Almost Heaven

For most of her life, all Merrilee had ever wanted was a man who’d love her like her father loved her mother. Although she’d worried that she’d never find a love as perfect as her parents’, she’d still expected to marry, raise her children in Pleasant Valley and spend the rest of her life there.

But fate had other plans. When Merrilee chose to study fine arts at the University of California, her life changed forever. Aside from the occasional trip to Atlanta and family vacations to Florida, Merrilee had spent all her life in the town where she was born. California was culture shock.

“You wouldn’t believe this place,” she’d written Jodie. “It’s totally different from the isolation of our ultraconservative Pleasant Valley. I’ve met people on campus from all over the world, and on weekends and holidays, I’ve traveled from San Diego to Monterey. The art museums, the restaurants, the theaters are incredible! And the people talk about philosophy, politics and all kinds of things, not just which restaurant makes the best barbecue or who’s pregnant. Sometimes, Jodie, I swear, I don’t ever want to come home.”

With her college experiences, Merrilee’s expectations had shifted. A love like her parents’ would be nice, but only if her husband took her out of Pleasant Valley and gave her free rein to follow her career dreams and to travel the world. The prospect of settling down in the sleepy little town, which had once seemed idyllic, had seemed more like a death sentence.

Merrilee had been determined that the summer after her junior year would be the last she’d ever spend in Pleasant Valley.

Little had she guessed that fate was about to throw another curve in the form of her father’s guest for dinner that night.

“So who is this new partner?” Merrilee had asked.

“It’s a surprise,” her mother had said with a glimmer in her blue eyes, exactly like Merrilee’s.

And Merrilee had been surprised, all right. Not so much by the fact that her father’s partner was Grant Nathan as by Grant’s effect on her. When he’d entered the Stratton living room that night, Merrilee’s teenage crush had enveloped her in an overwhelming rush that metamorphosed into something much stronger and more breathtaking.

Merrilee had fallen in love.

And from the corresponding gleam in Grant’s eyes, she’d guessed correctly that he’d experienced the same emotion.

That was then, this is now, she reminded herself as they drove further upstate through the foothills of South Carolina toward the mountains. She shoved the memories and the emotions they evoked into that deep compartment of her heart where she’d kept them locked away these past several years. She’d severed her connection to Grant six years ago. For good. No need to revisit dead dreams.

But Grant’s presence, the steady, even sound of his breathing, his striking profile and distinctive male scent, and the easy manner with which his strong, capable fingers gripped the steering wheel, made slamming the door on those feelings again harder than when he’d been six hundred miles away.

To distract her attention from the enticing man at her side, MJ gazed out the window. Her sojourn in New York City had made her forget the beauty of South Carolina in early spring. In almost every yard, Bradford pear trees in full bloom reminded her of billowing bridal dresses. Arching branches of forsythia in vibrant yellow and stalks of brilliant purple irises provided splashes of color against the bright green of new grass, all framed against a cloudless sky of startling blue.

The highway soon left the towns and fields of the foothills and ascended into mountain forests, where an occasional clearing revealed ridge after ridge of the Smoky Mountains to the northwest, the deep emerald of their gentle folds and high peaks in stark contrast against the clear sky. MJ’s fingers itched for her camera, packed in its bag behind her seat.

With the familiar farms, small towns and forests unchanged and Grant once again beside her, MJ traveled through the countryside as if the intervening six years had never happened.

But they had.

She had left Pleasant Valley for good, with the exception of a rare holiday visit, and she had permanently cut all ties with Grant. If not for her parents and Nana, MJ would never have returned to the small town where she’d grown up. Unlike the smorgasbord of cultural and recreational delights of New York and its myriad opportunities for an aspiring artist, Pleasant Valley had nothing to offer except dead ends.

But in spite of MJ’s resolve to put the past behind her, coming home affected her. The sight of the white Colonial-style Welcome sign at the town limits brought an unexpected lump to her throat. After crossing the bridge over the river that paralleled Piedmont Avenue, the main thoroughfare, she found herself leaning forward, eager for her first glimpse of her grandmother’s impressive two-story house with its white clapboards and wide wraparound porch, only a block from downtown.

Nana must have been watching the street, because as soon as Grant pulled to the curb, the front door with its leaded-glass panes opened and Sally Mae McDonough stepped onto the porch. Dressed in a simple navy dress and matching low-heeled pumps, pearls at her throat and ears, and her white hair elegantly styled, Nana hadn’t changed since MJ’s last visit a year ago Christmas. Slender with perfect posture, her grandmother remained the quintessential Southern belle.

