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  Nancy stood and ladled another bowlful of chili for her husband.

  Tom grunted a "thank you" and started in on his second helping.

  Claire felt like running. She didn't need these people to help her. The twenty-dollar bill from Geraldine once again flashed in her mind. She could use the money to take a bus to Monterey and then figure out what to do from there. She'd deal with her car tomorrow. But the truth of her situation made her pulse race. Could she make it on her own or should she go back to L.A.? A soft moan escaped her lips. She couldn't go anywhere until her car was fixed. Claire's eyes darted from Tom to Nancy.

  In a moment of panic, she jumped up from her seat and bolted down the hall to the guest room.

  "Claire?" She heard Nancy's voice on the other side of the door ten minutes later. "Can I come in?"

  Claire didn't feel like talking. She hugged a pillow tight to her chest.

  "Claire. Everything will be all right. Please open the door."

  The sweetness in Nancy's voice reminded her of her mother. Tossing the pillow aside, Claire pushed herself off the bed and made the few steps to the door. "Come in."

  Nancy had a glass of milk in one hand and a small plate of chocolate chip cookies in the other. "Lunch isn't complete without dessert." She set them on the nightstand, then turned to face Claire. "I don't mean to pry, but where are you from and what are you doing here in Capitola?" Her voice was kind.

  Even so Claire's palms began to sweat. "I drove up from L.A. to start a new life. Now I need a job so I can get my car fixed and rent my own place." She followed Nancy to the side of the bed. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come. But Tom offered, and I didn't know what to do—"

  "You did the right thing. And we're happy to have you here. Oh, don't mind Tom. He's going through a rough patch lately—we both are. But we want you to know that you're welcome to stay until you find a place."

  Why would these people be so friendly to her? It's as if she were a long-lost relative returning home.

  Nancy sat on the edge of the bed. "The truth of the matter is Tom and I wanted to know where you went this morning. And when Tom looked out the window and saw you with that man, we didn't know what to think."

  Claire's breath caught in her throat. "I only met him."

  Nancy's brows shot up.

  Suddenly Claire felt like a teenager. "No, it's coming out all wrong." She paced the room. "I went looking for a particular house this morning and found out it's for rent. By the time I wanted to come back, it was raining so hard the neighbor gave me a ride."

  Claire could tell Nancy was deep in thought by the way she furrowed her brows and worked her lower lip. "Where is this house you're interested in?" Nancy grabbed one of the cookies and took a bite, then gestured for Claire to join her.

  "Depot Hill." Claire broke a cookie in half, dipped it in milk, and popped the soggy bite into her mouth.

  "Nice area. Homes for rent don't come up there very often. "Nancy had a lilt to her voice. "Why don't you show me?"

  Why would Nancy want to see the house on Saxon Avenue? It didn't make sense.

  Fire trucks blocked Saxon Avenue. "What's going on?" Claire shifted from side to side in the passenger's seat of Nancy's Toyota Camry. "Do you want to park here and walk since it's stopped raining?"

  Nancy swerved to the right and pulled next to the curb on Central Avenue. Claire hopped out of the car and fell in beside Nancy as they trekked around the corner to see the emergency.

  Claire's heart pounded. If anything happened to her house . . . she rolled her eyes at the thought. Of course it wasn't her house yet. She'd need a miracle. But Claire didn't believe in miracles, not like her mother. "I'll get well, you'll see," her mom had said countless times, even when she was close to death. And did she? No! So much for miracles.

  Claire tugged on Nancy's arm. "You're a nurse. Someone might need you."

  Nancy quickened her pace. "I don't see an ambulance."

  Claire spotted Blake. He was talking to a fireman. "Nancy, come on!" Claire sprinted through the puddles toward the crowd that had formed. Dark, billowing smoke dissipated as the firemen doused the right side of Blake's gray house.

  "Blake!" Claire approached him with tentative steps.

  He stared straight ahead. He blinked a few times and wiped his face with the cuff of his flannel shirt. Claire sidled up next to him. "What happened?" Maybe he'd rather not talk to her. After all, they barely knew each other.

