Читать книгу The Hamilton Heir - Valerie Hansen - Страница 11

Northside Community Church was well known not only because of its place in the history of Hickory Mills and Davis Landing, but also because it had a reputation for running exemplary outreach programs. The community kitchen and its preparation of meals-on-wheels was one such endeavor. The youth program was another.

Behind the white-painted brick facade and wide, columned portico of the original, more traditional church sat a more modern complex of two-story buildings in which that kind of humanitarian work was carried on daily.

Tim had known about the programs before he’d become Dawn’s temporary chauffeur but seeing one of them in operation gave him further appreciation of all the effort that went into managing such important projects.

It also showed him how well-respected his administrative assistant was in the community. Although she was a Tennessee transplant, she’d apparently been totally accepted by everyone at Northside, natives included.

Watching her greet the other kitchen volunteers so fondly gave him pause. Clearly, there were places where she was more fully accepted than he was, even though he and his family were an integral part of the entire area’s history and current prosperity.

Dawn stood aside, tugged the hem of her short-sleeved sweater over her jeans to smooth it and motioned him to come on into the kitchen. “Ladies, you know Mr. Hamilton? I had car trouble tonight and he was kind enough to offer to drive me on my rounds. Wasn’t that nice of him?”

Amid a tittering chorus of welcome, Tim strode forward as if arriving at a board meeting and offered his most amiable smile. “A pleasure to meet you all,” he said. “Please, call me Tim.”

Shaking hands with those who weren’t too deep in kitchen cleanup to offer, he saw Dawn standing back, hesitating. His smile widened. “Yes, you, too, Ms. Leroux. I’m sure it won’t destroy office protocol if we’re more informal tonight. It’ll help your clients relax, especially since they probably haven’t met me before, don’t you think?”

“I suppose so.” She swallowed hard. “Um, Tim.”

Tim couldn’t help being amused by her obvious nervousness. The woman was practically quaking. What was the matter with her? Did she think he was going to say or do something inappropriate? He’d been to Northside often enough in the past to be familiar with Pastor Abernathy and a few of the regular parishoners, especially the ones he played golf with, so what in the world could be bothering Dawn? She’d seemed just fine when she’d arrived and begun greeting the other workers like long-lost sisters. Now, however, she seemed jittery, as if she couldn’t wait to get out of there.

She found her voice moments later and pointed. “Those insulated boxes on the end of the counter are ours. The dinners go inside. If you’ll help me carry them to the car we can be on our way.”

“Sure.” He bestowed amiable smiles all around, said, “If you ladies will excuse us,” and joined Dawn. In the background he imagined he heard audible sighs. Those poor women must be exhausted. He wondered if they worked there the whole day.

Following Dawn to the car with the stack of padded boxes he asked about it. “How long do those volunteers work? Is it an all-day shift?”

“We break it down into two, usually,” Dawn said. “The earlier shift is much larger. They do the majority of the cooking every Monday, Wednesday and Friday morning. A different bunch puts together the evening meals and cleans the kitchen.”

She paused at the rear of his car while he opened the trunk. “Most meals are delivered earlier, between noon and two or three o’clock. That’s why there aren’t other drivers picking up now. And that’s why it was so hard to find someone to take my place. We only have a few regulars who like their food at suppertime and I’m able to handle all the ones in town. I work Monday and Wednesday nights. Amy drives the country route on Fridays.”

“I see.” He carefully arranged the boxes in the trunk before closing it and starting for the passenger door. Dawn was already there, had it open and was climbing in. Acting like the gentleman his mother had raised wasn’t easy where Dawn Leroux was concerned, was it? It didn’t matter to Tim whether or not their outing was for pleasure. He didn’t have to be dating the lady to want to treat her with propriety.

“I would have gotten that door for you,” Tim said, sliding behind the wheel.

“It’s not necessary. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

He gave her a lopsided smile. “I don’t doubt that for a second. What I meant was, it’s a simple courtesy. One I’m used to offering.”

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I didn’t think of it quite that way.”

