311 Pelican Court

Grace frowned again. “Are you sure that’s what he said?”

Olivia paused. “Maybe not in so many words, but that was his message. I have to tell you it upset me that he actually thought I’d sleep with Stan when the two of us had been seriously dating.”

A picture was beginning to take shape in Grace’s mind. “You haven’t heard from him since, have you?”

“No. Mom thinks I should phone him.” Slowly Olivia raised her eyes to meet Grace’s. “Is that what you think, too?”

Grace shrugged. If she was the one in this situation, she might, but then…

“The thing is,” Olivia said, biting her lower lip, “I want Jack to show some commitment here. Proof that he cares. If he honestly loves me, I think he should fight for me.”

“Fight for you?” The image that came to Grace’s mind, of Jack and Stan standing in the driveway, dukes raised, was comical. “You mean you want him to challenge Stan to a fistfight? Or—” she grinned, imagining them in Regency-era costumes, brandishing pistols “—a duel?”

“No, of course not,” Olivia said impatiently. “I want him to give me some indication, a sign that I’m worth more to him than his stupid male pride. That’s all.” She lowered her eyes. “He’s acting like a hurt little boy.”

“I imagine he is hurt.”

“Well, so am I. He instantly decided I’d spent the night with Stan, although we’d been seeing each other exclusively. If he really believes I’m that kind of woman, I’m better off without him.”

“Don’t give up on him so quickly.”

“It’s been almost a month, Grace.” Slowly, sadly, she shook her head. “What else am I supposed to think? He’s apparently content just to drop the relationship.”

“What about you?” Grace asked. “Are you willing to walk away from Jack?”

She didn’t answer immediately. “I don’t think so,” she finally said.

This was encouraging. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know,” she readily admitted. “Give it time, I guess.”

Grace nodded. She drained her tea, stood and set her glass in the sink. “Let’s get back to painting.”

“Just a minute,” Olivia said, stopping her. She was still seated. “While we’re on the subject of men, tell me what’s happening between you and that good-looking rancher.”

Grace wanted to groan out loud. She’d really prefer not to discuss Cliff Harding. They’d been seeing each other for nearly a year; they’d met shortly after Grace had filed for divorce. She hadn’t officially gone out with him until her divorce was final, but he’d let her know he was interested. Grace was interested in him, too; however, for some reason, their mutual attraction made her uncomfortable.

“What’s wrong?” Olivia asked.

“I’m not really sure,” she murmured. “That’s part of the problem.”

“You mean a decent, wonderful man comes into your life and you can’t figure it out?”

Grace ignored the light sarcasm. “Dan and I got married so young,” she said, and because it was apparent that Olivia wasn’t going to let her escape, she reclaimed her seat. “We were just teenagers, and then Dan went off to Vietnam. But despite all that, despite the difficulties we had, I never looked at another man.”

“I know,” Olivia said, her voice low and soothing.

“Given the least bit of encouragement, Cliff would ask me to marry him.”

“He was so kind the day of Dan’s funeral.”

Grace could only agree. Cliff had showed up at the house following the wake and tenderly looked after her. She’d been exhausted, mentally, physically, emotionally. That afternoon, Cliff had comforted her, tucked her into bed and made her dinner. Grace had never met anyone as thoughtful as Cliff Harding, and, frankly, the way that made her feel frightened her.

“I know Cliff wants us to be serious,” she said, her voice trembling, “but I haven’t dated anyone except him since Dan disappeared.”

“You think seeing a man exclusively—any man—is the same trap you fell into during high school?” Olivia asked. “Is that it?”

“I didn’t want to be divorced or a widow, but I’m both. I guess I don’t want to limit myself to one person at this stage. I don’t think I’m ready to be in a relationship.” There, she’d said it, and as soon as the words were out she understood what had been happening and why.

“Grace?” Olivia was studying her closely.

“That’s it,” she breathed. The insomnia, the anxiety, it all made sense to her now. She didn’t need her bedroom repainted to help release her from the memories of her dead husband. Yes, she had concerns about some information Dan had given her in the letter he’d written just before his death, information to think about, but Dan had very little to do with what had been churning inside her these last few weeks. All this angst was tied to her relationship with Cliff. What she needed was time and space and freedom to discover who she was—who she’d become—and what she wanted out of life. She needed a chance to be herself, by herself.

“Grace?”

“I adore Cliff,” she whispered. “I truly do, but I’m not ready to be as serious as he is. Not yet… I just can’t.” Although she was almost in tears, Grace experienced an incredible feeling of relief, and for the first time since Dan’s funeral, she knew she’d sleep through the night.

