But the real story would be with his parents. Why not just go to the source?
TOMMY SWORE ALL THE WAY back to Adam’s town house. Adam sat with his head against the back of the seat and his eyes closed, his hands limp on his thighs. Phoebe wondered how triumph could have turned to tragedy so fast.
Adam sat up when Tommy stopped the car in the space between the white DeVries Construction truck and Phoebe’s Beetle. “I’ll skip the p-postmortem tonight. We c-can talk t-tomorrow.”
His campaign manager—friend—lifted a hand off the steering wheel, let it fall back. “Sure.”
Once out of the car, Adam turned to give Phoebe a hand in sliding across the seat and standing up. Before they’d reached the door to the town house, Tommy’s car was just a pair of taillights in the dark.
“Why is he so mad?”
Adam unlocked his door and ushered her in ahead of him. “Tommy’s a p-p-perf-f…he wants things to g-go j-just right.”
“You did a terrific job with the debate.” Phoebe sat down on the couch. “You were clear and persuasive. You hardly stumbled. Certainly no more than the mayor did.”
“B-but what will b-be in the paper is that last qu-question. Why d-don’t my p-parents s-s-support my c-campaign?” He sat beside her, close enough to brush his fingertips lightly through the hair at her temples as he propped his elbow on the back of the sofa.
Phoebe smiled at the touch. “It’s hardly likely you could have kept that a secret. Somebody was bound to notice your parents weren’t there.”
“We c-could’ve c-controlled the information, though. N-not had it thrown at us like that.” He sighed, leaned close enough to kiss her cheek. “T-tonight’s over. Let’s forget it.”
“Gladly.” She started to get up, then dropped back with a groan at the effort. “I’m too comfortable to move. Just wake me up in the morning.”
She felt his chuckle. “That’s what got us into trouble to begin with.”
“True.” Turning her head, she met his gaze with her own.
His hand came up, his fingers stroked her cheek, her chin. He took her mouth slowly, thoroughly, with such devastating tenderness that Phoebe squeezed her eyes shut against tears. His fingers were gentle on her shoulder, her throat, and she thought she felt him tremble.
Small wonder. Her whole world was shaking. “Oh, Adam.”
“Mmm.” He kissed her eyelids, her forehead, the tip of her nose. His lips brushed over hers again, but then he lifted his head. “It’s late. Are you sure I can’t drive you home? I could pick you up tomorrow for dinner at my folks’ house, and then you could get your car at a more reasonable hour.”
“N-no, I’m okay.” She wasn’t ready to leave, wasn’t ready to end this lovely moment. But for a reason she didn’t understand, Adam had decided that he was. Most guys would have pushed for all they could get, under the guise of this situation. Maybe that was the issue—because the engagement wasn’t real, Adam didn’t intend to take advantage. That proved him to be a kind, decent man. Phoebe knew she should feel grateful, rather than…bereft.
He walked her to the door, even bent to kiss her cheek again, but she kept her eyes on the keys in her fingers. “’Night.”
“Drive safe.”
“Of course.” Trying not to feel hurt, she settled for not feeling anything at all.
The party tunes of a country music station distracted her from thoughts about Adam on the drive home. She reached her dark little lane sometime after midnight, unlocked the gate and locked it again behind her, then drove through the warm black night with the loud music still blasting from her open windows.
Even before she stopped the car, she realized the horses were upset. Marian and Cristal paced the fence line, ears twitching, tails high, eyes wide and staring. Rob and Brady trotted back and forth across the pasture between the mares and the near side of the barn, clearly uneasy. At first she thought the noise of the radio bothered them. But long after she’d turned the car off, long after her eyes adjusted to the darkness, the horses registered disturbance. Phoebe sensed it as well. Something in the air felt wrong.
Her night vision finally showed her what the car lights had not. Every window in her house had been shattered. Someone had thrown rocks or bricks—or even fired a gun—at every sheet of glass.
And they might still be here.
DINNER DRINKS WERE scheduled for five o’clock. “Is this Phoebe Moss usually tardy?” Cynthia asked at ten after. “That’s a rather annoying habit.”
