Lately Cliff had found plenty of reasons to drive into Cedar Cove. Charlotte Jefferson had called him in June regarding the grandfather he’d never known. Cliff certainly didn’t have any warm feelings toward Tom Harding, even if he was the famous Yodeling Cowboy, popular from the late thirties to the mid-fifties. Tom Harding had deserted Cliff’s father and grandmother in his quest for fame. Toward the end of his life, Tom must have regretted the pain he’d caused his family but by then it was much too late. Cliff was his only grandson and—at least according to Charlotte Jefferson—the old man had intended to contact him.
Charlotte had to be in her seventies, but she was a woman with plenty of spunk. She’d befriended his grandfather while doing volunteer work at the Cedar Cove Convalescent Center and had taken a liking to the old man. They were friends, Charlotte explained.
Old Tom had lost his ability to speak after a massive stroke, but apparently Charlotte was able to communicate with him just fine. She told Cliff that Tom had given her a key shortly before he died. Upon investigation, she’d found his personal effects in a storage unit and concluded that Tom was the onetime movie and television cowboy star. As Tom’s only surviving relative, Cliff was entitled to these mementos.
In the beginning, Cliff wanted nothing to do with the old man, but Charlotte wouldn’t hear of it. She’d made it her mission to make sure Tom’s things, which included posters, scripts and his six-shooter—were delivered to Cliff, whether he wanted them or not.
Once he met Charlotte, Cliff understood why his grandfather had felt so comfortable with the older woman, and over the course of the summer, they’d become quick friends.
He made a habit of stopping in to see her or giving her a call every couple of weeks. She appeared to enjoy these visits and bragged proudly about her two children and her grandchildren. Her son, William, lived somewhere in the south, if he remembered correctly, and a daughter, Olivia, was a family court judge right here in Cedar Cove. Cliff had yet to meet Olivia, although he did wonder if any woman could live up to everything her mother had said about her.
Now that Cliff had spent some time studying the items Charlotte had rescued from the storage unit, he’d come to appreciate what she’d done. He could think of no better way to thank her than by giving her one of the movie posters, which he’d had mounted and framed. Charlotte had genuinely loved Tom Harding and that was before she’d identified him as The Yodeling Cowboy.
Cliff parked his truck on the steep hill above the cove, angling his tires into the curb. Carrying the unwieldy poster, he walked up the few steps that led to the large family home. As usual, Harry, her “guard cat,” was curled up asleep in the living-room window. Even before he had a chance to ring the bell, Cliff heard Charlotte turning the door locks.
He’d never had the opportunity to count how many locks Charlotte had, but he suspected Houdini couldn’t have gotten inside. He wasn’t sure what she had hidden that was so valuable; he did know that anything precious was likely to be buried underneath a pile of panty hose. He was also aware that at some point in their conversation Charlotte was likely to ask him about his bowels.
“Cliff,” she said happily, unlatching the screen door, first one and then a second lock. “This is a pleasant surprise. I wish you’d let me know you were planning to stop by. I would’ve baked you a batch of cookies.”
That was exactly the reason he hadn’t phoned ahead. The woman was intent on fattening him up. Cliff didn’t need any assistance in that area—he already had a paunch that had come with middle age and he was trying hard to lose it. So far he was down ten pounds from the first of the year, although he swore it would’ve been easier to chip away rock. Until retirement, he’d never had to worry about his weight.
“I brought you a little something,” he said as she swung open the screen door for him. Harry raised his head, stared at him and apparently decided Cliff was a friend. The cat closed his eyes and resumed his nap.
“Sit down and I’ll make us a cup of tea,” Charlotte said. “And I’ve got some pound cake.”
“Don’t go to any bother.” He knew it wouldn’t do much good to protest, but he tried anyway. He was only going to stay for a few minutes. After leaving Charlotte’s, he’d drop off Grace Sherman’s credit card at the Pancake Palace. He might ask Charlotte if she knew Grace, since the older woman seemed acquainted with nearly everyone in Cedar Cove.
