The Last Honest Man Page 4

  Moving across the concrete floor, Phoebe opened the inside door. “Air-conditioning is a gift from God.” She led the way through a darkened laundry room to the bright kitchen. “What can I get you to drink?”

  “W-water’s g-g-great.” He looked around with interest. Phoebe kept an old-fashioned kitchen, with natural oak cabinets, a big table with a scarred top, and a couple of pie safes used for storage. Dried herbs hung from the ceiling in front of the window looking over the pasture, and wildflowers filled colorful jars on the windowsill above the sink.

  “There you go.” She handed him a tall, thick glass filled with ice cubes and water. “Let’s sit down.” Waving him toward a chair across the table, she pulled one out for herself and sat. “It’s time for us to get to work, right?”

  Dealing with the dogs would have been easy, compared to this. Adam took a gulp of water and tried to ignore the twist of fear in his belly. “Whatever you s-s-say.”

  OVER THE NEXT THIRTY minutes, Adam’s frustration level climbed steadily. Phoebe had thought she was prepared for the usual first-session difficulties. But somehow she couldn’t remain unaffected by this client’s struggle.

  Fifteen minutes before the scheduled end of their session, Phoebe pushed her glasses up on her nose and then set her hands flat on the table. “That’s good. You read the whole paragraph with much softer consonants, and your long vowels are improving. Let’s stop on a high note.”

  Adam shook his head. “I-I d-d-didn’t h-hear any imp-p-provement. I-I’ll r-read it a-again.”

  She took the card away from him. “No, you won’t. I’m the therapist and I call the shots.”

  His mouth tightened even as he clenched his fist and punched the table. “I-I d-don’t h-h-have m-much t-t-t-time.”

  Phoebe leaned over and placed both her hands over that rigid fist. “Here’s your first homework assignment.”

  He lifted his eyebrows. “H-h-homework?”

  “If you want to move fast, you have to practice. Now, listen.” Gently, she massaged his fingers, his wrist, the back of his hand. “You tense up when you speak. You make a fist and use it to get you through blocks. I want you to think about relaxing this hand when you talk.” As she continued to stroke and knead, his grip loosened. “There doesn’t have to be anyone else around. Say whatever comes to mind. Recite poetry, song lyrics, your grocery list. But think about keeping this hand open and soft.” Finally, his palm was revealed, his fingers gently curved. Phoebe laid her palm gently against Adam’s. “Say something to me.”

  He stared at her for a long moment, his brows now drawn together, his blue eyes narrowed with effort. His mouth opened and his fingers tensed.

  “Relax.” She stroked her fingertips over his.

  Again he tried to speak, and again his fingers tightened. Finally, after several more attempts, he managed a sound. “N-n-n…”

  Phoebe waited, her palm resting in his.

  “N-n-n…n-n-ni…” Adam squeezed his eyes shut and drew a shaking breath. “N-n-ni…n-nice.”

  Smiling, Phoebe squeezed his hand with both of hers. “Exactly. You don’t need this hand as much as you think you do. So practice talking without it.”

  When she went to withdraw, though, his fingers caught hers. “Th-thanks,” he said quietly, holding her gaze with his own.

  Even without the smile, he was a mesmerizing man. She found herself lost in his eyes, all too aware of his skin touching hers. Suddenly, the air conditioner didn’t seem to be doing a very good job of cooling the house.

  The loud chime of the clock in the other room woke Phoebe from her trance. “Nine o’clock—you’ve definitely worked long enough for one day.” She pulled her hands from his, got clumsily to her feet and took their water glasses to the sink. “Construction starts very early in the summer, doesn’t it? Because of the heat?”

  “S-sure does.” He crossed the kitchen on the way to the screened porch. “I-I’ll b-be at w-work b-by s-six.”

  “And you have such a long drive back to town.” She followed him to the porch door, where Gally, Gawain and Lance waited patiently. “Um…let me take them to the barn. I’ll be right back.”

  He held up a hand. “D-don’t. I j-just haven’t sp-spent any time w-w-with d-dogs for y-y-years. It’s ok-k-kay.”