  "It's my fault." Blake shrugged his shoulders.

  Claire touched his arm, then pulled her hand back. "What do you mean?"

  "I left a dish towel too close to my gas stove while a burner was on."

  "When?"

  "Earlier today. I was making a pot of soup for lunch when I saw you through the window and grabbed the keys for the rental. I thought I turned it off, but apparently it was still on low."

  Blake folded his arms across his chest and shook his head.

  Nancy came up beside them. "I heard a fireman say you had a kitchen fire. I'm glad you weren't hurt. As a nurse I've seen far too many burn victims."

  Claire's stomach churned. The fire could've been prevented if she hadn't let Blake show her the rental. Why had she bothered? She couldn't afford the house anyway. Guilt nagged at her.

  "I bought the house six months ago. The kitchen is what sold me on the place." Blake sighed. "I'd better check out the damages and see if anything's salvageable." He nodded a farewell and joined the firemen standing on his front porch.

  "At least the fire didn't consume the whole house." Nancy rubbed her arms. "It's chilly out here. Can we see the rental now?"

  Claire pointed next door.

  "Blake's the neighbor?"

  "Can we go? I've changed my mind." Claire glanced at Blake, then walked down the sidewalk. A small white card was wedged in the bushes in front of the rental house. She leaned down and picked it up. Michael Thompson's business card. It must have fallen out of her pocket when she fell. The memory of Blake helping her up and picking the debris out of her hair brought a smile to her face. But how could she face him again?

  "Claire? Wait a minute. Did I miss something?"

  Claire walked down the street toward Nancy's car. "Blake does not want me for a neighbor."

  "I didn't get that impression."

  "The fire is my fault. If he hadn't shown me the place, the fire never would've started." Claire took quick steps toward Central Avenue. She glanced over her shoulder. Nancy stood with her hands on her hips in the middle of the street. Claire spun around. "What? Can we go?"

  Nancy shook her head. "Not until I see the place."

  "Why? I can't afford it anyway." Claire grabbed the collar of her jacket and pulled it tighter around her neck. "It's cold out here. Can we please leave?"

  "Claire, I know we've only just met, but I feel God sent you to Capitola for a reason. Please, let me help you."

  First Geraldine, then Pearl and Harry, and now Tom and Nancy. She'd never been helped so much in all of her life and didn't know what to make of it. Her insides shivered.

  Nancy interrupted her musings. "Look, I have an idea. But before I tell you, I'll need to see the house."

  11

  What's your idea?" Claire walked toward Nancy and stood in front of her.

  "I'd like to see the place first." Nancy linked her arm through Claire's. "To see if it's right for my sister. We've been estranged for many years, but I've wanted her to move here and now may be the time to make things right. So, how do we get in?"

  Her sister. Claire whipped out the business card from her jacket pocket and handed it to Nancy. If anything, maybe Nancy's sister will end up renting the place. "Call him."

  "Michael Thompson, Realtor, huh?" Nancy pulled her cell phone out of her backpack-style purse and punched in the numbers. "How did you get his card?"

  "He gave it to me."

  "You've met the owner?"

  "More than once." Claire thought back to her mom's funeral. Mr. Thompson had
looked out of place with his fancy designer suit and tie. Claire didn't remember him being social. She had wondered why he had come.

  "Hello, Mr. Thompson?" Nancy and Claire walked in the direction of the rental house as the rain came pouring down again. "My name is Nancy Daniels, and I'd like to see the inside of your rental home on Saxon Avenue . . ."

  Michael couldn't believe his good fortune—two viewings of his rental property in one day. He loaded his briefcase with paperwork and swung his overcoat over his shoulders.

  Eric stuffed a donut in his mouth and followed it with a swig of coffee. "Where are you headed in such a hurry?"

  "Got a call on my rental." Michael pulled his car keys from his pants' pocket. "I've got to run." He waved. "I'll be back, though, so save one of those donuts for me."

  "Yeah, right, Mr. Fit. When's the last time you've eaten a donut?" Eric called to Michael's back.

