Debbie Macomber's Cedar Cove Series

  A scowl darkened his face. “Not the kind of question you want to ask, is it?”

  “What was the charge?”

  There was a lengthy silence. “I was convicted of dealing cocaine.”

  “This is where your half brother comes in?”

  Jon nodded. “The two of us were total opposites. He was the perfect son and I was the starving artist. The disreputable kid. My dad and stepmom favored Jim. He was ambitious, a businessman-in-the-making. He was everything they wanted in a son and I wasn’t.”

  This was the first time he’d mentioned any family member other than his grandfather and the fact that Katie had been his dead mother’s name. His grandfather had left him the land on which Jon had built his house. “Where’s Jim now?”

  His face tightened. “Dead.”

  “Oh, Jon, I’m sorry.”

  He nodded, but she saw him swallow hard. He set his foot against the back of the bleacher in front of them and slid his hands inside his pockets. “We lived together, and I was scraping by selling my pictures. I’d take my camera and hike into the forest and get as many shots as I could afford to develop. Jim moved in with me one summer and for a while it was great.”

  Maryellen tucked her own hands in her pockets, but leaned closer to him, pressing her shoulder to his, needing to touch him.

  “Jim was dealing cocaine. I swear on Katie’s life that I didn’t have a clue what he was doing. He was in college and his friends were the same upwardly mobile type he was.”

  “He was selling to them?”

  Jon nodded. “Fool that I was, I didn’t put two and two together. Jim always seemed to have money, always seemed to have whatever he wanted.”

  “What happened?”

  “One night the police came and dragged us both out of bed. They found the stuff. While I was screaming that it was planted and that we were innocent, Jim was selling me to the cops, saying it was mine.”

  Maryellen placed her hand on his forearm, and he gripped her fingers with his own, squeezing hard.

  “My brother testified against me, and my father claimed—well, he lied and said I was the one with the drug problem and that Jim had only recently moved into the house and couldn’t be involved.”

  She closed her eyes, imagining that kind of betrayal. First his brother and then his father, too. “How could he do that?”

  “Dad believed what Jim told him, I guess. He wanted to protect one of his sons—but not the other.”

  “Oh, Jon.”

  “I haven’t seen or talked to my father since the day I was sentenced. I want nothing to do with him. I don’t know how I would’ve survived without my grandfather’s support. He did everything he could to help me.”

  She understood more and more of what he’d been through, the experiences that had shaped him.

  “Jim died while I was in prison. My father wrote to tell me, but I never wrote him back.” He didn’t hide his pain or bitterness.

  “How long were you in prison?”

  “I was sentenced to fifteen years.”

  She gasped. Jon, who loved the out-of-doors, had been locked in a jail cell.

  “I served seven of those years, and it was seven years of hell.”

  “Jim walked away scot-free?”

  Jon looked down at their linked fingers and he squeezed so hard she nearly cried out from the pain. “He got a slap on the wrist with probation and then died of a heroin overdose the year before I was paroled.”

  Maryellen desperately wanted to comfort him, to hold him in her arms.

  “Now you know.” His eyes were cold as stones as he held her gaze. “You can give this information to any court in the land and take my daughter away from me.”

  Now she knew why he was putting the land his grandfather had left him up for sale and selling the house he’d built with his own hands. Why he was quitting his job. Leaving Cedar Cove.

  “You don’t trust me,” she whispered. He was relinquishing everything that mattered to him because he believed he was going to lose it, anyway. Because the minute he lowered his guard, he took the risk that she, too, would betray him.

  “I can’t.” He didn’t bother to deny it. “The only person I can trust in this world is myself.”

  “What about Katie?”

  “She’s a baby….”

  “She’s your daughter.”

  “I love her.”

  “But doesn’t she deserve to know her father?”

  His jaw tightened again.

  “Eventually you’ll have to trust someone. You can’t close yourself off from everyone. Sooner or later, you’ve got to stop running.”

