Nora's Guy Next Door. Jo McNally

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! You 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.”

      “That apartment hasn’t been lived in for years. I thought she’d be living with the kids.” Weren’t those two idiots the reason she’d bought the café in the first place?

      “Did Michael tell you that?”

      “No. We haven’t spoken in...a while.” Since Christmas. When Michael had rejected Asher’s plan to salvage his son’s life.

      “Hmm, you’re not talking to your son, your neighbor or your future daughter-in-law. What are you doing, trying to become a hermit? Are you just going to move up onto the mountain and hibernate?” Dan shook his head and straightened his chair. “There’s a wedding coming, man, whether you approve or not. You don’t want to miss that.”

      “There’s not going to be a wedding.”

      Dan just laughed. “You keep saying that, as if you can make it true just by uttering it out loud. But since you’re not speaking to them, you really don’t know anything.”

      “Why? What have you heard?” As soon as the words were out, he knew it was a mistake. Dan was a good cop, and he never missed a clue, even in casual conversation.

      “For someone claiming to be uninterested, you’re pretty curious. Talk to your son, man.” Dan drained