Debbie Macomber's Cedar Cove Series, Volume 3

by Debbie Macomber

  Justine giggled and put her arms around her husband’s neck. “You’d think by now we’d know how babies are made.”

  “If it was up to you, we’d live in a shoe and have a dozen children.”

  “Three suits me just fine,” she assured him, although she’d be the first to admit she loved being a mother. She could hardly believe that at one time she’d been willing to give all of this up without even knowing what she’d be missing.

  The pregnancy would be this year’s Christmas surprise for her family. Keeping it secret had been far more difficult than she’d expected. At least a dozen times she’d been tempted to tell her mother and her grandmother. Both would be thrilled.

  “Can I help with anything?” Seth asked.

  “You could check Livvy’s diaper,” she said.

  Seth swept his daughter into his arms and carried her to her room. When he returned a few minutes later, Livvy’s head lolled against his shoulder.

  “Did you have a chance to get the mail?” he asked.

  “Not yet.”

  “I’ll do it.” Seth set Livvy down on the carpet. She leaned her head against the sofa cushion. She’d woken late that morning and hadn’t been interested in a nap. Now her eyes drooped as her thumb found its way into her mouth.

  Justine had sucked her thumb, too; so had Jordan. After washing her hands, Justine picked up her sweet baby girl and brought her back to her crib. She gently placed her inside and covered her with the blanket Charlotte had knit for her.

  Seth came into their daughter’s bedroom as she sat beside the crib, watching Livvy’s deep, even breaths.

  He stood beside her. “It’s difficult to fathom how much love we can have for children, isn’t it?” he whispered.

  “Impossible to believe until we become parents ourselves,” she whispered back.

  They left the bedroom and Seth closed the door.

  “Anything interesting in the mail?” Justine asked as he sat down, flipping through the envelopes. She poured her husband a cup of tea and joined him at the kitchen table.

  “The usual Christmas cards—and one rather interesting letter.”

  “Oh? Who from?”

  Seth leafed through the holiday cards until he came across a plain, business-size white envelope. He glanced at it again, then handed it to her.

  Justine saw that the envelope held her name—and only hers. The return address made her catch her breath. After taking a moment to compose herself, she raised her eyes to meet Seth’s. “It’s stamped prison mail. The postmark is Shelton, Washington—that’s where the state prison is. One of them, anyway.”

  “I noticed that, too.”

  “There’s only one person who could be writing me from there.” The paper seemed to grow hot in her hands.

  “Warren Saget,” Seth muttered.

  Justine dropped the letter on the table and avoided looking at it.

  “Aren’t you going to open it?” her husband asked.

  “I…I don’t know.” She’d once had a deep affection for Warren, a successful local builder, although he was old enough to be her father. They’d dated for a while. He’d liked having a tall, beautiful woman on his arm, and she’d liked the fact that he was rich and powerful and made no physical demands on her.

  He couldn’t. That was their little secret. With Warren she was safe from emotional—and physical—entanglements. Safe, until she’d agreed to work on the class reunion project and Seth had shown up. Justine hadn’t wanted to become involved with Seth, yet he was all she thought about. Warren had offered her a huge diamond engagement ring. He was willing to do anything not to lose her. But even that diamond hadn’t enticed her. All she wanted, all she needed, was Seth.

  “I wonder if Warren has any idea of everything he did for us,” Seth commented.

  Her husband’s words jarred Justine from her reverie. “You mean what he did to us, don’t you?” Warren had tried to destroy them.

  “But in the end that’s what saved our marriage.”

  “You’re right,” she said slowly. “Ironic, isn’t it?”

  “We were killing ourselves with the restaurant, working all hours of the day and night....”

  “You don’t need to remind me,” Justine said, shaking her head at the memory. It’d been a difficult period in their marriage. They’d been working impossibly long hours with no time as a couple or a family.

  The restaurant had been Seth’s dream. For nearly ten years he’d saved his money from fishing the crab-rich Alaskan waters. He’d lived on a sailboat in the marina while in town, and spent every waking moment studying restaurant management. He’d dreamed of one day opening an elegant seafood restaurant in Cedar Cove. Together they’d made his dream come true, and the Lighthouse had been the success he’d always planned.

  But Seth had worked far too hard. Justine shared his dream, and they’d redoubled their efforts until it all became too much. By then Leif had been born, which meant Justine was torn between being with her son and working at the restaurant.

  Their marriage had started to show the stress of too many demands and too few hours. For the first time Seth and Justine had been at odds.

  Then, one night, the restaurant had burned down. All their dreams, all their hard work, their blood, sweat and tears, had gone up in smoke.

  Even now, memories of that night were surreal. After being contacted by the authorities, they’d rushed to the scene and walked around in a stupor, shocked and bereft. It wasn’t long before the fire inspector declared it’d been arson.

