Blossom Street. Debbie Macomber

She sipped her wine and let it linger on her tongue. At fifty dollars a bottle, she was taking the time to appreciate the finer qualities of this merlot.

      “Later Mama told me that the only reason Daddy had been hollering was because the tractor might have toppled on her. He didn’t care one bit about that mailbox. It was my mama he loved, and she might have been crushed getting that close to the irrigation ditch in the tractor. His yelling was a sign of how much he loved her.”

      Jacqueline was sure there was a point to this story, but at the moment it escaped her. She sipped the wine.

      “I hope I didn’t speak out of turn earlier,” Tammie Lee said softly, her eyes wide.

      Jacqueline shrugged carelessly. “I believe the mayor was … amused.”

      “Not the mayor,” Tammie Lee corrected. “I meant when I asked if everything was all right between you and Reese.”

      “Everything is perfectly fine between my husband and me,” Jacqueline primly informed her. She downed the rest of the merlot—finer qualities be damned—and set the glass on the table.

      “Good,” Tammie Lee said, “because Paul and I love you so much and our baby’s going to need her grandma and grandpa.”

      Somehow Jacqueline managed a smile. “So your mother actually ran the tractor over the mailbox?”

      “Twice.”

      “Twice?” Perhaps it was the wine, but Jacqueline laughed out loud.

      “Daddy wasn’t any happier about it the second time, either.”

      Jacqueline would bet not.

      “But my daddy loves Mama the same way Reese loves you.”

      Jacqueline stopped laughing. Reese hadn’t truly loved her in years. Their marriage was one of convenience and comfort. She didn’t complain about his Tuesday night appointments and he didn’t mention the balance on their credit cards. They had a mutually agreeable relationship, but whatever real love they’d once shared was dead.

      “Tammie Lee.” Paul’s voice rang from the dining room.

      “In here,” she called, her voice high and animated.

      Reese and Paul came into the kitchen, leaving the connecting door between the kitchen and the dining room swinging in their wake.

      “You must be exhausted,” Paul said, smiling down on her with such love it was painful to watch. “Are you ready to head home?”

      Tammie Lee nodded and Paul helped her to her feet. Then, to Jacqueline’s shock, her daughter-in-law bent down and threw her arms around her neck.

      “Thank you,” Tammie Lee whispered, hugging her warmly.

      Jacqueline wasn’t sure how to respond. She placed her arms carefully around Tammie Lee and hugged back. It’d been so long since anyone had touched her with so much affection that she found herself close to tears.

      “You’re such a wonderful mother-in-law,” Tammie Lee told her. “I think I’m the most blessed woman in the world.”

      Jacqueline gazed at Reese over Tammie Lee’s shoulder. She saw something powerful flickering in his eyes. Could Reese possibly still have feelings for her? Was it the reason he’d been so angry about her parking the car in the alley? That apparently was the point of Tammie Lee’s story.

      The thought seemed almost inconceivable.

      28

      CHAPTER

       CAROL GIRARD

      Carol was the first to show up for knitting class on Friday afternoon. She arrived early in order to look through the pattern book for another project.

      “I thought you were knitting your brother a pullover,” Lydia said as Carol leafed through the section of the binder that held men’s sweater patterns.

      “I was, but I’m too upset with him to knit him anything.” Carol hadn’t spoken to Rick in over a week. That in itself wasn’t unusual, but she’d half expected him to keep in touch with her after his confession. This time, his charm wasn’t going to be enough to get him out of the mess he’d created. There were no easy answers.

      The bell above the door chimed and when Carol glanced up, she nearly did a double-take. Alix walked in—wearing jeans and a T-shirt. It was the first time Carol had seen her without the constant black leather jacket and either black pants or a ridiculously short skirt. Her hair looked … less punk. Carol opened her mouth to comment but quickly closed it again. Alix didn’t like having attention directed at her, even though she blatantly strove to be different. If that wasn’t a contradiction in terms, Carol didn’t know what was.

      “Hi,” Alix said, sauntering up to the table. Her manner seemed self-conscious, and she glared at Lydia and Carol as if defying them to comment on her changed appearance. Then she sat down in one of the chairs and took her knitting out of the plastic video-store bag.

      “Hi,” they both responded.

      “How’s the pregnancy going?” Alix’s voice was matter-of-fact; she seemed to consider this a perfectly normal question.

      Carol saw that Lydia looked over at them warily. No one else had dared ask Carol about her condition. “So far, so good,” she said. “I’m still peeing blue.”

      “What?” Alix raised her head.

      “The test that tells me I’m registering as positive for a pregnancy,” Carol explained. With the fertilized embryo implanted in her womb, it wasn’t getting pregnant that was difficult, it was staying pregnant. Twice now she’d lost the baby before the third week. Holding on to the pregnancy this long meant there was hope, but no part of the process was certain. The first three months were the riskiest in any pregnancy. In her online support group, Carol had recently heard from one friend who’d been pregnant for two and a half months only to miscarry. It had been heartbreaking, and every member had felt Susan’s loss deeply.

      The door opened again and Jacqueline came into the shop, bracelets jangling. She wore a tailored pantsuit Carol considered far too formal for the occasion and carried not only her Gucci purse but a leather tote in which she kept her knitting. The woman did like to make an entrance. It was as if she expected everyone to notice she’d arrived and react accordingly. Actually Carol didn’t mind. She’d grown to like all the women in her knitting group.

      She and Jacqueline were onto new projects now. The only one who hadn’t finished the baby blanket was Alix, and Carol suspected it was because she couldn’t afford to buy more yarn.

      “I’m starting a new sweater,” Carol said, still leafing through patterns.

      “What about the other one?” She knew Alix had especially liked the gray cashmere.

      “I’m tired of it.” She glanced at Lydia and shared a conspiratorial smile with her. “Do you want the yarn?”

      Alix’s eyes lit up. “You don’t want it?”

      “Not really.”

      “What about the pattern? Do you need that?”

      “Not particularly.”

      “Great!” Alix shoved her knitting into the plastic bag and nearly rubbed her hands in glee. “I’m almost done with the blanket, and I’d like to knit that sweater for a … friend.”

      “Who?” Leave it to Jacqueline to ask.

      “A friend, like I said,” Alix muttered defiantly.

      “Don’t get high and mighty with me,” Jacqueline snapped. “I was just interested, that’s all.”

      Jacqueline expressing interest in Alix? A few weeks ago that would’ve been unimaginable. The change in attitude between them was dramatic and had begun with the near-mugging