  He didn’t look at her, didn’t respond.

  “I can deal with it if you don’t want me in your life, but Katie needs you. Jon, please don’t walk away from her.” She wanted to ask the same thing for herself, but wouldn’t.

  “You know everything now.”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “You won’t try to get sole custody of Katie?”

  “No,” she said. “I promise.”

  “You probably could, you know.”

  “Jon,” she cried in frustration. “Haven’t you been listening to a word I’ve said? Katie needs you…. I need you. I’m not going to do anything to keep you out of Katie’s life. Or mine.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Would you marry a felon?”

  “Are you asking?”

  He hesitated and then gave a jerky nod. She watched as he thrust his hands back inside his pockets, hunching his shoulders forward.

  She blinked hard to keep the tears from spilling onto her face. “It would be the greatest honor of my life to marry you, to be the mother to your children and—”

  “Children?”

  “I’m thinking Katie could use a little brother or sister.”

  A tentative smile came first and then Jon broke into the most wonderful deep-chested laugh. The sound of it drifted toward the cove, competing with the sharp cry of the seagulls.

  Before Maryellen knew it, they were both standing and she was securely wrapped in his embrace. They hugged each other tightly and then he kissed her again and again.

  Maryellen raised her face and wept openly as Jon’s kisses traveled over her forehead, her cheeks, her chin, moving toward her lips. When their mouths finally met, it was a kiss that spoke of faith and trust and love, and she returned those feelings in full measure.

  She was breathless by the time he eased his mouth from hers. “I want us to get married soon.”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Promise me you’ll never threaten to leave us again.”

  “I promise,” he said, and kissed her.

  “Promise you’ll always love me.”

  “Promise.” Another deep kiss.

  “Anything else?” he asked, his eyes so full of love it was almost painful to see.

  “Lots more,” she whispered. In fact, Maryellen was just getting started.

  Twenty-Eight

  Home from a Saturday afternoon spent volunteering at the Humane Society Animal Shelter, Grace pulled into her driveway. She enjoyed her work, found real purpose in helping animals. There was such satisfaction in seeing lost pets reunited with their owners and in connecting abandoned or mistreated cats and dogs with people who’d love them.

  The vet had a notice about the Humane Society on her bulletin board, which Grace had seen the afternoon she’d taken Buttercup in. She’d decided to respond to the call for volunteers. Buttercup had come into her life at exactly the right moment and Grace wanted others to find the same pleasure.

  Her first thought once she’d parked the car was to retrieve her mail. Although she tried not to be hopeful, she couldn’t help looking for a response from Cliff. Two weeks earlier she’d written him, reiterating how sorry she was. Although it meant having to swallow her considerable pride, Grace had asked him to give her a second chance. So far, she hadn’t heard from him, and now, after two weeks, she suspected she wouldn’t.

  She wa
lked to the house with Buttercup trotting behind her. The golden retriever sniffed at her legs suspiciously, recognizing the scent of other animals. Buttercup actually seemed a bit jealous and required lots of attention on those Saturdays.

  “Did you miss me, girl?” she asked, stroking Buttercup’s head. “Don’t worry, there wasn’t a single dog there as wonderful as you.”

  The phone rang and Grace absently reached for the receiver. “Hello,” she said, still fondling the dog’s ears.

  “Grace? It’s Stan Lockhart.”

  This was completely unexpected. She couldn’t imagine what her best friend’s ex-husband had to say to her.

  “What can I do for you?” she asked coolly.

  “I’m in town and I was wondering if I could stop by for a few minutes.”

  Grace wanted to refuse him, but didn’t have a good excuse. “Can I ask why?”

  “I’m surprised you don’t already know.”

  “Olivia and Jack.”

  “Yes. I won’t stay long.”

  She reluctantly agreed. As soon as she hung up, Grace hurriedly punched in Olivia’s phone number. “Why do you think he wants to talk to me? I could really do without this,” she complained.

  “He probably needs a shoulder to cry on.”

