“I hate you,” she said again.
“I know.” Adam was hating himself pretty well, too. He should never have let her come home alone this morning. If their engagement had been real, he would have taken care of her properly. And he wouldn’t have used the campaign as an excuse to avoid her these last three weeks.
“Okay. Wrap up in this b-blanket and come sit in the chair while I change the b-bed.”
“I don’t want you to make my bed.” But she let him take her weight in his hands, let him move her to the armchair by the window.
“Here’s some medicine, and water. Drink all the water, Phoebe. Every last drop in the glass.”
“Please don’t make my bed.”
“You don’t have enough energy to stop me, or even argue.” She did fuss at him, sporadically, as he changed the sheets and blanket. “Now, back you go.”
She lay under the patchwork quilt, staring at him with shadowed eyes. “You’ve done your duty. Now go home.”
“I will,” he lied. “Go to sleep.”
“Let the dogs in here…oh, but I didn’t feed them. Or the cats. The horses.” Again, she started to get up and, again, fell back on the bed. More tears. “They haven’t eaten. They’ll think I forgot them.”
“Shh. No, they won’t.” He smoothed the hair away from her face, and realized he should have braided it out of her way. That could wait until he woke her up in four hours for more pain reliever. “I’ll feed the dogs and the cats. They’ll be fine.”
Whimpering, Phoebe closed her eyes. “But you don’t like dogs.”
He didn’t bother to answer, just stayed there, bending over her, until she fell asleep.
TOMMY SPENT THE DAY alternately swearing at DeVries and at himself. About sundown, he vented the last of his spleen and went to the diner, figuring to get the apology over with and get on with the business of winning an election.
But DeVries had missed dinner. “Haven’t seen him,” Charlie Brannon said. “We’ve been pretty busy, but I would’ve noticed if he was here.”
Moping over his own meal—the first food he’d seen all day—Tommy made some phone calls, trying to track Adam down. No luck at the office. An answering machine greeted him at Theresa’s number, and Tim’s. He wouldn’t be at his parents’ house. Which left one reasonable option.
Adam picked up the phone at Phoebe’s on the first ring. “Hello?”
Tommy blew out a breath. “It’s me.”
“Something wrong?”
“Probably. Listen, I blew it this morning. I was pushing too hard. I’ll apologize to Phoebe if you put her on.”
“C-can’t. She’s in b-bed, s-seriously s-sick.”
“Oh, man. That means I beat up on a sick woman.”
“Yeah, you d-did.”
“Jerk doesn’t cover it.”
“N-no.”
“Okay, look, I’m sorry. I’ll do better. I just want to see this election turn out in our favor.”
“I know. B-but life will g-go on, Tommy, win or lose. You oughta k-keep that in m-mind.”
“I’ll try. So, you’ll be at the dinner tomorrow night, right?” The change of subject was abrupt, and gave the lie to what he’d just said. But his job was details.
“M-maybe. I’m s-staying around here tonight, to k-keep watch on Phoebe. If she’s d-doing okay tomorrow, I’ll be there.”
“What about work?”
“I c-can handle m-most of it on the phone.” And that was a real giveaway, because DeVries hated doing work on the phone. He drove all over town to avoid phone calls.
“Well, okay. Let me know.”
“S-sure.”
“DeVries?”
“Yeah?”
“Are we…okay?”
Tommy heard the sigh, imagined the roll of the eyes that went with it. “We’re okay, Crawford. I’ve p-put too m-many years into training you to g-give up n-now.”
“Thanks, man. Tomorrow.” Almost relieved enough to be in a good mood, Tommy shut off his cell phone and applied himself to the rest of his dinner. The bell on the door behind him jingled as folks came and went, but he didn’t feel like socializing, let alone campaigning. For once, he was off duty.
So what was it that made him glance over his shoulder at one new arrival? A whiff of familiar scent? An extra sensitivity to this particular person?
Or a very good instinct for self-destruction? “Hey, Sam.”
