all should be forgiven once he came back. Eventually she had forgiven him, although she still didn’t understand exactly why he’d left. For good measure she’d tossed in a threat or two. If he ever walked out on her again, it would be over.

She had legitimate reasons for being upset with him. She’d believed he was different from her various exes. Christie had a bad track record with men, starting in high school. The only thing her ex-husband had ever given her—besides trouble—was his name. And every man she’d loved, before and since, had left her high and dry. She’d had a pattern of finding losers she felt she could rescue with enough love and sympathy. Generally they moved in together and for a while all would go well. Then, invariably, there’d be a fight or a betrayal or some kind of disastrous revelation, and the affair would be over, leaving Christie sick at heart, crying her eyes out and desperately alone.

Yes, she’d believed James was unlike any other man she’d ever known. Certainly in the obvious ways, such as the fact that he wasn’t nearly as handsome as the guys she usually went for. Tall, skinny, with facial features that were sharp and slightly irregular, he resembled the caricature of a butler in some English comedies she’d seen. But that was superficial and irrelevant. He was compassionate, caring and kind, and that made him more appealing than all the good-looking men she’d been attracted to in the past.

Furthermore, James had inspired her to become a different woman, to look beyond herself. She’d laid out her past, ugly as it was, so there’d be no secrets between them. Then poof! Like every other man she’d ever loved, he’d disappeared from her life.

When he’d come back a few weeks later, Teri and Bobby had championed his case, but Christie was having none of it. Then Teri went into labor and they’d met at the hospital. After that, Christie decided to give their relationship a second chance. However, things were still tentative. She was bruised, weary, uncertain; experience had been a brutal taskmaster and she’d already given too many second chances.

“You look tired,” James said. He met her halfway down the stairs and slipped his arm around her waist. Walking beside her, he guided her up the rest of the steps.

“You would, too, if you’d held a fussy infant for the past three hours.”

“Jimmy?”

“No, Christopher.” Her sister had named the three little boys after Bobby, James and Christie. Naturally, Christie couldn’t help being partial to Christopher, the smallest of the three and—of course—the one who demanded the most attention.

“What did you do to your hair?” James asked as he kissed the top of her head.

Christie had recently had the front bleached blond and then added streaks of auburn. She never could wear her hair just plain. That was far too boring. Good thing Teri was a hairdresser by trade, or had been until her difficult pregnancy, which had put a temporary end to her career. Her friend Rachel Peyton had done a terrific job with this new style.

“Do you like it?”

“I like you,” he said, drawing her inside his small apartment. He led her to the sofa and urged her to sit down. Christie didn’t object as he went into the kitchen and put water on for tea.

“I like you, too,” she told him.

James brought her a cup of tea, sweetened with honey and with a fresh slice of lemon on the side. No other man had ever waited on her. None had loved her in quite the way James did, either. It would be easy to let down her guard yet again, but she couldn’t. She needed time to feel confident in his love. Everything she knew about James said she could trust him; however, she’d believed that before, and he’d abandoned her. No, for her own peace of mind, her own emotional well-being, she had to play it safe.

“How’s school?” he asked.

Christie had signed up for photography and accounting classes, and another business course, intent on starting a company that specialized in documenting personal property for insurance purposes.

“Okay.” Having a reliable vehicle was a huge benefit. Getting to school by bus could be a daunting task, especially since she still worked at Wal-Mart. James had been instrumental in getting her that car, although she hadn’t known it at the time. She would never have accepted his assistance had she been aware that Bobby and Teri had involved him.

“I’m helping one of the girls in my accounting class.” Christie was proud of that. “I’m actually pretty good with numbers.”

“Me, too.”

“I guess that means we’ll have smart babies one day,” she said, laughing. She couldn’t resist teasing him a little.

James’s face flushed at the mention of children. He was worlds behind her when it came to sex and relationships. Christie knew he’d had some brief and not very successful liaisons, but had never been in a serious relationship before now. He’d been a chess prodigy—like Bobby—until he’d suffered a nervous collapse. Bobby was a good friend to James, and had eventually hired him as his driver. To the best of Christie’s knowledge, James hadn’t played chess since he was a teenager.

James sat close to her and slid one arm around her shoulders. Christie relaxed against him, shutting her eyes and sighing contentedly.

“I want us to get married soon,” he said.

She savored his words, wanting to believe they’d spend the rest of their lives blissfully together. But her experience shouted otherwise.

Several of the men in her past had offered to marry her; the marriage proposal typically came just before certain awkward matters arose.

Yeah, right. Awkward didn’t begin to describe them.

With Jason, they’d had to wait until his divorce was final—and then she’d learned he hadn’t even bothered to file.

With the next guy, it was problems with the IRS. Big problems…. He’d expected her to pay off his debt.

