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Nora's Guy Next Door
Jo McNally
She’s got everything under control…Making lists keeps Nora Bradford’s life neat and tidy… until her college freshman daughter announces she’s pregnant and engaged. Luckily Nora knows how to fix a complicated situation. If that means moving to Gallant Lake, New York, where Becky and her fiancé live, that’s what she’ll do. Because Becky needs her. Nora just has to keep her distance from her new neighbor, Asher Peyton, who’s handsome, gruff and strictly off-limits. Falling in love again is not on Nora’s to-do list. Especially since she and Asher will soon share a grandchild…


She’s got everything under control...
Making lists keeps Nora Bradford’s life neat and tidy...until her college-freshman daughter announces she’s pregnant and engaged. Luckily Nora knows how to fix a complicated situation. If that means moving to Gallant Lake, New York, where Becky and her fiancé live, that’s what she’ll do. Because Becky needs her. Nora just has to keep her distance from her new neighbor, Asher Peyton, who’s handsome, gruff and strictly off-limits. Falling in love again is not on Nora’s to-do list. Especially since she and Asher will soon share a grandchild...
He stared deep into her eyes as if he was searching for something there.
“You’re going all sappy on me again, Nora,” he said. “Don’t try to fix me. You’d be wasting your time. I gotta go...”
“Asher.”
“No, Nora. I have to go.”
But he didn’t open the door. Instead, he turned toward her. She didn’t wait for an invitation, stepping in and leaning against his strong, hard chest. He hesitated, then folded his arms around her, and it felt so...right. She tipped her head back. His gaze fell to her lips and she silently begged him to finish the job this time and kiss her. Her whole body vibrated with the need of it. But he just rested his forehead on hers, shaking it back and forth.
“No, no, no.” Was he talking to her or himself? “I am not going to kiss the mother of my son’s girlfriend, no matter how much I want to.”
Dear Reader (#u4c8ff74d-b9c9-53dd-91ce-3221c2bc7d1a),
When my husband and I met twenty-some years ago, neither of us had any interest in getting involved with someone new, because we were both coming off difficult relationships. But there was simply no denying the chemistry between us. Sometimes we’ll say we wish we’d met earlier in our lives, but honestly? We would have been different people then, and we could have easily just passed each other by. We were meant to meet exactly when we did.
I wanted to write a story about how love brings us the people we need when we need them the most, and the result was Nora’s Guy Next Door. This book is the newest addition to what is now the Lowery Women series, about four smart, sassy women who are cousins as well as best friends. Each has a strong will, a quick wit and a loving heart.
Loving thanks to my husband, friends and family, who encourage me every day. And a special thank-you to my amazing agent, Veronica Park of the Corvisiero Literary Agency.
Wishing you forever love,
Jo McNally
PS: My hero is stuck in the anger phase of grieving for a lost child. If you’ve suffered the loss of a loved one and feel you might be “stuck,” please reach out to someone. Many community centers and houses of worship have grief support groups, or you can find one online. You’re not alone.
Nora’s Guy Next Door
Jo McNally


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
JO MCNALLY lives in coastal North Carolina with one hundred pounds of dog and two hundred pounds of husband—her slice of the bed is very small. When she’s not writing or reading romance novels (or clinging to the edge of the bed), she can often be found on the back porch sipping wine with friends while listening to great music. If the weather is absolutely perfect, Jo might join her husband on the golf course, where she tends to feel far more competitive than her actual skill level would suggest.
She likes writing stories about strong women and the men who love them. She’s a true believer that love can conquer all if given just half a chance.
You can follow Jo pretty much anywhere on social media (and she’d love it if you did!), but you can start at her website, www.jomcnallyromance.com (http://www.jomcnallyromance.com).
It’s only fitting that a book about a strong mom should be dedicated to a strong mom. My mom is an independent, jet-setting fashionista who makes ninety look like the new sixty.
To Mom, with love and gratitude.
Contents
Cover (#uff58e2c8-7c84-582c-98a7-afe5b850e7c4)
Back Cover Text (#u9b2296d4-552f-5f33-bec4-9fab7a08f5ad)
Introduction (#uad3bb44c-1dde-5045-8c5b-9e80b2474f87)
Dear Reader (#uea55320c-d711-5673-9974-a4065899a699)
Title Page (#uc54db7c0-51c2-588f-aaea-a8a6e13bc2ae)
About the Author (#u7d36888c-dcd9-5ff3-a823-fddeb7a7d1ee)
Dedication (#u579d6150-b5dd-5398-9497-e7c4d0fbe94a)
CHAPTER ONE (#uaff3fdc8-e42c-5e1c-b47c-28834508c1bd)
CHAPTER TWO (#u286e3be2-47c7-5570-b54d-e3f3857f5298)
CHAPTER THREE (#u90e93b51-bdec-580d-b0ab-fbd1ffea5df1)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u3465fdac-9c1a-516c-921c-ca39890ae405)
CHAPTER FIVE (#ueee47147-a12b-5044-b6f4-7bf795940211)
CHAPTER SIX (#ud8bbc242-4adf-5a88-89ab-e8060baffc1f)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#u4c8ff74d-b9c9-53dd-91ce-3221c2bc7d1a)
NORA LOWERY BRADFORD didn’t come close to losing her good Southern manners until the third time someone smacked their grocery cart into hers, nearly toppling a package of fancily frosted cupcakes. She spun on her heel, but the angry words died on her lips. The offender was an elderly lady, even shorter than Nora, pushing a cart loaded to the brim with Thanksgiving fixings.
Bless her heart.
Nora smiled and was about to wish her a happy holiday, but before she could speak, the woman rammed her cart into Nora’s again—on purpose!
“What’re you doin’, sightseeing or something? Move over! Other people got things to do.” With that, the woman pushed on by, scraping her cart along Nora’s to drive home her point.
Nora stood there for a moment with her mouth open, then rolled her eyes and pushed on. With Thanksgiving just two days away, the grocery store in Gallant Lake, New York, was mobbed with people. And the mob was cranky. Maybe she was biased, but people seemed just a bit more genteel back home in Atlanta. Unless, of course, you went grocery shopping on senior discount day—then all bets were off, Southern or not.
The miserable weather wasn’t helping anyone’s attitude. Three inches of snow were on the ground when she arrived in the Catskills yesterday, and she was not happy about it. Oh, sure, the stuff looked like sugar frosting on the rooftops and tree branches, but the air was cold and raw.
The forecast for the week was snow, rain, wind, more rain, then snow again. Her cousin Amanda assured her that was typical for November, which was little comfort. No wonder people were so grumpy here in the North! She’d tried to convince Amanda and her husband, Blake Randall, to fly south for Thanksgiving with their kids, but they owned a large lakeside resort here and couldn’t be gone during a busy tourist weekend. So the family was gathering at their historic castle-turned-home, Halcyon, located right next door to the resort.
Nora unfolded the store flyer she’d picked up at the door, trying to remember where the produce section was. The only good thing about being in Gallant Lake this week was that her favorite person in the whole world, her daughter, Becky, would be arriving later today. Somewhere along the line, Nora had failed as a proper Atlanta mother, because her debutante daughter had inexplicably fallen in love with the Catskills the first time she came here after Amanda and Blake’s wedding. It was disappointing, but not surprising, when Becky hopped the first plane out of Georgia when Vassar offered her a scholarship.
The produce section was even more crowded than the aisles, and Nora slowly worked her way through the veggies, taking in the dramas unfolding around her.
A woman threw a round head of pale lettuce into her cart, glaring at the balding man by her side. “Of course your mother thinks iceberg lettuce is the best. Your mother wouldn’t know a romaine leaf if it bit her in the ass!”
Two men leaned intently over a tomato display nearby. “Derrick, trust me. Vine-ripened tomatoes are better for salad than that monstrosity you picked up.” He gave his partner a wink. “I know you love the word beefsteak, honey, but bigger isn’t always better.”
A young woman pushed a cart past Nora with a toddler in the seat and a little boy and girl in tow, all three complaining loudly. The girl stomped her feet.
“I don’t wanna eat turkey! I wanna eat ice cream!”
“You gotta eat turkey on turkey day, dummy.” Her older brother gave her a shove. “And you can’t have ice cream. You gotta eat pie!”
The littlest one, sitting in the cart, started to scream, “No pie! No pie, Mommy! No pie!”
The mother’s face was pinched and tired. Nora reached out, resting her hand on the woman’s arm. “Don’t worry, darlin’, these days will pass. Enjoy these babies while they’re young. Before you know it, they’ll be off to college like mine.”
She got a tight smile in return. “Right now, it feels like that can’t happen soon enough, but thank you.”
The family moved on and Nora headed for the fruit. Her empty nest in Atlanta was growing more lonely with every week that passed, and she spent far too much time just rambling around the Ansley Park home. She set a bag of oranges in the cart and tried to shake off her melancholy. No more pity party—she and Becky had big plans for the next few years.
Becky always teased Nora about her penchant for planning and list making, but how else did things get done? Becky wouldn’t be laughing once Nora surprised her with the news that they would be spending three weeks in England next summer. Becky had always been a book lover, and finally she would get to visit all the places she’d dreamed of after reading about Narnia and Camelot and Hogwarts.
It hadn’t been easy squirreling away that money, and without a careful plan and lots of lists, Nora never would have been able to make it happen. But she had enough saved now to give Becky her dream trip. Hopefully it would be the first of many mother-daughter adventures they’d share before Becky settled down and started her own family.
