Читать книгу The Last Honest Man - Lynnette Kent - Страница 11

THE SOUND OF A VEHICLE coming up her gravel driveway startled Phoebe, since the only guests she expected were already here. When she recognized Adam’s truck, she was doubly surprised.

They’d had another intense session Friday night, with Adam getting increasingly frustrated over what he perceived as a lack of progress. She’d battled her own frustration, as well, trying to maintain complete objectivity when it would be so terribly easy to step over the line between therapist and friend.

Or more. In fact, she’d been wondering if she should recommend that he see Jenna instead of herself for therapy. Happily married and the mother of a new baby, Jenna wouldn’t be so sensitive to her client’s every reaction.

Adam got out of the truck, and Phoebe met him halfway between the drive and the riding ring. The dogs stayed behind, in the shade of an apple tree, instead of following her as they usually would. They knew they would not be wanted.

“S-sorry t-to j-just d-d-drop in,” Adam said, before she could even say hello. “I-I-I d-d-didn’t r-realize y-you had c-c-company unt-til I-I’d almost r-reached th-the h-house.” His face was tight, his fist clenched.

“I’m glad to see you, whether I have company or not.” Taking a risk, Phoebe put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. “We’re just having fun with the horses. Come watch.” She caught his right fist with her left hand and led him toward the ring, hoping the physical contact would help him relax. Or so she told herself.

As they got close, Dixon Bell eased Cristal to a halt in front of them. “Hey, DeVries, what brings you out? Good to see you.” He leaned down and reached out to shake Adam’s hand, which Phoebe reluctantly let go.

“You t-two kn-know each other?” Adam glanced at her in question.

“Cristal and Brady belong to Dixon. He boards them with me and comes out to ride most weekends.” She looked from one man to the other. “Now it’s my turn to ask…y’all are friends?”

“Went to high school together,” Dixon explained, soothing Cristal as she protested having to stand still. “And every grade before that, come to think of it. Kate, too,” he said, referring to his fiancé, who was bringing Brady slowly around the ring toward them. “DeVries and I play basketball together Saturday mornings with some of the other guys from our class.”

“I g-give him s-some help remodeling his house f-f-from time to time. And p-plan to d-dance at his w-wedding.” Adam nodded at Dixon. “F-from th-the way you handle th-that h-horse, I’d say you’ve sp-spent s-some t-time in th-the saddle in your day.” His stutter had diminished a bit as he became more relaxed.

Dixon grinned. “An hour here and there.” He had, Phoebe knew from Kate, worked on a ranch out west for a number of years before coming back home to New Skye.

Kate brought Brady to a stop nearby. “Hi, Adam, how are you? I’d lean down for a kiss, but I’m not sure my balance is that good.”

He gave her his wonderful smile. “I’ll take a rain check. Sh-show m-me what y-you can d-do.”

For another thirty minutes or so, Phoebe and Adam stood at the fence to watch Kate and Dixon work. To be accurate, Adam watched the riders and Phoebe divided her time between the horses and the man at her side. He was now more at ease than she’d ever seen him, which meant he felt very comfortable with Dixon and Kate.

And me? Phoebe wondered, wishing she didn’t care quite so much. What trauma had brought him this far out of town on a Sunday evening? Why in the world had he come to her, of all people?

She kept her questions to herself and the four of them chatted as Dixon and Kate untacked and cooled down their horses. The men brought flakes of alfalfa hay and buckets of grain rations to the pasture while Kate and Phoebe leaned on the fence to talk.

“New Skye can be a very small world,” Kate said, watching Adam dump grain into the different feed dishes. “How did you meet Adam?”

Phoebe hesitated. Did he want even his good friends to know he was undergoing speech therapy?

Kate was quick enough to spare her the choice. “Ah…I understand. Never mind. I didn’t ask. I’m glad to see him out here, though. He works too hard and spends too much time alone. I think you and your farm could be really good for Adam.” Kate belonged to another of New Skye’s prominent families, the Bowdreys. The Bells held a similar position, and Dixon was also related to the Crawfords, including Tommy, who was a cousin. Kate had explained some of the connections to Phoebe, along with tidbits about the DeVries clan.

“He does seem to relax when he comes out.” She felt better, having Kate’s approval. “Would you and Dixon mind if I invited him to join us for dinner?”

Kate laughed. “You took the words right out of my mouth.”

