A Man of Influence (18 page)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“W
HERE
ARE
YOU
GOING
, Mr. Healy?” Leona said. “You missed breakfast yesterday and now today. Nine o'clock. Who sleeps until nine o'clock in the morning?”

“I thought we agreed that this was a bed, no breakfast.” Chad headed toward the front door. “I stayed up late trying to write a new column.” He hadn't been able to capture the snark and sarcasm of the column he'd written for Marty. He hadn't heard a word from Marty either. Had he lost the account? He needed to call.

“If you're hungry—”

Chad paused at the door, curious as to what the ice queen would offer him.

“—the farmers market starts in the town square at nine. There are baked goods, fresh fruits and vegetables and lemonade.”

That was almost...nice. Like a recommendation expected from a B&B owner.

Chad stepped onto the front porch and zipped up his jacket. The wind had abated since last night, but still blew hard enough that he had to lean forward to walk into it. Leaves blanketed Leona's lawn and several other lawns on the street. He hunched into his jacket, pausing to check out the downed fence in Leona's backyard. It looked as if the wind had blown tomatoes and peppers from their vines, too. He supposed he should tell Flynn about it. Of course, if he did, Flynn would want him to help.

He walked toward the town square. Past Nina's house. Past Mrs. Beam's house. Past Duffy and Jessica's house. There were about ten tables set up in the town square. It was a chilly day, despite the sun being out. A few residents roamed from table to table— talking, laughing, making purchases.

There was a craft table with knit items. And shocker! There was a pile of knit scarves very similar to what he'd seen at Mae's Pretty Things. He took a picture of the wool knit lampshade. Unusual, to say the least. And since he was writing another article about Harmony Valley after the festival, it would make an interesting photo.

“Can I interest you in a lampshade?” The woman sitting behind the table looked as if she'd be blown away if she stood up. She made Agnes look like a giant in comparison.

“My lampshade wearing days are over.”

She frowned, sending her wrinkles turning in on themselves, not understanding his reference.

“I meant, I'm past my wild days when I would have worn a lampshade as a hat.”

“You're never too old to be wild.” Her smile had probably charmed many a man in her day, but she was missing a couple of front teeth.

Chad held on to his smile even as he registered the sickly tone of her skin. Was it cancer or kidneys that had taken her health?

He moved on to a table with health aids—canes, walkers, bandages and the like—from a medical supply store in nearby Cloverdale.

“Not much traffic today,” Chad said to the man working the booth.

His thin gray hair blew in the breeze. “Wait until they finish their coffee and it warms up a bit.” He shrugged deeper into his jacket. “It'll be busy in another fifteen minutes.”

There were several tables with produce, but one caught his eye. It had baskets filled with big ripe tomatoes, plump gourds and shiny bell peppers. He'd seen those baskets when he broke Leona's shovel. And here she'd have him believe she didn't care about the town. What a hypocrite.

“All proceeds benefit the Harvest Festival.” The elderly woman sitting behind the table smiled at him as if he'd just offered to buy her entire stock.

Chad bought a tomato and tucked it into his pocket. Most likely, it'd have a poisonous pit, but that was the only way he'd get to try something from Leona's garden.

He wandered over to Martin's Bakery. While his creative juices were lacking, Tracy was writing some good stuff for Jessica's blog. Just to torture himself, he'd read more of them this morning. And she was fast. She'd revised twenty yesterday.

When he entered the bakery, people nodded his way and called out greetings. This was more of a welcome than he'd had while working at the
Bostwick Lampoon
and more than anything he'd received from Leona. He got into line behind a couple of old women who had lost most of their hair and what was left was long and scraggly. Made him wonder if Phil had cut it. The man's hands shook as if he was in the midst of an earthquake.

Felix asked Chad if he'd like to play a game of checkers later.

“I wouldn't if I were you, Chad,” Rose said with unusual snappishness. “You might end up adopting a cat.”

Mildred and Agnes shushed her.

Unfazed, Felix chuckled.

Rutgar waved to him from a table at the back. “Try the pizza bagel.”

