Christmas In Cedar Cove: 5-B Poppy Lane

Christmas 2010

Dear Friends,

Merry Christmas! As I’ve mentioned before, I’m a Christmas kind of girl. And I can’t think of any Christmas more special than one in Cedar Cove. That’s why I wrote A Cedar Cove Christmas, which was published as a small hardcover a couple of years ago. In it, I introduced the character of Mary Jo Wyse. Mary Jo comes to Cedar Cove on Christmas Eve, pregnant and unmarried and looking for a hotel room. I also introduced her irrepressible brothers, the three Wyse men. By now, I’m sure it’s obvious that I was retelling the original Christmas story. I had a lot of fun with that, right down to the little drummer boy—but I’m getting ahead of myself. If you haven’t read the story yet, I don’t want to spoil it for you. And if you have, you’ll see that I’ve included extra content in the form of a prologue. Time doesn’t stand still in Cedar Cove!

Soon after A Cedar Cove Christmas was published, my readers asked if the story would ever come out in paperback. The answer is yes—here it is—but as you probably know, I want you to think of me as a value-added author. So I wanted to give you something more…. 5-B Poppy Lane was part of an anthology published four years ago. Again, I’ve written a prologue and also an epilogue to frame the story and offer a bit of Christmas spirit. I wrote this in honor of my father, who was a POW during World War II. 5-B Poppy Lane is, of course, an address in Cedar Cove; it’s also a story of romance and adventure, and I’m confident you’ll enjoy it.

I’m delighted that you’re joining me in my favorite town at my favorite time of year!

As always, I love getting your comments. You can reach me at P.O. Box 1458, Port Orchard, WA 98366 or via my website at www.DebbieMacomber.com. May your Christmas be filled with the warmth and joy of the season.

Praise for #1 New York Times bestselling author

DEBBIE MACOMBER

“Familiar townspeople, three impulsive brothers…and a pair of appealing protagonists bring to life this sweet, humorous romance that, with its many obvious parallels, is a satisfying, almost tongue-in-cheek retelling of the Christmas story.”

—Library Journal

“It’s just not Christmas without a Debbie Macomber story and A Cedar Cove Christmas is no exception.”

—Armchair Interviews

“[A] wonderful, emotional and uplifting story. Debbie Macomber, one of the best wordsmiths in the business, has gifted readers with one of the sweetest stories ever to be written for the Christmas season. The storyline is right from the Good Book, and the characters are from the author’s heart. Most of Cedar Cove’s residents make a personal appearance to meet Mary Jo, and several new residents are on hand. This feel-good story is full of love, humor and enough ‘warm fuzzies’ to last you throughout the holiday season.”

—ReaderToReader.com

“You need look no further for the perfect Christmas gift than A Cedar Cove Christmas by Debbie Macomber.

This precious love story will be the most beloved Christmas gift under any one’s tree, or in their stocking.”

—SingleTitles.com

5-B Poppy Lane “is a beautiful story that might bring tears to your eyes. Ruth, Paul and Helen are great characters: believable and real ones that you can take to your heart and hold closely.”

—ReaderToReader.com

“The books in Macomber’s contemporary Cedar Cove series are…irresistibly delicious and addictive.”

—Publishers Weekly

DEBBIE
MACOMBER
CHRISTMAS
IN CEDAR COVE

Other Books by Debbie Macomber

Blossom Street Books

The Shop on Blossom Street

A Good Yarn

Susannah’s Garden

Back on Blossom Street

Twenty Wishes

Summer on Blossom Street

Hannah’s List

Cedar Cove Books

16 Lighthouse Road

204 Rosewood Lane

311 Pelican Court

44 Cranberry Point

50 Harbor Street

6 Rainier Drive

74 Seaside Avenue

8 Sandpiper Way

92 Pacific Boulevard

1022 Evergreen Place

A Cedar Cove Christmas

The Manning Family

The Manning Sisters

The Manning Brides

The Manning Grooms

Christmas Books

A Gift to Last

On a Snowy Night

Home for the Holidays

Glad Tidings

Christmas Wishes

Small Town Christmas

When Christmas Comes

There’s Something About Christmas

Christmas Letters

Where Angels Go

The Perfect Christmas

Angels at Christmas

(Those Christmas Angels and Where Angels Go)