When asked, Adam tried to beg off, of course. “I-I d-don’t want to intr-trude.”

Dixon threw an arm around his shoulders. “Yeah, right. We’re all just putting up with you to be polite. And your punishment is rabbit food.”

Adam looked at Phoebe. “R-rabbit food?”

“Phoebe’s a vegetarian,” Kate said, with a severe frown in her fiancé’s direction. “This is the one meal in a week I can convince Dixon to forgo meat.”

“And, man, it’s tough. But Phoebe fixes pretty good rabbit food, so I manage to make it all the way back to town before I need a burger.”

Phoebe punched Dixon in the side as she stalked toward the house. “You’ll eat those words. I guarantee it.”

“No way.”

“Want to bet?”

“Sure. What’re the stakes?”

“If you aren’t stuffed to the gills after this dinner, I’ll grill you a two-pound steak next time you’re out here.”

Dixon grinned. “And if I am?”

“You have to sing for me after dessert.”

He pretended to consider. “Mighty high stakes there, ma’am. But you’re on.”

As they sat on the screened porch after the meal, with a warm breeze occasionally tilting the flames of the candles on the table, Dixon groaned. “I give in, Phoebe. You win. I didn’t know jambalaya could taste so good without meat.”

She stuck her tongue out at him even as she reached to the floor beside her chair and handed him the guitar waiting there. “Told you so. Now, pay up.”

Dixon looked over to Adam. “What’ll it be?”

“It’s n-not m-my b-bet.”

“Aw, come on, help me out here. How about ‘Crazy’?”

Adam sighed and shook his head. “G-give m-me an intro.”

Phoebe looked from one man to the other, not sure what was happening. Dixon played a jazzy set of chords, and Adam sat forward. The next thing she knew, Adam’s voice eased into the twilight, crooning the old country song in a smooth, stutter-free baritone. Adam DeVries could sing. Boy, could he sing. She felt like a puddle of melted chocolate by the time he’d reached the final phrase.

Between them, the guys produced an amazing reel of tunes, from romantic to rowdy, while she sat and marveled at their combined talent. “You two are incredible,” she said when the music came to an end. “I had no idea either of you was this good.”

Adam shrugged and Dixon grinned. “Just a couple of good ol’ boys, pickin’ and hummin’.”

“Right.” Dixon wrote songs for a living, among them some of the most popular recordings on the charts. “Can I make a request?”

“Do we know it?”

“Doesn’t everybody? I’d like to hear ‘I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry.’”

Dixon started the chords, but Adam stirred in his chair. “That’s a s-s-sad one.”

Kate leaned forward to put her hand on his. “I’ve never heard you sing it. Please?”

With a tilt of his head, Adam gave in. On this song, Dixon joined in with harmony. Phoebe felt tears gather, and fall, as the two men sang the day into night with Hank Williams’s poignant words.

A long silence followed the final notes. Finally, Phoebe wiped her eyes. There weren’t words to describe how she felt. “Thank you.”

“Anytime.” With a squeeze of Kate’s fingers, Dixon propped his hands on his knees and pushed himself to his feet. “The kids will be home in about an hour, so I guess we’d better get there to meet them.” Kate’s children had spent the weekend with her ex-husband and their father, L. T. LaRue.

Adam stood, as well, evidently prepared to take his own leave. Phoebe smothered her disappointment. She’d been hoping he would stay for a while and give her a chance to ask what had been bothering him when he arrived.

By luck or by his intent, Adam did stay to see Dixon and Kate drive away and only then turned to her with his own goodbye. “I-it’s b-been n-nice. Th-thanks for letting m-me stay.”

“You’re more than welcome. I wondered what h-had upset you. Why you c-came out.” Her tension was bringing back her own stutter.

Adam didn’t seem to notice. He shoved his fists into his pockets and looked away. “W-went to d-d-dinner at m-my p-p-parents’, who are p-p-pissed that I didn’t t-talk the c-campaign over with them f-first. They implied I was s-sure to lose, and I g-got p-pissed, too.”

Phoebe kept her indignation to herself. “I would think so. There’s no reason you can’t win this election.”

“M-my d-d-difficulty, as m-my m-m-mother calls it, w-will g-get in the way.”

“So we’ll work on that. I think you can do it.” Phoebe put her hand on his bare wrist, desperately trying to ignore the warmth of his tanned skin against her palm.

