Kitabı oku: «Ultimate Cedar Cove Collection (Books 1-12 & 2 Novellas)», sayfa 2

“I’ll be back soon,” she told him again.

Tom nodded and gave her a rakish little grin. Oh, yes, he’d been a charmer in his day.

As she walked out the main door, Janet stopped her. “Did you introduce yourself to Tom Harding?”

“I did. What a dear man.”

“I knew you’d think so. You’re exactly what he needs.”

“He doesn’t have any family?”

“There’s no next of kin listed in his file. It’s about five years since his stroke, and apparently he’s never had visitors.” She paused, frowning. “But then, I don’t know how much we can trust the record-keeping at Senior Haven.”

“How long was he there?”

Janet shrugged. “I don’t recall exactly. At least five years. After he was released from chronic care.”

“Oh, the poor man. He’s—”

“In need of a friend,” Janet finished for her.

“Well, he found one,” Charlotte said. She’d always been a talker. Clyde used to say she could make friends with a brick wall. He meant it as a compliment and she’d taken it that way.

On second thought, she wouldn’t ask the women at the Senior Center to knit Tom a lap robe; she’d do it herself, just as soon as she finished the baby blanket. By her next visit, she’d have something to give him, something to keep him warm—the lap robe…and her friendship.

Judge Olivia Lockhart had a difficult time with divorce cases, which were her least favorite duty in family court. She’d served on the bench for two years and figured she’d seen it all. Then there were cases like this one.

Ian and Cecilia Randall were asking to rescind their handwritten notarized prenuptial agreement. As soon as that was out of the way, they would file for the dissolution of their marriage. The attorneys stood before her with their clients at their sides.

Olivia glanced at the paperwork, noting that it had been dated and signed less than a year ago. How a marriage could go so wrong so quickly was beyond her. She looked up and studied the couple. So young, they were, both of them staring down at their feet. Ian Randall seemed to be a responsible young man, probably away from his home and family for the first time, serving in the military. The wife was a fragile waif, impossibly thin with dark, soulful eyes. Her straight brown hair framed her heart-shaped face; the ends straggled to her shoulders. She repeatedly looped a strand around her ear, probably out of nerves.

“I must say this is original,” Olivia murmured, rereading the few lines of the text. It was straightforward enough if unusual. According to the agreement, the spouse who filed for divorce would assume all debts.

Apparently they’d had a change of heart in that, as well as in the matter of their marriage. Olivia glanced over the brief list of accumulated debts and saw that they’d been evenly split between the couple. If the marriage had lasted longer, of course, the debts would have been more punishing—a mortgage, presumably, car payments and so on. Which would have provided the discontented spouse with an incentive of sorts to stay in the marriage, Olivia supposed. In any event, the current debts amounted to seven thousand dollars. Ian Randall assumed all credit card bills and Cecilia Randall had agreed to pay the utility bills, which included a three-hundred-dollar phone bill and oddly enough, a two-hundred-dollar charge to a florist shop. The largest of the debts, she noticed, was burial costs, which they had agreed to share equally.

“Both parties have reached an agreement in regard to all debts accumulated during the time of their marriage,” Allan Harris stated.

Clearly there was more to this situation than met the eye. “Was there a death in the family?” she asked, directing the question to the attorney who’d spoken.

Allan nodded. “A child.”

Olivia’s stomach spasmed. “I see.”

“Our daughter was born premature, and she had a defective heart,” Cecilia Randall said in a barely audible voice. “Her name was Allison.”

“Allison Marie Randall,” the sailor husband added.

Olivia watched as husband and wife exchanged glances. Cecilia looked away but not fast enough for Olivia to miss the pain, the anger, the heartache. Perhaps she recognized it because she’d experienced it herself, right along with the disintegration of her own marriage.

The two parties continued to await her decision. Since everything was in order and both were in agreement, there was little to hold up the procedure. This hearing was simply a formality so they could proceed to the dissolution of their marriage.

“Seven thousand dollars is quite a lot of debt to accumulate in just a few months,” she said, prolonging their wait.

“I agree, Your Honor,” Brad Dumas inserted quickly, “but there were extenuating circumstances.”