Call Me Mrs. Miracle

Dakota Series

Dakota Born

Dakota Home

Always Dakota

Heart of Texas Series

VOLUME 1

(Lonesome Cowboy and Texas Two-Step)

VOLUME 2

(Caroline’s Child and Dr. Texas)

VOLUME 3

(Nell’s Cowboy and Lone Star Baby)

Promise, Texas

Return to Promise

Midnight Sons

VOLUME 1

(Brides for Brothers and The Marriage Risk)

VOLUME 2

(Daddy’s Little Helper and Because of the Baby)

VOLUME 3

(Falling for Him, Ending in Marriage and Midnight Sons and Daughters)

This Matter of Marriage

Montana

Thursdays at Eight

Between Friends

Changing Habits

Married in Seattle

(First Comes Marriage and Wanted: Perfect Partner)

Right Next Door

(Father’s Day and The Courtship of Carol Sommars)

Wyoming Brides

(Denim and Diamonds and The Wyoming Kid)

Fairy Tale Weddings

(Cindy and the Prince and Some Kind of Wonderful)

The Man You’ll Marry

(The First Man You Meet and The Man You’ll Marry)

Orchard Valley Grooms

(Valerie and Stephanie)

Orchard Valley Brides

(Norah and Lone Star Lovin’)

Debbie Macomber’s

Cedar Cove Cookbook

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Some of the Residents of Cedar Cove, Washington

Charlotte Jefferson Rhodes: Mother of Olivia and of Will Jefferson. Now married to widower Ben Rhodes, who has two sons, David and Steven, neither of whom lives in Cedar Cove. Charlotte and Ben live on Eagle Crest Avenue.

Olivia Lockhart Griffin: Family Court judge. Mother of Justine and of James (who lives in San Diego). Married to Jack Griffin, editor of the Cedar Cove Chronicle. Their home is at 16 Lighthouse Road.

Justine (Lockhart) Gunderson: Daughter of Olivia. Mother of Leif. Married to Seth Gunderson. Their home is 6 Rainier Drive.

Will Jefferson: Olivia’s brother, Charlotte’s son. Formerly of Atlanta. Divorced, retired and back in Cedar Cove, where he has recently bought the local art gallery.

Grace Sherman Harding: Olivia’s lifelong best friend. Librarian. Widow of Dan Sherman. Mother of Maryellen Bowman and Kelly Jordan. Married to Cliff Harding, a horse breeder living in Olalla, near Cedar Cove. Cliff has a married daughter, Lisa.

Maryellen Bowman: Oldest daughter of Grace and Dan Sherman. Mother of Katie and Drake. Married to Jon Bowman, photographer.

Bob and Peggy Beldon: Retired. Own the Thyme and Tide B & B at 44 Cranberry Point.

Roy McAfee: Private investigator, retired from Seattle police force. Three adult children—Mack, Linnette and Gloria. Married to Corrie, who works as his office manager. The McAfees live at 50 Harbor Street.

Linnette McAfee: Daughter of Roy and Corrie. A physician assistant, she now lives in North Dakota.

Mack McAfee: Son of Roy and Corrie, brother of Linnette. Fireman and EMT in Cedar Cove.

Gloria Ashton: Deputy in Cedar Cove Sheriff’s Department. Daughter of Roy and Corrie, born prior to their marriage and adopted by the Ashton family of California as a newborn.

Troy Davis: Sheriff of Cedar Cove.

Pastor Dave Flemming: Local Methodist minister. He and his wife, Emily, are the parents of Matthew and Mark.

Shirley Bliss: Widow and fabric artist, mother of Tannith (Tanni) Bliss.

Shaw Wilson: Friend of Tanni’s. Works at Mocha Mama, a local coffee shop.

Helen Shelton: Widow and friend of Charlotte Rhodes. Helen lives at 5-B Poppy Lane.

CONTENTS

5-B Poppy Lane

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Epilogue

A Cedar Cove Christmas

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

5-B POPPY LANE

To my parents

Ted and Connie Adler

who married July 25, 1942,

before my father

headed off to war

Prologue

It was early afternoon, Christmas Eve. Snow was falling lightly, adding to the festive atmosphere inside and out. Helen Shelton fussed with the decorations in her small Cedar Cove duplex, making sure everything was in place. The tree, a real one, featured the ornaments she’d started acquiring when she’d married Sam in 1946. He’d bought her many of these, and as she hung them carefully on the branches she’d relived their history, hers and Sam’s. He’d died almost thirty years ago but she remembered every Christmas they’d spent together.