  Someone had purposely set their restaurant on fire. The police had what they called “a person of interest,” a high school kid who’d worked there briefly before Seth let him go. Anson Butler had a history of being in trouble and had started fires when he was younger. Someone had seen him inside the restaurant that night. Then Anson disappeared.… Meanwhile, Justine and Seth were left to pick up the charred remains of their life. The stress on their marriage brought them close to the breaking point.

  It didn’t help that Warren took every opportunity to talk about how good things had been between them. Justine didn’t believe it, not for a minute; still, it was comforting to have someone pay her that kind of attention.

  Not working and depressed, Seth had struggled emotionally. He’d given up fishing in Alaska, and she was grateful. She wanted her husband with her. Leif needed him. So did she.

  It was during this time that she’d come up with the idea of building a tearoom and giving it the ambience of England’s Victorian era. The plans were already in motion when Seth was approached by a family friend who owned a boatyard and offered him a job in sales. Seth took it and turned out to be a natural.

  Later, thanks to Sheriff Troy Davis, Warren Saget was arrested, tried and convicted of arson. Currently, he was serving time in prison.

  Justine poked at the envelope with her finger. She expected to feel something. Some emotion. Regret. Anger. Something. Instead, she felt nothing. Only a sadness that Warren could have been this vindictive, this desperate. He’d never forgiven her for leaving him and he’d wanted to punish Seth for stealing away the one woman who understood him, understood his needs.

  “Are you going to read it?” Seth asked.

  “Do you want me to?”

  He thought about it, then nodded.

  Personally, Justine would be content to toss the letter. Yet a part of her wanted to know what Warren had to say. Taking a deep breath, she
opened the envelope and pulled out a single sheet of paper. She read it, then crumpled it in one hand.

  “What did he say?”

  “Just that he’ll be up for parole in a few years and wondered if I’d be waiting for him when he’s released.”

  “You’re joking!”

  “The man is delusional,” she groaned. Even now, Warren seemed to be living in a dreamworld. He’d convinced himself that she was pining for him, anticipating his release. Needless to say, she had no interest in the man who’d done his best to ruin her and Seth’s lives.

  Taking the letter, she threw it inside the recycling bin, among the unwanted flyers and empty cereal boxes.

  Seth grinned, and she grinned in reply. “Merry Christmas, my dear husband.”

  “Merry Christmas, my darling wife.”

  Thirteen

  “What are we going to do?” Sophie whispered to her older sister. “Nothing’s turning out like we planned.”

  “You’re telling me?” Bailey muttered back. Dinner was on the table. The lasagna, with the salad next to it, sat in the center. Wooden serving utensils leaned against the side of the large salad bowl. The bread was out of the oven, and the warm pungent scent of butter and garlic wafted through the house.

  Peering out the swinging kitchen door into the formal dining room, Bailey saw that the situation was even worse than she’d realized. Mom was in one corner of the room, deep in conversation with Ted Reynolds. Danielle and Dad stood on the opposite side. Danielle appeared to be talking Kent’s ears off, no doubt regaling him with horror stories of the time she’d spent alone with his daughters. She was clutching her cell phone—again. While Kent and Beth were away, she’d made repeated calls but hadn’t connected, growing more and more frustrated. Her impatience with Bailey and Sophie had increased just as quickly.

  Okay, so that part of their plan had worked perfectly. Danielle had been stuck with the two of them, and she hadn’t liked it one bit. She’d been outsmarted by Beth and wasn’t in any mood to be friendly with Bailey and Sophie. Besides, she was distracted, frequently calling and texting some unknown person.

  Not long after their parents left, Bailey and Sophie had learned that Danielle knew next to nothing about making a Caesar salad. She assumed all salad dressing came out of a bottle. When Bailey informed her their mother made her own, Danielle snarled that she could make her own, too, only she needed a recipe. Tearing through Beth’s cookbooks, she finally came up with one but was disgusted by half the ingredients. No way was she using anchovies! In the end, she’d opted for the bottled Italian dressing she’d found in the fridge.

  “Your mother makes her own dressing. Oh, yeah, I can tell!” Danielle had brandished the half-full bottle. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” she’d raged. “You’re just saying that so I’ll feel inferior.” Danielle fumed until Kent returned. Her cell phone was in her hands constantly, and her thumbs worked at sending text messages. Bailey and Sophie had several whispered conversations about it, wondering who she was trying so hard to reach.

  Danielle had cornered Kent in the dining room, her mouth moving at warp speed. It didn’t look as if Dad had an opportunity to say much of anything.

  Bailey refused to believe he was dumb enough to actually fall for Danielle. It contradicted everything she knew about her father.

  The instant their parents had walked in the house, Bailey sensed something was wrong. She’d quickly discovered the cause. Mom had invited Ted Reynolds to dinner. Oh, great. Based on what she’d heard from Beth, Bailey had suspected for a month or two that Ted was interested in their mother. The invitation had probably been a defensive move on Beth’s part; unfortunately, it’d sent the wrong message to Dad.

  Now Bailey and Sophie were battling on two fronts. They certainly could’ve done without this additional complication.

