Читать книгу Nora's Guy Next Door - Jo McNally - Страница 12
ОглавлениеNORA WRAPPED THE last Christmas ornament with care, tucking it into the single remaining open square in the plastic storage bin designed specifically for that purpose. She glanced at her cousin Bree, then frowned.
“Oh, no, honey, don’t put the garland in with the ornaments. The garland goes in the box with the lights. There should be a labeled bag in there to keep it separate.”
Bree Caldwell, former reality star turned farmer’s wife, arched a perfectly manicured brow. “You have a labeled bag for your Christmas garland?” She rolled her eyes. “Of course you do. You have labels for everything. You’re the most label-y person I know.”
Nora straightened. “Why does everyone make fun of my labels? I know exactly where everything is, and if I don’t, the labels tell me. It’s called being organized. It’s a skill, not a disease.”
They’d filled all three bins according to their labels, and tomorrow Nora would store them in the back of the closet, where they wouldn’t get too hot during the long Atlanta summer. Everyone in the South knew a hot attic was out of the question for storing anything of value.
She really didn’t need her cousin’s help, but Bree had driven from North Carolina as part of an informal family mercy mission. Next week, another cousin, Melanie, was flying in from Miami for a visit. And Amanda called at least once a day from Gallant Lake. Her cousins were worried about her being alone in Georgia after a disastrous holiday. She’d like to say their worry was unfounded, but the truth was that she appreciated their support.
Bree held her hands up. “Hey, it’s your house. We’ll do it your way. But when I packed up Christmas at home last week, I just wrapped the stuff in paper towels and stuffed them in old liquor boxes from the bar. Not a label in sight, other than writing Xmas on top of the boxes.”
“You wrapped your ornaments in paper towels?” Nora shuddered. “But how will you ever find...” She stopped, doing her best to keep from imposing her planning skills on her cousin. Bree brushed her long red hair over her shoulder and laughed.
“How will I find things? Well, in December I’ll unpack everything onto the dining table and decorate the tree from there. It’s really not a big deal. Besides, I was too tired from my honeymoon to care.” Bree became Mrs. Cole Caldwell on New Year’s Eve. The wedding was held at Halcyon in Gallant Lake, creating a travel-filled holiday for everyone, which was why they were packing up Christmas in mid-January. Cole and Bree had honeymooned in Barbados for a week, while Nora stayed in Gallant Lake just long enough to live through the biggest argument with Becky she’d ever had.
“Has she called yet?” Bree’s voice softened. “You’ve got that look. You know, the I-have-to-replay-that-fight-in-my-head-for-the-fiftieth-time look.”
Nora just shook her head and sat on the sofa. Becky hadn’t called. Nor had she answered Nora’s calls. Or her emails. Or her texts.
“She’ll come around, honey. She’s stubborn, like her momma, but she’ll come around.” Bree sighed. “I’m sorry if it was my wedding that started this whole mess.”
“It wasn’t the wedding. She always misses her dad the most at Christmas, and I said the wrong thing.”
“What did you say?”
Nora picked at a thread on her sweater sleeve. “It started with Michael’s father, Asher.” Nora felt an odd shot of energy just saying his name. Probably because he was causing so much trouble for everyone. “He’s determined to stop the wedding at all costs, and even resorted to ‘forbidding’ Michael from being with Becky.” Nora made air quotes with her fingers.
“I laughed when Becky told me, and she flipped out. And then I made the mistake of saying it sounded like something her father would have said. As if by pronouncing something, he’d make it so. Comparing Asher to her perfect father was a mistake. And then I said I agreed with him on delaying the wedding, and kaboom.” Nora made an explosion motion with her hands. “We started fighting about the pregnancy and the wedding and what an awful control freak I am and how she doesn’t want my negative, uptight attitude around her baby, and on and on and on.”
“So Asher is the guy you flirted with in the grocery store, right? Before you knew you were both about to become grandparents together? Amanda says he’s a handsome devil.”
Nora nodded. She’d thought about those angry, ice-blue eyes more than once since their confrontation in November.
“Devil being the operative word.” She hadn’t spoken to him while in Gallant Lake for Bree’s wedding, but she did walk past his studio one afternoon after buying coffee at that weird coffee shop next door. Through the glass, she’d watched him working on a large dining table, making smooth, measured movements while rubbing the top with something. His too-long hair covered his face, but with his sleeves rolled up, his strong, sinewed arms were on full display.
She’d stood there, transfixed, until he straightened and looked out the window at her. He’d just stared at her for the longest, most electric moment she’d ever experienced, then he turned away. It was several moments before she could convince her feet to move in the proper direction, away from the door to his shop—away from him.
