A Man of Influence (2 page)

And didn't that bring a smile to his face?

According to his research, Harmony Valley had nearly been a ghost town until a winery begun by dot-com millionaires had breathed life into it. A winery founded by wealthy bachelors in the middle of nowhere? Now, there was a story. The “why” behind it intrigued Chad. What did this small town have which made it special to three single men? The buzz was the town may be barely breathing, but it abounded with quirky traditions it was loath to give up.

So here he was in Harmony Valley for the Harvest Festival, hoping he wasn't too late and could beat the
Lampoon
to the story. He'd landed on a new name for his column and had the Happy Bachelor Takes a Different Path website all set up with content loaded from his experiences in Portland and Seattle. All he needed to do was press publish. But first, he needed a strong lead article. Something that set this phase of his travel life apart from the previous thirteen years.

Yep, here he was in Harmony Valley, the smallest small town he'd ever seen, looking for a unique experience for bachelors. Only problem was: he didn't write about small towns. He wrote about hip and happening urban locations that hip and happening urban bachelors wanted to visit.

This was...

Shades of his elderly parents.

Harmony Valley might just as well have been a retirement community. He'd seen a few people walking around—all white-haired, wrinkled or balding. He'd driven a circuit of the downtown blocks a time or two—there were only a few each way. There were more empty buildings than businesses. And this was the only bakery.

He glanced around. Where was the local sheriff? Where were the local trades? Where were the moms coming in to get a morning dose of caffeine after dropping off their kids at school? Where were the singles setting up shop for an hour or two to get work done and perhaps meet someone?

They were all conspicuously absent.

Still, Chad soaked in the ambience that was Martin's Bakery. In a way, it had the hidden-treasure vibe his
Lampoon
readers appreciated. A window seat with a deep cushion and pillows, a collection of tables and mis-matched wooden chairs that looked as if they'd been here for a century. The yellowed photos of bakery workers hanging on the wall seemed to prove that point. Dark brown beadboard trim was capped with a chair railing on the side wall. Three bakery cases made an L shape in the space. A large chalkboard hung on the wall behind the register. The daily special: pumpkin scones. And the coffee... Chad breathed in deeply. The coffee smelled rich and fresh, as if it had just been ground for him.

So maybe the people weren't hip. Gray and white hair, walkers and canes, polyester pants and orthopedic sneakers. At least they looked healthy. And maybe they weren't happening in the where-it's-at sense. The two old men reset their checkerboard instead of an online game. But they had a certain spunk. He just wasn't sure what Harmony Valley offered made for a good first column to launch his online travel magazine.

Chad claimed a table next to the old woman quilting in the window seat. There was a crib beside her with a cooing baby. She had the air of a talker, and Chad needed details to decide if this story was worthwhile. There was still time to drive to San Francisco for the Union Street Wine Walk or Monterey for a celebrity golf event.

The old woman's hair was an unusual color, a purplish-gray more suited to the alternative scene in Soho than a remote corner of Sonoma County. She wore bright pastels—pink, yellow, lime green. The kind of colors he associated with spring. Her complexion was free of age spots and had a healthy pink glow.

She glanced at him over the edge of her black-rimmed readers, much like a chaperone making sure he behaved at a middle school dance. “We don't get too many drop-ins this far out from the highway, especially not writers.”

“I'm looking for undiscovered gems.” Rare, those gems. And the places that weren't jewels? The dud locations he'd written about in the past were among his most popular columns at
Bostwick Lampoon
. Currently, the town was more dud than diamond, which cheered him up.

“We've always been a gem.” The old woman stared at him, as if they were playing a game of who would blink first. “The winery is changing things here.”

“For the better?” A sly opening in case she didn't want Harmony Valley to change.

“Yes.” She gazed down at the baby, who gripped his toes and crooned softly. “Before the winery came to town, I'd never seen a baby born. And I'd never imagined such a beautiful creature would be the result of the horrors of childbirth.”

Chad opened his mouth to reply, but said nothing. Was the baby hers? She had to be staring down eighty. His parents had had Chad in their fifties—late, but not this late. The old woman should have thought this through. Parents needed to be young enough to keep up with their kids.

She didn't notice his doubt. “I mean giving birth... The pain and the bl—”

“Eunice.”
Tracy delivered Chad's order with a warning for his talkative neighbor. Her shoulder-length blond hair was just-out-of-bed tousled. Her bright blue eyes reflected both intelligence and vulnerability. “We agreed. Childbirth details. Are not. Bakery. Appropriate.” Tracy blew out a breath and turned to Chad, avoiding eye contact by looking at his shoulder. “Anything else?”

