Holly felt tears well up inside her, and she did her best to will them away.

  Serenity showed in Grace's relaxed posture and faint smile as she gazed into the distance. "But somewhere along the way I began to realize that life is a gift, not a guarantee. I learned to be grateful for the moment and to have a keen appreciation for the enduring things in life. I discovered a new joy in watching a beautiful sunset, in sitting by a crackling fire while the cold winter wind blows a gale outside, in savoring the scent of cinnamon wafting from cookies baking in the oven. Most of all, I learned the value of love."

  She reached across the table and took Holly's hand. "Sweetheart, if right this very minute an angel appeared in your kitchen and offered me perfect health if I'd give up the love of my family and friends, I'd have to tell her thanks, but no thanks. No treasure in life, not even good health, is greater than love. That's why I can't bear to see it wasted. That's why it's worth my time to do whatever I can to help Maggie and her man."

  Giving Holly's hand a squeeze, she added, "I'll be more than happy to make a similar effort on your and Justin's behalf. Just say the word."

  Holly couldn't fight any longer. "What do you want me to do?"

  They spent half an hour discussing various possibilities, during which time Holly's insight into Grace's character grew. The quiet, sweet, and sometimes dotty exterior hid a terrier's heart. Once the woman got an idea in her mind, she wouldn't let it go. That particular characteristic probably served her well in her fight against disease. Holly could imagine Grace standing up in her oncologist's office and declaring his prognosis to be quite unacceptable and to find another one, thank-you very much.

  Holly did manage to kill Grace's idea—derived from an old soap opera storyline—to lock Mike and Maggie in the cabin of his boat and not let them out again until they'd made love. She was less successful when Grace suggested they consider doing something to Mike Prescott's boat to delay his departure and give the pair more time to reconcile.

  "After the brouhaha on Saturday, I suspect they're not ready to really talk with one another yet. They still have lots of anger and hurt between them. If he leaves town before they reach the point where they can communicate honestly and from the heart, I'm afraid they'll never find their way back together. That's why we might have to indulge in a bit of mischief with his boat. I got the idea listening to the oldies station coming home from Maggie's," Grace said. "Do you remember the song about the Sloop John B.?"

  Holly nodded as the tune began swimming through her mind.

  "I think the Kingston Trio recorded it," Grace continued. "Perhaps the Beach Boys, too, but I may be wrong. Anyway, the refrain says the singer wants to go home. It made me think of Mike. Then another line mentions hoisting the sails. The song stayed stuck in my brain all night long. I realized there must be a reason for it, and that reason came to me today. The song is the answer, Holly. You and I can heist his sails."

  Holding her head, Holly groaned.

  Her state of mind didn't improve much over the next few hours after Grace left. She kept hearing the sincerity in the other woman's voice as she talked about love, kept seeing an image of Justin's face everywhere she turned. She tried to summon up the energy to plant her flowers, but she simply wasn't in the mood. She was sitting on the front porch staring blindly into the night's shadows when the phone rang. Somehow, she just knew Maggie Prescott was on the other end of the line. Caller ID confirmed it.

  "I give up," she muttered, yanking the receiver from the hook. "Hello, Maggie."

  A pause, then, "How did you know it was me?"

  "I'm clairvoyant."

  "Really?"

  "No."

  "Well, spit. I could use a good seer."

  "Kisser?" Holly demanded. "Did you say kisser?"

  "No. I said 'seer.' As in sees into the future."

  Holly massaged her forehead. "What do you want, Maggie?"

  "I need help."

  "In the famous words of Gomer Pyle, surprise, surprise, surprise."

  "Pardon me?"

  "I won't do anything if it has any reference whatsoever to anything nautical."

  "Nautical? As in ships and the sea?"

  "And mainsails. Exactly. So, do we have a deal?"

  "Sure thing, sugar. Nautical themes aren't exactly high on my list these days, either. Which is a nice segue into my reason for calling. I want to make one."

  "Make one what?"

  "A list like yours."

  "My Life List?"

