have calmed her, but didn’t. Change was snapping at her heels, threatening to devour her, yet Arcadia Heights remained the same on the outside. It wasn’t fair.
Today should have been perfect.
The door behind her opened, crushing her solitude.
Nora warily watched Wilbur Ames march out, heading determinedly toward her. She cast a desperate look around her, but milling shoppers blocked her escape. No matter that she was a grown-up and an attorney, her old high-school principal could still reduce her to teenage status. Nora steeled herself.
“Thank you for dropping by, Mr. Ames. On your way?”
Jowly from one too many potluck dinners, Ames’s face was ruddy with exertion. The drapes of his flesh quivered with indignation. “I can’t believe that Connor Devlin has returned. His poor mother will be horrified.”
The insult to Connor irritated Nora, but she quelled her feelings. She might as well hear Wilbur’s tirade out. Wilbur’s washed-out blue eyes darted nervously about. “I saw him in the corner talking to his partner in crime.” Ames’s contempt was palpable. “We’ll have nothing but trouble with Connor in town. The boy broke his mother’s heart with all his hell-raising.”
Sheila Devlin never had a heart, especially not where her son was concerned. Even when the minister had stepped in and helped the McCall family in their time of need, Nora hadn’t been able to shake the sense that the woman had done it out of self-interest, rather than kindness. Remembering the extent of the obligation she owed the woman sent a chill down Nora’s spine. To date, Pastor Devlin had rebuffed all attempts to repay the debt. It was as if she was waiting to exact the perfect price.
Although Nora knew Wilbur would carry any comment straight to Sheila Devlin, she couldn’t ignore the injustice to Connor, even if it meant tipping the scales of her uneasy relationship with his mother. “It’s been almost twelve years since our class graduated from high school.” Her voice carried only the mildest rebuke. “We’ve all changed. We’ve all grown up.”
Ames’s beady eyes glinted with interest as he studied her. “Weren’t you two involved before he left town?” His tongue flicked out and ran over his protruding lips.
Of course he knew. It was why he had made a bee-line for her. Wilbur Ames never forgot anything, particularly the juicy transgressions of others.
Nora laughed lightly. She’d give him a little of the truth to take away his joy in the dirt. “What a long memory you have, Mr. Ames. Of course, I went out a few times with him. After all, what girl didn’t Connor date?”
His hungry eagerness deflated. “Yes, of course. Not that it was my business. Anyway, nice to see you again and congratulations on the pottery shop.” The principal turned to leave.
“By the way, Mr. Ames.”
He paused.
“Have you and the school board had a chance to consider my suggestion about the girls’ soccer field?”
“Not yet. We have a full agenda.”
“I’m sure you do, but the girls are playing—”
“Now, Nora. We appreciate your school spirit and such, but we’ll get to it all in due time.” He turned and walked off.
“You handled Wilbur well—right up until the end where he gave you the brush-off.”
Nora’s heart shot into her throat and performed a back flip at Connor’s rough voice. She slowly turned her heart pounding again. Connor stood with one shoulder braced against the gray clapboard front of the store.
Keep it light and general, she told herself, and maybe he won’t ask why she was interested in a girls’ soccer field. She shrugged and smiled in a what-can-you-do manner.
“An old community issue that he continues to ignore.”
“What a shocker. Wilbur Ames’s not seeing anything beyond his own self-interest. Some things never change.” Connor folded his arms. “I guess I should thank you for your spirited defense of me.” He studied her, his piercing gaze bright with speculation.
No. She couldn’t afford to have Connor think she still harbored any feelings for him. “It’s why I became an attorney. I enjoy a good verbal challenge.”
Something flickered in his eyes—disappointment?—but when he straightened, it was gone.
“Looks like your store’s a big hit.”
Satisfaction shone in Nora as she surveyed Kilning You Softly. After months of backbreaking scrubbing, refurbishing and polishing, she and her sisters had succeeded in making their tribute to their aunt a reality. Last night, as the final touch, they had placed Three Sisters on the gray marble mantel over the fireplace. There, under soft recessed lighting, the glazed pink figurine of three small hands glowed serenely in testament to all that Abigail McCall had given.
Now it was Nora’s duty to ensure her home remained intact. She gnawed on her lower lip.
A muffled groan startled her. A dismayed Connor stood beside her.
“Are you all right?” Nora asked.
He smiled ruefully, but he only nodded at the building. “I take it Christina picked out the colors.”
Both the shutters and the lettering on the sign over the doorway were a jaunty purple. Nora winced. “I missed the appointment with the painter.”
“I hear Christina’s going to run the place.”
Unease prickled across the nape of Nora’s neck. “You’ve heard an awful lot in a very short period of time.”
His response was an enigmatic smile. Nora’s unease ripened into panic. Why was he here?
She wrapped her arms around herself and turned away from his piercing stare. What did he know? Was he playing a cruel game of hide-and-seek with her?
When Ed Miller had died a month ago, she had been certain that Connor would return. After all, the farmer had been like a father to him. Her tension in the days leading up to the funeral had been worse than any trial nerves. But Connor never came. A lavish arrangement of yellow roses and a simple card delivered to Ed’s grave had been Connor’s only acknowledgment of the man’s passing. The townspeople had branded him for his disrespect, but Nora had been relieved.
Ed Miller. Nora thought of the sealed envelope in her briefcase. It contained documents for the unknown Miller heir, given to her by her boss, Charles Barnett, to deliver at noon today. She’d gathered from Barnett’s hints the new owner was a wealthy businessman and a lucrative new account. But Charlie had been tight-lipped about the heir’s identity.
Nora stole a glance at Connor’s worn jeans and jacket. It looked like the success he had hungered for had eluded him, but the roses for Ed’s service couldn’t have been cheap.
Roses. Abigail’s funeral. A memory tugged free. Two dozen sweetheart roses, each blossom a perfect deep-red velvet, had graced her aunt’s church service. The accompanying card had borne no signature, just the typed words “To a great woman.”
Nora swung around.
