16 Lighthouse Road (Cedar Cove #1)

16 Lighthouse Road (Cedar Cove #1) Page 43

“This is Charlotte Jefferson,” she announced.

“Yes, Mrs. Jefferson, I’ve been meaning to get in touch with you.”

Charlotte just bet he had. Probably with another of his lame excuses. “I’m sorry to trouble you again, but seeing that you’ve been unable to keep your appointment with me—”

“That was what I planned to discuss with you. Would this afternoon be convenient?”

The indignation that had been bolstered by her friends’ well-meaning advice was suddenly unnecessary. “This afternoon would be fine,” she muttered, feeling deflated and, truth to tell, a little disappointed. She’d been ready to blast him; she’d even worked out some very effective remarks about family duty on the drive home. Now she wouldn’t be able to use them.

“I imagine it’s a bit disconcerting to be sleeping with a gun under your bed.”

Charlotte heard the teasing in his voice and decided to ignore it. “Actually, I moved the gun to my underwear drawer.” She didn’t mention that she’d wrapped it in an old girdle.

“Your underwear drawer?” he repeated.

Again, she’d amused him, but this time she couldn’t fathom why. That was a clever hiding place in her opinion. No one breaking into the house, if they got past her overprotective cat, would think to search for anything of significance in a drawer of cotton panties. Anything that was the least bit important in Charlotte’s house invariably ended up there. Her savings passbook was tucked inside her support panty hose. No thief was going to catch her off guard.

“What time will you be here?” she wanted to know.

“Is around four okay?”

“That would be perfect.” Charlotte gave him directions to her home and they ended the conversation. Then, because she wanted to be hospitable, she baked cookies. The recipe had been given to her three years ago at a seniors’ potluck and it always went over well. Men, especially, seemed to like these cookies, which were thick with chocolate chips, coconut and pecans.

She’d just finished scraping the last of the batch from the cookie sheet when the doorbell rang. Charlotte hurried toward the front door, picking up Harry to keep him from escaping. Her cat purred in her ear as she turned open the three locks. The last one had been installed only recently. Charlotte wasn’t going to make a thief’s job easy for him, no sir. She couldn’t afford one of those fancy security systems, but she had her own safeguards.

The man who stood on the other side of the threshold was a good six feet tall with a small paunch. He wore a cowboy hat and boots, blue jeans with a brown jacket and a string tie.

“Mrs. Jefferson?”

“Yes. You must be Cliff Harding.” She unlocked the screen door and held it open for him. “Come in, please.”

He stepped into her modest home and sniffed appreciatively. “You been baking cookies?”

“I just wanted to be neighborly,” she said, inviting him to take a seat on her sofa. She was ready. The silver service was set up, the pot filled with fresh coffee. The service was used only on rare occasions, but she wanted to make a good impression on Tom’s grandson. The cookies were still warm from the oven.

Charlotte noticed that she didn’t need to urge Cliff to help himself. She sat down across from him.

“How much do you know about your grandfather?” she asked, pouring for them both.

Cliff leaned forward and accepted the delicate china cup. “Only what my father told me.” This was said with a scowl. “And frankly, it wasn’t complimentary. Tom Harding was a scoundrel and a womanizer.”

“That I wouldn’t know. I only knew him during the last few months of his life.”

“Were you aware that he abandoned his family in order to pursue his film career? My grandmother and father lived on charity and died in poverty while Tom Houston, The Yodeling Cowboy, lived the high life. If I have no interest in his effects, I’m sure you can understand why.”

Charlotte found it difficult to think badly of Tom. This wasn’t the man she knew. “By the time I met Tom, he’d suffered a stroke and had lost his ability to speak.”

“You said he requested to be transferred to Cedar Cove?”

“That’s my understanding.” Charlotte reached for a cookie. She should avoid the unneeded calories, but these were simply too good to ignore.

“Do you think I was the reason?”

“I’m positive.” Charlotte didn’t doubt it for a moment. “What you said about your grandfather may very well be true. I can’t possibly know, nor is it important that I do. But I can tell you about the man who became my friend. He wanted to meet you, I’m convinced of that, but I think he was afraid.”

“Of me?”

She nodded. “He moved to Cedar Cove because it was the closest facility to where you lived. It makes sense, doesn’t it?”

“I suppose.” He didn’t seem convinced.

“I understood Tom. Don’t ask me how or why, but the two of us bonded. Some days it was almost as if we could talk. I understood what he wanted to say and he appeared to understand me.”

“My father said he always did have a way with the ladies.”

Charlotte stiffened, then decided Cliff was probably right. She wouldn’t take offense, although that was her first instinct. “Your grandfather never had the chance to tell you he loved you.”

