Heart of Dixie
Copyright © 2016 Ruthie Henrick
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, incidents and characters are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights are reserved, including the right to reproduce or transmit this book or portions thereof in any form or by any means whatsoever, including photocopying, recording, or using any information retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Editor: Mitzi Carroll
Cover Design: Najla Qamber, www.NajlaQamberDesigns.com
Interior Design: Champagne Formats
ISBN: 978-0-9914164-6-2
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Other Books
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Coming Soon
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Twice in a Lifetime
Home for the Holiday
For everyone who has a small town soul . . .
Even if they happen to live in a city.
There comes a time in every girl’s life when she’s compelled to take on a mission that can only end badly. My mother had bullied and bribed me, and finally convinced me the trip to bury her ex-husband, Cooter Barnes, was by default my responsibility. I’d rather it didn’t blow up in my face.
With that notion wearing on my mind, the refrain from Elton John’s classic “The Bitch is Back” rose from the depths of my handbag—the soundtrack to my life with Olivia Westerbrooke.
I took a sip from my tepid coffee and let it ring. The sun was bright in my eyes, but the whir of the tires on the rolling highway calmed me. My cell phone rang again—a tone that had me rolling my eyes. Jeez, Beth, give me ten more minutes. I picked up the phone and answered.
“Have you been tracking me all night, Deputy Williams?”
Beth laughed. “Every step of the way. Want to make sure you make it all the way home.”
Home. My rental car glided through the final turn before I reached town and, yep, there went the butterflies in my stomach again. They’d gradually increased their uneasy fluttering the nearer I got. I reached for my sunglasses to soften the morning glare. “You probably have lookouts. Maybe even some sort of bet waged. I’m almost there, but you’ve already spotted me, haven’t you?”
“Coming up behind you, babe.” On cue, red and blue flashing lights strobed in my rearview mirror, followed closely by the single blurp of a siren.
There she was.
“I see you. You look very official.”
She chuckled again. “And you sound tired.”
“My day began yesterday with a seven o’clock breakfast meeting.”
My job here was simple. Much less complicated than some of the assignments I left hanging back in California. Get Cooter Barnes in the ground and get the hell out of Dodge. Should be easy—piece of cake. A small piece even . . . like a cupcake.
Though if the dance party in my gut wasn’t clue enough, the knocking in my chest and the sudden hot flush across my skin were surefire tells that this little visit affected me more than I’d planned to let it. Right now, those butterflies were paired up and dancing the cha-cha.
Not a good sign.
The city limits marker was just ahead—that same welcoming sign that had stood on the edge of town for as long as I remembered. Gravel crunched beneath my tires as I pulled to the shoulder beside it and stopped. I drained what was left of my triple latte and waited for Beth to pull up behind me, and studied the landmark I’d planned to never see again.
Should’ve known my true childhood friend wouldn’t let me sneak back into town without causing a fuss. Moments later, a ponytailed sprite blocked my view in the side mirror. With a stab of the window control, the glass whirred down. My grin escaped. “So it’s true. They really do let you play lawman!”
A pair of dainty forearms in rolled up khaki sleeves braced against the doorframe. The face that appeared in the open window was shadowed by a rolled hat brim and mirrored aviators, but the pixie chin was plainly visible. And achingly familiar.
That chin got close as my girlfriend squealed, then dove in through the window and squeezed my shoulders, shaking me.
“Dixie Barnes, I can’t believe you’re finally back! But I called you days ago! Everyone’s wondering where you are.” Beth wriggled back out of the car and picked up her Stetson, which hadn’t fit through and ended up on the ground.
I shooed her back, opened the door, and stepped outside. Which was stupid—the air conditioning was on inside the car. Immediately, perspiration beaded on my forehead.
It wasn’t that I was news, but that I was back after ten years without a visit. Notorious was more likely the word on the street. Reflective silence stretched between us. To distract her, I gave my chin a nod toward the wooden sign with its paint starting to show weather. “Seems some things change.”
An oversized pickup with a hound in the back honked as it flew past on the highway. Beth lifted her hand and waved, then followed my gaze to the sign. “Yeah. Well, Gus—you remember Gus?”
“The maintenance guy for the town? Sure. Big guy, walrus mustache. He used to let us ride around town on the back of his golf cart.”
Beth nodded. “Yeah, that’s him. Anyway, he still gives it a population update and a fresh coat of whitewash each year right before Founders’ Day. You gonna let him add you to the count this year?”
Founders’ Day wasn’t until the end of the summer; I’d be long gone. I lifted one shoulder and let it go at that. “There’s a Rotary Club now.” The logo was new, sandwiched between the Jaycees and Volunteer Fire Department emblems.
