Phoebe’s replacement windows had been delivered late Friday afternoon and sat stacked against the house, waiting to be installed. She’d thought she could handle the job herself—a little slower than a team of men, maybe, but she looked forward to the sense of accomplishment she would gain from putting in her own windows.
Then she actually tackled the job. Even the smaller windows were almost more than she could lift. The downside, she supposed, of choosing quality. Hoisting, balancing, shimming, hammering…the cool day turned hot and sweaty as Phoebe struggled with the work.
At noon she gave up and, with one window installed, went inside to clean up. Just as Phoebe was putting on her earrings, she heard Adam’s truck rumble up the drive. Her heart started beating harder, faster, and she gave herself a stern look in the mirror. She couldn’t afford to get excited about seeing Adam. He didn’t like dogs. And he was running for mayor—two big reasons this engagement of theirs would remain strictly in the “let’s pretend” category.
As he got out of the truck, she locked Lance, Gawain and Gally in the kitchen. Armed with her new purse to go with her new suit and shoes, she met Adam at the door to the porch.
Proving himself a typical male, he noticed the new windows first. “When will they be installed?”
“I got one in today,” she said with pride, and walked him around to the bathroom window. “Looks good, if I do say so myself.”
Hands in the pockets of his suit slacks, he surveyed her work, so intensely that she began to wonder what he was thinking. “Is something wrong?”
“You did this by yourself.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re planning on doing all the others.”
“Um, yes.”
“Phoebe, what am I going to do with you?” He stared at her with exasperation in his face. “Are you crazy?”
She straightened her back. “I don’t understand your point.”
“You can’t do this job by yourself. I couldn’t do this job by myself. It takes two guys to put in one window with any kind of efficiency. You’re not going to be able to lift half of those units you’ve ordered, and I’m willing to bet you’d end up with half of the frames you take out falling before you get them to the ground. You’d be lucky not to get hurt in the process.” He shook his head. “Why didn’t you have them installed?”
“Because the installation time was eight weeks.”
“Then why didn’t you ask for help?”
“Ask who?”
“Me, for God’s sake. How do you think I make my living?”
She turned away from him and walked toward the truck. “I’m not used to asking for help. I handle my life by myself.”
He caught up with her and put a hand on her shoulder, bringing her around to face him again. “But sometimes you have to get somebody to lend a hand. Why not me?”
“Because…” She didn’t have an answer she could verbalize. Telling Adam she didn’t want to impose on him would not, she was sure, go over well.
But it seemed she didn’t need to say the words. “I came to you for help, and you’ve made a big difference in my life. Now we’re engaged, and it seems like you should be able to ask me for some assistance now and then.”
“We are not engaged.” To her horror, she practically shouted at him. “We are pretending to be engaged. There’s a big, big difference, Adam. And it’s a difference that means I can’t just run to you with every little problem on my plate.”
“Is that so?” He looked shocked and angry at her protest. Then he glanced at his watch. “I guess we can argue about this on the way to town, or be late for the wedding. It’s up to you.”
Without a word, Phoebe went to climb into the truck—a tricky accomplishment, since the skirt of her suit was narrow and short and didn’t allow much freedom of movement. She made it, though, and sat quietly as Adam headed down the drive. When they reached the gate, she felt for the door handle.
“I’ll get it,” he said quietly. And this time she didn’t argue with him.
They didn’t argue on the way into town; they didn’t talk at all. At the church, Adam came around and opened her door and helped her step down to the pavement. He’d put on his jacket, and she couldn’t help admiring the elegant picture he made in a dark gray suit and white shirt with a deep purple tie. Her raw-silk suit was a shade similar to his tie, with a short jacket over a camisole in dull gold. She wore a gold choker necklace and big gold ball earrings, and could only hope she did him justice. Appearances seemed to matter more and more these days.
