Lynnette Kent - The Last Honest Man

“You’re more than welcome. I wondered what h-had upset you. Why you c-came out.” Her tension was bringing back her own stutter.

Adam didn’t seem to notice. He shoved his fists into his pockets and looked away. “W-went to d-d-dinner at m-my p-p-parents’, who are p-p-pissed that I didn’t t-talk the c-campaign over with them f-first. They implied I was s-sure to lose, and I g-got p-pissed, too.”

Phoebe kept her indignation to herself. “I would think so. There’s no reason you can’t win this election.”

“M-my d-d-difficulty, as m-my m-m-mother calls it, w-will g-get in the way.”

“So we’ll work on that. I think you can do it.” Phoebe put her hand on his bare wrist, desperately trying to ignore the warmth of his tanned skin against her palm.

Adam brought his hand to her cheek. “Wh-when I’m out h-here, s-so d-do I. I g-guess that’s why I came. You help me believe.” He gazed at her for a long moment, and his touch lightened, as if he were about to step away. Suddenly, though, he tilted her face up with his palm and gave her a smile. “You’re s-something sp-special, Phoebe Moss.”

He was going to kiss her. That would be heaven…and a complete disaster.

She backed away from him, turning toward the pasture as if the horses had made a noise she had to check out. “The singing…you know, quite a large percentage of people who stutter can sing clearly.”

“That’s what I’ve read.”

“You could use that as you practice—sing the words instead of saying them, gradually working to decrease the tune and simply talk.” Keeping her own words clear was a challenge tonight—she felt herself falling into the stutter. Eyes on the horses, Phoebe focused on staying relaxed.

“I’ll work on that.”

“So you’ll be here T-Tuesday night? Seven-thirty?” Still, she didn’t look at him.

After a long silence, Adam cleared his throat. “C-count on it. I-I’ll l-lock the g-gate.” His footsteps crunched on the gravel drive, his truck door squeaked open and slammed shut.

At that sound, she felt safe to look over, and she watched until his taillights disappeared in the dark.

ADAM FIGURED PHOEBE WOULD have finished dinner when he arrived Tuesday evening, so he stopped by the Carolina Diner for something to eat before driving out of town. Unlike last week, business was slow, and Abby came out right away with his iced tea.

“F-fried ch-chicken,” he told her. “I’m f-feeling tr-traditional t-tonight. With m-mashed potatoes and gr-green beans.”

“The perfect Southern dinner,” she agreed. “You want white and dark meat, right?”

“R-right.”

She nodded and made a note on her pad, then leaned her hip against the opposite side of the booth. “I hadn’t heard until today that you’d decided to run for mayor.”

“Y-you m-must’ve been the l-last one to find out.”

Her brown eyes crinkled as she laughed. “Not easy keeping secrets in this town. I just wanted to say I’m proud of you. We could use somebody with a sense of decency running New Skye for a change.” A car door slammed outside and she glanced through the window. “Damn. Speak of the devil. I’ll get your meal. You—” she poked a finger into his shoulder “—stay out of trouble.”

He wasn’t sure what she meant until L. T. LaRue’s hearty voice carried through the door. “Yessirree, got the steel on its way and the ’dozers headed out there tomorrow morning. I’m getting this show on the road.”

The doorbell jingled and several people walked in. Seated with his back to the door, Adam didn’t turn around. With any luck, LaRue and his friends would sit over on the far side of the diner, and he could ignore the fact they’d ever been here.

LaRue, however, was not a man to leave well enough alone. While the rest of the group sat down, L.T. appeared beside Adam’s table. “Well, well, if it isn’t our fledgling candidate. Eating by yourself, DeVries? That’s no way to win an election.”

Adam relaxed his right hand. “I-I’m n-not p-planning to f-feed the whole t-town t-to get e-e-elected.”

LaRue crossed his arms and propped his hip against the same place Abby had. “That so? And just how are you planning to get elected?”

“B-by g-giving the v-v-voters an h-honest candidate and the opportunity to ch-choose a m-mayor who w-won’t use his office to m-make m-money. I’ll offer them a m-mayor who d-doesn’t take kickbacks for st-steering city b-business to his f-f-friends.”

“You think that’s what they want?”

“I-I do.”

The other man shook his head. “I think what the voters want is a mayor who can deliver—deliver goods, deliver services, deliver the kind of life they expect to live in this town.” He slapped his hand against Adam’s table as he straightened up. “Not to mention deliver a speech they have half a prayer of understanding. Enjoy your dinner, DeVries.”

Whoever had come in with L.T. enjoyed the joke. They were still laughing when Charlie Brannon rounded the counter at the front of the diner with Adam’s plate in one beefy hand. The ex-marine set the meal on the table and gave Adam’s shoulder a squeeze. He stopped for a second at the door, then made his way with his habitual limp to the table on the other side of the room. The group quieted down in preparation for placing their orders.

“I’ll have—” L.T. started.

“Sorry, folks. We’re closed.” Charlie’s tone was polite, even casual.

“What do you mean? It’s barely six o’clock. You can’t be closed.” Adam didn’t turn to watch, but he heard L.T.’s indignation.

“It’s my place, I can close any damn time I want to.”

“What’s the problem, Charlie?” L.T.’s voice took on a wheedling tone. “We came in for some of your good home-style cooking. Just like DeVries over there.”

“If you had half the brains or the manners of the man over there, I’d be serving you dinner. But you don’t, and I’m not. We’re closed until further notice. You want something to eat tonight, you’ll get it someplace else.”

Adam could hear the group shuffle to their feet, hear them muttering as they headed out the door. Just behind him, L.T. made his last stand. “You’ll regret this, Brannon. I’ve got friends in the inspection department. I’m gonna bring them down on you like a plague of locusts.”

Charlie let loose with his booming laugh. “You think you’re the only guy with friends in this town? The only one with influence? You try putting me out of business, LaRue, and I’ll have your butt on hot bricks so fast you’ll wish you’d never opened your mouth. Now get out. We’re closed.”

LaRue slammed the door behind him. Charlie caught the bell to stop the noise and drew the blinds against the Closed sign. Then he returned to Adam’s table. “You better eat before it gets cold.”

“Th-thanks, Ch-Charlie. B-but I h-hate you t-t-to l-lose business b-b-because of me.”

“I won’t.” He grinned. “We’ll open up again in a little while. I just wanted LaRue off the property. He’s always been scum and I put up with it for Kate’s sake. She’s doing good now, so I’m thinking I don’t have to tolerate that jerk anymore.” Turning, he headed back toward the kitchen. “Abby baked coconut cream pie last night. I’ll bring you a piece.”

Adam didn’t protest. Instead, he finished the plate of chicken and vegetables, asked for seconds on rolls and enjoyed every bite of his pie. Once he announced his campaign, he’d have to get used to being accosted in public places, by supporters and opponents alike. He’d always kept a low profile, stayed in the background even when his family received attention for some charity event of his mother’s or a hospital function concerning his dad. Now he’d called down the spotlight on himself. His stuttering had better improve, and fast. Or he would, as his mother predicted, look like a fool.