50 Harbor Street

by Debbie Macomber

Forty-One

  Linnette pulled onto the side of the road and looked at her MapQuest printout. According to the directions, Cliff Harding’s ranch, where Cal Washburn was employed as a trainer, was right here. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but it wasn’t this massive piece of property. The field in front was bordered by a white fence that stretched as far as the eye could see. There were a dozen horses grazing, their bodies sleek and beautiful. Linnette could tell they were valuable.

  The barn was huge, with what appeared to be an apartment above it, and the house, set back at the end of the drive, was a two-story log building with plenty of windows for light.

  Stopping to check the address was just an excuse, a stalling tactic. Linnette knew she’d taken a big risk in coming out here to talk to Cal. A very big risk. He could slam the door in her face or tell her to get out. She didn’t think that would happen, though. More likely he’d be completely indifferent to her. That was, after all, what she deserved. But it didn’t matter; she had to do this, had to explain.

  Even now, on the verge of seeing him, she wasn’t sure what she’d say. She hoped inspiration would strike when she needed it, because this was probably the most difficult conversation she’d ever had. She didn’t want to be attracted to Cal, but she hadn’t been able to get him out of her mind. She refused to accept that he didn’t feel the same way about her. He couldn’t kiss her like that and feel nothing.

  Sitting by the side of the road wasn’t going to accomplish anything, so she started the engine and entered the driveway that led to the house. Linnette had expected some sort of activity but the house looked deserted. The only vehicle in sight was a battered pickup. Just her luck to get up her courage to come all this way and find Cal wasn’t home.

  Deciding to explore, she parked close to the house and, dropping her keys in her coat pocket, walked to the barn. The doors were open and, as she approached, she heard Cal talking. Apparently there was someone with him.

  Linnette suddenly realized he wasn’t stuttering. The hair on the back of her neck went up. Was his speech impediment some kind of stunt? If so, she was not amused.

  Hands swinging at her sides, Linnette marched into the barn.

  Once she’d gone all the way inside, she saw that Cal was alone. He crouched beside a huge horse—a stallion, judging by certain obvious signs—and was examining the beast’s hoof, talking all the while. His back was to Linnette, so he didn’t see her.

  The stallion, however, did and reared his head, alerting Cal to the fact that someone else was present.

  Cal straightened and glanced over his shoulder. When he saw her, he dropped the horse’s foot. The stallion didn’t take kindly to such neglectful treatment; he snorted and pawed the ground.

  As if to apologize, Cal removed his glove and stroked the animal’s nose.

  Linnette noticed that the bandage was off, and she grimaced at the risk of infection.

  Without a word, he grasped the stallion’s halter and led him into a stall.

  “You weren’t stuttering,” she said when he came out.

  He stared at her. “I d-d-don’t with a-a-animals.”

  “Just people?”

  He nodded, then shrugged, suggesting he didn’t understand it himself.

  For a moment she’d nearly forgotten the true purpose of her visit. “How’s the hand?” she asked in a concerned voice.

  Cal looked at it as if he’d forgotten, and again answered with a shrug, a quick lift of his shoulders.

  “What about those stitches?”

  “I t-took care of it.”

  “I can check it, if you like.” The moment she said that, she knew giving him a choice was a mistake. “You’ve kept it clean, haven’t you?”

  “I don’t need your help.”

  He felt strongly enough about that to be able to speak without a single hesitation.

  “I know, but I was in the area and thought I’d stop by.” He’d probably see through that weak explanation, but it was the best she could do.

  “Un-in-n-n-vited?”

  Linnette gestured carelessly, as though she often stopped by people’s homes unannounced, welcome or not. Refusing to give him an opportunity to argue, she stepped forward. “Let me see your hand.”

  At first he seemed about to refuse. She peered around the dimly lit space. The inside of a barn wasn’t the best place to examine a cut. “Is there someplace else we could go so I could take a look at this in the light?” she asked.

