Читать книгу Nora's Pride - Carol Stephenson - Страница 10

Arcadia Heights

The present

The clay figurine slipped from Nora McCall’s numb fingers and exploded into a million pieces across the bare oak floorboards, shattering with it twelve years of Nora’s carefully structured life. Her heart pounded with fear.

The tall man with eyes the color of a deep-blue sky entered the pottery shop. Only one male had that hell-bent-for-trouble walk, and that was Connor Devlin.

The very same man who was definitely heading her way.

Find Abby and hide, she thought as the blood roared in her ears. Instead, she stood, frozen by the man’s determined gaze.

Her fingers flexed as she nervously glanced down at the floor. As she realized what she’d done a sensation of horror seeped through her.

Oh, no, she thought frantically. Not Abby’s cat. Nora knelt and, heedless of the jagged edges, began scooping up the fragments. It was totaled. She’d never be able to glue it together again. Never.

Scuffed boot tips stopped before her.

Nora’s hands stilled. One more crime to lay at Connor Devlin’s feet—he’d destroyed her daughter’s Mother’s Day present.

“Hello, Nora.”

She looked up. The wild, reckless boy of her dreams had turned into the dark, dangerous man of her nightmares. But he still wore the same rebel’s uniform he had always worn: white T-shirt, second-skin blue jeans and trademark well-worn bomber jacket.

“What are you doing here?”

“You always could bring me to my knees, Nora McCall.” Before she could rise and protect the precious pieces of Abby’s cat, he crouched beside her, his hands brushing hers as he began picking up the broken pottery.

“Go away, Connor. I don’t need your help,” she snapped. She tried to nudge his hands aside, but he scooped up the last piece of clay. Frissons of awareness tingled along her arm, only to explode into raging resentment when he gripped her elbow and propelled her to her feet.

She broke free. Time had taken the boy’s youth and replaced it with a man’s face of sharp angles and planes. The once tall, rangy body had hardened into whipcord toughness. Windswept, sun-streaked chestnut hair fell over his brow and collar. Only his eyes were as she remembered—bold, piercing and purposeful.

He knew. He’d come for her.

“You look good. Just as I remembered you.”

And he still had the ability to paralyze her—that stomach-quivering, breath-hitching, knee-jellying, mind-numbing power to immobilize with one curve of his mouth.

The shop bell chimed again, announcing visitors. Nora grabbed hold of her composure. This was their big day—the grand opening of Kilning You Softly—and she wouldn’t let a ghost from her past ruin it.

She was no longer a young, impressionable girl who could be swayed by gorgeous eyes and a sexy mouth. Since her one life-altering mistake, she had avoided following her mother’s path. The man before her meant nothing but trouble. He had no right to sashay into her store, into her life. Not after all this time.

She had to get rid of him.

The lawyer in her took over. “Why don’t you get back on your knees and crawl out the way you came in.”

Connor’s nostrils flared slightly, and the corner of his mouth twitched. “Same old sassy mouth, too.”

“My mouth is none of your business, Connor Devlin. Why are you here?” Needing space, she turned to the side and gently laid the pottery fragments on the hutch.

Connor moved to stand beside her. “Business.” He held his hand over the wastepaper basket to throw out the shards.

Nora clutched his arm. “No! Don’t!” She wrapped her fingers around his and pried at the shards. “Ow!” She snatched her hand away and cradled it. Blood oozed from a jagged gash on the base of her left thumb.

Connor dumped the pieces on the sideboard. “Here, let me see that.” His hand cupped hers.

Blinking away tears, Nora bent her head to get a closer look at the damage. Her forehead bumped Connor’s. She bit back a curse as he gently probed the wound on her palm. The backs of his hands were broad and tanned, with a faint dusting of golden hair. She could feel the rough texture of his calluses as he wiped away the trail of blood. The hands of the boy were now the hard hands of a man. Whatever had happened to him, Connor still used his hands for a living.

Nora slanted a quick look at him through her wet lashes. His brow was furrowed as he checked her hand. Surreptitiously she leaned closer. Beyond the leather and soap, she could smell the sun and the earth clinging to him like an indelible part of his makeup.

