by Dylann Crush
“We will, Gram,” Dixie promised.
“I know you will.” Her grandmother hugged Dixie for a long moment before she gestured to Presley. “Now get on in here and give me some sugar, young man. We’re going to need all the help we can get.”
Presley wrapped his arms around the women, torn between wanting to feel Dixie tight against him again and needing the chance to get as far away as possible.
Before he could really start to enjoy the moment, Dixie broke the hug. “Come around front and you can make sure we’ve got Fernando, okay?”
Mrs. Holbein nodded and allowed Dixie to lead her back to the front of the Rose, where Tippy held the bucket at arm’s length. After taking a good long look, Dixie’s gram declared the tiny toad to be Fernando, and a cheer went up from the small group that had gathered in the parking lot.
“Come on down, Kermit. You need to take care of this toad.” Cash tapped his boot while he waited for a response.
“I ain’t coming down until I get all of my toads back,” Kermit called down from the roof.
“I’m not surprised,” Mrs. Holbein said. “He’s a man of principle. It’s one of the traits I most admire about him.”
Principle. Presley wondered for a split second what his most admirable trait might be. He could make most people laugh. He made a mean margarita. But when it came down to the real stuff, the stuff that made a man a real man, what would someone he admired say about him?
He wanted to be the kind of man a woman would talk about the way Mrs. Holbein talked about Kermit. His mind flashed back to earlier, when Dixie had said she trusted him. If he was capable of earning the trust of a woman like Dixie, maybe he wasn’t in as bad a shape as he thought.
“Well, you’re not going back up there.” Dixie’s warning to her gram brought him back to the present. “I’m never going to hear the end of it from Mom and Dad as it is.”
“Don’t worry.” Her gram patted Dixie’s hand. “I was starting to get the vertigo.” She stage-whispered to Presley, “I’m afraid of heights.”
He chuckled. “I wouldn’t have known it if you hadn’t said something.” Dixie and her gram had that in common—the ability to tackle any situation without apparent fear, no matter how they might be feeling on the inside.
“So we’re just going to leave Kermit on the roof?” Dixie asked. “What if he falls off? What if he gets cold? What if—”
“Why don’t you take your gram home and I’ll come back with some supplies for Kermit?” Presley offered. Surely he could find a sleeping bag and a pillow at home. And maybe he’d even be able to talk the old coot out of his crazy roof protest if he brought back a fifth of something good.
“That sounds like a good idea.” Mrs. Holbein leaned close and gave Presley a smacking kiss on the cheek. “Make sure you give him that when you see him, okay?”
Presley stepped back. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Gram, what exactly is going on between you and Kermit?” Dixie clamped her hands to her waist, drawing Presley’s attention to those hips he’d had the luxury of grasping such a short time before.
“Well, sweetheart, I’d say a true lady doesn’t kiss and tell.”
“Gram…” Dixie warned.
“But seeing as how we both seem to have a lot of telling to do, maybe we can make an exception this time.” Mrs. Holbein linked her arm through Dixie’s and tugged her toward the parking lot. “Come on, we can take Kermit’s truck home and bring it back in the morning. Sounds like we have a lot to catch up on.”
“Just a sec, Gram. I’ll meet you over there okay?” Dixie disentangled herself from her grandmother and turned to face Presley.
Cash had wandered off to confer with Tippy, so that left Presley alone with the siren formerly known as just Dixie. Presley cleared his throat. “So, uh, I guess I’ll make sure Kermit gets settled and see you back here in the morning?”
Her gaze darted left, then right, finally settling on a spot on the ground between her toes. “About earlier…” Her voice held a quiver.
Presley put a finger under her chin, nudging her eyes up until she met his gaze. “You play a thrilling game of mini-golf, Ms. King.” She tried to look away, but he cupped her chin and tilted her face toward his. “I mean it.”
So many emotions flickered through her gaze: fear, hope, warmth, affection. “We should probably talk about what happened tonight.”
“Yeah, we probably should. But not now. Let’s sleep on it.”
Relief course through her eyes. “Okay. Tomorrow then?”
“You bet.” He opened his arms, offering a hug.
She nestled against his chest, wrapping her arms around him. “No more betting, okay?”
He chuckled into her hair. “You got it. No more betting.”
With Dixie clasped against him, a lightness filled his chest. He wanted more—more of the feeling he got when he was with her, more of the hope she instilled in him of a possibility of a future between them. But he’d wait to tell her. He didn’t want to scare her off. Tomorrow would be soon enough.
* * *
Dixie kept to herself most of the ride home. Driving Kermit’s truck took all of her concentration. The old Ford bounced over the gravel drive, sending rocks scattering in its wake. Gram kept up enough conversation for both of them by filling Dixie in on what had transpired between herself and Kermit.
“Do you think it’s possible to find true love three times in a lifetime?” Gram asked.
“Hmm?” Dixie glanced toward the passenger seat.
Gram hugged her arms around her chest. “The other ladies’ guild members think Kermit’s a lost cause. But we’ve got a spark. It’s just too bad about him having to give up his land.”