And with Danny … He’d had trouble with the law. In fact, she’d found out just in time that he was only interested in marriage so she would make conjugal visits while he served a twenty-year prison sentence for fraud. Plus, her role as his wife meant supplying him with money for the entire length of his term.

“Christie?”

She knew James was waiting for her response.

“I … I don’t think I’m ready for marriage yet,” she murmured, and felt him tense. She didn’t expect him to be pleased but she couldn’t say anything different.

James didn’t respond right away. “I thought marriage was what you wanted,” he finally said. “What we both want.”

“I do … but not yet.”

He removed his arm and straightened. Leaning forward, he stared down at the floor, then asked, “When do you suppose you will?”

“I don’t know. Why? Are you planning to walk out on me again?” If so, she wanted to know that now.

“No. I plan to spend the rest of my life loving you.”

She’d heard that before. Her suspicions rose again; it sounded so promising, but then it always did … until she learned the truth.

“Why do you want to get married so quickly? Do we really know each other, James? I trusted you and look what happened.” She didn’t mean to keep throwing that one transgression in his face, but she was genuinely worried about it.

He stood and walked to the other side of the room. “I’d hoped we could let it go.”

Christie wished their situation was that simple. “Do we really know each other?” she repeated. “Sure, we’re attracted and it would be easy to become physically involved …”

“Okay.” He perked up at that.

How predictable men were. This was usually when other men she’d dated would suggest they “test” their relationship by setting up house together. Naturally they always moved in with her—because they could no longer afford rent. Granted, that wasn’t the case with James, but she realized he was growing frustrated, although he was the one who’d initially wanted to wait. He’d resisted jumping into bed a few months ago, when she’d been willing. Apparently their views on this subject had been reversed. Imitating a game-show host, she blared, “Wrong answer.”

The vehemence in her voice made his head jerk back. “You aren’t interested in sex?”

She laughed spontaneously. “I didn’t say that.”

“Okay,” he said with reluctance. “Then what’s the problem? You were certainly ready to do it with other men. Why not me?”

Christie blinked at the physical pain that struck her at his words. She pressed her hand against her heart until it passed. Then she drew in a deep breath and slowly expelled it before she stood.

“I think it’s time I left. Thank you for the tea.” She carried her mug to the sink. Her hand shook as she set it down and she tried to swallow the constriction in her throat. She turned to leave and found James blocking the door.

“I didn’t mean that,” he said, sounding utterly miserable.

He wasn’t the only one feeling bad. “Sure you did,” she said, putting on a bright face. “And why shouldn’t you? It’s true. I was all too willing to give myself to other men. There were a lot of them, too. And then I was stupid enough to tell you everything, thinking—oh, I don’t know, thinking that if you knew, we could put it behind us. Thinking you’d understand how important a clean slate was to me. And let me remind you, James, you turned me down a few months ago.”

“Yes, but …” He sighed. “You can trust me, Christie. You know I’d never intentionally hurt you.”

“I used to think so,” she muttered. “Now …”

He closed his eyes. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s best to hold off on marriage. I’ll tell you what—you let me know when you’re ready to forgive and forget, and we’ll talk again.”

“Good idea,” she said cheerfully. “And you do the same.”

His brows shot up, and he stepped aside so she could exit the apartment.

Christie walked past him and was halfway down the stairs when he said, “I don’t suppose this is a good time to mention that I’m going away for a few days.”

She paused, her foot midway between two steps. The only reason he’d told her this now was to get her attention. For all she knew, it might not even be true. “When did this come up?” she asked without turning around.

“An hour ago. It’s business. Bobby and I have some meetings in L.A.”

Which explained why Teri hadn’t said anything earlier. Questions buzzed in her brain, demanding answers. She wanted to know exactly how long he’d be away. What kind of business? And why did he leave it until now to tell her? But making an issue of this would’ve been too much like the old Christie, the insecure Christie, the woman who required constant reassurance.

“Okay,” she murmured, although she clenched the railing so tightly that her fingers ached.

“Should I call you when I’m back?”

She gave a quick shrug. “Up to you. Have a good trip.”

He sighed loudly enough for her to hear. “I don’t think I can.”

She turned to face him with a tentative smile. “No, I mean it, James. I want you to have a good trip.” She felt his gaze follow her as she descended the steps and walked to her car. She didn’t look back.

As she pulled out of Teri’s driveway, she couldn’t help wondering if she’d just rejected a marriage proposal from the only decent man who’d ever asked her.

Six

On Thursday, Grace hurried into the Pot Belly Deli five minutes late. She’d arranged to meet Olivia for lunch at noon, but she’d had to deal with a patron’s inquiry. She didn’t like to keep her friend waiting.

Now that Olivia had finished her chemo, she was on the way to remission. She’d given herself the summer off to regain her strength before returning to the courthouse, where she was a family-court judge.

“Sorry I’m late,” Grace said, sliding into the chair across from her best friend.

“I took the liberty of ordering for you.”

Grace smiled. “Oh, good. What am I having for lunch?”