  “Let him look elsewhere,” Grace muttered. She had enough problems of her own without dealing with his. As far as she was concerned, Stan Lockhart was a sore loser.

  “I don’t think it would hurt to hear him out,” Olivia said. “He’s had a shock.”

  Yes, he has, Grace mused. For the first time in his life, Stan Lockhart couldn’t manipulate Olivia! “Do you want me to phone you after he leaves?” she asked.

  Olivia hesitated. “Not particularly. Stan’s out of my life, and frankly I don’t care what he says.”

  Grace marveled at her friend. If their positions had been reversed, she’d be sitting by the phone waiting for a report. She’d want to hear all about her ex-husband’s regrets.

  Fifteen minutes later, Stan arrived, looking decidedly unhappy.

  “Come in,” she said, holding open the screen for him.

  Stan entered and she showed him into the living room. Buttercup wandered over to sniff him; apparently he passed muster because the dog wandered back to the chair where Grace normally sat and lay down.

  “Would you like something to drink?” she asked Stan, only to be polite.

  “Do you have any Scotch?”

  Yeah, right. Even if she did, she wouldn’t offer it to him. “No, sorry. Coffee or tea.”

  He shook his head. “Nothing, thanks.”

  She gestured for him to sit down, which he did on the sofa across from her. “Olivia’s actually going to do it, isn’t she?” he muttered.

  “If you mean marry Jack, the answer is yes.” The arrangements were in full swing. Seth and Justine were going to hold the reception at their restaurant, following a private ceremony at the gazebo in the waterfront park.

  “James and Selina are flying in, she said.”

  “Olivia asked if they would.” Grace didn’t mean to make him feel worse, but it was important to Olivia that her children be present.

  “I thought she’d have one of the other judges perform the ceremony,” he said. “But apparently not. Who’s this pastor friend of hers, anyway?”

  “Dave Flemming. He’s at the Methodist church.”

  “Oh.”

  Grace was about to ask if there was a point to his visit when Stan glanced up. “This is what I deserve, you know?”

  Despite what she knew about Stan, Grace felt sorry for him. The news of Olivia and Jack’s engagement shouldn’t have come as a shock but obviously had. Now his regrets about Olivia would be permanent. There’d be no further chance to make amends, to start over. Oh, yes, she understood about regrets. They were something she’d lived with for quite some time now.

  “I made a big mistake myself recently,” she told him.

  “You?” He sounded skeptical.

  Grace nodded. “I hurt someone I care about and there’s no going back.”

  “I feel the same way. I was such a fool. When Jordan drowned…” He paused and stared down at the carpet. “I went out to the cemetery the other day and visited my son’s grave.” He drew a hand along the side of his jaw. “It’s funny. It’s been—what, sixteen years? I don’t think I’ll ever get over it. I still can’t believe my oldest son is dead.” He slowly rubbed his palms together, his eyes closed in pain.

  “It was as if I self-destructed after we lost Jordan,” he continued, opening his eyes. “I did the best I could with the mess I’d made of my life after I married Marge, but it was never a good marriage, and we both knew it.”

  Grace’s heart softened. Although she’d been furious with Stan for what he’d done to Olivia and his two surviving children, she remembered that he’d been a decent father.

  “To tell you the truth, I wasn’t surprised when Marge decided she wanted out. In a lot of ways, I think she did us both a favor. My first thought when she asked for the divorce was that I’d move heaven and earth to get Olivia back.”

  “Jack’s a good guy.”

  Stan frowned. “I just don’t see the two of them together.”

  “That’s because you don’t want to.”

  He gave her a half smile and shrugged. “I guess you’re right.”

  “What now?” Grace asked.

  Stan shook his head. “I’d been thinking I might come back to Cedar Cove. But under the present circumstances, I’m not so sure that would be wise.”

  Grace knew he was referring to Olivia’s coming marriage, and she knew he was conceding defeat.