“You must be hungry,” Charlotte said, sounding hurt that he’d refused her offer.
“Charlotte,” he insisted, “open your gift.” It wasn’t wrapped, but the frame shop had slipped it inside a cardboard container.
Charlotte looked up at him quizzically. “This is for me?”
He grinned and nodded, enjoying her flustered reaction. Charlotte was the kind of person who was constantly giving to others but felt uncomfortable receiving anything herself.
She opened the cardboard, and Cliff helped her remove the frame. He held up the poster and heard the soft gasp when she realized what it was. She covered her mouth with one hand as her soft-gray eyes flooded with tears.
“Oh, Cliff, you shouldn’t have,” she said, blinking furiously. “This is far too valuable to give me.”
“Nonsense. I’m sure my grandfather would’ve wanted you to have it. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t even have any of these things.” Nor would Cliff have known anything about his grandfather, other than what his father had told him. He now saw Tom as more than a selfish, fame-obsessed bastard; he saw a regretful old man who would’ve liked to turn back the years and make different choices.
“You were a difficult nut to crack,” Charlotte reminded him, frowning.
He had to agree. She’d been persistent in calling and writing. If he hadn’t arrived on her doorstep when he did, Cliff figured she would’ve brought everything to him herself, venturing onto the freeway in a car he was sure had never been driven over forty miles an hour.
Charlotte reached for a lace-trimmed handkerchief in her apron pocket and blew her nose loudly. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Would you like me to hang it for you?”
“Oh, please.”
He’d come prepared to do that, assuming the task would require his assistance.
“Do you think it would be inappropriate for me to hang it in my bedroom?” she asked.
“I think that would be a perfectly fine choice,” he assured her. He followed her into the long hallway to the master bedroom at the far end of the house. The double bed against the wall had a plain curved headboard. An old-fashioned dresser with a large mirror sat on the opposite side of the room. She had a comfortable chair with worn green upholstery and a table with a reading lamp. Cliff guessed she did most of her reading there, gauging by the pile of books on the table.
“How about here?” Charlotte asked, pointing to a bare space on the white wall across from the bed.
Several pictures crowded the dresser top, but Cliff didn’t have a chance to study them. One did catch his notice, however. Charlotte saw what he was looking at and reached for the frame. “This is Olivia when she was six months,” she said, pointing to the picture of a baby. “She was an exceptional child even then.”
Cliff swallowed a smile. Six-month-old Olivia was sucking on her big toe and grinning with toothless delight. Cliff could only imagine what the judge would say if she knew he’d seen the photograph.
“Mom?” Almost as if the picture had conjured up Charlotte’s daughter, he heard a woman’s voice call from the living room. “Are you all right? The front door’s open and—”
“Oh, dear…” Charlotte rushed out of the bedroom. “Olivia?”
“The door was unlocked and you never—” Olivia said, meeting Charlotte in the hallway. She stopped abruptly when Cliff walked out of the bedroom.
Olivia stared at her mother and then Cliff.
“Hello,” he said, enjoying the perplexed look. Olivia had matured into a strikingly attractive woman. Now probably wasn’t the time to ask if she
was still agile enough to lift her foot to her mouth. He couldn’t keep from grinning, though. The resemblance between mother and daughter was most apparent in the eyes, although hers were brown. If he hadn’t known Olivia was a judge, he would have guessed she held some responsible position from the dignified way she carried herself. She was medium height, close to his own age, and her hair was still a lustrous brown.
“I’m Cliff Harding,” he said, stepping forward and offering his hand.
“Tom’s grandson,” Charlotte explained. “He was just hanging up a poster of The Yodeling Cowboy for me.”
Olivia frowned as they shook hands. “Oh, my goodness, you’re Cliff Harding!”
“That’s what I just said,” Charlotte murmured.
“He has Grace’s credit card.”