  "Uh huh. I'm beginning a new stage of my life, so I need to take stock of my dreams and aspirations and decide what I want to pursue. I'd like your help because you have experience at making a list, and you haven't had your head buried in PTA and Little League sand for the past twenty years. You might think of goals to pursue that I wouldn't."

  Holly didn't know whether to feel flattered or annoyed. The Life List was her baby, after all. She wasn't certain how she felt about sharing it.

  "Listen to what I have so far," Maggie instructed. "'I will date a man from every state in America.'"

  "Jeeze Louise, Maggie." Holly grimaced and rubbed the back of her neck.

  "I will spend—"

  "Enough. All right. I'll help."

  "Great. You can come over to my house and we'll plan—"

  "No." Holly felt the need to gain a semblance of control. "My house. Tomorrow night. Five o'clock. I'll call Grace and get her over here, too. I stopped by the stationery store and picked up the invitation books. Grace needs to choose one so we can get them ordered."

  "That's great. We'll do goal setting and party planning. I'll bring chocolate."

  "Excellent. Only... Maggie?"

  "Yes?"

  "Bring your gardening gloves, too."

  The moment Holly replaced the receiver, it began to ring again. Certain it was Maggie calling back, she grabbed it right up.

  "Yes, Maggie?" she asked, giving a long, put-upon sigh.

  "It's not Maggie," Justin said.

  Holly almost dropped the phone. "Oh. I didn't..."

  "Let the answering machine pick up."

  "Actually I've had caller ID installed. I won't need to listen to hang-ups that way."

  The line hummed distance between them before he asked, "Can I see you? Can we talk?"

  Holly closed her eyes. "Justin, it's late. Tomorrow's a workday. I'm busy—"

  "Sitting on your front porch. I see you. Let me come up."

  For the first time, Holly focused on the cars parked along the street. Sure enough, Justin's sporty little Beemer was parked along the curb in front of Mr.

  Crankpot's house. He sat on the hood, his cell phone pressed to his ear, his gaze pointed right at her.

  Great. Oh just great. She wore a ratty old tee shirt and wind shorts, no makeup, and she needed to wash her hair. "I need to wash my hair."

  "Lame one, Holly. I swallowed my pride and came to you. Now talk to me."

  "I'm not responsible for your pride or your actions."

  "True. But you should be polite to guests, even uninvited ones. That's how your mother raised you, isn't it?"

  "Leave my mother out of this."

  "That's just the thing, Holly. I don't know if that's possible."

  Justin slipped off the hood of his car and started walking toward her. Instinctively, Holly scooted back a step, but she kept the phone pressed close to her ear.

  "It's been suggested that your response to my marriage proposal might have been different had I gone for candlelight and soft music when I popped the question. I don't think I believe that. Recalling the look in your eyes, I think you'd have turned me down no matter what. Am I correct?"

  Her stomach churned. She didn't want to do this. Not now. Not ever. "I told you from the first I didn't want to marry."

  "Right. So answer this one question for me. Why?"

  "Why?"

  "Why don't you want to marry, Holly? Are you afraid of something?"

  "Afraid?" She scooted back another step. Her mouth had gone dry as a forgotten backyard birdbath in July. "I'm not afraid."

  He stood five feet from her now, his gaze locked upon her. He continued to speak into the phone. "I think you are afraid, honey. I'm just not sure why."

  Holly chose not to respond. Handy, since she couldn't speak past the knot in her throat.

  "I asked myself what aspects of marriage might frighten you. Of course, I ruled out sex right away. And you like children, I know. You wouldn't be a teacher otherwise. I went over every aspect of our relationship in detail, trying to deduce what might be the problem. I came to suspect your attitude might have something to do with your mother."

  "My mother?" She hit the off button on the telephone, then rolled to her feet.

  "Yeah, your mom. You don't talk about her."

  Now her breath was coming in shallow pants. "I talk about her all the time."

  "About her life, but never about her death." Justin slipped his cell phone into his pocket. "I wouldn't even know you lost her to breast cancer if your father hadn't clued me in. Tell me, Holly. Did you see anyone after she died? A therapist?"