Nora gave the lime in her hand a tight squeeze, trying to quell the whispers of doubt in the back of her mind. She and her daughter hadn’t spoken much lately, just a few texts and emails and the very rare call. Becky kept insisting everything was okay—she was just busy with freshman year. Nora dropped the lime into a bag with five others. She couldn’t shake the suspicion that her daughter was hiding something from her.
A deep voice started cursing behind her as she reached for a bag of lemons. She glanced over her shoulder and spotted a tall, lean man in jeans and a faded flannel shirt. His gray-blue eyes were frosty with anger, but she couldn’t tell where it was directed, since he seemed to be alone.
“Damned idiots. They’re nothing but stupid-ass idiots.” He roughly tossed a bag of apples into his cart, making it rattle, causing a few heads to turn. “Stupid, stupid, stupid...” Another bag of fruit landed in his cart with a bang, and he pushed it closer to hers.
She couldn’t see a Bluetooth device in his ear, so he seemed to be having this conversation with himself. Flat out raging at himself, from the sounds of it. His face was sharp and angled, but the dark stubble along his jaw softened those lines just enough to make him strikingly attractive in a rough-hewn way. Layers of dark brown hair brushed his shoulders, and he reminded her of an aging rock star getting ready to smash a guitar somewhere.
Nora gave herself a mental shake. She hadn’t looked twice at anyone since Paul’s death, much less ogled someone in a small-town grocery store. And this bad-tempered stranger was very much not her type. But still, she couldn’t take her eyes off Hot Produce Guy.
“Can’t believe this stupid bullshit!” He reached for a pint of blueberries, and Nora knew the loose netting over the top of the box wouldn’t be enough to hold them if they were handled roughly. Blueberries were going to fly everywhere if he...
The box hit the bottom of his cart and big, fat berries exploded up out of it, rolling in a hundred directions across the tile floor. People started shouting and dancing around. The little girl who’d been screaming for ice cream a few minutes ago was now gleefully jumping up and down, popping blueberries with her feet like she was making wine. A grumbling murmur rolled through the produce section as people tried to figure out where the berries were coming from.
Hot Produce Guy, oblivious to the chaos he’d created, was clearly having a very bad day, and Nora quickly devised a plan to help him. After all, she was a planner. That was what she did. She tossed her store flyer into his cart, covering the incriminating half-empty container. He looked up sharply, but she lifted a finger to her lips before he spoke. He followed her eyes toward the angry mob looking for a culprit and winced when the little girl leaped on a fat rolling berry.
Nora gave him a wink and gestured with her head. He followed her without a word. They didn’t stop their carts until they were safely in the bakery section. When he turned to face her, she had to tip her head back to meet his eyes, but she was used to that. Some days it seemed everyone on the planet was taller than she was.
“So what was the problem with the angry holiday zombies back there?”
That voice. Gravelly, deep and seriously sexy. Forget his looks, it had been that rough voice spitting out swear words a minute ago that made her breath hitch. That was why she’d rescued him. She shook off her rare case of insta-lust and did her best to look unaffected.
“Someone’s blueberries were causing pandemonium. And you seemed to be having a bad enough day without facing a zombie attack right before Thanksgiving.”
His face reddened. “Calling this a bad day is an understatement.”
“The holidays can be tough. Is there anything I can help with?”
He looked at her in surprise, then shook his head. “My son just told me...” He rubbed the back of his neck. “He did something so stupid I can’t even think straight.” He looked up at the ceiling and heaved a sigh, blinking a few times before looking back at her. His blue eyes softened for a moment so brief she thought she might have imagined it.
“How old is your son?”
“Old enough to know better.”
“I have a teenage daughter, so I can relate. Sometimes we just have to let them learn from their own mistakes. Even when it drives us crazy.”
She thought about how furious she’d been when Becky came home a year ago with that dreadful tattoo on her forearm after spending the summer in Gallant Lake. Nora had nearly had a stroke right there in the airport. It was just a tiny heart-shaped padlock, but still. A tattoo! On her daughter’s perfect alabaster skin! What would people think if they saw it? What if it affected her career? And why a padlock of all things?
“Yeah, well, that sentiment might look nice on a greeting card, but here in the real world that’s not how it works.” The vulnerability was definitely gone from his eyes now. He was angry. With her. “It’s my job to make sure my kids are...” He stuttered and took a breath. “I mean, my kid. I have to make him understand what needs to be done. Whether he likes it or not.”
He gripped the cart so tightly his knuckles were white. Nora prided herself on being able to solve problems, but she was out of her depth dealing with rage this intense. It was time to extricate herself from this conversation with a complete stranger.
“Well...I...I should be going.” She couldn’t help making one last attempt to cheer him up. Becky always called her Little Suzy Sunshine. Nora was never sure if it was a compliment or not. “You know, someday you and your son will look back at this and laugh.” He started to disagree, but she held up her hand. “Our children will always be our children, no matter how old they get.”
“Really? More greeting-card platitudes? I hope you didn’t raise your daughter to believe all that ‘the sun will come out tomorrow’ nonsense. News flash—some children aren’t always our children. Sometimes they...” His mouth was set in a hard line. “Never mind. I don’t know why I’m still standing here talking to you.”
People didn’t usually get under her skin so easily, but this guy had Nora’s temper up in mere minutes. “I’m pretty sure you were going to thank me for helping you.”
He stared at her long enough to make her skin warm.
“I know your type. You’re a fixer. You could have minded your own business and everything would have been just fine. But you’re one of those that can’t help butting in. Well, now you can butt out. I sure as hell don’t need your sugar-coated advice today.”
He gave his cart a hard shove, sending more blueberries bouncing out of the container in his wake. Nora’s hand fluttered up to rest over her heart as he left. She tried never to curse, even to herself, but there was no other way to say it—Hot Produce Guy was an asshole. She glanced around in guilt, as if someone might have heard her unkind thoughts. Then she regrouped. Becky would be in Gallant Lake tonight. And they were going to have another talk about removing that horrid tattoo.
* * *
THREE HOURS LATER, Nora was stomping down the sidewalks of Gallant Lake. Alone. While she’d been shopping and dealing with Grumpy Hot Produce Guy, plans had changed. Becky wouldn’t be arriving until Thanksgiving Day now, instead of tonight. And she’d informed Nora by text. This day was not going at all the way she’d planned it.
Amanda finally chased her out of the house. “Your pacing and muttering is driving me crazy, Nora. Take my car and go into the village so you can do your pacing where I can’t see you. Have you ever been to Caffeine Cathy’s Coffee Café? Go check it out and keep yourself busy.”
Nora came to a halt in front of the ugliest building in the village. Painted in garish orange, pink and blue, Caffeine Cathy’s was a sharp contrast to the more conservatively decorated shops along Main Street. The harsh colors were out of place in postcard-pretty Gallant Lake. As if confirming her thoughts, she noticed a large For Sale by Owner sign in the window. The café might be ugly, but the aroma was heavenly, and there seemed to be steady traffic in and out the door.
The interior of the coffee shop was just as eclectic as the exterior. Wide, unfinished planks covered the floor, and the walls were original red brick, covered with artwork for sale. Mismatched tables and chairs, painted in a kaleidoscope of colors, were scattered around the long, narrow space. The counter was across the back, and Nora joined the line of customers.
One painting caught her eye as she waited. It was a beautiful image of a tall galleon sailing calm waters at night, with stars twinkling above. But the ship was heading straight for a high waterfall that led to a waiting sea monster wrapped in flames. Disaster loomed, and no one on that ship had a clue. What an odd thing to paint. Why didn’t the ship have a lookout? How could the serene sea be leading to such a violent end? She turned away, feeling uncomfortable and knowing that was probably exactly what the artist intended.
“Come on, Helen, this place is a joke.” An older couple was standing behind her. The man ignored his wife’s shushing, and if anything, he got even louder. His accent said New Jersey. “We could have gone to Ma’s for Thanksgiving, but no, you insisted we come to this godforsaken place in the boondocks. And they call this a coffee shop? I’d give my left arm for a Dunkin’ right now.”
“Herbie, be quiet!” Helen, wrapped in an aging fur coat that had seen better days, smacked her husband’s ribs hard enough to make Nora wince. “The grandkids woulda’ been bored outta’ their minds at your mother’s. The resort has an indoor pool, and the ski slopes at Hunter are open this weekend, which is the only reason Joey and Mary agreed to come here with their families. So shut up and enjoy yourself.”
Trying to save poor Herbie from any more spousal abuse, Nora chimed in. “You’re staying at the Gallant Lake Resort? I know the owners, and I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful weekend there with your family. But if you get restless, there’s a casino a little over an hour from here.” That news made Herbie smile, but not Helen.
“Don’t you even think about going to a casino, Herbert Comisky!” The large woman rounded on Nora. “Thanks a lot. Now we’ll be fighting over that damn casino business all weekend long.”
Nora stepped back, mumbling an apology. She was definitely losing her Suzy Sunshine mojo. What else could go wrong today?
“Hiya, honey, what can I get you?” Nora looked at the tall, willowy woman behind the chipped and coffee-stained counter. Her salt-and-pepper hair was pulled back into a thick braid that hung down her back, and she was wearing a shapeless tie-dyed dress that swept the floor. Literally. The hem was filthy from where it had removed dust and dirt from the old boards. But her dark brown eyes were kind and friendly, and Nora returned her smile, trying not to stare at the woman’s yellowing teeth.
