204 Rosewood Lane

by Debbie Macomber

  Out of habit, she looked up when the bank’s double glass doors swung open and watched as Warren Saget walked in, bold as could be. He moved directly toward her desk, his manner confident. Justine hadn’t seen him since her impromptu wedding. Unfortunately they hadn’t parted on the best of terms. Warren had been angry when he learned she’d married Seth and had made some ugly, spiteful remarks. Frankly Justine wasn’t up for a second confrontation.

  She rose from her chair. At five-ten, plus her heels, she was as tall as Warren. She wore her straight brown hair long and parted in the middle, just as she had in high school, which emphasized her height. By standing, she sent a nonverbal message that she wasn’t about to let him intimidate her—and that she intended to keep this meeting short. She absolutely would not allow him to create a scene in front of her staff and customers. Zach Cox, a local accountant, nodded in her direction as he left the bank. Justine acknowledged him and returned her attention to Warren. “Hello, Warren.”

  “Justine.” He met her eyes and the expression she read on his face told her that her fears were unfounded.

  “I came to apologize,” he said. “I owe you that.”

  “Yes, you do.” She crossed her arms and shifted her weight from her left foot to her right, conveying impatience.

  “Can I take you to lunch?” he asked, then rushed to add, “It’s the least I can do. I said some things I shouldn’t have, and I’ve regretted it ever since.”

  “I don’t think being seen together is a good idea.”

  Warren’s brown eyes revealed his disappointment. “I can understand that,” he said, graciously accepting her refusal. To her astonishment, he sat down in the chair across from her desk.

  Unsure what to expect next, Justine sank into her own seat.

  “How’s Seth?” he asked. “Still in Alaska?”

  She nodded. “He won’t be home for a few more weeks.” Twenty-eight days to be precise, if everything went according to schedule. She crossed off the days on her calendar every night as she slipped into her bed, alone and lonely. They hadn’t discussed the future; there hadn’t been time. One thing was certain—Justine hated the thought of her husband leaving her for several months each year. Already she dreaded next year’s fishing season, which would start in May.

  “You’re looking good,” Warren said with a glint of admiration.

  “Thank you,” she said, unsmiling.

  He sighed. “I know you don’t believe me, but all I want is for you to be happy.”

  Warren had been married and divorced three times and had asked her to be his wife on several occasions. Justine had always refused. She’d never had any interest in marrying Warren.

  Aware of her growing attraction to Seth, Warren had purchased a startlingly large diamond ring in the hope of changing her mind. Justine hated to admit that the size of that diamond had briefly weakened her resolve. She knew Warren would have loved slipping the ring on her finger and claiming her as his exclusive property. But the man who’d pampered her was hurt and regretful now. He was asking her to forgive his angry reaction to her marriage.

  “Well, perhaps we could go for lunch,” Justine said and knew she’d made the right decision when Warren’s face instantly brightened. She laughed at the way he bounded out of his chair, not bothering to disguise his eagerness. Seth wouldn’t mind her seeing Warren on a social basis now and then; Justine was sure of that. He respected her independence and her good sense, and he realized she’d never abuse his trust.

  “Where would you like to go?” he asked. “Any place you want, you name it.”

  “D.D.’s on the Cove,” she suggested, choosing his favorite restaurant.

  “Perfect.” He smiled approvingly.

  Justine reached for her purse and followed him toward the front door, which Warren held open for her. “Shall we walk?” she asked. D.D.’s was only a couple of blocks away, but Warren usually preferred to drive.

  “Sure,” he said. He was making a real effort to be accommodating. He stopped himself from taking her hand, she noticed, and was grateful. She’d actually missed Warren. Yes, he had his faults, but he could be a good conversationalist and had a sharp mind. There was a history between them, too, a history that had more to do with friendship than romance. In his own way he loved her and she cared for him, too, although not with the same intensity she did Seth. With her husband, the attraction was physical and powerful, but in the few days they’d spent together before he left for Alaska there hadn’t been time for much conversation. Their intense hunger for each other had overwhelmed them both. Justine didn’t need words to know how Seth felt. His lovemaking proved it again and again.

