Читать книгу The Ballad of Dixon Bell - Lynnette Kent - Страница 7

March

Boswell, Colorado

“YOU MAKING TIME with your sweetheart again, Dixie?”

“That ain’t his sweetheart. That’s his baby girl. Right, Dixie?”

Dixon Bell just grinned at the cowboys’ teasing and kept walking at a slow, easy pace toward the three unbroken horses poised along one curve of the corral. The buckskin and the pinto danced away as he got close. The black quarter horse mare knew him, though, and had come to trust him a little. Ears twitching, tail flicking, she watched him approach. She was nervous, sure. But willing to give him a chance.

“Hey, there, gorgeous,” he crooned, coming to a stop by her shoulder. He put a hand on the smooth, warm skin of her neck. “Thanks for waiting for me. How’s it going?”

She turned her head toward him, nosed his arm and chest, then jerked away as the buckskin came near again. Ears drawn flat against her head, eyes wide, the mare warned the other horse off.

“No need to be jealous, sweetheart.” Dixon chuckled as he stroked his palm along her back. “I’ve only got eyes for you.”

Talking quietly, he ran his hands over her ribs, her flanks, her chest, combed his fingers through her jet-black mane. As she calmed, he bent to stroke her legs, lifting each foot in turn, all the time praising her for standing still, for letting him have his way.

Then he straightened up and allowed the halter he’d hooked over his shoulder to drop down to his hand. “Remember this?” He held it under her nose, watched her sniff. “We got this on yesterday. Let’s try again.”

She wasn’t happy about it, but did finally let him slip the soft halter over her nose and ears. Left to run wild in the Colorado hills since her birth two years ago, she hadn’t been trained to accept human restraints. Though she balked when he hooked the lead rope to the halter, the mare eventually consented to be led around the corral without too much fuss…as long as the buckskin kept her distance. This quarter horse wasn’t interested in sharing her man with anybody else.

“She’ll make a good mount,” the ranch foreman commented when Dixon left the corral. “You’re sure taking your time, though. There’s easier, quicker ways to break a horse.”

“I’m not interested in easier and quicker,” Dixon told him. “Usually that means some kind of pain for the animal. I’m content to take things slow, exercise a little patience.”

“Next thing we know, you’ll be hugging trees.” The foreman gave him a friendly punch in the arm as they parted ways. Dixon returned the halter to the barn and headed to the bunkhouse to wash up for dinner. The aroma of grilled meat hung in the dry mountain air, teasing him with visions of steak and potatoes. He’d been up at dawn, heading out to round up cows and calves, and the only food he’d managed all day was a quick sandwich at lunch. Hungry wasn’t a big enough word for the emptiness inside him tonight.

A stop at the mailbox on his way in rewarded him with a letter from home. Dixon delayed the pleasure until he’d changed into a clean shirt and jeans and washed his hands. Then he sat on his bunk to read what his grandmother, Miss Daisy Crawford, had to say.

She wrote, on lavender-scented paper in an old-fashioned, flowing script, of her friends, her neighbors, the civic meetings she went to, the goings-on at church. One of her cats had been sick, some kind of kidney problem, but the vet prescribed a new diet which seemed to be working. The weather had been strange this year—variably cold and hot—so she never knew what to wear when she went out.

Finally, I thought you might want to know that we’ve had something of a scandal here recently. L.T. LaRue—whom I would designate a scalawag, if there were still such a thing—up and left his family a few weeks ago. Moved out of their house and into a love nest with his office secretary, declaring to the world his intention to get a divorce and marry this girl young enough to be his daughter. I taught her in Sunday School just a few years ago; I can’t imagine what could have happened to bring her to such a state.

This domestic tragedy leaves Kate LaRue—she was Kate Bowdrey, as I’m sure you recall—alone to take care of two teenagers. Poor Kate, she’s struggled to put up with that man these ten years, even adopted his children, and look what he’s gone and done to her. Some men just are not to be relied upon.

Dixon read those next-to-last paragraphs several times, then sat staring at his grandmother’s pale-blue stationery without seeing the words written there. His brain had latched onto one important point—Kate Bowdrey LaRue was getting a divorce. That meant she wouldn’t be married anymore. As in single. Unattached. Available.

