A Man of Influence (12 page)

His words wrapped around her like a thick stadium blanket. She stood at her window, watching him until he disappeared around the corner.

She was different. Harmony Valley was different. And different was good.

Tracy turned the video camera back on, sat in her seat in front of that pink wall and began speaking.

“I'm not put-together.” Just saying it should have undercut her confidence. It should have had her running to stop the recording. It didn't. Her voice strengthened. “I'm a woman in pieces. Trying to see how what was me—and what is me—fit together. Most people tell me I'll be okay.” Few told her she was okay now.

But Chad had.

CHAPTER TWELVE

C
HAD
HAD
TWO
days left before he had to send Marty something. All he had was a crappy first draft. Everything hinged on the wine tasting today. He wanted it to be great wine. Except, the column would be so much better if it was as rotten as the pages he'd written.

Breakfast at the B&B was as abysmal as his mood. Leona offered him a high-fiber bowl of cereal with nonfat milk. The coffee had the same bitterness as Leona's attitude. He'd left without touching anything, stopped to chat with Flynn and Slade, who'd been having coffee on the patio at El Rosal with a man called Duffy, the father of the Poop Monster. Little Gregory had also been at their table, bundled up as if he was going on an expedition to the Himalayas. They'd invited Chad to join them, but he declined. Preferring to see what the bakery had to offer.

The usual crowd was at Martin's, minus the trio of town council ladies. The mayor sat at their table, looking a bit adrift without them. There was no line, and Tracy greeted him with a secret smile.

“Ah,” Chad said, reading more into that look than he should be able to given he barely knew her. “You moved past the dreck phase.” Jealousy pricked at him, stung, and receded, leaving a gentle feeling of something almost like pride.

Her smile blossomed for the world to see and her fingers skimmed the countertop. There was a different kind of energy about her today. A spark of color—

“You're wearing makeup,” Chad blurted, as suavely as any middle schooler. He took a second look, leaning over the counter to see she had on knee-high, low-heeled boots, a feminine, flouncy blue blouse that was anchored by her apron, and skillfully applied makeup. She'd transformed from a pretty small-town girl to a sophisticated big-city woman. “Did you do this for me?” To try to get his attention? He never should have tossed pebbles at her window like Romeo clambering for Juliet to come down. He liked her, but he had goals, and he'd be moving on in a week.

Tracy glowered at him. “I was feeling good. About myself.” She stepped back from the counter and crossed her arms over her chest.

“I just...” He was going to say he missed her approachable prettiness, but caught himself just in time. “I'll have a latte and a breakfast quiche.” He set a twenty on the counter and retreated to his usual spot next to Eunice. “Keep the change.”

“I'm disappointed in you, Chad.” Eunice blinked at him, lowered the fuschia quilt pieces she'd been working on and set her glasses on top of her head. “Women don't need a reason—even if there is a handsome man in town—to dress up.”

Chad wasn't going to argue. “How pretty you look today, Eunice.” She wore a lime green track suit and neon orange sneakers. The colors nearly made her purplish gray hair look normal.

She tsked. “With lines like that, you must not date much.”

Never mind that this had been true most of the past three years. “I'm the Happy Bachelor.”

“You're misusing your articles.”

For a moment, Chad thought she knew who he was.

Eunice leaned closer and lowered her voice. “You're
a
happy bachelor. And really, your skills are so rusty with the opposite sex, you're probably
one
unhappy bachelor.”

Chad should have accepted Flynn's invitation to breakfast. He should be a loyal El Rosal customer every morning. Why was he making himself suffer with old people?

Flynn poked his head in the front door. “Chad, can we count on your help later?”

“You mean now?” Chad stood, more than ready to escape.

“No. After your wine tasting with Tracy and Christine.” Flynn disappeared as quickly as he'd come, not waiting for his agreement.

Chad sank back into his seat.

“You're tasting wine with Tracy?” Eunice leaned Chad's way once more. “Let me give you some better lines to use. My heart always melted when a man told me how pretty my eyes are.” She batted her lashes nearly as fast as a hummingbird's wings.

* * *

S
EIZE
THE
DAY
.

That was Mildred's motto.

