Читать книгу Nora's Pride - Carol Stephenson - Страница 12

Late Saturday night Nora’s flashlight cast a thin yellow line into the dark forest that ran between her house and the Miller farm. No branches rattled, no animals rustled. It was not a night for anything living to be about, yet the whispers of memories drew her deeper into the woods.

A cloak of clouds pressed close to the treetops. The still shroud smothered the night sky, rendering it flat. It was as if there were only two planes—the clouds and the earth—and all that dared to intervene did so at their peril.

Panic’s wings stirred and fluttered, but Nora kept her gaze glued to the faint illumination. Each step along this path covered a moment of her life: a child’s escape from nightmares; a teenager’s captivation with adventure; a woman’s dreams shattered by heartache.

She remembered the first weekend after she and her sisters had arrived in Arcadia Heights. A snowstorm had dressed the bleak landscape in a white glittering cape. In wonderment, Nora had stood at the edge of the yard, outfitted in her new red winter coat. Familiar only with the ins and outs of city apartments, she hadn’t known what lay beyond the sentry of trees.

Aunt Abigail had found her and had coaxed her into the forest. At this bend Nora had encountered her first deer, a doe with soulful brown eyes. On that old pine tree, Abigail had shown her how moss grew. Nora had taken to the woods, transfixed by this mysterious new world. It was on one of her daily excursions that she’d discovered her special retreat.

Still, her visits had been restricted to daylight. Only one person had drawn her out into the night and shown her its unique magic.

Connor Devlin.

With him, the trees had rubbed their branches in harmony to the lake’s soft music. With him, there had been no twilight fear, just the thrill of laughter and freedom. When he had left, the darkness once more had ceased to be safe. She had not ventured into the night again. Until now.

This Saturday evening, penitence drove her past the good memories to those hidden in the blackest shadows. Guilt lingered on the edge of her conscience, out of sight but not out of mind. All her life she had stood tall, but shame had almost brought her to her knees this afternoon. Still, she hadn’t told Connor about Abby. Couldn’t—not when so many questions remained unanswered.

Who was this man who had fathered her daughter? Would he become a part of his child’s life? Or would he desert her the way he had deserted her mother?

Abby. She’d never known abandonment, never felt the fear. For her a closet was just a place to hang clothes; sunset was merely the end of a day. Her daughter didn’t know the bitter bite of betrayal. She didn’t know about the monsters that came with nightfall.

But Nora did.

The flashlight beam hit a wall of brush, and she halted. The path broke into two long dark tunnels. One led to the Miller farm, the other to the lake. She glanced to her left, and her breath hitched. Rather than a corridor of trees, she saw a never-ending closet, ink-black with no means of escape.

Was the pounding in her ears her heart beating? Or the sound of a terrified child’s fists against a locked door?

A small whimper welled in her throat and broke past her clenched teeth. Nora spun around and ran back toward the only real home she’d ever known.

The cry of pain brought Bran to an alert stance and Connor to a stop. Was it animal or human? Then he heard soft footfalls ahead of him and to his left. He hefted the large flashlight, securing his grip on it, and rushed forward, the dog in an easy lope beside him. When he reached the fork, he panned the beam along the path leading to the McCall house.

Nothing. Several inches of pine needles covered the trail. There were disturbed areas, but he couldn’t tell whether they were recent.

He hesitated. He should mind his own business and continue to the lake as he had planned. He shook his head and then set off along the trail away from the water. It was probably only a kid on a lark, but he should check the situation out. Arcadia Heights might be far removed from the city, but crime had a way of finding the innocent everywhere. With four women living next door, it would be neighborly to scout the area.

Right. And someone would sell him a rosebush to plant in the Alaskan tundra.

Within minutes he reached the perimeter of the McCall yard. A figure stepped into the golden pool of light thrown by the porch light. Nora. What had she been doing in the woods?

Connor started to call out but stopped. What would they have to talk about? Discussing business with an attractive woman at nine o’clock on a Saturday night would be grim. The cold snap of the air and the hushed silence of the woods called for cuddling by the lake, not business.

His mouth curved in self-mockery. Given Nora’s “I’m attorney, you client” attitude she’d worn this afternoon, he had a snowflake’s chance in hell of getting close to her. He turned.

“Who’s out there?” Nora’s voice wobbled and then firmed.

Damn. He had forgotten to switch off his flashlight. Connor sighed and called out. “It’s just me, Nora.”

“Connor?” She came to the porch’s edge.

He crossed the yard and halted at the base of the steps. “I was taking a walk in the woods and heard a sound. I was checking it out when I saw you.”

