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A Man She Can Trust
Roxanne Rustand


Pregnancy is the last thing on her mindAfter all, isn't that one of the reasons Grant walked out on her last fall? He couldn't wait for her practice to settle down to have kids. Not to mention, her husband couldn't seem to commit to one woman. It seems next to impossible that one night of stupidity could lead to her becoming pregnant. She still can't forgive him, but Jill has to tell Grant he's going to be a father.As if Grant's return wasn't hard enough, the man has provoked someone else–someone who won't stop the phone calls, the threats.As much as she hates it, Dr. Jill Edwards's life may depend on her estranged husband.









Jill stood still


Had she moved the rocker to the room’s front window last weekend? Her heart skipped a beat as she stared at it.

Almost imperceptibly, it appeared to be moving…as in those moments after someone has gotten up and walked away.

You really need more sleep. Next you’ll be seeing apparitions in the hallway and bogeymen in your closet.

It was only the wind, of course. Drafts found their way into the old house whenever the wind blew outside.

A faint sound echoed down the shotgun hallway leading to the front entry. Jill looked down, surprised to see her hands clenched.

It’s only my imagination.

Or Sheriff Johnson, here to give her a logical explanation for the lights at Warren’s house.

She strode to the front door, already forming an apology, and pulled it open.

“I suppose it was n-nothing…”

She stammered to a halt, her hand at her throat, and stared into the face of the man who’d sworn he’d never set foot on Chapel Hill again.


Dear Reader,

Beautiful northern Wisconsin…just the words make me think of pine-scented breezes, sparkling sapphire lakes and blazing fall colors. But even the loveliest places have their darker side, and that’s definitely true for the little town of Blackberry Hill.

Blackberry Hill Memorial is a small, struggling hospital facing serious challenges, and the residents of this town face them, as well. For Dr. Jill Edwards and her husband, Grant, their troubled marriage may provide a perfect opportunity for an old enemy to seek revenge…and for an old ghost to find peace at last. For Grace Fisher, retirement is just ahead—only now she finds herself with a troubled teenage nephew to raise and a chance for her own once-in-a-lifetime love. Who knew life could change so quickly?

I love writing stories that touch on the lives of families of every generation and the problems so many of us face. But above all, I love writing about men and women who must overcome nearly insurmountable obstacles in search of love and commitment.

I hope you enjoy Jill and Grant’s story, and that you’ll come back to the third in the BLACKBERRY HILL MEMORIAL series in August. If you missed the first book in the series, Almost a Family, you can find it at www.eHarlequin.com.

I love hearing from readers at www.roxannerustand.com, www.booksbyrustand.com or at P.O. Box 2550, Cedar Rapids, Iowa 52406-2550. Send a SASE and I’ll send you bookmarks or other promotional material.

Wishing you all the best for your own happily ever after!

Roxanne Rustand




A Man She Can Trust

Roxanne Rustand





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


With love to Larry, Andy, Brian and Emily.

I am so proud of all of you!




ACKNOWLEDGMENTS


With many thanks to Rene Miller for her research assistance

into small-town law practices, Michelle Klosterman, R.N.

CEN (Certified in Emergency Nursing), whose expertise in

the operation of small-town hospitals has been invaluable,

and to Lyn Cote for your friendship and your assistance with

details of life in northern Wisconsin!




CONTENTS


PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

EPILOGUE




PROLOGUE


HE WAS LATE again…and this time, she knew why.

Jill dropped her gaze from the mantel clock to the dying embers in the fireplace, her fingers pressed deep into the back of her husband’s leather recliner.

Her stomach pitched at the sound of a car door slamming outside. She nearly turned away and headed for the open staircase, knowing there’d still be a measure of security and comfort in feigning ignorance.

Dreading the confrontation to come.

Knowing that it was long overdue.

And well-aware that she deserved better than evenings alone and whispered conjecture among the people she passed on the streets of Blackberry Hill.

Some of her patients at the clinic knew. She’d seen the nervous darting of their eyes and their tentative, sympathetic smiles.

She’d even caught some of the rumors in the aisles of Crupper’s Family Grocery on Main, when the gossips hadn’t realized she was one aisle over. Sad, isn’t it? A handsome couple like that. Goes to show money and fancy degrees don’t guarantee happiness.

But it wasn’t just the rumors and sympathy. It was everything else over the past two years that had undermined what they’d once had, until now they were strangers living under the same roof.

Grant’s keys jingled outside the front entryway. The door swung open and he walked inside, dropped his briefcase on the antique settee and started down the wide central hallway leading past the parlor and dining room to the kitchen and den.

“Grant.”

He faltered and turned, one brow raised in surprise. “You’re up late,” he said.

“Or early. It’s already two-thirty, Grant. Where have you been?”

“It was my day to be at the Kendrick office.” Irritation flickered in his dark, handsome face. “You know how far that is.”

“Two hours.” She took a deep breath. “And you’re usually back by seven-thirty. I was worried about you, so I called your brother. He said you were both done at the courthouse by five, but you didn’t go back to his office.”

“As if he knew.” Grant lowered his voice. “He sure as hell wasn’t there. He took off for the golf course.”

Before, she’d just felt anxiety over this inevitable meeting. Now, anger gnawed at her and her heart beat at a dizzying pace. “He was there, at seven. You weren’t. He forgot his billfold.”

Grant spun on his heel and strode into the parlor to within a few feet of her, a muscle ticking at the side of his jaw. “So, Detective Jill on the case. Assuming the worst.”

“It’s a little hard to ignore the rumors flying around this town. It’s even harder to ignore the way people glance at me and look away, as if they’re wondering when the poor, stupid wife is going to catch on.”

His dark brown eyes glittered. “To what, Jill? Say it.”

“You’ve been late five nights out of seven the past week. When you’re here, you may as well not be—you’re a million miles away. You’ve been seen with that red-haired woman in your car on back country roads. And,” Jill added bitterly, “this entire town seemed to know what was going on weeks before I ever caught on.”

His voice dropped another level—a sure sign of his anger. “So you’ve accused, tried and convicted me. Without saying a word. Without asking me a thing.”

“It doesn’t take much imagination. I sit in this house alone, night after night after night.”

“Then you ought to be happy. You sure put yourself and this heap of rubble above anything I want.”

“That’s hardly fair.”

“Isn’t it?” He cursed under his breath. “It’s all about you, Jill. Always. We moved three times to accommodate med school, your internship and your residency. I was glad to do it, if it made you happy. Then we moved here so I could help my dad, and I wanted a nice place in town. One that wouldn’t consume every last second of my time just trying to make it livable. I want a family. Except it’s still just all about you.”

Afraid to say a word, she felt as if she was teetering at the edge of a precipice with jagged glass waiting far below.

“You got what you wanted,” he continued, the absence of emotion and the cold, flat expression in his eyes more chilling than outright anger. “In every way. You got your career. You got this damned house—a place that’s done nothing but drive us further apart. And that little inconvenience of an unexpected pregnancy? Gone.”

She winced. “That’s so unfair. So totally cruel and unfair.”

“Unfair?” He bit out the word. “Would you have lost that baby if you’d listened to me? You always do what you want, no matter what anyone says. And as for this marriage? I think we know what’s left of it. If you’ve got to ask if I’ve cheated on you, then we are truly over.”

She glared at him, stunned by his attack. “I shouldn’t have to ask.”

“For what it’s worth, I haven’t.” Their eyes locked in anger. Then he took a step away. “I’ll be back tomorrow for my things.”

He grabbed his briefcase and headed for the entryway. The door crashed against the wall as he went out.

And just that fast, he was gone—but it wasn’t a surprise.

Earlier tonight, after talking to Phil, she’d been worried. Grant was lean, hard-muscled. He’d started running four miles a day and lifting weights after his father had his first heart attack at fifty, and was in superb condition. But as a physician, she knew even young, healthy males could keel over. And seeing sick people day after day made her all the more aware of the risks.

So she’d driven to town, expecting Grant had come back from Kendrick to put in some hours at his father’s law office. Wanting to check on him…though maybe that had just been an excuse.

On the way, she’d imagined that he might tear himself away from his work, so they could go to a quiet little restaurant for a late supper and a chance to visit, away from the battlefield of home.

A chance, perhaps, to heal their latest rift over her plans to remodel their old Victorian.

His car had been behind the office just as she’d thought. She’d gone to the back and tried the doorknob. And then she’d heard the voices. Grant’s laughter. The sultry voice of a woman.

The lights inside had dimmed.

And with them, her last hopes for her marriage died.




CHAPTER ONE


“YOU TWO MADE one hell of a mistake, Missy.” Warren waggled a gnarled forefinger under Dr. Jill Edwards’s nose, his faded blue eyes fixed on hers with steely resolve. “It isn’t too late.”