In other words, MJ thought with an inward grin, a steamroller disguised as a powder puff.

After seeing her Nana unchanged, MJ exhaled a sigh of relief. Nana, at least, as Grant had promised, seemed fine.

With a camel-colored cashmere cardigan draped around her shoulders, Nana waited until MJ climbed the stairs before speaking.

“Welcome home, child. It’s been too long.”

MJ hugged her grandmother, breathed in her signature scent of lilacs and reveled in the warmth of the familiar embrace. “It’s good to see you, Nana.”

“We missed you at Christmas.”

MJ fought rising guilt. “You know I had to work. I photographed seven weddings over the holidays.”

Her earnings had given her a precious few weeks off in January, time to add to her portfolio of the faces and places of the city in preparation for an exhibit of her own someday.

MJ lived for that someday.

“Wait!” Nana, who seldom raised her voice, had spoken loudly to Grant, who was still at the curb. “Is Gloria with you?”

“No, ma’am,” Grant replied. “She’s at home. And none too happy about it, either.”

Nana’s relief was evident. And MJ’s curiosity blossomed. Gloria? Jodie’s latest letters had said nothing about her brother’s girlfriend. An uncomfortable sensation settled over MJ and she shrugged it off. She was beyond jealousy. After all, she’d ended her relationship with Grant long ago when things hadn’t worked out as she’d hoped. She was actually surprised he hadn’t married and had children by now, but she didn’t stop to analyze why such a prospect annoyed her.

“You can set the bags in the front hall,” Nana said to Grant, who had followed MJ up the walk.

Nana held open the door and MJ and Grant stepped inside.

“Here she is, safe and sound, like I promised,” Grant announced, “so I’ll be on my way. Gloria’s not happy when I’m away too long.”

MJ couldn’t picture Grant with a clinging vine type. He’d evidently changed a great deal in the past six years. She gave herself an inward shake. She didn’t need the distraction of an old relationship now and was glad he was leaving. But her relief at his impending departure was short-lived.

“You’re not going now,” Nana said in her soft drawl with its underlying hint of steel that defied contradiction. “I know you had breakfast at 5:00 a.m., as usual, and it’s almost noon. I have lunch ready in the dining room. We can talk as we eat.”

“This is family business,” Grant said, apparently anxious to return to Gloria. “I don’t want to intrude.”

“Fiddlesticks,” Nana said. “You’re Jim’s partner. That makes you family. Besides, I need your help.”

MJ watched with undisguised amusement as Grant relented. Not even his strong will could refuse the command in Nana’s tone. He followed Sally Mae into the dining room and pulled out a chair for her at the head of the table. MJ sat on her grandmother’s right. Grant took a chair at Nana’s left, looking as if he were attending his own execution.

Nana reached for the silver pitcher in front of her place. “Iced tea?”

MJ’s nerves had reached their breaking point. “This isn’t a social event, Nana. I want to know what’s wrong, and I want to know now.”

Her grandmother set the pitcher down with a thud and for a fleeting instant looked as if she were going to cry, something MJ had never witnessed in her twenty-eight years, not even the night her grandfather had died.

MJ held her breath as, with apparent Herculean effort, Sally Mae regained her composure and spoke so softly, MJ strained to hear.

“Your father,” her grandmother said in a voice without inflection, “has left your mother.”

Chapter Two

Grant’s reaction to Merrilee’s dilemma surprised him. He drew on all his self-control to keep from rising and going to her. Touched by the distress on her face, he craved to pull her into his arms and to comfort her. But she hadn’t wanted him six years ago and she sure as hell didn’t want him now, especially when her world had just caved in.

Irritation at his inadequacy consumed him. He could calm a raging bull, soothe a four-hundred-pound sow with blood in her eye, pacify a wild stallion and handle wild-eyed feral cats. But today, just like six years ago, he was helpless to communicate with, must less console, one small but incredibly beautiful and desirable woman.

“Daddy left?” Merrilee’s face had gone white, her eyes, the color of a Carolina mountain sky, had widened with shock and, for an instant, Grant feared she would faint. “What do you mean?”

