“What about Lane Moser?”
Nicole had dated him the first week she’d returned. She’d known him from her days at the bank. “Too old,” she muttered. She didn’t mind a few years’ difference, but Lane was eighteen years her senior and divorced. Besides, if he did any checking on her, he might learn a few things best left undiscovered. And he was just the type to check. “I’m picky,” she joked.
“You have a right to be.”
“I never seem to go for the guys who happen to be available. I don’t know what my problem is,” Nicole said, and even as she spoke she recognized this for a bald-faced lie. Her problem was easily defined. Repeatedly she fell for married men; actually she preferred them. It was the challenge, the chase, the contest. Single guys stumbled all over themselves to make an impression, whereas with married men, she was the one who had to lure them, had to work to attract their attention.
Over the years she’d gotten smart, and this time it wouldn’t be the wife who won. It would be her.
“Don’t give up,” Annie said, breaking into her thoughts.
“Give up?”
“On finding the right man. He’s out there. I was divorced when I met Lucas and I had no intention of ever marrying again. It’s all too easy to let negative experiences sour your perspective. Don’t let that happen to you.”
“I won’t,” Nicole promised, and struggled to hide a smile. “I’m sure there’s someone out there for me—only he doesn’t know it yet.” But Cal would find out soon enough.
“We’d better get back,” Annie said, glancing at her watch.
Nicole set aside her mug and stood. Cal had been on his own for nearly two weeks now, if her calculations were correct. A man could get lonely after that much time without a woman.
He hadn’t let her pay for his meal the other night. Maybe she could come up with another way to demonstrate just how grateful she was for the job recommendation.
“How long did Jane say she was going to be away?” Glen asked Cal as they drove along the fence line. The bed of the pickup was filled with posts and wire and tools; they’d been examining their fencing, doing necessary repairs, all afternoon.
Cal didn’t want to think about his wife or about their strained telephone conversations of the last few nights. Yesterday he’d hung up depressed and anxious when Jane told him she wouldn’t be home as soon as she’d hoped. Apparently Harry Dickinson’s broken hip had triggered a number of other medical concerns. Just when it seemed his hip was healing nicely, the doctors discovered a spot on his lung. It’d shown up earlier, but in the weeks since he’d been admitted, the spot had grown. All at once the big C loomed over Jane’s father. Cancer.
“I don’t know when she’ll be back,” Cal muttered, preferring not to discuss the subject with his brother. Cal blamed himself for their uncomfortable conversation. He’d tried to be helpful, reassuring, but hadn’t been able to prevent his disappointment from surfacing. He’d expected her home any day, and now it seemed she was going to be delayed yet again.
“Are you thinking of flying to California yourself?” his brother asked.
“No.” Cal’s response was flat.
“Why not?”
“I don’t see that it’d do any good.” He believed that her parents had become emotionally dependent on her, as though it was within Jane’s power to take their problems away. She loved her parents and he knew she felt torn between their needs and his. And here he was, putting pressure on her, as well.
He didn’t mean to add to her troubles, but he had.
“Do you think I’m an irrational jerk?”
“Yes,” Glen said, “so what’s your point?”
That made Cal smile. Leave it to his younger brother to say exactly what he needed to hear. “You’d be a lot more sympathetic if it was your wife.”
“Probably,” Glen agreed.
Normally Cal kept his affairs to himself, but he wasn’t sure about the current situation. After Jane had hung up, Cal had battled the urge to call her back, settle matters. They hadn’t fought, not exactly, but they were dissatisfied with each other. Cal understood how Jane felt, understood her intense desire to support her parents, guide them through this difficult time. But she wasn’t an only child—she had a brother living nearby—and even if she had been, her uncle was a doctor, too. The Dickinsons didn’t need to rely so heavily on Jane, in Cal’s opinion—and he’d made that opinion all too clear.
“What would you do?” Cal asked his brother.
Glen met his look and shrugged. “Getting tired of your own cooking, are you?”