“Are you blushing?” Bree asked. “You’re thinking about him right now, aren’t you?” She chuckled and moved back to stacking the boxes. “And just thinking about him makes you hot and bothered. Very interesting.”
“Seriously, Bree? What are we—twelve? I’m not hot and bothered about anyone.” Nora turned away, feeling the heat in her cheeks increasing.
Bree scrutinized her. “I don’t know. You definitely seem to be blushing over this guy.”
Nora turned back to argue, then saw how Bree was stacking the holiday boxes.
“No, don’t put that box on top. See the numbers on the side? That’s the order I stack them in. Turn them so the labels are all facing front. And be careful with the treetop angel—if you tip that box, her wings will be damaged. That’s why it’s important to...” Nora stopped midsentence. “Oh, my God, I am uptight and negative, aren’t I?”
“Well, yes on the uptight part, but no on the negative.” Bree restacked the bins, then came to sit next to Nora on the sofa. When Bree draped her arm around Nora’s shoulders, Nora was horrified to feel tears welling in her eyes.
“Becky always said I was too controlling, and she’s always hated my lists and my planners.” She looked to Bree. “And my labels. Do you think I drove her into this boy’s arms? Was she trying to escape me?”
“Whoa! Slow down, cuz. It’s a big leap from your teenage daughter thinking her mom’s too controlling—hello, doesn’t every teenage girl think that?—to blaming yourself for her current situation.” Bree looked her straight in the eye.
“Nora, you are not a negative person. Wasn’t it Becky who christened you Suzy Sunshine? You’ve been the wise mother hen for your three crazy cousins. And you’ve provided a beautiful home for Becky here.” She leaned over and gave Nora’s shoulder a gentle nudge with hers. “Can you be uptight? Maybe a little. You do like to contr...um...organize things.”
Nora winced, and Bree squeezed her shoulder.
“Stop. Control isn’t always a bad thing. You did what you had to do to raise Becky as a single mom, especially under the circumstances. But you can’t control everything, sweetie. When things don’t go according to your detailed plans, you...um...” Bree’s face scrunched in concentration. “You don’t always... You can’t...”
“I freak out.”
Bree laughed and snapped her fingers. “Yes! That’s it! You freak out.” Bree sat back and smiled. “But, honey, plans change all the time. Do you think I planned on falling in love with a Carolina farmer and leaving Hollywood for him? Of course not! Cole was the most unexpected thing to ever happen to me, but he’s also the best.”
Bree’s green eyes softened, then she winked. “For heaven’s sake, Nora, I know it wasn’t in your plans, but you’re going to have a little grandbaby! And you’re going to be the best grandma ever.” Bree nudged her shoulder. “Hey, how did your former mother-in-law take the news that she’s going to be a great-grandmother? That couldn’t have gone over well with the ice queen.”
Nora wiped her tears, but she couldn’t hold back a little smile. “It made for an interesting Christmas Eve dinner at Mother Bradford’s when Becky announced her pregnancy and engagement in one breath. Meredith’s eyebrows shot upward almost as much as her jaw dropped, which is pretty impressive considering how many Botox shots that forehead has seen.”
“I would have paid to see that!”
Nora had stood behind her daughter in Meredith Bradford’s lavish home on Christmas Eve, silently daring any of Becky’s relatives to utter a negative word. No one did, at least, not to her face. But Nora had burned at all the private looks going around the table during dinner.
Her late husband’s family would get loads of mileage out of this little scandal, even though it was peanuts compared to the antics of Paul and his two brothers. “Meredith was only annoyed because Becky’s news stole the thunder from the other big announcement of the night. Paul’s little brother, Geoff, is running for governor.”
Bree started to laugh again. “Seriously? Isn’t Geoff the one that cooked up that phony charity to fund Paul’s campaign? And wasn’t it his secretary that Paul was...” Her laughter faded.
“That my husband was sleeping with? She was one of many, yes.” Nora shook her head. Paul’s betrayals still stung, but the years since his death had dulled the pain. “But it was the older brother who got in trouble over the campaign funding. His political days are over. However, Meredith thinks Geoff’s hands are clean enough for him to take Paul’s place as the anointed candidate for governor.”
Bree shrugged. “At least you won’t have to be involved with the campaign.”
“No, but I’m worried about what kind of dirt the campaign might bring up.” There had been whispers about Paul’s philandering ways during his campaign, and even about his gambling, but people lost interest after his death.
“The Bradfords are not your problem anymore.” Bree stood and waved her hand dismissively, as if making a decree. “Let them drown in their own lies. It’s time for lunch. And wine. Definitely time for a glass of wine.”
“My daughter is still a Bradford.” Nora followed Bree toward the kitchen. “And she has no idea what kind of man her father really was, or the things his family did. I’d like to keep it that way.”