Olivia caught sight of her mother in the viewing chamber. She often sat in the front row, almost always occupied with her needles and yarn. But Charlotte wasn’t knitting now. Her fingers clenched the needles that rested in her lap, as though she, too, understood the significance of what was happening.

Olivia hesitated, which was completely unlike her. She was known for being swift and decisive. What this couple needed was a gentle, loving hand to guide them through the grieving process. Ending their marriage wouldn’t solve the problems; personal experience had taught Olivia that. If the Randalls insisted on going through with their divorce, Olivia would be helping them pave a one-way road to pain and guilt. However, she had no legal reason not to rescind the agreement.

“I’m going to take a ten-minute recess…to review this agreement,” she announced. Then, before the members of either party could reveal their shock, she got up and headed toward her chambers. She heard the rustle of the courtroom as everyone stood, followed by a flurry of hushed whispers.

Sitting at her desk, Olivia leaned her head against the high-back leather chair and closed her eyes. It was inevitable that she’d see the comparisons between herself and Cecilia Randall. Fifteen years ago, Olivia had lost her oldest son. All those years had come and gone, but the pain of Jordan’s death had never faded, and it never would. In the twelve months after the drowning accident, her entire world had crumbled. First she’d lost her son and then her husband. Over the years, small problems had crept into her marriage—nothing big, nothing overwhelming or unusual, just the typical stress experienced by any couple with dual careers and three demanding children. But after Jordan’s death, that stress had multiplied tenfold, had become insurmountable. Before Olivia could fully appreciate what they were doing, they’d separated. Not long afterward, Olivia and Stan found themselves standing in front of a judge, and the divorce was declared final.

Three months later, Stan had shocked her and everyone else by remarrying. Apparently he’d been confiding his problems to this other woman for some time, keeping the relationship a secret from Olivia.

A knock sounded at her door and before Olivia could answer, her mother let herself in.

Olivia straightened. She should’ve known her mother would take this opportunity to speak with her. “Hello, Mom.”

“I’m not disturbing you, am I?”

Olivia shook her head. Her mother knew the door was always open as far as she was concerned.

“Oh, good.” Charlotte immediately got to the point—her point. “What a shame it is, that young couple wanting out of their marriage when they’ve barely had a chance to get to know each other.”

Olivia was thinking the same thing, although she couldn’t and wouldn’t admit it.

“It seems to me that neither of them is very keen on this divorce. I could be wrong, but—”

“Mother, you know I can’t discuss my cases.”

“Yes, yes, I know, but sometimes I just can’t help myself.” Charlotte started to back out the door, then apparently changed her mind. “I don’t know if I ever told you this, but your father and I didn’t get along the first year, either.”

This was news to Olivia.

“Clyde was a stubborn man, and as you might have noticed I have a strong will of my own.”

That was an understatement if ever there was one.

“Our first year, all we did was argue,” Charlotte said. “And then, before I knew it, I was pregnant with your brother and well…well, we worked everything out. We had a lot of good years together, your father and I.” Her hands tightened around her purse and her knitting bag. “He was the love of my life.” As if she’d said more than she’d intended, Charlotte moved out of the room and gently closed the door behind her.

Grinning, Olivia got to her feet. Leave it to her mother to say exactly what she needed to hear. Her decision made, Olivia returned to the courtroom. Once she was seated, the Randalls and their attorneys approached the bench. Cecilia Randall stepped forward with her big, soulful eyes staring blankly into space. Ian Randall’s expression was hard and unflinching, as though he was preparing himself for the inevitable.

“I cannot discount the possibility,” Olivia began, “that these parties entered into this agreement in contemplation of the very issue—this matter of divorce—that is set before this court. They obviously placed great value on their marriage and that value served as consideration for such a contract. Their intent was clearly to avoid the outcome they now seem to be pursuing—an easy divorce. Therefore, I am not setting aside the prenuptial agreement. The issue will need to be resolved at trial. In the meantime, I strongly urge these parties to seek out counseling or apply to the Dispute Resolution Center to discuss their differences.”

Both spouses and their lawyers leaned closer, as if they couldn’t possibly have heard correctly.

Allan Harris and Brad Dumas immediately started shuffling through their notes. The sight was almost comical as the two attorneys hurried to reread the prenuptial agreement.

“Excuse me, Your Honor.” Brad Dumas reacted first, raising his hand.

