by Jo McNally
“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
“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! Y
ou 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.”