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    Sunset Bridge
    Sunset Bridge
    Sunset Bridge
    Ebook525 pages8 hours

    Sunset Bridge

    By Emilie Richards

    4/5

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    About this ebook

    “This delightful story is full of humor and romantic moments . . . a sure hit with . . . fans and readers looking for a lighthearted and well-plotted beach book.” —Publishers Weekly

    Former socialite Tracy Deloche has nothing to her name but five ramshackle beach cottages and the unlikely friendships she’s formed with her tenants. Wanda, wise waitress turned popular pie-shop owner. Janya, the young Indian wife whose arranged marriage surprises her every day. Alice, a widow raising her complex tween-age granddaughter. And Maggie, Wanda’s daughter, a former Miami cop with a love life as complicated as Tracy’s own.

    The new man in Tracy’s life hasn’t mentioned love or commitment—and Tracy has just discovered she’s pregnant. Janya longs to be a mother—and suddenly has two young siblings in her care. Maggie helps out at Wanda’s Wonderful Pies . . . but is the kitchen big enough for both mother and daughter? And Alice may lose her beloved granddaughter to someone no one expected. . . .

    As a tropical storm brews, the wind carries surprises and secrets over the bridge to Happiness Key. Now, more than ever, five friends will discover just how much they need one another.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherOpen Road Integrated Media
    Release dateJun 28, 2011
    ISBN9781459207677
    Sunset Bridge
    Author

    Emilie Richards

    Bevor Emilie Richards mit dem Schreiben begann, studierte sie Psychologie. In ihren preisgekrönten, spannenden Romanen zeigt sie sich als fundierte Kennerin der menschlichen Seele. Nach einem mehrjährigen Auslandsaufenthalt in Australien wohnt die erfolgreiche Autorin heute mit ihrem Mann, einem Pfarrer, in North Virginia.

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    Reviews for Sunset Bridge

    4/5

    23 ratings7 reviews

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    • 5/5
      "The best..read the entire series!" Having lived and worked in the Keys and Florida, love the setting and you will all in love with the characters! Looking forward to her new book "One Mountain Away" which I have pre-ordered on Nook.

      Tracy has nothing to her name but five ramshackle beach cottages and the unlikely friendships she's formed with her tenants. Wanda, wise waitress turned popular pie-shop owner. Janya, the young Indian wife whose arranged marriage surprises her every day. Alice, a widow raising her complex tween-age granddaughter. And Maggie, Wanda's daughter, a former Miami cop with a love life as complicated as Tracy's own. The new man in Tracy's life hasn't mentioned love or commitment— and Tracy has just discovered she's pregnant. Janya longs to be a mother—and suddenly has two young siblings in her care. Maggie helps out at Wanda's Wonderful Pies…but is the kitchen big enough for both Gray women? And Alice may lose her beloved granddaughter to someone no one expected….

      As a tropical storm brews, the wind carries surprises and secrets over the bridge to Happiness Key. Now, more than ever, five friends will discover just how much they need one another.