“I’ll have a cappuccino with a shot of hazelnut, please.” She looked at the dusty glass case sitting on top of the counter. “And I’ll take that last scone, too.”
“You got it, honey. Give me just a minute.”
Herbie spoke up again behind Nora. “Gawd, give me strength. That must be Caffeine Cathy herself. Did you see those teeth? She either drinks fifty cups of coffee a day or smokes five packs of cigarettes. And that outfit. She’s a freakin’ hippy...”
Nora moved toward the register, determined not to let poor Cathy think she was with the obnoxious couple. A large poster was framed prominently on the wall behind the register.
Life is about the journey, not the destination.
Two thoughts ran through her mind at the same time. One was that it was the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard. What was the point of a journey without a destination in mind? And the second thought was that this was exactly the kind of “greeting-card sentiment” Hot Produce Guy had accused her of that morning. She rolled her eyes at the memory, then saw Cathy dropping her scone on the floor. The woman shrugged when their eyes met, then she laughed as she quickly retrieved the scone and dropped it into a bag.
“Three-second rule, right? That’ll be four-fifty.”
The amount of grime on these floors wouldn’t qualify for a one-second rule, much less three. Nora opened her mouth to protest and heard Herbie snickering behind her. It wasn’t worth making a scene over, especially with those two as an audience. She’d just toss the scone and get back to Amanda’s before anything else could go wrong. She set a five-dollar bill on the counter. Apparently Herbie didn’t think she was moving fast enough, and he gave her arm a nudge. It was the arm that held the coffee she was raising to her lips. The coffee that didn’t have a tight lid. The lid that splattered coffee down the front of Nora’s light pink jacket.
“You should be more careful, dear.” Helen was biting back laughter, and it took all of Nora’s strength to head to the door without responding. Random swear words were threatening to break free in her head, but she shoved them back in the corner where they belonged. Get back to Halcyon and hide for the rest of the day. That was the only plan that made sense at this point. Until she stepped outside.
Never a champion at parallel parking, she knew she’d been lucky to find a double spot open near the shop that she could drive straight into. Except it wasn’t a double spot anymore. There was a truck parked behind the car and an enormous Cadillac sedan wedged into the space in front of it, leaving her about five inches to maneuver onto the street. Perfect.
She did her best, going back and forth, back and forth, back and forth between the Cadillac, the truck and the sidewalk. Finally those curse words broke free in her head, and she was mentally pulling a Hot Produce Guy routine, silently swearing up a blue streak. But she carefully kept the words to herself, even when her bumper nudged the Caddy just enough to set off the blaring car alarm.
And who came running out of Caffeine Cathy’s? None other than Herbie and Helen, both yelling and waving their arms. She dropped her forehead to the steering wheel, closed her eyes tightly and tried to summon all of her Southern breeding. She always said there wasn’t a problem that couldn’t be solved with a smile and a plan.
She just happened to be running low on both at the moment.
CHAPTER TWO (#u4c8ff74d-b9c9-53dd-91ce-3221c2bc7d1a)
ASHER PEYTON WAS lost in the process of staining the cherry sideboard in the work area of his shop, rubbing the finish to a satin sheen. Back and forth he went with the ball of cheesecloth, working in long strokes with firm pressure. It was a task that took a lot of time and very little thought. Clapton’s bluesy guitar was coming through the speakers mounted on the wall, and Asher was totally in The Zone, focused only on the fine grain of the wood coming to life under his fingers. Until a car alarm went off outside.
At first he figured someone set off their alarm by mistake, but when it kept going, he tossed the finishing cloth onto the workbench in disgust and grabbed his lukewarm cup of coffee. He walked to the plate glass window at the front of his shop to see what was going on.
There was a tiny red Mini Cooper nudged up against a big Cadillac right in front of his shop. Whoever owned the Caddy had to know they’d blocked that little car in completely, since their car was halfway into the street. An older couple came running out of Cathy’s shop, waving their arms all over the place like idiots.
Asher took a sip of coffee and watched in amusement as it took three tries for the guy to silence the alarm with his key fob. From all the yelling, you’d think the red car just totaled their gas hog instead of barely bumping it. The door of the red car opened slowly, and he caught a glimpse of pink.
Of all the rotten luck. It was that nosy little brunette from the grocery store. The one with the sweet accent and the compulsion to save people. The Fixer.
She got out of the car and faced Mr. and Mrs. Cadillac with a tight smile. Her chin-length hair was tucked behind her ears, revealing bright spots of rosy red high on her cheeks. A small crowd was gathering—the joy of small-town life. Asher drained his coffee. The Fixer was having one hell of a day. First he’d barked at her in the store, and now this. He started to turn away. Her little parking drama was none of his business, and he had work to do. Then he heard Cadillac Man yelling.
“Did you not see my car sitting right there? That must be a dye job on your hair, ’cuz you’d have to be a blonde to be this stupid...”
His wife tugged at his coat sleeve, cell phone in hand. “Should I call the cops, Herbie?”
Oh, hell, the last thing Deputy Sheriff Dan Adams needed was to get called to Main Street to deal with this nonsense. Before he could stop himself, Asher was outside. He glanced at the bumpers to confirm there wasn’t so much as a scratch on either car. The Fixer had rocked the Caddy just enough to set off the alarm, but not enough to do any damage.
“Okay, folks, let’s all calm down, okay?” He stepped forward and faced the older man, forcing him to look up to meet Asher’s eyes. The considerable difference in their size and age wasn’t lost on the guy. Good. “Sir, there’s no harm done to your car. Your parking job didn’t leave the lady much room to maneuver. Why don’t you just pull out, and then she’ll be able to leave, too?” And Asher could get back inside his quiet shop, away from all these curious faces.
The Fixer was handing her insurance card to the fur-clad wife while babbling at the speed of light.
“I’m terribly sorry, but really, there appears to be no damage, except to my pride, of course.” She forced a laugh, but it fell flat. “Feel free to write down my insurance information, though I’m sure you won’t need...”
The old guy snatched the card from her hand before she could finish, and Asher’s fingers curled into a fist. He didn’t have a lot of patience on a good day, and today was not a good day. He thought about Sheriff Dan and forced himself to relax again as Cadillac Man spoke.
“Your name’s Randall?”
“What? Oh, no. The car belongs to my cousin Amanda Randall.”
“So you don’t even own this car? Maybe we should call the cops.”
She put on a bright, tight smile. “I really don’t think that’s necessary...”
Asher sighed. Miss Fixer was connected to the resort, which meant this jerk was wasting his time trying to cause trouble. He pulled the guy aside as if he was doing him a favor, going so far as to drape his arm casually across the man’s shoulders before digging in firmly with his fingers.
“Here’s the deal. The Randalls own the Gallant Lake Resort. They also own half the waterfront. You’re not winning this one, pal. Just drive away and let it go, okay?” The words were spoken calmly and quietly. It was a technique he’d seen Dan use many times on hotheads, including during their first meeting, when he’d used it on Asher. To the casual observer, everything looked friendly, but Cadillac Man flinched under the pressure of Asher’s grip.
The man nodded and shrugged away from him. “Get in the car, Helen. Maybe if we move, she’ll be able to figure out how to drive.” Helen harrumphed but obeyed, slamming the passenger door shut. The big car pulled away. People were dispersing when he looked to the Fixer. Why hadn’t he noticed how unusual her golden-brown eyes were before now?
“I had that handled, you know.”
Okay. That wasn’t exactly the thanks he’d expected.
“You could have handled two people screaming in your face and calling the cops about driving a car you don’t own? Yeah, I could tell. Great job.”
She squared her shoulders, tipping her chin up. “I had it handled. I was being nice, I was cooperating and I was working on getting them to like me. I didn’t need you to swoop in and save me.”
“The only thing you were handling was getting the sheriff’s office called. And the sheriff’s deputy would have called Blake Randall, and Randall would have rushed down to resolve your little mess. With an audience. In the middle of town. Was that the plan you had in mind?”
The red dots on her cheeks got brighter.
They glared at each other for a heartbeat before something in her seemed to snap. “You know what? I tried to be nice to you in the store, and instead of thanking me, you insulted me and questioned my parenting skills. And now you show up here... Where did you swoop in from, anyway?”
The corner of his mouth twitched. Every time she said that word—swoop—her mouth formed a perfect little kiss. Her eyes narrowed and he noticed the hazel sparks for the first time. She had the eyes of a cat, and she was ready to hiss and spit at him.
“You didn’t need my help this morning, and I certainly didn’t need yours now. I had it handled. I’ve got this whole damned day handled.” Her hands gestured wildly. He had a feeling she didn’t get worked up like this often. “Now crawl back to whatever cave you live in and let me get on with my perfectly handled afternoon.”
Sarcasm dripped from her words, and he realized he was smirking at her. A smirk was just one step away from a smile, which meant he was in dangerous territory. But who would have guessed the sweet, Southern Fixer had a backbone?
He reached up to touch the imaginary brim of the hat he wasn’t wearing and backed away, giving his best Clark Gable impression. “Whatever you say, ma’am. Because frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn about your day.”
He turned away, pretty sure he heard her call him an “arrogant jackass” as he walked off. He was glad she couldn’t see the rare smile that brought to his face.
* * *
THE FOLLOWING NIGHT, a smile wasn’t even a glimmer of a possibility for Asher. He stared at his son in disbelief.