“No, she’s always on time.” Adam stood by the window in the living room, watching the street. “Something must have happened.”
“Traffic might be bad,” his dad suggested.
“On a Sunday?” Cynthia’s skeptical frown torpedoed the idea.
“She’s got animals, right?” Tim clapped Adam on the shoulder as he went to the bar to make himself another drink. “There might have been an emergency she needed to deal with.”
Adam didn’t want to think about a problem with the animals. “Maybe her car wouldn’t start.”
At five-forty-five, the phone rang. Cynthia answered. “DeVries residence. Yes, Miss Moss? I see. Of course, we’ll be waiting for you. Oh, no. No trouble at all. Certainly, I’ll tell him.” She turned to Adam. “Miss Moss will be here in thirty minutes or so. She’s dreadfully sorry and begs we go on without her. We won’t, of course. But I am afraid the roast will be ruined.” With an expressive sigh, she crossed the hall into the dining room and went into the kitchen.
The mantel clock had chimed six-thirty before Phoebe arrived. Adam answered the doorbell and found her on the porch step, looking harried and less tidy than he’d ever seen her. “Hey, c-come in.” He took her hand and pulled her into the entry hall. “Is everything all right?”
She smoothed her wind-blown hair with her hands and tried to neaten the scarf at her throat, without much success. “I am so sorry,” she said, her eyes round and beseeching. “I c-can’t believe this happened. I had everything planned and I set the clock for four—I was just going to close my eyes for an hour. And the next thing I knew, it was five-thirty.”
A step in the hallway behind him sounded to Adam like the approach of doom. “Miss Moss,” Cynthia said in a voice of pure astonishment. “Are you telling us you overslept? That’s why you are late for dinner?”
Tim, Theresa and their dad had come to stand in the entrance to the living room. All eyes were on Phoebe. She looked from one to the other, her face flaming with a blush as she registered their amusement and surprise and indignation.
“It’s j-just that I was working on my windows all m-morning and afternoon—”
“You don’t attend services?” Cynthia, again.
Phoebe nodded. “I usually do. But I n-needed to get the windows b-boarded up because there’s rain headed this way. And so I worked all m-morning and until three this afternoon. That’s when I set the clock. But s-s-since I didn’t get b-but an hour’s sleep, between eight and nine this morning, I guess I couldn’t wake up….” Her voice dwindled, died as she stared at Adam.
“What happened?” he asked tersely.
Her gaze fell to her twisting hands. “S-some kids came b-by last night and b-broke my windows.”
“How?”
“Bricks.”
“How many windows?”
She swallowed hard. “All of them.”
“Your house was vandalized?” Tim whistled long and low. “I’m sorry to hear that. You called the police?”
“The sheriff’s d-deputies came out.”
Theresa stepped forward and put an arm around Phoebe’s shoulders. “Do they think there’s a chance of catching the idiots?”
Phoebe shook her head. “Just a couple of d-drunk k-kids playing tricks, probably.”
“That’s always the way. If they find out anything, let me know. I’m in the D.A.’s office and I’ll do whatever I can to help nail the brats.”
“Thanks.”
“Well.” Cynthia stepped up
beside Adam. “I am certainly sorry for your misfortune. Since we’ve already waited a considerable time, let’s sit down for dinner.”
“Y’all go ahead.” Adam caught Phoebe by the hand and opened the front door. “We’ll be with you in just a couple of minutes.”
“I beg your pardon,” his mother said, “but we are ready to eat.”
“In a minute, Mother.” He shut the door between them, then put his hands on Phoebe’s shoulders and backed her firmly, inexorably, up against the front door.
“Now,” he said, from between clenched teeth, “I want you to tell me exactly what happened. More important, I want to know why the hell you didn’t call me this afternoon to drive you into town. Or this morning to help you with the windows.
“And, for God’s sake, tell me why you didn’t call me last night when you had to be scared out of your mind!”
CHAPTER EIGHT
IN PHOEBE’S GRAY EYES, Adam read regret, fear, pride, wistfulness. And, finally, obstinate anger.
