by Annie Jones
“Oh, sure.” He swept out his open hand in a stereotypical ladies first gesture. “Let’s go.”
“I’ll go, thank you. It won’t take long. I just have to bring a casserole or something up from the freezer so I can warm it up.”
“Anything for the cause of warming things up, ma’am.” He stepped to the door, just inches away from her so that she would either have to move away or shove him down the stairs to be rid of him. “Why don’t we start with that cold shoulder you’re intent on giving me?”
“I do believe now you’re the one who’s got his words out of whack, Mr. Walker.” She pulled herself up to her full height, her hands behind her back, chin level, and her gaze fixed on his. “The thing you seem most interested in doing is worming, not warming. As in worming your way into my business, my family, my home—”
“Say, you’re pretty good with letters yourself. Maybe later on this evening we can tackle that jumble puzzle together.”
“Why don’t I just give you my edition of the paper and you can take it with you when you leave?”
Without her heels, the top of her head barely reached his chin, which only fueled the already primitive protective instincts he harbored toward her. She had no idea, he imagined, how precarious her situation was, how he alone had stood between her and Greenhow and who-knew-what havoc the lawyer would have liked to have unleashed on her and her companies.
“That would be the morning paper, then, correct? I believe your aunt’s invitation was to put Wendy and me up for the night.”
At the mention of Wendy, Dixie tore her gaze away from his. She placed her hand on the interior wall of the stairwell and spoke as she crept down the first few steps. “Leave the door open. The fixture over the stairs is broken, so I need the light to see the way to the switch by the freezer.”
Riley caught her by the arm. He stood half in, half out of the doorway, not yet fully committed to coming after her but unwilling to let her get away. Somehow he had to get through to her, had to make her understand that he was not her enemy.
“Why have you made your mind up that my presence here spells disaster for your company, Dixie?” He took extreme caution to make sure his grasp on her was gentle, hoping instead, to keep her from running away by the power of his voice and his message. “Why won’t you even listen to my side of this? Why are you so resistant to my efforts to help?”
“Help? There’s that word again.” Dixie gripped the handrail.
“Is it so frightening a word to you?” He stepped over the threshold. The door banged shut behind him, plunging them into a darkness broken only by the dim evening light from a curtained basement window below. “Are you so scared of letting anyone come in to try to help you that you’d sooner lose everything than take a chance that it might work out?”
“I am not going to lose everything.”
He could sense her chest rising and falling with the passion of her conviction.
“No, of course not.” He relaxed his hand on her arm.
“My great-grandfather founded this town.”
“I know.” He came down a step so that as his eyes adjusted to the darkness he could see the fire in her eyes as well as hear it in her voice.
“My family has been self-sufficient in business since this town’s founding, and in Fulton’s Fine Furniture and its companion businesses since before I was born.”
“Yes, but now—”
“Now nothing has changed. This town has come to rely on our companies and, by extension, our family for jobs, patronage, and the tax revenues we pay the city and county Not to mention the charity and community support we have been happy to provide, whether it meant new robes for a church choir, uniforms for our high school baseball team, or decorations for the downtown square on Commemoration Day.”
He moved down to the step above her. “So, you’re saying this is a control issue?”
“I’m saying it’s a responsibility issue. My family has accepted this responsibility for over a hundred years. Now I have the reins of power less than ten days and a stranger steps in and tries to take that away? A stranger who isn’t even from here, who has no idea who we are or what we stand for?”
“Is that why you’re so resistant? Because you see me as an...as an outsider?”
“I see you, Mr. Walker, as a man who has come, not to me directly but through a man who clearly would put personal gain over charity and goodness and perhaps even ethical behavior. Resistant? To that? You bet I am.”
* * *
Dixie charged on down the stairs, fueled by a mass of emotions that ranged from unvarnished fear to outright uncertainty over what she really needed to do concerning Riley Walker. No footsteps followed. Perhaps her speech had given him reason to pause, if not retreat.
She grimaced. No, Riley Walker did not have the makings of a man who would easily retreat. That she did know.
Not until her feet hit the concrete of the basement floor did she realize she’d forgotten to put her shoes back on. She hugged her arms close to her body and shuddered at the sudden shock of cold biting at her toes. She managed the few shuffling steps it took to reach the light switch, then flicked it on, unsure if she would find Riley still standing on the staircase or not.
“Wow. It’s like a wonderland down here.” The wooden stairs groaned under Riley’s weight as he came down them one halting step at a time.
She blinked to help her eyes grow accustomed to the brightness of the bare bulbs glaring down from the crossbeams.
One heavy footfall and the moan of wood against wood repeated in maddening slow motion, making Dixie stop and turn, not to see what was taking the man so long, but to find what had taken him so aback. Something had gotten this man’s attention and left him in silent awe.
Her gaze fell on the wild array of furniture parts, old advertising signs, trunks and suitcases, bottles and baby things strewn here, propped up there, and even hanging from the low, unfinished ceiling. She’d long ago begun taking the collection of trash and treasure for granted, but as she surveyed it again, she could well imagine how one might react to the first glimpse of what represented a century of her family’s daily life.