“Marry her? Are you out of your freakin’ mind?”
He’d known for a few days that Michael had gotten some girl pregnant, and that was bad enough. But marriage? Michael had been dating this girl, whom he’d met snowboarding, but he’d never brought her by. And now that Asher knew she’d just turned eighteen in April, he understood why.
He turned to face Michael and wondered for the hundredth time when his son had become this tall, bearded adult. Wasn’t it just yesterday Asher had been watching him play in the yard? The memory of two laughing little boys caused its usual slicing pain, and he clenched his jaw tightly to maintain some semblance of control.
“You are not going to marry this girl.”
Michael leaned back against the unfinished sideboard and shook his head with a pitying smile.
“Oh, I’m definitely marrying this girl, Dad. And you are definitely going to become a grandfather in six months. Nothing’s changing those two facts. You just need to decide how much of an ass you’re going to be about it. Or not.”
Michael’s eyes were calm and steady, but Asher could see the tightness in his son’s shoulders and the pulse pounding rapidly on the side of his neck. His own stance probably reflected the same. The tension had been part of every conversation they’d had over the past few years. But there was a difference today. There was something in Michael’s eyes that exuded a confidence he hadn’t shown since his brother’s death.
Too bad Asher would have to squash it.
“Oh, trust me, boy, I’m going to be a major ass about this. This wedding is not happening. You got some girl pregnant—that’s on you. If she insists on having it, you’ll have to support it, which I’m sure was her plan all along. But she is not marrying you.” Asher turned away, staring through the window of his furniture shop to the dark and silent street outside. “You need to finish your degree and start the career you planned.” He looked back and narrowed his eyes. “Have you even told your mother about this? Does your grandfather know?”
Michael rolled his eyes. It was something he’d done since he was a kid. His baby brother always made fun of it, telling Michael he rolled his eyes so much that one day they’d just roll right out of his head. Asher’s teeth gnashed together again, this time sharply enough to make his jaw ache. His eyes landed on the bottle of bourbon on the workbench, and he headed for a shot of painkiller.
“I called Mom this morning. She said she’s too young to have grandchildren.” Michael’s foot kicked softly at a pile of wood shavings on the floor. “She said Grandfather would pay for ‘anything necessary’ to make this ‘problem’ go away.” His fingers made sharp air quotes. “But here’s the thing none of you get.” Michael stood straight, and Asher had to look up just a bit to meet his son’s eyes. It was another unsettling reminder that his son was a man now. “This isn’t a problem to be solved. I love Becky. She’s it for me.”
Asher scrubbed his hand over his face, then took a drink, letting the familiar burn steady him. “I thought marriage was out of style these days—why the big hurry to tie yourself to this girl in some ceremony?” He drained the glass and refilled it.
“What can I say, Dad? I’m in love with an old-fashioned girl.”
Asher snorted. “An old-fashioned girl wouldn’t be pregnant at eighteen. But a clever one would. Can’t you see she’s just using it to get her hooks into...”
“Careful, Dad.” Michael’s expression hardened. “This baby is not an ‘it’ or a ‘problem’ or a scam or anything else but a child. My child.”
Michael, more than anyone, had to know the thought of a child was no comfort to Asher.
“What does her family think of this mess?”
“You’ll find out this weekend. Her mom is in town, and Becky wants to set up a meet-the-parents brunch after I get back from spending turkey day with Mom in LA. I’ll meet her mother and you get to meet Becky.”
“Where’s her father in all this?”
“Killed in a plane crash. The year before Dylan died.”
The furniture shop was usually Asher’s sanctuary from his youngest son’s ghost, but Dylan’s memory was so sharp in here tonight he could almost feel it brushing against his skin. He turned away to hide his grimace, taking another drink.
How could he explain to Michael that parenthood simply wasn’t worth it? How could he explain that putting all your hopes and dreams onto a child meant the risk of losing all those hopes and dreams? What was it the golden-eyed brunette had said in the grocery store that morning? Our children will always be our children... She was wrong. Children weren’t always your children. Sometimes children died. He took one more gulp of liquor to bolster his resolve.
“Count me out.”
“Dad...”
“No.” His voice hardened, and the walls went up around him so solidly he could almost see the bricks stacking. “I won’t be a part of it. You’re too young, and she’s definitely too young. You’re being reckless with your life and with hers.”
“That’s rich coming from someone who had me at twenty-one.”
“But your mother was twenty-three, not a freakin’ teenager. And we didn’t get married for another two years, after I was out of college and had a job.”
Asher could see his younger self standing in the hospital, holding another baby boy in his arms, dreaming all those golden dreams for the boy’s future. Twelve years later he was back in that same hospital, holding his son’s lifeless body, cursing the universe and everyone in it. He drew in a deep breath and forced the words out.
“And look at me now, Michael. The marriage is over and your brother is gone. Gone. Are you ready for that to happen to your baby? Because I don’t think you are.”
Michael’s face paled and his lips pressed thinly together for a moment. He stared long and hard at the glass in Asher’s hand, as if trying to convince himself it was just the booze talking. His son had no idea how deep Asher’s fears ran—right to the marrow of his soul.
Michael ended the conversation by walking away, looking over his shoulder at Asher when he reached the door. “I’ll text you the time for the brunch. If you don’t care about meeting Becky, at least show up for me. I don’t imagine her mom will be too crazy about me considering the circumstances. But I guess you aren’t, either.”
“Michael...” A shot of regret hit Asher’s heart, but his son was gone, the door closing softly behind him. The tinkling of the bell over the door, there to alert him to customers during the day, seemed cruel and mocking in the middle of the night. He turned the lock, then leaned against the door.
For some reason, the Fixer was in his head again, suggesting he and Michael would look back on this time and laugh. He’d liked the cadence of her soft Southern accent and the glimpse of fire she’d shown out in front of his shop, but she couldn’t be more wrong.
This mess would never be a laughing matter.
CHAPTER THREE (#u4c8ff74d-b9c9-53dd-91ce-3221c2bc7d1a)
“I’M SORRY...YOU’RE WHAT?”
Nora brought a shaking hand to her forehead, wondering if she was losing her mind. She had to be hearing things. Or hallucinating. That was it—she was hallucinating. Maybe she’d bought the wrong kind of mushrooms at the store the other day. Hot Produce Guy had distracted her, and she’d bought hallucinogenic mushrooms. That would explain why she’d just imagined her daughter saying something that couldn’t possibly be true.
The Thanksgiving table was eerily silent. Amanda held her wineglass suspended in midair, not quite reaching her lips. Blake’s mouth kept opening and closing, with no sound coming out. Their twelve-year-old son, Zachary, muttered a quiet “Uh-oh.” But it was the youngest child, Maddie, who broke through the quiet, clapping her hands together.
“Annie Becca have baby!” Unable to pronounce Ts yet, all of Maddie’s aunties were annies at this point.
Becky sat directly across from Nora, eyes wide but steady. The only hint of emotion was the rapid tapping of her fingers on the edge of the table, like she was playing an invisible piano. Her light brown hair was pulled up into a high ponytail tied with a ribbon, making her look even younger than her eighteen years.
Eighteen!
“I’m sorry, Mama.” Becky’s hands fell to her lap. “I didn’t mean to blurt it out over dinner like that, but you kept insisting it was okay to drink wine with dinner and I can’t, and I had to tell you anyway, so it just came out. I’m sorry.”
Nora shook her head. The news simply wasn’t computing. Amanda reached for her, but Nora jerked away. If anyone touched her right now, she’d shatter. Her eyes narrowed as she looked at her pregnant teenage daughter.
“Rebecca Scarlett Bradford, did you just apologize for the bad timing of the announcement? Yet you’re not apologizing for being pregnant? At eighteen?” Every word grew louder and louder, which was a new experience for Nora. She prided herself on maintaining her composure at all times.
Her late husband’s shenanigans had tested that composure on a regular basis, but she’d rarely cracked. She rose to her feet in a flash of hot temper. She was definitely cracking now. In fact, she felt like she was about to burst into a thousand shards of fury.
“How could you be so careless? So stupid? Your life is just beginning, and now you’re telling me you’re pregnant? My God, Becky, I raised you to be smarter than that!” Her pulse was pounding in her ears. Rage? Panic? Was there a difference? “You have a scholarship at Vassar, for God’s sake! And you’re throwing it all away because you couldn’t keep your legs...”
“Nora!” Amanda’s voice was sharp. Her two children were at the table. Nora’s face burned. All she could do was glare at her daughter and wonder what the hell they were going to do. How was she going to fix this?
Blake cleared his throat as awkward silence returned. Nora was still standing, leaning over the table as if she wanted to leap across it and pummel her daughter. And, right now, the idea had a shocking amount of appeal.
“I think it’s safe to say dinner is officially over.” Blake gave his wife a pointed look. “Let’s take a little break before dessert, okay? The kids and I will go down to the resort, and you ladies can talk.” It was obvious he intended for Amanda to be the referee. Amanda. Her cousin who’d spent more time with Becky than she had over the past few months. Nora looked down, her own voice sounding like cracking ice.
“Did you know about this?”
Her cousin threw her hands up in defense. “No! I knew she had a boyfriend, but...”
A heart attack. That was what this was. Nora was having a heart attack and this was all a crazy dream. They’d take her to the hospital, and when she woke up, no one would be pregnant. No one would have a boyfriend they hadn’t mentioned to their mother. Because Becky told her mother everything.
