and parked in her usual spot. Grace figured Cliff must be in the house. She hoped he hadn’t gone to bed.
“Is that you, Grace?” he said, coming to meet her in the entryway, accompanied by the dog.
“It’s me.” She stooped to pet Buttercup, then walked into her husband’s arms. After a lengthy hug, she asked, “How’s Sunshine?”
“Fabulous. She has a handsome son and she’s doing well. How’s Kelly?”
“She has a beautiful daughter and she’s doing well, too.”
He chuckled and hugged her again. “Little Emma Grace—she couldn’t have a nicer name.”
Grace smiled. “Olivia and I celebrated with pie and coffee at the Pancake Palace.”
“That’s what your message said.”
“Olivia insisted we set a date for our wedding reception so I suggested mid-October. Is that okay with you?”
“Sure—as long as this is something you want to do.”
She nodded. “I want the world to know I’ve got the best husband in the world.”
Cliff kissed the top of her head. “I’m the lucky one.”
“You think so, do you?” Try as she might, Grace was unable to stifle a yawn.
Slipping his arm around her waist, Cliff led her down the hallway to their bedroom. “You must be exhausted.”
“I thought I’d be too keyed up to sleep, but …”
Cliff yawned, too. “I thought the same thing. Come on, honey, let’s go to bed.”
She should tell him now, Grace realized. But because they had so much to celebrate, she decided she couldn’t. Not then. Perhaps in the morning. Right now they were both too tired. They were happy. To destroy the evening with news of Will Jefferson just seemed wrong.
All she could do was pray that Cliff didn’t learn it from anyone else.
Twelve
“Can Rachel take me shopping?” Jolene asked for the sixth time.
“I said that would be fine,” Bruce muttered, leafing through the Cedar Cove Chronicle. He worked hard at his computer support business and needed this quiet time in the evenings. Just half an hour to regroup; that was all. Since Stephanie’s death he’d developed a routine with their daughter. He got home from work, watched the news and read the paper while Jolene entertained herself with a book or a jigsaw puzzle. Afterward they prepared dinner together. Their meals weren’t always the meat-and-potatoes variety, either. Some nights it was bacon, eggs and waffles. More than once they’d had cookies and milk with popcorn for dessert, but he didn’t make a habit of that.
“You didn’t phone her,” Jolene whined.
“Why don’t you?” he said. She’d called Rachel Pendergast often enough in the past. Rachel had stepped in as a surrogate mother after Stephanie’s death and spent many evenings and Saturdays with them both.
At age five, Jolene had decided she needed a mother and she’d chosen Rachel. Bruce smiled as he recalled the day they’d met Rachel at the beauty salon—and how embarrassed he’d been by his daughter’s pronouncement. But Bruce gratefully accepted Rachel’s involvement in their lives, as long as nothing was required of him. He wasn’t interested in a romantic relationship, he told himself again. He was a one-woman man, and Stephanie was that woman. Now that she was gone he had no intention of marrying again. Rachel understood that, although most women didn’t. Since he was what people considered prime marriage material, various friends had taken it upon themselves to find him a wife. Bruce had been in more than his share of uncomfortable social situations with women whose objectives were explicit—if not explicitly stated. Sooner or later, they all learned that he wasn’t interested.
“I want you to phone Rachel,” Jolene said.
Bruce lowered the newspaper. “Why?”
“Because then she’ll know you approve.”
Bruce could see that the peacefulness of the evening was already shattered. Jolene talked to Rachel on a regular basis; the two of them seemed to get together at least once a week for one reason or another. More often now that Lover Boy had departed for San Diego. Nate Olsen was no loss as far as Bruce was concerned, although he hadn’t said that to Rachel. She could date whomever she wanted.
“Here.” Jolene handed him the portable phone.
“Okay, okay,” he muttered. If he was truthful, he’d admit he wasn’t opposed to contacting Rachel. He considered her a friend—a good enough friend to be on speed dial.
“Hi,” he said when she picked up. “Are you doing anything special this Saturday?”
“What do you have in mind?”
“Jolene needs to go school shopping and she’d like you to take her.”
“Count me in.”
Bruce grinned at her enthusiasm. He didn’t understand this thing about women and shopping. He didn’t know a single one who wouldn’t leap at the opportunity to dash to a mall. A sale on bedsheets, some kind of giveaway, a makeup demonstration—any excuse would do.
“What’s so funny?”
“You women and your shopping.”
“Listen, Bruce, you don’t want to go there. Men have their own preferences. I’ll bet you’re sitting in front of the television right now with the remote control on the arm rest. I’ll bet you’re reading the paper at the same time as you’re watching the TV news.”
How did she know this much about his evening routine? He supposed it shouldn’t surprise him. Rachel had often been to his house over the past few years and he’d been to hers. She was the only woman who’d breached his defenses. Suddenly he wondered if she was right about other men’s routines being the same as his. And if she was, how had she found out?
“What do you hear from Lover Boy?” he asked.
“I wish you’d stop calling Nate that,” she said, the humor leaving her voice.
“Okay, your Sailor Man,” he revised. The truth was, Bruce had never much cared for Rachel’s navy boyfriend. For one thing, he couldn’t imagine them as a couple. For another, Nate seemed to resent the time Rachel spent with Jolene. In fact he’d tried on more than one occasion to come between them. So far, that hadn’t worked; Rachel wouldn’t allow it.
“We talk almost every day. He misses me.”
“Do you miss him?” Bruce asked, although he already knew what she’d say.
“Like crazy. I’m going to fly down to California to visit him soon. Or he’ll fly up here for a weekend. We’re miserable without each other.”
Bruce had to bite his tongue to keep from making a sarcastic remark. He wasn’t sure why he’d bothered
