Tuesday night Nora stopped short of slamming the portable phone down. “Of all the small-minded…”
“Something wrong?” Eve didn’t look away from the Cincinnati Bengals football game she had taped Sunday.
“That was Abby’s art teacher. Their new class project is to copy an old master.”
“So?” Eve munched a handful of buttered popcorn.
“So Abby wanted to do a figurine but was told she couldn’t. I phoned to find out why.” Recalling the teacher’s snippy condescending tone made Nora’s jaw tense. “According to Mrs. Barnsworth, the purpose of the assignment is quote ‘to study and emulate a famous painter—only’ unquote.”
Eve crunched thoughtfully and swallowed. “Ever hear of Michelangelo?”
Nora snatched a handful of popcorn, neatly avoiding her sister’s defensive swipe. “Of course.”
“He’s a painter—” Eve flicked a kernel at her “—and a sculptor.”
Nora paused in polishing off her popcorn and grinned. “So if Abby copies him, she could do a sketch of the work and then the actual figurine.”
“Hard to top David,” Eve agreed as she turned back to the TV. “From the waist up, of course.”
“Absolutely. Thanks.” Nora left the family room, crossed the hallway and went up the stairs. Quietly she entered her daughter’s bedroom. Only the dark crown of Abby’s head could be seen over the edge of the pink comforter.
Nora folded the edge of the comforter and plucked a teen magazine that was spread open on the bed. “Sorry,” she told Ricky Martin’s beaming face. “You’ll have to enthrall my daughter another time.” She placed the magazine on the nightstand and paused before turning out the lamp. Reaching down, she brushed a wayward curl from Abby’s sleep-flushed cheek.
“Mom? What’s a pergola?” Abby barely opened her eyes.
“What, honey?”
“A pergola.” Abby turned onto her back. “Connor’s building one, and I forgot to ask him what it was.”
Nora arched a brow. “After playing twenty questions Sunday, you actually forgot to ask one?” Abby had peppered Connor until sundown, but he had patiently answered every question.
“Oh, Mom.” Abby yawned and stretched.
Nora sat on the edge of the bed. “A pergola is an arbor with latticework, usually vine-covered.”
“Mmm. That will be pretty.” Abby played with the edge of the comforter. “I had fun Sunday, you know, with the three of us working together.”
“I did, too, sweetheart.” It had been fun, Nora realized. Abby’s endless chatter had broken the initial awkward silence between her and Connor. After that, the three of them had fallen into an easy camaraderie.
Abby giggled. “I thought you were going to have a cow when Connor suggested you make lunch.”
Nora dryly said, “‘Ordered’ is more like it.”
Her daughter grinned. “Sorry I spilled the beans about your cooking.”
Recalling Connor’s reaction to Abby’s pronouncement that her mother didn’t have a clue in the kitchen, Nora tried to suppress her smile. The man had scowled, then muttered under his breath some absurd comment about planting seeds before they germinated. Despite his grousing, Connor had whipped up soul-satisfying ham and Swiss sandwiches along with hot chocolate.
“But I managed to boil the water for the cocoa,” Nora bragged. “No small task with that ancient ruin of a stove.”
Abby yawned. “Sure, Mom.”
She caressed her daughter’s cheek. “Shut-eye time for you. You have early soccer practice tomorrow.” She rose. “Good night, hon.” She reached for the lamp pull.
“Mom?”
“What?” She looked down and found her daughter studying her somberly.
“Do you like Connor?”
Her heart stuttered. “Why?”
“I think he likes you.”
Nora rubbed her damp palms along her legs. “Of course he does, honey. After all, we grew up together.”
Abby chewed her lower lip. “I don’t know about that, Mom. He looks at you like the men do in those coffee commercials. You know, where the man makes up excuses to borrow a cup of coffee from his beautiful neighbor. Like he can’t help it?”
Out of the mouths of babes, Nora thought as she stood, flabbergasted. She swallowed and forced a casual tone. “How would you feel if he were interested?”
