A Man of Influence (20 page)

“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.”

Chad got quickly to his feet as if his bachelorhood had suddenly issued a red alert.

Tracy had her answer. She smiled sadly. “I need...to get up early tomorrow.” She walked away.

He didn't follow. She couldn't hear any footsteps in the grass. But he did call after her softly, “Dream of me.”

The egotistical, seductive jerk!

“You know.” She paused, gathering herself to turn and face him. “The thing about dreams is...at some point they either come true. Or...you realize they never fit in the first place.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

L
ATE
THE
NEXT
MORNING
, Jessica assembled the key players in Harmony Valley to assess the veterans hall—Tracy, Christine, Slade, Flynn and Duffy. Somehow, Chad managed to tag along, too.

Tracy wore her sternest attitude where Chad was concerned, and her grubbiest jeans, shirt and work boots. She'd also brought gloves. The gloves she stuck in her back pocket so she could make notes of what needed to be done on a clipboard. Assuming someone decided anything should be done. She hoped they decided to fix the place up. She felt an odd kinship with the once productive spot.

The group stood in the parking lot, taking in the neglect while Duffy's little golden terrier raced around the grounds on olfactory overload.

Since she'd gotten out of Duffy's truck, Jessica had been speechless. She held Gregory close. “I'm trying to be positive inside.” She didn't sound as if she was succeeding.

“I don't like the look of this.” Slade had a big white bandage on his thumb and a big negative attitude toward the hall. “Not for
my
wedding reception.”

“It's a tear-down,” Chad said, earning a scowl from Tracy. He deserved more than a scowl, but with so many witnesses, a scowl would have to do.

“We should get Dane and his crew out here for a look.” Flynn referred to the construction company that had restored and rebuilt the winery buildings.

So far, that was the only thing Tracy had written down:
call Dane Utley
.

“I'm not financing this,” Slade said firmly, in a tone he'd used a lot when he, Flynn and Will had been building the winery. Slade took a hard look at the bottom line. “The partnership is not financing this. It has money pit written all over it.”

But his bride wanted a huge wedding locally, so he was going to have to compromise.

“Let's...just do a walk through.” Tracy herded them toward the sidewalk. “Trees first. Duffy?”

“Trees need trimming,” Duffy said matter-of-factly. Given that he was the vineyard manager, he knew about trees. His little dog, Goldie, snuffled through the blanket of leaves on the ground, giving Gregory the giggles. “A couple of dead branches have fallen and broken windows. A couple more branches are dead up there and could fall at any time on passing cars.”

Everyone took several steps back in case the trees decided to fall.

“The parking lot is a loss,” Slade said glumly.

It was hard to argue when he was right.

Even Christine was looking doubtful. “It's lacking the wow factor, isn't it?”

Slade looked at his fiancée as if she'd lost her mind. “It never had it.”

“Tear-down,” Chad repeated, as if no one had heard him the first time.

Tracy clutched her clipboard and fought the urge to defend the hall. During her recovery in the hospital, Tracy hadn't realized Will was her patient advocate. He'd worked behind the scenes to obtain the care and treatment she'd needed to come back to life. The veterans hall had no advocate, no voice, not even Rutgar's booming one.

“Let's take a look inside.” Jessica's voice was resigned. She'd been excited about the hall this morning. A usable rental hall near a bakery that did wedding cakes meant more wedding cakes would be sold. “Tracy, can you unlock the doors?”

She could. But she couldn't do it without stating her case. “Before we go inside...I'd like to remind those who knew me before the accident—” Flynn and Slade “—that I was a tear-down, too. Don't be afraid...of a big challenge. Or of big change.”

“Nothing comes easy,” Chad murmured, studying her intently.

Tracy felt her cheeks heat. She shouldn't have been surprised that he understood her loyalty to the place. Chad had understood her better than anyone since they'd met. She undid the heavy locks and propped the doors open, because the air inside smelled like a cat litter box left out in the rain and then covered in plastic.

Gregory made a face and buried it against Jessica's neck. Goldie put her nose to the floor and raced inside. It was her idea of heaven. The rest of the group ventured no farther than the first few feet inside the hall.

“What is that smell?” Slade covered his nose.

“Raccoon,” said Duffy.

“Squirrel,” said Flynn.

“Skunk,” said Christine.

