The Ballad of Dixon Bell

And now he was back, not at all the vague, blurred teenager she remembered, but a vital and incredibly attractive man. That moment when he’d held her against him still sang in her veins.

She caught sight of her reflection in the black door of the microwave—hair flat and tangled, makeup washed off by the rain, clothes barely decent—and groaned. Not exactly the picture to inspire a man to romance.

Embarrassed and, to be honest, disappointed, she hurried up to her bedroom to repair the damage. Chances were slim she would encounter Dixon Bell again today, or ever again, but she did try to look her best when she went out. People tended to think better of you when you presented yourself well.

As she smoothed her damp hair into a ponytail, the phone rang. She should have let the machine answer it—she wasn’t going to get to the cleaner’s or the hardware and grocery stores at this rate—but she never could let a phone ring if she was there to answer.

“Hello?”

“You believed me when I said I’d call, right?”

Heart pounding, she sat on the side of the bed. “Dixon?”

“I just escaped from Jessica. I wish you hadn’t let her run you off. She always did want to be the center of attention.”

Kate smiled, because he was so right. “I—I didn’t run off. I do have things to do.”

“I’m sure of that. Can I see you when you get them all finished?”

“See me?”

“Yeah. Dinner, maybe?”

Her heart slammed to a stop, then started pounding again. “That sounds like…a date.”

“It does, doesn’t it?”

“But, Dixon…”

“Mmm?”

“I told you that I’m married.”

“Well, according to Jessica, that’s kind of a technicality. I understand you’re well and truly separated and on the way to a divorce.” Kate drew a deep breath, embarrassed all over again at the idea of being talked about. “And before you get too upset, I didn’t ask. Didn’t mention your name. She volunteered the information. Better be careful what you tell Jessica Hyde.”

“I am.” But the separation and pending divorce were pretty common knowledge, she supposed. “Still, I don’t think I should be dating.”

“Okay. We won’t call it a date. Just dinner for old friends.”

He made her want to laugh. “It’s not that simple. I have two teenagers to think about.”

“Oh, yeah.” That actually seemed to slow him down. “I’d say bring ’em along. But I kinda hoped to have you all to myself, the first time, anyway. How about tomorrow night? You could make arrangements for them and then we could get together.”

Oh, how tempting. Kate blinked back tears as she realized how much she would love to have dinner with Dixon, just the two of them. “It sounds wonderful. But…” She drew a deep breath. “I can’t.”

“That’s too bad. I was looking forward to catching up.” He didn’t sound angry, or even particularly disappointed. “You take care of yourself, okay? I’ll talk to you again soon.” Almost before she could say goodbye, he’d hung up on his end. That quickness gave her a little hope that he’d cared one way or the other that she’d turned him down. But really, why should he?

Kate glanced at the clock and realized she had missed the window of opportunity to get groceries before picking up the kids. That would mean taking them along, with the resulting sulks and sighs. As children, they’d loved to join her in the adventure of shopping. These days, they seemed to expect the food to appear on the shelf or on the table, ready for consumption. Providing for them was part of her role as parent, Kate realized, a role she cherished with all her heart. Sometimes, though, she wished the decisions and responsibilities could rest with somebody else. Or at least be shared. But her ex-husband-to-be didn’t feel much like sharing anything with her these days. Least of all responsibilities.

Waiting in the school parking lot a few minutes later, Kate tried to balance her checkbook in an attempt to keep her mind off Dixon Bell. Not a very successful effort, she had to admit. Instead of focusing on the numbers in her register, she kept staring off into space, thinking about his smile, picturing him sleeping on a picnic table one warm summer night so long ago. What courage it must have taken to strike out on his own. She couldn’t imagine being completely free of other people’s expectations and regulations.

So deep in reverie was she that she didn’t realize Kelsey had come out of the school building until the car door swung open.

“Hey.” Her daughter dropped into the front seat of the Volvo, her blond hair gleaming in the sunlight, her brown eyes and heart-shaped face enhanced by makeup as perfect as only a teenage girl’s could be at this hour of the day. She’d obviously just renewed her cologne, and the latest fashion scent filled the car.

Kate smiled in greeting. “Hey, yourself. Where’s your brother?”

“He’ll be here in a minute. He had to get a book out of the library for his homework.”

“How was class today?”

Kelsey rolled her eyes. “Booorrring. As usual.” A genius when it came to putting together the right clothes, she wasn’t a terribly focused student.