The Nativity pieces were arranged on her coffee table with the Infant Jesus nestled in the manger, surrounded by the other familiar figurines. A large evergreen wreath hung on her front door. The house was redolent with the scents of spruce and spice—ready for Christmas.

Helen wanted everything perfect when her only granddaughter and her husband arrived. In preparation she’d mulled cider and baked Ruth’s favorite Christmas cookies from an old gingerbread recipe; they’d first made it together when Ruth was a child. Even now, after all these years, Helen remembered the thrill she’d felt when her granddaughter was born. Oh, she loved her grandsons, but for a grandmother there was something special about a girl.

The doorbell chimed and Helen peeked outside to see her dear friend Charlotte Rhodes standing on the porch. Delighted, she opened the door and quickly ushered Charlotte inside. They were both getting on in years, and Helen suspected neither of them had many Christmases left. She didn’t have a fatalistic view of life by any means, but she was a practical woman. Helen knew what it was to face death. She had no fear of dying.

“Merry Christmas,” Charlotte said, unwrapping a hand-knit lace scarf from around her neck. Her friend was the most exquisite knitter. Many a time she’d assisted Helen with her knitting projects. She gave her the confidence to try new things. Why, with Charlotte’s help a few years back, Helen had completed a complicated Fair Isle sweater. She still felt a bit of pride whenever she wore that sweater. She was a competent knitter in her own right; she didn’t mean to discount her skills. But Charlotte had such an encouraging way about her, and not just when it came to knitting. Helen had confided in Charlotte about what had happened to her during the war, and Charlotte had urged her to share it with her family. Eventually, she had…

“Merry Christmas,” Helen said, taking Charlotte’s coat and scarf and hanging them up. She led her friend into the kitchen. “This is such a pleasant surprise.”

“I knew your granddaughter and her husband were stopping by, so I brought some of my green tomato mincemeat.” She removed two beribboned jars from her ever-present knitting bag.

“Oh, Charlotte, thank you.” Helen accepted the jars and put them on the counter to admire. Charlotte was well aware that Helen had a weakness for her homemade green tomato mincemeat.

“Consider this a small Christmas gift,” Charlotte said, looking pleased at Helen’s reaction.

“Didn’t you say it was too much work this year?” Helen could swear Charlotte had claimed she was finished with canning. And who would blame her?

“I did say that, and then I took a look at all those green tomatoes and I couldn’t help myself. Besides, Ben swears mincemeat is his favorite pie.”

“I thought your peach pie was his favorite.”

Charlotte actually blushed. Those two had been married for several years now but they still behaved like newlyweds. It always made Helen smile.

“Ben says that about all my pies.”

“Well, I’m very happy to get these. I’ll make a pie for tonight’s dessert.” Helen automatically set the teakettle on the burner, dropping teabags in her best china pot.

“What time is your granddaughter getting here?”

Helen glanced at the kitchen clock. “Not for several hours. Around five.”

Charlotte pulled out a chair and sat down, reaching into her voluminous bag for her knitting. Socks again. Charlotte was never without her knitting, and these days it was usually socks. Helen had recently made socks, too, but not ones you’d wear. She’d knit both Ruth and Paul Christmas stockings to hang by the fireplace. Because of the intricate pattern, it had taken her the better part of three months. She planned to give them their made-with-love Christmas stockings when they exchanged gifts that evening.

It wasn’t long before the tea was ready and the two of them sat across the table from each other, a plate of the gingerbread cookies between them.

“I’ve met your granddaughter, haven’t I?” Charlotte asked, picking up her teacup and frowning slightly.

“Yes, don’t you recall? Ruth certainly remembers you.”

“She does?”

“It was a few years ago. She was in quite a state when she came by to visit. She was absolutely beside herself because she wasn’t sure what to do about Paul.”

Charlotte looked confused.

“That was shortly after they met,” Helen explained, surprised her friend had apparently forgotten the episode, since Charlotte had answered Ruth’s knock at the door. “They’d been corresponding for a while. Paul was in the marines. Well, he still is, but that’s not the point.”

Charlotte chose a cookie. “It’s coming back to me now,” she said. “They had a lovely romance, didn’t they?”

“Oh, yes.”

She took a bite. “Mmm. Delicious. Now, remind me again how they met.”