Adam brought his hand to her cheek. “Wh-when I’m out h-here, s-so d-do I. I g-guess that’s why I came. You help me believe.” He gazed at her for a long moment, and his touch lightened, as if he were about to step away. Suddenly, though, he tilted her face up with his palm and gave her a smile. “You’re s-something sp-special, Phoebe Moss.”

He was going to kiss her. That would be heaven…and a complete disaster.

She backed away from him, turning toward the pasture as if the horses had made a noise she had to check out. “The singing…you know, quite a large percentage of people who stutter can sing clearly.”

“That’s what I’ve read.”

“You could use that as you practice—sing the words instead of saying them, gradually working to decrease the tune and simply talk.” Keeping her own words clear was a challenge tonight—she felt herself falling into the stutter. Eyes on the horses, Phoebe focused on staying relaxed.

“I’ll work on that.”

“So you’ll be here T-Tuesday night? Seven-thirty?” Still, she didn’t look at him.

After a long silence, Adam cleared his throat. “C-count on it. I-I’ll l-lock the g-gate.” His footsteps crunched on the gravel drive, his truck door squeaked open and slammed shut.

At that sound, she felt safe to look over, and she watched until his taillights disappeared in the dark.

ADAM FIGURED PHOEBE WOULD have finished dinner when he arrived Tuesday evening, so he stopped by the Carolina Diner for something to eat before driving out of town. Unlike last week, business was slow, and Abby came out right away with his iced tea.

“F-fried ch-chicken,” he told her. “I’m f-feeling tr-traditional t-tonight. With m-mashed potatoes and gr-green beans.”

“The perfect Southern dinner,” she agreed. “You want white and dark meat, right?”

“R-right.”

She nodded and made a note on her pad, then leaned her hip against the opposite side of the booth. “I hadn’t heard until today that you’d decided to run for mayor.”

“Y-you m-must’ve been the l-last one to find out.”

Her brown eyes crinkled as she laughed. “Not easy keeping secrets in this town. I just wanted to say I’m proud of you. We could use somebody with a sense of decency running New Skye for a change.” A car door slammed outside and she glanced through the window. “Damn. Speak of the devil. I’ll get your meal. You—” she poked a finger into his shoulder “—stay out of trouble.”

He wasn’t sure what she meant until L. T. LaRue’s hearty voice carried through the door. “Yessirree, got the steel on its way and the ’dozers headed out there tomorrow morning. I’m getting this show on the road.”

The doorbell jingled and several people walked in. Seated with his back to the door, Adam didn’t turn around. With any luck, LaRue and his friends would sit over on the far side of the diner, and he could ignore the fact they’d ever been here.

LaRue, however, was not a man to leave well enough alone. While the rest of the group sat down, L.T. appeared beside Adam’s table. “Well, well, if it isn’t our fledgling candidate. Eating by yourself, DeVries? That’s no way to win an election.”

Adam relaxed his right hand. “I-I’m n-not p-planning to f-feed the whole t-town t-to get e-e-elected.”

LaRue crossed his arms and propped his hip against the same place Abby had. “That so? And just how are you planning to get elected?”

“B-by g-giving the v-v-voters an h-honest candidate and the opportunity to ch-choose a m-mayor who w-won’t use his office to m-make m-money. I’ll offer them a m-mayor who d-doesn’t take kickbacks for st-steering city b-business to his f-f-friends.”

“You think that’s what they want?”

“I-I do.”

The other man shook his head. “I think what the voters want is a mayor who can deliver—deliver goods, deliver services, deliver the kind of life they expect to live in this town.” He slapped his hand against Adam’s table as he straightened up. “Not to mention deliver a speech they have half a prayer of understanding. Enjoy your dinner, DeVries.”

Whoever had come in with L.T. enjoyed the joke. They were still laughing when Charlie Brannon rounded the counter at the front of the diner with Adam’s plate in one beefy hand. The ex-marine set the meal on the table and gave Adam’s shoulder a squeeze. He stopped for a second at the door, then made his way with his habitual limp to the table on the other side of the room. The group quieted down in preparation for placing their orders.

“I’ll have—” L.T. started.

“Sorry, folks. We’re closed.” Charlie’s tone was polite, even casual.

“What do you mean? It’s barely six o’clock. You can’t be closed.” Adam didn’t turn to watch, but he heard L.T.’s indignation.