Tracy hoped it wasn't all three. “Let's...try to look at this from the positive side—in terms of possibilities.”

“That'll be hard to do.” Slade tugged on the placate of his polo shirt as if adjusting one of those ties he always used to wear.

Tracy ignored him and launched into her pitch. “The hall is large and open. I've...been to conferences in smaller venues than this. You...could easily fit fifteen hundred people at tables in here. And...still have room for the band. Or DJ. And a dance floor.”

Chad was the only person looking at her, not the devastation. His gaze was indecipherable and she had to look away.

“Replace the windows, make sure the roof doesn't leak, refinish the floors.” Flynn ventured into the middle of the hall. “It's not
that
bad.”

“Don't kid yourself.” Slade moved closer to the door. “It's bad.”

“Maybe the veterans in town have money in the bank,” Chad said, surprising Tracy with a show of support.

“Not enough money.” Slade was prevented from backing out the door by Christine's hand on his arm and a look that encouraged him to be patient.

“We could update the lighting. With a wedding budget.” Tracy had spent a few days giving it some thought. “Maybe rent light fixtures. Chandeliers.” Yes, there was such a thing as chandelier rental. “Maybe...hang wallpaper or drapes on the walls?”

“Oh.” Christine perked up.

“Speaking of curtains,” Duffy said. “Did the curtains up there just move?”

Goldie was on the stage. She began to bark at the drapes. And then something with red-gold fur leapt from the stage and raced toward the front door. Goldie ran to the edge of the stage, barking, decided the jump was too much for her short little legs, and raced down the stairs.

“Back-back-back!” Duffy yelled, gesturing for them to give the fox room to escape.

Goldie and her short legs were no match for the speeding fox, although she gave it her best effort. Her taking the stairs had given the fox too much of a head start.

Once the fox passed, Duffy stood in front of his dog and yelled, “Goldie, stay.”

The little dog skidded to a halt in front of him, panting and wagging her tail, but sneaking looks past Duffy's legs.

That was most likely the death knell for the veterans hall. Tracy's spirits sank.

“You're lucky you didn't get eaten, mongrel.” Duffy picked Goldie up and held her to his chest. She drooped in his arms as if she'd expended all her energy. “If you bring in a pest control company to get rid of the critters, I can help tame the trees. If I have a crew.” His gaze took in the men. “If Christine can spare me, we can start tomorrow, midafternoon.”

“So what do you say?” Tracy asked. “Do we check into funding? Get a bid to repair the place?” This last was spoken directly to Slade.

Slade looked to Christine.

“I'd love to get married here in town.” Christine put a hand at the base of his neck where his scar was. “We can have the wedding on the bluff overlooking the river and the reception here.”

“It'll look like a dump.” Slade was first class all the way.

“Not necessarily,” Chad said, once more Tracy's champion. “I've seen shacks in the desert classed up with wall tapestries and lighting changes. I think Tracy's on to something.”

“It'll take a miracle,” Slade grumbled, heading toward the door.

“Don't rely on miracles and wishes,” Tracy said, half to herself, because she knew how rare wishes came true. “Rely on hard work.”

* * *

“A
RE
YOU
SURE
that's safe?” Chad asked Flynn as they watched Duffy lash himself to a V in a tree trunk thirty feet above the road at the veterans hall the day after they'd toured the facilities with the bride and groom. Chad had offered to help because Tracy was giving him the cold shoulder. She wasn't the only one. He hadn't heard from Marty either. “The other day Duffy talked about dead limbs ready to fall.”

“Normally, I'd say no. Not safe.” Flynn shaded his eyes as he looked up. “But as a vineyard manager, Duffy is paid to clear out trees and brush. And last winter after we had one heck of a rain storm, he helped clear some gigantic pines that nearly crushed Rutgar's house. I have respect for his chainsaw skills and his knowledge of trees.”

“What's not safe is you two standing under the tree,” Duffy called down to them, looking like a true professional with goggles and protective earwear. The chainsaw he held roared to life.

They leapt a safe distance back.

Duffy cut limbs with a cool efficiency. When he shifted to another side of the tree, Chad and Flynn came in to drag the branches out of the street. Some were small enough to toss into the back of Flynn's truck. Others needed trimming to fit. Those they stacked on the dried grass that had once been a lawn.