Without warning, Trace appeared in the passenger-side window and opened the door his older sister was leaning against. “You get the back seat. You had the front this morning.”

Kelsey gave an unfeminine snort. “Like I’m going to get out and get in again?”

“Yeah, you are.” Trace was a replica of his father, with the same athletic build, the same handsome face, the same dark-blond hair and bright-blue eyes. When he got angry, as now, the resemblance was even more striking.

“No, I’m not.” In an instant, their voices were strained, their faces heated. “You can have the front seat both ways tomorrow.”

“Oh, sure, that’ll happen. Get out, Kelsey.” He reached in and took hold of her arm, trying to pull her out of the car. Where once brother and sister had been staunch allies, in the last few months they had become adversaries, if not downright enemies.

But Kate drew the line at physical conflict. “Trace, that’s enough.”

He didn’t seem to hear her as Kelsey kicked out with a foot aimed at his knee. “Get lost.”

“You get lost.” The brawl intensified, with more pushing and shoving. A pair of kids crossing the parking lot had stopped to watch, and an approaching teacher stood gazing, openmouthed, as Kelsey and Trace pummeled each other.

Kate didn’t try to be heard over the yelling. Gritting her teeth, she planted the heel of her hand on the car horn and pressed down. Hard.

Trace jerked back at the blare of sound, which gave Kelsey a chance to get in the last blow. The boy staggered back against the car parked next to them, arms clutched over his stomach. “I’ll get you for that,” he panted. “I swear I’ll get you.”

Kelsey swung her legs into the car and closed the door without deigning to answer. After a minute, Trace fumbled his way into the back seat, where he curled into a ball, his head on his knees.

They rode home without speaking. Once inside the house, Kate didn’t have to tell the kids to go to their rooms—isolation was intentional and immediate on both their parts. She sank into a chair at the kitchen table and put her head down on her arms, too numb to think about how to deal with Kelsey and Trace.

And she still didn’t have anything in the house to cook for dinner.

THE ONLY PHONE CONNECTION in all the fifteen rooms of Magnolia Cottage was in the front hall, which didn’t allow for much private conversation. Miss Daisy came down the stairs just as Dixon hung up from his call to Kate.

She paused on the last step. “I gather from the frown on your handsome face that your dinner plans fell through.”

“Yes, ma’am, they did.” He tried to erase the frown. “That’s okay—there’ll be another night.”

At the mirror beside the front door, his grandmother checked the smooth sweep of her silver hair, always worn in a knot on the crown of her head, dabbed a little powder over her fine skin and checked the set of her lavender suit jacket. Convinced she was perfect—as, indeed, Dixon thought she was—she turned and put a hand on his arm.

“Why don’t you come with us, then? We’d love to have a good-looking male at our table to pass the time with. LuAnne Taylor just loves to flirt with younger men.”

Dixon lifted her hand and kissed the cool fingers, feeling them tremble just a bit in his hold. She smelled like his childhood—lavender water and talc and Dove soap. “You’re sweet, Miss Daisy. But I think I’ll let you go on without me. I might not be the best of company tonight.” He wanted to treat Kate’s refusal lightly, but the disappointment harkened back to the old days, when getting turned down by Kate Bowdrey had changed the course of his life. At seventeen, a boy was permitted to take love so seriously. By the time he’d reached thirty, he really ought to have gained a little perspective.

“If you say so, dear.” Miss Daisy patted his cheek with her free hand. “I’m just grateful to have you home again.” Outside, a car horn beeped. “Don’t wait up—sometimes we go to LuAnne’s and play bridge until the wee hours.”

Dixon opened the front door. “Miss Daisy, you’re a hell-raiser.”

She flashed him the smile that had captivated most of the men in New Skye at one time or another. “Of course. At my age, what else do I have left to do?”

Chuckling, Dixon escorted her down the house steps so she wouldn’t have to depend on the rickety railing, and held her arm as they went toward the twenty-year-old Cadillac waiting at the end of the walk. The crumbling brick pavers made the footing shaky, at best, but the grass on either side was too high and too weed-grown to walk through. He was surprised one of the older ladies who visited his grandmother hadn’t fallen and hurt herself before now.

As Miss Daisy settled herself in the Caddy, Dixon spoke with Miss Taylor. “Don’t y’all get too rowdy tonight. I want to be able to hold my head up in town tomorrow.”