The last time he'd felt this type of camaraderie, he'd been in school.

“Where's Jessica?” The first woman in line asked. “I loved how she took my recipe for coffee gelatin and made it into something I'd serve for dessert.”

Chad had liked that one, too. It was a recipe born from a sugar shortage during World War II. Since there were already gelatin packets in the store, they'd been mixed with coffee, giving it a fruitier taste. Strawberry coffee? Wasn't his cup. Jessica had come up with the idea to replace the amount of water added to gelatin with coffee to make a coffee gelatin mold. Great with whipped cream.

“Jessica's in the back.” Tracy's gaze caught on Chad's. Her smile brightened—making Chad feel ten feet tall—and then she toned it way back—leaving Chad feeling bereft. “Can I get you anything? Jess will...have a moment when your order comes up.”

That empty feeling returned to his chest. In the few days since he'd arrived, Tracy was talking smooth, she was writing sharp and she was probably healthier than he was— unbruised and with glowing cheeks.

She doesn't need me.

Chad sagged against the bakery case.

Tracy doesn't need me.

It shouldn't have hit him so hard. But it did, and he moved forward very much aware of his limitations as a man. If it wasn't for the Happy Bachelor, they might pursue a relationship. The entire premise of the column was targeted to smart, single men enjoying the single life.

He glanced at Tracy again. At her sunny hair and soft smile. How had she snuck up on him like this? How had she captured a corner of his heart? Why did he care that she was independent and capable?

Because his parents hadn't been. Not for years.

He looked away, at the elderly clientele. They all needed someone. They relied upon the community here in town.

This is the story.

Chad rejected it, dug deeper, thought about Tracy and his parents. The needing. The not needing. He'd rather be loved than needed or not needed any day. He'd rather be loved by...

His gaze cut back to Tracy, but he wouldn't allow himself to complete the thought.

He was an idiot. He was at a tipping point in his career and she did something to his writing that could undermine every bit of the reputation he'd built.

When it was his turn, he needed to play it cool.

When it was his turn, he needed to keep things impersonal.

When it was his turn, he turned on the charm. “Loved what you did with the blog.”

“Thank you.” She blushed, which only made her blue eyes seem bluer. “What can I get for you today?”

He didn't like being treated like other customers. She'd kissed him. Shouldn't that mean she'd look at him with longing? Shouldn't that mean she'd smile at him as if he hung the moon? Or make excuses to touch his hand or his shoulder or his face?

He pretended to study the offerings in the case, even though he'd already decided on the pizza bagel to go with his homegrown tomato. “There's a gentle humor in your blog delivery.”

“That's the way I approach life.” Her smile. It was one he'd seen her give Rose while he was in line.

He didn't want that friend-to-all smile. “Regardless, it's good writing.” Not the type he'd contracted for at the
Lampoon
, but she had a knack for telling a cohesive story. Not everyone did.

She frowned as she rang his order. “You don't have to sound so surprised.” She moved her hands to emphasize her displeasure, but she managed to take his money without touching him.

“I'm not surprised. I'm envious.” He was taken aback that it was true. “Your page visits jumped up when I checked them this morning.”

“Really?” There was the smile she'd given him right before she'd kissed him. “I'll have to check.”

Their conversation felt mundane. He wanted to remind her he was leaving in a few days and exchange contact information. He wanted her to slip into his arms so she could talk up a storm.

He sat at a table near Eunice and sent Marty an email, asking if he liked the column.

When Flynn came in for a coffee refill, he told him about the fence down at Leona's.

Flynn didn't invite him to help.

Chad had to volunteer.

* * *

M
ILDRED
HADN
'
T
OWNED
a pet since she was a girl. Being a race car driver, she'd never had the time to care for one. And when she'd moved to Harmony Valley, she'd jumped into life with both feet and created a busy one.

It was nice to have Dusty around the house. He wasn't much of a talker except when he wanted to be fed. The rest of the time he laid claim to Mildred and the house like a king to his castle. Currently, he was wrapped around her neck like an orange, purring muffler.