“What can I say? My family has a hard time letting go of anything.”
“You’re telling me that?” He laughed.
Such a good laugh. Like it came from a place of real joy that existed deep in his being. Could he possibly be that rowboat Lettie suggested, or was he the first swell in a wave that would overtake her and those who depended on her?
That kind of thing couldn’t be decided in the basement while everyone waited for supper. Later tonight she’d think more about it. Straightening her shoulders, she waved her hand and kept the conversation focused on the collection of junk and away from the conflict between the two of them. “You think this is something? You should see the attic.”
“I’d love to. Want to take me up there after dinner?”
“You do not give up, do you?” She turned her back on him.
“I don’t make decisions lightly. But when I do commit to something, no, I don’t give up on it unless I absolutely have to.” The steps creaked. His boots scuffed over the gritty concrete surface of the floor.
The freezer door’s seal let out a quiet pop and then a gasp as she tugged it open to stare inside. “We gave away most of the food folks brought after Daddy’s death to people who needed it more than we. But we did have the foresight to save some casseroles for these evenings when work and...unexpected circumstances...kept me late.”
Riley said nothing but she heard him moving about, sifting through things, picking something up then setting it back down.
She thought of reiterating that they only had a few casseroles left and they were small ones at that. But as much as she wished she could convince Riley not to stay, she could not poormouth her way out of serving him and his daughter a meal.
She sighed. “If you should decide to stay for supper, are there any foods you can’t or won’t eat?”
“What?” She pulled back to look right at him and discovered him gazing at a dusty showcase of ribbons and trophies.
“Do you still ride?”
“I never did.” Dixie curled her fingers more tightly around the cool metal handle of the freezer door. “Those were my mother’s. That other stuff, there, that’s all mine. I’m afraid you won’t find an award or a medal in the lot, though.”
She hadn’t meant for the casual comment to sound so apologetic. Then again, she wasn’t exactly sure why she’d said it at all. She didn’t really want this man who had already intruded too far into her professional and now private life looking through her childhood keepsakes...did she?
The man bent at the knees, squatting low until he brought himself level with the clutter of old toys and mementos. He examined a box filled with an odd assortment of cups and dishes. He tapped his blunt fingertip along the spines of some old, worn books. Then he came to the small, white table with pink ribbons and blue lamb decals on it. Dixie had held hours worth of tea parties on that thing, and when he ran his hand over the top of it with a kind of gentle reverence, a most disconcerting shiver tripped up her spine.
She reached into the frosty shelves and selected the largest of all the casseroles that remained. One step back and a well- timed bump of her hip set the door swinging closed. It fell shut with a wham, so hard it rattled the copper Jell-O molds stacked on top of the unit, which did nothing to quiet her jangled nerves. Head high, she pivoted on her bare heel, full ready to deal with Riley again.
“My baby!” She couldn’t help exclaiming the second she saw what he now held in his hands.
“It says Belle on it.” He held up the large, muslin doll with the black yarn braids and her name embroidered on her red-and-white gingham apron.
“Baby Belle, that’s what I called her.” Dixie approached with subtle caution, avoiding the halos of brightest light directly beneath the exposed bulbs. She did not want Riley to see how much she cherished the old belonging. She simply was not ready to show him any weakness, especially one so private. “Miss Lettie made her for me shortly before my mother died.”
“She looks like she’s been well loved.” He stretched his arm out to offer the doll to her, as if reaching into her personal life, to get to her one way or another. “And well cared for.”
“Actually, I hardly played with her at all.” She pulled the freezer dish closer to her but found it harsh comfort.But when Dixie saw the delicate handwork of the doll’s achingly familiar face, and the way Riley’s work- toughened hands held her with undeniable tenderness, she didn’t care what his motive was. She set the dish in an empty spot on a nearby shelf and reached out to take the oversized doll.
“I never played with her much. Thought I was too old for dollies by the time Miss Lettie gave her to me the Christmas before I turned ten. Though I had dearly loved and worn to pieces every baby doll she’d ever given me before.” Dixie fingered the doll’s twisted yarn bangs. “This one, I sat on top of my dresser and never gave another thought to, until...”
He leaned forward, his gaze intent, his jaw set, his large hands now resting between his knees, fingers entwined.
“The day of my mother’s funeral.” Dixie could not look at him as she spoke. Yet she could not force from her mind the picture of his face when he’d handed her the doll...those strong features awash with almost palpable kindness and empathy.
So many emotions crowded up in her that she had no idea what she was saying or why. She just went on, letting the words pour quietly out. “As we got ready for my mother’s funeral, I picked up Baby Belle to take with me and I did not let her go for the next two years.”
“Really?”
“Well, I didn’t take her to school with me, but pretty much everywhere else I went, Baby Belle went, too. My family didn’t make too big a deal out of it or even seem to notice. Miss Lettie did, though.” She swallowed and blinked away any dampness in her eyes. “I think she understood more than any of my blood kin ever did how very much I missed my mother.”