During the wedding, though, she realized that appearances mattered not at all when two people loved each other as much as Kate and Dixon did. They had invited only close friends and family to the ceremony, but the church was still quite full. Kate’s daughter, Kelsey, joined Mary Rose as a bridal attendant, and Dixon had asked Trace, Kate’s son, to stand beside him, along with Kelsey’s boyfriend, Sal Torres. When the bride and groom kissed, there was a moment of breathless silence and a sense of blessing in the air…broken by several heartfelt sniffs and someone’s sob of joy.
The reception afterward took place in Miss LuAnn Taylor’s garden, famous in several states for the beauty of its design. Today, gold and white chrysanthemums decked the flower beds, graced the white-draped tables, edged the terrace and the dance floor. All the trees and shrubs were still in full leaf, creating a bower of shifting sunlight and shadow for guests to enjoy as they waited to greet the bride and groom.
Tommy cornered Adam and Phoebe as soon as they came through the gate. “Hey, man,” he said, with a nod and a grin for Phoebe. “Just wanted to warn you that the paper is here. You two need to look like a pair of love-birds contemplating their own blissful future. And any contacts you can make with the high and mighty will be a bonus. I’d say most of the New Skye elite is here this afternoon. Even the mayor and his wife. Minus LaRue, of course.”
Adam shook his head. “This isn’t the campaign, Crawford. We’re celebrating a friend’s marriage.”
“Yeah, yeah, but you gotta make good use of your time.” He hurried off, presumably to do just that.
Phoebe sighed. “Does he ever stop calculating?”
“Not s-since I’ve known him. Tommy’s family has a tendency to lose m-money f-f-faster than they earn it. The C-Crawfords go back a long ways in New Skye, but they’re always on the edge of d-d-disaster. His dad came up with one g-great scheme after another for making a mi-million while we were g-growing up and all of them f-fell through, while his m-mom worked as a sc-school-teacher, keeping the three of them f-fed. Tommy’s decided on a different approach—a s-s-solid insurance business and as much p-political cl-clout as he can pull in. I’m just the hook for the big fish.”
A wave of applause moved across the crowd as Dixon and Kate appeared on the terrace. “They’re so terribly happy,” Phoebe said, almost to herself.
“It’s enough to make you b-b-believe in true l-love and f-forever after,” Adam replied quietly.
She looked up at him, searching his eyes. “Is it?”
In the next instant, light exploded all around them. “Good shot,” the redheaded photographer commented. “Thanks, Mr. DeVries, Ms. Moss.”
So much for the moment. Adam offered her his arm. “Would you like something to drink?”
The band struck up, and the party got under way. Guests clustered around the food tables, lavishly stocked by New Skye’s premier caterer, Sugar and Spice, Inc. The owner and chief cook, Cass Baker, handed Phoebe and Adam bite-size crab quiches to sample. “I don’t tell Ian what’s in them,” she confided, referring to her husband, a heart surgeon. “He’d have them slapped with a warning label—Dangerous to Your Health.”
Ian appeared at her side. “Not at all, beautiful. I’m a walking advertisement for just how healthy your cooking really is.” He leaned in to give his wife a kiss.
“Not to mention delicious,” Phoebe added. “I understand you’ll be doing the food for the Stargazer Fundraiser.”
Cass nodded. “Should be lots of fun. I’m working on pastries and cakes with star shapes and star decorations, plus flowers. Will you be there?”
Adam put his hand on Phoebe’s elbow. “We b-both will. Which means we’d b-b-etter get in some pr-practice on the d-dance f-floor. Phoebe?”
She really hadn’t expected to dance with him. But she couldn’t say no. “See you later, Cass.”
Stepping into Adam’s arms on the dance floor was like stepping off a high dive, terrifying, exhilarating and totally insane. He held her in the old-fashioned way, right hand to left, his arm around her waist, but not formally. Not at all formally. Their bodies touched from breast to knee, far more intimately than ever before. The band played a jazzy version of “It Had to Be You,” and each move they made, every step they took, generated friction. Heat. When she glanced up, Adam’s firm chin was inches above her, his subtly scented skin all too tempting to her lips. Then he looked down, and their mouths connected without a second’s pause.
