“Coming right up.” Abby hesitated, still staring at Adam. “You really do need some rest. When’s the last time you took a day off?”
Tommy laughed. “When’s the last time hell froze over?”
“That’s what I thought.” She nodded. “You’d better relax now, Adam. Once you’re mayor, you’ll be too busy to breathe.”
“S-sounds g-great.” He took a long draw on his ice tea as Abby disappeared into the kitchen.
When he looked up, Tommy was staring at him with a raised eyebrow. “As your campaign manager, I have to tell you that your enthusiasm leaves a lot to be desired. We’re not winning this race with ‘Sounds great.’”
“Like I s-said, I had a b-bad d-day.”
“You don’t have bad days. You’re the take-charge, can-do, never-give-up DeVries Construction boss. That’s why I’m your campaign manager.” His grin said they both knew the truth.
Abby set down their food and put a hand on Adam’s shoulder. “I brought you some salad, too. You need your vegetables—be sure it’s all gone when I get back.”
“There you go.” Tommy gestured with a fat French fry. “You should marry her and eat at home.” He reconsidered. “But then, where would I eat?”
“You think she’d s-stop working here j-just b-because she had a husband? Anyway, women are too much trouble.”
“Oh-ho. Now we get to the point. You had an argument with Theresa?”
“No.”
“Good. Your sister argues like a lawyer and you’d be sure to lose. The Ice Queen? I mean, your mother?”
“Phoebe.”
Tommy’s jaw dropped. “How’d you argue with Phoebe?” He’d come to a couple of sessions with Adam, to offer campaign-specific advice. “She’s practically a saint already.”
Adam gave him the look that comment deserved.
“Well, okay, not a saint. But she’s sweet and friendly and patient and…and easy to look at. How could you argue with somebody so…so nice?”
Good question. Adam wasn’t prepared to admit, even to Tommy, that the frustration of seeing Phoebe but not really being with her had driven him into juvenile behavior. He’d come to depend on the nights at her farm, had learned to need her friendship. He wasn’t handling rejection well at all.
Then there were those kisses, and the honey taste of her mouth that he couldn’t seem to get out of his mind….
“DeVries? You still with me?”
“S-sorry. It’s h-hard to explain.”
“I bet.”
They finished their meals, though Adam had to divide the huge salad with Tommy and threaten to withdraw from the campaign if he didn’t eat all of his half. Out in the parking lot, Tommy stood for a minute beside Adam’s truck, flipping his key ring around his finger.
“You know, DeVries, that rally Monday really is a big deal.”
“Yeah.”
“Your speech—I mean, the speech you wrote—matters. A lot.”
“Yeah.”
“I’d feel better if I knew Phoebe had smoothed things out with you as much as possible.”
Tommy had never once, in their childhoods, their teenage years, or any time since, complained about the stutter or teased him in any way. “I understand.”
“So I think we need some intensive work this weekend. Lots of practice, so the words are automatic.”
“I c-can d-do that.”
“I think Phoebe needs to be there.”
“T-Tommy…”
“Why don’t we get her a hotel room in town, and you can spend time there off and on over the weekend, really buckling down on the big speech?”
“She’s g-got animals to take c-care of. She won’t l-leave them that l-long.”
“Oh, yeah.” He flipped the key ring again. “Okay. You can stay out there.”
“No way. No.”
“It’s the answer, Adam. I’ll come out, work with you both. We’ll keep you out of sight for a couple of days, then you show up at the rally and bowl them over.”
“Not p-possible. Phoebe won’t ag-gree. I d-don’t, either. For-get it. Think of s-something else. It’s a b-bad idea, Tommy. A v-very b-bad idea.”
Tommy grinned at him. “We’ll see about that.”
CHAPTER FIVE
“ABSOLUTELY NOT.” Phoebe’s tone was harsher than Tommy had ever heard it. “That won’t be possible.”
“Come on, Phoebe. You can see that Adam needs this time to get his speech down just right. You’ve helped him so much this summer. You can’t quit just before you succeed.”
