Even though Grace Valley had grown from a population of around nine hundred to more than fifteen hundred in the past ten years, things were actually very slow to change. In fact, Valley Drive, the street that ran down the middle of town, had only seen a few minor improvements. There were just a half dozen businesses, including the police department, the church and the clinic.

Sam Cussler’s garage sat at the far west end. He’d owned it for forty-five years. It was weatherworn the day he signed the deed and he’d never seen the need to prettify it. Sam, twice widowed, worked harder at fishing than at pumping gas. And in Grace Valley, typical of small rural towns, most people kept their own vehicles running, so Sam wasn’t called upon to do much mechanical work. In fact, he’d usually leave the pumps on and townsfolk would write him their IOU and slip it in his mail slot. He’d go around town and collect when the fish weren’t biting.

Down the block was the police department, set up in a three-bedroom house and run by Tom Toopeek and his young deputies, Lee Stafford and Ricky Rios, all lifetime residents. Tom had been brought to Grace Valley by his parents when he was a mere tot and had spent his childhood as one of June’s best friends. Tom’s six siblings had left Grace Valley to make their marks on the world. Tom not only stayed, but he built his house onto his parent’s original cabin and added five of his own children to the mix. Lee and Ricky were handpicked by Tom as soon as the town could afford deputies. They were sent to a police academy, after which Tom personally trained them to adopt his philosophies in how best to serve a small town.

Also on Valley Drive was a flower shop, closed for the time being because its owner, Justine, Sam’s late wife, had recently passed on. There was George Fuller’s café, open for service every day of the year including Christmas, a bakery run by Burt Crandall and his wife, Syl, the clinic and the Presbyterian Church, which boasted a new pastor, Harry Shipton, who was considered to be a breath of fresh air. Behind the café and church a riverbank as wide as a football field sloped gently toward the Windle River. Most town gatherings were held there—such as the Fourth of July picnic or the Harvest Festival. George Fuller had built a couple of brick barbecues and people would bring blankets and lawn chairs.

There was a post office out on Highway 482 and a seasonal farmer’s market set up to the south. The schools—elementary, middle and high school—were located between Grace Valley, Westport and Rockport because students from other small towns were bussed in, according to need.

Grace Valley was just one of dozens, perhaps hundreds of small towns that speckled northern California from San Francisco to the border of Oregon. And while they had many similarities, they also each had a special and unique personality. The major industry was the land—farming, fishing, logging, vineyards, ranching—and the beauty that brought both tourists and transplants from the urban sprawl. Along with tourists and transplants came inns and bed-and-breakfasts, specialty shops, the occasional restaurant or tasting room, but these were commonly near the highways and not in the heart of town.

Industry didn’t bring the new folks to town, but rather entrepreneurship supported by those new folks and new tourism. Once someone realized several artists and crafts artisans had relocated to the peace and beauty of the valley, a gallery would suddenly appear. After a rash of tourists were noticed poking around the little towns, a few bed-and-breakfasts sprang out of refurbished old houses like spring tulips. As vineyards expanded their crops, tasting rooms would emerge. And as traffic along the highway increased, so did the number of quaint restaurants.

There were those whose income did not come from the town or the land. Myrna Hudson Claypool was a very successful novelist and Sarah Kelleher was just one of several well-known artists. And then there were rich folk who built between the shadow of the mountains and the vast beauty of the Pacific Ocean just because they could.

But there were others who came to the valley not so well fixed. With growth came opportunities in construction, logging and farming, and with opportunity came people in search of work. Or people passing through on their way to the cities in search of a paycheck because their seasonal work had dried up in some other town. It was an unfortunate fact that plenty of people sought work of an illegal sort, poaching fish or wildlife, or growing marijuana. The draw to such professions would be the promise of easy money.

The young man in the back of June’s truck, huddled against his flat tire, was just such a case. His name was Conrad Davis, and by the looks of him, it would appear the money hadn’t come as easily as he had hoped. Jim was in a hurry to get this young man’s tire fixed and send him on his way. After working undercover for the DEA all these years, his nose was good and his instincts better. This guy had a thin, hapless, no-account look about him, but Jim sensed there was something more going on. Conrad was slow moving, which could be accounted for if he was high, but he had an angry grimace on his face that belied pot smoking. Potheads were usually lackadaisical, not ill-humored. Jim suspected there was more at work than just marijuana. Maybe he was going up and down…a little pot, a little crystal meth.