“I appreciate what I t-t-take to be your c-concern,” she said. “B-but you wouldn’t have gotten there any faster than the d-d-deputies did. I think I handled the situation quite adequately, thank you very much.”
He gentled his hold on her shoulders. “S-sure, you did. I just mean…I hate to think of you f-facing s-something like that b-by yourself.”
She closed her eyes for a second. “I told you, Adam. I’m a b-big girl. I choose to live by myself out in the country. I’m prepared to face the risks and d-deal with the consequences of that choice. Including situations just like this.”
“Has it happened b-before? Have you b-been v-vandalized in the past?”
“No. This is a first.”
“Are the horses okay? The d-dogs weren’t hurt?”
Her eyebrows lifted in surprise. “The dogs hid under the bed. They’re fine.”
“I’m s-sorry I got worked up. I just d-don’t like thinking of you out there d-defenseless.” He blew out a breath of relief and remorse. “And you’re not s-such a b-big g-girl, really. B-barely five-three in your shoes.”
The comment got a smile. “I’m just a little taller than my pal Remington.”
“Rem—” He remembered the shotgun. “Oh, yeah.” Then he thought further. “If somebody had b-been in the house, and f-found the g-gun…” His gut twisted as he considered the possibility.
“But they weren’t.” She put her hands on his chest and pushed him back a step. “Everything’s all right. I ordered new windows, and they’ll be here next week. It was a scary hour, waiting for the sheriff, but that was last night. Let’s move on to today’s problem.”
Since she seemed to need the space, he dropped his arms to his sides and kept his distance. He didn’t, after all, have any real rights as far as she was concerned. “Which is?”
“Repairing some of the damage I’ve done by showing up so late. I figure I’ve still got a slim chance at proving myself the perfect Southern fiancée. I even wore heels and stockings, though the temperature has to be over ninety degrees.”
“That’s true sacrifice.” They shared a smile. Then, because the door had locked automatically, they had to ring the bell and wait to be admitted, which pretty much set the tone for the rest of the evening.
Adam expected his mother to grill Phoebe on her background, her education and her family, and Cynthia didn’t disappoint him.
“My mother grew up in Atlanta,” Phoebe said calmly, in response to the first question. “She went to Wellesley for her undergraduate degree and then to Princeton for her graduate work. She and my father were glad to get back to the South when she was appointed to the staff at Georgia Tech.”
“Ah, yes. I stayed nearer home for my education— Mary Baldwin and Vanderbilt.” Cynthia’s tone conveyed the superiority of a Southern education. “I taught English literature at Duke University for several years while Preston completed his residency in surgery. Then we returned to New Skye, his home, to set up practice. I come from the Low Country, of course, where my family has held property since the Revolutionary War. Minton Hall is on the register of historic homes, you know.”
Phoebe managed to look suitably impressed and pass the platter of roast beef at the same time. “Adam mentioned that he spent summers there with his grandparents.”
“The children and I would go down for a couple of months when school was out. When I was younger, we had a home in Charleston, as well. Winters in town for the social season and summers in the country—I do miss those exciting days. Tell me, Miss Moss, did you make your debut in Atlanta? Theresa had quite a nice presentation here with her friends in New Skye.”
Adam glanced at his sister just in time to see her roll her eyes. The year-long agony of Theresa’s debutante experience had satisfied no one but his mother.
Phoebe’s reply surprised him. “Yes, ma’am, I did.”
Obviously, his mother had expected a different answer, as well. “That’s…that’s lovely.” Outmaneuvered, the general initiated a flanking movement. “Do you have brothers and sisters?”
“Two brothers, a lawyer and a doctor, and a sister who’s an attorney, as well.”
“Impressive.” Cynthia paused for a dramatic moment. “And you chose speech therapy? Quite a different direction from the professionals in your family.”
At the barely veiled insult, Adam let his fork and knife clatter onto his plate. “M-Mother…”
She gazed at him, her dark eyes wide. “I’m simply curious. Why did you choose speech therapy, Miss Moss?”
