LITMIR.BIZ

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who’s in charge here,” she said. “I’m the therapist. I say when the session ends.”

      “Ph-Phoeb-be.” He dropped his chin to his chest for a second. “I c-can’t even s-say your n-name. L-l-let it g-g-go f-f-for to-night.”

      She softened her grip. “You c-can’t leave d-def-feated.”

      Brows drawn together, he glared at her. “You w-wouldn’t t-t-taunt me. You s-stutter?”

      Phoebe nodded, gazing into his face, waiting.

      “H-how d-did you st-stop?”

      “I d-didn’t, as you c-can hear.” She drew a deep breath. “I’ve l-learned ways to minimize the problem.”

      He took her free hand in his. “T-tell me.”

      “Breathing, as you’ve practiced. Soft consonants.”

      “Th-that’s it?”

      “No.” She looked past him to the pasture where the horses swished their tails at flies and bent graceful necks to nip at sprigs of new grass. “I live the life I want, with as little stress as I can arrange. I make my own decisions, regardless of other people’s expectations. I stay calm and happy.”

      “C-calm and h-h-happy.”

      “Pretty much.” His expression was skeptical. “Stuttering is a response, Adam, a way to deal with some person or event in your life. You used it long enough to form a habit you haven’t been able to break. My job is to help you find ways to break that habit. Those are the ways I found to break mine.”

      He tensed, and she waited, hoping he would volunteer the details of when and why he had started stuttering. But the silence stretched, and she accepted that he wasn’t prepared to share his secret.

      “So.” Phoebe realized that she still held his arm, as he held her hand. She backed up, letting go with reluctance, feeling his fingers holding on to hers.

      And then the dogs went wild. They leapt to their feet and filled the night air with noise—Gally’s frantic barks, Lance’s excited yelps, Gawain’s deep bay. Like hounds of hell, they dashed down the drive.

      Adam stared after them. “Will they g-go out th-the g-g-gate?”

      “I don’t think s-so.” She crouched to go through the pasture fence, no mean feat in a long narrow skirt. “They never have.”

      Adam followed her. “Where are you g-going?”

      “This is a shortcut.” The horses had lifted their heads as the dogs went past, then went back to grazing as Phoebe walked by.

      “You’re barefoot. And the pasture is…”

      She grinned at him over her shoulder. “Grassy. Just watch where you step.”

      They reached the front gate to find it closed, the ends of the chain drawn together with the unfastened lock and the dogs barking wildly as they jumped up and down at the barrier.

      “None of them seems to have the brains to realize they could go through,” Phoebe said, in between pants.

      “S-Somebody has b-b-been h-here.” Adam stood with his hands on his hips, staring at the gate. “I left this open b-b-behind me.”

      “They must have closed it between them and the dogs.”

      “Why were they h-here? Why not c-c-come in? Or why c-come in at all?”

      “This is the country, Adam. I don’t think they meant any harm.”

      He didn’t look convinced. He didn’t look too happy, either, as they walked back up the drive with Gawain and Gally and Lance gamboling around them, chasing sticks Phoebe threw.

      She really wished he liked her dogs.

      Back at the house, Adam took his keys out of his pocket, preparing to leave.

      Phoebe tried again. “Do one thing for me before you go.”

      “What do you n-need?”

      Touching him was a bad idea, so she clasped her hands together. “Come around the truck. That’s right, to the fence.” They stood side by side once again, staring at the horses. “Now, tell me what you see. Slowly, gently, calmly. Describe the scene.”

      He opened his mouth.

      She held up a finger. “Deep breath, first.”

      “Okay.” His shoulders lifted, and he blew out softly. “T-twilight above the trees, p-pink, p-purple, g-gold. P-pines, d-dark green and b-brown, stretching b-between grass and sk-sky. Horses white and b-brown and b-black, colors b-blurring in the gray light, b-beautiful and p-peacef-ful and s-safe.” He looked over at Phoebe. “Are you s-sure you will b-be?”

      She had to draw her mind back from his poetic description. “I’ll be fine. You’ll lock the gate again, the dogs and I will go into the house, and everything will be good until morning.” Again, she had to stop herself from touching him. “I promise.”

      “Okay.” Adam started toward his truck.

      “That was lovely,” she told him as she followed slowly. “You did a good job with your consonants. And the description. That’s what I see when I’m here.”

      He looked around again, and then smiled at her for the first time all evening. “Yeah. I’m b-beginning to understand j-just how that therapy of yours w-works.”

      “I THINK WE’VE COVERED the agenda. Does anyone have questions or comments?” Cynthia DeVries glanced at each member of the fundraising committee, now assembled in her living room. “If not, then we’ll close. Be sure to have another cup of punch and some more dessert before you leave.”

      A collective sigh preceded the polite bustle as most of her listeners returned to the dining room. Cynthia gathered her papers together, rose from her chair and turned to find Kellie Tate, the mayor’s wife, approaching.

      “I knew you must be dying for something to drink. I thought I’d bring you some of that delicious punch.” Kellie offered one of the cut-crystal cups she carried and sipped at the other. “Where did this recipe come from?”

      “Thank you so much, dear.” As the fruit drink soothed her dry throat, Cynthia felt the tension that had been holding her up through the meeting begin to drain. She hoped everyone would leave soon. “My mother got it from one of her bridesmaids. We served it at my wedding to Preston.”

      “Heirloom recipes are the best, aren’t they?”

      “That’s quite often true.” Moving nearer the front door, to be on hand when the ladies began to leave, she waited for Kellie to come to her point.

      Most of the guests were gone, however, before she stated her business. “You know, Mrs. DeVries, quite a few people were surprised to hear that your son has decided to run for mayor.”

      Herself among them. Cynthia called up a thin smile. “I imagine they were.”

      “Curtis feels like he’s done his very best for the citizens of New Skye. After running unopposed for four terms, he’s…well, he’s hurt, if you want to know the truth, that Adam wants to challenge his fitness to be mayor.”

      “I can see how that would seem like a personal slight.”

      “I know you must have a great deal of influence with your sons, Mrs. DeVries. Surely they know how fortunate they are to have such a respected and admired woman as their mother.”

      Through sheer willpower, Cynthia managed not to roll her eyes. “Kellie, dear, I’m not sure what you and Curtis think I could do to change Adam’s mind. I can give him my advice, but I can’t force him to resign from the race.” A fact amply demonstrated by his tantrum on Sunday.

      “Oh, of course not.” The younger woman waved the idea away. “Curtis was just reflecting on how much the Botanical

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