Sally Mae’s aristocratic features twisted into a wry grimace. “You may have spent the last few years among Yankees, but surely you still understand plain English. Left means exactly what it says.”

“He’s moved out?” Merrilee looked as if she was having trouble breathing.

Grant fought the impulse to close his eyes against her distress.

“In a word, yes,” her grandmother replied.

For Merrilee’s sake, Grant wished Sally Mae hadn’t been so blunt, but he didn’t know how else she could have broken such unpleasant news except straight-out.

“Why?” Merrilee insisted.

Grant clamped his jaw to keep from interfering. Working day-in and day-out with Jim Stratton, Grant had witnessed the transformation in his partner and friend, but informing Merrilee was Sally Mae’s responsibility. Grant just hoped the older woman would break the details more gently.

“It’s a long story,” Sally Mae said.

“This has been going on for a while?” Merrilee’s face flushed, color returning with her anger. “Why didn’t anyone let me know?”

“Things didn’t come to a head until yesterday.” Her grandmother’s grim expression added years to her appearance. “No one thought Jim would go that far.”

That much was true, Grant thought. He’d believed his partner’s foolish actions a temporary aberration. He’d never guessed that Jim would take such drastic measures.

“What about Mom? Is she okay?”

“I haven’t spoken with your mother for several days,” Sally Mae said. “She’s staying at her apartment in Asheville.”

“Her apartment?” Merrilee’s confusion was evident. “I thought you said Dad moved out.”

Sally Mae took a deep breath, the only outward sign she was struggling for control. “I’d better start at the beginning. Last summer, your father started putting in long hours, pushing himself too hard. He seldom slept or took time to eat.”

MJ turned an accusing glance on Grant. “I thought you were supposed to help him. Isn’t that what a partner’s for?”

“We’ve both been up to our necks.” Grant met her gaze and, although her anger stung, refused to take it personally. His conscience was clear. “Old Doc Gregory over in Walhalla died. Jim and I have been taking up the slack until a new vet takes over his practice.”

“Are you telling me Dad’s lost his mind from working too hard?” Merrilee asked her grandmother.

“Oh, Jim’s not crazy,” Sally Mae said quickly. “But overwork, sleep deprivation, lack of good nutrition, and the realization he’s not getting any younger have left his judgment impaired.”

Merrilee shook her head and a strand of hair the color of sunshine on corn silk fell over one eye. Grant squelched the urge to reach across the table to push it back. Merrilee had made it clear long ago she didn’t want his touch.

After the way she’d dumped him so abruptly, had refused to answer his phone calls or letters, had acted as if he’d dropped off the face of the earth, had caused him endless sleepless nights and heartache, Grant should take satisfaction at her distress.

But he didn’t.

He couldn’t.

All he wanted was to make her world right for her again, something he couldn’t do with Jim Stratton off the rails and acting crazy.

“Mom usually watches Dad like a hawk,” Merrilee said, “to make sure he takes care of himself. She wouldn’t have let this happen.”

The glaze of shock had returned to her amazing blue eyes and Grant’s old pull toward her tightened again, tugging on his heartstrings.

“Your mother’s been preoccupied,” Sally Mae said.

“With teaching?” Merrilee shook her head. “Mom never put her career first. Dad’s always been the center of her universe.”

“Her universe has shifted,” Sally Mae said with dry disapproval. “Cat took a sabbatical last fall. Went back to school for her Ph.D.”

“I know that,” Merrilee said. “I may not have come home, but I have stayed in touch by phone and e-mail.”

“And your parents have told you only what they wanted you to know,” her grandmother said sharply. Sally Mae’s expression and her voice softened. “Don’t blame yourself. None of us knew the full extent of the problem. Not until yesterday.”

Merrilee straightened her shoulders, as if bearing up under a heavy burden. “So you’re telling me, with Dad’s heavy workload and midlife crisis and Mom’s going back to school, my parents have simply drifted apart?”

Sally Mae nodded, and Grant kept quiet, waiting for the bomb to drop.

“No wonder you called me,” Merrilee said with a sigh that sounded relieved. “I’ll talk to them. I know how much they love each other. If I can get them to communicate, they can work this out.”

Grant closed his eyes. Here it comes.

Sally Mae fidgeted with the sterling silver flatware beside her plate. “There’s a…complication.”

“What kind of complication?” Merrilee didn’t have a clue and Grant wished she could remain ignorant. The truth was going to break her heart.