Sam debated about whether to answer Tommy’s greeting or just walk past. Unfortunately, she’d stopped dead when she saw him sitting there, and now was blocking the door just as a family of six wanted to leave. “Sorry.” She squeezed between the kids and Tommy’s booth, which left her standing right there at his shoulder, facing him. “Hi.” Brief, to the point. Now to turn and walk away…
“Would you like to sit down?” He glanced past her at the room. “Pretty crowded in here tonight.”
No, thanks. The appropriate response. Sam sighed. “Sure.”
Facing him across the booth was easier than she’d expected. He looked tired, kind of forlorn. “Eating alone? Where’s your candidate?”
“Nursing a sick fiancée. But I’m not eating alone anymore, right?”
Abby appeared with coffee for Sam. “Menu?”
“Um, no.” Was she really going to have dinner with Tommy? “I’ll have the grilled chicken with salad and green beans.”
“Saving room for dessert? I’ve got chocolate cake with caramel icing tonight.”
Tommy raised his hand. “I’ll take half.”
Sam looked at him. “Half a piece?”
Chuckling, Abby shook her head. “He means half a cake. I baked a whole one for you, Tommy. It’ll be ready when you leave.”
“You really like chocolate cake with caramel icing that much?”
“Oh, yeah. My grandmother’s specialty, which she made for me on my birthday every year. I gave the recipe to Abby so somebody would still be making the cake after Grandma passed away.”
“That’s…” She let the idea sink in, swirl inside her head a minute. “Tommy, is this your birthday?”
He shrugged a shoulder. “As it happens, yeah.”
Comments crowded her brain. Why was he here all alone? Didn’t he have a family to celebrate with? Surely Adam DeVries knew this was his friend’s big day. Maybe they’d had the male version of a birthday party earlier?
“And before you go getting all sympathetic about it, I’ll tell you that I stopped thinking about birthdays at the same time I stopped thinking of centerfolds as fine art.”
“Last year?”
He grinned. “Today’s the day I roll over another year on the personal odometer. End of story.”
“If that’s the way you want it.”
“Thanks.”
But as long as they were talking, she decided to ask some of the questions she’d wondered about for more than a year now. “So does your family cooperate with this ‘Ignore the Day’ dictate?”
“You’re fishing, Sam.”
“Are you biting?”
“You wish.” Then he shrugged. “Okay, there’s no family to speak of, except for my cousin Dixon and Great-aunt Daisy. No brothers or sisters. The parents drove down to Florida about five years ago to start their brand-new life on the beach. We’re close enough for a phone call on Christmas that lasts us for about a year.”
“Why’d they leave?”
“The old man had cheated or conned just about everybody in town and he couldn’t drum up enough cash for his harebrained schemes anymore, so he moved to new pastures.”
“You’re bitter.”
“Nah.” When she gave a disbelieving snort, he shrugged. “Okay, maybe. But I’m glad they’re gone. I was trying to get my own life started and I didn’t have the wherewithal to keep bailing them out.”
They sat silently as Abby removed their empty plates and then returned with coffee refills and two giant slices of cake served with ice cream. Just before leaving, she put a hand on Tommy’s should
er and leaned in close to his ear. “Happy birthday,” she whispered, loud enough for Sam to hear. And then hopped away, laughing, before Tommy could connect the pretend punch he aimed at her chin.
“Prepare for the taste of your life,” he warned as Sam picked up her fork.
And the cake was, indeed, rich, sweet, soul-satisfying. She forgot to ask questions, she got so involved in enjoying her dessert.
“So now it’s your turn,” Tommy said as they took a breather halfway through. “Where’s your family? What do they think of you coming down here to work?”
“Mom and Dad live outside Chicago, in Urbana. No brothers or sisters for me, either. They’re thinking about Florida when he retires from the police force in a few years. Should I send them to live next door to your parents?”
“Not if they value their pension. Your dad’s a cop?”
“Twenty years and counting.”
“Didn’t you want to follow in his footsteps?”
A question she didn’t get asked very often. “Not really. I see too many shades of gray. My dad’s strictly a black-and-white thinker.”
Tommy nodded, as if he understood. “And the move south?”