  Whether by instinct or intelligence, Gally, Gawain and Lance stayed still as Adam stepped outside. He didn’t try to pet them, didn’t even look at them as he walked by.

  “Stay,” Phoebe told them, as a precaution. Then she caught up with Adam on the driveway. “Are you sure this is a good time? I’m still building my practice, and I have open appointments almost any hour of the day.”

  The night was very warm, with a high humidity that carried a thousand different scents—grass and horses, the wild magnolias blooming in the woods, the roses she’d planted near the barn, and an indefinable accent that simply said “country.”

  Adam took his keys out of his jeans pocket. “N-no. I-if it w-w-works f-for you, I-I l-l-like this arrangement.”

  “Okay, then.” Above them, stars had begun to pop out in a not-quite-dark sky. “I’ll see you Monday? Same time?”

  He looked across the pasture, and then his gaze returned to her face. “W-would I-I-I m-make m-more pr-progress if I-I c-came t-t-tomorrow, t-t-too?”

  Her heart began to flutter. “I…well, I think you would. There are s-some intensive p-programs that go for f-five s-straight d-days. We c-could try.” The thought of seeing him again so soon had started her own stutter acting up. Phoebe swallowed hard, trying to relax, to recover her self-assurance.

  Her effort fell flat in the face of his wonderful smile. “G-good.” He took a deep breath. “Th-this r-r-really is a n-nice p-place. M-makes m-me feel b-better, just b-being here.”

  She nodded. “M-me, too.”

  “S-smart w-woman.” He gave her a two-fingered salute and headed toward the truck. “S-see you t-tomorrow night.”

  “Adam?” He turned back, brows lifted in question. “W-would you chain the g-gate closed when you g-get outside?”

  His white teeth flashed in the dark. “N-no p-problem.”

  Watching him walk through the twilight, she allowed herself a moment of sheer gratitude for the beauty of a male body. She could imagine the pleasure of running her hands over Adam’s strong, bare back, his tapered waist, his tight rear end. Her breath shortened as she visualized the glory of lying with him on soft sheets, in a dark room with only moonlight as a lamp to light their exploration of each other. Adam would be a wonderful lover, sensitive and considerate, powerful and yet gentle at the same time. His hands would be so warm on her skin….

  Phoebe herself was warm by the time the fantasy had run its course. She blushed even hotter when she realized that darkness had fallen completely while she’d stood like a statue, lost in her erotic thoughts.

  “Lance, Gally, Gawain? Let’s go, guys. In the house.” She led them inside, made sure their water bowl was filled, then proceeded through her nightly routine, deliberately blocking all thoughts of Adam DeVries from her mind. Tonight was Lance’s turn for a brushing, which she completed while watching a dog show on TV. All three dogs got their teeth cleaned—good-natured Lance and Galahad the cheerful mutt didn’t mind too much, but Gawain, a high-strung Weimaraner, fought her every step of the way, as usual. Finally exhausted, with a day of work ahead, Phoebe had no choice but to go to bed.

  In the dark and quiet of a country night, her thoughts refused to be controlled any longer, and she pondered long after the canines had settled into their baskets, after the house cats, Arthur and Merlin, had curled up in their respective corners on the bed.

  Her strong sexual attraction to Adam wasn’t hard to explain. He was gorgeous, to begin with, and holding the session in her home created an unusual intimacy. She’d never before brought a client to her house, here or in Atlanta.

  But she had worked with many handsome men, as colleagues and as patients. Dates hadn’t been rare in her life, until she
moved to New Skye precisely to escape the social-climbing, influence-seeking connections that passed for relationships in her mother’s world. She hadn’t missed male company in the last year.

  And I don’t now. Turning over yet again, punching her pillow and rearranging the covers, Phoebe renewed her resolve.

  Yes, Adam DeVries was an attractive man—an attractive man who planned to run for mayor. She did not want a life lived in the public eye. She’d moved from Atlanta expressly to escape that kind of stress. Her personal goals were privacy, peace and self-reliance. With or without a man to share her life.

  Maybe if Adam lost the election…

  No, she wanted him to win, because he wanted to win badly enough to put himself completely on the line. She admired his dedication to the goal, was proud to think she could help him achieve it.