Helen settled back in her chair and picked up her own cup of tea. This was such a wonderful story. Her own love story was part of it, too. All those years ago during the Second World War. There were fewer and fewer people who knew what that war had really been like.

For more than fifty years she’d refused to talk about that time, refused to even think about her adventures and ordeals. She’d lost so much—and yet, she’d gained, too. At the urging of the few friends she’d confided in, including Charlotte, she’d finally told Ruth what had happened. Ruth and her Paul. Afterward, her granddaughter had said that her experiences were more than family history; they were history.

“Helen,” Charlotte murmured, shaking her out of her reverie. “You were going to tell me about Ruth and Paul.”

“Oh, yes. The story of how they fell in love…” She settled back, listening to the comforting click of Charlotte’s needles, and began.

One

Ruth Shelton hurried out of her classroom-management lecture at the University of Washington, where she was completing her master’s of education degree. Clutching her books, she dashed across campus, in a rush to get home. By now the mail would have been delivered to her small rental house three blocks from the school.

“Ruth,” Tina Dupont called, stopping her in midflight. “There’s another antiwar rally this afternoon at—”

“Sorry, I’ve got to run,” Ruth said, jogging past her friend and feeling more than a little guilty. Other students cleared a path for her; wherever she was headed must have seemed urgent—and it was, but only to her. Since Christmas, four months ago, she’d been corresponding with Sergeant Paul Gordon, USMC, who was stationed in Afghanistan. There’d been recent reports of fighting, and she hadn’t received a letter or an email from Paul in three days. Three interminable days. Not since they’d initially begun their correspondence had there been such a lapse. Paul usually wrote every day and she did, too. They emailed as often as possible. Ruth had strong feelings about the war in Iraq, although her opinions didn’t match those of her parents.

Earlier in the school year, Ruth had been part of a protest rally on campus. But no matter what her political views on the subject, she felt it was important to support American troops wherever they might be serving. In an effort to do that, Ruth had voluntarily mailed a Christmas card and letter to a nameless soldier.

Paul Gordon was the young man who’d received that Christmas card, and to Ruth’s surprise he’d written her back and enclosed his photograph. Paul was from Seattle and he’d chosen her card because of the Seattle postmark. He’d asked her lots of questions—about her history, her family, her interests—and closed with a postscript that said he hoped to hear from her again.

When she first got his letter, Ruth had hesitated. She felt she’d done her duty, supported the armed services in a way she was comfortable doing. This man she’d never met was asking her to continue corresponding with him. She wasn’t sure she wanted to become that involved. Feeling uncertain, she’d waited a few days before deciding.

During that time, Ruth had read and reread his letter and studied the head shot of the clean-cut handsome marine sergeant in dress uniform. His dark brown eyes had seemed to stare straight through her—and directly into her heart. After two days, she answered his letter with a short one of her own and added her email address at the bottom of the page. Ruth had a few concerns she wanted him to address before she could commit herself to beginning this correspondence. Being as straightforward and honest as possible, she explained her objections to the war in Iraq. She felt there was a more legitimate reason for troops to be in Afghanistan and wanted to know his stand. A few days later he emailed her. Paul didn’t mince words. He told her he believed the United States had done the right thing in entering Iraq and gave his reasons. He left it up to her to decide if she wanted to continue their correspondence. Ruth emailed him back and once again listed her objections to the American presence in the Middle East. His response came a day later, suggesting they “agree to disagree.” He ended the email with the same question he’d asked her earlier. Would she write him?

At first, Ruth wasn’t going to. They were diametrically opposed in their political views. But in the end, even recognizing the conflict between their opinions, she did write. Their correspondence started slowly. She enjoyed his wry wit and his unflinching determination to make a difference in the world. His father had fought in Vietnam, he said, and in some ways the war in Afghanistan seemed similar—the hostile terrain, the unpredictability of the enemy, the difficult conditions. For her part, she mentioned that at twenty-five she’d returned to school to obtain her master’s of education degree. Then, gradually, without being fully aware of how it had happened, Ruth found herself spending part of every day writing or emailing Paul. Despite the instant nature of email, and its convenience, they both enjoyed interspersing their online messages with more formal letters. There was something so…permanent about a real letter. As well, depending on his duty assignment, Paul didn’t always have computer access.