Jim pulled into the gas station. He hadn’t spent enough time in and around Grace Valley to know that there were more than the usual number of cars present on Valley Drive, mostly around the café. The garage door was open and Jim spied a tall, tanned and formidable man inside. Though his hair was completely white, his shoulders were broad and his face had a youthful appearance. He held a broom in one hand and a fishing pole in the other, as if trying to decide which to employ. As Jim got out of the car and walked toward him, the man retired both against the wall.

“I figured this for a busy day,” Sam said. “Busier than usual.”

Jim stuck out his hand. “I’m Jim Post. I’m…ah…”

“Sam Cussler,” he said, taking the hand. “I know who you are, son. More or less.”

The pieces fell into place immediately. June had related many stories about the town and its people. “It’s a pleasure, Mr. Cussler.”

“If you’re going to stand on ceremony, it’s going to take us a long time to get around to fishing. You do fish, don’t you, son?”

“Whenever possible, Mr…Sam.”

“Good. There’s a need for that around here.” Sam peered past Jim to spy Conrad struggling to get the heavy tire out of the back of the truck. “He’s a tad puny for that big old thing, ain’t he?”

Jim had almost forgotten about Conrad. He moved quickly to get the tire from him and rolled it toward Sam. “I was coming into town with June this morning when we happened past this young man and his family and their disabled truck. The missus was having a baby. June delivered the baby, took the young woman, baby and two little kids to the hospital and left me with him…and the flat.” Jim glanced over his shoulder at Conrad, who stayed close to the truck. He leaned back against it, his hands plunged into the pockets of his baggy pants. “The tire isn’t all that’s flat,” Jim said, transferring the tire into Sam’s hands.

Sam intercepted it with a low whistle. “Looks like he drove on it a spell.”

“He need a new one?”

“Very likely. I can try to fix it, but I wouldn’t guarantee anything.”

“Any chance you can just sell me a new one? I’ll cover the cost,” Jim said. He didn’t want the kid flashing any of his drug money around town. He just wanted him taken care of and out of there. “I’ll get him back to his truck.”

“Now, don’t worry about that, son. I can take him. I imagine you have people to meet at the café. And this is my living, even if I don’t do it often enough to pay taxes.”

Jim peered down the street. “Are there usually that many people there for breakfast?” he asked.

Sam grinned broadly. “Not hardly.”

The dawning came slowly. Jim was going to get a looking over. “Hmm,” he said. “Well, much as I’m excited to meet everyone, I promised June that I’d take care of this young man personally, and if I start breaking promises now, I suppose she’ll have second thoughts about me.”

Sam’s brows drew together in question. He’d known June all her life and he seriously doubted there was any truth to what Jim said. Sam figured there was something more to it. Probably something more to this young man. “You don’t want to keep ’em waiting long,” Sam advised.

“I’ll make it a quick trip and get right back to town,” Jim promised.

“Whatever you say, son,” Sam said, taking possession of the tire and rolling it into the garage.

A half hour later Jim was tightening the last lug nut on the tire at Conrad’s truck. The tire he’d just put on for the kid was the best one on the truck; Sam had sold him a retread at a good price. He straightened and stretched his back. Without a jacket in this cold, damp morning, it hadn’t taken long for Jim to stiffen up.

Sam would have done this, and likely he could have held his own. But Jim was watching the kid the way a cop watched a suspect. He might be puny, but if he had a handgun stashed in the back of his truck, size would be irrelevant. He didn’t want Sam to be robbed or hurt—or both.

“Thanks, man,” Conrad said. “I owe you one.”

“You don’t owe me anything, kid. You know the way to Valley Hospital in Rockport?”

“I haven’t decided if I’m going there yet,” he said. Then he smiled a crooked, insincere smile. His teeth were nasty.

Jim took a breath for patience. “Wherever you go, make sure you don’t end up back here. Got that?”

“Oh, man, I sort of like it here. People are real friendly.”

“That could change in a heartbeat, man.”