“Adam has done the work. He’s the one who will succeed. He does not—does not—need to stay in my house this weekend to accomplish his purpose.”
He switched the phone to his other ear. “Can you stay in town for a couple of days? We’ll put you up at the hotel downtown and you can work together there.”
“No. I have animals to take care of. I can’t leave the farm for all that time.”
“What if I could get somebody to take care of them for you?”
“What part of ‘no’ don’t you understand?”
“I’m an insurance salesman. I can’t take no for an answer.”
He heard her chuckle. “You are irrepressible.”
“Does that mean ‘pain in the butt’?”
“Pretty much.”
“So which way do you want to do this?”
“I don’t want to do it at all.” But there was the possibility of surrender underneath the words. “Who would I get to take care of my farm?”
“Dixon and Kate said they’d be glad to stay at your place for a couple of nights.”
“You’ve already talked to them?” A ticked-off pause. “Two nights?”
“Well, I figured you’d come in Saturday, stay the night, work Sunday. And then the rally is Monday, and I know you want to be there to hear Adam speak. Dixon said they’d get the animals taken care of Monday morning and then come in for the picnic.”
“Does Adam know you asked his friends to do this?”
Tommy winced as she exposed the weak point in his planning. “He’ll be okay with this.”
“You know very well that he’ll hate what you’ve done. He hates people going to any trouble on his behalf.”
“As far as I’m concerned, DeVries has never had enough people making an effort on his behalf. He wants to serve this community in a concrete way, and I’m here to make sure that happens.”
He waited through a long silence. “One night,” she said finally. “I’ll come in around dinnertime Saturday night, stay over and come back Sunday evening.”
“I’ll tell Dixon and Kate—”
“No. I can get Jacquie Archer to come over Sunday morning, make sure everything is all right. She lives just a couple of miles down the road.”
Now he felt guilty. He was asking a lot, and the strain it caused her came over the phone line, loud and clear. “Are you sure? Dixon said they’d be happy to have a weekend in the country.”
“Unless the weather looks really unsettled. Or somebody gets sick or hurt. With horses, you never know. But Jacquie’s a farrier and experienced with my horses, so she’s a good person to leave in charge.”
“Okay, then. Thanks. This will be a good idea, you’ll see.”
“Tommy, you’re going to tell Adam, right? You won’t just open the door and surprise him with me?”
The woman was a danged psychic. “I’ll tell him. He’ll be glad you agreed.”
Once he finishes tanning my reprobate hide, that is.
ADAM HAD NEVER APPROACHED a doorway with less enthusiasm. He was tempted to get back in his truck, hunt Tommy Crawford down and finish the tongue-lashing he’d started before he got too tangled up in his words to talk at all.
Instead, he would attempt to honor his best friend’s good intentions. Pulling open the glass-and-mahogany-paneled front door of New Skye’s Highlander Hotel, he crossed the lobby to the brass elevator panel and pushed the button. On the sixth floor, he took a deep bre
ath and turned left, remembering to breathe out again when he got to room six-thirty.
Phoebe opened the door. “Hi.”
“H-hi.” They stared at each other for a few seconds. She looked as uncomfortable as he felt. Their last two sessions had been very polite, very impersonal. If the atmosphere was the same tonight, he might as well leave right now.
Then she smiled at him, the sweet smile he’d come to associate with Swallowtail Farm. “Come in.”
He couldn’t help brushing her arm as he walked through the door, couldn’t help noticing her flower scent. That, too, reminded him of her farm and one stormy July night. His gaze lighted on the bed, and he swallowed hard. Tommy and his bright ideas.
“This is a lovely hotel,” she said, following him. “I didn’t realize New Skye boasted such elegant accommodations.”
“The original b-building was a n-newspaper office. Sherman b-burned all the p-presses on his way through in ’65. When rebuilding started, they put up a h-hotel. Then the r-railroad m-moved out of t-town and New Skye d-d-dwindled.” He couldn’t seem to stop talking, no matter how bad it sounded. “Ab-bout t-ten years ago, they s-saved this p-place, renovated and s-sold it to a m-major chain.” The stutter got worse the longer he spoke, which didn’t bode well for Monday. Adam glanced out the window, then realized he was clenching his right fist.
