Adam didn’t like the sound of Dennis’s crazed voice. Neither did he like the accusation that he’d been responsible for the divorce. “I didn’t even know you two weren’t together until I came home last night, but you’ve had too much to drink to believe that. So believe what you want. It doesn’t matter, anyway. You guys are divorced. You got that, Dennis? That means you leave Jenna alone.”
Again the grating laugh. “You getting all you want, friend? Because she was sure a stingy bitch with me.”
Adam clenched his teeth. “Just leave Jenna alone.”
“And if I don’t?”
“I won’t bother calling the cops. It’ll be just you and me, and a lesson learned the hard way.”
“That sounds like something I won’t want to miss. Maybe we should sell tickets. Jenna would love that, wouldn’t she? To have us fighting over her again? It’ll be just like old times.” And the line went dead.
Jenna stood staring at Adam, her face chalky white, her hands over her mouth.
“If he calls or bothers you again, Jen, I need you to tell me—”
“No! Thanks for the infusion of testosterone, Adam, but it won’t help me protect Ryan or your folks when Dennis comes here, raving drunk, and you’re in San Francisco. Don’t you understand? Dennis lived in your shadow our whole married life. Nothing could bring him here quicker than to think we’re together. So next time don’t do me any favors.”
She slipped from the room and into the hall, and Adam resisted the urge to go after her; instead, he rammed a hand through his hair. Jenna had had one hell of a night, and because of his own scrambled emotions, he hadn’t done much to make things better. But it was high time someone stopped Dennis from harassing his ex-wife. Jenna thought Adam’s involvement might cause Dennis to do something rash, but Dennis was already a ticking bomb, ready to go off. And most women didn’t understand something boys learned at a very young age: the only way to stop a bully was to beat him at his own game.
“ADAM! ADAM, wake up!”
With a groan Adam rolled over and squinted bleary-eyed at a blond head—Ryan’s. “Hey, squirt,” he mumbled. “What you doing up so early?”
“It’s not early, Adam. It’s almost seven o’clock. Grandma Durham sent me to tell you we’re ready to go.”
“Go?” After the almost sleepless night he’d spent, Adam felt as if he’d been hit by a truck. He rolled over and snuggled deeper into the blankets, but any hope of going back to sleep ended when Ryan’s small fist knocked gently on his head.
“Hello? Is anybody home?”
Chuckling, Adam scrubbed the sleep from his face. “All right, wise guy,” he said, “the lights are going on, but slowly. We’re traveling up the coast. Am I right?”
“Yep! Grandma Durham packed us some snacks to eat in the car. Her blond brownies, which I hate—” he grimaced, then brightened “—but there’s chocolate-chip cookies, too, and fudge, almond roca, deviled eggs, Jell-O jigglers—”
“Whoa, I haven’t even had breakfast yet.”
“You gonna take as long to get ready as my mom?” the boy asked.
Adam perked up. “Jenna’s going?”
“No. She just takes a long time to comb her hair and do all that girl stuff.”
“Oh, I see the connection. You think I look like a girl.”
The boy rolled his eyes. “No, I just don’t want to wait while you spend an hour in the bathroom.”
“So it’s a baseball-cap day, huh?”
Ryan grinned. “Yeah, just wear a hat!”
The prospect of a long drive without Jenna dimmed Adam’s enthusiasm. After what had happened last night, he didn’t want to leave her side until he knew what Dennis was going to do. But Oregon was nearly a full day’s travel away. She should be safe until some time after noon, and he, Ryan, Pop and Gram would be back by then.
Adam was surprised to realize that he wasn’t upset about the possibility of postponing his return to San Francisco. Spending more time in Jenna’s company appealed to him, despite the knowledge that it would probably be better for both of them if he kept his distance.
Humans were so perverse, he mused. The more they knew they shouldn’t have something, the more they wanted it.
“All right, squirt. Out you go, so I can dress.”
Ryan ambled to the door, tossing a baseball a foot or two into the air and catching it with a stiff new glove.
“You think we can play catch later on?” he asked as the ball landed with a satisfying plop.
“Sure. Looks like we need to get that glove oiled up and broken in.”
“Yeah.” Ryan’s grin widened at the prospect, and Adam wondered how a father could let anything come between him and a boy like this.
And a woman like Jenna.
For a moment he actually pitied Dennis. His old friend had lost a lot. Granted, it was his own fault—but what did he have left in his life?
As soon as the door closed, Adam threw off the covers and started digging through his suitcase.
“Adam? You ready? The day’ll be half-gone before we get out of here if we don’t go now,” Gram’s voice called from downstairs.
“Half-gone! It’s not even seven o’clock, and it’s Saturday,” Adam muttered, buttoning his faded jeans and pulling on a 49ers sweatshirt. His grandparents would never change. They got up at dawn every day, even when it was only to have fun.
“After dragging me from my bed, I hope you at least have a cup of coffee waiting for me,” Adam called back, settling a baseball cap over his sleep-tousled hair.
There was no answer, but he knew Gram well enough to expect more than a cup of coffee. She’d probably fixed him a ten-course meal. Remembering the quick bowl of cold cereal or occasional Pop Tart he tossed down before rushing off to the office in San Francisco, he thought he could get used to the pleasures of living in Mendocino again. Then he realized something—until that very moment, he hadn’t known how much he’d missed it. Small town, slow pace. Home and family.
“Hey, this is what I went to San Francisco to get away from,” he grumbled, then opened the door to find Ryan waiting in the hall. “Come on, kid. Let’s go.”
AFTER GETTING a couple of rooms ready in case they had some drive-by business that evening, Jenna went to her studio, planning to spend the morning finishing her stained-glass window of the lake and trees. Pamela, the maid, had the day off, and Mr. Robertson wouldn’t be in until four o’clock to start dinner, so she was alone, and grateful for the solitude.
Flipping on the space heater to get rid of the chill, she studied the glass she’d cut before bed the night before and decided to start leading the window. She had a penciled drawing of the finished work on the table under the glass. But the telephone interrupted her before she could begin.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Jen. It’s me.” Laura Wakefield was the one friend Jenna had grown up with in Mendocino who hadn’t married or moved away. She still lived with her parents, just a few miles down the highway, and helped her mother care for her father, a victim of Alzheimer’s.
“Laura, what are you doing up this early? It’s only eleven o’clock. You never roll out of bed before noon.”
“A fringe benefit of working the