Nora's Pride

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.

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