“They … the prison officials … might need to clear you.”
“Wouldn’t be the first background check I’ve survived.” He kept his voice casual while his lungs tensed. Do false arrests show? Would even the dismissed charges prevent Mona from seeing her brother? He struggled against a frown and found one of those ancestral stoic sets for his mouth. He couldn’t bear sadness invading Mona’s eyes at the moment. This was a time for joy, celebration as a great invisible weight remained on the courtroom floor behind them. He wanted the hope of a moment ago to remain.
All through the paperwork in the clerk’s office he battled a dry, tense throat. Until the clerk countersigned and stamped the receipt he feared the judge or prosecutor would call and negate the hearing. Could they do that? He added another question for Jackson to a small mountain. He and his brother needed to have a long, technical conversation during the approaching Fourth of July family gathering.
“Ready for the next stop?” Linc held the door for Mona.
“And that would be?”
“More lawyers. Wayne White said he had papers ready. And I’ve a couple of questions that shouldn’t wait. Especially if we plan a visit to Minneapolis.”
A few minutes later the receptionist at White and White announced them as Lincoln Dray and Mona Smith.
Linc sighed. He longed to hear the phrase “Mr. and Mrs.” He wanted to protect her. His heart desired to give her all that he possessed, including his name. Would she accept it? Or was she going to stay polite and kind? Would he be filing for a quiet divorce next year after his claim and title to the land stood clear and certain?
“Come on back.” Wayne White smiled at them from the hall entrance.
“Ladies first.” Linc fell into step at the rear of the small parade. Questions about all the soft words they’d missed in the courtroom grew in importance with each step toward the rear office.
“Now, then.” Clarence White settled into his leather chair after brief greetings. “We’ve got twenty minutes before my daughter-in-law expects to see us walk in her door. What’s the first question?”
“What are the exact charges against Mr. Berg and Mr. Maxwell?” Linc’s words darted into the air.
“Expected that question.” Wayne handed a printed list across the desk. “This is not to leave the office.”
Linc scanned down the collection of legal phrases. “Conspiracy? Accessory? Trespassing? Homicide? So they were in it together?”
“That’s difficult to prove. Primary theory of the moment claims Mr. Maxwell sought out Daniel Larson and beat him with his fists and weapons of opportunity.”
“And Basil … Mr. Berg?” Mona accepted the list.
“Discovered the victim either dead or dying. Instead of reporting the crime he decided to frame Linc, based on notes available in the barn. He also removed the laboratory notebook, with formulas, procedures, and financial records.” Wayne paused. “And all the drugs he found lying around.”
“What turned the sheriff in the right direction?” Linc glanced down at his feet and wondered for an instant when or if they would release his work boots from evidence.
“Your friend, Mr. Frieberg.” Clarence tapped one finger on the desk. “He visited Patti Maxwell and convinced her to talk to the police. She gave them enough information to support her husband’s motive and opportunity.”
“And they discovered their physical evidence wasn’t as strong as it appeared.” Wayne leaned back. “The wear patterns on the boot prints were only close, not exact. And the only tool with Ms. Smith’s prints didn’t match any wounds.”
“Then the rumors of Patti’s affair with Daniel were true?”
Both lawyers nodded before Wayne resumed the narrative. “Mr. Berg employed Daniel Larson as his chemist. It wasn’t the most congenial of relationships. Anecdotal evidence suggests Mr. Larson displayed a knack for antagonizing people.”
“He did. Last time we spoke he mixed general insults with threats to buy the farm and destroy the orchard.” Linc glanced down and confirmed the tremble in his hands caused by the mere words and image of Daniel standing defiant at Farm Service.
“Well, case closed. That piece of business, at any rate.” Wayne picked up a multiple copy-form and slid it toward Linc. “This is the intent to claim the property. Think of it as the earnest money papers if you were doing a purchase. Sign it today and I’ll get the title search started. They’ll be a formal session similar to signing closing papers. Would mid-July work for you?”
Linc nodded. He picked up the offered pen and scrawled his name firm enough to make four copies. “Mona. There’s a space for you to sign.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
“What are you looking for?” Mona gave a final swipe of her cloth across the counter separating kitchen from dining area. Morning and early afternoon events continued to chase each other around in her mind. If pressed, she’d say they’d picked up the pace since their late supper. This morning contained a job interview. The afternoon overflowed with both tension and relief at the hearing and lawyer’s office.
She started another review of the mental list, things to do in the near future. A visit to Matt occupied the top spot. And maybe that day trip could expand to retrieve additional clothing and her bicycle from the apartment. Tomorrow she interviewed with Lorraine’s friend for a housecleaning job. She needed to look into the Wisconsin technical schools with culinary programs. And—and accept her decision to live with Linc as public wife and private housekeeper.
“Found it.” Linc held up the log starter. “Want to join me on the deck? I’m going to light all the citronella candles. My plan is to last more than a minute without making a blood donation.”
