Norah eyed the vibrating phone like a pit viper as it danced across Miranda’s coffee table. Her father. For the sixth time in the last hour. No voicemails.
He knew.
Stop being a coward, she ordered herself. Get it over with.
The phone felt heavy in her sweaty hand. “Dad.”
“What the hell is this about you being fired?”
She winced and pulled the phone away from her ear as he continued.
“What the hell is going on, Norah? Where have you been?”
Her head began to throb. “If you’ll stop yelling for five minutes, I’ll tell you.” Norah slid off the sofa to pace and rub at her temples. She gave her father a bare bones account of the events that led to her termination. With every step, every word, her shoulders tightened.
“No, sir, I’m not legally liable for anything. Neither I nor Helios broke any official laws.”
“Do you have copies of all the legal paperwork between Hugo’s and the city?”
Because, of course, her word on the stand wasn’t good enough. She was supposed to produce evidence. “Why would I? We didn’t have that kind of role in the project. We didn’t make any decisions, sign any documents short of the standard contracts we sign with all clients, outlining our scope of work.” She wrapped one arm tight around her middle and did an about face, heading toward the dining room. “Mine was a moral objection to the actions of the firm, not an actual legal issue.”
“Do you know what this could do to your career?”
I should hang up. But years of conditioned behavior had her staying on the line, continuing to defend her decisions in the hope that one day she’d argue well enough that he’d see her side—maybe even offer approval. But today wasn’t going to be that day. She made another circuit, living room to dining room and back before stopping to drop her head back against the nearest wall as she listened to what he imagined was counsel but came across more like orders.
God, she wanted Cam. Wanted his support, his level head, his touch. But that wasn’t an option. So she steeled her spine as she’d done for the last twenty years. “With all due respect, Dad, I’ll handle it. I know this was never the career you or Mom would’ve picked for me, but that’s not the point. It’s what I chose.”
“It was a poor decision.”
And you never get tired of reminding me of that. “Yes, you both made it quite clear that you didn’t agree with that decision. That doesn’t make what I do have less value.”
“I’m really disappointed in you, Norah. You have so much potential and you continue to waste it, wasting all the advantages your mother and I worked to give you. I really expected better of you.”
She blanched, staying silent as she absorbed that blow. When she answered, her voice was small and oh so tired. “You’re entitled to your opinion, Dad, just like I’m entitled to mine. Whatever I do next will still be what I choose. I’m not going to suddenly turn around and go back to law or medical school because it’s what you want. Now, you’ve been informed. Go ahead and call Mom and share your mutual disappointment in me. I’ve got work to do.”
Without giving him a chance to respond, Norah hung up. Then she turned her phone completely off and crossed to lay it on the coffee table with meticulous care, before she could give in to the impulse to hurl it against the wall.
Damn him. Damn him and all his expectations and guilt trips and goddamned cross examinations. It’s my life.
And it was a mess. She’d stubbornly put off dealing with it in the name of saving Wishful. But if she was to have any kind of career to go back to when the campaign was done, she had to get off her ass and start taking steps to straighten things out.
Even the idea of it left her feeling hollow and exhausted. But that was pretty par for the course these days.
The sound of the doorbell had her groaning. Company was the last thing she wanted. But it might be about the campaign. So many balls were up in the air, she really couldn’t afford to leave her phone off for long.
Schooling her features into an expression of polite welcome, Norah opened the door.
Piper, bounced inside. “This is a kidnapping!”
Norah stared at the very short skirt and pink straw cowboy hat her friend was sporting. “I’m sorry, what?”
“We failed to adhere to our sacred duty upon your arrival and must now rectify that oversight.”
“Which sacred duty is that?”
“The part where we go out dancing and drink to the shriveling of your ex’s dick.” This was stated in a tone of duh.
“She’s bloodthirsty, our Piper,” Tyler said from the doorway.
It was a sentiment Norah could get behind, even if the object of her ire was a little different. “While I appreciate the thought, I’ve got a lot of work to do.”
