Debbie Macomber's Cedar Cove Series, Volume 3

by Debbie Macomber

  “I heard Beth has ten more puppies to find homes for now.”

  “Nine,” Grace was pleased to tell her. “Beth is elated. Bruce and Rachel Peyton let Jolene have a puppy for Christmas. She’s named her Poppy.”

  “I hope everything’s okay,” Olivia said, frowning slightly. “I don’t want to see them in my courtroom.”

  “The situation seems to have resolved itself. When I spoke to Rachel, she said all three of them were in counseling and making great strides.” Then Grace added, “I’ll be grateful when Rachel returns to the salon. My nails are a mess without her.”

  “Grace!”

  “Well, it’s true.”

  They heard a car door slam in the distance. Beau’s head came up and he leaped down from his resting place on Grace’s lap. Barking, he ran to the front door, tail wagging furiously.

  She followed him and opened the door to Cecilia Randall.

  “Merry Christmas,” Cecilia said, giving her a bright red poinsettia.

  Cecilia didn’t seem to have changed since the last time Grace had seen her. True, her dark hair was shorter now, stylishly cut, but she was as slim and elegant as ever.

  Cecilia broke into a big grin. “You look exactly the same as I remember.”

  “I was just thinking the same thing about you.” Grace set the plant on a small table near the entry. As she closed the door she glanced over at the barn. Ian and the two children were already talking to Cliff, who’d led the pony into the yard. Cliff had Pixie saddled and was introducing her to the children. Grace would serve them cookies and hot chocolate later when they came in. “Olivia’s here.”

  “Oh, good! I was hoping for a chance to see her.” As Cecilia moved into the kitchen, Grace hung up her scarf and wool coat.

  “Hello, hello,” Olivia said. Standing, the two women exchanged hugs.

  “Sit, please,” Grace said. She took out another mug and filled it with coffee.

  There was a lot of laughter and smiling as they caught up with one another, but then Cecilia grew serious. She turned toward Olivia. “I was out to see Allison this morning.” She bowed her head slightly. “Do…do you ever visit your son’s grave?” she asked in a small voice.

  “Yes,” Olivia admitted softly. “On Jordan’s birthday, Justine and I put flowers by his headstone.”

  “Ian and I went this morning and cleaned off her grave. The kids brought her a poinsettia.”

  “It’s still difficult, isn’t it?” Olivia said, reaching across the table to squeeze Cecilia’s hand.

  Grace leaned over to grab a tissue and passed it to the young woman.

  “Do you still cry?” Cecilia asked, unmistakable pain in her voice. The loss of her infant daughter was an anguish that might fade but would never disappear. Grace knew that from her own experience, losing Dan.

  “Yes,” Olivia said. “We don’t forget our children. Ever. We can’t. There’s been a gaping hole in my heart—in my life—ever since we lost Jordan. He was only thirteen.…” She cleared her throat. “I’ve chosen to fill that hole with love.”

  “I have, too,” Cecilia whispered. “Love for Ian and our other children. Both Aaron and Mia know they had an older sister. On Allison’s birthday last year, Aaron wanted to bake her a cake.”

  “Did you?”

  Cecilia nodded. “It never felt right to leave Allison when Ian was transferred. I’m so glad we’re moving back.”

  “We’re glad, too,” Grace told her. Then because she was afraid they’d all end up weeping, she changed the subject. “So, you’re looking for a house....”

  “Oh, yes.” Cecilia wiped the tears from her eyes and straightened. “Ian and I want to talk to you about the house on Rosewood Lane.”

  Grace smiled happily. “Well, as I said, my last renters left when their lease expired, and the house is empty. Cliff and I would be delighted to rent it to you.”

  Olivia checked her watch. “Sorry to rush off, but Justine needs me to babysit this afternoon.”

  “Of course.” Grace stood, too, and hugged her friend. “If I don’t see Charlotte, make sure you thank her for the fruitcake.”

  “Will do.”

  “See you Christmas Eve at Noelle’s birthday party, right after church.” She briefly explained, for Cecilia’s benefit, who Noelle was and that she’d been born here at the ranch a year earlier.

  “Yes, see you then,” Olivia confirmed. She put on her coat and gloves and wished Cecilia a merry Christmas. Grace walked her out, returning to find Cecilia by the back door, looking at her children, who were taking turns on the pony. “About the house,” Cecilia began, moving back to the kitchen table. “Ian and I—”

  A polite knock sounded at the door, but before Grace could reach it, Ian Randall came inside. “Hello, Grace,” he said warmly. “Cliff said I should go on in. He’s taking the kids into the barn to feed the horses.” Giving an obligatory bark, Beau trotted over to him and Ian crouched down to stroke the sleek, soft head.

  “They’re going to love that,” Cecilia said. “Aaron is such an animal person.” She might as well have said, And so is Ian.

  “Would he like a puppy for Christmas?” Grace rushed to ask, knowing how desperate Beth was to find good homes.

  “He’d love one,” Cecilia replied, “but with the move, a puppy—”

  “He can pick one out. They’re at a tree farm owned by Beth Morehouse, a friend of ours. If you get a puppy, Cliff and I can keep him here with Beau until you’re back in Cedar Cove.”

