A Man of Influence (19 page)

Flynn set down the big whatever-it-was on the patio. “Ladies, let's sit. No reason to panic.”

“No reason to...?” Mildred's voice cracked. “My cat is stuck up a tree!” Worse, Leona's tree. “He could fall. He could break something trying to get down. He could have a heart attack from the stress.”

Mildred's heart was beating overtime.

Chad appeared before her with a calm touch on her arm. “How about we sit down?” His voice was as calm as his touch. Tracy really shouldn't let this one go, even if reporters didn't make much money. “I've never seen a dead cat in a tree, have you?”

Tracy shouldn't waste her time with him. He was a callous lout. “My cat is different.” But Mildred let him help her sit in a chair. The wind mixed up the leaves on the lawn and snuck up Mildred's ankles. “Where's my coat?”

Rose helped her put it on. “Dusty's a brave one. He went up higher.” Rose dragged a chair next to Mildred, as if Dusty's demise was going to be good viewing.

Dusty meowed, a cry for help if Mildred had ever heard one.

“Maybe there's a bird in that tree,” Agnes said.

“Squirrels mostly,” Chad said infuriatingly calm. “I've seen them from my window.”

“Maybe he'll kill something and come down.” Agnes wasn't giving pessimism a chance, bless her.

Birds. Critters. That was another reason Mildred had wanted to keep Dusty an indoor cat. Felix claimed he was a mighty hunter. Her vision was so bad, she didn't think she could see gutted mice or plucked bird parts if Dusty brought them to the back porch. Or worse—she shuddered—inside. “I never should have taken that cat.”

“Nonsense.” Agnes sat on the other side of her. “You love that cat and he loves you.”

“But he doesn't love me enough to
stay
.” Mildred lowered her voice to a whisper. “I need to rethink the Phil thing.”

“Let's not start that again.” Rose patted her arm. “The band. Think of the band.”

“I should have had another child when I retired from racing.” Mildred was on the Pity Train, seated in first class. “Then I wouldn't be lonely and I wouldn't need a disloyal cat.”

“Didn't you retire when you were forty because of that wreck?” Rose clasped Mildred's hand. “I remember when I first saw you, I thought you looked like death. Chad's injuries look like he's been tickled compared to what you were like after your accident.”

“My injuries were bad,” Mildred admitted with stiff lips. Alistair McKinney had forced her into a wall to prove women shouldn't race. All he'd done was prove he was pond scum and get banned from the circuit.

“You moved here when you were still recovering.” Agnes took her other hand. “You wouldn't have been able to care for a child. You could barely take care of yourself and your baby girl.”

“I know. She was five and deserved a brother or sister.” Mildred's voice sounded as shaky as Phil's hands. “I could have adopted later. Forty-five isn't too old to raise a baby nowadays.”

Chad knelt in front of Mildred. “But you wouldn't have always been there for a child you had late in life. You wouldn't have been there for the majority of their lives.”

She knew where he was going with this. “Is it selfish to want to give love unconditionally? Is it selfish to want someone to love you unconditionally in return?”

“No,” he said. But the word was so faint, Mildred wasn't sure he'd actually spoken.

“If I thought like you do,” Mildred said, gasping because she was on the verge of crying. “I wouldn't have taken Dusty for the simple reason that I couldn't guarantee I wouldn't die tomorrow. But now I've come to love him and he's going to die up there in that tree!”

“Relax,” Agnes soothed. “Chad will get Dusty down. Won't you, Chad?”

He stood. “I will.”

Mildred sniffed. “If you get him down, I'll put a good word in for you with Tracy.”

He hesitated. And for a moment, Mildred thought he was going to reject her offer. Instead, he said, “Thank you.”

He walked off and Mildred squeezed both her friends' hands. “It's back to Phil.” Because Hiro hadn't said anything to her since their talk about her fence yesterday morning. And at least with Phil, she could be sure he wouldn't climb a tree and try to kill himself.