  He nodded reluctantly, then led her to the stairs and without a word, headed up to what must be his apartment. When she reached the top, he let her inside. The apartment was surprisingly spacious and modern. However, it was badly in need of a woman’s touch. The windows had no blinds or curtains; the furniture was bulky and dark. The only photographs were of horses, the only decoration a pillow at the end of the sofa.

  Cal pulled out a kitchen chair for her and went to the sink. He lathered his hands with soap, drying them on a kitchen towel. Then he sat down in the chair next to hers and laid his hand on the table, palm up. He smelled of fresh hay and leather—the scent she’d noticed on him the night he’d kissed her. It had acted like a powerful aphrodisiac then. It did now.

  To disguise her attraction, Linnette examined her handiwork. The cut had healed nicely. “You took good care of it,” she said, and smoothly ran her fingers over his palm. At the feel of her skin against his, Cal bristled. She chose to ignore his revulsion at her touch. “I don’t see any infection.”

  “N-none,” he agreed.

  She looked up long enough to smile. Long enough to let him read the message in her eyes. The regret, the fear of rejection, the apology. He had to understand that she hadn’t found it easy to come to him like this.

  “I’m enjoying my work at the medical clinic,” she said casually, disregarding his impatience. “I’ve seen a variety of cases. It’s something different every day.”

  Cal didn’t comment.

  “Working with Dr. Timmons has been interesting.”

  Cal seemed to tense at the mention of the other man.

  “Have you ever done anything you regret?” she asked. She didn’t give him the opportunity to answer, for fear of what he’d say. Perhaps he regretted having kissed her.

  “I met Chad at the hospital while I was training in Seattle,” she said. “I was attracted to him then, and I felt elated when I discovered he was going to work at the clinic, too.”

  He didn’t react, didn’t respond.

  “I know now that my attraction to him was a schoolgirl crush. His interests lie elsewhere and—and as a matter of fact, so do mine.” She held his gaze for an extra-long moment. “Cal,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I am so sorry for the way I treated you—so very sorry.”

  He still didn’t respond, and she read the indecision in his eyes, as if he wasn’t convinced he should trust her.

  “I knew almost immediately,” she continued, bending her head. “You kissed me and I was afraid. I know that sounds idiotic, but I was. I didn’t want to be attracted to you. I didn’t want to feel the things I did when you touched me.” She exhaled and hoped he sensed how much it had cost her to be this honest. “I even went to my dad and talked to him about you. He said I should let it rest.”

  “H-he’s a w-w-wise man.”

  Linnette pretended not to hear him. “Dad said I should wait to see if you came back into my life. A couple of weeks after that, you were in the clinic with this cut.” She didn’t add how absolutely delighted she was to see him, despite his injury. That injury had been the working of fate, the fate her father had alluded to.

  “Timmons?” he asked, his eyes narrowed.

  She wasn’t sure what he wanted to know. “Oh, you’re asking about Chad and me?”

  Cal nodded.

  “Chad did ask me to have coffee with him that one time—the day you were in the clinic.” She emphasized that this had happened only once. “He’s dating a friend of mine now. Well, actually,
that’s a problem, too. Gloria’s apparently told him she’s not interested, but I know she is.” Linnette sighed. “Sometimes relationships get rather convoluted.”

  He snorted softly.

  Having said everything she could think of, she met his eyes and smiled boldly. “Now that I’ve explained, what are you doing tonight?” She felt a bit like Indiana Jones stepping into thin air.

  “W-working.”

  “Oh. Friday night, then?” She was working late, which meant they wouldn’t have dinner until most people were in bed, but she didn’t care.

  “C-can’t.”

  She was beginning to get the message. “I see.” That was pretty much what she’d expected. Linnette had given this her best shot and it hadn’t worked. She stood up, prepared to leave. But then…Linnette didn’t have a single excuse for her brazen behavior. Cal had more or less told her to go; he couldn’t have made it plainer. He wasn’t interested in seeing her again. So what did she do? What could she do?

  She kissed him.

