"Or you'll go buy a boat," she muttered glumly.

  "What?"

  Maggie groaned and buried her head in her hands. She'd had this argument before a dozen times. With Mike. This was their argument. Mike's words were coming out of Justin's mouth. It was all getting too weird.

  Needing a calming influence, Maggie reached for her purse and removed her lipstick and cosmetics mirror. She freshened the coral color on her lips, then returned her feminine armor to her bag. Slowly, she stood.

  "I think her mom is the key to this situation. I think Holly is still grieving."

  "Grieving? She isn't grieving. It's been thirteen years."

  "Grief is as individual as a fingerprint, Doctor. I don't care if it's been thirteen days or thirteen years. Nobody has the right to say, 'Time's, up.'"

  He held up his hands, palms out. "You're right. You're right about that. I just don't think you're right about Holly in this instance. She talks about her mom fairly often. She never tears up or anything. Sure, losing her mother was hurtful, but she's moved on. She's healed."

  "Has she?" Maggie thought back to that day at the Greystone where Holly had cried I don't want to die. "What does she say about her mother's death?"

  "Not much." Justin frowned. "Not anything, really. What I know about that I've learned from her father."

  "You made it through medical school, Justin. You must have a brain in that head of yours. Use it. Figure out why she's scared."

  "Scared?"

  "Yes, scared. It's obvious as yellow on roasted corn. Figure out why, Justin, and you might just find the key to convincing her to marry you."

  Maggie reached out a hand. "And in the meantime, since I'm in the process of becoming her friend, I think I'll do what I can to help."

  Justin let her pull him to his feet. "Why? Why do you care? You hardly know her. You just met her two weeks ago."

  "Ah, but it was a heckuva meeting." Maggie glanced in the general direction of the Greystone and shrugged. "I like Holly. Why shouldn't I care? Besides, in all honesty, helping her is going to help me just as much. I can use someone to mother for a little while."

  "You think you can mother her into marrying me?"

  "Maybe. Mother or scheme or manipulate. Sometimes the words are interchangeable."

  Justin clucked his tongue and shook his head. "You are a piece of work, Maggie Prescott."

  "Actually, I'm a mess. But I feel better than I did an hour ago, so I think I'll let you get back to your booth and I'll head out. I have places to go, men to meet."

  "Men to meet?"

  Maggie shrugged. She couldn't pinpoint exactly when the idea occurred to her, but it had been sometime during the past hour. What began as a whim had taken on substance as anger and the need for retribution seeped through her. "What's good for the gander and all of that. Say, do you know any nice men my age who might want to take me out?"

  "You're married."

  "So is my husband, but that doesn't seem to stop him from dating. You know, the more I think about the notion, the better I like it. We're separated, you see. Mike and I. Today I found out we're more separated than I had previously thought. Why shouldn't I see other men?"

  Justin blew out a harsh breath. "You're dangerous, Maggie. I don't know if Holly should be hanging out with you. You'll give her ideas."

  "I don't know about that. Holly appears to be pretty good about coming up with ideas of her own. Like the plan she'd made for the day you proposed. Now, that was an idea."

  "Oh, yeah? What was it?"

  Maggie tugged him down the stone steps. Maybe she shouldn't tell him, but he deserved to know what he was missing. "I have two words for you, Doctor. Storeroom sex."

  Justin froze. His eyes widened momentarily, then narrowed when he grimaced. His voice raspy, he repeated, "Storeroom sex?"

  "Something about crotchless panties, too." Pleased with his stunned expression, she reached out and patted his arm. "Don't whimper, sugar. It's not seemly for a medical doctor. Besides, I think she might have been kidding about the panties. Might have been a thong."

  * * *

  Sunday afternoon, Holly wheeled the lawn mower into the shed, then used the hem of her tee shirt to wipe the perspiration from her brow. Despite the pleasant temperature of the spring day, she'd managed to work up a sweat in the time it took to push the old mower over the three-quarters of an acre of green grass and pesky weeds.

  Justin had tried to buy her a riding mower when the grass started growing this season, but she'd resisted. She already let her neighbor across the street show her up as it was. Mrs. Litty was fifty-seven and, as she was quick to point out, she still didn't use self-propelled equipment. While she didn't come right out and call her younger neighbor a wussy, Holly understood the implication.

