Читать книгу Nora's Pride - Carol Stephenson - Страница 11

The old church hunkered on the windswept hill at the west end of Maple Street. A third-generation building, it stood on the foundation of its predecessors. When the first two structures had succumbed to fire, no one had dared to move the location of the First Community Church of Arcadia Heights.

No minister had guarded the First Community Church tradition more zealously than its current minister: the town’s first female pastor.

The first thing that struck Connor as he sat on his motorcycle in front of the church was how little it had changed. Its clapboard still glared pristine white under the late-morning sun. Its steeple was a stark pillar thrusting upward to pierce the blue plane of the autumn sky. The steeple could be seen for miles. When its bells clanged on Sunday morning, few could escape their imperious summons.

Connor kicked down the bike stand and slung his helmet over the handlebar. He ran his fingers through his hair and tucked in his T-shirt. He walked along the bricked sidewalk. At the path’s split, rather than taking the steps to the church’s entrance, he veered to the right. At this time on Saturday, if the keeper of the faith maintained her ritual, she’d be polishing her Sunday sermon in the cottage’s study. His practiced eye noted the stern, cropped lines of the viburnum hedges along the perimeter of the church. He knew the shrubs weren’t pruned just for the oncoming winter. Come spring, no twig would be permitted to sprout its spectacular white flowers.

He turned the corner and faced the place where he had grown up. Reaching the pine-green-painted door, he opted to rap his knuckles rather than use the imposing brass knocker. He counted the seconds it would take the resident to rise from her chair and cross the hallway.

The door swung out, and a tall woman with a smile that didn’t quite mask her annoyance stood in the entrance’s shadows. “I’m sorry, but could you please come back later when…” Her lips thinned with displeasure. “Connor. What are you doing here?”

Because he knew it would irritate her, he leaned forward and brushed his lips across the woman’s cheek. “Hello, Mother. Nice to see you, too.”

She grimaced and, with her hand on the knob, retreated a step into the dim shadows of the entryway.

“Don’t bother inviting me in.” Connor leaned against the doorjamb, keeping one foot extended in case she tried to shut the door in his face.

Sheila Devlin folded her hands in front of her body and studied him. “I see you haven’t changed. Still look like a third-rate hooligan.”

Her disapproval, though expected, was a painful reminder of the abuse she once inflicted. “Thanks, Mom. I wish I could say the same for you.” He returned the survey. Gray hairs, like shards of ice, speared through her auburn hair. This sign of mortality only served to enhance his mother’s air of authority. Her aquiline nose and frosty blue eyes bespoke her Irish heritage, but the fine lines radiating from her full lips signaled rigid self-control. She wore her uniform of black tailored slacks, crisp Oxford buttoned-down shirt and polished black loafers.

She arched a well-shaped patrician brow. “I assume your return has to do with Ed Miller’s death, but you’re a little late. His funeral was a month ago.”

He shrugged. “There are other ways to pay one’s last respects.”

“What?” His mother was the only person he’d ever known who could snort with elegance. “Uproot a flower in his honor?”

Her barb, as intended, sliced deep, but Connor merely rubbed his chin. “What a great idea. Thanks, Mother.” He straightened. “I came by to let you know I’m here and will be staying at Ed’s farm.”

His movement allowed a shaft of sunlight to stream into the hallway and fall short at his mother’s feet.

“Why?”

“Because Ed left me the place, and I have plans for it.” Motes danced in the sunbeam. Funny, when he had been growing up, Sheila had kept the rooms white-glove clean. He didn’t recall her allowing even one speck of dust to occupy the same space with her. She certainly hadn’t permitted a young boy’s toys.

“What plans could you possibly have?”

He jammed his hands into his pockets. Better than ramming one into the wood frame. “Nothing to interest you. Just a landscaping business.”

“Still into dirt.” The motes scattered as if they could sense the derision emanating from her. “Have you seen her?”

Trust his mother to get right to the point. Connor set his jaw. “Yes.”

“We had a deal.”

And he had never been able to sweat off the weight of his wretched promise under the unrelenting sun of Florida. His voice was rough. “Never fear, Mother. It’s over for both of us. I met Nora’s daughter.” He doubted if he would have any success of working this particular ache out of his system this afternoon.