When they had a big pile of oversized branches, Flynn produced his own chainsaw—much smaller than Duffy's—and went to work, leaving Chad to schlep branches into the truck bed. Chad had been banned from power tools.

Duffy dropped several limbs into the street and looked to be shifting his position.

Chad walked onto the road, waded into the knee deep foliage, grabbed a branch big enough not to snap when he dragged it away, and tugged. The labyrinth of foliage didn't budge.

Tires squealed around the corner from the highway. A blue, bubble-fendered Cadillac bore down on Chad and his tangled sea of branches. A brown scarf fluttered in the wind behind the driver's white hair.

“Hey!” Chad yelled and waved at the driver.

There was only about six feet of roadway free between the pile of branches and the opposite sidewalk. Not nearly enough room for a wide Cadillac to clear without driving on the sidewalk. But it didn't look as if she was veering at all. And if she didn't veer and cleared enough branches, she was going to run Chad over.

The Caddy's grill approached like the famished jaws of doom. Chad's shouts didn't rise above Flynn's or Duffy's chainsaws. He tried backing up, but his legs were stuck within the V of one branch and the angled offshoots of the branches beneath it. He stumbled backward and was almost immediately swallowed into the thatch.

Metal protested the scrape of wood across paint. Branches snapped. There was a series of lurching noises. Chad was tossed, poked, scraped, skewered and banged against the pavement like a rag doll in a blender.

And then the engine receded. And the chainsaws stopped.

“Chad! Chad!” Flynn's voice.

Booted feet approached. There was a sound like a two-hundred pound cat climbing down a tree.

“I'm alive,” Chad croaked, feeling as if he wasn't.

Branches shifted, cracked, lifted. Hands drew Chad from the mess with more pokes, scrapes and skewers.

“I'm alive,” Chad said again, but everything was starting to throb and sting. And he was grateful of Flynn's steadying arm.

“You're okay,” Flynn sounded surprised. “I thought Lilac was going to kill you. I thought she wasn't supposed to drive anymore. She almost killed my nephew's dog last year.” He blew out a breath. “Really, I thought she was going to kill you. She ran over half the pile of branches and never stopped.”

“It's a shame. She ruined that classic Caddy grill,” Duffy deadpanned. When they both looked at him as if he was crazy, he shrugged and added, “Don't tell me you weren't thinking it, too.”

Chad was getting his sea legs back. He laughed. “I was.” In some sick, small corner of his male brain, he'd mourned a vintage car.

“Me, too.” Flynn started laughing.

And pretty soon, the three of them were filling the empty street with adrenaline-rush guffaws.

“I need to take you to Leona's,” Flynn said when the humor petered out.

“I'm fine,” Chad said as evenly as he could, when he felt as if he'd had a bad acupuncture session. “I can walk.” That might have been an overstatement. The Lambridge B&B was all the way on the other side of town. The bakery... He might make it there.

“You can't walk.” Duffy dragged the remaining branches out of the road, easy as you please. “Take him home, Flynn. He's too stubborn to listen to reason. I'll finish up here.”

Slade pulled up in a shiny black truck that had probably never had branches loaded in the bed. “Fred Oliver called me. He lives down the street and saw the whole thing. Am I driving someone to the hospital?”

“Nope.” Chad had been shaking out his limbs, just to make sure nothing was broken. Nothing seemed to be. “I just feel like a big pincushion.” One that had been pounded several times by a hammer.

“Now you know how I feel.” Slade grinned and held up his bandaged hand. “Get in. I'll take you to Leona's.”

Chad preferred being taken to Tracy. And what was the point in that? He was standing with one foot in each world—satirical bachelor articles and settled, elderly Harmony Valley. Try as he might, he didn't seem to fit in either place.

He shuffled over to the truck like an old man who'd had his walker confiscated.

Meanwhile, the sheriff pulled up. “Heard Lilac is up to her old ways.”

Flynn nodded. “Speeding, reckless driving.”

“Jumping the curb,” Duffy added.

“Destroying classic automobiles. That's a law, right?” Chad sighed. “Seriously, can you test her for blindness or blind spots?”

“I'm on it.” The sheriff sped away.

“Things aren't usually this exciting in Harmony Valley,” Slade said, backing up and pointing the truck in the direction of the B&B. “Old people. Who knew?”