A Man of Influence

by Melinda Curtis

  As it turned out, Chad didn’t puncture any of his appendages with a nail.

  He shot a nail into Slade.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “THIS IS A MISTAKE.” Agnes glanced out her windshield at Phil’s barbershop a few hours after Dusty had been rescued from the tree.

  Mildred’s heart thudded painfully in her chest like a big block engine that needed oil.

  They’d watched the men fix Mildred’s fence while they plotted the seduction of Phil. Their planning had been cut short by the nail gun incident—who knew hands could spew so much blood?—but when they realized Slade would live, the trio had decided to seize the day.

  “You shouldn’t let Phil cut your hair,” Rose said. “His hands shake like the dickens.”

  Admittedly, the only plan they’d come up with was extreme and Mildred’s. But it was a plan and they were putting it into action immediately.

  “You can’t talk me out of this.” Mildred had failed with the checkers match. She would not fail with Phil this time. “It’ll just be him and me.”

  “And his sharp barber scissors,” Agnes muttered.

  Rose wasn’t as subtle. She practically shouted, “He’ll cut your ear off.”

  Fear and longing jolted through Mildred in an unbearable rush. She wasn’t sure anymore which was stronger. She had to keep telling herself, “This is Phil.” Phil was a professional. He wouldn’t hurt her. On purpose.

  “You don’t have a cell phone.” Rose squeezed Mildred’s seat back. “How will we know if you need a doctor?”

  “You’ll hear my screams.” It wasn’t as if she could see the numbers on a cell phone anyway. “Now, get my walker, please.” Mildred got out of the car and stood, holding the door frame for balance.

  “Mildred.” Rose got out of the back. “When I was a teenager, the circus came to town. I fell in love with a man who was suave, and sexy, and a high flyer on the trapeze.”

  Agnes set Mildred’s walker in front of her. For once, Mildred was grateful she couldn’t see very well. If she could have seen the fear on her friends’ faces that was in their voices, she might have lost her nerve.

  “I, on the other hand,” Rose said, her voice unusually somber, “was young and stupid. Enrique put me in tights, put me on the trapeze and caught me mid-air. I thought my heart would burst from my chest.”

  “What a lovely memory.” Mildred felt her fear recede. This was the right thing. She just knew it. She was going to take a leap of faith just as Rose had done. “Thank you, Rose.” Mildred gripped the handles of her walker with sweaty palms.

  But Rose wasn’t finished. “My parents refused to talk to me after I put on those tights. And Enrique dropped me at a show in New York City. I lost everything over a man. Think about this, Mildred. Sharp objects. Shaky hands.”

  Mildred’s palms seemed sweatier. Forward motion halted at the curb.

  “Can I help you, ladies?” Phil appeared in the barbershop doorway, looking tall, probably because he didn’t hunch over a walker and Mildred stood in the gutter.

  For once, Rose and Agnes were silent.

  That must have been a sign. Mildred gathered her courage and said, “I need a haircut.”

  “Excellent.” Phil’s voice sounded like the mad scientist on the old black-and-white movie she’d watched last night. “Come sit in my chair.” He held the door open for her.

  Agnes gasped. “Mildred?”

  “Did you hear nothing I said?” Rose sniped.

  “I’ll be right back.” Mildred concentrated on the cadence of forward progress. Lift walker. Move it forward. Step, step. Repeat. In no time, she was through the door.

  Phil directed her to sit in the red chair in front.

  After she was settled with her walker to one side of the cutting station, he put the barber drape over her, snapping it too tightly at her neck. Mildred was too petrified to say anything. Besides, if she spoke, her voice might sound like the shadowy creature on that movie last night. Thick, pained, crazed.

  “Just a trim?”

  She nodded, making the collar of the drape cut into her Adam’s apple.

  Phil turned on the clippers.

  * * *

  “I THOUGHT I MIGHT find you here.” Chad walked onto the bridge toward Tracy. After the nail gun incident, he needed to talk to her. He felt as if she was important. But he couldn’t quite prioritize her importance in his life, not without seeing her.