Connor dragged a black bandanna from a pocket inside his jacket and wrapped it around the cut. “What was so important about that…” He glanced at the fragments and apparently couldn’t divine their former existence. He shook his head. “Whatever it was, it wasn’t worth slicing off a chunk of your finger. It’s not as if it were irreplaceable like The Sisters Three.”

No, it was only her daughter’s attempt to console Nora over Aunt Abigail’s death. It was every bit as precious to her as Abigail’s most famous work, which glowed in its place of honor on the mantel in the store’s rear alcove.

But Connor wouldn’t know that. He wouldn’t know about anniversaries, birthdays or deaths. After all, he hadn’t been around for twelve years. Hadn’t cared to be present. And now he had the audacity to lecture her in her own shop, filled with people she knew. People he’d scorned. The moment he knotted the fabric, she jerked her hand free and stepped away from him.

Irritation flashed across his face. “If you’re worried about germs, that’s a clean bandanna.” He folded his arms. “I think you’ll live, but you’d better have Doc Sims take a look at the cut to make sure you don’t need stitches.”

“I’m fine.” And because Aunt Abigail had taught her better, she added, “Thanks.” She looked down at her wrapped hand and caught sight of her watch. Almost eleven. She needed to get him out of the store. Now.

Her sisters, Christina and Eve, crossed to her, and she drew comfort from their presence. She would get through this, just as she had every other obstacle tossed in her path.

Nora McCall, standing proud, was a bittersweet image branded in Connor’s memory. Once he had hoped to share his life with her, but that dream had never stood a chance. His pact with the devil, his mother, had seen to that.

Yet, over the years, doubt regarding his decision to leave town, to leave Nora, had snapped relentlessly at his conscience in the lonely hours when night met dawn. Now, seeing Nora and her sisters, a part of him felt at peace. The McCall girls were still together in a place they loved.

The devil had apparently kept her side of the bargain. She would not be pleased he was breaking his.

He nodded at the women. “Eve, Christina. Good to see you both.” But he kept his gaze on Nora, even though every muscle in his body wound tighter. Tense as rectitude, his mother would have said.

Nora was still a knockout. From her lustrous black hair to her pressed jacket, she was all trim and lovely. And he had this craving to touch her, to feel once more the jolt of her pulse. If he had succumbed to his urge to press his lips against the soft flesh of her thumb while he had tended her wound, would he have found heat still running deep beneath her cool exterior?

The jab of desire irritated him, but Connor absorbed it. His gaze strayed to Nora’s wrapped left hand. She wore no ring. If she hadn’t married, would things have turned out different for them?

She arched a brow at his stare. “Gee, Connor, other than the mileage on your face, you haven’t changed a bit. Very few older men can carry off that James Dean look. At least you’ve the good sense not to copy the hair.”

Connor stiffened. A muscle jerked along his jaw. “You always did have brass, kid.”

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “I’m not a kid.”

He slowly looked Nora up and down. “No, ma’am. You’re certainly not.”

Nora colored fiercely, but he gained only a grim pleasure from her discomfort. Why should he care about her? She certainly didn’t care for him.

Shortly after he had left town, he had called his mother and said he couldn’t go through with the deal. His tormentor had been silent for a second before crisply advising him to keep moving.

“Your high-and-mighty McCall girl got married last week.” Even now, he could still hear the cold taunt that had ripped apart his soul.

Stunned, he had dropped the receiver and walked away from the phone booth. Nora had run into another man’s arms. She hadn’t waited. She’d never pined for him.

So he had kept moving, seeking to put as much distance as possible between him and his past.

“Connor?”

He realized Christina had spoken.

“What?”

“I said we were all sorry about Ed Miller’s passing.”

The dull ache whenever he thought about the loss of the old man who had been his surrogate father throbbed. “Thanks.”

Eve was brasher. “We figured you’d be there at the funeral.”