“It’s my place, I can close any damn time I want to.”

“What’s the problem, Charlie?” L.T.’s voice took on a wheedling tone. “We came in for some of your good home-style cooking. Just like DeVries over there.”

“If you had half the brains or the manners of the man over there, I’d be serving you dinner. But you don’t, and I’m not. We’re closed until further notice. You want something to eat tonight, you’ll get it someplace else.”

Adam could hear the group shuffle to their feet, hear them muttering as they headed out the door. Just behind him, L.T. made his last stand. “You’ll regret this, Brannon. I’ve got friends in the inspection department. I’m gonna bring them down on you like a plague of locusts.”

Charlie let loose with his booming laugh. “You think you’re the only guy with friends in this town? The only one with influence? You try putting me out of business, LaRue, and I’ll have your butt on hot bricks so fast you’ll wish you’d never opened your mouth. Now get out. We’re closed.”

LaRue slammed the door behind him. Charlie caught the bell to stop the noise and drew the blinds against the Closed sign. Then he returned to Adam’s table. “You better eat before it gets cold.”

“Th-thanks, Ch-Charlie. B-but I h-hate you t-t-to l-lose business b-b-because of me.”

“I won’t.” He grinned. “We’ll open up again in a little while. I just wanted LaRue off the property. He’s always been scum and I put up with it for Kate’s sake. She’s doing good now, so I’m thinking I don’t have to tolerate that jerk anymore.” Turning, he headed back toward the kitchen. “Abby baked coconut cream pie last night. I’ll bring you a piece.”

Adam didn’t protest. Instead, he finished the plate of chicken and vegetables, asked for seconds on rolls and enjoyed every bite of his pie. Once he announced his campaign, he’d have to get used to being accosted in public places, by supporters and opponents alike. He’d always kept a low profile, stayed in the background even when his family received attention for some charity event of his mother’s or a hospital function concerning his dad. Now he’d called down the spotlight on himself. His stuttering had better improve, and fast. Or he would, as his mother predicted, look like a fool.

Heading out to Phoebe’s, he wondered—as he had since it happened—whether he should apologize for that almost-kiss or just ignore the incident altogether. The impulse had felt right at the time, but almost immediately he knew he’d been out of line. She was his therapist. He needed her expertise to make his run for mayor a success. His impulse to take refuge at Swallowtail Farm had been a mistake, one he would have to avoid in the future. Neither of them could afford to complicate their relationship with emotions. Or even just simple physical desire.

Easier said than done, though, when she came out of her house barefoot, wearing a light linen dress that skimmed her curves—very nice curves—and left her well-shaped arms bare. Her hair hung in a braid over her shoulder, with curls escaping at her temples and behind her ears. Adam had a sudden vision of a darkened room and himself slowly unlacing that braid, running his fingers through her loosened hair, over the soft skin underneath…

But this was not that kind of therapy.

As he got out of the truck, he noticed the dogs were stationed under the apple tree again, watching his arrival but not coming any closer. Somehow, Phoebe had trained them to stay out of his way. He hated the idea of himself as a person who didn’t like dogs or small children. And that wasn’t the case, anyway—he did like dogs, as a species, and he wasn’t afraid of them. He just didn’t have room for them in his life.

“Good evening,” Phoebe called. “Come on in.”

As he got close, he noticed that her gray eyes were wary, a little distant. Her smile said “professional.” Regret slapped him, then relief. They really did need to keep their interaction strictly business.

The session quickly turned into a disaster. He was too aware of Phoebe’s caution, too aware of his own body language, and so his stutter became impossible to manage. Containing his frustration wound the tension to the breaking point.

“Read this one,” she said, handing over another card of paragraphs specifically composed to twist his tongue.

Adam looked at the words, assessed the preponderance of Bs and flipped the card across the kitchen table. “I d-don’t think s-s-so, thanks.” His chair scraped the wooden floor as he pushed back from the table. “I’m c-calling it a n-night.”

SAM HADN’T INTENDED to put Adam DeVries under surveillance. The situation arose simply by accident. In a town the size of New Skye, you couldn’t get through a day without seeing people you knew—at the grocery store, at the dentist’s office, or at a stoplight somewhere on the streets.

