Crystal. When he lost her it was like a psychic cleaver had cut off part of him, and the dark emptiness of night brought the ache back like a phantom pain. So he always turned on his radio and put himself to sleep listening to the late-night talk shows. He'd recently stumbled on a great program where the host interviewed scientists with far-out theories and people who claimed to have been kidnapped by aliens. And, if he was lucky, he'd only dream about UFOs and he'd wake up rested and ready to check off another day on the calendar. Checking off days, it was a s.h.i.tty way to live, but he'd been doing it long enough now that he was good at it.

"You would have loved this town, babe," he murmured as he got to work with his hammer and nails.

And what would she have thought of Jamie Moore? Would Crystal have considered her good mother material? The girls sure seemed to like her. And they weren't the only ones. Jamie had made his radar in a big way. She was a little bit of a thing, the kind of woman a man felt compelled to protect.

But Jamie had made it pretty obvious that she didn't need protecting, at least not from him. The only woman he'd met since Crystal who even remotely interested him and she didn't like cops. It just figured. Well, he and the girls and Dad had a good life here. They were doing okay.

He gave the last nail in the shutter an exceptionally hard pound. At the rate he was going, it was going to be a long time before his girls got a new mother. And it was going to be a long, long time before he got laid.

"Sarah and I are going in to Seattle on Sunday to hit the Thanksgiving-weekend sales," Jamie told Emma. "Want to come? I'll pay for your lunch."

Emma propped the phone between her shoulder and ear as she made the final touches on her Thanksgiving blowout sign for her store window. "I can't. I'm going to be open on Sunday for my forty-percent-off sale."

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line. Then, "Em, are you sure you want to mark off so much?"

It was an insanely drastic markdown; she knew that. "If I don't do something to move my inventory I'm not going to be able to pay my rent, let alone my small-business loan." Pulling up those words made Emma's voice tremble.

"I'm really sorry," Jamie said. "So many people quilt. I just don't get why you're not making it."

"Because people would rather get a bargain than support a local business," Emma said bitterly. It was a different world from when her grandpa did business. He and Grandma bought their washer and dryer from Anderson's Appliance, filled their prescriptions at Vern's, and supported the little local grocery store until the Safeway came to town and Pop's was finally forced to close its doors. "People just don't care like they used to." She sighed. "You were right to sell chocolate. You'll always be in business."

"Well, don't give up. The sale might be just what you need to prime the pump," Jamie said.

Who was she kidding? The well of human kindness in Heart Lake was running dry and no amount of priming was going to help. Emma hung up, thoroughly depressed. All these efforts to get people to do good deeds were a waste of time. The bottom line was, people didn't care.

You can't think that way, she scolded herself. People were basically good. They were just ignorant and had to be taught. A sale would lure in new customers. She'd talk up her quilting cla.s.ses, drop big hints about the importance of shopping locally, and things would change. Quitters never win and winners never quit. She had to remember that.

She'd just hung up the sign when Shirley Schultz wandered into the shop. "You're having a sale?"

For Shirley, who would, of course, conveniently forget her checkbook, it would end up being a giveaway.

No, she had to be firm. "Cash or credit card only," she said in her sweetest, cheery voice, "so don't forget to stop by the bank."

Shirley frowned. "I don't like to carry cash. I'll try to remember my checkbook."

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Schultz, but I'm afraid, with such a deep discount, I'm going to have to take only cash or credit cards tomorrow," Emma said firmly.

Shirley's thin lips fell down at the corners. "Well, I would think you'd want to accommodate your loyal customers."

Accommodate? Shirley had probably absconded with enough free merchandise to set a record. "I try to accommodate all my customers," Emma said. She kept her smile only by sheer willpower. "So, is there anything I can help you with today?"

"No, I don't think so," said Shirley, her voice icy.

"Well, then I hope we'll see you tomorrow."

"Probably not," she said, and marched out the door.

"Well, there goes my best worst customer," Emma muttered, as she watched Shirley storm off down the street, her worn coat flapping behind her. Now she could see Shirley had run into Ruth Weisman. Shirley's mouth was going about a mile a minute, and with her stiff posture and glowering face, it wasn't hard to guess what she was talking about. "That's right. Go ahead and blank out on all those times you 'forgot' your checkbook and still walked out of here with a bag full of fabric," Emma grumbled. She probably shouldn't have rocked the boat with Shirley. Bad angel karma. But all her good deeds really hadn't done much good anyway. She was living with a cat who barely tolerated her, her business was on the verge of going belly-up, and she couldn't even afford to have any fun with Tess in My World.