    • 4/5
      Sunset Bridge by Emilie RichardsTracy owns the 25 acres of Happiness Key where there are 5 cottages that are rented out.She's in her 40's with not much hope of having a child but that one night with her boyfriend, Marsh was just enough to make her prgenant.Also we are brought up to date on what's happening with the residents of the cottages.Love to hear of the sleep overs on the shores of the ocean.Wanda baked pies and had waitressed at Gaylords til they went topless. so she's started her own place, cuz she knows what others really want for a meal.Blend of women and their talents come together to make the area work for them all. They all rally and help another get over their problems.Some knit/crochet, some organize, some bake and some use their religion for a happy medium.Maggie is on the trail of Blake who she feels used inferior things on the bridge and was responsible for a murder.Love the uptodate technology of an emergency SOS beacon via cell phone.Tragedy of the hurricane could wipe them all out...
    • 4/5
      A beautifully written story about Happiness Key and the women who inhabit the community. Tracy, a socialite with a name but no money (well, except some beach cottages), has now thawed and is in a relationship with Marsh, but will it go the way Tracy wants it? Jayna, a product of a strict family and arranged marriage, has made the best of a bad situation and comes out on top, but she really wants children and that isn't happening. Wanda has the pie shop of her dreams, but those dreams might be ruined in the form of her daughter, Maggie who leaves her job and boyfriend and moves back to Happiness Key. Alice is taking care of her granddaughter and quickly become part of her life, but what if she loses her?This is just the perfect beach read, to get your mind off things and go inhabit a different place for awhile. You will be swept up in the characters and their stories. Even though there are lots of different threads and angles, the full story is easy to follow since everything intertwines and meshes well together. I couldn't help but be reminded of Debbie Macomber's stories. This is the third book in the series, but I thought it could stand alone. I had no trouble getting into any of the plot points or details. This is a book club pick for a group I just joined. I am going to have to go back and get the first two in the series so I can catch up.
    • 4/5
      Loved the third book of this series. Good summer read, a little drawn out, and add a hurricane still adds up to a nice easy read, enjoyable characters and Emile draws everything to a close. I really could have done a couple more! Can't wait to see what she has in store next.
    • 4/5
      Changes are afoot for the women of Happiness Key. Wanda's daughter, at loose ends after quitting her job and her relationship, comes to stay and help with the pie shop--which may be going national. Janya and Rishi find themselves in charge of two small children--and a mystery. And Tracy's relationship with Marsh takes an unexpected turn.Slight but enjoyable.
    • 4/5
      Sunset Bridge by Emilie Richards in the third book in the Happiness Key Novels. The book centers around a myriad of fantastic characters and a few story lines that take place in the quaint little town of Happiness Key. I love the chemistry between the characters especially the women. They're drawn together despite their various background and ages. They have an enviable friendship. My favorite character is Wanda. She is a spunky lady with an affinity to make delicious pies. Her character made me drool. Literally. Every time she was in the kitchen making pies, my stomach growled. Wanda and her daughter, Maggie don't see eye to eye on a lot of things. Maggie moves back after events in her personal and professional life leave her questioning her life's direction. Maggie is quick to make friends with Tracy. They are sorta in the same 'not sure what to do next' boat. Life has thrown them a few lemons and they don't know what to do with them. Maggie is also helping to solve the mystery of Janya's friends unexpected disappearance. This is one of those books that I picked up and thought to myself I'll just read a few chapters and before I knew it, I was almost finished with the book. I love all the story lines. They are all so interesting, mysterious, heartwarming and funny. Even though there are elements of mystery and suspense in this book, it's a character driven novel. I love how the characters interact with each other. They are there for each other through the good, the bad and the ludicrous. This is a great summer read. It's fast paced and delightful. Sunset Bridge is the third book in the Happiness Key novels. The first two are Happiness Key and Fortunate Harbor. I have not read the first two books yet. However Emilie Richards did a fantastic job. I did not feel lost at all when reading this story. She gives you a twitter version on past events when necessary. I do want to go back and read the first two books because I fell in love with Happiness Key and would love to read more about the characters in these books. If you are looking for a great summer read you should check this book out. I highly recommend it.
    • 4/5
      Delightful friendships with a hint of mystery and thrills makes for a great summer read. As a first time reader of this Emilie Richards writing I can say I have been pleasantly surprised. Richards has brought the beach to the reader and I have found her destination relaxing and enjoyable, even with a lurking hurricane. She gives the reader a mix of characters soft spoken Janya, the feisty and funny Wanda, Wanda's daughter Maggie the ex-cop, Alice who struggles with her stuttering due to a stroke, and the I'm not as tough as I think I am Tracy. Sunset Bridge takes place in Florida in a quaint area named Happiness Key. An area that has not been developed other than for a few beach cottage homes belonging to the current property owner Tracy Deloche. Tracy not only struggles with the thought of selling the property but also lacks confidence in the man department. Not sure where she stands in her relationship with Marsh, the man she has only known and dated for a few months, she is now pregnant and seems quite paranoid. Self-centered Tracey avoids her boyfriend Marsh throughout this book and it makes you wonder why he sticks around or even if she really deserves Marsh. Marsh is the typical type of male who is not good at speaking about his emotions and you can't blame the guy, he has been burned before. I liked the character of Maggie for she can be anyone's daughter. Although Maggie seems timid and at first unlike her mother Wanda, it turns out Maggie has inherited part of her mothers fire and is not afraid to bring it on. Richards did well in providing Sunset Bridge with this tangible mother daughter relationship. Just like a real life bunch of friends Richards makes sure you get to know them a little at a time as the book progresses. For this very reason I found myself liking a character at the beginning of the book and hating them later. Sunset Bridge provides many surprises along the way and does not disappoint when it comes thrills with an added touch of mystery. The relationships and friendships amongst the main characters are just like in real life, at times heated and other times loving. Keeping it real Richards makes sure they hate each others pet peeves and tell each other so throughout the book. If you are looking for the perfect summer read and have not read any of the other books in this series don't let it stop you as this book holds up well on it's own.

    Book preview

    Sunset Bridge - Emilie Richards

    chapter one

    On Thursday afternoon, the first day of her Everglades canoe trip with her lover, Marsh Egan, Tracy Deloche fell overboard into rotten-egg-scented water. Unfortunately, her paddle lodged in a mangrove root. She stayed with the paddle, and Marsh stayed with the canoe.

    On Thursday evening of their Everglades canoe trip, she discovered that their campground was a chickee, an elevated wooden platform above a channel that had turned to mudflats, and that the chickee came with no water, although it did come with two whining children and one portable toilet. The cheerful mom explained that this was a homeschooling field trip, and the children would be up and down all night recording observations in their journals.

    Next to sleeping on a deflating air mattress, the children were no problem at all.

    By Friday evening of their Everglades canoe trip, Tracy Deloche was pretty sure she and Marsh were not meant to spend their lives together.

    "Don’t tell me about chiggers and no-see-ums! You think I need a biology lecture?" Tracy, perched on a fallen tree, was rolling up the legs of her jeans and spraying her calves with repellent as she spat out the words. Her ankles already felt like smoldering logs. Her arms ached from canoeing for hours through mazes of mangrove-lined creeks. Her head throbbed from wood smoke billowing up her nostrils.

    "Here’s the deal, hotshot, unless you also want chiggers in places only I ever see, you’d better move over there. Marsh pointed to one of two plastic coolers on the other side of the campfire, where an armload of salt-crusted driftwood was ramping up the smolder factor. Chiggers thrive in dead wood."

