The Trouble With Valentine's Day

was actually glad to see him.

Kate was beautiful and sexy and smart, but she was not the only woman in town.

Fifteen

Easter Sunday, Stanley Caldwell stayed home from church, which he never did unless he was ill. He had a few important things to do, and he wanted to do them in private.

Kate slept in her room with the door closed, and he figured that when she woke up, she'd feel the effects of partying late with Tiffer Cladis. Watching her dance all night with a female impersonator instead of Rob had been a big disappointment. She'd never get married if she danced with men who were more interested in sharing makeup tips than making out. Which is what the two had been discussing when he and Grace had approached them during a break in the music. While Kate had spent her evening with Tiffer talking about eyeliner and cover sticks, Rob had stood within a circle of young women. They'd flattered and flirted with him, something Stanley wished Kate would do. Rob had eventually left with Rose.

Stanley slipped on his Minnetonka slippers that Melba had bought him for Christmas the same year she'd died. There was a lot of comfort in knowing a woman most of your life and of her knowing you. He'd loved Melba with all of his heart. He knew it sounded cliched. The sort of thing people just said without giving it a whole lot of thought, but he had. He'd loved her. He'd loved his wife, but she was gone. The day he'd put her in the ground, he'd thought he should just die too. He'd thought he should just hurry up and follow her into the grave because he hadn't wanted to live without her. He hadn't known how to live without her.

Lately, though, he'd been thinking that following her into the grave was maybe not the best plan. Apparently, he was too healthy, and it was taking too long.

He opened the closet he'd shared with his wife for nearly fifty years. Her housecoat was in the same place where she'd left it. Her slacks and blouses and her Tom Jones leather jacket were in there too. Stanley reached for their hangers and laid the clothing on his bed. He went back three more times, and when he was through, there was quite a pile.

Last time he'd asked Katie to pack up a few of Melba's things, but it was his job. She would have wanted it that way, and maybe he was ready. Melba lived in his heart, not in her clothes hanging in the closet and not in her collection of Tom Jones memorabilia. No matter what happened to him or how much longer he lived, he would never forget her. He would never stop loving her.

But maybe, just maybe, he didn't have to live the rest of his life alone, waiting to die. Maybe it was time to move forward. Time to live his life again. Maybe there was room in his old heart for two women.

Grace Sutter wasn't at all like Melba. Melba had loved to have fun, and she'd had a wicked sense of humor and a loud laugh. Grace was a bit more refined. She liked to write poetry and watch birds out her kitchen window. Both women were wonderful in different ways.

Stanley went to the garage and brought in some boxes he'd carted home from the store. The part of his heart that had loved his wife for fifty years broke all over again as he put her things into the boxes. He opened her drawers and emptied them into the cardboard cartons. He paused to touch the pink nightie she'd worn when she'd wanted some time alone with him in the bedroom.

He loved her. Still. He always would. He picked up the packing tape and closed the box flaps. His eyes watered, and a tear ran down his wrinkled cheek. 'Good-bye, Melba. I'm giving your things away, but I will not forget you. You were my wife, my lover, and my friend. You were my life for a long time, but you're gone. When you left, I was so lonely, but not so much now. I have Katie and Grace.' He moved to his dresser and took a handkerchief out of his drawer. He wiped his face and blew his nose, a loud honking sound that filled the room. 'You always liked Grace. Now I do too.' He more than liked Grace. He loved her. He stuffed the handkerchief in his pocket. 'You don't have to worry about Ada Dover or Iona Osborn getting their hooks in me.' Sometimes at night, when the two of them had lain awake in bed talking about what would happen if one of them died before the other, Melba had made him promise that out of all the women in town, he wouldn't let either Ada or Iona reel him in. It had been an easy promise to keep.

One by one, he carried the boxes outside and placed them in the back of his '85 Ford pickup truck. As long as Melba's clothes still hung in the closet, and her unfinished craft projects sat on the shelf, he didn't feel right pursuing another woman.

He filled up the back of his truck with boxes, and the next morning he left Katie in charge of the M &S and headed to Boise and the Salvation Army. He unloaded Melba's things, then headed toward home again. He knew there were closer charity drop boxes, but the thought of running across someone else wearing Melba's Tom Jones jacket would have been too difficult to bear.

When he returned to Gospel, he went to Grace's and watched the sun set over the pines in the backyard. She made him a sandwich, and he told her what he'd done that day. She gave him one of her soft smiles and placed her hand on his. 'I will always miss Melba,' she said. 'You two were lucky to have found each other. My husband passed away twenty-five years ago. I have never thought of replacing him in my heart, but I've come to learn that there is room in the human heart for more than one love.'

Then he kissed her. For the first time in more than fifty years, he kissed a woman who wasn't Melba. For a few seconds, it felt awkward. For both of them. Then it felt right, and damn if his heart didn't start beating like he was forty again. He broke the kiss and told her of his deep affection and love for her.

She looked him right in the eye and said, 'It's about time. I've loved you for almost a year now.'

He'd had no idea. None, and all he seemed capable of doing was standing there marveling that someone like Grace could love someone like him. He was almost ten years older than her, and every one of those years showed. She didn't look a day over fifty-five.

She wrapped her arms around his neck. 'Stay the night,' she whispered.

'Grace, I respect you and-'

'Stop,' she interrupted. 'Of course you respect me. That's one of the things I love about you, Stanley Caldwell. You're a good and decent man, but even good and decent men have needs that can only be met in bed. Good and decent women do, too.'

God almighty. His insides started shaking so hard that he felt like he was going to shake himself apart. He wanted to have sex with Grace. He was pretty sure his equipment was still capable, but there was a part of him that was terrified. 'Things are different today. A person has to have that safe sex.'

'I don't think we have to worry about that. I haven't had sex since I voted for the first George Bush and you were married to the same woman for almost five decades.' She looked at him, and the crow's-feet at the corners of her eyes deepened. 'In case you're worried, I can't get pregnant.'

'God almighty.'

At half past midnight, Kate picked up the telephone and punched seven numbers. Worry knotted her stomach, and she feared she might get sick. She half hoped he wouldn't pick up. The night he'd run out of the M &S had humiliated her, and she really didn't want to speak to him ever again. That night, he'd made her feel so good, and then he'd turned around and made her feel so bad.

The phone rang five times before it was answered. 'This had better be good.' His voice was sleepy, sexy as hell, and very cranky.

'Rob, it's Kate. I hate to wake you, but have you seen my grandfather today?'

'Kate?' He cleared his throat, and she could almost see him sit up in bed. 'No, I haven't seen Stanley. He's not at home, I take it.'

The knot in her stomach tightened. 'No, he left for Boise this morning and I haven't seen or heard from him since. Have you talked to your mother today?'

'Yeah. I saw her around noon. Why?'

'I called her house two hours ago to ask her if she'd seen Stanley, and no one answered. I called back fifteen minutes later, and still no answer.'

'No one picked up at my mom's?' The sound of dresser drawers opening and slamming filled the background. 'Did you dial the right number?' She repeated the number she'd called. 'Shit.'

'I don't know what to do. I'm afraid my grandfather is in a ditch somewhere. I guess I'll call the sheriff.'