  Michael swung around. "If I find a renter, I'll want to celebrate. "He pushed the door open and slid out into the pouring rain. He covered his head with his briefcase and dashed to his car.

  He saw a fire truck pass by on his left, and the neighbors milling about. He didn't see an ambulance, so decided not to be overly concerned. Two women huddled together under the eaves of his rental. Michael squinted as he studied one of the women. He'd recognize that wavy blonde hair anywhere. Claire. He turned off the engine, unclipped his seatbelt, and slid out of the car. She must really want the place. The woman beside Claire was older and looked put together, from her raincoat to her matching scarf and hat. Michael scanned the street and once again saw no car. How'd they get here?

  He approached the house with his briefcase in hand.

  "Mr. Thompson, I'd like you to meet Nancy Daniels." Claire blew into her hands. She appeared to be trembling.

  "You must be cold out here." Michael extended his hand to Nancy. "Please, no formality. Call me Michael. Let's get you two inside." He put the key into the lock and opened the door. The smell of fresh paint wafted from the front room. "Claire, since you've been here before, why don't you show Nancy around?"

  Michael kept his distance as Claire took Nancy from the living room to the kitchen. "The house has two bedrooms, one bath, and is nine hundred square feet. We'd be responsible for the utilities, and Mr. Thompson . . ." Claire glanced over her shoulder at him, "I mean Michael, will take care of landscaping."

  Michael wondered if the women were browsing or serious about the place. He hoped Nancy would be the one paying the rent. Then he might not be worried about late payments. It might be good to have an older woman around to keep things in order too. No wild parties destroying his property.

  "Hey, Michael? I'm sorry to barge in like this." Blake's voice interrupted Michael's thoughts. "I need to talk with you. It's urgent." He stood in the doorway with his arms tight across his chest.

  Michael had never seen the man look so distraught. "Ladies, excuse me," he called over his shoulder. "I'll be back in a minute."

  Michael kept in stride with Blake as they marched across the lawn. "What's up? You're making me nervous." The smell of smoke and burnt wood filled the air. They walked to the far side of the house. Michael gasped. "Blake, what happened?"

  "It was an accident. I left a burner on and a dish towel caught fire." Blake opened the front door.

  Michael took in the sparse setting. A black leather couch faced a simple entertainment center housing some stereo equipment. A flat screen television filled the far wall. Blake's single, all right. Reminded him of his own bachelor days.

  "Thank God it was only the kitchen." Blake let out a long breath.

  Michael picked up a singed potholder. "Looks like you're out of commission for a while."

  "That's where you come in."

  "Me?"

  "Your rental house, I mean. Come, have a seat." Blake motioned him to the couch.

  "I can only stay a minute, I've got possible renters." Michael gestured toward his property.

  "Here's my thought." Blake sat with his elbows resting on his knees. "I'd like to use the kitchen in your rental till I can have mine repaired. I'll be glad to pay, of course."

  Michael rubbed the back of his neck. "But if I have renters, how will that work?"

  "Depending on who it is and what they're willing to negotiate, I'd offer to chip in on their rent for the use of the kitchen."

  Michael paused.

  "I've learned my lesson. You won't have to worry about your kitchen catching fire." Blake clasped his hands together.

  "Can't see the harm in that. Sure. You'll have to work it out with the renters. Long as I get paid each month, no problem. "Michael pushed himself to his feet and patted Blake on the shoulder. "You can start tonight. I'm sorry about your house."

  "Thanks, man. Appreciate it."

  Michael let himself out, shutting the door behind him. Poor Blake. That man loved his natural wood countertops and oak cabinets. He strolled down the sidewalk.

  Michael heard Nancy's announcement the second he walked through the door.

  "We'll take it."

  "Great!" He joined the women in the kitchen. "I'll need the two of you to fill out the application. . . ." He fumbled through his briefcase trying to locate the paperwork. His mind drifted to his down-and-out neighbor as his eyes swept his clean, usable kitchen. How could he bring up the subject of Blake's need to use the rental kitchen?

