Cranberry Point (Cedar Cove #4)(22)

"You don't live in Cedar Cove, remember?"

"You're right, but I did at one time and people here know me. Really, volunteering is the least I can do to help out, and 1 understand you're the person to talk to."

"Actually, two other women are gathering bachelors' names, but I'd be happy to suggest yours.

Stan grinned. "Thanks." Gratitude radiated from him. "I knew I could count on you."

Buttercup wagged her tail and looked up, anticipating Stan's attention. However the animal lover didn't so much as glance in the dog's direction.

"Have you already been to the market?" Stan asked.

The bags in her hands should be evidence that she had.

"How about if I buy you a cup of coffee and you can fill me in on the details about the auction? Maybe you could help me come up with a strategy."

"A... strategy?"

"Yeah, you know. How to get the ladies to bid on me. Just how many women are expected?"

"I don't know. The tickets haven't gone on sale yet."

"I just had a thought." He straightened, seeming pleased with himself. "I imagine that if the women in town knew exactly who was up for auction, the Animal Shelter would sell more tickets, right?"

Grace wasn't sure about that. "I suppose."

"What if you printed the names of the bachelors directly on the tickets? That might generate even more interest, don't you think?"

Stan was certainly full of ideas. "I'll make that suggestion, too," she murmured.

"Good." His eyes brightened and Grace could see he was quite taken with this bachelor auction. During their one and only dinner date, Stan had practically been crying in his soup, wallowing in self-pity. He'd regrouped fast enough, she thought wryly.

"I'll do what I can to make sure your name's added to the list," she said, eager to leave for home.

"Thanks, Gracie. I appreciate the fact that you're such a good friend."

Grace didn't consider herself that much of a friend, but she let the comment—and the nickname—slide. She directed Buttercup toward the parking lot behind the library, where she'd left her car.

"Nice seeing you again, Grace."

"You, too, Stan."

"Oh, Grace." He jogged the few steps over to her. "When you mention the idea about printing the names..."

"Yes?"

"Be sure and tell them it came from me."

"Of course." She ordered Buttercup to sit and dropped the leash for a moment so she could shift the heavy bags from one hand to the other.

"And seeing that it was my idea—" he paused and laughed playfully "—I think it's only fair that my name be one of those on the list."

"I'll make sure that's understood."

"Great." He grabbed her by the shoulders and briefly hugged her.

As if the thought had suddenly struck him, he asked, "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Not a thing," she assured him, surprised he'd asked.

"You're sure." His hands lingered on her shoulders.

"Positive." .

Just then, behind Stan, Grace caught sight of a male figure in a cowboy hat. No, please no, she prayed silently, don't let that be Cliff. Her one fear was that he'd heard about her dinner date with Stan and would think she was foolish enough to get involved in a relationship with Olivia's ex-husband.

Stan muttered something about needing to meet a friend. Before she could stop him, he gave her another quick hug and was gone.

Grace's gaze remained fixed on the man with the Stetson. When Stan freed her and left, he no longer obscured her line of vision. Sure enough, it was Cliff. He stood staring at her and even from this distance, she could see him frowning.

She wanted to tell him it wasn't the way it looked. She wasn't involved with Stan. Nor did she want to be.

After a suspended moment, Cliff acknowledged her by touching the brim of his hat. Almost immediately, he turned away.

She wanted to rush over to him and explain, but feared she'd do more harm than good. With a heavy heart, Grace headed home.

Eleven

The board meeting over, Bob Beldon left the community theater, situated just off Heron Street

. He'd been active in theater since his high school days; drama class had been his favorite and he'd starred in a number of school productions. If not for Vietnam and everything that happened afterward, he might have considered a career on the stage.

These days he got what he called his "theater fix" by participating in local productions. Currently he served on the board of directors and the group had discussed a number of potential plays for next year's season.

Bob was still thinking about the merits of Our Town vs. The Matchmaker as he drove down the winding road that led to Cranberry Point. The name of the road always amused him. As far as he knew, there weren't any cranberries growing in the area. There were cranberry bogs in WashingtonState, but none in or near Cedar Cove. Whistling "Hello, Dolly," he continued driving, free for the moment of the burdens that oppressed him. This was what he loved about the theater. He could immerse himself in a role—in the whole process of staging a play—and put aside his troubles.

His friends in AA might call it denial, but the theater gave him a ready excuse.