After they’d been corresponding regularly for a couple of months, Paul asked for her picture. Eventually she’d mailed him her photograph, but only after she’d had her hair and makeup done at one of those “glamour” studios. Although she wasn’t fashion-model beautiful, she considered herself fairly attractive and wanted to look her absolute best for Paul, although she didn’t entirely understand why it mattered so much. For years, she’d been resigned to the fact that she wasn’t much good at relationships. In high school she’d been shy, and while she was an undergraduate, she’d dated a little but tended to be reserved and studious. Her quiet manner didn’t seem to appeal to the guys she met. It was only when she stepped in front of a classroom that she truly became herself. She loved teaching, every single aspect of it. In the process, Ruth lost her hesitation and her restraint, and to her astonishment discovered that this enthusiasm had begun to spill over into the rest of her life. Suddenly men started to notice her. She enjoyed the attention—who wouldn’t?—and had dated more in the past few months than in the preceding four years.

For the picture, her short brown hair had been styled in loose curls. Her blue eyes were smiling and friendly, which was exactly the impression she hoped to convey. She was a little shocked by the importance of Paul’s reaction—by her need that he find her attractive.

She waited impatiently for his response. A week later she received an email. Paul seemed to like what he saw in her photograph and soon they were writing and emailing back and forth at a feverish pace. A day without some form of communication from Paul felt empty now.

Ruth had never had a long-distance relationship before, and the growing intensity of her feelings for this man she’d never met took her by surprise. She wasn’t a teenager with a schoolgirl crush. Ruth was a mature, responsible adult. Or at least she had been until she slipped a simple Christmas card into the mailbox—and got a reply from a handsome marine sergeant named Paul Gordon.

Ruth walked quickly to the rental house she shared with Lynn Blumenthal, then ran up the front steps to the porch. Lynn was eighteen and away from home and family for the first time. The arrangement suited both of them, and despite the disparity in their ages and interests, they’d gotten along fairly well. With her heart pounding hard, Ruth forced herself to draw in a deep breath as she started toward the mailbox.

The screen door flew open and Lynn came out. “What are you doing home?” she asked, then shook her head. “Never mind, I already know. You’re looking for a letter from soldier boy.”

Ruth wasn’t going to deny the obvious. “I haven’t heard from him in three days.”

Lynn rolled her eyes. “I don’t understand you.”

“I know.” Ruth didn’t want to get into another discussion with her roommate. Lynn had made her feelings about this relationship known from the outset, although as Ruth had gently tried to tell her, it was none of her business. That didn’t prevent the younger woman from expressing her views. Lynn said that Ruth was only setting herself up for heartache. A part of Ruth actually agreed, but by the time she realized what was happening, she was emotionally involved with Paul.

“You hardly ever see Clay anymore,” Lynn chastised, hands on her hips. “He called and asked about you the other night.”

Ruth stared at the small black mailbox. “Clay and I are just friends.”

“Not according to him.”

It was true that they’d been seeing each other quite a bit following a Halloween party last October. Like her, Clay Matthews was obtaining his master’s of education, and they seemed to have a lot in common. But her interest in him had started to wane even before she’d mailed that Christmas card to Paul. The problem was, Clay hadn’t noticed.

“I’m sorry he’s disappointed.”

“Clay is decent and hardworking, and the way you’ve treated him the last few months is…is terrible.” Lynn, who at five foot ten stood a good seven inches taller than Ruth, could be intimidating, especially with her mouth twisted in that grimace of disapproval.

Ruth had tried to let Clay down easily, but it hadn’t worked. They’d gone to the library together last Thursday. Unfortunately, that had been a mistake. She’d known it almost right away when Clay pressured her to have coffee with him afterward. It would’ve been better just to end the relationship and forget about staying friends. He was younger, for one thing, and while that hadn’t seemed important earlier, it did now. Perhaps it was wrong to compare him to Paul, but Ruth couldn’t help it. Measured against Paul, Clay seemed immature, demanding and insecure.

“You said he phoned?” Frowning, she glanced at Lynn.

Lynn nodded. “He wants to know what’s going on.”

Oh, brother! Ruth couldn’t have made it plainer had she handed him divorce papers. Unwilling to be cruel, she’d tried to bolster his ego by referring to all the positive aspects of his personality—but apparently, that had only led him to think the opposite of what she was trying to tell him. He’d refused to take her very obvious hints, and in her frustration, she’d bluntly announced that she wasn’t interested in seeing him anymore. That seemed pretty explicit to her; how he could be confused about it left Ruth shaking her head.

