That Touch of Pink

by Teresa Southwick

  “And I didn’t actually get an appointment. Is your sister’s job in jeopardy?”

  “No. She was sick recently. A temp replaced her.”

  His shoulders shifted almost imperceptibly as his mouth straightened into a thin line, telling her he was disapproving. She’d known him about two and a half minutes—although he was the only one keeping exact time—so how she knew he was surprised or annoyed, she couldn’t say. But she’d stake her reputation as Charity City High School’s favorite librarian that he was both surprised and annoyed.

  “So you’re the one who bought the survival weekend?” He sounded skeptical.

  She nodded. “And I’m here to make arrangements to collect it.”

  He let his gaze drop to her cap-sleeved silk shell with the loose-fitting floral jumper over it. “Why?”

  “Because I paid for it.”

  He shook his head. “Why did you buy it in the first place?”

  “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t believe part of the deal is explaining my motivation.”

  “You don’t look like the outdoorsy type.”

  The fact that he was right made her resent his attitude even more. “If we’re judging books by covers, Mr. Dixon, you don’t look like the type, either.”

  “What type would that be?”

  “One who would donate to charity. The type to give back to his community.”

  “It was a debt.”

  “Oh?”

  “The foundation gave me interest free start-up capital for my business.”

  “And when one benefits from the auction proceeds, one is obligated to give back.”

  “I always pay my debts,” he confirmed.

  “Very reassuring. That’s why I’m here. My daughter, Kimmie, belongs to The Bluebonnets—”

  “What?”

  “It’s an organization that sponsors outdoor activities for girls in her age group—”

  “How old?”

  “Excuse me?”

  What did that have to do with sleeping outside and starting a fire with two sticks when she was on a very tight schedule? She’d be wasting less of her remaining time if he would impart information in sentences of more than three two-syllable words. And she had no illusions. When the allotted time was up, he would throw her out. She stole a glance at his biceps, the intriguing place where the sleeve of his T-shirt clung to the bulging muscle. There was no doubt in her mind that if he wanted her out, he would and could pick her up bodily and make it so.

  “How old is your daughter?”

  “Six. When I saw the weekend listed for auction, I knew it was exactly what I needed. And I figured I could kill two birds with one stone.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes.” Maybe he was finally listening and they could wrap this up quickly. “I could do my civic duty in support of the town charity. Buying your services to get my daughter her hiking and nature badges—”

  “You can’t take her camping?”

  “I could,” she said. “But her survival might be in question. I’m afraid you were right about me. My idea of the outdoors involves a lounge chair, a pool and a sissy drink with an umbrella in it.”

  “What about your husband?”

  Now who was digging for personal info? Although she had to admit Riley had a better reason. It was a logical question. “I don’t have a husband.”

  Not any more. And she couldn’t be happier. She was glad she no longer had to rely on flaky Fred Walsh. As an unwed pregnant teenager whose baby needed a father, she’d seriously relied on him. If only she could blame it on pressure from her parents. But they’d made it clear they would support her decisions. As it turned out, the decision she’d made hadn’t been worthy of support.

  “So you’re going to dump the kid on me for the weekend?”

  “Of course not. Do I look like the kind of mother who would turn her child over to a complete stranger? The two of us will be going on the outing—”

  He stood suddenly, interrupting her. “No way.”

  She blinked. “What?”

  “I said no. It’s a survival weekend.”

  “I’m aware of that.” She got to her feet. He was dangerously close to looming and she would not be loomed over.

  “I won’t be nursemaid to a kid.”

  “Her name is Kimmie. And she needs her two badges. If the necessity for nursemaiding arises, I’ll be the one doing it.”

  He shook his head. “You don’t need me for this. It’s overkill.”

  “Maybe. But I’ve already paid for you.”

  “I’ll reimburse you.”

  “I don’t want your money. I want my weekend.”

  “No.”

  “I want you to sue him, the foundation, Mayor Wentworth, the rest of his family, every person he’s ever known and anyone else I can think of.” Abby paced the length of her small living room.