Agnes and Rose knocked on the front door and then let themselves in. They'd only dropped her off an hour ago.

Mildred stayed in her recliner, lest Dusty be disturbed. The king had conquered her.

Rose came to stand next to her chair. She touched the cat with one finger.

Dusty stopped purring and lifted his regal head to stare at Rose.

“I had to make sure he was real.” Satisfied, Rose took a seat on the couch.

“Did I forget something on the schedule?” Mildred tried to keep all their activities straight in her head, because she couldn't see calendar notations. Her vision had gotten so bad, Agnes had begun paying her bills.

Agnes petted Dusty. “That wind storm last night blew the fence down between your backyard and Leona's. Flynn, Slade and Chad are coming by to fix it.” She reached in her purse and pulled out something gray, waved it beneath Dusty's nose and then threw it toward the hearth. “Get the mouse, kitty. Didn't you smell the catnip?”

Dusty sighed and laid his head back down on Mildred's shoulder.

Rose went over to pick it up. She sniffed it. “How old is this toy?”

“I just bought it at the vet's this morning.” Agnes huffed, which Mildred took as an indication that the mouse was going back to the veterinary office.

Rose gave the mouse to Agnes. “Let's hope that travel writer doesn't hurt himself again.”

“He means well, but he doesn't have much experience being handy.” Agnes tapped her forehead and tsked. “That bruise.”

“They're going to be mending fences,” Mildred murmured. “Between Leona and me.” She didn't like the metaphor. She and Leona would never see eye-to-eye. Mildred was a stout supporter of Phil's.

“Here they are now.” Rose sounded excited. “Look at all that equipment. Power tools and compressors and the like.”

“It's warm enough to watch with a jacket on.” Agnes disappeared to the rear of the house. “I'll wipe off the patio chairs.”

Dusty perked up when he heard the back door open and close.

“I'm supposed to keep Dusty inside for a week so he knows this is his home.” There were other reasons Mildred had wanted Dusty to stay inside, but she didn't want to say them out loud for fear of appearing more foolish than she already had for taking the cat home.

“Cat stays indoors. Got it.” Rose waved at the men out front. “I'm glad you gave up the idea of dating Phil.”

“Why?” Mildred hadn't given up. She'd just been busy with Dusty.

“We're the band!” Rose played air guitar.

“Seats are ready,” Agnes called.

Dusty leapt off Mildred's chest.

“Don't let the cat out,” Mildred shouted apprehensively.

“Oops.” Agnes tskd. “Here kitty. Shoot, he's running across the grass.”

Mildred was struck with fear. It had only been a few days. What if Dusty ran away? “Is he coming back?” She lurched to her feet and reached for her walker.

“I've got your coat.” Rose trailed behind her.

“He's heading for Leona's big tree.” Agnes provided the play-by-play.

Mildred saw the open doorway and the sunlit yard with brown leaves scattered about her grass like confetti in Times Square on New Year's morning. The brisk air washed over her. The tree—the huge pine—was in Leona's yard. That tree was to cats what an eight-cylinder five-speed was to a rookie racer. Back when she could see better, she'd watched cats climb up that tree and sit, waiting for squirrels or waiting for the courage to get down.

“There he goes. Up the trunk.” Agnes' announcement was demoralizing.

“Oh, bother.” Mildred slowed to lift her walker carefully over the threshold. “Felix said Dusty loves climbing trees and hates getting down.”

“He's up pretty high. Maybe thirty feet.” Agnes shaded her eyes from the sun.

Mildred's spirits sank. She wheeled her way across the patio, wishing for her binoculars so she might try to spot the cat in the tree. All her eyes registered was a big fuzzy tree. And then she heard a heart-wrenching meow. “Call Felix. Call the volunteer fire department. Call the sheriff.”

“What's up, ladies?” Flynn appeared from the side yard, carrying something big, red and bulky.

“Runaway cat up Leona's big tree,” Rose summarized.

“Felix said Dusty can't get down from trees,” Mildred wailed.