Almost.
“Come on, guys, outside.” She led them out, and they slipped by the man at the counter as if they were pretending to be shadows, hoping to remain unnoticed. Once in the yard, they resumed their usual frolicsome behavior.
Phoebe went back to the kitchen. “Would you like some coffee for the drive back?”
“No, thanks. I’m fine.” He stroked his finger down the edge of the plaque he’d been examining, a folk-art angel in red and green with the legend Friends Are Our Guardian Angels.
“Jacquie Archer gave me that as a housewarming present.”
Adam nodded, smiling slightly. “She’s a g-good friend, herself.” He jammed his fists into his pockets. “So, if it’s okay with you, I’ll show up with a couple of guys tomorrow morning, and we’ll get these windows put in for you.”
She whirled to face him. “What?”
“I know two or three men on my c-c-crew who c-could use the extra work.” He spoke slowly, as if she hadn’t understood him the first time. “We’ll b-be out about nine and g-get s-started on the windows.”
Phoebe wanted to argue. But the project was beyond her, and she really did need the windows for safety. So she conceded quickly. “If you come at eight-thirty, I’ll have breakfast ready.”
That grin of his really was special. “D-deal. S-see you then.” Without so much as a peck on the cheek, he was out the door and down the drive. She knew he would lock the gate, without her having to ask.
What she didn’t know was what he’d meant when he’d said, “I’m not sure I do, either.”
And she didn’t know how long she could wait to find out.
TOMMY HUNG AROUND at the end of the wedding reception, lending a hand when needed, keeping an eye on Tim DeVries and Sam Pettit as they sat on Miss Taylor’s terrace. Seemed like they’d been talking for hours, and would be there when the sun came up, still talking. What could they have to say that kept them absorbed in each other like a couple of teenagers?
He decided he didn’t want the answer to that question. And he decided that if he didn’t leave soon, Miss Taylor would be asking him in for hot milk and cookies before bed. Damn Sam Pettit, anyway. She was more annoyance than she was worth.
Dixon and Kate had provided valet parking, but Tommy just asked the kid for his keys and a general idea of where the Lexus had gone, then set out on foot to find his car. The night was cool, the moon full, the neighborhood about as safe as they came these days. Who needed a valet?
When he heard footsteps on the asphalt behind him, he began to wonder about that judgment. A glance over his shoulder, however, showed him that being mugged by a stranger might have been the better choice.
He did an about-face, now walking backward. “Following me, Ms. Pettit?”
“Just going to my car.”
“The good doctor wouldn’t take you home?”
“I didn’t need a ride.” She caught up with him and would have passed by, but he pivoted and picked up his pace.
“How’s the news business?”
“Busy, like always. How’s the campaign business?”
“Looking better all the time. Especially since you haven’t torpedoed my candidate’s reputation or lifestyle for almost a whole week now. Should I be expecting a nasty surprise in tomorrow’s paper?”
She glanced at him. “No. Not a thing.”
Her lack of humor worried him. “Monday?”
“Give me a break. I’m not going to let you in on all my upcoming articles.”
“Why don’t you give me a break? Or, better yet, Adam DeVries? The least you could do is warn us in advance when something’s about to hit the fan.” Coming to a stop, he caught her arm and turned her to face him. “What d’you say, Sam? A day or two’s notice before you drop another bombshell?”
Moonlight poured over her face, turning her skin white, her hair and eyes and reddened lips black. She looked tired, he thought.
Not too tired for sass. “So you can censor me? Forgetting about freedom of the press?”
“Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. The good doctor makes you happy, does he?”
“Jealous, Tommy?”
The truth slipped out. “Yeah.”
Those big dark eyes closed for a long moment. “Turns out my college roommate went to medical school at Duke with Tim. They lived together for a couple of years, and then broke up. He’s not over her, whatever he thinks. So I listened to him rant and rave and…” She shrugged. “Not exactly a torrid romance.”
Relief washed through him. “You’re looking for torrid romance?” Somehow, both of his hands were on her, holding her shoulders, his thumbs stroking leather-covered collarbones.