Beth rolled her eyes. “Sure. A few good ol’ boys meet for lunch on Tuesdays over at the Break an Egg and impress each other with how important they are.” And just like that, her eyes glistened. “Oh, sweetie, I suppose I should say I’m sorry about Cooter.” She pointed at the sign—at the fire-engine red graffiti—and her face fell. “Gus was supposed to come out and paint over that too.”
The broad slashes X-ing the towns One Old Coot off the town’s census was an improvement in my book. My harrumph slipped out before I could catch it. “I’m not worried about that. Hell, if I knew who did it, I’d probably bake them cookies.”
A frown landed on Beth’s face. “Still, he was your daddy.”
Ha! I turned my back to her and the road. “You can’t tell me his charming personality will be missed. It’s my guess every soul in Moreover is celebrating the passing of Cooter Barnes this week.” And who could blame them? His funeral was one of th
e few things that could ever bring me back.
Another car drove past at a more respectable speed, but was gone before I got more than a glimpse of the classic convertible.
Beth fixed a speculative gaze on me, one finger tapping her lower lip. “Does Deke know you’re coming?”
My chin jerked up as her unexpected question landed like a sucker punch and momentarily stole my breath. “He’s here?” Oh, this wasn’t good.
Her stance widened and her fists landed on her hips. “Of course he’s here. Where else would he be?”
Michigan. Whenever I thought of Deke, I imagined him still in Detroit, conquering the automotive world. Damn it. “I keep forgetting he moved back.” As replies went, it was pathetic, but my thoughts were still kicking around in the dust near my feet.
I stayed under Cooter’s radar by hiding out with juicy romance novels. Deke’s idea of light reading was something weighty his dad brought home from the science library at the nearby junior college. He wasn’t supposed to be in Moreover. He should have been the one to leave this place for good.
I wasn’t supposed to have to avoid him.
“He’s been back about a year now. Teaches over at the high school. Kind of a waste of that high-powered education of his—what was he, a rocket scientist or something? But I hear the kids love him, and it is kind of nice to have him around town again. The eye candy factor alone is lowering our truancy rates like you wouldn’t believe.”
Eye candy? Beth had been standing in the sun too long. “Mechatronic Engineer,” I murmured under my breath.
“What was that?” Beth canted her head.
I shook my head. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll be sure to say hello before I leave.” I wasn’t planning to start up anything with Deke McAllister while I was here. Or finish anything I left undone.
Beth chattered non-stop with her fists planted on her hips, sizing me up from head to toe like her only friend in the world had just come back from the dead. Inside I squirmed, or maybe it was those butterflies going at it again. Either way, the guilt didn’t sit well.
“Look, I’ve got a funeral to plan. And after all the nastiness he caused over the years, I figure Cooter owes the town an afterparty. But once that’s done, I’m gone.”
Beth opened her mouth and then closed it, sort of like a guppy. Did she not like the idea of a party? But the next time her mouth opened, words spilled forth.
“Where are you staying while you’re in town?” She glanced across the highway to where a fat rabbit fed on roadside dandelions. “A lot of the summer tourists seem to favor the new lodge if you don’t want to stay out at, um . . . your house.”
At Coot’s trashy single-wide, she meant. Home for so many impressionable years of my young life. “I already made a reservation.”
“Good. Now don’t look so snooty. They don’t rent rooms by the hour.”
She bumped up against me and my shoulders loosened. I snorted out a laugh.
Her two-way squawked and with a look of regret she plucked it from its hip holster, then paced as she carried on her conversation. For something to do, I swung my car door open and climbed back into the cool interior. She returned, attaching the radio back to her belt.
“Gotta run, sweetie. Duty calls.” She was already backing away toward her county-issue pickup truck. “How about meeting me for lunch at Break an Egg? We can finish catching up.”
I had things to do. It was the reason I was here, and the reminder had those damn flutters acting up. But lunch with an old bestie would be a quiet reprieve from what the next few days surely held. “Lunch sounds good.” I checked the clunky watch on my arm—just nine. “Meet you there at noon?”
Her gaze tracked the tap, tap, tap of my fingers on the steering wheel and she took another step backward as I covered my hand to stop its motion. “Noon sounds good.” She nodded once. Then she was gone.
I twisted in my seat to watch her leave, her petite frame melting into the golden sunlit sky. Her truck pulled up beside my car before I had a chance to take off.
She leaned across the seat and spoke through her open passenger window. “No matter how you feel about being back here, I’m glad to see you. And everybody in town will be happy to finally have you back. But I have a feeling you remember this place through the eyes of the eighteen-year-old kid who couldn’t wait to fly away, and we’re not kids any longer.”
She seemed to wait for me to acknowledge her statement so I let my chin dip in a nod.
Seemingly satisfied, a smile curved her lips. “So, do yourself a favor, will you?”
Was she waiting for another of those damn nods? What the heck? I nodded.