    Tracy leaped to her feet, which were—not surprisingly—bare, since that morning she’d found a scorpion in the toe of her water shoes, and found it the hard way. Earlier she’d taken her chances with flip-flops, since her big toe had swollen to twice its normal size, but now even the flip-flops had run for cover.

    You know, we’re supposed to be having fun here, Marsh said. "That’s why I’m with you instead of the rest of the Wild Florida gang. That’s why you’re with me instead of back at Happiness Key fixing up a cottage for Wanda’s daughter. Something going on I should know about? This whole weekend you’ve been wound tighter than a banjo string. The least little thing sends you screeching."

    Little? Tracy pointed to her legs, peppered with scarlet dots. "Is little redneckspeak for miserable?"

    He squatted to take a closer look, running a finger along her shin before he looked up and smiled. We’ll smear your legs with petroleum jelly. You’ll feel better, and I’ll get a little thrill.

    And it’s the only thrill you’re likely to get on this trip, too.

    Marsh looked as if he was debating what to say to that. As always, he was dressed a lot more like the Florida Cracker he claimed to be than the pit-bull attorney who was director of one of Florida’s most effective environmental organizations. His sandy hair was pulled back at the nape in a short ponytail, and he needed a shave. His faded green T-shirt was ripped under one arm. His cutoffs needed a good trim, and his feet were happily bare. In fact, he looked like the embodiment of Wild Florida, whose success at stopping a wetlands shopping mall had been the motivation for this celebratory camping trip. Marsh was in his element.

    Tracy was not.

    You said you wanted to come. He sprang back to his feet without using his hands. I told you it would be rugged.

    Tracy struggled to be fair. Knowing full well that this was not going to be a weekend at the Four Seasons, she had agreed to come along while Bay, Marsh’s ten-year-old son, spent a long weekend in California with his mother, Marsh’s ex. Some of Marsh’s staff were doing a more grueling version of the trip, but Marsh had given that up to plan this shorter one with Tracy.

    Tracy had come a long way in the year-plus that she’d lived in Florida, from spoiled Southern California socialite to a woman who held her own in almost any setting. Only not this one. Apparently the Wilderness Waterway of the Everglades was just a tad beyond her capabilities, or maybe the problem was everything else in her life, rolled into one giant, torturous sandspur of complications.

    Tears sprang to her eyes, so unusual that she immediately credited the campfire. She might be a lot of things, but never a crybaby. She hadn’t shed tears on the day that her husband, CJ Craimer, told her that life as she knew it had ended and she was about to become the wife of a felon. Ex-wife, as it turned out, in a divorce she hadn’t cried over, either.

    Marsh looked perplexed, as if this Tracy Deloche was someone he didn’t know or care to.

    Look… She sniffed. I’m trying. Okay? So, you warned me. I thought I’d be fine. Just give me a moment to be miserable.

    He raised a brow. I’m going fishing. We could use more firewood.

    She heard him. Go in search of mangrove and buttonwood debris for the campfire, and while she was gone, please get her act together.

    Even more annoyed, she debated. All she really wanted was to crawl into the tent and pull the sleeping bag over her head, only it was too hot. They hadn’t waited until winter, when everyone else paddled the Wilderness Waterway. No, they’d come while the air was still warm and the bugs were frenzied, instead of simply omnipresent.

    I’ve got a great dinner planned, Marsh added, as if taking pity on her. You’ll feel better afterward.

    She supposed he was trying. Last night they had eaten sandwiches and shared an apple, so how petty would it be to point out that not even rack of lamb or crème brûlée was going to lighten her spirits, much less the chicken breasts marinating in a plastic bag in one of the coolers? She knew the menu because she’d peeked yesterday before they even slid the canoe into the water.

    Yesterday, when she was still young, eager and looking forward to camping together.

    Has it ever occurred to you, she asked instead, that the only time we’re together, we could be mistaken for two good ol’ boys swilling beer after an afternoon of cleaning spark plugs? When was the last time we did something that required a dress?

    I don’t look that good in ruffles. He leaned over and kissed her. Don’t stray far. Those dark clouds don’t mean night’s coming earlier, but hopefully they’ll pass. Get a whole armload of wood, okay? If we can keep a good fire going, it will help with the bugs.

    Bugs. She shook her head so hard her ponytail flicked her cheek. "And I was so looking forward to more."

    She started down the beach and around the end of the tiny key where they’d made their new campsite. She supposed she ought to be glad that tonight Marsh had chosen a beach and not a Calusa Indian mound in the middle of the mangroves, or yet another platform. This site allowed campfires, and it had a portable toilet down the beach from their tent, while many sites only had instructions for waste management. Just for her, she supposed. Considerate to a fault.

    She determined not to go back until her mood improved. Sure, she could make a case for ruining the evening, but the thought gave her no pleasure. She had come on this trip because she wanted to spend time with Marsh. As much as she enjoyed Bay, hours alone with his father were rare, and when the three of them were together, she and Marsh still promoted the illusion that Tracy was just a friend, despite their being lovers for two months.

    Chalk up another problem.

