Debbie Macomber's Cedar Cove Series, Volume 2 (28 page)

A
fter the kidnapping attempt, Bobby had agreed to a match. Apparently, the Russian had given him specific instructions on the first few moves he was to make, moves that would guarantee a loss because Bobby would find himself in what chess players referred to as the Black Hole. So far, no one had devised a method of escaping from this position. Bobby intended to be the first.

Ever since his conversation with Vladimir, Bobby had been sullen and uncommunicative. Teri was furious that her husband had given in to his blackmailer, although she understood that he felt he had no other option.

The Russian's henchmen had disappeared and, according to the sheriff, the investigation had stalled. They'd found no solid evidence linking Vladimir to the crime; not surprisingly, this was a man who knew how to cover his tracks.

Bobby planned to do something about that, and his plan started with a long, secretive discussion in the sheriff's office. The next step would be a chess match in New York City on November 11. In one week's time…

“You can't lose,” Teri had protested.

“I won't.” Her husband was nothing if not confident.

Monday morning Teri had a doctor's appointment, a routine checkup for her and the baby. The salon wasn't open on Mondays, which made it a good day for her appointments. She dreaded stepping on the scale and closed her eyes when she did. After the initial bouts of late-afternoon “morning” sickness, she'd never felt healthier. The unfortunate thing, in her opinion, was that it meant her appetite had returned.

The appointment took only fifteen minutes and she was out of the office well ahead of schedule. Rachel had asked if they could meet for lunch. She seemed to have recovered from the terror of the kidnapping, for which Teri felt profoundly thankful.

The Pot Belly Deli was relatively empty, so Teri secured a window table and waited for her friend. The soups were a specialty; so were the huge sandwiches but she ignored those. Seeing that she needed to watch her calorie intake—the doctor's words, not hers—Teri decided on vegetable beef soup, with a plain green salad. Boring but nutritious.

Rachel breezed in right on schedule. “Hi, Teri. You look great.” She swung her purse strap off her shoulder and unfastened the buttons of her coat. “How's James?”

“Better. He's still in rough shape but I can see a real improvement.” Teri's admiration for Bobby's driver had risen tenfold. She was impressed by his bravery and, she had to admit, by his stoicism, although it frustrated her, too. She knew the broken ribs caused him a great deal of pain. Since the attack, he'd kept pretty much to himself; he'd refused the nurse Bobby had wanted to hire, refused everything.

Other than that first night, Christie hadn't been by to see him, but she phoned Teri a couple of times a day to ask how he was. Although Christie tried to be subtle with her questions, Teri saw through the queries easily enough.

“Poor James,” Rachel murmured.

“You're feeling okay?” Teri felt obliged to ask. “No side effects?”

Rachel shook her head. “You might find this difficult to believe,” she said thoughtfully, “but…I'm grateful for what happened.”

She wasn't kidding; that didn't even begin to make sense. “Grateful? In what way?”

“Well…” Rachel rubbed her forehead. “If it wasn't for that horrible night, I don't know how long it would've taken me to realize I love Bruce. He's the man I want to be with, Teri. I'm sure of that now.”

“Bruce,” Teri repeated slowly. She'd been right all along.

“At first I thought James and I were both going to be killed,” Rachel said, lowering her voice. “I was terrified. You've heard what they say about your life passing before your eyes? I didn't experience that, exactly, but I sure had a chance to think. Well, maybe
think
isn't the best word, because I felt like I had no control of the memories and images that were running through my mind. The person who was in my thoughts the most was Bruce.”

“I knew it!” Teri said, unable to hold back her glee. Being right was just so satisfying. Especially when you were right about something good.

Suddenly it dawned on her that Rachel didn't seem happy about this discovery. “So…what are you going to do about it?”

Instead of answering, Rachel picked up her menu and read it avidly, as if it was a best-selling novel.

“Rachel?” Teri pulled away the menu so she could look at her friend. To her horror, she saw tears in Rachel's eyes.

“Sorry,” Rachel whispered. “Teri, I…” She began rooting through her purse for a tissue.

“What's wrong?” Teri asked urgently. “Rachel, what's going on?”

