“I’m so sorry, LaDawn,” Dixie said, while Caine pretended not to listen to the real sincerity in her voice. It wasn’t like the gooey crap she’d laid on with a trowel years ago. It was raw.
And real.
LaDawn’s round face fell. She was one tough cookie, if all the stories Caine had heard from the other girls were true, but she appeared genuinely hurt that she’d been tricked into believing the Mags would allow the women to blend in with everyone else.
LaDawn shrugged her shoulders. “Just seems like they don’t want anybody to have a chance to make good without bringing up your misdeeds every chance they get. I might not be sellin’ dictionaries on the phone, but I ain’t spreadin’ diseases and stealin’ women’s husbands anymore either. That should count for something, right?”
Marybell shook her head, her Mohawk flopping forward and back. “You were amazing, Dixie. A-maz-ing. All ragin’ and yankin’ that microphone from Louella’s hand like you were some kind of thug. I know I was next on her hit list, so thanks, Dixie. I’m not as tough as LaDawn. I don’t think I could have listened to her say those things about me.”
“Looks like you won’t have to worry about it, for a little while, at least,” Em chimed in, crossing the floor in bare feet, her stained dress brushing her bloodied knees. “Seems Annabelle’s on bed rest—she has a concussion. And Louella needs to pay a visit to Johnsonville to see a specialist to get her broken nose set.”
But Dixie didn’t look as though she was taking pleasure in any of it. She looked worried. “Is Lesta-Sue okay? I landed on her pretty hard, Em.”
Caine cocked his head. Now she was inquiring about the opponent’s health?
Em nodded. “I saw, and why should you care? Those women were out to turn somethin’ perfectly lovely into a circus. They don’t deserve your pity, Dixie!”
“Everyone deserves a second chance, Em,” Dixie said groggily, making Caine worry she might have a concussion, too. Dixie preaching about second chances was like LaDawn preaching abstinence.
Em’s lips thinned to a fine line of red. “I should have listened to you. After all, you were once head of the Mags. Butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths while they assured me it was a wonderful idea to invite the ladies. Oh! I could just march right over to Louella’s and give her a piece of what-for.”
Dixie shook her head. “We need to let everyone simmer down now, Em. Don’t go pokin’ the beehive.”
“I want to poke her eyes out!”
That Dixie wasn’t plotting Louella’s ugly revenge right now was blowing his damn mind. Maybe she was plotting on the inside.
But something about that notion just didn’t sit right with him.
Dixie’s face scrunched up. “Hush. Take that back. It won’t solve anything,” she scolded, accepting a cold pack Sanjeev handed her before he escaped on silent feet.
But Em wouldn’t be pacified. She paced, rubbing her bruised arm. “I say we strike back, Dixie—strike now while the iron is hot!”
“Listen to me, Darth Vader, no striking. That’s what feeds this childish behavior. We’re behaving no better than I did back in the day. I’ll handle the Mags. You’ll stay out of it—for the sake of your boys,” Dixie reminded Em pointedly.
What did Em’s boys have to do with the Mags?
Appropriately chided, Em crumbled, her eyes full of tears when she turned to LaDawn and Marybell. “I’m so sorry, girls. I truly believed that piranha Louella when she said it was a wonderful idea to invite you. If I’d known you were virtually walking into the lion’s den, I’d never have insisted y’all come.”
Marybell gave Em a hug, squeezing her tight. “You were just trying to be a good person and make us feel welcome in a place where it feels like I don’t even speak the language. Besides, the fried chicken was almost worth it. And those biscuits Ben Johnson’s wife made—wow.” She held two thumbs up.
LaDawn clapped Em on the back. “I’m not much of a hugger, but it was nice you thought of us. Next time, though? Don’t think of us. I’d rather just live out my days in Landon’s backyard with Toe and the pool.”
Marybell pinched one of Dixie’s toes. “We gotta go, Dixie. Our shift’s comin’ up. Cat said she’d drop by to see you tomorrow and check on you. She was off doin’ her online classes and making goo-goo eyes at Flynn.”