“The very idea.” Miss Taylor pretended to be embarrassed. “Just four old friends having dinner together. What could be more refined?”

Dixon shook his head. “Four wild women is more like it, I’d say.”

“LuAnne, Alice is waiting for us,” Miss Daisy commented. “And you know how she fusses when she has to wait.”

With the ladies inside and the windows rolled up against the humid evening, the Caddy followed the curve of the driveway and headed down the quarter-mile gravel lane toward the street. Dixon turned toward the front porch, hands in his pockets, wondering what he would do for dinner.

But then he caught sight of the house, gleaming white in the twilight, and forgot his train of thought. An antebellum relic built by his many-times great-grandfather, Magnolia Cottage had been a plantation house before a bad economy and an ugly war stripped away most of the land, leaving only a few acres of gardens around the main building. The Crawfords and Bells had never been very lucky with money, so the gardens had eventually fallen into a state of disrepair, followed soon enough by the house itself. Growing up, Dixon hadn’t recognized the problems, but after so long away, he was appalled at the conditions in which his grandmother continued to live.

Not dirty, no…Miss Daisy had a woman in twice a week to keep the place clean. But the plaster walls and ceilings were crumbling as badly as the brick walk. Floorboards were loose all over the house. Miss Daisy had learned to avoid certain steps and particular danger spots, but Dixon had banged a shin with an exploding board in the bedroom floor on his first night at home. In addition to a hell of a bruise, he’d gotten a blistering lecture from his grandmother for his “uncivil” language.

There was no central air-conditioning, of course, only window units in the rooms Miss Daisy used. The kitchen was old, the appliances barely functional, the bathrooms—two of them for the whole house—archaic. Magnolia Cottage needed a serious renovation before it could serve as a home to raise a family in. Which he hoped to do, if only Kate Bowdrey LaRue would cooperate.

While he was pondering the possibilities, enjoying the way the humid air held the scent of leaves and grass and pine, a dark-blue SUV pulled around the curve of the driveway and stopped in front of the house. Dixon didn’t recognize the man who got out and came to join him.

The stranger nodded toward the house. “A wreck, ain’t it?”

Dixon ignored a flare of temper provoked by the insult to his home. The guy was a clod, but that was no reason to get mad. “Needs some work, definitely.”

“You Dixon Bell?” He wore mirrored sunglasses and a pink knit shirt and had “let’s make a deal” written all over him.

“I am.”

“Well, you’re just the man I’m looking for, then.” Turning, he stuck out his hand. “I’m L.T. LaRue. And I’ll pay you three hundred thousand cash to let me take this disaster off your hands.”

CHAPTER TWO

DIXON KEPT HIS FISTS in his pockets. “Thanks, but no thanks.” This was the bastard who had left Kate—and his own kids, for God’s sake—to be with another woman. No way was he going to dignify the man’s existence with a handshake.

LaRue waited a few seconds, then let his arm drop. The grin stayed on his face, considerably stiffer than before. “We can deal on the price. I just wanted you to know I’m interested.”

“No, we won’t deal. I’m not selling.”

“Aw, come on, Dixon. The place is falling down around your ears. Your grandmother needs a decent place to live out her old age. Let me build you a new house and get you out from under this white elephant.”

Dixon imagined the pleasure of planting his knuckles directly under the bridge of those shiny shades, but decided not to start a brawl on his own front lawn, weedy though it might be. “Like I said, Mr. LaRue, I’m not selling. Have a good evening.” He headed up the walk, leaving LaRue behind.

But Kate’s husband did not, apparently, get the message. “I’ll give you four hundred grand,” he called as Dixon climbed the semicircular steps that had been built with bricks made on the property more than one hundred fifty years ago.

“No, thanks.”

“Four-fifty’s my top offer!”

Gritting his teeth, Dixon shut the hand-carved mahogany front door between himself and L.T. LaRue. He would have liked to punch a wall, but there were enough holes in the plaster already. Out in Colorado, he could have saddled up and galloped his horse through the sagebrush until they were both tired enough to sleep.

But he’d left his horses—Brady, the bay gelding, and Cristal, the quarter horse mare he had yet to break to saddle—at the ranch until he could find the right place to board them in North Carolina.