“It’s more than that.” Cal had hoped Jane would force her brother to take on some of the responsibility.
She hadn’t.
Cal and Glen reached the top of the ridge that overlooked the ranch house. “Whose car is that?” Glen asked.
“Where?”
“Parked by the barn.”
Cal squinted, and shook his head. “Don’t have a clue.”
“We’d better find out, don’t you think?”
Cal steered the pickup toward the house. As they neared the property, Cal recognized Nicole Nelson lounging on his porch. Her again? He groaned inwardly. Their meeting at the Mexican Lindo had been innocent enough, but he didn’t want her mentioning it to his brother. Glen was sure to say something to Ellie, and his sister-in-law would inevitably have a few questions and would probably discuss it with Dovie, and…God only knew where all this would end.
“It’s Nicole Nelson,” Cal muttered.
“The girl from the rodeo?”
Glen had noticed her that day and oddly Cal hadn’t. “You’ve met her before,” he told his brother.
“I have?” Glen sounded doubtful. “When? She doesn’t look like anyone I’d forget that easily.”
“It was a few years back,” Cal said as they approached the house. “She was Jennifer Healy’s roommate. She looked different then. Younger or something.”
He parked the truck, then climbed out of the cab.
“Hi,” Nicole called, stepping down off the porch. “I thought I might have missed you.”
“Hi,” Cal returned gruffly, wanting her to know he was uncomfortable with her showing up at the ranch like this. “You remember my brother, Glen, don’t you?”
“Hello, Glen.”
Nicole sparkled with flirtatious warmth and friendliness, and it was hard not to be affected.
“Nicole.” Glen touched the rim of his hat. “Good to see you again.”
“I brought you dinner,” Nicole told Cal as she strolled casually back to her car. She looked as comfortable and nonchalant as anyone he’d ever seen. The way she acted, anyone might think she made a habit of stopping by unannounced.
Glen glanced at him and raised his eyebrows. He didn’t need to say a word; Cal knew exactly what he was thinking.
“After everything you’ve done for me, it was the least I could do,” Nicole said. “I really am grateful.”
“For what?” Glen looked sharply at Cal, then Nicole.
Nicole opened the passenger door and straightened. “Cal was kind enough to give me a job recommendation for Tumbleweed Books.”
“Annie phoned and asked if I knew her,” Cal muttered under his breath, minimizing his role.
“I hope you like taco casserole,” Nicole said, holding a glass dish with both hands. “I figured something Mexican would be a good bet, since you seem to enjoy it.”
“How’d she know that?” Glen asked, glaring at his brother.
“We met at the Mexican Lindo the other night,” Cal supplied, figuring the news was better coming from him than Nicole.
“You did, did you?” Glen said, his eyes filled with meaning.
“I tried to buy his dinner,” Nicole explained, “but Cal wouldn’t let me.”
Cal suspected his brother had misread the situation. “We didn’t have dinner together if that’s what you’re thinking,” he snapped. He was furious with Glen, as well as Nicole, for putting h
im in such an awkward position.
Holding the casserole, Nicole headed toward the house.
“I can take it from here,” Cal said.
“Oh, it’s no problem. I’ll put it in the oven for you and get everything started so all you need to do is serve yourself.”
She made it appear so reasonable. Unsure how to stop her, Cal stood in the doorway, arms loose at his sides. Dammit, he felt like a fool.
“There’s plenty if Glen would like to stay for dinner,” Nicole added, smiling at Cal’s brother over her shoulder.
“No, thanks,” Glen said pointedly, “I’ve got a wife and family to go home to.”
“That’s why I’m here,” Nicole said, her expression sympathetic. “Cal’s wife and children are away, and he’s left to fend for himself.”
“I don’t need anyone cooking meals for me,” Cal said, wanting to set her straight. This hadn’t been his idea. Bad enough that Nicole had brought his dinner; even worse that she’d arrived when his brother was there to witness it.
