She wanted to pretend he’d completely misread her, but she wasn’t sure she could pull it off. She found it increasingly difficult to disguise her feelings from Jon. Before Katie, she’d been adept at fooling her mother and sister about her thoughts and emotions. But Jon had the innate ability to see straight through her.

“It was awful,” she admitted.

“Did she put up a fuss?”

Maryellen shook her head, and to her horror, tears sprang to her eyes. This was mortifying.

With his hand at her elbow, Jon led her to the back room. Turning her so she faced him, he placed his hands on her shoulders. “Katie will be perfectly fine with your sister.”

Maryellen nodded. “It’s just that I hate not being with her.”

Jon expelled a sigh, and slowly, as if against his will, he drew Maryellen into his embrace. “I know…”

“How can you possibly know?” she challenged, needing his comfort and yet resenting the fact that she did. She closed her eyes and welcomed the feel of his arms, savored his warmth, his masculine scent. She didn’t want him to realize how weak his nearness made her. The only way she could combat these feelings was to react defensively.

“I know, Maryellen,” he said evenly, “because every week I have to leave my daughter with you and then walk away.”

“Oh.” It couldn’t possibly be this hard on him, she reasoned. He couldn’t suffer the same regrets and doubts she did. Could he?

“I…I must be a terrible mother.” Being this close to Jon was intoxicating; there was no other word for it. She needed to escape that intoxication, to ease away from him, and she needed to do it now.

This emotional hold was exactly what she’d been afraid of ever since the day they’d kissed. He made it far too easy to rely on him. If she didn’t break away now, he’d become a permanent part of her life. And that was something she couldn’t risk. That wasn’t part of the deal. He was Katie’s father—not Maryellen’s husband.

“You’re not a bad mother, you’re just a new mother,” Jon told her confidently. “You have a lot to learn. We both do.” He stroked her hair with such tenderness that she could hardly move out of his arms.

With a wrenching effort, she put some distance between them. Crossing her arms, she leaned her hip against the desk. “I’ll be fine now.”

“You sure?”

Not making eye contact, she gave a slight nod. “I…it’s just the first day. It’s bound to be the most difficult.”

“That’s what the books say.”

She managed a weak smile. “It was…thoughtful of you to stop by.”

Jon slipped his hands in his pockets. He did that, she’d noticed, whenever he was unsure of himself. She sensed that he didn’t want to be here and at the same time couldn’t stay away. She understood perfectly. She’d prefer to keep Jon out of her life—she couldn’t keep him out of Katie’s—but he was there. And wonderful. The day Katie was born, they’d formed a bond, as parents and as friends, and neither of them knew how to deal with emotions beyond that. Kissing him a few weeks ago had only complicated matters.

“You’re on your way to work?” she asked, eager now for him to go.

Jon took the hint. “Yeah. I should be off.”

They both seemed to relax at that. “Well, thank you for coming.”

He headed for the door, then abruptly, without warning, turned back. He grasped her by the shoulders and kissed her. A quick, urgent kiss.

The bell chimed as he walked out. Something had to be done and quickly. Jon was becoming far too important to her.

Wednesday night, both Allison and Eddie were in their bedrooms doing homework, or so Rosie assumed. There was nothing she could stand to watch on television, so she threw a load of wash in the machine. She preferred to do her laundry at the house. The washer in the apartment was at least twenty years old and had already ruined one good blouse. With money so tight, she didn’t want to risk destroying any more of her limited professional wardrobe.

The phone rang, but Rosie knew better than to answer it. Allison considered it her right to grab all calls. Not only that, she couldn’t let the phone go unanswered, as Rosie was often inclined to do these days, especially in the evenings.

Five seconds after the first ring, her daughter stuck her head out the bedroom door. “It’s for you,” she said in an incredulous tone. “It’s Dad.”

Wonderful! Rosie could only imagine what Zach had to complain about this time.

“Don’t be long,” Allison said tartly. “I’m expecting a call.”

This was a less-than-subtle reminder that the eccentric judge who’d set up this joint custody arrangement had more or less awarded the house to Allison and Eddie. So the phone belonged to the children—or that was the way Allison seemed to look at it.

“I can’t imagine we’ll talk long,” Rosie assured her.

Allison closed her bedroom door without comment.

Rosie took the call in the kitchen, thinking this was the room where they were least likely to be overheard. She took a deep breath before lifting the receiver. “Hello,” she said cheerfully. She wanted to give the impression that she’d been having the time of her life and his call was an interruption.

“It’s Zach,” he said stiffly. “I thought you’d want to know your boyfriend phoned.”