Tim thought he detected an odd tinge of emotion in her tone as she turned to stare out the side window. He wondered if he’d embarrassed her. He certainly hadn’t meant to. He never had understood women, even though he’d grown up in a household with a mother and three sisters. Amy and Heather had never seemed to mind being treated with respect. Melissa? Well, that was another story. Melissa was a special case. She seemed to struggle with personal issues that didn’t faze the others.

“Who’s our first customer?” Tim asked, taking care to keep his tone light and friendly.

“Stuart Meyers,” Dawn said. “He lives alone in one of those shotgun houses all in a row down by the river. It’s not far. Go back the way we came and I’ll tell you when to turn.”

“Right. I haven’t heard anybody mention shotgun houses in years. Aren’t those the ones that are supposedly so small you can fire a shotgun in the front door and the shot will travel out the back door before the pattern spreads enough to hit anything?”

“I see you know something about history. Stuart will love you. How smart are you about The War?”

“Smart enough to know exactly what you mean and to not call it the Civil War unless I’m talking to a Yankee,” Tim said with a grin. “I was in school before I’d heard the conflict called anything but The War Between the States.”

“It was the same in Louisiana,” Dawn said. “Or The War for Southern Independence. That was always my favorite name for it.”

“That figures, since you’re so independent yourself. I know Tennessee provided troops to both the North and the South. Which does your Mr. Meyers favor?”

“He’s not fussy. He loves to argue both sides.” Dawn pointed. “Take that narrow road over there. Stuart’s is the second house on the right. The one that needs painting.”

Tim refrained from saying that he thought all the houses in sight were in serious need of maintenance, most of them too far gone to be saved by a simple coat of paint. He parked as instructed, then released the trunk latch from the driver’s seat before getting out.

He was standing at the rear of the car, trying to decide which meal package was which—or if there was any difference—when he noticed that Dawn had not yet joined him. Leaning to one side he peered around the raised trunk lid and saw her sitting primly right where he’d left her.

Was she waiting for him to open her door? Surely not. Not after all her insistence that she could do things herself. Maybe the latch was stuck or something. He was beside the passenger door in three strides, jerked it open without undue effort and stepped back.

Her face glowed and her blue eyes sparkled as she tilted her head to gaze up at him.

Tim’s jaw dropped when she batted her long, beautiful lashes, and said in an exaggerated Southern accent, “Why thank you, kind sir. Bless your heart. I’m truly obliged for your gentlemanly behavior.”

Dawn didn’t know what had come over her all of a sudden. She was brave and had a good sense of humor but she wasn’t normally foolhardy. Teasing Tim Hamilton like that, when he was trying so hard to be nice, seemed too over-the-top even for a laid-back Louisianan with Cajun roots.

The fact that he’d recovered from the initial shock and looked as if he was struggling to keep from laughing helped salve her conscience. She swung her jeans-clad legs out of the car and quickly stood to smooth the hem of her sweater over her hips. “Sorry about that. I couldn’t resist.”

Tim chuckled and shook his head. “I guess I deserved it for insisting we observe antiquated customs.”

“No, you didn’t. There’s nothing wrong with a few old traditions. As a matter of fact, most of the folks we’ll be seeing tonight prefer classic Southern manners. And if that’s what suits them, it suits me, too.”

“So, you’re something of a chameleon, is that it?”

Separating the Styrofoam box containing Stuart’s meal from the others, she turned and headed toward his front porch. “I see myself as adaptable, not artificial. If I notice that something I say or do makes someone else uncomfortable, I try to avoid making the same mistake again.”

“Point taken,” Tim said, falling in step beside her. “From now on, I promise I won’t insist on treating you like a fragile Southern belle.”

“And I promise I won’t chew you out if you forget and try to open a door for me,” Dawn countered.

“That’s big of you.”

If Tim hadn’t been grinning so widely that the corners of his eyes crinkled, she might have worried more that he was actually offended. It was hard to tell for sure. He apparently had a sense of humor that let him enjoy a good joke without getting too carried away.

Unlike my dad, she added, remembering fondly how her father’s deep laugh had filled the house till the windows almost shook with it. She was used to boisterous men like him: men who loved life, wore their feelings on their sleeves and were equally at home yelling encouragement from the stands at a softball game or shouting a reverent “Hallelujah” from a church pew.