Jill smiled patiently as she finished checking the surgical site on his chest, listened to his heart sounds then draped the stethoscope around her neck. She pulled the covers up to his shoulders. “That’s the most optimistic thinking I’ve heard from you yet, Warren. Given that your son and I have been separated for four months and that he lives two hours away.”

“But you’re not divorced,” he countered triumphantly. “Now, why is that?”

“I’m sure we’ll get to it…soon. Very soon.”

“He’s a lawyer. Could have done it right away.”

Jill sighed with affectionate exasperation. Warren was a lawyer, too, and she knew he’d argue this case until doomsday, but it wouldn’t change a thing.

There were good reasons for the separation. Painful ones—none of which would ever change. Given some technicalities with their property ownership, there were also very impersonal reasons for the delay of those final papers.

“Let it rest, Warren. And while you’re at it, I want you to rest, too.” She frowned at him to mask her worry. “This was your second heart attack, and that congestive heart failure isn’t getting any better. You work too hard and you drink too much. And—no matter what you tell me—I know you’re still smoking those cigars.”

His expression grew thoughtful. “So I should take it easy.”

“Exactly.”

“And I shouldn’t work such long hours.”

“Not if you want to be around to see your first grandchild. Which,” she added quickly, “Phil and Sandra are working on at this very moment.” At the cagey gleam in Warren’s eyes, she knew what was coming before he even started to speak.

“I think I’ll take some time off. Tend my flowers. Give the old ticker a rest.” He nodded to himself, warming to the idea. “God knows, I’ve let the place go since Marie died.”

Warren lived and breathed the law. His office lights burned late into the night and he was there every morning by eight. The likelihood of him staying away for even a day was nearly impossible to imagine. Unless…

“And of course, I’ll need someone to cover the office. For a while, that is. Someone who knows the practice inside and out. Someone who can relate to the fine people here in Blackberry Hill. Someone who—”

“So you’re going to ask Grant to come back.” The weight of the past settled heavily on her shoulders. “Doesn’t his brother need him?”

“Phil covered our office in Kendrick for years before Grant joined him last fall.” He shrugged. “I’m sure he can manage a while longer.”

“But Grant must have a personal caseload there, now. He’s probably very busy.”

“It’s only two hours away. If he needs to, he can commute to his active cases there.”

“But—”

“I’m sure he won’t mind coming back here for a few months. Not when his dad is so ill and all…then you wouldn’t have to stop by my place every day to check on things.” Warren’s glance cut toward the bags hanging from the IV pole by his bed. “Of course, if you think I’m ready for discharge, then I probably wouldn’t be needing any help…” His voice trailed off, tinged with a hint of hopefulness.

“You are such a stinker,” Jill shot back, hiding a smile. “If you’re bargaining for a quicker discharge, the answer is no. That infection was a doozy, and you’ve still got eight more days of IV antibiotics. After that, you’ll need a week or so of rehab to build your strength.”

Harumph. Warren settled back against his pillow and regarded her through narrowed eyes. “You and Grant deserve each other.”

She laughed as she picked up the clipboard on the bedside table. “There, Warren, is where you are totally wrong.”



AFTER FINISHING HER rounds at Blackberry Hill Memorial, Jill crunched through the snow in the staff parking lot, thankful for her heavy down jacket and warm boots. Snowflakes swirled beneath the security lights overhead, glittering like crystals against the black sky.

You and Grant deserve each other. Despite all of his contacts in this small town, Warren really didn’t have a clue what had happened to his son’s marriage. Either that, or he thought an affair—especially an affair with a client—was not a big deal.

With one mittened hand, she swept away the snow on the driver’s side window of her Sable station wagon. Beneath the snow she felt a thick cobblestone layer of ice.

“Wind chill of minus-forty tonight. Wind’s going to get up to thirty miles an hour, I hear,” Grace Fisher called out from her own car another row over. The stocky older woman, director of nursing at the hospital, waved her ice scraper. “Need this?”

“Got one—but thanks.” Jill slapped her mittens together to knock the snow off, then slid behind the wheel of her car to start the motor. Retrieving her own scraper, she got out again and started on the windshield. “I’ll bet you aren’t going to miss these north-woods winters when you retire.”

Grace laughed. “If I’m not on some southern beach, I’ll at least stay by my fire with a good book.”

Jill waved goodbye to her as Grace drove away, then bent over the hood and continued chipping at the ice, her cheeks and fingers already numb.

As soon as she cleared most of the windshield, she climbed back into the car and wrapped her arms around herself, shivering. She wished she had one of those remote car starters so it could have been warm and ready for her.

She drove out of the staff parking lot and took a left, heading down Main through the center of town.

Snow glistened beneath the street lamps, splashed with color where it reflected the neon lights of businesses along the three-block downtown area. In the summer, the shops bustled with the thousands of vacationers who swarmed to the beautiful lake district. Now, many of the upscale shops were closed until May, giving the street a rather melancholy air.

She passed the drugstore and the grocery store, both on the edge of town, then drove out into the darkness to Bitter Hollow Road, a narrow gravel lane a few miles past the last street lamps. Without the moon and stars overhead the darkness seemed impenetrable….

Until she rounded the last turn and found the lights blazing at Warren’s house.

Strange. He lived here alone. She certainly hadn’t left on the lights when she’d last stopped by to water the plants.

Fumbling for her cell phone, she slowed her car to a crawl then stopped by the mailbox at the end of the driveway.

The wind was picking up, buffeting clouds of snow beneath the faint light of the single security lamp at the peak of the garage.

She squinted through the falling snow, trying to make out the dark shape parked next to the garage and partially hidden by a stand of pines.

A vehicle, certainly…possibly an SUV, but Warren hadn’t said anything about anyone else coming out here.

An intruder…?

With the press of a speed-dial button she called Sheriff Randy Johnson’s office before turning up the heater to ward off the chill.

Five minutes stretched to ten, then fifteen.

At six o’clock, faint pinpoints of light appeared through the increasing snowfall, then drew up behind her. The sheriff briefly flashed the wigwag lights on the front grill of his car to identify himself. He appeared at her door a moment later.

She rolled down her window and flinched as a blast of icy wind hit her. “Thanks for coming out.”

“No problem, Doc.” Middle-aged and burly, the sheriff had always reminded her of a towering, congenial bear—one that could overpower just about anyone who dared challenge it. He squinted toward the house and garage. “Seen anyone?”

“No…but people inside the house wouldn’t know I’m here. I turned off my lights as soon as I stopped.”

He nodded his approval. “You were smart not to go barging in. For years, I’ve been telling Warren he should move closer to town. Even with a security system, this is way too isolated for the old guy.”

“I’m supposed to be taking care of his plants,” she said through chattering teeth.

“My deputy and I will check this out. If you want to go on home, that would be just fine. I’ll give you a call in a bit…or we can just stop up at your place.”

Imagining that he wanted her out of the way in case of trouble, she hesitated, then waved goodbye. She shifted her car into Reverse, backed carefully around the patrol car and headed slowly up the two miles to her own home on Bitter Creek Road.

The Sable bucked through the drifts. She nearly buried it at the low spot where the bridge crossed the creek, but then the spinning tires gained purchase against the gravel beneath the snow and lurched forward. Jill exhaled in relief as she made it up into the timber, where the pines and winter-bare undergrowth of the forest blocked the drifting snow.

At the top of Chapel Hill, the trees gave way to a small clearing and the two-and-a-half-story, red-brick Victorian she and Grant had bought last summer. Back when they’d still imagined filling it with a half-dozen children someday.

Back when she’d still believed in her own fairy-tale ending. After growing up poor raised by her single mother, the house had seemed like a dream come true.

By day, the fanciful cupolas and explosion of gingerbread trim at every edge held their own drab charm. The paint was faded and curling, some of the pieces missing or sagging, but it was still possible to envision what it could become.

Though at night, the house loomed dark and forbidding, its narrow spires rising like daggers through the blowing snow, its windows black and empty.

She parked the car in the garage and scurried across the yard to the broad wraparound porch.

With cold fingers she fumbled her key into the front door lock, then let herself inside and flipped on the vestibule lights with a sigh of relief.

After tapping in her security code on the panel next to the front closet, she bumped the thermostat up to sixty-five and shucked off her boots and coat.

At the sound of something thundering down the curving, open staircase ahead, she grinned and crouched down. “Hey, Badger!”

Twenty pounds of sinuous fur launched out of the shadows and into her arms, nearly knocking her flat. “Pretty kitty,” she crooned, staggering upright with the cat slung over her shoulder. “Weird, but pretty. Have you been a good boy?”

On her way to the kitchen she flipped on the lights in the parlor, where the plants were all still upright in their pots.

And in the library, where she noticed with some relief that the flower arrangement on the coffee table—courtesy of her office nurse, in honor of Jill’s thirty-third birthday last week—was still arranged properly in its vase.

“Wow,” she murmured, pulling the cat away from her shoulder to look into his face. “Apparently you were still tired from the last time I left.”