His mother laced her fingers. Despite the fact she couldn’t hurt him anymore, the gesture sent a chill racing along his spine. As a child, he’d learned that the linking of her fingers signaled her more violent outbursts. His gaze flicked up to her face; some emotion darkened her eyes momentarily. Then her face resumed its expressionless mask. “Good.” She hesitated. “I do hope your ‘plans’ won’t take you long.”

Connor removed his foot from the opening. “Your welcome is overwhelming.”

He wouldn’t have thought it possible, but his mother’s posture became even more rigid. “I’m up for a promotion to a higher office. A much more affluent parish.”

His smile was rueful. “And you’re worried that my return will screw up your chances for ‘exalted-dom.’”

Her chin lifted. “Crude as always, but accurate.”

He turned on his heel. “Not to worry, Pastor Devlin. I’ll try not to lay too many sins at your door. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment to keep with Nora about legal matters.”

He went down the porch steps.

“Connor!” The unfamiliar note of anxiety brought him around in surprise. Sheila’s emotions normally lay dormant, except when she preached. His mother ventured into the sunlight. “There’s nothing for you here. Certainly not that McCall girl. If you try to take up with her, you’ll just ruin her life.”

His hands clenched in his pockets. Keep them there, he warned himself. “How do you figure that?”

“She’s seeing Lawrence Millman’s son.”

“David?”

“Yes. The whole town’s expecting the engagement notice any time now.”

Her words only made his flame of longing for Nora burn brighter. He hitched his shoulders. “Good. I’m happy for them.” He moved. He needed to get to the farm and weed through his tangle of thoughts and emotions.

“Connor!”

He paused again, but didn’t turn around this time.

“It would be best if you left town now.”

He shook his head. “That’s where you’re wrong, Mother. I have an obligation to fulfill.”

“What do you know about obligation?”

He looked over his shoulder and looked into eyes devoid of any maternal love. “More than you. While you were busy ministering to your congregation, you shucked your duty to raise me.”

He ignored her gasp and walked around the corner of the church.

Nora’s Mercury Sable groaned, its undercarriage scraping on the deep dip in the dirt track. She gritted her teeth and eased her foot off the gas pedal. The car’s forward momentum was due more to sheer pitching of its wheels from rut to rut than from the engine. Whoever the unlucky heir to the Miller farm, he would be forced to spend a mint paving this nonexistent driveway. With a final shudder, her car lurched around the bend and halted in the clearing.

Nora rested her forehead on the steering wheel, needing a few moments to compose herself. If she’d had half a brain, she would have heeded Eve’s suggestion and cut through the woods between their house and the Miller farm. A ten-minute walk on a well-trodden trail—that was all it would have taken. Eve had dryly suggested she lower herself to wear jeans and sneakers and actually enjoy the fall colors in the process of her visit.

But no, Nora had insisted that she needed to be professional. What new client would want to see his lawyer emerging all burr-covered from a forest? Eve’s mockingly raised eyebrow had sent her in a huff from the house, then over that miserable pitted track.

All because ghosts had awakened in those woods. Shadowy memories stirred by the flash-in-the-pan appearance of Connor Devlin. That was all it would be, too. She wouldn’t, couldn’t, fool herself, despite his puzzling parting comment. With a swagger and a grin, he was here today; without a look back, he’d be gone tomorrow. Just like he had been twelve years ago, without a thought for the consequences of his actions.

Well, she’d lived with those consequences, sacrificing herself to them. She would not feel guilty about decisions made a dozen years ago. The specters of youthful dreams and promises could lurk and linger in that bank of trees. She was in control of her life and would remain so.

Yeah, right, she thought. If she was in so much control, why did she feel eighteen, perched on the slippery precipitous edge of ruin once again? She could still recall the sweat trickling down her back that hot summer day when she had told Abigail. She had been so scared her aunt would turn against her in disgust. After all, wasn’t she just like her mother? Pregnant with no husband? But Abigail had opened her arms and her heart once more.

Now the father of her child had returned. What had he meant by his I’ll be seeing you around? Did he think he could take up where he left off?

