92 Pacific Boulevard

by Debbie Macomber

  Her daughter glared as though the offer had offended her.

  “A hug wouldn’t hurt,” Shirley added.

  Tanni shrugged. “I suppose so.“

  Shirley put down her knitting, then stood and walked over to her daughter. She couldn’t remember the last time Tanni had permitted her to show any affection. An involuntary sighed escaped as she slid her arms around her daughter.

  To her shock and delight, Tanni hugged her back.

  “You’re going to do just fine,” Shirley said. “And so is Shaw.“

  Tanni leaned her head against her mother’s shoulder. “I hope he does.“

  “I know you do.“

  “But I’m afraid,” Tanni whispered. “What if he’s so successful he doesn’t want anything to do with me?“

  Shirley wasn’t sure how to reassure Tanni. She couldn’t promise that wouldn’t happen and some part of her actually hoped it would.

  Tanni broke away and straightened.

  Shirley returned to her knitting; Tanni stayed in the room. After a couple of minutes, Tanni said, “The school passed around a notice from Grace Harding, the woman who runs the library.“

  “A notice for what?“

  “The library’s looking for volunteers to work with kids and dogs,” Tanni told her.

  “Dogs in the library?”

  “That’s what it said. Ms. Harding is bringing in dogs from the animal shelter and letting children with reading problems read to them. A lot of kids at school say it’s silly, but I think it’s a great idea.”

  “Why would the library need volunteers? Don’t they already have quite a few?”

  “I’m not sure, but this is something I’d like to do.”

  “Okay. It sounds interesting.”

  “There’s a meeting next week and I want to go.”

  “I’ll be curious to hear more about it.”

  “I’ll let you know.” Tanni started to leave. Halfway across the room, she stopped and glanced over her shoulder. Then, in a casual tone, she said, “Thanks for listening, Mom.”

  Tears welled up in Shirley’s eyes. “You’re welcome,” she whispered.

  A year after losing her husband, it almost felt as if she had her daughter back.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Saturday evening, after spending eight hours on her feet at the cash register, Christie was tired. Bone-deep tired. For months, day after day, it’d been nothing but work and school. She couldn’t even remember her last visit to the Pink Poodle.

  They’d had exams that week and Christie decided she deserved a small reward. She’d done all her assignments, studied hard and become proficient with both a camera and a calculator. One beer wouldn’t hurt, and it would be good to reconnect with her friends.

  She pulled into a parking space, and out of the corner of her eye saw a limo at the back of the lot.

  No. It couldn’t be. James? Had he come looking for her? Was he waiting there on the off chance she’d show up?

  Well, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d dropped by the Pink Poodle, but it would be the last! Climbing out of her car, she slammed the door and marched toward the parked limo.

  Rapping hard against the dark windows, she didn’t immediately realize the vehicle was empty.

  She rubbed her knuckles. If James wasn’t in the limo, that probably meant he was in the bar. That was fine with her. She’d flirt with her friends and ignore him, a prospect that filled her with renewed energy.

  Walking into the tavern, Christie first spotted Kyle, a divorced plumber. Several other guys were there, too, mostly sitting at tables. A few of them were playing pool.

  “Hey, look who’s here.” Kyle lifted his beer mug in salute.

  “Christie!” Bill slid off his stool to give her a hug.

  Larry, who worked the bar, automatically got her a draft.

  It didn’t take her long to find James. He sat alone in a corner of the room. That wasn’t a beer he had, nor did it resemble a mixed drink. From the looks of it, he was sipping a soda.

  “Where’ve you been?” Kyle asked when Christie slipped onto the bar stool next to her old friend.

  “Oh, around.”

  “I heard you been taking college classes,” Larry commented, setting the frothy mug in front of her.

  “Yeah, I decided it was time to get serious about a career.”

  If James had noticed her, he didn’t give any sign.

  Bill sidled up next to her.

  “What’s with the guy in back?” she asked, pointing at James.