  She loved the fifteen hundred square feet of space she’d purchased six months ago. Unfortunately when she was this angry, the state of Texas wasn’t big enough for the amount of pacing she needed to do. Fortunately, her daughter was upstairs in her room playing with her dolls and wasn’t watching her mother’s display of temper.

  “Suing the whole town is a little extreme, don’t you think?” Jamie Gibson asked.

  Abby had called Jamie right after leaving Dixon Security and they’d met here at the house. She was the attorney who’d handled Abby’s divorce two years ago. They’d become friends in spite of the fact that Abby envied her brunette curls, which were the polar opposite of her own stick-straight brown hair. And Jamie was beautiful, a fact the attorney didn’t seem to care about. She poured her energy into building a legal career based on integrity, intelligence, and unflagging client support. But Abby felt there was some serious flagging in her attorney’s support on the Riley Dixon issue. And how the heck could Jamie sit so calmly on that overstuffed pink floral sofa when there was some heavy-duty suing to be done?

  “The man is a welsher,” Abby cried, hands on hips as she stared at the bemused, indulgent expression on her friend’s face.

  “We haven’t established all the facts yet. The way I understand it, he escorted you out of his office after he said no. If he is, in fact a welsher, at least he’s a gentleman welsher.”

  “I paid for the weekend he donated to the auction. The check cleared already. And he’s refusing to make good on the deal. Maybe you’d prefer Indian giver?”

  “Native American would be a little more politically correct,” Jamie pointed out.

  “Politically correct would be for him to give me what I paid for—a weekend campout so Kimmie can earn her nature badges. I should have seen this coming. After all, he’s a man. By definition, that makes him a slacker.”

  “Are we talking about Riley Dixon or your ex-husband?”

  “They’re interchangeable,” Abby said.

  “Is he as hot as I’ve heard?”

  “Who? Fred?”

  “I’ve seen Fred,” Jamie pointed out. “I meant Dixon.”

  “He wouldn’t have to wear a bag over his head in public,” she grudgingly admitted.

  An image of the man’s dark hair, blue eyes and flawless physique flashed through her mind and Abby braced herself as her stomach lurched from the same elevator sensation she’d experienced just a short while ago. But, he was a reminder about judging a book by its cover—a hunk with the face of a hero and the heart of a welsher.

  “So he’s really good-looking?” Jamie pushed, obviously wanting details.

  “He’s weathered,” she said carefully. “A little bent and battered, but buff in all the right places.”

  “So you like him,” Jamie declared in a grating I-knew-it tone.

  “I don’t like him. But I’m not blind and I don’t tell lies in spite of the fact I don’t like him. Here’s the thing. When he told me he wouldn’t take us on the campout, I got that Fred-feeling in my gut.”

  “You’re telling me Dixon is a shallow jerk who’d leave you
in the lurch to try out for a TV reality show?”

  “It’s not the trying-out part. It’s the finding-Ms. Fear-Factor-who-jumped-on-his-bandwagon-and-his-bones-after-which-he-never-came-back part,” Abby said, remembering that particular brand of devastation. “And I don’t know if Dixon would do that. I never intend to find out. Because in my book, breaking one’s word on first acquaintance is a giant red flag.”

  “From what I’ve heard, Riley Dixon is a hard worker. A former Army Ranger who’s built a profitable security business in under five years. Soldiers don’t get to be Rangers by slacking off.”

  “Then we’re back to welsher.” She met her friend’s gaze and sighed. “Okay. I’ll admit to some lingering hostility toward the man who shirked most of his responsibilities—the most important one being his daughter.”

  “I understand why you’d have this over-the-top reaction. Kimmie doesn’t have a dad, and you’ve got to be both mother and father to her.”

