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To the One I Love

Thorndike Press

Chapter One

But Lacey wasn't living in Beverly Hills anymore. She was no longer married to Geo - who had been plain old George Herbert Dillon on their wedding day. She was no longer a maniacally overworked associate at the distinguished law firm of Sagger, Link and Perfit, no longer the unhappy owner of a condo with more angles and slick surfaces than a used car salesman. She was divorced, unemployed and so happy to be in that state that right now she had to school herself not to dance a little jig on her grandmother's sidewalk.

Of course it wasn't only the ecstasy of freedom that made her want to kick up her heels. Even though it was only 8:00 a.m., the sidewalk was as hot asone of Grammer's - that was what Lacey and her sisters called their grandmother, Edith Colman - oven fresh biscuits, and the North Florida sun was beating an unrelenting tattoo on her arms and the back of her neck. Standing still was an invitation to old Mr. Sunshine to prove his worth against SPF-30 sunscreen.

Her skin was noticeably pale for these parts. In California, on requisite trips to the health club, she had never gone in for tanning booths, although Geo had been as perfectly oiled and browned as one of Grammer's Thanksgiving turkeys.

Of course Geo had been sure to let her know what he thought of a woman who spent so little time and effort perfecting herself.

She wondered if Matt Cavanaugh thought her appearance needed more time and effort. For a moment she stopped pulling bags from the trunk of her new middle-of-the-line Toyota, and let herself think about Matt.

Matt Cavanaugh, the flame who had ignited her adolescent sexuality. The boy she'd written about in her diary, fantasized about on hot summer nights, come this close to giving her virginity to in the summer of her senior year of high school. Matt Cavanaugh, who was no longer a boy, but a man with a lean, muscular body that had more than fulfilled every adolescent promise. Matt Cavanaugh, who still had the same sun-streaked brown hair and laughing blue eyes, but whose smile was ten degrees more sensual and mysterious.

Matt Cvanaugh, whom she had seen just last night in the flesh at Wallace's store for the first time in nearly a dozen years.

Good grief, Matt Cavanaugh!

Lacey gave herself a mental shake. There were a lot of other things she had to think about. She was here on Colman Key for a reunion, and her sisters would be out of bed by now. Deanna and Marti had arrived late last night, and Grammer was probably cooking a big country breakfast to celebrate.

Grammer loved her granddaughters with an open warmth that their parents could only approximate. It was Grammer they had run to whenever they had problems, Grammer they still called first when they had good news. Their parents were upstanding people, but Edward and Julia Colman, a bank president and state senator respectively, had always focused first on career and second on the family's image in the community. Grammer had focused on her granddaughters, and even as small children they had known the difference.

Now Grammer was in danger of losing her home. The thought sent fireworks through Lacey's bloodstream. Edward, their father, was going to force Grammer out. Technically the house belonged to him, and he was going to sell it right out from under her. Grammer was going to a retirement home, and like a lamb to the slaughter she was prepared to allow this to happen.

Okay, it was a big house, a monstrosity, really. Sure it had an acre of yard, a penchant for leaks and peeling paint, a shingled roof that sailed to Newfoundland in every tropical storm. And then, of course, there was Grammer's broken ankle, healed now but a reminder that even Grammer would grow frailer with age. But this house was home, even though she and her sisters had only spent a month here each summer. This house was family!

Lacey reached for the last bag and slid it to rest on her hip so she could slam the trunk shut. She was so glad Deanna and Marti had found the time to spend the month of August here on Colman Key. Together, she knew they could find a way to keep the house - and keep Grammer and their father happy, too. She had great faith in the ability of the Colman sisters to right any wrong the world threw in their path.

By now she was holding three big brown bags, stacked all the way to the top so that good old Wallace's could save a penny. She precariously balanced all three and started up Grammer's sidewalk. The old house sparkled in the sunlight. It was a style known as folk Victorian, large and rambling with ornate wedding cake trim and a front porch that beckoned any passerby to come and "set a spell." It was well kept and tidy. Right now the only thing out of place was a square of white lying in the middle of the flowered welcome mat.

At first Lacey thought the square was a flyer from the morning paper. But on closer inspection she saw it was one of those annoying subscriptions cards that multiplied like vermin between the pages of unsuspecting magazines. She balanced two bags against one thigh and squatted carefully to remove it, crumpling it and shoving it in her short's pocket. She was barely up to the challenge and nearly dropped a bag.

"Lacey!" Lacey launched herself backward just in time. The front door flew open, and a wraith with an acre of curling blond hair and a dancer's grace leaped to the welcome mat. "Sorry, did I do that? Did you spill anything?"

Somehow Lacey had managed to keep the bags upright, but her rump was smarting from surprise contact with the porch floor.

"Hi, and yes, if you'd been one second quicker I'd be skimming the waves." Lacey nodded over her shoulder in the direction of the beach on the other side of Pelican Street. "You would have knocked me clear into the Gulf."

"I didn't mean to send you flying. I'm just excited to see you. I got in so late we didn't have a chance to catch up last night." Deanna, the middle Colman sister, grabbed the closest bag out of Lacey's arms. An ominous ripping sound preceded the tumble of four cans of tomatoes to the porch floor. "Oops."

"What's going on out here?" Marti, dark hair the color of Lacey's own but a body at least one size more petite, followed in Deanna's path.

"Whatever you do, don't come any closer," Lacey ordered.

Marti stopped dead in her tracks. "Why not?"

Continues...

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Excerpted from To the One I Love by Emilie Richards Copyright © 2004 by Emilie Richards. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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