Debbie Macomber's Cedar Cove Series, Volume 2

  “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 won’t be marrying Nate.” If she was hoping for a reaction, Bruce seemed determined not to give her one. “In fact, I probably won’t see him again.”

  The coffeemaker made a gurgling sound. Bruce leaped up and collected clean mugs from the dishwasher. “How do you take your coffee?”

  Rachel was stunned he’d ask. After six years, he knew the answer to that as well as she did.

  When she didn’t respond, he answered his own question. “Black, right?”

  She found his show of indifference more than insulting; she found it hurtful. They’d had coffee together countless times!

  All at once she was on her feet. “This was a bad idea.” Bruce didn’t need to say another word for Rachel to know his feelings. He had what he wanted, all he wanted, and that was a surrogate mother for his daughter.

  “What do you mean?” he demanded.

  “Coming here was a mistake.” She blamed Teri for this. Teri was the one who’d encouraged her to talk to Bruce. A lot of good that had done.

  His eyes challenged her. “I don’t understand what’s going on.”

  “Nothing’s going on, so don’t worry about it.” She grabbed her handbag. “I’m sorry to have bothered you, Bruce. It won’t happen again.” Not waiting for a reply, she headed out the door. At least now she knew, Rachel thought bitterly. He didn’t want her to marry Nate, but he didn’t want her himself. What an idiot she’d been.

  “Rachel! Rachel!” It was Jolene who stood in the front door, calling after her.

  Not Bruce.

  Rachel waved but didn’t stop. Back home, she felt restless and irritated and angry and hurt. Nothing held her attention for long. Mostly she was furious, then she was weepy and then furious all over again.

  She tried to read, but her thoughts wandered. Getting
online, she answered a couple of e-mails but wasn’t in the mood for that, either. And she sure didn’t feel like calling any of her so-called friends.

  Finally, she popped in her favorite DVD, The Princess Bride, and made microwave popcorn. Although she wasn’t hungry, she ate it anyway. Afterward she felt bloated and even more annoyed with herself.

  At ten, she took a bath, put on her flannel nightgown and her extra-thick housecoat and flopped back down in front of the television to finish watching her movie.

  She was startled when the doorbell rang at almost eleven. Checking the peephole, she staggered away from the door.

  Bruce.

  Heaving in a huge breath, she unfastened the lock and partially opened the door. “Yes?”

  Bruce held a cardboard tray with two paper cups. “I brought coffee,” he said.

  “It’s a bit late for caffeine, don’t you think?” she asked coldly.

  “It’s decaf.”

  “Oh.” As if that was a good reason, she moved aside, and he stepped into the house.

  “Yours is black, just the way you like it.” Pulling it from the cardboard holder, he handed it to her.

  Then he barged into the living room unasked, where he sat at one end of the sofa. She sat at the other, sipping her coffee.

  She’d turned off the movie, and the silence between them seemed to reverberate. Since he’d been the one to arrive on her doorstep, Rachel figured he should speak first.

  Eventually he did. “I apologize for whatever I said or did this evening.”

  She nodded. Sipped her coffee. He knew exactly what he’d done.

  “Do you want to tell me why you got so angry?”

  “No.” After admitting she’d broken off her relationship with Nate, she’d hoped, she’d believed, he would declare his feelings. He hadn’t, and now she understood why. If anything, he’d gone out of his way to show her how little she meant to him.

  “If I said something to offend you, please let me know.”

  Her back ramrod-straight, Rachel stared at the wall across from her. “You didn’t.”

  He looked uneasy, and there was another awkward moment of silence. “I guess I should leave, then.” He got to his feet, placing his cup on the coffee table.

  Still clutching hers, Rachel walked him to the front entrance.

  “I miss being your friend,” he told her.

  She didn’t acknowledge his remark. Friend. Surrogate mother. Occasional dinner companion. All fine things but not enough.

  “Goodbye, Bruce,” she said quietly and closed the door.

  Thirty-Nine

  Martha Evans’s heirs had completed their search and made an official report; several pieces of expensive jewelry had gone missing. They’d provided the sheriff’s department with descriptions and Troy Davis had spent the morning gathering information. The first person he spoke to was Dave Flemming. The pastor had discovered the body and while he’d had opportunity, he certainly didn’t have motive.

  Troy liked Dave and had never considered him a suspect. Once again, Dave had answered his questions in a forthright manner and, in fact, had made a real effort to be helpful. Troy appreciated that.

  His other big case currently was the one involving Bobby Polgar and the alleged kidnapping. That now seemed to be under control.

  He was in a good mood, and the main reason was Faith. At the end of the day, he’d be seeing her again. They got together every week, either here or in Seattle. Tonight they were meeting halfway, at a restaurant in Tacoma.

  He hadn’t mentioned any of this to Megan yet. Yes, he was a coward. His daughter was having a hard time because of the miscarriage, and he wanted to give her a chance to heal, physically and emotionally, before he said anything about Faith. He wanted them to meet; Christmas would be perfect for that, he thought. Megan might not approve of a relationship so soon after Sandy’s death, but once she got to know Faith, she’d come to love her.

  Sitting back in his chair, he was reviewing the Evans case when one of the deputies knocked on his door.

  “Your daughter’s here, Sheriff.”