Meanwhile, the evening was wearing on and he hadn’t had his dinner. Maybe some good food would take the edge off his temper, mitigate his urge to murder L.T. LaRue. And since he doubted Miss Daisy’s cats would be willing to cook for him, Dixon grabbed the keys to his truck and headed for the one place in town he could be sure of getting a decent meal and friendly company.

If he couldn’t be with Kate, the folks at Charlie’s Carolina Diner were the next best thing.

KATE FELL ASLEEP at the kitchen table and woke to find Kelsey staring down at her. “What are you doing?”

She sat up, wincing at the stiffness in her back. “I’m not sure. What time is it?”

“Almost eight.”

“It’s not!” But, of course, it was. Kate braced her palms against the table and pushed herself to her feet. “Um…let me see what I can find to make for dinner.” Standing at the door to the pantry, with her mind still fogged by the wisps of a dream, she couldn’t seem to find much inspiration. “We’re down to the bare bones here. Mushroom soup, anyone?” Kelsey stuck her tongue out. “Refried beans?”

“We could have burritos.”

“Except there’s no cheese, no salsa and no tortillas. Just beans.”

Trace came into the kitchen. “Gross.”

Kate agreed. “No eggs, no butter, no pasta or sauce.”

Kelsey crossed her arms. “So let’s go out somewhere.”

For once, Trace agreed with his sister. “Sounds good.”

Kate shook her head. “I don’t have enough cash for fast food.” And she really didn’t like eating out of a paper bag.

“So we can go someplace that takes plastic.”

“Possibly.” She looked at her kids. Trace wore the oversize T-shirt and hugely sagging pants that comprised the required uniform among his friends. Both pieces had been ironed at the beginning of the day, for all the good it had done. Kelsey’s shorts were just that—barely conforming to the dress code that required them to reach her fingertips. Once home, she had changed the relatively modest shirt she’d worn to school for a clinging tank top that left a strip of midriff showing and almost nothing to the imagination.

As for herself…well, she was decent, in shorts and a T-shirt, but not really dressed. “Where could we go at this hour, without changing clothes?”

Kelsey snapped her fingers. “I saw a sign at the diner. Charlie takes plastic now.”

“Really? I haven’t eaten there in years.” Kate wasn’t sure why, but the suggestion seemed like the perfect solution for her dilemma tonight. “So, here’s the deal. Kelsey, you put some kind of shirt over that tank top.”

“Why?”

Kate ignored the question. “And the two of you agree not to fight, not even to insult each other for the next two hours. If you get into an argument while we’re eating in public, I will drag you out by your ears and you’ll be grounded for the rest of the summer. And that’s a promise.”

The two teenagers glanced at each other out of the corners of their eyes, a kind of mutual commitment. Kelsey looked at Kate again. “Do I really have to wear a shirt?”

“Only if you want to drive the car.”

Fifteen minutes later, Kelsey stopped the Volvo in front of the diner. Kate let out a long, relieved breath. “That was good. You’re getting to be a very smooth driver.”

The girl’s increasing confidence did not, however, serve to ease Kate’s anxiety about being responsible for teaching her daughter to drive. And in just two years, she would have to start all over with Trace.

He walked a step behind as she and Kelsey crossed the parking lot, past a couple of pickups parked next to each other near the front door. “Next time, Kelse, maybe you could park in a regular space.”

Kelsey turned and stuck her tongue out at him. “There aren’t any spaces, you jerk. It’s all gravel.”

“But people usually line up at the same angle, in a row, more or less. You aren’t anywhere close to these trucks. Talk about dumb.”

Kate gave him a quelling glance. “Talk about this anymore and we’re going home without dinner.”

Since Trace ate almost constantly, in order to support his still-growing frame, the threat worked beautifully. The three of them got inside the diner without another cross word being exchanged.

The bell on the door jingled as they came through, drawing the attention of the four people talking at the counter. Kate was aware of Abby Brannon and her dad, Charlie, the owners of the diner, and Adam DeVries, one of her classmates from high school…familiar faces she might have expected to find here any night she chose to come. But the fourth person was, again, totally unexpected.

“Dixon?” She whispered his name, feeling as if she’d conjured him up from her dream in the kitchen.

But he heard her and got to his feet, looking just as good as he had this afternoon—tall and cool in khaki slacks and a light-blue dress shirt with the sleeves rolled back. “Hey, Kate. Two accidental meetings in one day— I’d say I’ve got a lot of good luck going for me. And it’s not raining this time.”