“I couldn’t get away.” His jaw tensed. Missing Ed’s service had torn him apart, but carrying out his promise to the farmer who had befriended him all those years ago had to come first. It wasn’t until he’d gotten Ed’s deathbed phone call that he’d learned he would finally get a chance to pay Ed back.

Nora accepted his statement without rebuke. “I’m sure you wanted to come, Connor. Ed was a good man.”

“Yes, he was.” More than anyone in the town would ever guess. Ed had been Connor’s remaining link to his past, keeping him bound despite Connor’s ending up in Florida. When Connor called Ed, the taciturn farmer had been circumspect about everything but his crops. Finally, desperate for news, Connor had asked the old man point-blank how Nora and her husband were doing. Ed had barked, “Husband. There’s no husband.”

Connor remembered his grim satisfaction in learning of her divorce. However, he never could ferret out any additional information in subsequent calls to Ed. All the farmer would ever mutter was that “the McCall womenfolk were doing just fine.”

He sure did miss the old coot.

Ever sensitive to other people’s emotions, Christina said softly, “Pastor Devlin must be thrilled you’ve returned.”

Pastor, not mother—Sheila Devlin would appreciate the distinction. She had certainly tried hard enough to distance herself from the role his birth had thrust on her. He hitched his shoulders. “She doesn’t know I’m here. Yet.”

Christina looked startled. “Oh.” She huffed out a breath. “Well.” Sadness flitted across her face. “Your mother performed a fine eulogy for Aunt Abigail.”

Connor realized he hadn’t offered condolences. He’d picked up the phone a hundred times when he had learned of their aunt’s death. He’d replaced the receiver a hundred times because he hadn’t known what to say.

He cleared his throat. “I can’t tell you how sorry I was to hear about Abigail’s death. She was a good woman.” He gestured at the shop. “She’d be proud of what you’ve accomplished here.”

Eve didn’t mask her curiosity. “Thanks, Connor, but how did you—” The doorbell chimed. Eve narrowed her eyes.

A wave of new arrivals crowded around Nora and Christina. Breaking the crowd apart, Nathan Roberts, a tall lean man, sauntered past Eve, brushing so close that she had to step back to avoid contact. Watching the familiar byplay had Connor fighting to keep his lips flat. Some things never changed.

Nate crossed to Connor and clasped his hand. Behind wire-rim glasses, Nathan Roberts’s slate-gray eyes warmed with amusement. “So, the town’s favorite hell-raiser has returned. Will he receive a prodigal son’s welcome?” He thumped Connor’s shoulder.

Connor winced. “And you’re still spouting off the biblical references.” He studied his friend as they shook hands. Whatever life had chosen to throw Nate’s way, it hadn’t seemed to change him. His sandy hair was still shaggy from too-infrequent trips to the barbershop, his movements still languid as if he had all the time in the world.

Together, Nate and Connor had skipped stones across Miller’s Lake as young boys, chugged down illicit beers at age eleven and discovered the allure of girls in high school. Nate had been a true friend and was the only local Connor was genuinely delighted to see.

Releasing Nathan’s hand, Connor turned, cocked his head and curled his lip at the older man hovering behind his friend. “Nice to see you, too, Mr. Ames.”

The high-school principal, without acknowledging the greeting, darted back into the shelter of the crowd. Nate chuckled. “He’s never forgiven you for the time you set a skunk loose in his office.”

Connor’s grin was unrepentant. “It didn’t have its odor sacs.”

“A pity Ames didn’t realize that little fact before he pulled the fire alarm, bringing the entire department racing to the school. It was a day to remember.”

Connor shifted to keep Nora within his line of sight. At that moment she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. An intense awareness jolted through his system. He remembered the intriguing spot on her body where warm, soft skin contrasted with cool, silky hair. Nora looked up and caught him staring. Irked with himself, he offered a bland smile. She shot him a withering look and turned her back.

Even as Connor fell into easy conversation with Nate about their past adventures, he continued to torment himself with the tantalizing vision of the long graceful sweep of Nora’s neck.

On the other side of the shop, Nora was suffocating, the weight of suppressed, raw emotions pressing all air from her lungs. If one more person made a cutting comment about Connor, she would scream. She had to escape.

