311 Pelican Court. Debbie Macomber

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.

      “I didn’t expect you until noon,” Lois Habbersmith said when Maryellen walked into the gallery at eleven-thirty, a little ahead of schedule.

      Until recently, Lois had been Maryellen’s assistant, but had been temporarily promoted to gallery manager during Maryellen’s maternity leave. She was confident Lois would do a more-than-adequate job.

      “When’s your next doctor’s appointment?” Lois asked.

      “Tomorrow morning.” The ache in her back seemed to be getting worse. Maryellen pulled out a chair and sat down.

      Lois looked concerned. “Are you feeling all right?”

      “No,” Maryellen admitted. “The truth is, I’m having this weird backache.” She realized the ache seemed to diminish and then increase fairly regularly. It suddenly occurred to her that perhaps this wasn’t a backache, but the onset of labor.

      As if she, too, had reached the same conclusion, Lois walked all the way around her. “My labor pains always started in my back.” Then holding one finger to her lips, Lois said, “Maryellen, you think you could be going into labor?”

      “I…I should probably time these…pains, shouldn’t I?”

      Lois clapped her hands excitedly. “This is so wonderful!”

      “Lois, Lois, I don’t know if I’m in labor. I just have this…strange feeling.”

      Maryellen glanced at her watch and tried to remember when she’d last felt this odd pain that seemed to radiate from her spine.

      “Your mom’s your birth partner, right?”

      Maryellen nodded. She vaguely remembered that her mother had mentioned she’d be attending a librarians’ meeting in Seattle on Wednesday. Today was Wednesday. Grace had a cell phone, Maryellen knew, but she was constantly forgetting to turn it on, or off, in which case the battery would run low. No need to contact her mother just yet, she decided. There was plenty of time, and she wasn’t convinced she was officially in labor, anyway. She wondered if maybe this was false labor, which several people had warned her about.

      A few hours later, at home by herself, Maryellen was no longer wondering. She knew. There was nothing false about this. What had started out as a dull ache in her back had ultimately worked its way around, and she was having contractions at five-minute intervals. She reached for the phone and dialed her mother.

      Just as she’d suspected, her mother’s cell phone was off or not working or the battery was dead.