And that meant the time had come for him to go home.

July

New Skye, North Carolina

WITH A CLAP OF THUNDER, the sky broke open. Raindrops pelted the pavement and windows like bullets. Caught unprotected as she locked her car door, Kate LaRue shrieked and dashed for the nearest cover, which happened to be the green-and-white striped awning of Drew’s Coffee Shop.

She was drenched when she got there, of course, her thin linen top practically transparent, her skirt hanging heavy around her waist. Water squished between her sandals and the soles of her feet.

“What a mess,” she muttered as she pulled her shirt away from her bra, only to have it stick again. Around her, the smell of wet pavement blended with the pungent scent of coffee brewing inside the café. “I’ll have to go back home and change.”

“Beautiful day, don’t you think?” The voice, strangely familiar, came from behind. “There’s nothing like a southern rainstorm to clear the dust out of the air.”

Kate turned to look at the tall, lean man standing with a shoulder propped against the brick wall that framed Drew’s window. “You’re joking, right?”

He had a wide, white grin in a tanned face. “Not at all. After a few years of eating dirt in the west Texas oil fields, I appreciate a good rain.”

“You don’t sound like you’re from Texas.” In fact, he sounded as if he’d lived right here in New Skye, North Carolina, his whole life. She should know him, Kate was sure. But good manners forbade that she just out and ask him what his name was.

“Thank goodness. I’d hate to be identified by my twang.” He straightened up to his full, lanky height. “Would you like to step inside and get a drink? Something to warm you up?”

Holding out his hand, he directed her to the entrance of Drew’s, where she was certain he would open the door for her. Suddenly, just from the way he looked at her, she was equally certain he knew exactly who she was. She studied him for a long moment, searching for a clue in the rich, brown waves of his hair, the glint in his dark eyes, the tilt of his head. When the answer swam up from the depths of her memory, she caught her breath at the impossible rightness of it. “Dixon? Dixon Bell?”

His grin widened. “Took you long enough.” He put his hands on her shoulders and leaned in to kiss her cheek. “I was beginning to think I’d have to show you my driver’s license. How are you, Kate?”

Without thinking, she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tight. “You’ve been gone so long. Welcome home!”

She felt his warm hands through the wet cloth on her back, felt the wall of his chest against her breasts. His shoulders were wide and strong. He smelled of starch and soap. And man.

Another bolt of lightning struck, this one inside Kate.

“My goodness.” Drawing a shaky breath, she dropped back on her heels, letting her arms slide from his shoulders as she stepped away. “I still can’t believe it’s you. How long have you been home?” She pushed her hair off her face, registered how wet it was and knew what a mess she must look.

“Just a few days. I got here at the beginning of the week.” Dixon slipped his hands into the pockets of his slacks and glanced at the shops and businesses around them. “Seems like there have been some pretty big changes. Downtown looks great.”

“It does, doesn’t it? We’re not finished, of course. But I think the restoration and renovation projects are going really well, with no small thanks due to your grandmother. I haven’t seen her for several weeks. How is she?”

“Hard to handle, as always. She mentioned that she’s worked you to death on some of her committees.”

Kate chuckled. “Miss Daisy’s a pistol, that’s for sure. I hope I have half her energy when I’m her age. I think we celebrated her eighty-fourth birthday at the women’s club last month, didn’t we?”

“That’s right. And as far as I can tell, she keeps a cat for each year. I can’t find a chair in the whole house that isn’t occupied by at least one feline.” He hunched his shoulders. “I’m not crazy about cats.”

“She didn’t have so many when you lived with her?” Dixon’s parents had died when he was very young, so he’d grown up in his grandmother’s house.

“One or two at a time—not a whole herd. I guess when I wasn’t here, she collected cats to keep her company.”

“So where have you been all these years? We haven’t seen you since the summer after graduation.”

He shook his head. “To get that story, Ms. Bowdrey, you have to let me buy you coffee.”

She pretended to sigh in resignation, even as she smiled. “If I have to.” But as she crossed the threshold, Kate realized she’d better set things straight. “By the way, it’s LaRue.”

His forehead wrinkled as he stood holding the door open. “I beg your pardon?”

“I’m married.” She walked into the shop ahead of him. “My last name is LaRue.”