“Loved me?” Cliff flared. “He never even met me.”

“You’re right, of course, but you were his only living relative. He’d obviously kept track of you. Otherwise, how would he have known where you were living or that you raised horses?”

“Are you sure he knew that?”

“I believe he did. The same way I’m confident he wanted you to have the things I took out of his storage unit. He wasn’t able to be part of your life. Perhaps he felt he didn’t have the right to intrude on you. But it’s his blood that runs through your veins. He was proud of you—I know it. Proud to be your grandfather. This is all he had to give you.”

Cliff Harding set down his coffee and stood. Staring out the window, he turned his back to Charlotte. “I came this afternoon to thank you for your efforts on my grandfather’s behalf and to tell you I wanted nothing to do with the man.”

“And now?”

“You’re a very persuasive woman, Mrs. Jefferson.”

“Does that mean you’ll take his things home with you?” She hoped he would. And more importantly, she wanted him to examine each piece and discover the man Tom Harding had been. She feared Cliff would pack everything away without learning about his heritage.

“I’ll take them.”

“And you’ll carefully study what your grandfather left you?”

He nodded.

“I believe you’ve made a wise decision.” Sighing deeply, Charlotte knew she’d put in a good day’s work. Somehow, she’d accomplished what Tom had wanted her to do. And on a more personal note, she’d be glad to remove the gun from her girdle.

Justine bought a slinky blue dress for her ten-year class reunion, but she didn’t know who she was hoping to impress. Her one consolation, as she headed out the door for the festivities, was that Seth Gunderson wouldn’t be attending. She should know. As the treasurer for the reunion, Justine had compiled a list of who’d signed up and who’d paid. Seth had done neither.

She felt humiliated arriving without a date, but why should this night be different from any other high-school function? Justine had been an outsider all through those years. She was the class brain, the valedictorian and the girl voted most likely to succeed. With several scholarships offered, she’d dutifully chosen a prestigious East Coast school and followed the course set out for her, but she was never truly happy.

She hated life on campus, hated being away from Cedar Cove. After her graduation, she’d taken a job at First National. In the years since, she’d been promoted steadily. Now she was the youngest branch manager in Cedar Cove history, and one of the bank’s youngest senior employees. Justine loved the challenge of her job and enjoyed playing an active role in financing the growth of her community. But she considered her personal life a dismal failure.

Warren would have attended the reunion with her if she’d pressed him. She hadn’t, afraid her former classmates would assume he was her father or, even worse, an old teacher they couldn’t quite place.

The high-school gymnasium looked great, if she did say so herself. The decoration committee, of which she was a part, had worked hard and done a fabulous job. Fresh flowers were everywhere, on the tables and in huge rented vases along the walls.

The band was already playing, and almost involuntarily Justine tapped her foot to the music as she waited in line to collect her badge and sign in. Everyone around her was talking; she was surrounded by squeals of recognition and “do you remember when’s.” Just as she had in high school, she remained the outsider, listening in, smiling and pretending she felt at ease when she didn’t.

Attending this reunion was a bad idea. Her instincts had told her that months earlier, and she should’ve heeded them.

“Justine!” Lana Rothchild hurried around the sign-in table and hugged her as though it’d been years since they’d seen each other. Actually they’d worked on the decorations together that very morning. “I love your dress.”

“Thanks.” The metallic-blue dress had short sleeves and a deep V in front. Knee-length, it clung to her trim figure. She’d bought the dress on impulse and had decided not to think too hard about it.

“Do you need any help?” Justine asked, looking for a way to appear busy and needed and part of the group.

“Everything’s under control. You just enjoy yourself.”

Justine wondered if that was possible.

“I can’t thank you enough for all the help you gave us,” Lana said as she handed Justine a badge.

With no further excuse to linger, she walked into the main part of the gymnasium. A few couples were dancing, a clump of women had gathered on one side, a group of men on the other—not all that different from the high-school dances she’d attended. Thinking a glass of wine would relax her, she found the bar and ordered a zinfandel, then stood by herself on the outskirts of the dance floor. It had been the same ten years earlier.

“Hello, Justine.”

Seth Gunderson stood directly in front of her, deeply tanned, his hair so blond it was almost white. His eyes had never looked bluer.

“What are you doing here?”

He grinned. “I graduated the same year as you, remember?”

“I mean…” She found it difficult to think. “Aren’t you…I thought…well, of course we graduated the same—”

“I flew home for the reunion,” he said, answering the question she couldn’t seem to get past her teeth.

“I realize that…what about…” Rather than continue making an idiot of herself, she simply stopped talking.

“You’re surprised to see me. Actually, I surprised myself by deciding to fly down at the last minute.”