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  “They’ve been happening more frequently lately.”

  Casey lowered her eyes and nodded. “I know, but it’ll get better soon.”

  All evidence pointed to exactly the opposite.

  “I’ve had these dreams before, and they come and go,” she mentioned casually. “Really, it’s no big deal.”

  Brad looked over at their daughter, and his words were low and serious. “Casey, these dreams terrify you; we want to help.”

  Their daughter looked up again and blinked several times. “You want me to tell you about the dream, don’t you? That’s why you brought me to dinner.”

  “No, sweetheart, we don’t need you to tell us, especially since you feel strongly about it. You haven’t wanted to talk about what the dream involves, and that’s fine.”

  “It is?” A look of relief came over her as her shoulders relaxed against the back of the booth.

  “But you need someone who can help you.”

  Right away, Casey tensed again and adamantly shook her head. “I don’t need anyone.”

  “Casey …”

  “I’ll outgrow it.”

  “Sweetheart, listen,” Lydia said gently, and leaned forward, stretching her arm across the table, “we aren’t doing this because we’re angry or upset. We want to help you get over whatever it is that is causing you to have these nightmares.”

  “I don’t want to know what’s causing them,” she said, her voice growing stronger now. The people in the booth across from them glanced over, and right away Casey lowered her voice. “I’ll be okay … I won’t have the dream anymore.”

  “You’re being unrealistic. Sooner or later you’ll need to confront whatever is behind this.”

  “No, I won’t,” Casey insisted, in complete denial.

  “All we’re asking,” Brad said in gentle, encouraging tones, “is that you talk to someone trained in this area who will help explain why this is happening. And then they can give you a means of dealing with it.”

  “Like who am I supposed to talk to?” That suspicious edge was back in full force.

  “A trained professional.”

  Casey flattened her hands on the tabletop and half rose from the bench seat. “Are you going to send me to the loony bin?”

  “Loony bin?” Lydia said, unable to hold back a smile. “Where in heaven’s name did you ever hear that expression?”

  “From Grandma.”

  “Of course,” Lydia whispered. It should have been obvious.

  “To answer your question, your mother and I aren’t sending you anywhere. You’re staying with us.”

  Casey took a long drink of her soda through the straw. “That’s a relief.”

  “But we want you to talk to someone.”

  “Who?” Casey’s eyes narrowed.

  “A counselor.”

  Even before the word was completely out of Brad’s mouth, Casey started to shake her head. “No way.”

  “Casey, please listen.”

  “It’s not going to happen.”

  The waiter delivered their dinners, but they barely noticed. Casey sat with her back as stiff as a corpse, determination written on every part of her body.

  “Besides, we can’t afford for me to talk to anyone. I heard you and Dad discussing this a few months back. When Dad found out how expensive seeing a counselor was, he said there was no way the family could fit it into the budget.”

  “But I also said,” Brad interrupted, “that we would find a way, because that’s what families do. You need help, and as your parents, we are determined to see that you get it.”

  “A counselor costs lots of money,” Casey reminded them, looking smug.

  “The thing is,” Lydia said, gripping her daughter’s hand, “we have already made an appointment with a counselor. Evelyn Boyle recommended one who is willing to charge us on a sliding scale.”

  “A what?” Casey asked with a frown.

  “We’ll be charged according to our income level,” Brad explained.

  “And because of the boom in sales at the yarn store, we’re able to do this. I need to thank whoever it was who put out those baskets.”

  “The yarn baskets?” Casey echoed, her frown darkening.

  “I don’t know who is behind this, but I owe them a huge debt of appreciation. My business has gone way up due to all the publicity. I’ve been able to give Margaret extra hours and make some improvements I’d been putting off due to finances. And now we can get you the help you need, too.”

  “Whoever thought of that idea did your mother a huge favor,” Brad added.

  Her daughter lowered her head, but not before Lydia noticed a huge smile come into place. “Casey?”