* * *

“W
HAT
SHOULD
WE
do about the cat?” Flynn stared up into the branches, which swayed in the wind.

“He'll come down in his own time.” Chad wasn't keen on waiting. Mildred's words had touched him. Yes, his parents were selfish to have a child so late, but they hadn't made the choice lightly. He'd been loved the best way they knew how. And yet, he hadn't given his love to anyone other than a pet. He'd held on to his feelings for fear if he gave love to someone, they might disappear too quickly, the same as his parents. Or that he'd experience the same rollercoaster of emotions they had.

He thought of Tracy's determined approach to life and its challenges. He recalled the joy he felt at her smile and the promise he'd sensed in her kiss.

He'd walked away from Tracy?

Yes. And despite what he felt for her, he wasn't sure he wouldn't do it again. His writing defined who he was and it would show the
Lampoon
they'd made a mistake.

“Kitty might go all the way to the top if we turn on the nail gun compressor,” Slade said.

“I'm not hammering nails the old-school way.” Chad had enough scars and bruises to last him awhile.

“What's going on out here?” Leona demanded, standing in the doorway to her sunroom, looking as if they'd disrupted a most important business meeting.

“Mildred's cat is up your tree,” Chad said, noticing that Flynn and Slade had retreated, hopefully to lug the fence boards from Flynn's truck. He didn't fancy adding splinters to his list of woes.

Leona returned inside, leaving Chad to call for the cat beneath the sixty-foot-tall tree.

Chad wasn't worried about the cat. He was worried Mildred might work herself into a tizzy. And the tizzy would lead to something more serious. He was worried he'd continue to let the opportunity for love with Tracy pass him by. And that emptiness would be a permanent state of being.

Leona reappeared. She carried a can of tuna. She banged the can with a fork the same way a wedding guest tapped their wineglass to encourage a kiss. “Kitty-kitty-kitty,” she crooned in a voice that sounded almost warm.

“Well, what do you know.” Chad chuckled. “The ice queen has a heart.”

She scowled at him and kept up her kitty-calling.

That cat was no dummy. There was the urgent sound of claws ripping through bark. The big orange tabby leapt to the ground and circled Leona, rubbing against her legs.

The trio of women on Mildred's patio applauded. Mildred shouted her thanks.

“Pick up the beast,” Leona commanded.

Chad hurried over and scooped the cat into his arms.

“Now take him back.” Leona shoved the tuna can into his hand and headed back to her big, empty house.

The cat contorted itself to stay in Chad's arms and keep eating from the can. Unfortunately, it dug its claws into Chad's arm and hand, hooking them just beneath his skin. Add another set of injuries to his mounting Harmony Valley scars.

“You're not so bad,” Chad said softly enough that only Leona would hear.

“Don't be so sure,” she replied, just as softly, but with a hard note.

When the cat was safely inside and the nail gun compressor had been plugged in, Chad stood back and held up his hands so Flynn and Slade could see his blood blisters and bruised finger. “I'll hand you two the boards.” No way was he getting near that nail gun.

Flynn and Slade exchanged glances in that way of theirs that spoke of secret wavelengths no one else could read.

“Nope,” Flynn said. “You'll operate the nail gun.”

“Given my track record, that's not wise.” He clenched his hands to stop them from trembling.

“You've got to learn sometime.” Slade had the oddest way of looking at a man. His gaze tallied, totaled and summarized. His gaze said Chad could handle power tools.

Chad had no reason to add power tool wielding to his list of accomplishments. Not unless he stayed in Harmony Valley. Not unless Tracy ever truly forgave him. Not unless he redefined who he was and re-evaluated the risks of loving, and gave Tracy his heart. There were a lot of conditions to him staying. “Okay, I'll work the nail gun, but you guys are driving me to Emergency when I nail myself to a board.”

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

He shot a nail into Slade.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

“T
HIS
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.

* * *

“C
LIPPERS
?” M
ILDRED
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.

* * *

T
RACY
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.

* * *

T
RACY
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.