    Tracy was still barefoot, so she decided to stay close to the water. The sun was sinking fast, and already the sky was layered with violet and amber. Although dark clouds were moving in, the Gulf of Mexico was still relatively calm. Normally she was a fan of evenings on the beach, and normally she was able to tolerate a little discomfort as payment. But since the moment she had helped Marsh drag the canoe into the water near Everglades City, she’d been out of sorts and miserable. She almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

    She had dragged more than a canoe on this trip. She’d dragged problems that weren’t going away. She’d been feeling tired and out of sorts for weeks, unable to concentrate. Wanda Gray, who lived in one of the five cottages Tracy owned in a shabby development called Happiness Key, had warned her this might be the start of menopause, even though Tracy was only thirty-five. Her periods had become increasingly spotty and erratic, although at her last checkup, doctor had blamed her condition on a prescribed break from birth control pills. Thirty-five was young for menopause, but not unheard of. She had made another doctor’s appointment for next week, but she wasn’t looking forward to the diagnosis.

    She had never really yearned for a baby, and she wasn’t sure she had much to offer one. Still, having the decision taken away from her by a whacked-out biological clock didn’t seem fair. Night sweats, facial hair, a libido on holiday? None of it appealed to her. Change of life? She had just begun to like the one she had, thank you very much.

    When she’d called her mother, to see if such a thing ran in the family, Denise Deloche, with her usual level of maternal support, had cackled that maybe now Tracy would understand what it felt like to be over the hill and poor. Good old Mom had never gotten over the fact that Tracy’s ex had taken everyone in the family down on his way to prison for financial hanky-panky. Never mind that Tracy herself had lost everything along the way.

    Well, almost everything. She had ended up with Happiness Key. Which was yet another problem.

    Fifteen minutes later, hauling branches behind her, she was back at the tent. Charcoal-hued clouds blanketed the horizon so thoroughly that if the sun had already slipped behind it, she was none the wiser. But darkness was falling quickly, and Marsh’s fire had already petered out.

    In the distance, she could see him about ten yards from shore, submersed up to his hips, contentedly casting a line into water that was growing choppier as she watched.

    She was filthy. She could wade out and splash off the worst of the dirt and sweat, but Marsh wouldn’t appreciate her scaring away all hope of a catch. Instead, she decided to fill a bowl and take a sponge bath with some of their limited store of water. Marsh had assured her he’d brought enough for that along with cooking and drinking.

    The guy was all heart.

    She dug a metal bowl and hand towel from a pile of supplies by the tent flap, and found a bar of soap in her own small day pack, the only thing she’d been allowed to bring in the crowded canoe. The pack contained little more than a few clothes and some toiletries, but she’d hidden her secret stash of power bars and chocolate inside her sleeping bag. Just in case Marsh got lost in the maze of mangrove trails, and their three-day trip morphed into a spectacular rescue.

    She decided to change her T-shirt after she washed. Maybe a clean T-shirt wasn’t exactly dressing for dinner, but she probably owed Marsh that much. Soap, water and a fresh coat of bug spray. She might feel almost human again.

    Squatting, she threw open the tent flap and leaned forward to grab her shirt. From inside the tent a hissing ball of fur launched itself in her direction.

    By the time Marsh got to shore, Tracy’s screams had dwindled to whimpers.

    How’re you doing? Marsh asked an hour later, approaching Tracy warily, as if he fully expected her to propel herself at his throat, hands squeezing in anticipation. She was sitting beside the fire, staring at the flames, and for a moment she didn’t look up.

    I’m fine. I really am. It’s just…I just wasn’t expecting a raccoon scrambling over my chest to freedom.

    That’s why we don’t leave food in the tent. They’ll steal anything that’s not tied down, even eat right through water jugs. That’s why I slung ours from that tree a little while ago. He inclined his head toward a spot just above their tent. We don’t want to encourage them. They steal eggs from nests and generally wreak havoc on bird life.

    She crooked a brow and hoped the message wasn’t too subtle. If Marsh continued the lecture, she was going to kill him, or swim back to Everglades City and take her chances with gators and sharks.

    I guess you don’t need to hear that right now, huh? He smiled a little. You need some cheering up?

    I’m supervisor at the rec center, remember? I don’t sit at a desk all day. I took the older kids camping in June. I’m not some kind of lightweight prima donna. I can build a fire, erect a tent, even lead a rousing chorus of ‘Kumbaya’ if I’m forced to.

    Let’s hear it.

    She glared at him.

    Or not, he said quickly. Okay, I’ll admit this trip’s a little more grueling than I let on.

    Yeah, about that…

    I just wanted to get you to myself, Trace.

    She sighed. How could she stay angry? Marsh had only recently begun calling her Trace, as if he was welcoming her into his little family with its cute geographical nicknames. Marsh and Bay, now Trace. He’d explained that a trace was a path through uncharted territory, which, to her, seemed a fitting description.

    "And I wanted you to myself, too, she said. I’m just not at my most adaptable right now."

    Let me get you some wine. And I’ve got something special to go with it.

    Now she was sure she was stressed, because a glass of wine really didn’t sound good. Her stomach was still roiling from the raccoon encounter. Nevertheless, the man had hauled a bottle of wine in the crowded canoe just for this moment. She’d disappointed him enough for one trip.

    Great, she said. Need help?

    Let me take care of you.

    She smiled in thanks and relaxed a little. The clouds hadn’t yet produced rain, and there was enough sky still visible to enjoy the few stars willing to shine. Best of all, a strong breeze was blowing off the Gulf, and between breeze and campfire, a percentage of mosquitoes had zoomed off to find easier prey. She had managed to wash up, and except for paw prints, her T-shirt was clean. Surely she would survive.

