by Jo McNally
He just shook his head. He wouldn’t listen to this.
“This conversation is over.”
“Asher, you know that, right? You have a kid who lived.”
“I also have one who didn’t live! And I lost more than a son when Dylan died. I lost everything. My family. My career. My faith. My heart. Everything. It’s my job to protect Michael from that.”
The two men stood, staring at each other. Dan’s mouth opened and closed a few times before he blew out a long breath and turned toward the back door.
“There are so many things wrong with your logic that I don’t know where to start. You really should talk to someone, man. A professional someone. Your son needs you, and you can’t stop him from falling in love and having this baby. You can’t stop him from living.”
There was a corner of Asher’s brain that was nodding vigorously in agreement with Dan’s words. But he ignored it.
“I can try.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“SO, ASH USED his key the other night?” Cathy Meadows stacked a rack of freshly washed mugs next to the espresso maker. “He’s a good boy, that one.”
Nora was wiping down the counter. The early-morning rush of commuters heading off to work had passed, and now there were just a couple of customers sitting at tables while reading their papers and sipping coffee. Lunchtime would bring another flurry of activity. The older woman was getting used to Nora’s cleanliness requirements, even if she did make fun of all the handwritten signs around the shop that said things like Did You Wash Your Hands? Are You Wearing Gloves? Put Things in Their Proper Place!
The shop looked good. Other than the mugs, the bright colors were gone, replaced with warm tones of natural wood and brick. The tables and chairs were painted black. Local art was back on the walls, including the painting Nora saw on her first day here, with the sailing ship heading for a monster-filled abyss. But she hadn’t brought back Cathy’s silly poster about life being about the journey. That was lying on top of some boxes in the storage room. Nora was a firm believer in having goals. Speaking of which, she reached for her planner.
Ignoring Cathy’s opinion of Asher’s behavior three nights earlier, she flipped to her to-do list. “Okay, this week’s goal is finding someplace to display that old brass espresso maker. I was thinking of putting it in the window, but I don’t want people getting fingerprints all over it.”
Cathy shook her head. “Nora, you really have to stop worrying so much. You’re going to be old before your time. If you want the coffee maker by the window, put it by the window. Who cares if someone touches the darn thing?”
“I care. And please, Cathy, there’s nothing wrong with having goals and a plan to achieve them.” Nora knew she sounded self-righteous and defensive, but darn it all, planning was something she was good at, and she didn’t see it as a weakness.
Cathy gave her a one-shouldered shrug. “Maybe not. But how do you plan for the detours? I mean, life always throws you detours, right? Like your daughter and Mikey falling in love. That detour bounced you right out of Georgia and all the way to Gallant Lake. I bet you didn’t plan on that, did you?”
“I definitely did not. Did you just call him Mikey?”
“Yes, but I wouldn’t recommend it. Drives the boy nuts.”
“Then why do it?” Nora hated making people uncomfortable.
Cathy was preparing a cappuccino, and she waited for the whir of the frothing machine to stop before answering. “I like keeping people a little off balance. That’s when they show their true colors, you know? Take you.” Cathy gestured toward Nora. “You swear by your planners and your lists and your goals. But I don’t trust that version of Nora. I want to see Nora when she hits a pothole and has to react to something she didn’t plan on.”
“Yeah, well, don’t hold your breath.” Nora held up her planner. “I pride myself on being prepared for anything.” She heard footsteps behind her and turned. She found herself staring into the silver-blue eyes of Asher Peyton.
He stood on the other side of the counter and stared right back, not saying a word. Nora’s body started heating from her toes right to the top of her head, and if there hadn’t been an audience, she would have fanned her face like a blushing debutante. Behind her, Cathy was whispering.
“Well, hel-lo, detour...”
Asher’s eyes softened, and his mouth curved into the suggestion of a smile.
“Are you going to take my order, or should I step back there and make it myself, like I used to?”