She rinsed and twisted the cleaning rag. Several bites from two nights ago itched at the casual reference to mosquitoes, the most plentiful wildlife in America’s lake-filled upper Midwest. “It’s going to be dark soon.”
“So? We’re adults, able to set our own schedules. I’ll still go to work in the morning. And you … don’t you have an interview?”
“Ten thirty with Lorraine’s friend.”
“Got your bus figured out?”
“Absolutely. She lives three doors away from the Polk Street house.”
“Come outside and talk with me.” He rested the back of one hand on the counter and curved his fingers in invitation.
“Sounds ominous.”
“Don’t mean to.”
She roamed her gaze over him. He wore ragged denim shorts and a faded blue T-shirt tight enough to hint at his fine-muscled chest. Her heart skipped one beat at the memory of Linc shirtless in her doorway. How long ago was that? Five? Six days. And nights. She closed a mental door on the image that returned every night before exhausted sleep claimed her. “Give me another minute or two in here.”
She paused in her task of putting a few dishes away and admired him a moment later. He leaned over and lit a row of scented candles in metal containers. She blinked in surprise as he turned to the small table and touched the flame to the wick of a new candle in bright red glass.
A few moments later Mona closed the screen slider behind her and savored the view. Linc stood with his back to the house, both arms braced on the wooden rail and face tipped to the sky. “The stars will be out soon.”
“That’s what I’m watching for. My lucky star.” He glanced at her, eased off the rail, and wrapped one arm around her waist. “Did you wish on stars when you were a kid?”
“Too much city light.” Eau Claire produced distraction with street lighting at something less than half Minneapolis. Stargazing translated to admiring the celebrities on magazine covers in her crowd of friends. “On the farm … did you learn your stars there?”
“Some. More during the astronomy unit in physics.”
“Planetarium visit?” Outdoor scents of cut grass, juniper shrubs, and the candles underlined this view as real life, not a school field trip. She pretended the shiver on her skin came from a puff of breeze and not th
e touch of Linc’s arm against her. Wishes, either on stars or birthday candles, didn’t come true for her. If they had … She banished the fanciful line of thought.
“There it is.” He pointed to about one o’clock in the sky. “Want to wish with me?”
She directed her gaze to the spot of light. What could she lose? Her new friends would help her keep a roof over her head at the very least. She closed her eyes tight. I wish one night of real marriage.
“Do we have to share?” She broke the silence after she thought her heart would have the neighbors reporting a wandering drummer.
“Forbidden to share. Required to act.” He leaned down and brushed his lips across her cheek.
She tipped her head down and held back her next breath. The heat of a blush burned her face.
“Beautiful.” He whispered in a kiss behind her ear. “Tempting. You seduce me.”
She moved under delicate pressure from one strong finger guiding her chin. He gives me too much credit. More power than I deserve. Up. A little to one side. When she lifted her gaze his lips filled the view for an instant before descending to meld with hers.
Mona allowed her mouth to open, sigh against his lips, and beg for more. She wanted this to last forever. She rose to her toes and circled her arms around his neck. One magic moment. One night of dreams come true. Please.
He pulled away, leaving her mouth cold and orphaned.
“Mona.” He touched his forehead to hers. “I … we … I want you. If you’re willing.”
“Let me kiss you.” She needed to test if the magic went both ways. One gentle ounce of pressure brought his head down half an inch and she pressed her lips against his mouth. She swept her tongue across his lower lip, exploring and tempting. It felt perfect, heating her desire and cooling impulse at the same instant.
He groaned against her lips. She responded by sliding her tongue deeper into warm secrets. She savored the taste of him, including the trace of mint toothpaste.
“We …” He changed the kiss to chaste. “Sit with me. On the lounge. On my lap.”
“To talk?”
“A little.” He backed up two steps, settled on the cushion, and tugged her wrists in invitation.
She leaned against him, listening to his heart and resting one arm across the back of his neck. Safe.
“I want you.” He sighed into her hair. “Since … oh … I can’t put a time to it.”
“Our first kiss.” She lifted his hand from her lap and circled her thumb across smooth skin. “Do you remember in the kitchen at the Polk Street house? It felt special from my side of things. Different. Tucked full of promise.”
“I’ll never forget it.” He guided her face up and stared into her eyes. I remember the first time I saw you. You intrigued me. I think I got lost in your eyes before we left the airport.”
She blinked in slow motion. Did he realize what a compliment he’d given? He was the first, the only man of any personal acquaintance, who didn’t lapse into offensive remarks tying her eyes to her Chinese ancestry. She started to form a simple “thank you” but before it could cross her lips he claimed her mouth again. Even simple manners vanished.
Mona didn’t attempt to keep track of the kisses, caresses, and sweet nothings they exchanged after that. Want, need, love, and lust all tumbled together in the evening air surrounding them. She dimly remembered extinguishing the candles.
Only one moment outside of the house seared into her mind later. After he opened the slider, she paused in the open door and found Linc’s lucky star, their star, shining bright in the cloudless sky.
