The Hamilton Heir

Tim’s jaw dropped when she batted her long, beautiful lashes, and said in an exaggerated Southern accent, “Why thank you, kind sir. Bless your heart. I’m truly obliged for your gentlemanly behavior.”

Dawn didn’t know what had come over her all of a sudden. She was brave and had a good sense of humor but she wasn’t normally foolhardy. Teasing Tim Hamilton like that, when he was trying so hard to be nice, seemed too over-the-top even for a laid-back Louisianan with Cajun roots.

The fact that he’d recovered from the initial shock and looked as if he was struggling to keep from laughing helped salve her conscience. She swung her jeans-clad legs out of the car and quickly stood to smooth the hem of her sweater over her hips. “Sorry about that. I couldn’t resist.”

Tim chuckled and shook his head. “I guess I deserved it for insisting we observe antiquated customs.”

“No, you didn’t. There’s nothing wrong with a few old traditions. As a matter of fact, most of the folks we’ll be seeing tonight prefer classic Southern manners. And if that’s what suits them, it suits me, too.”

“So, you’re something of a chameleon, is that it?”

Separating the Styrofoam box containing Stuart’s meal from the others, she turned and headed toward his front porch. “I see myself as adaptable, not artificial. If I notice that something I say or do makes someone else uncomfortable, I try to avoid making the same mistake again.”

“Point taken,” Tim said, falling in step beside her. “From now on, I promise I won’t insist on treating you like a fragile Southern belle.”

“And I promise I won’t chew you out if you forget and try to open a door for me,” Dawn countered.

“That’s big of you.”

If Tim hadn’t been grinning so widely that the corners of his eyes crinkled, she might have worried more that he was actually offended. It was hard to tell for sure. He apparently had a sense of humor that let him enjoy a good joke without getting too carried away.

Unlike my dad, she added, remembering fondly how her father’s deep laugh had filled the house till the windows almost shook with it. She was used to boisterous men like him: men who loved life, wore their feelings on their sleeves and were equally at home yelling encouragement from the stands at a softball game or shouting a reverent “Hallelujah” from a church pew.

No wonder her reactions to Tim Hamilton were rather odd, she mused. He was so unlike anyone she’d ever been close to she was half awed, half flabbergasted. It was a wonder their working relationship was so effective, although it seemed to satisfy Tim.

Then again, Dawn reminded herself, at the office she kept her focus on pleasing him and doing everything precisely his way. What was not to like?

She climbed Stuart Meyers’s wooden steps, crossed the porch in two strides and knocked. From inside the tiny house she heard, “Hold your horses. I’m comin’, I’m comin’,” accompanied by the steady thump of the rubber tip of the old man’s cane.

Smile in place, Dawn waited patiently. When the door swung open she greeted the white-haired octogenarian and explained why she’d brought a companion. “Evening, Mr. Meyers. Sorry I’m a few minutes late. This is Mr. Hamilton. My car is in the shop and he was kind enough to drive me.”

“Well, come on in, come on in,” Stuart said brightly. “It’s not often I have company like this. “Y’all can stay, can’t you?” He paused to wink up at Tim. “The mister here and I can have a little sip of something smooth from Kentucky, if you know what I mean.”

“Sorry, but no thanks,” Tim said. “I’m driving, remember?”

“Pity. I been savin’ that bottle for a special occasion.” He hobbled into the main portion of the house that served as both living room and kitchenette.

Dawn followed and placed Stuart’s dinner on a TV tray for him. She eyed the large oval table that he used for everything but eating. It was arrayed with toy soldiers, plastic artillery, rail fences made of twigs, and strategically placed piles of sand and dirt. “I see nobody’s won yet,” she said. “How’s the war going?”

Stuart snorted as he shuffled past the overstuffed chair where he usually took his meals and proceeded to the table to peer at his handiwork over the upper rim of his glasses. “Not good,” he said. “General John Bell Hood’s Army of the Tennessee just let Schofield’s troops sneak through Spring Hill during the night and Hood’s about to get his you-know-what kicked at Franklin. Lost six Confederate generals there, you know.”

Tim nodded. “Go on.”

“Hood would be a fool to press on to Nashville and attack General Thomas after that, but that’s exactly what he’s gonna do. Guess he thought he could lead Sherman on a wild-goose chase and keep him out of Savannah. Might of worked, too, if he’d been able to move fast enough and recruit more men on the march.”