“Cream of potato soup and a green salad with ranch dressing on the side. No scone.”

Olivia knew her likes and dislikes, which stood to reason after forty-some years of friendship. “And you?” Grace asked.

“A salad and scone.”

Grace threw her friend an accusing look. Olivia was still far too thin; she needed more than just a salad.

Olivia grinned. “And a slice of double chocolate cake.”

“Excellent.”

“With two forks.”

“Even better.”

“So, are you ready for Rover?” Olivia asked.

Grace leaned back in her chair. After months of preparation, the Reading with Rover program was about to launch at the library. She’d worked hard to get it set up. Children with below-grade-level reading abilities could come to the library, where they’d be paired with a dog. The dogs made the reading environment nonthreatening; kids could read simply for enjoyment. With a dog—and a silent companion—as their audience, they didn’t risk being embarrassed in front of their teachers or peers. Children loved dogs, and the dogs loved them back. She’d learned about the program in a professional journal and been intrigued.

“Am I ready?” Grace said, repeating the question. “I think so. I won’t know until this afternoon. So far, I have two teenage volunteers and two adults from the community.”

“How many dogs?”

“We’re starting with six dogs and six children between the ages of seven and eleven. They’re all at risk schoolwise.”

“The superintendent’s on board?”

“Oh, yes. The superintendent herself told me she’s impressed with the idea.”

Olivia reached for her tea. “I’m absolutely enthralled with the whole thing.”

“Me, too, and I’m so glad they all came from the animal shelter.”

Olivia glanced up. “Aren’t they trained? I thought you told me they were.”

“Well, yes, they are. Beth Morehouse chose the dogs from the shelter and then trained them as therapy dogs. She does wonders with these animals. She’s been taking them into nursing homes and hospitals for the past couple of years.”

“Beth Morehouse? You’ve mentioned her, but we’ve never met. She wasn’t at the fundraiser, was she?”

“No, she was out of town, working with a dog owner in Seattle.”

“Tell me about her.” Olivia grimaced. “You’ve probably told me before but, you know—chemo brain.”

Grace was well aware that chemotherapy often resulted in a mental fog that could take months or even years to lift.

Grace nodded sympathetically. “She moved into the area a few years back. She’s a divorced mother of two and a dog trainer by profession. She already had three dogs of her own and then adopted the others … and it sort of grew from there.”

Grace had met Beth while working as a volunteer at the animal shelter. When she discovered Beth had therapy dogs, it seemed natural to use them in the Reading with Rover program. Grace had first spoken to Beth in early winter, and the other woman had immediately caught her vision and agreed to help.

“I’m excited about it,” Grace said. Not only did she love bringing new programs into the library, but this one had felt right from the moment she’d heard of it. Now, after months of planning, she was about to see it come to fruition.

“I know it’s going to go well,” Olivia said with unwavering confidence.

“I hope you’re right.”

“Do I detect a note of hesitation?” Olivia asked.

Having been friends all these years, Olivia knew her better than anyone, even Cliff. “Not hesitation, exactly. I’m a bit concerned about the two high school volunteers.”

The waitress brought their meals and they both started to eat.

“One is Tanni Bliss and the other is Kristen Jamey,” Grace said after a spoonful of soup. “Those two are about as different as any two teenagers can be. Kristen is a cheerleader and I understand she’s well liked. Tanni, on the other hand, goes out of her way to avoid hanging out with the popular crowd. I know from her mother that she’s had a rough time of it since her father died and pretty much isolates herself. I just hope Tanni and Kristen can work together.”

“What makes you suspect they can’t?”

Grace wasn’t sure how to explain it. “At the first volunteer meeting, I saw how Tanni looked at Kristen, like she thought the time I spent training Kristen was a complete waste. She as much as said so—she hinted that after a couple of weeks, Kristen would be gone. Kristen pretended not to hear, but she did and I could tell she was offended.”

Olivia paused with her fork next to her plate. “Why would Tanni take such a strong dislike to Kristen?”

“She seems to view Kristen as an airhead who’s gotten involved because she needs a volunteer project on her college application. Tanni implied Kristen wasn’t going to get into college on her grades alone. She’s a cheerleader, very cute and bubbly, and Tanni isn’t that type. Like I said, the two are total opposites.”

“She’s recently lost her father, so my guess is that Tanni’s dealing with depression.”

“I think so, too.” Grace hoped the program would provide Tanni with some encouragement—and that the girls would keep their mutual dislike out of the library.

At three-thirty that same afternoon, Grace was surrounded by dogs and kids and mild chaos as the children were matched up with their new canine friends.

“Kristen,” Grace said, “I want you to work with Mimi and Aubrey.” Mimi was a mixed breed, part Pomeranian and part something else she couldn’t identify. Aubrey was a first-grader who clung to her mother’s hand until she was introduced to Mimi. Grace found it gratifying to see how quickly the youngster responded to the dog.