“Both parties are in agreement,” Allan Harris argued. “Mr. Randall has agreed to set aside the prenuptial and has willingly taken on responsibility for a share of the debts.”

“What did she say?” Cecilia Randall asked, looking to Allan Harris.

“To clarify, Your Honor,” Brad Dumas requested, his expression puzzled.

“The agreement stands as written,” Olivia stated.

“You’re not setting aside the agreement?” Allan Harris spoke slowly. He sounded confused.

“No, Counselors, I am not, for the reasons I’ve just indicated.”

Allan Harris and Brad Dumas stared at her.

“Is there a problem, gentlemen?”

“Ah…”

She waved them aside. “See the clerk and set a trial date.”

“Does this mean we can’t go through with the divorce?” Cecilia asked her attorney.

“I want the divorce as much as you do,” Ian Randall insisted.

Olivia slammed her gavel. “Order in the court,” she told them. If the couple chose to argue, they could do so on their own time.

Moving as though they were in shock, Allan Harris and Brad Dumas picked up their papers and briefcases.

“Is there any other option?” Cecilia Randall asked Allan Harris as they walked toward the doors.

“We might be able to appeal, but…”

“But that’ll drive up the costs even more,” Ian protested, close behind with his own attorney. Apparently Brad was still too dumbfounded to speak.

“I don’t understand what’s happening,” Cecilia muttered once she’d reached the courtroom doors. “Can’t we do something?”

“The judge said we have to take this to trial?” Ian Randall sounded incredulous. “Just how expensive is that going to be?”

“Very,” Allan Harris answered quickly, as if he’d take delight in running up his client’s husband’s tab.

“But that’s not what I want,” Cecilia wailed.

“Then I suggest you do what the judge recommended and seek counseling or contact the Dispute Resolution Center.”

“I’m not airing my problems to a group of strangers.” With that Ian Randall slammed his way out of the court. Brad Dumas followed his client, but not before tossing Olivia a disgruntled look.

Allan Harris stood there shaking his head, his expression incredulous.

The bailiff read off the next number and still Allan remained.

Cecilia Randall turned away, but not fast enough to disguise the fact that her eyes had filled with tears. Olivia felt her heart break just a little—and yet she was convinced she’d done the right thing.

“How did this happen?” Cecilia asked.

“I don’t understand it,” Olivia heard Allan Harris mumble. “This is crazy.”

Cecilia Randall shook her head. “You’re right,” she murmured, shrugging into her coat. “None of this should have happened, but it just did.”

Two

Olivia groaned when the telephone rang for the fifth time Saturday morning. No doubt this call, like all the others, was the result of Jack Griffin’s newspaper piece published that morning. The newly appointed editor of the Cedar Cove Chronicle had for some reason decided to write an article about her. He’d run the headline Divorce Denied across the editorial page. Olivia sighed; all this unwanted attention was disrupting her weekend, and she resented it.

“Hello,” she said, making sure her voice conveyed her irritation. If this caller felt compelled to discuss her judgment, then she wasn’t in the mood to talk. She’d brought each of the four previous conversations to a swift end.

“Hello, Mother.”

Justine, that was a relief! Olivia had been waiting to hear from her daughter all week. “How are you?” It used to be that they spoke on a regular basis, but no longer. Justine was dating a man Olivia considered disreputable, which created ongoing tension between mother and daughter. Consequently Justine avoided her. Warren Saget was a forty-eight-year-old land developer—twenty years her senior—who had put together more than one shady deal. The age difference didn’t bother Olivia as much as the man himself.

“Did you know your name was in the paper this morning?” Justine asked.

As though anyone would let Olivia miss seeing it. Starting the first of the year, the Cedar Cove Chronicle had gone to two editions a week and this was the very first Saturday edition. Maybe Griffin should’ve stuck to one paper a week, Olivia thought grimly, since he obviously couldn’t scrape up enough real news. His entire column had been about the day he’d spent sitting in her courtroom, listening to the judgments she’d made. Although he didn’t mention the Randalls by name, he said her ruling in that instance had come from the heart rather than from any law book and he applauded her decision, calling her gutsy and unconventional. Olivia wasn’t opposed to receiving praise, but she’d prefer not to have attention drawn to that particular case. While he’d mentioned her in a vaguely flattering light, he certainly hadn’t been as kind to others in her profession. He appeared to have a bias against attorneys and judges, and wasn’t afraid to share his opinions on the subject.