  Over in the corner, Galahad snorted, then started in with his usual gentle snore. She smiled at the sound and tried, again, to relax.

  Adam DeVries would never be more than a client. Thinking rationally now, she doubted they could even be close friends.

  How could she have any kind of real relationship with a man who didn’t like dogs?

  ADAM PARKED AT THE end of his parents’ driveway late Sunday afternoon, took hold of his jacket and climbed out of the truck into the stifling heat. As he shrugged into the coat, his sister’s black Miata slid to a stop just inches from his front fender. Theresa joined him on the walk up the drive to the house and asked the critical question of the day.

  “Beef or chicken?”

  Adam had already given the matter some thought. “I th-think I’m in t-trouble. B-beef.” He noticed his clenched right fist, imagined Phoebe’s soft touch and loosened his fingers.

  “What did you do now? Mom hasn’t staged one of these mandatory Sunday dinners for a couple of years at least.”

  He glanced sideways at his sister. “N-nothing.” His hand stayed relaxed.

  “Except, maybe, decide to run for mayor without telling anybody?”

  “Is th-that a c-crime?”

  They reached the front door and Theresa pushed the bell. “In this family? What do you think?”

  Their father opened the door. “Come in, both of you, come in. Tim just called to say he’ll be late and to go on without him.” Theresa got a hug and Adam a hearty handshake. “Your mother’s putting the finishing touches on the roast. She’ll be out in a few minutes.”

  Theresa frowned as they went into the living room. “I should’ve been a doctor,” she muttered under her breath, for Adam’s ears alone. “Tim’s always sleazing out of dinner because of his patients.”

  Adam grinned. “L-legal emergencies are k-kinda r-rare.”

  “Maybe we could start having court sessions on the weekends.”

  Their mother emerged from the kitchen. “Honey, how are you?” She hugged her daughter, stroking a hand over Theresa’s hair. “Have you had a hectic week?”

  Adam found himself thinking of Phoebe, how the different colors of her long, wavy mane blew through and over one another as she stood with the horses in the pasture. He wondered if that amazing hair felt as soft as it looked.

  “Son, I’m glad to see you.” His mother offered him an embrace, a good deal more restrained than Theresa’s. “Dinner is ready. Let’s sit down.”

  The formal dining room, with its elegantly carved wainscoting, crown molding and woodwork, had inspired Adam’s own building efforts. But the antique mahogany table and his assigned chair—immediately to his father’s right—had been the setting for some of the most painful moments in his life.

  He took his seat and dragged in a deep breath, glanced down and found his hand clenched on his thigh again. Phoebe’s voice came to him. Relax.

  Adam tried. “S-smells g-great, M-Mother.”

  Cynthia smiled. “Thank you. Your great-grandmother’s recipe for roast never fails.” She looked down the length of the table to her husband at the other end. “Shall we say grace?”

  The four of them bowed their heads as his dad prayed. Then there was all the passing of dishes and carving of meat to occupy their attention, but Adam knew his moment was coming. His mother arranged her battle plans with the efficiency of a four-star general.

  Sure enough, she attacked halfway through the meal. “Adam, the news you gave your father Wednesday night was surprising, to say the least. You filed papers with the board of elections to run for mayor of New Skye?”

  He settled for one clear word. “Yes.”

  “You didn’t think this was a matter for discussion with your family?”

  That answer called for more than one word. “I’m s-still p-planning, M-Mother. I w-wanted t-to w-wait until the s-s-situation was s-set.” He was clenching his fist again, dammit.

  “Your father says he suggested you reconsider. Have you?”

  “N-no.”

  Cynthia gazed at him, then set her fork down and folded her hands together on the edge of the table. “Adam, dear, as your family, we are patient with your…difficulty. We love you and we understand. But how can you campaign for public office? What chance do you have of actually winning? You’ll never be understood, or even listened to. As mayor, you would have many ceremonial public duties. How could you possibly execute those responsibilities, given your…challenges?”

  In his head, Adam heard a line from an old TV commercial. He said the words almost in unison with the memory. “We th-thank you for your support.”

