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smiled again, then glanced toward the stairs. Shouldn’t she be up there, keeping an eye on them? Conn might waken and need comforting…she yanked her attention back to Rob Mowbray. “Quilting, I hope.”
    He raised an eyebrow. “That sounds interesting. Why quilting?”
    Garland turned her mug so that she could see the “Quilters Do It in the Ditch” logo on it. “I double-majored in history and art in college, and wanted to become a quilt artist. I’d been accepted into the fiber arts master’s degree program at the Rhode Island School of Design when Derek proposed. But after we were married he discouraged me from pursuing the degree because we both thought I’d be too busy with our kids. Well, that didn’t turn out to be an issue.”
    “I’m sorry,” he said gently. “The whole infertility thing—”
    “Oh, I wasn’t infertile,” she interrupted. “Neither was he. Believe me, he insisted we see the best fertility experts. We just couldn’t get me pregnant. We even tried in vitro. Twice. I couldn’t face it more than that.”
    She kept her eyes fixed on her mug. “He had his work, and I had my quilts. But when I did anything at all public with my quilts, especially selling them, it bothered him. I think he thought it reflected on his ability to support us. So then he developed ‘allergies’ and complained that my quilting raised too much dust, so eventually I just stopped. But I think I knew I’d come back to it someday. I’m hoping that being down here where it’s quiet will help me find my way back to it. Kathy Hayes—you know, the Captain Hayes Gallery on Main Street—is an old friend, and she’s promised me space in her shop if I choose to start exhibiting and selling. She sold a couple of my quilts years ago and Derek was furious. He wanted me to spend my time doing high-profile volunteer work to make him look good, not hiding in a studio sewing bits of fabric together.”
    Rob shook his head again. “I know he is—or was—your husband. But what a jerk. You can’t demand that someone with a vocation stop doing what they love just to soothe your ego. I know I couldn’t stop being a doctor if I tried. It must have been awful.”
    Garland looked up at him. Not all of her friends had understood what not being able to quilt had meant to her.
    “I have to confess that I cheated,” she said, toying with her mug again.
    Rob cleared his throat and shifted in his chair.
    She chuckled. “No, not like that. I started taking art classes again a couple of years ago when Derek thought I was going into Boston to do work for the Junior League. I managed to get a lot of the required classes out of the way, but it wasn’t easy. I could only take one course at a time. Fortunately the school’s been pretty understanding. So part of being down here is doing an independent study and finally making some quilts.”
    “Well, good for you.” A slow smile spread across Rob’s face as he in turn stared at his mug. “You know, I had no idea all this lurked under that attractive young society matron exterior when I first met you. But I hope you’re not going to be all work and no play now that you’re down here permanently.”
    Garland’s stomach flip-flopped. Attractive? Young? Thirty-six wasn’t exactly young but it wasn’t middle-aged, was it? There might be a few lines at the corners of her eyes, but there wasn’t a single strand of gray in her dark blonde hair. God knew she’d checked often enough when she first found out about Derek’s girlfriend. Was Rob just being nice? Or was there something else behind his words?
    A car door slammed in the driveway, then another. Rob glanced out the window. “Captain Howe,” he commented. “About time someone responded to your 911 call.”
    “The police!” Garland sat up. “But I asked for medical assistance!”
    “I know. I’m just as mystified—not to mention ticked off—as you are, but I guess we’ll have to take what we can get as far as