  Holly's home was in Richland Hills, an older suburb of Fort Worth located midway between downtown and D/FW airport. The town was a little pocket of rural surrounded by city, where modest homes sat on two-acre lots. In backyards, horses were as common as swimming pools. The homeowners were a mostly friendly mix of older residents who'd lived in their homes thirty years or more, and young families, many of whom had returned to the neighborhood in which they'd grown up.

  Of course, friendly only went so far. Competition was fierce out here in the 'burbs, especially when it came to the beautification of their yards, and Holly hated to lose. Which was why she should make a run to the nursery for bedding plants. The rest of the neighbors had put in their annuals the weekend of the Greystone Hotel debacle. Her beds were still bare.

  "Now there's a Freudian slip," she grumbled as she exited the garden shed. But she didn't want to think about the state of her bed.

  So Holly turned her attention to her freshly shorn backyard. It did look better. She hadn't had the heart to do much more than put out her trash for pickup lately and she'd skipped her regular yard-work day last weekend. This morning as she'd left for church, her next-door neighbor, Mr. Philpot—aka Mr. Crankpot—had waved her down at the curb and put her on notice that he expected her to cut her grass today.

  That was almost enough to make her get stubborn and wait another week. Since someone on the street was always having a set-to with Mr. Crankpot, the neighbors would have understood. But the Pokludas were having a graduation party for their nephew Friday night, so pride had won out over orneriness, and Holly had mowed her lawn.

  Now she wished she'd stopped at the nursery for flowers on her way home. For the first time since her argument with Justin, she felt like doing something around the house.

  Maybe that means I'm getting over him, the optimist in her suggested.

  The realist gave a derisive snort. Yeah. And maybe Mr. Crankpot will come plant your flowers for you, too.

  As Holly made her way around to the front of the house to set out the water sprinkler, the portable phone she'd set on the porch rang. Probably Cassie again.

  Cassie Blankenship lived in Tomball, Texas, a suburb of Houston. A junior at Tomball High School, she was second chair clarinet in the band, played third base for the fast-pitch softball team, and had been elected secretary of the student council. She had an older brother, a younger sister, and a cat.

  Her mom was a metastatic breast cancer patient and one of Pink Sisterhood's wish recipients. Since their week-long trip to Disney World last month, Cassie's mother had been sinking fast. Her personal goal was to make it until May twentieth, when Cassie had a date to the senior prom with her boyfriend, Mark.

  Cassie and Holly had exchanged e-mails for three days before Holly broke down and called her. Since then they had talked at least once a day, sometimes more often than that. Cassie had proven to be a perfect fit for Holly's volunteer effort. The young woman didn't want to talk about her mom or cancer or dying any more than Holly wanted to talk about those things. She wanted to talk prom—her dress, her date, her up-do, her corsage, the limo. It was another escape to Disney World for the teenager, to Holly's way of thinking, and she was glad to provide a willing ear for Cassie.

  Holly checked the caller ID window, a service added just this morning, smiled, then picked up the receiver. "Hello, Daddy."

  "Hello yourself, beautiful. I missed you yesterday on my drive. Wanna tag along with me on a Sunday drive next Saturday?"

  "A Sunday drive sounds lovely. Where are you thinking of going?"

  She hung up with a smile after she and her father had talked for a few minutes, making a date for three o'clock next Saturday afternoon. With her mind on their conversation, she didn't at first pay attention to the car driving slowly past her house. Only when it stopped at the curb in front of Mr. Philpot's house just on the other side of Holly's driveway did she give it a second glance.

  The driver was a woman. The notion of the bachelor Mr. Crankpot having a ladyfriend gave her the first chuckle she'd had in days.

  Then the woman got out of the car, removed something from the backseat, and walked around behind the Ford. Grace? Carrying purple petunias? Had they made plans she'd forgotten about?