“Tired of the cold, the snow. I worked on the Urbana rag for several years, but when I got passed over for a couple of juicy pieces, I decided to get a fresh start somewhere warm. The New Skye News had an advertisement floating around at the same time. Serendipity strikes again.”
“That Serendipity dude throws a mean punch.”
“You said it.”
They shared a grin, then finished their cake. When Sam saw Abby coming back with the coffeepot and the check, she tensed in preparation and snatched the bill away before Tommy could touch it.
“Sam…”
“My treat.” She used a tone that brooked no argument. “I won’t say the words. But I’m buying your dinner. Deal.”
He sat back against the seat. “Okay, I will. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
She brought his cake back with her from the register. “This thing weighs ten pounds. But,” she said, looking him up and down as he stood up, “I bet you don’t gain an ounce.”
He held the door open for her as they left. “A few rounds with the punching bag works off the average piece.”
“You have a punching bag? That’s so cool. Do you use it every day?”
“Pretty much.”
“I want one, but I can’t ‘deface’ the walls in my apartment. And who has time to go to the gym?”
“Nobody who’s running around trying to dig up dirt on mayoral candidates, that’s for sure.”
She refused to get mad at him on his birthday. “Right. Maybe sometime I could come over and try out the punching bag? Just for fun?”
Once again, Tommy had walked her to her car. She met his gaze in the chilly darkness, saw the conflict between caution and desire in his eyes. “Sure,” he said slowly. “Sometime soon.”
If she made the right move, he would kiss her again. This time wouldn’t be angry, or crazy. This time would be vulnerable. They’d been more open tonight than she’d believed possible. They hadn’t argued at all.
There were still six weeks of the campaign left to run, though. And her article on Phoebe Moss would appear in next Sunday’s paper.
Sam called up a bright smile, then turned and unlocked the Mustang. “So…have a good night. I’ll see you around the ol’ campaign circuit.”
“Right. Thanks again for dinner.” He backed away as she dropped into the driver’s seat, gave her a wave when she lifted her hand.
She didn’t look at him in the rearview mirror as she left the parking lot. Sometimes, you couldn’t afford to think twice.
CHAPTER TWELVE
WAKING UP HURT, SO PHOEBE avoided the process as long as she could. The point arrived, however, where oblivion no longer hovered within reach. Like it or not, she would need to open her eyes.
Early morning light poured in her east-facing bedroom window. Tuesday morning, she decided, pushing herself up a little higher on the pillow. All she’d needed was a bit more rest.
That theory suffered when she tried to stand up to go to the bathroom and her knees gave her all the support of warm jelly. Lurching from table to dresser to doorway, she made the trip, but her muscles responded with shrieks of pain.
Passing the mirror, she stopped short at the sight of a pale woman in a wrinkled gown with her messy braid hanging over her shoulder. A closer look revealed the shadows under her eyes and the hollows in her normally plump cheeks.
“I would remember being run over by a truck, wouldn’t I?” She did have memories of some encounter…a voice tormenting her, someone shoving her around. What was that all about?
Were the dogs okay? “Gawain? Galahad? Lance, boy, where are you?” Her throat didn’t produce much sound. The dogs didn’t respond.
Had she left them outside all night? Had she even fed them? Possibly not. Boy, did she have some pouting to endure now.
When she stumbled into the living room, though, another sight stopped her dead. The dogs were not outside. Lance and Gawain slept on the rug by the fireplace, their favorite spot when she was in the room. Gally occupied one armchair and Arthur the other. All of them were still fast asleep.
Merlin, however, had awakened and watched her from his spot on the couch. Not on the couch, precisely, but on the chest of the man sleeping on the couch, with his ankles stretching beyond the edge of the cushion and one arm dangling to the floor because the seat wasn’t wide enough for his shoulders.
“Adam?” The word squeaked, broke. She sagged against the wall. “What are you doing here?”
His long lashes fluttered against his cheeks, then lifted. He sent her a sleepy smile. “You should g-go b-back to b-bed.”
“What is my cat doing on your chest?”