“You told Amanda about having a boyfriend and not me?”
Becky shifted in her chair, then raised her chin defiantly. “If you knew I was seeing someone here, there’s no way you would’ve let me come to Gallant Lake so often...”
“He’s here? In Gallant Lake? How long has this...”
“Two years.”
Amanda sucked in a sharp breath, which somehow made Nora feel better. At least her cousin didn’t know everything. Nora knew Becky had made friends here, of course. She visited often, and they all went snowboarding and rock climbing together. Even when she was home in Atlanta, Becky was always texting or video chatting with someone in Gallant Lake. It just hadn’t occurred to Nora that there was a boyfriend in the picture. She was such an idiot.
Two years. Becky would have been sixteen. Nora settled down into her seat like a balloon slowly losing air. Sixteen. Someone had taken advantage of her innocent child and now she was pregnant. Okay. They could fix this. First, Nora would make sure this monster was prosecuted for...something. Anything. A stranger had come into her happy family and tried to destroy it, but Nora wouldn’t allow that to happen.
“How old was this...this man?”
“When we met? Eighteen.”
There was an odd bit of relief in that. At least it wasn’t some forty-year-old cyber-stalker who’d victimized her daughter. It was a horny teenage boy. Who, at eighteen, had still been old enough to know better and could still be held responsible.
“So this young man pressured you into having unprotected s...”
“Blake is right,” Amanda interrupted, standing quickly and reminding Nora once again there were children present at this train wreck of a holiday meal. “He and Zach can clear the table and go for a walk with Maddie. The three of us can take a minute to collect our thoughts, then we’ll sit in the solarium and figure this out over tea.”
Everyone stood, and Nora stared at her daughter, trying to understand how this had happened. Becky was an intelligent young woman with big plans. She was going to work to protect the environment and make a difference in the world. Was that a baby bump? How far along was she? Was it too late for options? Would Nora support that choice if Becky made it? Her pulse amped up another notch.
“There’s nothing to figure out, Amanda.” Becky looked at Nora for a long moment, then her hand moved across her belly. “I know you’re disappointed, Mom. This wasn’t part of your precious plans. Michael and I didn’t plan it, either, but we’re happy to be having a baby together. We love each other, and Michael asked me to marry him. I said yes.”
As that bombshell sent shock waves through the room so forceful that Nora physically felt their impact, her daughter walked away from the table.
* * *
NORA GLARED SO hard at the back of the bearded man holding her daughter’s hand that she was surprised she didn’t bore a hole right between his shoulders. His sweater sleeves were pushed up to expose a small tattoo of a key on his right forearm. It now rested right next to the padlock on Becky’s arm as they walked down the sidewalk in Gallant Lake.
Well. That explained that.
She wanted to hate this horrible young man who’d gotten her daughter pregnant and ruined all the plans Nora had for Becky’s future. This...this...Michael person had made a mess of everything. She narrowed her eyes on the back of his head.
He nudged against her daughter’s shoulder in what appeared to be some affectionate ritual between them, and Becky nudged back without looking at him. Nora wanted to hate him. But she couldn’t.
Michael Peyton had been mature and charming over brunch. He clearly worshipped the ground Becky walked on and was constantly attentive to her every need. They seemed to be truly in love with each other. Of course, it was young love, and who knew if it would last, but still, it seemed real for the moment. It was honestly the kind of love she’d dreamed Becky would find, but she’d wanted her to find it ten years from now. Without being pregnant. Her eyes narrowed again.
While Nora had been making plans to take a tour of England with her daughter, Becky had been making plans of her own. She was at the end of her first trimester, and she’d already made arrangements to leave Vassar. Michael was transferring to the law program at Albany, which was closer to Gallant Lake than Columbia was. Becky said she was looking at “other options” for school, but she vowed the baby wouldn’t stop her from getting her political science degree. Michael was already renting a two-bedroom bungalow in Gallant Lake, and they wanted to stay in this town, where they’d met and where they had friends.
There were some major gaps in their plan, such as the loss of scholarships and a source of steady income, but Nora had to admit they were approaching this in a fairly mature manner, so far. Nora had told Becky yesterday she could move north to help, but her daughter was adamant about not needing Nora there. She was just like her father that way—always so sure everything would turn out rosy. So quick to dismiss Nora’s concerns. When she tried to point out that having a baby was hard work and they would need help, Becky just laughed.
“It’s time to start living your own life, Mom, and stop running mine.”
Her daughter didn’t want her here. And that hurt.
Michael glanced over his shoulder at Nora, his blue eyes clouded with worry.
“Mrs. B., are you sure you want to do this?” It took her a moment to realize what he was referring to. “I have no idea how Dad will react to us just showing up...”
Nora smiled before she could catch herself. Darn it all, she kept forgetting she wanted to hate this kid! His mom lived in LA, but his father lived right here in town. The man hadn’t bothered showing up for brunch, leaving Michael so embarrassed she couldn’t help but feel sorry for him.
“Of course I’m sure, Michael. In the South, there isn’t a problem in the world that can’t be fixed over blueberry cobbler and strong coffee.”
Becky turned with a laugh. “Don’t you mean a smile and a plan, Mom? Isn’t that how you solve everything?”
Nora nodded. “The plan is to make him smile over cobbler, then we’ll get him talking and win him over.”
Becky pulled up short, forcing Michael to stop with her. Nora bobbled the white box of cobbler in her arms to keep it upright. “Mom, what exactly are you winning him over to? Are you saying you’re on our side now?”
The smell of freshly ground coffee was a welcome distraction from answering that heavily loaded question. They were standing in front of Caffeine Cathy’s Coffee Café. The place didn’t exactly hold happy memories for her—she still hadn’t managed to get the coffee stain out of her jacket. But maybe they should pick up coffee here instead of expecting Michael’s father to provide it unannounced.
“Mom?”
Nora looked back to her daughter—her pregnant daughter with a plan—and the tall man at her side, arm now draped affectionately over her shoulders. The young man who loved her daughter. The father of her daughter’s child. There was a tightness in her chest that was something other than pain. It was a flood of emotion so strong she almost couldn’t breathe.
“Rebecca,” she said, ignoring the wince on her daughter’s face at the use of her full name, “there are no sides here. There’s just a baby. And two very young people who are obviously going to love that baby. I’m not a fan of you getting married...” She shook her head when Becky started to protest. “I really want you to wait before having a wedding. Your plans sound very nice and tidy, but life isn’t tidy. And you’re going to need family. For you, that’s me. For Michael, that’s his mom and dad. So let’s bring his dad some cobbler and coffee—” she tipped her head toward the coffee shop with a smile “—and see if we can help him accept his impending grandfatherhood.”
Michael placed a soft kiss on the top of Becky’s head, and Nora blinked, then stared out at the blue lake across the road, surrounded by russet-colored mountains. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes, and felt her daughter’s arms surround her.
“Thanks, Mom. I didn’t expect you to be so...cool about this.”
Nora laughed. “I wouldn’t go so far as saying I’m cool with it, but you’re my baby and I love you.” Michael headed into the coffee shop. Nora looked at the For Sale sign in the window and winked at Becky to lighten the moment.
“I could always buy a coffee shop in Gallant Lake so I could be closer to you.”
Becky started to laugh. “Oh, God, Mom, that would be a disaster! You don’t know anything about business, much less running the world’s ugliest coffee shop. Besides, I already told you it’s time to live your own life. I don’t need you running mine anymore.”
Nora couldn’t decide which emotion to go with. Pain that her daughter thought she was incapable of running a business or panic at the realization that she had no idea what living her own life might look like. She pulled her jacket more tightly around her as a cold breeze blew off the lake. She lifted her chin and gave Becky a bright smile to hide her roiling emotions.
“Maybe I’ve always wanted to run a place like this. Well, not looking like this, but an artsy little coffeehouse...”
“You’ve always wanted to own a coffee shop? For real?”
Nora had never in her life thought about owning a coffee shop. But she did enjoy sitting with a good book in the one near Peachtree Mall.
“Whatever, Mom.” Becky took the box of cobbler from Nora’s arms. “Buy a coffee shop somewhere. Toss away that stupid planner of yours and start living.”
Michael returned with coffee, and they headed next door to the plain brick building with a carved sign reading Peyton Custom Woodworking. A beautiful arts and crafts chair and side table sat in the window. On the table were two dark bowls made of polished burled wood. If Michael’s father had built this, then the man truly was an artist. A bell jingled above the door when they walked in.
Furniture and carved pieces were displayed in the front of the shop, creating a showroom of sorts, anchored by a large oriental rug. In back was a work area. Workbenches full of tiny drawers lined the walls, and in the center sat a half-finished cherry sideboard and an oak dining table with a pile of steel wool sitting in the middle of it. The whole place smelled of sawdust and varnish. Guitar music was coming out of speakers on the wall, bluesy and mellow.
The masculine presence in the room was so strong she could breathe it in and taste it. This was a man’s space, through and through. Exposed brick walls, light bulbs hanging from the ceiling with round metal shades above them. It was orderly, but raw somehow. As raw as the board lumber stacked high against the back wall.
She ran her hand across the silky-smooth top of the sideboard and heard footsteps approaching. A side door opened and a man walked in, wiping his hands on a rag. When he looked up, she took in a sharp breath and stepped back. It was Hot Produce Guy. The man who’d been so rude in the grocery store. The man she’d yelled at on the sidewalk...she cringed inwardly...the sidewalk right outside his business.
