Debbie Macomber - 1105 Yakima Street

“More mine than yours,” Chad murmured. But no use debating the issue until they learned Gloria’s intentions.

Roy seemed slightly amused by Mack’s reaction. “Don’t you think you should talk this over with Mary Jo first before you make that kind of offer?”

“She’ll agree with me.”

“It’s a moot point,” Chad said. “No one knows what Gloria’s going to do. Once she’s made her decision, we may need to talk again.”

Both men nodded.

“For now, all I ask,” Chad said, “is for one of you or even Corrie to see that Gloria gets these books.”

“Who should I say gave them to her?” Roy asked.

Chad shrugged. “Let her assume they came from you.”

“You’re sure about this?” Mack asked.

“Very sure. I want—no, I need —Gloria to come to me. She’s the one who walked away. Maybe it’s just my pride talking, I don’t know, but I’d be more comfortable if she made the first move.”

Roy allowed Chad’s words to hang in the air for a moment before he responded. “I’ll hold off a bit longer if that’s what you want. However, for the sake of my relationship with my wife, I think it might be a good idea if I confessed sooner rather than later.”

Chad understood. “Okay. Go ahead and tell Gloria.” He didn’t like it but Roy had done him one favor already.

“I’ll take the books to her,” Mack volunteered. “We’ve had a couple of good talks recently.”

“Oh?” Roy raised his brows in question.

Chad was curious, too, although it wasn’t his place to ask.

“Gloria had to tell Sheriff Davis she’s pregnant, and as of next week she’s going on desk duty.” Chad was relieved to hear it. However, Mack looked away as he spoke, which led Chad to believe there was more to this than he was saying.

“Any particular reason?”

“Well, it’s standard protocol for pregnant officers.” Mack shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable with this turn in the conversation. “But, okay, the fact is that Gloria’s in her mid-thirties, so the obstetrician is being extra cautious.”

“Has she told her mother about this?” Roy asked.

“I believe so.”

Roy sighed, and Chad guessed that Corrie hadn’t said anything to Roy because she was still upset with him.

“The doctor’s scheduled an ultrasound.”

“For when?” Chad did his best to hide his own anxiety. He’d dealt with a lot of pregnancies and a lot of babies during his medical career—but none of those babies had been his. And although he was well aware that many women had babies later in life, he couldn’t help worrying about Gloria.

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Can’t because you don’t know? Or because she’d disapprove?” Chad asked sharply.

“Can’t because I don’t know. It’s nothing out of the ordinary,” Mack said. “At least as far as I’ve been given to understand. It’s just that when it’s someone close to you, I guess you worry more. But at least she’ll be sitting safely behind a desk from now on.”

Knowing Gloria, she’d hate desk duty. She liked nothing better than being a beat cop, responding to calls and crises, interacting with the people of Cedar Cove. Chad found it interesting that she’d gone into police work, following in the footsteps of the father she never knew.

“Do you want me to call you if she mentions when the ultrasound is?”

Chad nodded.

“Don’t worry, son,” Roy said, his words and the sound of his voice lending Chad confidence. “Everything will work out. It did for Corrie and me, and I’m convinced it will for you and Gloria, too.”

Chad relaxed in his chair. He had to believe Roy was right and there was actually a chance for him and Gloria.

It’d been a week since Rachel had moved out of the house, and Bruce was stunned that she hadn’t returned. He’d tried to be patient, giving her the space and time she claimed she needed. But he wanted her back with him and Jolene now, back where she belonged. The knot in his stomach hadn’t disappeared yet, and it wouldn’t, not until she came home.

Bruce still didn’t know where she’d gone. He’d talked to her friends. Even Teri seemed bewildered about where she was, and her words rang true. Rachel’s best friend was clearly very concerned about her.

“Dad, can you help me with this?” Jolene asked, strolling into the kitchen, a math book clutched to her chest. She’d been lounging in the backyard under a big striped umbrella, talking on her cell phone and pretending to do her homework.

Bruce looked up from the table where he’d been sitting. “You know I’m no good at this.” The real problem, however, was his short fuse. He had limited patience when it came to explaining basic math. Computer programs were a different matter. Those he knew his way around; it was the theoretical stuff that stumped him— partly for lack of interest. Things had been a lot better when Rachel was there to step in.

“Dad, this is just review. You helped me last year, remember?” She cocked her head to one side, her dark brown eyes pleading with him. “I passed the test. I never would have if you hadn’t helped me.”

“That wasn’t me,” he reminded her. “It was Rachel.”

Her smile instantly disappeared. “No, it wasn’t. You helped me. I wouldn’t let Rachel anywhere near my homework.”

“Actually, you did,” he said a bit more forcefully. He remembered the incident well. Jolene had brought him her algebra homework and he’d tried to work with her. Only when it became apparent that he wasn’t particularly clear on the concept himself would his daughter accept Rachel’s assistance. What stood out in his mind was how well the evening had gone. The tension between Jolene and his wife had lessened, giving both him and Rachel hope that the girl was finally adjusting to their marriage.

“You could at least try,” Jolene snapped.

“Okay, fine, I’ll try.”

“Thank you, Daddy,” she said, all sweetness once again.

The phone rang as Jolene set her textbook on the table and Bruce leaped out of his chair, hoping, praying, it was Rachel. She’d called a couple of times, but their conversations were always short, consisting of her reassurances that she was fine and her avoidance of any real answers. She’d blocked his numbers so he couldn’t get in touch with her. If it was Rachel, he was willing to promise her anything as long as she came home. He loved her and missed her. He’d agreed earlier to see a counselor but Jolene wouldn’t hear of it, and Bruce had foolishly put it off. He was embarrassed by the thought of spilling out their troubles to a stranger. He’d assumed everything would right itself, but he’d been wrong and his gamble had cost him dearly.

“Hello,” he said, grabbing the phone, his heart bounding into his throat.

“This is David Miller,” intoned the recorded message, “and I’m running for state senator. Are you tired of runaway government spending? If that’s the case, I need your vote—”

Bruce disconnected the line before he heard any more. He kept his hand on the receiver and hung his head, fighting back his disappointment.

“Dad,” Jolene muttered. “You wanted that call to be Rachel, didn’t you?”

“Yes.” He wasn’t going to deny it.

“We don’t need her,” Jolene insisted, looking up at him from the kitchen table. “It’s been a lot better since she left. I’ve made dinner all week, haven’t I?”

Bruce didn’t agree or disagree. Jolene had done her best to fill in, and while the meals weren’t always palatable, his daughter had tried.

“I know I overcooked the macaroni and cheese.”