Man and cat looked at each other nose to nose for a moment. Then Adam glanced around the room. “I g-guess all other spots were taken.” He pushed himself up to sit with his back against the arm of the couch, bending his leg and putting one foot on the floor to free up the other half. “At least s-sit d-down, if you won’t g-go b-back to b-bed.”
Phoebe took that suggestion with unspoken gratitude, and Merlin settled on the cushion between them. “You didn’t answer my question. Why are you here?”
“I came to see how you were, and thought you were sick enough that I needed to stay.”
“That’s…I…” Her head had started to ache again, which must be why she couldn’t seem to deal with the situation. Adam, here. All night. Taking care of her. “Well, thank you. But I think I just needed a good night’s sleep.”
“Now the fever’s b-broken, maybe you c-can g-get one.”
“Fever? I had a fever?”
“A hundred and two for the b-better part of two d-days. If it hadn’t b-broken last n-night, or had g-gone up a s-single n-notch, I was taking you to the hospital.”
“Two days? What day is this?”
“Wednesday.”
Phoebe could only stare at him. She’d lost track of a whole day? The thought made her shiver.
“You’re g-getting chilled.” Adam was on his feet, helping her stand up, leading her back to the bedroom with an arm around her waist. “And it’s time for more medicine.” Leaving her standing for a minute, he worked magic on the bed, smoothing the sheets, shaking the pillows, folding back the blanket and quilt. “Climb in.”
She had to admit that sliding under the covers felt wonderful. Her eyes were closing against her will. “Shouldn’t you go to work?”
“S-sure. D-don’t fall asleep on m-me till you get your medicine.”
“Or else you’ll beat me up?” The voice she’d heard would have been Adam’s. He’d come to find her…undressed her and put her in a nightgown…given her medicine. For two days.
“S-something like that. S-swallow.”
Phoebe swallowed, then cuddled deep into the pillow. “I love you,” she said conversationally,
and drifted off to sleep.
AFTER GETTING PHOEBE BACK into bed, Adam had just poured himself a cup of coffee when he noticed Jacquie Archer’s truck coming down the drive.
“How’s Phoebe?” Bright-eyed and energetic, the farrier and her daughter looked as if they’d been awake for hours. He’d called Jacquie on Monday night to let her know about Phoebe’s illness, and she’d come by with her daughter yesterday to help out with the horses.
“B-better. The fever broke last n-night about 3:00 a.m. She got up this m-morning, staggered around a little bit and went b-back to b-bed.”
“Looks like you should, too.” A blush colored her cheeks, and Jacquie gave a self-conscious laugh. “You know what I mean.”
He grinned at her and nodded. Not that the thought of crawling in beside Phoebe hadn’t occurred to him, especially after the first few hours on her couch. But he’d been afraid she wouldn’t rest if he was there. And, selfishly, he’d known he wouldn’t relax with her so close, so vulnerable.
Especially once he’d heard her say “I love you.” Illness talking, on par with the “I hate you” he heard so often during the fever? Or had she revealed what lived in her heart?
“We’ll see to the horses,” the farrier said. “Since Phoebe’s a bit better, are you going back to town today?”
“I—” He’d handled work yesterday by phone. Tommy had covered the VFW appearance last night. But the job and the election could not stay on hold indefinitely.
“Because I’ve got to stay near home, once I get Erin to school,” Jacquie continued. “The vet is coming out, and I made an appointment with my farrier to get my own horses’ hooves done.” Adam caught on after a second and joined Jacquie in a laugh. “Otherwise, I never get to it. So I can check on Phoebe every couple of hours, make sure she’s okay.”
He looked around him, at the horses standing by the fence, noses pointed to the barn as they waited for their breakfast, at Galahad and Gawain and Lancelot, chasing one another, play fighting, rolling around in the dew-slick grass like puppies. At the sun coming up over the tips of the pines and the bird perched on the peak of the house roof, singing its heart out. A deep breath drew in the scents he’d come to associate with comfort. With freedom. With Phoebe.
The Last Honest Man Page 18