It was just Olivia’s luck that Jack Griffin had chosen her courtroom that day. Just her bad luck, she amended.

“What happened?” Justine asked. “I mean, it’s obvious Jack Griffin doesn’t have much respect for the law, but he seems to like you.”

Olivia could hear the amusement in her daughter’s voice. “I don’t even know the man,” she said dismissively.

“That’s interesting. I thought you’d been holding out on me.”

“Holding out?”

“As in you’d found yourself a man.”

“Oh, please,” Olivia moaned.

“Well, he seems to have made himself your champion. Especially over that ‘divorce denied’ thing.”

Olivia had known she was taking a risk when she’d made her ruling on the Randall case. Her personal feelings had no role on the bench, but she was absolutely certain those two young people would be making a terrible mistake if they went through with the divorce. She’d merely put up a roadblock, hoping it would be enough to force them into dealing with their problems instead of running from them.

“Jack wrote that you weren’t afraid of making a controversial decision.”

“I’ve already read his column,” Olivia said in an effort to keep her daughter from repeating any more of it.

“So you know all about it?”

Olivia sighed. “Unfortunately, yes.” Then, hoping to change the subject, she asked, “Are you free for lunch this afternoon? It’s been weeks since we had a chance to visit.” Justine had come for Christmas, but she’d left as soon as the gifts were opened and dinner had been served. Olivia had no idea where she’d spent New Year’s. Then again, she did know—and wished she didn’t. Her daughter had spent the night with Warren Saget. “Your grandma and I are getting together. We’d love it if you could join us.”

“Sorry, Mom, Warren and I already have plans.”

“Oh.” She should have guessed. Warren kept a tight rein on Justine. She rarely had any free time these days. That distressed and annoyed Olivia, but whenever she mentioned it, or even hinted as much, her daughter became defensive.

“We’ll get together soon,” Justine promised. “Gotta go now.”

Olivia was about to suggest they set a day and a time right then, but before she had the opportunity, the line went dead.

Grumbling to herself, she finished writing out her grocery list, then reached for her jacket and purse. The January weather was gray and bleak. It was raining lightly—more of a fine mist, really—as she locked the front door and hurried down the porch steps to her car. Olivia loved her home, which looked out over the water on Lighthouse Road. The lighthouse itself was three miles away, situated on a jut of land that led into the protected waters of the cove. Unfortunately it couldn’t be seen from her property.

She had a number of stops to make—the grocery, the dry cleaner, the library. She hoped to get everything done by noon, when she was meeting her mother for lunch. She wished again that Justine could have joined them.

She picked up her dry cleaning and returned her books to the library, then swung over to the local Safeway, where she always did her weekly shopping. Thankfully, she was early enough to avoid the usual Saturday morning crush. She began with the produce aisle, where she stood debating whether a head of lettuce was worth this outrageous price.

“Judge Lockhart. Didn’t expect to run into you here.”

Olivia turned to confront the very man who’d managed to upset her morning. She recognized his face from that day in her courtroom—the man who’d sat right in front, notebook and pen in hand. “Well, well, if it isn’t Mr. Jack Griffin.”

“I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of a formal introduction.”

“Trust me, Mr. Griffin, after this morning’s paper, I know who you are.” He was around her age, Olivia guessed, in his early fifties, and about her height. Dark hair, starting to gray. Clean-shaven, with pleasant regular features, he didn’t strike her as outstandingly handsome but he had what she could only describe as an appealing quality. He smiled readily and his gaze was clear and direct. He seemed a bit disheveled in a loose raincoat, and she noticed that his shirt was casual, the top two buttons unfastened.

“Do I detect a note of censure?” he asked, his smile flirting with her.

Olivia wasn’t sure how to answer. She was annoyed with him, but letting him know that would serve no useful purpose. “I suppose you were just doing your job,” she muttered, tossing a green pepper into her cart. Rubies cost less per pound, but she had a fondness for green peppers and felt she deserved a treat. Especially after this morning. Green peppers were a whole lot better for her than butter-pecan ice cream.

She started to push her cart away, but Jack stopped her.

“They’ve got a coffee shop next door. Let’s talk.”

