Nate had a shocked look for a moment. "That's what you meant," he said. "When you said you were divorced but not that much had changed." He ran a hand around the back of his neck. "Jesus."

"This is all my fault, all of it. I apologize. I brought unhappiness to all my favorite people. Maybe if I'd truly ended it with Isabel, or at least been more honest with Lilly before Isabel showed up..." He shook his head. "I'll do whatever I can, Nathaniel, but in the meantime, I'm sorry. I take full responsibility."

Nate looked at him for a long moment. "Oh, boy, do you have your work cut out for you."

"Tell me about it."

Jack was getting pretty used to the bar being quieter than usual at around the dinner hour. In fact, if some of his close friends didn't drop in, if hunters didn't come by, there wasn't very much to do. Mel kept trying to reassure him that he'd done the right thing by refusing to buckle under to the obviously selfish wants of individuals. "And I know these people almost as well as you do, Jack--they're going to come around. You were true to what we all believe Hope would want. She has always wanted to improve the town, not improve a few personal fortunes."

He believed in the town, too. But he had believed they'd come around a little faster.

When a young man walked into the bar, Jack thought he probably grinned foolishly. He was a little too glad for the company. "Hey there, how you doing?"

The guy dragged his hat off his head and actually looked around, as if to be sure Jack was talking to him. He was tall, had short brown hair, dark eyes and a shadow of a beard. He wore a khaki jacket, jeans and lace-up boots. He smiled at Jack and cocked his head. "Good," he said. "How about yourself?"

"Excellent," Jack said, giving the counter a swipe. "What can I get you?"

"How about a beer? Whatever's on tap."

The beer on tap was stale from under use. Jack reached into the cooler and pulled out a Heineken in a bottle. "I'm ready to change out the keg--try this at on-tap price."

The guy chuckled. Kid, he was just a kid. Jack would put him at about twenty-three, twenty-four. "Can't argue with a deal like that."

"If you like Heineken, that is," Jack said. "If that's not your brew, just say so, I'll get you something else."

"You're the most accommodating bartender I've run into in a long time."

Jack just gave his head a shake and realized he was so damn happy for a nonjudgmental customer, this was a little embarrassing. "Yeah, we aim to please. So what brings you to town?"

The kid took a long pull from his beer and put it down on the counter. "That's nice," he said, admiring the beer. "I heard about this place from a buddy who likes to hunt up here. I was gonna come hunting with him, but he couldn't get a kitchen pass from his wife, so I came up just to look around. That's all," he said with a shrug.

"It's deer season," Jack said. "You decide not to hunt?"

"Not this time, but I wanted to look the place over."

"We get quite a few hunters in here, but not usually till after nightfall. Dusk is a good time of day for hunting and they wait it out. In fact, most of them stop here on the way out of town, when they've done their hunting and want to enjoy a good meal." He frowned slightly. "You look kind of familiar. Have you been around here before?"

"No," he said with a laugh. "I've been a long way from here. Afghanistan. I just got discharged."

"What branch?" Jack asked.

"Marines."

"Ooo-rah," Jack said, putting out a meaty fist. "Lotta us around. Welcome aboard. So, when you're not in Afghanistan?"

"I grew up around San Diego. I was born there. Not far from Camp Pendleton, as a matter of fact. So what else was I gonna do? I didn't want to join the Marines, but it was the law." Then he grinned handsomely.

Jack laughed at the boy. "I guess you look like every kid I ever took into a training program, exercise or war. I must be getting old. Thanks for serving and welcome home." He put out his hand. "Jack Sheridan."

The young man stuck out his own. "Denny. Denny Cutler."

"I think I might've had a Cutler serve under me. Did you have brothers in the Corps?"

"Nope," he said with a laugh. "Just me."

"I guess they're all starting to run together--the names, the faces. Sorry about that," he said. "But I'm glad to make your acquaintance, son. Wish you were gonna be around here a little longer."

"I think that may happen, as a matter of fact. Just how nasty does this place get in winter?"

Jack shrugged. "Not terrible. We're low enough elevation that we almost never get snowed in, but the roads, well... Just let me say, four-wheel drive comes in handy."

"I was afraid of that," Denny said. "I grew up on the beach."

Jack leaned his elbows on the table. "Then why on God's green earth would you hang around a place like this?"

Denny seemed to think about his answer. "How good are you at confidences?"

Jack straightened, got a serious look in his eye and held up his right hand. "On my mother's grave, I haven't let slip more than twenty-percent of the time. And never under enemy interrogation!"

"At least you're honest," Denny said.

"I like to talk--I can admit that. But the fact is, if I know it's a secret, I'm good."

Denny just stared at him for a long moment and then he burst out laughing. "I'm crazy, right? I'm going to tell you a secret when I don't even know you? And you're a bartender? You could tell everyone in the closest three towns!"

Jack straightened. "Well, that's not likely," he said. They don't hang out here so much anymore, he could have added.

