Driftwood Cottage. Sherryl Woods

made several traditional quilt patterns over the years, she found special satisfaction and creative freedom in doing this kind of folk art quilt. If Megan was right about her talent, these would distinguish her shop from any others in the immediate region.

      And if she decided to do custom scenes for her customers, she could probably charge even more for them. Or she could assemble a collection of such quilts and even have a show. She could do it right here, or she could have a more formal showing next door at Megan’s increasingly respected art gallery. That could boost prices even higher, she suspected, still a bit stunned by Megan’s assessment of her quilts’ worth.

      Sitting in a rocker she’d placed near the front window for better lighting, she pieced together a section of the O’Brien house with the kind of tiny, neat stitches she’d learned from her mother.

      As always, any thought of Bridget Donovan filled her with nostalgia. How had they let things get so far off track? Of course it was because they’d both taken strong positions from which there was no backing down, pretty much the way she and Connor had done.

      Ironically, she’d always thought herself capable of reason and compromise. Maybe, though, when something mattered so much, there was no room for compromise.

      She wondered how her mother would feel if she knew that Heather had left Connor. Would she rejoice, or would she find it one more thing to criticize? There was no way to know without picking up the phone or going for a visit, and Heather simply wasn’t ready to do either. Not yet, anyway. She needed to get her feet back under her, to establish herself in her new life. Then, perhaps, she could withstand one of her mother’s pointed interrogations or her father’s disappointed looks.

      A tap on the front door had her glancing up to spot Connor with their son in his arms. She put aside the quilt and let them in. Connor set little Mick down in his playpen, where he was immediately absorbed with his toys. Connor nodded toward the fabric she’d had in her lap.

      “You working on something new?”

      “It’s for your mother,” she said. “She admired another one of my quilts, so I’m doing something similar for her. It’s not very far along, though.”

      Connor walked over and took a closer look, then turned to her with a surprised expression. “It’s our house!”

      Heather grinned. “Thank goodness you recognized it. You have no idea what a relief that is.”

      “It’s actually amazing. Have you done others like this? I only remember when you worked on the one that’s hanging in the window.”

      “That’s a more traditional design,” she explained. “It’s the kind of quilt you’d find in a beach cottage, I think. At least that’s your mother’s theory, and I have sold several to the weekenders who have homes here. They love the old-fashioned look and feel of the cottage quilts, and they’re perfect for the old iron and brass beds so many people have found in antique shops in the area.”

      “Did you make them all?” he asked. “When on earth did you find the time?”

      She laughed. “Heavens, no. I’m not that fast. I’ve found several excellent Amish quilt-makers in the area, and I’ve bought quite a few quilts from them. So far I’ve resisted buying the machine-made quilts, but I may have to if I can’t keep up with demand.”

      A frown knit his brow. “Can you make enough money selling quilts?”

      She shrugged. “I hope so, but I’m also starting classes. Not only do I have several people signed up already, but they’ll all need supplies. And I’ve put out some flyers, so word’s getting around that I have fabric available, and a lot of women have been coming in to buy patterns and fabric for their own quilt projects.”

      He hesitated, then said, “I suppose I have no right to say this, but I’m proud of you, Heather. Clearly you’re excited about this and have a vision to make it succeed.”

      Heather was pleased by his approval. “Keep your fingers crossed that it goes well, or I’ll wind up back in a classroom.”

      She was half-joking, but Connor apparently took her seriously.

      “Would that be so awful? The schools around here won’t be as tough as the ones in Baltimore,” he said. “It would be a whole different experience. Don’t you have regrets about wasting your college degree?”

      “Not really,” she said candidly. “I never felt about teaching the way I do when I walk in here every morning, knowing this business is mine. Connor, I doubt you can imagine what that’s like, to discover something you’re passionate about and turn it into a career. I never imagined that my love of quilting could be anything more than a hobby, yet here I am.”

      He frowned. “You don’t think I understand that kind of passion? It’s exactly how I feel about law.”

      Heather regarded him with skepticism. “I’m not a hundred percent certain about that.”

      “Meaning?”

      “To be honest, I’ve always thought you liked law as a way to get even, not as a way to ensure justice.”

      He looked taken aback by the comment. “You don’t think much of me, do you?”

      She saw the hurt in his eyes and regretted being so candid. “Oh, Connor, it’s not that. I love you. That’s why it’s so hard to see what you’re doing to yourself with the kind of cases you take. I know it sounds dramatic, but I almost feel as if you’re selling your soul.”

      “The cases I take—and win, by the way—will get me a partnership in a very prestigious law firm, which means you and our son will never want for anything,” he responded defensively.

      “I appreciate that you want to support little Mick, but we could get by on less. I’d rather have you truly happy.”

      “You could ensure that if you’d just come home,” he said, then waved off the remark before she could respond. “Never mind.” He regarded her with resignation. “I know that’s not happening, not now that you’ve apparently made a new life for yourself here.”

      He looked for an instant as if he wanted to say more, maybe even to plead his case once again. Heather waited, wondering if he was about to take a step closer and kiss her the way he might have done a few months ago. His kisses, always intoxicating, always persuasive, never failed to move her.

      But the joy and contentment she found in his arms was fleeting. Once her feet touched down on solid ground again, she had to face the same reality. She and Connor were as close as they would ever be. They couldn’t grow together as married couples did.

      Instead of reaching for her now, though, he backed away. He shoved his hands in his pockets as if he feared making a move that would be rebuffed.

      “I suppose I should get on the road,” he said. “I have some case files I need to go through tonight.”

      “More divorces, of course,” she said. As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she regretted the bitter, judgmental tone of them.

      As she’d expected, his expression immediately turned defensive again. “Of course. That’s the kind of law I do.”

      “And you’re very good at it,” she admitted. “Your clients are lucky to have you. I just think it’s sad to be surrounded by people who are so miserable and embittered.”

      He held her gaze, tried to make his case. “Heather, don’t you get it? People who are going through a tough time emotionally need to have someone in their corner they can count on to protect their interests.”

      “Of course I get that,” she said. “But it’s as hard on you as it is on them. Every time you get caught up in their stories, you become more and more disillusioned about marriage.”

      “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said impatiently. “I’m the objective outsider, remember?”

      She smiled