16 Lighthouse Road (27 page)

“I don't really get it,” Jack said, his face darkening. “Basically I'm wondering, seeing how you feel about your ex, if there's room in your life for someone else.” He straightened and threw back his shoulders. “Actually, I should be a little more specific. Is there room for
me?
”

“That shouldn't be such a difficult question to answer,” Jack muttered, when she didn't speak right away.

“It isn't,” she tried to assure him. “I'd very much like there to be.”

He stared at her. “Really?”

Olivia laughed. She found Jack Griffin smart and funny and in some ways almost childlike in his enthusiasm, his sense of adventure. She loved the spontaneity she saw in him.

“I like you, Jack.”

He beamed at her. “I like you, too. A lot. It's probably not good strategy to admit it at this early stage, but what the hell do I know about strategy anyway?” Having said that, he leaned forward and kissed her.

Olivia was sure his original intention had been a friendly
peck, a short kiss to seal this new understanding. However the moment their lips met, moist and warm with freshly brewed coffee, the kiss became…real. Passionate. Jack wove his fingers into her hair and he rose to his feet to lean closer. Olivia reached for him.

The intensity of the kiss heightened as his mouth expertly molded against hers. It'd been years since a man had touched her like this. She'd ignored that sensual part of her, let it grow dormant, and now Jack had brought it back to life.

A discordant sound drifted toward her, and Jack abruptly broke off the kiss. “Someone's coming,” he whispered.

“Mom!”

Olivia jerked back and nearly fell off her chair. “Justine.”

“Oh, hi.” Justine stood framed in the kitchen doorway. She looked sharply from Olivia to Jack. “I'm not interrupting anything, am I?”

“No!” Olivia shouted. “I mean…” She glanced at Jack and—damn it all—blushed.

To her surprise, her daughter laughed. “Honestly, Mom, it's no big deal. If you two want to continue whatever you were doing, go ahead, with my blessing. I'll come back at a more convenient time.”

“Ah…”

“I think I should leave,” Jack said. He kissed Olivia's cheek. “See you on the fourth. Do you want me to bring anything?”

Her mind a blank, Olivia shook her head. For the life of her she couldn't remember what they were doing on the fourth. Oh, yes, her mother's birthday.

Jack sidled past Justine, and whistling a catchy tune, let himself out of the house.

“Mother,” her daughter said, arms folded. “I'm shocked.” Her delight was unmistakable.

“Don't act so amused. I'm not as old as you think.”

“
I
know that,” Justine assured her, “but I wasn't sure
you
were aware of it.”

Olivia stood on feet that felt a little unsteady. Jack's kiss had shaken her more than she cared to admit. She walked over to the coffeepot and refilled her cup, then automatically poured one for her daughter. What had prompted this visit, Olivia couldn't even guess.

“So how long have you and Jack been involved?”

“We're not.”

“He was at the house when you returned from California, remember?” Justine reminded her.

“Yes, I know.” She hated the way these questions flustered her. Nothing had been settled between her and Jack. Not really. Okay, so they'd agreed to start seeing each other, but it was too early to know how significant their relationship would become.

“I asked Jack then, and he claimed you were only friends. Foolish me, I believed him.”

Justine certainly seemed to be enjoying this.

“We
are
friends.”

“Oh, yes,” her daughter teased.

“Justine!”

“Friends and then some.”

Olivia shook her head. “All right, if you must know…this is a recent development.”

“How recent?”

Olivia peered at her watch. “Twenty minutes.”

“Mother!”

“It's true.” And Olivia felt good about it. Optimistic. No way of knowing what would happen, of course, especially as they hadn't yet defined their relationship. But she couldn't help wondering where the kissing would've led if they hadn't been interrupted.

“Enough about me,” Olivia said abruptly. “To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”

“Well,” Justine said, sinking down in the chair recently vacated by Jack, “I came to see what you had planned for Grandma's birthday.”

That was only an excuse; Justine could easily have asked over the phone. “I thought we'd have a small picnic.”

“Waterfront Park?”

“I hadn't decided where, but that sounds like a good idea.” Her mother's home was within walking distance of the waterfront area, and there'd be a lot of festivities there on the fourth. “Can you come?”