Concerned, Nora sat down and cupped her daughter’s chin. The turmoil she saw in her child’s gaze stunned her. It was as if she were that age again, looking into a mirror and seeing the too-old expression in her own eyes. “Abby?”
The confession was a whisper, as if the burden of the admission was all its bearer could handle. “I’m afraid.”
“Afraid of what, sweetheart?” Nora wrapped her arms around Abby and drew the small resistant body against hers.
“What if my father comes back and doesn’t like me?”
Nora’s hand trembled as she smoothed the soft waves of Abby’s hair. “Whatever gave you that notion?”
Abby’s shoulders jerked. “Some kids.”
“Someone’s been teasing you?” Nora’s spine stiffened.
Another hitch. “Yes, at school.”
“About?”
A muffled sniffle. “My father left you because he didn’t want me.”
“That’s ridiculous.” Nora closed her eyes. “Abby, I’ve told you. We were too young to take on the responsibility of being a family.”
“But you didn’t put me up for adoption.”
Despite all her terror during the months of her pregnancy, despite all the pressure from Pastor Devlin during the secret counseling sessions, giving up her child had never been a consideration. She pressed a kiss to Abby’s temple. “No. I couldn’t give up the light of my life.”
“Sometimes, I’m afraid I’m lost.”
Bewildered, she gathered Abby closer. “You’re right here, honey. You’re right here with me, Eve and Christina.”
Abby wrenched herself free. Anger stained her cheeks. “You don’t understand,” she accused. “I don’t know who my father is since you won’t ever tell me because of some stupid promise you made.”
“But knowing who he is has never mattered. We’ve always had each other.”
“But, Mom—” Abby’s eyes revealed a dangerous undercurrent “—part of me is missing, the part that belongs to my father.”
Nora kept her voice light. “You are your own person, and a pretty terrific person at that.”
Abby flopped down and turned her back. “I knew you wouldn’t understand. Go away.”
Nora hesitated and then rose. “All right. We’ll discuss this more later. Good night, sweetheart. I love you.”
“Umph” was Abby’s only response.
Nora turned off the light and left the room. Numb, she walked along the hall into the kitchen.
Her gaze lit on the refrigerator, which was covered with photographs. She stepped closer and studied a faded Polaroid of the McCall sisters and Aunt Abigail, taken shortly after their arrival in Arcadia Heights.
Solemn grey eyes stared back at her, the eyes of a girl old beyond her years, who had never known the carefree joy of being a child, of having the love of her parents.
She heard her mother’s taunting voice, “Like mother, like daughter.”
“No!” Nora pressed the back of her hand to her mouth to choke back any further cry. She rested her forehead against the cold refrigerator door. How could she have been so blind?
She was forging the same path for Abby as Tess had for her. Condemning her to a fatherless existence, never knowing to whom she belonged.
Was she too late to stop any more harm from being done?
“Ed,” Connor addressed the plain gravestone, “what have you gotten me into?”
Ed had chosen his and his wife’s final resting place well. They were buried on a knoll overlooking the lake they had loved so much. An arbor of maples shielded them from the bite of the winter wind and the unrelenting heat of the summer sun.
When he was a teenager, Connor had found a battered wrought-iron bench, which he had sanded, painted and hauled to this spot, allowing Ed to visit with his wife every night after his chores were done.
Connor sat on the bench now, watching the black ripples of the lake play catch with the pale moonbeams. This Tuesday night, the moonlight was winning, sparkling with the pride of victory as it skimmed across the surface.
But no truths could be divined by staring at the lake tonight; it was as dark as his own thoughts.
What was he doing here? When he had gotten the phone call about Ed’s death and the inheritance of the farm, his plan had been simple. Return to Arcadia Heights, build the first botanical garden, eradicate the ghosts from his past and return to Florida.
Ha. Connor picked up a stone and hurled it into the lake. Its soft plop was the only sound in the night. He thought he had sweated out all the anger, all the indignation, all the hurt inflicted by his mother and the town. He thought he had buried his youthful dreams of a loving family in the sandy soil of Florida.
But now his plan to thumb his nose at the town was being shot to hell by one irrefutable fact: he still had feelings for Nora.