Tim circled the table, assessing the battlements and curving strips of blue paper that evidently represented the wanderings of a river. “Is this the Cumberland where it runs through Nashville? Looks like the fortifications on Overton’s Hill.” It was a wild guess but Tim was rewarded with a gleeful shout from the old man.

“It is! And over here’s Shy’s Hill.” A gnarled finger pointed. “The second Union attack begins here, on Hood’s right flank. It fails till Major General Smith’s men take Shy’s Hill and show ’em how it’s done.”

“Where’s Nathan Bedford Forrest?”

“South. In Spring Hill,” Stuart said. “I’m a tad short of cavalry horses or you could tell by lookin’.”

“I’m sure I could,” Tim said. “You’ve done a marvelous job setting this up.”

“Thanks, son. It’s a pleasure to talk to somebody who knows his history like you do. Most kids these days couldn’t care less.”

Tim’s gaze darted to Dawn’s face in time to see her hide a snicker behind her hand. He didn’t really mind hearing the elderly gentleman refer to him as a kid at thirty-three. Given their age differences, he supposed Stuart thought of anyone under sixty as still wet behind the ears.

“You should eat now, Mr. Meyers,” Dawn said. “Your supper’s getting cold.”

“Eat? How can I eat when Nashville’s under siege?” He circled the table and grabbed Tim’s forearm. “Come on. You can be Nathan Bedford Forrest, since you mentioned him. You bring your troops north from Franklin and lead a surprise attack on Thomas’s rear!”

Tim laughed. “Sorry. I’m afraid I have another assignment tonight, sir.”

The old man’s shoulders sagged. “Oh, right. You’re on mess duty. I forgot.”

“Maybe another time,” Tim told him gently. “I’d like to hear more. The history of this area has always fascinated me. My great-great-grandfather, Jeremiah Hamilton, settled here in the nineteen twenties.”

Stuart’s eyes squinted behind his glasses. “Hamilton, you say? Thought I recognized that name when you came in. Well, well, well. I knew old Jeremiah’s boy, Fred. We joined the Marines when we was barely old enough to shave. Fine man, rest his soul. You come from good stock, boy.”

Tim smiled. “Thank you, sir.” He was edging toward the door where Dawn waited. “Looks like I’d better go before everybody else’s food gets cold.”

He hesitated when Stuart hobbled closer, extended his right hand and said, “I’m proud you came. It’s been a pleasure, son.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Tim replied sincerely, shaking hands.

“By Wednesday night I can have all the fortifications slicked up and we can have a real set-to.”

Tim glanced at Dawn. Her jaw looked a little slack and her blue eyes were wider than he’d ever seen them before. He made a snap decision. “If it happens that I’m not needed to deliver meals then, I’ll still drop by again some time. I promise.”

Stuart’s shoulders slumped. He sounded down in the dumps when he said, “You do that, son. You do that.”

Dawn walked as far as the car before she whirled and confronted Tim. “You shouldn’t have promised him.”

“Why not?”

“Because he’ll be terribly disappointed when you don’t show up.”

“Who says I won’t show up?”

“I do.” Her hands fisted on her hips. “I know your work schedule, remember? You hardly have time to breathe, let alone visit lonely old men and spend hours rehashing the Civil War.”

“Then I’ll make time,” Tim said firmly. “I don’t know where you got such a low opinion of me but it’s wrong. I never make a promise I don’t intend to keep. I said I’d see Stuart Meyers again and I will.”

Dawn just stared. “You will? You really will?”

“Yes. I will.” He circled the car and opened the driver’s door. “Now, are you coming? Or are you going to stand there arguing and let the rest of this food get colder than it already is?”

Several other stops were uneventful and the deliveries went quickly. Ada Smith was next to the last on the evening circuit.

As Tim parked in front of her run-down antebellum home, Dawn filled him in. “Miss Ada is a dear. She absolutely dotes on her grandchildren, so be sure to mention how attractive they are when she shows you their photos.”

“How do you know she will?”

Dawn laughed lightly. “Oh, she will. She always does. And if any of them have been to see her recently, we’ll be treated to a minute-by-minute replay of their visit.”

“Okay.” Tim opened the trunk, took out another dinner and passed it to Dawn. He swept his arm in an arc and gave a slight bow. “After you, ma’am.”