He brushed at the cap of his sleeve and whatever it was Tracy saw there. “No, thanks.” He was grateful she'd saved him from the details of childbirth no bachelor wanted to hear. “Is the baby yours?” Because despite it being medically possible for it to be Eunice's, he sincerely hoped—for the child's sake—it wasn't.

“The Poop Monster?” Hands up, Tracy backed away. “No.”

“Gregory is Jessica's. She's the owner here. I'm his godmother.” The pride in the old woman's voice was unmistakable. “Isn't he the most perfect baby you've ever seen?”

Chad leaned in for a closer look. Gregory paused in playing with his feet to stare back. He must have decided Chad passed muster, because he gave him a drooly smile that plumped up his already chubby cheeks. As babies went, the Poop Monster was cute and practically the only town citizen not to run at the sight of him.

Gregory kicked his feet and made a sound like a small motorboat.

“He likes you.” Eunice's gaze turned to Chad and speculation. “Do you like babies? Are you married?”

“Eunice!”
Tracy froze mid-turn. She had tentative curves, as if she'd recently gained or lost weight and couldn't decide if she was going to gain or lose more.

“I don't mind questions.” Questions led to conversation. Chad liked to get the measure of a town. But he couldn't seem to get a bead on Harmony Valley. Or Tracy.

“Good.” Eunice removed her glasses and deposited them on her head, fluffing her purplish curls into place around them. “Men always ask about jobs. We women need more important information. Where are you from?”

“San Francisco.” Who knew for how long. The penthouse he'd shared with his dad, once filled with hospital equipment and round-the-clock nurses, seemed more like a mausoleum than a home.

“Welcome to Harmony Valley.” Eunice leaned forward, opening her eyes wide and blinking slowly in a way that was oddly hypnotic. “Are you or have you ever been married?”

“No.”
Wait a minute
. Chad sat back in his chair. He was always looking for an angle on a story, asking personal questions in a way that didn't intimidate, not the other way around. “How'd you do that?”

“It's my eyes.” Eunice blinked them in rapid succession. “They're violet, just like Elizabeth Taylor's. I've been told they have special powers.”

Shades of retired superheroes. Chad almost laughed. Almost, because her stare had worked on him.

“It's the shock.” Tracy picked up a rag and spray cleaner, along with a gray tub for dirty dishes. “Of all that purple.”

Eunice harrumphed, as if used to Tracy's teasing, and then fluffed her hair again. “Where is Jessica? She promised to try one of my mother's recipes. I don't see Horseradish-Doodles in the case.” She stood, smoothing her pink polyester pants and setting the orange and navy quilt pieces aside, and then she marched toward the kitchen with a sly half glance at Chad. “Watch Gregory for me, will you?”

“Let's pray...” Tracy's back was to Chad as she cleared a table in the corner. “That we never sell Horseradish-Doodles.”

“Horseradish-Doodles.” Chad had traveled all over the world. To the dirtiest dives and the most luxurious five-star establishments. He'd never heard of Horseradish-Doodles. “Is that a salty snack or a cookie?”

“Who knows?” Tracy shuddered.

Chad made a mental note to include Eunice and her Horseradish-Doodles in his piece.

In the playpen, the baby's kicks became more violent. He gave a little shout.

“Gregory wants you to pick him up.” Tracy didn't turn around.

“I'm not sure that's wise.” Chad didn't do babies. He'd heard there was a trick to it—picking them up, holding them, changing their diapers.

The old men playing checkers chuckled.

“Ah.” Tracy turned and stared at Chad's shoulder once more. “You're one of
those
bachelors.”

Intrigued as to how she'd lump him, Chad pretended ignorance by taking a sip of his latte.

“You're afraid babies are contagious.” Tracy's smile. It was honest and mischievous. It hit Chad in the gut, warming him quicker than his latte.

Gregory shouted louder. Chad ignored him, trying to dissect the appeal of Tracy's smile. He liked women with sophistication and polish. Tracy didn't wear any makeup. Her black A-line apron wasn't sophisticated. She was as simple and homey as the town seemed to be.

Seemed?
Nothing was as it seemed in Harmony Valley.

Someone called for Tracy in the kitchen.

“Go on. Pick him up.” Tracy carried her loaded tray toward the swinging kitchen door. “He won't break.”

“You're leaving him with me?” Chad could be a kidnapper or a child molester. He could grab the kid and be out the door before the checkers champs could say,
“King me.”