The coalition meeting had gone well. She’d successfully sold them on a Shop Local campaign and laid the foundation for a grassroots movement. But even with the help of the new coalition chairwoman, Molly Montgomery—who evidently had a membership or officer position in every civic group in town—it meant her workload had quadrupled.
“All work and no play makes Norah a dull girl,” Piper sang.
“All work and no play makes Norah a successful girl.” She returned to her position on the sofa.
“There is more to life than work.”
An ache bloomed in Norah’s chest as she thought of Cam and his life lessons. There’d been no more of them since she broke things off. Not a surprise. And not that there’d been time. They’d both been working their asses off to get this campaign off the ground.
“You might as well give in,” Tyler added. “She doesn’t take no for an answer.”
Norah looked down at her yoga pants and sweatshirt. “I’m hardly dressed for going out. And Miranda will be home from her ER rotation in an hour.”
“She’s meeting us there when she gets off.” Piper stepped over the piles of folders and tugged Norah up. “Come on.”
Norah had no intention of going. She had census data to dig through and city tax records to analyze. Not to mention the website mock-up she wanted to finish before the next coalition meeting. But forty-five minutes later, she was being hustled through the door of the Mudcat Tavern, fully made up and wearing borrowed cowboy boots, as Piper had declared her knee-high English riding boots “too citified for this kind of dancing” and insisted that they did not meet Bitch Boot status. Norah was pretty sure some kind of magic had been involved.
The pretty, older bartender flashed a welcoming smile. “What’ll it be ladies?”
Piper slapped the bar. “Adele, we’re here for the Three Furies. Norah here has been wronged by an idiot man.”
More than one.
“Is there any other kind?” Adele asked.
Norah exercised more caution than Piper. “And what exactly does the Three Furies entail?”
“It’s a tradition of long standing, dating back to just after college when He Who Is Not Worth Naming walked out of my life,” Tyler explained. “First shot is tequila because you’re drinking to forget a worm. Second shot is whiskey, in honor of the fire in your belly. Third shot is Jaeger, which will kick all asses. And after each, you get a shot at Bob the Bastard.”
“Bob the Bastard?”
Adele lifted a sad burlap…thing from behind the counter. It had a crude face embroidered on and four rough limbs flung out akimbo. A fifth…protuberance was painted in red between the legs.
“Is that…a voodoo doll?”
“Sort of. We mount him on the dartboard and take shots at his nuts. It’s terribly cathartic. I think this is actually Bob the Sixth. The Three Furies is a popular ritual.” Tyler patted Bob on the head.
“It’s one that has stood us in good stead, and as you are now officially a part of the Sisterhood, it is your duty to participate,” Piper said.
Norah wondered what sisterhood that was, exactly. “Oh, well I don’t do shots. I’m more a sedate glass of wine or the occasional glass of Scotch kind of girl. And, really, I’m over it. Not even on the rebound.” Why should she waste time thinking about Pierce when she was already half crazy for a better man she wouldn’t let herself have?
Piper gave her a baleful glance. “Are you seriously not going to cooperate?”
The idea of throwing darts at Pierce’s junk in effigy was pretty appealing. All this mess had started with him. “Well, if it’s that important to you.”
“Damn straight.”
Adele set out a salted shot glass and poured the tequila while Tyler affixed Bob to one of the dart boards on the wall. A cheer went up around the bar.
“Okay Norah, you have to name him,” Tyler called.
“Pierce Vargas.”
“Here hangs the bastard Pierce Vargas, Asshole of the First Degree,” Tyler intoned. “Administering his sentence is Norah Burke, the Supremely Wronged Party. Norah, you may begin when ready.”
When in Rome. Norah took the shot, wincing at the burn as she bit the lime. God, tequila was nasty. Piper offered up the first dart and she took her position behind the line. After clearing the pucker from her face, Norah zeroed in on the doll less than eight feet away.
“Feel free to list his crimes.”
“For being a lying douchenozzle.”
Bringing Pierce’s smug, supercilious face to mind, she let the dart fly. It embedded in one of the arms. The crowd cheered.