  Be damned if she'd tell him about the suicide attempt. It was bad enough she'd spilled her guts to her women friends. She'd be totally humiliated if Justin learned of her weakness.

  "It's not your business, Justin."

  He looked away, his jaw set. His chest rose, then fell as he breathed deeply and visibly summoned control. He pinned her with a narrow-eyed gaze. "I disagree. You are my business."

  "I'm not one of your patients."

  "No, you're not," he snapped. "My patients are all younger than twelve. You only act like a child."

  She faltered, swayed, his accusation piercing like an arrow. Damn him. She was giving him up for his own good. Couldn't he see that? She turned and made for the door.

  "Wait, Holly. Stop." He bounded up the steps. "I'm sorry. That was uncalled for. I came here today to grovel, but frankly, I'm not very good at it. I haven't had enough experience with it."

  "Arrogance keeps getting in the way."

  "Yeah, well, I'm a doctor. What do you expect?"

  He reached for her arm and Holly shuddered at his touch. A clamor of emotion assaulted her from within. She wanted him, yearned to be with him. Loved him too much to give in to her need.

  "These last couple weeks have been lousy. Lonely. I know now more than ever how much I want to have you in my life. Deep in my heart, I believe you want the same thing."

  Her pulse beat like a hummingbird's wings. Maybe she could still have something, if not everything. "You're ready to give up on the marriage idea?"

  He shoved his hands into his back pockets. "No. No, I'm not. I love you. I want you for my wife. That hasn't changed. It won't change."

  That does it, Holly thought. She might as well give up.

  "I need for you to talk to me, Holly," he continued. "I need to understand what is keeping us apart. I didn't press you about it that day at the Greystone and that was a mistake. I truly believe that no problem is insurmountable if we work together to solve it. So please, honey. Tell me what it is. Tell me what you're afraid of."

  "I'm not afraid!" she insisted, trying to convince him, convince herself.

  "Is it your mom? Holly, are you worried you're going to get breast cancer like your mom?"

  Dammit, Justin. It took all Holly's strength not to run inside and slam and lock the door. This was so difficult. She couldn't keep doing it. If he wouldn't compromise on the marriage issue, then she simply couldn't afford to see him anymore. The man was too stubborn, too convincing. Eventually, he might talk her around to his way, and that would be bad for both of them.

  She'd have to do something, say something, that would put an end to their relationship once and for all.

  Willing away the tears that threatened, she made herself face him and respond to his question. "I think at some point in time, every woman worries that she'll develop breast cancer, Doctor. I'm also aware that the average woman is at greater risk of developing heart disease than she is cancer."

  Of course, Holly wasn't the average woman.

  "You're exactly right. So tell me, am I totally off base here? Is the reason you won't marry me all mixed up in losing your mother so young and fearing the same thing will happen to you? If so, then we can fix it. I have statistics that will prove you're worrying unnecessarily."

  Statistics. Right. He could take his statistics and shove them. "I thought your specialty was pediatrics, Dr. Skipworth. Not psychology."

  "If it's not your mom, then what is it? Tell me, Holly. You owe me that much."

  "Why are you doing this? Why are you making me hurt you? Can't you simply accept that I can't give you what you need? I can't love you anymore, Justin. I won't love you. Not anymore."

  "Why? Just answer that."

  Because you deserve so much more. You deserve to be happy.

  But Holly didn't say it aloud. Instead, she hardened her heart, looked him straight in the eyes, and lied. "You're partially right. It is about my mom. She was an art history major and she planned to go to Rome to study for a year. When she met my dad, she gave up that dream. A part of her always regretted it. I promised myself I wouldn't do what she did. I didn't tell you because I didn't want to spoil the time we had."

  "Tell me what?"

  "I've been accepted into a Ph.D. program at Tulane. Right after the Hardemans' anniversary party, I'll be leaving Fort Worth."

  Chapter 7

  Maggie eyed the fire ant mound rising like a miniature volcano from the clump of spring green weeds and winced. "Sugar, I am tickled pink that you've agreed to help me with my list, but I came over here for pizza and planning. Not planting. See, I forgot my gloves, and I find I'm just not in the mood to live dangerously."