She lightly thumped her brow against the wheel. Right now she needed to pull herself together before she met with her law firm’s newest source of income. Nora raised her head and studied the farmhouse. It was a big box of a place, two-story, with a steep-pitched roof and central chimney. Snuggled against the forest’s edge, the dwelling bore its dingy white siding, peeling forest-green shutters and dilapidated wraparound porch with quiet dignity. Yet, in the harsh noon light, its high narrow windows glistened, no doubt due to a recent application of elbow grease and glass cleaner. A sign of hope.

Hope, in the form of whoever owned the outrageous Ford F-350 parked in front. Big, bad and black—every boy and man’s fantasy pickup, topped off with gleaming chrome wheels and bumpers, an extended cab and dark-tinted glass. She would bet a dollar the interior was a wicked red leather.

Clean windows and made-for-sin truck. What kind of a man had Ed Miller left his spread to? She wouldn’t find any answers sitting there. Nora got out of the car and grabbed her leather portfolio. Hugging it close to her body, she hesitated. She couldn’t resist—she had to know. In case the owner was watching from inside the house, she made her way around the clearing, out of sight of the house, to the truck. She took a quick peek inside. Her lips curved. Yep, red-hot leather interior.

A muttered oath came from the far side of the building. Nora stepped carefully over the dirt surface to the grass, mentally ignoring the fact that her good leather pumps were sinking into the soggy turf.

She looked up, and stopped still. What once had been an expanse of green lawn was now freshly turned earth with roped-off areas. Shallow ditches contained pipes leading to one section, while nearby, a tarp covered huge translucent panels. Ed Miller’s pride and joy, a battered old American Harvester tractor, stood to one side, hitched to a tiller. But it was the moving forms that captured Nora’s attention.

A giant dog, its long black fur gleaming with a reddish sheen, picked up a stone, padded across the soil and dropped the rock on a pile at the side. Then it turned its massive head and studied Nora with chocolate-brown eyes. Nora braced herself to call for help, but the animal, with a smooth rhythmic gait, returned to the churned earth, sat and waited.

By the dog’s side worked a shirtless man, his back to her. The man’s powerful, well-muscled body moved with graceful ease as he yanked loose a large stone and tossed it toward the pile. He stretched to scratch the dog behind its ear. When he bent over once more to grip another rock, Nora spotted a tantalizing glimpse of even more skin. Sun-kissed flesh. All over his hard body. The image sizzled, so hot she almost unfastened the top button of her shirt. She gasped softly for air.

The man shot up and spun around. “What’s the matter, Nora? Having a hot flash?” Squinting against the sun, Connor grinned, slowly and wickedly.

Belatedly Nora spotted the motorcycle parked nearby.

Flash, no. Conflagration, yes. The boy she had known had grown up. Damp burnished hair covered the solid wall of his chest, tapering across his flat stomach before disappearing below his belt line. She glanced downward…and caught herself. Her cheeks burning, Nora cast a veiled look at Connor.

“So the ice goddess has mortal thoughts, after all.” His expression was dark, hungry. His eyes slid down her body, moving languidly, assessing her in turn. She shivered under his intense scrutiny.

Forgotten feelings, long frozen, sparked, flickered and spread like wildfire inside her. Want, need, desire. Too long leashed, they shot victoriously to her core.

Nora put a trembling hand over her abdomen. She yearned to touch all that glorious golden skin, slide her palms over the faint sheen of sweat on those wide shoulders. Connor’s strangled sound, half growl, half longing, summoned her. His intense gaze drew her in like a powerful undertow, ever closer to his heat. She felt she would incinerate if she didn’t break free. Summoning all her resolve, she wrenched her gaze away. She glanced at her watch. Ten minutes past twelve. The time was as effective as a cold shower on her roiling emotions.

Oh, Lord, what was she doing? The Miller heir could come outside any second.

“Put your shirt on,” she snapped. Rushing to where it was draped over a twisted tree stump, she picked it up and tossed it to him. “The new owner is a client of my firm, and I don’t want him imagining any funny business going on.”