  "Michael?" It was Claire's voice this time.

  He snapped back to the present. "I'm sorry. I learned that my neighbor's kitchen is totally destroyed by an accidental fire. It'll be out of commission for a couple of months, at least. He had an interesting proposition for me—and possibly for you. "Michael leaned back with his hands resting against the counter. "Blake wants to use this kitchen while his is being rebuilt. He would pay part of the rent." Michael looked directly at Claire. "Would it be something you'd consider?"

  A smile tugged at the corners of Claire's lips. "I don't see a problem, unless he cooks at weird hours."

  Michael turned and caught Nancy's eye. "What do you think?"

  "Well, since I'm not the one renting with Claire, I'll need to get back to you on that."

  "Sure." Michael's pulse quickened. "Who will be renting the house with Claire?"

  "Oh." Nancy chuckled. "I didn't mean to alarm you. But since I haven't spoken with my sister yet, I'd like to talk with her first. I'll most likely make the security deposit when we hand in the application, so you won't need to worry about that."

  Michael liked this woman already. Any form of payment right now would be great. He wanted to make it official. Then he could relax. He'd have the money he needed to make a few payments of his own for Julia's wedding.

  "Here's my card, call me when you're ready. I plan to keep showing the house until I have an application and cleared credit check on hand. I told Blake he could cook here anytime until renters move in. But after that, he'll have to work out the details."

  Nancy nodded. "We understand."

  Michael grabbed his briefcase. "Thanks, ladies. Unless you have any more questions, I need to head back to the office."

  "Only one." Claire's voice wavered. "You were at my mom's funeral—Emily James, right?"

  Michael could swear someone had socked him in the gut.

  Claire folded her arms across her chest. "How did you know her?"

  12

  Claire shifted from one foot to the other as she anticipated Michael's response. Her question seemed to catch him off guard. Surprise showed in his eyes in the moment his gaze shifted away.

  "Oh, Emily and I go way back. Your mom was a good woman."

  A completely unsatisfying answer. Was he hiding something? Could Michael have written the letter? "How far back?"

  Michael's laugh sounded forced. "A long time." Was he blushing? The lighting was dim in the house, but Claire could swear Michael looked a little warm under the collar. "We lost touch, then a mutual friend called to tell me she passed from cancer." Michael dropped his briefcas
e to the floor and brought his hands to his hips. "I'm sorry for your loss. How have you been? And from your interest in the house, you must be serious about relocating."

  Smooth. He wanted to change the subject. Why? "Yeah. I've decided to give Capitola a try." She glanced at Nancy. "And with Nancy's help, it looks like I might be able to do that."

  "Great. Like I said—get that application to me as soon as possible. I'll run a credit check, and then the place will be yours." Michael's shoulders visibly relaxed. He reached for the door handle. "After you, ladies."

  Claire walked through the doorway. Was Michael telling her the whole truth? Whether he was or not, soon she'd be living in her own place—her first home. Of course, she'd need a roommate. And hopefully Nancy's sister would be just that person.

  "Do you ladies need a lift?" Michael gestured toward his black BMW.

  "Oh, no. Thank you. Nancy's car is around the corner. "Claire pointed.

  "We couldn't get any closer with the fire truck and people blocking the street," Nancy added.

  "I see." A smile crossed Michael's lips. "I'll be waiting for your application. If you change your mind, please call." He opened his car door and slid behind the wheel.

  "We'll bring it by tomorrow," Nancy called before his door shut.

  Michael waved and took off down the street.

  Nancy bumped Claire's shoulder playfully. "What was that all about?"

  Claire frowned. "What do you mean?"

  "The questions . . . and the looks." Nancy slipped the rental application in her purse as they walked down the street. "So, Michael was at your mom's funeral. Did you know all the guests but him?"

  Claire had to admit there were quite a few people from her mom's past she'd never met before the memorial. The room had been packed and her mind was in a fog. Her thoughts shifted to the letter. "Before you call your sister, there's something I'd like to show you."