He gave her a baleful look and wiggled until she put him on the floor, then stalked over to his empty food dish and lashed his plume of a tail, clearly put out by the delay.

She took a can of his favorite cat food from the cupboard and stirred in some dry kitty kibble, filled his water dish—from which he would drink only if it was full—then reopened the fridge and studied the contents.

Once upon a time, there’d been a hearty stock of provisions in there for the dinners she and Grant had prepared together. Now, the thought of cooking just made her tired. Straightening, she foraged in the freezer for a low-fat packaged dinner and tossed the first one she found into the microwave without bothering to read the label.

A chill swept through the kitchen, so heavy with sadness that she spun around, half expecting to see an apparition standing behind her.

No one was there. Nothing stirred, except the languid lashing of Badger’s tail as he chowed down on his dinner.

You’re imagining things again.

The security system was new, state of the art, and the house was surely secure. Still, uneasy, she slowly retraced her steps and cautiously peered into the library.

The old chandelier suspended from the pressed-tin ceiling bathed the center of the room in soft light, but left the corners in darkness. She sensed nothing amiss.

Reassured, she laughed at her overactive imagination as she moved to the parlor and rested a hand on the heavy, carved mahogany trim of the archway. Here, too, the soft light of an antique chandelier shadowed the nooks and crannies.

Though the house had been sold unfurnished, she and Grant had found some delightful old pieces up in the attic. A turn-of-the-century sewing machine with cast-iron filigree legs. An old, painted fern pedestal, which she’d refinished to its original deep-oak beauty. A warped rocking chair that—after a trip to a furniture repair shop—now fit nicely at the bay window overlooking the side garden.

They’d put all of the original pieces they’d found into this room, and then she’d added an old, towering secretary, intricately carved, and a lovely old oriental rug in deep jewel tones.

She stilled. When had she moved the rocker to the room’s front windows?

Her heart skipped a beat as she stared at it.

Almost imperceptibly, it appeared to be moving…as in those final, slow moments after someone has gotten up and walked away.

You really need more sleep. Next, you’ll be seeing apparitions in the hallway, and bogeymen in your closet.

It was only the wind, of course. Drafts found their way into the old house whenever the wind blew outside.

A faint sound echoed down the shotgun hallway leading to the front entry. She looked down, surprised to see her hands clenched.

It’s only my imagination.

Then again, it might be Sheriff Johnson, here to give her a logical explanation for the lights at Warren’s house.

She strode to the front door, already forming an apology when she pulled it open.

“I suppose it was n-nothing—” She stammered to a halt, her hand at her throat, and stared into the face of the man who’d sworn he’d never set foot on Chapel Hill again.

Snow glistened on the broad shoulders of his black wool coat. Clung to the deep waves of his windblown blond hair. His eyes met hers—stormy, compelling, still capable of sending a shiver through her that had nothing to do with the bitter wind swirling past him into the house.

“New approach, I take it. Intimidation by the law,” he said, his gravelly voice even deeper from the cold. “You could have just called the house, Jill. Saved the sheriff a trip out here on a night like this.”

It took her a moment to find her voice. “I—I saw your father an hour ago. He didn’t say you were here, so I had no idea. I thought someone might be ransacking the place.”

“I wasn’t, and I’ll be there for some time. Just thought you should know.” Grant turned to go, then looked over his shoulder. “Your home phone’s out of order, by the way…and you didn’t answer your cell. That’s the reason I had to come up here.”

The cold, flat expression in his eyes chilled her. “I…must have left it in the car.”

He crossed the porch in three strides, descended the steps and disappeared. A moment later he was back with her cell phone.

“I still remember the key code to your car door,” he said. “I thought you’d better have this.”

She gratefully accepted it, then stood aside. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

For one brief moment, she saw the old pain and anger reflected in his eyes. “That would be a big mistake. I don’t think either one of us wants to go there again. Ever.”

“You’re right.” She stood at the open door and watched him walk away. A few minutes later, she saw a pair of headlights swing around out by the garage. Red taillights disappeared into the snowy darkness.

And he was gone.

Jill closed the door, shoved the dead bolt home and leaned her forehead against the leaded glass insert in the door.

Separation had been the right thing. Their divorce was inevitable, and she didn’t want him back. Yet a part of her missed the togetherness. The tenderness. The warmth of another person to snuggle against.

And, if she were honest, she missed the incredible passion she’d never felt with anyone but him.

But she and Grant had grown into two very different people over the years, with different goals, different priorities. Their love had faded…then ended in bitterness and accusations. And she needed a person she could trust, not a man who considered other women free game.

Badger sauntered down the hall and wound around her ankles, purring loudly.

“Guess it’s just you and me,” she murmured. “At least you’re honest.”

Picking up the cat, she headed back to the kitchen…and felt the aching loneliness of the house close in around her.




CHAPTER TWO


FROM WHAT SHE could see, retirement was going to be a taste of hell.

Grace flipped through the pages of her kitchen calendar and counted the months. Seven…eight…nine…

In ten months she’d turn sixty-seven. Once, she’d considered celebrating with a bonfire of her sturdy white shoes and the wardrobe of uniforms and lab coats that hung in her closet. Now, she couldn’t imagine taking that final walk out the hospital’s front door.

What did people do, once they didn’t have a daily destination? Didn’t have a busy schedule, or staff who counted on their competence and vision to make everything run smoothly?

Without the adrenaline rush of emergencies, the need to think fast, she could imagine her heart slowing down like an old, forgotten windup toy.

Cradling a cup of apricot tea, her gaze drifted to the refrigerator door festooned with photographs. Newspaper clippings. Wedding and baby announcements—remnants of her decades as a foster parent.

Once, her kitchen had bustled with three or four youngsters at a time; eating hurried breakfasts, making sack lunches, hurrying off to school or sports practice. There’d been crayon pictures taped to that refrigerator, along with reports cards and notices of parent-teacher conferences.

Once, she’d been needed here at home as much as she was still needed at the hospital, but soon this last chapter of her life would end, too, leaving her…with nothing.

Snorting aloud at her self-pity, she grabbed the file folder of cruise brochures propped behind the coffeemaker on the counter and took her tea into the living room.

Old people took trips. Saw the things they’d never had time to see when their families were young and careers were going full swing. It wouldn’t be so bad, finally getting to see Europe. Nova Scotia. Oregon.

For years, she’d heard people talk about Banff, too, and before she died she definitely had to go see those beautiful lakes up there, that were—supposedly—like lovely pots of paints, in shades of emerald and sapphire.

Life would soon be very peaceful. Quiet. And blast it, she was going to enjoy every minute.

The cordless phone rang on the end table next to her. Her heartbeat picked up when she read Blackberry Hill Memorial on the caller ID.

Marcia Larsen was the nurse in charge tonight. Highly competent, she wouldn’t be contacting Grace unless third-shift staff had called in sick…or there was a major emergency.

But it wasn’t Marcia’s voice on the line when Grace picked up.

“Um…I’m real sorry to bother you, Ms. Fisher,” stammered Beth, the receptionist. She lowered her voice, and Grace imagined that the girl was cupping a hand over the receiver. “There’s…um…someone here to see you. She wants directions to your home.”

“You know the policy, Beth. We never give out phone numbers or addresses.”

“Of course. But…” In the background, Grace could hear raised, angry voices, and then Beth came back on the line. “She says her name is Ashley, and that she’s your niece. She…um…has a teenage son with her who isn’t very happy with her right now. I already notified security…but should I call the police?”

Grace tossed the brochures aside, launched out of her chair and headed for the coat closet. “Is the boy’s name Ross?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Beth sounded worried.

“They’re my relatives, but they might have trouble finding my house in the dark. Tell them to calm down, and I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

Remembering Ashley’s volatile temper and her great-nephew’s rebellious nature, Grace made it to the hospital in eight minutes, despite the six inches of snow already on the ground and the deepening drift at the corner of Maine and Oak.

Instead of braving the staff parking lot, where the wind had piled snow into dunes near the building, she pulled up into the crescent drive at the front.

Inside, she stamped the snow from her boots, shrugged out of her coat and gave Beth a nod. “Quieter, now?”

The girl tipped her head toward the waiting area. “I brought the woman some coffee, and gave her son a Coke,” she said. “Are they really relatives of yours? I mean—well—” She blushed.

“Yes, they are,” Grace said, frowning. At twenty-two, Beth brought fresh enthusiasm to the job, but she was also prone to being a bit too personal. “I’ll take them back to my house once we get things settled down.”

Beth’s blush deepened. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Thanks for calling. I imagine the trip was stressful for them, coming all this way in such bad weather.” Grace smiled at her, then headed for the corner of the waiting room where Ross had pulled a chair up in front of the TV. Only the top of his black, curly hair showed over the backrest.

Ashley sat on the edge of a chair near him, her hands knotted in her lap and her eyes revealing both her tension and exhaustion. She looked up as Grace drew closer, clearly relieved.