“Not bad.” Piper nodded in approval. “Extra points for using ‘douchenozzle’ correctly in a sentence. That counts as first blood. Bet you can do better, though. Adele, bring on the Jack!”
“Shouldn’t I eat something first?” Norah tried to remember if she’d had lunch.
“We’ll order after you’re done. Don’t want to lose your momentum.”
If only my Chicago colleagues could see me now. She accepted the second glass. All those pretentious, self-absorbed professionals would consider this behavior completely unseemly. The idea made her grin as she took the second shot. The whiskey went down easier, smoothing some of the edges she hadn’t realized she’d been carrying around. Maybe they were on to something with this whole thing.
The dart Piper handed her felt warm in her palm.
“For not appreciating that I was the best thing to ever happen to you.”
You were supposed to exhale when throwing, right? Or maybe that was just archery. She couldn’t remember, but it seemed like a good idea, so when Norah stepped up to the line, she took a series of deep breaths as she aimed. On a last gust, she released with a snap. It hit a mere half inch below the desired target, to the collective groans of the audience.
“That’s okay, honey. You’ve still got one more to go,” Piper said.
Norah returned to the bar for the Jaeger.
“Hail, hail, the gang’s all here!” Turning, she saw Tucker crossing the bar, Cam, Mitch, and Liam Montgomery right behind.
Cam. Of course, he was here. Because it wasn’t enough that she should see him every day in a work capacity, and almost as often through all her Campbell family interactions. She really needed the Universe to mock her further by throwing him in her path some more with a Nana nana boo boo, look what you gave up for good measure.
God, he looked good. He also looked just a little bit pissed off. She wondered if Tucker and company had dragged him out of his cave like she’d been dragged out of hers.
“Who’s the poor bastard being skewered?” Tucker inquired.
By way of answer, Norah lifted the shot of Jaeger in a toast before tossing it back with a prayer that it would strengthen her resolve. Her cheeks felt flushed as she slapped the glass down on the bar and returned to position for her final shot.
“For my career, you unscrupulous, exploitive son of a bitch.” Norah flung the dart, wishing it was something more substantial, like a knife, as it zoomed forward and buried itself in the doll’s painted scrotum.
The crowd—the females anyway—burst into cheers and applause. Norah took an exaggerated bow and regretted it as the room took a bit of a dip along with it. Food. Food was an immediate priority. And water. Like, a gallon of it. She managed to straighten without lurching.
Mitch swaggered over. “Is this an All-Men-Suck hen party, or can we join you?”
“Better check Norah for sharp, pointy objects,” Cam said. “Clearly she’s dangerous with them.”
Norah assumed a superior air. “He deserved it.”
Piper was grinning like a loon, her arm already looped through Liam’s, so evidently this was to be a mixed party. Hooray, a new challenge to resist Cam, this time with diminished capacity. Norah knew after the lengths they’d gone to getting her here, neither woman was going to just let her go on home, so she didn’t voice the protest.
They commandeered a booth in the corner and put in orders for appetizers. Even as the others broke into a babble of joking conversation, Norah could feel Cam’s eyes on her.
“Are you okay?” He had to lean in close to be heard over the music, and Norah shivered at the feel of his breath on her ear.
“Not even close.” She tossed back a glass of water as if it were another shot.
“What happened?”
“Talked to my dad.”
Cam winced. “As bad as you expected?”
“Worse.” She wished he’d rub her nape, banish some of the tension. But he didn’t touch her. Because they didn’t do that anymore. She wasn’t his to take care of.
“I’m sorry.”
Norah jerked her shoulders. “Over now.” Flashing a smile that was probably more of a snarl, she asked, “And how was your day?”
“Could’ve been better. The economic impact report will be in tomorrow. The Council is convening tomorrow afternoon to go over it and vote.”
The shots turned to acid in her stomach. “So soon? I thought we weren’t expecting it for another month?”
“So did I. Apparently when they said they’d fast-track it, they really meant it.”
Had she done enough? She’d expected to have another month to shift public opinion, get the other Council members on their side. There had barely been time to get the Shop Local campaign off the ground, let alone finish with all the public education components of her plan. At this point, all their hopes were pinned on the results of that study.