Her smile widened. “Give the town a chance, Dixie. Places change; people change. Sometimes they grow into each other better with time. Could be the same with you.”
No way! There was no way I’d change enough to want to stay in Moreover longer than necessary. What did she know, anyway? I shifted the car into gear and followed her onto the asphalt and toward town. I’d get Cooter in the ground, unload his worldly belongings, and head back to my life. No harm, no foul, no regrets when it came time to leave.
Yet, somehow I felt as if I’d just been schooled.
As morning commutes went, I had nothing to complain about. My morning drive in the city had taken forty minutes through a snarl of testy, pre-dawn freeway commuters. I’d mostly spent it with a Bluetooth plugged in my ear, chugging caffeine while getting a jump-start on my day. Today I hadn’t passed a single car while driving the few miles into town, and my only stimulant was the promise of Ruby’s blueberry pancakes down at the local eatery.
I braked to slow my speed as I hit Main Street, with its replica gas lampposts marching along the next several blocks. The members of the town council had gotten together and decided decorating the sidewalks was a good way to blow an unexpected windfall a few years ago. I didn’t care one way or the other. But besides the baskets of brightly colored flowers hanging from them, they were also still decked in patriotic bunting—leftover from the Fourth of July and fading from the simmering summer sun. Ol’ Gus needed to get on that.
The sky was clear and bright over Moreover as I downshifted, and Lucy—my latest restoration project and one hell of a cool drop top—cruised to a stop at one of the town’s two traffic signals. Quiet mornings like this were one of my favorite things about small town living—and the number two reason I returned home. I scrounged a rubber band from the console and raked my hair off my scalp. I could grab my ball cap from the back seat once I parked, but for now I needed to keep my hair from whipping in my face.
All was quiet in the red brick high school to the right of the intersection, but in an hour it would come alive with the antics of rowdy teens, all shackled to a desk when odds were they’d rather be out causing their own brand of trouble.
Which, ironically, was probably why the little fuckers were in summer school to begin with.
I let my gaze sweep both sides of the street as the light changed and I crossed the intersection and headed into town. With the power in this bitch, I had to kiss the gas pedal lightly. There was a time I’d have bragged about getting jammed up for power display. Today was not that day.
A few early-morning regulars occupied the café tables flanking the entrance to Cruller Me Happy. Several people waved; in a small town, it was as natural as my honk back. If I hadn’t planned to meet my brother and nephew for breakfast I’d probably be there too, swapping lies and unashamedly raising my cholesterol. But it was Thursday, and third Thursday of the month was Breakfast with the Bros—something we’d been working on making a McAllister family tradition.
So, it seemed Shane and Cody beat me to the diner. Their massive bloodhound lay sprawled on the wooden bench in front of the hardware store next door, dozing with his ears and jowls overhanging the edges, the entire scene shaded by a green-striped awning. To be ornery, I honked again, but he didn’t budge. “Damn lazy dog.” Not that I expected anyone to hear me; sometimes a guy ju
st had to mutter.
Break an Egg seemed busy, judging by the number of heads bobbing in the front windows. I tugged on the steering wheel and pulled into an empty parking space facing the building.
The smell of fresh-brewed coffee hit me as I entered, as welcome and familiar as the tinkle of the bell above the door and the faces that turned to greet me as I passed on my way to meet my brother and nephew. I hooked my messenger bag on the high back of a booth, slid onto the seat and nabbed the narrow waist of the youngster squatted there. “Cody, my man,”—he giggled when I tickled his belly—“your ugly hound is hogging the entire bench in front of nice Mr. Huntley’s shop.”
The little boy squirmed until he was free and had his nose pressed against the glass again, but he peeked back to announce, “And he farted all night because he got the ice cream carton off the counter and ate it all.” But he grinned as he made his report, so he must not have been the sucker who had to sleep with the mutt.
“No kidding?” Nothing could keep the amused snicker from my voice. Cody’s head rocked in an emphatic nod that made me chuckle.
“Ate the fucking cardboard and everything.” The repulsed snarl on Shane’s face across the table was all the confirmation I needed. Sure enough, big brother spent the night snuggled up with a lactose-intolerant pooch.
I tore off the end of my straw’s paper wrapper and blew through the narrow tube. Tagged the grumpy sucker right in the nose. Bullseye! “If you hadn’t kicked my ass at the gym last night I might take pity on you, but my muscles are screaming for mercy this morning. For that alone I’d gladly keep your freezer stocked.”
“I like rocky road ice cream, Uncle Deke.”
The little guy’s hair stuck up in back like someone forgot how to use a comb; I gave his head a ruffle so he matched all over. “I already know what you like. But what’s Boone’s favorite? That’s what I want to know.”
Cody knee-bounced on the vinyl-covered seat, bracing his palms against the lip of the table for leverage. “He likes everything. Even plain vanilla.”
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