“You have a very special bond with her.”
Dixie wasn’t sure if Riley meant she had a special bond with her mother or Baby Belle or Miss Lettie, but since the statement held true of all three she simply nodded. “During those two years, Miss Lettie, she took some of my mother’s clothes and used them to make a whole wardrobe for my doll. They’re in that trunk there, the blue one, by your knee.”
“Pretty big trunk for a little doll’s clothes.”
“Guess you think I’m awfully spoiled, huh?”
“Miss Fulton-Leigh, you are talking to the father of an only child, a man trying his best to raise a motherless daughter himself.”
Dixie started to run the edge of her thumb over her mother’s pearls, caught herself, then folded her hands together instead.
“Because you’ve refused to listen to my side of things, you don’t realize that main reason I ever even entertained your father’s initial business offer was because of Wendy. Because of Wendy, I need the opportunity that being your partner provides.”
This was no sales pitch, no slick story spun out to endear him to her, to make her lower her defenses to him. The raw edge to his every halting word told Dixie as much.
“Miss Fulton-Leigh, I am fully prepared to uproot my entire existence, to relocate my home, and take on new business responsibilities all for the sake of my little girl. I would do anything within my powers to see to her safety, well-being, and future. I am certainly not going to call you spoiled because you have a big trunk filled with doll clothes made from your late mother’s things.”
Poor little Wendy! It was all Dixie could think. No, not all she could think. She marveled at this man, as well, and what he implied by his fervent confession. “Would it be presumptuous of me to ask what happened to Wendy’s mother?”
“After the way you’ve refused to talk to me about anything civil much less personal, yes, it’d be extremely presumptuous of you.”
“Oh.”
“However, given that I still hope that the relationship between you and I can improve and grow, I’d be glad to share it with you.” He glanced over to the casserole dish on the shelf nearby. “But you’ll have to settle for the short version for now, I think.”
“Agreed.”
“Wendy isn’t really...that is technically...” His brow creased and he fumbled with his hands. “My sister, Marcia, abandoned Wendy two days after she was born. Just walked out of the hospital without so much as a good-bye to my mother or a second thought about what would become of her newborn.”
“Oh, Riley...”
“I can’t say it came as a big surprise. Marcia has had a lot of problems but we had hoped that she’d overcome them, especially for Wendy’s sake.” Riley lifted his head like a man scanning the horizon for something he knew would never come. “That’s why my mother and I brought Wendy home and began taking care of her, hoping Marcia would get herself together and come back. By the time we accepted that wasn’t going to happen, well, I already thought of Wendy as my little girl, so we just went on that way. Her calling me daddy and me loving her like my own.”
“And Wendy’s biological father?”
“Her biological...” He swallowed so hard she could see the movement of his Adam’s apple. “Thank you, very much, Miss Fulton-Leigh for making that distinction. You don’t know what it means to me.”
Anyone with eyes could see what it meant to him, but she didn’t say so.
“Wendy’s biological father gladly signed over his rights to her then hit the road. But my sister never did sign away her parental rights.” Riley ground his fist into his palm, his jaw clamped down so tightly that she could see the muscle tick in coiled tension. “In a little less than eight weeks, I am going to walk into a courtroom and ask the state to do that for us, to sever Marcia’s rights so I can adopt Wendy properly.”
A foreboding gripped Dixie. She cuddled Baby Belle close and waited
for Riley to decide if he would go on.
“This is one of the most important things I’ve ever done, Dixie.”
She could only nod.
“I’ve had to draw some hard conclusions over this and take what to some might seem drastic actions.”
“Buying into my company?”
He nodded. “When I walk into that courtroom, I’ve got to prove beyond the shadow of a doubt that I have provided for Wendy the best home life and the most stable environment possible. Moving here and becoming a part of your organization is how I hope to do that for her.”
He did not look her in the eye, but she could not take her gaze from him.
For one terrifying and brilliant moment, Dixie looked at this kind man, this caring father’s anguished face, and she saw things from a broader perspective. In that heartbeat of time, she began to wonder if Lettie had it wrong. Perhaps Riley had not been sent to help her so much as they had been meant to help each other.
She stood and looked around at nothing in particular. “I, uh...I think we’re going to have some pretty hungry people waiting for us upstairs if we don’t get this casserole in the oven soon.”
She laid her carefully preserved doll down on top of the trunk, then took up the still-frosty dish in both hands and started for the steps. As her foot reached the first tread, she paused to look over her shoulder. “Why don’t you grab Baby Belle and her clothes trunk and maybe that box of play dishes and bring them up? I have the feeling Wendy will be plenty bored with all us big folks quick enough and might like something to play with, especially if ya’ll are going to spend the night.”
Chapter Nine
Everything was going to work out just fine. Riley knew it. He knew it down into his very bones.
Dinner preparations had gone smoothly with Dixie handling the hot foods, heating the entree and browning the rolls, on account of the temperamental oven, she’d explained. Riley took on the cold things, the cutting up of a salad and the iced pouring the sweet tea.