Cedar Cove Collection. Debbie Macomber

but he didn’t want to hear it. He told me I needed someone, that anyone would do and he just happened to be convenient. But that’s not true,” she said vehemently. “We were supposed to talk the next day and it didn’t happen.”

      “You have to tell him,” Teri insisted.

      “I will,” she said again. “Can we talk about something else now?”

      “Yeah, sure.” Teri wracked her brain. She’d read the Chronicle that morning; surely there’d been some article of interest. The Harbor Street Gallery had been sold and would be staying open, after all. That was the front-page story, so Rachel probably knew about it already. As she was mulling over the local news, the waitress delivered their order.

      “Guess what I heard?” Rachel murmured into her soup. She’d chosen the cream of broccoli with cheese, plus a caesar salad. Teri’s meal looked bland by comparison. “The Taco Shack’s being turned into a barbecue place.”

      “Say it ain’t so,” Teri groaned.

      “I feel the same way.” Rachel sounded equally disappointed.

      “You and Bruce used to go there a lot, didn’t you?” If she could’ve taken the words back, she would have. Rachel didn’t need to be reminded of that right now.

      “Yeah.” Rachel stared out the window. The trees were bare and a few leaves skipped along the street, carried by the wind.

      “How did the doctor’s appointment go?” she asked after a while.

      “Fine. He suggested I walk every day.”

      “You’re feeling okay?”

      “I feel great,” Teri was quick to tell her. “All I need to do is keep my weight down a bit. It’s better for my blood pressure—and the baby.”

      Rachel nodded. “I wonder if I’ll ever have children,” she said longingly.

      “Of course you will. You should. You’re a natural with kids.” In fact, Teri marveled at her skill with children. Half her clientele seemed to be under the age of twelve. For that matter, it was how Rachel had met Bruce and Jolene, when Bruce had brought his daughter in for a haircut.

      Rachel shrugged off the praise.

      They paid for their lunch and started to walk along the waterfront, past the library and the marina, heading in the direction of the park.

      “Don’t put off talking to Bruce,” Teri warned. “Really, what’s the worst that can happen?”

      Hands deep in her pockets, Rachel looked out at the water. “The worst thing is, he might not love me.”

      “Don’t kid yourself. I see how Bruce looks at you.”

      A hint of a smile brightened Rachel’s face. “He depends on me to help him with Jolene.”

      “Jolene loves you.”

      “I love her, and Bruce knows that. He doesn’t want me to move to California and I’m afraid the only reason is his daughter.”

      “I doubt it, but there’s one way to find out for sure, and that’s to ask him.”

      Thirty-Eight

      As it happened, Rachel had a visit from Jolene that same day. The girl phoned her after school to ask if she could come over. Rachel picked her up, and Jolene told her about a fight she’d had with her friend Michelle. Afterward, they painted their toenails and discussed the cute boys in her class. Rachel consoled Jolene about the apparent loss of her friendship with Michelle, then took her to the Pancake Palace for an early supper. Jolene had, of course, called to obtain her father’s permission. At around seven o’clock, Rachel drove her home.

      “Thanks, Rach, I had fun,” the twelve-year-old said as she opened the car door in front of her house.

      Rachel shut off the engine. “I thought I’d come in and talk to your dad for a while.”

      Jolene looked surprised and then pleased. “That would be great.”

      Rachel drew on all her resolve, swallowed hard and walked to the house with Jolene.

      “Dad!” the girl shouted as she stepped inside. “Rachel’s here.” When there was no response, she shouted again, louder this time. “Dad!” She peeked in the kitchen, then turned to Rachel. “He might be down in the basement.” Leaving her standing in the hallway, Jolene opened a door and disappeared.

      Soon afterward, Bruce came upstairs with Jolene at his heels. He wore a blue plaid flannel shirt and had a liberal coating of sawdust in his hair and on his shoulders.

      “Should I come back later?” Rachel asked.

      “You can stay,” Jolene said airily. “Dad does stuff with wood. He’s always working on something.”

      Funny Rachel never knew that about him. She had the feeling there was a lot she didn’t know.

      “Bruce?” She looked at him, frowning. “Is that okay?”

      He shrugged. “I was ready to take a break. By the way,” he told his daughter, “Michelle phoned.”

      “She did?” Jolene’s eyes widened and she grinned at Rachel, who smiled encouragingly.

      “I said you’d call her back as soon as you got home,” Bruce added.

      “Should I?” the girl asked Rachel excitedly.

      “Definitely. Call her back right now,” she suggested. “I was hoping to talk to your dad, anyway.”

      Jolene gave her a thumbs-up and scampered off to make the call.

      “How about if we have a cup of coffee?” she said to Bruce. That would give her something to hold, something to do. He might not need a prop, but she did.

      Bruce nodded, brushing the sawdust from his hands, and accompanied Rachel into the kitchen. He pulled out a chair at the table for her.

      The room was a mess. Dirty dishes were piled in the sink and a box of crackers had toppled and spilled on the countertop. There was a saucepan on the stove with the remains of some canned stew he’d heated up. The empty can stood nearby, beside a carton of milk.

      “I wasn’t expecting company,” Bruce said. He put the milk in the refrigerator and turned to face her, hands tucked inside the back pockets of his jeans. “I’ll make coffee.”

      “Don’t bother if it’s any trouble,” Rachel said.

      “No trouble.” He reached for the glass pot, filled it with water and then emptied out the grounds from that morning.

      “I wanted to thank you again for coming to the sheriff’s office the other night,” she began.

      “Rachel, listen, I was just happy you weren’t hurt. It wasn’t any heroic deed to drive you home, so you can stop thanking me. Why don’t you get to the point?”

      His abruptness took her aback.

      She’d planned her little speech so carefully, but he was making this difficult. He stood as far away from her as his kitchen would allow, his hip pressed against the counter. “Actually,” she said, dragging in a deep breath, “there are several things I want to say….”

      “Such as?” He continued with the coffee, pouring water into the machine and adding fresh grounds. When he’d finished, he straddled the chair across from her.

      This was better. At least they were eye to eye. “Nate and I—” She didn’t get a chance to complete her sentence.

      “So you’ve decided to marry him?” There was a distant look on his face, as if he’d already shut her out.

      “No!”

      “No?” he repeated.

      “I