The Last Honest Man by Lynnette Kent

Author:Lynnette Kent [Kent, Lynnette]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin Enterprises
Published: 2012-03-15T00:00:00+00:00

PHOEBE MET HER FRIEND and farrier Jacquie Archer for breakfast at the diner Monday morning. “I hate to ask you for another favor….”

Her friend grinned. “But…”

“Can you feed the horses for me tonight? By the time I finish at the office, I won’t have time to run out, get all hot and sweaty, then clean up and come back into town.”

“No problem. Erin and I love to visit with your bunch, don’t we, sweetie?”

“Yep.” At thirteen, Jacquie’s daughter Erin was still an elf of a girl, with dark hair and eyes and a pixie face. She loved to ride and stuck like a burr to the back of the flightiest horse. Even Cristal couldn’t dislodge Erin Archer.

“Thanks so much. Be sure to let me return the favor.”

“I will.” Jacquie flipped her long blond braid behind her shoulder and took a sip of coffee. “So, is this a date you’ve got scheduled? You and your fiancé slipping off for a romantic evening together?”

“Oh, of course.” Phoebe had trusted Jacquie with the truth about her engagement to Adam, knowing it would go no further. “I only wish. I’m going to his mother’s house tonight for a meeting of the Stargazer Fundraiser committee.”

“Say again?”

She explained about the dinner dance. “Mrs. DeVries didn’t leave me much room to say no. And I really don’t mind, except that I have a feeling it’s going to be an opportunity to put me in my place.”

“A woman’s place is on a horse,” Erin commented.

Phoebe sighed. “I wish that’s where I could be tonight.”

Instead, she spent quite a lot of time in the bathroom after work, twisting her hair into a smooth chignon, cleaning her face and reapplying all her makeup. She wore one of her favorite dresses, a high-waisted black floral print in soft cotton, with long sleeves and a hem that nearly reached the floor. A silver and black crystal necklace filled in above the neckline, and she wore dangling earrings to match. The ensemble gave her confidence.

Until, that is, Cynthia DeVries opened the door to her home and Phoebe got a glimpse of the women inside. There appeared to be a uniform dress code—khaki slacks or skirt, oxford-cloth shirt or a knit sweater set, and some kind of leather slide shoe on feet obviously tanned at the beach. Gold jewelry and diamonds glinted in ears, on fingers, at the base of the throat. Hair was shoulder length at the longest, shiny and dark or expertly tinted in shades of honey, gold and silver. Phoebe suddenly felt like a country mouse—completely out of her element, a sensation she hadn’t experienced since she left Atlanta.

She took a deep breath as she crossed the threshold. What a long evening this would be.

Fortunately, there were friendly faces in the crowd. Across the living room, Kate Bowdrey stood with her sister Mary Rose Mitchell and Kate’s soon-to-be grandmother-in-law, Miss Daisy Crawford. Grateful that someone else had claimed Cynthia DeVries’s attention, Phoebe made her way to her friends.

“I’m so glad to see you.

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