by Annie Jones
Still, Dixie’s stomach knotted. She did not want to hear this story again. She started toward the door, determined to go in and break this all up with some cheerful excuse about Miss Lettie needing her rest or Wendy needing to go to bed or that the house was on fire...anything to divert the conversation away from this painful memory
Riley caught her by the arm. “Let Miss Lettie talk, Dixie. Look at her, she really seems to be going someplace with this, and it seems like it’s making a connection with Wendy.”
“It’s not an easy story to hear, Riley.” She looked away. “Or tell.”
“I trust Miss Lettie to handle it well, to tread lightly where she should and to be frank when frankness is called for. Am I wrong in doing that?”
“No, you’re not wrong.” She fought back the urge to either dash off down the hall or to stand there, frozen, with hands over her ears while she sang loudly and most likely off-key.
“It was a long time ago, long before you was born even, when Miss Dixie was just a tad bigger than you are now, as I recollect.”
Wendy settled in, nestling close to Miss Lettie while the old woman croaked out the tale in her ancient voice. “There was to be a party, you see, an anniversary celebration for the Judge, there, and his wife, Miz Samantha Eugenie.”
Lettie jabbed a finger in Smilin’ Bob’s direction.
As if he knew they were talking about him, he let out a long, laborious snore, then blustered and blubbered before quieting down again and falling back into the more familiar, rhythmic buzzing.
“Now, so many folks was invited to this here party that they had to find a place big enough to hold everybody so they decided to have it out to the new place they’d just built, where they kept all the trucks and such, out to the Cartage company.”
“Cartage, that’s a funny word.”
“Just a fancified way of saying hauling, I reckon. You know how folks like to put on airs and make it sound like what they does and what they has is better than what everyone else has or does.”
“My daddy is going to run that cartage place. Should I tell him to just call it plain hauling?”
“Your daddy’s going to run that place?”
“Yes ma’am, he’s the main chairholder now. I thought he was going to make the sofas with Miss Dixie but he told me today he is going to run the trucks for the Judge.”
“Oh, my, that is good news.” Lettie lifted up her hands. “Your daddy coming to take over the Cartage is like, well, it’s like God sending a rowboat just when you think the flood of tribulations is just about to overtake you.”
“Rowboat?” Riley raised an eyebrow. “What is it with this family and rowboats?”
Dixie pressed her lips together.
In the room, with the hazy halo of light from Lettie’s stained glass lamp, Wendy and Lettie shared a smile.
Then Wendy wriggled a little so that she could stay close to Lettie but still look her in the face when she asked, “Why is my daddy like a rowboat? Miss Dixie said it was a joke, but I don’t get it.”
“Oh, it ain’t no joke, lambkin. Your daddy taking over is a godsend, and when I tell you the rest of the story about the accident, you’ll know why.”
“When you stopped, you had said they was having a big party”
“That’s right. Everybody was to get there early, then Geneva, Dixie’s mama, was to make up a reason for her mama and daddy to come out to the truck depot. Then she and her brother—who everybody called Young Bobby, even though he was a man fully growed and married to Miss Sis for many years—they was to come on in a car ahead of their folks. That way they could let us all know when their parents would get there.”
“It was a surprise party!”
“Yes, it were meant to be one, that’s right. But the weather weren’t good. The road out to the new building hadn’t been paved over yet and it were all rutted and muddy. Something went amiss.” Miss Lettie stroked her thumb over Baby Belle’s face.
Dixie put her hand to her own cheek, wishing she could rush in and take comfort from Miss Lettie. And give it back to her as well.
“One of the trucks clearing out to make room for party goers...” Miss Lettie curled her hand around the doll’s braid. She took a deep breath before going on. “Lost control on the road between the depot and town.”
“Oh no, Dixie.” Riley looked to her as if asking for confirmation of the awful truth. “They were killed in a wreck with one of the family’s own delivery trucks?”
She could only nod.
“Only the driver of the truck was spared.” Lettie’s jaw trembled with an emotion only those who knew the whole story could fully comprehend. Then she blinked, and dragged the back of her hand over her leathery brown cheek and sighed. “But that night, Geneva, Young Bobby and...the other passenger in that truck...went to an even bigger and better party in heaven instead of the one they’d expected to throw for their parents.”
Riley started to put his arms around Dixie’s shoulders.
She went rigid. She did not want this man’s sympathy. A few moments ago he’d been ready to run roughshod over her and everyone associated with her in order to get his way She would not accept his contrived benevolence now.
Riley must have felt her resistance. He withdrew without saying anything.
“After that night...” Miss Lettie began again to toy with the doll’s yarn hair as she spoke in a lighter tone, but still with hushed anguish. “Miz Samantha Eugenie took to her bed and never recovered. We lost her not long after, her poor little heart just not strong enough to sustain her through the great loss of both her babies at one time. From that day forward, the Judge, well, he never was the same.”
“I like the Judge the way he is now.” Wendy tipped her head to one side and blinked as she made what appeared to be a quite serious regard of Dixie’s grandfather. “I think he’s funny and I like it when people call him Smilin’ Bob and when he fights with Aunt Sis and when he growls at Peachie Too and does magic tricks—”
“He is a character, I’ll give you that. And sweet as bees knees to me.”