  “We call him the Professor,” Larry said and his voice fell to a whisper.

  “Does he come here often?”

  Kyle shrugged. “Once or twice a week.”

  “Been comin’ by every so often for the past couple months. Never says a word. All this time and none of us even know who he is.”

  “He’s James Wilbur,” she said automatically. She hadn’t meant to acknowledge him. Her problem, one of many, was her inability to keep her mouth shut.

  “You know him?”

  Rather than lie, she took her first sip of beer while she tried to come up with a reasonable response. “Not really. I thought I knew him at one time, but I was wrong.” She wasn’t sure how much sense that made—at least to them.

  “Hey, just a minute.” Kyle glanced from Christie to Bill, and then to Larry. He held up one finger. “I remember him.”

  “You do?” The question came from Bill.

  “He’s the guy who hung out in the parking lot before Christmas.”

  Larry nodded in recognition. “The guy in the limo!”

  “Is it out there now?” Kyle asked. He and Bill hurried to the door. “Yup,” Kyle told them a moment later. “Sure is.”

  “Looks like he finally worked up the courage to step over the threshold,” Christie said, playing along.

  All three men laughed, causing a few of the other patrons to turn in their direction.

  “You might want to say hello,” Larry said.

  Christie shook her head. “Why would I do that?”

  “You said you knew him. He’s been pretty morose, sitting there nursing his Diet Coke.”

  Diet Coke. The man was as skinny as a rail and he drank Diet Coke? For some reason she couldn’t explain, the thought made her furious.

  “Sure, Christie, go say hello.” That was Kyle, throwing in his two cents’ worth.

  “I’ll bet he’s been waiting for you all this time,” Bill said in a teasing voice.

  “Oh, puleese.”

  All three grinned.

  “Hey, he looks like he could use a friend.“

  Talking to James hadn’t been part of her plan, but when the guys urged her to go over, she found the suggestion irresistible. At this point she didn’t have a clue what she intended to say. It’d probably end up being something stupid. But even knowing that wasn’t enough to stop her.

  James didn’t look up as she approached, which sort of ruined things. She didn’t wait for an invitation to pull out a chair and join him.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded.

  He answered by lifting his Diet Coke and taking a sip.

  “What’s the matter, have you forgotten how to talk?”

  “No.”

  James had always been a man of few words, but never fewer than now.

  “The guys said you’ve been coming around for a while. Any reason?“

  “You.“

  She rolled her eyes. She hated one-word responses. “Would you care to elaborate?“

  “No.“

  “Fine. If that’s the way you want it.” She sat sideways in the chair, crossed her legs and made idle circles with her foot. It felt good to sit after spending so many hours on her feet.

  James ignored her and she ignored him. After a few minutes, she could see this wasn’t going anywhere, so she started to stand. His hand shot across the table, stopping her.

  “What?” she snapped, shaking herself free. If he wanted to lim
it his responses to one word, she’d do that, too.

  “Stay.”

  “Why?” She wondered how long this could continue. Not long, she decided. “Stay? You treat me like I’m your pet dog.”

  “Please stay.”

  Two words. Well, that was an improvement. Slight, but an improvement nonetheless.

  Silence stretched between them. James was the one to break it. “I came because I felt close to you here.”

  “I hope you know I didn’t stay away because of you.”

  “I realize that. You’ve been taking business and photography classes. Teri told me.”

  Her sister the traitor.

  James looked directly at her then. “Is it so hard to forgive me?” he asked quietly.

  Rather than explain, she simply nodded.

  His mouth tightened. “I’m sorry for you.”

  Christie raised one hand to her chest. “For me?”

  James shook his head sadly. “Haven’t you figured out yet that no man will ever love you as much as I do?”

  “Right,” she muttered sarcastically. “Trust me on this, Mr. Chauffeur, plenty of men have claimed undying love, just like you did, and then walked out. You’re no different and you proved it.”