“Just because you love someone, that doesn't make it easy,” Rachel said with a sob. “Any of it.”

Teri nodded sympathetically.

After taking a moment to regain her composure, Rachel said, “I told Nate.”

“And?” Teri prompted. “How did it go?”

Rachel blew her nose and answered with a shrug. “About as awful as you can imagine.”

“Oh, Rach, I'm so sorry.”

“At first he didn't believe me. He said that because of the trauma, I wasn't thinking straight. I told him I knew what was in my heart, and then he really got upset. He said he was afraid this would happen. Because…because he's in San Diego, and that gave Bruce the…the home field advantage.” She gazed up at Teri in wonderment. “He actually said that.”

“Men and their sports analogies,” Teri muttered. “How typical.”

Still, breaking off a relationship was always difficult. Teri had done it often enough to know. Even when that bum Gary Underwood had emptied her bank account, she'd felt guilty about kicking him out. She'd worried about
him
while she was struggling to pay her rent because the jerk had stolen all her money!

“Go on,” Teri told her.

“He tried to convince me I'm in love with him and the fact is, I do love Nate—just not as much as I love Bruce.”

As if discerning that this was the worst possible moment to interrupt their conversation, the waitress came for their order.

“It ended badly,” Rachel went on to explain after the waitress had left. “Nate said some unkind things and so did I.” She paused. “I believe he does have feelings for me, but I've come to realize that he had an agenda, too. His mother didn't approve of me, but Nate saw the situation differently. I think he saw me in terms of his political career—he wanted an ordinary wife because he felt that would enhance his image with voters.”

“That's true. Not the ‘ordinary' part, I mean, but the part about voters liking you. Who
wouldn't
like you?” Teri said loyally.

Smiling through her tears, Rachel dug in her purse for a second tissue. “I feel terrible, but it's over now and I doubt I'll hear from him again.”

Teri let a few seconds go by before she asked, “Have you talked to Bruce?”

“Not yet.” She exhaled slowly. “That conversation won't be any easier than the one I had with Nate.”

“What makes you say that?”

Rachel frowned, shaking her head. “He's behaving so oddly.”

“He's in love with you,” Teri said confidently, “and it scares him.”

“Maybe,” Rachel said slowly. “Maybe…”

“Are you going to see Bruce anytime soon?”

She hesitated. “I don't know yet.”

“Rachel!” Why were people so stubborn? First James and her sister, and now Rachel and Bruce. Teri felt as if she personally had to take charge, as if she knew what they needed better than they did.

“I
will
talk to him,” Rachel promised. She sat up straighter. “I tried to tell him on Friday after the…incident, but he didn't want to hear it. He told me I needed someone, that anyone would do and he just happened to be convenient. But that's not true,” she said vehemently. “We were supposed to talk the next day and it didn't happen.”

“You
have
to tell him,” Teri insisted.

“I will,” she said again. “Can we talk about something else now?”

“Yeah, sure.” Teri wracked her brain. She'd read the
Chronicle
that morning; surely there'd been some article of interest. The Harbor Street Gallery had been sold and would be staying open, after all. That was the front-page story, so Rachel probably knew about it already. As she was mulling over the local news, the waitress delivered their order.

“Guess what I heard?” Rachel murmured into her soup. She'd chosen the cream of broccoli with cheese, plus a caesar salad. Teri's meal looked bland by comparison. “The Taco Shack's being turned into a barbecue place.”

“Say it ain't so,” Teri groaned.

“I feel the same way.” Rachel sounded equally disappointed.

“You and Bruce used to go there a lot, didn't you?” If she could've taken the words back, she would have. Rachel didn't need to be reminded of that right now.

“Yeah.” Rachel stared out the window. The trees were bare and a few leaves skipped along the street, carried by the wind.

“How did the doctor's appointment go?” she asked after a while.

“Fine. He suggested I walk every day.”

“You're feeling okay?”

“I feel great,” Teri was quick to tell her. “All I need to do is keep my weight down a bit. It's better for my blood pressure—and the baby.”

Rachel nodded. “I wonder if I'll ever have children,” she said longingly.