She glanced around and spotted Connor and Nate deep in discussion. Connor rubbed his knuckles along his deeply shadowed jaw. Fascinated, she remembered the rasp of his developing whiskers. How would his face, roughened with manhood, feel against hers? Connor looked across and caught her staring. A smile, slow and cocky, curved his mouth. Her cheeks heated as if she was standing too close to the kiln.

The two men broke apart, and Connor plowed into the crowd, heading in her direction. No, she couldn’t bear any more polite conversation with him while half the town watched. She bolted for the front door.

Outside she drank in the fragrant air. Deep breathing, a technique she had learned to calm pretrial jitters, slowly untangled the knots in her stomach. She rolled her head and stilled, the sky capturing her attention.

White plumes of cloud drifted across the achingly blue October sky. She lifted her face and took another bracing breath of frost-edged air, laced with woodsy overtones.

Her gaze lowered. Chased by the playful fall wind, crisp leaves of orange, red and yellow skipped merrily along the tree-lined street. Normally this was her favorite time of year, when autumn muscled aside Indian summer. The scene before her should have calmed her, but didn’t. Change was snapping at her heels, threatening to devour her, yet Arcadia Heights remained the same on the outside. It wasn’t fair.

Today should have been perfect.

The door behind her opened, crushing her solitude.

Nora warily watched Wilbur Ames march out, heading determinedly toward her. She cast a desperate look around her, but milling shoppers blocked her escape. No matter that she was a grown-up and an attorney, her old high-school principal could still reduce her to teenage status. Nora steeled herself.

“Thank you for dropping by, Mr. Ames. On your way?”

Jowly from one too many potluck dinners, Ames’s face was ruddy with exertion. The drapes of his flesh quivered with indignation. “I can’t believe that Connor Devlin has returned. His poor mother will be horrified.”

The insult to Connor irritated Nora, but she quelled her feelings. She might as well hear Wilbur’s tirade out. Wilbur’s washed-out blue eyes darted nervously about. “I saw him in the corner talking to his partner in crime.” Ames’s contempt was palpable. “We’ll have nothing but trouble with Connor in town. The boy broke his mother’s heart with all his hell-raising.”

Sheila Devlin never had a heart, especially not where her son was concerned. Even when the minister had stepped in and helped the McCall family in their time of need, Nora hadn’t been able to shake the sense that the woman had done it out of self-interest, rather than kindness. Remembering the extent of the obligation she owed the woman sent a chill down Nora’s spine. To date, Pastor Devlin had rebuffed all attempts to repay the debt. It was as if she was waiting to exact the perfect price.

Although Nora knew Wilbur would carry any comment straight to Sheila Devlin, she couldn’t ignore the injustice to Connor, even if it meant tipping the scales of her uneasy relationship with his mother. “It’s been almost twelve years since our class graduated from high school.” Her voice carried only the mildest rebuke. “We’ve all changed. We’ve all grown up.”

Ames’s beady eyes glinted with interest as he studied her. “Weren’t you two involved before he left town?” His tongue flicked out and ran over his protruding lips.

Of course he knew. It was why he had made a bee-line for her. Wilbur Ames never forgot anything, particularly the juicy transgressions of others.

Nora laughed lightly. She’d give him a little of the truth to take away his joy in the dirt. “What a long memory you have, Mr. Ames. Of course, I went out a few times with him. After all, what girl didn’t Connor date?”

His hungry eagerness deflated. “Yes, of course. Not that it was my business. Anyway, nice to see you again and congratulations on the pottery shop.” The principal turned to leave.

“By the way, Mr. Ames.”

He paused.

“Have you and the school board had a chance to consider my suggestion about the girls’ soccer field?”

“Not yet. We have a full agenda.”

“I’m sure you do, but the girls are playing—”

“Now, Nora. We appreciate your school spirit and such, but we’ll get to it all in due time.” He turned and walked off.

“You handled Wilbur well—right up until the end where he gave you the brush-off.”