Jim got in June’s truck before he said or did anything more, leaving the kid standing beside his pickup. He made a U-turn, heading back to town, and thought that maybe retirement wasn’t going to be as dull as he feared. Especially around here.

 

John admitted mother and baby to the maternity ward and nursery. June made sure the little ones were settled in a safe play area in the social services department at the hospital while they waited for their father. The staff was on alert. If the father didn’t show up or appeared impaired in any way, the social worker was prepared to put the children in emergency foster care.

That settled, June and John began the drive back to Grace Valley.

“Is he here to stay? Is he going to make an honest woman out of you?”

“You don’t waste any time, do you? Yes, it appears he’s here for good.”

“That’s a relief. Is he going to make an honest woman out of you?”

“Did you know I’d been thinking about having a baby, anyway? On my own? Because not only was my clock ticking, but my calendar pages were flipping like mad. Though I admit I’m a hopeless romantic. I like it far better this way, which as you know was totally unplanned.”

“Okay, I’m going to go ahead and pretend I didn’t notice that you didn’t answer the M question. But don’t think I’m going to be the last one to ask.”

“Believe me, I don’t kid myself about anything anymore.”

“How is it you never mentioned him?” John asked.

“Hmm. That’s a little complicated.”

“I’m sure it is, but you might want to come up with an answer for that one. It might take peoples’ minds off the other question. Go ahead. Practice on me.” He looked over at her, a curl from his usually perfectly coiffed blond hair dangling onto his forehead.

“Well, we didn’t spend as much time together as my condition would suggest.”

He whistled. “Good job, June. You couldn’t get any more vague than that.”

“Okay, look. I met him last…I don’t know…early in the year. It might’ve been around the same time you moved to town. He came into the clinic after hours with a friend who had a minor injury. They were in the area for something or other. Camping or hunting, whatever. I patched up his friend and just a few days later he showed up at my house on a Sunday afternoon to thank me. We sat on the porch, drank iced tea and fell in love.”

“Aw,” he said, stringing it out musically. “That’s sweet.”

She did her best to ignore him, discovering she did indeed need a rehearsal. “When he was in the area, which wasn’t all that often, his stay was really brief. And you know, we don’t have any hotels or inns in town. Once he had a room over in Westport at that place by the steakhouse….” Lying but not lying, she found, could be a little fun. Like playing chess, you have to remember where all the pieces are.

“Now comes the tough one, missy,” he said. “How’d he take the news? That you’re pregnant?”

She didn’t have to make anything up. “That’s easy. He appears to be thrilled.”

“That’s wonderful, June,” he said, and for once he didn’t tease. He’d been the one to examine her just last week and surprise her with the news that the pregnancy was advanced. Doctors weren’t infallible. “You really didn’t have any idea, did you?”

“It was the farthest thing from my mind.”

“I can’t imagine,” he said. “Susan and I knew Sydney was on the way when she was about three weeks gestation.”

“You’re an OB first and family practitioner second. You’re supposed to be obsessive about that. Plus, for whatever reason, I kind of figured I wasn’t going to ever have a baby. At least not as easily as this.”

John laughed loudly. “I bet you were pretty lazy about birth control.”

Stunned by his accuracy, she asked, “Now, why would you say that?”

“That’s what women who haven’t gotten caught always think.”

 

June almost had a heart attack when they drove into town. There were so many cars parked on Valley Drive and in the church and clinic parking lots, it resembled a town meeting. The last time she’d seen congestion like this, word had just hit town that a deathly handsome new doctor had come to the clinic to practice with June. Women came from miles around to catch a glimpse of John Stone.

“What the heck is going on?” she asked.

“Oh, as if you don’t know,” John said.

And then it became obvious. Everyone was inside the café it was virtually bursting at the seams. Her truck was parked across the street at the clinic where Jim must have left it, right next to her father’s truck.

There being no readily available parking spaces, John stopped the ambulance in the street, blocking a couple of pickups. “I’ll take it over to the clinic to clean and restock in a little while. I’m not going to miss a second of this,” he said, opening his door and jumping out.

“John,” she protested. “The owners of these trucks might want to get out.”

“Not until after they’ve heard your story,” he shot back, heading into the café.