    He came back with a glass, which she cradled in her palms; then he left for a minute and returned with a plastic plate and held it out to her. At first, by the flickering light of the campfire, she wasn’t sure what he was offering. Then her stomach dived to her toes.

    Oysters, she said. Wow. Raw oysters on the half shell. You got these out there? She nodded toward the water.

    No, although they’re actually creating oyster reefs not far away, but— He stopped himself, as if realizing another environmental lecture wasn’t going to go over well. These are from the panhandle, flown in yesterday morning to that little general store where we parked my pickup.

    Oh… She was thinking fast. And you bought them without me even noticing.

    "You were off having your last encounter with gen-u-ine plumbing."

    She’d used up her pathetic store of chatter. She grinned wanly. Thing is, Marsh? I don’t eat raw oysters. Smoked, sure. Fried and roasted, uh-huh. But I’ve never been able to, you know, swallow one that looks like that.

    You’re kidding.

    Um…nope.

    All this time we’ve been together and I didn’t know that?

    Why, would that be a deal breaker?

    We made some kind of deal?

    He was joking, but the question hurt. They had never discussed their relationship or the way they felt about each other. Marsh, who was open about many things, was zipped up tight when it came to feelings.

    You’ve ordered them when we’ve eaten out, she said. I guess you just never noticed I ordered other things.

    Guess not.

    So you understand?

    I understand nobody’s ever showed you how to eat one. You’re a foodie. You love everything. You’ll love these.

    He had gone to a lot of trouble, that was clear. Buying them, sneaking them on board, probably prying them open a little earlier, while she was recovering. The oysters were a gift, and he was proud of himself.

    I bet they’d be fabulous roasted in the campfire. She batted her eyes at him, but he didn’t buy it.

    "There’s nothing like a raw oyster."

    I think we could agree on that.

    You eat snails.

    She could see this mattered. Not raw. Still, as ornery as she felt, she didn’t want to spoil the dinner for him. Tell you what. I’ll try one just for you. To show what a good sport I am and how much I appreciate the effort.

    Great. He headed off in the direction of the tent.

    She’d hoped agreeing would be good enough, but clearly that was not to be. He returned with a miniature bottle of Tabasco and a pack of soda crackers.

    You can do it a couple of ways. Just stick the shell against your lip and slurp it down. Some people chew and some don’t. Swallowing it whole makes no sense to me, because where’s the taste?

    She didn’t bother explaining that she was going to be a swallow-it-whole kind of gal.

    And the other way to do it? she asked, hoping for something that involved tossing it over her shoulder for good luck.

    Shake some Tabasco on it. Throw it on a soda cracker and nibble away. Your choice.

    I’ll take mine straight. She sent him a glorious smile, as if she was planning to enjoy herself. If she had to do this, she might as well achieve maximum benefit.

    Attagirl.

    She was still smiling when he offered the plate so she could make her choice. She looked for the one most likely to slide down fast, because just looking at the platter made her throat threaten to close up shop.

    She took what appeared to be the smallest.

    Hold it this way. He showed her. Now put it up to your lips and slurp it down.

    She remembered childhood and a nasty pink liquid she’d had to take for an ear infection. The family maid had sat on her feet and imprisoned her hands, and her mother had poured the liquid straight down her throat. She remembered gagging and retching and—

    Okay, here goes, she said brightly. She tilted the shell, and something wet, cool and slimy passed over her lips and crossed her tongue. She was drowning. She was going to choke. She was finished. Thankfully, she realized that the oyster was finally slithering somewhere between her vocal cords and her bowels, and she was still breathing.

    She opened her eyes and licked her lips. The taste reminded her of putrefying bait at Randall’s, her local grocery.

    So what do you think? Marsh asked.

    She tried to come up with something that didn’t begin with profanity. She nodded slowly. I think…I think maybe it’s not my thing. She nodded again, more emphatically.

    Oh, you’ll learn to love them. Next time we’ll try just a drop of Tabasco.

    She held out her hand. Now.

    Now?

    She curled her fingers and flexed them. Now, please.

    He handed her the bottle, and she shook a fair measure into her palm and licked it clean.

    I’ve never seen anybody do that, he said.

    Thankfully, the worst of the taste was now gone, even if part of her tongue seemed to have gone with it. I wanted the whole experience. She had problems shaping the words.

    I’ll stick the rest of your oysters along the edge of the fire to roast.

    Right.

    You’re a trouper. He bent over and kissed her forehead.

    She hadn’t wanted the wine, but now she sipped a little anyway, to keep her tongue from swelling to twice its size and to rid herself of the last vestiges of oyster slime. Her stomach was performing circus tricks, and she struggled not to reverse the oyster escapade. She breathed deeply and swallowed hard.

    Marsh hummed as he cooked. He was a marvel in the kitchen, and apparently at the campfire, too. He slung a grate over coals that had burned down, propping it on three logs he’d nestled in the sand. He grilled chicken breasts, sliced eggplant and zucchini and buried prebaked sweet potatoes in the ashes.

    While he cooked he chatted, and if he realized how little she was contributing, he seemed to understand.

    By the time she had eaten a little cooked food and they had cleaned up, she felt better. The air had cooled considerably, and the oyster was history. Marsh gauged her lightening mood and suggested a walk.