Cathy laughed. “Asher, you wouldn’t know what to do with this fancy machine Nora put back here, but it does make a fine cup of espresso. Let me get it for you, since Nora seems to have taken a mental detour.” Cathy elbowed Nora hard enough to snap her out of her stupor.
“I...I’m sorry. I was just surprised to see you. This is the first time you’ve been in.”
“Nope. Second.” Asher seemed amused by her confusion. “I came over two mornings ago when Cathy was here.” He’d come to the shop the morning after he’d been in her apartment. What did that mean? He glanced around, then at the back of Cathy’s head, before lowering his voice. “Place looks...different.”
Cathy gave a sharp laugh as she added two scoops of raw sugar to the black coffee in the insulated paper cup, then dumped in a shot of espresso. “Go ahead and say it, Ash. You won’t hurt my feelings. When it was mine, it reflected me. But it’s Nora’s now, so it should reflect her. It’s very organized.” Cathy winked at Nora. “Just like its owner.”
He took the cup from Cathy without looking away from Nora.
“You’re right, Cathy, the shop does reflect her. It’s pretty in here, and...comfortable.”
His unexpected compliment made Nora’s skin feel tight, and her pulse jumped. Cathy murmured an audible “Wow.” Asher looked away, rubbing the back of his neck, as if he’d been caught off guard by his own words. He fumbled in his pocket and placed a few crumpled bills on the counter. He’d started to turn away when Cathy stopped him.
“Hey, Ash, you might be able to help your pretty neighbor. She wants to put that brass espresso machine in the front window as a conversation piece or marketing or whatever.” Cathy’s hand gestures made it clear she didn’t share Nora’s vision. “But she doesn’t want people to touch it. Any ideas on how she could showcase it?”
As Asher’s dark brows furrowed, Nora jumped in to speak, giving Cathy a quick glare to shut her up. “Oh, no, don’t worry about it! I haven’t even designed what I need yet.”
Cathy’s hand rested on Nora’s shoulder. “Honey, you do know he’s an architect, right? Like, the kind of architect who can design skyscrapers?”
Nora looked up at Asher in surprise. “But you build furniture.”
“I do now. But, yes, I used to be an architect.” He gave Cathy a pointed look. “And I still dabble in a few projects. In fact, I’m working with your cousin and Blake right now on a remodel of the resort’s lobby.”
Funny how Amanda never mentioned that little detail about the remodeling project she’d been talking so much about. “Regardless,” Nora said with a nervous wave of her hand, “I haven’t even made my mind up about where to put the espresso machine yet, but it’s on my list.”
“Your list?”
Cathy answered before Nora could. “Oh, honey, this girl has a list for everything. And a schedule for everything on her list. Then it’s all worked out in her planner, with stickers and special colors, and God forbid if you touch that planner. She’ll cut your hand off!”
Asher grinned and Nora felt her face flame. He now knew another part of her, while she knew so little about him.
“Well, let me know if you want my help.” He raised his cup and nodded to Cathy. “Thanks for the brew, ladies.”
* * *
“SO, YOU REALLY think we can d
o Amanda’s staircase concept?”
Asher looked around the lobby of the Gallant Lake Resort. “You can do anything you want, as long as you’re willing to spend the money.” He ignored Blake’s grunt. “Amanda said she wants it to look like a tree growing right through the center of the lobby. My plans have the center being a large wooden column carved to resemble a tree trunk. It’ll run three stories up, right to the ceiling. Then we’ll wrap the open staircase around it, with raw-edged wooden steps. I know a guy who can create an iron railing with a copper leaf design. He’ll also create a sculpture that will hang from the ceiling, looking like branches and leaves. It isn’t that difficult to make Amanda’s vision work.”
Asher bit back an unexpected burp. His stomach had been off since lunch. He’d met with a potential client down in White Plains before coming to the resort, and the sushi wasn’t agreeing with him. He’d never been a big fan of raw fish, anyway, but the guy insisted that the little restaurant was a hidden gem. Hidden petri dish was more like it.