Actually Cliff saw Grace as the one who had his VISA card. “You know Grace Sherman?”
Olivia nodded. “We’ve been friends for years. She was planning to return your call this evening.”
Charlotte glanced helplessly from one to the other, as if she’d somehow missed hearing the punch line to a good joke.
As best he could, Cliff explained the situation.
“You’d better take care of that right away,” Charlotte advised. “Personally, I don’t use credit cards. It’s like carrying Monopoly money.”
“I’d hoped to get my own card back,” Cliff said. “Do you think I could drop in on Grace?”
“She works at the library,” Charlotte told him. “You could leave your truck parked here and walk over there. It’s only a few blocks away and I don’t expect we’re going to have many more of these sunshiny afternoons.”
“I think you should meet Grace,” Olivia encouraged. She shifted her gaze from him, and Cliff wondered if he was missing something.
“Oh, yes,” Charlotte agreed. “Olivia’s right, you should meet Grace. She could use a male friend after what Dan did to her.”
“Dan,” Olivia added quickly, “is her husband, correction…was her husband. He disappeared earlier in the year.”
The two women became engaged in a discussion about Dan’s whereabouts and their own suspicion—that he’d left Grace and run away with another woman.
“Grace filed for divorce last Monday,” Olivia told him.
The same day as the credit card mishap. No wonder she’d seemed distracted and preoccupied. No wonder she’d been alone. Although Cliff would’ve noticed her if she’d been in the middle of a crowd.
Grace Sherman was like…like a mountain wildflower. He wasn’t normally poetic and couldn’t really say why he thought of her in those terms, but that was the image that came to his mind. A flower that bloomed despite cold, wind and hardship. He’d tried not to be obvious, but she’d attracted him and he’d wondered about her. It’d been a very long time since he’d looked at a woman, any woman, the way he had Grace.
“I think I will take a walk over to the library,” he muttered.
“Good idea,” Olivia said brightly.
Charlotte’s daughter seemed eager to send him off. Perhaps she was trying to encourage him to meet her friend. If that was the case, Cliff didn’t need any prompting. After saying goodbye to Charlotte and Olivia, he left and strolled down the steep incline toward the waterfront. This was his first visit to the library and he stopped to admire the mural painted on the outside. The town sported several other murals, as well, which he’d often admired.
Grace Sherman stood at the front desk when Cliff entered the library.
She glanced up when he approached the counter. “Can I help you?”
“I’m Cliff Harding,” he said and waited.
It obviously took a moment for his name to register. “Oh, hi—you’re the one who has my credit card and I have yours. I’m sorry. I should have recognized you. If you’ll wait a moment, I’ll get my purse.” Grace took a deep breath, then said, “I was going to call you back this evening.”
“That’s what Olivia said.”
“You know Olivia?”
“We met this afternoon at Charlotte’s.”
Again she hesitated, as if needing time to connect all the dots. “You’re Tom Harding’s grandson. Charlotte’s often mentioned you. I apologize, I didn’t immediately realize who you were. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just be a moment.”
“Of course.”
She disappeared into a small office directly behind the counter and returned with her purse. His credit card was tucked inside a small white envelope. They exchanged credit cards, laughed about what had happened, then stood gazing at each other for an awkward few seconds.
It was now or never, Cliff decided. “I was thinking maybe we could laugh over this at dinner one night.” It’d been years since Cliff had asked a woman out on a date, and he felt a little uneasy. When she didn’t respond, he was sure he’d bungled the invitation.
“Dinner?” Grace finally echoed. “The two of us?”
Cliff spoke rapidly. “I’ve been divorced for the past five years. I haven’t dated since my wife left and…well, I think maybe it’s time I did.”
“I see,” she said, staring at him again. “I mean…” She paused and took another deep, audible breath. “Thank you.” She raised her hand to her throat. “You don’t know how flattered I am that you’d ask. Unfortunately, I’m not ready just yet.”
That was a fair reply. “When do you think you might be ready?”