He scowled at the twilight vista before him. He had been certain that if they resumed their affair, they both would find that its shelf life had expired. But the mind-numbing kiss on Saturday night had smashed that illusion. As a teenager Nora had been enticing; as a woman she was mesmerizing.
He picked up another stone and hurled it.
There was the town’s reaction to consider, as well. Sheila Devlin hadn’t been the mother he needed, but he hadn’t been the son she had wanted. It shouldn’t matter to him what the community thought, but it did. The standoffish attitude he had experienced left a need in him…but for what? Acceptance?
But how could he change their opinion without risking Sheila’s retribution? He glanced over at the tombstone. “You once told me Mom couldn’t help herself and I shouldn’t fight what I couldn’t change, just as a farmer shouldn’t rage against the weather. You told me I was only responsible for what I made of myself. But, Ed—” Connor picked up yet another stone “—how does an outcast seed put down roots in ruined soil?”
No answer.
Time for a reality check, he admonished himself. Nothing could be done about the town’s opinion. He wasn’t here to stay, so there was no point even thinking about it.
A burst of lake water suddenly sprayed his face. Connor sighed, wiped his forehead and rubbed Bran’s dripping head. “You big lug,” he scolded. “Can’t you enjoy your swim without sharing it?” In response, the dog pressed its wet body against Connor’s leg. He laughed and pushed Bran away. “Listen, pal, I’m not equipped with a built-in fur coat.”
Connor rose and made his way along the winding path back to the house. His pulse kicked up when he saw a silhouette inside the translucent walls of the newly erected conservatory. He wasn’t expecting anyone. He quickened his step and yanked open the door.
The evening sky was clear, with a faint sprinkling of stars. The moon was only a sliver, its pale light a flicker seen through the swaying treetops.
Nora hurried along the path through the forest. She had planned to drive to Connor’s, but when she had gone outside, the dark trees had summoned her. The trees along the path seemed to whisper their disapproval. From time to time Nora spotted the red-eye glints of animals in the brush. Her jury, she thought half hysterically.
At a bend in the path, she halted. Spotlighted in the broad beam of her flashlight was a great horned owl perched on an overhanging branch. The stately bird scrutinized her. Nora glared back. “Forget it. I’m not condemned—yet.”
The owl’s sage eyes twinkled. With a lift of its huge wings, the bird heaved itself off the branch and disappeared into the night. Nora continued on.
When she reached the Y, she turned right and headed to the Miller farmstead. At the clearing, she caught her breath as she saw a small pearly building with a low-pitched roof. Through the frosted panes she could see the outline of plant rows. The incubator of life drew her inside.
It was like entering a tropical paradise. She felt as if she was on a pilgrimage, leaving behind autumn and its prophecy of death to embark into life’s womb with its promise of rebirth. The air smelled of earth and water and heat. Overhead, a pipe hissed. Nora watched a fine spray of water douse a row of plants.
This was pure Connor, she realized. This was what Connor had become.
She wandered in deeper to a pair of workbenches. On one were tied bundles of pruned rosebushes. Stark and thorny, they showed no hint of life. Under Connor’s touch, they would flourish. The neat rows of healthy plants surrounding her bore testament to his skill.
Remembering his talented hands, she shivered. She ran a finger over a green leaf of a potted rose placed next to the closest bench.
Nora’s determination to confront Connor and tell him about Abby was melting away, drop by drop. Yet, guilt still snapped at her, dogging her every thought.
Her gaze fell on the potted rosebush, its deep-red buds hinting at the beauty to come.
So much promise.
Yet, with its hidden thorns, so much danger.
Was Connor like that? Capable of beauty yet violence? Rumors of a fight Monday afternoon between Connor and a construction worker had provided a savory stew for the town to feed on. If true, the image was contradictory to the image of Connor talking with Abby.
And then there was that kiss.
But a night and day of pleasant company did not equal a torrid affair. A commitment to build a business didn’t mean a commitment to a relationship with her, let alone to a lifetime of fatherhood. She must keep her association with Connor on a professional level.