  “Look at them,” Sophie muttered as the sisters peeked out the door. Mom was still talking to Ted, with her back to Dad, who also had his back to her. If that wasn’t bad enough, Danielle chattered at their father like a noisy crow. Her parents couldn’t even look at each other. Communication, what little there was of it, had come to a complete standstill.

  “This isn’t going to work.” Bailey felt like dumping the so-called Caesar salad over her parents’ heads. “We need to figure out what to do next.”

  Sophie nodded. “We’ve got to think of something fast.”

  “This divorce should never have happened,” Bailey moaned—not for the first time. If she or Sophie had guessed their parents were planning to split up, the girls would’ve stepped in much earlier. Now the situation was much more difficult, and there were other people involved. Now she and her sister were stuck cleaning up the mess.

  Bailey shrugged. She brought the salad plates into the dining room and said, “Dinner’s ready if you’d like to sit down.” She did her best to sound cheerful and festive.

  They took the chairs closest to where they stood. That put Danielle beside their father, and Ted and their mother across from them, leaving the two end chairs for Bailey and Sophie.

  “Mom made the lasagna,” Bailey said, although everyone already knew that. Before she could mention Danielle’s role in their dinner, the other woman broke in.

  “And I made the salad and the bread, which I’m sure you’ll find delicious.”

  Both men smiled, apparently impressed with the woman who’d managed to spread garlic butter on a sliced baguette. From their admiring gazes, one would think Danielle was qualified to open her own restaurant.

  Bailey wanted to point out that the lasagna had required a great deal more expertise than buttering bread. She opened her mouth, but before she could utter a word, she caught her mother’s look. Funny how much Mom could communicate in a single glance. Bailey snapped her mouth shut.

  Beth served generous slices of lasagna. The salad and bread were passed around the table to sighs of appreciation. Ted poured the wine he’d brought with him. After filling the glasses, he looked around the table. “A toast?”

  They all raised their goblets, but before Ted could speak, their father beat him to it. “To a wonderful meal shared with family and friends.”

  “Hear, hear,” Ted added. They all touched the rims of their glasses, then tasted the wine.

  “This is excellent,” Beth said, praising Ted’s choice.

  “Very good,” Kent agreed.

  Wine, Bailey mused. That was it. A common link—her parents were both interested in wine. Well, so was Ted, but she was going to ignore that.

  “It’s a pinot noir,” Ted was saying, “from Oregon.”

  “Ted and I discovered it a couple of weeks ago at a fundraising event,” Beth said. “I generally prefer the rich, deep reds, so this one took me by surprise.”

  Oh, yes, life was full of surprises, Bailey thought. Some of them weren’t pleasant, either—her mother and father being a prime example.

  Dinner became less awkward as they enjoyed the wine and the meal. Conversation revolved around the holidays. Beth talked about the ski trip to Whistler, and the girls chimed in, excited at the prospect of an entire week on the slopes. In the past it had been a family trip, with their father included.

  As soon as everyone had finished, Bailey and Sophie jumped up, eager for an excuse to leave.

  Bailey carried two dinner plates into the kitchen and set them in the sink. Sophie followed with two more.

  “Why didn’t you do something?” her siste
r hissed. “Getting Mom and Dad back together was your idea.”

  “That doesn’t mean I have to do everything, does it?” she returned in a heated whisper. A few suggestions from her younger sister certainly would’ve helped.

  Back in the dining room, Bailey could see that Danielle was texting on her cell phone again, keeping it hidden below the table, although everyone knew what she was doing.

  “I’m afraid we’ll have to leave early,” Kent said reluctantly. “Unfortunately, Danielle isn’t feeling well.”

  “Can I get you anything?” Beth asked, sounding concerned.

  Bailey wanted to suggest a broom, but her little joke was unlikely to be appreciated, so she said nothing.

  “I apologize,” Danielle murmured, pressing her fingertips to her temple. “I have a terrible headache that won’t go away.”

  A headache? That was the weakest excuse in the book. A regular ol’ headache? Couldn’t she be a bit more imaginative? Perhaps a sprained thumb from all that texting?

  “So you won’t be able to come to church services with us?” Sophie asked with such a lack of sincerity it was embarrassing.

  “I think I should get Danielle back to the bed-and-breakfast,” their father said.

  Mom didn’t waste any time retrieving their coats. Standing at the front door, their dad loitered a moment, as if he wanted to say something else. “It was a lovely day,” he finally said.

  “Thank you,” Beth said simply.

  “Kent?” Danielle insisted.

  “When will I see you again?” Kent asked, directing the question to Beth. His eyes held hers.

  “Ah…”

  “Mom.” Bailey jabbed her elbow into her mother’s side.

  “Tomorrow?” Beth suggested, poking her right back. “Christmas morning. You and Danielle are welcome to join us.”

  Danielle shook her head. “I doubt—”

  Kent cut her off. “What time?”