Blake Randall frowned at the drawings spread out on the table in front of them. “I know my wife is good at what she does, but her woodsy plans for the lobby make me nervous.”
Randall had purchased the aging resort several years earlier, with the intention of demolishing it and the adjoining mansion so he could build a massive casino. The residents had gone to court to have the property declared a historic landmark. That was when Amanda, an interior designer, showed up and convinced him not only to leave the resort and mansion standing, but to make it their home. Amanda Randall was petite, like Nora, but blonde and blue eyed instead of a brunette. Where Nora was careful and conservative, her younger cousin was bubbly and free-spirited.
“Don’t worry, Blake. It will be very upscale once it’s finished, and your guests will love it. The rustic wood of the stairs will just highlight all of...” Asher turned, intending to point to Amanda’s sketches, and the room tilted for a minute. What the hell? He hesitated, and his equilibrium returned as quickly as it had left.
“You okay, man?” Blake looked concerned. They weren’t exactly close friends, but during the warmer months they’d played golf together a few times at the resort’s new course, and the lobby was the second project Asher had been hired for. The first had been designing the new clubhouse for the golf course, which would be completed by the time the course officially opened in the spring.
“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just been a long day.”
“Well, we’re about wrapped up here. As soon as you finish your architectural specs, I’ll get my contractor working on it.” Blake stopped, leaning in closer. “Are you sure you’re okay? You look a little gray.”
Asher tried to ignore his roiling stomach. Something was definitely staging a rebellion down there. “I think my lunch disagreed with me. Freakin’ sushi.”
Blake groaned. “Oh, I learned that lesson a long time ago. No sushi lunches. There’s something about daytime sushi that’s just not right. You better get on home.”
Asher felt a rush of heat, and he broke into a sweat under the collar of his shirt.
“Yeah, sorry. I’ll call you when the specs are ready.”
The short drive home was torture. He was hot, cold, then hot again. His skin was clammy, and by the time he parked his truck, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to make it inside. But the cold air braced him momentarily. He was just unlocking the back door when he saw movement on his right.
“Asher? Are you okay?” Nora’s soft Southern accent was a balm to the war going on in his stomach. But he knew he was only minutes away from the internal war turning into a very external one, and he didn’t want to be spewing his guts out here on the deck. And he really didn’t want it to happen in front of Nora. His key turned and the door swung open. He was ten steps from the downstairs bathroom. He could do ten steps. He just had to get rid of any potential witnesses.
“I’m fine. Ate something bad. G’night.”
He closed the door and dashed to the bathroom, barely hitting his knees before it was too late. He lost all track of time as wave after wave of nausea washed over him. After spending who knew how long on the bathroom floor, he lifted his shaking head. He was light-headed and feverish, and he knew he was badly dehydrated. The kitchen was just down the hall. He could make it that far. There was ginger ale in the fridge. He got to his feet and headed down the hallway. If he could just get some cold ginger ale in his system, he’d feel better.
He didn’t remember the hallway being this long. Or this...curvy. Was it tilting? Should he turn around and try to make it back to the bathroom, or should he press on to the kitchen, which now seemed an impossible distance away? The hallway swirled again, but he caught sight of the barstools. If he could just sit down and rest for a second, he’d be fine. If only the hallway would stop dipping and twisting.
He reached his hand out to grab a stool, but his hand closed on nothing but air. That was weird. He reached again, putting more effort into it this time, and there was a crashing sound just before everything went dark and silent.
CHAPTER TWELVE
WHEN ASHER OPENED his eyes again, he wasn’t in the hallway anymore. Or the kitchen. Or the bathroom. He turned his head to get his bearings in the dark and moaned as a stab of pain shot through his skull. He was in his own bed. Upstairs. It was nighttime. He shifted and his stomach protested. Moving was definitely not a good thing right now.
