Debbie Macomber's Cedar Cove Series, Volume 2 (16 page)

“W
e got a postcard from Linnette,” Corrie McAfee told Roy when he came into the office after his morning walk. Her voice was a little too cheerful, and he didn't believe it reflected how she really felt.

“Where is she?” he asked. He'd ultimately sided with his daughter about making her own decision, but that didn't mean he approved of the way she'd taken off without a destination, without a plan. Nor did it mean he didn't sympathize with her reasons. Like any father, he hated seeing his child hurt.

“North Dakota,” Corrie told him, studying the postcard. “A town called Buffalo Valley. Roy,” she said, glaring at him. “She's taken a job as a waitress at a restaurant called 3 of a Kind. She says the owner won the business in a card game about ten years ago. What sort of place is this?”

“Apparently one that needs a waitress,” he said in as casual a tone as he could manage.

“After all those years of schooling and medical training, Linnette is working as a
waitress?
”

“I know.” He didn't like the sound of that, either. However, he was willing to give Linnette the benefit of the doubt and wait a few months until she found her footing.

“A waitress,” his wife repeated indignantly.

“What I find interesting,” he said, “is that she chose to mail us a postcard rather than call.”

He and Corrie exchanged a quick, private smile.

Their daughter Gloria had once mailed them postcards, too, but hers had been anonymous with cryptic messages neither of them had understood at the time.

Corrie handed him Linnette's postcard and he read through the tightly scribbled lines. “She seems fairly happy,” he said, somewhat surprised. “Apparently the proprietor's included a room with the job.”

“Buffalo Bob? I don't like it, Roy. What a ridiculous name!”

“Listen, Corrie, we raised our daughter to the best of our ability. Linnette's got a good head on her shoulders. She's told us about this job and where she's living, so the least we can do is trust her judgment.”

“How can you say that?” Corrie cried. “Her judgment ever since Cal broke up with her has been terrible.”

“In our opinion,” he pointed out.

“
Our
opinion?” she returned, her eyes narrowing. “You mean to say you thought so, too, and didn't say anything?”

Well, he'd certainly stepped into that one. Roy nodded slowly. “I didn't like the fact that Linnette chose to run away, but she felt she had to make a change, which I understand. We won't always agree with her decisions, Corrie.” He put his arm around his wife's shoulders. “That's a given. We didn't always approve of Mack's choices, either. Kids have to learn to fend for themselves. We can't get in the habit of rescuing them every time.”

Roy could tell that his wife still had trouble with this, and he didn't blame her. Corrie was a nurturer, someone who tried to fix whatever was wrong, especially in her children's lives. He tended to feel that kids should face the consequences of their actions. Not just kids—everyone. Which wasn't to say he didn't miss Linnette; he did. He wanted her back home. He believed that eventually she would return, but not until she was ready. Not until she'd figured out whatever she needed to know.

Later that same afternoon, he went to the sheriff's office and saw Troy Davis sitting at his desk, the phone held to his ear. The sheriff noticed Roy and immediately gestured him inside. There was a coffeepot across the hall; Roy helped himself to a mug while Troy finished up his conversation.

When Roy came back into the office, the sheriff was off the phone. He picked up his own mug and ambled across the hall for a refill. Roy noticed a haggard, weary look on his face.

“Problems?” he asked.

Troy didn't answer right away. “Remember Martha Evans who died a couple months back?”

“The widow? Didn't Pastor Flemming find the body?”

“That's her. The family claims that several expensive pieces of her jewelry are missing.”

Roy was taken aback. “You don't think Dave—”

“Of course not.” Troy shook his head. “But you didn't come here to listen to my woes. What brings you to my neck of the woods?”

Roy decided not to pursue the subject of the missing jewelry. “I'm doing legwork on a case. Gotta check some old police reports. Corrie asked me to stop in and invite you to dinner Friday night.”

Troy's gaze instantly left his. “Sorry, I'm busy Friday. I've got another engagement. Thank Corrie for me, though.”

“Sure. Would Saturday be better?”

Troy still didn't look at him. “I'm busy Saturday too.”

Roy found this astonishing. “You seem to have an active social calendar all of a sudden.” Not that it was any of his business, but Troy always used to be eager for a dinner invitation, especially after he'd moved Sandy to the nursing facility. Roy couldn't remember the sheriff ever turning him down, especially for a meal.