He froze, still holding the rag, but not moving a muscle. His icy blue eyes looked first to Michael, who was setting the coffee and pastries on a workbench, and he frowned. His frown deepened when he saw Becky nervously twisting her fingers together in front of her stomach. Then he turned to Nora and the frown faded into confusion.
“What are you doing here, Miss Fixer?”
The name hung in the air for a moment before Becky found her voice.
“Wait—you two know each other? How the hell does he know you, Mom?”
“Mom?” He set the rag down, shook his head and gave a humorless laugh. “Of course. You’re the mom of the little mom-to-be.” He took a long look at Becky, and there wasn’t an ounce of warmth in his gaze. He turned back to Nora. “So, was our chance meeting in the store Tuesday just as orchestrated as the rest of this farce? And I suppose you just happened to be parked right in front of my shop that afternoon?”
“I didn’t orchestrate anything.” His brow rose in obvious skepticism, and she bristled. “Listen, I’m just as surprised as you. It looks like we’re going to have to get to know each other, whether we want to or not.” She held out her hand, but he didn’t take it. She remembered his rage in the grocery store over his son doing something stupid, and understood it a lot better now. “The circumstances may not be the best, but we can still make the best of them...” Becky groaned behind her and Michael’s father shook his head in amusement. Or perhaps derision.
“There you go with the greeting-card platitudes again. Do you work for Hallmark or something?”
Becky snorted at that and Nora glared at her. Why didn’t people understand she was trying to bring everyone onto the same page here?
Michael stepped into the silence that followed. “Dad, this is Nora Bradford, and yes, she’s Becky’s mom. She lives in Atlanta but came here for the holiday. She’s related to...”
“The Randalls. Yeah, she made sure to mention that the other day.”
Nora took a sharp breath, but Michael kept talking.
“Nora, this is my father, Asher Peyton. This is his furniture studio. And, Dad, this is Becky. The girl I’m going to...”
Asher looked straight at Nora, ignoring his son. “Look, this little ambush of yours isn’t going to work. I know you’re trying to make nice, but you can forget it. I won’t let you and your daughter rope my son into a marriage with your little baby scam.”
With that, everyone started speaking, each more furious than the last.
“You think I masterminded some scheme that included my eighteen-year-old daughter getting pregnant?”
“You think my pregnancy is a scam?”
“Dad, if you don’t shut up, I swear to God, I’ll shut you up myself!”
Michael grabbed his father’s shirt in his fist and pushed him hard against the wall. The tools hanging there rattled, and a few tumbled off shelves. Becky burst into tears, covering her face with her hands.
Nora stomped her foot hard on the wooden floor. “That’s enough!”
She rarely used her angry voice, and people tended to be shocked into silence when such a big voice came from such a tiny woman.
“Michael, you let your father go this instant! And you.” Her finger pointed straight at Asher Peyton and her accent grew thick. “Sugar, you should follow your son’s advice and remain silent for the time being.” She didn’t take her eyes from him, and he didn’t move or speak as his son took a step back. She nodded in approval. “Bless your heart, Mr. Peyton, you might just have a brain somewhere in that hard head of yours, after all. Now, there will be no more shouting in front of my pregnant daughter, and there will definitely be no more violence, is that clear?” She arched a brow in Michael’s direction and the young man gulped.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Why don’t you take Becky somewhere where she can wash her face and calm down while your father and I have a chat?”
Becky chewed her lip, her face tear soaked, looking painfully like the teenager she was. She silently preceded Michael through the side exit. Michael sent a hard warning glance at his father before closing the door behind them.
Nora turned back to Asher, who was still against the wall, his gaze moving from her face to her pointing finger and back again. Storms raged behind those blue eyes. He was like a wounded animal looking for an escape. Her stance softened automatically and she lowered her hand, reminding herself that cornered animals were dangerous.
Asher’s brooding silence was a physical presence in the room. Was the man capable of violence? Did father and son often resort to physical blows? What kind of family was her daughter getting tangled up with? He glared at her for another long moment, then brushed past her, heading for the workbench. He opened a cupboard door and pulled out an almost empty bottle of whiskey and two glasses. He drained the bottle into the glasses and handed her one. Violent and a drinker? Perfect. But she took the glass, figuring she could use a little liquid courage.
“Your son seems like a fine young man, Asher. If you give her a chance, I think you’ll find my daughter is an equally fine young woman, incapable of whatever you suspect her of.” She had to find a way to bring him into this forced family dynamic, to make him see that these young people needed him.
He took a sip of liquor, and she did the same. “I understand your shock at our children’s predicament. I’m still in shock myself. Michael was so disappointed when you weren’t able to join us this morning...” Her voice faded as she looked from the drink in his hand to the dark circles under his eyes. The pieces started falling into place. That bottle had probably been full at some point last night and may have been part of the reason he didn’t make it to brunch this morning.
Okay, so this guy had some serious issues. But their kids needed them. She gave him her brightest smile, but his scowl just deepened. “So we decided to bring the brunch to you. There’s homemade blueberry cobbler in the box, and we picked up some coffee from next door. I thought we should get to know each other, since we have a mutual grandchild on the way.”
Blue eyes stared hard at her, as if trying to decipher her words.
“That’s not going to happen. Not today. Not any day. You’re trying to play me, and it won’t work. You’re trying to fix a problem that can’t be fixed.” He started to step away. Without thinking, she put her hand on his arm to stop him.
“I understand you’re angry, but we’re their parents, and those two kids need us. That baby needs us. And you’re the one who lives here in the same town.”
He spoke to her hand on his arm instead of looking her in the eye.
“This isn’t some damned Norman Rockwell painting, Nora. I’m not that guy. You may be the ride-in-and-save-everyone type, but don’t bother trying to save me, okay?” He looked her right in the eye. “I’m going to do everything in my power to stop this pregnancy, and if I can’t do that, I’ll make sure they don’t get married.”
“Stop the pregnancy?” Her stomach rolled and soured.
“Doctors can be called. Appointments made. Then both our children get on with their lives.”
A chill swept across her skin. He couldn’t be this calculating and cruel.
“They’re in love with each other. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
“Don’t give me your rosy fairy tales. They’re young and resilient. They’ll move on from this.”
Before she could answer, Michael and Becky came back into the shop. Becky’s face was red and blotchy from crying, but she’d regained her composure. Michael purposefully moved her well past his father, but his eyes fell to Nora’s hand, still on Asher’s arm. Apparently people didn’t touch him a lot. Small wonder. She yanked it away.
Asher looked at her with eyes devoid of any emotion, as if he’d pulled the shutters down from the inside. He glanced at his son and her daughter, and she saw the briefest glimmer of regret when he looked back and met her eyes.
“Look, you seem like a nice woman. Your daughter’s probably a nice girl. But I’ll have no part of this.”
“This?”
“Them.” He lifted his chin to where Becky stood in front of Michael, his arms wrapped protectively around her. “The baby. The wedding. All of it. None of it. I won’t be involved. Just...just leave me out of it, okay? I’m out.”
“Dad, please...”
Michael’s plea went unheard. Asher was through the side door and gone before anyone could react.
CHAPTER FOUR (#u4c8ff74d-b9c9-53dd-91ce-3221c2bc7d1a)
NORA 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.”
CHAPTER FIVE (#u4c8ff74d-b9c9-53dd-91ce-3221c2bc7d1a)
“UM...NORA?” BREE’S VOICE was muffled through the bedroom door, but Nora could hear the tension in it. “You might want to come down and take a look outside. And make sure you’re dressed.”
Nora tossed her blankets aside. Had there been a storm overnight? Had a tree fallen? She obediently put on a pair of pants and a sweater, pulling her hair back with a headband. She glanced at the alarm clock—good Lord, it was after nine o’clock. Apparently that wine had gone to her head more than she’d thought.
Bree was waiting for her right outside the bedroom door. She silently handed Nora the editorial page of the newspaper. The headline read “The Bradford Dynasty?” It was written by guest editor Daphne Tomlin.
Nora couldn’t keep the curse words silent this time. “Son of a bitch.”
“That’s not all,” Bree said.
“It gets worse?” Nora’s laugh had no humor in it at all.
“Reporters came to the door earlier. I didn’t answer, of course, but I saw the news van out front. It’s still there.”
In her mind, Nora pictured Daphne Tomlin roasting slowly over hot coals. Nora probably should have known everything Paul was up to, but she’d ignored the evidence and denied the rumors until the very end. It wasn’t until after his death that she’d learned the full weight of what he’d done. There were three mortgages on their beautiful country home. Becky’s college fund had been emptied. The credit cards were maxed out. She’d known he played poker too much, but she’d had no idea how bad he was at it until it was too late.
And now Nora’s years of carefully crafting a legend around Paul for her daughter’s sake may be wasted. “Have you read the whole story? How bad is it?”
“It’s basically a rehash of the rumors already out there. Unfortunately, she worded your refusal to cooperate so that it looks like you’re hiding something.”
Nora was silent, but her mind was racing. A plan. She needed a plan. A list of priorities formed in her head, and her nerves started to calm.
“Okay, I need to call my attorney and get her working on this. I’ll go downstairs and close all the blinds, and we’ll just hunker down here until Geoff announces he’s dropping out of the race. Once he does that, the story should fade away.”
