Sunshine. Pat Warren

did something then that he’d been wanting to do since he’d stood watching her at the cemetery. Rising, he placed a hand at her back and drew her close to his body for the space of a long heartbeat, then pressed his lips to her forehead, finding it cool to the touch.

      Her hands rose to his chest in surprise, then lingered a moment. She inhaled the clean scent of soap and smoke mingled with the outdoor smell of a wintry day, a decidedly male combination. Stepping back, she realized she was trembling.

      David took a card from his pocket and pressed it into her hand. “If you ever want to discuss a business matter, or if you just need to talk, my office and home numbers are on here. Call me.”

      Janice nodded. “Thank you.”

      Brushing a strand of hair back from her forehead, she watched him make his way to the door and find his overcoat. In moments, he was strolling down the snowy sidewalk toward a long, gray Lincoln.

      David Markus had been widowed for years and seemed to be coping fine. She would, too, Janice thought as she slipped the card into the pocket of her black dress. Somehow.

      With a weary sigh, she turned back to mingle with her remaining guests, wondering if this very long day would ever end.

CHAPTER TWO

      IT WAS ALL pretty overwhelming. Janice sat at her dead husband’s desk in his paneled study, with piles of papers stacked everywhere, wondering where to begin.

      The house was too quiet, even though Stefanie was curled up on the leather couch across the room reading a book. Janice had always enjoyed this house; yet now the rooms seemed oppressive, the emptiness mocking her.

      K.J. had had to go back to school shortly after the funeral, but she’d been delighted that Stefanie had been able to stay longer. It was two weeks since they’d buried Kurt, the days filled with people coming and going and the pleasure of having her daughter home with her. And the nights filled with restless tossing and vivid memories.

      Swallowing, she bent to her task. It felt strange going through Kurt’s desk, which had been his particular domain. She’d located the will he’d made out, leaving everything to her. Just what “everything” was she hadn’t determined yet. As she looked at the insurance policies, stock certificates and files on their personal household bills, Janice felt like crying.

      “Something wrong, Mom?” Stefanie asked, getting up and coming over.

      Janice blinked back the tears. She’d done far too much crying lately. Forcing a smile, she pointed to the stack of bills and mail that had accumulated since Kurt’s death. “There’s so much to go through.”

      “How about if I help you?” Stefanie gave her mother a quick hug, then pulled up a chair beside her.

      Janice opened the electric bill and studied it. The amount didn’t seem very high. She flipped open the checkbook. There was less than two hundred dollars in the account since she’d paid the funeral expenses.

      Stefanie peered over her shoulder. “Is that about what your electricity usually runs?”

      “I have no idea,” Janice admitted. “Dad handled all the bills. He used to write checks every couple of weeks. He always told me not to worry, that he’d take care of them.” Chagrined, she looked at her daughter. “I should have insisted he at least keep me informed, right?”

      “Probably, but don’t blame yourself. I know how Dad liked to run things.” Stefanie picked up the next notice. “The mortgage coupon, due on the first of the month. Do you know what you still owe on the house?”

      “Not really.” Janice was studying a credit card bill and another from Gates Department Store. Had she run up nearly three hundred dollars’ worth of purchases? Or had Kurt bought some things? She’d usually just given him the receipts and he’d taken it from there. Pretty stupid, she was beginning to realize.

      The next envelope was from a different mortgage company, a reminder of a past-due amount. Janice frowned. “I wasn’t aware we had two mortgages on the house.” She remembered clearly Kurt ushering her into the bank for the closing when he’d purchased their home. Stefie had just been born and he’d been so proud to be able to provide such a lovely place. Three years later, Kurt had quit the branch office of a major insurance firm and opened his own agency, telling her that the only way to get ahead was by owning your own business. He’d worked hard and they’d prospered. But she’d paid little attention to his financial dealings.

      Stefanie took the notice from her mother’s hand. “There’s nearly nine hundred dollars past-due. Surely Dad couldn’t have just forgotten to pay.”

      Janice became aware that Stefanie was looking at her as if she could scarcely believe her mother had so little knowledge of the running of the house. “I can’t imagine that he did.” She sat up taller. “It’s probably an error. I’ll call and get it straightened out tomorrow. And I’ll transfer some money from our savings to the checking account and pay the rest of these.” She felt a little better having decided that.

      She hadn’t located a savings account passbook in Kurt’s desk, but he’d probably kept it at the office, Janice decided. She had to order new checks to be printed and find out the up-to-date balances on the accounts. Surely there was enough money. They hadn’t lived lavishly, though they were comfortable. Kurt had rarely refused a request she’d made for a purchase or an improvement on the house. But then, she hadn’t asked often. So much to see to, to think about.

      Stefanie had been sorting through the rest of the mail. “This is mostly trivial junk. A magazine subscription renewal notice, a request for the return of an overdue book from the library and a coupon offering a large pizza at a discount. Three more notes of condolence—these names don’t look familiar.”

      Janice sighed. “Probably from Dad’s clients. There’s a whole stack on the dining room table.”

      “And here’s a notice that the tires on Dad’s car are due to be rotated next week.” Stefanie brushed back her long hair. “Have you decided what you’re going to do about the cars, Mom?”

      Janice leaned back, her eyes filling. “How Dad loved that car.” A very impractical Mercedes convertible that seated only two. Kurt had bought it in Chicago and driven it home, so pleased with his purchase. Janice smiled at the memory. “He’d have it washed weekly, and afterward he’d take a rag and polish it even more. I wonder if I should sell that or my station wagon.”

      Stefanie stacked the mail in a neat pile. “Why not get rid of both and get something you really want?”

      “I don’t know, Stefie. It seems kind of...frivolous.” Janice sat back wearily. “I’ll decide later.” Why hadn’t she paid more attention to things? Why hadn’t Kurt taken the time and trouble to explain all this to her before he died? Why had he left her with this dreadful mess?

      “All this has taught me a valuable lesson,” her daughter said, rising to return to her book. “When Ross and I marry, I’m going to make sure we handle the household accounts together.”

      “That’s a good plan.” Hers had seemed like a good plan at the time, too. She’d done what her husband wanted her to do. If he’d lived, there wouldn’t have been a problem. But he hadn’t lived.

      In a burst of unreasonable anger, she shoved back the chair and went to stand by the window. It was snowing again, a light sprinkling, and quite cold out. She’d hardly left the house since the day of the funeral. Yesterday the dry cleaners had phoned, asking when she’d be picking up Kurt’s shirts. She’d had an urge to tell them to keep them, that he would no longer be needing them.

      The windowpane was cool on her forehead as she leaned forward, trying to swallow her anger. It was stupid to be angry with someone for dying. Kurt, she was certain, hadn’t wanted to die, had loved life immensely. Why? Why had this happened to them? It wasn’t