Bree opened the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of chardonnay. “Maybe it’s time she learned the truth about her dad, warts and all. Isn’t it exhausting keeping his myth alive?”
Yes. Of course it was.
“No. She was only thirteen when he died. She worshipped him, the way every little girl should worship their daddy. I made a vow to myself that she would always know her father as the man she believed him to be—charming, successful and honorable.”
“As opposed to the truth of him being a lying, cheating SOB who gambled away her inheritance?”
Nora took the glass Bree handed her. “He was a lousy husband, but he wasn’t a bad father. Paul was the ultimate live-in-the-moment kind of guy, with never a thought to consequences. She was the daughter of a popular politician who people liked a lot. I don’t want to take that away.”
“Okay, well, here’s my next question. Becky’s not in Atlanta anymore, and you’ve done enough for the Bradfords. When do you start living for yourself, Nora? There’s nothing holding you here, right?”
Nora frowned. After spending all of her energy protecting Paul’s legacy and raising her daughter, if felt as if her entire life’s purpose had simply vanished the day Becky went to college, leaving her adrift. The truth was, she had no idea what to do next with her life.
Bree gave her a mischievous grin. “Hey, Amanda said that coffee shop in Gallant Lake is still for sale.”
“Oh, God, don’t remind me!” Nora shook her head and took a sip of wine. “She actually put a sales flyer for it in the Christmas card she sent me. That idea is a nonstarter.”
“Why? You keep saying how bored you are now that Becky’s gone. A coffee shop would keep you busy. You’d be close to Amanda and Blake and the kids. And it would give you an excuse to be in Gallant Lake near Becky.” Bree ticked off each point on her long fingers. “It’s a win-win-win!”
Nora thought about steely blue eyes and strong arms. “Asher Peyton’s furniture studio would be right next door. Remember him? The man who accused Becky and me of some evil plot to trap his son in marriage? No, thanks.”
“So you think it would be a bad idea to be neighbors with the guy who makes you blush from head to toe, like you’re doing again right now?” Bree leaned against the kitchen island and grinned. “Not all hot, grumpy neighbors are bad, you know. That’s how Cole and I started out.”
“Read. My. Lips.” Nora pointed to her face. “Not. Going. To. Happen.”
The doorbell rang before Bree could come back with a sarcastic response. Nora set her glass down and went to the door.
Her first thought when she opened it was that maybe she’d been wrong to say people couldn’t make things happen just by saying them. After all, Bree had just mentioned Paul’s affair with his brother’s assistant, and here she was—the woman he’d slept with.
Daphne Tomlin was one of several women Paul had cheated on Nora with, actually, and not the one he eventually fell in love with. But she was the one standing on Nora’s doorstep, all tall and beautiful with her long blond hair. Her clothes were tailored and expensive, and gold chains filled the opening at the top of her silk blouse. She’d matured well over the past five years, and Nora was suddenly self-conscious about her tired old sweater and brightly striped leggings. Knowing her shock must be plainly visible on her face, she took a deep breath to compose herself.
“Hello, Nora. I’m not sure you remember me, but...”
“Oh, I tend to remember all the women who slept with my late husband, Daphne. So whatever you’re selling, I’m not...” Nora took a step back and started to close the door, but Daphne put her foot out and stopped it.
“I’m not selling anything, Nora, but you might be.”
“What on earth are you talking about?”
“I’ve moved up the ladder in the political world over the past few years.” Nora wondered uncharitably how one climbed a ladder while lying on her back. “I’m the managing director for a conservative website. We have a major internet and social media presence, focusing on issues specific to Georgia.”
“How nice for you,” Nora said. “But I don’t care.”
“I want to give you a chance to be on the right side of the story we’re working on.”
“What story? And what do you mean by the right side?”
Daphne smiled, probably intending to look reassuring, but her tight, predatorial grin was anything but.
“Our organization is working closely with Tom Wilson’s campaign in the primary, since he’s the most conservative candidate in the governor’s race right now.” She paused, as if expecting Nora to react to this news, but Nora was still trying to figure out why Daphne was on her doorstep. What could she possibly be after?
“I’ll get right to the point, Nora.” She put an emphasis on Nora’s name, as if using it suddenly made them friends. “Considering your apparent lack of involvement with Geoff Bradford’s campaign, we were wondering if you might be interested in publicly endorsing Tom Wilson. You know, before any rumors about the Bradford men become public knowledge.”
Bree coughed behind Nora, and she heard the derisive curse cloaked inside that cough. Nora squared her shoulders and looked Daphne right in the eye.
“First, you are not my friend, so please address me as Mrs. Bradford. Second, are you threatening me?” She stepped forward, her fury just slightly ahead of her panic. “Are you actually standing on my doorstep attempting to blackmail me into supporting your candidate over my own brother-in-law?”
