“Yes, miss.”
Every word out of this man’s mouth made her furious. “And stop calling me Miss! My name is Christie.”
“Very well, Christie.”
There was a silence, and they stared at each other, neither looking away.
“You’re going to sit here even if I stay all night, aren’t you?” she finally asked.
“Yes.”
From the firm set of his mouth, she could tell he wasn’t kidding, either. He’d sit in that damn car for hours without a word of complaint, patiently waiting for her to reappear.
“Oh, all right,” she groaned. “You win.” She went back into the tavern, paid for her beer and left.
James remained standing by the passenger door, holding it for her. She climbed in and reached for the door handle, jerking it from his hand as she slammed it shut. She glanced out at the tavern, hoping no one had seen her get into the limo. She’d never hear the end of it.
Slipping into the driver’s seat, James started the engine and turned into the road.
“Now look what I did,” Christie complained. “I ruined the rose my sister gave me.” In her temper, she’d sat on it and crushed the petals.
“That rose isn’t from your sister.”
“Bobby gave me the rose?” That didn’t sound like something her brother-in-law would do.
“No, miss, I did.”
“You?” She was so shocked she forgot to be upset that he’d called her miss again.
“Yes.”
“Both times?” she asked speculatively.
“Yes.”
Christie frowned. “Why?” He didn’t answer, so she rephrased her question. “Is there a reason you bought me roses?” She raised her voice so he’d know she expected an answer.
“I wanted you to have them.”
She regarded the crushed bud in her hand. “Don’t do it again, understand?”
“Very well.”
“I mean it, James.”
There was no response. All at once Christie felt the most compelling urge to weep. That happened once in a while, usually when she’d been drinking. This evening she hadn’t even finished her beer, so that couldn’t be it. Tears gathered in her eyes and she swallowed against the lump in her throat.
“I’m going to tell Teri I don’t want you driving me anymore.”
“Very well.”
She didn’t know what made her say that. James hadn’t done anything to her and yet she seemed to be looking for ways to offend him.
When he drove up to her apartment building, she practically leaped out of the car. She certainly didn’t give him time to get out and open her door. She ran to her apartment and hurriedly let herself inside. Her pulse roared in her ears as she leaned against the closed door, breathing hard. When she looked down she realized she still held the battered rose. A tear fell from her cheek and landed on the red petals.
Twenty-Two
“We 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.”
“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.
Twenty-Three
Grace 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 afte
r 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?”
Debbie Macomber's Cedar Cove Series, Volume 2 Page 17