204 Rosewood Lane (20 page)

Maybe she was right and he should think about seeing other women. The problem was, no one interested him half as much as Grace. He liked everything about her. Her smile, her laugh, the gentle way she had with children and animals. She wasn't conventionally beautiful, but she possessed beauty in abundance. He liked her salt-and-pepper hair and approved of the shorter cut, preferring it to the longer style she'd worn in the family photograph. Although she'd obviously aged since then, the years had only added depth and maturity.

Cliff believed in the importance of loyalty—a belief his divorce had confirmed—and he didn't want to be with a woman who could easily turn her back on a thirty-five-year marriage. But it was now nine months since Dan's disappearance, and from all the evidence, the choice to leave had been his.

Everything he'd heard pointed to the fact that Grace's ex was involved with another woman. The afternoon Grace spent on his ranch, she'd told him a little about those early weeks after Dan had vanished. When she described finding out about a ring he'd charged at a jewelry store, she'd grown tearful. Apparently Dan had bought a ring on their VISA bill. His last paycheck covered the amount of the purchase, and that had been mailed to Grace from his employer.

What hurt Grace was the fact that other than the plain gold band he'd given her on their wedding day, Dan had never purchased
her
a ring. It seemed he'd bought one for another woman, though, and that had cut Grace to the quick.

Walking into his office, Cliff reached for a novel, the latest thriller by an author he particularly enjoyed. But even before he went back into the living room and opened the book, he knew it was useless. His mind was on Grace, not the mindless entertainment of a television sitcom, or even the involved plot of a murder mystery.

Christmas week was the last time he'd seen her. Again, it had been at his own instigation. After the trip to the ranch, she'd written him a brief note. Three lines. A simple thank-you, and yet he'd read that card over and over, looking for some secret message, some encouragement.

He waited until just before Christmas, then dropped in at the Cedar Cove Library with a gift. It was nothing creative or terribly expensive. Just a token gift so she'd know he'd been thinking about her. From her brief note, he saw that she'd
used a fountain pen. He preferred fountain pens himself. He'd picked up one of his favorite brands, had the store wrap it and then promptly delivered it to her at the library. She'd seemed surprised and grateful but also embarrassed because she didn't have anything for him.

She couldn't afford it, he realized. Her ex-husband's disappearance had obviously created financial difficulties; she'd worked with a budget that included two incomes and now there was only one. Their conversation was brief, the day he saw her at the library, but he could easily read between the lines. This was a difficult Christmas for her, and not only because it was the first since her divorce became final.

Cliff harbored a secret hope that she'd invite him to Christmas dinner, but she was joining her youngest daughter for the holiday. He'd hoped she might call him on New Year's Eve, perhaps suggest meeting for a drink. But that hadn't happened, either.

Now Cliff was beginning to doubt himself—and Grace. She might never recover from Dan's disappearance. Even if they got involved, he feared she'd always be looking over her shoulder for Dan. Perhaps the best thing to do was walk away and forget he'd ever met her.

It should be easy. They'd never kissed. Okay, once on the cheek. They'd held hands a couple of times, but that was about as sensual as it got. Cliff was more man than saint, and whenever they were together the temptation to hold and kiss her,
really
kiss her, grew more potent.

The phone rang, startling him out of his reverie. He'd never been one for extended telephone conversations. His gruff, unfriendly voice usually turned telemarketers away, which he considered a definite bonus.

“Harding,” he barked.

No one spoke, and Cliff had started to hang up when he heard Grace's tentative greeting. He jerked the phone back to his ear.

“Grace?”

“Hello, Cliff. I hope you don't mind me phoning you out of the blue like this.”

“Hello, Grace.” He kept his voice just a little impatient.

“I wanted to thank you for the fountain pen. I really like the way it writes.”