“Aunt Grace—I’m sooo happy to see you!” She stood and hurried over for a quick hug, then a much longer, second embrace. “I never expected all this snow. The roads were so slick—and the tires on my friend’s car aren’t all that great. We nearly went in the ditch twice.”

“It’s good to see you again, honey.” Grace rested her hands on the younger woman’s shoulders and took a half step back to look at her. She had to be twenty-nine by now, but deep lines bracketed her mouth and fanned from the corners of her eyes. She looked forty, and from the stiffness in her spine she was here with news that wasn’t good.

Ross twisted around and glared at his mother, then slumped back down and continued watching the sitcom on television.

“Please—can we talk over there?” Ashley pleaded, motioning to a far corner. “I-it’s important.”

Ross slumped farther down in his seat and cursed under his breath. “Like I don’t know everything you’re gonna say?”

Ashley’s eyes filled with tears. “Please. He’s just upset right now, and so am I. It’s not what you think.”

But Grace already had a pretty good idea, as she led Ashley over to a sofa and loveseat arranged for greater privacy. The girl had led a troubled life, starting with her own rebelliousness at school and a pregnancy at fourteen, then the loss of both parents the year after she graduated from high school.

Ashley seemed to melt into the soft cushions of the loveseat as she stared down at her tightly clasped hands. “We were doing okay, Ross and me. I’ve held a good job as a teacher’s assistant, and I’ve been going to night school. By summer I’ll be done with a whole year of college credits. But then…” Her eyes filled with renewed tears. “Ross started cutting class, and he got in some other trouble at school. He got suspended twice this year. The county says it will file charges against me if I don’t make sure that he goes to school every day. But I’m working, and going to school…”

“So he’s home alone.”

“He’s got a key,” Ashley snapped. Her gaze met Grace’s for a split second, then dropped back to her hands. She lowered her voice to a ragged whisper. “It isn’t good, I know. He’s only a sophomore, and he’s already got friends who’ve dropped out. Friends who…use.”

“Sounds like a bad situation.” Grace thought back to some of the troubled teenagers she’d taken in over the years. She’d been younger then, able to cope and keep up, but some of those kids had been a full-time job unto themselves. Even so, the drug scene hadn’t yet swept into this part of the world.

“I can’t be at work and school, and know where he is every minute. He’s getting an attitude like his daddy had, the just-try-and-make-me sort of sneer teachers hate. And…” She shifted uncomfortably. “He and his buddy were caught shoplifting in December.”

“Oh, dear.” Grace glanced over at the boy slouched in the chair. He was probably a good five foot nine already, much taller and heavier than his diminutive mother.

“A caseworker got involved,” Ashley added hastily. “Ross isn’t being sent away. Not this time. But if he messes up again, the judge will send him to a detention center. He’s only got one more chance, and I’m scared he’s gonna blow it.”

Grace gave one fleeting thought to those travel brochures on the coffee table back home, then dismissed them without regret. “If you need money, I do have some put by.”

A man in his early thirties appeared at the entryway of the hospital, jingled a set of keys and fixed Ashley with an impatient look.

She nodded to him, then turned back to Grace. “I don’t want your money. Come this fall, I should have some student loans set up—me and Ross will be fine.”

“Then…”

“I won’t even have him by then, if he screws up any more. I need to get him out of Chicago, away from his friends—until the end of this school year.”

Ashley leaned forward and took one of Grace’s hands into both of her own. “Please. Will you take my son?”



“PRETTY SLICK, HUH?” Ross slouched on the couch in Grace’s living room, his mouth twisted in a sneer. “Five-minute intro, and you’re stuck with me.”

“Stuck isn’t the word I would use. Not at all.” Grace propped her elbows on the armrests of her recliner and steepled her fingertips under her jaw.

“Like you really wanted to find yourself saddled with a kid you barely know.” He turned his head to look disdainfully at her from the pile of crocheted pillows. “I bet you woke up this morning thinking, ‘Geez, I wish I had a fifteen-year-old hanging around. For months.’”

“It honestly hadn’t crossed my mind. But, that doesn’t mean you aren’t welcome—or that I don’t look forward to getting to know you better.”

“Ri-i-ight.” He drew out the sarcasm.

“I still think your mother and her…friend should have stayed overnight. Chicago is over six hours away in good weather. Tonight, it might take twice as long.”

“Tony owns a bar. He’d never miss being there on a weekend. And Mom wouldn’t miss her tips.”

Surprised, Grace cocked her head. “She said she works as an assistant teacher.”

“Part-time. Nights Thursday through Saturday, she tends bar and hangs out with Tony. She usually turns up at home on Sunday.”

So Ross was unsupervised on weekends. Not a good thing, for a boy his age. Especially one who’d already been in trouble.

“First thing, we’ll have to get you enrolled in school,” Grace said briskly. His jaw stiffened, and despite his bravado, she knew it had to be scary, thinking about walking into a strange school midyear. A place where he knew no one at all. “I remember there used to be quite a few families coming or going over winter vacation, so you probably won’t be the only new face.”

“Whatever.”

“Your mother,” she added with a smile, “must have been pretty sure this would all work out. She said she’d already requested that your school records be sent up here.”

He snorted. “If you’d said no, she probably would’ve just taken off. You never had a choice.” He raised a brow. “She and ole Tony had it figured out before they ever left home.”

Grace bit the inside of her cheek to hold back a tart reply. Had Ashley been that cunning? As an example to her son, it would be terrible. As an example of her love for him, it was even worse. He was young enough that it had to hurt. Deeply.

“I think it’s good that you’re here,” Grace said simply. “So tell me, how much trouble were you in, back in Chicago?”

“What—you gonna try to send me back?”

Grace stood and moved an armchair next to the sofa, where she would be in his direct line of vision. “No, I’m going to enjoy your company. This place used to be a madhouse, with all the kids who grew up here. And now, it’s way too quiet.”

She picked up a tapestry bag of knitting she’d left by the sofa and pulled out a pair of needles and a ball of soft, navy-blue mohair yarn. After casting on a row of stitches, she started knitting.

“This will be a sweater,” she said over the soft clicking of her needles. “I could go out to a discount store and buy just any old blue sweater. Maybe pay twenty or thirty dollars. It wouldn’t mean anything to me, but it would be cheap and easy.”

He stared up at the ceiling with a look of utter boredom.

“Or, I can choose to do something really special. Something that takes a lot of time, a lot of hard work. Sometimes, I’ll make a mistake, and I’ll have to go back to make it right.”

He didn’t say anything, though she could tell he was listening.

“But in the end, I have something to be proud of, because of all the love and time that went into it. And in the years to come, I’ll remember all the good things that happened in my life while I was working on it.”

She finished another few rows, then settled the yarn in her lap. “I can’t be your momma, Ross. I’m just your great-aunt. But I promise you that we’ll do well together, you and me.”

“She dumped me here—away from my friends, my school,” he said bitterly.

Grace studied him, wishing she could give him the comfort and reassurance he needed. He was fifteen, though, not five—on that cusp of youth between childhood and independence where one had to tread softly.

“You’ve been up here twice? Three times? Only for brief visits, though.” She dropped her gaze back to her knitting and started another row. “I suppose we should be upfront with each other, so there aren’t any misunderstandings. As with all the other kids I’ve raised, I expect you to work hard in school, to keep my curfews and pitch in. I won’t tolerate drugs, alcohol or smoking. I expect simple respect, and that’s what I’ll give you, along with a home as long as you need it.”

She looked up at him over her half-glasses. “Now, you tell me your feelings about all of this. Fair enough?”

He levered himself off the sofa and grabbed for his duffel bag—surely not big enough to hold much. For a moment he seemed ready to flee, then he sagged back down, dropped his forearms on his thighs and bowed his head. “I got no choice, do I,” he said flatly.

He didn’t, unless he chose to run…and that could only lead to more trouble. Grace said a quick, silent prayer for the right words. “Honey, your mom is my niece. That makes me your flesh and blood. I care about you. Let’s do our best, here, all right? Summer will be here before you know it. In the meantime, maybe you can consider this a bit of a vacation…an adventure, in the most beautiful place on earth.”

He glanced up at her, and for just a moment she saw beyond his tough shell.

“Have you ever been snowmobiling? Ice fishing? Cross-country or downhill skiing?” Grace mentally catalogued every person she knew in town who could help her out. “Fly fishing? Canoeing?”

“You do all that?” he sneered.

“Cross-country, but my bones are a little too stiff for downhill. Fishing. As for snowmobiling, I know lots of people who are into it, big time.”

He stood up and shouldered his duffel bag. “Where do I sleep?”

Grace set aside her knitting, crossed the living room and opened the door leading to the second floor. “Either room up there. You’re welcome to rearrange the furniture any way you’d like, and I’ll bring up some linens in just a few minutes.” She glanced at her watch. “Are you hungry? Do you want something before you turn in?”