“I'm…” Troy seemed more than a little flustered. “I've reconnected with an old friend.”

“Male or female?” Judging by Troy's discomfort, he guessed it was a woman, but he couldn't resist asking.

“Female,” Troy muttered, lifting the coffee mug to his lips so that his answer was muffled.

Roy peered across the desk at him. “Are your ears getting red or am I imagining things?”

Troy scowled back. “You're imagining things.”

Roy had to make an effort to suppress his smile. He, too, took a sip of coffee to hide his amusement. “This so-called friend got a name?” he asked next.

“You don't know her.”

“That's a long tricky name.”

Troy snickered. “Very funny.”

“Is that her surname?”

“No.” Troy sighed. “Enough of this nonsense. If you must know, her name is Faith.”

Roy nodded in an encouraging manner. “And?”

“I haven't told Megan about her yet, so I'd appreciate if you didn't mention any of this to my daughter.”

This was even more surprising than the news that Troy was seeing another woman so soon after Sandy's death. When he'd asked Roy to be one of the pallbearers, the sheriff was badly shaken by the loss of his wife, despite her long illness.

“I'm seeing Faith on Friday, then having dinner with Megan and Craig on Saturday,” Troy said.

“I heard about Megan's miscarriage,” Roy said. “I'm sorry.”

“Thanks.” Troy settled both hands around his mug. “Sandy lost two pregnancies, and both times she fell into depression.”

“How's Megan doing?”

“Not well, I'm afraid. She put a lot of significance in the fact that she probably conceived the baby either right before Sandy's death or right after.”

Roy nodded thoughtfully. Without meaning to, the poor girl was probably making a painful situation even harder on herself.

“Two big losses like that, one right after the other—it's pretty tough,” Troy continued. “Which is why I haven't told her about Faith.”

Roy leaned back in his chair. “She isn't going to hear about it from me, so don't worry.”

“Thanks,” Troy murmured.

The sheriff's phone rang and Roy stood to go. As he left, he heard the other man's voice take on a gentle, soothing quality. “It's okay, honey,” he was saying. “We'll just…”

Roy moved down the hall, out of earshot. The sheriff was talking to his daughter.

G
race and Cliff's wedding reception would be Saturday, October 13, which still gave them three weeks to finish getting everything organized. That weekend, thank goodness, worked for almost everyone; their families and close friends would all be available. Grace was particularly excited about seeing Cliff's daughter, Lisa, and her family, who were flying in from the east coast.

Sitting at the kitchen table on Saturday morning, she went over her extensive to-do list. Decorations, catering, her outfit and hair appointment, wedding cake… A lot of details to keep track of. All the work, all the time spent organizing and making phone calls, would be worth it, though. This would be a celebration of Cliff's and her commitment, their love.

Cliff had gone into Cedar Cove to do some errands, and the house was quiet. She glanced around; everything was orderly and comfortable. Recently Grace had begun to make a few changes. Nothing drastic, though. Cliff had lived here on his own for twelve years, and the place had a distinctively masculine feel, so she'd added a few feminine flourishes, beginning with decorative pillows on the bed. This was followed by a row of family photographs, hers and his, on the dresser. Cliff immediately approved of the pictures, but the pillows were there for two weeks before he even noticed.

“Where did those come from?” he'd asked one night as they got ready for bed.

“I put them there,” she told him. “They look attractive, don't they?”

He'd thought about it for a moment and agreed, then once again assured Grace she could change whatever she wanted in the house. Still, she was trying not to overwhelm him with too many alterations and additions at once. Slowly, she went about making a few changes. A couple of oil paintings, both western landscapes she'd bought at the gallery years before, had gone up next. When she pointed them out, Cliff had nodded, obviously pleased with her choices.

Jon and Maryellen had given them a print of one of Jon's best-selling photographs as a wedding gift. It showed snow-covered Mt. Rainier against the backdrop of Puget Sound with a pink-and-lavender sunset. With Cliff's help, she'd hung that over the fireplace. He'd admired it, too, full of praise for her son-in-law's talent.

She'd just started checking the RSVPs against the list of invited guests when the back door opened and Cliff walked in.

“Hello, sweetheart. Would you like some lunch?” she asked, getting up from the table.

“I'm not hungry.” Without looking at her, he walked directly to the cupboard for a mug and poured himself a cup of coffee.

It was past one, and Grace had postponed her own lunch, waiting for him, assuming they'd eat together. “Did you have lunch in town?”