She was shaking her head and chuckling. That pleased him. He was still trying to get over the shock of finding out she didn’t see him as the kind of man who kept his word. He was determined to show her his true character, though he wasn’t sure how. Granted, he could be rather ruthless in business if the situation called for it, but in his private life he wasn’t so bad, was he? Introspection didn’t show any major flaws that he was aware of. Therefore, he planned to charm the socks off the little old lady he was about to meet and prove to Dawn what a great guy he really was.

Why? The surprising question gave him pause. Why, indeed? He was Dawn’s boss, not her date. Why should he care about her personal opinion of him as long as she continued to do her job well? Dropping back a few paces he frowned with introspection as he watched her make her way onto the sagging wooden porch.

The front door flew open before Dawn could knock. A pixieish old woman with a wide grin and a head full of tight white curls reached for Dawn’s arm and practically dragged her inside.

“There you are, girl! I was gettin’ worried.”

“Sorry we’re a little late, Miss Ada. We got delayed when Stuart Meyers started talking about The War. You know how that goes.”

Ada chortled. “That, I do. My Sidney was a jewel, Lord bless him, but when he got to talkin’ about huntin’ or fishin’ he was as single-minded as one of his old hound dogs trailin’ a possum.” Blue eyes twinkling, she giggled behind her hand like a youngster. “’Cept, as I recall, Sid didn’t bay at the moon near as much as them dogs did.”

Dawn laughed with her, then turned back to the doorway where Tim waited politely. “I have someone with me tonight, Miss Ada. I’d like you to meet Tim Ham—”

“Land sakes!” the old woman shouted, cutting off the introduction. “Why didn’t you tell me you were bringin’ a friend? Hoo-whee, he’s a big ’un.” She lowered her voice to continue but it was still loud enough to have been heard all the way to the curb. “Mighty good-looking, too. Reminds me of a fella I dated years ago. That boy sure could kiss.”

“Miss Ada!” Dawn’s voice was raised, too.

“Oh, posh. Don’t be such a prude, girl.”

“Mr. Hamilton and I are not romantically involved,” Dawn insisted. “I had car trouble and he was kind enough to drive me on my rounds tonight.”

Ada eyed Tim. “That right?”

He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

Her pale brows arched. “Well, well. And I suppose you’re gonna tell me you ain’t noticed what a pretty little thing our Dawn is. There’s men’d fight to marry her for that long blond hair, alone.”

Cheeks reddening, Tim looked as though he was trying his best to keep a straight face. The corners of his mouth twitched. His dark eyes shone. “Yes, ma’am.”

Ada was just getting warmed up. She held out her arms toward Dawn as if hawking a priceless treasure. “Look at that girl. She’s pretty as a speckled pup. Smart, too. Went to college. Did you know that?”

“Yes, ma’am, I did.”

Dawn broke in. “I work for Mr. Hamilton, Miss Ada. I’m his administrative assistant.”

“His what?”

“Secretary,” Dawn said flatly. Determined to change the subject she asked, “So, how are all your grandchildren?”

“Oh, they’re wonderful. Sissy’s about to graduate and Bubba’s got his first girlfriend. The little ones are cute as ever.”

Dawn was relieved to see Ada bustle over to an end table and produce a packet of snapshots which she proceeded to display for Tim, one at a time, along with a running commentary.

He glanced at Dawn over the elderly woman’s mop of poodlelike curls. There was a plea for rescue in his gaze.

“We really should be going,” Dawn said. “We have one more stop.”

Ada looked up. “I’m not the last one?”

“Not anymore. Remember? We added that nice young family, Jordan and Allison Martin.”

“Right. The folks with the baby. I forgot. How’s the daddy doin’? Think he’ll be able to go back to work soon?”

“We hope so,” Dawn said. “Since he’s a carpenter, I’m not sure. It’s not like he can sit behind a desk all day the way I do.”

“Pity,” Ada said. She slipped the wad of photos back into the envelope. “Well, at least have some of my homemade cookies before you go. I baked extra for when the grandkids come by.”

Dawn gave Tim a look that was more warning than anything else as she said, “No, no. You should save them for the children.”

“Nonsense. There’s plenty. You two just stay put for a second and I’ll get you a taste. I can always spare a few.” She was leaving the room. “Be right back!”

Tim closed the distance between Dawn and himself before he asked softly, “Why not take a cookie? What would it hurt?”