His problem, Cliff decided, was that he was too eager, which was why he'd come up with his wait-and-see strategy, why he hadn't been in touch since Christmas. If he was a bit more standoffish, she might appreciate him more, seek out his company. Apparently, his plan had worked—although only seconds earlier he was ready to forget the entire relationship. Cool Hand Cliff, that was him.

“When you came by the library, you suggested the two of us might go out for dinner one night.”

“Did I?” he asked casually, although he knew very well that he had.

“Yes.” She sounded pretty certain of herself. “I was thinking I'd take you up on that offer—if you're still interested.”

He was interested, all right, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to pretend otherwise. “When?”

“I…I don't know. What's a good time for you?”

“Let me check my calendar.” He ruffled through the pages of his book, as though he had to consult a full social calendar. “How about tomorrow night? Seven?”

She sighed, clearly relieved. “That would be perfect.”

All day Saturday, Cliff was in a state of nervous anticipaton. Saturday night, Cliff had shaved, showered and dressed
by six. He could leave now, but in evening traffic it only took about fifteen minutes to get from his ranch to her house. He'd rather arrive early, though, than hang around at home.

As it was, even after taking his time, he got there a whole half hour ahead of schedule, which he was afraid might give Grace the wrong message. Instead, he was pleasantly surprised to discover that she seemed equally nervous.

“I thought we'd drive into Tacoma,” he said. He wanted Grace to feel comfortable, and he wasn't sure that would be possible if she was constantly worried about who might see the two of them together. “There's a nice Italian place I'm fond of on the other side of the bridge.” The Narrows separated the Kitsap Peninsula from Tacoma and the bridge linked the two communities.

“I love Italian food.”

Cliff had called ahead and reserved a corner table. The drive was relaxed, conversation alternating with companionable silence. Their meal took nearly two hours as they lingered first over dinner and wine and then coffee and dessert. Cliff wasn't eager to leave, but the restaurant was filling up and it didn't seem right to hold on to the table all night.

Returning to Cedar Cove, they approached the Narrows Bridge. As traffic slowed, Cliff glanced at Grace and saw she'd leaned her head against the back of the seat, her eyes closed.

“You look very peaceful,” he said.

“I feel wonderful.” She paused. “It was a lovely evening.”

The food was excellent, the merlot some of the best he could remember, but he sincerely hoped Grace was referring to the company and not the meal.

“I feel…free,” she said, eyes still closed. “I assumed that if I agreed to have dinner with you, I'd spend the entire night feeling guilty.”

“You don't have anything to feel guilty about—yet.”

“Yet?” She lifted her head and stared at him.

“I'm going to kiss you, Grace,” he said firmly, keeping his eyes on the road. “And when I do, you're going to feel that kiss all the way down to your toes.”

“Ah…”

“It's going to be a kiss that'll knock you for a loop…and then some.”

“Cliff, I—”

“Do you have any objections?” he asked, his voice gruff, fearing rejection.

“Only one,” Grace whispered placing her hand on his knee.

“What's that?”

“Stop this damn car and just do it.”

Cliff was more than happy to oblige.

 

Rosie and Zach were tense with each other over the Christmas holidays, and things didn't seem to be getting any better in the New Year. Rosie tried, she honestly did, but Zach was increasingly demanding and unreasonable.

They were constantly bickering, constantly at odds. Some days she was convinced her marriage had been a mistake. Zach didn't want a wife, he wanted a maid. Rosie had tried to live up to his expectations, but when she did manage to juggle her schedule to do these wifely chores, it always backfired. Breakfast was a good example. He apparently wanted her tied to the stove, yet no one was interested in her cooking.

Shortly before Christmas, in a conciliatory mood, she'd made meat loaf and mashed potatoes and even gravy. Eddie hated the meat loaf, and Allison complained about the potatoes. Rosie could have put up with their dissatisfaction
if Zach had shown one bit of appreciation for her efforts. Instead, he'd pointed out that real potatoes didn't come out of a box and that his mother had never used canned gravy. Well, she wasn't his mother, as she'd told him. Zach had muttered, “You can say that again.” Rosie found his remark insulting and hurtful.