  That weekend seemed like a dream now, and she wondered if what they’d discovered could possibly be real.

  At the restaurant, Warren and Justine were seated outside. The patio wouldn’t be open much longer. Already autumn was in the air, but Warren chose to dine alfresco instead of at a table inside, knowing she enjoyed the sunshine.

  “I hope we can still be friends,” Warren said, smiling as the waitress handed them menus.

  “That would be nice.” She told herself again that lunch every now and then wouldn’t bother her husband. Seth wasn’t the jealous type and for that matter, neither was she.

  Justine and Warren had a common interest in the financial world, so there was plenty to discuss. Their conversation over lunch went smoothly and the ache in Justine’s heart had lessened by the time they finished. She still missed Seth dreadfully, but didn’t feel nearly as alone and lost as she had earlier in the day. Warren hadn’t asked to see her again, hadn’t pressured her at all. After lunch they said farewell outside the bank, she thanked him for the meal and he left.

  Later that afternoon, as she drove toward her apartment, Justine’s spirits were high, higher than they’d been all week. But when she approached the row of mailboxes outside her building complex, she hesitated, afraid to find out if there was a letter from Seth.

  She needed to be reassured of his love because her greatest fear was that he regretted their sudden marriage. Her heart pounded as she unlocked the box and slid out the mail.

  No letter.

  She sorted through the advertisements, junk mail and two bills a second time, just to be sure. Another Friday night alone in front of the television, she thought. She could phone her mother, but Olivia had been dating Jack Griffin from the Cedar Cove Chronicle and was probably busy, anyway. Feeling defeated, Justine walked into her apartment and tossed her mail on the kitchen counter, kicking off her heels.

  A few weeks ago, she would’ve relished a Friday night to herself. Warren almost always had plans for them. But all of that was irrelevant now, and feeling sorry for herself didn’t serve any useful purpose. If she missed Seth, then she should do something that would make her feel close to him.

  His sailboat came immediately to mind. The Silver Belle was moored at the marina and Seth had given her the key. When he wasn’t fishing in Alaska he lived aboard the vessel. Or at least he had until their marriage. They hadn’t even talked about where they’d live when he got back…. That could wait, but right now, she needed the comfort of being in his home, among his things. If she spent the night there, she could wrap herself in his blanket, sleep in his clothes, breathe in his scent. She’d slept there several times and always felt better.

  Pleased with the idea, Justine changed out of her business suit and into jeans and a sweatshirt. She collected a novel, a new CD for her Walkman and fresh clothes for the morning. She’d pick up dinner on the way to the marina.

  She’d just reached the parking lot when she realized she’d left her cell phone behind. If Seth phoned, he’d call that number. Heading back to the apartment, she unlocked the door and opened it to hear the muted peal of her phone. She lurched for it, pushing the talk button with a sense of urgency.

  “Hello, hello!” she shouted. “Seth? Seth, is that you?”

  Only a dial tone greeted her question. Quickly she checked Ca
ller ID—the number was unfamiliar, although prefaced by 907, the Alaska area code. She punched it in, letting the phone ring ten times before finally giving up.

  Grinding her teeth with frustration, Justine sagged onto the edge of the sofa and rammed her fingers through her hair. It was Seth; it had to be. He must’ve called her from a pay phone on the wharf.

  One minute away from her phone and she’d missed talking to her husband.

  “I’m home.” Zach Cox let himself in the back door off the garage and stepped into the kitchen. His jaw tightened at the mess that greeted him. The sink was piled high with breakfast dishes, and the milk from this morning’s cereal was still on the countertop.

  “Who left out the milk?” he demanded.

  His two children—conveniently—didn’t hear him. Fifteen-year-old Allison was sitting at the computer in their home office, cruising the Internet, and Eddie, who was nine, lay prone on the family-room carpet in front of some mindless television program.

  “Where’s Mom?” he asked next, standing directly over his son.

  Eddie lifted one arm and pointed wordlessly toward the sewing room.