Thunder pealed again and Dixon sucked in his breath. Kate’s declaration hit him like a punch to the ribs. Miss Daisy had definitely mentioned a divorce in her letter. They hadn’t talked about Kate since he’d been home—he wasn’t prepared to let anybody in on his plans yet, not even the lady herself. But surely he hadn’t misunderstood. Miss Daisy had said that L.T. LaRue wanted a divorce. Was Kate contesting? Did she intend to stay married to the jerk?

He couldn’t ask her outright, of course. Not a mere fifteen minutes after they’d met for the first time in thirteen years.

Not even though he’d thought of Kate Bowdrey LaRue every single day since their high school graduation.

But today, at last, he could do more than just think about her. He followed her into the shop, taking great pleasure in the sight of her slim figure, a little more revealed than she probably would have liked in those damp clothes. Her long, coffee-dark hair lay heavy on her shoulders with almost too much weight, it seemed, for her graceful neck to support. She appeared fragile, in need of protection. And yet she’d held her family together in the face of her husband’s desertion. His Kate was much stronger than she looked. The thought gave Dixon tremendous satisfaction.

As they sat down at one of the tiny tables with icecream-parlor chairs, he glanced around and took in their surroundings. “Drew’s Coffee Shop is a real change from the newspaper and cigarette stand holding this space when I left. New Skye must be getting seriously up-scale.”

“We like to think we’re coming into our own,” Kate said earnestly, her hazel eyes wide and serious. With her face washed by the rain and her rich curls springing to life around her face, she looked very young, as young as his memories of her. But she was even lovelier than he remembered, which seemed almost impossible. “This hasn’t ever really been the hick town it looked like. We’re trying to adjust the image to reality.”

“I don’t know…I recall going to class with some real yokel types. Remember that guy Elmer? He wore overalls and plaid shirts and bright-yellow work boots to school every day?”

“Elmer Halliday.” Kate nodded. “He sold his daddy’s tobacco farm about ten years ago and bought a chain of convenience stores. He’s one of the richest men in town these days.”

“But does he still wear yellow work boots?”

“No, he wears Italian-knit shirts and custom leather loafers and spends a lot of time on the golf course at the country club.”

Mouth agape, Dixon dropped back against his chair. “They let Elmer into the country club?”

“Well, his family can trace their roots in the area to the War Between the States. And all that money…” She shrugged. “There’s a lot of new blood coming into town. Nobody can afford to be a snob these days.”

“Hey, Kate, how are you?” As if to prove the truth of her words, a woman with blue, buzz-cut hair and a row of silver rings curling around the rim of each ear stood beside them. “Nasty storm, isn’t it? What can I get you two?”

“Hi, Daphne.” Kate tucked the laminated menu into its metal holder. “I’ll have a mocha latte with whipped cream and cinnamon.”

The waitress didn’t have to switch her attention to Dixon—she’d been staring at him since she arrived at the table. “And for you, gorgeous?”

Dixon grinned and gave her a wink. “How about a double regular coffee?”

“I knew you were the strong silent type. Coming up.”

When Daphne was out of earshot, he turned to Kate. “Definitely new blood.”

Smiling, she shook her head. “So what have you been doing all this time, Mr. Bell? Where did you go when you left home?”

“Well, let’s see…I hitched a ride out of town on an empty livestock truck and spent the first night on a picnic table in a state park in Greensboro.”

Her jaw dropped. “You’re not serious.”

“The second day, I rode to Knoxville on an oil truck.”

“And where did you sleep that night?” When he hesitated, she gave him a stern look. “I don’t want the censored version.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He sketched a salute, though he was a little surprised at her forthrightness. The Kate Bowdrey he remembered had been vitally concerned with appearances and propriety. “A very nice woman took pity on me as I stood on a downtown corner in the pouring rain and she let me sleep on the couch in her apartment.”

“‘A very nice woman?’ Does that mean prostitute?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“You must have been so excited.”

Dixon gave a hoot of laughter. “How would you know that?”

“I have a teenage son. I can imagine how he and his friends would react.” She grinned mischievously. “How long did you stay in Knoxville?”