So she wasn’t surprised, late Tuesday afternoon, to find herself sitting behind Adam’s truck as they waited for the light to change. She wasn’t surprised to find herself going in the same direction—he had a building site on the south side of the city and she liked to get fruits and vegetables at a roadside stand nearby.

But Adam drove straight past his project without so much as slowing down. While puzzling over that, Sam missed the turn for the vegetable market. She shrugged and, out of curiosity, followed the truck at a safe distance. The evening ahead promised her a solitary dinner in front of the TV and, if she got really energetic, hours of research on the Internet. A country drive couldn’t hurt.

She might have thought twice if she’d realized how far into the country he was going. The four-lane highway narrowed to two lanes, and still Adam drove on. Just past the new low-income housing project, though, he finally put on his turn signal. Bower Lane. Had he started a new project out here in the boonies?

A mile or so down the narrow little road, the white truck flashed another turn signal. This time he turned onto a private gravel drive, which left Sam grinding her teeth in frustration. Swallowtail Farm, the sign read. What was that? She couldn’t follow him onto someone’s property without a really good excuse. Simple nosiness wouldn’t cut it.

She parked on the shoulder of the road, deciding what her next move should be. Just as she cut the engine, her cell phone rang. Her editor kept Sam on the phone for almost twenty minutes, going over changes for a story scheduled to run in the Saturday paper. All the while, Sam never moved her eyes from that driveway.

After hanging up, she gave in to her curiosity and decided to investigate. Dirt and gravel sifted into her sandals as she slipped down the lane, staying behind the trees that lined it as much as possible. The drive was much longer than she’d imagined it would be, and she hadn’t come dressed for exercise. But a good story would more than pay for dry-cleaning the sweat stains out of her silk blouse.

She came up yet another rise and saw—finally—a house in the distance. Four horses grazed in the pasture in front of the house, watched by a man and a woman standing close together at the fence. Three big dogs lay under a tree nearby.

Dogs. Sam went cold. If they caught her scent, she’d be lucky to get out alive, let alone unseen.

Hesitating a moment longer, she looked back to the couple by the fence…and found them holding hands, staring intently into each other’s eyes. The next moment, she was sure, would bring a kiss. And whether from sheer jealousy or an aversion to voyeurism, Sam wasn’t about to watch.

This could be a real scoop, though. Adam DeVries had a girlfriend out of town. Who was she?

Thinking of sources for that information, Sam turned to go back the way she’d come and promptly turned her ankle over a rock hidden by the grass. She kept her balance, didn’t fall, didn’t say more than “Ow.”

In that instant, all hell broke loose as the three dogs cried out the hunt. Sam heard them come after her, barking, whining, roaring, it seemed, as they streaked down the drive. She ran. They ran faster. She wasn’t sure whether they had a greater distance to go to reach her than she had to reach the gate, but she had a feeling they would all find out.

The front fence came into sight as the dogs rounded the curve just behind her. Sam sprinted, grabbed hold of the heavy steel gate and pulled it closed just as the three hounds arrived within biting distance. Though the dogs could have slipped through the widely spaced bars, they were so excited they didn’t think about it. They circled at the gate, still barking, panting and jumping on one another, while Sam put the chain through the bars and around the wooden post, linking the ends with the open padlock. Throwing a quick glance in each direction to check for oncoming traffic, she dashed across the road and slammed herself into the car. Only then did she dare to breathe.

And only when she’d driven farther along Bower Lane, with no real clue as to where she would end up, did she start thinking about the possibilities for her story. Summer was a slow time for news. A budding romance involving a mayoral candidate was sure to spark some interest.

She thought about Tommy Crawford and his insistence that nothing needed to be said until Labor Day and the official announcement.

“Sorry, Tommy.” Sam drove through the country twilight, grinning at the prospect of a good story. “You’ve got your job to do.

“And—come hell, high water or everlasting love— I’ve got mine.”

ADAM HAD ALMOST REACHED his truck when Phoebe caught up with him and grabbed his arm. He let her stop him, though he could have jerked free easily enough.

“You’re confused about who’s in charge here,” she said. “I’m the therapist. I say when the session ends.”

“Ph-Phoeb-be.” He dropped his chin to his chest for a second. “I c-can’t even s-say your n-name. L-l-let it g-g-go f-f-for to-night.”

She softened her grip. “You c-can’t leave d-def-feated.”