“What do you mean? He said he told those investors to take a hike.”
“Well, he did, sugar. But the Christmas tree farm isn’t doing as well as it once was, what with all those new fake trees they have out now. People just don’t want the real ones anymore. What with the needles and the sap and trying to keep them watered…” Her voice drifted off.
“So who’s he selling to?” Dixie gripped the wheel tighter.
“He doesn’t know yet.” Gram looked at her lap. “Sorry, he asked me not to say anything, but you know how I am about keeping secrets.”
Yes, she knew. Gram couldn’t hide the truth if her life depended on it. Her best tactic was to talk around a subject so many times a person forgot their original question. Usually worked like a charm, but not with Dixie.
“You’re saying Kermit has to sell his land but he doesn’t want to sell to the people who made him the offer?” Dixie asked.
Gram nodded. “That’s right. Those toads are all he has. He won’t sell to someone unless they vow to keep up the conservation effort.”
So Presley hadn’t been right about everything, but he was right about part of what was happening. She hadn’t had a chance to sort through her feelings about what had happened between them yet. Here Gram was talking about finding true love three times in a lifetime. Dixie would be happy to settle for just once. The closest she’d come was the eternal torch she’d carried for Presley Walker ever since she could remember. But Presley wasn’t love material, and she’d be downright foolish to think that what had transpired between them was anything more than him making good on a bet.
Still, she and Presley were knee-deep into trying to figure out what was going on with the land around the Rose. She’d have to pretend all was well, at least until Charlie returned and she could go back to her normal shifts. That meant continuing the cockeyed plan of pressing Chandler for info.
“So is Kermit planning on putting his property on the market soon?” They were almost home. She’d have to talk fast if she wanted to wrangle any more info out of her gram.
“He’d rather sell it to someone he knows. I was thinking about that money I have se
t aside. Maybe I could buy it and then rent it back to him.”
“I doubt Mom and Dad would go along with that plan.”
Gram smacked her hands together. “It’s my money. I don’t know why your mother thinks she has any right to decide what I do with it.”
Dixie was at a loss on that one. She hadn’t been privy to the conversations involving her parents and her grandmother’s lifelong savings. But she did know that her parents thought Gram was losing her marbles and had taken steps to protect her assets.
“Sorry, Gram. I don’t know anything about that.”
“I know, sweetheart.” She patted Dixie’s shoulder as the truck creaked into the driveway. “We’ll figure it out though. That’s what us Holbein women do.”
Dixie hoped her gram was right. Because in that moment she felt like she had a world of fixing to do and not one iota of the wherewithal it would take to figure out how to do it all on her own.
She waited in the truck while her grandmother climbed out and made her way to the front door. There was one thing she did have some say in—one little thing she could take control of and see if it made a difference. As she followed her gram across the porch, avoiding the soft board Presley had pointed out the day before, she pulled her phone out of her purse. Chandler’s last text glared up at her from her phone screen.
We still on for dinner tomorrow night? The Farley Inn?
Dixie hadn’t responded to confirm his invitation. Now, with everything that had happened to Kermit’s place, she owed it to her gram, to Kermit, to Charlie, even to Presley to find out once and for all what part, if any, Chandler had in the events of the past few days.
She made a mental note to text him in the morning. If all went well, that meant that in less than twenty-four hours she’d be going on her second date in two days. And no matter what happened, she could almost guarantee she wouldn’t be as confused as she was after her night out with Presley.
She entered the house and set down the keys. Finally, alone with her thoughts, Dixie replayed the early events of the evening in her mind. What had possessed her to make that crazy bet with Presley? She didn’t regret a thing. Being with Presley was everything she’d hoped it would be plus more. She closed her eyes, willing herself to feel his fingertips on her skin again. Instead she heard the buzz of a june bug as it hit the light fixture on the ceiling and bounced off and into her hair. She swatted it away, the sensation of Presley’s hands on her already fading into just a memory.
She sighed and got herself ready for bed, listening to her gram humming down the hall. Could Gram and Kermit have actually found true love? If they had, Dixie was happy for them. Her gram deserved a little bit of sunshine in her life. And poor Kermit, the whole town had mourned with him when he’d lost his wife. It was high time he found someone to love again.
Maybe some people were just destined for happiness. Gram had once said if a person wanted to be happy, all they had to do was think happy thoughts and happiness would find them. What did she call it? The law of attraction or something like that. Well, Dixie was ready to attract some sunshine and roses of her own. She’d had a little taste of heaven in Presley Walker’s arms, and she was ready to wish her own happily ever after into existence.
She turned off the bedside lamp and pulled the sheet up to her chest. The moon peeked out from behind a cloud, sending a silvery ray of light through her bedroom window. As she peered up at the dark night sky, the twinkle of a star caught her eye.