Dixie reached for the nightstand, trying to lift her legs up and off the bed. “Wait for me. I’m coming with you. I have a shift tonight, too.”
Caine straightened and pressed a hand to the flat of her chest, trying hard not to think about how good it felt just to touch her skin again. He’d drawn the friend line between them tonight and here he was already thinking about how good it’d be to cross it. “No. No work tonight, Dixie. You need to rest, and I’m seriously thinking of calling in Dr. Johnson just to have him give you a once-over.”
“Why, so he can mess all the tests he’s so fond of up and tell everyone I have the clap? Not on your life, Candy Caine,” she teased him with a half grin.
“Ray took over his father’s practice several years ago. I think you’re safe,” Caine assured her, keeping his hand on her chest, his concern heavy.
“You mean the Ray I was talkin’ to while enjoyin’ some baked beans was a doctor?” LaDawn mused in disbelief. “Shoot. Just figures. I think Ray liked me.”
“And on that note, we’re off to work,” Marybell said with a snicker, blowing Dixie a kiss before ushering LaDawn out of Dixie’s room, their chatter drifting along the hall until he couldn’t hear them anymore.
Em motioned for Caine to move over. With gentle fingers, she traced the outline of the bruise surrounding Dixie’s eye, her eyes welling with more tears. “I’m sorry, Dixie. I’m so sorry this happened. I should have listened to your misgivings.”
“Or ten,” Dixie reminded. “I remember I said approximately ten.”
So Dixie had been suspicious the Mags would mess with the ladies. Damn pious lot. It was time he did some intervention. Landon never would’ve stood for this kind of harassment. He wasn’t going to sit back and let those women shit all over Dixie and the girls.
Em shook her head, her eyes on fire. “You’re all banged up, Dixie. We can’t just let this slide. Next thing Louella’ll think it’s okay to launch anthrax attacks. She’s going to do whatever it takes to get you outta Plum Orchard. We can’t let this stand. Besides, wasn’t it you who always said the one with the most toys wins?”
Dixie’s voice sounded thin and so sad, it hurt his ears to hear it. “That was before I lost my toys. All of them. No, Em. No more return attacks. I didn’t take up for you at Madge’s because I enjoy the fight. Hard as that is for everyone to believe.” Dixie gave Caine a pointed look. “I did it because I was afraid they’d try to attack your personal life. This isn’t a war, Em. This is a petty, spiteful woman who hates the very ground I walk on.”
Em flapped her hands as she rose from the bed. “No matter now. For now you need rest. I’ll do enough fumin’ for the both of us.”
Dixie grabbed at Em’s hand, her eyes soft. “Hey, before you go—thanks for having my back, Em. The bits of it I can recall as I lay on the gazebo floor, looked like you were scattering bodies and taking names.”
Em’s smile was full of the devil. “I couldn’t let Louella take advantage of your semiconscious state, could I? Especially after I created this fiasco.”
“You really slugged Louella. That’s some right hook you have,” Caine interjected with a wink of admiration, wrong or not, manners be damned.
Em turned and gave Caine a prim smile over her shoulder. “I did not slug. I merely thwarted. Louella was gonna dump potato salad on a defenseless woman. I’d thwart again if the need arose. Now, I have boys who need a bedtime story.” She leaned in to hug Dixie and whispered, “Rest, my friend.”
Em’s hasty retreat left them al
one on the bed with Mona and Lisa, and his questions. Staring at her bruised face, swollen and red, Caine couldn’t stop looking at her. He couldn’t stop looking for her ulterior motive. He couldn’t stop thinking about how crazy it was that Em was the one who wanted to strike back and Dixie didn’t.
Dixie slid off the bed, her hands reaching out as she swayed.
Caine caught her, tucking her to his side, his worry she was seriously hurt far outweighing the things swirling around in his head. “Honey—you need to let me take you to the hospital, for Christ’s sake.”
“I have no insurance. No hospitals. I’m fine. Now you go do Candy Caine things. There must be a hundred calls backed up for Sam Elliott.”