  Cecilia and Ian exchanged a glance. “That’s too much to ask.”

  “Not at all. And it would be a huge help to Beth. Someone abandoned ten puppies on her porch and she needs good homes for them before Christmas.”

  “Aaron’s responsible, and he’d love it,” Cecilia prompted. “Besides, we’d be rescuing a puppy. What do you think?” She looked at her husband, obviously attracted to the idea.

  Ian shrugged. “A puppy for Aaron would be a great gift…if you’re positive you don’t mind keeping him for a few weeks.”

  “We wouldn’t mind in the least,” Grace assured him.

  “Okay, that’s settled. We’ll go and see your friend, pick out a puppy.” Ian pulled out a chair and sat down next to his wife. “Did Cecilia mention the house on Rosewood Lane?”

  “We’d just started to talk about it,” Grace said. “I told her it’s available and we’d love to rent it to you again.”

  Ian shook his head.

  “You don’t want it?” This surprised Grace because she remembered how fond Cecilia had been of the place and all the small homey changes she’d made. “My mistake. I’m sorry,” she said with some embarrassment.

  “Actually, Cecilia and I were wondering,” Ian said, clasping his wife’s hand, “if you and Cliff would consider selling us the house.”

  “Selling,” Grace repeated. “Oh…I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “I brought it up to Cliff,” Ian continued, “and he said the decision was yours.”

  “Well…yes, I suppose it is,” Grace murmured. Her immediate reaction was not to sell. Her emotional attachment to the house on Rosewood Lane remained strong. “Can I think about it and get back to you sometime in the next couple of days?”

  “Of course,” Ian said.

  The back door opened again and Cliff came in with the two children. Aaron was instantly on the floor, playing with Beau, and Mia ran to tell her mother all about riding Pixie.

 
The rest of the visit passed in a blur for Grace, preoccupied as she was with Ian’s request. She served cocoa and cookies and presented the Randalls with the small Christmas tree, which thrilled the kids, but she was hardly aware of anything that was said. The young family left soon afterward.

  Grace and Cliff waved them off and returned to the house.

  “From the look on your face, Ian must have said something about wanting to buy the house.” Cliff walked over to the coffeepot and refilled his mug. He leaned against the counter as he waited for her reply.

  “He did.”

  “And?”

  “I…don’t know if I can give it up.”

  “Then tell them it’s only available to rent,” he said matter-of-factly.

  “But…this is exactly the type of family I’d want to sell the house to.” Grace found she couldn’t keep still. She walked over to the refrigerator and opened it for no reason. Closing it, she circled the kitchen table.

  “I understand.” Cliff came up behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders. “It’s a big decision.”

  Grace exhaled slowly. “It is…but I think it’s time,” she said with sudden resolve. “My old life was on Rosewood Lane. My new life is here with you—and Beau.”

  Lying on the braided carpet beneath the kitchen table, Beau raised his head and barked once. Apparently, he was in full agreement.

  Three

  Two down and eight puppies to go.

  Saturday morning, the day before Christmas Eve, Aaron Randall—as well as his parents and little sister—had stopped by and picked out a puppy. Grace, bless her, had agreed to keep tiny Poko until the Randalls returned to Cedar Cove in the second week of January. He was with her now, as it would’ve been too difficult to look after the puppy in the hotel room.

  The Randalls’ rental car pulled out of the driveway just as another vehicle turned in.

  Kent. Obviously driving a rental, too. It was a bright blue sedan, not his usual style at all.

  It couldn’t be anyone else. He’d phoned shortly after he’d arrived at Thyme and Tide, and said he was on his way over.

  Despite herself, Beth felt another wave of excitement. She hadn’t slept all night, trying to make sense of his unexpected need to connect as a family again. Granted, he saw their daughters more often than she did, since both attended college in California. But all four of them together at Christmas… It had been a long time. Even if, as she suspected, Bailey and Sophie were involved in this, Kent didn’t have to go along with it. But he had.…

  Still, she wondered if she was reading more into the situation than it warranted; all the same, she considered scenarios of what this Christmas would be like. Then there was Ted. He was a close friend, and while they’d shared little more than a few chaste kisses, the relationship looked promising. She felt it and thought he did, too.

  Beth remembered Christmases when the girls were young. She remembered laughing with Kent, the two of them shushing each other as they stayed up half the night assembling tricycles and later bicycles and then fell into bed exhausted. In an hour or two, Bailey and Sophie would be jumping up and down on the mattress, shrieking that Santa had come.

  One Christmas Eve they’d gone for a sleigh ride in freshly fallen snow, snuggling under a blanket, keeping one another warm. Kent had stolen a few hot kisses while the girls giggled and hid their eyes, complaining that it was “yucky” to see their parents kiss.

  Beth smiled. They’d had some really good years together. Somewhere along the way, though, their lives had changed. No, their marriage had. They’d grown apart. It wasn’t any big disagreement, no betrayal or unforeseen revelation. Instead, an accumulation of small slights and annoyances had eventually grown from a small distance into a huge crevasse. One that had deepened and widened over the years until they’d been unable to reach across it....