Today, though, everything was beginning to add up. That morning Zach had forgotten his briefcase at the house. On her way to a meeting with the church library committee, Rosie had brought it to the office.

Seeing Janice Lamond with Zach had opened her eyes. No wonder he was dissatisfied with his home life. Zach and this other woman were involved. They might not be having an affair—or were they?—but there was
something
going on between them.

Rosie brooded about it during her meeting. She skipped her volunteer stint at the school that afternoon. All day she seethed. With an unaccustomed burst of energy she cleared up accumulated clutter in the house, vacuumed and did five loads of wash. She had a casserole in the oven when Zach got home.

Standing by the kitchen door with her hand on her hip, she glared at him as he walked in.

“What?” he demanded when he'd taken two steps into the house.

“We need to talk.”

“About what?” He loosened his tie, looking weary.

“I want to ask you about Janice Lamond.”

“What's she got to do with anything?” Zach spat out.

As if he didn't already know. Whirling around, Rosie slapped a plate into the dishwasher. “I think it would be best if we talked about this after the children are asleep.”

Zach disappeared for five minutes; then he was back. “If you've got a problem I want to hear it now.”

“Fine.” Rosie yanked open the silverware drawer and took out the knives and forks for the evening meal. “I was at your office this morning, if you remember.”

“Yes.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the kitchen counter. “So what?”

“I saw the way your assistant looked at you—and the way you looked at her.”

Zach frowned. “You're imagining things.”

“The hell I am.” The more Rosie thought about it, the hotter she burned. All day she'd been wondering exactly what was happening between her husband and this other woman. She was so hurt, so furious, she could barely think straight.

“There's nothing going on between Janice and me,” Zach said after a stilted silence.

“Fine. I want you to get rid of her.”

“What?”
Zach nearly exploded.

“If what you're saying is true—” which, frankly, she doubted “—then you won't mind getting a new assistant.”

“Because you're paranoid about another woman. I don't think so.” His jaw was tight and that stubborn expression came over him. “You're jealous….”

“I have eyes in my head, Zach. I
saw
the way she looked at you.”

“Give me a break.” His hands were clenched now.

“No wonder I can't do anything to satisfy you anymore. You've been picking away at me for months. I'm not a good enough housekeeper and our meals are below your high standards. That's how it started, isn't it?”

“I never realized what an active imagination you have,” he
said, and while his words weren't insulting, his tone was. “You're so far off-base it's pitiful.” He circled the table as though he found it impossible to stand still.

“I want her out of your office.”

Zach clutched a kitchen chair with both hands, his knuckles standing out white. “Forget it.”

Moving behind a chair, too, Rosie mimicked his posture. She stared across the table at Zach, her eyes narrowing. Looking at him now, his face distorted with anger, she wondered if he wasn't already involved in an affair. Never had she believed something like this would happen to her and Zach.

“You refuse to fire her?”

“Damn straight I do! First of all, this is none of your business. Second, Janice Lamond is organized, efficient and a pleasure to have in my office. I am not going to discharge her because my wife is jealous. If anything, you could take a few lessons from her about keeping this house clean and orderly.”

The words hit her as hard as a physical blow. “If that's the way you feel,” she said, shocked by how cool and unemotional her voice sounded.

“That's exactly the way I feel.”

“Then perhaps it would be a good idea if we separated.”

Zach looked at her sharply. “Is that what you want, Rosie? Be damn sure it is before you start anything.”

“I'm not putting up with an affair.” She wanted that perfectly clear.

“For the last time, I'm not having an affair with Janice Lamond and the fact that you're suggesting I am is an insult to both Janice and me.”

“Perhaps you aren't involved physically yet, but you are emotionally. You think I can't tell? Do you honestly believe
I'm so blind I can't see what's happening right before my eyes?”