“Oh.” Nora wrapped her arms around her middle. “Well, thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Abby likes to wander in the woods. I hope that won’t disturb you.”

Memories of another teenage girl in the forest ran through his mind. He braced his foot on the lower step while Bran took off to explore. “Like mother, like daughter.”

A faint smile lit her face, as if a lamp glowed deep within her. “No, Abby is much more adventurous than I was. Sweeter. Stronger.” Nora’s eyes were smoky crystals, luminous with a mother’s pride.

A thorny mix of regret and envy twisted within him, scraping him raw. It was if he was looking at a scrapbook of his life and finding empty pages. Where there should be pictures of a family, there were none. His father had been killed in a car accident before he was born, and his mother had wished he’d never been born. What would it be like to share a child with Nora?

Connor shoveled his fingers through his hair. Nora already had a child, and Abby wasn’t his. He hadn’t returned to Arcadia Heights to start over; he was here to pay off an old debt.

It was sure going to be hard to keep telling himself that lie whenever he was in Nora’s presence. The warm porch light drew interesting shadows on her features, especially that one tempting hollow along her collarbone left exposed by her jacket.

He had risked much to face his past so that he could move forward. What was one more gamble?

He advanced a step and indicated the stand of trees between their homes. “You appear to have conquered your night fears.”

Nora’s smile slipped. “Appearances are what I do best.” She backed away.

The cryptic remark irked him. Her movement away from him irked him more. “Nora, wait.” He bolted up the remaining steps.

She lifted her chin with the kind of hauteur designed to keep a man at twenty paces. “What is it?”

A splash from the flashlight betrayed her nervousness. The wind reached into the porch’s shelter and teased loose a few strands of her hair. He lifted his hand and touched the silken tendrils. Her hair was as cool and soft as he remembered it. Would her skin feel the same?

He traced his fingertips along the elegant line of her jaw, feeling her tremble. She pulled her head away from his touch, but he captured her chin and lifted her face to his. Was it just wishful thinking, or was it desire he now saw darkening her eyes? There was only one way to find out. He lowered his head and covered her mouth with his.

He had meant the kiss to be a mere brush of the lips, but he couldn’t help himself. He lingered, tasting the sweetness of her mouth. Then, when she softened against him and sighed, he deepened the kiss.

And unleashed a pulsing urgency inside him to make Nora his again. He slid a hand around her waist and jerked her against him, hard.

In an instant Nora’s body went from soft to brittle. She wrenched away. Her kiss-reddened lips quivered briefly before she pressed them together.

Connor silently cursed himself. He treated his plants with more care than he had handled her, especially after her panic this afternoon. With a tremendous effort, he yanked a leash around his careening need.

“Sorry, Nora. I didn’t mean to be so intense.”

She crossed her arms over her breasts. Her protective gesture drove a heavy fist of guilt into his stomach. He steeled himself for the stinging rebuke he deserved.

“It’s okay.”

Her words were so low he wasn’t sure he heard them. “What?”

She rubbed her arms as if chilled. His blood was still so hot he felt as if steam must be rolling off him. She looked him square in the eye.

“Connor, I’m a woman, not the teenager you remember.” She said softly, almost to herself, “I’m not sure I was ever that teenager.” She gave a shrug. “I know all too well about physical needs and desires.”

For some reason her comment didn’t sit well with him. He didn’t like the idea that Nora had explored passion with another man.

That’s all in the past, he reminded himself.

“But I’m not interested in digging up an old affair that’s been long dead for both of us. For the time you’re here, Connor, it’s best if we keep matters on a professional level.” She reached behind her, opened the door and slipped inside. “Good night.”

Ha. That’s what she thought. Before she could shut the door, he crossed the landing and planted his foot on the threshold. He brought his face close to her startled one. “You’re mistaken on two counts.”

She moistened her lips.

Good. He had her attention. He leaned forward until his breath stirred her hair. “One, I’m not here for a visit. I’m here to start a business. Two—” he dipped his head until his mouth hovered a kiss away “—if what we shared moments ago was blighted desire, you’ve been in hibernation far too long. I’ll just have to cultivate you.”

Enjoying her indignant gasp, Connor allowed himself the pleasure of nipping her lower lip. He smiled slowly as her gasp turned into a moan. He removed his foot from the doorway, turned and went down the steps.

Why? Why had he left her?

Nora started awake with the question on her lips, lips that still tasted Connor’s soul-searing kiss. Dim light crept across the bedroom floor. She glanced at the clock on the stand. Six-fifteen.