“Bees knees.” Wendy giggled.
“But sweet don’t run the business, lambkin, nor does magic tricks or the brand of general tomfoolery that old man is so fond of. I’ve known that man for nigh onto sixty years and I will tell you, child, he’s as smart as a whip to this very day. Much smarter than folks ‘round here give him credit for.”
Dixie shot Riley an I-told-you-so look that in any other situation would have made her blush at her own smugness.
“But it’s not in the Judge anymore to take over and run the business that brought about the loss of both his children.”
Riley tensed. His dark brows angled down over his eyes as if he were doing long, difficult calculation. He began to fidget, starting to—but not quite—folding his arms, then stuffing one hand in his pocket, then running his thumb down his jawline.
“For a long time that didn’t matter, though.” Lettie’s voice was soft and craggy but it carried just fine into the stillness of the narrow hallway. “Because Dixie’s father took care of everything. John Frederick Fulton-Leigh has gone on to the other side and now...” She let the word trail off, as if implying the uncertainty of what would become of things.
Dixie understood that uncertainty tenfold. Lettie’s reminder of it all only served to humble her. How arrogant she’d been when Riley had come with his offer of help, how self-righteous and demanding in thinking only of how it would look for her to be the one who lost the family business. How ridiculous she had been to let fear rule her decisions. She had known better...and now—
“And now…” Wendy perked up, her eyes shining, “…now me and my daddy have come here to help everyone.”
“Yes! Now you and your daddy have come!” Lettie patted the girl’s hair and grinned that gapped-tooth grin.
The knot in Dixie’s stomach relaxed. She turned to Riley.
“Dixie, I’m so sorry—” he beat her to the apology.
“We need a lawyer,” he said.
“I just fired mine,” they both said at exactly the same moment.
“You, too?” She clutched at his shirtsleeve. “But aren’t you in the middle of an adoption proceeding?”
“Long story.” He shook his head.
“Is that code for don’t ask?”
“It’s...” he put his hands on his hips and turned his face toward the ceiling. “It’s code for ask me again later. Okay?”
“Yes, you’re right. We have enough on our plates at the moment. We need...”
“We need a rowboat.” He chuckled.
“Maybe we should ask Lettie about where to get one since she seems to be our resident expert.”
Dixie glanced in to see that Wendy had slid from the bed and was holding the TV remote in her hand, poised and at the ready. Lettie snuggled under the covers, obviously preparing to go back to watching her stories until she fell asleep, as was her usual routine. Dixie pondered the frailness of the woman she so adored as Lettie moved with great effort to get comfortable. Dixie would gladly rush in and offer aid, but Lettie would only shoo her away. The old woman was far too proud to accept any help, so proud she would sever all ties with her own flesh and blood rather than—
“Lettie told me today that her grandson is a lawyer in Jackson. I was going to go over and see if I can’t arrange a reunion.”
“You think he’d act as our advisor?”
A flutter of anxiety rippled through her. She swallowed as if that might wash it all away, or at least push it back down so that she might answer Riley with some measure of confidence. “I...it’s hard to say. I don’t know the man.”
And you don’t know everything that stands between his family and mine. Dixie chose not to say it out loud. Why bring up old ugliness? Unless it became an issue, the secret of the tragic connections between Lettie’s family and her own would not come from Dixie’s lips.
Riley stole a peek in the room again. “But even if he doesn’t want to work with us, at least it’s a good place to start for recommendations, don’t you guess?”
“Yes.” Dixie stood tall. “Yes, I can’t imagine that Lettie’s grandson would be anything but forthcoming and helpful even if it turns out he has no desire to get personally involved.”
In the next room the television clicked on.
Grandpa sputtered awake.
Wendy told him they had to get going and leave Miss Lettie to enjoy her stories.
Riley took Dixie by the hand. “C’mon, let’s slip off before they come out here and know we’ve been eavesdropping. I have a notion Miss Lettie could still tear into us but good for being so rude.”
Dixie smiled as she let him lead her back down the hallway toward the front parlor. “You’re not scared of her. You’re just using that as an excuse to hold my hand and I know it.”
“Well, I don’t notice you turning loose of me.” He curled his hand more firmly around hers.
“Maybe that’s because I finally know we’re in this together.” She tightened her own fingers. It felt good...just to have someone to finally share in her burdens. Nothing more. Her heart raced. Nothing more.
Chapter Eleven
After they had talked through the details of what had to be done next, said their goodnights and the whole house had gone dark and quiet, Dixie had laid awake, tossing and turning. She tried to chalk it up to all the stress of the day and having strangers in the house. But deep down she knew it wasn’t what she found strange but all the familiar feelings Riley and Wendy’s presence stirred in her that hadn’t let her close her eyes and let go of the day. Feelings of family and home and wanting the same things in life as the people you care about.
Not that she cared about Riley Walker, not that way. But that he wanted for his child what her father had wanted for—Good heavens, she was already beginning to think like Riley!