No wonder her reactions to Tim Hamilton were rather odd, she mused. He was so unlike anyone she’d ever been close to she was half awed, half flabbergasted. It was a wonder their working relationship was so effective, although it seemed to satisfy Tim.

Then again, Dawn reminded herself, at the office she kept her focus on pleasing him and doing everything precisely his way. What was not to like?

She climbed Stuart Meyers’s wooden steps, crossed the porch in two strides and knocked. From inside the tiny house she heard, “Hold your horses. I’m comin’, I’m comin’,” accompanied by the steady thump of the rubber tip of the old man’s cane.

Smile in place, Dawn waited patiently. When the door swung open she greeted the white-haired octogenarian and explained why she’d brought a companion. “Evening, Mr. Meyers. Sorry I’m a few minutes late. This is Mr. Hamilton. My car is in the shop and he was kind enough to drive me.”

“Well, come on in, come on in,” Stuart said brightly. “It’s not often I have company like this. “Y’all can stay, can’t you?” He paused to wink up at Tim. “The mister here and I can have a little sip of something smooth from Kentucky, if you know what I mean.”

“Sorry, but no thanks,” Tim said. “I’m driving, remember?”

“Pity. I been savin’ that bottle for a special occasion.” He hobbled into the main portion of the house that served as both living room and kitchenette.

Dawn followed and placed Stuart’s dinner on a TV tray for him. She eyed the large oval table that he used for everything but eating. It was arrayed with toy soldiers, plastic artillery, rail fences made of twigs, and strategically placed piles of sand and dirt. “I see nobody’s won yet,” she said. “How’s the war going?”

Stuart snorted as he shuffled past the overstuffed chair where he usually took his meals and proceeded to the table to peer at his handiwork over the upper rim of his glasses. “Not good,” he said. “General John Bell Hood’s Army of the Tennessee just let Schofield’s troops sneak through Spring Hill during the night and Hood’s about to get his you-know-what kicked at Franklin. Lost six Confederate generals there, you know.”

Tim nodded. “Go on.”

“Hood would be a fool to press on to Nashville and attack General Thomas after that, but that’s exactly what he’s gonna do. Guess he thought he could lead Sherman on a wild-goose chase and keep him out of Savannah. Might of worked, too, if he’d been able to move fast enough and recruit more men on the march.”

Tim circled the table, assessing the battlements and curving strips of blue paper that evidently represented the wanderings of a river. “Is this the Cumberland where it runs through Nashville? Looks like the fortifications on Overton’s Hill.” It was a wild guess but Tim was rewarded with a gleeful shout from the old man.

“It is! And over here’s Shy’s Hill.” A gnarled finger pointed. “The second Union attack begins here, on Hood’s right flank. It fails till Major General Smith’s men take Shy’s Hill and show ’em how it’s done.”

“Where’s Nathan Bedford Forrest?”

“South. In Spring Hill,” Stuart said. “I’m a tad short of cavalry horses or you could tell by lookin’.”

“I’m sure I could,” Tim said. “You’ve done a marvelous job setting this up.”

“Thanks, son. It’s a pleasure to talk to somebody who knows his history like you do. Most kids these days couldn’t care less.”

Tim’s gaze darted to Dawn’s face in time to see her hide a snicker behind her hand. He didn’t really mind hearing the elderly gentleman refer to him as a kid at thirty-three. Given their age differences, he supposed Stuart thought of anyone under sixty as still wet behind the ears.

“You should eat now, Mr. Meyers,” Dawn said. “Your supper’s getting cold.”

“Eat? How can I eat when Nashville’s under siege?” He circled the table and grabbed Tim’s forearm. “Come on. You can be Nathan Bedford Forrest, since you mentioned him. You bring your troops north from Franklin and lead a surprise attack on Thomas’s rear!”

Tim laughed. “Sorry. I’m afraid I have another assignment tonight, sir.”

The old man’s shoulders sagged. “Oh, right. You’re on mess duty. I forgot.”

“Maybe another time,” Tim told him gently. “I’d like to hear more. The history of this area has always fascinated me. My great-great-grandfather, Jeremiah Hamilton, settled here in the nineteen twenties.”