She threw back the twisted comforter and rose. Even the cool dawn before her couldn’t chill the memories of last night. She rubbed her hands over her arms. No question about it. She’d had a close call.

His passion as a man was something she’d never experienced, never realized existed. Such heat and hunger, such tantalizing pleasure. Relentless hot waves had drawn her into the dark tide of his possession until she had practically drowned in him. Only the sudden press of his aroused body had brought her to her senses before it’d been too late.

She now knew what her mother had meant.

Staring sightlessly out the window, Nora no longer saw the backyard. Instead, she saw the dingy interior of a squalid apartment.

“Please, Mom, don’t go out tonight.” She thrust her thin eight-year-old body in front of the door.

Tess, heavily perfumed, pushed her aside. Pausing in the opened doorway, she leaned close to Nora and whispered, “You’ll understand when you’re older, kid. The only time I can forget is when I’m lost in a man.” Then she had left, leaving Nora to cope with her sick sister.

Lost in a man. Nora closed her eyes and pressed her throbbing temple against the chilled glass. Was she no better than her mother? All Connor had to do was touch her, and she turned into putty.

Yet, on some deep level, it didn’t feel wrong. Only Connor had ever felt right to her.

She thumped her head lightly against the pane and then straightened. Since there was no going back to sleep this Sunday, she could always work on her brief until the others awoke. Anything to keep her troubling thoughts of Connor at bay. She crossed to the door and went into the hallway.

All was silent, but her mind found no peace in the stillness. Compelled, she walked to her daughter’s bedroom and carefully turned the knob. She’d just look in, reassure herself that Abby was all right.

Nora stepped inside.

Abby’s bed was empty.

The kitchen’s overhead light glared harshly in the predawn hour, its naked bulb consistent with the rest of the stark surroundings. As Connor tugged on his work boots, he morosely surveyed the room. The once-white linoleum was gray with age and grime. The sooty wood of the cabinets bore testament to years of cooking with grease. Somewhere under the smoke-crusted surface Connor thought oak paneling might exist. The pea-green Formica countertops were chipped and knife-scarred.

Sighing, Connor stood and crossed to the counter by the rusted steel sink where his coffeemaker sat—a gleaming high-tech alien amidst the kitchen relics—and poured himself a mug. He took a bracing swallow, and the liquid scalded his tongue. He inhaled and exhaled deeply before taking another gulp.

Connor eased his hip against the sink and looked out the curtained window. In the misty light he could see the shadowy outlines of the barn and sheds. Bran, out for his morning constitutional, was circling the yard. Beyond the buildings, dark ripples of fields edged the black forest on the left side.

This was all his now. The only home he’d ever known.

He shook his head. “Ed, you old coot. What were you thinking when you left me this place?” The room was silent. The farmer’s presence would be felt outside in his beloved fields and gardens.

Connor contemplated the awakening vista. In its shadows he could still see the big red-haired man with a weathered voice. Throwing a lifeline to a lonely twelve-year-old boy. Connor’s fingers tightened around the mug.

Connor had been huddled by the lake on a cold blustery Christmas when Ed had found him. Sheila Devlin had been making the rounds of her parishioners, and she hadn’t wanted her son with her. Ed had taken one long look at Connor’s eyes, gritty from repressed tears, and without comment, had brought him back to his kitchen for a cup of hot chocolate. The farmer had then stood in this very spot and given him something no one else had given him—a chance. “Son, if you’re going to be skulking around all the time, I might as well put you to work.”

True to his word, the old man had put him to work, from morning to night. There had been no more time to think of ways to rile his mother to gain attention. Connor had been too busy learning how to coax life out of the seeds he planted in the fields. While his mother charmed her parishioners, Ed had shown Connor the joy of babying a rosebud into a spectacular blossom.

Connor sipped his coffee. He thought about the cryptic remark in Ed’s will that the lawyer had read to him over the phone.

“It’s time for the boy to come home.”

Well, for once Ed was wrong. Connor would establish his newest landscaping franchise, fulfill Ed’s last request, rub the collective nose of Arcadia Heights in Primal Rose’s success and then return to Florida. At the same time, he’d purge himself of the persistent memories of young love.

Connor turned away, but images of the past held him captive. Instead of the battered shell of a kitchen, he could see a glistening blue-and-white-tile floor, rich wood cabinets with brass fittings, federal-blue counters and blue-and-white-sprigged wallpaper. Sheer curtains letting in the dawn’s early glow. The sumptuous scent of coffee mingling with frying bacon. And standing at the glossy white stove, stood a tall slender woman, her long black hair pulled carelessly back into a ponytail.