“Depends,” Dawn said with a lopsided grin. “If she remembered to put the sugar in this time, it won’t hurt a bit. If she got it mixed up with the salt like she did the last time, that’s another story.”

Ada returned before Tim could comment. She held out a plastic bag containing four puffy discs of dough that resembled lumpy oatmeal. “I packed ’em up so you could take ’em along.”

“Thank you, Miss Ada,” Tim said, graciously accepting the gift. “We’ll enjoy them while we drive. I’m pleased to have met you.”

The elderly woman eyed Dawn. “He’s got manners, too, bless his heart.”

“That, he does.” Dawn was already on her way to the door. “Good night, Miss Ada.”

“Night, children,” Ada said. “Y’all be good, y’ hear.” She tittered. “But not too good. Life’s too short to pass up the chances the Good Lord gives us. Take it from me. If I had it all to do over again…”

Dawn had reached the door, pushed it open and flung herself through. Tim was following too slowly to suit her so she grabbed his shirtsleeve and tugged him along, not letting go till they were at the car.

“I take it she’s a widow,” Tim said.

“Yes. Has been for ages. If anyone should be out looking for companionship, it’s Ada Smith.”

Tim chuckled. “Something tells me it would take a very special man to satisfy her. Someone hard of hearing, maybe?”

That made Dawn laugh. “And tolerant. And definitely someone who loves her grandchildren, which is a pretty tall order.” She climbed into the car unaided and was fastening her seat belt when Tim slid into the driver’s seat.

“She was right about one thing.” His hands were on the wheel, his eyes staring straight ahead.

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” Tim said quietly. “You really do have pretty hair.”

Chapter Four

After they’d completed the meals-on-wheels deliveries and dropped the carrying boxes back at the church, Dawn expected Tim to merely let her off at her apartment and be on his way. However, when he parked, he got out.

She looped the strap of her purse over one shoulder and hesitated on the sidewalk. “Thanks for the ride.”

“No problem. I actually enjoyed myself. Some of those people are fascinating.”

“Told you so.” He was still not making any move to get back into his car and she wasn’t sure what to do about it. “Well, good night.”

He quickly circled the BMW and joined her. “I’ll walk you up.”

“That’s not necessary.”

Tim was firm. “I think it is.”

“Well, I don’t. I come home every night by myself and go in without an escort.”

“Tonight, you have one.”

“I don’t need one.”

“Humor me. I’ll feel safer knowing I took you all the way to your door.”

“Are you implying that my neighborhood isn’t safe at night because I don’t live in a gated complex like you do?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“No, but you implied it.”

Tim stared at her, his expression unyielding. “Look. I don’t care where you live or what your neighbors are like. You heard what happened to Felicity Simmons. My brother Chris had to be assigned as her bodyguard.”

“That was a stalker, not a random crime. Felicity told me all about it.”

Tim folded his arms across his chest, struck a nonchalant pose and began to smile. Dawn could tell by the smug look on his face that he wasn’t going to back down.

“You’re going to stand there all night if I don’t let you walk me up, aren’t you?” she asked.

“Sure am. I can hold out as long as you can.”

“Probably longer,” she muttered, pouting. “Okay. You can escort me to my door if it’ll make you happy. But that’s as far as you go. You’re not coming in.”

“Of course not.” Tim fell into step behind her. “You didn’t think I was hitting on you, did you?”

The thought had occurred to Dawn, especially after his compliment about her hair, but she kept her wild imaginings to herself. Of course Tim Hamilton wasn’t hitting on her. It was ridiculous to think he might be interested in her when he had so many high-society glamour queens to choose from. As his administrative assistant, there wasn’t a day went by that she didn’t have to field at least one or two calls from women like that. It didn’t matter that Tim rarely followed up on their invitations. They were still standing in line and waiting to go out with him whenever he was ready. That was all that counted.

The few minutes it took them to climb three flights of stairs to her apartment wasn’t long enough for Dawn to quiet her nerves or settle her mind. She still had butterflies in her stomach when she reached her door, turned to face Tim and held out her hand. “Good night.”

Belatedly, she realized what a mistake that normally inconsequential gesture was. Tim grasped her hand but instead of shaking it the way he would have if she’d been a man, he cradled her fingers gently and looked directly into her eyes. Dawn couldn’t move, could hardly force herself to continue breathing.