“I’ll pay for it, Dixie.”
His offer of money made her stand up straighter. “Friends don’t let friends pay their medical bills. I’m going to take a shower. No more talking. It hurts my head.”
Caine stopped her, putting his hands at her waist. “No way I’m letting you take a shower in this condition all alone.”
Dixie shook her head with a grunt. “Friends don’t let friends see them naked in the shower.”
“What do friends let friends do?” he asked in exasperation.
Dixie gazed up at him, her eye puffier by the second, her cheek purple and yellow. She’d never looked more beautiful. “I’m unclear on our particular kind of friendship and its classifications. For now, I know for sure we’re not the kind of friends who see each other naked. We’re just friendly friends.”
“Well, this friend isn’t letting you take a shower alone. Not after that crack to the head. Do you want to slip and fall? And friends do let friends see them naked. Girls do it all the time.” He scooped her up in his arms, carrying her toward the bathroom.
* * *
She wanted to summon the will to make him put her down the entire trip into the bathroom. She really, really did. Mostly. The half of her that was determined to let him go wasn’t nearly as strong as the half of her whose limbs felt as if they’d been softened like butter in a microwave.
He set her on the vanity, sliding her backward until her spine was against the wall.
“But you’re not a girl, and we can always ask Sanjeev to help me.” Dixie leaned against the mirror, afraid to look at her battered reflection while Caine filled a glass with water and dug around in the medicine cabinet.
He handed her two aspirin with a grin. “Nope. I’m not a girl. I’m Golden Boy, remember? And Golden Boy isn’t leaving this bathroom until you do. Sanjeev, at this hour, is probably knee deep in his nightly prayers. So you got me, babe,” he joked in Sonny Bono’s singing voice. “Now, lift your arms up,” he ordered.
Dixie did as he commanded, too tired to refuse. He slipped her dress over her head, and popped the clasp on her bra between her breasts. The cool rush of air against her hot skin made her hiss.
Or was that Caine’s touch making her hiss?
“Dixie?”
Her eyes popped open at the sound of his voice to find their noses a mere half inch apart. She smiled at his handsome face, his clear eyes fringed with dark lashes, the stubble on his jawline—him. Her hand went to his jaw in a familiar gesture, forgetting their friendship truce—forgetting her pact with herself to keep her hands off him. “What?”
Caine ran a finger down her nose and smiled back before dropping his boots and socks on the vanity next to her. “Keep your eyes open. If you have a concussion, you can’t sleep.”
Dixie frowned. She knew there was a reason for that rule—she just couldn’t remember what it was. “Or?”
“Or you might not wake up in time to try out for defensive tackle. You don’t want to miss an opportunity to hone your skills with the big boys of Plum Orchard High, do you?” he teased, fingers sinking into her waist to lift her to her feet.
Dixie’s arms went around his neck to steady herself again, her nipples scraping the fabric of his shirt. The promise she’d made to herself to have no physical contact with Caine was well on its way to crumbling.
She gave a halfhearted shove at his chest, longing to rest her head on it instead of push it away. “Let me take a shower. Go handle your shift. All the Connery groupies need you. Plus, you don’t want to lose the opportunity to find some new clients, do you? If I take a personal day, your chances of beating me just improved. I’ll be fine. Really.”
His arms tightened about her waist, the slide of his hands against the skin of her back making her shiver. “That’s not going to happen. So if you’re desperate for that shower—it’s while I watch, or it isn’t going to happen.”
She chuckled at the irony of his words. “Kinky.”
Caine hooked his thumbs inside her panties, sliding them down along her legs to her feet. She used her hands to brace herself on his shoulders, loving the feel of his fingers brushing her thighs then her calves, completely comfortable with shedding her clothing. He nudged her with the top of his head to lift her foot then pulled her panties off.
Maybe it was only her imagination, but his breathing sounded hitched when he rose to his feet and slipped another arm around her waist to lift her off the vanity and walk her toward Landon’s custom-made shower. She’d once jokingly referred to the extravagance of it as a shower fit for an orgy—party of ten, please—it was so spacious and decked out.