  Judging by his reaction, Cal was as shocked as she was. At first he kept his mouth tightly closed and seemed about to push her away. But he didn’t. Instead he moaned in welcome and parted his lips as he settled his arms around her waist and brought her onto his lap. Then he gave himself over to the kiss. His hands were in her hair and a moment later they were sliding beneath her sweater. Linnette moaned between kisses at the way her nipples instantly tightened at his touch. He continued kissing her as he found the clasp to her bra and unfastened it, groaning as his hands cupped her breasts.

  Breathing hard, Linnette broke off the kiss and raised her head. Her mind took a few seconds to clear. When it did, she saw Cal watching her. His eyes were warm with desire—no doubt a reflection of the desire in her own.

  “I—”

  “Sh-h,” he whispered back. He was still caressing her breasts. “You’re beautiful. I knew you would be.”

  “You’re beautiful, too.”

  Cal grinned and kissed the side of her jaw. “You can apologize anytime you want.” His words were gentle and coaxing and fell sweetly on her ears.

  “It would be very easy to let you take me to bed.”

  “It would be easy for me, too.”

  She wasn’t ready to make this commitment. Her body was, though, and she felt a little alarmed at how quickly he could lower her inhibitions.

  “I can’t.”

  He closed his eyes and nodded. “We know one thing,” he said after a while. “We’re certainly compatible in some areas.”

  Linnette smiled to herself as he refastened her bra and tugged down her sweater. That was when she realized that Cal didn’t stutter when he talked to horses—or when he made love to a woman.

  Forty-Two

  Cecilia looked up from the computer screen, blinked and then reread Ian’s e-mail. According to her husband, the USS George Washington was coming back to Bremerton shipyard a full two months ahead of schedule. This was too good to be true!

  All at once Cecilia couldn’t sit still. In her joy and excitement she hurried to the phone and dialed Cathy’s number. The line was busy but a computer voice informed her that for a mere seventy-five cents, it would ring through when her friend was off the line. Cecilia didn’t have the patience to wait nor was she willing to squander a single penny.

  She paced and tried again five minutes later. The line was still busy. Because she needed to talk to someone and soon, she dialed Rachel Pendergast’s home number. It rang twice and then Rachel answered.

  “Oh, hi, Cecilia,” she said. She sounded pleased to hear from her. “Have you had the baby?”

  “Not yet.”

  “You’re due soon, aren’t you?”

  “Next week.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  The answer to that was pregnant. Very pregnant. But what she said was, “I feel great, better than great. I’m feeling fabulous. Do you know why? Ian’s coming home!”

  This news was greeted by a short silence. “Just Ian? I mean, he isn’t arriving by himself, is he?”

  “The entire aircraft carrier is on its way back to base.” Ian hadn’t told her why, Cecilia explained, but he probably couldn’t.

  “In other words, Nate will be back, too.” Rachel had kept in touch with Cecilia, Carol and Cathy, even though she’d broken off her relationship with Nate Olsen.

  “I thought I should give you a heads-up,” Cecilia said. She suspected from everything Ian had told her that Nate wasn’t going to drop this relationship without a fight.

  Rachel sighed. “Thanks for letting me know, but I don’t think it’ll be a problem. I doubt I’ll be seeing Nate.”

  “He might change your mind.” Cecilia hoped he did. She liked Rachel, and she’d only heard about Nate through her husband, but Ian spoke highly of the warrant officer. It was a shame that Rachel had let her insecurities come between them.

  “Nate’s a wonderful man, but I’m not the right woman for him.”

  “Shouldn’t he be the one to decide that?” Cecilia asked and then sighed. “Sorry, that’s none of my business.”

  “This is really good news for you, isn’t it?” Rachel said, ignoring Cecilia’s comment. “This means Ian might be home when your baby’s born.”

  “Yes, if he hurries.” She didn’t know the exact day and time the George Washington was scheduled to dock.

  “You’re feeling all right?”

  “Oh, yes.” True, she was extra-tired at night and tended to go to bed earlier than she did when Ian was home. The baby was constantly active, kicking and stretching. She rubbed her hand over her belly, communicating her love to her son.

  “Keep me informed,” Rachel said.

  “Of course.”

  They said their farewells and as soon as they’d ended the call, Cecilia dialed Cathy’s number again. This time the phone rang, and Cathy picked up on the first ring.