Kristen led the girl to a fairly secluded area by the window, where the lighting was good. Together Aubrey and Kristen sat down on the carpet. Mimi snuggled up next to Aubrey and placed her chin on the little girl’s knee.

“Tanni, I’m going to assign you to Boomer and Tyler.”

“You got it.” The girl nodded and led seven-year-old Tyler and Boomer to the opposite end of the area reserved for the program. Boomer was a golden retriever who reminded Grace of Buttercup, her own dog.

Grace couldn’t help noticing that Tanni moved as far away from Kristen as she could, which didn’t surprise her.

She paired the two adults with two children and two dogs each, but those children were older—ten and eleven, eight and ten, respectively.

Grace stood back and waited. Her research indicated that the children felt more comfortable reading aloud to the dogs than to adults and achieved higher reading levels with practice, which of course made sense. Research showed that being with dogs enhanced their social skills and helped overcome shyness. Watching the children interact with the animals, she witnessed a startling—and very rapid—transformation in each child. She smiled as Boomer, the golden retriever, looked up at Tyler with his big brown eyes and actually held the book open with his paw pressed across the top of the page.

Grace had learned that various bookstores as well as libraries across the continent participated in programs very similar to this. In fact, one large Seattle bookstore brought therapy dogs into the children’s section twice a month. Apparently other bookstores were starting to do the same thing.

Grace only hoped that the reading program at the Cedar Cove library would prove to be as popular and as rewarding.

The thirty minutes seemed to flash by. She moved silently from one reading group to another. It was important that the children feel relaxed and at ease; the volunteers were there to oversee the kids and dogs, but once the children were set up with books, they were to quietly extract themselves and watch from a distance, letting the children read to “their” dogs alone.

Grace joined Kristen after she’d left Aubrey. “What do you think?” she asked.

Kristen’s pretty face lit up with a smile. “Aubrey took to Mimi right away. It was amazing. Did you notice how Mimi cuddled up to Aubrey? It was so sweet.”

From the corner of her eye, Grace noticed as Tanni made a face. Kristen saw it, too. Grace saw a flicker of pain in the girl’s eyes. She didn’t say anything but Grace knew Tanni’s look of contempt had hurt.

When the children were finished, Beth Morehouse collected the dogs and walked them out of the library, with Kristen and Tanni’s help.

Tanni returned to retrieve her backpack. “Do you have a minute?” Grace asked, stopping her.

“Yeah, sure.”

Grace led the way into her small office. “How did you feel the first session went?” she asked, gesturing for Tanni to take the seat across from her.

The teenager slouched down in the chair. “All right, I think. Tyler and Boomer seem to be a good match. I was surprised by how easily Tyler felt comfortable with such a big dog. He’s small for his age and I was afraid a golden retriever might intimidate him, but that wasn’t the case.”

“Beth suggested the pairings.”

“A couple of times I wanted to jump in and correct Tyler, but I knew that’s not what I’m supposed to do.”

“Great.” The children needed to gain self-confidence and self-esteem. That wouldn’t happen if the volunteers intervened and corrected their pronunciation.

Tanni reached for her backpack, which she’d dropped at her feet when she sat down.

“I had another reason for asking to speak to you,” Grace said, broaching the subject carefully. “It’s about Kristen.”

Tanni frowned. “What about her?”

“Do you dislike her?”

The girl shrugged. “Not really.”

“Do the two of you have a history I should know about?”

Tanni stared down at the floor and shook her head. “No.”

“But you don’t like her, do you?” Grace asked, pressing the point.

“No,” Tanni was honest enough to admit.

Grace leaned forward. “Do you mind telling me why?”

Tanni didn’t answer right away. When she did respond, the words seemed to spew out. “Kristen isn’t doing this because she wants to help these kids. You realize that, don’t you?”

Grace raised her eyebrows. “She told you this?”

“Well, no, but it’s obvious. She’s volunteering because she’s hoping for this Citizen Award that’s given out at graduation.”

Olivia had gotten the award the year they’d graduated. The Rotary Club gave it to a graduating senior with good marks who’d shown leadership skills and had a history of volunteering in the community.

“She’d never get it with her grades,” Tanni said scornfully.

“You know this for a fact?” Grace asked.

Tanni hesitated. “Not for sure, but like I said, it’s obvious.”

It didn’t appear all that obvious to Grace. “I think you’re making an assumption about Kristen that might be way off base.”

“It isn’t,” Tanni said without a hint of doubt. “She’s a cheerleader.” This was added in the most contemptuous tone.

“You don’t like cheerleaders?” Grace asked mildly.

“Hardly.”

“I was a cheerleader in high school,” Grace told her.

Tanni chanced a look in her direction. “But things were a whole lot different back then.”

She made it sound like the days of the Wild West, when covered wagons roamed the prairie. “Oh? How’s that?”

