nine years in the army and, resisting the constant carrot they dangled to keep the medics re-upping, he would finally be discharged in a couple weeks. Thank heavens. Lucas had seen more desert and suffering than he’d ever dreamed, and now would come home to yet another mess—Mom and Dad fresh out of a motorcycle-versus-car accident and both in casts. Comparatively speaking, it should be a walk in the park.
A light tapping pulled Anne out of the room and down the hall toward the kitchen door. And out of pure nosiness Bart’s paws clacked down the hall behind her. When she opened it, someone stood behind a huge, colorful bouquet.
“Mrs. G., how are you?” Anne recognized the squeaky voice and grinned. Jocelyn Howard peeked around the corner and beamed from the other side of the flowers. “Annie, when did you get home?”
“Monday.” They gave an ardent but awkward hug with the huge vase between them, as a warm homey feeling crept over Anne. When she’d left Whispering Oaks, she’d never wanted to come back, but she’d forgotten all the wonderful people who still lived here. How often did she get greeted in Portland with such genuine enthusiasm? “Come on, mom’s down in her room.”
Holding the vase and flowers didn’t prevent Jocelyn from greeting Bart, and he made a happy humming sound from the attention.
Jocelyn had lived next door to the Gradys her entire life and felt like an honorary member of the family. She’d been like a little sister to Anne before Lark had been born, had been Lucas’s first play pal until he’d started kindergarten and left her behind for boys.
They reached the bedroom just as Beverly hung up the phone.
Taller than average, Jocelyn, with her long legs and slim runner’s body, leaned over the bed and kissed Anne’s mother. Her straight, light brown hair veiled her pointy profile. “Oh, Mrs. Grady, I’m so sorry to hear about your accident. Anything you need, you just let me know.”
“You are such a dear.” Beverly kissed her and patted her arm. “Oh, look at those gorgeous flowers!”
“They’re from my mom’s rose garden.” Jocelyn set them on the bedside table next to the window. The waning March sun barely reached the peach and cranberry colored petals, but their potent scent invaded Anne’s nostrils in a burst. They reminded her of her new home, Portland, The City of Roses, and she wondered how the medical clinic was doing without her.
“I’m serious. I’m right next door. If you need an extra pair of hands or some caregiver time off—” She glanced over her shoulder toward Anne. “—I’m glad to help.” She poured some water for Beverly, then sat on the edge of her bed and chatted with her. Bart, though wary of the cast, sat at attention and looked on as if he understood every word.
“How’s Mr. Grady doing?”
“He’s grousing about this accident happening during track season.” Anne leaned forward, rubbing Bart’s long nose. “You miss your big guy, don’t you,” she cooed through puckered lips, gazing into earnest brown eyes. He offered his paw. She shook it.
“I don’t blame him. We’ve got a shot at league finals this year.” Jocelyn turned to Anne. “Did you know that I’m his assistant coach?”
“You’re kidding, since when?” Anne felt out of the loop, with a tinge of hurt. When had her parents quit trying to keep her up on the comings and goings of her hometown? Maybe around the same time she’d stopped showing the least bit of interest?
“Since I transferred from Imperial to Whispering Oaks last year.” So Jocelyn had moved back to her alma mater from their crosstown rival school.
“Well, Dad always expected great things from you on that track field. You made up for the poor excuse for athletes Lark and I were.”
Jocelyn tilted her head and toed the braided rug on the hardwood floor. “You guys weren’t as bad as you think, and Lucas was fast.”
“Oh, yeah, he was always good at running away from things.” Her sisterly dig fell flat. She’d forgotten how Jocelyn had always idolized Lucas, and suspected if he’d paid more attention to her, she would have fallen for him. Probably had anyway. And Anne knew there was nothing worse than unrequited love. Maybe she and Jocelyn had more in common than she realized.
“I was just talking to Lucas,” Beverly said.
Jocelyn’s lively hazel eyes brightened. “Oh, how’s he doing?”
As they chatted on, Anne tossed around a reason to leave the room. Didn’t she need to call and update Lark? And maybe she should call work to see how her replacement was doing. There were so many little things she’d forgotten to leave notes about. But the doorbell distracted her, and Bart went on immediate sentry duty. She glanced at her watch and took off down the hall, dog at her heels, prepared to tell whichever solicitor it was, she wasn’t interested!
She opened the door with the words “no thank you” on the tip of her tongue. Her mouth dropped along with her stomach at the sight of Jack standing on her doorstep.
Chapter Two
The hair rose on Anne’s arms as she stared at Jack who was holding two plastic bags with take-out containers inside. He smiled that straight, white, signature smile. Bart barked once, and pranced excitedly around in a circle as if they were old friends. Traitor.
“I have it on good authority that your mother likes her buffalo wings hot.” He raised one of the bags.
“Just like her men,” Anne repeated her father’s favorite line and rolled her eyes. Obviously, Dad wanted to make sure his main squeeze got her favorite meal and Jack was merely a conduit.
Jack grinned and nodded as if he’d been schooled by the master. “Just like her men,” he repeated. “Oh, and coleslaw without mayo, which was a little harder to find.” He raised the other bag.
“Skinny slaw,” she said, at a loss for anything else to say. Her father’s sweet gesture made Anne smile even though it had put her in a most uncomfortable position. Should she take the food and close the door? Even by her dodge-the-past-at-all-costs standards, that would be cold.
“May I come in?”
How could she refuse? Anne hated to cook, knew that inevitably Beverly would get hungry, yet hadn’t planned or stocked up for a single meal, and something in one of those bags smelled fresh and heavenly.
“Of course,” she said, breaking the awkward pause. “Come in.” How was she supposed to play this? As if he hadn’t broken her heart or helped her betray her best friend? Or as if he was once a great friend whom she’d adored, and had laughed and cried with more than any other person on earth … but who’d drifted away? Still undecided, she scratched her forehead and put on her best hostess face.
She showed Jack to the kitchen where he unloaded the bags on the counter and immediately paid his respects to Bart, who sniffed his hands excited by the scent of chicken. Jack glanced around the room as if recalling being here a thousand times long ago. “Did they remodel?”
Anne nodded. Since she’d moved out, her mother had added French Country flair to their sturdy ranch-style home. They’d knocked down a wall and opened up the flow of the kitchen into the family room. Now they had a block wood island, and trendy glass-fronted white cupboards with granite countertops, and shelves with canisters and spices lining the walls. Plus a state-of-the-art gas stove with a gazillion burners for Beverly’s love of cooking, and a two-foot-long tilted rack for all of her international cookbooks. Trying her best to avoid facing Jack, she spotted the perfect place to put Jocelyn’s flowers on the antique wood sideboard, deciding to do it later.
“I’ll go get my mom,” she said, turning, but her mother and Jocelyn were coming to them.
“I could smell the food all the way down the hall. Jack, you shouldn’t have,” Beverly said, smoothing the pillow’s impact on her hair. “But I’m really glad you did.”
He wiped