Nora McCall. His boyish dream should have dulled over the years. Instead, it remained vivid and full-blown.

He blinked, and the image blurred, then disappeared. The vision had been so real that the smell of the bacon still lingered. He could make it a reality. If he ripped out the cabinetry today and headed over to the nearest building-supply store to check out materials…

Connor took a step and stopped. What was he thinking? Building a home? He rubbed his face.

He had a place. This house was only a fixer-upper for showcase purposes. He was picking the fruit off the tree before he had even planted the seed. Time to get his butt in gear and outside. The first greenhouse was going up tomorrow.

Connor shrugged into his jacket and picked up the bag by the kitchen door. He then went out to the porch and across the yard and stopped in front of one of the sheds slated for destruction. Reaching for the door handle, he froze. There was a rustling noise and then a soft oath.

“Doggone it! I’m just trying to help you. I’ve got to get you out of here before he comes.”

Connor pulled open the door and stepped inside. He stood still, letting his eyes adjust to the dark interior. The musty air assailed his nose; he stifled a sneeze. He swung his head toward the source of another muttered oath. He blinked.

In the corner, a major face-off was in progress: a very disheveled Abby was sucking on her knuckle while she exchanged glares with a hissing orange-striped cat. Gingerly Abby stuck out her hand toward one of the small grunting balls of fur crawling over the moldy straw. With a quick swipe the cat nailed her. Yipping, Abby snatched her hand back and sucked on it again.

“You don’t understand. This place’s going to be toast soon. I’ve got to get the kittens to safety before the bad man finds you.”

“Does your mother know you talk like that?” Connor asked gently from behind her.

Abby screeched and fell backward, sprawling on the floor. Connor stood over her and folded his arms. “Since I’m obviously the ‘bad man,’ what do you think I’ll be doing with the kittens?”

The girl propped herself on her elbows and blew a wayward curl out of her face. The defiant tilt of her chin was just like her mother’s. An unidentifiable emotion twisted in Connor at seeing the identical spirit in her daughter.

“You’ll toss them in the lake and drown them.”

Connor took a half step back, staggered by the unexpected blow. How could this child think he would do something so heinous? What kind of man did she think he was? Who had said such things about him to her?

Through his churning thoughts, a name floated to the surface. Nora.

Anger flared within him. Did Nora hate him so much that she filled her daughter’s ears with lies? He bit back a curse and carefully asked, “Where would you get such a notion? From your mother?”

Even in the dim light he could see Abby’s face redden. She shook her head and tried to get up. He reached out and tugged the girl to her feet. She hung her head and jammed her hands into her front jeans pockets. “No, sir.”

Relief rippled through him. “Who, then?”

She shrugged. “No one. I just thought…”

He cupped her chin, lifting her face for his inspection. “You thought what, Abby?” He kept his voice gentle.

“People were talking about you at the game yesterday. I overheard Mr. Ames call you a hellion, quick with your fists. There’s a kid in my class, Chuck Partridge. He’s mean. Always getting into trouble in class, picking on kids smaller than him.” Her lower lip trembled.

“Let me guess. He also torments animals.”

She nodded. “When Mom said at dinner last night you were going to be tearing down the old sheds today, I panicked. I come here all the time to…well, I just come. Mr. Miller never minded. That’s how I knew ’bout the stray cat with her kittens. I was going to move them before you found the litter.”

“Because you figured if I was a bad apple, I might hurt them like Chuck would.”

She shook her head, her eyes shimmering in the shadows. “Pretty stupid, huh?”

He dropped his hand. “It won’t be the first time someone has jumped to the wrong conclusion about me.”

Abby took a shuddering breath. “That’s what Mr. Millman said.”

Connor frowned. “Lawrence Millman?”

“No.” A strange look crossed her face. “His son, David. He’s been taking Mom out to dinner.”

Before Connor could stew over her comment, Abby gasped, “You’re feeding the cat!”

The evidence of his good intentions lay on the floor: a five-pound bag of seafood-flavor cat food. Connor tucked his hands in his jacket pockets and shrugged uncomfortably. “The last time I checked, it wasn’t a crime to feed cats.” The corner of his mouth kicked up. “Though my dog, Bran, would beg to differ with me.”

The girl’s smile, so much like her mother’s, touched a cord deep within him. How he had loved to say outrageous things to bring a blush to Nora’s face. How strange that he wanted nothing more of this moment than to make her child like him. To hide his discomfort, Connor knelt down and took a plastic scoop out of the cat-food bag. Abby crouched down beside him and held the sack’s edges.