  "Good afternoon, Holly," Grace said as she approached, a nervous smile flitting on her lips. "I know it's rude of me to drop by like this, but..." She held the flat of flowers out to Holly. "I come bearing gifts. I hope you like petunias. I have a bottle of hand lotion for you, too, from my granddaughter. It's a vanilla scent this time."

  Southern hospitality taught from the cradle made Holly's response automatic. She accepted the flowers saying, "I love petunias. Thank you. And don't be silly. You're welcome at my home anytime. Although I'm surprised you found me. I'm not listed in the phone book."

  "Justin mentioned your address. He and Maggie had supper with Ben and me last night."

  Holly almost dropped the plants. "My Justin? With Maggie? Maggie Prescott?"

  Grace nodded, then gestured toward the flowers. "I brought a bag of potting soil, too, but I'll need help getting it out of the car. I've a difficult time carrying anything heavy."

  Feeling numb from lips to toes, Holly followed Grace to her sky blue Ford. "What was Justin doing with Maggie Prescott?"

  "Having supper." Grace turned to give her a shrewd look from eyes as blue as her car. "That's all it was. It was completely innocent and he only stayed so long because he was headed off to his gym and Maggie offered him use of her pool instead." Grace frowned and added, "No matter what her husband thinks."

  "Now, are you up to planting these this afternoon? I came prepared in old clothes and I have my gloves and a trowel in the car."

  Justin and Maggie having dinner together? Holly felt a clutch of pain that could have been heartburn, but wasn't. Maggie was a beautiful woman and Justin wasn't one to let an age difference bother him.

  Then reason reasserted itself. No. He wouldn't. Justin would move on to another woman, but not this soon. He wasn't like Maggie's husband. Justin was a man of deep emotion. When he said he loved, he meant it. He wouldn't quit loving Holly so fast. He wouldn't just give up on her. Not without a fight.

  That had been a pretty good fight in the ladies' room.

  "Maybe in a bit, Grace," Holly said with a grim set to her mouth as she set the petunias beside her front flower bed. "First I'd really like to understand the reason behind your visit. What exactly brings you to my house?"

  "Oh dear. Well... it's a rather long story."

  Holly was not to be deterred. "I'm free the rest of the evening. Would you like to sit in the backyard or would you rather go inside?"

  Grace smiled. "It's a wonderful afternoon. The backyard sounds perfect."

  Holly showed the older woman to a patio set of wrought iron table and cushioned chairs, then offered her a choice of refreshment. Grace's reply sounded absent; her attention focused on the thousands of bearded iris blooms lining the perimeter of Holly's backyard. "Oh, Holly. Your flowers are magnificent."

  "Through no effort of mine," Holly responded with a bittersweet smile. "I inherited this house from my aunt Janet and she put the bulbs in years ago. They were her favorite. I never see an iris that I don't think of her."

  "That's lovely. What a nice way to be remembered."

  As Holly's gaze trailed along the fence line, memories washed over her. "When she was dying, she asked us to move her bed so she could look out on the irises. It was December and the yard was ugly and the blooms were long gone. Aunt Janet said the memory of spring was stronger than winter's death, and that she could see those big purple blooms clear as day when she looked out the window."

  "I've always hoped I'll go in the springtime. Time of new life, the Resurrection. Besides, nothing is sadder than standing at a grave site on a cold, blustery barren day."

  Holly's eyes rounded. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring up—"

  "Don't fret. I don't have a problem talking about dying."

  Well, I do. A lump of emotion formed in Holly's throat and she quickly excused herself to get their drinks. By the time she returned carrying a pitcher of tea and two ice-filled glasses, she'd changed into a clean shirt and wrestled her emotions under control. She poured the drinks, took her seat, and asked, "So what brings you to Richland Hills, Grace?"

  "Maggie's in trouble."

  "More than she knows if she starts messing with Justin," Holly grumbled in a halfhearted jest. The other part of her heart was completely serious.

  "This has nothing to do with Justin."

  "Then why was he at her house to begin with?"

  Grace's sharp gaze was too aware. "Oh, just calm down a minute and let me tell the story."