“I want you to know how much I value the opportunity I had to make the rounds with you tonight,” he said quietly, sincerely. “You gave me a new appreciation of the hard work so many volunteers do. I honestly had no idea.”

She strained to pull her hand away and he reluctantly let go. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. And thanks for giving all that extra food from Betty’s to the last family. I’m sure the Martins are grateful. They need all the help they can get, especially until Jordan’s able to go back to work again.”

“Glad to do it.” Tim smiled. “You warned me I’d better not throw anything away and it seemed a logical alternative. I’m glad I was there to help you carry that heavy case of baby formula up those stairs for them. Do you usually lug it all that way yourself?”

“Sure. When I need to.”

Tim stepped back and thrust his hands into the pockets of his slacks. “Well, you must be tired, so…”

“Exhausted,” Dawn said. “Thanks for the ride.”

He took another step away. “You’re welcome.”

Turning, she fumbled to get the key into the lock, finally succeeded, and started to duck into her apartment. Just as she did, something very substantial pushed past her legs without a sound.

All she had time to shout was, “Beau, no!” before the mastiff leaped and pinned Tim against the wall of the dimly lit hallway.

Dawn grabbed the dog’s collar and tugged, yelling, “Beau! Down.” He yielded easily.

To Tim she said, “Are you okay?”

“I think so.” He was wiping his face and seemed short of breath.

“I’m so sorry. Beau’s usually very good about staying inside. I didn’t think he’d burst out like that. He must have heard my voice and…” And sensed how nervous I am, she finished silently.

The astonished expression lingering on Tim’s face made her grin in spite of the embarrassing situation. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I think so. Boy, does he have bad breath!” Tim stared at the now-lethargic-looking animal seated at her feet and panting as if it had just chased down and captured a man-eating lion. “What is he?”

“A dog.”

“I’d already figured out that part. What I mean is, what are you doing with an animal the size of an elephant in your little apartment? Does your landlord know?”

“Yes. I’m allowed to have one pet as long as the other neighbors aren’t bothered by any noise. Beau’s so quiet I doubt most of them even know he’s here.”

“Beau?”

“Short for Beauregard. A proper Southern name, don’t you think? Beau was my brother’s dog. After the terrible accident I told you about, Phil didn’t want Mom to have to deal with caring for Beau, too, so he asked me to take him in.”

“And, of course, you did.”

“Sure. He’s a wonderful companion. Very gentle.”

Tim was brushing himself off as if contact with the mastiff had left him muddy. “I’ll have to take your word for it. I haven’t had much experience with dogs and such.”

Dawn was aghast. “You never had a pet when you were a little boy?”

He shook his head. “I think the girls had some goldfish once. I can’t remember for sure.”

“That is so sad.”

Shrugging, Tim continued to brush at his dark slacks. “Not to me, it isn’t. We had plenty of other interests, like school and sports. I never felt I was missing anything by not having a dog shedding all over the furniture and chewing up my shoes.”

“Well, you were,” Dawn said.

She guided Beau toward the apartment door with a light touch on his collar and urged him to enter ahead of her. As she followed, she noted that Tim was still standing in the dim, narrow hallway, staring after her. His expression made her wonder if he was having trouble digesting her candid criticism of his childhood.

Probably. Tim wasn’t very good at recognizing the wisdom of ideas that differed from his own, no matter how sensible they were. The Hamilton way was the only way, according to him, and, sadly, he usually refused to listen to any opinions to the contrary.

Dawn spent a restless night. She had belatedly come to the realization she didn’t have a ride to work the following morning and had spent hours trying to decide what to do about it. No way was she going to ask Tim to come and get her. No, sir. Not after the way his compliment about her hair had shaken her up. And putting the whole incident out of her mind was beyond impossible. So she’d phoned her friend Gabi Valencia, and begged Gabi to give her a ride into Davis Landing on her way to her job at the hospital’s administration office.

Gabi picked her up early, as Dawn had requested. “You should have called me yesterday, when you found out your car was out of commission,” Gabi said. “I’d have helped you with the meals. There’s plenty of room in my van.”

Too weary to deal with the teasing she knew would ensue if she told Gabi everything, Dawn decided to hold back some of the details of her unsettling evening. She wrapped her light jacket more tightly around herself and held it there, her arms crossed. “I would have asked you, but I thought Talia had soccer practice on Monday nights.”