* * *
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN, Geoff’s not quitting? He has to drop out of the race!” Nora’s hand clenched her cell phone so tightly she was surprised the screen didn’t pop right out. She’d managed to smuggle Bree out of the house and off to North Carolina without anyone seeing her. After three days holed up in her house, she’d finally called the Bradford matriarch to see what was taking so long.
“Nora, don’t raise your voice with me. It’s unseemly.”
“No, Meredith, what’s unseemly is pretending that your son’s political career isn’t over. My God, think of his wife and children! Think of me and my child! He can’t win the primary with this story out there. He has to quit.”
“Bradfords aren’t quitters, dear. These rumors will blow over before the primary. The fools released the story too early to affect the election.”
Nora knew enough about political campaigns to know that was true. Tom Wilson should have waited until just before the primary to sabotage his opponent. Daphne had jumped the gun, but Nora wasn’t prepared to deal with this for months on end. She was wasting her time appealing to Meredith’s logic and sense of decency, since the woman didn’t have either.
She curled up in the corner of the sofa after ending the call and looked around the darkened room. The sun was shining brightly outside, but reporters kept showing up at odd hours to try to catch her, so she was a prisoner in her own home. Past conversations were her only company and they kept rolling through her head.
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 with Becky. It’s a win-win-win.
Oh, God, Mom, that would be a disaster! You don’t know anything about business, much less running the world’s ugliest coffee shop.
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? Not all hot, grumpy neighbors are bad, you know.
She got up and went to the kitchen for...something. Wine sounded like a great idea, but it was only two o’clock. Coffee would be a better choice. She paused. Coffee would be a better choice. She hadn’t made a single hasty decision since Paul’s death, but maybe it was time to shake things up. She pulled her phone from her pocket.
“Amanda? Is that coffee shop still for sale?”
* * *
“SO, HAVE YOU welcomed your new neighbor yet?”
Deputy Sheriff Dan Adams tipped the unfinished chair he was sitting in perilously close to horizontal, watching Asher sand the sides of a drawer for the side table he was building. Dan was still on duty, so he was drinking soda instead of the beer he usually had when he stopped by the shop after shift.
Asher ignored his question, the same way he was ignoring what was happening next door. People went back and forth on the sidewalk outside his window, carrying boxes in and out of the cafe, laughing and talking nonstop. Someone was hammering something inside Cathy’s café.
Except it wasn’t Cathy’s anymore. Two weeks ago, Cathy announced it was sold, and, unfortunately, who she’d sold it to. Nora Bradford hadn’t wasted any time getting here. Blake and Amanda Randall were outside. Bobby Davis, a local contractor, was hustling in and out of the café, too. And a petite brunette, her hair pulled back with a bright red headband, had just pulled up in a silver sedan, clipboard in hand.
Okay, maybe he hadn’t been ignoring them as well as he’d thought.
“Eventually you’re going to have to talk to her, you know.” Dan was pointing out the obvious. That didn’t mean Asher had to acknowledge it. “You’re right next door to each other. And Blake told me she’s fixing up the apartment above the café, so you’ll be neighbors 24/7.”
“That apartment hasn’t been lived in for years. I thought she’d be living with the kids.” Weren’t those two idiots the reason she’d bought the café in the first place?
“Did Michael tell you that?”
“No. We haven’t spoken in...a while.” Since Christmas. When Michael had rejected Asher’s plan to salvage his son’s life.
“Hmm, you’re not talking to your son, your neighbor or your future daughter-in-law. What are you doing, trying to become a hermit? Are you just going to move up onto the mountain and hibernate?” Dan shook his head and straightened his chair. “There’s a wedding coming, man, whether you approve or not. You don’t want to miss that.”
“There’s not going to be a wedding.”
Dan just laughed. “You keep saying that, as if you can make it true just by uttering it out loud. But since you’re not speaking to them, you really don’t know anything.”
“Why? What have you heard?” As soon as the words were out, he knew it was a mistake. Dan was a good cop, and he never missed a clue, even in casual conversation.
“For someone claiming to be uninterested, you’re pretty curious. Talk to your son, man.” Dan drained his soda. “You know they’re going to be neighbors of mine, right? My new house is within a stone’s throw of their rental.”
Asher jumped at the chance to change the subject. “Are you really buying that crazy old Victorian?”
“Yup. I close on it next week. Chloe needs a place that feels like home, and my apartment ain’t cuttin’ it. Anyway, I fully expect my architect friend to help me.”
Dan’s divorce had been tough, but he and his ex were working hard to keep things civil for their daughter’s sake. Dan bought a house right around the corner from her so Chloe could go back and forth easily and not miss her school or her friends.
“I’m not an architect anymore.” That career, working for his former father-in-law’s firm, had evaporated at the same time his marriage did.
“Uh-huh.” Dan sat up and put the empty soda bottle on the workbench. “Says the man building a house on the side of a mountain. Michael could probably use some help babyproofing his place.”
Asher had driven by his son’s blue bungalow on Sunset Lane a few times recently. Nearly a hundred years old and in desperate need of a coat of paint, at least the little house was sturdy. Asher had helped him with a few projects before he’d learned about the girl.
“Why? Have you heard about any problems with the place?”
Dan laughed, sweeping his hand up and down in Asher’s direction. “Again, not looking like someone who isn’t interested. No, I haven’t heard of any issues with the house. Though I did hear old man McGregor told Michael he could pretty much do whatever he wanted to the place. They’ve been working on it...”
More hammering from next door distracted Asher from Dan’s words. Cathy had told him Nora was planning on changing just about everything in the café, starting with paint and continuing with adding state-of-the-art equipment. Asher liked Cathy, despite her freewheeling approach to life. He didn’t like the idea of her place changing into some snooty, upscale coffeehouse. And he really didn’t like the idea of Nora Bradford owning it.
“Earth to Asher. Are you listening to me at all?”
He set the sanding block down. “Sorry. What?”
“I said it looks like Michael and Becky are going to settle here in Gallant Lake for a while. He got a part-time job working for Judge Wilkes.” Dan stood up and adjusted his belt, getting his weapon settled on his hip. He started for the door but stopped at Asher’s next comment.
“No.”
“No?”
“I’m trying to get Michael as far from Gallant Lake as possible.”
“What? Why?”
Wasn’t it obvious? Was he the only person who could see what had to happen here?
“If I get him away from that girl, he’ll get focused on his career again. I’ve offered him a full ride at Stanford. I’ll pay tuition and all expenses if he goes out there alone. No way they’ll last long on opposite coasts.”
Dan looked down at the floor and scratched his head, making his sandy hair stand on end. Asher knew his plan sounded devious. Maybe even cruel. But he had Michael’s best interests at heart. And those interests didn’t include raising a baby.
“Okay...” Dan sighed heavily. “Let me see if I have this straight. You’re trying to bribe your son into abandoning his girlfriend and their unborn child? What the hell, Ash?”
“He can still be responsible for the child financially.” His friend’s obvious disapproval made Asher’s temper rise, along with his voice. “He has no idea what he’s getting into, Dan. What parenthood means. I’m trying to protect him, damn it!”
Dan stepped forward, and Asher recoiled. “Protect him? Ash, is this all because...” He shook his head. The two of them had shared a lot of late-night talks, but the loss of his youngest son was never up for discussion. “What does Michael’s fiancée think about your plan?”
“Stop calling her that. And I have no idea.”
“And Michael’s future mother-in-law?” Dan nodded his head toward the window, where they could see Nora Bradford standing next to Amanda Randall, head down, staring at her clipboard as if her life depended on it. She was wearing the same pink jacket she’d worn in November, and it highlighted the rosiness of her cheeks on this raw February day. She laughed at something Amanda said and looked up, her eyes meeting his through the glass.
Her eyebrows rose in surprise, then she nodded her head at him in acknowledgment. Or dismissal. He wasn’t sure, since she went right back to her conversation with her cousin. But the cousin kept a close eye on him while Nora talked. She finally smirked and looked away, studying the front of the coffee shop. The Randalls were regular clients of his, and he liked them both. He bit back a sigh. It was going to be more than a little complicated having Nora for a neighbor.
“She’s not going to be his mother-in-law.” Asher ignored Dan’s snort of laughter. “And if she has any sense, she’ll want them to avoid marriage as much as I do.”
Dan headed off to finish his shift, while Asher purposefully stayed as far to the back of his studio as possible, working hard on fitting the dovetailed drawer to the table he was finishing for a client in Albany. Word of mouth was bringing new customers every month, and the work would be enough to keep him from thinking about his pretty...scratch that...his annoying neighbor.
CHAPTER SIX (#u4c8ff74d-b9c9-53dd-91ce-3221c2bc7d1a)
“HOW IN THE world did I get here?”
Nora didn’t realize she’d said the words aloud until Cathy answered. They were going up the stairs behind the coffee shop to see the apartment that would soon be Nora’s home. So far, she’d only seen photos of the open loft space.
“These stairs climb right over the storage room, honey.”
“I didn’t mean...” Nora stopped. There was no point in telling a complete stranger that she was referring to her life in general. How in the world had she ended up owning a coffee shop in Gallant Lake in February, with the temperature hovering in the single digits outside? It wasn’t at all her style to make an impulsive decision, especially one that would uproot her entire life, but her former in-laws had forced her hand. Bree was right—the only way to avoid being the center of a scandal was to remove herself from Atlanta. So she had. She’d received an offer on her house right away, and even though it wouldn’t close for another month, she was able to get a mortgage for the coffee shop and the building that housed it. Cathy had been more than happy to close quickly.