“Ginger Parker,” Sally Mae said in a tone that suggested the mere name made her sick to her stomach. “She’s the complication.”

“Another woman?” Merrilee said with a gasp, as if someone had sucker-punched her. “My dad with another woman? I don’t believe it!”

“That’s where he went when he moved out,” her grandmother said with obvious distaste. “There’s no fool like an old fool.”

“Who is this Ginger?” Merrilee demanded. “I’ve never heard of her.”

“Tell her, please, Grant,” Sally Mae said. “Just talking about that…that woman makes me ill.”

From the emphasis Sally Mae gave the word, Grant knew full well woman wasn’t what Merrilee’s grandmother had in mind, but she was too well-bred to verbalize her true opinion. Grant could think of a dozen words that fit Ginger Parker, but none that would ever cross Sally Mae McDonough’s lips.

Merrilee’s gaze fixed on him, waiting.

“Mrs. Parker came here over a year ago,” he began. “She bought the old Patterson place up on Cradle Creek.”

“‘Mrs.’? She’s married?” Merrilee asked in a tone even more horrified than before.

“A widow,” Grant explained. “Moved here from New Jersey when her husband died.”

“What does she look like?” Merrilee said. “Young and pretty, I’ll bet.”

“Bottle pretty,” Sally Mae said with a sniff. “She must spend a small fortune on auburn hair dye. And applies her makeup with a trowel. Amy Lou down at the Hair Apparent has made enough profit off that woman to buy a new car.”

“Mrs. Parker is several years older than your father,” Grant added.

Merrilee’s mouth gaped. “Daddy left Mom for an older woman? I don’t believe it.”

“She may be older, but she keeps herself in shape,” Grant said. “She’s a runner. Jogs for miles every day in tight little spandex outfits that accent her behind and, uh, generous chest size.” Grant glanced at Sally Mae, whose eyes were closed in disgust. “And she chooses her routes carefully.”

“Chooses her routes?” Merrilee frowned.

“Her jogging itinerary makes her highly visible to the male population,” Grant explained. “The woman’s been hot to trot ever since she arrived in Pleasant Valley. She’s cast her net at every man in town.”

“Correction,” Sally Mae interjected, “only at men with money. She’s a gold digger.”

“Unfortunately,” Grant said, “your father’s the first catch she’s landed.”

“The others had more sense,” Sally Mae said with distinct bitterness.

Grant didn’t bother mentioning how Ginger Parker had made a play for him last fall, pretending to sprain her ankle in front of his house. When he’d picked her up off the driveway, she’d twined her arms around his neck, pressed her breasts against his chest, batted her eyelashes and asked him to take her home. She’d filled his ear the whole time with how lonely she’d been since her husband, a retired army colonel, had died, and had shed tears that seemed transparently fake.

Refusing to fall for her ploy, Grant had called 9-1-1, and Brynn Sawyer had driven the woman to the hospital in her patrol car. After a thorough examination and X rays, the ER doctor had found nothing wrong with Ginger’s ankle and sent her home. Jim Stratton may have found the woman sexy, but Grant thought her pathetic.

Guilt gnawed at Grant. Ginger had been as persistent as a burr on a dog. She’d bought a canary after the twisted ankle encounter and showed up at the clinic for a consultation. If Grant hadn’t pawned her off on Jim, believing her no danger to his happily married partner, maybe none of this would have happened.

Merrilee shook her head. “I can’t believe this. Daddy has more sense than to fall for another woman, much less one like that.”

“Your father isn’t thinking with his brain,” Sally Mae said.

“Nana!” Merrilee’s face flushed deep crimson.

Grant wasn’t shocked by the oblique reference, only that a woman as genteel as Sally Mae would utter it. What she’d said was true. Jim Stratton hadn’t been thinking clearly for a long time. Ginger Parker had only one thing to offer a man like Jim.

Sex.

The two had nothing else in common.

“I’ll talk to him,” Merrilee said. “Make him see what a fool he’s making of himself. And how much he’s hurting Mom.”

“No.” Sally Mae shook her head firmly. “I don’t think you should do that.”

The older woman’s response surprised Grant. He’d figured Sally Mae had summoned Merrilee home specifically to talk some sense into Jim. She was the apple of her father’s eye and had always been able to wrap him around her little finger. Grant, too, before she shook the dust of Pleasant Valley off her shoes.