  Holly swallowed and offered what she knew must be a sickly smile. Grace took pity on her. Reaching over, she gave her hand a pat. "Apparently, after you and I left the festival, Maggie decided she didn't want to go home, so she stayed downtown. Justin was working a booth for the hospital and she ran into him. They talked and she ended up promising to make a large donation to his hospital's pediatric AIDS program. He came over to pick up the check. Ben and I were there because I had called to see how she was doing earlier and she broke down in terrible, hysterical tears. I needed to check on her after that. We all ended up staying for dinner, and when Justin said he'd missed his workout that morning, she offered him use of the pool. That's when the trouble started."

  Holly took a bracing sip of tea and listened closely as Grace explained how Maggie's husband had come by the house to pick up some things he'd left behind only to find another man—a handsome, younger man—wearing Mike's swim trunks, dripping from his swim in Mike's pool. "It didn't sit well with Mike. That was obvious. Territorial male, and all that. Still, I think Mike would have left without any trouble except for the kiss."

  "Kiss?" Holly's spine snapped straight.

  "Yes. Just as Mike came sauntering into the kitchen, Justin paid Maggie a compliment on her cooking and she gave him a thank-you buss on the lips. She's a very demonstrative woman, I've come to realize. Anyway, to Mike's ears an innocent comment about Maggie's kiss being as sweet as her cake sounded nasty." She paused for a moment, then added, "It got physical, I'm afraid."

  "Justin wasn't hurt," Holly said, her eyes widening with alarm.

  "Not Justin. Maggie."

  "What?"

  "It happened so fast. The men were wrestling around, pushing and shoving, not throwing punches. Maggie launched herself into the middle of it, trying to break them apart."

  Holly had no trouble visualizing the scene as Grace continued, "We never did figure out exactly what happened, but suddenly, Maggie was sitting in the middle of her patio with a hand covering her left eye. Someone's elbow got her."

  "I bet Justin had a fit."

  "I was quite impressed with his professionalism. Mike Prescott's reaction was the big surprise."

  "Oh?"

  "He grabbed a kitchen towel and went straight to the freezer and made an ice pack. He was so gentle with her, Holly. Inept, but gentle. Maggie shouldn't have yelped like she did because then Justin announced he was a doctor and took over. Mike stomped off."

  Holly could picture it easily. "What a disaster."

  Grace sighed. "Mike loves her. I could see it in his face as plain as day."

  "Then what the hell was he doing with that other woman?" Holly snapped.

  "He claimed it was innocent."

  "Yeah, right." She sneered. "Uncle Mike."

  "I think he told the truth. After seeing the look in his eyes last evening, I simply cannot believe he is cheating on Maggie. The problem is, she believes it and that's why she's going to get herself into trouble. Holly, Maggie claims she's going to start dating."

  "Not Justin!"

  "No, of course not Justin. Pay attention here. A twenty-five year marriage is self-destructing before our eyes. I can't stand by and watch it happen. We must do something."

  "We?"

  "The two of them have lost their way, and somebody should help them find it again. I think that somebody should be us."

  "Us? As in you and me? Why? It's not our business. We hardly know them. I'm a teacher, for goodness' sake, not a marriage counselor. Besides, if anyone were to get involved in this, shouldn't it be their children?"

  Grace shook her head. "They're caught in the middle, too close to the situation. They just get righteous and preach. No, Maggie and Mike need us, both of us. I can't manage by myself."

  Sweet kitten’s feet, would the guilt never stop?

  Better she had run into the men's room than the ladies' room that day. Now Maggie wanted her to help Grace and Grace wanted her to help Maggie. Why in the world did they think she'd get mixed up in this soap opera?

  Because it's not television. It's real life. Life and, in Grace's case, likely death.

  "Why are you doing this?" Holly asked, the question bursting from her mouth like a geyser. "You have Stage IV cancer. Why waste the time you have on someone you hardly know?"

  As soon as the words left her lips, Holly clamped her hands over her mouth. Oh, no. How could I say something like that? How could I be so insensitive, so crass? "I... I'm so sorry."

  Grace simply smiled. "Why? It's a legitimate question. An understandable one, too. Holly, I've lived with cancer for eight years now. During that time, I have cried rivers of tears and been so depressed I thought the darkness might swallow me whole. I spent way too many days waiting to die."