He jerked his head no, and tromped up the stairs.

Grace sighed. She’d had many teenagers under her wing. Emotionally damaged, surly, some of them had been homeless or had come from abusive situations, and most of them had chafed against the restrictions of a disciplined household. They’d all come around, with love and patience.

But she’d been much younger then. She’d had the energy and the determination to help those children the best she could, and had sent them out into the world with much greater chance of success.

Now, she felt old. Tired. With the aches of arthritis keeping her awake at night, how was she going to keep up this time? But there was no way she could refuse.

Ross and Ashley needed her, and she was going to make sure she didn’t fail them.




CHAPTER THREE


“I CAN’T HELP it, Warren. You’re stuck here—with me.” Grace frowned at him over her half-glasses. “Just be glad your infection hasn’t spread past the surgical site. If all your cronies had to wear gowns, slippers and masks in here, you’d probably have a lot less company. This way, it’s just the person changing your dressings who has to gown up.”

“Seven more days,” Warren grumbled, glaring at the IV pole looming above his bed. “I could be in Florida golfing.”

“Or you could be six feet under.” Grace double-checked the bag of vancomycin she’d brought in, then hung it with the bag of saline and started the dose. “Not long ago, an antibiotic-resistant staph infection like this one would have killed you.”

“No one ever accused you of tact, Gracey.”

“I’ve got plenty of tact, Bugs.” She grinned. He’d always hated that nickname. Probably hoped he’d left it behind in grade school, when he gave Billy Alderson a black eye. “I just know it doesn’t work with you.”

Warren snorted.

“But I’ve got some good news for you—I saw your son talking to Dr. Jill out in the hall, just a few minutes ago. It must be wonderful to have him back, isn’t it?”

“Oh, yeah. And it’s good to see you. Are you my nurse this shift?”

“Just until Marcia gets here. She had some car trouble.”

“Stop back again, would you? It’s nice…just talking about old times.”

The past couple of days had been more hectic than usual, with a spate of mid-winter injuries and illnesses—influenza, broken legs and ankles from winter sports, bronchitis and pneumonias—and until today she hadn’t given him more than a quick greeting.

The loneliness in his eyes touched her heart. “Of course I will.”

Grant knocked lightly and walked in, following Dr. Jill. From the strained expression on Jill’s face and the rigid set of Grant’s shoulders it was all too clear that they still barely tolerated each other’s presence.

It was such a shame. Jill was one of her closest friends in the hospital and her ex-husband was still Grace’s lawyer—a fine and caring man. How could things have gone so wrong between them?

Grace took one last look at the rate on the IV pump and started for the door to give them privacy.

“How’s he doing today?” Jill asked, stopping Grace.

It was a question intended to keep her there—perhaps as a buffer—because every last detail of Warren’s day was clearly documented in the interdisciplinary notes section of his chart.

“Quite well,” Grace murmured. “His vitals have been normal for the past twenty-four hours. I’d like you to take a look at his IV site, though. I think we’ll need to restart it sooner than scheduled.”

Jill moved to the bed and smiled in greeting, then inspected his arm. “She’s right, Warren. Vanco is hard on the veins. We’ll have to change your IV at least twice before you’re done.”

Warren scowled. “Do whatever you damn well please and then leave me alone.”

“Dad—”

“It’s okay,” Jill said, sparing Grant a chilly glance and then turning her attention back to Warren. “No one likes being here. Right?”

He fixed his stony gaze on the wall just over her head.

The similarity between Grant, Jill and Warren almost made Grace smile. They were strong, intelligent people—and all of them had definite opinions. When the three got together, sparks flew.

Grace silently commiserated with Jill above the patient’s head, then gathered her tray of supplies and slipped out the door.



GRANT LEANED BACK in his father’s ancient, leather-upholstered desk chair and smiled. “So you’re saying you want to rewrite your will again, Mr. Walthan?”

Hal pursed his lips and studied the ceiling, apparently deep in thought. “Mebbe.”

“You’re not sure.”

“I’m thinking about it. My fool grandson…” The old man’s heavy neck wattle jiggled as he shook his head in disgust. “Tattoos.”

“Tattoos.” Grant drummed a forefinger on the thick client folder he’d pulled. It held at least four other versions of the man’s will, all drafted within the past year, all disinheriting one family member or another. “You want to disinherit him because he got tattoos? They’re pretty common these days.”

“He’s got snakes crawlin’ up one arm. A black widow spider crawling down the other.” Hal drew his bushy white eyebrows together. “Not the kind of appearance the town expects of a Walthan.”

“Pretty soon you’re going to run out of relatives. And, if it appears you’ve been capricious, unduly influenced by anyone or have made some…unusual…decisions, there could be family members who try to contest.”

“Your job is to make sure that can’t happen.” The elderly pharmacist set his jaw. “Then just let ’em try.”

Grant jotted a few more notes on the legal pad in front of him. “I’ll write up a new draft, then. When you come back in, I’ll ask you to go over each of your wishes—with a witness present—and I’ll videotape proof that you appeared to be of sound mind. I’ll also ask you for a handwritten summary.”

Hal nodded decisively. “You’re a good man. Thorough. Never should have left town, if you ask me.”

Over the past week, a cadre of the old-timers had trooped into the office, one after another.

Grant had the distinct feeling that a campaign was afoot, after three had given him marital advice, two had told him that he’d been negligent in leaving his father’s practice last fall, and every last one of them had made sly, oblique comments about Doc Jill Edwards being far too pretty to—as crotchety old Leo Crupper had put it—“wither on the vine.”

Grant steeled himself for the inevitable pep talk from Hal. And sure enough, the old guy hesitated at the door and turned back, one gray brow raised.

“The missus doing well?”

“Fine. Just fine.” At least, Grant thought so. He hadn’t seen her for a week now, except for the occasional glimpse of her Sable.

He had a feeling Jill wanted to avoid him just as much as he wanted to avoid her.

Hal fixed him with a piercing look. “You aren’t getting any younger.”

Well, at least he took a different approach from Warren’s other cronies. Who’d probably, now that Grant thought about it, been sent by Warren himself.

“None of us are,” Grant replied.

“You got no kids,” Hal said bluntly. “No grandkids for Warren, and there’ll be none for you either, down the road, if you wait too long.”

Remembering how many grandkids Hal had already disinherited—and then added back into his will—Grant just smiled. “They are a joy, aren’t they? Every last one of them. No matter how unique.”

“Er…exactly,” Hal gave him a narrow look, then stood in the doorway as he shouldered into his coat. “When should I come back?”

Grant flipped the page on the planner lying open on the desk. “Tomorrow’s Friday, and I need to take off early. How about next Tuesday. Another ten o’clock?”

“Good enough.” He clenched his fingers into the thick crown of his beaver-fur hat. “How’s Warren?”

“Much better. He got his IV out yesterday and has started rehab. He’ll be home in a week or two, and not a minute too soon. He’s been climbing the walls.”

“Bet he has. Man never misses a day on the golf course from Easter ’til Thanksgiving, barring snow. He isn’t one to sit around.”

“Well…he’s agreed to take it easy for a few months, if I stay to help out.”

“You’re a good son, coming back like this to take his place. A real good son.”

Grant rounded the desk and walked him to the front door, then flipped the Open sign in the door to Closed as Hal headed down the sidewalk toward Waltham Drug.

At the open doorway Grant took a deep breath of icy, pine-scented air. Thankful, he admitted to himself, that he’d had a reason to come back home to Blackberry Hill for a while.

A couple of blocks down the street, on the corner of Birch and Main, he could see the front corner of Jill’s office, and that brought back all the reasons why he shouldn’t have.

Clean breaks were the best. Especially when there was no hope of ever changing the past, and no wish to create a future.

Yet he’d run into Jill almost every day at the hospital when he’d stopped to visit Dad.

The irony was that apparently they’d both been changing their schedules to avoid each other—and for once in their lives, they had been in perfect harmony.

But in a few weeks Dad would be on his feet and out of the hospital, and then there’d be no need to intrude on Jill’s territory. And that would make life a heck of a lot easier.



PROCLAIMING THAT HE was bored silly on the Skilled Care unit of the hospital, Warren had called the law office at eleven o’clock, noon, one o’clock, and then—apparently he’d been napping—not until almost four.

Grant glanced at the caller ID, amused, as he tapped the speaker button. “Hey, Dad.”

Warren sucked in a sharp breath. “There’s not a client with you?”

“Your friend Hal left a few minutes ago.” Swiveling his chair, Grant looked out the window at the early winter darkness. “Even if there was, I’d guess most people around here know that you and I are related. I’ve been calling you ‘Dad’ since I was in diapers.”

“Doesn’t sound professional.”

Grant had visited Warren every day when he was in the ICU in Green Bay, and had figured he would settle down once he was transferred back to Blackberry Hill. But with each passing day it was becoming more obvious that he viewed his ongoing hospitalization as a form of incarceration.