She must. She needed a clear head in order to assess what was best for Abby. Her daughter must never suffer the hellish nightmare of rejection and abandonment.
Connor’s eminent return to Florida didn’t mean he could not be a long-distance father. After all, many parents maintained contact with their children while living in different states.
Oh, God, could she entrust her daughter to him?
“I didn’t expect you tonight.”
“Oh!” Nora spun around, her heart bounding into her throat.
Despite the strong overhead lighting, Connor was, well, magnificent. The black jeans and turtleneck he wore under his unzipped leather jacket only emphasized his sleek masculine power. Her fingers longed to touch his windblown hair…
No. She mustn’t think like that. She tried to circle around him, but he blocked her path.
His dimple flashed. “One would almost think you’re afraid of being alone with me.”
And one would think right, but she wasn’t about to let him know it. “Don’t flatter yourself, Devlin. I was merely trying to see what color the roses are on the bush behind you.”
His grin broadened, but he stepped aside with a sweep of his hand. She pretended to study the slightly unfurled bud, then pretense transformed into delight. “It’s like a fireball wrapped in silver tissue!”
Surprise lit Connor’s eyes, and his cocky smile slipped. He knelt beside her and ran a knuckle gently along the fluted edges of the rose. “This is a Milestone. It’s red with a silvery reverse. When it’s in full bloom, the color will become more of a coral-pink.”
Nora bent over, sniffed and frowned. “I don’t smell anything.”
Connor nodded, his head so near she could see the rich weave of brown, red and gold in his hair.
“Milestones have only a slight fragrance. Something I’m working on.” Connor rose abruptly.
Puzzled by the flush staining his cheeks, she straightened. “Is something wrong?”
“Not a thing.” He moved to the bench.
She followed. “You said you were working on something. Are you breeding roses yourself?”
He shot her an amused glance. “You don’t breed plants. The word is cultivate.” He picked up a pair of shears, tested his grip, winced and then laid it down again.
“Oh.” Nora absorbed the intriguing bit of information as she braced her hip against the table. His interests went beyond growing. He created plant life. This was a deep layer to Connor that she hadn’t expected to uncover. “Do you have any here?”
He pulled out a pocketknife and flicked out a blade. “Do I have what here?”
She suppressed a sigh. Connor always turned taciturn when he didn’t want to expose himself to ridicule. “Roses you’ve cultivated.” It would be the right moment to tell him the truth, she decided.
He hitched one shoulder.
Nora took the gesture for a yes. “May I see them?” When he showed her the flowers, she would tell him about another life—a very precious human one—that he had created.
He slashed through the heavy twine and winced again. He then set down the knife and rubbed his hand.
Alarmed, she slid closer. “Did you cut yourself?”
“Nope. Bruised them yesterday. They’re just stiffer than heck.”
The fight. When she had asked their friend Nate Roberts if it was true, Nate had only chuckled and said that Connor had taken up the old-fashioned sport of caber tossing. She wet her lips. “I heard you had a disagreement with a worker.”
His devil-may-care mask in place, Connor turned to face her. “Is that lawyer-speak for a fight? If it is, then the answer is yes. Like all the other people trapped in this burg, the man had a big mouth and a nose a mile too long.”
Trapped. His icy words pelted her. He still felt the same about his hometown. How could she set the cage over him now? If he lashed out, he could wound Abby for life.
She straightened. “Well, it’s late, and you look like you’re busy.”
Despite his calm demeanor, she could feel the suppressed energy inside him. He reached out and snared her elbow. “What’s the matter, Nora? Do you think I beat up the man deliberately?” He tugged her closer. “That I’m the bad apple my mother always harped about?” Resentment sizzled in his eyes.
Nora cast a desperate glance around her. Her gaze rested on the bench behind Connor and an escape plan formed in her mind. She relaxed, allowing herself to be drawn to him. She rested her hands lightly on his chest before tilting her head so she could challenge his stare.
“No,” she replied calmly.
Surprise flitted across his face. “No?”