“I’m sure it’ll be fine.” She knew the power of optimism. “All our research suggests that the economic impact would be overwhelmingly negative. Any firm worth its salt is going to find the same.”
“I hope you’re right. Either way, tomorrow is D-Day.”
It was a sobering thought. Another sign from the Universe that her time here was winding up. Her mind automatically shifted to the action plan for the coalition, wondering how she should alter the timeline to see that the Shop Local campaign was truly sustainable on its own. Because an end to the anti-GrandGoods campaign meant an end to her time in Wishful. And an end to her time with Cam. She told herself it would be easier away from him, back in the real world, where everyone had expectations and the standard operating procedure was looking out for number one.
And when had she become a woman who looked for easy?
“You two look entirely too serious. I know just the way to turn that frown upside down.” Tucker grabbed her hand. “Come on, sugar.”
“No, no, no, nono. I don’t—oh Jesus.” Abruptly, she found herself spun in some complicated sequence as an Alan Jackson song rocked out from the juke box.
Tyler waved after them. “Don’t worry. Tucker makes everybody look good!”
~*~
Despite his lousy mood, Cam couldn’t help but be amused as Tucker dragged a very panicked Norah out on the dance floor. Piper wasn’t far behind, Liam in tow.
Mitch turned and offered a hand to Tyler, “May I have this dance, fair lady? We could put them to shame or die trying.”
“Not even for you, dear heart.”
He mimed brushing away tears. “In that case, beer. Pitcher?”
“Get a couple,” Cam said. “Pretty sure Liam’s gonna need a lot to recover from Piper’s enthusiasm.”
“Soldier boy’s got game,” Tyler observed as Mitch headed for the bar.
“Not yo’ mama’s Texas two step, right there. That’s, like, the Magic Mike version.”
She slanted him a Look.
“What? I saw the previews.”
Cam’s gaze was drawn inexorably back to Norah, who looked beyond uncomfortable on the dance floor. Tucker might as well have been trying to swing dance with a fence post for all the natural grace and rhythm she displayed. It was so absolutely counter to the way she usually conducted herself, he almost wanted to laugh.
“You know, I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it for myself. There really is something Norah’s not good at. Do you suppose it’s the alcohol?”
“No, bless her heart. She hasn’t got an ounce of rhythm and isn’t following his lead at all,” Tyler said. “Of course, he’s tryin’ to showboat and going way above a basic skill level.”
Cam thought back to New Year’s. She hadn’t had any trouble following his lead.
“Okay, so I have no idea what excuse y’all are using to keep yourselves from following through on the sparks you throw off every time you get within ten feet of each other, but I’m pretty sure we’ve taken out her half of them with those shots. So what are you going to do about it, Crawford?”
Cam cut a glance toward Tyler. “Do about it?”
“Why else do you think I got Tucker to drag you out tonight? Don’t even try to tell me you don’t have a thing for her. I’ve known you too many years for that to fly. You’ve never looked at any woman like that.”
Uncomfortable, Cam wondered if any of his family had made the same observation.
“She looks at you the same way when she thinks nobody’s looking. Whatever her objections are, they have nothing to do with lack of interest. Don’t tell me you’re going to waste this opportunity to work on her when her shields are down.”
“You are a sneaky bitch.”
“You love me,” she said, smug.
“Yes, yes, I do.” He’d wanted an opportunity to prove to Norah that there were more important things in life than career. Judging by the nut shot she’d taken at Bob the Bastard, she absolutely wasn’t in a frame of mind to let go of that perspective. “I don’t know how much good it’ll do, though.”
“Never know until you try. You could start by going to rescue her. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a woman look terrified of dancing with Tucker before. That’s a really impressive use of multiple left feet.”
Seeing his very nosy cousin returning with pitchers and glasses, Cam saluted Tyler and made his escape. The choice at the jukebox was easy. He made his selection and wove his way through the crowd just in time to keep Norah from crashing into another couple, as Tucker’s attempted spin completely got away from him.