    Not a long one, though, he added. It’s about to rain.

    Maybe you’ll be wrong.

    I prepared. We’ll stay dry. Ground cloth, trench, whole nine yards. He took her hand. Besides, I like the idea of cuddling and listening to raindrops pattering on the roof. We can zip our bags together. What do you say?

    You’re such a romantic guy.

    Just with you.

    They strolled hand in hand along the water’s edge. They had seen other boats, but no one else was camping on the key tonight. She thought she glimpsed lights halfway to the horizon and envied the sailors in their comfortable berths. Exhaustion? Anxiety? Hormones? Everything seemed to be pooling under her feet and sucking her down.

    You want to tell me what’s been bothering you? he asked. Something’s going on.

    She was not about to discuss the possible onset of menopause with Marsh. Nor was she going to ask how he felt about her and where their relationship was going. That took courage and patience, both of which seemed in short supply this weekend.

    She settled on the third concern that had been gnawing at her. I had bad news right before we left.

    He stopped and faced her. You didn’t say anything.

    There’s not much to say. Seems both the water system and the septic system at Happiness Key have to be replaced in the near future. And with all the changes in the laws since they went in originally, plus the environmental considerations, the cost is going to be enormous.

    He whistled softly. I knew it was coming, just not so soon.

    You knew?

    We did have to check out the property before we agreed to the easement.

    We was Wild Florida, who had convinced Tracy to agree to a conservation easement on her property, for which she received tax and other benefits. In return, Wild Florida received assurances that another piece of Florida would be protected from extensive development. Happiness Key might be a small community of five shabby cottages on twenty-five acres, but it was in a strategic location surrounded by other protected properties. She’d met Marsh because of that.

    I don’t know how I’m going to pay for it unless I take out a mortgage. And who knows if I can get one?

    I could help, he said without hesitation.

    Tracy had known he would offer, but her mind was made up. She’d spent the first decades of her life letting other people take care of her. That wasn’t the way she planned to spend the rest of it.

    She squeezed his hand. Thanks, but this is my problem. She debated whether or not to tell him the rest, then forged ahead. The contractor who made the evaluation offered to take the whole place off my hands.

    Does he know about the easement?

    Sure. According to the documents, he can build on the foundations of the old cottages and renovate the ones that are still standing. CJ drew up some plans, remember? This guy thinks people will pay big bucks to live there, even without a lot of square footage.

    Marsh was silent. She knew what he was thinking. Wild Florida had been generous in their terms, and now he was probably sorry. He didn’t want to see anything done to the property except maybe send the whole place back to a time when nothing had stood on it but trees and Florida wildlife.

    I know how you feel, she said. And I have my own issues. What would I tell the others?

    The others in question were her renters, three women she’d grown surprisingly close to since she’d moved to Florida. How would she tell them she was booting them out so she could avoid a mortgage?

    So that’s why you’ve been so—

    Don’t go there, okay?

    Look, we’ll talk this over another time. Right now you’re too wiped. Let’s get you to bed. It’s been a big day, and I can hear you falling asleep on your feet.

    She let him lead her back to their campsite and was glad she had when rain began to fall. She brushed her teeth quickly in water he poured for her, then splashed a little on her face, forgoing anything more extensive.

    When she got inside the tent, she saw that while she’d readied herself for bed, he had zipped their bags together.

    Crafty, aren’t we? she asked when he came back a few minutes later. You think you’re getting lucky tonight?

    Nah, I think you might need a good back rub and a warm body next to yours.

    She was touched. Tears actually sprang to her eyes again, and all her insecurities flooded back. She cleared her throat. If the tent starts to flood, I’m sleeping on top of you.

    I’ll leave the flap up and live in hope.

    Despite his words, he zipped up the flap, adjusted the zipper, then crawled in with her. With the flap closed, the tent was dark, but it was a backpacker special, and the space was so small, he was beside her in two seconds. His arms went around her, and he pulled her close.

    We’ll take it easier tomorrow, he said softly. I didn’t mean to wear you out. You’re such an athlete, I figured you’d love it here as much as I do. But you don’t have to. I just appreciate that you tried.

    She turned over so she was facing him. She could smell soap and toothpaste, and she reached up to stroke his stubbly cheek.

    It’s beautiful. I mean that. Really. It’s just…I’m, you know, just out of sorts.

    Been there, done that, every single month of my marriage.

    She laughed a little and hoped he was right. Maybe that’s it.

    Can I do anything to make you feel better?

    She found his lips in the dark and kissed him. Just forget I fell in the water, and complained about the chiggers and the no-see-ums and stubbed my toe on a scorpion—

    Your secrets will be safe with me.

    "Am I safe with you?"

    No question. His arms tightened around her. Now, go to sleep, okay? And don’t keep wiggling like that, or I can’t guarantee what’ll happen next.

    Let’s conduct an experiment.

    Trace, you realize what you’re doing?

    We’ve still got a few hours until this day’s over. Let’s end on a better note, okay?

    I guess, if it makes you happy, I could oblige. He kissed her, missing her lips and finding her chin instead, then moving lower.

    You can always…be counted on…to do what’s right, can’t you?

