Holidays at Crescent Cove by Shelley Noble Page A

her couch with an old movie and the rest of Jake’s box of pastries. But that would be unprofessional. And God knew she was professional.
    So she sat studying the briefs for her scheduled court dates. Two speeding tickets, a zoning infraction, and a domestic violence case. Not very exciting, she had to admit, except for the domestic violence case, in which a local woman at her wits’ end took a shovel to her drunken husband. It was clearly a case of self-defense, but the husband’s lawyer had gotten the jerk to press charges.
    Grace was ready for them. She’d questioned neighbors and the local school their children attended. Summoned the woman’s employer, who would testify to seeing her bruised and battered on many Monday mornings. She’d given that poor woman her best shot. She’d have to depend on the judge to do the rest.
    She’d help save the boardwalk; she had other petitions that she could guide through the rapids of unintelligible legalese. And the town would be better for it. And that made the traffic tickets and zoning cases worth it.
    And if the closest her name ever got to the front page was in “What’s Happening this Week in Crescent Cove,” that was fine with her. It was sometimes hard to explain why her life here was satisfying. Some people—her parents included—thought she had wasted a promising career.
    Grace knew she’d done the right thing, in her heart it felt right, but there were days when she doubted she could ever make a real difference.
    She pulled off a piece of muffin and ate it, barely conscious of what she was doing. Maybe she’d call Margaux and Bri and schedule a girls’ night out. Except Bri was always so busy with Mimi and Lily. They could go to Bri’s, bring pizza and wine.
    And then she remembered. Thanksgiving was three days away. It would be too busy and bustling to really talk until after the holidays, and she needed time to voice her misgivings about her life, her career, and about Jake McGuire.
    It would have to wait.
    The street door opened and Grace looked up. The bile rose to her throat. “I thought you went back to Hartford,” she blurted out before she could stop herself.
    â€œDecided to stay over in one of the hotels out on the highway.”
    â€œI suppose mother knows.”
    â€œI called her last night.”
    Which is why her mother had stopped calling. You think she could have made one more call to warn her what was up.
    â€œWhy are you here?”
    â€œI wanted to talk to you.”
    Grace sighed. Rubbed her forehead. He was between her and the door, and she’d be damned if she’d run from her own office.
    â€œI can’t see that we have anything to talk about, so that can only mean you want to talk at me, which is the way it always was. Not happening. And don’t even start with the ‘after all the money I put out for your education’ bit. The publicity I gained the firm in that misbegotten law case has more than made up for it, I’m sure.”
    â€œYou didn’t have to leave.” His color was rising. His shoulders tensed.
    Ah, dear old dad. Angry and arrogant. Some things never changed.
    Grace stood. “Old history. I have a life. I have job I love. People I care about. I suggest you go do yours. See if you can’t get that scumbag back on the streets for Thanksgiving. Hell, what’s a mother and her baby? Maybe he’ll go for a whole family or a school bus of children next. I’ll show you out.”
    Grace stopped, horrified. She didn’t make wild statements like that. It was coming down to his theatrics. His manipulations. She pressed her hand to her mouth, afraid she was going to be sick.
    Her father swayed, grasped for the edge of the desk.
    Dear God, please don’t let him be having a heart attack.
    But he straightened up, though it looked like it took an effort.
    Grace forced herself to meet his eyes. Just think of him as