204 Rosewood Lane. Debbie Macomber

opened the cardboard, and Cliff helped her remove the frame. He held up the poster and heard the soft gasp when she realized what it was. She covered her mouth with one hand as her soft-gray eyes flooded with tears.

      “Oh, Cliff, you shouldn’t have,” she said, blinking furiously. “This is far too valuable to give me.”

      “Nonsense. I’m sure my grandfather would’ve wanted you to have it. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t even have any of these things.” Nor would Cliff have known anything about his grandfather, other than what his father had told him. He now saw Tom as more than a selfish, fame-obsessed bastard; he saw a regretful old man who would’ve liked to turn back the years and make different choices.

      “You were a difficult nut to crack,” Charlotte reminded him, frowning.

      He had to agree. She’d been persistent in calling and writing. If he hadn’t arrived on her doorstep when he did, Cliff figured she would’ve brought everything to him herself, venturing onto the freeway in a car he was sure had never been driven over forty miles an hour.

      Charlotte reached for a lace-trimmed handkerchief in her apron pocket and blew her nose loudly. “I don’t know what to say.”

      “Would you like me to hang it for you?”

      “Oh, please.”

      He’d come prepared to do that, assuming the task would require his assistance.

      “Do you think it would be inappropriate for me to hang it in my bedroom?” she asked.

      “I think that would be a perfectly fine choice,” he assured her. He followed her into the long hallway to the master bedroom at the far end of the house. The double bed against the wall had a plain curved headboard. An old-fashioned dresser with a large mirror sat on the opposite side of the room. She had a comfortable chair with worn green upholstery and a table with a reading lamp. Cliff guessed she did most of her reading there, gauging by the pile of books on the table.

      “How about here?” Charlotte asked, pointing to a bare space on the white wall across from the bed.

      Several pictures crowded the dresser top, but Cliff didn’t have a chance to study them. One did catch his notice, however. Charlotte saw what he was looking at and reached for the frame. “This is Olivia when she was six months,” she said, pointing to the picture of a baby. “She was an exceptional child even then.”

      Cliff swallowed a smile. Six-month-old Olivia was sucking on her big toe and grinning with toothless delight. Cliff could only imagine what the judge would say if she knew he’d seen the photograph.

      “Mom?” Almost as if the picture had conjured up Charlotte’s daughter, he heard a woman’s voice call from the living room. “Are you all right? The front door’s open and—”

      “Oh, dear…” Charlotte rushed out of the bedroom. “Olivia?”

      “The door was unlocked and you never—” Olivia said, meeting Charlotte in the hallway. She stopped abruptly when Cliff walked out of the bedroom.

      Olivia stared at her mother and then Cliff.

      “Hello,” he said, enjoying the perplexed look. Olivia had matured into a strikingly attractive woman. Now probably wasn’t the time to ask if she was still agile enough to lift her foot to her mouth. He couldn’t keep from grinning, though. The resemblance between mother and daughter was most apparent in the eyes, although hers were brown. If he hadn’t known Olivia was a judge, he would have guessed she held some responsible position from the dignified way she carried herself. She was medium height, close to his own age, and her hair was still a lustrous brown.

      “I’m Cliff Harding,” he said, stepping forward and offering his hand.

      “Tom’s grandson,” Charlotte explained. “He was just hanging up a poster of The Yodeling Cowboy for me.”

      Olivia frowned as they shook hands. “Oh, my goodness, you’re Cliff Harding!”

      “That’s what I just said,” Charlotte murmured.

      “He has Grace’s credit card.”

      Actually Cliff saw Grace as the one who had his VISA card. “You know Grace Sherman?”

      Olivia nodded. “We’ve been friends for years. She was planning to return your call this evening.”

      Charlotte glanced helplessly from one to the other, as if she’d somehow missed hearing the punch line to a good joke.

      As best he could, Cliff explained the situation.

      “You’d better take care of that right away,” Charlotte advised. “Personally, I don’t use credit cards. It’s like carrying Monopoly money.”

      “I’d hoped to get my own card back,” Cliff said. “Do you think I could drop in on Grace?”

      “She works at the library,” Charlotte told him. “You could leave your truck parked here and walk over there. It’s only a few blocks away and I don’t expect we’re going to have many more of these sunshiny afternoons.”

      “I think you should meet Grace,” Olivia encouraged. She shifted her gaze from him, and Cliff wondered if he was missing something.

      “Oh, yes,” Charlotte agreed. “Olivia’s right, you should meet Grace. She could use a male friend after what Dan did to her.”

      “Dan,” Olivia added quickly, “is her husband, cor¬ rection…was her husband. He disappeared earlier in the year.”

      The two women became engaged in a discussion about Dan’s whereabouts and their own suspicion—that he’d left Grace and run away with another woman.

      “Grace filed for divorce last Monday,” Olivia told him.

      The same day as the credit card mishap. No wonder she’d seemed distracted and preoccupied. No wonder she’d been alone. Although Cliff would’ve noticed her if she’d been in the middle of a crowd.

      Grace Sherman was like…like a mountain wildflower. He wasn’t normally poetic and couldn’t really say why he thought of her in those terms, but that was the image that came to his mind. A flower that bloomed despite cold, wind and hardship. He’d tried not to be obvious, but she’d attracted him and he’d wondered about her. It’d been a very long time since he’d looked at a woman, any woman, the way he had Grace.

      “I think I will take a walk over to the library,” he muttered.

      “Good idea,” Olivia said brightly.

      Charlotte’s daughter seemed eager to send him off. Perhaps she was trying to encourage him to meet her friend. If that was the case, Cliff didn’t need any prompting. After saying goodbye to Charlotte and Olivia, he left and strolled down the steep incline toward the waterfront. This was his first visit to the library and he stopped to admire the mural painted on the outside. The town sported several other murals, as well, which he’d often admired.

      Grace Sherman stood at the front desk when Cliff entered the library.

      She glanced up when he approached the counter. “Can I help you?”

      “I’m Cliff Harding,” he said and waited.

      It obviously took a moment for his name to register. “Oh, hi—you’re the one who has my credit card and I have yours. I’m sorry. I should have recognized you. If you’ll wait a moment, I’ll get my purse.” Grace took a deep breath, then said, “I was going to call you back this evening.”

      “That’s what Olivia said.”

      “You know Olivia?”

      “We met this afternoon at Charlotte’s.”

      Again she hesitated, as if needing time to connect all the dots. “You’re Tom Harding’s grandson. Charlotte’s often mentioned you. I apologize, I didn’t