“No.” He kept his back to her.

Grace set her pen aside. All the warm feelings she'd experienced a few minutes earlier left her. “Are you ignoring me?” she half joked, wondering at his mood.

Finally he turned to face her. His eyes held none of the tenderness she was accustomed to seeing, and her stomach tensed. She knew what had happened.

“How long has Will Jefferson been in town?” her husband asked coldly.

“I…I don't know.” This was true, in a fashion. She was certainly aware that Will had returned to Cedar Cove, but not exactly
when
he'd arrived. “Did you see him?” she asked, striving to sound nonchalant.

“Oh, I saw him. He saw me, too.”

Grace closed her eyes for a second, filled with regret and remorse. She wished she'd told him when she'd first heard about it. Now she was terrified that Will would do whatever he could to drive a wedge between her and Cliff.

“You knew he was in town?” Cliff demanded.

Grace swallowed. “Olivia told me….”

“He's here to stay?”

Grace nodded reluctantly. She hadn't really meant to hide it from Cliff. But it'd become more difficult to tell him the longer she delayed. Considering his reaction now, she'd give anything to have told him the truth.

“You didn't think it was important to mention this?” he asked. His voice was calm, but Grace could feel the emotion behind his question. He felt hurt, angry, betrayed.

At this point Grace feared that anything she said would only upset him further. “I probably should have.”

“Probably?”

“All right,” she agreed contritely, “I
should
have mentioned it—as soon as I found out. But, Cliff, I don't—”

He didn't respond or even let her finish her remark. Holding the mug, he walked out of the kitchen. Shocked by his unaccustomed rudeness, Grace followed him to the door and watched as he crossed the yard and entered the barn. Her first inclination was to go after him. She pushed open the screen door, then hesitated. Cliff needed a few minutes alone, she thought, and so did she.

The problem, of course, was Cliff's marriage to Susan. His ex-wife had had a series of affairs, so trust was difficult for Cliff. Grace knew he
wanted
to believe in her fidelity but struggled with his experiences from the past.

She realized then that she couldn't let another second pass without setting things straight. There'd been rain the night before, but heedless of her shoes, she started across the yard just as Cliff walked out of the barn, leading his stallion Midnight. The horse was saddled, and Cliff obviously intended to go riding.

“Can we talk?” she asked.

“Later,” he said curtly as he swung into the saddle.

“Cliff,” she said, gazing up at him. “Please. This is important.”

He stared down at her. “I'll feel better after I clear my head. We can talk then.”

With a sick feeling in her stomach, she went back to the house. Sitting at the kitchen table again, she studied the guest list for the reception but couldn't concentrate.

She paced the house, transferred laundry from the washing machine to the dryer, then decided to bake an apple pie. She hoped that by showing him how much she loved him, he'd know he had nothing to fear.

Two hours passed before he came back.

When he kicked off his muddy boots by the kitchen door, the pie was cooling on the counter. He glanced at it and, to her surprise, seemed more perturbed than ever.

“What's that?” he asked, frowning.

“What does it look like?” she asked in a teasing voice. “I baked you an apple pie.”

“Why?” He maintained the distance between them.

Grace stood with her back to the counter. “I—I wanted you to see how much I love you.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Cliff, you're overreacting! This is ridiculous.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Did I ever tell you Susan used to do that?”

“Do what?”

“Whenever I learned about her current affair, she'd bake me a pie or make dinner, which was a rarity. That was her way of telling me she was sorry. She'd promise me it was the last time, swear up and down that I was the one she really loved.”

Furious that Cliff had compared her to his first wife, Grace strode over to the counter, picked up the pie and without a word, dumped it in the garbage. “I was married to Dan for more than thirty years. Not
once
in all those years did I even consider being unfaithful. Not once. How
dare
you compare me to Susan. How dare you.” She choked back tears, glaring at him across the room.

“You didn't tell me about Will Jefferson,” he said accusingly.

“That's such a big sin? He doesn't mean anything to me. Suggesting that I'd have anything to do with him is an insult.”

He looked uncertain. “Have you spoken to him?”

“No,” she snapped, then remembered the encounter in the library. “He came into the library.”

“To see you?”

“He said it was to sign up for a library card.”

“And you believe that?”

The phone rang and Cliff grabbed the receiver. After the initial greeting, he said, “Just a minute, please. It's the real estate agent,” he muttered, bringing her the phone.

