“Is there a problem, gentlemen?”

“Ah…”

She waved them aside. “See the clerk and set a trial date.”

“Does this mean we can’t go through with the divorce?” Cecilia asked her attorney.

“I want the divorce as much as you do,” Ian Randall insisted.

Olivia slammed her gavel. “Order in the court,” she told them. If the couple chose to argue, they could do so on their own time.

Moving as though they were in shock, Allan Harris and Brad Dumas picked up their papers and briefcases.

“Is there any other option?” Cecilia Randall asked Allan Harris as they walked toward the doors.

“We might be able to appeal, but…”

“But that’ll drive up the costs even more,” Ian protested, close behind with his own attorney. Apparently Brad was still too dumbfounded to speak.

“I don’t understand what’s happening,” Cecilia muttered once she’d reached the courtroom doors. “Can’t we do something?”

“The judge said we have to take this to trial?” Ian Randall sounded incredulous. “Just how expensive is that going to be?”

“Very,” Allan Harris answered quickly, as if he’d take delight in running up his client’s husband’s tab.

“But that’s not what I want,” Cecilia wailed.

“Then I suggest you do what the judge recommended and seek counseling or contact the Dispute Resolution Center.”

“I’m not airing my problems to a group of strangers.” With that Ian Randall slammed his way out of the court. Brad Dumas followed his client, but not before tossing Olivia a disgruntled look.

Allan Harris stood there shaking his head, his expression incredulous.

The bailiff read off the next number and still Allan remained.

Cecilia Randall turned away, but not fast enough to disguise the fact that her eyes had filled with tears. Olivia felt her heart break just a little—and yet she was convinced she’d done the right thing.

“How did this happen?” Cecilia asked.

“I don’t understand it,” Olivia heard Allan Harris mumble. “This is crazy.”

Cecilia Randall shook her head. “You’re right,” she murmured, shrugging into her coat. “None of this should have happened, but it just did.”

Two

Olivia groaned when the telephone rang for the fifth time Saturday morning. No doubt this call, like all the others, was the result of Jack Griffin’s newspaper piece published that morning. The newly appointed editor of The Cedar Cove Chronicle had for some reason decided to write an article about her. He’d run the headline Divorce Denied across the editorial page. Olivia sighed; all this unwanted attention was disrupting her weekend, and she resented it.

“Hello,” she said, making sure her voice conveyed her irritation. If this caller felt compelled to discuss her judgment, then she wasn’t in the mood to talk. She’d brought each of the four previous conversations to a swift end.

“Hello, Mother.”

Justine, that was a relief! Olivia had been waiting to hear from her daughter all week. “How are you?” It used to be that they spoke on a regular basis, but no longer. Justine was dating a man Olivia considered disreputable, which created ongoing tension between mother and daughter. Consequently Justine avoided her. Warren Saget was a forty-eight-year-old land developer—twenty years her senior—who had put together more than one shady deal. The age difference didn’t bother Olivia as much as the man himself.

“Did you know your name was in the paper this morning?” Justine asked.

As though anyone would let Olivia miss seeing it. Starting the first of the year, The Cedar Cove Chronicle had gone to two editions a week and this was the very first Saturday edition. Maybe Griffin should’ve stuck to one paper a week, Olivia thought grimly, since he obviously couldn’t scrape up enough real news. His entire column had been about the day he’d spent sitting in her courtroom, listening to the judgments she’d made. Although he didn’t mention the Randalls by name, he said her ruling in that instance had come from the heart rather than from any law book and he applauded her decision, calling her gutsy and unconventional. Olivia wasn’t opposed to receiving praise, but she’d prefer not to have attention drawn to that particular case. While he’d mentioned her in a vaguely flattering light, he certainly hadn’t been as kind to others in her profession. He appeared to have a bias against attorneys and judges, and wasn’t afraid to share his opinions on the subject.

It was just Olivia’s luck that Jack Griffin had chosen her courtroom that day. Just her bad luck, she amended.

“What happened?” Justine asked. “I mean, it’s obvious Jack Griffin doesn’t have much respect for the law, but he seems to like you.”

Olivia could hear the amusement in her daughter’s voice. “I don’t even know the man,” she said dismissively.

“That’s interesting. I thought you’d been holding out on me.”

“Holding out?”

“As in you’d found yourself a man.”

“Oh, please,” Olivia moaned.

“Well, he seems to have made himself your champion. Especially over that ‘divorce denied’ thing.”

Olivia had known she was taking a risk when she’d made her ruling on the Randall case. Her personal feelings had no role on the bench, but she was absolutely certain those two young people would be making a terrible mistake if they went through with the divorce. She’d merely put up a roadblock, hoping it would be enough to force them into dealing with their problems instead of running from them.