“How are you feeling?”

“Never better.”

“Not tired at all? The surgeon in Green Bay said—”

“The doc is nuts. I’m fine as frog hair and going stir-crazy in this place. Let me tell you, the day I decide to retire is the day you’ll have to lock me away.”

“Dad, how long has it been since you took a vacation—really went somewhere and did something fun?”

During the long silence they both remembered Marie Edwards’s unexpected death at fifty-five from an aneurysm. Three years ago.

Grant had been working at a prestigious firm in Chicago, but Warren had been so devastated over the loss of his wife that Grant and Jill had come home to help him cope with his practice and his grief.

After Warren’s subsequent heart attack, the intended few months had somehow evolved into several years…with Jill working at an established family practice in town and Grant busy at the Edwards Law Office.

The purchase of a house had signified a commitment to stay for good.

One more painful irony, among the many.

“…so maybe I will.” Warren cleared his throat. “What do you think?”

Grant shook himself out of his memories. “About what?”

“I should call him. Haven’t been down to see him since he and your Aunt Jane built their new house. I expect we could get in a little golf.”

Grant blinked. Uncle Fred and Aunt Jane? Florida?

“That is, if you don’t mind staying on for a while longer.” The hopefulness in Warren’s voice faded as he added, “But I shouldn’t even ask. You’d probably rather move ahead with your own career, and with my secretary gone, the job is damned inconvenient. Doretta sure picked a bad time to retire.”

“I’ve already planned on staying for several more months, anyway. I don’t mind working alone.” Grant smiled to himself as he recalled Dad’s confrontational relationship with his strong-minded secretary of the past thirty years. “It would do you a world of good to get away for a while. And when you get back, you can hire a nice paralegal.”

At a tentative knock on his office door, Grant glanced at his wristwatch. Five o’clock. He’d turned the door sign to Closed when Hal left, which accounted for the knock. “I’ve got to hang up, someone’s at the door.”

Grant dropped the phone back into its cradle and rounded the desk. Out in the waiting area, he pinned a welcoming smile on his face as he opened the front door.

And looked down into the lovely face of the woman who’d helped destroy his life.



JILL LINGERED IN the exam room after her last patient of the day left, dictated her progress note into a recorder then popped out the microcassette and strolled to the front office.

Donna Iverson, her office nurse, looked up from a file drawer and grinned. “For once, you’re actually done on time. Amazing.”

“It is—especially in the middle of flu season.” She put the cassette into an envelope and dropped it into a drawer of the receptionist’s desk. “After rounds at the hospital, I’m going home for a long, hot bath and a good book.”

Middle-aged and motherly, Donna frowned and shook a finger at her. “You need to get out more. Have some fun. What about that nice assistant manager down at the bank? I swear, if that man isn’t interested in you, I’ll eat my stethoscope.”

The man was a pleasant, earnest sort of guy. He’d certainly be Mr. Dependability…and just the thought made Jill stifle a yawn. “I’m not even divorced yet and, frankly, I can’t even imagine dating again. But what about you?”

Donna gave a flustered wave of her hand after she pushed the file drawer shut. “It’s not so easy, getting back into the swing of things at my age. My brother Bob and his family are here in town, though. Grandkids. Plenty to keep me busy. But you…”

“I’ve finally got a practice of my own. The house of my dreams. A very devoted cat.”

“You’ve got one very weird cat, and a very big house to ramble around in. You know, my bachelor cousin Irwin lives down in Minocqua, and—”

Laughing, Jill held up a hand. “Stop. I’m sure he’s a great guy, but I really don’t want to meet anyone. Ask me again in about five years.”

Loyal to a fault, the nurse had stood staunchly by Jill during the difficult last months of her marriage, and she still spoke Grant’s name with a sniff of distaste.

“Well…just keep Irwin in mind. He’s great with kids. Has a good job in real estate. And,” she added triumphantly, “he’s never been married, so you wouldn’t be taking on all that extra baggage.”

I’d just have all of my own. Jill nodded politely as she shouldered into her red wool pea coat and wrapped a long black scarf around her neck. “You should get going. All of this will be waiting for you tomorrow.”

“Just another few minutes.” Donna’s expression grew somber. “Say hello to Patsy, won’t you? Tell her I’ll stop in tonight with some new magazines.”

“She’ll be happy to hear that.” Jill pulled on her gloves, wishing she could offer more hope for Donna’s neighbor. “She may not be very talkative, though. We had to increase her morphine last night.”

Patsy Halliday had been the picture of good health just three months ago at her annual physical, but last month she’d come in with severe headaches. An MRI revealed a fast-growing tumor that the surgeons couldn’t completely remove, and soon her three young children would lose their mother.

Life was so terribly unfair.

Jill slung the strap of her purse over her shoulder and went out the back door of the clinic, lost in thought. She barely felt the cold as she started her car and waited for the defroster to melt away the haze on her windshield.

Cases like this one kept her awake at nights; made her rethink every decision a dozen times, and made her pray for miracles when everything on the MRI report and labs told her there was little hope.

Cases like this made her want to live every day to the fullest, because they illustrated with cruel finality just how little control you had over the future.

Yet now she was going home to an empty, cavernous house, with only a demented cat and the whispers of old ghosts to keep her company.

“Quite an exciting life you lead,” she muttered to herself as she pulled out of the back parking lot, waited for several cars to pass, then turned north on Main.

The deep tire ruts in the snow grabbed at her tires as she drove slowly enough to keep ample distance between her and the car ahead.

The single stoplight in town turned yellow at her approach and, despite her best intentions, she glanced at the Edwards Law Office on the opposite corner.

She drew in a sharp breath.

Dressed in khaki slacks, a blazer and a shirt open at the throat, Grant was at the open door, talking to a woman who stood with her back to the street.

The woman rested her hand on his forearm for a moment, then stood on her toes to kiss his cheek. She turned and hurried down the steps to an all-too-familiar red, vintage Cobra parked in front.

At the car, she turned back and waved at him, her long, too-bright auburn hair whipping in the wind.

Jill’s heart gave an extra, hard thud. Natalie.

The old hurt welled up inside her and she sat frozen through the green light until the car behind her honked.

She hadn’t wanted to believe the rumors last fall. Even now, perhaps this wasn’t what it seemed. But Natalie’s advances a moment ago certainly hadn’t been rebuffed.

Since Grant had come back to town, he and Jill had carefully tried to avoid each other, but small towns didn’t allow for a lot of space. Seeing him again had made her feel a little…wistful. Made her start reviewing the past. Made her second-guess all that had gone wrong.

But those regrets were a waste of time.

Grant could do whatever he liked, with whomever he liked, and it didn’t matter one bit. He was a free man.

And seeing the woman who’d destroyed the last hope for their marriage drove that fact home with blinding clarity.




CHAPTER FOUR


JILL PAUSED AT the door of Patsy’s hospital room to study the rainbow of crayon drawings taped to the wall, the untidy bouquet of flowers on the bedside table.

Zoe’s work, Jill thought sadly. The four-year-old loved to handle the flower arrangements delivered to the room, beaming as she plucked one bloom after another and presented them to her mother.

What was it like, seeing your mommy lying so still in this hospital bed, with the steady snick of an IV pump marking off the seconds?

Patsy’s head turned on the pillow, her weary eyes lighting with recognition. Her hand dropped to the white cotton blanket, and a small tape recorder fell from her grasp.

Jill caught it just before it hit the floor.

“Thanks,” Patsy whispered. “I’m…trying. So hard. I need…time.”

The effort to speak clearly exhausted her, and Jill felt renewed anger at the doctor who’d originally misdiagnosed this poor woman. The HMO system that had refused to cover the tests that might have caught her cancer earlier. And especially, at the callous husband who’d walked out on her right after her diagnosis.

No one deserved to die young.

And no one deserved life more than this young mother of three who, until recently, had operated a day-care program in town and had selflessly reached out to others in need.

Jill fingered the stack of audio cassettes on the bedside table. “Your children will treasure these.”

Patsy’s gaze veered to the tapes, then back to Jill. “The kids will have my memories…of them when they were small. I want them to know…how much I love them. That I’ll love them forever.”

“They’ll never have any doubt.”

“Zoe won’t even remember me, really.” Patsy winced and fell silent for a moment. “She’s so young.”

“But she’ll have these tapes, with your voice. She’ll have photos. Do you have home movies?”

“Some.” A faint smile flickered at the corners of her mouth. “I’m always on the other side of the camera, though.”

“How about getting some film of you and the kids here—maybe down in the lounge? You could be reading to Zoe, or telling some old stories from when you were young. I’ll bet we can get one of the nurses to run the camera.”

“K-Kurt got it.”

In a divorce that had been far from equitable, if the rumors were true. “Then I’ll bring in mine,” Jill said briskly. “How about that? I’ll bring it in tomorrow, and leave it at the nurse’s station with a few extra blank cassettes.”