She took it from him with a nod of thanks. “This is Grace Harding,” she said, astonished by how calm she managed to sound.

“Hello, Grace, this is Judy Flint from the rental agency.”

“Yes, Judy, what can I do for you?” All she wanted was to get off the phone and back to Cliff. This problem was too important to be deferred; if they didn't settle it now, it would loom between them, growing more awkward all the time.

“I have a party interested in renting your house on Rosewood Lane. They've given me a check for the first month's rent.”

“Wonderful.”

“I'm just not sure about them….”

“Why not?” Grace didn't want to go another month making payments on a house that sat empty. She'd been forced to refinance in order to cover a debt of her dead husband's. Before committing suicide, Dan had borrowed money from his cousin, which Grace felt honor-bound to repay.

“The Smiths' references are questionable and—”

“Judy, this really isn't a good time. Can we discuss it later?”

“Well…”

“They gave you a check, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then rent the house,” she said, decision made.

“Grace, are you absolutely certain about this?”

“Yes,” she said rashly, intent on resuming her conversation with Cliff.

“Okay. I'll tell the Smiths they can have the house.”

“Thank you.” Grace prepared to hang up the phone. “Bye—”

“You'll need to come by and sign some paperwork.”

“Yes, of course,” she said. “Thank you, Judy. Goodbye now.” Before the other woman could make small talk, Grace concluded the call and put back the receiver. Turning to Cliff, she braced herself.

Cliff now stood on the other side of the kitchen. “You said you hadn't spoken to Will, then you said he'd been in the library. So you saw him?”

“Yes, and we did speak.”

“You're changing your story. Again.”

Grace felt like groaning with frustration. “I'd forgotten about it, and then I remembered. I wanted you to know the whole truth.”

“Which is?” Cliff crossed his arms. His body language couldn't have been more obvious; he was protecting himself, warding off pain—or the threat of pain.

“Exactly what I told you,” she told him, raising her voice. “Will invited me to lunch. He said it was so we could clear the air. I declined. I want nothing more to do with Will Jefferson and he knows it. Despite that, he's trying to create doubt and confusion between us and you're letting him. I, for one, am not going to allow it. I married
you.
I love you and I want to be your wife until the day I die.”

Cliff faltered slightly. After a few seconds, he dropped his arms and sighed. “I didn't have lunch. I think I might be a bit cranky.”

She felt the tension seep away. Studying him, she said, “You should know I've decided against ever cooking again.”

“You have?” Frowning, he eyed the chicken breasts thawing on the kitchen counter.

“If Susan cooked for you out of guilt, then I refuse to follow in her footsteps. As a result, I may very well have baked my last pie.”

“No!” Cliff's protest was immediate.

“Compare me to Susan again and watch what happens.”

He smiled then, for the first time that afternoon, and opened his arms to her. “I'm a jealous idiot.”

“Yes, you are,” she agreed, walking into his embrace. Their argument had frightened her, but the fact that Will held such power over her marriage was even worse.

“I'm sorry,” Cliff whispered.

“I am, too.” She clung to him, still shaken by what had almost happened. “I'm not Susan.”

“I know, and I hate myself for implying otherwise. But please, Grace, don't keep anything from me again.”

“I won't, I promise.” She closed her eyes, listening to the beat of his heart, and for a moment all they did was stand there, in the middle of the kitchen, holding each other.

“Grace?”

“Yes?”

“Do you think that apple pie is ruined?”

She saw him look longingly at the garbage. “I'm afraid so.”

Cliff's chest expanded with a sigh of regret. “That's what I thought.”

She lifted her head. “However, I made two apple pies and put the second one in the freezer. I'll heat it up later.”

“Thank you.” He leaned down and kissed her, hands clasped at her back. “One more thing.”

“Yes.” She spread small kisses along his neck, taking pleasure in the intimacy they shared.

“What you said about not cooking anymore?”

“Oh, that.”

“How serious were you?”

“Well…for a suitable incentive I could be persuaded to reconsider.”

Cliff stroked her back slowly and with just the right pressure. “Do you have any suggestions on how I can make it up to you?”

Grace smiled at him. “I'd be more than happy to do that,” she said, standing on the tips of her toes and offering him her mouth. The lengthy kiss that followed was not only satisfying, it promised much, much more.

Suitable incentive, indeed.