  “It was Grandma and me. Oh, and Ava helped me, too.”

  “Excuse me?” Lydia was sure she hadn’t heard correctly.

  Casey looked up. “It was Grandma and me,” she repeated, louder this time. “I heard you and Dad talking about how the yarn store is barely surviving financially. I told Grandma, and we decided we should do something to help.”

  “You seem to listen in on other people’s conversations a lot,” Brad noticed.

  Casey shrugged. “It’s a habit I picked up in foster homes. It was the only way I knew what was happening.”

  “Go on,” Lydia said, anxious now to hear about her mother and Casey’s scheme.

  Excitedly, Casey reached for her fork and waved it about. “Like I said, I heard you tell Dad that the yarn store wasn’t doing so great. Then I told Grandma. Together we came up with the idea of putting baskets with yarn around for people to knit.”

  “Who thought of it?”

  Casey shrugged. “Grandma, sort of. She said whenever she saw a basket with yarn in it she wanted to sit down and knit a few rows. That got me to thinking that maybe other people might feel the same way.”

  “But, my goodness, where did you get all those baskets?”

  “From Grandma.”

  Mary Lou had several such baskets, but Lydia specifically remembered clearing them out of the house when they moved their mother. “Margaret and I gave those baskets to charity.”

  “You tried, you mean,” Casey said, her smile huge now. “Grandma took them out of the pile and had them placed in a box in her storage unit at the assisted-living place.”

  “She remembered the baskets in a storage unit?” Amazing, seeing that half the time her mother didn’t recognize Lydia any longer.

  “And she had lots of yarn there, too.”

  “So you’re the one who took those baskets around town?” Brad asked, and sounded shocked and amazed.

  “Yup. And Ava helped deliver them, too.” She waved her fork at them. “Don’t let your dinner get cold. This is really good. My favorite.”

  “About the counselor.”

  Casey’s shoulders sagged. “Okay, okay, I’ll go talk to her. It is a woman, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Lydia assured her.

  “I’ll go.”

  “Thank you,” Brad told her.

  Casey frowned again. “Only because you want me to, but I’m not going to like it, and I’m not promising to tell her the dream, either.”

  “All we’re asking is that you be open and willing.”

  Casey sighed as if a huge demand had been made of her. “I’ll try.”

  “Thank you, sweetheart,” Lydia said.

  Brad dug into his spaghetti and meatballs, took one bite, and looked up. “Hey, this is good.”

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Max climbed the stairs to Annie’s condo and knocked on her front door. He figured he had a good chance of catching her at home at ten o’clock on a Sunday morning. It wasn’t likely to be a pleasant meeting, but he felt obliged to make one last attempt to reason with Bethanne’s daughter.

  He rang the doorbell, and then, planting the tips of his fingers in his back jean pockets, he waited, his heart pounding, praying what he had to tell her would make a difference.

  To Max’s surprise, it wasn’t
Annie who answered the door. Instead, it was Grant Hamlin, her father. This meeting was going to be even worse than he’d expected.

  “Max!” Grant sounded just as shocked to see him.

  “Annie home?” Max asked.

  “No,” he said starkly. “You just missed her.”

  “Do you know when she’ll be back?”

  Grant shrugged. “I can’t say.”

  Max nodded but didn’t budge.

  “She knows how much I like Starbucks coffee. You know Annie. She loves her dad, so she volunteered to run down to the corner to pick me up a cup.”

  “She’s a thoughtful daughter.”

  Grant stared at him hard. “She is that, all right.”

  “Can I wait here for her?”

  “By all means.”

  Max hesitated. He didn’t like the look in Grant’s eyes, and he wasn’t sure he should trust the other man. “You don’t mind my waiting?”

  “Not at all. It might do us good to talk man to man, just the two of us.”

  “I agree.”