He had no memory of coming upstairs. There was a bottle of Pedialyte on his nightstand. He hadn’t seen that stuff since the boys were young. Dylan used to drink it by the case after chemotherapy. A hard shiver swept from his feet to his head. He whispered his son’s name. Was he dreaming? If this was a dream, Dylan might be in it. He hadn’t dreamed of him in so long. Someone was sitting in the chair by the window, and they stood, walking toward him in the dark. A cool, gentle hand touched his forehead.
“Dylan?” Asher didn’t whisper it this time; his voice cracked as he blurted the word out. His lips were dry and stiff. He wanted to see his son’s face again. He tried to focus, but a soft voice with a distinct Southern accent shushed him as a hand ran through his hair and rested on his cheek.
“Go to sleep, Asher. Go back to sleep.”
He shook his head, but the pain and nausea crippled him to the point where he just closed his eyes and gave in. Maybe if he slept, he’d see Dylan again. Gentle fingers caressed his face as he drifted back into a restless slumber.
The pink glow of dawn was visible behind the pulled curtains the next time he woke. He moved his head slowly, testing the pain level. The headache was more manageable than before. His stomach was sore, a little queasy and very empty, but it no longer threatened to explode.
“Welcome back to the living.”
He couldn’t believe the voice that spoke those words.
“Nora?” Sure enough, there she was, sitting on the edge of his bed. She was dressed in leggings—were those dancing frogs?—and a long, loose T-shirt. His T-shirt. He must still be dreaming, because he couldn’t imagine any real-life scenario that would bring Nora Bradford into his bedroom wearing one of his shirts. Well, he could imagine one, but it was highly unlikely, and he hated to think he’d ever forget having her in his bed. She gave him a small, somewhat nervous smile.
“You’re recognizing people again. That’s a positive sign.” She reached out and put the back of her hand on his forehead, as if such an intimate act was completely normal between them. Yeah, he was definitely dreaming. Except...he could feel the coolness of her touch on his skin.
“Are you really here?” The words came out of his mouth before he could stop them.
Nora laughed, and he remembered how much he’d liked her laugh the other night after the spider episode at her place. Her laughter was soft, but there was a huskiness to it that hinted at strength. This woman was tougher than she looked, for sure.
<
br /> “Yes, I’m really here, Asher. You had quite a night. What’s the last thing you remember?”
He frowned. “I was sick. Really sick. I went to the kitchen for ginger ale... I don’t remember much after that.” There were fragments of memory coming back to him now. Nora’s voice calling his name, sounding panicked. Someone else helping him up the stairs. Who was that? And then he remembered getting sick again, in his own bathroom and even...in the bed? He looked down at the sheets. They weren’t the ones that had been on the bed yesterday. He looked back to his T-shirt on Nora. Oh, hell no.
“Please, God, tell me I didn’t throw up on you.”
Her hand moved from his forehead to pat him playfully on the cheek.
“Well, not exactly.” How could she sound so amused by all this? “It’s not as bad as you’re thinking. But I did need to change my shirt and I wasn’t about to leave you alone again, so I borrowed one of yours.”
He wasn’t sure how any of this could not be as bad as he was thinking, but he focused on one word she said.
“Again?”
She nodded, pulling her hand away, which caused a surprising sense of loss. She pulled her legs up under herself, looking like a little wood sprite perched on the edge of his bed. Her dark hair was pinned back at the sides, and he was tempted to reach up and pull those barrettes out to let it fall around her face.
“I left you here in bed while I cleaned things up downstairs, and you decided to go into your bathroom alone and nearly split your head open on the edge of the sink. You’re going to have a bump there, I’m sure. I thought I was going to have to call Dan again to get you back in bed. You were a bit of a mess, and that’s when my shirt got...um...dirty.”
“Dan saw me like this?” Oh, great, could this get any worse?
Nora smiled, temporarily rendering him incapable of caring how bad the night had been. There was something about her being here, in his room, in his shirt, that did something to his chest. Or to the organ that resided inside his chest. An organ that hadn’t reacted to anyone for a very long time.