Free Heartache Falls by Emily March Page A

concerned, don’t I? You do know that Cavanaugh House caught fire the first year I moved here, don’t you? Luckily, our wonderful volunteer fire department was able to save it and limit the damage.” She clucked her tongue, then added, “I hope I have as much luck this time.”
    An hour later, Celeste declared herself one lucky woman. Ali wasn’t certain she’d have gone that far. The Bristlecone Café had been saved, but damage was extensive. Gabe Callahan estimated that repairs would take months.
    Ali’s job had just gotten a whole lot bigger.
    The summons came two weeks after Ali had left him. Mac had finished his morning swim, showered and dressed, and sat down to breakfast when his phone vibrated to announce the arrival of a text message. There were only a handful of people in this world to whose tune he jumped, but Charles Cavanaughwas one of them. The man had been his employer, his mentor, and his confidant for more than twenty years. Mac owed him more than he ever could repay. Yet when he read the message asking him to present himself at Charles’s home posthaste, Mac seriously considered ignoring it. Charles might be his mentor, but he was first and foremost Ali’s father.
    This wasn’t going to be pretty.
    Mac decided to take his old pickup instead of the Porsche for this particular meeting. No sense inviting trouble.
    He arrived at the Cavanaugh home in Denver to find his ordinarily dapper father-in-law dressed in dirty jeans and a chambray shirt, indulging in another hobby of his—backyard vegetable gardening. Mac shoved his hands into his pockets, took a bracing breath, and approached. “Lettuce is looking good.”
    Without looking up from the row he was weeding, Charles said, “Third row needs weeding. Hit your knees, son.”
    Okay, so that’s the way this will be .
    Respect took Mac down onto his knees, and he went to work on the weeds. The men didn’t exchange a word during the next few minutes. As he tugged thin blades of grass and dandelions from the rich brown soil, Mac made mental bets with himself as to how Charles would begin this discussion. Would he bring up the firm first? The Sandberg case? Maybe ask about the kids? Or would he go straight for the jugular, asking what horrible thing Mac had done to Ali?
    When Charles finally got around to talking, hischoice of subject took Mac by surprise. “Alison’s mother believed in family dinners. She said that having supper together as a family each night was the best thing we could do to build bonds and foster positive relationships between us all.”
    Mac had no clue as to how he was expected to respond, so he didn’t.
    “I tried to continue that practice for both Alison and myself after we lost her mother, but sometimes I think she developed a stronger relationship with our cook than she did with me.”
    “Alison feels close to you,” Mac protested.
    “Does she?” Charles rolled back on his heels, rested his hands on his thighs, and stared directly at Mac. “Then why is she dodging my phone calls, and why do I have to learn that she is divorcing you from a secretary at the firm?”
    Divorce? Mac’s gut clenched. “What?”
    “I guess I should be glad that I learned from Serena rather than cable news,” Charles continued. “I hear your name a lot these days, since the Sandberg case is on every channel.”
    “You heard wrong, Charles. No one has said anything about divorce.”
    “Alison has left three messages on my machine in the past two weeks. She talked about a lot of things, but she never mentioned the fact that she’s left Denver and you. Do I have that fact wrong?”
    Mac couldn’t believe this. He’d thought for sure that Alison would have called her father. In fact, he’d been counting on it. He’d thought Charles might talk some sense into the woman.
    “Mackenzie?”
    “We’re just going through a rough spot.” Mac stood and brushed the dirt from the knees of his jeans with a little more force than was necessary