  Tracy was on the bridge with her camera set on a tripod. She sent him a guarded look. She looked more drained than he’d seen her before. The afternoon sun was drifting to the mountainous horizon to the west, turning a deep pinkish-orange that made Tracy’s hair sparkle.

  “We need to talk about that kiss,” he said, heading her off at the pass by adding, “That kiss was great.”

  She’d been opening her mouth to say something. She snapped it closed and crossed her arms over her chest.

  He took that to mean he should continue. “I just spent the last few hours with Slade at Urgent Care.” He pointed out the blood stains on his shirt and pants.

  “You almost killed him.”

  He wasn’t surprised she’d already heard about the accident. “In fairness, his thumb wasn’t where it was supposed to be.” He hadn’t figured out what he wanted to say or what he wanted to do where she was concerned. He just knew he had to talk to her. “I shouldn’t have walked away the other day.”

  She pressed her lips together.

  He couldn’t look at her all closed up like that and open himself up to her. He paced the area of the bridge where she stood. “I was... I am...confused.”

  She made a huffing noise, which he took as an indicator that he was on the wrong track.

  “I haven’t had time to just be me in years.” The truth of the statement filled him with a confidence that lifted his shoulders and planted his feet before her. “About ten years ago, my father challenged me to get serious at the Lampoon. He wanted higher quality articles more in line with the voice of the magazine. I stepped up my game.” He’d packed away his laugh, his smile, his appreciation of a joke. He’d become a writer in the image of his father—sarcastic, cutting, ironic. “When we named the column the Happy Bachelor, that’s who I was.”

  He didn’t want to be the man in his father’s shadow anymore, but he wasn’t sure he knew how to be anyone but that man.

  Tracy tilted her head and tossed her hands in a way that made him smile and remember how much he liked being with her. He was different when he was with her. He was the smiling, laughing, joking man of his youth.

  His youth? He was thinking like an old man. Chad shook his head. “I was increasingly being asked to become more involved in managing the Lampoon. And then my dad got sick and...it was all I could do to hold the company and him together. Being compassionate was impossible.”

  “So that’s your excuse...for...shutting down? And...and hurting me?”

  “No. It’s an apology. It’s me saying I’m sorry for leaving.”

  She turned away, but he caught her hand. It was small and soft, but cold.

  He placed his other hand over hers to warm it up. “I’m not grieving, but I’m not sure what I want anymore, except I want to show the Lampoon they made a mistake. And I think I want...you.”

  “You think?” So much derision.

  “I hope. And I hope you’ll go with me on this.” He had a long way to go, and only a vague idea of how to get there. He needed time, no matter how much he wanted to take her into his arms now. Acting now solved nothing between them. “Will you give me a chance to make yesterday up to you? To surprise you with something romantic?”

  After a painful moment of silence, she nodded.

  * * *

  “CLIPPERS?” MILDRED DIDN’T recognize her own voice. />
  “I’m gonna clean up the hair on your neck.” Phil was wearing a strong dose of musky cologne.

  It made it hard for Mildred to breathe. Or maybe it was the clippers buzzing behind her. “Oh...uh...I like my neck hairy.”

  He snapped off the clippers, set them on a side table and then picked up a spray bottle.

  “No shampoo?”

  “I don’t do shampoos unless you need a dandruff treatment.” He ran his fingers through her hair and then parted it in spots as if looking for lice. “You don’t need a shampoo. I haven’t washed my hair in weeks.”

  “Oh, my.” Mildred was sorry to hear that, but glad Agnes and Rose hadn’t heard.

  “Let’s take off your glasses and I’ll get to work.” He removed her glasses and—by the sounds of it—set them on the counter beneath the mirror.

  Now she couldn’t even see shapes.

  She heard him open and close a drawer, snip the air with scissors and position himself behind her.

  She didn’t have to see to visualize the way his hands shook.