“Not sure I’m ready for prime time,” the younger woman said, touching the wisps of her thin hair. But the grateful expression in her eyes spoke volumes.

“There are people who will never be beautiful, no matter how perfect their hair. But you? Your kids will treasure every moment. And once the tapes are transferred onto DVDs, the copies will last forever. Or so I was told,” Jill added with a smile, “by the young guy at the electronics store who sold me a DVD/VHS dubbing machine.”

“Thank you.”

She was so clearly exhausted that Jill glanced at the clock on the wall. “I need to let you get some rest, so you’ll be ready when the kids arrive.” She picked up the chart at the end of the bed and studied the nurse’s notes and lab reports. “You know that you can still request hospice if you change your mind?”

“No. I want home…to be happy for them. Not a place where they watched me…die.”

“Hospice can get you back here before that point, if you still want to,” Jill said gently. “They’ll help you be comfortable, and they’ll help your children deal with all of this.”

Yesterday Patsy had refused to even discuss it. Now, she blinked away the moisture in her eyes. “For them, then…if it will help.”

“I don’t think you’ll regret it.”

“I could go home and stay for a little while? With this?” She lifted a fragile hand toward the IV pole. “And I…could come here when…when…”

“Everything, just as you wish.” Jill put the chart on the window ledge and sat beside Patsy on the bed. She took one of her hands. “The nurses tell me you’ve been refusing your morphine.”

“Makes me too…fuzzy. I need to visit with my kids.” She managed another faint grin. “Alison says it makes me sound drunk.”

Her nine-year-old daughter probably knew about that kind of behavior all too well, given who her father was. The thought of that jerk—an arrogant, self-righteous dentist who’d had an affair with his hygienist, then abruptly moved to Green Bay and filed for divorce—set Jill’s teeth on edge. “But what about your pain control?”

“Okay.” Patsy sank deeper into the pillow. Her eyes fluttered shut and her breathing deepened.

Her heart heavy, Jill watched her for a moment, then she picked up the chart and headed for the door.

Even after two years in family medicine, she still found it impossible to accept that a stroke of terrible luck could strike anyone, anytime.

Patsy’s husband hadn’t asked for shared custody. He hadn’t arranged a single visit since he’d walked out.

And soon three young children were going to be left in his care, because their loving mother was going to die.



“HEY, ROSS. GREAT NEWS!” his mom gushed into the phone. She giggled, breaking away from the call to tell Tony to leave her alone, and Ross could just imagine what the guy was doing. Pawing her, probably. Playing vampire at her neck.

Tony’s smarmy possessiveness over his mom had made Ross’s stomach churn from day one, and he’d so wanted to land a fist right in the creep’s smug face. The guy was way older than she was, for one thing. And there was something about him that made Ross’s skin crawl.

He started to hang up when she came back on the line breathless and laughing. “Sweetie, you’ll never guess! Tony and I are going to Reno—we’re getting married!”

He froze, unable to speak.

“We’re leaving tomorrow on an early flight. It will be so cool! We’ll take in some of the shows, and I hear the food is great. Tony knows of a little chapel where they have real flowers and everything…. Are you still there? Did you hear me?”

Ross mumbled something unintelligible into the receiver.

“Look, I know you’re gonna be real disappointed, but it’s just me and him going. He got a great deal on tickets and a hotel for two. And,” she added after another burst of laughter and the sound of Tony’s voice in the background, “it is our honeymoon.”

“Y-you planned this all along.” Ross swallowed hard. “You took me up here so you could go to Reno?”

“Of course not, sweetie. It…it just sorta came up. Just last night, in fact. Isn’t it exciting?”

Just sort of came up? The week after she’d dumped him in Grace’s lap? The false cheerfulness in her voice told him she was lying, which just made it worse. “Yeah, right. Exciting.”

“It’s still a good thing you’re up there with Grace,” she added quickly. “Tony’s real busy with the bar and all, and…well, you know.”

“Yeah.”

“I’d think you could at least be happy for me.” Her voice took on a petulant edge. “You know how we’ve struggled.”

She’d never noticed that Tony was a real jerk toward Ross. She’d been defensive and even angry when he tried to tell her, because she didn’t want to hear it.

In return, Ross had never tried to hide his own disgust. Especially not after he’d seen the bastard coming out of a late-night movie with another woman, though Mom had refused to hear a single word against her latest lover.

A chill settled over Ross as he dropped the receiver into its cradle; a feeling of emptiness so huge that if he’d been a few years younger, he might have just sat and bawled.

Grace had tactfully left the kitchen when Ross answered the phone, and from out in the living room he’d heard the sound of her bustling around. Now, she appeared at the kitchen door. “About ready for school? I’ll give you a ride.”

“Nah.” He grabbed his jacket from the back closet and shouldered on his backpack. She’d offered every day of his first week here, and every day he’d refused. With no school bus service for the town kids he could be dropped off like a grade-schooler or he could get there on his own. No contest, there—even if it meant eight blocks of snow-packed streets through the bitter cold.

“Are you sure?” Biting her lip, she glanced outside. “It’s five below and windy this morning. The streets aren’t that good, either. People don’t even try to ride bikes here this time of year, and I really don’t mind—”

“No.” Before she could push any further or worse, ask him about the phone call, he jerked open the back door, unchained his mountain bike and hoisted it down the steps.

He slung a leg over the bike and sped down the long hill toward Main Street without a backward glance. He didn’t have to look back to know that Aunt Grace was watching him from the porch, her arms folded across her chest and her brow furrowed with worry.

Her house was small, and she’d probably heard some of the conversation.

The roughly plowed street caught his front tire. He wobbled wildly for a split second, then righted himself and eased into the track of a car. Great—I might as well break my neck and be done with it.

As cold as it was in this godforsaken place, he was already so numb he probably wouldn’t even feel a thing. The phone call this morning almost made him wish he had the courage to let it happen.

For now, he had a place with Grace. But what about later?

Moving back with Mom would no longer be an option. Though Tony had a creepy way of being nice to his mom while getting her to wait on him, his whole personality changed when she wasn’t home. He swore a lot, slammed things around and got his kicks out of trying to be intimidating.

It didn’t take any imagination to guess how much he’d dislike having a teenage kid around.

A gust of wind kicked up a blinding cloud of snow at the intersection of Oak and Lake. A dark shape suddenly materialized at his left. Coming too fast…

Ross slammed on his brakes and jerked the bike to the right. Skidded sideways. From far away he heard a heavy thud and someone screaming.

For one dizzying moment he felt as if he were weightless, spinning, disoriented. And then the ground rushed up to meet him.



THE HOSPITAL’S ONLY male nurse, Carl Miller, met Grace at the door of the E.R. “He’s in Room 3. Dr. Reynolds is with him right now.” He tipped his head toward the waiting room. “The girl who hit him is here, too, and her father is on the way. She’s pretty upset.”

Grace nodded and hurried down the hall, her damp shoes squeaking on the highly polished floor.

A heartbeat after she’d received the call, she’d grabbed her purse and coat without a thought for snow boots, gloves or scarf. Now, with snow melting inside her shoes and her hands tingling, she wrapped her arms around herself and tried to stop shaking. I never should have let him leave home like that. I should have made him sit down and talk.

But she knew just how far she would’ve gotten. She’d had him for over a week now, and still hadn’t made it past his sullen anger. He’d been less talkative with each passing day.

At the door of the room she said a silent prayer, then hid her worries behind a bright smile and stepped inside.

A bag of saline hung from the IV pole at the other side of the bed. No ventilator, though. Thank God. No frantic rushing to get the boy to surgery. And of the four doctors who had privileges at this hospital and could be on call today, Connor Reynolds and Jill Edwards were the very best.

Dr. Reynolds was bent over the bed with his stethoscope on Ross’s bare chest. He straightened at the sound of Grace’s squeaky shoes, a reassuring smile on his lean, handsome face. “Ross had a mishap, but he’s going to be fine.”

“Oh, my Lord,” she whispered. She hurried to the other side of the bed and ran her hands gently over Ross’s face, then his arms and chest.

The abraded, reddened areas over one cheekbone and his left arm would be deep purple by tomorrow. The sheet, drawn up to his waist, might hide more serious injuries, but so far, she could see no bandaging, no evidence of lacerations. “Are you okay, honey? What happened?”

Ross darted a wary look at her, his cheeks reddening. He closed his eyes and turned away. “Nothing.”

Did he expect her to be angry? She wanted nothing more than to gather him up in her arms and comfort him.

An impossibility, given the situation and his teenage pride.

Swallowing back her emotions, she gripped the side rail on the gurney. “He says this is nothing?” She looked up at Dr. Reynolds. “Tell me.”