“I…can’t say. I recently filed for divorce. I don’t feel it would be right for me to see anyone else until I’m legally free to do so.” She looked away. “I take it you heard about my husband?”
Cliff nodded slowly. “I’ll be waiting, Grace, and I’m a patient man.”
Her eyes met his and he saw the beginnings of a smile. That was something he hoped to see again. Soon.
“You’d better tell me what’s wrong.” Jack said, his stocking feet propped up against the ottoman in front of Olivia’s large-screen television. Tuesday night was their date night. Olivia had invited him over for dinner and The New Detectives on the Discovery Channel. Lately they’d taken turns supplying the meal. This week it had been Olivia’s turn and she’d baked a chicken casserole that was worthy of a cooking award. He generally brought takeout.
“What do you mean what’s wrong?” she countered.
“You’ve barely said a word all night.”
Olivia sighed and rested her head on his shoulder. It’d been his lucky day, that morning nine months earlier when Jack had strolled into her courtroom. New to Cedar Cove and the newspaper, he’d visited the divorce court, jaded by his own experience and expecting to hear what he always did.
But Olivia was different. A young couple, Ian and Cecilia Randall, had stood before her, accompanied by their attorneys. Another divorce, two people with shattered hearts pretending they were above the pain. Only it radiated from both of them. Jack saw it and wondered if anyone else did. He assumed all those involved in the legal process had become blind to the human wreckage that appeared before these judges. Couples walked in battered and broken, emotionally crippled by the pain husbands and wives so often inflicted on each other.
The Randalls had lost an infant daughter, Jack recalled, and were asking Olivia to rescind their prenuptial agreement so they could file for divorce. Olivia denied the petition and, in essence, had denied their divorce. Jack’s column that weekend had praised her courage.
Olivia hadn’t appreciated the unwanted attention, but she’d forgiven him. In the months since, he’d gotten to know Olivia Lockhart. They’d grown close, and he was beginning to hope this relationship had a future.
“Are you going to tell me?” he asked, wondering if he was reading more into her silence than he should. He’d had his own bit of troubling news this afternoon, but he wasn’t ready to disclose it.
“I’m worried about Justine,” Olivia said after a moment.
“How so?” As far as Jack knew, Olivia’s daughter was deeply in love with her fisherman husband.
“
She was seen having lunch with Warren Saget last Friday.”
“Warren?” Jack had never understood what Olivia’s daughter saw in the land developer. Now that Justine had married Seth, he’d hoped Warren would move on to greener pastures—which in his case probably meant an even younger woman.
“You heard it or Justine mentioned it?”
“I heard it,” Olivia said and gnawed on her lower lip. “Justine doesn’t share much with me.” She gazed at him with wide anxious eyes. “I think…she regrets marrying Seth.”
Jack removed his feet from the ottoman and leaned forward. This was serious. He frowned, trying to think of something reassuring he could say. But he was hardly an expert on the parent-child connection. His relationship with his own son was on rocky ground and with good reason. As a child, Eric had suffered from leukemia. Jack had turned to the bottle for solace, and for years he’d emotionally abandoned his wife and son. Following the divorce, Eric hadn’t wanted anything to do with his father. Jack couldn’t blame the boy; nevertheless, it stung. Now after several years of sobriety and with Olivia’s encouragement, he’d made a determined effort to reestablish contact.
Olivia and her daughter struggled with their relationship, too, but on an entirely different level.
“Just ask her,” Jack advised. “She’d probably be willing to tell you.”
A quick shake of her head dismissed that idea. “I can’t…Justine will resent the intrusion. I don’t dare say a word unless she brings it up. Besides, I don’t want her to know I heard about her lunch with Warren. She’ll accuse me of listening to gossip.” Olivia dropped her feet and bent forward. “How is it,” she asked, “that I can make judgments in a courtroom that affect the future of our community and yet I can’t speak openly with my own daughter?”
204 Rosewood Lane Page 3