“Of course you will. You
should
. You're a natural with kids.” In fact, Teri marveled at her skill with children. Half her clientele seemed to be under the age of twelve. For that matter, it was how Rachel had met Bruce and Jolene, when Bruce had brought his daughter in for a haircut.

Rachel shrugged off the praise.

They paid for their lunch and started to walk along the waterfront, past the library and the marina, heading in the direction of the park.

“Don't put off talking to Bruce,” Teri warned. “Really, what's the worst that can happen?”

Hands deep in her pockets, Rachel looked out at the water. “The worst thing is, he might not love me.”

“Don't kid yourself. I see how Bruce looks at you.”

A hint of a smile brightened Rachel's face. “He depends on me to help him with Jolene.”

“Jolene loves you.”

“I love her, and Bruce knows that. He doesn't want me to move to California and I'm afraid the only reason is his daughter.”

“I doubt it, but there's one way to find out for sure, and that's to ask him.”

A
s it happened, Rachel had a visit from Jolene that same day. The girl phoned her after school to ask if she could come over. Rachel picked her up, and Jolene told her about a fight she'd had with her friend Michelle. Afterward, they painted their toenails and discussed the cute boys in her class. Rachel consoled Jolene about the apparent loss of her friendship with Michelle, then took her to the Pancake Palace for an early supper. Jolene had, of course, called to obtain her father's permission. At around seven o'clock, Rachel drove her home.

“Thanks, Rach, I had fun,” the twelve-year-old said as she opened the car door in front of her house.

Rachel shut off the engine. “I thought I'd come in and talk to your dad for a while.”

Jolene looked surprised and then pleased. “That would be great.”

Rachel drew on all her resolve, swallowed hard and walked to the house with Jolene.

“Dad!” the girl shouted as she stepped inside. “Rachel's here.” When there was no response, she shouted again, louder this time.
“Dad!”
She peeked in the kitchen, then turned to Rachel. “He might be down in the basement.” Leaving her standing in the hallway, Jolene opened a door and disappeared.

Soon afterward, Bruce came upstairs with Jolene at his heels. He wore a blue plaid flannel shirt and had a liberal coating of sawdust in his hair and on his shoulders.

“Should I come back later?” Rachel asked.

“You can stay,” Jolene said airily. “Dad does stuff with wood. He's always working on something.”

Funny Rachel never knew that about him. She had the feeling there was a lot she didn't know.

“Bruce?” She looked at him, frowning. “Is that okay?”

He shrugged. “I was ready to take a break. By the way,” he told his daughter, “Michelle phoned.”

“She
did?
” Jolene's eyes widened and she grinned at Rachel, who smiled encouragingly.

“I said you'd call her back as soon as you got home,” Bruce added.

“Should I?” the girl asked Rachel excitedly.

“Definitely. Call her back right now,” she suggested. “I was hoping to talk to your dad, anyway.”

Jolene gave her a thumbs-up and scampered off to make the call.

“How about if we have a cup of coffee?” she said to Bruce. That would give her something to hold, something to do. He might not need a prop, but she did.

Bruce nodded, brushing the sawdust from his hands, and accompanied Rachel into the kitchen. He pulled out a chair at the table for her.

The room was a mess. Dirty dishes were piled in the sink and a box of crackers had toppled and spilled on the countertop. There was a saucepan on the stove with the remains of some canned stew he'd heated up. The empty can stood nearby, beside a carton of milk.

“I wasn't expecting company,” Bruce said. He put the milk in the refrigerator and turned to face her, hands tucked inside the back pockets of his jeans. “I'll make coffee.”

“Don't bother if it's any trouble,” Rachel said.

“No trouble.” He reached for the glass pot, filled it with water and then emptied out the grounds from that morning.

“I wanted to thank you again for coming to the sheriff's office the other night,” she began.

“Rachel, listen, I was just happy you weren't hurt. It wasn't any heroic deed to drive you home, so you can stop thanking me. Why don't you get to the point?”

His abruptness took her aback.

She'd planned her little speech so carefully, but he was making this difficult. He stood as far away from her as his kitchen would allow, his hip pressed against the counter. “Actually,” she said, dragging in a deep breath, “there are several things I want to say….”