Denny just chuckled. "Okay, here's the basic fact. My mother never got married. I grew up thinking the guy who lived with us since I was born was my biological father. He split when I was little. We weren't that sorry to see him go. My mom died about six months before I went to Afghanistan, and before she died she told me the guy was not my father." He gave a shrug. "This wasn't bad news."

"Oh, man, I'm sorry, Denny," Jack said from the heart. "Was it sudden?"

"No, it wasn't sudden. She was sick for years--she had cancer and would go into remission, have a flare-up, go into remission and... Well, when it was getting to be the end she knew it. She had lots of time to think about it. She wanted me to know who my real father was. He's around Northern California. He was a marine."

"Seriously? Have you found him yet?"

"Not yet," he said.

"Well, maybe I can help. I know most everyone. Around here, anyway. And most of the military folks around here at least stop in to say hello."

"I appreciate that, man, I really do. But here's the thing--I thought I'd figure out on my own where he is, what he's like. Two things here, Jack? Is it Jack? That's your name?"

"Jack, that's right."

"Thing is, Jack--maybe I find him, meet him, and I don't like him. Maybe he's not a real big improvement on the guy I thought was my father and was relieved to learn wasn't. What if he's a jerk? What if he beats his wife or something? I can walk away and he'll never know. And the other thing--what if he really doesn't want to know he has a son from a little fling twenty-five years ago? What if he's a mayor or something? A priest or police chief? What if it would really upset his life to have some long-lost son pop out of the woodwork, huh? Because I could understand that, too."

"I get what you're saying, kid--especially if he's a loser. But what man wouldn't want to know about his own son?"

Denny shook his head. "A man who never had the first idea might be a little upset about it, don't you think?"

"Maybe for five minutes," Jack said. "But once he thought about it, he'd be glad for a second chance."

"You think?"

"That's what I think," Jack said.

The door to the bar opened and Mel came in. She held a little hand in each one of hers--David, almost four, and Emma, almost three.

"Hey there," Jack said, coming around the bar. He crouched to pick up Emma and with one strong hand, lifted David onto a stool. "Were you two good today?"

"They were excellent," Mel said. "We have a new addition at the clinic--Cameron put up a swing set in the backyard for our kids and his twins. I don't know why we didn't think of it sooner. So," she said, jumping up on a stool next to her son, "may we please have some juice? Please?" she said, nudging David.

"Please, Dad," he said in a very adult way.

"Pease!" Emma said, clapping.

"And maybe a short beer," Mel added. "Just a little less than half. Then I'll go home and feed the kids."

"We have some mac and cheese ready to roll," Jack offered. Then he looked at Denny and said, "Denny, this is my wife, Mel--she doesn't cook. And Mel, this young man is just back from Afghanistan. Denny Cutler."

"How do you do?" she said. "Welcome home. Marine?"

"Yes, ma'am. How'd you know?"

"I don't know," she said. "Jack's like a marine magnet. They all end up here eventually."

"I can see why," Denny said, lifting his beer. He looked at Jack and said, "Somehow I didn't really see you with a young family."

"No one did, pal, including me. I was forty when I met Mel, and I was nowhere near interested in marriage and children, but she trapped me."

She laughed at him. "This is utterly untrue," she said. "I was running for my life."

"All right, then, I trapped her. Whatever, it ended up working out just fine."

"So, Denny," Mel said, "did you just move here?"

"Sort of," he said. "I came to look the place over on the recommendation of a friend and I like it. But there's one problem--I was recently discharged. I need a job. Any line on a job around here?"

"That's a tough one," Jack said. "With the economy the way it is, jobs are tight. Lots of unemployment."

"It doesn't have to be that much of a job. I'm not married--no girl waiting for a ring or anything. I'm still thinking about school. But I could rent a room and hang out for a few months. I saved a little per diem to see me through."

"A few months?" Jack asked.

"If I decide to get more permanent than that, I'll look around for an apartment or duplex or something. For right now if some little old lady would give me a spare bedroom..."

"We could give you a bed," Jack said. "We have a guesthouse or casita or whatever you call it--it's for my dad when he visits, but there's also an extra room for him in the house if he shows up unexpectedly. I mean, if it's not long-term." Jack shrugged. "And you're a marine."

"Wow. That's almost too good to be true."

"I'll give you some directions," he said, pulling out a napkin and writing on it for him.

Late that night, when Mel and Jack were in bed and the children asleep, she said, "Don't we usually talk about things like this?"

"Mel, his mother died, he found out his father wasn't his father, he went to war... He's a marine. We can do this for him--it doesn't cost us anything."

"What if that's not all totally true? What if he's never been a marine? What if his mother is alive and well? What if... Jack, remember Annalee?" she asked, recalling a beautiful con artist who had gotten the best of Jack not long ago. No harm was done--she wasn't after Jack, but someone else. Just the same, Jack was reeled into her con too easily. Jack loved everyone. "What if he's a serial killer or something?"