  Was it possible? Did Kent regret the divorce? Beth had more than a few regrets herself. They’d both been so stubborn, so unreasonable, so eager to prove they didn’t need each other anymore.

  Perhaps if they’d been the kind of people who yelled and stomped around the house, everything might have gone differently. Instead, once the subject of divorce had been broached, they’d been so darned polite. Attorneys said there was no such thing as a “friendly” divorce, but that hadn’t been Beth’s experience. Theirs had been not only friendly but accommodating and fair. But maybe that was just on the surface. Maybe going ahead with the divorce was unfair—to both of them.

  She’d gotten busy at the college and Kent had his engineering company. They’d been like those ships in the old cliché, passing in the night, each drifting in a different direction. She had her life and he had his.

  Kent claimed he found her friends stuffy and boring, and stopped attending social functions with her. Beth decided his friends were snobs. He didn’t seem to mind that she stayed home when he had an event, and after a while she wondered if he’d met someone else. It wouldn’t have surprised her. Although he’d never admitted it… They were so remote at that point, spending almost no time together. Oh, they slept in the same bed but rarely touched, rarely communicated about anything other than routine or functional things. Like who was picking up milk or paying the electricity bill.

  She was the one who’d suggested divorce. At first Kent had seemed shocked. But he’d recovered quickly enough. He’d simply said that if she wanted a divorce, he wouldn’t stop her…and he hadn’t.

  They’d divided everything as equitably as possible, sold the house and parted ways. It’d all been so civilized, so straightforward, as if twenty-three years as husband and wife meant nothing.

  When the final decree came through, Beth decided to leave the academic world. She’d been seeking a geographical cure, she supposed, considering it now. The Christmas tree farm had been the solution she’d been looking for. She had her dogs and a menagerie of other pets, including two canaries, a guinea pig and now the puppies. Eight puppies. She also fed a number of feral cats. And she’d made new friends and found new purpose....

  Kent—and, yes, it was Kent, as she’d expected—parked the car and turned off the engine. Beth pretended she was busy. Too busy to even glance in his direction. But despite herself, she was excited. Happy.

  All she’d ever wanted from him was some indication that he still loved her, that he still cared. His insistence on spending Christmas with her and the girls, no matter how it had come about, was the first time either of them had made a move toward the other. Could this be the start of a reconciliation?

  Her heart rate accelerated and she brushed her hair behind both ears. She wished now that she’d worn something other than her ever-present jeans. Dressing up a bit would’ve been a subtle way of letting Kent know how pleased she was that he’d extended an olive branch. She had on a long-sleeved shirt beneath her red V-neck sweater, which would have gone nicely with her black wool pants. Oh, how she wished she’d put on her black wool pants.

  The car door closed, and Kent stood there, looking at her.

  “Hello,” she said, surprised by how shaky her voice sounded. “Welcome to Christmas Tree Lane—and Cedar Cove Tree Farm.”

  He zipped up his jacket and grinned. “The house is fabulous. The girls were right.”

  “Thank you.” The porch railing was covered with swags of evergreen and twinkling white lights. More lights hung from the roofline, glittering brightly in the dull gray winter morning.

  The passenger car door opened and Beth saw that Kent
hadn’t come alone. A lovely, young—much younger than Beth—woman climbed out. She was tall, lithe and stylishly dressed in a full-length black coat and long, high-heeled black boots. She towered an inch or two above Kent, who stood at nearly six feet. Her blond, shoulder-length hair was perfect.… Actually, everything about her seemed perfect in an urban, sophisticated way that contrasted painfully with Beth’s farm clothes, disheveled hair and work-roughened hands.

  Beth blinked and her heart almost stopped as reality hit her. Kent had brought another woman. They were together. A couple. He was seeing someone else now. This little fantasy she’d built around a reconciliation was only that—wishful thinking.

  It took her a moment to recover and realize that every assumption she’d made was completely and totally off-base. Kent hadn’t come to spend Christmas with her and the girls. His sole purpose was to show off this…this model.

  Nothing had changed. Nothing ever would.

  “Hello.” Beth greeted the other woman with a forced smile and an extended hand. “I’m Beth Morehouse. The ex-wife.”

  “I know,” the woman said in a sultry voice that was sweet enough to caramelize sugar. “I’m Danielle.”

  Just Danielle? No last name? Like Cher or Madonna or Beyoncé?

  “Welcome to my Christmas tree farm,” she said, placing emphasis on her ownership.

  The screen door flew open and Bailey raced onto the porch. “Dad!”

  Sophie was directly behind her sister. They darted down the stairs like young fawns in their rush to hug Kent.

  Her ex-husband opened his arms, and his daughters launched themselves into his wide embrace.

  “How are my girls?” he asked, his voice warm with affection.

  “Missing you, Daddy,” Sophie murmured.

  “Who’s that?” Bailey asked starkly, frowning at Danielle. Apparently, she was as shocked as Beth.

  “This is Danielle Martin,” he said, sliding his arms around each of their waists.