  Zach ambled in that direction on his way to the bathroom. “Hi, Rosie, I’m home,” he told his wife of seventeen years. “What’s for dinner?”

  “Oh, hi, honey,” Rosie said, glancing up from the sewing machine. “What time is it, anyway?”

  “Six,” he muttered. He couldn’t remember when he’d last come home and found dinner in the oven. “The milk was left out again,” he said, thinking it would need to be dumped after sitting for ten hours at room temperature.

  “Eddie fixed himself a bowl of cereal after school.”

  Okay, he figured, the milk might be salvageable.

  She lined up the shiny black material and ran it rapidly through the machine, pulling out pins as she went.

  “What are you sewing?” he asked.

  “A Halloween costume,” she mumbled with four or five pins clenched between her lips. “By the way—” she paused and removed the pins “—Eddie’s school is having an open house tonight. Can you go?”

  “Open house?” he repeated. “You can’t be there?”

  “No,” she said emphatically. “I have choir practice.”

  “Oh.” He’d had a long, trying day at the office and had hoped to relax that evening. Instead, he was going to have to attend this event at his son’s school. “What’s for dinner?” he asked again.

  His wife shrugged. “Call for a pizza, okay?”

  It was the third time in the last two weeks that they’d had pizza for dinner. “I’m sick of pizza.”

  “Doesn’t that new Chinese place deliver?”

  “No.” He should know; he’d had Chinese just that afternoon. Janice Lamond, a recently hired employee, had picked up an order of sweet-and-sour shrimp for him. “Besides, that’s what I had for lunch.”

  “What do you want then?” Rosie asked, busying herself with the cape that was part of the Harry Potter costume Eddie had requested.

  “Meat loaf, mashed potatoes, corn on the cob and a fresh salad.”

  Rosie frowned. “I think there’s a meat loaf entrée in the freezer.”

  “Homemade meat loaf,” Zach amended.

  “Sorry, not tonight.”

  “When?” he asked, cranky now. It wasn’t too much to ask that his wife have dinner ready when he came home from work—was it? As an accountant, Zach made enough money to ensure that Rosie could stay home with the kids. This arrangement was what they’d both wanted when they started their family.

  At one time, Zach had assumed that when Allison and Eddie were in school, Rosie would come and work in the office with him. The firm of Smith, Cox and Wright often required additional staff. Rosie had always intended to get a job outside the home, but it just never seemed to happen. The school needed volunteers. Then there was Brownies when Allison was eight or nine, and now Cub Scouts for Eddie. And sports, after-school clubs, dance lessons… It soon became obvious that the demands on Rosie’s time wouldn’t be alleviated as the kids grew older. Because they both believed their children’s needs should come first, they’d decided Rosie shouldn’t re-enter the workforce.

  “I’m tired,” Zach told his wife, “and I’m hungry. Is it unreasonable to expect dinner with my family?”

  Rosie took a deep breath, as though she was struggling to hold on to her patience. “Eddie’s got an open house at school tonight, Allison’s coming with me to practice with the junior choir and I’ve got to finish this Halloween costume before Friday. Eddie needs it for his soccer team’s party. I can only do so much.”

  He could hear the annoyance in his wife’s voice and resisted asking her what she’d been doing all day while he was at work.

  Rosie glared at him. “If you want me to stop everything right now and fix you dinner I will, but I have to tell you, I think you are being unreasonable.”

  He considered her words, and then feeling defeated and a bit guilty said, “Fine. I’ll order pizza.”

  “Be sure and tell them no green peppers,” she said, refocusing her attention on the costume.

  “I like green peppers,” he muttered, not realizing Rosie could hear him.

  “Eddie and Allison hate them—they prefer black olives. You know that. Now stop being difficult.”

  “All right, I’ll order sausage with olives on one half and green peppers on the other.”

  His wife rolled her eyes expressively. “I’m not all that fond of green peppers myself, you know.”

  So, in addition to being unreasonable, he was selfish. Well, at least he was batting a thousand. “Sausage and black olives, then,” he said.

  “Great.” He walked over to the kitchen phone, having memorized the number for Pizza Pete’s. He placed the order and made his way to the master bedroom.

