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“Very good.” She filled his water glass. “You want ranch dressing on your dinner salad?”

“Please. Still driving the school bus?” he asked, although he already knew the answer. She'd stopped doing that around the same time she stopped doing the books for Hassie Knight. Giving up those jobs had been an act of faith for her. Her entire income now came from the restaurant and what she collected from Social Security. He'd asked the question because he craved conversation with her; he wanted to hear something that would tell him he'd been in
her
thoughts, too. Their last official date had been in July, following Lindsay and Gage's wedding, and he'd gone out with five or six women since then. Not one of them held his interest or stayed on his mind the way Rachel did.

“Janice Moser's driving the school bus these days,” she told him. Rachel disappeared and returned a few minutes later with his salad and a basket of bread sticks. “Your lasagna will be ready soon.”

“Do you have time to chat?” he asked. It wasn't as though she was busy right now. It was only a little after five, early even for him.

“Sure.”

He pulled out the other chair for her. She sat down, folding her hands demurely.

“How's Mark?”

“Fine. Leta Betts watches him for me. It works out all around. She said she'd go stir-crazy nights if it wasn't for Mark keeping her company. Says it gives her a reason to cook dinner.”

“How's Kevin liking art school?” Heath asked.

“So far so good,” she said.

Reaching across the table, Heath took one of Rachel's hands. He opened her palm and studied the lines but they told him nothing. Unfortunately he couldn't read fortunes, hers
or
his.

“How about dinner Sunday night?” he suggested. “Just the two of us.”

“I can't,” she said without pause. “We've been through this before. Sunday evening is my time with Mark.”

“It isn't that you can't, you won't.”

“Fine, I won't, then,” she said. The chair made a scraping sound as she stood. “Besides I thought you were dating Tammy Zimmerman.”

So Rachel was paying attention. Heath had wondered.

“We went out a couple of times,” he admitted. “She's free on Sunday nights.”

“However, I'm not,” she said and quickly retreated into the kitchen.

Heath was forced to wait several minutes before she returned, this time with his dinner. She set the steaming plate of lasagna in front of him and wordlessly turned away.

“You're avoiding me, Rachel,” he said, watching her.

She froze, her back to him. Slowly she turned around. “I am not.”

“Why won't you go out with me?”

She shook her head as if he were the saddest excuse for a man she'd ever seen. “Your problem, Heath Quantrill, is that you're spoiled rotten. Everyone's catered to you your entire life. I won't, so get used to it.”

“Whatever,” he said with no emotion. “But if you
aren't
avoiding me, then you set a time and day.”

She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it.

“Could it be that what I said is true?”

“Saturday morning at eight,” she snapped. “You can take me to breakfast.”

“Fine,” he murmured, feeling a sense of triumph. “I'll come by the house to pick you up.”

B
randon Wyatt was at a complete loss. He stood in the middle of his yard, the milking pail in his hand, while he mulled over recent events. Joanie had left a message on his answering machine, their first communication in nearly a week, informing him that she'd canceled their session with Dr. Geist. He should've been shouting with glee; instead, he feared the worst. It almost seemed as if Joanie was giving up on them, giving up on a reconciliation.

He'd consented to the counseling sessions in an effort to save their marriage. But at the time, he would've agreed to stand on his head in the middle of the highway if it brought his family back. He didn't mean to be obstinate with Dr. Geist or with Joanie, but it seemed ridiculous to be making lists and talking
around
their problems instead of tackling them head-on.

Joanie kept saying she wanted him to change, but he didn't know how. Didn't know what he'd done that was so terrible. He hated the fact that he came away from every session feeling lower than when he'd gone in. He'd hoped they would learn to communicate better, learn to share their hopes and feelings, but that wasn't the way things had turned out. Dr. Geist had them talking about personality types, strengths and weaknesses and while that was all well and good, it didn't help him tell Joanie how he felt about their marriage.

A drop of rain splashed his face, and he realized he'd stopped midway between the barn and the house, a pail of milk in his hand. He had chores still to do, although with the crops harvested, the strenuous work was done. Yet he hardly had the energy to finish even tasks as simple—and necessary—as feeding the animals. He felt as bad now as he had when Joanie and the kids first left.

He fed the milk to the pigs and worked outside until lunchtime. The minute he walked into the house, the phone rang. Depressed as he was, he didn't bother to answer, preferring to let the machine catch it. After bolting a quick sandwich, he went back outside and had almost completed his daily chores when he saw the car approach. He paused, the pitchfork still in his hand, when he realized it was Joanie. A twinge of excitement was quickly followed by a deep sense of dread. Her coming probably meant bad news. His biggest fear was that she was going to tell him she wanted to go ahead with the divorce.