  “I changed my mind.” Mildred scooted forward, reaching for her walker. Where was it?

  Rose would never let her live this one down.

  Finally, her hand connected with a handle. In no time, she was up and headed toward the door, mortified, but both ear lobes intact. “I think I’ll grow my hair long.”

  Phil scurried after her like a six-foot-tall mouse with big shuffling feet. He stood in the doorway.

  Was he going to trap her here? Rough her up for refusing a haircut? Or take her into his arms and profess his undying love?

  Mildred’s heart pounded out a desperate tango. She had to stop watching those old black and white films.

  “Your glasses,” Phil said. He put them on her nose and opened the door. “Sorry it didn’t work out.”

  Mildred trundled through to freedom and safety and continued singlehood. The band was staying together.

  “Oh, and Mildred?”

  “Yes?” She didn’t dare turn around.

  “I need my drape.” He unsnapped it from her neck, nearly choking her again.

  * * *

  TRACY CAME IN the back bakery door, holding Chad’s words closer than her video camera. Chad had apologized. Chad liked her. Chad had once been a real happy bachelor.

  She wanted to dance across the kitchen like Rose. She wanted to execute a three-jump checker move and say, “King me.” She wanted to say something totally outrageous the way Eunice did and get away with it.

  Instead, a quiet voice in her head whispered, “Be careful.”

  Someone came in the front, ringing the bell. Was it Chad?

  “Can you get that?” Jess whispered, rocking Gregory in the break area.

  Tracy hadn’t noticed Jess was there. She ran to see if Chad was at the front door. He wasn’t.

  Crowing, Rose grapevined across the dining room, just as Tracy had wanted to do.

  Smiling, Agnes held the door open for Mildred, whose face was beet-red.

  “That was priceless.” Rose sank into a chair.

  “It was worthless.” Mildred sat in her walker, but she had a half grin on her face.

  “We need a half dozen snickerdoodles to go.” Agnes patted Mildred’s shoulder. “You got farther than I would have.”

  “That’s true.” Rose caught her breath. “I could never have asked Phil for a haircut.”

  “What?” Tracy came closer to examine Mildred for knicks and cuts. “But your hair looks so good.”

  The three town council women laughed.

  “That’s because I chickened out when he picked up the scissors.” Mildred fluffed her hair. “It was like a horror movie. Snip-snip.” She shuddered. “I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.”

  Tracy bagged up their cookies and sent them on their way, returning to find Gregory awake and Jessica pacing. “Where’s Eunice?”

  “Working the afternoon shift at Mae’s Pretty Things. I was hoping to experiment with her recipes without her around.” Tracy might have missed the stressful note in Jessica’s words if she hadn’t seen the pinched lines around her mouth. “I also need to work on transforming the old recipes I’ve been given into something new. And find time to check out the veterans hall with Christine.” Jess smoothed Gregory’s dark hair and pressed a kiss to his crown.

  The little tyke blinked sleepily.

  Tracy looked from the books on the shelf to the baby. “I can read to him.” It would be nice to cuddle with the little man.

  “Really?” Jess was already moving—out of the chair, across the room, shifting the baby for a hand off into Tracy’s arms.

  Gregory sensed Tracy’s tension. He craned his neck to look her in the eye. His lower lip trembled.

  “Oh, no. No crying.” Tracy sat in the rocker and picked up The Cat in the Hat. “We’re going to read books.”

  Only a few pages in, Gregory tucked his head beneath her chin and pointed at the pictures, with drooly, blubbery commentary. Tracy talked back, as if she understood what he was saying. Neither one cared that her sentences were sometimes stilted.

  * * *

  TRACY SAT AT her kitchen table trying to fit different video clips together in a way that made sense. The trouble with shooting segments without a plan was she had enough digital clips to make four or five videos. The more she worked on it, the less she was interested in boxing herself into three minutes of video. Wasn’t that essentially what had happened to Chad? He’d fit himself into the role of the Happy Bachelor and couldn’t seem to find his way out of the mold.