  “Where are you going now?” Rosie asked as he passed the sewing room.

  “To shower and change.”

  “Do you have to?” she muttered.

  “What’s wrong with that?” he demanded.

  She pushed away from the sewing machine and stood up. “I thought you might wear your suit to the open house.”

  “Why?” He’d been waiting all afternoon to remove his tie.

  “It’ll make a better impression if you meet Eddie’s teacher wearing a suit. Mrs. Vetter will know you’re a professional.” She coaxed him with a smile, then brushed a piece of lint off his shoulder and smoothed away a wrinkle. “You look so handsome in your suit,” she said, smiling. “Maybe you should shave, though.”

  Zach ran his hand down his face, feeling the bristle scratch against his palm. She was right. “If I shower and shave, then I’m changing out of this suit.”

  Rosie’s frown deepened. “I don’t know why you have to be so difficult.”

  “If I had a decent dinner every once in a while, maybe I’d be more inclined to do as you ask,” he snapped. He couldn’t help remembering how pleasant lunch with Janice had been. She’d joined the staff the first of the month and had already proved herself as far as Zach was concerned. She was a quick learner, competent, cooperative. Twice she’d gone out of her way to make sure he had what he wanted for lunch. Only that afternoon she’d insisted on driving over to Mr. Wok’s for the shrimp dish.

  Sitting on the end of the king-size bed, Zach yanked off his jacket and laid it beside him. Unfastening the buttons at his wrist, he rolled up his shirtsleeves and headed into the bathroom.

  He was running hot water for a shave when Rosie came into the room. “Do you have enough cash for the pizza guy?”

  “I think so,” he said. “Check my wallet.”

  His wife met his gaze in the mirror. “I’m sorry about dinner.”

  “You’re busy.”

  “It was crazy today,” Rosie said, sitting on the edge of the Jacuzzi tub. They’d special-ordered it when the house was built three years earlier and it’d taken months to arrive. Rosie had wanted it badly enough to give up using tile o
n the hallway and kitchen floors. Zach would have opted for the tile floors but he hadn’t been able to refuse his wife this small luxury. Yet he couldn’t remember the last time Rosie had actually used the tub. Like him, she was in and out of the shower, rushing from one obligation to the next.

  She went on to tell him about her day, the committee meetings, Allison’s dental appointment and some library function she’d agreed to coordinate. “I don’t know how mothers who work outside the home get everything done.”

  “I don’t, either,” Zach said, although he suspected that his associates’ wives put dinner on the table at night and still managed to work forty hours a week. He also suspected those other wives were better organized than Rosie.

  “I’ll cook dinner tomorrow night,” she promised.

  Zach spread shaving cream across his face. “Meat loaf and mashed potatoes?” He didn’t hold out much hope, but it sounded good to hear the promise.

  “Whatever you want, big boy.”

  Despite his irritation, he grinned. Maybe he was just being difficult.

  Two

  The credit card must belong to the woman who’d sat across the restaurant from him last Monday, Cliff Harding decided. He’d noticed her. It wasn’t like he could have missed her; they were the only two people in the Pancake Palace that afternoon. The lunch crowd had left and it was too early for dinner.

  She was attractive and about his age, but she seemed distracted, caught up in her own thoughts. He’d be surprised if she even remembered he was there. They’d paid for their meals at about the same time and that was when it must have happened. His bill was correct, but it was Grace Sherman’s credit card he’d slipped back inside his wallet. She apparently had his.

  All week he’d gone about his business, oblivious to the fact that he was carrying someone else’s VISA card. If an attentive clerk at the pharmacy hadn’t pointed it out, he might not have noticed for even longer.

  As soon as he was home, he’d looked up Grace Sherman in the phone book with no luck. However he did find a listing for a D & G Sherman at 204 Rosewood Lane, Cedar Cove. The voice on the answering machine was that of a woman, so he left a message and waited for her to return his call. Thus far, no one had phoned and he suspected he had the wrong Sherman. What he should probably do was give the credit card to the manager at the Pancake Palace and request a replacement for his own.