“Wish I may, wish I might…” Dixie tried to remember the words to the rhyme she’d said so many times as a child. “Have this wish I wish tonight?” That sounded familiar. She closed her eyes, took in a deep breath, and wished with all her might that her own Prince Charming would show up in the morning.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Presley should have been meeting Leoni at the Rose for her to finally take a look at his fiddle. But after all that had happened the night before, he needed to see Dixie. Even though he was dying to find out what Leoni thought about his creation, he had to see where things stood with Fireball before he could focus on much else. So he’d canceled his coffee plans with Leoni and driven to Dixie’s grandma’s place instead. When he arrived, he tucked a few planks under his arm, grabbed his toolkit from the back of his Jeep, and then headed up the sidewalk to Mrs. Holbein’s porch, ready to use wood rot as an excuse for his early arrival.
“Good morning, Mr. Walker.” Mrs. Holbein met him in the side yard wearing waders up past her hips.
“Good morning. Figured I may as well fix those couple of boards for you before I head in this morning.” He held the door open for her, and they entered the screened-in porch.
“How’s Kermit doing?” she asked.
“Up with the roosters.” And unfortunately still up on the damn roof. Presley had tried talking some sense into the man the night before when he’d returned with a sleeping bag and a pillow. Kermit wouldn’t even lower the ladder, just waited while Presley attempted to toss the items onto the roof.
“Any word on his toads?” Mrs. Holbein’s eyebrows rose, probably hoping for good news.
“Not yet.” Presley knelt down to pry the bad board away. “How’s Fernando doing?”
“Good. I’ve got him in a bin with a heat lamp in the shed out back. I was just trying to find him a few friends down in the tall grass.” She pointed to her waders. “Dixie doesn’t like it when I tramp around in the mud.”
Presley smiled up at the older woman. “Well, what Dixie doesn’t know won’t hurt her, right?”
“What Dixie doesn’t know about what?” Fireball herself glared down at him from the cracked front doorway.
Presley slid his gaze up her legs to the hem of her nightshirt. Two screen-printed kittens frolicked across her chest with a ball of yarn strung between them. Damn lucky cats. “Well, good morning.”
“What’s going on out here?” Dixie hugged her arms to her chest.
“Just making good on a promise to fix that board.” Presley held a nail in place then raised the hammer.
“And you had to do it right now? This day is going to do me in, and I haven’t even had a chance to make coffee yet.”
“Thought you’d never ask. I take mine black.” Presley grinned before he brought the hammer down to strike the nail on the head. By the time the nail sat flat against the board, Dixie had shut the door and gone inside.
“What’s eating her today?” he asked.
Mrs. Holbein shrugged. “You help yourself to some coffee when you’re done out here, okay? I’m going to head back to the pond. You can tell Dixie I’m over at Maybelle’s.”
Presley raised a brow. “You want me to lie for you?”
“Heaven’s no.” Mrs. Holbein put a hand to her heart. “I’m going to walk past Maybelle’s on my way.”
“Be careful out there.” Presley shook his head. Poor Dixie was in over her head with her grandmother.
Ten minutes later, he knocked on the front door. When she didn’t answer right away, he crack the door. “Dixie? You in there?”
“You’re still here?” Her voice came from the general direction of the kitchen.
He opted to take that as an invitation and entered the house. “Is that offer for coffee still good?”
“I don’t recall ever offering you a cup of coffee in the first place.” She leaned against the counter, a cup of steaming coffee in her hands.
He stopped when they stood toe to toe. “Do you want to talk about last night?”
Her gaze lingered on the dark liquid in her cup. “What’s there to talk about?”
His hands wrapped around hers. “A hell of a lot if you ask me.”
“I don’t really see the point in having a conversation. You lost a bet, you fulfilled your part of the deal, and now you’re free to go on about your business and pretend like it never happened.”
She
tried to fake indifference, but the quiver in her bottom lip gave her away, and she caught it with her teeth. If they’d been playing poker, he’d have called it her “tell.”
“Is that what you want me to do?” he asked.
“Doesn’t matter.” She shrugged, her eyes still locked on the mug of coffee.
Presley worked the mug free and set it on the counter next to her hip. “So it wouldn’t matter to you if I said I wanted to start seeing somebody?”
A flash of spitfire blazed in her eyes before she shut it down. One shoulder shrugged up, and the other went down. “It’s a free country, right?”
He caught her hands in his and held them against his chest. “I thought you said you’d never told a lie.”
Her gaze met his for a fraction of a second. “I haven’t.”
He laughed, a deep belly laugh that had her yanking her hands from his. “Dixie, the person I want to start seeing is you.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you.” He bumped her hip with his. “I think we need to start over though. Maybe go out for dinner a few times before we jump into another round of mini-golf.”
“But we’re all wrong for each other.”
“Says who?”
“Everyone. You and I want different things out of life. I want kids someday, and—”
“I love kids.”
She tilted her head like she was trying to get a read on him. “Sure you do, but I want kids of my own. The kind I won’t be able to pass back to someone else as soon as they start crying.”
“I’m great with crying kids. What else?”
“A dog. I want a big, slobbery dog with huge paws.”
Presley crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the counter. “I ever tell you about the mutt we had growing up? Two hundred pounds of wagging, wet, crazy beast.”
“It’s not just about kids and a dog. I want it all. A man I can count on through the good and the bad. Someone who won’t hightail it out of town when the going gets tough.”