  “If you’d be willing to let me have a second chance, I’ll prove otherwise.”

  “Sorry, I’ve handed out all the second chances I plan to give.” She sounded definite and sure of herself, but she could feel her resolve weakening.

  He hesitated, then shrugged in resignation. “That’s a shame.”

  “Oh, yeah, I’m going to regret this, right? Well, I’m way past regret, James Wilbur or whatever your real name is. Way, way past that. I’ve already suffered all my regrets—the day you ran off.”

  He nodded and stood.

  She flinched involuntarily when he reached out to run his finger down her cheek. His touch was light, a caress. “We would’ve had beautiful babies.” With that he walked away.

  She wanted to shout after him that it was a B-movie line—but she was paralyzed, her breath locked in her lungs. When she’d managed to exhale, she vaulted out of her chair and ran outside. James was halfway across the parking lot.

  “Wait just one minute!”

  Silently he turned to face her.

  Christie stabbed her finger into his chest. “That was low and completely underhanded and…and cruel. And you know it!”

  Because, clichéd line or not, he’d struck her weakest point—her desire for a baby. He knew this about her because she’d been honest with him, confided all her hopes and failures and dreams. It was the one thing he could’ve said that was guaranteed to send her running after him. If Christie hadn’t been so angry, she would’ve broken into sobs. Her longing for a child had been shoved aside for so many years that whenever it surfaced the ache became unbearable.

  James studied her and in the dim light of the streetlamp she saw the tenderness in his eyes. Although she tried to resist, he slipped his arms around her and pulled her against him.

  When she finally surrendered, leaning into his strength, James whispered in her ear, “Oh, Christie, Christie, how long until you see I’m not like those other men?”

  She so badly wanted to believe him, yet knew she couldn’t. Too many times before, she’d been duped. She couldn’t risk it again.

  Still, when he lowered his mouth to hers, she offered no resistance. Sliding her arms around his neck, she yielded to his kiss. His lips were warm and moist as he half lifted her from the pavement. His gentleness made her knees weak and her heart race.

  When he released her, she was surprised she was still upright.

  “I’ll be waiting for you,” he said. “I’ll be here when you’re ready. I’m not going anywhere, Christie.”

  She wanted to argue but couldn’t.

  He touched her cheek again, then left her standing alone in the Pink Poodle parking lot.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  If he didn’t know that Faith’s tires had been slashed two weeks ago and that her home had been vandalized in January, Troy wouldn’t have guessed that anything untoward had happened at 204 Rosewood Lane. But the harassment had been intermittent from the moment she’d moved in. Troy was at a loss to explain why Faith had been singled out. She wasn’t the kind of person who made enemies; anyone who met Faith was immediately drawn to her. He hated the fact that neither he nor his deputies had been able to determine who was responsible.

  He stood in front of the house, recalling the morning he’d come to talk to Grace Sherman.

  Dan had disappeared and at that point no one knew the tragic truth—that his lifelong depression over an incident in Vietnam had driven him to suicide. Troy had vivid memories of that visit and the one a year later, when he’d come to bring Grace the news that Dan’s body had been found.

  Sandy had been alive when Dan Sherman went missing. Troy had told her about the case. She’d lost much of her ability to communicate verbally by then, but her expressive eyes had revealed her sympathy for Grace.

  Troy sighed. He was surprised by how often he thought of Sandy. He wished he could talk to her now. She’d always been a good listener and while it might seem odd that he’d want to discuss his feelings for another woman with her, he sensed that if Sandy had known Faith, they would’ve been friends.

  Catching him off guard, the front door opened and Faith stepped onto the porch, standing in the afternoon drizzle. Spring had officially begun a week ago, and as the old saying went, March showers brought April flowers. Or was it April showers that brought May flowers? In either case, it was still a winter sky, bleak and gray, although the days were noticeably longer.

  “Troy,” Faith called, her arms crossed protectively over her chest, “what are you doing here?”