“No…no, it’s not.” Thank goodness she had combed her hair and put on some lipstick before she left the house. “It’s a lovely evening.” She recovered her manners and pulled away from his deep-brown gaze. “Hi, Abby. How are you?”

“Just fine.” The other woman came around the counter. Hands on Kate’s shoulders, Abby kissed her on both cheeks. “I’m so glad you’re here. The kids come in all the time, of course, but I only get to see you out in the car, waiting to take them home. Have a seat.” She led them to a booth on the wall. “What can I get y’all to drink?”

The kids ordered soft drinks and Kate asked for iced tea. Abby whisked away…and then two tall, handsome men pulled a freestanding table and a couple of chairs over to extend the booth. Adam sat down on Kate’s side of the table and Dixon sat across from him.

“It’ll be easier on Abby this way,” Dixon explained when Kate looked at him. “If you don’t mind?” His grin was apologetic and yet confident, inviting her to share a private joke.

“Of course not.” And she didn’t, except that seeing him again had seriously disrupted her ability to think. Her heart was pounding under her ribs, her breath had caught in her lungs. She didn’t think she could actually eat in this state.

Kelsey and Trace were staring at Dixon, confusion and even a little suspicion on their faces. Recalled to her responsibility, Kate made the introductions. “Dixon, these are my children. Kelsey and Trace, this is Dixon Bell. You’ve met Miss Daisy Crawford—he’s her grandson. He went to school with Abby and me, but he’s been gone for a long time and just came home. You know Mr. DeVries, of course.” She only hoped they wouldn’t comment on the fact that DeVries Construction competed with their dad’s company for business around town. “How are you, Adam?”

Adam nodded toward the kids, then gently shook the hand she extended. “J-just f-fine, Kate. I t-trust you’re the s-s-same. All r-recovered f-f-from the w-wed-ding?” Courtly in manner, tall, with dark hair and a construction worker’s muscles, Adam should have been anybody’s dream husband. Kate had never understood why he was still single.

Dixon leaned forward. “Somebody’s just married?”

Kate met his gaze. She could feel herself blushing, though there was no reason to be embarrassed. “Pete Mitchell and my sister, Mary Rose, got married a few weeks ago.”

“That’s terrific. I haven’t had a chance to call Pete since I’ve been home. I’ll be sure to look him up and offer my congratulations.”

“He p-p-plays b-basketball on S-Saturday mornings,” Adam commented. “With Tommy C-Crawford, Rob Warren and m-m-me. F-find one m-more player and w-we could g-go three o-o-on three.”

Trace looked over at the suggestion, then quickly went back to staring out the window into the growing twilight. But Kate saw that Dixon had noted his interest.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he said just as Abby came back with their drinks. Then he turned toward Kelsey, on his right. “I noticed you got out on the driver’s side. You’re working on getting your license?”

“Uh-huh.” Kelsey darted a glance in Dixon’s direction, but didn’t meet him eye to eye.

“I learned to drive in my grandmother’s New Yorker—this big yellow boat of a car, ’bout thirty-some years old now but it only has fifty thousand miles on it because she never goes more than a few miles outside the county line. I never did learn to parallel park that monster—the officer who gave me the test was a second cousin once removed, or something like that. He let me slide.”

“Parking is the worst,” Kelsey agreed. “Backing up is almost as bad.”

Dixon nodded. “It’s always hard to know which way to turn the wheel.”

Trace snorted, but Kelsey was captivated. She and Dixon embarked on a discussion about driving that lasted through most of dinner. Listening to their easy dialogue, Kate wondered where Dixon’s inordinate charm had come from. When had the awkward, inappropriate boy become such a lady’s man? Miss Daisy possessed more than her fair share of social skills, of course, but Kate didn’t remember a single hint in the young Dixon Bell of the charismatic skill he was using to draw Kelsey out of herself.

And then she wondered if he’d used that same skill on her this afternoon, if the flattering interest she’d basked in was just a tool Dixon plied on any woman within talking distance. Her soon-to-be ex-husband had been a zvery smooth operator fifteen years ago when she’d first known him. Still was, if his success with various younger women around town was all that rumor reported. Recently, so she’d heard, he’d settled down with just one of those young women and was planning to marry her. Despite his image as a man about town, L.T. was a conventional soul at heart. Perhaps he’d just needed to find the right person…