“I should be able to drop by for an hour or so.”

Not looking at Justine, she reached for her muffin. “Will Warren be with you?”

“Probably not, but we're still seeing each other.”

Olivia was afraid of that. More than anything she wanted to ask her daughter what the future held for her and Warren, but she dared not say anything that would upset the delicate balance of her relationship with Justine.

“The truth is, Warren and I haven't been getting along lately.”

In one way, Olivia was glad to hear that, although she chastised herself for such an ungenerous reaction; in another way, she was distressed by Justine's evident unhappiness. If Warren was what she really wanted… “Any reason?” she asked carefully.

“Oh, I don't know.” Justine exhaled sharply. “We're different people.”

Different generations, too, but Olivia didn't mention that. “You might want to remember what attracted you when you first started seeing each other.”

“I've been thinking about that a lot lately.” Her hands cradled the coffee mug. “I was drawn to him right away—he was so polished and successful. I'd dated other men and they were always pressuring me, wanting more from the relationship.” She hesitated. “That's probably an oversimplification.” Lifting her mug, she stared at the coffee and then lowered it to the table without taking a drink. “Actually, I was the one to blame for past dating failures. I don't want a long-term committment or a family.” She stared at Olivia. “I've told you that before. I know it upset you, and I'm sorry, but it's the truth.”

“Warren's already been married,” Olivia said, wanting to keep Justine talking, hoping that as her thoughts emerged, she'd gain insight into her daughter's emotions.

“Actually, he's been married three times.”

Olivia had only known about two of his former marriages, but wisely refrained from comment.

“His children are raised.”

From what she'd heard, Warren Saget had a daughter four years younger than Justine.

“In other words, he wouldn't be interested in starting a second family.”

“Yeah, you could say that.”

Olivia merely nodded.

“Warren represents safety and security to me,” Justine said
in a low, serious voice. “It's comfortable being with him. It seemed that everything I objected to in other relationships isn't a problem for him. He's always been good to me and I didn't need to worry about…you know.”

Olivia wasn't sure she did, but again she held her tongue. “You're looking sad.” Reaching over, she stroked the side of her daughter's face.

“I am sad,” Justine repeated as though this was a revelation. “That's exactly what I am.”

Olivia searched for something comforting to say, some wisdom she could pass on to her daughter. Unfortunately her mind was a blank. Every day she sat in court and issued judgments that would alter the way families lived their lives. But when it came to her own child, Olivia was at a loss.

“Have you decided to break it off?”

It was the wrong thing to ask. Justine instantly bristled. “That's what you'd like, isn't it?”

“No,” Olivia responded, sorry now that she'd said a word. “Whatever happens between you and Warren is your business. It's obvious that you care for him.”

“I do. Sometimes he irritates me, and then sometimes he's so kind and thoughtful…. I know what you think, Mom, what everyone thinks, but Warren's got his insecurities, just like most people. And in his own way, he loves me.”

“I'm sure that's true.”

Justine stood and deposited her coffee cup in the sink, as though preparing to leave. “Thanks, Mom, I feel better.”

Well, that was good, but Olivia felt confused. She had no idea what the visit had been about; she only knew she didn't want it to end. “Isn't your class reunion coming up shortly?”

“Next month,” Justine mumbled, reaching for her car keys. “I doubt Seth will be there in case you're wondering.”

“I'm not,” Olivia lied. “But…why not?” she asked, surprised that her daughter had voluntarily brought up the other man's name. Generally Justine went out of her way to avoid the subject of Seth Gunderson.

“He's in Alaska, and this is his busiest time of year. He won't be able to take four or five days off and fly home for a class reunion.”

“Perhaps not,” Olivia agreed mildly.

Then out of the blue, Justine looked her square in the eye and blurted out, “Falling in love with Seth would be a terrible risk.”

“Why is that?”

“Oh, Mom, think about it. I have nothing in common with him. He's just the type of man I want to avoid. He's a fisherman—that's a dead-end career if there ever was one. Besides, he lives on a
boat.
I have more tablecloths than he has dishes. We just don't…mix.”