Or at least it had been when she'd been racing. But she was ready to hoist the banner once more.

Agnes held the door Sunday morning so Mildred could enter Martin's Bakery. She wore a sparkly blue blouse over her black polyester pants and white orthopedic sneakers. Rose and Agnes had helped her pick out her ensemble and apply lipstick—Rose's cranberry surprise. Mildred spotted Phil's familiar gray head and strong nose and wheeled her walker his way.

Seize the day.

She was going to ask Phil out. She stopped next to the checkers table. As luck would have it, Felix had gotten up to use the facilities as she came in. “How are you today, Phil?”

“Worried about Leona.” Doom and gloom were Phil's co-pilots.

But she could change all that. She sat down across from him. This was perfect. Only a checkerboard separated them.

Seize the day.

Maybe it wasn't so perfect. Phil might have been frowning.

“How about a match?” It felt as if Rose's lipstick was on her front teeth. She rubbed her teeth clean with one finger.

“Mildred,” Agnes scolded in hushed tones.

“Sorry.” This was why she didn't wear lipstick.

Seize the day.

Be feminine, like Leona. Be decisive, like Leona. Be confident, like Leona.

“Can you see the board?” Phil asked, not unkindly, but it deflated her confidence.

Mildred stiffened, afraid to look at the board. “Of course.”

“Then let's play.”

It quickly became obvious that Mildred couldn't see the board.

“That's my checker,” Phil said for the third time.

Mildred apologized. Her smile had wilted and her sparkly blouse itched her collar bone. She didn't dare scratch at it. She barely dared to try moving a checker. Jessica was making something with chocolate. The warm smell should have comforted, but Mildred would need more than familiar smells to feel better.

“Like this, Mildred.” Rose stretched an arm between their tables and moved Mildred's piece. “See?”

“I've got this,” Mildred said through what were almost certainly lipstick stained teeth.

Seize the stinking day.

Phil sighed and jumped one of her checkers. “You're taking all the fun out of the game.”

Mildred bent so far over the table, her nose nearly touched the board. She moved a piece forward. Hers this time, because Phil said nothing. “I used to play checkers all the time when I was younger.” Waiting for a race to start.

“You won the holiday tournament one year,” Phil said absently, studying the board.

“You remembered.” It came out as a sigh.

Phil puffed his chest out. “I can recite all the checkers winners going back forty years.”

“Please don't,” said Rose.

“Quit eavesdropping.” Tracy bussed Chad's dirty dishes. No sneakers today. Tracy wore hard-soled boots that struck the floor confidently and called out where she was in the dining room. “Mildred's...love life is none of your business.”

At Tracy's words, Phil stood on unsteady legs. “I...uh...have an appointment.” He quickly righted himself and left the bakery.

“Oh, bother.” Mildred scratched her collarbone, unable to harbor any ill will toward Tracy since Phil was...well, Phil. “He didn't even finish the game.”

“I'm sorry,” Tracy said. “That was on me, much as I'd like to blame Chad.”

“For the record,” Chad said in a loud voice. “Tracy looks great today. Mildred looks great today. In fact, all the ladies look great today.”

“I knew you were coachable,” Eunice said to Chad.

“Phil's loss is my gain.” Felix sat down across from her. There was a smile in his voice. He set a small plate of what looked like chocolate cookies to the side of the board. In the table's share zone.

Mildred couldn't believe it.

There was still a day to be seized.

* * *

A
ROUND
TEN
THIRTY
,
Tracy showed up at Chad's table. “Let's go taste wine. I have a video to make.” She marched out the door.

“Is it bad to hope the wine is horrible?” Chad couldn't resist teasing Tracy when he caught up to her. Otherwise, he might spend too much time thinking about how pretty she looked.

“The wine is fabulous.” Tracy led him to the bridge where he'd found her singing the alphabet song the day before. “You're just trying to annoy me.”

He was. He liked it when she argued with him. Besides, his public apology for assuming he was the reason she'd upped her appearance hadn't been accepted. “Do you want to tell me about your video?”

“You won't like it.” So certain.

Chad smiled, wanting some of her confidence. “Try me.”

Like most creative types, she couldn't resist the chance to share. “It's me...trying to figure out me.”