Caine flipped the faucets on, adjusting the temperature before picking her back up and setting her in the water under the first set of showerheads, stepping in behind her, clothes and all.
Dixie’s shock was bigger than her protest. “You’ll ruin your clothes,” was all she could manage.
“I’ll send you the bill,” he grumbled, leading her deeper into the enormous tiled space. He placed his hands under her forearms, guiding her to the long bench where he sat her down and set about adjusting the remaining showerheads. The water sprayed both sides of her body, soothing and warm.
Dixie closed her eyes, not caring that she was naked, and Caine was still fully clothed. It felt too good to have Caine take care of her, to see the way his jaw rippled while he concentrated on the task.
She continued to ignore those promises she’d made to herself regarding Caine and touching when he settled between her knees, shower gel in hand.
The sting of water on her scrapes made her wince, but Caine’s hands, smoothing the gel over her skin, massaging her aching muscles as he went, distracted her enough to forget everything but the soothing motion.
“Tip your head back, honey, so I can wash your hair.”
Dixie did as directed, letting the pulse of the water and the scent of her pear shampoo wash away the grime and sweat of her kill. Nothing mattered but Caine’s fingers in her scalp, easing the tight tension, rinsing the thick ropes of her hair by squeezing out the excess water. She bit back a soft moan at the gentle pleasure his hands wrought, one that was sure to echo in the cavernous space.
Caine finished rinsing her hair, and then his fingers came to rest on the area surrounding her black eye. “You were really something tonight,” he murmured, so soft and low, she almost didn’t catch what he’d said with the rush of the water.
Her eyes were still closed but her grimace was ironic. “Yeah. Something.”
Tipping her head back up, he thumbed away drops of water from her face with tenderness before cupping her chin. “What I meant to say was, you were awesome tonight.”
Dixie didn’t understand his concerned gaze. She didn’t recognize this Caine—one who had sympathy in his voice and touch. And still her promises to herself continued to slip away. “Thank you,” she replied, her voice gruff, her throat tight.
“I mean that, Dixie.”
She began to shy away from what Caine meant as a compliment. “I was angry.”
“You were incredible.”
She shook her head, casting her eyes to th
e buttons on his soaking wet shirt as remorse began to weigh heavy and ugly in her gut. “I was a spectacle. Seems I suddenly forgot to use my words. I was wrong to approach the situation like that.”
His fingers went to her chin so her eyes were forced to meet his. “No. No, Dixie. Louella created the spectacle. You did the honorable thing and tried to stop it before it went too far.”
Seeing Louella now, so much like she’d once been, left her overwhelmed with such sadness. That she’d been responsible for hurting Louella so much, she’d turned cruelty into a defense mechanism, made her bones ache with regret. “I used to be Louella, Caine. Or Louella’s turned into me. I’m not sure anymore,” she whispered.
Caine’s eyes pierced hers. “No one is you, Dixie. No one.”
Tears stung her blurry eyes, warm water cocooned her and exhaustion left her limbs shaky and her heart vulnerable. This Caine—the one who was looking at her with understanding, the one who was calling her something other than the dregs of society—was breaking her resolve. She didn’t know what that meant. She didn’t want to know if it meant the exact opposite of what it usually meant.
Dixie shrugged her chin from his hand, her shoulders caving inward as a small sob escaped her lips. She could take almost anything. She could take his stinging words. She could take his indifference. She couldn’t take friendly understanding.
And then Caine was reaching up, pulling her close, and capturing her lips tenderly, delving between them with his silky tongue.
Her fingers automatically sank into his wet shirt, relishing the hard strength beneath the soaked material, pressing her palms against the bulges in his shoulders until she wrapped her arms around his neck, bringing him as close as humanly possible.
Her mouth opened beneath the weight of his, accepting his kiss, twisting her neck to get closer, and ignoring the sharp stab of protest in her sore tendons.
She moaned when he pulled away, moving along her cheek with care, gliding his mouth to the hollow of her neck, nibbling, tasting. Her nipples grew tight, hardening with need.
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