Damn you, Tommy Crawford.
“No, that’s okay. Just relax.” She sat down in one of the armchairs and motioned him into the other. “You started thinking about how much you’d said, lost your relaxation and your focus. Do you have a copy of your speech?”
He opened up the folder he’d brought with him. “One for you, one for me.”
“Good.” She adjusted her glasses and looked at the pages. “Let’s start at the beginning.”
Phoebe listened to him read through without a stop, though the process was far from pleasant. At the end, Adam flopped back in his chair and let the papers fall to the floor.
She waited to say anything until his breathing had slowed. “You’re tense because someone is listening.”
“I’m t-tense b-b-because there will be h-h-hundreds of p-p-people listening on M-Monday and I’m going to look like a jackass. M-Mother kn-knows b-best.”
“Most people get nervous when they have to speak to a crowd. Especially when they have to persuade a crowd to like them, look up to them, vote for them.”
Eyes closed, he didn’t answer.
“What’s the worst that can happen?”
Adam blew out a deep breath. “I embarrass m-myself. M-my f-f-friends. F-family.” He held up a hand. “N-no, wait, I’ve already d-done that. I g-give L. T. LaRue the opportunity to gl-gl-gloat.”
“That’s the worst?”
His lashes lifted, and his blue gaze sharpened. “N-no. The w-worst is that the p-political c-corruption in this town will go on and n-nobody will stop it.”
“Exactly. So start again.”
By the time the room darkened enough to need a lamp, the speech was going better.
“A c-couple m-more times through, and I’ll h-have it m-m-memorized.”
“That wouldn’t be a bad thing.” Phoebe took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. “You’d probably relax more.”
“I’m s-sick of the s-sound of my own v-voice.”
“I’m not.” She grinned at him. “But we can stop for the evening, if you want. Start again tomorrow.”
“At least long enough f-for d-dinner. Where would you like to g-go?”
By focusing on stacking the pages of his speech into perfect order, she managed to avoid meeting his eyes. “You don’t have to take me out. There’s a sub shop just down the street.”
“I d-don’t want a s-sub.”
The suspicion that he was deliberately being difficult crossed her mind. “Then let’s call it a night. You have dinner at home, and I’ll get a sub.”
He stretched to his feet, leaned over and caught her hand, drawing her out of her chair. “I’m taking you to d-dinner, Phoebe. The qu-question is whether you choose where we g-go or I d-do.”
“Adam—” His warm hand around hers weakened the resolve she’d worked so hard to build.
“F-fine.” Keeping hold of her fingers, he pulled her toward the door. “I’ll choose. G-got your room k-key?”
SAM HAD LEARNED THAT SHE could keep track of Adam DeVries simply by checking in at Charlie’s Carolina Diner every night about dinnertime. The man never ate at home. She had to wonder why he didn’t marry Abby Brannon and get his meals for free.
And then he walked through the door on Saturday night with Phoebe Moss.
Sam sank a little lower behind the table of her back booth, thankful for the healthy crowd. Adam’s preferred table was empty—maybe Abby kept it reserved for him until after his usual dinnertime. That spoke of an affection above and beyond mere friendship. Did Abby pine for Adam DeVries, suffer because he never noticed her? Would she be crushed to see him here with a date?
Or was Sam simply assigning her own misery to somebody else?
Though she’d come incognito—mousseless hair, barely any makeup, a plain shirt and jeans and sneakers—she kept her chin down as she watched the conversation at the table by the door. Getting caught spying would make future cooperation from the candidate hopeless.
Abby stood by the table for a little while, chatting with Adam and Phoebe. When she moved away, they faced each other self-consciously for a moment. Phoebe said something and smiled; Adam lifted his chin, as if laughing. From that point on, the meal looked very cozy, very comfortable…and as romantic as dinner in a diner could possibly be.