Brows drawn together, he glared at her. “You w-wouldn’t t-t-taunt me. You s-stutter?”

Phoebe nodded, gazing into his face, waiting.

“H-how d-did you st-stop?”

“I d-didn’t, as you c-can hear.” She drew a deep breath. “I’ve l-learned ways to minimize the problem.”

He took her free hand in his. “T-tell me.”

“Breathing, as you’ve practiced. Soft consonants.”

“Th-that’s it?”

“No.” She looked past him to the pasture where the horses swished their tails at flies and bent graceful necks to nip at sprigs of new grass. “I live the life I want, with as little stress as I can arrange. I make my own decisions, regardless of other people’s expectations. I stay calm and happy.”

“C-calm and h-h-happy.”

“Pretty much.” His expression was skeptical. “Stuttering is a response, Adam, a way to deal with some person or event in your life. You used it long enough to form a habit you haven’t been able to break. My job is to help you find ways to break that habit. Those are the ways I found to break mine.”

He tensed, and she waited, hoping he would volunteer the details of when and why he had started stuttering. But the silence stretched, and she accepted that he wasn’t prepared to share his secret.

“So.” Phoebe realized that she still held his arm, as he held her hand. She backed up, letting go with reluctance, feeling his fingers holding on to hers.

And then the dogs went wild. They leapt to their feet and filled the night air with noise—Gally’s frantic barks, Lance’s excited yelps, Gawain’s deep bay. Like hounds of hell, they dashed down the drive.

Adam stared after them. “Will they g-go out th-the g-g-gate?”

“I don’t think s-so.” She crouched to go through the pasture fence, no mean feat in a long narrow skirt. “They never have.”

Adam followed her. “Where are you g-going?”

“This is a shortcut.” The horses had lifted their heads as the dogs went past, then went back to grazing as Phoebe walked by.

“You’re barefoot. And the pasture is…”

She grinned at him over her shoulder. “Grassy. Just watch where you step.”

They reached the front gate to find it closed, the ends of the chain drawn together with the unfastened lock and the dogs barking wildly as they jumped up and down at the barrier.

“None of them seems to have the brains to realize they could go through,” Phoebe said, in between pants.

“S-Somebody has b-b-been h-here.” Adam stood with his hands on his hips, staring at the gate. “I left this open b-b-behind me.”

“They must have closed it between them and the dogs.”

“Why were they h-here? Why not c-c-come in? Or why c-come in at all?”

“This is the country, Adam. I don’t think they meant any harm.”

He didn’t look convinced. He didn’t look too happy, either, as they walked back up the drive with Gawain and Gally and Lance gamboling around them, chasing sticks Phoebe threw.

She really wished he liked her dogs.

Back at the house, Adam took his keys out of his pocket, preparing to leave.

Phoebe tried again. “Do one thing for me before you go.”

“What do you n-need?”

Touching him was a bad idea, so she clasped her hands together. “Come around the truck. That’s right, to the fence.” They stood side by side once again, staring at the horses. “Now, tell me what you see. Slowly, gently, calmly. Describe the scene.”

He opened his mouth.

She held up a finger. “Deep breath, first.”

“Okay.” His shoulders lifted, and he blew out softly. “T-twilight above the trees, p-pink, p-purple, g-gold. P-pines, d-dark green and b-brown, stretching b-between grass and sk-sky. Horses white and b-brown and b-black, colors b-blurring in the gray light, b-beautiful and p-peacef-ful and s-safe.” He looked over at Phoebe. “Are you s-sure you will b-be?”

She had to draw her mind back from his poetic description. “I’ll be fine. You’ll lock the gate again, the dogs and I will go into the house, and everything will be good until morning.” Again, she had to stop herself from touching him. “I promise.”

“Okay.” Adam started toward his truck.

“That was lovely,” she told him as she followed slowly. “You did a good job with your consonants. And the description. That’s what I see when I’m here.”

He looked around again, and then smiled at her for the first time all evening. “Yeah. I’m b-beginning to understand j-just how that therapy of yours w-works.”

“I THINK WE’VE COVERED the agenda. Does anyone have questions or comments?” Cynthia DeVries glanced at each member of the fundraising committee, now assembled in her living room. “If not, then we’ll close. Be sure to have another cup of punch and some more dessert before you leave.”