“Jack wrote that you weren’t afraid of making a controversial decision.”

“I’ve already read his column,” Olivia said in an effort to keep her daughter from repeating any more of it.

“So you know all about it?”

Olivia sighed. “Unfortunately, yes.” Then, hoping to change the subject, she asked, “Are you free for lunch this afternoon? It’s been weeks since we had a chance to visit.” Justine had come for Christmas, but she’d left as soon as the gifts were opened and dinner had been served. Olivia had no idea where she’d spent New Year’s. Then again, she did know—and wished she didn’t. Her daughter had spent the night with Warren Saget. “Your grandma and I are getting together. We’d love it if you could join us.”

“Sorry, Mom, Warren and I already have plans.”

“Oh.” She should have guessed. Warren kept a tight rein on Justine. She rarely had any free time these days. That distressed and annoyed Olivia, but whenever she mentioned it, or even hinted as much, her daughter became defensive.

“We’ll get together soon,” Justine promised. “Gotta go now.”

Olivia was about to suggest they set a day and a time right then, but before she had the opportunity, the line went dead.

Grumbling to herself, she finished writing out her grocery list, then reached for her jacket and purse. The January weather was gray and bleak. It was raining lightly—more of a fine mist, really—as she locked the front door and hurried down the porch steps to her car. Olivia loved her home, which looked out over the water on Lighthouse Road. The lighthouse itself was three miles away, situated on a jut of land that led into the protected waters of the cove. Unfortunately it couldn’t be seen from her property.

She had a number of stops to make—the grocery, the dry cleaner, the library. She hoped to get everything done by noon, when she was meeting her mother for lunch. She wished again that Justine could have joined them.

She picked up her dry cleaning and returned her books to the library, then swung over to the local Safeway, where she always did her weekly shopping. Thankfully, she was early enough to avoid the usual Saturday morning crush. She began with the produce aisle, where she stood debating whether a head of lettuce was worth this outrageous price.

“Judge Lockhart. Didn’t expect to run into you here.”

Olivia turned to confront the very man who’d managed to upset her morning. She recognized his face from that day in her courtroom—the man who’d sat right in front, notebook and pen in hand. “Well, well, if it isn’t Mr. Jack Griffin.”

“I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of a formal introduction.”

“Trust me, Mr. Griffin, after this morning’s paper, I know who you are.” He was around her age, Olivia guessed, in his early fifties, and about her height. Dark hair, starting to gray. Clean-shaven, with pleasant regular features, he didn’t strike her as outstandingly handsome but he had what she could only describe as an appealing quality. He smiled readily and his gaze was clear and direct. He seemed a bit disheveled in a loose raincoat, and she noticed that his shirt was casual, the top two buttons unfastened.

“Do I detect a note of censure?” he asked, his smile flirting with her.

Olivia wasn’t sure how to answer. She was annoyed with him, but letting him know that would serve no useful purpose. “I suppose you were just doing your job,” she muttered, tossing a green pepper into her cart. Rubies cost less per pound, but she had a fondness for green peppers and felt she deserved a treat. Especially after this morning. Green peppers were a whole lot better for her than butter-pecan ice cream.

She started to push her cart away, but Jack stopped her.

“They’ve got a coffee shop next door. Let’s talk.”

Olivia shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

Jack followed her as she sorted through the fresh green beans. “It might’ve been my imagination, but you didn’t want to see that couple go through with the divorce, did you?”

“I don’t discuss my cases outside the courtroom,” she informed him stiffly.

“Naturally,” he said in a reasonable tone as he continued walking at her side. “It was personal, wasn’t it?”

Losing her patience, Olivia turned and glared at him. As though she’d admit such a thing to a reporter! He’d make the whole episode sound like a breach of professional ethics. She’d done nothing wrong, dammit. She’d acted with the best of intentions, and she’d remained steadfastly within the law.

“You lost a son, didn’t you?” he pressed.

“Are you gathering information on me for your next article, Mr. Griffin?” she asked coldly.

“No—and it’s Jack.” He held up both hands, which was supposed to reassure her, Olivia supposed. It didn’t.

“I nearly lost my own son,” he said.

“Do you always pester people who prefer to go about their own business, or am I special?”

“You’re special,” he answered without a pause. “I knew it the minute you made your judgment in the Randall case. You were right, you know. Everyone in that courtroom could see they had no business getting divorced. What you did took guts.”

“As I explained earlier, I cannot discuss my cases.”

“But you could have a cup of coffee with me, couldn’t you?” He didn’t plead, didn’t prod, but there was a good-natured quality about him that was beginning to work on her. He had a sense of humor, even a certain roguishness. She gave up. It probably wouldn’t hurt to talk.