  This was a surprise. “By all means, let her in,” Troy said.

  When Megan stepped into his office he saw immediately that something was wrong. She looked pale and shaken, her cheeks streaked with tears.

  Troy came around his desk to guide her toward a chair. “Megan, honey, what is it?”

  She didn’t seem capable of speaking. Holding a damp, wadded-up tissue to her face, she took deep, shuddering breaths.

  “Is it Craig?”

  She shook her head.

  “The…miscarriage?”

  The mere mention of that made her close her eyes and grimace with pain. “I…I went to the doctor this morning.”

  Fear shot through him. “Is everything all right?”

  “No.”

  Troy needed to sit down himself.

  “I should’ve thought of this. I’ve been so oblivious. You, too, Daddy.”

  “Oblivious to what?”

  “Dr. Franklin wants me to have a test.”

  “What kind of test?”

  She hiccuped a sob. “Daddy,” she whispered, her voice cracking with pain and fear. “He wants me to be tested for MS.”

  The shock of it slammed through him. Not once had he considered this. Not once. Realizing his daughter might be at risk for the disease that had robbed Sandy of a normal life—it was almost too much to take in.

  “Dr. Franklin explained that the cause is still unknown, but there might be a genetic factor. He…he said that women are more likely to get it and that statistically my chances are higher because Mom had it.”

  Troy could barely function, barely think. He’d seen firsthand what Sandy had endured. Every day had presented new challenges. Every month Sandy had lost more ground. And while she faced it all with a hopeful spirit, in the end the disease had claimed her life. The thought of his only child going through that was more than Troy could tolerate.

  “How am I supposed to tell Craig this?” Megan asked, weeping openly now.

  Troy couldn’t answer her.

  “Mom miscarried babies, too, didn’t she?”

  Still unable to find his voice, Troy nodded.

  “I think I’d rather be dead than go through what Mom did,” Megan said in a low voice.

  “No!” Troy jumped to his feet. “Don’t talk like that!” He wasn’t easily frightened, but hearing Megan even suggest she’d rather be dead filled him with shock and fear.

  His daughter’s weeping grew louder, and Troy thought his heart would break.

  “When will you be tested?” he asked.

  “Next week. The doctor’s scheduled an MRI, which he said is the most definitive means of making a diagnosis. He told me there’s also a good chance I don’t have it.” She shredded the tissue in her hands. “But, Daddy, what if…”

  Troy couldn’t deal with this. He couldn’t accept that Megan, his only child, might have the same disease as Sandy.

  Megan tried again. “What if I do have MS?” She tensed as she spoke the words. “The minute Dr. Franklin said I should be tested, certain things started to add up in my mind.”

  “What things?” Megan had always had an active imagination, and she could have built all of this up, exaggerated symptoms. It made sense. She’d recently lost her mother and miscarried her first child. Little wonder she was distraught.

  Megan went very quiet, as if formulating the best way to explain. “My eyes have been bothering me,” she said.

  A chill raced down Troy’s spine. Shortly before they were married, Sandy had gone through a brief spell during which her eyes had given her trouble. The symptoms had disappeared and they’d both attributed it to stress. Only later did they learn that problems like double vision could be an early sign of the disease. Of course, that’d been nearly forty years ago, when much less was known about multiple sclerosis or its treatment.

  “We’ll get through this,” Troy assured his daughter.
“We will,” he said fervently. “You and Craig and I.”

  She looked up at him with anxious eyes, and he could see how much she wanted to believe him.

  Troy wanted to believe it, too.

  Before Megan left, they hugged for a long time. Later he noticed that his shirt was damp with her tears.

  The possibility—no matter how slight—of Megan’s having MS meant that his daughter needed him, and he had to be there for her, the same way he’d been there for Sandy. It meant Troy would have to make changes in his life, and the biggest change involved his relationship with Faith.

  Alone in his office he gazed, unseeing, out the window for an hour, trying to make sense of what was happening. He was in shock, and yet he felt that his thinking was completely clear. Before he could back down, he reached for his cell phone.

  Faith answered right away. “Troy! What a pleasant surprise.” Generally, he didn’t call in the middle of the day.

  Her joy was like a knife piercing his heart. “Hello, Faith.” Closing his eyes, Troy could hardly force himself to speak. “I won’t be able to see you tonight,” he finally said.

  “Oh, Troy, I’m sorry to hear that.” Her disappointment made his own that much sharper. But any relationship with him would be filled with broken dates and frustration. Megan had to be his priority. Being sheriff made constant demands on his time, as well. It wasn’t fair to expect Faith to wait in the background or to settle for the occasional stolen minutes he could offer.

  “I’m sorry, too,” he mumbled.

  “I know you’d never cancel a date for any frivolous reason.”

  He didn’t respond.

  “I guess I’ll have to tell you my news over the phone,” she said, “instead of waiting for this evening.”

  She remained irritatingly cheerful. “What news?” he asked.

  “I would’ve said something sooner, but I wanted it to be a surprise. I sold my house!”

  This was the last thing Troy wanted to hear. “Oh,” he said flatly. He had no idea how he’d cope with seeing Faith in town—on the streets, in the stores, everywhere.

  If she heard the reluctance in his voice, Faith ignored it. “I should’ve done this before now. It was ridiculous to live in such a huge place all by myself.”