“You have to tell Cliff,” Olivia said urgently.

“I know.” She had to find a way to explain without offending him or losing his friendship. “I’d like to continue seeing him, but I want the freedom to see other men, too.” Said out loud, it seemed so unfair and selfish, but it was the truth and that was something Grace often had a difficult time admitting, especially to herself.

Three

As the morning light cascaded into her bedroom, Maryellen Sherman rolled carefully onto her back, astounded at the determined effort it took to shift her “nine-months-andcounting” pregnant body.

Her sister had warned her there’d be days she’d feel as big as the Goodyear blimp, and there were, but Maryellen couldn’t remember a time she’d been happier.

“Any day now,” she said, rubbing her hand over her tight, round abdomen. Catherine “Katie” Grace kicked and stretched, and Maryellen marveled as she watched her stomach extend and move. Glancing at the clock, she saw it was eight-thirty, time to get up. She struggled to sit, and with her palms braced against one side of the bed, Maryellen stared down at her feet and realized they were no longer visible. In fact, it’d been weeks since she’d last seen her toes.

She stood awkwardly and supported her back with both hands. It’d begun to ache, which was no surprise. That was what she got for sleeping on a worn-out old mattress. Once she started moving around, she’d feel better. On bare feet, she padded into the kitchen and put on water to make herself a pot of herbal tea; while she waited for it to boil, she sorted through the four maternity tops that were still decent enough to wear outside the house.

This pregnancy hadn’t been planned, and she’d tried to hide the fact that she was pregnant from the father—not a smart move on her part but a desperate one. Jon Bowman, an artist whose work had been displayed at the gallery she managed, had learned about the baby on his own. He’d been adamant about having a role in his daughter’s life. Maryellen didn’t like it, but she didn’t have any choice. It was either grant Jon visitation rights or fight him in court, something she’d rather avoid.

Maryellen was fond of him and respected his considerable talent. What she disliked most about Jon wasn’t his fault at all. With barely any effort, he’d managed to awaken her sensual nature. Until that November night last year, she’d assumed the sexual part of herself had been buried for good, along with her failed marriage. Jon had deftly proved otherwise.

The biggest regret in her life had come when she was a college student. Maryellen had experienced another unplanned pregnancy. She’d allowed her boyfriend, soon-tobe husband, to manipulate her, and at his insistence had aborted her baby. She hadn’t wanted to, and she’d never been able to forgive herself for doing it.

This time around, she was determined to protect her unborn child. This time she refused to listen to anyone or anything other than her own heart. She wanted this child, loved this child. What had begun as a terrifying mistake had become a valued second chance.

It had been a shock to find out that Jon intended to be part of Katie’s life. So much so, he’d threatened to take Maryellen to court if she excluded him from seeing his daughter. Maryellen had no grounds on which to keep him away, so she’d reluctantly agreed to his terms.

The kettle whistled as she finished laying out her clothes. Massaging her back with one hand, Maryellen poured the boiling water into the waiting teapot. “You don’t have any idea how happy I’m going to be to drink coffee again,” she muttered to her unborn daughter.

Maryellen showered and dressed, and because she was only working half days, she had a leisurely breakfast of toast and yogurt and tea. She didn’t need to be at the Harbor Street Art Gallery until shortly before noon. She loved her job, and enjoyed the friendships she had with many of the local artists. Jon was a photographer, and his work, mostly nature photography, was both breathtaking and insightful. After she’d rejected him, he’d decided to take his photographs elsewhere. At the time, his decision had seemed for the best, but the truth of it was, she missed seeing him and the gallery certainly missed the revenue his work had provided.

Jon’s talent was what had first attracted her, but she found the man himself intriguing. He was unpretentious and straightforward—and reticent about the details of his own life. Although she’d worked with him for more than three years, she knew nothing about his artistic training and next to nothing about his personal background. The one bit of information he’d given her was that he’d inherited a stunning piece of property from his grandfather, the property on which he’d built his house. When she asked him questions, he either walked away or changed the subject. For the most part, he declined invitations to social gatherings. She’d been surprised when he’d agreed to attend a Halloween party last year. She’d made up an excuse to invite him, never believing he’d actually show up. That night they’d shared their first kiss, which was the beginning of it all. In the days that followed, Maryellen had come to know him as well as anyone in Cedar Cove, and probably better. The baby kicked and she smiled to herself. Obviously she did know him better than most.

Still, she was impressed by the man who’d fathered her child. Jon had constructed his own home and worked as a chef for The Lighthouse restaurant, all while his reputation as a photographer grew in the Pacific Northwest and beyond.