“But you're attracted to him?”

“He makes me crazy.” She clamped her mouth shut and folded her arms tightly across her chest.

“Loving him
is
a risk,” Olivia repeated her daughter's words back to her.

Justine groaned. “I
know
that, Mother.”

“Oh, Justine,” she whispered, hugging her daughter. “Think about it. Everything of value in life involves risk.”

Her daughter pressed her forehead against Olivia's shoulder. “Oh, Mom, I wish I knew what to do.”

“Follow your heart.”

“I can't,” she whispered brokenly.

“Why not?”

“I'm afraid it'll lead me straight to Seth.”

Olivia patted her back gently, but found it impossible not to smile.

C
harlotte was fast losing patience with Cliff Harding. He'd assured her he'd come to town to look over the things she'd taken from Tom's storage unit, but that was more than a month ago. Cliff continued to delay the meeting. Although his excuses sounded plausible, Charlotte could see that this simply wasn't a high priority for him.

That distressed her, but she wasn't sure what to do about it.

“I'd drive out and see him myself,” her friend Laura told her on the Monday following her birthday.

Charlotte was with her knitting friends at the Senior Center. A few weeks ago she'd casually mentioned talking to Tom's grandson, but hadn't told them everything involved. She wasn't about to admit, even to her nearest and dearest friends, that she'd committed a felony.

“I would, too,” Evelyn added. “From what you said, it isn't that far.”

“It'll mean driving on the highway.” Any road with more than two lanes terrified Charlotte. Cars whizzed past, and no matter what lane she was in, she seemed to annoy the other drivers, especially if she followed the posted speed. What did these people think the speed limit was, anyway? A suggestion? Everyone seemed to be in such an all-fired hurry these days. She'd drive over to see him if she had to, but she wouldn't like it and she'd make darn sure Cliff Harding heard about it.

“I don't know what it is with young people today,” Helen muttered, jerking on her yarn with unnecessary force. “They don't respect their elders the way
we
were taught to.”

“I couldn't agree with you more.” This came from Bess, who nodded emphatically.

“You were his grandfather's friend. One would think he'd welcome the opportunity to thank you.”

“It didn't escape my notice,” Helen said, leaning toward Bess, “that he didn't visit his grandfather, either.”

“I'm going to phone him again,” Charlotte said, decision made. “And I'll let him know when he can expect me.” She'd put it off for nearly five weeks already. Cliff Harding always had an excuse. There had been that business trip, and last week there was a brief message on her answering machine—one of his horses was about to foal and he couldn't leave. Charlotte could only imagine what his excuse would be
this
week. And the next. No, Laura was right, it was time to take matters into her own hands.

When Charlotte returned home, she tucked away her knitting, made a fuss over Harry, and then, filled with determination, headed toward her phone.

Tom's grandson answered, sounding far more congenial than he ever had before.

“This is Charlotte Jefferson,” she announced.

“Yes, Mrs. Jefferson, I've been meaning to get in touch with you.”

Charlotte just bet he had. Probably with another of his lame excuses. “I'm sorry to trouble you again, but seeing that you've been unable to keep your appointment with me—”

“That was what I planned to discuss with you. Would this afternoon be convenient?”

The indignation that had been bolstered by her friends' well-meaning advice was suddenly unnecessary. “This afternoon would be fine,” she muttered, feeling deflated and, truth to tell, a little disappointed. She'd been ready to blast him; she'd even worked out some very effective remarks about family duty on the drive home. Now she wouldn't be able to use them.

“I imagine it's a bit disconcerting to be sleeping with a gun under your bed.”

Charlotte heard the teasing in his voice and decided to ignore it. “Actually, I moved the gun to my underwear drawer.” She didn't mention that she'd wrapped it in an old girdle.

“Your underwear drawer?” he repeated.

Again, she'd amused him, but this time she couldn't fathom why. That was a clever hiding place in her opinion. No one breaking into the house, if they got past her overprotective cat, would think to search for anything of significance in a drawer of cotton panties. Anything that was the least bit important in Charlotte's house invariably ended up there. Her savings passbook was tucked inside her support panty hose. No thief was going to catch her off guard.