There would be no fooling Mrs. LaRue, would there? “A few months. I got a job playing guitar in a bar, but the bar changed management, and music styles. Then my…roommate…and I had a disagreement and I decided to move on. At least this time I had a car, so I headed west on I–40 toward Nashville.”

Daphne brought their drinks. She stood close enough that her hip brushed Dixon’s shoulder as she set down the mugs. “Anything else?” There was no mistaking the message underlying her simple question.

“Don’t think so,” Dixon said without emphasis. Daphne pouted all the way back to the serving counter.

Kate’s eyes twinkled as she sipped her latte. “That was quite adept of you.”

Dixon shrugged. “She’s nice enough, but my hair’s longer than hers. I couldn’t handle it.”

“So what happened in Nashville?”

He took a long draw from his coffee. “Didn’t get there. At least, not right away.”

“Why not?”

“Well, this was a used car, see, and I was a dumb kid. ’Bout as soon as I got it up to seventy miles an hour on the interstate, parts started popping off. I left a fender in Knoxville and a couple of springs in Dobbin, about eight miles west. The muffler dropped off in Timothyville.”

Kate shielded her face with her hand. Her shoulders were shaking.

“Things got loud, then, but I was bound and determined to make Nashville. When the transmission dropped, though, I knew I was done for.”

“Oh, goodness.” She gasped with laughter. “I imagine you might. What did you do?”

“I walked to the nearest town—’bout five miles, I guess. The first gas station I came to had a Help Wanted sign in the window. I didn’t have much money and I had this seriously broken automobile. So—”

“Kate LaRue, I haven’t seen you in weeks!” A willowy blonde wove through the tables, approaching like a ship at full sail. “Where have you been keeping yourself?”

Kate got to her feet to return an enthusiastic hug. “The kids and I spent some time at the beach after Mary Rose’s wedding. How are you, Jessica?”

“I’m just fine, except for being a bit damp.” Her glance took in Kate’s wrinkled clothes. “You must have gotten caught in the downpour, too.” Dixon thought her smile looked a little spiteful. Then her gaze turned to him and all the spite smoothed away into frank interest. “Hello there. I don’t think we’ve met.”

“Oh, but you have.” Kate put a hand on the blonde’s arm. “Jessica, this is Dixon Bell. Dixon, you remember Jessica Allen? She married Jimmy Hyde, who’s now the district attorney.”

Dixon put out his hand. “Sure, I remember. Good to see you again, Jessica.”

“Dixon Bell?” Her voice went high with surprise, and then she was clutching him around the neck—not nearly the enjoyable experience Kate’s hug had been. Though she was a lovely lady, he felt absolutely no desire to hold Jessica Hyde in return, and he drew back as soon as possible.

“Dixon Bell.” Jessica shook her head, resting her hands on his chest. “I would never have believed it. We wondered about you for simply years. You sit right down and tell me where you’ve been all this time.” She grabbed his wrist with one hand and turned a chair from a nearby table around with the other, then sat down, forcing him to sit, too. As an afterthought, she looked up at Kate. “Sit with us, Kate. I know you must be dying to hear about what Dixon’s been doing.”

Kate stayed standing, and Dixon knew he was doomed. “I most certainly am. But I have a couple of errands I can’t put off any longer. So I’ll let you two talk and I’ll catch up later.”

As she pulled the strap of her purse over her shoulder, Dixon rose to his feet again and moved so that he blocked Kate’s exit. He put a hand on her elbow. “It was great to run into you.” Leaning close, he brushed her soft cheek with his lips and got a whiff of the rose and spice scent that was her perfume. “I’m going to call you,” he promised in a whisper. “Soon.”

When he straightened up, she was staring at him like a startled rabbit. “I—I…” She took a deep breath. “Thank you for the coffee.” As soon as he stepped out of her way, she hurried past him to the door of the shop. Dixon watched through the window as she braved the rain to unlock the door of the green Volvo she’d arrived in. In another second, she was gone.

He took a deep breath of his own and prepared to face the ordeal ahead. “So, Jessica, you and Jimmy are married. Kids?”

She put a hand on his arm as he sat down. “Well, of course. Three boys, all of them playing ball just like you and Jimmy did. But I’m not the one who disappeared for so long. Where have you been?”