The last thing she wanted to do was go in there, but worry about what might be happening to Jim propelled her out of the vehicle and into the café. A roar of “hellos” and “heys” and a general cheer went up at the sight of her. The crowd parted, and as she passed through the throng, men patted her on the back and women gave her shoulders brief squeezes. At the front of the café stood the guest of honor, leaning back against the counter and holding a coffee cup. The preacher and police chief flanked him on one side, her father and Sam Cussler on the other. They all held coffee cups as if they were tankards.

Jim did not appear to have been harmed in any way.

“Well, there’s our girl,” Elmer boasted excitedly. “Give her a cup, George, but don’t put any liquor in it. She’s pregnant!”

“Dad!” she gasped, appalled. She immediately began to color and glared at Jim. But he simply shrugged his shoulders helplessly. More than a few chuckles rose from the crowd.

George passed a cup over the counter to Elmer, who passed it to June. She looked into the cup, which appeared to have milk in it. She made a face. She hated milk.

“Sorry, June,” Elmer said. “I tried to sit on it, but I got a little excited. I thought I was going to the grave without a grandchild. Have you had an ultrasound? Do we know the sex yet?”

“None of your business!”

“When’s the wedding?” someone from the crowd asked in a shout.

“When’s the baby due?” came another shout.

“Where’d you find this guy? He ain’t from around here,” asked yet another.

June twisted her head around, trying unsuccessfully to find the people responsible for the questions. But her glance took in a great deal—John’s wife, Susan, the clinic nurse; Birdie Forrest, her late mother’s best friend and June’s godmother; Burt and Syl Crandall from the bakery; Charlotte Burnham, her retired nurse; Jessie Wiley, her secretary and receptionist. A great many friends and patients. The clinic must be closed.

Elmer was busily circulating with a bottle of Jack Daniel’s, pouring a dollop into a few coffee cups, including Jim’s. Passing the bottle off to someone in the crowd, he leaned toward June and gave her a kiss on the cheek. He gave a nod in Jim’s direction and a wink. “He held up pretty well, June, facing everyone solo.”

“Dad,” she said pleadingly. “The poor guy!”

“Poor guy, hell. Look at him! When have you ever seen anyone more puffed up?”

Jim smiled and a chuckle shook his shoulders, but he was not in any way puffed up. He was being a damned good sport, and she was going to owe him big time. But what if he bolted? She wasn’t sure what bothered her more, that he could take all of this pressure so unflinchingly or the possibility that he’d tear out of here.

An arm stretched over June’s shoulder with an empty cup. “Hey, Doc,” John begged.

“Get John here a little something,” Elmer commanded. “He’s going to need it if his partner’s getting married and taking maternity leave!”

Again, cheers rose with a laughing roar. June’s cheeks flamed.

“Now, everyone taken care of?” Elmer asked. “Because I’d like to toast the young couple and…”

“They’re not that young,” someone yelled.

Elmer raised his cup. “To my daughter, her intended and my grandchild!”

“Here, here!” The crowd heartily intoned. Many a drink was tossed back.

June unhappily sampled her milk, then said to Elmer, “Isn’t it a little early for that?”

“I’d say we’re all a little late,” he returned, his eyes pointedly fixed on her middle.

There was a part of her quite grateful for the fun and games; she’d anticipated scorn. She was pretty far along in years to be an unmarried woman, with a secret lover to boot. She mentally acknowledged that, then pushed it to the back of her mind because the teasing was likely to go on for a while, and it was already annoying. Plus, this teasing could easily turn to badgering if she didn’t appear before them reciting vows. But every time she thought about making that kind of commitment, her face lit up like a firecracker and her insides twisted into a knot.

“When’s the wedding?” Harry asked them.

June stammered so Jim answered, keeping an eye turned to June, who squirmed in discomfort. “We haven’t had time to even discuss the when and where. You’ll have to give us time on that.”

“Doesn’t look like you have a whole lot of time,” someone said.

“You’d better step up to the plate, young man,” someone else roared.

“Now,” Jim said, holding up a hand. “You’re going to have to leave that to June, and it should be clear just from looking at her that she’s still a little stunned by this whole thing.”

“You’re not hedging, are you?” Elmer asked pointedly.