  “Still, Justine and Seth are here and so is Leif,” he added as though thinking aloud. “I never thought I’d enjoy being a grandfather as much as I do. I missed so much when my own children were growing up, I want to enjoy every second I can with my grandkids.”

  “I know what you mean,” she told him. “I have two.”

  His gaze went past her to the fireplace mantel, where Grace kept the latest photos of her grandchildren. “I can certainly see you in the girl.”

  “Thank you.” Grace stared at Katie’s picture and was unable to squelch a smile of pleasure. Stan couldn’t have given her a greater compliment.

  “I never did tell you how sorry I was to hear about Dan.”

  Grace blinked quickly and nodded. She wished Dan had lived long enough to know his grandchildren. Tyler and Katie might have made a difference, given him a reason to live. Then again, perhaps not. Dan’s life had been troubled, and very little seemed to touch him. He was closer to Kelly than anyone, yet that hadn’t stopped him from running away during her pregnancy. In the end, despite everything, death had seemed preferable to the suffering—the guilt and depression—he’d endured in life.

  Stan got to his feet. “Actually, I came to ask if you’d do something for me.”

  “I will if I can.”

  “I’d like to order a bottle of good champagne for Olivia and Jack on their wedding night.” He slipped his hands into his pockets. “It would be a bit awkward coming from me, though.”

  “Do you want me to take care of it?”

  “Would you?”

  Apparently Stan didn’t know Jack was a recovering alcoholic. “I’ll see to everything.”

  “I’d appreciate it.” Stan started for the door, then turned back. “Grace,” he said, looking at her as if he were seeing her for the first time. “Would you like to go to dinner with me?”

  She was as surprised by his invitation as she’d been by his phone call. “When?”

  He gestured vaguely. “What about tonight? I know it’s last minute and all.” Then, shaking his head, he seemed to change his mind. “Forget I asked. It’s probably not a good idea, anyway.” He reached for the doorknob.

  “Stan,” she said, stopping him. She didn’t know what had prompted her to do this. But Stan was lonely. She was lonely. And she’d developed a new sympathy for h
im during this brief visit. She’d seen a little deeper, past the arrogance she’d always associated with Stan.

  “Why not?” she said with a smile. “Let’s go to dinner.”

  Charlotte Jefferson and her small band of supporters marched single-file down Harbor Street, holding their pickets high. Whenever she could, Charlotte waved her message at oncoming traffic to ensure that the drivers had ample opportunity to read her sign. Several people honked their horns.

  Ben Rhodes marched with her. Together they’d attended countless meetings, talked with elected officials and health-care corporations, studied what other municipalities had done. Without results. After all these months, they were no closer to getting a health clinic in Cedar Cove than they were to taking a giant leap and landing on the moon. There’d been several minor attempts to appease them—but it wasn’t enough. The time had come to take a stand. To demonstrate!

  “Don’t look now,” Ben said, bending toward her and whispering in her ear, “but it looks like we’re about to have company.”

  Sure enough, the sheriff’s patrol car pulled up alongside Charlotte. Troy Davis parked at the curb and climbed out of his Crown Victoria, pausing long enough to hoist up his belt before he walked over to her.

  “’Afternoon, Charlotte.”

  “Hello, Sheriff Davis,” she greeted primly. The sign seemed to grow unaccountably heavier and she lowered it. “What can I do for you?” she asked, as if it was a perfectly normal thing to see her marching down the main street of town, hefting a protest sign.

  “Do you have a permit for this little rally of yours?” He looked past her at the string of fifteen men and women, all regular attendees at the local seniors’ center.

  “A permit?” she repeated. The truth was, Charlotte hadn’t thought she’d need one. At first the demonstration had consisted of only her and Ben. They’d decided to form their own protest and stand silently by the stoplight at Harbor and Heron. However, as soon as word got out, a dozen or so others had asked to join them. Charlotte couldn’t refuse her friends.

  “Officer, perhaps I could answer your questions,” Ben said, stepping closer to Charlotte.