Olivia shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

Jack followed her as she sorted through the fresh green beans. “It might’ve been my imagination, but you didn’t want to see that couple go through with the divorce, did you?”

“I don’t discuss my cases outside the courtroom,” she informed him stiffly.

“Naturally,” he said in a reasonable tone as he continued walking at her side. “It was personal, wasn’t it?”

Losing her patience, Olivia turned and glared at him. As though she’d admit such a thing to a reporter! He’d make the whole episode sound like a breach of professional ethics. She’d done nothing wrong, dammit. She’d acted with the best of intentions, and she’d remained steadfastly within the law.

“You lost a son, didn’t you?” he pressed.

“Are you gathering information on me for your next article, Mr. Griffin?” she asked coldly.

“No—and it’s Jack.” He held up both hands, which was supposed to reassure her, Olivia supposed. It didn’t.

“I nearly lost my own son,” he said.

“Do you always pester people who prefer to go about their own business, or am I special?”

“You’re special,” he answered without a pause. “I knew it the minute you made your judgment in the Randall case. You were right, you know. Everyone in that courtroom could see they had no business getting divorced. What you did took guts.”

“As I explained earlier, I cannot discuss my cases.”

“But you could have a cup of coffee with me, couldn’t you?” He didn’t plead, didn’t prod, but there was a good-natured quality about him that was beginning to work on her. He had a sense of humor, even a certain roguishness. She gave up. It probably wouldn’t hurt to talk.

“All right,” she agreed. She glanced down at her cart, calculating how long it would take her to finish.

“Thirty minutes,” he suggested, grinning triumphantly. “I’ll meet you there.”

That settled, he walked away. Olivia couldn’t help it, she was curious about this man and his comment about almost losing his own son. Perhaps they had more in common than she’d realized.

Twenty-five minutes later, her groceries in the trunk of her car, Olivia entered Java and Juice, the coffeehouse next to the Safeway. Sure enough, Jack was waiting for her, hands cupped around a steaming latte. He sat at a round table by the window and stood when she approached. It was a small thing, coming to his feet like that, a show of good manners and respect. But that one gentlemanly gesture told her as much about him as everything else he’d said and done.

She sat in the chair across from him and he waved to the waitress, who appeared promptly. Olivia ordered a regular coffee; a minute later, a thick ceramic mug was set before her.

Jack waited until the high-school girl had left before he spoke. “I just wanted you to know I meant what I said—I admire what you did last week. It couldn’t have been easy.” Olivia was about to remind him yet again that she couldn’t discuss her court cases when he stopped her, shaking his head. “I know, I know. But in my opinion you made a bold move and I couldn’t let that go unnoticed.”

Olivia would have preferred he not publish his opinions for the entire town to discuss. However, there was nothing she could say or do that would change what had already seen the light of the printed page.

“How long have you been in Cedar Cove?” she asked instead.

“Three months,” he answered. “Are you purposely turning the attention away from yourself?”

Olivia grinned. “I sure am,” she told him. “So—you have a son?”

“Eric. He’s twenty-six and lives in Seattle. When he was ten, he was diagnosed with a rare form of bone cancer. He wasn’t expected to live….” His face darkened at the memory.

“But he did,” Olivia said.

Jack nodded. “He’s alive and healthy, and for that I’m deeply grateful.” Then he went on to say that Eric worked for Microsoft and was doing very well.

Olivia’s gaze went automatically to his ring finger. Jack had mentioned his son, but not his wife.

He’d obviously noticed her quick look. “Eric survived the cancer,” he said, “but unfortunately my marriage didn’t.”

So he understood on a personal level what had occurred in her own life. “I’m sorry.”

He shrugged carelessly. “That was a long time ago. Life goes on and so do I. You’re divorced yourself?” Although he asked the question, she was fairly certain he already knew the answer.

“Fifteen years now.”

The conversation flowed smoothly after that, and before she knew it, she had to leave to meet her mother for lunch. Reaching for her purse, Olivia stood and extended her hand to Jack.

“I enjoyed getting to know you.”