“No, I don’t think you’re a scourge of the earth. I never did.” She measured the distance behind them and leaned toward the hard contours of his body. Despite herself, a thrill whipped through her. She should fear him. The raw power of him could overwhelm her, destroy her control. “My worry was you would lose sight of yourself in a perverse compulsion to prove that everyone’s opinion of you was right.”
His grip loosened. “Nora.” He bent his head.
It was now or never. Once he kissed her, she would be a goner. She nudged him into the branch of thorns hanging over the table.
“Ow!” Connor let go of her and whipped around. His hand rubbed his back. “That hurt.”
Nora broke for the door. She never made it.
He grabbed her elbow and hauled her back to him. The scowl on his face could have started a fire. “Hey! What’s going on here? You want me, I want you.” To prove his point, he cupped her buttocks and pressed her against his arousal.
Shock pulsed through her, followed by need that was as sharp as it was sweet. Her surroundings went into a slow spin as Connor nipped her earlobe. There was something she needed to tell him, but how could she think while his touch was setting her blood on fire?
“If you’re worrying about your boyfriend David Millman, forget him.” His lips skimmed her throat.
David? Why was he talking about David? She couldn’t think through the mists of passion swirling in her head.
Connor’s hand slid inside her jacket and palmed her breast. “Tonight I’m going to make you forget every man who’s ever touched you.”
Every man? There had only been him. The implication chilled her as surely as if a northeaster had howled through the greenhouse.
“No!”
Connor was not to be deterred, if the determined glint in his eyes was any indication. He reached for her again. “Honey, what’s the problem? We’re both free to do what we want.”
Her anger burned raw and hot. Heedless of caution, she let it flow. “Yes, just like we did twelve years ago. Only, you got to do what you wanted, leaving me alone to face all the consequences.”
Connor ran his fingers through his hair. “What are you talking about?”
Nora called upon all her reserves and drew herself up to face truth’s firing squad. “The consequences of unprotected sex.”
Connor flushed and rocked back on his heels. “Hell, Nora,” he muttered. “I was clean.”
“That’s not the consequence I was talking about.”
He frowned. “Then what are you…” His voice trailed off.
Nora brought her chin up. “I’m referring to the baby I carried for nine months and then raised. Abby, your daughter.”
Connor stared in disbelief at the calm woman before him. His life lay in a twisted ruin at his feet, and she had the gall to look as composed as a choir director. Nora McCall was in control of the situation, and he wanted to shake her until he rattled out a reaction, any reaction.
Instead, he jammed his hands into his pockets. He had thought he couldn’t be hurt any more. Over the years he had insulated himself from the deprecating remarks and stares of the townspeople and his mother. His heart had become so wrapped in protection that no one should have been able to rip through it to get to his core.
He was wrong. Nora had slashed through to his soul.
He had wanted her all these years. Winning Nora McCall had been the ultimate goal of his homecoming gamble, but her breaking his heart hadn’t been part of the plan. He had a daughter, and the defiant woman before him had never told him.
She hadn’t thought he was fit to be a father.
Not only had she betrayed him, she had found a way to reject him in a manner from which he might never recover. He wanted to hate her for what she had done to him, to Abby. But he couldn’t. She was the mother of his child; she was the woman he had loved.
She was his dream of acceptance and belonging.
“Why, Nora? Tell me why.” His voice was hoarse.
She squared her shoulders and angled her chin. “As I recall, you left town and never looked back.”
He took a step forward and removed his hands from his pockets, only to clench them at his sides. “I had my reasons, Nora. I did what I thought was best for both of us, at the time.” He took another step and watched a muscle jerk in her jaw. “I made sure Ed Miller knew where I was. You knew me, Nora. You knew that I would keep contact with him.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “Yes, I knew you did. On occasion I would drop off cake or cookies for him, and he would mention you’d called.”
Connor stopped a foot away from her, close enough to touch her, but he couldn’t. “Then why didn’t you let me know I was a father? Did you think I wouldn’t care? That I wouldn’t take care of you and the baby?”
