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 wo
oden 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.
The Last Honest Man Page 5