“Please, Mrs. DeVries, call me Phoebe.” Cynthia tilted her head in agreement. “I chose my field in gratitude to the therapist who helped me deal with my own stutter.”
“You stuttered?”
“I still do, upon occasion.”
“Amazing,” Preston said. “I never would have guessed.”
Adam judged the depth of his mother’s disapproval by her lowered brows. “You appear to be quite successful in controlling your…disability.”
Phoebe smiled serenely. “We all have flaws, weaknesses or, at the least, aspects of ourselves we would like to change. I decided a long time ago that stuttering was not as disagreeable as some other faults I might be burdened with.” She glanced around the table, where the rest of the family sat openmouthed at the sight of someone putting Cynthia DeVries in her place. “Could I have some more of this delicious squash casserole, please?”
Wordlessly, Adam’s mother passed the dish. The conversation drifted for a few minutes, from Theresa’s latest trial to Tim’s upcoming vacation in the Caribbean.
“I’m looking forward to getting in a lot of time on the reefs,” Tim said. “Have you done any scuba diving, Phoebe?”
She nodded as she took a sip of tea. “In high school and college.”
Cynthia had marshaled her forces. “That’s when Adam took several diving trips, as I recall. Did you go together?”
Phoebe cast him a panicked glance. Adam cleared his throat. “N-no, Mother. We d-didn’t know each other well at school.”
Theresa unintentionally joined in the attack. “When did you get better acquainted?”
After too long a silence, Phoebe answered, “I’ve been in New Skye for over a year now.”
“How exactly did the two of you find each other again?” This time, his father led the charge.
Adam realized with a silent curse that they should have considered their story beforehand. “J-just an accidental m-meeting…”
“At the bookstore,” Phoebe added. “We were standing in line for coffee and recognized each other.”
“We sat d-d-down to talk…”
“And only realized how much time had passed when the staff asked us to leave because the store was closing.”
Phoebe looked at him in triumph and Adam grinned back at her. They’d come up with a good explanation, if he did say so himself. Only as the silence around the table stretched uncomfortably, and he glanced at the puzzled faces of his family, did he w
onder if they’d actually believed the story.
Well, they would have to pretend they did. Just like he and Phoebe were pretending to be engaged.
“Very interesting.” Cynthia got to her feet. “Let’s clear the table for dessert.” Phoebe stood up but was waved back into her chair. “You are a guest, Miss Moss. Please stay seated. We won’t be but a moment.”
“You c-could have let her help,” Adam told his mother when they were alone in the kitchen. “You’ve m-made her feel like an intruder.”
“I don’t allow guests to do kitchen work.” His mother continued rinsing the dishes without betraying any regret. “This is her first visit to our house. There’s plenty of time for your fiancée to become part of the family.” Something about her tone of voice persuaded Adam that Cynthia would delay that moment just as long as she possibly could.
“I d-don’t appreciate your attitude,” he said. “You interrogate her, then refuse to accept her help. What’s next? Genetic t-testing?” Theresa brought plates and glasses to the counter, gave him a sympathetic glance, but left without adding to the discussion.
“Hardly. Carry the cake into the dining room, please.”
He picked up the cut-glass stand that had belonged to his grandmother and that now held a German chocolate cake. “M-Mother, I—”
Still with her back to him, she slapped her hands down on the counter. “If you are not prepared to listen to me when I object to your foolish foray into the political arena, I don’t believe I am willing to listen to your demands in regards to a young woman you obviously scarcely know, whether you are engaged to her or not.” Her shoulders lifted on a deep breath. “Now, please, take the cake into the dining room. I will follow with coffee in just a moment.”
Adam didn’t argue. He hadn’t realized how big a gulf had opened between his parents and himself—a distance he wasn’t at all sure could ever be successfully bridged.
LEFT IN THE DINING ROOM with Dr. DeVries for company, Phoebe thought she could relax a little. His eyes seemed kind, and he conveyed an impression of the perfect Southern gentleman—tall and lean, with a slight slouch, wavy light brown hair and a close-clipped mustache over his smile.
The Last Honest Man Page 12