Every heroine has dark moments, Emma reminded herself. Think of Katharine Hepburn's character in The African Queen. She lost her brother and her home and nearly died. But in the end, she took out a German gunship and found true love.

You're not Katharine Hepburn.

Well, that said it all.

Ruth was in the shop now. "I hear you've got a sale coming up tomorrow. I guess I'll wait to get my fabric then."

"You may as well," Emma said. She knew her voice was flat. She probably looked like a droopy, old ba.s.set hound, but she couldn't help it.

Ruth studied her a moment, then said, "What the heck. I need fabric today."

Bless you, thought Emma.

"And good for you for holding Shirley's feet to the fire. I haven't seen her so mad since the bank stopped giving away free toasters for new accounts."

Emma sighed. "I probably shouldn't have done that. Poor Shirley is just squeaking by."

"Like heck she is," Ruth said with a snort. "She lives on the lake and I know for a fact she's got half a million in the bank. I heard her bragging about it to the teller just last week."

"But her clothes."

"She's proud of the fact that she dresses like a bag lady. That's one of her secrets to success, along with suckering local merchants into letting her get away with murder."

Emma shook her head. "I think I'm the world's biggest sucker."

Ruth smiled. "That's because you've got the world's biggest heart."

"Big hearts don't pay big bills," Emma muttered.

"No, they don't. Remember that," Ruth said sternly. "And don't give up. It takes time to build a business."

And a small fortune, which Emma didn't have, but she nodded and smiled gamely. "You're right." Things have a way of working out. That was what Mom always said. She hoped Mom was right and things would start working out tomorrow.

It looked like a good sign when Emma woke up to an overcast day. But no rain. That was the best weather for a merchant in the Pacific Northwest. When it was rainy and cold, people often opted for socking in with a fire in the fireplace rather than venturing out to shop. When the sun was out, potential shoppers played outside in their yards, went on picnics, drove to the mountains. But a day like today? Perfect for shopping.

All she had to do was sell enough fabric to make her shop rent. She was sure Mr. Pressman at the bank would be patient for his money. But hey, why think small? Maybe she would have tons of customers this weekend and she'd be able to make both her rent and her business loan payment. She hoped she wouldn't have to float another loan from Mom and Dad for her rent at home.

"It's hard to start a business," Mom always said. "We're happy to help you. You're going to get it all someday anyway. We'd rather help you now, when you really need it." But they'd done so much already. She couldn't keep being such a drain on her family. It was do-or-die time.

Whoa, was that minicrowd of women outside her shop all for her? She gawked as she drove past the front entrance on Lake Way and turned down the little cobblestone alley that held more shops.

It was a cute little no-name street that housed a travel agency, real estate office, a day spa, and a hair salon. Recently, Kizzy's Kitchen had relocated there, too. The rent was cheaper than on Lake Way and those shops still had a Lake Way address. Many a time, as Emma had pa.s.sed them to turn and park in back of her more expensive building, she'd wished she'd opted for a less prominent and cheaper location.

At least you have customers today, she told herself. Maybe she would make her rent this month. She parked in back of the long building that housed her shop as well as Changing Seasons Floral and Something You Need Gifts, her heart skipping with excitement. Of course, it would have been nice if this many people came in when she wasn't having a lose-your-shirt sale, but oh, well. It was a beginning. Maybe some of them would sign up for her quilting cla.s.s, maybe some would tell their friends. She'd get people started on her punch card. People loved punch cards that promised them a bargain after they had purchased so much merchandise.

She hurried into the shop, shed her coat, and ran to open the front door. "Welcome, ladies," she sang.

Smiling, they surged past her, with-surprise, surprise-Shirley in the lead. Emma recognized one of the women as the Savemart devotee who had sneered at her overpriced fabric. Well, she'd like to see Savemart compete with her prices now.

"Does the forty percent include patterns?" asked the woman.

"No, sorry. Only fabric," said Emma.

The woman frowned and made a beeline for Emma's most expensive fabric.

As Emma watched, her earlier euphoria evaporated. An image crept into her mind of buzzards picking at the carca.s.s of some poor dead animal in Death Valley. You're not dead yet, she told herself firmly.

"Great sale," said her friend Kerrie, coming up to the counter with a couple of bolts of fabric. "I want to sign up for your quilting cla.s.s."

"I thought you were too busy with Nesta to start quilting," said Emma, surprised.

"It's slowly dawning on me that I'm going to be busy with Nesta for a lot of years. I may as well start having a life. This will be something fun I can do when she's napping."

Emma was ringing up her purchases when Shirley came to the counter, practically lost under a pile of fabric finds.

"Wow, aren't you ambitious," Emma greeted her.