Daphne’s eyes widened fractionally. “Are you saying you’re endorsing Geoff Bradford for governor? May I quote you on that? Because, Mrs. Bradford, there’s evidence your late husband, much like his brother, had a serious gambling problem. Isn’t that why you sold your country estate after his death and moved to this much smaller home? And, of course, the women...”
“Women like you, Daphne? You’ll be implicating yourself.”
Daphne shrugged. “It’s a website, Mrs. Bradford. In the Wild West of the new political world, the fact that I was one of many women your late husband took advantage of will just make the story more scintillating. It’s all about the spin.”
Nora gave her a look from head to toe. “Looks like you’ve done pretty well for yourself for someone so terribly victimized.”
Daphne stiffened, her bright red lips thinning. “Careful, Mrs. Bradford. Slut-shaming isn’t as popular as it used to be, so you won’t win a lot of points with that approach.” Nora looked down at her feet, chagrined. Daphne was right. “And, so you know, I’ve worked my ass off to get to where I am. Getting Tom Wilson elected will be a lot easier once the truth is out about Geoff Bradford. But that truth can’t come out without disclosing Paul’s involvement.”
Daphne’s eyes softened fractionally. “I know I shouldn’t have gotten involved with your husband. I’m offering you a chance to tell your story from a sympathetic point of view before the news cycle picks it up.”
“Don’t pretend you’re here on some charity case. That I should be thanking you. If I do what you suggest, it will destroy Geoff’s candidacy, which hands you your goal on a silver platter.”
Daphne nodded. “That’s true. But it doesn’t hurt you, either. It’s not like you knew what they were up to, did you?” Nora ignored the veiled accusation.
“You’re talking about my daughter’s father. I don’t know what you expected to accomplish by coming here, but we’re done. And if you stick your foot out again, you’ll lose some toes when I slam this door on it.”
“Mrs. Bradford, as long as you live here in Atlanta you won’t be able to hide from this. You’ll have to take a stand once the story comes out. Don’t think you can avoid... Ouch...damn it!” The last two words were muffled, coming from the other side of the now-locked front door. After a beat of silence, Daphne called out, “You had your chance, Nora. Remember that.”
Nora turned and leaned against the door, staring at a stunned Bree.
“This is exactly what I was afraid of. What am I going to do?”
Bree was thoughtful for a moment. “She was right about one thing. If the person at the heart of the story isn’t around, the story loses steam. It doesn’t mean the Bradfords won’t get roasted, but this is a state story, not a national one.” Then Bree brightened. “I bet that coffee shop idea is starting to look pretty good now, isn’t it?”
Nora’s head went back and forth in denial, but in her mind she smelled freshly sanded wood and saw blue eyes full of tangled emotions. “Not happening, Bree. I just need to talk to Meredith. If I can make her see that the campaign is hopeless, maybe Geoff will drop out and the story will be dead.”
Bree gave her a pointed look. “And when exactly has Mother Bradford ever believed her precious boys were anything but perfect and invincible?”
Never. The answer was never.
And, sure enough, Meredith refused to take the threat seriously when Nora called her that night and relayed her encounter with Daphne.
“They’re just on a fishing expedition. As long as you didn’t give her anything, they have no story.” Nora looked at her phone in consternation.
“Meredith, I didn’t have to give her anything. Daphne was one of Paul’s...women.” The word mistress was too old-fashioned and, frankly, humiliating. “And probably one of Geoff’s, too. She had a ringside seat to everything they did.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Geoff has a lovely, supportive wife, and he would never cheat on her.” Nora bit her tongue to keep from taking the bait. Meredith’s inference was clear—if Paul cheated, it must have been Nora’s fault. “I’m telling you,” her former mother-in-law continued, “she’s bluffing. And if she’s not, just deny, deny, deny.”
After that phone call, Nora and Bree called Amanda and they talked into the wee hours of the morning, trying to come up with a plan. Nora wrote lists of pros and cons and things she might do. But it always came back to leaving Atlanta.
At the top of one list, she’d sketched a steaming mug of coffee, thinking of a particular coffee shop. She also thought about the complex man who lived next door to that shop. About her angry, pregnant daughter. About the serious, bearded young man who was going to be the father of her grandchild. Did she really think living in the midst of all that drama was a good idea? Surely it would be easier to stay in Atlanta and deal with a little story on some obscure website.
As they finally headed to bed, Nora turned to Bree, holding up both hands, with fingers crossed on each. “Maybe Meredith was right. Maybe Daphne was bluffing. Maybe I’m worrying for nothing. Let’s get some sleep and see what tomorrow brings.”