No camera flash stopped the kiss, but a simple realization that the desire they were generating could not be fulfilled on the dance floor. Adam lifted his head, eased a little space between his body and Phoebe’s and worked on getting control of his breath. “You p-pack quite a p-punch,” he murmured against the top of her head.
“It’s the atmosphere.” He could feel her hand trembling in his. “An overload of romance.”
The song came to an end and he slowed their dance to a stop, but didn’t let her go right away. “D-d-don’t think so.”
Before she could respond, they were jostled apart by the movement of the crowd. Then Dixon and Kate cut the wedding cake and handed out the pieces. The reception took on a livelier tone, and the dances were faster, more upbeat. Every few seconds, a hand slapped Adam on the back and someone stepped up to quiz him about the campaign. Phoebe drifted away—he caught glimpses of her talking to Mary Rose and Pete Mitchell, to Abby and Charlie Brannon, to Trace LaRue and Erin Archer. And then, with a sinking stomach, he saw her standing with Samantha Pettit.
He couldn’t get over there to monitor the conversation. Tommy, he saw, was deep in discussion with the principal of the high school, Harrison Floyd, who had been a Tate supporter in the past but, just lately, was indicating a possible switch to Adam’s side.
So Phoebe was on her own with the shark reporter. He regretted leaving her open to attack, hoped she could handle the pressure. What disaster awaited them, after this development, he could only wait and see.
Meanwhile, he turned from the latest backslapper and came face-to-face with his own disaster. “Hello, M-Mother.” He kissed her cheek, shook his dad’s hand. “G-good to see you. N-nice wedding, isn’t it?”
Cynthia looked around with approval. “Very. The Bowdreys have always known how to do things properly. Where is your fiancée?”
Adam unclenched his jaw. “We agreed to m-mingle some. I’m n-not sure exactly where she got to.”
“Ah…over there, talking to the young woman with no sense of decorum, at least when it comes to dress.”
He pretended to look, though the description couldn’t have identified the reporter any more clearly. Samantha Pettit’s spiked hair, red nails and black leather suit did stand out in the conservative crowd.
“Phoebe, on the other hand, l-looks g-great, as usual. Speaking of which…” He turned back to his mother. “What happened at your m-meeting M-Monday n-night?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary. Why?”
“I think things d-didn’t g-go well for Phoebe.”
“She said that?”
“N-no. ‘Enlightening’ was the word she used.”
“That sounds like a good thing, to me.”
“Unless it m-means that you and your f-friends took it upon themselves to d-demonstrate to Phoebe just how much of an outsider she is and how you d-don’t intend to let her into your t-tight little circle.”
His dad took a step forward. “I think you do your mother a great disservice, son.”
But Cynthia was gazing at him with narrowed eyes. “I beg your pardon?”
“You should.” He ignored her gasp. “I’m warning you, M-Mother, you’re p-pushing me. H-hard. If you d-don’t treat Phoebe with the respect she d-deserves as my fiancée, I’ll have to choose sides. And the side I choose will be hers. Are you ready to br-break up the f-family over this?”
His mother stared at him for a long silent moment. “As far as I’m concerned,” she said stiffly, “you already have.”
CHAPTER TEN
KATE AND DIXON SLIPPED out of their wedding reception and were on their way before most of the crowd missed them. The cry went up as the limousine left the curb in front of Miss Taylor’s house, but Phoebe decided against running in high heels to catch a last glimpse. Samantha Pettit, wearing boots that matched her leather suit, dashed off with the rest of the party, leaving Phoebe, mercifully, alone.
For a moment. Jessica Hyde joined her in watching the hunt. “I think they should have at least let us see them off. It’s not very polite to just run away.”
“They’ve waited a long time to be together. I imagine they’re anxious to start their new life.”
Jessica’s mouth tilted up in a smile, but her eyes stayed cold. “And are you and Adam anxious to start your new life?”
Phoebe had been prepared for this question. “Of course. But the campaign has to come first.”
“Will you be getting married right away, regardless of whether he wins or loses?”
“Um…I’m not sure.” She wasn’t so prepared for that question. “Everything’s happened so fast, we haven’t made any decisions.”