“Thirty seconds.” Tracy disappeared through the swinging kitchen door. He couldn't be sure, but he thought she'd been grinning.

Gregory shrieked, a test run to a full-blown tantrum, for sure.

The old men chuckled some more. Feminine laughter cascaded from the kitchen. These people didn't think he could do this.

Chad could pick up the kid. He could change a diaper. He'd changed them for his father. He'd changed so many he'd vowed never to change a diaper again.

He bent over the edge of the crib, getting a more pungent whiff of the Poop Monster. “You don't want me, kid.”

Gregory grinned and drooled. But when Chad didn't pick him up, he kicked out again, blinked like Eunice and then shrieked.

Chad felt as if he was being studied, tested and stalked. By a baby. Not to mention the women in the kitchen.

Gregory gave another shriek, and then his lower lip began to tremble and his eyes to water.

“Don't do that.” Chad reached for the kid. “They'll think I'm torturing you.”

Before his hands reached Gregory, the kitchen door swung open. A woman with an olive complexion and a thick, dark ponytail hurried toward the crib. “Eunice, Gregory isn't a meter you use to measure a man. I'm so sorry.” She swept Gregory into her arms and spun him around. “Hello, baby mine.”

Gregory rewarded his mother with a round of giggles that eased the tension in Chad despite the awful smell coming from the kid's pants.

Eunice returned to the window seat and tsked. “I had such high hopes for you, Chad.”

CHAPTER TWO

“Y
OU
WANT
ME
to ask Leona if that travel writer can spend the night with her?” In the barber shop, Phil Lambridge was beside himself with jealousy. He paced. He paused. He sounded as if he might cry. “Alone? Unchaperoned?”

Mildred clenched her remaining molars together so she wouldn't shout. Phil was a traditional man. He was still in love with his ex-wife twenty years after she'd divorced him. Mildred wanted to tell Phil to get over it and take one for the Harmony Valley team, to man up and do the right thing. But what good would it do? Phil would still be jealous and still walk on egg shells around Leona.

Rose flitted about the narrow shop. “We need a hotel room for that travel writer. Your granddaughters are going to open a bed & breakfast in Leona's house anyway come spring.”

Agnes sat in one red barbershop chair, nodding in agreement. Larry sat in the other red chair, nodding in agreement. Mildred sat on her walker just inside the front window watching Phil angst and pace. Phil was a tall, gangly man with limbs that moved with marionette uncertainty. He was just so...so...ridiculously endearing.

“You know how Leona is,” Phil said. Given her vision challenges, Mildred could only see his sharp nose and chin. Both stuck out stubbornly. “Until those girls sign on the dotted line, that home is Leona's castle.”

Everyone knew how Leona was. Bitter. Caustic. Penny-pinching. She gave no charity and expected none in return. But she lived in what had once been a mansion in Harmony Valley. She kept up the hundred-year-old Victorian like a showplace. It was their only chance to impress upon the travel writer that Harmony Valley was a good tourist destination.

“You ask her, Agnes.” Phil was a cream puff. It was why Leona had kicked him out two decades ago. She needed a strong man to stand up to her.

Mildred didn't need a man. But she wanted one. And for some unknown reason, her heart was set on wanting Phil. For the life of her, Mildred couldn't figure it out. She'd been a race car driver back when men would do anything to keep women off the track. She'd been independent forever. Why did Phil and his gentle ways make her feel as if she was forty again?

“It's settled then. The town council will make the request.” Mayor Larry could also be filed under “Non-Confrontational Man.” He wouldn't risk alienating Leona, because she still voted. “Do what you have to, ladies. Phil and I will go back to the bakery and entertain our guest until you come up with a workable solution.”

Phil moaned.

A few minutes later, Agnes parked her late model, faded green Buick in front of Leona's home.

Mildred got out using the door for support, waiting for Agnes to bring her walker from the trunk. “This is going to be a waste of time.”

“Not necessarily,” Agnes said. “It's a beautiful home and she doesn't get to show it off very often.”

“It's not as pretty as mine.” Rose had a much smaller painted lady, and a history of arguing with anyone who'd listen that hers was superior.

Even with her glasses, Mildred couldn't see the details on the Victorian, so she couldn't judge. In her eyes, Leona's home was a green hulk with white trim that towered over the back fence of Mildred's small Craftsman-style home. In forty years of being neighbors, she'd heard Leona's caustic laugh over that fence. She'd heard her sing off-key as she gardened. She'd also heard some searing arguments between Leona and Phil before their official break-up. She'd always be Team Phil.