He rose to his feet, taking her hand in his. “You, too, Olivia.” He briefly squeezed her fingers, as if to say they’d formed a bond with one another. When they’d first met today—and definitely before that—she’d been irritated with him, but Jack had managed to thwart her displeasure. By the time she walked out the door, Olivia felt she’d made a friend. She was well aware that Jack Griffin was no ordinary man, though; she wouldn’t make the mistake of underestimating him.

Ian Randall sat in his car outside his wife’s apartment building, dreading what was certain to be another confrontation. The judge had made it plain that the prenuptial agreement wasn’t going to be rescinded. Now what? They had a few options, none of which suited him or, apparently, his wife.

Cecilia was the one who wanted the divorce. She’d been the first to hire an attorney. Hell, she’d rammed this whole stupid idea down his throat. She wanted out. Okay, fine. If she preferred not to be with him, he was hardly going to fight for the privilege of remaining her husband. But now they were faced with a stumbling block in their attempt to end the marriage, such as it was. All because they’d written that agreement, intended to safeguard their wedding vows. Some decision had to be made.

There was no point in waiting any longer. He climbed out of his car and slowly entered the building, approaching the first-floor apartment they’d once shared.

Ian was irritated that he had to ring the doorbell to what had recently been his own home. After their separation, he’d had to move on base. Fortunately, his friend Andrew Lackey had allowed Ian to store a few things at his house. He leaned hard against the buzzer now, fighting down his resentment. Releasing the button, he retreated a step and squared his shoulders. He steeled his emotions the way he’d been taught in basic training, unwilling to reveal any of his thoughts or feelings to Cecilia.

His wife opened the door, frowning when she saw who it was.

“I thought we should come to a decision,” he announced in resolute tones. No matter how many times he told himself he shouldn’t feel anything for her, he did. He couldn’t be in the same room with her and forget what it was like when they’d made love or when he’d first felt their baby move inside her. Nor could he forget how it had felt to stand over his daughter’s grave, never having had the opportunity to hold Allison or tell her he loved her.

Cecilia held open the door. “Okay.”

The hesitation in her voice was unmistakable.

Ian followed her into the compact living room and sat on the edge of the sofa. They’d picked it up second-hand at a garage sale shortly after their wedding. Ian had refused to let Cecilia help him move it, since she was already three months pregnant. His stubbornness had resulted in a wrenched back. This old sofa came with a lot of bad memories, just like his short-lived marriage.

Cecilia sat across from him, her hands folded, her face unrevealing.

“I have to tell you the judge’s decision was kind of a shock,” he said, opening the discussion.

“My attorney said we could appeal it.”

“Oh, sure,” Ian muttered, his anger flaring. “And rack up another five or six hundred dollars’ worth of legal fees. I don’t have that kind of money to burn and neither do you.”

“You don’t know the state of my finances,” Cecilia snapped.

This was the way every discussion started with them. At first they were courteous, almost too polite, but within minutes they were arguing and everything exploded in his face. They seemed to reach that level of irrational anger so quickly these days, or at least since Allison Marie’s birth—and death. Ian sighed, feeling a sense of hopelessness. With the way things were between them now, it was hard to believe they’d ever slept together.

Ian diverted his thoughts from their once healthy and energetic love life. In bed they’d found little to disagree about, but that was before…

“We could always do as my attorney suggested.”

“And what’s that?” Ian had no intention of taking Allan Harris’s advice. The other man represented his wife’s interests, not his.

“Allan recommended we do what the judge said and take our disagreement to the Dispute Resolution Center.”

Ian remembered Judge Lockhart making some comment about that, and he remembered his own reaction at the time. “What exactly is that supposed to do?” he asked, trying to sound reasonable and conciliatory.

“Well, I can’t say for certain, but I think we’d each present our sides to an impartial third party.”

“What will that cost?”

“Does everything boil down to money with you?” Cecilia demanded.

“As a matter of fact, yes.” This divorce had already set him back plenty. He wasn’t the one who’d wanted it in the first place, he told himself stubbornly. Sure, after Allison died, they’d had a few arguments but he’d never expected it to lead to this.

Cecilia had never understood what it’d been like for him, although he’d tried to explain countless times. He hadn’t received her “family gram” until the end of the tour. His commanding officer had withheld the information about the premature birth and death of his daughter, since there was no possibility of a humanitarian airlift or any way of contacting Cecilia. When he finally reached the base, he hadn’t had a chance to absorb the reality of their loss.