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. “Connor, did you send flowers—”
He interrupted her. “I have to be going.”
Disappointment sliced through her.
Ridiculous. His leaving was what she wanted. She mustered a cool, professional smile. “How long will you be staying in town?”
Connor tucked his hands in the front pockets of his jeans and rocked on his heels. “Well, now. That question implies I’m only visiting.”
Nora stiffened, her heart hammering wildly, the blood humming in her ears. “What do you mean?” she asked as casually as she could manage. “Aren’t you just passing through?” She almost shrank back under the burning challenge in his eyes.
His tone, though, was chillingly calm. “No. I’ve come back to stay.”
The humming became a roar. He was staying.
The door to the shop slammed.
A tall slender girl, poised on the edge of her teens, rushed outside. “Hey, Mom! Do you know where my jersey is? I’ve looked everywhere.” Close behind her were Eve and Christina, both looking anxious.
Nora’s gaze locked with Connor’s. “Have you tried the laundry room? It’s folded on top of the dryer.”
Her daughter threw her arms around Nora’s neck and gave her a quick peck. “Mom, you’re the best.” Turning, she noticed Connor and immediately trotted out her practiced smile, designed to slay the male population. “Hi, I’m Abby.”
Nora saw the stunned but puzzled look in Connor’s eyes as he shook the proffered hand. Relief flowed through her. Her sisters gripped her arms, keeping her from sagging.
He didn’t know.
He had not known.
Standing before Connor was Nora, a girl again. But not Nora.
Her daughter. He could barely form the word mentally. The girl was the spitting image of her mother, all coltish long limbs. Connor blinked and took a closer look at Abby. No. There were some physical differences. Abby’s black hair was wavy; a hint of a dimple winked at the right corner of her mouth when she smiled; her eyes were the blue of a tropic sky, not the wintry gray of her mother’s.
Did she have her father’s eyes? Jealousy sliced through Connor. Nora had a child by another man. During all those long Florida nights, filled with restive dreams of Nora, he’d never once envisioned her as a mother.
Weary from fending off all the emotional punches he’d sustained in the space of thirty minutes, Connor rotated his shoulders. It wasn’t the first time he’d had to cut his losses and move on, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. The memory of the special gift Nora had given him was only that—a memory.
Connor realized Abby was studying him with the same intense concentration that her mother displayed, right down to the identical furrowing of dark brows. Despite himself, he smiled. The girl’s responding grin yanked loose one of the knots in his stomach.
“I’m Connor Devlin. I knew your mother when she looked just like you.” He waited a beat. Yep, here came the trademark McCall rolling of eyes. No one else had ever been able to do it with the same expressiveness as Nora. “And she was the prettiest girl in her class,” he smoothly continued. “So were your aunts. All major babes. Boys stumbled over themselves to catch sight of a McCall in the hallway.”
Abby turned and looked incredulously at the woman standing behind her. “My mother? A babe?”
Grimacing, Nora stepped away from her sisters and ran a hand over her daughter’s cheek. “Connor, hush. You’ll spoil my daughter’s image of me as a proper old woman.”
He looked at Nora’s open jacket, revealing her subtle curves. If she was old, then someone needed to put him out of his misery right then and there. The sudden need to feel the cool silk of Nora’s shirt against his chest before he explored the warm flesh beneath left him on edge. He’d thought his need for Nora had died years ago, yet the slow heat in his groin had him shifting his stance.
“Oh, Mom!” Abby straightened, all teenage righteous indignation. “Come on!”
Eve’s mouth curled. “Babes, huh?”
Connor stepped forward and pulled on one of Eve’s curls. “Babes