About the Author
Ellen Parker, a daughter of Wisconsin, currently lives in St. Louis. She enjoys writing the type of story you can share with either your mother or daughter. When not guiding characters to their “happily ever after” you can find her reading, tending her postage-stamp size garden, or walking in the neighborhood. You can contact her at www.ellenparkerwrites.wordpress.com or on Facebook at: www.facebook.com/ellenparkerwrites.
My Nora
Holley Trent
Avon, Massachusetts
This edition published by
Crimson Romance
an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.
10151 Carver Road, Suite 200
Blue Ash, Ohio 45242
www.crimsonromance.com
Copyright © 2012 by Holley Trent
ISBN 10: 1-4405-6044-7
ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-6044-6
eISBN 10: 1-4405-6045-5
eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-6045-3
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.
Cover art © 123rf.com
For the real Manora whose entry in my family tree made me ponder the origins of her name and what kind of person she was. Also, much gratitude to Sarah S.C. for being my first willing reader of My Nora when it was still a very rough draft, and to my longtime friend Olu A. whose enthusiasm keeps me writing. Hugs.
—HT
Contents
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
About the Author
Chapter One
“Excuse me, ma’am.”
The small woman with skin the color of light burnt sugar didn’t hear Matt Vogel calling into the barn for her attention. She was too busy cutting a rug to the tune of music Matt couldn’t hear with her eyes closed. Well, he’d tried, so he ogled the lithe stranger’s undulating form, assessing her swells and curves through her fitted work clothes without guilt. From his vantage point, the woman was doing a pretty good job of partnering with that old rusty hoe she was holding, although he couldn’t tell whether she or the garden tool was the one leading. Matt leaned against the barn’s doorframe and crossed his arms over his broad chest. God, he’d never seen a woman like her before, and he was absolutely smitten at first sight.
She was agile as a cat burglar, lean with a narrow waist but bearing shapely hips that supported a firm round bottom that he watched with special interest. Matt thought he’d done pretty good in the past. He’d dated some of the most attractive women in Chowan County, but compared to his new neighbor’s remarkable beauty, they were downright plain.
Suddenly, she turned and shouted “Lipschitz!” and dropped into a deep lunge, her pose supported only by that lucky hoe. She said “Ow!” when her hip flexor gave a loud pop and opened her brown eyes to finally take note of the stranger in her outbuilding. She startled at the sight of Matt. He couldn’t blame her. There he was, this big, lumbering white guy trespassing on a rural property where a single woman lived all alone. Her hands slipped down the hoe’s handle, causing it to drop sideways on the floor. With that, she lost her balance and fell backward to the dirt floor on her bottom. The caramel skin between her high cheekbones and the v-neck of her tee shirt flushed to an unhealthy burgundy tone.
Matt walked over with one of his hands extended to help her up. “Sorry. I tried knocking at the house but … ” She held up her index finger to hush him, yanked the small headphones out of her ears by their cord, and shoved them down the collar of her shirt.
“I’m sorry, what?” she asked in a smooth, husky voice.
Matt opened his mouth to speak, but found himself gaping. He’d for some reason expected he
r to sound high-pitched and raspy judging by the way she shrieked “Lipschitz!” Instead, she sounded like the personification of sex and well-aged whiskey. He must have been staring, because she stood without the aid of his rough hand and waited in front of him with her hands on her hips and one elegant eyebrow raised. When he wasn’t forthcoming with words, or anything else for that matter, she said “Yoo hoo, ” and snapped her fingers in front of his face.
“Sorry, ma’am.” Matt dropped his hand back to his side and then quickly jammed both into the pockets of his faded blue jeans. “I knocked at the house and when no one answered, I walked back here since the door was open.”
She dusted her hands off on her yoga pants and straightened her colorful kerchief to tuck some hair escaping from the temples back up into the fabric. “Okay. You’ve found me. What can I do for you?”
Matt opened his mouth to explain, but she held up her index finger once again and said “Wait, let me guess.”
She paced around the broken tractor parts and empty steel oil drums, wringing her hands behind her back. “Well, you’re not dressed well enough to be a Jehovah’s Witness, and besides, they normally do their proselytizing in pairs.”
Matt looked down at his typical autumn Saturday attire of a long-sleeved ringer tee, jeans, and much-abused brown harness boots. It wasn’t fancy, but it was typical Matt.
She continued, “You’re obviously not the mailman.” She poked her head outside the barn door just to verify her hunch. “Unless you can strap bags of mail and parcels onto that motorcycle. I’m expecting a package, by the way.”
He shook his head “No.”
“Okay.” She resumed her pacing. “You’re obviously not the guy I’ve been waiting on for two weeks to install my satellite dish so I can have Internet, huh?”
Matt shook his head once more, his hair settling into his eyes in the process. He flicked it away with annoyance. At the moment, the ends reached mid-neck. He knew his grandmother would have a fit if she ever saw it. He never had enough motivation for a haircut.
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