Stuart’s eyes squinted behind his glasses. “Hamilton, you say? Thought I recognized that name when you came in. Well, well, well. I knew old Jeremiah’s boy, Fred. We joined the Marines when we was barely old enough to shave. Fine man, rest his soul. You come from good stock, boy.”

Tim smiled. “Thank you, sir.” He was edging toward the door where Dawn waited. “Looks like I’d better go before everybody else’s food gets cold.”

He hesitated when Stuart hobbled closer, extended his right hand and said, “I’m proud you came. It’s been a pleasure, son.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Tim replied sincerely, shaking hands.

“By Wednesday night I can have all the fortifications slicked up and we can have a real set-to.”

Tim glanced at Dawn. Her jaw looked a little slack and her blue eyes were wider than he’d ever seen them before. He made a snap decision. “If it happens that I’m not needed to deliver meals then, I’ll still drop by again some time. I promise.”

Stuart’s shoulders slumped. He sounded down in the dumps when he said, “You do that, son. You do that.”

Dawn walked as far as the car before she whirled and confronted Tim. “You shouldn’t have promised him.”

“Why not?”

“Because he’ll be terribly disappointed when you don’t show up.”

“Who says I won’t show up?”

“I do.” Her hands fisted on her hips. “I know your work schedule, remember? You hardly have time to breathe, let alone visit lonely old men and spend hours rehashing the Civil War.”

“Then I’ll make time,” Tim said firmly. “I don’t know where you got such a low opinion of me but it’s wrong. I never make a promise I don’t intend to keep. I said I’d see Stuart Meyers again and I will.”

Dawn just stared. “You will? You really will?”

“Yes. I will.” He circled the car and opened the driver’s door. “Now, are you coming? Or are you going to stand there arguing and let the rest of this food get colder than it already is?”

Several other stops were uneventful and the deliveries went quickly. Ada Smith was next to the last on the evening circuit.

As Tim parked in front of her run-down antebellum home, Dawn filled him in. “Miss Ada is a dear. She absolutely dotes on her grandchildren, so be sure to mention how attractive they are when she shows you their photos.”

“How do you know she will?”

Dawn laughed lightly. “Oh, she will. She always does. And if any of them have been to see her recently, we’ll be treated to a minute-by-minute replay of their visit.”

“Okay.” Tim opened the trunk, took out another dinner and passed it to Dawn. He swept his arm in an arc and gave a slight bow. “After you, ma’am.”

She was shaking her head and chuckling. That pleased him. He was still trying to get over the shock of finding out she didn’t see him as the kind of man who kept his word. He was determined to show her his true character, though he wasn’t sure how. Granted, he could be rather ruthless in business if the situation called for it, but in his private life he wasn’t so bad, was he? Introspection didn’t show any major flaws that he was aware of. Therefore, he planned to charm the socks off the little old lady he was about to meet and prove to Dawn what a great guy he really was.

Why? The surprising question gave him pause. Why, indeed? He was Dawn’s boss, not her date. Why should he care about her personal opinion of him as long as she continued to do her job well? Dropping back a few paces he frowned with introspection as he watched her make her way onto the sagging wooden porch.

The front door flew open before Dawn could knock. A pixieish old woman with a wide grin and a head full of tight white curls reached for Dawn’s arm and practically dragged her inside.

“There you are, girl! I was gettin’ worried.”

“Sorry we’re a little late, Miss Ada. We got delayed when Stuart Meyers started talking about The War. You know how that goes.”

Ada chortled. “That, I do. My Sidney was a jewel, Lord bless him, but when he got to talkin’ about huntin’ or fishin’ he was as single-minded as one of his old hound dogs trailin’ a possum.” Blue eyes twinkling, she giggled behind her hand like a youngster. “’Cept, as I recall, Sid didn’t bay at the moon near as much as them dogs did.”

Dawn laughed with her, then turned back to the doorway where Tim waited politely. “I have someone with me tonight, Miss Ada. I’d like you to meet Tim Ham—”

“Land sakes!” the old woman shouted, cutting off the introduction. “Why didn’t you tell me you were bringin’ a friend? Hoo-whee, he’s a big ’un.” She lowered her voice to continue but it was still loud enough to have been heard all the way to the curb. “Mighty good-looking, too. Reminds me of a fella I dated years ago. That boy sure could kiss.”

