Andrew and I had had a story. A pretty great story. How many people could say they’d met their husbands while lying dead at Gettysburg, after all? It was damn cute. And of course, I reminded myself harshly, gently pushing Angus’s head out of the way so I could see, Natalie and Andrew had a great story, too. I was engaged to her sister, but one look at Natalie, and I knew I had the wrong Emerson girl! Hahaha!

“Stop it,” I told myself, my voice grating. “You’ll find someone. You will. He doesn’t have to be perfect. Just good enough. And, yes, Natalie and Andrew are probably going to get married. We know this. We are not surprised.

We’ll take the news very well.”

But I couldn’t shake the funk that lowered as I did my errands…grocery store, dry cleaner, wine shop for some good and cheap chardonnay. Everywhere I went, I imagined the story. At the package store: He recommended some wine, we got to talking…I saved the bottle, see, it’s over there, on the shelf. Unfortunately, the man behind the counter at the package store was sixty years old, wedding ring in place, as well as a couple of hundred extra pounds. At the market: We ran into each other at the Ben & Jerry’s case, argued over which was better, Vanilla Heath Bar or Coffee Heath Bar, and we still can’t agree. But, no, the only person in front of Ben & Jerry’s was a girl of about twelve, stocking up on Cinnamon Bun from the look of things. At the cleaners: He was picking up a suit, I needed my Confederate officer’s uniform… Alas, the only one in the cleaner’s was the sweet and tiny woman who owned the place. “Watch you don’t get shot!” she said, handing me my dress grays.

“Getting shot is the whole point,” I said. My smile felt forced.

When I got home, I stashed my groceries, took a box of tampons away from Angus and gave him a chew stick instead, poured a healthy glass of wine and went up to the attic with my uniform. Did I usually stow my uniform in the attic? Well, no, not until winter, usually, but it seemed like a good idea tonight. And I left the light off, because I knew the way by heart.

He was there. Callahan O’ Shea was back on the roof, hands clasped behind his head, looking up at the sky.

We met when I clocked him with my field hockey stick. I thought he was robbing the house next door. Turned out he wasn’t, simply a guy on his first night out of prison. What for, you ask? Oh, he stole over a million dollars.

Sighing, I tore myself away from the view and went back downstairs. Pictured Wyatt Dunn coming home, hugging me, resting his cheek against my hair. Angus wouldn’t bite him or even bark. We’d sit down in my seldom-used dining room, and I’d pour him a glass of wine, and he’d ask to hear about my students, and I’d cheer him up by telling him about how I divided the class into Confederates and Union citizens and made them debate why their side was right, how the entire Southern side spoke in drawls and got the giggles when Emma Kirk said, “Fiddle-dee-dee.”

So intense was my little daydream that when a knock came on the door, I almost expected it to be Wyatt, that I somehow conjured him. Angus went into his yapping frenzy, so I picked him up and peeked. It was Callahan O’ Shea, down from the roof. My face went lava-hot.

“Hi,” I said, clutching my dog, who growled fiercely.

“Hi,” Callahan said, leaning in the doorway.

“Everything okay?” It was dark, after all.

“Yup.” He just looked at me from those denim-blue eyes, and I noticed for the first time that his irises were flecked with gold. His shirt was a soft green, and the smell of freshly cut wood drifted toward me.

“What can I do for you?” I asked, my voice husky.

“Grace.”

“Yes?” I breathed.

“I want you to stop spying on me,” he said.

Dang it! I sucked in a guilty breath. “Spying? I’m not…I…I don’t…”

“From the attic. Do you have a problem with me being up on my roof?”

“No! I just was…” Hrrrr. Hrrrr. Yarp! Angus was struggling to get out of my arms, giving me a great excuse to stall.

“Hang on a second. Or just come in. I have to put Angus in the cellar.”

I stashed Angus, took a few deep breaths, then turned to face my neighbor, who stood just inside the doorway, a sarcastic eyebrow raised. If eyebrows could be sarcastic, that is.

“Cal, I was just putting some things away up there. I saw you and yes, I wondered what you were doing out there, okay? I’m sorry.”

“Grace, we both know that you’ve been spying. Just knock it off.”

“Well, someone has quite an ego, doesn’t he?” I said. “I was putting away my general’s uniform. Go upstairs and check if you want.” Angus barked from the cellar, backing me up.

Callahan took a step closer and looked down at me—literally and figuratively, I imagined. His eyes wandered to my hair, then…oh, God…to my mouth. “Here’s what I want to know,” he said. “Why does that boyfriend of yours leave you alone so damn much?” His voice was soft.

My whole body responded with a giant, hot, pulsating throb. “Oh…well…” My voice was breathy. “I’m not sure that’s gonna work out. We’re, um…reevaluating.”

Tell him you’re free, Grace. Just say you and Wyatt broke up.

I didn’t. Honestly, it was just too scary. My entire body was quivering with Callahan’s nearness, and fear. Fear that he was playing me, all too aware that I was a heartbeat away from wrestling him to the floor and ripping off his clothes.

That stirring image was almost immediately replaced with another, much less desirable picture—Cal pushing me back and saying, quite firmly, No thanks, that sardonic expression on his too-appealing face.

“So.” My voice was brisk and teacherly. “Anything else, Mr. O’ Shea?”