The fact that he’d phoned and cried on her roommate’s shoulder was a good example of what she found adolescent about his behavior. She was absolutely certain Paul would never do that. If he had a problem, he’d take it directly to the source.

“I think you’re being foolish,” Lynn said, and added, “Not that you asked my opinion.”

“No, I didn’t,” Ruth reminded her, eyeing the mailbox again. There was an ornamental latticework design along the bottom, and looking through it, she could tell that the day’s mail had been delivered. The envelope inside was white, and her spirits sank. There had to be something from Paul. If not a real letter, then an email.

“He wanted me to talk to you,” Lynn was saying.

“Who did?” Ruth asked distractedly. She was dying to open the mailbox, but she wanted to do it in privacy.

“Clay,” Lynn cried, sounding completely exasperated. “Who else are we talking about?”

Suddenly Ruth understood. She looked away from the mailbox and focused her attention on Lynn. “You’re attracted to him, aren’t you?”

Lynn gasped indignantly. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Sit down,” Ruth said, gesturing toward the front steps where they’d often sat before. It was a lovely spring afternoon, the first week of April, and she needed to clear the air with her roommate before this got further out of hand.

“What?” Lynn said with a defensive edge. “You’ve got the wrong idea here. I was just trying to help a friend.”

“Sit,” Ruth ordered.

“I have class in twenty minutes and I—” Lynn paused, scowling at her watch.

“Sit down.”

The eighteen-year-old capitulated with ill grace. “All right, but I know what you’re going to say.” She folded her arms and stared straight ahead.

“I’m fine with it,” Ruth said softly. “Go out with him if you want. Like I said earlier, I’m not interested in Clay.”

“You would be if it wasn’t for soldier boy.”

Ruth considered that and in all honesty felt she could say, “Not so.”

“I don’t understand you,” Lynn lamented a second time. “You marched in the rally against the war in Iraq. Afghanistan isn’t all that different, and now you’re involved with Paul what’s-his-face and it’s like I don’t even know you anymore.”

“Paul doesn’t have anything to do with this.”

“Yes, he does,” Lynn insisted.

“I’m not going to have this conversation with you. We agree on some points and disagree on others. That’s fine. We live in a free society and we don’t have to have the same opinion on these issues or anything else.”

Lynn sighed and said nothing.

“I have the feeling none of this is really about Paul,” Ruth said with deliberate patience. She hadn’t known Lynn very long; they lived separate lives and so far they’d never had a problem. As roommates went, Ruth felt she was fortunate to have found someone as amicable as Lynn. She didn’t want this difference of opinion about Clay—and Paul—to ruin that.

The other girl once again looked pointedly at her watch, as if to suggest Ruth say what she intended to say and be done with it.

“I don’t want to see Clay,” she said emphatically.

“You might have told him that.”

“I tried.”

Lynn glared at her. “You should’ve tried harder.”

Ruth laughed, but not because she was amused. For whatever reason, Clay had set his sights on her and wasn’t about to be dissuaded. Complicating matters, Lynn was obviously interested in him and feeling guilty and unsure of how to deal with her attraction.

“Listen,” Ruth said. “I didn’t mean to hurt Clay. He’s a great guy and—”

“You shouldn’t have lied to him.”

Ruth raised her eyebrows. “When did I lie to him?”

“Last week you said you were going to visit your grandmother in Cedar Cove and that was why you couldn’t go out with him this weekend. I overheard you,” she murmured.

Oh, that. “It was a white lie,” Ruth confessed. She definitely planned to visit her grandmother, though. Helen Shelton lived across Puget Sound in a small community on the Kitsap Peninsula. Ruth had spent Thanksgiving with her grandmother and visited for a weekend before Christmas and then again close to Valentine’s Day. Her last visit had been early in March. She always enjoyed her time with Helen, but somehow the weeks had slipped away and here it was April already.

“A lie is a lie,” Lynn said adamantly.

“Okay, you’re right,” Ruth agreed. “I should’ve been honest with Clay.” Delaying had been a mistake, as she was now learning.

That seemed to satisfy her roommate, who started to get to her feet. Ruth placed her hand on Lynn’s forearm, stopping her. “I want to know why you’re so upset about this situation with Clay.”