Cedar Cove Collection. Debbie Macomber

Bruce, you don’t want to go there. Men have their own preferences. I’ll bet you’re sitting in front of the television right now with the remote control on the arm rest. I’ll bet you’re reading the paper at the same time as you’re watching the TV news.”

      How did she know this much about his evening routine? He supposed it shouldn’t surprise him. Rachel had often been to his house over the past few years and he’d been to hers. She was the only woman who’d breached his defenses. Suddenly he wondered if she was right about other men’s routines being the same as his. And if she was, how had she found out?

      “What do you hear from Lover Boy?” he asked.

      “I wish you’d stop calling Nate that,” she said, the humor leaving her voice.

      “Okay, your Sailor Man,” he revised. The truth was, Bruce had never much cared for Rachel’s navy boyfriend. For one thing, he couldn’t imagine them as a couple. For another, Nate seemed to resent the time Rachel spent with Jolene. In fact he’d tried on more than one occasion to come between them. So far, that hadn’t worked; Rachel wouldn’t allow it.

      “We talk almost every day. He misses me.”

      “Do you miss him?” Bruce asked, although he already knew what she’d say.

      “Like crazy. I’m going to fly down to California to visit him soon. Or he’ll fly up here for a weekend. We’re miserable without each other.”

      Bruce had to bite his tongue to keep from making a sarcastic remark. He wasn’t sure why he’d bothered to ask. Thinking about Nate Olsen and Rachel invariably put him in a bad mood, although he refused to delve any further into the reasons for that.

      “What’s new in town?” Rachel asked, abruptly changing the subject. “You’re reading the paper, aren’t you? Give me an update.”

      “All right,” he said, looking at the front page. “The school board’s bringing a new bond issue to the ballot in September. You’ll vote for it, won’t you?”

      “Of course. Anything else?”

      “There’s an article here by Jack Griffin about the Harbor Street Art Gallery. Apparently the owners are closing it, at least for the winter months, and maybe for good.”

      “Oh, no,” Rachel murmured. “Maryellen Bowman’s going to feel awful about that. She’s the one who built it up. A lot of local artists depend on that extra income.”

      “There’s also a short piece about a farewell party for Linnette McAfee,” Bruce went on. “Apparently her last day at the Medical Clinic is next week.”

      “I’m sorry she’s moving away,” Rachel said. “If anyone should move, it’s Cal,” she added indignantly.

      “Who’s Cal?”

      She launched into a rather involved explanation of Linnette and Cal Washburn and their relationship, ending with, “He broke her heart and now she’s leaving town?”

      “Why?” That didn’t make sense to Bruce, either, but then he was the last person who’d understand the whys and wherefores of a relationship. Rachel explained why she thought Linnette had decided to move. It still didn’t make sense to him. So Linnette and this Cal broke up. So what? This wasn’t junior high. Everyone should be able to coexist and behave like the adults they were.

      “Martha Evans’s funeral was this week,” Rachel said next. “Anything in the paper about that?”

      “Who’s she?”

      “She was an elderly woman. Around ninety. I did her hair for the funeral.”

      He didn’t like thinking about it. “That’s something you do?” he asked hesitantly.

      “Of course. She was a lovely woman. I’ll miss her.”

      “But why—”

      “The funeral home occasionally hires me. And I was very fond of Martha so I wanted to do it.”

      They chatted for another while, joking back and forth, filling each other in on what was happening at work. When he replaced the phone, Bruce was shocked to realize they’d talked for more than an hour.

      “What did Rachel say?” Jolene asked. She’d been waiting patiently, completing a jigsaw puzzle of horses grazing in a field. Five hundred pieces! He was impressed.

      “She said she’d be by to pick you up at nine-thirty on Saturday morning,” he said absently. An hour. He’d spent an entire hour on the phone with Rachel?

      Something was wrong.

      Bruce didn’t even like talking on the phone. Five minutes, tops. Say what’s necessary and hang up. He could barely remember a conversation in his entire adult life that had lasted more than fifteen minutes.

      “Dad?” Jolene cut into his musings.

      “What?”

      “You’re standing up but you’re not going anywhere.”

      “I am?” He hadn’t been aware that he was on his feet until Jolene pointed it out.

      “Are you okay?” his daughter asked.

      Bruce sat back down. “I—I don’t know.” He felt dizzy, and that was unusual for him. In fact, his head was spinning. Maybe he had the flu. Yeah, a flu named Rachel. Where did that thought come from? Squinting at his daughter, he noticed she was looking at him strangely.

      “Should I call 911?”

      “No.” He forced a laugh. “I’m fine. I do have a question for you, though.”

      “Sure.” She knelt in front of him, her hand on his knee. “Do you want me to get you a glass of water?”

      “No, no, it’s nothing.” His heart felt like an oil-rig pump that had gone berserk, but he chose to ignore that. “You like Rachel, don’t you?” But Jolene didn’t need to answer. Rachel had taken Stephanie’s place in her life. His own parents lived in Connecticut, and Jolene had only seen them two or three times. Stephanie’s parents had divorced when she was young and she’d never had a good relationship with her father. Her mother had died within two years of Stephanie; she’d never recovered from the loss of her only child. So it’d always been just Bruce and his daughter. Except for Rachel …

      “Dad, of course I like Rachel,” Jolene said. “You like her, too, don’t you?”

      He narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?” he asked suspiciously.

      “You’re not mad at her or anything?”

      “No, no, everything’s … fine.”

      The relief in his daughter’s eyes quickly turned to fear. “She’s not marrying Nate and moving to San Diego, is she?”

      Not if I can help it, his mind shouted. With Jolene studying him intently, he shook his head and pretended nothing was amiss.

      Together they made dinner. Jolene prepared a green salad while Bruce fixed tuna sandwiches. Dinnertime had been important to Stephanie. Because he knew this was something his wife would’ve wanted, Bruce had continued the practice of having dinner with Jolene every evening. While she described her day, he did his best to pay attention. During the summer she attended a church day camp, which she loved. She launched into a long, complicated story about a little play she was in, and he forced himself to nod and exclaim in the right places.

      Summer bedtime was nine-thirty and Jolene went without an argument. He cleaned up the kitchen, then thought about going to bed himself, only he wasn’t tired. After washing a load of laundry and dumping it in the dryer, he cleaned the bathroom. This burst of nervous energy wasn’t a bad thing, he decided. Rare and surprising, perhaps, but nothing to be alarmed by.

      Once in bed, he tossed and turned for another hour, then realized he wouldn’t