What if there were more?

Easy to verify, Dave.

Yeah, it was. But he didn’t want to know.

Yet there were two realities he couldn’t escape.

First, this was out of control.

And second, he was getting in deeper and deeper.

“You want a refill, hon?” Jolene stopped beside his table and hefted the pot of coffee in her hand.

“Not today.” He laid his phone screen-down on the table. “Thanks.”

She tipped her head, her short ponytail bobbing behind her, the mahogany color nowhere close to any natural hue on earth. “You seem a little down in the dumps. Everything okay with Kimberly?”

Dave clenched his fingers around his mug. This was one of the downsides of small-town living. Everyone was privy to too many personal details—including his wife’s problems.

“Everything’s fine.” He called up the amiable manner he cultivated for his job. As he’d learned, people trusted you—and bought more—if you were friendly and personable. “She’s working at the library this morning. I decided to stop in for a cup of coffee before I pick her up.”

“You look tired.”

“Long week—and it’s not over yet. Saturday is one of my busier days.”

“Same here. Difference is I get to stay in one place instead of driving all over creation like you do. Although I do log a fair number of miles on these.” She lifted a sport-shoe-clad foot and wiggled it. “But activity’s good for the waistline. Helps me keep my girlish figure.” She grinned and smoothed a hand down her ample hip. “You ready for your check?”

“Whenever you get a minute.”

“I’ll have it here in a jiffy. Give Kimberly my best.”

“I’ll do that.”

As Jolene hustled off, Dave flipped the phone over. The screen had gone dark.

Kind of like his life had.

He raked his fingers through his thinning hair, more gray than brown after the past four trauma-filled years. The face reflected back at him in the mirror every morning looked far older than his fifty-five years.

No surprise, when death and illness and more death dogged your footsteps.

His cell beeped—the fifteen-minute warning to pick up Kimberly—and he pocketed it. After he took her home, she’d probably spend the rest of the afternoon gardening while he called on clients. That was a safe, healthy pastime—and he wouldn’t have to worry about her doing anything dangerous while she was absorbed with her flowers.

It was hard to shake worry these days, though.

But even if some aspects of their relationship were different . . . even if she was different . . . they still had a good life.

And he didn’t intend to put that in jeopardy.

“Here you go, hon.” Jolene slapped the bill on the table.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t work too hard.”

“Ditto.”

“I learned to prioritize and pace myself years ago. It’s the only way to survive in this job.”

He watched as she wove among the tables to dole out coffee refills, her comment echoing in his mind.