“Of course you don’t,” Nicole agreed. “This is just my way of thanking you for welcoming me home to Promise.”
“Are you actually going to let her do this?” Glen asked, following him onto the porch.
Cal hung back. “Dovie brought me some dinner recently,” he said, defending himself. “Savannah, too.”
“That’s a little different, don’t you think?”
“No,” he snapped. “Nicole’s just doing something thoughtful, the same as Dovie and Savannah.”
“Yeah, right.”
“I’m not going to stand out here and argue with you,” Cal muttered, especially since he agreed with his brother and this entire setup made him uncomfortable. If she’d asked his preference, Cal would have told Nicole to forget it. He was perfectly capable of preparing his own meals, even if he had little interest in doing so. He missed Jane’s dinners—but it was more than the food.
Cal was lonely. He’d lived by himself for several years and now he’d learned, somewhat to his dismay, that he no longer liked it. At first it’d been the little things he’d missed most—conversation over dinner, saying good-night to his children, sitting quietly with Jane in the evenings. Lately, though, it was everything.
“I’ll be leaving,” Glen said coldly, letting Cal know once again that he didn’t approve of Nicole’s being here.
“I’ll give you a call later,” Cal shouted as Glen got into his truck.
“What for?”
His brother could be mighty dense at times. “Never mind,” Cal said, and stepped into the house.
Nicole was already in the kitchen, bustling about, making herself at home. He found he resented that. “I’ve got the oven preheating to 350 degrees,” she said, facing him.
He stood stiffly in the doorway, anxious to send her on her way.
“As soon as the oven’s ready, bake it for thirty minutes.”
“Great. Thanks.”
“Oh, I nearly forgot.”
She hurried toward him and it took Cal an instant to realize she wanted out the door. He moved aside, but not quickly enough to avoid having her brush against him. The scent of her perfume reminded him of something Jane might wear. Roses, he guessed. Cal experienced a pang of longing. Not for Nicole, but for his wife. It wasn’t right that another woman should walk into their home like this. Dammit, Jane should be here, not Nicole—or anyone else.
“I left the sour cream and salsa in the car,” Nicole said breathlessly when she returned. She placed both containers on the table, checked the oven and set the glass dish inside. “Okay,” she said, rubbing her palms together. “I think that’s everything.”
Cal remained standing by the door, wanting nothing so much as to see her go.
She pointed to the oven. “Thirty minutes. Do you need me to write that down?”
He shook his head and didn’t offer her an excuse to linger.
“I’ll stay if you like and put together a salad.”
He shook his head. “I’ll be fine.”
She smiled sweetly. “In that case, enjoy.”
This time when she left, Cal knew to stand far enough aside to avoid any physical contact. He watched her walk back to her car, aware of an overwhelming sense of relief.
Life at the retirement center suited Phil Patterson. He had his own small apartment and didn’t need to worry about cooking. The monthly fee included three meals a day. He could choose to eat alone in his room or sit in the dining room if he wanted company. Adjusting to life without Mary hadn’t been easy—wasn’t easy now—but he kept active and that helped. So did staying in touch with friends. Particularly Frank Hennessey. Gordon Pawling, too. The three men played golf every week.
Frank’s wife, Dovie, and Mary had been close for many years, and in some ways Mary’s death had been as hard on Dovie as it was on Phil. At the end, when Mary was no longer able to recognize either of them, Phil had sat and wept with his wife’s dear friend. He hadn’t allowed himself to break down in front of either of his sons, but felt no such compunction when he was around Dovie. She’d cried with him, and their shared grief had meant more than any words she might have said.
Frank and Dovie had Phil to dinner at least once a month, usually on the first Monday. He thought it was a bit odd that Frank had issued an invitation that afternoon when they’d finished playing cards at the seniors’ center.
“It’s the middle of the month,” Phil protested. “I was over at your place just two weeks ago.”
“Do you want to come for dinner or not?” Frank said.