  “That’s all true. But I’ve come to terms with it.” She ignored her friend’s raised eyebrow. “Part of coming to terms with it is knowing my limitations. I bought Riley Dixon to fulfill the father role for the weekend. How was I to know that he’s a macho jerk who breaks his promises? In my book, that makes him a Fred The Flake clone.” Abby huffed out a breath that lifted her bangs off her forehead. “Like all men, Riley Dixon is ducking his obligations.”

  “Not all men are that way.”

  “No? Couldn’t prove it by me.”

  “Let me rephrase. Not all men are flakes. Just the ones you meet.”

  “Why is that? I’m a high school librarian. Every day I deal with kids who don’t return books, don’t turn in assignments and just generally don’t do what they’re supposed to do. It’s my job to mold them into capable, dependable, efficient, honest adults. Admittedly, I’ve only been doing this for a little over three years, but I’ve had students come back and say I’ve made a difference in their lives. So is it just bad karma that I’m surrounded by irresponsible, dishonest men? Am I a flake magnet? Should I roll over and let Mr. Macho walk all over me? What recourse do generally law-abiding people have when someone doesn’t live up to their obligation?”

  “Did you or did you not say he offered to reimburse you?”

  “He did.”

  “So take the money and hire one of those mounted police guys. I hear they’re quite impressive in their tight trousers and red coats. The hats are a little funny-looking, though.”

  One corner of Abby’s mouth twitched in amusement. “Texas is a little far from the Canadian border to make that a viable solution.”

  “Too bad,” Jamie sighed. “What about a Texas Ranger? The hats are better, and they’re right in our own backyard.”

  “That’s law enforcement, not nature guide.”

  “They’re hot, too.”

  Abby stared at her. “Maybe you need to go home and take a cold shower.”

  “I don’t want to go home,” she said, an odd look on her face.

  Instantly alert, Abby stopped pacing. “Is something wrong, Jamie?”

  “No.” She shrugged.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” Abby asked. “Does it have anything to do with the guy your parents bought you at the auction?”

  A smile curved up the corners of Jamie’s mouth. “Yeah. A little. I’m dealing with it. No big deal.”

  Abby had learned that if her friend didn’t want to talk about something, nothing could drag it out of her. So they might as well go back to the problem at hand. “Okay. Let’s come up with some really creative grounds for suing Riley Dixon.” Abby was glad when her words produced a laugh.

  “So you refuse to let him reimburse you and just camp out with Kimmie in your new backyard and take her to the park for a walk?”

  “No can do,” Abby said. “Not authentic enough for The Bluebonnets. It’s gotta be real. At least one night living off the land. With dirt and no flushing toilets. Microwave bad, fire good,” she said in her best caveman voice.

  Jamie laughed. “That seems pretty extreme.”

  “Don’t tell Kimmie that. She’s got her heart set on getting all her badges. You know her. When she gets something in her head, she’s going to do it. And come hell or high water, she’ll get it perfect. I keep telling myself that determination is a good quality in an adult.”

  “There’s got to be another way.”

  “I don’t want to find another way. I had it all figured out and paid for.” She held her hands out, palms up. A helpless gesture, and she hated feeling helpless—maybe even more than she hated relying on a man. “What am I going to do?”

  “Talk to him again.” Jamie shrugged as if it were that easy.

  “Are you saying you won’t sue him?”

  “No. I’m saying people are too sue-happy these days when a simple conversation could save time, aggravation and money. He’s ex-military. Surely he’s a rational, logical man.”

  Abby sighed. “Listen to yourself. Any self-respecting legal eagle would take this case and run with it for all the billable hours they could get. You, my friend, are going to starve.”

  “I can afford to take off a few pounds.”

  “You are so lying. And you’re too thin. You’re sure there’s nothing you want to talk about?”

  “No. Except I know you don’t really want to sue Riley Dixon. You just needed to let off steam.”

  “Busted,” Abby said.

  “And I suspect the name-calling did wonders for your anger abatement level.”

  “You think slacker, welsher, jerk and flake helped?”

  “I do, indeed.”