“No.” But he looked at me, really looked, and it was awfully hard to maintain eye contact, let me tell you. Surely I was blushing, since my face was burning hot.

“No more spying,” he finally said, his voice gentle. “Got it?”

“Yes,” I whispered. “Sorry.”

And then he turned and left, leaving me standing in the middle of my living room, shaky and feeling like my stays were a little too tight.

Okay, okay, I admitted that I was desperately attracted to Callahan O’ Shea. And that was not a good thing. First of all, I wasn’t sure he liked me very much. Secondly…well. It wasn’t just the ex-con thing. Sure, if he’d beaten someone with a pipe or something, obviously he’d be out of the running. Embezzlement, yes, it was also a crime.

But not that bad, right? If he was sorry…plus, he’d served his debt to society and all that crap….

No. It wasn’t his past, though obviously, I put a lot of weight on the past. It was the fact that my whole life, I knew what I wanted. Andrew had been The One, and look how that turned out. What I wanted now, God help me, was another Andrew, just without the whole sister-loving complication.

Callahan O’ Shea was ridiculously appealing, but I’d never relax around him. He was not the type to look at me adoringly. He…he…ah, crap, he was just too much. Too big, too good-looking, too appealing, too stirring. I felt too many things around him. It was disturbing, really. He made me irritable and lustful and sharp when I wanted to be sweet and loving and soft. I wanted to be…well, like Natalie. And I wanted a man who looked at me the way Andrew looked at Natalie. Not like Callahan, who looked like he knew my every dirty little secret.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

I WAS WORKING LATE AT MANNING one evening, putting together my presentation for the board of trustees, when Stuart paid me a visit.

“Hey, Stuart!” I exclaimed, getting up to kiss his cheek.

“How are you, Grace?” he asked politely.

“I’m okay,” I said. “Have a seat. Want some coffee or anything?”

“No, thank you. Just a few minutes of your time.”

Stuart looked awful. His eyes were shadowed and tired, and there seemed to be gray in his beard that wasn’t there a few weeks ago. Although we worked at the same school, Stuart’s office was in Caybridge Hall, a newer building on the southern side of the campus, far from Lehring, where the history department nestled appropriately in the oldest building at Manning. I rarely encountered Stuart at work.

I sat back behind my desk and took a deep breath. “You want to talk about Margaret?” I asked softly.

He looked down. “Grace…” He shook his head. “Has she told you why we’re…apart?”

“Um…” I paused, not sure how much I should reveal. “She’s said a few things.”

“I brought up the idea of us having a baby,” Stuart said quietly. “And she basically exploded. Suddenly, it seems, we’re having all sorts of troubles that I was completely unaware of. I’m quite boring, apparently. I don’t talk about work enough. She feels like she’s living with a stranger. Or a brother. Or a ninety-year-old man. We don’t have enough fun, we don’t just grab a toothbrush and rush off to the Bahamas—and here she works seventy hours a week, Grace! If I suggested we fly off somewhere, she’d kill me!”

He certainly had a point. Margaret was mercurial, putting it kindly.

He sighed wearily. “All I wanted was to talk—just talk—about the idea of having a baby. We decided we wouldn’t have kids when we were twenty-five, Grace. That was a long time ago. I figured we could revisit the idea. And now she said she’s filing for divorce.”

“A divorce?” I squeaked. “Oh, crap. I didn’t know that, Stuart.” I was quiet for a minute, then said, “But you know Margaret, buddy. She’s all thunder and lightning. I doubt she really wants…” My voice trailed off. I had no idea what Margaret really wanted. On the one hand, I couldn’t imagine her divorcing Stuart just like that. On the other, she’d always been impulsive. And completely unable to admit when she was wrong.

“What should I do?” he asked, and his voice broke just a little.

“Oh, Stuart.” I got out of my seat and went to him, patted his shoulder awkwardly. “Listen,” I murmured, “one thing she said to me was that…” you only have sex on scheduled days…I grimaced. “Um, maybe things were a little …routine? With you guys? So maybe a little surprise now and again—” on the kitchen table “—wouldn’t be a bad thing. Just sort of to show that you really…noticed her.”

“I do notice her,” he protested, wiping his eyes with one hand the way men do. “I love her, Grace. I’ve always loved her. I don’t understand why that’s not enough.”

Mercifully, my sister wasn’t home when I got there. As Stuart pointed out, she worked a very long day. Bemused, I threw together some dinner, then went upstairs to change for Dancin’ with the Oldies.

Callahan was busy these days at his own house, and I hadn’t seen him since he busted me for spying. I looked out the window at the new shingles on the roof, the curving and lovely little deck in the back. For the past two out the window at the new shingles on the roof, the curving and lovely little deck in the back. For the past two days, he’d been doing something inside, so I hadn’t been able to ogle him. Pity.

“Come on, Angus, buddy. Let’s go,” I said. I got my things and left the house, Angus trotting and leaping with delight at my side. He knew what Mommy’s swirly-twirly skirt meant. I got in the car, put it in Reverse and backed out onto the street as I had done a thousand times before.

Unlike those thousand other times, however, I heard a horrifying metallic crunch.

Callahan’s pickup truck was parked on the street, very close to my driveway. Well, okay, maybe not that close, but having gotten used to a clear runway ever since I’d lived here, I guess I took the turn kind of…yes. Okay. It was my fault.