“We’ve got a young man here who’s been rethinking his idea about biking in the winter. He was very lucky. Deputy Krumvald says the accident happened at an unmarked intersection, and it isn’t clear who was there first. The car hit his back tire and sent him about fifteen feet into heavy snow banked up along the street.”

“Thank God.”

“Still, that snow wasn’t exactly a feather pillow—those banks are hard-packed and crusted. He’s got some scrapes and bruises, and a light sprain in his left wrist.”

“X-rays?”

“He just came back. We took X-rays of the wrist, ran an MRI and some lab work. No sign of internal damage or a concussion, though I suspect he’ll be sore for a while. I recommend bandaging the wrist, a cold pack and elevation for a day. After that, just wrap it until it feels comfortable.” The doctor smiled. “I think the worst part of this for him was starting that IV.”

It had been placed immediately, Grace knew, in case there’d been a fast decompensation of Ross’s status. A rush to surgery. Something she dealt with frequently, even in this small hospital.

But now, with Ross lying in this bed, the fact that he was on an IV hit her hard. What if he’d been seriously injured? What if he’d—

She struggled to rein in her escalating emotions. “Thank you, Connor.”

“I’m glad I was here. So, buddy,” he said, resting a hand on Ross’s shoulder. “You’re one lucky guy. We’ll pull the IV and you can go home. Does a day off school sound like a good plan?”

Ross looked up at Connor, then his gaze veered toward Grace for an instant. “I guess.”

Carl appeared at the door. “There’s a young lady out here who’d like to see Ross,” he said in a low voice. “Her father is with her as well. Should I have them come back later?”

Connor shrugged. “I’m done here. If you want to take care of his IV and discharge instructions, he can leave. Ross, do you want to see this gal?”

Tucking the blankets up to his shoulders, Ross shook his head.

“Is this the driver of the car that hit him?” Grace frowned. “I’m not sure we’re in a position to talk about liability, yet.”

“The deputy was here a while ago to take a statement from Ross, and he got one from her a few minutes ago. She says she’s just worried about how Ross is doing.”

“Ross?” When he didn’t answer, Grace leaned closer. “If this is a girl from school, you’ll end up running into her anyway, so maybe this is best. Just don’t discuss any fault issues, ok?”

“I’m not stupid.”

She bit back the words she would have said if he’d been rude at home, then nodded to Carl. A few minutes later a blond teenager with cornflower-blue eyes and tear-streaked cheeks timidly stepped inside the door.

Her father, a burly, scowling man in his fifties, hovered at her shoulder. “So what’s the story, here? Doesn’t look too serious.”

Connor looked at Grace and raised a brow. She shook her head. They both knew what he was angling for—an admission that Ross was just fine and a quick, tidy resolution—but anyone in the profession knew that some injuries could show up later. Damage that could require long-term physical therapy.

“Well?” the man insisted.

“Daddy, please.” The girl moved tentatively to Ross’s side. “I hope you’re all right,” she said carefully, with a glance back at her father. She smiled tremulously at Ross. “I’m Mandy Welbourne. I’ve…um…seen you at school. I think we have third-hour algebra together.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed and pulled the sheet up higher under his chin. “Uh…maybe.”

“If…you need to be out of school awhile, I could bring you your homework.”

“Mandy.” Her dad gripped her shoulder. “It’s time for us to go.”

She bit her lower lip, then twisted away from his grasp. “I just want you to know how sorry I am. Really. I didn’t see you at all and—”

“Mandy!” Her father glared her into silence then gave Ross a narrowed look. “The idea of someone riding a bicycle on those icy, rutted streets, with the wind kicking up a ground blizzard is incomprehensible. Absolutely incomprehensible. My daughter has suffered severe emotional trauma over this little incident.”

He guided his daughter out of the room with a firm hand at her back, and Grace could well imagine what the man was going to say to the poor child after they were out of earshot.

Connor seemed to think Ross would be fine, and maybe Ross and Mandy were both at fault for the accident. But if Welbourne thought he could bully a teenage boy into a fast resolution, he’d better think twice.

With Grace in Ross’s corner, the man didn’t stand a chance.




CHAPTER FIVE


“IF YOU DO that one more time, you’re back in the cage.” Grant glared up at the rearview mirror and into Sadie’s unrepentant brown eyes.

A second later, her pink tongue slurped his right ear and she rested her long nose on his shoulder…then eased a little closer until her head was pressed firmly against his neck.

“I mean it.”

But it was a hard call which was better: listening to her howls from inside her portable kennel or dealing with her kisses. After the first hour in the car his ears had been ringing and the steady thud of a headache started pounding behind his temple. He’d let her loose in the SUV then, but three Tylenols and another hour later, the painful cadence still hadn’t faded. For Sadie, long car rides were an anxious event, and she obviously needed all the reassurance she could get.

“Just another fifteen, twenty minutes, a short stop at the office and we’ll be home.” He reached back and gave her a quick rub under the collar. “Not long at all. Then you’ll have a big fenced yard, and you can bark at birds all day long.”

She slurped at his ear in gratitude, then leaned farther over the back of the seat and plastered her head against the side of his neck, her eyes closed.

Grant sighed. The dog kisses were bad enough. What had to be a hundred pounds of dead weight on his neck and shoulder for the past hour was probably going to send him into physical therapy for life.

“You know,” he said as he parked behind the law office in Blackberry Hill, “if you hadn’t been so hell-bent on barking at birds, you could have stayed with Phil. He’s the one who thought you were going to be a nice little house dog. Not me.”

He reached back and snapped on the leash, then climbed out of the SUV and opened the back door. Sadie lumbered out and shook vigorously, sending a cloud of black fur into the air.

Now the size of a small pony, as a puppy she’d been dropped off at a humane shelter with her litter-mates. The owner, who’d filled out paperwork on the pups, had apparently had a good idea of what was in store, after his Newfoundland carried on an illicit affair with the sexy Great Dane down the street.

Massive size—and a hell of a lot of hair.

Phil had had a few second thoughts as she grew and grew…but the barking, which violated a Kendrick city ordinance and resulted in fifty dollar fines every time a neighbor complained, had been the last straw. At two hundred dollars, he’d said she was on “probation.”

At three hundred, Phil had advertised her in the newspaper to no avail. Which meant she faced incarceration at the city dog pound and a possible death sentence through no fault of her own.

Grant had been unable to let that happen.

She wandered at the end of the leash, nose to the ground until she did her business, while he debated what to do with her.

Lifting the heavy, recalcitrant dog into that cage sounded like a recipe for disaster—she’d fallen for the lure of dog cookies once, but probably wouldn’t be so naive again.

And God only knew what she’d do to the upholstery if she started pining for him again.

During a quick rest stop, he’d walked her and then put her back into the vehicle so he could run to the rest room. She’d shredded his Wisconsin map, destroyed a Thermos and polished off a package of Oreo cookies.

“Okay,” he said firmly, lifting her nose so she’d have to look him straight in the eyes. “You can come inside. But no funny business. Promise? Sit. Lie down. That’s it.”

She promptly sat and swept the snow with her bushy tail.

“Okay, then. Heel!”

She bounded to the end of her leash and eagerly pawed at the back door, nearly jerking him off his feet.

“You, my friend, are going to dog school,” he muttered as he unlocked the door. Walking past his dad’s office, he entered the smaller one he’d always used, fished a couple of dog treats from the pocket of his ski jacket and settled Sadie in the corner behind his desk.

Where, hopefully, she would stay quietly until he finished the meeting with his client.

Vance Young arrived a few minutes later, still wearing his gas station uniform and smelling of sweat, gasoline and motor oil. His scowl suggested that he was as volatile as the fuels staining his shirt.

Grant led him into the office and waved him toward one of the chairs by the desk, then he picked up the files he’d left by the phone. “I wasn’t sure why you wanted to come in today, so I pulled all of these.”

A muscle along the side of the man’s jaw jerked. “Those damn payments, that’s why.”

“Payments?”

“Warren said he’d take care of it. Straighten it out. The damn county is after me for back child support, and I sure as hell don’t plan to pay.”

“Aah.” Grant thumbed through the files until he found the correct one. “What’s the problem?”

“I said, I don’t plan to pay.” He spat out each word. “My ex-wife makes as much money as I do. She ain’t supporting another family like I am…and she’s living in sin with another man, right there with my kids. So what are you gonna do about this?”

“Those factors don’t negate your financial responsibility as a father, Vance. Do you pay her alimony?”

“Hell, no.”

“That probably could have been terminated, given the circumstances.” Grant was beginning to see why the woman had agreed to a divorce…she’d probably hit the ground running at the first opportunity and never looked back. He glanced at the latest court order in the file. “Says here you were to start paying three-hundred-fifty dollars a month almost three years ago. Exactly how far behind are you?”

“Eight grand.”

“Kids are expensive, Vance. That translates into a lot of ballet lessons, school fees and soccer equipment. Running shoes. Clothes. Food. A percentage of what keeps a roof over their heads.”




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