It came as a shock when Grace lied to him. The thing was, Grace wasn't a natural liar. She was too easy to see through. That was when he'd decided to call it quits. He'd done so, but not without regret.

After he'd checked on Funny Face and her dam, Cliff went back to the house to return the phone call. He studied the name—Janet Webb—and didn't recognize it or the number. He was mildly curious when the voice on the other end announced that he'd reached the local animal shelter. He asked for Janet and was placed on hold.

"This is Janet Webb." The woman's clipped, professional voice caught him off guard. It sounded as if he'd interrupted some important project and she resented the intrusion.

"Cliff Harding, returning your call," he said in like tones.

"Mr. Harding." Her voice softened into cordiality. "I appreciate your calling me back. I know you've heard about our Dog and Bachelor Auction next week."

"I did hear mention of it." Cliff could hardly ignore the upcoming event; there were posters all over town, frequent articles in the paper—and even in the Seattle news. Cliff would be happy to make a contribution, but he wasn't interested in participating.

"We were disappointed to learn you haven't volunteered to be one of our bachelors." Her tone grew even friendlier.

"Yes, well—"

She didn't allow him to finish. "Your name's come up more than once and from several different people."

"I'm honored, but—"

"I'm sure you won't mind if I add you to the list, then." Her voice was triumphant—as though she'd successfully outwitted him.

The woman was nothing if not persistent. "I don't think so."

His adamant refusal gave her pause. "Is there any particular reason, Mr. Harding, that you don't want to support the animal shelter?"

He opened his mouth to remind her that he did support the shelter, but, again, wasn't allowed to respond.

"One would assume that all animals would hold a place in a horseman's heart. One would assume that a horseman—"

He broke in. "I believe my trainer, Cal Washburn, is one of the bachelors—on my recommendation.'' Cal wasn't likely to forgive him for that anytime soon. Volunteering Cal was supposed to serve a double purpose: to get Cliff off the hook and to give Cal some exposure to local society, specifically female society. He was a young man, after all. To Cliff's surprise, he'd eventually agreed to participate, as long as he wasn't expected to do any public speaking. Cliff assured him all he'd have to do was to stand up on stage and listen to the women fight over him.

"Yes, I see Mr. Washburn on the list," Janet said. "But what about you?"

"I'm flattered you'd ask me personally, but I'm sorry— no." Even for charity, he had his limits.

"I see," Janet said in a severe voice. "What if I told you that your participation could have a very big impact on the shelter?"

"How do you mean?"

"Someone who prefers to remain anonymous has offered to make a large donation if 1 can convince you to volunteer for the auction."

"What?" Cliff was sure he'd misunderstood.

"It's true. As I said, someone's offered a substantial donation to the shelter if you'll be one of our bachelors."

Cliff was both amused and chagrinned. "Who?"

"I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to say."

It could only be Grace, Cliff reasoned, but she didn't have the money to make that kind of offer. "Male or female?" he pressed.

Janet Webb laughed nervously. "As 1 said, I'm not at liberty to reveal the source, Mr. Harding."

"How substantial a donation?"

"Nor am I at liberty to reveal the amount."

He chuckled, completely perplexed by the situation.

"Mr. Harding, I sincerely hope you'll have a change of heart."

Cliff thought about it and sighed. "I suppose I can volunteer." He wasn't happy about it, nor did he appreciate being coerced, but he didn't want to take money away from the shelter. In any case, there was no help for it now; he'd given his word.

After a while, he wandered outside to talk to Cal. "I don't suppose you know anything about that phone call?"

The trainer shook his head.

"Someone offered a donation to the shelter if I agreed to be part of the auction."

Cal's eyes widened. "Y-you g-gonna d-do it?"

Cliff nodded, shrugging his shoulders. "Hey—you didn't have anything to do with this, did you?"

Cal shook his head again. "G-grace?"

Grace's involvement had been his first assumption, too, but it didn't make sense, and not just because of the money. Cliff had recently seen her at the Saturday Farmers' Market, talking to Stan Lockhart, Olivia's ex-husband. The instant she'd seen him she looked guilty. Cliff suspected she'd started dating the other man. The idea of her with Stan bothered him, but Cliff had to put the matter out of his mind. If Grace wanted to see her best friend's ex-husband—well, it wasn't any of his business.

Still, he didn't know how he could have misjudged Grace this badly. She wasn't the woman he'd first believed, not nearly the honest, straightforward person he'd thought, and the realization troubled and saddened him.

He glanced up to find Cal struggling to hide a grin. "Wipe that off your face," he growled.

Cal laughed outright.

"This isn't funny."

Cal laughed again.

Soon Cliff was chuckling, too. He couldn't imagine who'd pay for him to be one of the bachelors, but it might be interesting to find out.

