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,