He shoved the pitchfork into the hay, determined to accept whatever she decided. For all intents and purposes, they were living like a divorced couple, anyway.

Joanie parked the vehicle, and with a heavy heart, he walked over to greet her.

“I thought if you had time, we should talk,” she said, and then before he could respond, she leaned inside and lifted out the baby carrier.

“I have time,” he said, thinking it was best to get this over with as quickly as possible. He carried the baby, car seat and all, into the house. His two-month-old son slept soundly, unaware of what his parents were about to do.

Brandon entered the kitchen and carefully set the baby in the middle of the table. Cupping the side of Jason's head with the palm of his callused hand, he regretted that he barely knew this child. With Sage and Stevie, he'd played a major role in the early months of their development. Because Joanie had ended up having C-sections, he'd been the one to get up during the night, change their diapers and bring the babies to her for feeding. All three births had drained her of energy, and each time it had taken her weeks to recuperate.

Brandon had missed those early-morning feedings with Jason. He'd missed a great deal with Sage and Stevie this past year.

“You got my message about canceling the session with Dr. Geist?”

He nodded and avoided looking at Joanie.

“I wasn't sure…”

“If you want me to apologize, I will,” he said, interrupting her. “I'm sorry. For everything. If you want to go ahead with the divorce, I wish you'd just tell me and be done with it.” He tried to keep the anger out of his voice, not wanting to startle the baby or give Joanie any more reason to hate him.

“If you'd allow me to finish,” Joanie said pointedly, as if she, too, were having trouble holding on to her temper. “As you know, Dr. Geist got called out of town unexpectedly and had to cancel.”

“She's the one who canceled? Not you?”

“Yes,” Joanie said in a lightly accusatory tone. “I thought you said you got my message.”

“I…did.” Brandon couldn't remember her mentioning the reason their session had been canceled, only that it had. The prospect of missing the dreaded hour with Dr. Geist had distracted him from hearing the last part of the message.

“That's one of our problems, Brandon.”

He blinked, not understanding. “So I don't listen to telephone messages as thoroughly as you think I should.” Add that to the list of all his other faults. This was what the counseling sessions had been to him—an onslaught of blame. Two women—one of whom he loved—telling him what an inadequate husband and father he was.

“If you'd listened to the whole message, you would've known exactly why I was calling. You always assume the worst.”

Oh, so he was negative, too. He nodded, accepting the criticism, figuring she was probably right.

“The answer to your other question is no,” Joanie said.

“No?”

“I'm not going through with the divorce. It isn't what I want—”

“I don't, either,” he said and realized he'd interrupted her again. “Sorry,” he muttered, feeling foolish.

“Dr. Geist said it might be better for us to try a different counselor. She gave me the names of a couple of others if we're interested in continuing.”

He tried to hide the uneasiness he felt, but wasn't much good at disguising his feelings. Joanie already knew how he felt, anyway. She knew he hated everything about these counseling sessions. “Do you want to continue?” he asked reluctantly.

“I…don't know. I think we should, but I know you were uncomfortable with Dr. Geist. What do
you
want to do?”

He hesitated and then decided that since they were being open and honest with each other, he'd tell her what had been in his heart. “I like it when you do that.”

“Do what?” She frowned, obviously puzzled.

“Ask my opinion about something that involves us both.”

Now she was the one who looked uncertain. “I thought I always did that.”

“If you do, I don't hear it.”

The baby woke and started to fuss. Because he had so few opportunities to be with his son, Brandon reached for Jason and gently held the infant in his arms. “Remember my incredible baby swing?” he asked, grinning at his wife.

Sage had suffered terribly with colic, and Brandon had discovered that if he supported her in both hands and swung her back and forth with his arms outstretched, he could comfort her when all the conventional methods failed.

“You used to rock her for hours,” Joanie remembered.

“You did, too,” he said. Taking care of Sage, especially during those first few months, had been a combined effort.

Jason began to sputter and cry. “He's hungry,” Joanie explained, taking him from Brandon. She unfastened her blouse and freed her breast for their son. Jason eagerly turned his face toward his mother and sucked greedily, until tiny bubbles of milk appeared around his mouth.

Mesmerized, Brandon watched the two of them, his heart so full of love he had to look away. “I love you, Joanie,” he whispered. He went down on one knee at her side to kiss the baby's head.

Joanie leaned over and kissed Brandon, their child between them. “I love you, too. I've always loved you.”

