A Man Of Influence

“Do you need something, Mr. Healy?” Down on all fours, Leona glanced at him with a balance of cool rejection and regal regard.

That look said it all. He took a picture of her.

Leona got to her feet quicker than a fighter after an unexpected knock-down. “Did you just take my picture?”

“Yes, I—”

“Perverts and pornographers are not tolerated in this establishment.” She gathered her garden tools with jerky movements. “I’ll expect you off the premises immediately.”

“But...I...” He wasn’t sure how he’d offended her with a photo. Was Leona in the witness protection program? Did she believe pictures captured her soul? “I’m a travel writer. I include pictures of hotel clerks and bed & breakfast owners in my columns.”

She waved aside his statement. “Your profession guarantees me nothing. You can’t snap a picture of me bent over...” Her face reddened. “I will not have my...my...derriere—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down.” He brought Leona’s image to his screen and hurried to her side. “Look. I took a picture of your face.” The queen from another century looking down her nose on her progressive subjects.

She scrutinized the photo and then said somewhat meekly—because she could never truly be meek. “Oh.”

“I would never disrespect you in such a way.” And then he added, hiding a grin, “Ma’am.”

She sniffed. “Best you remember that or you’ll find yourself out on the street.”

Harmony Valley was turning out to be gold. Chad couldn’t wait to uncover more gems. He left Leona and headed toward the town square to do some treasure hunting.

* * *

THERE WAS LITTLE more demoralizing than applying for a job you had little chance of getting.

Tracy had a job search app on her phone. She used it to find two new postings for advertising copywriters in Northern California. A few clicks later and her résumé was submitted.

“Two,” she called to her father, who was tinkering under the hood of his old white farm truck.

He wiped oil from a wrench with a blue cloth. “Are you happy? I won’t be happy until you’re happy.”

“I’d rather be painting,” she grumbled, heading up the drive.

Dad slammed the hood shut. “You know I love you just the way you are.”

Of course he did. But lately, he was like her brother, Will—pushing, trying to set goals for Tracy, wanting her to reach higher. Her family didn’t want her to settle for silence.

Truth be told, Tracy didn’t either. If only getting back on track wasn’t so hard.

She reached the end of the driveway and turned toward the Harmony River bridge and town, pausing to pluck a dandelion from the side of the road. She’d been making wishes on dandelions since she was a girl.

A few minutes later, Tracy leaned on the railing of the bridge and watched the water drift past. That shallow river was like her life. At an all time low and moving slow.

How was she supposed to get a job when she couldn’t string a fluent sentence together out loud?

A faded green Buick pulled up next to her. Mildred rolled down the passenger window in front, her thick glasses nearly resting on her plump pink cheeks. Rose slid across the seat in back and cranked down the other window. Her snow white ballerina chignon had not one hair out of place.

“We’re off to the doctor’s office,” Mildred announced. “Agnes wants to know if you need anything in town.”

Agnes leaned over the center console and waved. “Isn’t Chad wonderful?”

“And he’s not wearing a ring,” Rose sing-songed.

They were trying to fix her up with the wolf in sheep’s clothing? “Not interested. Have you read...his column?”

It was their turn to lack interest.

“A hardworking, good-looking man,” Agnes said. “Who needs to read his column?”

“Don’t set the bar too high,” Mildred advised with a kindly squint in Tracy’s direction. “We don’t get many bachelors your age up here.”

“Better snatch him up quickly.” Rose nodded sagely. “You don’t want to be an old maid.”

“I’m twenty-six.” Hardly over the hill. And certainly not stupid enough to fall for a man who made his living writing a bachelor column.

“We could give you dating pointers.” Agnes chuckled, perhaps realizing how ridiculous Tracy might find that statement. Perhaps not.

The three town council ladies drove away.

If Tracy controlled her aphasia, she’d clue everyone in to Chad’s intentions. If Tracy controlled her aphasia, she’d get out of town. And she needed to get out of town or she’d be an old maid. So she needed to control her aphasia.

She’d been twirling the dandelion. She blew its seeds into the wind and began singing softly. And then louder, forcing the words out, which only made her stumble more.

CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_d4b03932-261f-558b-a7f9-c16b4cd95f17)

SOMEONE WAS SINGING the alphabet song. Someone who wasn’t five. Someone who hesitated over the letters.

Recognizing that voice, Chad smiled, quickening his pace as he approached a curve in the road.

She’s not the story.

He ignored the voice that usually guided him to the good stuff.

“Now I know my...ABCs.” There was a pause and then a strangled, “Next time. Won’t you. Sing with me.” Tracy made a frustrated sound and shouted, “Nuts!”

Chad rounded the bend. Tracy was leaning over a rail on a bridge. She had her back to him and gripped the railing as if considering launching herself over it.

“Don’t jump,” he shouted, grinning because he didn’t believe she planned to leap to her doom.

“There is no place...” she hung her head “...private in this town.”

“You could try working on your speech therapy at home.”

“I live above the bakery.” Her cheeks bloomed with color and she shuffled her sneakered feet. She looked as if she wanted to teleport to another dimension. “The walls have ears.”

The bridge was a narrow two-laner with a silver metal railing. It spanned forty feet. Both banks were thick with foliage and trees that created a shady oasis. But in the center of the bridge it was sunny and Tracy’s hair was almost as yellow as the T-shirt beneath her tan jacket.