“Such as?” He continued with the coffee, pouring water into the machine and adding fresh grounds. When he'd finished, he straddled the chair across from her.

This was better. At least they were eye to eye. “Nate and I—” She didn't get a chance to complete her sentence.

“So you've decided to marry him?” There was a distant look on his face, as if he'd already shut her out.

“No!”

“No?” he repeated.

“I won't be marrying Nate.” If she was hoping for a reaction, Bruce seemed determined not to give her one. “In fact, I probably won't see him again.”

The coffeemaker made a gurgling sound. Bruce leaped up and collected clean mugs from the dishwasher. “How do you take your coffee?”

Rachel was stunned he'd ask. After six years, he knew the answer to that as well as she did.

When she didn't respond, he answered his own question. “Black, right?”

She found his show of indifference more than insulting; she found it hurtful. They'd had coffee together countless times!

All at once she was on her feet. “This was a bad idea.” Bruce didn't need to say another word for Rachel to know his feelings. He had what he wanted,
all
he wanted, and that was a surrogate mother for his daughter.

“What do you mean?” he demanded.

“Coming here was a mistake.” She blamed Teri for this. Teri was the one who'd encouraged her to talk to Bruce. A lot of good that had done.

His eyes challenged her. “I don't understand what's going on.”

“Nothing's going on, so don't worry about it.” She grabbed her handbag. “I'm sorry to have bothered you, Bruce. It won't happen again.” Not waiting for a reply, she headed out the door. At least now she knew, Rachel thought bitterly. He didn't want her to marry Nate, but he didn't want her himself. What an idiot she'd been.

“Rachel! Rachel!” It was Jolene who stood in the front door, calling after her.

Not Bruce.

Rachel waved but didn't stop. Back home, she felt restless and irritated and angry and hurt. Nothing held her attention for long. Mostly she was furious, then she was weepy and then furious all over again.

She tried to read, but her thoughts wandered. Getting online, she answered a couple of e-mails but wasn't in the mood for that, either. And she sure didn't feel like calling any of her so-called friends.

Finally, she popped in her favorite DVD,
The Princess Bride,
and made microwave popcorn. Although she wasn't hungry, she ate it anyway. Afterward she felt bloated and even more annoyed with herself.

At ten, she took a bath, put on her flannel nightgown and her extra-thick housecoat and flopped back down in front of the television to finish watching her movie.

She was startled when the doorbell rang at almost eleven. Checking the peephole, she staggered away from the door.

Bruce.

Heaving in a huge breath, she unfastened the lock and partially opened the door. “Yes?”

Bruce held a cardboard tray with two paper cups. “I brought coffee,” he said.

“It's a bit late for caffeine, don't you think?” she asked coldly.

“It's decaf.”

“Oh.” As if that was a good reason, she moved aside, and he stepped into the house.

“Yours is black, just the way you like it.” Pulling it from the cardboard holder, he handed it to her.

Then he barged into the living room unasked, where he sat at one end of the sofa. She sat at the other, sipping her coffee.

She'd turned off the movie, and the silence between them seemed to reverberate. Since he'd been the one to arrive on
her
doorstep, Rachel figured he should speak first.

Eventually he did. “I apologize for whatever I said or did this evening.”

She nodded. Sipped her coffee. He knew exactly what he'd done.

“Do you want to tell me why you got so angry?”

“No.” After admitting she'd broken off her relationship with Nate, she'd hoped, she'd
believed,
he would declare his feelings. He hadn't, and now she understood why. If anything, he'd gone out of his way to show her how little she meant to him.

“If I said something to offend you, please let me know.”

Her back ramrod-straight, Rachel stared at the wall across from her. “You didn't.”

He looked uneasy, and there was another awkward moment of silence. “I guess I should leave, then.” He got to his feet, placing his cup on the coffee table.

Still clutching hers, Rachel walked him to the front entrance.

“I miss being your friend,” he told her.

She didn't acknowledge his remark. Friend. Surrogate mother. Occasional dinner companion. All fine things but not enough.

“Goodbye, Bruce,” she said quietly and closed the door.