Her mouth curved in a half smile. “Torrid’s nice, occasionally.” Then she opened her eyes and looked at him again. “At this point, I’d settle for solid friendship.”
“Sorry,” Tommy said, stroking his hands down her back to her waist, pulling her closer. “We’re way beyond friendship.”
He bent his head—she really was short—and kissed her the way he’d wanted to. Like he would never, ever have to stop.
This, this, was what she wanted. Sam leaned into Tommy and let him have everything she could give. Not the angry kiss they’d shared before, but a deep, searching fusion of mouths that blended bodies and souls. She tried to tell him, with her sighs, with her lips, with her hands, all the yearning she’d never been able to share with words.
A car screeched to a halt beside them. Jeering, mocking teenagers hung out of every window. Tommy jerked Sam to stand behind him, just as a couple of beer cans, already shaken, launched in their direction and exploded at his feet. Leaving a trail of raucous laughter, the vehicle then roared farther down the street.
“Jeez.” He stamped the flow of beer off his suit pants. “Boy Scouts, they aren’t. Are you okay?”
“I think so. Leather’s hard to hurt.” But she was quivering with reaction, her teeth chattering in a completely unsophisticated way. What girl got the shakes just because she’d been kissed, and then rudely interrupted?
“Hey, it’s okay.” Tommy put his arm around her, pressed her head against his shoulder. “Just relax. Where’s your car?”
“On down the street.” He kept her close to his side as they walked, and the trembling subsided, though she still felt shell-shocked. Was this the beginning of what she’d dreamed about for more than a year?
With the door to the Mustang open, Tommy turned her so she stood within the car’s protective shell. “You need to get home, get warm, get some sleep.” He laid his hand along her jawline. “I’ll give you a call late tomorrow.”
“Sounds good.” They shared a kiss—a promise, a temporary goodbye. As Tommy stepped back, Sam dropped into the driver’s seat and fitted the key in the ignition.
“And, Sam…” He gave her a wink and a grin. “I’ll be expecting a little advance notice from now on when it comes to political news, right?”
She sprang out of the car like a jack-in-the-box. “Is that what you’re doing? You think you can seduce me into covering up for your candidate?”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Sweet talk and kisses and this protective macho stuff, and you think you’ve got the right to dictate what I report in the news? Well, let me tell you, jerk, I don’t compromise my work for anybody.”
“Sam, you’re crazy.”
“And I’ll tell you something else—I’m headed for Atlanta Monday morning and I’m gonna be looking real hard into your future Mrs. Mayor’s background. If there’s something to find, I’ll find it. And you can be damn sure I’ll report it.” She dropped back into the car, shoved the engine into gear and swerved out from between the two cars on either end. Ready to sprint, she rolled down her window. “Don’t call me tomorrow. Or at all.”
She heard his profane response as she took off down the street.
WHEN PHOEBE HEARD THE rumble of wheels on her drive at seven Sunday morning, she thought Adam
had arrived extra early. Peering out the window, though, she recognized Jacquie Archer’s truck, towing a horse trailer. Dragging on shorts and a T-shirt, Phoebe hurried outside, the dogs dancing in delight ahead of her.
Jacquie had her windows down in the cool morning. “Hey, Phoebe. Sorry to show up so early, but it’s kinda an emergency.”
“What’s wrong?” A shrill neigh and the thud of hooves against metal came from the trailer. “Who’s back there?”
“Didn’t you get my message?” The farrier, whose small size belied her great strength, dropped to the ground and led the way to the trailer door, where Erin joined them.
“I didn’t even look at the machine last night. I’m sorry. What’s going on?”
“I had a call on my machine when I got home from the wedding, an owner in a real panic. She returned from Europe last week after six months away, went to see her horse yesterday, and this is what she found.” Jacquie and Erin pulled back the double doors on the trailer.
Phoebe stared at the wild-eyed stallion tied to the front of the trailer. His hipbones poked up under his coat, which was dull, dirty and scarred. Each individual rib was sharply visible, his overgrown hooves split and broken.