Twenty-One

Jon walked Maryellen and Katie out to the car and buckled their daughter into her protective carrier in the back seat. Maryellen found it harder and harder to head off to work each morning when she longed to spend the day with her husband and child. Jon and Maryellen had agreed she'd quit her job by the end of the year, sooner if they could manage it financially. Maryellen was hoping to get pregnant again, too. She wanted no more than two or three years between Katie and this new baby.

She opened the driver's side door and Jon came over to take her in his arms. "I hate seeing you and Katie leave me every morning," he murmured, echoing her own regrets.

Maryellen slipped her arms around her husband, resting her head on his chest. "I hate leaving you, too."

"It won't be much longer," he promised.

Maryellen nodded. They kissed goodbye and then she climbed into the car and drove into Cedar Cove. Kelly, her younger sister, provided day care for Katie and had done so since Maryellen's return to work the year before. The arrangement worked well for both of them. The extra income helped her sister, and Maryellen felt relieved that her daughter was with family. Kelly's son, Tyler, was wonderful with his cousin and looked after Katie as if she were his little sister. Kelly and her husband, Paul, wanted a second child; although she'd only mentioned it to Maryellen once, Kelly seemed to be having trouble getting pregnant again. Maryellen sympathized but didn't feel she could discuss the subject unless Kelly brought it up first.

There was no time to think about her family once she arrived at the HarborStreetArtGallery. Summers were their busy season, with plenty of tourist activity and consequently lots of drop-in traffic. Maryellen preferred it that way.

A couple of years earlier she'd broken off her relationship with Jon in an effort to hide the fact that she was pregnant with his child. In order to avoid seeing her—at least before he knew about the pregnancy—he'd moved his work from the local gallery to a well-known Seattle one. His career had grown ever since. His work was back in the Harbor Street

gallery now, but it sold out almost as quickly as he could bring it in.

Maryellen knew that Jon had outgrown their gallery, although he was willing to provide a few pieces because of Maryellen and out of loyalty to the owners, who'd given him his start. The demands on his time and talent kept him increasingly busy. Maryellen was looking forward to managing his career and getting his work displayed in galleries all across North America. She had plenty of ideas, including reproductions in both poster-size and as cards.

At noon, Jon called and they chatted briefly. They couldn't be apart for more than a few hours without missing each other and craving contact, even if that was only five minutes on the phone.

"I'm working in my darkroom this afternoon," he told her.

In other words, she shouldn't call him unless absolutely necessary.

"Okay."

"What time will you be home?"

She smiled at the question because she got there within the same ten-minute period every afternoon. "Five-thirty-one," she teased.

"Cute, Maryellen."

"I can be even cuter if you want."

"What I want is you. All of you, all the time."

"That's good to know because I'm more than willing to give you all of me."

Jon laughed. "I'll be waiting for my two favorite women at five-thirty-one."

"Aye, aye, captain." Maryellen smiled as she replaced the receiver, warmed by their brief conversation.

A short while later, while her assistant was on her lunch break, an older couple came into the gallery. The building itself, more than a century old, was a historic site in Cedar Cove. As always, the wide wooden floorboards creaked as she moved out of her small office to greet the customers. The walls of the gallery displayed a variety of artwork— paintings and photographs—by several local artists, but the three pieces Jon had brought in earlier that week had already been sold.

Maryellen watched as the man and woman, arms linked, glanced about the room. They didn't seem typical of the normal tourist traffic. The man wore slacks and a short-sleeved plaid shirt, while the woman had on a rather old-fashioned shirtwaist dress. It looked as if they were on a church outing rather than visiting a small town.

"Hello," Maryellen said warmly. "Welcome to the HarborStreetArtGallery. Is there anything I can help you find?"

"Hello." The woman smiled and turned to her husband, apparently waiting for him to speak. When he didn't, she said, "We've heard there's a very talented nature photographer from this area whose work is displayed here."

"That would be Jon Bowman." It never failed to thrill Maryellen when a customer inquired about him. "I'm afraid the gallery has sold out of Mr. Bowman's photographs. I'll have more in later in the month."

"Oh." The woman was clearly disappointed.

"His photographs are also available in a gallery in Seattle. I'd be more than happy to give you their name and phone number if you'd like."

She nodded eagerly. "Yes, by all means."

Maryellen walked over to her desk and retrieved a business card from the gallery that displayed Jon's photographs. The man, who was quite tall and formal in his manner, accepted the card. He bowed his head in thanks and stared at it intently.

Something about him caught Maryellen's attention, but she couldn't figure out exactly what it was.

The woman moved closer to her husband. "We heard correctly then? Jon—Mr. Bowman does live in the area?"

"Yes, he does. As it happens, I'm his wife." Maryellen said this with a great deal of pride.

"I thought you might be," the man said, speaking for the first time. His tone was low, a bit gruff, as if he didn't speak often.