“How many steps are there?” Mildred's annoyance increased. Growing old was a pain in the tuckus. Back in the day, Mildred would have skipped up the steps the same as Rose was doing now.

Of course, Rose had sundowning syndrome, which meant when she got tired, she got loopy. Mildred had all her marbles. The macular degeneration was stealing her vision and a car crash decades ago had weakened her knees. But Mildred would take her marbles any day of the week.

Agnes carried Mildred's walker up the steps in one hand, holding on to Mildred's arm with the other.

Leona opened the front door and stared them down. “Well, if it isn't the town council.”

Mildred didn't need to see details to recognize Leona's salt-and-pepper hair in its usual tight beehive. She wore a blue dress—and heels, from the sound of her feet on hardwood—and probably had her mother's pearl choker around her neck. There was no way Mildred was wearing a skirt and heels just to hang around the house. Did the woman never let her hair down?

“Leona.” Agnes had the unique talent of putting both sweetness and authority into her tone. “We've come to ask a favor.”

“I will
not
contribute to the Harvest Festival bake sale.”

It was hard to imagine soft-hearted Phil being in love with this dragon. She hadn't even invited them in. And Mildred was standing in the brisk morning air with her walker!

“That's not the favor.” Agnes should have been mayor. There was both respect and determination in her words. Of course, she wasn't in love with Phil, so she probably had more patience for Leona than Mildred did. “May we come in?”

“If you must, but wipe your feet. I just did the floors.”

Mildred navigated carefully over the threshold, wishing it'd been raining and she'd rolled her walker through the mud. Leona brought out the most uncharitable thoughts in Mildred. Her mother wouldn't have approved. Of course, her mother hadn't approved of Mildred racing either.

Leona's house smelled of furniture polish and disinfectant, sterile and off-putting, like the owner herself.

While Mildred sat in her walker, Rose perched on a black leather wingback chair nearby, unhappiness radiating from them both, like sulky children banished to the basement.

“There's a travel writer in town.” Agnes shared the antique pink velvet loveseat across the room with Leona. What she didn't share was Leona's sour attitude. “You know how important getting the word out about Harmony Valley is.” If they didn't attract young people to town, Harmony Valley would die with its aging citizens.

“It's important to some.” Snooty. Leona was snooty. If they'd been in a car race together back in the day, Mildred would have given her a bump and sent her into the wall. “As soon as my granddaughters make me an acceptable formal offer and turn this into a bed & breakfast, I'm retiring to the city.”

Good riddance.

“The thing is, Leona...” Once again, Agnes' calm voice filled the room. “We need a bed & breakfast for this man now. Today.”

“Until after the Harvest Festival,” Rose clarified, sounding glum.

“You expect me to take in a strange man?”

Mildred nodded. She couldn't tell if anyone else did.

“You expect me to cook breakfast and clean up after a man who isn't my husband?” Leona sounded horrified.

Mildred nodded again, trying hard not to smile. Was it wrong to hope the travel writer was a serial killer? A grin escaped, because she knew it was wrong and highly unlikely. Mildred revised her hopes from serial killer to him being someone who talked loudly all the time on his cell phone. She hated that.

“We also expect you to charge him for his stay,” Agnes pointed out.

“Nine nights, I figure,” Rose said gloomily.

It was the first time Mildred could remember Leona being speechless.

* * *

T
HINGS
HAD
SETTLED
down since the baby test.

Jessica had taken Gregory into the kitchen alcove for his mid-morning feeding. Eunice was sewing in the window seat. The checkers match was still going on. And Chad was busy tapping away on his phone, no longer interested in Tracy's existence.

Tracy condensed inventory in the bakery case, content with the silence and the lack of male attention. She was becoming good at being invisible.

The mayor and Phil returned.

Phil looked pale and more unsteady on his feet than usual. “You didn't wait for me, Felix?” He pulled up a chair to the checkers match.

“Checkers wait for no man,” Felix said, absently brushing cat hair off his black T-shirt. He rescued cats and never showed up anywhere without a sprinkling of hair on his shirt.

Mayor Larry claimed a seat at Chad's table and introduced himself again. “Who do you write for, Chad?”

“I'm launching my own online travel magazine.” There was a hard note to Chad's voice that contradicted his easy smile. “Until recently, I was editor-in-chief for a national magazine and sometimes I wrote for a couple of national papers.”

Several heads swiveled in Chad's direction. If Felix's sage nodding was any indication, the mention of a couple of national newspapers had earned Chad some of the points he'd lost by not picking up Gregory.

