A Man Of Influence. Melinda Curtis

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СКАЧАТЬ 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.”

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