he had grown up. Reaching the pine-green-painted door, he opted to rap his knuckles rather than use the imposing brass knocker. He counted the seconds it would take the resident to rise from her chair and cross the hallway.
The door swung out, and a tall woman with a smile that didn’t quite mask her annoyance stood in the entrance’s shadows. “I’m sorry, but could you please come back later when…” Her lips thinned with displeasure. “Connor. What are you doing here?”
Because he knew it would irritate her, he leaned forward and brushed his lips across the woman’s cheek. “Hello, Mother. Nice to see you, too.”
She grimaced and, with her hand on the knob, retreated a step into the dim shadows of the entryway.
“Don’t bother inviting me in.” Connor leaned against the doorjamb, keeping one foot extended in case she tried to shut the door in his face.
Sheila Devlin folded her hands in front of her body and studied him. “I see you haven’t changed. Still look like a third-rate hooligan.”
Her disapproval, though expected, was a painful reminder of the abuse she once inflicted. “Thanks, Mom. I wish I could say the same for you.” He returned the survey. Gray hairs, like shards of ice, speared through her auburn hair. This sign of mortality only served to enhance his mother’s air of authority. Her aquiline nose and frosty blue eyes bespoke her Irish heritage, but the fine lines radiating from her full lips signaled rigid self-control. She wore her uniform of black tailored slacks, crisp Oxford buttoned-down shirt and polished black loafers.
She arched a well-shaped patrician brow. “I assume your return has to do with Ed Miller’s death, but you’re a little late. His funeral was a month ago.”
He shrugged. “There are other ways to pay one’s last respects.”
“What?” His mother was the only person he’d ever known who could snort with elegance. “Uproot a flower in his honor?”
Her barb, as intended, sliced deep, but Connor merely rubbed his chin. “What a great idea. Thanks, Mother.” He straightened. “I came by to let you know I’m here and will be staying at Ed’s farm.”
His movement allowed a shaft of sunlight to stream into the hallway and fall short at his mother’s feet.
“Why?”
“Because Ed left me the place, and I have plans for it.” Motes danced in the sunbeam. Funny, when he had been growing up, Sheila had kept the rooms white-glove clean. He didn’t recall her allowing even one speck of dust to occupy the same space with her. She certainly hadn’t permitted a young boy’s toys.
“What plans could you possibly have?”
He jammed his hands into his pockets. Better than ramming one into the wood frame. “Nothing to interest you. Just a landscaping business.”
“Still into dirt.” The motes scattered as if they could sense the derision emanating from her. “Have you seen her?”
Trust his mother to get right to the point. Connor set his jaw. “Yes.”
“We had a deal.”
And he had never been able to sweat off the weight of his wretched promise under the unrelenting sun of Florida. His voice was rough. “Never fear, Mother. It’s over for both of us. I met Nora’s daughter.” He doubted if he would have any success of working this particular ache out of his system this afternoon.
His mother laced her fingers. Despite the fact she couldn’t hurt him anymore, the gesture sent a chill racing along his spine. As a child, he’d learned that the linking of her fingers signaled her more violent outbursts. His gaze flicked up to her face; some emotion darkened her eyes momentarily. Then her face resumed its expressionless mask. “Good.” She hesitated. “I do hope your ‘plans’ won’t take you long.”
Connor removed his foot from the opening. “Your welcome is overwhelming.”
He wouldn’t have thought it possible, but his mother’s posture became even more rigid. “I’m up for a promotion to a higher office. A much more affluent parish.”
His smile was rueful. “And you’re worried that my return will screw up your chances for ‘exalted-dom.’”
Her chin lifted. “Crude as always, but accurate.”
He turned on his heel. “Not to worry, Pastor Devlin. I’ll try not to lay too many sins at your door. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment to keep with Nora about legal matters.”
He went down the porch steps.
“Connor!” The unfamiliar note of anxiety brought him around in surprise. Sheila’s emotions normally lay dormant, except when she preached. His mother ventured into the sunlight. “There’s nothing for you here. Certainly not that McCall girl. If you try to take up with her, you’ll just ruin her life.”
His hands clenched in his pockets. Keep them there, he warned himself. “How do you figure that?”
“She’s seeing Lawrence Millman’s son.”
“David?”
“Yes. The whole town’s expecting the engagement notice any time now.”
Her words only made his flame of longing for Nora burn brighter. He hitched his shoulders. “Good. I’m happy for them.” He moved. He needed to get to the farm and weed through his tangle of thoughts and emotions.
“Connor!”
He paused again, but didn’t turn around this time.
“It would be best if you left town now.”
He shook his head. “That’s where you’re wrong, Mother. I have an obligation to fulfill.”
“What do you know about obligation?”
He looked over his shoulder and looked into eyes devoid of any maternal love. “More than you. While you were busy ministering to your congregation, you shucked your duty to raise me.”
He ignored her gasp and walked around the corner of the church.
Nora’s Mercury Sable groaned, its undercarriage scraping on the deep dip in the dirt track. She gritted her teeth and eased her foot off the gas pedal. The car’s forward momentum was due more to sheer pitching of its wheels from rut to rut than from the engine. Whoever the unlucky heir to the Miller farm, he would be forced to spend a mint paving this nonexistent driveway. With a final shudder, her car lurched around the bend and halted in the clearing.
Nora rested her forehead on the steering wheel, needing a few moments to compose herself. If she’d had half a brain, she would have heeded Eve’s suggestion and cut through the woods between their house and the Miller farm. A ten-minute walk on a well-trodden trail—that was all it would have taken. Eve had dryly suggested she lower herself to wear jeans and sneakers and actually enjoy the fall colors in the process of her visit.
But no, Nora had insisted that she needed to be professional. What new client would want to see his lawyer emerging all burr-covered from a forest? Eve’s mockingly raised eyebrow had