In Sam’s opinion, dinner on a tree stump would be romantic with the right person to share it. But she refused to mention his name, even in her mind.
When dessert arrived, she decided to make her move. No sense waiting for them to find her. No sense skulking around any longer in case he came in.
She paid her check to Charlie at the cash register and turned, putting her change away in her purse. Just as she looked up, Adam reached across the table, where Phoebe held out the bowl filled with little containers of cream for coffee. They were laughing still, their gazes connected. Quicker than thought, Sam whipped out her camera and took the shot. No flash necessary—the diner’s fluorescent lights effectively eliminated shadows.
With the camera stowed, she headed toward the door…but then jerked to a stop beside Adam’s booth, as if she hadn’t seen the occupants until this moment.
“Well, hello there, Adam. Building up your energy for the big political race?”
He wasn’t glad to see her. “J-just eating d-dinner.”
“This is a good place for it.” She turned to Phoebe and stuck out her right hand. “Hi, I’m Samantha Pettit.”
“Phoebe Moss.”
“I understand you and Adam went to school together in Atlanta.”
The other woman’s eyes widened in surprise. She glanced at Adam, and then back to Sam. “Why, no. That is—”
“Where d-did you—” Adam started to ask, then stopped. He obviously knew the answer.
Sam nodded. “Good to talk to you both. I’m looking forward to the rally on Monday. See you there.” Still smiling, keeping eye contact with Phoebe, she moved around the booth and reached for the door handle.
Only to have her hand land on Tommy Crawford’s belt buckle, instead. His fingers clamped over hers and she looked into his brown eyes, saw the irritation sparking there. Along with the flicker of another emotion she might have welcomed more.
Swearing under his breath, Tommy grabbed Sam’s hand off his buckle before she could snatch it away. Then he backed out the way he’d just come, taking her with him.
“Let go,” she protested as he pulled her across the parking lot. “What do you think you’re doing?”
They reached her car, that sexy red Mustang, and he backed her up against the driver’s door, keeping her there with a hand on either side of her shoulders. She was even more peti
te than he’d realized. “I could ask you the same question. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“I was talking to Adam and Phoebe. Where’s the crime?”
Her dark eyes were bigger than he’d ever seen them. Her skin was fine and clear, and didn’t need the makeup she usually wore.
He shook his head, trying to clear the distraction. “I saw you take the picture. What are you gonna do with it?”
She shrugged. “I dunno. It looked like a good shot. ‘The candidate relaxing with a friend,’ that kind of thing. Nothing for you to be upset about.”
“I don’t believe you.” But he wanted to, damn it, almost as much as he wanted to taste those lush, bare lips.
“That’s your problem.”
“No, it’s your problem, because if I find you’re harassing my candidate, I can and will make serious trouble for you on the job and just about everywhere else in this town.”
“Oooh, I’m scared.” She pretended to shrink away. “Don’t hurt me, Mr. Big Shot.”
Her defiance pushed him past good sense. Tommy closed the space remaining between their bodies and took her mouth with his.
After a second’s struggle, she was still. Her lips accepted his kiss but didn’t return it. He wanted to sink into her taste, coax her to a response, see where this insanity would lead them.
Not more than he wanted Adam to win the election, however. And Sam Pettit was becoming a real threat to that win.
So he backed off, dropped his hands to his sides, set her free entirely. She stared at him, her eyes round, her breathing too fast.
He found his voice. “Are you…okay?”
The transformation took place in front of his eyes, from vulnerable to invincible in less than three seconds. “Sure,” she said, and even without the makeup, the sexy clothes, she’d become Brash Girl Reporter again. “I drive guys crazy every day of the week.” She opened her purse, gave him a glimpse of the camera as she pulled out her keys and unlocked the Mustang. “See you Monday.”
He could’ve—should’ve—grabbed the camera. But he let her go. Touching her again would not be a good idea—he was still reeling.
And Tommy suspected he might never get his balance back.
The Last Honest Man Page 8