“You know,” Tanni said with another shrug.

“Sorry, I don’t.”

“Cheerleaders these days are real airheads. Kristen is, anyway. She’s got this laugh that makes me want to puke every time I hear it.”

Grace wondered what that was about. “Does she have a boyfriend?” she asked.

Tanni lifted one shoulder. “I suppose so. They all do in that crowd.”

“Oh.”

“If you think I’m jealous, you’re wrong! I have a boyfriend, too. Shaw Wilson.”

“Shaw who works at Mocha Mama’s?”

“He isn’t there anymore. He’s at art school in San Francisco. A friend of Will Jefferson’s helped him get in. It’s a really big deal that he was accepted.”

“I didn’t know Shaw wanted to be an artist.” Grace was well aware that Tanni’s mother, Shirley Bliss, was both gifted and successful.

“He’s really talented,” Tanni said, her voice fervent with conviction.

“How wonderful that he has this opportunity.”

She nodded, but Grace could see that the girl missed her boyfriend. “I’ll bet you’re at loose ends without him around,” she said.

Tanni gave the same careless shrug, which wasn’t really a response. “I am. It’s one of the reasons I volunteered here.”

“I’m glad you did.”

Tanni raised her eyes to meet Grace’s. “You mean you want me to stay?”

“Of course.”

“Even if I don’t get along with Kristen?”

“Well, I’m hoping you’d be willing to cut her a little slack.”

Tanni frowned. “How?” she asked.

“Drop the dirty looks and the sarcastic comments.”

Tanni shuffled her feet back and forth. “I’ll try. The thing is,” she said wryly, “it comes sort of instinctively.”

“I’m not saying you have to be friends, Tanni. All I’m asking is that you respect her and stop judging her motivations. So what if she volunteered because she’s going after the Rotary award? Her being here isn’t taking anything away from you, is it?”

“Not really,” she reluctantly agreed.

“That’s what I thought.”

Tanni bent to grab her backpack. “Can I go now?”

“Of course. Thanks for hearing me out.”

“Sure thing.”

“You’ll be back next week?” Grace asked, following her to the office door.

Tanni nodded. “I might not like Kristen, but I think Tyler and Boomer are cool.”

Seven

Rachel Peyton stopped at the dry cleaners to pick up her good jacket on the way home from Get Nailed. As she waited, a wave of dizziness nearly overwhelmed her and she quickly found a chair.

“You okay?” Duck-Hwan Hyo asked, his eyes dark with concern.

Rachel tried to reassure him. “Yes, yes, I’m fine,” she said, but her voice sounded shaky.

“You have baby?”

Rachel nodded. Funny, the man at the dry cleaners had figured it out, but not her own husband. There were times Bruce could be so dense that she wanted to hit him over the head with her shoe. She longed to tell her husband; despite the fact that this pregnancy wasn’t planned, Rachel was excited about the baby.

Duck called something in Korean to his wife. The petite woman came out from the back of the shop and joined her husband at the front counter. They had a brief conversation that involved several sympathetic glances at Rachel.

“You want tea?” his wife, Su Jin, asked softly. “I make you cup of green tea.”

“No, I’m okay, really.”

“You sure?” her husband asked.

“I’m sure, Duck,” Rachel told him. “Thank you. I just got light-headed for a moment.”

“I change my name,” Duck said with a polite bow of his head. “I not Duck anymore. I pick American name.” His face beamed with pride.

“I choose American name, too,” Su Jin announced.

“My American name,” Duck said, squaring his shoulders, “is José.”

“José,” Rachel repeated, and struggled not to laugh.

“My American name,” his wife said next, “is Serenity.”

“I’ll remember both,” Rachel promised them. She collected her dry cleaning and went out to her car. Going to the cleaners had been a delaying tactic. Jolene would be home and there’d be the usual tension between them once Rachel entered the house. If anything, that tension had been escalating.

Jolene and Rachel used to be close; Rachel had been friend as well as surrogate mother to the girl. That changed when Rachel married her father. Then they’d gone from friends to adversaries. Jolene appeared to see Rachel as competition for her father’s affection. The groundwork of friendship Rachel had laid had given way like quicksand as soon as Bruce slid the wedding ring on her finger.

Rachel was still shocked that her relationship with Jolene had disintegrated so fast. She’d done her utmost to be patient and understanding. At first, she’d tried to keep Bruce out of it; she didn’t want her husband caught in an impossible situation, forced to side with either his wife or his daughter. That hadn’t worked. Jolene’s antagonism had grown to the point of near-belligerence, and Rachel no longer knew what to do.

The pregnancy complicated everything. She’d warned Bruce that they needed to be more careful about protection when making love. She’d gone on the pill right away, but had a rare adverse reaction to it. So Bruce had said he’d take responsibility for birth control and he had—most of the time.