“Here you are! Sis told me I’d find you in the kitchen. Are you ready to get go—” Riley froze at the threshold, his arm out straight to brace open the swinging door. “What are you doing still in your robe? We’ve got a big trip ahead of us if we hope to get over to Jackson, find and speak with Lettie’s grandson, then get home again before nightfall.”
Outside, the low rumble of thunder seemed to underscore his impatience.
Dixie slid her spatula under the lacy edges of one of the eggs frying in the cast-iron skillet. “I’ll be ready in no time, just let me finish up with the breakfast and then I’ll grab a quick shower and dress and be ready to hit the road.”
“Breakfast?” He shook his head but his stomach grumbled loud enough to rival the thunder outside. “What are you doing cooking breakfast?”
“It’s the first meal of the day, and it is now just a few minutes past seven in the morning. It’s not such a difficult leap of logic to put those together.” She held her tongue just so, rotated her wrist, and then flipped the egg in the pan without disturbing the deep yellow yolk.
“No, I mean why are you preparing breakfast?” He folded his arms and anchored his feet, using his broad back to hold the door wide open.
The morning light, muted by overcast skies, added a depth to his features that the brightest sunshine had erased, or at least, de-emphasized. She could see the lines of care etching outward from the corners of his deep eyes and the small creases that framed his smile, faint but always evident in his tanned cheeks. His damp hair looked even thicker, the waves and curls more unruly at the ends where he had tried to comb them back and down. The sight of him here, in her kitchen, dressed and ready to face the day sparked a subdued and startling excitement in her.
“Surely you don’t put in a full day’s work and still fix all the family meals.” He looked around the room as though he almost expected to see someone else helping her. “If that’s the case then we’re going to have to make some changes starting immediately.”
“You offering to take over the duties?” She held up the spatula. One fleeting, brilliant burst of lightning illuminated the kitchen windows. “Because if you are, you’d better get yourself over here pronto. The grits need stirring, the bacon needs crumbling, and the rest of these eggs should be over easy, thank you.”
“Grits? Bacon? Eggs? Don’t tell me you’ve got cheddar cheese and butter, too.”
“I have.”
He stepped forward, practically licking his lips. “Just tell me what I can do to help.”
She pointed to the pot of pale, creamy grits bubbling on the stovetop. “Stir. And if you have some ill-informed opinion about how this all should be handled, kindly keep it to yourself.”
“You’re not a morning person, are you?” He moved close enough that she could feel both the heat of the stove and the warmth of his skin through the thick layers of her chenille robe and the long flannel nightgown underneath it.
The thin layer of bacon grease in the skillet popped and sizzled.
“What I’m not, Mr. Walker—”
“Riley. We agreed last night that since we’re going to go ahead with our partnership, we’d operate on a first-name basis.”
Thunder rolled in the distance.
“Riley.” The name did not come easily to her. She liked the formality of last names, especially when standing in such close proximity to the man that towered over her and made her feel...well, just made her feel. Everything from panicky to protected, from angry to assured. She licked her lips and focused on the delicate task of turning the eggs so that they stayed intact. “The thing I am not, Riley, is calm or confident. I’ll admit that may have affected my mood.”
“Calm or confident about what?” He earnestly did not seem to know what she was talking about.
“About...everything. What if this is all a big mistake? What if all the plans we made last night bring nothing but disaster for us and everyone we hope to benefit by them?”
“And what if they don’t? What if they are the best things we’ve ever done, the best decisions we’ve ever made?” He swirled the wooden spoon through the grits in long, even strokes. “We’ve looked at this from every angle and gone over it as much as we could with your grandfather and Sis. I’ve approached my mother and she’s...”
“She’s...” Dixie raised her brows.
“Well, she’s got a broken hip. How much trouble can she give us?” He grinned, and not just an ornery son kind of grin but something softer yet sexier with a wickedly just-between-us glint in his eyes. “She can’t run away and she won’t be doing much kicking and screaming for a while.”
Dixie tried to laugh at that but she couldn’t shake her concerns. She began lifting the perfectly fried eggs from the black skillet bottom onto a pristine white plate. “Your mother is not crazy about the idea of coming to live with my family until we can get everything squared away, is she?”
“Well...” He lifted the spoon and let a glop of the thick mixture plop quietly back into the pot. “The word crazy did come up.”
The plate clattered as Dixie set it aside on the counter beside the butter dish, egg shells, and the crockery jar of saved bacon grease. “Is she scared to come and stay here?”
“No, no. Not at all, she’s heard some things about your family, that’s all. But I know once she’s spent a little time with them, seen how they are with Wendy...once she’s met you...”
Dixie looked up from the clutter of the kitchen and right into Riley’s eyes. Her breath caught in her chest at what she saw reflected there. She pursed her lips to say something, but at that precise moment, Riley’s gaze dipped to brush over her mouth. She could not have spoken then if her life depended on it.
He wanted to kiss her.
Dixie was no fool. Neither was she a simpering child. She recognized all the signals, all the subtle nuances of flirtation and attraction. She also knew the pain of mistaking those things for real affection.
Riley stepped toward her, reaching out with one hand to push her hair back.