A Man of Influence (17 page)

“It...would have to wait until I finished work.” Tracy would prefer his pie to squirrel jerky. “Did...your dad come up with that recipe, too?”

“Oh, no.” He reached for a picture on a shelf in the china cabinet. Based on the grainy quality and yellowed paper, it appeared to have been taken around the same time as some of the old photos hanging at the bakery. “That was my great-grandmother. She was an American Indian. The only thing I remember about her was her cooking on the fire pit in back. We've had a fire pit long before they were ever considered trendy by you young folk.”

Tracy peered at the faded and out-of-focus picture. His grandmother was small and stood next to a big fire pit. The landscape was blanketed with snow. “Jessica would love to have these recipes for her blog. Why don't you bring them down tomorrow?”

Rutgar's eyes shifted and his feet shifted. He looked frazzled. “I don't come down much anymore.”

“Everyone's noticed. They miss you.” She patted his arm. “And coffee's on the house.”

Rutgar's gaze steadied. He stopped fidgeting. And he smiled.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

A
FTER
BEING
SHOWN
the majestic view of the valley from the top of Parish Hill, Chad drove slowly to the bottom, wondering why Tracy was so quiet. “Aren't you going to ask me what my column was about?”

“Nope.” Tracy had her left hand on the door handle and her right elbow on the window sill, riding the wind with her right hand. She was looking to the side of the road.

He wanted her to look at him. He wanted her to renegotiate their deal. If they only had a short time together, he really thought one kiss a day was fair. “I thought I was going to add being shot to my list of Harmony Valley mishaps.”

“Now...you're just being dramatic.” Her lips turned up a bit at the corners. “You haven't had mishaps.”

“I disagree.” He held up his left forefinger, which was black, and pointed to the third eye on his forehead. Then he showed her one of his palms, which had the blood blister streak across it. All a thinly veiled attempt to win her sympathies. “My elbows are black and blue from climbing beneath Nina Valpizzi's kitchen sink. And now I've almost been shot.”

“Unless...you walked on four legs. And had fur or antlers. You were safe with Rutgar.” She did a double take. “You're...not going to write about Rutgar, are you?”

“Why not?” He wasn't, but he enjoyed teasing her.

“Your...readers won't come here and experience Rutgar. He's...not a ride at an amusement park.” Tracy was working herself up into full glower mode, adding circular hand gestures for emphasis.

She was right. “I wouldn't do that to the old man.” Now Leona... She could take it. “Where is the veterans hall?”

“It's near the highway.” She instructed him where to turn. “Once...you make the turn from the highway. You...can either head straight to Main Street. Or...take the north fork toward the eastern side of town.”

He turned onto the fork before they reached the highway. There were large overgrown trees between the hall and the road. Their branches hung far out over the pavement. The wind was picking up again. The trees closer to the building scraped the roof and walls of the hall. Berry vines had grown through open windows. The parking lot was torn up in spots from roots pushing up the asphalt. The beige building looked dingy and unwelcome.

“I...haven't been by here in a long time.” Tracy sounded disappointed.

“For your sake, I hope it's better on the inside.”

Chad glanced through the main double doors. Cobwebs draped the open doorway to the main hall. The floor was layered in dust and dirt.

Tracy unlocked the door. Something scuttled inside. And the smell...

“That's not promising.” Chad grabbed a broom in the corner and brushed the cobwebs in the doorway clear. He followed Tracy through the next set of doors into the main hall.

It was as large as most hotel banquet rooms he'd seen. The lighting was fluorescent and dim. The walls unfinished cinder block. The stage at the far end had moth eaten black velvet curtains.

“Too bad,” Chad said turning toward the exit. “This looks like a bust.”

“That's...what they said about me, I bet...when I first was brought into the hospital. I kind of like lost causes.” She laughed, but it was one of those what-have-I-gotten-myself-into laughs. “Jessica said the wedding is nearly a year away.”

“You'll need more time than that. Might be easier to tear it down and start over.”

“Pessimist.”

He waited on the main walk while Tracy locked up. The blue, bubble-fendered Caddy that had almost run Tracy over the other day sped by.