  "Dangerously?" Grace sat in the wrought iron lawn chair Holly had brought around to the front yard for her, then bent to pick up a six-pack of petunias.

  "Yeah. 'Dangerously.' What else would you call digging in an ant-infested plot of dirt?"

  "Gardening," Holly replied, her tone as dry as the soil caked on the bottom of her shoes. She tossed a pair of work gloves toward Maggie. "Don't fret. It's a dead hill. But if you're worried, you can start at the other end. I doubt you'll find anything there except for grubs, maybe a few slugs."

  "Slugs!" Maggie wrinkled her nose and stepped back onto the front sidewalk. "I don't do slugs."

  After a moment's pause, she added, "Not since Christmas, anyway."

  Holly let out a snort of laughter. Grace's lips twitched at the corners as she gently freed a plant from its plastic tray. "Our next-door neighbor is a single lady. She wears a tee shirt when she mows her lawn that says 'Grow your own dope.'"

  She waited until both Maggie and Holly expectantly met her gaze, then finished, " 'Plant a man.' "

  Maggie chuckled while Holly grinned and said, "A male-bashing joke from you, Grace? I'm shocked. What would Ben say?"

  "He'd probably repeat one of the blonde jokes the guys tell at his work." Grace handed them each a garden trowel. "Start digging."

  "Blonde jokes are so yesterday." Maggie gave her honey-colored hair a dramatic fling, then scanned the ground for bugs, worms, or any other nasties. Gingerly, she knelt and eased the tip of the trowel into the earth. When nothing wiggled, scurried, or oozed out, she dug deeper.

  She hadn't dirtied her hands with earth in ages, and to her surprise, she found the task to be rather pleasant. The early evening air was balmy, the birds were singing, and someone in the neighborhood was grilling steak. She closed her eyes and lifted her nose into the heavy, rich scent. "Forget pizza. Let's go eat with them."

  Holly sighed wistfully. "That's Mark Wilson. Sunday he smoked a brisket, and it was all I could do not to go knocking at his door like a beggar. And his wife bakes the absolute best brownies. I keep asking them to adopt me."

  Grace nodded sagely. "A moist but chewy brownie is worth its weight in gold."

  "Add pecans and I say it's gem quality," Maggie said.

  With the first flat of flowers in the ground, Maggie stood and stretched. The sky above her was a bright, brilliant blue, empty and unending but for yellow thunderheads building off to the west. She shut her eyes, lifted her face to the sun, and drank in the warmth, searching for the peace Grace appeared to find in a Monday evening spent planting purple petunias with friends.

  Instead, she thought of Mike, pictured him on the deck of his boat rubbing teak oil on a railing. Or suntan oil on his big-boobed bimbo. "I can almost smell the coconuts."

  Holly rolled back on her heels, tipped up the bill of her baseball cap, and gave Maggie a curious look. "Coconut in brownies? Yew. Not for me."

  She shook her head. She didn't want to explain. She didn't want to think about Mike, much less talk about him. "Suntan oil. I'm hungry. Why don't we call in the pizza now."

  "Do you want to talk about your husband, Maggie?" Grace asked, her gaze knowing.

  "Well, spit. Is everyone around here clairvoyant or am I that obvious?"

  "You're that obvious." Holly drew back her arm, then stabbed her trowel into the ground. Standing, she stripped off her gloves saying, "You don't go five minutes without touching that shiner of yours and getting a sappy look on your face."

  Maggie stopped herself, barely, from reaching up to press her black eye yet again. For some reason, she found the pain of the bruise strangely reassuring. "He called me today and asked how I was doing."

  Holly led the way into the house, glancing back over her shoulder. "What did you tell him?"

  "I didn't talk to him. I let the machine pick up."

  "Why?"

  Maggie shrugged. She didn't have an answer. She didn't know why she did anything these days. Or, to be more exact, why she didn't do much of anything these days.

  She'd been bad enough during the months before Mike left her, but since then... well... some days she never got out of bed. The clouds hanging in her personal sky were dark, deep blue and purple, like her eye.