A collective sigh preceded the polite bustle as most of her listeners returned to the dining room. Cynthia gathered her papers together, rose from her chair and turned to find Kellie Tate, the mayor’s wife, approaching.

“I knew you must be dying for something to drink. I thought I’d bring you some of that delicious punch.” Kellie offered one of the cut-crystal cups she carried and sipped at the other. “Where did this recipe come from?”

“Thank you so much, dear.” As the fruit drink soothed her dry throat, Cynthia felt the tension that had been holding her up through the meeting begin to drain. She hoped everyone would leave soon. “My mother got it from one of her bridesmaids. We served it at my wedding to Preston.”

“Heirloom recipes are the best, aren’t they?”

“That’s quite often true.” Moving nearer the front door, to be on hand when the ladies began to leave, she waited for Kellie to come to her point.

Most of the guests were gone, however, before she stated her business. “You know, Mrs. DeVries, quite a few people were surprised to hear that your son has decided to run for mayor.”

Herself among them. Cynthia called up a thin smile. “I imagine they were.”

“Curtis feels like he’s done his very best for the citizens of New Skye. After running unopposed for four terms, he’s…well, he’s hurt, if you want to know the truth, that Adam wants to challenge his fitness to be mayor.”

“I can see how that would seem like a personal slight.”

“I know you must have a great deal of influence with your sons, Mrs. DeVries. Surely they know how fortunate they are to have such a respected and admired woman as their mother.”

Through sheer willpower, Cynthia managed not to roll her eyes. “Kellie, dear, I’m not sure what you and Curtis think I could do to change Adam’s mind. I can give him my advice, but I can’t force him to resign from the race.” A fact amply demonstrated by his tantrum on Sunday.

“Oh, of course not.” The younger woman waved the idea away. “Curtis was just reflecting on how much the Botanical Gardens means to the city as a whole, and how impressed he is with the idea of the Stargazer Fundraiser. A dinner dance under the stars in the gardens—you were so clever to think of such a wonderful way to raise money.”

She paused to finish her punch, and Cynthia waited for the punch line.

Kellie looked at her over the rim of the cup. “I expect Curtis could find some funding tucked away in the city budget somewhere that would be very helpful to the garden. He might even be able to match the money you raise with the dinner dance. Wouldn’t that be a wonderful gift for the Botanical Gardens?”

“Yes, indeed.” She said goodnight to the remaining committee members and walked into the dining room to set down her cup, relieved to note the housekeeper was beginning to clear the table. Kellie followed, not too obviously anxious, to grab one more lemon square and turn in her punch glass.

Cynthia placed a hand in the small of Kellie’s back and eased her to the front door. “I do appreciate your husband’s generosity and his willingness to assist in keeping the gardens at their very best. I don’t know that I have nearly as much leverage with my son as you believe, but I’ll certainly keep your ideas in mind when I talk to him about this endeavor.”

Standing on the front porch, Kellie turned, her lips parted to make another attempt at persuasion.

“No, dear, really. I do understand.” Cynthia held the door open just wide enough for her face to be seen. “I’ll get back to you on this. I promise. Good night, and drive carefully.” She closed the door, giving the mayor’s wife no choice other than to go away. Finally.

The clock struck eleven before the house was orderly once again and Cynthia felt free to sit down with a glass of dry sherry and slip off her high heels. Kellie Tate had certainly provided her with food for thought. As the current president for the New Skye Botanical Gardens Auxiliary, she would be quite satisfied to leave as her legacy a sizable donation to the organization. She expected the Stargazer Fundraiser to bring in adequate money, but if the city provided a matching donation, then she would, indeed, have done her job well.

To achieve that goal, all she had to do was dissuade Adam from making a fool of himself and his family by continuing his run for the mayor’s office. From earliest childhood, he’d been a stubborn little boy. Sometimes she thought his speech difficulty was just another attempt at defiance.

Rarely, very rarely, had she allowed him to prevail. Descended from a long line of those who’d withstood the assault of British troops, the Yankee invasion, the shame of Reconstruction and the desperation of the Great Depression, Cynthia did not doubt her ability to control her own son.

The DeVries family held an enviable position and enjoyed a sterling reputation in this town, thanks in no small part to her own work in the community. If Adam did not understand his role in maintaining the respect due his mother and father, he could be taught. He must come to his senses and withdraw from the campaign. Or suffer the consequences.

And Cynthia could ensure that there would be consequences.