The dog rose slowly; the movement edged her back a step. Connor placed a hand on the animal’s broad head and murmured, “She’s okay, Bran.” With that reassurance, the dog turned, picked up a small rock with its mouth and moved toward the pile.

Connor swiped the shirt across his brow without putting it on. “What’s wrong, Nora?” he asked, all innocence.

She gritted her teeth. “Nothing’s wrong. I just prefer my first meeting with my client to remain professional rather than Chippendales.”

Connor arched an eyebrow. “Somehow I think there’s a backhanded compliment in there.”

Nora stomped her foot. “Just put on your shirt.”

“Only if it will make you more comfortable, honey.” He slowly, very slowly, pulled it on, then raked his fingers through his hair.

She scanned the back of the house. “What are you doing here?” She recalled a comment her boss had made earlier in the week about employing cleaning help for the homestead. “Did Charlie hire you to do repairs?” Maybe she should go to the front entrance and knock.

“Can’t see the present for the past, can you?”

Before Nora realized what was happening, Connor stepped up and took her hand. “I’m the new owner.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Wha-what did you say?” Her voice was barely a whisper, so fragile it cracked.

“Ed Miller left me the farm.”

Realizing he still held her hand, she tugged it free. “How can that be possible? Why you?”

Connor shrugged, bent down and plucked a wild flower from a tall spiky plant. He slipped the deep-red blossom through a hole on the lapel of her jacket. “Remember how I used to work summers and weekends for Mr. Miller?”

She nodded and fingered the flower. The memory of another time, another flower, pierced her heart.

“Yes, I remember.”

A white rose. The last night she had been with Connor, he had given her the snow-white bud. Her first flower from a boy. Her hands had trembled, and she’d pricked her finger. He had cupped her hand, sucking gently on the drop of blood, his mouth warm and tantalizing against her skin.

Nora closed her eyes and clamped down on her rioting emotions. No, she would not let his spontaneous gesture of picking a flower weaken her resolve. She lifted her head, opened her eyes.

Connor shoved his hands into his jean pockets. “Ed and his wife never had any kids of their own, and none of his relatives cared about the farm. He used to complain about that while we were out in the field.” For a moment he smiled with the memory. Then his expression became remote. “Anyway, after Ed passed away, Barnett contacted me and said the old man had left everything in my trust.”

Nora took a deep calming breath. Perhaps he’d only returned to sell the spread. “But there’s barely any money with the estate, just the land. How are you going to pay the property taxes? Or are you selling it as soon as you can?”

Anger flaring in his eyes, Connor went from relaxed to battle alert. Nora took a half step back before stopping herself.

“You sure have changed, haven’t you, Nora? Prepared to think the worst of me like everyone else in this town.” She heard the pain rippling beneath the ice in his voice.

She had hurt him. Funny, she’d always thought no one could penetrate Connor’s armor. The boy she hadn’t understood was now a man she didn’t know. She flushed and gestured, indicating the farm. “But it’s 165 acres.”

Connor hitched his shoulders slightly. “So?” His tone was belligerent. “Do you think I can’t afford it? Pastor Devlin’s no-account son ran off to be a failure?”

His accusation hit Nora squarely. He was right. Part of her wanted to believe the worst about him. How else could she reconcile the cold truth that he hadn’t told her he was leaving, hadn’t contacted her in all this time?

She narrowed her eyes. “How should I know? How would I know anything about you? You left this town and didn’t look back, remember?” He hadn’t been there for her during those moments of terrifying need. Pain may have lost its sharp edge, but resentment could still carve deep.

She drew in a steadying breath before continuing. “You didn’t write, you didn’t call. For all I knew, you were dead.”

Liar, her inner voice whispered. If something had happened to him, you would have felt it.

Surprise flickered in his eyes. His smile mocked her. “I’m sure my mother would have broadcast the glad tidings of my death.” He paused, his face hardening. “Besides, wouldn’t it have been awkward if I called? The husband you snagged the moment I left might have objected.”

Nora blinked. That wasn’t the tale she and Aunt Abigail had molded. When had the lie of a college misadventure transmuted into one of marriage? Like a kaleidoscope, the fragments of her life shifted and formed a new realization. She almost staggered under its weight.