She blamed Bruce; she blamed herself. When she’d realized that their occasional slips had resulted in pregnancy, Rachel had been stunned. She’d needed to adjust to it before she told Bruce, knowing he wouldn’t be able to keep the secret from Jolene for long. Based on recent experience, Rachel recognized that the situation, which was barely tolerable now, would only get worse.

She should be heading home and getting dinner started, but the thought of facing Jolene was more than she could bear, especially when she felt queasy, as she seemed to every afternoon. She suspected it was a combination of nausea caused by the pregnancy, worrying about Jolene’s reaction and the constant stress at home.

She couldn’t do it. Instead of driving home, she went to Teri’s place on Seaside Avenue. Rachel hadn’t been to see her friend in nearly a week. She turned into the long driveway and parked in front of the house with a feeling of reprieve—however temporary that reprieve might be.

Rather than ring the doorbell for fear of waking the triplets, she tapped on the door.

To her surprise Bobby answered, a baby tucked in the crook of his arm. “Teri will be glad to see you,” he said, bouncing the baby as he spoke. This was a sight Rachel had never expected to see. Bobby, who was a world chess champion, holding an infant in his arms. It warmed her heart and helped her believe that the power of love could change things for the better.

“Is this a bad time?” she asked, afraid she might’ve walked into the middle of a feeding. Those were always hectic.

“Are you kidding?” Teri asked, sweeping into the foyer. “I’m dying for company. Come on in and make yourself comfortable. Let me bring Jimmy here over to Nikki. I’ll be back in a minute.” Teri took the baby from her husband’s arms and briefly disappeared. When she returned, without little Jimmy, she flopped down on the sofa next to Rachel. Bobby, who’d been awkwardly trying to entertain Rachel with an account of some chess game or other, hurried off, his relief all too evident.

“You look exhausted,” Rachel told Teri.

“I am,” Teri admitted. “We haven’t got the boys into a routine yet. Nikki’s helping me with it.” She sighed gustily. “I have no idea what I’d do without such a wonderful nanny.”

“You were lucky to find her.”

“I know.” Teri smiled, clasping her hands prayerfully. “I’m so grateful. Now … what about some tea?”

“I’d love it,” Rachel said. Ever since she’d declined the cup of tea Su Jin—or Serenity—had offered her, she’d been craving one.

“Me, too. I haven’t had a chance to sit down all afternoon.” Despite looking worn out, Teri leaped back up and hurried into the kitchen, Rachel trailing behind her. “I hope you’re here to tell me Bruce knows you’re pregnant,” Teri said.

Rachel shook her head. “Not yet.”

“Rach, you have to tell your husband.”

Rachel shrugged. “I agree. I just want to preserve what peace there is for as long as I can.”

“You can’t allow Jolene to run your life—which is exactly what’s happening now.”

“Then tell me how to change that and I’ll be happy to do it.”

Teri sat down at the kitchen table, and Rachel took the chair across from her. “Have you tried taking Jolene out, just the two of you?” Teri asked.

Rachel nodded. “But she isn’t interested in going anywhere if I’m along.”

“I thought she liked to shop?”

“She does, but not if I’m with her.” Part of the problem was that Jolene preferred to be with kids her own age rather than an adult. Like almost every young teenager, she was far more influenced by her friends and their opinions than by her parents. Granted, she idolized her dad, but Rachel had become the evil stepmother.

“That’s too bad.”

“I’ve also tried to get her interested in taking a class with me.”

Teri’s eyes shone with approval. “Great idea!”

“I signed us up for cake decorating. You know how much Jolene loves to bake. Bruce thought it was a good idea, too, but it backfired. The night of the first class she pretended to be sick and stayed home. Bruce said the minute I was out the door Jolene experienced a miraculous recovery.” She sighed. “So it’s not like he hasn’t seen some of her bad behavior, but he doesn’t see the whole picture. Anyway, I finished the classes without Jolene attending a single one.”

“Why? Did she get ‘sick’ every week?”

“No, she flat-out refused to go. She said she missed too much the first week and would always be behind. Besides that, she said she wasn’t interested in decorating cakes. That was for retards like me—her word, by the way.”

Jolene was free with her insults but smart enough not to say them in front of her father. And so far, Rachel hadn’t been able to bring herself to tattle.

“How are things between you and Bruce?” Teri asked.

The kettle whistled then and Teri got up to make the tea—decaffeinated, in deference to Rachel’s pregnancy—and assemble a plate of crackers and various cheeses. They carried everything back into the family room and sat down on the sofa again.

“Bruce is … Bruce,” she murmured.

“Oblivious, right?”

Rachel nodded, making a wry face to hide her unhappiness. The pregnancy was playing havoc with her emotions. In the past, she’d never dissolved easily into tears but they sprang to her eyes now. She fought to hold them back, blinking furiously. “He’s got a one-track mind,” she whispered, dabbing at her eyes with a napkin.

“And that one track leads directly to the bedroom.”

Rachel nodded again.

