To Get Me To You: A Small Town Southern Romance (Wishful Romance Book 1) (10 page)

Norah caught the momentary flash of alarm across Cam’s face and nearly erupted into giggles. To cover for them both, she put on a mock stern face. “Your stalling tactics aren’t going to work. Pay up, bucko.”

Grumbling, Mitch made the necessary arrangements with the bank—aka Uncle Pete—and handed over the cash. “Heartless real estate mogul.”

“Aw, it’s not personal, sweetie, it’s business.”

Miranda rolled the dice. “I did warn you, she’s brutal at Monopoly.”

“Oh, who are you kidding? I’m ruthless at all games. I make no denials or apologies.”

“And we love you anyway.” Miranda moved her thimble. “Speaking of business, how much longer can you stay away from yours?”

Norah managed not to look at Cam—barely. He was still the only one she’d told about being fired. And despite the fact that they’d spent every night on the phone, talking till the wee hours about everything under the sun, they’d carefully steered clear of discussing when she was leaving.
If we ignore it, the white elephant doesn’t actually exist.

Except now Miranda had put it right out there. Because if Norah was really here on a true vacation from her former job, she’d absolutely have to be getting back.
Damn it.

“I feel like I just got here.”

“Well, it is the first vacation longer than a holiday weekend you’ve taken since I moved back home.”

“Seems a shame to head on back to the city when you only just now slowed down,” Cam remarked.

Norah glanced at him but saw no censure. He was leaving this news for her, as she’d asked.

“Do you have the extra leave time to take?” Aunt Liz asked.

“I’ve got more leave time than I know what to do with.” It wasn’t a complete lie. She’d had almost two months built up when she got axed. Four, if she counted major medical.

Aunt Liz clapped her hands together. “Then stay a while longer. We haven’t gotten to see you nearly enough this visit.”

The actual decision was easy. Chicago felt worlds away, and she was in no shape to be making major life decisions at the moment. As Cam had said, she’d only just slowed down. Plus, she wanted—needed—time to explore this unexpected spark with him.

“There are any number of hungry young neophytes dying to step into my shoes. I expect they’ll find a way to do without me.” Because her face felt suddenly brittle, Norah flashed her best sales smile and changed the subject. “If I asked super sweetly, could I talk anybody else into a fire and hot chocolate?”

“Yes!” Mitch shot a fist into the air. “A hot chocolate break will give me a chance to plot my comeback.”

Miranda patted him on the arm. “You hang on to that delusion, big brother. I’ll help with the beverages.”

“I could use a chance to stretch my legs.” Norah unfolded from her chair. “I’ll get the firewood.”

Cam pushed back from the table. “I’ll help you. Uncle Pete, make sure Mitch doesn’t mess with the bank.”

Norah slipped out the door before Mitch finished protesting. The woodpile was at the far side of the yard, flanking the garden shed, well away from the cedar shingles of the house. She’d already made it halfway across the lawn by the time Cam caught up.

“Hold it. Put this on.”

Turning, she saw he’d stopped to grab her coat. “It’s not that cold to me. Thicker blood, remember?”

“Humor me.” He held it so she could slip her arms inside.

Relenting, she did as he asked, then immediately crossed her arms because she did feel cold. But she knew it had nothing to do with the temperature.

“What’s wrong?”

She looked over her shoulder at him. “How did you know?”

“I know your real smile. That wasn’t it.” Cam squeezed her shoulders. “You okay?”

“I keep thinking I am, and then something brings it all back up again.

“It’s gonna keep happening until you tell them.”

Norah hunched her shoulders. “I know. Doesn’t make it any easier.”

“I don’t think this kind of thing is ever easy. It’s a Band-aid yank sort of situation.”

They circled around the wood pile to the back side of the shed.

“I guess…there’s a part of me that feels like if I keep it to myself, if I don’t actually say it out loud, then it can still go away. That they’ll figure out they’ve shot themselves in the foot and call begging me to come back.”

“Do you want them to ask you back?”

“God, yes.” Catching sight of his carefully blank expression, she laid both hands on his arms. “Only so I can tell them to stick it where the sun don’t shine. I couldn’t go back to that. Not knowing what I know now.”

Cam relaxed and pulled her close. “You’ll figure the rest out, Wonder Woman. I have faith.”

Norah burrowed in, wrapping her arms around him beneath his open coat. “I’m glad one of us does.”

He stroked a hand down her hair. “I get that you don’t want to spread this around and why you’re not keen on announcing it to the whole family, but I really think you’ll feel better if you at least talk to Miranda.”

“I feel better when I’m with you.” She tipped her head back to look at him. “You’re solid. Steady.”

His lips twisted in an expression that couldn’t be termed a smile. “Yep, that’s me. Solid, steady, boring Cam. Everybody says so.”

“Then everybody’s wrong. You’re not boring. Not at all. You’re just…subtle,” she decided. “I guess next to Mitch or Reed or Tucker, people probably tend to overlook that.” She slid her hands up to brace on his shoulders, rising to her toes until she was close enough to feel the warmth of his breath. “Solid and steady really works for me.”

Now he did smile. “Happy to oblige.” Dipping his head, he brushed his lips over hers, testing. They both listened.

“We have maybe two minutes before somebody starts wondering where we are,” he murmured.

“Then we’d better make the most of them.”

Cam’s eyes darkened, his lips curving into a hungry smile that had Norah’s toes curling. He backed her against the shed and boxed her in with his arms. She loved it, loved that instant leap of her heart, the catch of her breath as he took her mouth.Wanting to feel the heat of him, she slid her fingers into the open collar of his shirt to rest against his skin. His pulse thundered, and she loved that, too. How could such a quiet, steady man be so…potent?

His head snapped up, and Norah made some soft, incoherent sound of protest before she heard what he’d heard. Footsteps across the dead grass.