Meanwhile, Tracy's stomach did a barrel roll. Chad was handsome. He was successful. He had a shiny red sports car parked out front. She bet he'd never been phased out of a job. She bet everything he'd ever wanted had been within his reach. She bet that's what she used to look like to the world—attractive, successful, on top of the corporate food chain. And now...

She gripped the hem of her canvas apron. She'd been back home since spring and had only made halfhearted attempts to land jobs in her field, most of which had ended with stilted telephone screening interviews and form rejection letters. Was she ready to get back out there and be rejected?

No. The bakery case glass needed cleaning.

Soon “out there” might be here in Harmony Valley, which would be fantastic for the town and her brother, Will, who'd risked a lot of money investing in the winery.

Mayor Larry straightened his tie-dyed T-shirt, nearly beside himself with the excitement of a national newspaper contributor in their midst. “Once you get settled, we'll take you on a long tour of the town and the surrounding sights, and give you some local history.” He embellished the upcoming experience. There wasn't enough to see or hear about Harmony Valley for it to be a long tour. “We'll also arrange for some time at the winery and a private wine tasting.”

Tracy tugged her cell phone out of her back pocket and searched for Chad Healy. Results came up right away—not as Chad Healy, but as Chad Healy Bostwick, the Happy Bachelor On the Road. He'd authored a long list of columns. He'd worked his way up the ranks at the spoof magazine his father had started to become editor-in-chief and acting CEO, parting ways after his father's death.

She skimmed some of his articles. His posts were well-crafted. Chad had a gift for a clever turn of phrase. A theme emerged. Sarcasm, satire, ridicule. Not surprising, given the title of his column and that he'd written for the
Bostwick Lampoon
. No place seemed safe from Chad's scathing commentary. Harmony Valley was a sitting duck.

Chad. Handsome, witty, nationally syndicated newspaper–worthy Chad. He hadn't come to rescue them. He could incinerate the town's revitalization efforts with a few strokes on his keyboard, ruining Will's winery in the process.

Who could she tell? Will was on his honeymoon.

“Larry?” Tracy forced a smile. “Can I talk to you?” She gestured toward the kitchen. “Alone?”
Before you invite Benedict Arnold into our midst?

“Not now, Tracy.” The mayor waved her off, and then thought better of it. “Tracy, can you call the winery and make arrangements for Chad to have a private tasting?” Mayor Larry used his politician's voice—equal parts self-importance and condescendence. “Tracy's brother owns Harmony Valley Vineyards.”

“Part-owner.” Along with his friends Flynn and Slade. But Tracy wasn't calling anyone until she sent out the SOS to the mayor. She tried again, adding a hand wave. “Larry...”

“I'll have another coffee, Tracy,” Larry said firmly. “Bring Chad another...latte, was it?”

Chad nodded.

Tracy shouldn't care that Mayor Larry was digging a hole for himself. She shouldn't care that Chad would take whatever the innocent folk in Harmony Valley said and twist it around to make him look clever. She shouldn't care that he'd make fun of her hometown traditions, like pumpkin bowling for the harvest queen crown. They were silly traditions.

But she did care.

Harmony Valley may be off the beaten trail, old-school and homey, but it was Tracy's trail. Her old-school. Her home.

She planted her sneakers firmly behind the counter and glared at the enemy as she made his latte, because she knew Mayor Larry wouldn't listen to her. Not when convincing required quick, smoothly spoken words.

A coffee and a latte later, Agnes, Rose and Mildred entered the bakery.

“Good news.” Agnes was all smiles. “We've secured our visitor a room at the Lambridge Bed & Breakfast. Welcome to Harmony Valley.”

Who said Harmony Valley wasn't progressive? Just this morning there'd been no B&B in town.

Wait a minute.
Lambridge
? Tracy glanced at Phil. That meant...

Eunice's penciled-in eyebrows rose, as if she was just catching on, too. “But—”

“Leona Lambridge is the proprietor,” Agnes cut Eunice off, looking as calm as if she lied through her teeth every day of the week.

Leona Lambridge was also the town killjoy. She'd never bowled for the pumpkin queen crown. She didn't even hand out candy on Halloween!

Maybe not such a good idea to book Mr. Sarcastic there. “Hey...uh... Agnes...”

Agnes paid no heed to Tracy either. “She's expecting you,” Agnes said to Chad. She proceeded to introduce Chad to everyone in the bakery.

“Are there other hotel choices in town?” That tone of voice. It said Chad was suspicious. It said he'd love for something hinkie to be going on.

Was it wrong to think Chad's intelligence was hot when he was the villain here? Probably about as wrong as Tracy thinking she might actually help save the town.