    This time he found her lips, and for a long time there was no need to say anything. Sure this wasn’t in the cards, she hadn’t bothered with her diaphragm, but Marsh, ever hopeful, took care of the birth-control angle. Wrapped in his arms, the rain falling faster on the tent top, she forgot everything else and let him take her to a place where there were no more questions.

    Afterward, he pulled her close and rested his head against her hair. I’m not sure which was better. That, or fishing you out of the water this morning without tipping the canoe.

    She tried to laugh, was willing to, but suddenly the tent whirled and undulated, and since they’d just indulged themselves, she knew the sensation was not pent-up passion. Tracy tried to sit up, but for a moment, she was so disoriented, she wasn’t sure which direction to try.

    Marsh… She swallowed hard and managed to claw her way out of the sleeping bag and his arms.

    What’s wrong? Need a bathroom trip?

    She was very afraid that what was wrong wasn’t going to wait for the hike to the Porta Potty. She pitched forward and began to crawl toward the flap—at least she hoped that was where she was headed.

    Trace? He sat up, too. What’s the problem?

    She couldn’t speak. Wildly, she felt along the tent flap, praying she could find the zipper pull. Just as she was about to despair, she found it and managed to inch it up until air poured in, along with cool splashes of rain. She continued crawling until she was out and up on her feet. Then, bent over and clutching her abdomen, she stumbled toward the water.

    She made it just in time. The entire night’s meal vanished into the waves.

    She was still heaving and gulping air when Marsh joined her. Here. He held out a towel, although it wasn’t much help. Rain was falling steadily, and she was soaked.

    I’m…sorry, she gasped. That oyster!

    You think it was the oysters? He sounded incredulous.

    That raw one tasted…awful. Maybe I got a bad one.

    "I feel fine."

    Maybe you got all the good ones. She held the towel to her face anyway. Or maybe I’m coming down with something. There’s been some kind of virus going through the center. A…lot of kids have been sick. I… She buried her face again. She was shivering now, after a whole day of steaming in the heat.

    Are you okay? Do you need to stay here a little longer?

    She could hardly think. She no longer felt nauseous, but that might not last. You go back. I’ll join you in a minute. I’m okay. Really. I just want to wait here by myself to be sure. Go.

    He hesitated, but she reached out and pushed his shoulder. Go, please.

    He shook his head and left her. She waited until the darkness swallowed him. Then she buried her face in the towel and bent over, rain sluicing down her back. But the rain was nothing compared to the revelation.

    There was no mysterious virus making the rec center rounds, and even if there had been, she would not have succumbed. She was known for her cast-iron stomach.

    She was not going through the change of life, although her life was certainly about to change forever. The problem was hormones, all right, but not their absence. In fact, if she was right, she was suffering from an overabundance. All the evidence had finally fallen into place and revealed an answer so ludicrous, it was no wonder it had eluded her.

    She hadn’t been poisoned by oysters, raw or roasted, but she did have something in common with the bivalves. She, too, could harbor something infinitely precious and priceless inside her.

    Not a pearl, but a baby.

    Tracy was almost certain she was pregnant.

    chapter two

    "Last time I decorated a place for Maggie, she was moving out of the nursery into a big-girl bed, so the baby-to-be could sleep in her crib. I painted her new room pink, and not that beigey pink that looks like a bad sunburn, but the real deal. Like my mama’s favorite roses. Pink walls, pink bedspread and curtains, even a little pink rug. And you know what that girl told me?"

    Wanda Gray stopped the narrative and looked at Janya Kapur, who was rolling ivory paint onto the largest wall in the cottage Maggie would be moving into that afternoon.

    Janya, who knew a cue when she heard one, turned her head. What did she tell you?

    She said she wanted to sleep with her daddy and me ’cause her room looked like a strawberry ice-cream cone, and it made her tummy hurt.

    Children say clever things.

    She meant it, too. We tried to make her happy, but Maggie always knew exactly what she wanted. Once she made up her mind…? There was no changing it. Wanda shook her head.

    Before she went back to rolling paint, Janya patted her friend’s shoulder. And, of course, there is no one else in your family who acts this way.

    Oh, please. Me? Nothing like it. Maggie and me, we’re as different as a palm tree and an oak. I had to go back into that room, me expecting a baby in a month, you understand, me as big as that Statler mansion where you fell into the swimming pool—

    It would be polite not to remember that afternoon out loud.

    Wanda was always glad to get a rise out of her young friend. I still think of you, dripping wet and that pretty Indian thing you were wearing all clinging to you, and those men staring at you like you were some kind of water goddess come to earth.

    Janya was only in her twenties, with long black hair and a body men noticed even when it wasn’t so perfectly revealed. ’Course, Wanda continued, you fell in to help me out of a jam, so I’ll just pretend I don’t remember. But anyway, there I was, at least as big as that Statler place or more, having to go back to that beautiful room I’d already painted once, and paint the walls pale green. She picked out that color herself, and her hardly even three. To me, that room looked like a head of iceberg lettuce, but Maggie, she was happy.

    "She will be happy with this color? It is very soft, like morning light."

    She’s not happy, she can paint it herself.

    She will be bringing some of her own things to make it her home?

    Wanda didn’t know what her daughter would be bringing with her. She was still amazed Maggie was coming to Happiness Key to live. Maggie, the unemployed cop and jilted lover. Maggie, who until now had always known exactly where she was going and how to get there.

    I doubt she took much when she walked out on her job and Felo, Wanda said.