  “Cathy!”

  “Cecilia!”

  “Did you hear?” they cried simultaneously and then burst into peals of laughter.

  “You first,” Cathy said.

  “I got an e-mail from Ian.”

  “Andrew sent me one, too.”

  “I have the strongest feeling Ian will be with me when Aaron’s born,” Cecilia said happily.

  “You’re keeping the name?” This had been a silent battle of wills between Cecilia and her husband. He hadn’t agreed to the A-name. At the same time—once he’d retracted his original objections—he hadn’t disagreed, either.

  “After all these weeks, the name’s comfortable to me.” The last thing Cecilia wanted was to argue with Ian over a name when he finally got home. Suddenly another thought struck her.

  “Cathy,” she cried. “Oh, my goodness, Ian’s never seen me pregnant before.”

  “Not true,” her friend insisted. “And if you recall, he’s the one who got you in this condition.”

  “Yes, I know, but really pregnant.”

  “Pregnant is pregnant.”

  Cecilia smiled at Cathy’s teasing. “You know what I mean. He’s never seen me this big.”

  “He’s going to love it, seeing your belly swollen with his baby. Andrew was so loving with me before I delivered Andy. He hardly let me go to the bathroom by myself.”

  Cathy had miscarried two babies before Andy. None of the doctors had been able to tell her what had gone wrong with those first pregnancies and she’d lived in fear that she’d miscarry the third one, too. But she’d successfully carried Andy to term.

  “Everything will be different this time,” Cathy said confidently, answering Cecilia’s unasked question. “Just you wait and see.”

  “My due date’s only a few days away. I couldn’t bear it if Ian was so close and couldn’t be with me.”

  “If he can’t, you know I’ll be there.”

  Cecilia whispered her thanks, more grateful than ever for Cathy’s friendship. “Hold tight, Aaron, hold tight,” she told her unborn baby after she’d hung up the pho
ne.

  Three hours later, as Cecilia got ready for bed, her back began to ache. Rubbing it as she walked into her bedroom, she had a feeling that her son had decided he wasn’t going to wait for his daddy.

  By midnight, there was no doubt she was in labor. Logging onto the computer, she sent her husband an e-mail to let him know. She timed the contractions, pacing through the apartment as she did. When they were five minutes apart, Cecilia phoned Cathy.

  “Now?” Cathy screamed, so excited she woke Andy. “I’ll be right over. Don’t move, breathe deeply and don’t worry. I’m on my way.” Without a pause, phone pressed to her ear, she shouted instructions to her son to get his suitcase and his teddy bear. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” she promised Cecilia.

  Sure enough, Cathy rolled up in front of the duplex precisely twenty-two minutes later, after dropping off her son at Carol’s place. She had a basket of soothing musical CDs, lotions and fruit chews. There were snacks, too, in case Cathy got hungry during the labor.

  Shortly after her arrival at the hospital, Cecilia was prepped and brought to the labor room. Cathy was with her, wielding a stopwatch and clutching the CD player. Roy Orbison crooned softly from the side of Cecilia’s bed.

  She raised her head and laughed. “Somehow, I don’t think this is a good time to hear ‘Pretty Woman,’” she joked.

  “I disagree. If Ian was here he’d say you’re beautiful, and he’d be right. You are, Cecilia, and you’re about to have your baby.” Cathy squealed with delight and Cecilia smiled.

  But she stopped smiling as the pain overcame her. She lay back on the pillow and closed her eyes, trying hard to let her body flow with the contraction instead of fighting it. Cathy started counting off the seconds in a slow, even tone.

  With Allison, Cecilia had labored for nearly fifteen hours in a room by herself, with only a nurse to check on her from time to time. When Allison was born, her cry had been weak and barely audible.

  By contrast, Aaron Jacob Randall made his appearance ten hours after Cecilia had entered the hospital. He gave a loud, lusty squall as he was born, pink and perfect. He didn’t like the bright lights and made sure everyone in the room heard about it. Nor did he appreciate having a suction tube stuck up his nose.