“The fact that he wants to go to bed at eight o’clock every night infuriates Jolene, too. The girl isn’t stupid. She knows why her father’s suddenly so tired.” Rachel had tried to explain to him that his sexual appetite wasn’t helping the situation between her and Jolene, but Bruce said his love life was none of his daughter’s business. He was right; nevertheless, it made Rachel’s relationship with Jolene even more difficult.

Rachel loved the way her husband desired her. The hours they spent locked in their bedroom were the only peaceful times she had. Whenever they made love she had the urge to tell him about the baby … but she hadn’t. She simply couldn’t. And she hadn’t told him he could dispense with using protection. Even Bruce might’ve been able to figure that one out.

It didn’t help, either, that Jolene was often still up, slamming things around, making sure they knew that she knew what they were doing. And Bruce himself often went right to sleep afterward. So … she hadn’t found a natural opportunity to tell him.

Rachel tentatively chose a sliver of cheese from the platter Teri had set on the table. “I dread going home at the end of the day,” she said.

“That’s not good.”

“No, it isn’t, and I feel helpless to change anything. I don’t know what to do, Teri.”

“Well, you could try family counseling.” Her friend pulled up her knees, resting her feet on the edge of the sofa. “Or … do you want Bobby to talk to Bruce?” she asked.

Rachel was grateful Teri had offered, but she couldn’t see how it would improve matters. “Thanks, but no.”

Teri actually looked relieved. “I can’t imagine that Bobby would know what to say, anyway,” she confessed. “I adore that man, but this is not the sort of thing he’s comfortable with. Did I tell you he was away for a few days? The boys and I missed him like crazy.”

“Bobby was away? Where?”

Teri took a sip of her tea. “Bobby and James went to L.A. They had some business they needed to attend to—I don’t know the details.” She frowned as she said it.

“Nothing’s wrong, is there?”

“No, no,” Teri was quick to assure her. “Not with Bobby. It’s my sister again. Christie and James have had another falling-out. James can be as stubborn as my little sister. I don’t think they’re speaking.”

“Oh, no.” Hearing that saddened Rachel. Everything had been going so well between them.

“I’m sure they’ll work it out,” Teri said. “James loves her and my sister feels the same way about him. My guess is that this will blow over in a few days.”

“I hope so. The next time I talk to you, I want to hear that they’ve set a wedding date.”

Rachel finished her tea and left soon afterward, driving straight to Yakima Street. She hadn’t come up with any solutions but felt better for having discussed the problem with her best friend.

When she finally got home, Bruce was already there. She pulled her car into the garage beside his and grabbed her dry cleaning from the backseat. Bruce had the garage door open before she’d even reached the house.

“You’re late,” he said in aggrieved tones.

“I went to see Teri.”

“You didn’t let Jolene know where you were. She was worried.” The accusation in his voice stung, although Rachel didn’t believe for a minute that her stepdaughter was worried.

Jolene stood behind her father, looking far too pleased with herself. “You told me I have to let you know if I’m going to be home late,” she said smugly.

“Well, yes, but I’m the adult here. I don’t report to you.” Perhaps that was too blunt, but she couldn’t restrain herself. Rachel was barely inside the house and the attacks had already begun. “If it’ll make you happy, I’ll call the next time I’m going to be late.”

“I have to abide by the rules, but you don’t?” Jolene said as Rachel stepped past her and into the kitchen.

Rachel ignored the comment, hung her dry cleaning in the hall closet and then walked back to the kitchen, past both Jolene and Bruce. “I’ll start dinner now.”

“What are we having?” Jolene asked, following her.

Rachel had put ground chicken in the refrigerator to thaw. “What would you like?”

The girl shrugged. “Nothing you cook,” she said under her breath.

Rachel pretended not to hear. “Bruce, do you have any preference for dinner?”

“How about tacos?” he called out from the living room, where he sat at the computer desk he’d placed in one corner. He was, as usual, unconscious of the tension between Rachel and Jolene.

“Sounds good to me,” Rachel said, not looking at Jolene as she brought the thawed chicken out of the refrigerator.

“I hate tacos,” her stepdaughter said.

“Since when?”

“Since you started cooking them. My dad used to make them better. We made tacos together and had a lot of fun.”

In other words, Rachel’s advent into their lives had ruined everything.

“I’d love your help,” Rachel said, striving to speak pleasantly and disregard Jolene’s insults. “If you showed me how, then maybe I could make them the way you like them.”

“Not a chance,” Jolene said, and disappeared down the hallway to her bedroom.

Trying to salvage the evening, Rachel went to work; she seasoned the chicken with taco seasoning, grated the cheese, diced fresh tomatoes and shredded lettuce. Then she put the meal on the table, which, to her pleasure, Bruce had set without being reminded. He summoned Jolene and the three of them sat down.

“How was school?” Bruce asked his daughter.

“Great. I got an A on my history test.”