“Then why did you call me home?” Merrilee pushed back from the table, stood and paced the antique Oriental rug that covered the highly polished heart-pine floor.

“Men are stubborn,” Sally Mae said. “The more you tell them they shouldn’t do something, the more dead set they are to do it.”

Grant opened his mouth to protest, but Sally Mae cut him off. “Sorry, Grant, but that’s the truth as I see it, and especially where my son-in-law’s concerned.”

“If Daddy can’t be influenced, what can I do?” Merrilee’s reddened cheeks would have been appealing if not for her distress.

Sally Mae smiled with an almost feline cunning that made Grant glad she was plotting against Jim and not him. “I didn’t say your father can’t be influenced.”

Merrilee took her seat. “I know that look, Nana. You’ve got something up your sleeve.”

“Sit down, Merrilee June.” Sally Mae reached for a platter of sandwiches and passed it to Grant. “You might as well eat while we talk. You’re going to need your strength.”

Grant was so hungry he didn’t object to the dainty tuna salad sandwiches with the crusts removed. He filled his plate, but Merrilee took only half a sandwich and picked at it before taking a small bite.

“I want you to move back home,” Sally Mae announced to her granddaughter.

Merrilee choked.

Grant raised his eyebrows. Merrilee had made her happiness at leaving Pleasant Valley abundantly clear, and nothing, not even Grant’s marriage proposal, had been able to keep her here.

“You’re not serious,” Merrilee insisted once she’d cleared her throat.

“If you want to save your parents’ marriage,” Sally Mae said, “you must stay here. You can’t help them long distance.”

“If I can’t talk to Dad, what good is staying?”

She had a point, Grant conceded, but he also was well aware that Sally Mae McDonough was one sharp cookie. She wouldn’t have summoned Merrilee home without a specific plan.

Sally Mae patted her lips with a damask napkin and laid it beside her plate. “I said you shouldn’t talk to him about that woman.”

Grant winced. On Sally Mae’s lips, those two simple words sounded like the vilest profanity.

Merrilee cast her glance toward the ceiling as if seeking divine intervention. “Then what am I supposed to discuss? Cows and horses?”

Sally Mae’s sly smile returned. “In a manner of speaking.”

“What good would that do? Nana, I have my work in New York. I can’t just move home and abandon it.”

Sally Mae straightened her back, the proverbial steel magnolia. But her granddaughter was no slouch in the intestinal fortitude department, either. Grant waited, curious who would win this battle of wills.

Sally Mae nodded toward the hall, where Merrilee’s bags sat. “You brought your camera. You can work here.”

“There are precious few weddings in Pleasant Valley,” Merrilee protested.

“And no Bar Mitzvahs,” Grant added. Jim had kept him informed on how Merrilee was earning her living in New York.

Merrilee shot him a grateful glance. “I can’t support myself here.”

“You won’t have to,” Sally Mae said. “I—”

“I won’t accept charity,” Merrilee said with a fierceness Grant remembered well. “When I left home, I vowed to make it on my own. I don’t intend to return with my tail between my legs and my hand out.”

With a sigh, Grant recalled that one of the things he’d loved most about Merrilee was her spunk. Without that gumption, she wouldn’t have set out on her own. She wouldn’t have left Pleasant Valley.

And him.

“I’m not giving any handouts,” Sally Mae said. “I want to commission your work.”

Merrilee’s jaw dropped. “You want me to photograph you?”

“Lord, no,” Sally Mae replied emphatically. “This old ruin doesn’t need chronicling. I want to commission a book.”

After Jim’s infidelity, Grant had believed himself past surprising, but Sally Mae’s proposal stunned him. What kind of book would interest a woman of her age and social standing? Merrilee’s very pretty mouth was gaping again. Her grandmother’s pronouncement had clearly left her speechless.

“I want you to record a pictorial account of the life of a country vet,” Sally Mae said. “Dr. Jim Stratton, D.V.M. I’ll pay all your expenses and underwrite its publication. It will make a stunning addition to your portfolio.”

Merrilee shook her head. “I don’t know. I’m not into pastoral settings. I prefer cityscapes.”

Grant, however, saw immediately the tack Sally Mae was suggesting. “It’s brilliant, Merrilee. You’ll have to spend hours with your father, shooting him at work. The more you’re with him, the better chance you have of bringing him back to reality. You’ll be a constant reminder of what he’s giving up.”