Her boyfriend? It was news to Rosie that she even had a boyfriend. Oh, he must mean Bruce. Good grief, she’d only seen him that one night. One date was all it’d taken for both of them to realize that the only thing they had in common was loss. They were friendly, and they chatted now and then, but that was it.

“I thought you should know,” he said again.

“I’m sorry if the call disturbed you,” Rosie said, forcing a light tone into her voice. “I’m sure he forgot which nights I’m at the house.” She purposely allowed Zach to think she was seeing Bruce a lot.

“Does he phone often?” Zach demanded, then paused. “Never mind, I don’t have any right to ask that.”

“No, you don’t.” It felt good to tell him that. “Thanks for letting me know. I’ll get back to Bruce right away.”

“Before we hang up, can we talk,” he asked, “just for a moment?”

“Okay, but I promised Allison I wouldn’t tie up the phone. She’s expecting a call.”

“She’s always expecting a call,” Zach muttered. “Speaking of Allison, how are the two of you getting along these days?”

“Really well. Why?” As long as Rosie stayed in one part of the house and Allison in another, they could cope, but there was no need to tell Zach that.

“She’s got nothing but attitude with me,” he confessed reluctantly.

Rosie realized this must be hard on him. Zach and Allison had always been close. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“What time are you getting home from work these days?” he asked.

“Same as always—around five, sometimes five-thirty. Depends on where I’m subbing. What makes you ask?”

“Allison is home when? Two-thirty?”

“Around then.” Their daughter’s interest in after-school activities had ceased following the divorce. She’d recently dropped out of volleyball, a sport she’d once loved. Allison had decided against trying out for drama club, too. That disappointed Rosie, who believed Allison had a real flair for it, but no amount of discussion could persuade her daughter to reconsider.

“I think Allison’s got too much time on her hands.”

“I agree.” Rosie abandoned all pretense. She was desperately worried about her daughter and particularly about whatever might be happening with the boyfriend. Thankfully, there’d been no sign of Ryan’s presence in the house during the past two weeks, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t been there. Since Eddie’s school wasn’t dismissed until almost four, Allison had ample opportunity to see Ryan without anyone knowing where she was or with whom. The thought terrified Rosie.

“What should we do?” she asked Zach.

“Any suggestions?”

“None,” she admitted.

“Me, neither.”

“I guess we need to talk more about this,” Rosie said. “Figure something out.”

Zach agreed. “Listen,” he said next. “Do you and this Bruce guy get along?”

She was about to remind him that her dating life was none of his concern, but changed her mind. “We get along all right.”

“What do the kids think of him?”

“I haven’t introduced him yet.” She had no intention of doing so, since it was unlikely she’d go out with him a second time.

“Oh.” Zach exhaled slowly. “Rosie, I want you to know I wish you and Bruce well. I sincerely mean that.”

Rosie felt like weeping and she struggled to hang on to her pride. “Thank you,” she murmured. “If Janice makes you happy, then that’s what I want for you, too.”

They were silent for half a minute or so.

“My most important job now is to be a good father to my children,” Zach said.

“The children are what’s most important to me, too,” she told him, but as she replaced the receiver, Rosie wondered if her failure as a wife and mother was what had gotten her into this predicament in the first place.

Pastor Dave Flemming planned to get in one last round of golf before the November rains arrived. Monday was his traditional day off, and he was prepared to take full advantage of the last bit of autumn sunshine. He stepped onto the lush green course at McDougal Woods and, to his surprise, saw Bob Beldon. Bob and his wife, Peggy, had recently started attending Cedar Cove Methodist. Peggy taught a Sunday school class and Bob had agreed to coach the youth basketball team. Dave liked Bob, and Peggy was one of the best cooks he’d ever had the privilege of knowing. The last church social, she’d brought a peach cobbler that had been the talk of the evening.

“Are you looking for a partner?” Bob asked.

“Sure,” Dave said affably; he welcomed the company.

They teed off at the first hole, then jumped into the cart. “Actually, we didn’t meet by accident this afternoon,” Bob admitted. “I called the church, and your secretary told me you were going to be here.”

Without a pause Dave reached for his five iron. “Something on your mind?”

“You could say that.”

Staring at the other man, Dave saw that he was pale, with dark shadows under his eyes. Bob had aged perceptibly in the last little while.

“I was hoping you might be able to give me some advice.”

“I will if I can.”

Bob’s next shot was a slice that went into the trees. He muttered under his breath. “I’m not much good at this.”

Dave was sympathetic. He had a wicked slice of his own, but he didn’t comment, giving Bob the room he needed to speak his mind.

It wasn’t until the fourth hole that Bob said anything more. “I’ve had this recurring nightmare for thirty years—ever since I got back from Nam.”