  Grant stepped aside and held the door open for Max. “Make yourself at home,” he said, and gestured toward the sofa. Bethanne’s ex-husband claimed the chair, and for an awkward moment all they did was stare at each other.

  “What’s your business with Annie?” Grant asked.

  Max sat close to the edge of the sofa cushion. “Bethanne mentioned that you’ve taken her under your wing at the real-estate office.” It bothered him as much as it did Bethanne that Annie worked as a receptionist when she was vastly overqualified for the position.

  “My Annie’s got the same organizational skills as her mother.”

  “How does she like working for you?” Although he asked, Max didn’t expect the truth.

  Grant shrugged. “So far so good. She’s getting a little antsy to get her Realtor license. All in due course. I’ll let her know when she’s ready to start training.”

  Max decided to let the comment slide rather than point out the obvious. With Annie’s business acumen and attention to detail, she was more than ready. Max found it difficult to understand why her father would want her in a lesser position.

  “You didn’t mention why you stopped by,” Grant prodded.

  Mainly because Max hadn’t been given the opportunity. “I wanted to tell Annie that I’ve decided to move my wine-distribution business to Washington State.”

  Grant seemed unable to hide his surprise. His eyes widened a fraction, and for a moment it seemed he didn’t know what to say. “Really?”

  “It wasn’t an easy decision.”

  “From what I heard, the cost of moving a business such as yours is prohibitive.”

  It was going to hurt financially—that was certain—but in the long run it should work out well. “It isn’t about the money.”

  Grant shook his head in disbelief. “It’s always about the money. I’m surprised you haven’t figured that out before now.”

  “For some that might be the case,” Max agreed, resisting adding anything more.

  Grant crossed his arms. “I suppose you’re making this gallant sacrifice for Bethanne’s sake.”

  “Yes.” And for Annie and Andrew and Courtney and Bethanne’s first grandchild, but Max felt it was better not to mention his reasons.

  “You love her that much?” Grant asked, as if even now he found the move unbelievable. Drastic, even.

  “More, and because I love Bethanne, I love her children, too.”

  “My children,” Grant said forcefully.

  “Your children,” Max agreed. “You’re their father. Nothing’s going to change that, and I wouldn’t want it to. When Bethanne and I decided to marry, I fully intended to love her children.”

  “Right noble of you,” Grant muttered sarcastically. “So you’re moving to Seattle.”

  “Yes.”

  “When?”

  “It’ll take a few months, I suspect. Rooster and I talked about it quite a bit before he left.”

  “Rooster left? Another business trip?”

  “In a manner of speaking.” Max wasn’t going to let Grant sidetrack him with questions about his partner.

  “In other words, you’re going to be around Seattle on a permanent basis?”

  “Yes.” That was sure to upset Grant.

  The other man went silent for several seconds. “Your being here could get downright uncomfortable for you,” Grant suggested. The last few words hung in the air between them like a wire walker suspended above Niagara Falls.

  “What are you suggesting?” Max asked, confronting Grant head-on. He didn’t like the sound of this threat.

  “I’m saying such a move might mean trouble for you in the future,” Grant murmured. “I have Annie on my side, and we both know how miserable Bethanne is without her daughter. Annie’s a bit of a drain on me, but she serves her purpose. I could change things and coax her to reunite with her mother.”

  This situation with her daughter had torn Bethanne apart. Grant knew it and used Annie against his ex-wife for his own selfish purposes.

  “Spell out exactly what you mean,” Max demanded.

  Grant laughed as though Max’s anger amused him. “I have the power to make you and my ex miserable.”

  “And you’d use Annie to do it?”

  “Without a qualm, but,” he said, and raised his index finger, “I have a solution.”

  Max brought his hands together and clenched them into tight fists. The hairs on the back of his head stood up, and even before Grant spoke, Max knew he wasn’t going to like what the other man had to say.

  “A solution?” he repeated.