“Congratulations,” Rachel said.

Jolene glanced away as if to discount any praise from Rachel. “Misty asked me to spend the night on Friday. I can, can’t I, Dad?”

Bruce looked at Rachel. “I don’t have any objection if you don’t.”

“I thought Misty’s parents worked swing shift.”

“So?” he asked.

“So, who else will be there until her parents get home?”

“No one,” Jolene said irritably. “Her parents let her take care of herself. We’re not babies, you know.”

“Jolene’s spent the night at Misty’s before,” Bruce added, siding with his daughter.

“But that was a Saturday and her parents were home,” Rachel pointed out.

“Oh, right.”

“Why don’t you have Misty spend the night at our place?” Rachel suggested.

Jolene glared across the table at her. “Not with you here.”

“Jolene,” Bruce snapped, reprimanding her.

“I wish you’d never married Rachel,” she shouted at her father. “I hate having her in our house. I want it to be like it was before.”

“Jolene, please …” Rachel began but her stepdaughter wasn’t willing to listen. Instead, she jumped up from the table and ran down the hallway to her room. Rachel flinched as the door slammed shut.

After a moment of silence, she met her husband’s eyes across the table. Bruce released a pent-up sigh. “I’m sorry. That was … unfortunate.”

“I shouldn’t have said anything.” Hard as Rachel tried, it never seemed to do any good.

“No, you brought up a valid point. If Jolene spends the night with one of her girlfriends, I want there to be adult supervision. I know Misty’s grandmother stays with her some of the nights her parents are gone, but apparently she’s alone the rest of the time. Those two girls together, without any supervision, could get into trouble.”

Rachel stood and started to clear the table. She considered bringing up the possibility of counseling, then decided to wait until she didn’t feel quite so tired.

“Do you want me to get Jolene to help with the dishes?” he asked.

If he did, Jolene would sulk and argue, and that would only increase Rachel’s stress. “No, thanks. I’ll do them.”

Bruce frowned. “She should be doing chores.”

“Yes, but … not tonight. She’s upset with us both. She can do the dishes tomorrow.”

“You’re sure?” he asked.

Rachel nodded wearily. A few minutes later, as she stood at the sink, rinsing off the plates and setting them in the bottom rack of the dishwasher, Bruce moved in behind her. He’d finished clearing the table and had put the leftovers in the refrigerator. Now he slipped his arms around her waist and nuzzled her neck, dropping warm, moist kisses beside her ear. Shivers of awareness raced down her spine.

“Bruce …” she whispered, but then she let him continue. She closed her eyes and leaned back, her weight resting against his strength. She was vaguely aware of a noise behind her, but it didn’t register at first. When she realized Jolene had come into the room, she instantly stiffened.

“You two are disgusting!” the girl screamed. “I can’t have friends over because you embarrass me. It would help if you could keep your hands off each other for five minutes, you know.” With that, she stormed down the hallway and banged her bedroom door shut for the second time that night.

Bruce released Rachel and sighed. “I guess that means Misty won’t be spending Friday night with us.”

Rachel didn’t know if he was joking or simply unobservant. Either way, the only response she could manage was to roll her eyes.

Eight

Mary Jo Wyse woke, startled out of a deep sleep. She wasn’t sure if that was because of a dream she’d been having or because Noelle had made some small noise as she slept. At almost five months, the baby was sleeping through the night—well, practically every night. Mary Jo was grateful for that. Noelle slept in a crib in her room; Mary Jo wasn’t ready to move her to the nursery yet.

As she lay in bed, staring up at the dark ceiling, Mary Jo mulled over what she’d discovered the previous weekend. Mack owned the duplex. He’d wanted her living close by and, in order to make that happen, he’d misled her into thinking a distant friend of his was the owner.

His lie disappointed her deeply. She liked Mack; in fact, she liked him a great deal. Nevertheless, she was wary of embarking on another relationship. David Rhodes had taught her several painful lessons and she’d be a fool if she didn’t take those lessons to heart.

The problem was that she wanted to trust Mack. But she’d yearned to believe in David, too. She’d clung for much too long to the fiction that her baby’s father loved her and welcomed their child, refusing to accept what was obvious to everyone else … and should’ve been to her.

Even her brothers knew what kind of man David was without ever meeting him. When she’d finally recognized the truth, Mary Jo had been devastated. Yet, despite everything, she’d never regret having Noelle. The baby gave her life purpose. And hope.

Because of Noelle, there was more to think about than herself. Any decision she made, any action she took, would have an impact on her daughter, too.

To his credit Mack had tried to make amends. Monday afternoon Mary Jo arrived home from her job at Allan Harris’s law firm to find a large bouquet of flowers on her doorstep. The card that accompanied it said simply, “I’m sorry,” and was signed by Mack.

Tuesday and Wednesday nights he was at the fire station, but on Thursday there was another gift. A set of cake pans.

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