  Grinning, Troy walked up the pathway to the house. “Just checking to make sure you’re safe and sound.”

  “I have a feeling you check on me quite a bit.”

  Troy didn’t deny it. It’d become habit to drive by at least once a day and sometimes more often, although he didn’t want Faith to know how often. “I keep turning up like a bad penny, right?”

  Faith smiled, and her lovely face seemed even lovelier. “Do you feel like a cup of decaf coffee?”

  One thing he wouldn’t do, and that was refuse to spend time with Faith. He loved her. He knew she loved him, too. For the most part they’d worked out their differences but the situation between them remained tentative. Although they’d known each other practically their entire lives, the setbacks of the past year had nearly destroyed any promise of a lasting relationship.

  He followed Faith into the house and saw that she’d been knitting. The television was on the twenty-fourhour news channel, and the aroma of cooking wafted toward him. Whatever it was smelled delicious.

  He took a seat and Faith brought him a mug. “There’s something on your mind,” she said matter-offactly. “But I know that whatever it is doesn’t have anything to do with me.“

  She was right on both counts, and her ability to read him so easily reminded him of Sandy. Despite his lawman’s poker face, Sandy could always tell when he was disturbed by a case, and now it seemed Faith shared that trait.

  She sat across from him. “Can you talk about it?” she asked.

  He shook his head. This was information he couldn’t share. A visit from Charlotte Rhodes earlier that afternoon had most likely given him the solution to one of his most difficult outstanding cases. Even now, Troy wasn’t sure how to handle the situation, especially since it involved someone he knew well.

  “I wish I could…but I can’t.“

  “It doesn’t matter,” Faith said in that soothing way of hers.

  He held his coffee with both hands, letting the heat chase away the chill of late afternoon. “How’d you know something was on my mind?” he asked curiously.

  Faith picked up her knitting and gazed into the flickering light of the fireplace. “I’m not sure.“

  Troy stared in
to his coffee. “That’s not true, Faith.“

  She laughed. “How do you know?“

  “Touché.” It would be so easy to sit with Faith for the rest of the evening. Who was he kidding? He’d like nothing better than to be with her for the rest of his life. A contentment that had escaped him all afternoon settled over him.

  “Okay, I’ll explain,” she said, her fingers nimbly working the yarn. “You have a ‘tell.’“

  “A ‘tell’?“

  “Yes,” she said, brightening. “I’ve been watching that poker show on TV. I don’t know how I got started, but now I’m hooked.“

  “And a ‘tell’ is?” He knew very well what it meant, but he wanted to hear her definition of it—and, even more, what she felt his “tell” was.

  Faith’s response was enthusiastic. “You’ve noticed that a lot of poker players wear dark glasses? The reason, according to the commentators, is that other players can read their eyes and know if they’re bluffing or not. I saw one player who shuffled his chips every time he was dealt a good hand. I could tell he had decent cards by his body language.”

  “In other words, you can read me the same way you read that poker player?”

  “Yes,” she answered smugly.

  Troy was enjoying this. “Would it be divulging too much to ask what my ‘tell’ is?“

  She smiled again and stopped knitting for a moment. Leaning forward slightly, she said, “You squint.“

  “I most certainly do not,” Troy said.

  “Oh, but, Troy, you do. Your eyes narrow and you frown. It’s like you’re trying to read tiny, tiny print.”

  As if to prove the opposite, he widened his eyes, which made Faith laugh outright.

  “When did you first see this ‘tell’ of mine?”

  “Christmas.“

  The only real interaction he could remember was at the Christmas tree farm, where Megan and Craig had dragged him for their annual outing. Faith had been with her son and her grandchildren, and they’d met there.

  “Can you be more precise?”

  She lowered her eyes as though her knitting suddenly demanded her full attention. “The night I ran into you at the tree farm,” she said.

  So he was right. “Ah, yes.”

  “I knew the instant I saw you that you didn’t want to be there.”