Cedar Cove Collection

The crudeness of his words made her gasp. “You’re sanctioning an affair?”

“If not Seth, then someone else. You pick.”

“That’s not the kind of marriage I want!”

He spoke as though he hadn’t heard her. “The only thing I ask is that you tell me who it is.”

Justine couldn’t believe they were having this conversation or that Warren would suggest something so…so reprehensible. “I’m not like that, Warren.”

He grinned with the amusement of a man who’d seen it all. “You never know, Justine. You just never know.”

Fifteen

As a single man, Jack Griffin didn’t make a habit of turning down dinner invitations, especially ones that came from Bob and Peggy Beldon. Peggy was an extraordinary cook, and meals at their bed-and-breakfast were the stuff of culinary legend.

Jack had been friends with Bob for more than ten years; Bob and Peggy had owned Thyme and Tide for seven. It was on Lighthouse Road, a mile or so from Olivia’s house. The two-story white structure with the black wrought-iron fence had been called the Mansion before Bob and Peggy bought it. A Navy Commander was said to have built it in the early 1900s. It had turrets, one at either end of the house, and the larger of the two had a widow’s walk.

The B and B had been successful from the outset, due in no small part to the Beldons’ skill as hosts—and of course, to Peggy’s cooking.

Jack arrived with a bouquet of flowers and a healthy appetite.

“Welcome,” Peggy said as she opened the door and kissed him on the cheek. “We don’t see nearly enough of you. Our guests aren’t scheduled to arrive until late, so we’re free to relax for a few hours.” Her eyes crinkled in a smile. “I always enjoy the opportunity to feed someone who appreciates my cooking as much as you do.”

“Invite me to dinner any time you like,” he said enthusiastically.

“Did I hear the doorbell?” Bob walked in and the two men exchanged handshakes.

“I’ll take care of these flowers,” Peggy said and left the room.

Jack followed his friend onto the patio behind the house. Its location granted a full view of the cove, with the Bremerton ferry in the distance.

“I’ve already got the cribbage board set up and ready to go,” Bob told him. “How about a glass of iced tea?”

“Sounds great.”

While Bob hurried into the kitchen for the tea, Jack inspected Peggy’s herb garden. It was lovely to behold, a delight for all the senses. Even Jack, who liked to say that he had “a green thumb—green with mold,” derived real pleasure from Peggy’s garden. Many of the fresh herbs were used in her prized recipes, and he wondered what she’d serve tonight.

Bob returned with two glasses of iced tea. “This retirement is for the birds,” he muttered. “It looks like the house is going to need painting this summer, and Peggy thinks I should be able to do it myself.”

“She’s joking, right?”

“I hope so.” Bob sank down on one of the lounge chairs. “Can you believe it’s the middle of June already?” He sat upright with a startled look.

“What’s wrong?”

Bob glanced away and seemed embarrassed, as though he’d said something he shouldn’t have. “Nothing,” he said, shaking off the question. “Just another one of life’s regrets. Let’s not discuss it.”

Jack frowned, but if there was anything he understood it was regrets.

“So—you’ve been here almost a year,” Bob said casually, reaching for his tea.

Jack nodded. A year. Well, it would be in October. Busy as he was with the newspaper, the months had flown by. It seemed only a few weeks ago that he’d sat in Olivia’s courtroom that first time…. He was shocked to realize that six months had passed.

“What do you think of Cedar Cove now?”

“Hey,” Jack said with a grin. “It’s my kind of town.” Bob and Peggy had been raised in Cedar Cove. They’d graduated from high school together, and then Bob had been drafted and gone off to fight in Vietnam. He’d come home haunted by demons—memories and experiences he could scarcely speak of, even now. Those demons had led him to look for oblivion in the bottom of a bottle. Jack had faced his own demons from Nam and they, too, had led him to the deceptive gratifications of alcohol. He’d met Bob in a rehab center, and they’d struck up a friendship that had grown over the years. Although he had ten years’ sobriety now, the consequences of those hard-drinking years still lingered. Only now had Eric begun to trust him.

“I thought we’d eat out on the patio tonight,” Peggy announced, joining the two men.

That suited Jack just fine. After a week of intermittent rainfall, the evening was clear and warm. A soft breeze came off the water, and with it the faint scent of the sea.

“So,” Peggy said, taking the wicker chair next to Bob. “How’s the paper doing?”

“It’s thriving.” Jack was proud of that. He’d made a lot of changes in the last eight months, added a second edition each week and followed his instincts. One of his most popular innovations had come from Charlotte Jefferson. Her Seniors’ Page had become a huge hit with the community. Olivia’s mother was a natural. Her chatty column every Wednesday was full of tidbits about local happenings. If Mrs. Samuel’s grandson was visiting, Charlotte reported the news. If the Robertsons’ dog had puppies, she wrote about them, guaranteeing the litter good homes. She passed on recipes and some great old-fashioned household hints. Who would’ve guessed vinegar had so many uses? She wrote about the past, discussing local history, especially events that took place around World War II. And she threw in bits and pieces of her own wisdom.

“What about you?” Peggy asked. “Are you thriving, too?”

“Me?”

“Are you happy?”

“I’m sane and sober, and that’s about as good as it gets for me.”

“What about Olivia?” Bob asked.

His buddy would ask the one question he didn’t want to answer. Jack shrugged.

“What kind of answer is that?” Peggy scolded. “A few weeks ago, you had lots to say about the judge.”

“She’s in love with her ex-husband,” he said bleakly. He’d seen it the day Olivia returned home from her trip to California. Since then he’d only heard from her once, when she called to break their date for the following Wednesday. There’d been no contact between them after that. He sighed, remembering how she’d come back from the airport with her ex, the top down on a fancy red convertible, music blaring. They’d had eyes only for each other. Anyone looking at them would think they were lovers. Jack wasn’t a man who walked away from a challenge, but he was smart enough to avoid a losing proposition—like falling for a woman still involved with her ex.

“I thought Stan remarried,” Bob said, turning to Peggy.

“He did.”

“That doesn’t change the way Olivia feels about him,” Jack insisted.

“Did you ask her about it?”

Jack shook his head. More than willing to move on to another subject, he said, “What do you hear from the kids?” Bob and Peggy had two children; Hollie, their oldest, lived in Seattle and their youngest, Marc, was in Kansas.

“They’re both fine,” Peggy told him. “What do you hear from Eric?”

His son didn’t make any effort to keep in touch with Jack, which he supposed was fair. For a good portion of Eric’s life, Jack had been absent, if not in body, then in spirit.

“Not much,” Jack confessed.

“When was the last time you talked to him?”