“Here and there.” The story lost a lot of its pizzazz with the wrong audience. “Spent some time in Texas…”

KATE SHIVERED in her wet clothes as she came into the air-conditioned house from the steamy warmth outside. The absolute quiet reminded her that she only had an hour before she had to pick Kelsey and Trace up at summer school. In that hour she needed to get to the dry cleaner’s and the hardware and grocery stores. She gasped as she realized she’d completely forgotten to collect the historical society programs from the printer’s next door to Drew’s Coffee Shop, which was why she’d gone downtown to begin with. What had happened to her mind? At two o’clock this afternoon, she’d been sure of completing all her errands on time.

And then Dixon Bell had stepped back into her life.

She couldn’t quite believe he’d reappeared so suddenly, after thirteen years away. But he’d left with the same abruptness. Just a few days after graduation, while the members of their class were still celebrating by staying up late and sleeping until noon, Dixon had stopped showing up for the parties, picnics and get-togethers they’d thrown that summer before college.

No one in town had mentioned him since, not even his grandmother. Kate couldn’t remember anyone who was particularly upset by his absence—he hadn’t dated, had come to the prom by himself, she recalled. If he had been good friends with one or more of the boys, she didn’t know who it would have been. Dixon was just…Dixon. A little weird, a lot unfocused, apt to go off by himself with the guitar he’d always carried to make music only he really listened to.

And now he was back, not at all the vague, blurred teenager she remembered, but a vital and incredibly attractive man. That moment when he’d held her against him still sang in her veins.

She caught sight of her reflection in the black door of the microwave—hair flat and tangled, makeup washed off by the rain, clothes barely decent—and groaned. Not exactly the picture to inspire a man to romance.

Embarrassed and, to be honest, disappointed, she hurried up to her bedroom to repair the damage. Chances were slim she would encounter Dixon Bell again today, or ever again, but she did try to look her best when she went out. People tended to think better of you when you presented yourself well.

As she smoothed her damp hair into a ponytail, the phone rang. She should have let the machine answer it—she wasn’t going to get to the cleaner’s or the hardware and grocery stores at this rate—but she never could let a phone ring if she was there to answer.

“Hello?”

“You believed me when I said I’d call, right?”

Heart pounding, she sat on the side of the bed. “Dixon?”

“I just escaped from Jessica. I wish you hadn’t let her run you off. She always did want to be the center of attention.”

Kate smiled, because he was so right. “I—I didn’t run off. I do have things to do.”

“I’m sure of that. Can I see you when you get them all finished?”

“See me?”

“Yeah. Dinner, maybe?”

Her heart slammed to a stop, then started pounding again. “That sounds like…a date.”

“It does, doesn’t it?”

“But, Dixon…”

“Mmm?”

“I told you that I’m married.”

“Well, according to Jessica, that’s kind of a technicality. I understand you’re well and truly separated and on the way to a divorce.” Kate drew a deep breath, embarrassed all over again at the idea of being talked about. “And before you get too upset, I didn’t ask. Didn’t mention your name. She volunteered the information. Better be careful what you tell Jessica Hyde.”

“I am.” But the separation and pending divorce were pretty common knowledge, she supposed. “Still, I don’t think I should be dating.”

“Okay. We won’t call it a date. Just dinner for old friends.”

He made her want to laugh. “It’s not that simple. I have two teenagers to think about.”

“Oh, yeah.” That actually seemed to slow him down. “I’d say bring ’em along. But I kinda hoped to have you all to myself, the first time, anyway. How about tomorrow night? You could make arrangements for them and then we could get together.”

Oh, how tempting. Kate blinked back tears as she realized how much she would love to have dinner with Dixon, just the two of them. “It sounds wonderful. But…” She drew a deep breath. “I can’t.”

“That’s too bad. I was looking forward to catching up.” He didn’t sound angry, or even particularly disappointed. “You take care of yourself, okay? I’ll talk to you again soon.” Almost before she could say goodbye, he’d hung up on his end. That quickness gave her a little hope that he’d cared one way or the other that she’d turned him down. But really, why should he?