“This is an intervention. You’re turning this poor woman into a weapon. Go get a beer.”
“I tried…to tell you…I can’t dance. Seriously.”
Tucker held up his hands in surrender. She started to follow him back to the table, but Cam caught her neatly around the waist and spun her into his arms as the music he’d chosen began to play. “My turn.”
She angled her head, listening to the music. “The Dance? Really?”
“Seemed appropriate.”
“Is this meant to be romantic or a guilt trip?”
“Neither. It’s nostalgic. Some things really are simple. Come here.” As he had New Year’s Eve, Cam nudged her head toward his shoulder.
She didn’t fight him. Her body curved toward his as if just as starved for contact as he was. How had it only been a month since he’d held her? It felt like years. As they circled the floor, the tension he’d noted when he’d walked in bled away, leaving her warm and pliant in his arms. He didn’t think of the town, didn’t think of the campaign, or the fact that after tomorrow she could be leaving. He thought only of how right she felt pressed against him and that he’d do almost anything to keep her there.
When Norah lifted her head, her face was flushed, her eyes over-bright. Cam didn’t want to move, didn’t want to let her go, but the music swung into something upbeat. Around them, patrons formed into lines and launched into a grapevine.
“Let’s step outside for some air.” There were things he wanted—needed—to give voice to, and the middle of a crowded dance floor wasn’t the place.
She nodded once and let him guide her with a hand at the small of her back toward the back door. By grace of the frigid temperatures, the porch designated for outdoor dining and smoking was empty. Norah went straight to the railing and leaned against it, lifting her face to the sky. Cam resisted the urge to move in behind her, boxing her in, and instead leaned beside her, his arm brushing hers.
“I miss simple.” She sighed and tipped her head against his arm. “I miss you.”
He hadn’t expected the admission and credited lowered inhibitions due to the Three Furies. “You don’t have to. I’ve been right here the whole time. And for all your talk, you haven’t gone anywhere, not yet.”
“But I will. Not tomorrow. Probably not next week. I don’t know when I’m leaving. But I have to start taking control of my life again. If that conversation with my father did anything, it lit a fire under me to finally start facing the long job search. I can’t keep putting it off.”
Nothing had changed. After all these weeks, all her involvement in the community, she still didn’t think she belonged here. He was losing her, back to the life she’d come here to escape. Because he was perilously close to begging, Cam kept his mouth shut, fisting both hands around the railing until the wrought iron began to creak.
She mistook the reason for his silence. “I promise you, I won’t go until Wishful is safe. And I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”
He believed her. And cursed himself for wishing more danger on his town, just so she’d stay.
If he said nothing now, if he let her walk away, he’d regret it for the rest of his life.
Cam turned her to face him. “Isn’t it worth grabbing whatever happiness we can, while we can?” He could feel the pull between them, always the pull.
She leaned toward him, yearning written clearly on her face. But mixed with it was equal parts sadness and resignation. “It isn’t about happiness.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because there are bigger things at stake.”
“I get that you’ve got this mission, this purpose. I support that. Hell, I asked you to take it on. But that doesn’t mean you can’t take something for yourself. Even Wonder Woman had Steve Trevor.”
“You’re no Steve Trevor.”
Before Cam could process the insult of that, she was reaching up, cupping his jaw. “Steve Trevor didn’t recognize what was right in front of him. You actually see me.”
What he saw was a brilliant, beautiful woman with an inexplicably fast hold on his heart and a mule-headed resistance to taking it. He turned his face into her touch, needing the connection.
Her thumb traced the arch of his cheek. “Do you know how rare that is?”
Cam covered her hand with his. “Do you know how rare this is? Don’t you think it’s worth hanging on to?”
“Campbell.” She swayed toward him. “I…”
He might’ve said any number of things to try to persuade her, or he might’ve just given in and kissed her, as he’d wanted to do pretty much since the moment he’d stopped. But Fate, cruel bitch that she was, had other plans in the form of his meddling cousin, who came barreling out the door like an overgrown golden retriever.
Mitch drew up short, his mouth dropping open as he took in their embrace in a glance. “I…uh…just came to say the food’s ready. And Miranda’s here.”