There was not going to be any escape from this quandary. She was going to have to tell him the truth. Then the town would hear. And…

Abby. Oh, God, what would the news do to her daughter? When Abby had been old enough to ask questions, Nora had spun the story of an ill-fated college romance and her decision to have the baby. If told the truth, would Connor disappear again? What would that do to Abby?

No. She needed more time to assess the man standing before her. Her daughter’s future was at stake.

She drew herself up, summoned her reserve of calm and looked straight at him. “You’re mistaken. I was never married.”

“But she told me…” His eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Your daughter, Abby,” he said carefully. “Is she…?”

Her heart hammered so loudly she feared he would hear it. She affected a nonchalant shrug. “The result of a failed romance. I met this boy and fell in love, but he wasn’t ready to become a man. He left me, and I’ve never heard from him since.”

God help her, she couldn’t resist the taunt that hissed up from her turbulent emotions. “Leaving town rather than facing responsibility seems to be a male proclivity.”

Connor’s expression darkened. His hands lashed out and yanked her against his body, his fingers digging into her shoulders.

“How dare you compare me to him!” His arms slid around her like a vise. “Didn’t what we shared mean anything to you?”

It had meant everything to her. “No.”

He drew her closer. They were flesh to flesh. Her senses overflowed with him. He was earth and sweat, muscle and power. Heat. Roaring, incendiary heat. She couldn’t inhale without breathing in his scent.

“No?” He lowered his head. “Then it won’t mean anything if you kiss me.”

“Cut it out.” She spread her hands against his muscled chest.

“Why?” His breath fanned her face. “It’s only a kiss.”

An image flashed into her mind, of her intoxicated mother giggling as she tussled with her latest leering paramour. He had pawed her mother, saying, “Give me a kiss, Tess.” After a few coy protests, her mother had lustily complied. “Get rid of the kids,” the man had ordered as he staggered into their mother’s bedroom. Tess had dragged the girls into their room, with Nora fighting all the way because they hadn’t eaten.

The snick of the closet-door lock. The taste of fear.

“Nora, take it easy. Look at me.”

With a start, Nora realized she was struggling in his arms.

“Breathe,” he ordered.

Shame smothered her panic and she stilled.

“Are you okay?” He eased his grip. She fought to take a normal breath. With a light touch, he ran his hands up and down her arms. Her tension ebbed with each stroke; in its place drifted comfort and something else…a stirring of the blood. She sighed.

“Nora?” Connor bent down and pressed his forehead to hers. “I’m sorry for upsetting you, honey.”

Flustered, Nora stepped back. Too many secrets prevented even this closeness. “Thanks. I’m fine.”

Connor dropped his hands. “All right.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Look. I’m…sorry for what I said about Abby’s father.” Nora almost smiled. She didn’t recall him ever apologizing, let alone twice in one conversation.

“What’s done is done. I have no business prying.” He bent down, picked up her briefcase and handed it to her. His fingertips brushed hers, sending another ripple of warmth through her.

The dog appeared at his side, and Connor absently ruffled his head.

Nora eyed the beast. “Big dog.”

“He’s a Newfoundland. Bran—” he gestured at her “—I want you to meet Nora.”

On cue, the dog lifted his right paw. Nora knelt and solemnly shook it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Bran.” It was all the encouragement Bran needed. He surged forward and gave her a generous lick on her face, the force of it knocking her backward. Only Connor’s hands under her arms saved her from a close encounter with the churned soil. With an ease that left her humming, Connor righted her. For a moment they stood, flushed face to flushed face.

Connor looked away first. “So.” In fascination she watched the flex of the muscle along his lean jaw. “Why don’t I show you how I plan to turn this place into a landscaping and nursery outlet, and what I’m going to need in terms of legal know-how?”

Lost in a whirlpool of emotions and questions, Nora tried to catch hold of the conversation. “What outlet?”

“The Primal Rose.” Connor turned and smiled with undisguised pride. “Follow me.” He gestured toward the fields.

Just like old times, Nora mused. Picking up her briefcase, she caught the now-crushed flower in her lapel.

Connor Devlin was starting a business here. He really had come home to stay.

Oh, God, what was she going to do?