  Abby sighed. “You’d be right. But don’t let on to Kimmie. I always tell her to use people’s given names and I’m fairly certain none of the above are on Fred’s birth certificate. Or Dixon’s, either, for that matter.”

  “She’ll never hear it from me. But in that spirit, I’d be happy to role-play with you for your next conversation with Riley Dixon.”

  The thought of seeing him again sent quivers through Abby and she remembered the mayor’s comment on auction night about thrills and chills. His words were turning out to be annoyingly prophetic. She wondered if she might be better off if she waved the white flag and retreated.

  Riley Dixon watched the elevator doors close, then turned to his sister. “We got the contract.”

  Nora smiled. “To put security systems in all the district’s high schools?”

  “Yup. Starting with Charity City High.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “Yeah.”

  “So you’re excited?” Nora asked, toying with the pen on her desk.

  “Of course.”

  “Then why do you look like someone let your favorite pistol rust in the rain?”

  “I don’t know.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I guess it’s because we shouldn’t need metal detectors and surveillance systems in high schools.”

  “It doesn’t mean that all kids have gone over to the dark side,” she pointed out.

  “I know.”

  “You can’t take responsibility for what’s wrong with the world today.”

  “I know that, too. But it seems wrong to profit from it.”

  She lifted her shoulders. “The Board of Education budgeted for the security measures. And frankly, if they’ve decided it’s necessary, I’ll sleep better at night knowing they’ve hired the best company for the job. So will a lot of high school parents. Mostly the kids are good, normal kids. You’ve been hired to make sure they’re safe from the occasional bad apple. The school district feels it’s money well spent. Why don’t you?”

  “Thanks for trying to make me feel better.”

  “You’re welcome. In exchange, I’d like to know why you practically threw Abby Walsh out of your office.” She tucked a strand of auburn hair behind her ear and met his gaze.

  Riley knew his sister well, meaning she wasn’t going to back off. “She was here to make arrangements for the
survival weekend I donated to the Charity City auction.”

  “Wow. That clears up any confusion,” she said sarcastically. “And here I thought she’d done something really bad. Like having the audacity to look a lot like Barb Kelly.”

  Riley winced. Abby Walsh was petite and feminine and beautiful. Her skin looked soft and her shiny brown hair even softer. It was like a curtain of silk teasing her shoulders. And Nora was right. Abby looked an awful lot like the pregnant woman he’d married to give her baby a name. The same woman who walked out two years later when the biological father finally showed up to claim his rights. Better late than never had made him feel like hell.

  “Her daughter needs some kind of scouting badges,” he explained.

  “And you jumped to the conclusion that she was cut from Barb Kelly cloth and dumping the kid on you.”

  “Yeah.” Just like old times, he thought. “I’m glad you understand.” It’s what he loved about Nora.

  “But I don’t understand. Didn’t you clarify the situation?”

  He sat in one of the chairs in front of her desk. “She claimed she’d never turn the kid over to a complete stranger and said she’d be going on the `outing’ too.” He huffed out a breath. “Outing. As if it’s a society picnic with hoity-toity baskets and buckets of champagne.”

  “It couldn’t be possible that you thought she was phat.”

  “You’ve got eyes. Did you think she was overweight?”

  He thought she had the curviest little body he’d seen in a long time, although it was hard to tell in that full-skirted thing she’d been wearing. But her arms were toned and the silky shirt she wore under it molded to her breasts in a way that tempted a man and made him hot all over.

  “I didn’t say F-A-T. I said P-H-A-T—pretty hot and tempting.”

  “No,” he lied. “I didn’t think that.”

  “Okay. Then I have to conclude you’re scared.”

  He stood, to crank up the intimidation factor, and glared down at her. “This is me we’re talking about. When I was in the army, I parachuted into hostile territory with nothing but a knife, a sidearm and a radio. I’m not afraid of anything.”

  “And this is me,” Nora said, unfazed by the intimidation ploy. “I was there to pick up the pieces when Barb Kelly walked out with the child you fell in love with—”