Nora’s heart shot into her throat and performed a back flip at Connor’s rough voice. She slowly turned her heart pounding again. Connor stood with one shoulder braced against the gray clapboard front of the store.

Keep it light and general, she told herself, and maybe he won’t ask why she was interested in a girls’ soccer field. She shrugged and smiled in a what-can-you-do manner.

“An old community issue that he continues to ignore.”

“What a shocker. Wilbur Ames’s not seeing anything beyond his own self-interest. Some things never change.” Connor folded his arms. “I guess I should thank you for your spirited defense of me.” He studied her, his piercing gaze bright with speculation.

No. She couldn’t afford to have Connor think she still harbored any feelings for him. “It’s why I became an attorney. I enjoy a good verbal challenge.”

Something flickered in his eyes—disappointment?—but when he straightened, it was gone.

“Looks like your store’s a big hit.”

Satisfaction shone in Nora as she surveyed Kilning You Softly. After months of backbreaking scrubbing, refurbishing and polishing, she and her sisters had succeeded in making their tribute to their aunt a reality. Last night, as the final touch, they had placed Three Sisters on the gray marble mantel over the fireplace. There, under soft recessed lighting, the glazed pink figurine of three small hands glowed serenely in testament to all that Abigail McCall had given.

Now it was Nora’s duty to ensure her home remained intact. She gnawed on her lower lip.

A muffled groan startled her. A dismayed Connor stood beside her.

“Are you all right?” Nora asked.

He smiled ruefully, but he only nodded at the building. “I take it Christina picked out the colors.”

Both the shutters and the lettering on the sign over the doorway were a jaunty purple. Nora winced. “I missed the appointment with the painter.”

“I hear Christina’s going to run the place.”

Unease prickled across the nape of Nora’s neck. “You’ve heard an awful lot in a very short period of time.”

His response was an enigmatic smile. Nora’s unease ripened into panic. Why was he here?

She wrapped her arms around herself and turned away from his piercing stare. What did he know? Was he playing a cruel game of hide-and-seek with her?

When Ed Miller had died a month ago, she had been certain that Connor would return. After all, the farmer had been like a father to him. Her tension in the days leading up to the funeral had been worse than any trial nerves. But Connor never came. A lavish arrangement of yellow roses and a simple card delivered to Ed’s grave had been Connor’s only acknowledgment of the man’s passing. The townspeople had branded him for his disrespect, but Nora had been relieved.

Ed Miller. Nora thought of the sealed envelope in her briefcase. It contained documents for the unknown Miller heir, given to her by her boss, Charles Barnett, to deliver at noon today. She’d gathered from Barnett’s hints the new owner was a wealthy businessman and a lucrative new account. But Charlie had been tight-lipped about the heir’s identity.

Nora stole a glance at Connor’s worn jeans and jacket. It looked like the success he had hungered for had eluded him, but the roses for Ed’s service couldn’t have been cheap.

Roses. Abigail’s funeral. A memory tugged free. Two dozen sweetheart roses, each blossom a perfect deep-red velvet, had graced her aunt’s church service. The accompanying card had borne no signature, just the typed words “To a great woman.”

Nora swung around. “Connor, did you send flowers—”

He interrupted her. “I have to be going.”

Disappointment sliced through her.

Ridiculous. His leaving was what she wanted. She mustered a cool, professional smile. “How long will you be staying in town?”

Connor tucked his hands in the front pockets of his jeans and rocked on his heels. “Well, now. That question implies I’m only visiting.”

Nora stiffened, her heart hammering wildly, the blood humming in her ears. “What do you mean?” she asked as casually as she could manage. “Aren’t you just passing through?” She almost shrank back under the burning challenge in his eyes.

His tone, though, was chillingly calm. “No. I’ve come back to stay.”

The humming became a roar. He was staying.

The door to the shop slammed.

A tall slender girl, poised on the edge of her teens, rushed outside. “Hey, Mom! Do you know where my jersey is? I’ve looked everywhere.” Close behind her were Eve and Christina, both looking anxious.

Nora’s gaze locked with Connor’s. “Have you tried the laundry room? It’s folded on top of the dryer.”