Chad's smile faded. “You're admitting your weakness? In an interview assignment?”

“No.” Her hands danced passionately through the air. “I'm showing where I am. In life. Creatively. Verbally.”

“I'm not sure that's a good idea.”

“I. Don't. Care.” And she didn't. She was smiling broadly, staring at the pavement beneath her feet.

The emptiness Chad had felt after his father died returned. Oh, not as vast, not as deep, but it was there, nonetheless. Tracy, a woman he'd only met a few days ago, didn't care about Chad's opinion. And yet, he was struck by the desire for her to care.

“I...won't be defined by aphasia. I...will find a creative outlet.”

Had he felt Tracy was adrift? He couldn't imagine her so anymore.

The dappled sunlight through the trees. The gentle gurgle of the river. The confidence of the woman next to him. He wanted to capture the moment.

“Stop,” he said in the middle of the bridge.

She turned and glowered at him. “I'm not singing for you.”

“I wasn't asking.” But he liked how she understood his humor, because he might have. He guided her back against the railing where he'd found her singing, facing upstream. “I need a picture for my column. Something that promises beautiful women can be found here. It's mostly a lie, of course.” His reasoning was a lie. She was beautiful.

“Beautiful women fill this town.” She crossed her arms, looking as if she wanted to push him off the bridge. “Mildred...Eunice...”

“It's the Happy Bachelor column, not some self-help magazine acknowledging the beauty everyone has within. Think shallow.”

She made a derogatory sound.

“Words,” he chided. “You're filtering your words.” He'd read somewhere that was good for aphasia patients. “Spit out what you're feeling.”

“You...are still looking for irony.” She turned her back on him. Her blond hair lifted in the brisk breeze. “You don't believe...in the magic in this place.”

“That's a nice, sappy sentiment. Give me the reality and bustle and lifestyle of the city any day.”

Tracy glanced at him over her shoulder. “Is...there anything you like about this town?”

He snapped her picture. “I like Martin's Bakery and El Rosal, minus the colors. I like some of the old geezers, too.” Especially the ones that didn't seem about to expire. “And I like...”
Tracy
. The image of having her arms around him returned. He almost stepped forward and held her. But she'd only see that as a come-on. “Come on.” He walked toward the other side of the bridge. “I bet you're a wine connoisseur, what with your brother being part-owner of the vineyard.”

On this side of the river there were no sidewalks. Fields of corn bordered neat rows of vineyards. Squirrels scampered with enthusiasm. Tracy lagged behind, booted feet dragging.

“How far away is the winery?”

“About a mile and a half.”

“Do your feet hurt? We could have driven.” He turned to see her lips pressed firmly together. She wasn't dragging her feet because they hurt. “Ah. So it's not just being a passenger in a car that bothers you. It's driving, too?” He hadn't seen a car parked near the bakery last night, not in the front or the back. He wondered if she even owned a vehicle.

“I liked driving
your
car,” she said, nose in the air.

He waited for her to reach him. “Does that job you want require driving? Or is it in the city?”

“It requires driving.” Her voice was filled with weary resignation. “I'm a long shot anyway.”

“Meaning you won't worry about driving until you think you'll get the job?”

“Correct.”

A white truck that hadn't seen better years in decades turned onto the road ahead from a graveled drive. It pulled up next to them and the driver cranked the window down. “How's it going, Sunshine?”

“Good,” Tracy said. “Dad...
Ben
... This is the travel writer. Chad.”

The travel writer. She'd told her father about him.

Her father had the tan face of one who worked outdoors and the wrinkles earned by middle age. His blond hair was a shadow of Tracy's brilliant gold.

Ben gave Chad a thorough inspection. By the hard look in his eyes, what she'd said about Chad hadn't been flattering. “You're older than I expected.”

Ouch.

“Dad,”
Tracy said in the same tone a teenager used to reply to her father when he told her to behave and be home by curfew.

“He looks like he's bothering you.” Ben angled his jaw to the side. “Is he bothering you?”

Tracy's hands came up as if to ward her father away. “Nothing I can't handle.”

“My little girl was still in pigtails when you were in college.” Ben's words sounded like a warning. “Watch yourself, Chad.”