    Felo? This is an American name?

    Short for Rafael. Spanish. Rafael Estrada. Family’s from Cuba. He’s third-generation here on American soil. Grandparents on both sides came right after the revolution—theirs, not ours. One side were dentists or something like that, but couldn’t be dentists here, on account of different rules and such. I guess it was hard, the way things changed for his family. One minute you’re a hotshot, the next you’re sweeping floors and washing windows. Rafael’s grandmother had to live with an aunt when she came over ’cause her parents never got out at all. Sad story, huh?

    Very sad, yes. And this Felo? He had problems? This is why Maggie walked away from him?

    Wanda didn’t know how to answer that. She had always liked Felo Estrada. Oh, sure, at first she’d been surprised Maggie’d chosen somebody from a different culture. Then Maggie and Felo moved in together, into a house in Little Havana, which was, in Wanda’s view, as strange as moving to Argentina or Peru, although not like moving to Cuba, since the people in Little Havana weren’t all that fond of Castro. Still, Maggie had been happy there in the tidy bungalow with a lanai looking over a postage-stamp pond Felo had put in all by himself. Their neighbors came from different places. Some from Cuba, of course, but some from Haiti and Nicaragua, or maybe it was El Salvador—Wanda could never keep those Latin countries straight. Maggie was fluent in Spanish and chatted with anybody in the neighborhood—or arrested them, if it came to that. She’d fit right in.

    I don’t know as you could say Felo has problems, Wanda said. He’s a cop, just like she used to be. He’s as handsome as sin and just as enticing, you know what I mean? He attracts women the way orange blossoms attract honeybees. Maggie said even the old ladies on her street used to flirt with him.

    I know this kind of man.

    Wanda shrugged. Maybe, and maybe not. I like Felo, and so does Ken. Ken was Wanda’s husband, a police officer himself and the best judge of people Wanda knew. Seemed to me Felo always made women feel good about themselves, while he kept just enough distance to let them know he was taken.

    Janya made one more stroke down the wall, then she stepped back. But not taken now?

    I don’t know for sure what went wrong. I just know Maggie left the force, then she left him. She’s been off camping for six whole weeks. Half the time we didn’t know where she was. Then the last time we talked and I told her how sick I was of the assistants parading through my shop who don’t know lard from butter, she said she’d come and help out for a while.

    It’s good she’s moving here. You will like having her so close.

    Wanda hoped that was true. She and her daughter were so different. Wanda was never quite sure what to say to Maggie. Maggie kept her thoughts to herself, but Wanda was just about sure she didn’t approve of her mother. Loved her, sure. But approve? Not so Wanda could measure.

    What else do you think we should do in here? Wanda asked. I wish Ms. Deloche had seen fit to stay behind and give us an idea or two.

    There was no reason for Tracy to miss the camping trip, and I can be here when Maggie comes. Janya glanced at Wanda. Would you like that?

    Wanda realized she hadn’t fooled her friend. That was what she and Janya were, of course, even if Janya was younger than her own daughter. They were friends, no mistaking it. All the women at Happiness Key were friends, even if they’d gotten off to a rocky start.

    It wouldn’t hurt, she said. I can introduce you that way.

    The kitchen’s clean, and there is so much food in the refrigerator, she won’t have to shop for a month. You put in the new shower curtain?

    Wanda nodded. And I made up Lizzie’s bed. Only it’s not Lizzie’s anymore, is it? I still can’t get used to her and Dana being gone for good.

    Dana Turner had been the last tenant of this cottage, and she and her daughter, Lizzie, had become part of the Happiness Key family until an abrupt and lamented departure. Dana had also been the only decent assistant Wanda had so far been able to hire for Wanda’s Wonderful Pies, her pie shop and café. The women received postcards now and then, but so far no one knew exactly where the two had gone. Or Pete, the man who had disappeared with them.

    The new slipcovers and pillows look cheerful and bright, Janya said. Maggie will be happy here.

    Wanda straightened the edge of a throw rug she’d bought to set in front of the sofa. I always got along better with Junior. He’s more like me. Maggie, she’s like Ken. She won’t tolerate a fool, not Maggie. That’s how come she’s not a detective anymore.

    She got in trouble?

    "Anybody would have, doing what she did. See, she was assigned to the crime-suppression unit—drug stuff mostly. She worked on this big case for most of a year. There was this dealer, headed a whole ring of dealers, kind of a CEO, if you want to call him that, or a kingpin. She and her partner laid up enough evidence against him to build him a jail cell for the rest of his life.

    Only the state’s attorney, a guy named Paul Smythe, declined to prosecute him. Just up and said, ‘Nope, what you brought me isn’t good enough. So go work on something else, ’cause this case is going away.’"

    A year? Although she hadn’t been in the country for long, Janya seemed to understand the significance.

    A year. And everybody was mad about it, you bet. But her superiors told her to let it go. Felo told her to let it go, too, and the thing was…? That drug dealer…? He was a Cuban American, just like Felo. Even worse, Felo’s best friend, who’s a hotshot in one of the big sugar companies, knew him real well, even partied with him sometimes.

    Did Maggie believe there was a connection?

    "She must have. Why else would she walk out on him the way she did? The day Felo told her to back off, she walked into a press conference Paul Smythe was giving, took off her badge, laid down her gun and in

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