She rewarded him with a series of slow kisses. “Did you know that when we’re kissing and touching, you don’t stutter?”

He frowned briefly. “I don’t?”

“Nope. When you’re talking to the animals, you don’t, either.” She’d observed this earlier and been struck by it.

Again he seemed unsure he should believe her.

“Have you ever been to a speech therapist?” she asked.

Resistance narrowed his gaze and he glanced away. “N-n-no.”

She turned his face back to her so he couldn’t avoid meeting her eyes. “That’s what I thought.” She took a deep breath. “There’s an excellent therapist here in Kitsap County.” She’d investigated therapists in the region and checked out their credentials.

“Y-y-you w-w-w-want me to g-go?”

“That’s entirely up to you,” she told him, ignoring the fact that his stutter had instantly become more pronounced, which seemed to happen as a reaction to stress. The gravel on the beach was cutting into her knees; still, she stayed where she was. “I’m just letting you know there’s help if you want it.” She placed the emphasis on him. This was up to Cal, and whatever he decided was fine with her.

When he didn’t respond right away, Linnette sat down beside him once again. Cal draped his arm around her shoulder and brought her against his side. She felt peaceful and calm in his embrace.

“W-would y-you go with m-me?”

“For the first visit, anyway—if that’s what you want.”

Leaning over, Cal kissed the top of her head. “Y-you g-got on Sheba.”

He was telling her that although she was apprehensive about riding, Linnette had climbed into the saddle—and that he was willing to take a risk, too. He would see a therapist about his speech impediment, despite his intense need to protect his own privacy.

“I owe my mother a big debt of thanks,” Linnette whispered more to herself than to Cal.

“Oh?”

“She paid a lot of money at that auction so I could meet you, and now that I have, I think she got the bargain of the century.” She grinned. “What I really mean is that I did.”

Seven

As Rachel Pendergast was putting a load of clean clothes in her dryer, the phone rang. She reached it just before the fifth ring, which was when her answering machine always came on.

She’d been waiting to hear from Nate all day and dove breathlessly for the receiver. “Hello.”

“Rachel?”

It was a young girl’s voice, instantly recognizable as that of nine-year-old Jolene Peyton. They’d been good friends for the last four years. Soon after widower Bruce Peyton had brought his young daughter into the salon for a haircut, Jolene had decided she wanted Rachel to be her new mother. At the time, it had created an embarrassing situation.

Bruce still grieved for his wife, who’d died in a car accident on her way to pick up Jolene from kinder-garten. He’d been adamant about having no interest in any kind of romance—with anyone, Rachel included. She accepted him at his word and over the next few years, as Jolene and Rachel continued to meet, Bruce and Rachel had become friends. They occasionally went out to dinner, mostly to discuss Jolene, since Bruce often sought her advice. Because she’d lost her own mother when she was relatively young, Rachel identified with the child.

In other words, there was nothing romantic between her and Bruce. Rachel was seeing Nate Olsen, although the time they actually spent together was limited, since the navy’s demands came first.

“I need someone to take me shopping,” Jolene said in a small, uncertain voice. “Dad said I could buy an Easter dress.”

“I’d be happy to go with you,” Rachel assured the youngster.

“My dad wants to talk to you, all right?” The little girl’s voice was more cheerful now.

“Rachel,” Bruce said. “Would it be a bother?”

“Not at all.” The truth was, she could do with something new herself. “I’d love it.”

“When can you go?”

Since Easter was the following weekend, Rachel figured it would need to be soon. “How about this afternoon?” she suggested. She had a rare Saturday free, which she’d arranged on the off-chance that Nate would be available. But it was already midafternoon and she hadn’t heard from him, so she assumed he wouldn’t be calling.

“This afternoon is perfect,” Bruce said.

Rachel heard Jolene shout with glee in the background.

“I’ll bring her by in an hour if that works for you,” Bruce said.

“That would be great.”

They discussed a price range for the new outfit and after a few words of farewell, ended the call. Rachel always enjoyed her “girl-time” with Jolene. When she’d started fourth grade, Jolene had asked her to attend the school’s open house, and with Bruce’s blessing, Rachel had gone. Afterward Jolene had written her a lovely thank-you note, which Rachel treasured. She had a stack of artwork that Jolene had colored or drawn or constructed for her. These were things a little girl would normally give her mother, and Rachel felt honored to play that role—part-time surrogate mom—in Jolene’s life.

As Rachel finished brushing her hair, her phone rang again. Even before she answered, she had the sinking feeling it would be Nate.

It was.

“Are you free?” he asked.

“I will be later,” she told him. Nate was working on some major project aboard the aircraft carrier. Because of it, they hadn’t been together in more than a week.