“Absolutely not,” Jim assured him. “Patience isn’t really a virtue around here, is it?”

“Was I mistaken, or did I hear she’s well along?” Elmer asked.

Jim lifted his cup. “She’s not going to get any less pregnant while we discuss the particulars,” he said, drawing laughter from the crowd. “We’ll take care of it when the time is perfect.”

She couldn’t help but feel warmed by his rescue, when it must be puzzling to him that she wasn’t rushing him off to the altar.

“What?” a familiar voice demanded. June’s godmother separated herself from the crowd and stood before June. “Did I hear right?” Birdie asked. “You don’t have a wedding date?”

“Birdie, we’ve barely had time to talk about it,” June repeated. “We’ll come up with something and let you know.”

“Over my dead body,” Birdie said. “You’re the closest thing to a daughter I have. And there’s going to be a wedding!”

June reached for Birdie’s hand. “You know, you really need to leave this up to us,” she said pleadingly.

“You just leave this to me,” Birdie said, giving her hand a reassuring pat.

But June was not reassured. She cast a worried glance at Jim, but he only shook his head as if to say, “This is your town…and your hesitation.”

Then June felt the baby fluttering inside of her. A smile found its way to her lips. A smile that Birdie completely misinterpreted.

“See?” Birdie said. “Everything is going to be wonderful.”

About a half hour later, after many hugs and congratulatory kisses, June left the café with Jim. “You held up very well in there,” she said.

“You didn’t do so well,” he said. “It hasn’t escaped my notice that there’s something you seem to be avoiding.”

She took his hand. “I’m so sorry. It’s not because it’s you. It’s the very idea.”

“What are you saying?”

“Only that I’d appreciate your patience. And that we should talk about it before we do it.”

“Unlike the way we went about getting pregnant…”

“I don’t mean to put you in a bad position,” she said. “I’ve always wanted to be married, to have a family. But I’ve been on my own a long time. I’m set in my ways. That’s probably why the first time you mentioned marriage, something in me just froze up.” She reached for his hand. “I need to get comfortable with the idea. I do love you.” He didn’t look at her and didn’t respond. “Hey. Did you hear what I said?”

But he was staring down the street toward Cussler’s garage. Sitting out front, tilted a bit to one side, was the dilapidated old truck, weighted down with all the Davis family’s possessions.

“Son of a bitch,” he said.

 

Inside the café the partying died down to a quiet roar, an occasional burst of laughter, the clatter of glassware in the background. Elmer, Sam and Harry sat in a booth, finishing their libations, which by now were down to coffee. People were drifting off, having checked out and toasted June and Jim.

“I suppose I ought to get over to the clinic and see if John needs me. I don’t imagine June’s going to be much good to him today.”

“I heard her say she had to take Jim out to Myrna’s for a looking over,” Sam said.

“I’d like to see how that goes, but I wasn’t invited,” Elmer said, hefting himself out of the booth. “We having poker at the parsonage on Thursday, Harry?”

“You bet. Is everyone in? Even Myrna?”

“I’m sure wild horses wouldn’t keep her away.”

Harry made a face and shook his head. “Nobody loves Myrna more than me, but if she doesn’t miss a poker night one of these weeks, I’m going to have to file for bankruptcy.”

“You’re preaching to the choir, Reverend,” Elmer said, making his departure. It was a well known fact that Myrna had been cleaning up at poker for many a year. She rarely had a downslide.

“Is the mail dependable around here, Sam?”

“I wouldn’t know, Harry. No one ever writes me.”

“I can’t tell if it’s the post office or my friend. I made a loan to someone a few months ago and, well, I know he’s good for it…. Or maybe he’s not and I was foolish. Anyway, he said he sent it, but—”

“Don’t say another word, Harry,” Sam said, pulling a thick wad of bills out of his pocket and folding out some twenties. “I can give you a little something to tide you over.”

“That’s awful nice of you, Sam. I hate to take advantage….”

“Think nothing of it, Harry. Since Justine passed away, I have no one and nothing to spend it on.” He counted off a hundred dollars and put it on the table in front of Harry. “Anytime I can be of help.”

“Much appreciated, my friend. I’ll get it back to you the second my check arrives.”