She blinked back tears. “Oh, my God. Where has this horse been?” Even as she spoke, the stallion kicked out at the wall again. He might be half starved, but he wasn’t giving up.
“High-Tailin’ It Farm.”
“Ah.” High-Tailin’ It Farm had a bad reputation among responsible horse owners in the area. Burt Treble, the owner, spent more time at the local bars than at the barn. His training methods were harsh, sometimes violent—rumor said he’d ridden or beaten a couple of horses to death. Troublesome animals always got the bad end of Burt’s deal. Unless the owner kept a close eye on their horse, chances were good the animal would end up like this one, a victim of neglect.
“We woke up ol’ Burt last night and made him give us the horse,” Jacquie said. “I took him to my place and put him in a stall, where he proceeded to bounce off the walls for the rest of the night. But I’ve got pregnant mares in one pasture and a stallion in the other. So I’m hoping you can take this guy and rehabilitate him. The owner does care, but she’s stationed in Germany with the army, so what’s she going to do?”
“Of course I’ll take him. No question. What’s his name?”
“Samson.”
“Fits a big black son of a gun like him, doesn’t it?” To prove his worth, Samson took another shot at the trailer wall. “Guess we’d better get him out of there.”
Samson wasn’t interested in cooperating, and a half hour had passed before they coaxed him to set foot on solid ground again. His first instinct was to bolt, but Phoebe hung on to the lead rope with all her weight and managed to keep him more or less in one place. Staring up at a thousand pounds of angry, frightened horse was enough to set her life flashing before her eyes. But she kept her cool and, gradually, Samson regained a little of his, enough to walk sanely to the gate for the lower pasture. Erin released the chain lock and Phoebe led the horse through. Her knees were knocking—he could strike her down at any instant, and especially at the moment when she released the halter. She wished she’d put on a helmet. Too late now.
The stallion danced around her, surveying the field from every angle, eyes wide and wary, poor bedraggled tail thrashing from side to side. In the sunlight she could see his wounds, some horse-inflicted, some very definitely man-made. What she wouldn’t give for the chance to treat Burt Treble the way he treated horses.
“Whoa, Samson. Whoa, boy.” She spoke quietly, low in her throat, trying for eye contact. “Nobody’s gonna hurt you. It’s okay. Whoa, boy. You’re safe now.”
With some more coaxing, Samson seemed to relax a bit. He slowed his feverish pacing, stood still for seconds at a time. Phoebe continued to croon, to hold his attention. If he trusted her, he might not try to kill her. This time, anyway.
Finally, he lowered his head and sniffed at the grass, full and thick after the recent rains. “Good boy, good boy.” She placed her hand lightly on his shoulder, stroked softly. “That’s it. Have some breakfast.” He took several mouthfuls of rich grass and tore them off, then looked up and around as he chewed. Moving slowly, Phoebe stroked her hand up his neck to the buckle of the halter. Fingers trembling, breath stuck in her throat, she slipped the tongue out and let the restraint fall into her other hand. Eyes always on the horse, she backed away.
Samson finished his grass and realized, suddenly, that he was free. With another clarion cry, he exploded into action. Phoebe ran for the gate, but the horse galloped in the opposite direction, down the length of the pasture at full speed. Even in his emaciated state, it was an impressive sight. He came back as she shut the gate between them, kicking and bucking and tossing his head like a mustang on the plains. Down and back, down and back again…he couldn’t seem to get enough air and space and freedom.
“Has he been out of a stall in the last six months?” Phoebe asked, catching her breath.
“Doesn’t look like it.”
“Is there anything we can do to Burt Treble?”
“How about gelding?”
They laughed, but only out of desperation. The chances of prosecuting the man were slim to none.
As they stood watching Samson run, another truck came rumbling down the drive. It was Adam, followed by a couple of cars transporting his workers. When they all parked and got out, there were six strong-looking guys standing in her yard, ready to eat.
“I’d better get cooking.” Phoebe grinned at Jacquie and Erin. “Want to stay for breakfast?”