Embarrassed by the emotion that came over him, he stood, moving across the room, pouring himself a cup of coffee he didn't want.

“I'm willing to try counseling again,” he told her. “If you want to make an appointment with one of the counselors Dr. Geist recommended, that'll be fine with me.”

“Our normal session was supposed to be tonight,” she said.

“I know.”

“Instead of seeing the counselor, would you like to come into town for dinner with me and the kids?”

Brandon had missed family dinners more than he would have dreamed possible. “Yeah, I'd like that.”

“The kids would, too.” And then she added, “So would I.”

Brandon felt wonderful, exhilarated. By the time Joanie left an hour later, he was more optimistic about the future than he'd been since she'd moved back to Buffalo Valley.

That evening, when Brandon arrived to join his family, Sage and Stevie flew out of the house and raced toward him. Sage, being older and faster, reached him first and hurled herself into his arms. He loved all his children, but he shared a special closeness with his daughter, and had from the very first moment he'd held her.

“Mom made your favorite dinner,” Sage told him, “and I helped her.”

“I helped, too,” Stevie insisted. “Boys can cook, you know.”

In the past year Brandon had learned his way around a kitchen and had actually surprised himself with his aptitude. “Yes, they can,” he agreed.

Joanie was busy in the kitchen, and he kissed her on the cheek, stealing a cherry tomato from the salad when she wasn't looking. Sage covered her mouth and giggled. Brandon pressed his index finger to his lips with an exaggerated wink.

They all set the table together. Joanie had placed a vase of chrysanthemums in the middle, and they were using her good cloth napkins, not paper. Besides the salad, Joanie had made a beef casserole and an apple pie for dessert.

Dinner was a companionable, easy time. Afterward Brandon, Sage and Stevie washed dishes while Joanie bathed Jason. When they'd finished, Brandon went over their school assignments and then read to Sage and Stevie. Once they were down for the night, he returned to the living room, where he discovered Joanie rocking and nursing Jason. She sang softly to the infant, and Brandon could see that she was tired, on the verge of sleep. It was time for him to head back to the farm, but he found himself stalling, not ready to leave.

“Thank you for dinner,” he said. She opened her eyes and smiled at him, then lowered her gaze. He wanted to tell her how beautiful she looked, but was afraid of what she'd think if he did. She might assume he was complimenting her in an effort to get into her bed.

That very morning she'd chastised him for making assumptions.

“You're more beautiful every time I see you,” he whispered. He was about to qualify his remark, assure her he was sincere, that the sentiment came straight from his heart. But he said none of that, letting his words stand alone.

Joanie glanced up from the baby and blinked rapidly as if fighting back tears. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Reluctantly he got to his feet. “I'd better start back,” he said.

He'd walked all the way to the door when she stopped him. “Do you have to leave?”

His heart nearly flew out of his chest. He turned around and stared at her. “Are you asking me to stay the night?”

She nodded.

He needed to be sure there was no miscommunication. “Can I…will I be sleeping with you?”

“If you want to,” she answered with a soft, suggestive smile.

He welcomed the opportunity to show her how much!

 

On a Wednesday morning late in October, Maddy was busy assembling a Halloween display of breakfast cereal in the front of the store. The Loomis twins had helped her and she'd gotten carried away with the decorating, but she loved it. She was busy weaving cobwebs over the cereal boxes when Sarah Stern walked in.

“Hello, Sarah,” Maddy called out, waving her hands to free her fingers of the angel-hair spiderweb. She climbed down the ladder and, hands on her hips, examined her handiwork, pleased with the effect.

The cereal display wasn't the only place she had spiders lurking. Giant black plastic spiders hung from the ceiling, dangling from varying lengths of string all about the store. In each corner she'd built huge webs, connecting them to cardboard tombstones. A couple of flying ghosts hovered over the produce aisle, and near the cash registers, a tape filled with eerie sounds played from a cassette behind the counter.

“My goodness, it looks more like a haunted house in here than a grocery store,” Sarah teased.

Maddy agreed. “It does, doesn't it?” she said, laughing at herself. “I went way beyond sensible, but this is simply too much fun. I've already got ideas for Thanksgiving and Christmas. What do you think of Santa's sleigh and eight reindeer suspended from the ceiling?” she asked.

“I suggest you stop now,” Sarah advised.

Maddy laughed. “You're probably right. Before I know it I'll be bringing in a cast of thousands.”

Sarah walked over to the cleaning supplies aisle, which sported a covered archway and baskets of dried corn and pumpkins spilling onto the floor. “I suspect the Loomis twins had a hand in all this zaniness.”