  Something rattled a front window. Tracy couldn’t get to the pane fast enough.

  Chad stood on the sidewalk smiling up at her. “Rapunzel, I couldn’t sleep. Come out and play.”

  There was mischief in his voice and she just bet in his eyes, too.

  The mischief and the nip of cold combined to give her a shiver. “It’s ten o’clock.” She had to get up at 4 a.m. It was already past her bedtime.

  “Life doesn’t end until at least eleven.” Spoken like a true playboy.

  Once upon a time, Tracy wouldn’t have hesitated. She would have flown down the stairs, danced all night and rolled out of bed in the morning without complaint. “I can’t.”

  “But you want to, don’t you?” He sighed. “I want you to, too.

  She was a sucker for a suave, good-looking man. “Meet me around back.”

  When she opened the back door, Chad was there to greet her with a smile. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and said, “So you can talk easier.”

  Who wanted to talk? She snuggled closer. He was warm and solid and had promised her romance. She buried the hurt from the cemetery and put her trust in him, hoping he’d figured out the man he wanted to be and the woman he wanted at his side.

  They headed toward the town square, crossing the grass and sitting on the bench beneath the sprawling oak tree. The night was clear. Stars shown above in the velvety sky. Bullfrogs sang by the river. It was perfect. He was perfect. She felt perfect in the crook of his arm.

  Tracy turned to face him, whispering, “I was promised something romantic.”

  “Don’t confuse that promise with this. I couldn’t sleep.”

  She heard a distant sound, like the bell they used to ring at school signifying the start of earthquake drills. Or maybe the sound was in her head. Tracy pushed the warning aside and focused on Chad. Strong, warm Chad. “Why couldn’t you sleep?”

  “I turned in a column to one of my advertisers two days ago and haven’t heard a word about it since.”

  “I hope he hates it.”

  “Somehow, I knew you’d say that.” His words rumbled with humor. “But losing an advertiser over content would be disappointing. My success lets
the board know it was a mistake to let me go.”

  She heard the sound again, louder this time.

  “Enough talk.” His thumb brushed her chin, her lips. And then he leaned in to kiss her, gathering her into his arms, drawing her into his lap.

  There was no awkward tangle of limbs. Her palms found his cheeks. His hands found the small of her back. His lips plundered. Hers surrendered. And her heart pounded happily in her chest.

  All too soon a spotlight blinded them. “Excuse me, folks. I got a report of mischief in the area.” It was the sheriff.

  “Nate.” Tracy tried to extricate herself from Chad’s arms, but he didn’t let her off his lap. “Nothing going on here.”

  Chad chuckled.

  “Got a call from Leona, too,” Nate said. “She reported Mr. Healy was unaccounted for.”

  “Someone is going to be unaccounted for tomorrow,” Chad said in a deadly tone. “At the very least, she’ll be featured in my column.”

  His column? The warning bell went off again.

  Tracy backtracked through their conversation, overlaying it with their earlier one, realized he hadn’t come to her window because he couldn’t stop thinking of her or because he couldn’t spend another moment without her. He’d come because he needed a distraction from his insecurities.

  “Leona wants to lock up.” Sheriff Nate clicked off the spotlight. “I’ll tell her you’ll be back in ten minutes.”

  “Make it twenty.” Chad rearranged Tracy in his lap. “Now, where were we?”

  “We were living a fantasy. Or at least, I was.” She pushed out of his arms and onto her feet. “You couldn’t sleep. You probably couldn’t write with the irony you seem to value so much.” She paced the length of the bench and back, realizing where they were. “And I... I’m just now remembering this tree.” She placed her palm on the cool, rough bark. “This...is where marriage proposals happen. It’s...what every little girl in Harmony Valley dreams of.” And a couple of the big girls, too. Her brother had proposed to Emma beneath this tree. “I...don’t want someone around...who thinks he might want me. I want someone...who knows he wants me. More than any job or stupid column.”