Fortunately, she had muffins and bagels available, plus lots of juice and coffee, so the crowd didn’t starve while she cooked. Because her kitchen table wouldn’t accommodate that many, people ate sitting in lawn chairs outside, enjoying the morning and throwing bits of egg, bacon and toast to the dogs, who were very well mannered about the whole process.
But the surprise came when Phoebe glanced at Adam just as he took a small piece of bacon off his plate and let his hand dangle over the side of his chair. Gally crept up beside him in a crouch and Phoebe gazed in amazement to see the dog reach slowly forward with his nose. Adam moved his hand a little closer. Another adjustment by Gally, and the bacon was his.
With her heart pounding in her chest, Phoebe thought she’d never seen anything quite so wonderful.
“Adam’s working on getting used to the dogs, isn’t he?” Jacquie came in to help clean up the kitchen. “I saw him feed each of them a couple of times. You told me he wouldn’t have anything to do with them.”
“That’s what I thought. I don’t understand what’s changed.”
“Maybe he realizes there’s a package deal, here.”
“The deal isn’t real, though.”
Jacquie winked at her. “Are you sure?”
“Not at all.” Phoebe sighed and changed the subject to one she did understand. “I’ll call the vet and get him to come out to check Samson over. I’m guessing from the way he moves that he’s not unsound, but I’m sure the owner would like a professional opinion.”
“Definitely. I’ll leave you her name and number. I know she’ll take care of the charges—she’s paid Burt Treble plenty over the last six months. And she’ll pay boarding fees, too.”
“Sounds good.” As Phoebe stood at the sink, a friendly face appeared at the window. In a much shorter time than she could have managed, the old window had vanished and the frame was prepped for a new one. “Amazing what testosterone can do.”
“Yeah. I would never have tackled this job by myself. I’m glad you were smart enough to ask Adam for help.”
Phoebe felt her cheeks heat up. “Intelligence is my middle name.”
Jacquie and Erin left around noon and the men continued their work. Phoebe observed but stayed out of the way, except for providing drinks, cookies and snacks. By six o’clock the guys were dirty and sweaty, and her house had new eyes.
“Th
ank you so much,” she told them, handing over checks for twice the amount Adam had suggested. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate what you’ve done.”
None of them had been very talkative, but they all grinned, and bowed their heads, then piled into the two cars and hit the road. Adam watched them go, wiping his face with the sleeve of his shirt. “They’re g-good g-guys. I trust them to d-do the j-j-job right.”
“And you, of course, were right when you said I should let them install the windows. I guess I carry my independence too far sometimes.”
“Could b-be.” But his smile was kind and he stroked a knuckle down her cheek. “Who’s the b-big bl-black g-guy in the other pasture?”
She walked with him down to the fence to watch Samson graze and explained the story. “Stallions aren’t easy, but I think what he needs most is some patience and space. I plan to make friends without making many demands on him.”
“Why did Jacquie br-bring him to you? Aren’t there p-people who do this k-kind of rescue?”
“I’m one of them.” He was obviously surprised. “Maybe I never explained. Marian and Robin were both rescues from an auction truck, about to be shipped hours across country with twenty other horses to the slaughterhouse. All my dogs and cats were abused or abandoned. It’s what I’ve wanted to do for as long as I can remember—live on a farm where I could give homes to animals who needed one.”
“I wasn’t paying attention.” Adam shook his head. “But it m-makes sense, knowing you.” He put his hands on his hips and arched his back. “It’s been a long d-day. I’m used to other g-guys d-doing the work and m-me writing the paychecks.”
“And so you deserve a good dinner. I’ve got fresh tomatoes and mozzarella cheese, pasta with pesto and garlic bread. Want to stay?”
He closed his eyes and groaned. “How c-could I not?”
This time they ate inside, at the table she’d set with candles and glasses for the bottle of chardonnay he opened, with Celtic music on the CD player. Both of them had a window view, and Adam spent a lot of the time watching the horses.
The Last Honest Man Page 16