“What time will you be here?” she wanted to know.

“Is around four okay?”

“That would be perfect.” Charlotte gave him directions to her home and they ended the conversation. Then, because she wanted to be hospitable, she baked cookies. The recipe had been given to her three years ago at a seniors' potluck and it always went over well. Men, especially, seemed to like these cookies, which were thick with chocolate chips, coconut and pecans.

She'd just finished scraping the last of the batch from the cookie sheet when the doorbell rang. Charlotte hurried toward the front door, picking up Harry to keep him from escaping. Her cat purred in her ear as she turned open the three locks. The last one had been installed only recently. Charlotte wasn't going to make a thief's job easy for him, no sir. She couldn't afford one of those fancy security systems, but she had her own safeguards.

The man who stood on the other side of the threshold was a good six feet tall with a small paunch. He wore a cowboy hat and boots, blue jeans with a brown jacket and a string tie.

“Mrs. Jefferson?”

“Yes. You must be Cliff Harding.” She unlocked the screen door and held it open for him. “Come in, please.”

He stepped into her modest home and sniffed appreciatively. “You been baking cookies?”

“I just wanted to be neighborly,” she said, inviting him to take a seat on her sofa. She was ready. The silver service was set up, the pot filled with fresh coffee. The service was used only on rare occasions, but she wanted to make a good impression on Tom's grandson. The cookies were still warm from the oven.

Charlotte noticed that she didn't need to urge Cliff to help himself. She sat down across from him.

“How much do you know about your grandfather?” she asked, pouring for them both.

Cliff leaned forward and accepted the delicate china cup. “Only what my father told me.” This was said with a scowl. “And frankly, it wasn't complimentary. Tom Harding was a scoundrel and a womanizer.”

“That I wouldn't know. I only knew him during the last few months of his life.”

“Were you aware that he abandoned his family in order to pursue his film career? My grandmother and father lived on charity and died in poverty while Tom Houston, The Yodeling Cowboy, lived the high life. If I have no interest in his effects, I'm sure you can understand why.”

Charlotte found it difficult to think badly of Tom. This wasn't the man she knew. “By the time I met Tom, he'd suffered a stroke and had lost his ability to speak.”

“You said he requested to be transferred to Cedar Cove?”

“That's my understanding.” Charlotte reached for a cookie. She should avoid the unneeded calories, but these were simply too good to ignore.

“Do you think I was the reason?”

“I'm positive.” Charlotte didn't doubt it for a moment. “What you said about your grandfather may very well be true. I can't possibly know, nor is it important that I do. But I
can
tell you about the man who became my friend. He wanted to meet you, I'm convinced of that, but I think he was afraid.”

“Of me?”

She nodded. “He moved to Cedar Cove because it was
the closest facility to where you lived. It makes sense, doesn't it?”

“I suppose.” He didn't seem convinced.

“I understood Tom. Don't ask me how or why, but the two of us bonded. Some days it was almost as if we
could
talk. I understood what he wanted to say and he appeared to understand me.”

“My father said he always did have a way with the ladies.”

Charlotte stiffened, then decided Cliff was probably right. She wouldn't take offense, although that was her first instinct. “Your grandfather never had the chance to tell you he loved you.”

“Loved me?” Cliff flared. “He never even met me.”

“You're right, of course, but you were his only living relative. He'd obviously kept track of you. Otherwise, how would he have known where you were living or that you raised horses?”

“Are you
sure
he knew that?”

“I believe he did. The same way I'm confident he wanted you to have the things I took out of his storage unit. He wasn't able to be part of your life. Perhaps he felt he didn't have the right to intrude on you. But it's his blood that runs through your veins. He was proud of you—I know it. Proud to be your grandfather. This is all he had to give you.”

Cliff Harding set down his coffee and stood. Staring out the window, he turned his back to Charlotte. “I came this afternoon to thank you for your efforts on my grandfather's behalf and to tell you I wanted nothing to do with the man.”

“And now?”

“You're a very persuasive woman, Mrs. Jefferson.”