Kate glanced at the clock and realized she had missed the window of opportunity to get groceries before picking up the kids. That would mean taking them along, with the resulting sulks and sighs. As children, they’d loved to join her in the adventure of shopping. These days, they seemed to expect the food to appear on the shelf or on the table, ready for consumption. Providing for them was part of her role as parent, Kate realized, a role she cherished with all her heart. Sometimes, though, she wished the decisions and responsibilities could rest with somebody else. Or at least be shared. But her ex-husband-to-be didn’t feel much like sharing anything with her these days. Least of all responsibilities.

Waiting in the school parking lot a few minutes later, Kate tried to balance her checkbook in an attempt to keep her mind off Dixon Bell. Not a very successful effort, she had to admit. Instead of focusing on the numbers in her register, she kept staring off into space, thinking about his smile, picturing him sleeping on a picnic table one warm summer night so long ago. What courage it must have taken to strike out on his own. She couldn’t imagine being completely free of other people’s expectations and regulations.

So deep in reverie was she that she didn’t realize Kelsey had come out of the school building until the car door swung open.

“Hey.” Her daughter dropped into the front seat of the Volvo, her blond hair gleaming in the sunlight, her brown eyes and heart-shaped face enhanced by makeup as perfect as only a teenage girl’s could be at this hour of the day. She’d obviously just renewed her cologne, and the latest fashion scent filled the car.

Kate smiled in greeting. “Hey, yourself. Where’s your brother?”

“He’ll be here in a minute. He had to get a book out of the library for his homework.”

“How was class today?”

Kelsey rolled her eyes. “Booorrring. As usual.” A genius when it came to putting together the right clothes, she wasn’t a terribly focused student.

Without warning, Trace appeared in the passenger-side window and opened the door his older sister was leaning against. “You get the back seat. You had the front this morning.”

Kelsey gave an unfeminine snort. “Like I’m going to get out and get in again?”

“Yeah, you are.” Trace was a replica of his father, with the same athletic build, the same handsome face, the same dark-blond hair and bright-blue eyes. When he got angry, as now, the resemblance was even more striking.

“No, I’m not.” In an instant, their voices were strained, their faces heated. “You can have the front seat both ways tomorrow.”

“Oh, sure, that’ll happen. Get out, Kelsey.” He reached in and took hold of her arm, trying to pull her out of the car. Where once brother and sister had been staunch allies, in the last few months they had become adversaries, if not downright enemies.

But Kate drew the line at physical conflict. “Trace, that’s enough.”

He didn’t seem to hear her as Kelsey kicked out with a foot aimed at his knee. “Get lost.”

“You get lost.” The brawl intensified, with more pushing and shoving. A pair of kids crossing the parking lot had stopped to watch, and an approaching teacher stood gazing, openmouthed, as Kelsey and Trace pummeled each other.

Kate didn’t try to be heard over the yelling. Gritting her teeth, she planted the heel of her hand on the car horn and pressed down. Hard.

Trace jerked back at the blare of sound, which gave Kelsey a chance to get in the last blow. The boy staggered back against the car parked next to them, arms clutched over his stomach. “I’ll get you for that,” he panted. “I swear I’ll get you.”

Kelsey swung her legs into the car and closed the door without deigning to answer. After a minute, Trace fumbled his way into the back seat, where he curled into a ball, his head on his knees.

They rode home without speaking. Once inside the house, Kate didn’t have to tell the kids to go to their rooms—isolation was intentional and immediate on both their parts. She sank into a chair at the kitchen table and put her head down on her arms, too numb to think about how to deal with Kelsey and Trace.

And she still didn’t have anything in the house to cook for dinner.

THE ONLY PHONE CONNECTION in all the fifteen rooms of Magnolia Cottage was in the front hall, which didn’t allow for much private conversation. Miss Daisy came down the stairs just as Dixon hung up from his call to Kate.

She paused on the last step. “I gather from the frown on your handsome face that your dinner plans fell through.”

“Yes, ma’am, they did.” He tried to erase the frown. “That’s okay—there’ll be another night.”

At the mirror beside the front door, his grandmother checked the smooth sweep of her silver hair, always worn in a knot on the crown of her head, dabbed a little powder over her fine skin and checked the set of her lavender suit jacket. Convinced she was perfect—as, indeed, Dixon thought she was—she turned and put a hand on his arm.