  “I think we have fully supported you in your endeavors. Your father loaned you the money to start your business—”

  Preston held up a hand. “Which the boy has paid back. With interest.”

  His wife nodded. “Of course. I’m only concerned about the reception you’ll receive from the public, Adam. Crowds can be most unkind. I hate to see you exposing yourself to that kind of ridicule when it’s not necessary.”

  “I-I think i-it i-is n-n-necess-sary.” Adam loosened his fist yet again. “D-Dad and I talked about this at your b-b-birthday d-d-dinner. This town n-needs honest l-leaders. I’m tired of c-c-corrupt g-government. S-since I’m the one w-with the c-complaint, I’m the one d-d-doing s-someth-thing about it.” By the end of the speech, his fist was pounding against his thigh. He uncurled his fingers enough to pick up his napkin and place it on the table. “Excuse m-me, p-p-please. I have to g-go n-n-now.”

  The other three stood as he got to his feet. Preston put a hand on his arm. “Son, don’t leave mad. Let’s talk this over.”

  “Sit down, Adam,” his mother commanded. “We haven’t finished talking. I have not given you permission to leave.”

  But whatever his failings, he wasn’t a little boy anymore and he didn’t take orders, even from his mother. Adam shook his head and left the dining room. Theresa followed. “You can’t leave me here alone with them,” she whispered in his ear. “Mother will start on why I’m not married.”

  With the front door open, he turned back and gave her a sympathetic smile. “N-nobody’s p-p-perfect.” He leaned close and kissed her cheek. “G-good luck.”

  “Jerk.” But she grinned as she said it.

  By the time he reached the truck, he’d taken off his jacket and tie and rolled back his shirtsleeves. Without thinking too much about the decision, he put the engine in gear, abandoned the perfectly groomed neighborhood he’d grown up in and headed south. To Swallowtail Farm.

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE SOUND OF A VEHICLE coming up her gravel driveway startled Phoebe, since the only guests she expected were already here. When she recognized Adam’s truck, she was doubly surprised.

  They’d had another intense session Friday night, with Adam getting increasingly frustrated over what he perceived as a lack of progress. She’d battled her own frustration, as well, trying to maintain complete objectivity when it would be so terribly easy to step over the line between therapist and friend.

  Or more. In fact, she’d been wondering if she should recommend that he see Jenna instead of herself
for therapy. Happily married and the mother of a new baby, Jenna wouldn’t be so sensitive to her client’s every reaction.

  Adam got out of the truck, and Phoebe met him halfway between the drive and the riding ring. The dogs stayed behind, in the shade of an apple tree, instead of following her as they usually would. They knew they would not be wanted.

  “S-sorry t-to j-just d-d-drop in,” Adam said, before she could even say hello. “I-I-I d-d-didn’t r-realize y-you had c-c-company unt-til I-I’d almost r-reached th-the h-house.” His face was tight, his fist clenched.

  “I’m glad to see you, whether I have company or not.” Taking a risk, Phoebe put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. “We’re just having fun with the horses. Come watch.” She caught his right fist with her left hand and led him toward the ring, hoping the physical contact would help him relax. Or so she told herself.

  As they got close, Dixon Bell eased Cristal to a halt in front of them. “Hey, DeVries, what brings you out? Good to see you.” He leaned down and reached out to shake Adam’s hand, which Phoebe reluctantly let go.

  “You t-two kn-know each other?” Adam glanced at her in question.

  “Cristal and Brady belong to Dixon. He boards them with me and comes out to ride most weekends.” She looked from one man to the other. “Now it’s my turn to ask…y’all are friends?”

  “Went to high school together,” Dixon explained, soothing Cristal as she protested having to stand still. “And every grade before that, come to think of it. Kate, too,” he said, referring to his fiancé, who was bringing Brady slowly around the ring toward them. “DeVries and I play basketball together Saturday mornings with some of the other guys from our class.”

  “I g-give him s-some help remodeling his house f-f-from time to time. And p-plan to d-dance at his w-wedding.” Adam nodded at Dixon. “F-from th-the way you handle th-that h-horse, I’d say you’ve sp-spent s-some t-time in th-the saddle in your day.” His stutter had diminished a bit as he became more relaxed.