Only a fool would turn down one of Dovie’s dinners. That woman could cook unlike anyone he knew. Even Mary, who was no slouch when it came to preparing a good meal, had envied Dovie’s talent.
“I’ll be there,” Phil promised, and promptly at five-thirty, he arrived at Frank and Dovie’s, a bouquet of autumn flowers in his hand.
“You didn’t need to do that,” Dovie said when she greeted him, kissing his cheek lightly.
Phil immediately caught a whiff of something wonderful—a blend of delightful aromas. He smelled bread fresh from the oven and a cake of some sort, plus the spicy scent of one of her Cajun specialties.
Frank and Phil settled down in the living room and Dovie soon joined them, carrying an appetizer plate full of luscious little things. A man sure didn’t eat this well at the retirement center, he thought. Good thing, too, or he’d be joining the women at their weekly weight-loss group.
Phil helped himself to a shrimp, dipping it in a spicy sauce. Frank opened a bottle of red wine and brought them each a glass.
They chatted amiably for several minutes, but Phil knew something was on Dovie’s mind—the same way he always knew when Mary was worried about one thing or another. Phil had an inkling of what it was, too, and decided to break the ice and make it easier for his friends.
“It’s times like these that I miss Mary the most,” he murmured, choosing a brie-and-mushroom concoction next.
“You mean for social get-togethers and such?” Frank asked.
“Well, yes, those, too,” Phil said. “The dinners with friends and all the things we’d planned to do once we retired.”
Dovie and Frank waited.
“I wish Mary were here to talk to Cal.”
His friends exchanged glances, and Phil realized he’d been right. They’d heard about Cal and Nicole Nelson.
“You know?” Frank asked.
Phil nodded. It wasn’t as though he could avoid hearing. Promise, for all its prosperity and growth, remained a small town. The news that Nicole Nelson had delivered dinner to Cal had spread faster than last winter’s flu bug. He didn’t approve, but he wasn’t about to discuss it with Cal, either. Mary could have had a gentle word with their son, and Cal wouldn’t have taken offense. But Phil wasn’t especially adroit at that kind of conversation. He knew Cal wouldn’t appreciate the advice, nor did Phil think it was necessary. His son loved Jane, and that was all there was to it. He’d n
ever do anything to jeopardize his marriage.
“Apparently Nicole brought him dinner—supposedly to thank Cal for some help he recently gave her,” Dovie said, her face pinched with disapproval.
“If you ask me, that young woman is trying to stir up trouble,” Frank added.
“Maybe so,” Phil agreed, but he knew his oldest son almost as well as he knew himself. Cal hadn’t sought out this other woman; she was the one who’d come chasing after him. His son would handle the situation.
“No one’s suggesting they’re romantically involved,” Frank said hastily.
“They aren’t,” Phil insisted, although he wished again that Mary could speak to Cal, warn him about the perceptions of others. That sort of conversation had been her specialty.
“Do you see Nicole Nelson as a troublemaker?” Phil directed the question to Dovie.
“I don’t know…I don’t think she is, but I do wish she’d shown a bit more discretion. She’s young yet—it’s understandable.”
Phil heard the reluctance in her response and the way she eyed Frank, as though she expected him to leap in and express his opinion.
“Annie seems to like her,” Dovie said, “but with this new pregnancy, she’s spending less and less time at the bookstore. Really, I hate to say anything….”
“I tell you, the woman’s a homewrecker,” Frank announced stiffly.
“Now, Frank.” Dovie placed her hand on her husband’s knee and shook her head.
“Dovie, give me some credit. I was in law enforcement for over thirty years. I recognized that look the minute I saw her.”
Phil frowned, now starting to feel seriously worried. “You think Nicole Nelson has set her sights on Cal?”
“I do,” Frank stated firmly.
“What an unkind thing to say.” Still, Dovie was beginning to doubt her own assessment of Nicole.
“The minute I saw her, I said to Dovie, ‘That woman’s trouble.’”
“He did,” Dovie confirmed, sighing. “He certainly did.”