“I thought you took the day off,” he complained.

“I did.” She didn’t mention how many favors she’d had to call in to arrange a free Saturday. “When I didn’t hear from you, I figured you were still hung up on this project.”

Nate groaned. “Can you cancel whatever you’ve got planned?”

Rachel refused to do that to Jolene. “No. It’s Jolene. I’m taking her shopping for an Easter dress.”

The line went silent. “All right,” he said reluctantly, his disappointment obvious. “I would’ve phoned sooner if I’d had the chance.”

“I know.” Rachel was disappointed, too. “What about later?”

“What time?”

“I’m not sure.” She wouldn’t know that until she got to the shopping mall. “Say six?”

“That’s too late,” he muttered. “I have a commitment this evening—a stag I have to go to. Dinner and, uh, entertainment. The whole deal.”

“Well…we’ll get together soon,” she assured him. It was the best she could offer.

“Soon,” Nate agreed with a sigh.

They spoke until the doorbell rang. Assuming it was Bruce and Jolene, Rachel ended the conversation with Nate and opened the door to discover Teri Miller waiting there. “Turn on your television,” Teri insisted, storming into the small rental house.

“My television?” Rachel said. “What for?”

“Remember when we were over at Maryellen’s last week?” Teri moved toward the television and reached for the remote. Not giving Rachel a chance to respond, she turned on the set and flipped though channels until she found the one she wanted.

Rachel stared at the screen, unable to figure out the program, which seemed to be some sort of…sporting event? She quickly surmised that it had nothing to do with sports. A group of mostly men were gathered around game boards, and everyone seemed intent and deadly serious.

“They’re playing chess,” Rachel said. She couldn’t imagine why this was important to her friend.

“It’s one of the biggest chess tournaments in the world, and they’re in Seattle.”

“Seattle,” Rachel repeated. “Right. I remember. We heard the announcement at Maryellen’s.”

“Bobby Polgar is playing,” Teri said excitedly, standing transfixed in front of the television. She pointed at a man bent over the board just as the camera closed in on the slouching figure.

“Who?” The name was vaguely familiar but Rachel didn’t care about chess. She knew the basics of the game, or had at one time, but that was it.

“Bobby Polgar is the top-ranked player in the United States,” Teri explained. Again Rachel wondered why this mattered to her friend. “He’s in a match with some guy whose name I can’t pronounce. From Ukraine.”

“And this interests you?” Rachel asked.

“Yes. At least, Bobby does. I think he’s kind of cute.” She shrugged dramatically. “I know why Bobby’s losing this match.”

“You do?” She sent Teri a puzzled frown. “I don’t get this, so give me a hand here,” Rachel said. “As I recall, you know next to nothing about chess.” She remembered that Teri thought chess was a lot like checkers, which of course, it wasn’t.

“I have no idea how to play,” Teri said. She glanced at her watch and immediately became agitated. “But that’s beside the point. Listen, I’ve got a ferry to catch. I’m going to Seattle to help Bobby.”

Rachel stared at her. Life-of-the-party Teri was going to “help” a chess grand master? Someone she’d only seen on television? Someone who was expert at a game she didn’t know the first thing about? “Teri, are you all right?”

Her eyes widened. “Of course I’m all right. This is a mission of mercy. By the way, can I borrow twenty bucks?”

“I’ll get my purse.” They often helped each other out when one was short of cash. Rachel retrieved her wallet and took out the money. This was so unlike Teri. She knew her friend to be impetuous, but this was extreme.

“I realize you just have a few minutes, but start at the beginning. Just talk fast.”

Teri drew in a deep breath and spoke in a rush. “I was cutting that snooty college professor’s hair this morning. That Dr. Uptight.”

“Dr. Upright,” Rachel corrected.

“Whatever. The point is, the entire time I was cutting her hair she was on her cell phone getting updates on the chess championship. She couldn’t believe Bobby Polgar was behind. I was curious, so after I finished her haircut, I turned on the TV at the salon and I saw him playing his first match, the one he lost.” Teri said all this apparently without taking a breath.

“And?” Rachel urged.

“And he needs a haircut.”

“Bobby Polgar needs a haircut?” What did that have to do with anything?

“Yes, he does,” Teri said. “He kept brushing his hair out of his eyes. His hair is distracting him. He’s long overdue for a cut and I decided to do something about it. I’m going to the tournament and I’m going to offer to cut his hair.”

Rachel could list at least a dozen obstacles her friend was likely to encounter before she got to Bobby Polgar, if she ever did. However, Teri wasn’t easily dissuaded once she’d made up her mind.

“I’m doing this for my country,” she announced with melodramatic flair.