We only went out once and it was…not a success. Neither of us is ready for another relationship.”
“Well, then.” Zach smiled. “Are you game for dinner?”
“Dad!” Allison groaned. “You’ve got to be more romantic than that. Ask Mom again and this time do it right.”
With a mock-serious expression, Zach bowed. “Rosie, would you do me the honor of having dinner with me on Thursday evening?”
“She can’t,” Eddie answered. “That’s Scouting night.”
“Right,” Zach muttered.
“Take Mom out tonight,” Allison urged. “I’ll cook dinner for me and Eddie. You two talk. Okay?”
Rosie looked at Zach and he looked at her. A slow grin came over his face as he extended his hand. With barely a pause, she placed her own hand in his.
Twenty-Four
Grace sat with her morning cup of coffee. It was early Saturday, and the kitchen light caused shadows to flicker across the wall, heightening the impression of a dark and gloomy day. More than three weeks had gone by since she’d taken Buttercup to the vet. More than three weeks since she’d seen Cliff.
The dog was only now beginning to recover from cancer. Fortunately, all the tumors had been successfully removed. For a while, her prognosis had been poor and Grace had worried endlessly that she would lose her faithful companion. If Buttercup had died, Grace would’ve been to blame, and she would have had a hard time forgiving herself. Cliff had warned her that Buttercup didn’t look well; she’d ignored him, just as she’d ignored everything else these last few months during her obsession with Will.
In retrospect, Grace saw how easily she’d fallen into this. It made her ill to think how low she’d sunk in her Internet relationship with Will Jefferson. She berated herself for being swayed by his compliments and his admiration. In truth, though, it hadn’t been as one-sided as that. She knew he’d derived comfort and gratification from Grace’s feelings for him; his marriage was in trouble—that much she believed—and he’d used her to salvage his ego, to bask in another woman’s adoration. Caught in this web of mutual fascination, Grace had ignored one very important fact: Will Jefferson was a married man.
Her face burned with humiliation. Will had purchased her plane ticket to New Orleans, and she knew very well that he’d only booked one hotel room. She also knew what would’ve happened when she joined him.
Adding to her humiliation was the memory of how angry she’d been with Stan, Olivia’s ex-husband, when they’d learned that he’d moved in with Marge. The divorce wasn’t even final and already he was sleeping with another woman, involved in an affair. Grace realized now that she was no better than Stan. No better than the men she’d reviled for being unfaithful.
Cliff had guessed what she’d been doing and had ended their relationship. She’d been such a fool. No one had ever treated her better or showed her as much love and consideration as Cliff Harding.
Maybe her problem was that Cliff was simply too good. Something inside her rejected his genuine warmth and love. Was it because she felt unworthy? All Grace knew was that she’d done the very thing she’d promised Cliff’s daughter she’d never do, and that was hurt Cliff.
She prayed it wasn’t too late. She spent at least an hour gathering her courage to visit Cliff. She’d considered phoning ahead, then decided against it. If he wasn’t at the ranch house, she’d just return another time.
She had to face him, had to confess. She wanted Cliff to understand how sincerely sorry she was. Although she didn’t deserve his forgiveness, she needed it.
Grace dressed carefully. She chose a jeans jumper and blouse Cliff especially liked. As she got ready to leave the house, Buttercup lifted her head from her pillowed dog bed and watched her every move. Maybe it was a fanciful thought, but she felt as if her golden retriever knew Grace was going to see Cliff. Knew and approved. While friendly, Buttercup was a discerning dog and wasn’t prone to accepting strangers, but she’d loved Cliff from the very first.
“I’ll be sure to tell Cliff you’re feeling better,” she said, bending over to stroke her dog’s silky ears. She’d given Buttercup lots of attention during the last few weeks, pampering her in an effort to make up for the neglect.
By the time she walked outside, it’d started to drizzle. Typical March weather. The windshield wipers made lazy swishes as Grace drove the twenty minutes to Olalla and Cliff’s ranch.
Although Grace had often visited his ranch, she hadn’t been there in at least six months. Turning into his long driveway she was immediately surprised by the number of apparent changes. A dozen horses grazed in the pasture, far more than she recalled from her last visit. A freshly painted white fence bordered the drive; it made for a striking entrance to the ranch. A large two-story red barn had replaced the smaller one.
When she pulled into the yard and parked near the barn, a man she didn’t recognize walked out. Raising the hood of her raincoat, she left her car.
“Hello,” she said, smiling. “I’m Grace Sherman. Is Cliff available?”
The dark-haired man hesitated, then nodded. “C-Cal Washburn,” he said with a slight stutter. He was attractive—solid and squarely built, with an aura of competence. He appeared to be in his mid-thirties, but it was always difficult for Grace to judge age. His eyes, an intense shade of blue, seemed to look straight through her. It made Grace wonder if Cliff had mentioned her name—and whether or not Cal was going to answer her question.
The front door opened and Cliff stepped out.
“Cliff!” Grace hurried across the yard. Cliff moved aside and held the door for her.
“I hope you don’t mind my coming by like this,” she said. The warmth in the house enveloped her.
“Of course I don’t mind.” Cliff took her coat from her shoulders and hung it in the foyer.
Grace rubbed her arms. “It’s colder than I expected.”
“Why don’t I get us a cup of coffee,” Cliff suggested.
This was going well and Grace began to relax. She followed him into the kitchen, noting improvements in the house as well as the yard.
“How long has Cal been around?” she asked.
“Couple months now,” Cliff said as he stood in front of the cupboard and selected two mugs. He seemed pleased to see her, cordial and polite, but…reserved. She had the impression that her visit had prompted mixed feelings. Which was only natural under the circumstances, she acknowledged.
Cliff poured them each a cup and set hers on the kitchen counter. Grace slipped onto a stool, while he stood across from her, on the other side of the counter.
“How’s Buttercup?” he asked.
“Much better. I was terrified when they discovered the tumors. For a while, I thought I might lose her.”
Cliff nodded. “I’m glad to hear she’s on the mend.”
“You and me both.”
The