  “Yes.” Grant relaxed in the chair, looking smug and confident. “Like I said, I could convince Annie to make amends with her mother or I could make sure Bethanne paid the price for dumping me when she did.”

  Grant seemed to conveniently forget that he was the one who’d walked out on their family. He’d been involved in an affair long before he’d divorced his wife.

  “Is there a but in this as well?” Max asked. “You know, but something could change your mind?”

  Grant shrugged. “This hasn’t been a great year for real estate,” he commented.

  Max had heard the market was picking up. That didn’t appear to be the case with Grant, however. Bethanne had told him this was the third or fourth brokerage firm her ex-husband had been with since their divorce.

  “Finances are tight for me at the moment,” Grant admitted. “It’s a temporary situation that should be rectified soon, but at the moment I’m low on funds.”

  Outraged, Max bolted to his feet. “You want me to pay you to persuade Annie to mend fences with her mother?”

  Again, Grant’s answer came in the form of a nonchalant shrug.

  “That’s blackmail.”

  “Call it what you will, but I’d prefer to think of it as a business proposition. I do something for you and you do something for me. You know what I mean. You scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours.”

  Max was so angry he was afraid he was about to do something he would later regret.

  “I’m sure we could come to amicable terms.”

  “I don’t think so,” Max said between gritted teeth.

  Grant sighed as though disappointed. “It’s a pity.” He glanced at his watch. “I can’t imagine what’s taking Annie so long, but you can bet when she arrives you won’t get a warm welcome.”

  “Actually, Dad, I’m here,” Annie said, stepping out from the hallway and into the living room.

  “Sweetheart,” Grant said, and rose to hug his daughter. “I was just telling Max—”

  “I heard what you had to say to Max,” she said, and glared at her father. She braced her hands against her hips, and her face was red with anger. “I’m a bit of a drain, am I? You want to hurt Mom? And this conversation with Max isn’t the only one I heard. I came back while you were on the phone with Monica.”

  Grant’s eyes rounded with surprise before he
recovered. “Honey, you only heard one side of the conversation—”

  “It was enough,” she said. “More than enough, actually. All this talk about Mom breaking your heart and how you’ll never be able to love again was nothing more than a bunch of bull.”

  Max could see his presence wasn’t needed or appreciated. This was between Annie and her father. “I’ll go. Can we talk later, Annie?”

  She nodded. “And thank you,” she said, as she cast him an apologetic look.

  As he walked out the door, a smile came over him as he heard Grant try to explain away the proposal Annie had heard. He wasn’t privy to Annie’s response, but from the little he did hear, Bethanne’s daughter was having none of it.

  Max’s steps were lighter than they had been in a long while as he returned to his wife. He parked in the garage and whistled as he let himself into the house.

  “I’m home,” he called out as he stepped into the kitchen.

  “I’m out here.” Bethanne was on the back patio, planting flowers in the wooden boxes he’d installed along the top of the railing. She wore garden gloves and a big straw hat. Max joined her and slipped his arms around her waist from behind, kissing the side of her neck.

  “This is a warm welcome. Where’d you go?” she asked.

  “Out.”

  She made a dismissive sound. “I know that tone of voice. You’ve been up to something, Max Scranton.”

  “Could be. Need any help here?” he asked, resting his chin on her shoulder, admiring his wife’s amazing green thumb.

  “Are you volunteering?” she asked.

  “Not really, but I felt I should ask.”

  She laughed softly. “That’s what I thought. Say, how about a motorcycle ride this afternoon?”

  Max released her. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  His wife twisted around so that she faced him and frowned, her gaze full of questions. It wasn’t like Max to refuse to ride. “What’s up?”

  Bethanne had a smudge of dirt on her cheek, and, using his index finger, Max wiped it off. “Have I told you recently that I’m the luckiest man in the world to be married to you?”

  “No, but I’ll accept the compliment. However, I feel that I’m the lucky one. I still can’t believe you’re moving to Seattle for me.”