Releasing her, he eased open the door to the shed and stepped inside. “Pull out your phone. Flashlight.”

She didn’t stop to ask him why, just did as he asked, raising the poor light above her head to partially illuminate the gloom within. Cam was shifting through the contents of the shed when Miranda came around and blocked the light.

“What on earth are you doing?”

“Looking for the wood sling,” Cam replied, not a trace of breathlessness in his voice.

“It was by the back door.” Miranda held it up.

“My mistake.” Cam stepped out of the shed, apparently back under control. “Norah, you wanna grab some kindling off that end?”

Norah followed him out and started gathering the smaller bits, as asked, hoping her flush would be attributed to the cold.

Chapter 6

Tucker McGee was a hard core flirt. The man practically oozed charm, so the fact that he was currently oozing said charm all over Norah had Cam grinding his teeth and repressing the urge to plant a fist in his friend’s face. He wasn’t concerned Tucker was actually getting somewhere with her, but that was 
his
 woman, and he hadn’t even gotten a chance to greet her before Tucker had swooped in to escort her from the car to the refreshment tables. Not that Cam could give her the greeting he wanted with Miranda trailing right behind, looking irritable.

“—and here, the 
pièce de résistance
, s’mores fixin’s. And over here we have the roasting rods.” Tucker pulled a slim handled rod from a cluster in a tube and handed it to her, hilt first.

Norah inspected it. The metal was bent back on itself and wrapped to make a sturdy handle. “Swanky. I thought you were supposed to use coat hangers.”

“That’s for amateurs. We take the art of bonfire to the next level. Do you need a refresher on the proper roasting technique?”

“I’m not that citified.”

Tucker held up both hands in a gesture of peace. “Just checking. I didn’t know.”

“There’s something else you don’t know about me.”

“And what’s that?”

She sank into a fencing stance. “I am not left handed.” Tossing the rod to her right hand, she lunged forward.

Hooting with laughter, Tucker stumbled back, grabbing another rod on the fly and bringing it up to parry. Having spent half his life on the stage in one community theater production or another, Tucker was given to theatrics. He let them fly with flashy swordsmanship and more quotes from 
The Princess Bride
 as the pair of them circled around the refreshment tables.

Cam watched as Norah steadily drove him back, her movements tight and controlled compared to Tucker’s dramatics. “She actually knows how to fence, doesn’t she.”

“Yep. Three years of fencing club in college.”

Cam chuckled, waiting for Norah to hand Tucker his ass.

“Be careful, cousin.”

Cam pretended not to hear the warning in Miranda’s voice. “Mmm?”

She looked up at him. “Look, I’m not blind. I see how you are around Norah. You aren’t obvious, like Mitch, but you watch her when she walks into a room. You’re into her.”

He should’ve known Miranda would notice 
something
. She knew him better than almost anyone. “Well, yeah. Last time I checked, I do have a pulse.”

“It’s not a good idea.”

Right, because he’d proved he couldn’t make good choices in the relationship department on his own and needed to submit the candidates for review. Cam chained down the surge of temper and kept his voice even. “Are you warning me off for her sake or for mine?”

“Both. I don’t think she’s in a good place right now. I know something’s going on with her that she hasn’t told me, and I’m worried about her. But quite apart from that, you know exactly why I think she’s a bad idea for you.”

Cam scowled. “It’s not the same.”

“Don’t get pissy. I just don’t want to see either of you get hurt.” She shot a glance back at Norah, who handily disarmed Tucker. “You’ve both been hurt enough.”

“Thanks for the warning, but I’m a big boy. I can take care of myself.”

“Surrender, McGee! You’re bested!” Norah shouted in triumph.

Tucker dropped to his knees, the tip of her impromptu sword at his throat. “I yield, milady. Do with me what you will. Only tell me you’ll come back and do the fight choreography for our summer production of 
The Pirates of Penzance
.”

She mimed cutting an 
N
 in the air, then bowed to enthusiastic applause. “Acquire me marshmallows, and I might consider it.”

“As you wish.” Tucker scrambled up as Norah turned to join Cam and Miranda by the fire, her cheeks flushed from cold and exertion.

“You seem quite cheerful,” Cam observed.

“Winning agrees with me.”

“Your marshmallows, milady.” Tucker presented them with a flourish.

“Thanks.” She threaded one on the rod and held it into the fire.

Tucker made a sound of protest. “I thought you remembered how to do this.”

Ignoring him, Norah lifted the marshmallow free of the blaze, watching it burn for a minute before she blew out the flame and tipped the rod toward Miranda. “Perfectly charred, exactly as you like it. A peace offering because I know you didn’t want to come out tonight.”

Miranda plucked off the marshmallow, tossing it from hand to hand to cool before chomping in. “Your tribute is appreciated. Make me another, and I might even forget I’ve already stopped feeling my ass.” She rotated so her backside faced the bonfire.

“It’s not that cold.” Norah stuck the second marshmallow into the flames.

“You haven’t been below the Mason-Dixon long enough to lose your tolerance yet. One summer down here and you’ll be back to freezing at forty degrees, like the rest of us.”

Faint strains of music limited Norah’s retort to, “Wimp,” as she dug out her phone. One look at the display had her smile fading. “Excuse me.” She passed the roasting rod to Miranda and strode toward the line of cars parked at the edge of the pasture.

Cam gave her five minutes’ lead time before he headed in the same direction on the pretense of grabbing a blanket from the truck for his cousin. He found Norah leaning against the wheel-well of his truck, hidden from view by a Suburban. Her hands were empty.

“Who was that?”

She grimaced. “My dad.”

“Did you tell him?”

“No. Because I’m a coward. He just wanted to check in since he’s finally back from Saint Bart’s.”