"A girl's got to take advantage of the sales," said Shirley playfully, her irritation from the day before forgotten.

Hopefully, she wasn't going to take advantage of the shop owner. Emma took Kerrie's money, gave her two punches on her punch card and her fabric, and then sent her on her way. She turned her attention to Shirley, who had heaved her finds onto the cutting counter.

"I want two yards of each," Shirley said. "Oh, and lets add two spools of white thread, too."

"Okay." Should she ask Shirley now if she'd brought cash or just trust that she had? Emma opted for trust and cut the fabric.

"And I brought my cash," Shirley said, scrabbling around in her purse as Emma worked.

Hallelujah.

But when Emma rang up her purchases Shirley's face fell. "I only brought a ten," she said, setting the bill on the counter.

And she'd spent almost thirty. Surely she hadn't expected to buy so much for so little. Very sneaky to announce her money shortage after Emma had cut the fabric. Emma was nearly overcome with a strong desire to wrap a measuring tape around Shirley's scrawny neck and squeeze.

"I'll come in tomorrow with the rest," Shirley promised.

Okay, Shirley could live another day. "Great," Emma said with a smile. She put the fabric in a bag and slipped it onto the little shelf behind the counter. "I'll hold it here for you."

Shirley gaped at her. "Oh, but I wanted to take it today."

Emma was suddenly aware of other women hovering nearby, listening. One of them was the Savemart woman. She should stand her ground with Shirley. Otherwise everyone would think she was a soft touch. Or maybe they'd think she was heartless.

But all this had nothing to do with heart. It had to do with running a business. Her big heart had been part of her problem. Big heart, little brain, bad combination.

She opened her mouth to say, "Sorry. No can do." Instead, she took the ten and handed over the bag, saying, "Go ahead and take the fabric."

Idiot. You deserve to go out of business. What are you thinking? Panic welled up in her the minute the words were out of her mouth. She'd be bankrupt or paying off her business loan until she was fifty. She lowered her voice. "But please, Mrs. Schultz, bring me the rest of what you owe me tomorrow. I really need to balance my books." And pay my rent.

Ruth was at the counter next. She gave Emma a penetrating look, the kind her mother always gave her when she was pretending everything was okay. "Are you in trouble, Emma?"

"What do you mean?" she stammered. Oh, this was not good. A woman couldn't go around telling her customers she was a failure. If only she were Tess L'amour, confident and successful. She tried to get in touch with her inner Tess and smile as if she didn't have a care in the world.

"You know what I mean," Ruth said sternly. "If you're going to stay in business you can't keep letting mooches like Shirley have a free ride."

"You're right," she said. "That's great advice." She blinked hard to keep back the tears. Too bad the advice was coming too late. She was going down the financial tubes, forty-percent-off sale and all.

EIGHTEEN.

Now, this is what I call a sale," Jamie said as she and Sarah sifted through a pile of women's sweaters stacked in front of a BUY ONE GET ONE FREE sign. It was Sunday afternoon and the mall was crowded with Thanksgiving weekend shoppers. So was this store. Did Emma have a crowd at her shop today? Jamie picked up a mint-green cashmere sweater. "Does this scream Emma or what?"

"I could see her in that," Sarah agreed.

"I think I'll get it for her for Christmas." Emma would, of course, love the sweater . . . if she didn't drown herself in the lake before Christmas. Jamie chewed her lip for a minute. "Do you think she's doing okay?"

Sarah frowned at the sweater in her hand. "No."

"You know, she actually lets people get away without paying? I'm worried about her. I think she's pretty much burned through her savings and she's got that big loan to pay off and I don't know how she's going to do it if her shop goes under."

Sarah shook her head. "I've thought several times of suggesting she sell the shop, but I just can't bring myself to say something, not when she's so pa.s.sionate about quilting."

"Make that was pa.s.sionate about quilting," said Jamie. "These days it seems she'd rather watch movies or play on the Internet."

"Avoidance. Probably even working on her own projects reminds her of the mess with the shop."

"So, what are we going to do?"

Sarah shook her head. "I don't know. If I had a fortune I'd bail her out."

Jamie scowled. "Sometimes it sucks not to be rich."

"Sometimes it sucks to be in business for yourself," said Sarah. "We all take a chance. If she goes under we'll just have to help her the best we can."

"I'd rather find a way to help her before she goes under."

"Me, too," said Sarah.

They both stood there for a moment, staring at the sweaters. Finally, Jamie asked, "Could you use some fabric?"

Sarah smiled. "By gumb.a.l.l.s, that's just what I need."

"Isn't that funny? I don't know how many times I've driven down this street and never noticed this shop," said the woman as Emma rang up her purchase.