Her daughter threw her arms around Nora’s neck and gave her a quick peck. “Mom, you’re the best.” Turning, she noticed Connor and immediately trotted out her practiced smile, designed to slay the male population. “Hi, I’m Abby.”

Nora saw the stunned but puzzled look in Connor’s eyes as he shook the proffered hand. Relief flowed through her. Her sisters gripped her arms, keeping her from sagging.

He didn’t know.

He had not known.

Standing before Connor was Nora, a girl again. But not Nora.

Her daughter. He could barely form the word mentally. The girl was the spitting image of her mother, all coltish long limbs. Connor blinked and took a closer look at Abby. No. There were some physical differences. Abby’s black hair was wavy; a hint of a dimple winked at the right corner of her mouth when she smiled; her eyes were the blue of a tropic sky, not the wintry gray of her mother’s.

Did she have her father’s eyes? Jealousy sliced through Connor. Nora had a child by another man. During all those long Florida nights, filled with restive dreams of Nora, he’d never once envisioned her as a mother.

Weary from fending off all the emotional punches he’d sustained in the space of thirty minutes, Connor rotated his shoulders. It wasn’t the first time he’d had to cut his losses and move on, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. The memory of the special gift Nora had given him was only that—a memory.

Connor realized Abby was studying him with the same intense concentration that her mother displayed, right down to the identical furrowing of dark brows. Despite himself, he smiled. The girl’s responding grin yanked loose one of the knots in his stomach.

“I’m Connor Devlin. I knew your mother when she looked just like you.” He waited a beat. Yep, here came the trademark McCall rolling of eyes. No one else had ever been able to do it with the same expressiveness as Nora. “And she was the prettiest girl in her class,” he smoothly continued. “So were your aunts. All major babes. Boys stumbled over themselves to catch sight of a McCall in the hallway.”

Abby turned and looked incredulously at the woman standing behind her. “My mother? A babe?”

Grimacing, Nora stepped away from her sisters and ran a hand over her daughter’s cheek. “Connor, hush. You’ll spoil my daughter’s image of me as a proper old woman.”

He looked at Nora’s open jacket, revealing her subtle curves. If she was old, then someone needed to put him out of his misery right then and there. The sudden need to feel the cool silk of Nora’s shirt against his chest before he explored the warm flesh beneath left him on edge. He’d thought his need for Nora had died years ago, yet the slow heat in his groin had him shifting his stance.

“Oh, Mom!” Abby straightened, all teenage righteous indignation. “Come on!”

Eve’s mouth curled. “Babes, huh?”

Connor stepped forward and pulled on one of Eve’s curls. “Babes then, babes now.” Eve flushed and jerked her head away. He winked, and Eve’s jaw dropped.

Pleased, Connor moved to Christina and lightly pressed her hand. “Good to see you, Christie.” His reward was a lightening of the haunted shadows in her eyes.

He next tugged Abby’s ponytail. “Nice to meet you.” Warmth unfurled in him when she smiled.

Connor then stood before Nora and took her injured hand. A test, for old time’s sake. Just a harmless test. When he turned it over and kissed the pulse at her wrist, the soft flesh jolted. Hot triumph burned through him—she still reacted to his touch.

Unfortunately his body reacted in kind.

Stepping back, he nodded. “Ladies, it’s been a pleasure.” He turned and strolled down the sidewalk.

He had reached the next line of stores when Nora called out, “You weren’t serious about staying here permanently, were you?”

His step almost faltered. Everyone’s anxiousness to see him gone, especially Nora’s, angered him. He should set the record straight.

He looked over his shoulder. Did he imagine the flicker of panic in her eyes? He still felt contrary enough to let the half-truth stand—for now. “Very serious.”

He reached his pride-and-joy, a gleaming Harley-Davidson Fat Boy motorcycle, and straddled it. As he cinched on his helmet, he delivered his parting shot. “I’ll be seeing you around.”

Nora gaped.

After a careless salute, Connor revved the bike’s engine and roared off down the road. Next up, his meeting with the devil.