6 Rainier Drive. Debbie Macomber

      “I’ve got stuff I have to do.”

      She patted the empty space next to her. “Jon,” she whispered. “Please.”

      He hesitated, and she knew he felt torn between the need to work while Katie napped and his desire to be with his wife. Her smile must have won him over because he sank down at her side and slipped one arm around her shoulders.

      “I love you so much,” she said.

      Jon kissed her forehead. “I love you, too.”

      “In a few months, this will all be over.”

      “It feels like it’s gone on forever,” he murmured.

      “Getting through these last few weeks of the pregnancy…That’ll be the most difficult. Things will get worse before they get better.”

      He released a deep, pent-up sigh. “We’ll be fine.”

      “I think so, too.” She turned her head in order to meet his gaze. “Your stepmother phoned this afternoon,” she said, not bothering with a preamble.

      Jon stiffened but said nothing. Then he asked. “Did she call or did you?”

      “She phoned,” Maryellen assured him, refusing to take offense at the question. “They read about the fire at The Lighthouse because they get the Chronicle. She called to see if everything was all right with us.”

      He didn’t respond for a long moment. “So they know I’m not working?” he finally asked. “At a job, I mean?”

      “They know,” she said. “I told her about the problems with the pregnancy, too.”

      He wasn’t happy about that, she could tell, but he didn’t say anything.

      “I didn’t ask her to do it, I want you to understand that.”

      “Do what?”

      “Come here and help. Ellen insisted. She said these are her grandchildren and we need help.”

      Still Jon refused to comment.

      “Say something,” she said, fearing his reaction. On top of everything else, she couldn’t bear his anger. It would break her.

      “They can’t stay here.”

      She nodded.

      “I don’t want them around the house when I’m here.” The arm that cradled her lay heavily on her shoulders.

      “I’ll make sure they understand that.”

      He sighed. “I don’t like this, but I’ll do it for you and Katie and for the baby.”

      “Thank you,” she whispered.

      “It doesn’t change anything, Maryellen.”

      “I know.” She pressed her head against him. A minute later, she felt him relax again.

      “Love does that to a man, doesn’t it?”

      “Hmm?” she murmured.

      “Makes you do things you don’t want to for the people you love. Things you never thought you’d do.”

      Maryellen knew what he was saying. Jon had vowed that he would not allow his family back in his life after what they’d done to him. Yet here he was, setting aside his deepest convictions because Ellen and Joseph were willing to help in this impossible situation. He’d agreed to let them into the fringes of his life for Maryellen’s sake and Katie’s. There might be no forgiveness in his heart, but he’d set aside his anger to serve his wife’s needs.

      “Love makes us put other people first,” she said. “Isn’t that what you mean?” Isn’t that what love is?

       Four

      Justine could barely stand to look at the burned-out husk that had once been The Lighthouse. Most of the structure had collapsed and the charred remains were a blight against the vivid blue backdrop of the cove. Yellow crime-scene tape stretched across the parking lot. Even now, two weeks after the fire, the acrid smell of burned wood and smoke hung oppressively in the air.

      Seth stood at her side and Robert Beckman, the insurance claims adjuster, was with them. He made notes on a clipboard as they surveyed the site together. Leif, thank goodness, was in preschool. As much as she could, Justine wanted to protect her son from all this.

      Her panic attack the week before had shaken her. She hadn’t told Seth about meeting Warren. There seemed no reason to do so. Knowing she’d been anywhere close to the other man would only upset him, although her husband had nothing to worry about. Her love for Seth and their family was rocksolid. Warren had been kind to her, and for that she was grateful. He’d asked her to join him for lunch; she’d declined and hadn’t talked to him since.

      “How much longer will the investigation take?” Seth asked, keeping pace with the adjuster.

      Justine wrapped her hand around his arm in silent entreaty. Seth was still bitter and impatient, yearning to move forward after the fire and resentful of every delay. Already he was talking about rebuilding, eager to get their business and their lives back on track. More than eager, he’d become obsessive. Every drawback, every question, frustrated him. He couldn’t sleep and the stress had begun to affect his emotional health.

      “I know it seems to be taking a long time,” Robert said in a soothing voice. “But—”

      “It’s already been over two weeks,” Seth snapped. “What else is there to investigate?”

      “You’ll have to forgive my husband, Mr. Beckman,” Justine said quietly. “As you can imagine, this fire has been very difficult for us.”

      “I completely understand,” the older man assured her. “As I was saying, I know it seems like a long time, but I do promise you that we’re working as quickly and efficiently as we can.”

      “I didn’t mean to snap.” Seth gave a helpless shrug. “It’s just that every day we’re not open for business we lose customers and staff.” Word had come that morning that their head waiter had taken a job in Tacoma. Dion wouldn’t be easily replaced. It was inevitable that the rest of their staff would find other employment, as well. No one could go without a paycheck for long.

      “The company recognizes that, but we can’t do anything until the fire marshal gives us an opportunity to survey the damage thoroughly. And because this is a criminal investigation, it’s simply going to require more time.”

      Justine knew that Seth had made numerous phone calls to the fire marshal in an effort to get the investigation moving.

      “I’ve contacted an architect,” Seth explained, and Justine barely managed to conceal her shock. She’d had no idea. “We’ve been discussing design plans,” he went on, “and I’d like to set up a construction schedule. I can’t do that until the fire marshal releases the property.”

      “Well…you may have to wait a while.”

      “When can we rebuild?” Seth demanded.

      Robert Beckman slowly shook his head. “Since the fire appears to have been arson, the company would like to bring in a ‘Cause and Origin’ investigator.” He paused. “This is in addition to what your local people are doing.”

      “What will he do?” Justine wanted to know. “Your investigator, I mean.”

      “His—or her—primary purpose is to confirm the preliminary finding of arson. Our investigators do that by looking at flame patterns to see where the fire started.”

      “How could anyone tell anything from a heap of ashes?” Impatience rang in Seth’s voice.

      “It’s astonishing the information they can derive from the site. They’re