“Great. I’m starved.” Norah tapped Cam’s cheek gently. “Thanks for the dance, Leonidas.” She stepped away from him with the grace that completely eluded her on the dance floor and made her way to the door with the careful deliberation of the inebriated.
“You got it okay there, sugar?”
She gave Mitch a thumbs up and the door swung shut behind her.
Cam started to follow, to make sure she got through the dancing throng safely—thumbs up be damned—, but Mitch slapped a palm against his chest. “Hold it. What was that?”
“That was none of your business.” He tried to push past, but for all his general good humor, Mitch was bigger, broader, and when he didn’t want to be moved, he couldn’t be without considerably more force than Cam was prepared to use.
“You’ve got a thing for Norah.”
“Congratulations, you have eyes in your head.”
“Eyes enough to see that was not a casual flirtation.”
“You got a problem with that, cuz?” Cam knew Mitch found Norah attractive, but he’d assumed the flirtation was the same knee-jerk reaction his cousin had to most women. He wasn’t worried about competition—Norah had made it perfectly clear where she stood—but Mitch didn’t know that.
“No.” And there was nothing of Mitch’s usual playfulness in his tone. “Are you okay?”
“Am I—what?”
“Norah’s a sweetheart, but a shoot down is a shoot down, and I know you haven’t really been interested in anybody in a long time.”
He thought she wasn’t interested. Cam almost laughed. Lack of interest he could deal with. If this whole thing was legitimately one-sided, he’d just accept and move on. No harm, no foul. But she was balking out of…what? Some principled bullshit that if it couldn’t last, it wasn’t worth pursuing at all? Did she think they could just turn it off like a switch?
Well, if she had, it wasn’t working. For either of them.
“Cam?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
And there it was. That Look. That careful, piteous look his entire family had been using since Melody walked away years before. Because they all thought she’d broken something in him and had adopted a standard operating procedure of treating him with kid gloves when it came to women and relationships. It drove Cam batshit crazy.
As Mitch stared him down, a sick suspicion trickled through Cam’s gut. Had his family infected Norah with that absurdity? It was exactly why Miranda thought they were a bad idea. Had she warned Norah away after he’d blown off her caution at the bonfire? Was that at the root of Norah’s reluctance to be with him? Because she thought he was broken, too?
“I said, I’m fine, Mitch. I don’t need some touchy feely intervention here.”
This time, when Cam stepped forward, Mitch gave way and let him inside.
Norah hadn’t made it back to the table. She was, instead, in a line with Piper, Liam, Tucker, and Tyler executing the electric slide with more enthusiasm than skill. At least she didn’t seem in danger of injuring anybody dancing solo.
From the sidelines, Miranda was staring. “How much has she had to drink?”
“The Three Furies. Piper’s idea, apparently.” He studied his cousin, wondering if she’d stabbed him in the back in the name of protection.
“What?”
Not the time. “C’mon, there’s food.” He gestured toward their booth, then turned and signaled Tucker out on the floor.
Cam and Miranda slid in on opposite sides of the long table, squeezing to make room for everyone else as they came out of the dancing throng in a pack. As she went to make the single step into the booth, Norah missed and toppled. Cam lunged over, barely catching her before her head cracked against the table. She thumped into his chest, hands clutching at his shoulders.
“Whoa there. I’ve gotcha.”
She looked up from her perch, and her eyes were huge. “Sorry. It’s the boots,” she said, very seriously. “Piper wouldn’t let me wear mine.”
“Pretty sure it’s not just the boots. I think you’re officially cut off.” He righted her so she could crawl into the booth beside him.
“No.” Norah jabbed a finger into his chest for emphasis. The gesture seemed to distract her a bit, as she flattened her hand over his heart and frowned. “I cut myself off. That’s totally the problem. Being cut off sucks.”
“Yes, yes it does.”
She lifted her eyes to his again, resolute and clearly very, very drunk. “I told you. Is the responsible thing to do.”
“So you did.” Whatever composure she’d managed to cobble together out on the patio was eradica