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Jake followed the crick until it trickled into Nichols’ Trailer Palace, as the locals jokingly called the small plot of land with a collection of trailers in various stages of disrepair. He couldn’t help but shake his head as he glanced at the pitiful, tin shacks lined up in rows with little space and no view. A person could suffocate just looking at them and started him to tugging on the collar of his shirt. He didn’t know how anyone could stand such close quarters.
A body was meant to have space and open air, hills to roam, trees to climb. It was not the first time that he thanked God that the Jackson family had been able to hold onto the sprawling, antebellum farmhouse he called home. The place had been razed in the War Between the States, reborn, and passed down. The glory of a home was a part of him. It was the kind of place where a soul could grow and bloom. There was no doubt, as the only son, it would be his one day.
Nichols’ Park Lane was the first road in the ‘trailerhood.’ It turned into the next road, which did the same and so on to form a square with a sad excuse for a park in the middle which consisted of a few, straggly trees, a tiny puddle of a pond, and a fire pit. Jake didn’t have to search too hard for what he was looking for. His feet became planted in the dirt as he watched the scene before him. He’d have another memory to replay in his mind later on.
Dixie was twirling in her postage stamp of a yard. Her head was tipped back, a smile stretching across her expressive face. He uprooted his feet and ducked behind a tree to watch her without drawing attention to himself. Amazing—that was the only way to describe her with her hair forming a blazing halo and her face lit like a torch. Jake’s mouth dried up again and a heat wave washed over his body once more. He swallowed hard, closed his eyes, and turned away, not wishing to intrude. She danced for herself and no other. He’d have to wait until she came to work to get an eye-full of her, pick her brain a bit. Had to get home, have a cool down, bring his temperature to normal limits before she turned him to ashes. A glass of ice water and the fan would have to make do. He couldn’t sleep in the swimming hole. It was going to be a long night with Miss Dixie Mason on his mind.
Deep in the Heart of Dixie Page 9