“Why don’t you come with us, then? We’d love to have a good-looking male at our table to pass the time with. LuAnne Taylor just loves to flirt with younger men.”

Dixon lifted her hand and kissed the cool fingers, feeling them tremble just a bit in his hold. She smelled like his childhood—lavender water and talc and Dove soap. “You’re sweet, Miss Daisy. But I think I’ll let you go on without me. I might not be the best of company tonight.” He wanted to treat Kate’s refusal lightly, but the disappointment harkened back to the old days, when getting turned down by Kate Bowdrey had changed the course of his life. At seventeen, a boy was permitted to take love so seriously. By the time he’d reached thirty, he really ought to have gained a little perspective.

“If you say so, dear.” Miss Daisy patted his cheek with her free hand. “I’m just grateful to have you home again.” Outside, a car horn beeped. “Don’t wait up—sometimes we go to LuAnne’s and play bridge until the wee hours.”

Dixon opened the front door. “Miss Daisy, you’re a hell-raiser.”

She flashed him the smile that had captivated most of the men in New Skye at one time or another. “Of course. At my age, what else do I have left to do?”

Chuckling, Dixon escorted her down the house steps so she wouldn’t have to depend on the rickety railing, and held her arm as they went toward the twenty-year-old Cadillac waiting at the end of the walk. The crumbling brick pavers made the footing shaky, at best, but the grass on either side was too high and too weed-grown to walk through. He was surprised one of the older ladies who visited his grandmother hadn’t fallen and hurt herself before now.

As Miss Daisy settled herself in the Caddy, Dixon spoke with Miss Taylor. “Don’t y’all get too rowdy tonight. I want to be able to hold my head up in town tomorrow.”

“The very idea.” Miss Taylor pretended to be embarrassed. “Just four old friends having dinner together. What could be more refined?”

Dixon shook his head. “Four wild women is more like it, I’d say.”

“LuAnne, Alice is waiting for us,” Miss Daisy commented. “And you know how she fusses when she has to wait.”

With the ladies inside and the windows rolled up against the humid evening, the Caddy followed the curve of the driveway and headed down the quarter-mile gravel lane toward the street. Dixon turned toward the front porch, hands in his pockets, wondering what he would do for dinner.

But then he caught sight of the house, gleaming white in the twilight, and forgot his train of thought. An antebellum relic built by his many-times great-grandfather, Magnolia Cottage had been a plantation house before a bad economy and an ugly war stripped away most of the land, leaving only a few acres of gardens around the main building. The Crawfords and Bells had never been very lucky with money, so the gardens had eventually fallen into a state of disrepair, followed soon enough by the house itself. Growing up, Dixon hadn’t recognized the problems, but after so long away, he was appalled at the conditions in which his grandmother continued to live.

Not dirty, no…Miss Daisy had a woman in twice a week to keep the place clean. But the plaster walls and ceilings were crumbling as badly as the brick walk. Floorboards were loose all over the house. Miss Daisy had learned to avoid certain steps and particular danger spots, but Dixon had banged a shin with an exploding board in the bedroom floor on his first night at home. In addition to a hell of a bruise, he’d gotten a blistering lecture from his grandmother for his “uncivil” language.

There was no central air-conditioning, of course, only window units in the rooms Miss Daisy used. The kitchen was old, the appliances barely functional, the bathrooms—two of them for the whole house—archaic. Magnolia Cottage needed a serious renovation before it could serve as a home to raise a family in. Which he hoped to do, if only Kate Bowdrey LaRue would cooperate.

While he was pondering the possibilities, enjoying the way the humid air held the scent of leaves and grass and pine, a dark-blue SUV pulled around the curve of the driveway and stopped in front of the house. Dixon didn’t recognize the man who got out and came to join him.

The stranger nodded toward the house. “A wreck, ain’t it?”

Dixon ignored a flare of temper provoked by the insult to his home. The guy was a clod, but that was no reason to get mad. “Needs some work, definitely.”

“You Dixon Bell?” He wore mirrored sunglasses and a pink knit shirt and had “let’s make a deal” written all over him.

“I am.”

“Well, you’re just the man I’m looking for, then.” Turning, he stuck out his hand. “I’m L.T. LaRue. And I’ll pay you three hundred thousand cash to let me take this disaster off your hands.”