Cathy Meadows, otherwise known as Caffeine Cathy, unlocked the brightly painted door at the top of the stairs and pushed it open. A wave of heat rolled out into the hallway.
“I know it needs a little cleaning up, but it’s homey, you know?”
Cathy proudly waved a bangle-wrapped arm toward the room. The movement only managed to stir up more dust in the stuffy air.
Nora stood at the entrance to the...well...apartment seemed too fancy a word. The space above the coffee shop. Her coffee shop. Her space. Her new home. This was why she didn’t believe in making spontaneous decisions—you ended up living in a hot, filthy loft that smelled vaguely of sweet herbs. It had to be eighty degrees in there.
Throughout the telephone and email negotiations for the coffee shop, Cathy had given the impression that the apartment needed little more than a broom sweep. Cathy emailed her pictures that made the small space look charming, with cheerful gingham curtains over the wide windows facing the street and cute little throw rugs on the wide plank floors. She wasn’t sure which decade those photos had been taken in, but they were far from recent.
A heavy layer of dirt lay on every surface, from the floors to the faded curtains drooping sadly over grimy windows and right on up to the exposed beams crossing overhead that were draped in dusty cobwebs. One kitchen cabinet had a door that was hanging precariously from its hinges. The counter, a gold-flecked Formica relic of the sixties, was chipped and... Was that actual black soil scattered across it? Nora couldn’t keep her nose from wrinkling in disgust, but Cathy was too busy gushing about all the “potential” to notice.
“My mom used that up there as her bedroom until the stairs got to be too much for her. I just used it for storage, but it does have a little bathroom and closet. And there’s another small bedroom down here and a bathroom.”
Nora pulled her eyes away from the tiny kitchen and looked up. Sure enough, there was a rather large loft there, with an open metal staircase coming down the exposed brick wall on the far side of the living room. For the first time since walking through the door, she started to see the possibilities.
Sure, she had to squint her eyes and rely heavily on her imagination, but she could envision the kitchen cabinets repaired and painted a cheery color. Once clean, those big windows would give her a pretty view of Main Street and the mountains beyond. The plank floors would clean up nicely, and the loft was a perfect place to put her bed.
She followed Cathy up the open stairs. The loft was roomy, and sure enough, there was a bathroom up there with a tiny shower in it. It wouldn’t be the most private bedroom, with just a commercial-looking metal railing around the edge of the platform, but she’d be living alone, so it was fine. She looked out over the living room. Above the first row of windows, and directly across from the loft, was a large arched window in the peak of the old building. From up here, she could look out onto Gallant Lake and the surrounding mountains that were covered in a blanket of snow at this time of year. She nodded to herself in satisfaction. She was already creating multiple to-do lists in her head. A plan was taking shape, and plans made her feel calm.
Cathy was heading back down the stairs, still talking nonstop. The woman had hardly taken a breath since handing Nora the giant ring of keys down in the coffee shop.
“I know the place is a little messy.” Was that sarcasm? Nope. Cathy really did seem to consider this chaos to be just a minor mess. “And sorry about the heat. I forgot to turn it down yesterday when I moved my plants out of here.”
“Plants?” That explained the soil on the counters. “So you grew flowers up here? I bet the windows were great for that.” Especially when combined with the tropical temperature. At least she knew the furnace worked. Cathy’s cheeks flushed.
“Flowers? Oh, hell no. Honey, I grew...” The older woman’s dark eyes narrowed and she stopped short. Then her lips pressed together and she made an exaggerated motion with her hands like the turning of a key in a lock. “Not that I think you’re a narc or anything, but let’s just say I grew...um...medicinal herbs up here.”
It took Nora a minute to catch on, and when she did, her mouth dropped open.
“You were growing pot in this apartment?” That explained the sickly sweet smell.
“Well, hell, say it a little louder, princess! I don’t think Sheriff Dan quite heard you. It’s not like I was dealing or anything. It just helps me sleep at night.” She gave Nora a wink and turned away, heading toward the back of the apartment beyond the kitchen with a swish of her long cotton skirt. “The thermostat’s back here. The plants liked it warm, but I’ll turn it down for you. Over there’s the other bedroom and the bathroom, and the utility room’s by the back door. The washer and dryer aren’t exactly new, but I had Ash check everything and he said the plumbing and appliances were all functional.”
Nora stopped short. “Ash? Asher Peyton?”
Cathy was fighting with the deadbolt on the back door. She nodded without looking back to see Nora’s discomfort. “Yup. He’s your neighbor to the west, with the furniture shop. He’s a little crusty on the outside, but a good man underneath. If you ever need anything, just knock on the wall and he’ll come right over.”
“Knock on the wall?”
The deadbolt finally opened, and Cathy gave the door a hard yank to pull it open, letting in a rush of cold air. “Well, not the brick wall, of course, but you see those filled-in windows along the side of the apartment?” Nora looked back at the arched openings in the brick, filled with wide boards painted reddish brown to match.
“His place was built after this one, back in the early 1900s, and it butts up against this wall. The brick is thick enough that you can’t hear anything, but those old boarded-up windows allow a little noise to seep through. Sometimes I’ll hear his music if it’s turned up really loud.”
Cathy smiled. “Two winters ago I was working up here, trimming plants, and I tripped over that crazy old cat of mine and everything went crashing down—lights, plants, table, tools and me. What a racket! Before I was on my feet, Asher was pounding on this very door to get in, scared someone was killing me over here.”
The cold air wasn’t the only thing making Nora feel chilled. Buying a business next door to a man who hated her and her daughter was one thing, but knowing he might be listening was entirely another. Cathy must have noticed her concern.
“Oh, honey, don’t worry. When I say I can hear his music, I mean only if he’s cranking it, and even then it’s just low, fuzzy bass notes. He doesn’t do that a lot.” Cathy’s smile faded. “But when he does, he doesn’t want company, just so you know.”
Cathy stepped outside, oblivious to the cold. “He’s not the type to hold a glass up against the wall trying to hear what you’re doing. He keeps to himself. More than he should.” Those last four words were spoken under her breath, as if to herself.
Before Nora could respond, Cathy was pulling her outside onto a long metal fire escape overlooking a gravel parking lot behind the row of buildings. The walkway stretched across three or four buildings, with a matching one right above it. On the rear of each building a small wooden balcony jutted out over the parking lot. Narrow metal staircases led down to the ground at regular intervals. There was one right between her doorway and Asher’s.
Their buildings were not only connected, they also shared a fire escape. Nora frowned.
“Well, this isn’t very private, is it?”
Cathy just shrugged. “There was a big fire in town ages ago.” She stepped back into the warmth of the apartment and closed the door behind Nora, turning the deadbolt. “Grandma used to talk about it. These buildings didn’t burn, but some across the street did. Back then, a lot of places used these upper floors as boardinghouses. Some people were trapped in their rooms and died. After that, the town decreed that all downtown structures had to have fire escapes for each level. They’re not the prettiest thing to look at, but it’s nice to sit out there in the summer and watch the sun come up over the mountains. The neighbors used to get together for drinks out there in the evenings.”
Nora kept her thoughts to herself. She couldn’t imagine she and Asher Peyton would be sipping wine on the fire escape anytime soon. Cathy kept talking as she headed past the kitchen.
“Of course, that was back when more of them lived here, you know? I think the only places being used as homes now are Asher’s and Carl Wallace’s. Carl owns the liquor store a couple doors up. He’s lived over that store forever, but he’s been talking about retiring. His wife, Eunie, just passed away last year. And Asher’s building a house up on Gallant Mountain, so he’ll be out eventually.” Cathy opened the door leading to the coffee shop downstairs. “You might be the only one left if you really want to live up here.”
“I do.” Nora followed Cathy down the narrow steps after locking the apartment door. Amanda had offered her a suite at Halcyon for as long as she needed it, but she wanted her own space. Even a ten-bedroom castle started feeling small when you were living in it with someone else’s family. Besides, she was determined to show Becky that she could do this, be independent.
“Hey, look! We have customers!” Cathy walked over to greet Blake and Amanda in the center of the now-empty café. The tables and chairs were stacked in the back of the building, just as she’d written on her to-do list. She’d have to start a whole new list for the work required upstairs, of course. The artwork was off the walls. Even the old counter was gone, ripped out today and set aside. And there, by the window, stood her daughter.
Nora stopped, afraid to speak. Becky was staring outside, so she had a moment to take in her appearance. They hadn’t seen each other since Christmas. Becky’s hair was longer than usual. She wore a dark wool coat, but it was open and Nora could see the swell of her stomach. She was almost six months pregnant now.
She wanted to run and hug her daughter and never let go, but she was afraid to make the wrong move. Becky hadn’t exactly been supportive of this move when she’d finally answered her phone so they could talk about it.
Are you for real? After I told you I didn’t want you here, you went and bought that gross coffee shop? God, Mom, how desperate can you be?
And now her angry daughter was standing in that gross coffee shop. She was ignoring Nora with every ounce of stubborn energy she had, but she was here. Amanda stepped closer and whispered to Nora as Cathy wandered back to the kitchen.
“Blake told me the upstairs was pretty grungy.”
Nora shrugged. “It has potential. I just need a lot of cleaning supplies.”
“You don’t have to live here to run the coffee shop.” Amanda ran her finger across a shelf, grimacing at the dirt she lifted. “We have tons of space at Halcyon.”

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