“Does that mean you'll take his things home with you?”
She hoped he would. And more importantly, she wanted him to examine each piece and discover the man Tom Harding had been. She feared Cliff would pack everything away without learning about his heritage.

“I'll take them.”

“And you'll carefully study what your grandfather left you?”

He nodded.

“I believe you've made a wise decision.” Sighing deeply, Charlotte knew she'd put in a good day's work. Somehow, she'd accomplished what Tom had wanted her to do. And on a more personal note, she'd be glad to remove the gun from her girdle.

 

Justine bought a slinky blue dress for her ten-year class reunion, but she didn't know who she was hoping to impress. Her one consolation, as she headed out the door for the festivities, was that Seth Gunderson wouldn't be attending. She should know. As the treasurer for the reunion, Justine had compiled a list of who'd signed up and who'd paid. Seth had done neither.

She felt humiliated arriving without a date, but why should this night be different from any other high-school function? Justine had been an outsider all through those years. She was the class brain, the valedictorian and the girl voted most likely to succeed. With several scholarships offered, she'd dutifully chosen a prestigious East Coast school and followed the course set out for her, but she was never truly happy.

She hated life on campus, hated being away from Cedar Cove. After her graduation, she'd taken a job at First National. In the years since, she'd been promoted steadily. Now she was
the youngest branch manager in Cedar Cove history, and one of the bank's youngest senior employees. Justine loved the challenge of her job and enjoyed playing an active role in financing the growth of her community. But she considered her personal life a dismal failure.

Warren would have attended the reunion with her if she'd pressed him. She hadn't, afraid her former classmates would assume he was her father or, even worse, an old teacher they couldn't quite place.

The high-school gymnasium looked great, if she did say so herself. The decoration committee, of which she was a part, had worked hard and done a fabulous job. Fresh flowers were everywhere, on the tables and in huge rented vases along the walls.

The band was already playing, and almost involuntarily Justine tapped her foot to the music as she waited in line to collect her badge and sign in. Everyone around her was talking; she was surrounded by squeals of recognition and “do you remember when's.” Just as she had in high school, she remained the outsider, listening in, smiling and pretending she felt at ease when she didn't.

Attending this reunion was a bad idea. Her instincts had told her that months earlier, and she should've heeded them.

“Justine!” Lana Rothchild hurried around the sign-in table and hugged her as though it'd been years since they'd seen each other. Actually they'd worked on the decorations together that very morning. “I
love
your dress.”

“Thanks.” The metallic-blue dress had short sleeves and a deep V in front. Knee-length, it clung to her trim figure. She'd bought the dress on impulse and had decided not to think too hard about it.

“Do you need any help?” Justine asked, looking for a way to appear busy and needed and part of the group.

“Everything's under control. You just enjoy yourself.”

Justine wondered if that was possible.

“I can't thank you enough for all the help you gave us,” Lana said as she handed Justine a badge.

With no further excuse to linger, she walked into the main part of the gymnasium. A few couples were dancing, a clump of women had gathered on one side, a group of men on the other—not all that different from the high-school dances she'd attended. Thinking a glass of wine would relax her, she found the bar and ordered a zinfandel, then stood by herself on the outskirts of the dance floor. It had been the same ten years earlier.

“Hello, Justine.”

Seth Gunderson stood directly in front of her, deeply tanned, his hair so blond it was almost white. His eyes had never looked bluer.

“What are you doing here?”

He grinned. “I graduated the same year as you, remember?”

“I mean…” She found it difficult to think. “Aren't you…I thought…well, of course we graduated the same—”

“I flew home for the reunion,” he said, answering the question she couldn't seem to get past her teeth.

“I realize that…what about…” Rather than continue making an idiot of herself, she simply stopped talking.

“You're surprised to see me. Actually, I surprised myself by deciding to fly down at the last minute.”

Surprised
was an understatement, as far as Justine was concerned.

“Would you like to dance?” he asked.

She couldn't stop staring at him. No man on earth had a right to look this good. Refusing him would have required more effort than she could possibly muster. Oh, yes, she wanted to dance with him. Wanted to slide into his arms, be held by him…