“There goes what's-her-name.” The scarf tied around her white hair today was red and fluttered behind her like the tail of a kite.

“Lilac.” She shaded her eyes and surveyed the dump once more. “With work. It...could be a charming place for weddings. Indoors or out.” She scanned the overgrown grounds. Across the highway, neat rows of vineyards marched toward the hills. “It...could be a conference center. Or a retreat. Or something.”

Chad shook his head. “You'd need another hotel. More restaurants. A gas station.” He could have added to the list. The point was, Harmony Valley didn't have the infrastructure.

“But it would be cool. Wouldn't it?” She met his gaze squarely for the first time since they'd left Parish Hill. Hers was hopefully naïve. “This place...could become a destination.”

Not in her wildest dreams. It was too remote and lacked too many amenities. “You should concentrate on Jessica's blog.”

“You read it?”

“I did.” Tracy had some skill with the written word. “And the transformation of the old recipe to the new one was brilliant.”

She glowed. “It was my idea. See? You should listen. When I make suggestions. About your column.”

He was listening. She'd taken up residence in his head without an invitation. He didn't know how to get her out. He'd only been able to shut her out for a short while, long enough to write the column for Marty. He was beginning to think he didn't want her to go.

But that was short-term Chad thinking. The Happy Bachelor had to think of the long-term, earning respect, and the bottom line.

* * *

N
INA
V
ALPIZZI
CAME
in to the bakery first thing Wednesday morning. She had on a belted leather jacket and a pair of false eyelashes. If Chad saw her high heels, he'd worry she might tip over and break a bone.

Tracy hadn't seen Chad since they'd inspected veterans hall. They were only friends, after all. That hadn't stopped her from searching the internet for Chad's new site to see if he'd posted the column about Harmony Valley online for his advertisers to see. No dice.

Nina asked to see Jessica. “I was reading the blog this weekend and loved the story about Eunice's mother. So I went back to look at my recipe and remembered a story about my mom.” She hugged Jess across the counter, dousing her in musky cologne. “So fitting after the cemetery run. It's like she's still here.” She ordered a caramel macchiato.

“You're...my one progressive coffee drinker in town.” Tracy tried to inconspicuously rub her cheek where Nina's cologne seemed to linger as she took milk and caramel syrup from the refrigerator. “Almost everyone else takes coffee plain. Or as a latte.”

“My daughter got me hooked on them.” With her midnight hair color, the caterpillar eyelashes didn't look so bad. They distracted from her pale wrinkles. “Can I get that to go?”

“Certainly.”

“I'm driving to Santa Rosa this morning to see my grandbabies perform in a school play.” Nina studied her reflection in the bakery case and tugged down her leather jacket. “Do you think if I bring Jessica another recipe that I might make her blog again?”

“As long as the story is interesting...and Jess can make it up-to-date. I don't see why not.”

Nina glowed. “Give me a dozen chocolate chip cookies to go along with that. The kids will love them.” She glanced around the empty bakery and then leaned on the counter. “What's with you and Chad?”

“Nothing.” Tracy snapped a lid on a to-go cup and then handed Nina the coffee.

“I saw you together at the cemetery run. I think you make a cute couple.” Nina did a little head and shoulder bobble. “Farkle likes him. You should keep him.”

“He's not a stray up for adoption.” And wow, didn't that comeback snap out of her!

Nina waggled a finger with purple polish. “Men don't always realize what they need.”

In Chad's case, there was no arguing with that.

No sooner had Tracy folded the top of the bag on Nina's cookies than Lillian Harrington came in asking for Jessica. She'd washed her hair with uniform gray dye. It hung in a straight bob that only emphasized how long her long face was. She'd run the post office once upon a time. On lazy summer afternoons, her tall figure delivering mail at the end of the drive had signaled a race to the mailbox between Will and Tracy.

“I can only spare a minute,” Jess said when Tracy interrupted her in the kitchen, Lillian on her heels. “I've got pizza bagels in the oven and the timer's ready to go off.”