“Miss Ada!” Dawn’s voice was raised, too.

“Oh, posh. Don’t be such a prude, girl.”

“Mr. Hamilton and I are not romantically involved,” Dawn insisted. “I had car trouble and he was kind enough to drive me on my rounds tonight.”

Ada eyed Tim. “That right?”

He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

Her pale brows arched. “Well, well. And I suppose you’re gonna tell me you ain’t noticed what a pretty little thing our Dawn is. There’s men’d fight to marry her for that long blond hair, alone.”

Cheeks reddening, Tim looked as though he was trying his best to keep a straight face. The corners of his mouth twitched. His dark eyes shone. “Yes, ma’am.”

Ada was just getting warmed up. She held out her arms toward Dawn as if hawking a priceless treasure. “Look at that girl. She’s pretty as a speckled pup. Smart, too. Went to college. Did you know that?”

“Yes, ma’am, I did.”

Dawn broke in. “I work for Mr. Hamilton, Miss Ada. I’m his administrative assistant.”

“His what?”

“Secretary,” Dawn said flatly. Determined to change the subject she asked, “So, how are all your grandchildren?”

“Oh, they’re wonderful. Sissy’s about to graduate and Bubba’s got his first girlfriend. The little ones are cute as ever.”

Dawn was relieved to see Ada bustle over to an end table and produce a packet of snapshots which she proceeded to display for Tim, one at a time, along with a running commentary.

He glanced at Dawn over the elderly woman’s mop of poodlelike curls. There was a plea for rescue in his gaze.

“We really should be going,” Dawn said. “We have one more stop.”

Ada looked up. “I’m not the last one?”

“Not anymore. Remember? We added that nice young family, Jordan and Allison Martin.”

“Right. The folks with the baby. I forgot. How’s the daddy doin’? Think he’ll be able to go back to work soon?”

“We hope so,” Dawn said. “Since he’s a carpenter, I’m not sure. It’s not like he can sit behind a desk all day the way I do.”

“Pity,” Ada said. She slipped the wad of photos back into the envelope. “Well, at least have some of my homemade cookies before you go. I baked extra for when the grandkids come by.”

Dawn gave Tim a look that was more warning than anything else as she said, “No, no. You should save them for the children.”

“Nonsense. There’s plenty. You two just stay put for a second and I’ll get you a taste. I can always spare a few.” She was leaving the room. “Be right back!”

Tim closed the distance between Dawn and himself before he asked softly, “Why not take a cookie? What would it hurt?”

“Depends,” Dawn said with a lopsided grin. “If she remembered to put the sugar in this time, it won’t hurt a bit. If she got it mixed up with the salt like she did the last time, that’s another story.”

Ada returned before Tim could comment. She held out a plastic bag containing four puffy discs of dough that resembled lumpy oatmeal. “I packed ’em up so you could take ’em along.”

“Thank you, Miss Ada,” Tim said, graciously accepting the gift. “We’ll enjoy them while we drive. I’m pleased to have met you.”

The elderly woman eyed Dawn. “He’s got manners, too, bless his heart.”

“That, he does.” Dawn was already on her way to the door. “Good night, Miss Ada.”

“Night, children,” Ada said. “Y’all be good, y’ hear.” She tittered. “But not too good. Life’s too short to pass up the chances the Good Lord gives us. Take it from me. If I had it all to do over again…”

Dawn had reached the door, pushed it open and flung herself through. Tim was following too slowly to suit her so she grabbed his shirtsleeve and tugged him along, not letting go till they were at the car.

“I take it she’s a widow,” Tim said.

“Yes. Has been for ages. If anyone should be out looking for companionship, it’s Ada Smith.”

Tim chuckled. “Something tells me it would take a very special man to satisfy her. Someone hard of hearing, maybe?”

That made Dawn laugh. “And tolerant. And definitely someone who loves her grandchildren, which is a pretty tall order.” She climbed into the car unaided and was fastening her seat belt when Tim slid into the driver’s seat.

“She was right about one thing.” His hands were on the wheel, his eyes staring straight ahead.

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” Tim said quietly. “You really do have pretty hair.”