“I can imagine. No one even knew Adam was dating, and the next thing we hear, he’s running for mayor and engaged to be married. Quite a surprise.”
“Well, I knew.” Abby Brannon joined them, putting an arm around Phoebe’s waist. “They’ve been in the diner often enough this summer. I always figured when Adam met the woman for him, he wouldn’t waste any time.”
Jessica surveyed them both with suspicion. “Funny, I never had that impression. And you don’t have a ring yet?”
Until that moment, the thought hadn’t occurred to Phoebe. “We—”
“Adam told me he wanted to go to New York for a ring,” Abby volunteered. “And that’ll have to wait until after the election, too. But you just can’t find great jewelry in New Skye, he said.”
“Oh, really?” Jessica’s mouth pursed as if she’d eaten a rotten lemon. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go get a refill on champagne.”
Abby chuckled as the willowy blonde left them behind. “Snake in the grass.”
Phoebe gave her a hug. “Thanks for the rescue.”
“Just call me the Lone Ranger. And my reward,” she said as Adam came up, “is a dance with your fiancé. No protests allowed.”
“N-not a p-peep.” He grinned at Phoebe over his shoulder. “I’ll b-be b-back.”
She toasted him with her wineglass, then watched as he and Abby came together with the beat of the music. Was she imagining the distance between their bodies, the casual nature of their embrace? Was it really different for Adam, holding her? What did that difference mean?
The guests continued to mingle for quite some time after the bride and groom had left. As the twilight deepened, fairy lights came on in the trees of the garden and candles appeared on the tables, along with more food and champagne. Phoebe danced with Adam several times, though without the intensity of that first encounter. She also danced with Pete Mitchell, Mary Rose’s husband, and Judge Taylor, Miss LuAnn’s brother. Even Tommy gave her a waltz, though she thought his mind was on Samantha Pettit, dancing with Tim DeVries. His eyes certainly were.
But at last the band played a final number and people began to leave. Phoebe had given up on dancing and joined Theresa on the terrace, where both of them put their sore feet up on a chair.
Adam came up from the lawn. “Why women d-don’t wear c-comfo
rtable shoes is b-beyond me.”
“Why do men wear ties?” Theresa sat up and slipped into her heels with a groan.
“B-because women f-force them to, of c-course.”
Phoebe smiled. “There you go.”
“You’re saying men f-force women to wear high heels?”
“Exactly.” She, too, got to her feet, wincing. “If men didn’t prefer women in high heels, the whole industry would collapse in a matter of days.”
“We can only hope.” Theresa drifted toward the garden gate, limping a little. “’Night, Phoebe. ’Night, brother of mine.”
In the truck on the way out to her house, Adam didn’t have much to say. Phoebe allowed the silence to lengthen undisturbed for a time, but she could feel his frustration growing with every mile.
“Did something happen during the reception?” she said at last. “Are you okay?”
His right fist bounced off the steering wheel. “I g-guess I’m not too g-good at c-camouflaging m-my m-m-moods. With you, anyway.”
“You don’t have to.”
He blew out a long breath. “As you m-might imagine, I had a run-in with m-my p-parents.”
“About the campaign?”
“N-not exactly. I asked about that m-meeting last M-Monday.”
“You didn’t fight with them over me, did you?”
“I told m-my m-mother she had to show the respect you d-deserved or else she would force m-me into a choice that c-could break up the family. And she said I already had. End of argument.”
“Adam, you shouldn’t have chosen me over them. You know this isn’t a real engagement. But they don’t.”
“I’m not sure I do, either.” With that statement, he stopped the truck at the gate, took her key and released the lock, then got back in to drive down the lane. At the house, he stopped the engine and made a motion for her to stay where she was. “Let me look around, first.”
In a few minutes, he opened her door. “Everything’s okay.”
During those minutes, her mind had tried and failed to grapple with what he’d said. Without speaking, she went through the screened porch and opened the door to the house, with Adam following. When she turned on the light, the dogs came bounding in from the bedroom. Their screeching halt, at the sight of Adam in the kitchen, was almost comical.
The Last Honest Man Page 15