“I love the new blog. It's like I'm a superstar.” Lillian handed Jess a stack of recipe cards. “See if any of these recipes inspire you and I'll swing by to tell you my story.”

Ever efficient, Jess did a quick perusal of the recipes. “Corned beef and syrup pot pie? Is this a breakfast item?”

Tracy's stomach recoiled. It was a good thing the culinary vision was Jessica's.

“It's better than it sounds.” Lillian's blush added a nice touch of color to her cheeks. “Can I tell you how it came to be?”

The timer went off.

“Why don't you tell Tracy? She's collecting the stories.” Jess smiled to soften her words. “She's a better writer than I am. She'll do the story justice.”

Tracy took that as her cue and led Lillian to the front, producing a notebook and pen from under the counter. “So...corned beef and syrup pot pie?”

Lillian hesitated.

“Can I...get you something while you tell me?” Tracy was getting good at the upsell.

“A nonfat latte and a vanilla scone.” Lillian unzipped her white windbreaker over her white T-shirt and looked down at her white sneakers. “I got that recipe from a pen pal in Ireland... From a man I never met.” There was a wistful note in her voice as she talked about her international friend.

Lillian's story didn't have that spark, but she was willing to delve deeper for the “celebrity” of being on Jessica's blog. Or maybe she wanted to reconnect with an old friend. She promised to write a letter to her pen pal to uncover the origins of the recipe. Before Lillian left, she proved her Harmony Valley roots. “I hear you've got a beau, Tracy. I can't wait to meet him.”

“Technically,” Tracy struggled to keep the sarcasm and hurt from her voice. “He's not mine.” And didn't want to be.

“It can always develop into something more.” Lillian zipped up her white jacket as Rutgar arrived.

The big man gave Tracy scribbled seasoning recipes for winter seeds and his instructions for squirrel jerky. He was probably one of the few people tall enough in Harmony Valley to lean over Lillian's shoulder at the counter. And then he leaned over the bakery case, closer to Tracy, and pointed to Lillian's drink. His booming voice couldn't quite hit a whisper. “What is that?”

“A latte.” Tracy grinned at the idea she was bringing Rutgar into this century. “Coffee in steamed milk.”

“I think I'd like to try one.” He sniffed and checked out the contents of the bakery cases. “Are you cooking pizza?”

“Pizza bagels. Fresh out of the oven. I can get you one.”

“I'll take two.” He surveyed the room. “I like it when it's quiet like this. You can almost hear the wind outside. Speaking of...did you hear the wind last night? It was raging up on the hill.”

“I tend to sleep like the dead,” Tracy said. A hazard of rising at 4 a.m. every day. “Do you mind if I keep your keys another day or so? Jessica and Christine haven't had a chance to see the hall.”

“Take your time. It's a great place.”

Tracy managed a wan smile.

And then the regulars dribbled in. Phil and Felix arguing over who was the better checkers player. Tracy poured them extra large mugs of black coffee. Mayor Larry entered wearing a red-and-purple tie-dyed hoodie. By the time he got to the counter, Tracy had his coffee with two packs of sweetener ready.

“Good to see the business is growing.” The mayor paid and moved to his regular table in the center of the room, waiting for the town council. “So much wind lately. Heard a tree blew down on the highway.”

Flynn's wife, Becca, who worked as a caregiver in town, parked and got out to help Old Man Takata inside. Based on their animated faces and moving mouths, there was a debate going on between them. When they entered, Becca said, “Bran muffin, no croissant.” And then she left.

Tracy saluted, smiling as the old man worked his walker to the counter. “Black coffee and chocolate croissant?”

“You betcha.” He glanced around the room. “No town council?”

“Not yet.” Tracy carried his order to a table near the checkers game.

“They say the wind will die down later today,” Takata said.

The mayor repeated his information on the downed tree on the highway. Lillian wondered how the mail was going to be delivered. And Rutgar surprised them all by sharing that a tree had fallen at the turn to Parish Hill.

It wasn't cosmopolitan or fast paced, but it was friendly. Harmony Valley was a pretty darn good place to be.