Her gaze stony, Nora stood motionless. Anger began to rise in him. Connor wanted to topple her from her pedestal, to smash his fist on top of the table by his side—anything to jar loose her emotions. His temples throbbed, but over the rush of his blood, he could hear Ed Miller’s grave voice chastising him. Learn to channel your emotions, Connor. You punch bags, boy, never people. Don’t let your mother’s example ruin your life. Connor curled his fingers into his palms so fiercely that he thought his flesh would rip.
“Did you think I wouldn’t love Abby?” he lashed out. “Did you think so little of me?”
Nora staggered back, her hand covering her heart. The overhead light spilled brightly, bringing her face into sharp relief. Her eyes were the dark gray of a winter storm, all turmoil and anguish. “No, Connor. I didn’t think that. I thought so little of myself.” Her lips quivered and then firmed.
Realizing she wasn’t going to say anything more, he glared at her. “That’s it? That’s all the reason you’re going to give me?”
“I don’t owe you an explanation—” Nora recrossed her arms “—but I do owe you an apology. I should have told you the truth the moment you returned to town, and for that I’m sorry.”
He glanced at a rosebush glowing with pink blooms on the workbench. “This is about your damn loyalty to your sisters, isn’t it? No man can ever compete for your affection, can they? Not even the father of your child.”
Connor advanced until he had Nora pinned against the bench. He placed his hands on the edge, trapping her. “Well, that’s fine with me, Nora.”
He lowered his head until he could feel the unsteady rise and fall of her chest, smell her scent of roses, and fear? Her ashen face chilled his anger. A long shudder engulfed her body. Hell, he had frightened her.
Disgusted with himself, Connor held up his hands and stepped away. He had to get out of here and tend to his own wounds.
“I’m giving you until tomorrow afternoon to tell our daughter that I’m her father. If you don’t, then I’m taking the matter into my own hands and telling her the truth myself.” He ignored the glisten of not-quite-suppressed tears in her eyes, turned and issued his parting shot. “You do know how to tell Abby the truth, don’t you?”
Guilt enveloped Nora’s soul like a dank cloak, heavy and pressing. She thought she could endure his recriminations, until he pinned her against the workbench. Fear tore at Nora, choking her and cutting off her plea. He was going to drag her off to a closet like her mother had done.
Then the trap was sprung. Shaken, Nora drew a deep breath of air. Through the blood roaring in her ears, she heard his final insult about telling Abby the truth. “Don’t you dare say something so ugly and then leave me.” She reached out and grabbed his arm. He didn’t shake her off, but an expression of distaste flickered across his face. How could she make him understand?
“I was wrong to not tell you twelve years ago. I should have known your—” She broke off. She should have realized Sheila Devlin would never have betrayed Nora’s confession and ask her son to return home, not when it was against Sheila’s interest. “Never mind. I’ll concede that point. But I was eighteen, scared and focused on survival.” She stood toe-to-toe with him.
“I had to cope with a bloated body and mood swings. One moment I’d be laughing at one of Eve’s jokes, and the next crying like there was no tomorrow. That was just the first trimester. In the second trimester, while Cheryl Cavanaugh trotted around in tight sweaters and even tighter pants, I was hiding under shirts the size of tents.
“Then there’s the third trimester, when Abby decided to start her soccer practice early, usually at two in the morning. And cravings? I ate up every pound of bacon in the store, which is rather amazing when normally I get sick just smelling the cursed stuff.
“I’ve sacrificed my life for our child. I’d give my life for her.”
Connor reached out, but she batted his hand away. “All my anger came back tenfold with your return to town. I admit it. But tonight I realized how important it might be to Abby to know her father.”
She stepped away and folded her arms. “Don’t you worry. I’ll tell our daughter about you. The question I have is, will you be there when she runs to you? Because I can assure you, she’s going to hate me—maybe for the rest of her life—and she’s going to need her father. Will you be there?”
Connor’s lips thinned, and a dull red stain spread across the sharp planes of his face. “Yes, Nora, I will. Because unlike her mother, she will need me.” He spun and stalked out.
The greenhouse door banged shut. Nora whispered to the empty room, “By the way, Connor, I am sorry. So very, very sorry.”