"And how is he?" She tried not to sound too interested, yet she couldn't stop fidgeting with her hands, and he glanced down at them as she spoke.
"He's doing great, actually. He's running for senator now. He's happy."
"I'm glad," she said, only to see Mike's brow arch arrogantly. The thought of Kevin running for senator startled and pleased her. She had known Kevin would do well. No wonder Mike was so anxious to keep her away from him. It wouldn't do for a senator to be seen with a wild-looking rock star. Even she could imagine the headlines that could cause.
"Are you?"
"Happy? Of course. But I want you to know I don't intend sitting here and talking to you about Kevin." Her outburst cost her what little leverage she had. He was prepared for a battle, by the look on his face, so she changed direction. "So, you were elected to come and get me?"
"Something like that."
"I'm a little surprised you had the time. I mean, as I recall, you had a good size ranch to run."
"Still do. But I attended an auction in Mesquite and have to pick up that bull I mentioned earlier. Like I said, we'll be stopping on the way home, if you don't mind."
"You're breeding cattle now?"
"Just started."
Naturally, he hadn't come all this way just to pick her up, she thought. "I hope picking me up wasn't too much out of the way for you."
"No," he winked. "Not really."
Dixie looked away again, unable to assemble her thoughts. Mike was just too disturbing.
But, despite her efforts to ignore him, she found herself curious about Mike. What had happened to him in all these years? Had he married? Did he have a houseful of kids? Their eyes met and she looked away hurriedly. Looking into those intense, tawny eyes was a little too disturbing. She'd have to change the subject completely. Mike Dalton was affecting her strangely.
"Poor Mom, she really has to stay after Tom and Will to keep them in school. I wish it came easier for them. They hate it. I remember her promising Dad they would finish school even if they were twenty-five when they did."
"She's got her hands full with that promise."
"I can hardly wait to see them. It's been so long."
"Too long!"
CHAPTER TWO
The old home-place lay sprawled among the rolling hills of an east Texas meadow. Towering cottonwoods whispered the music of the wind like chimes. Wild buttercups grew in the meadows. An old two-story frame house stood majestically in the background. In the distance an occasional sunflower peeped over the horizon, stretching itself towards the morning sun. It was a serene place. It was home, and Dixie quickly realized how much she'd missed it. Born here, she felt her roots stirring old memories.
After a wonderful day with her family, and Emily reassuring her they would talk later, Dixie began to feel at home again.
Finally left to her solitude, she wandered near the well-manicured grounds of the cemetery down the road. She'd been afraid of this particular cemetery for years. The tall cottonwoods spread a mighty shade over the lawns.
In reality she supposed death might not be her real fear, it was more the process of dying. Death was such an active partner in her life. Not hers, but her loved ones. One by one, they had died on her.
She found her family's graves without any trouble. She knelt beside her sister's grave first, she gently slid a finger over the letters on the stone. It was cold. Not at all like her sister. Audrey had always been a warm, vibrant person, full of life and possibilities.
A northern breeze filtered the air, stirring the dead leaves about the grounds like a ghost swishing through an old house.
"Oh, Audrey, I miss you. I'm so sorry I missed the memorial service but I was already on a plane for Australia when I heard about it. I almost couldn't go on stage again . . ." She swallowed the lump in her throat. "At least you're with our parents now. You aren't alone. Probably less lonely than me. I miss you so." A tear spilled. "I've come home 'cause Emily called and asked me to. That, and to put old ghosts away, so I can get on with my life. You knew how infatuated I was with Kevin. I thought it a childish crush, but I wanted to be sure. I have to be sure."
She moved her fingers slowly over each letter. "Something is going on I think, but Emily's not ready to talk about it. I don't know what, yet. I guess she'll tell me in good time. And the boys—oh, how they've grown. And into such little gentlemen, too."
Another tear spilled.
"It feels good to be home, Audrey, but I can't stay long. My life is in New York now. I've met a man, a man I work with, who has serious intentions. Problem is, I'm not sure how I feel. I hate putting him off, but I'm not sure. I mean, Ed just doesn't give me that bubbly feeling of being in love. Maybe I expect too much. I guess deep down I felt that coming home might give me a few answers. Maybe I haven't put my feelings for Kevin away, yet. Or maybe I just don't love Ed. All I know is, I've got to find answers."
Her hand shook. Tears Dixie had held too long poured freely. Why did crying always release the tension? Such a release, she mused silently. She placed the fresh wild-flowers at the head of her sister's grave and she watched her own tears being soaked up by the hot, dry ground. It felt good, and right, being here alone, able to cry.
"Buttercups and Indian paintbrushes, your favorites," she murmured. "You used to say they were God's flowers, put on earth to be cherished."
Dixie had no idea how long she stayed there, kneeling over the graves, talking as though someone might answer, but the sun was slowly sinking when she finally straightened and got to her feet.
Hearing a noise behind her, she turned in time to see her mother's old friend, Mrs. Butie. She called a hello. Mrs. Butie clutched at the expensive flower arrangement in her hands as she proceeded to a far corner of the cemetery, where she turned to stare at Dixie. Mrs. Butie's husband had died nearly twenty years ago, but she always placed flowers on his grave one a month.
Suddenly, Dixie wished she'd chosen something more appropriate to wear. It wouldn't make a difference to anyone but her; everyone had his or her own preconceived ideas about her by now. Small towns were like that. Nothing she did or said would change them. Cut-offs and a T-shirt seemed out of place with Mrs. Butie staring at her so.
Pulling her large frame rigid and adjusting the midriff of her dress with a snort, Mrs. Butie grunted. "I'd heard you'd come home. And we all know why." Mrs. Butie pulled the few weeds about the older grave site.
Dixie bowed her head, confused by the outburst and hurt by the sting in Mrs. Butie's voice. How could Mrs. Butie know why she was home? She wasn't sure herself. "Good to see you again, Mrs. Butie," she called and walked away, trying not to run or look back. Not a very clever comeback, but then Dixie had never been clever with words.
Life was unfair. She couldn't make Mrs. Butie like her, so she wouldn't try.
There was a special place where Dixie escaped when things became too difficult to handle. It was nothing more than an old oak tree, yet somehow the tree gave comfort to those in need. It wasn't far down the road from where she lived. There were a lot of names engraved on that old tree, hers included.
Dixie hurried towards the tree as dark clouds began to gather and manifest into an early summer storm. At first there were only a few large sprinkles, and Dixie thought she might escape the storm altogether. She finally reached the oak tree. Nothing had changed. It still stood majestically looking out onto a wheat field to one side and a deep ravine to the other.
Once she reached it, she felt safe. Even though trees weren't the best place during a storm she knew this particular tree would never harm her. It gave too much solace. She sat down for a minute, resting against it. As a child she had called this her thinking tree. And Dixie had a lot of thinking to do.
She knew immediately she had to see Kevin, and gauge her reactions to him. Why it had become such an obsession with her she didn't know, but it had. Perhaps it was because Ed, her agent, had asked her to marry him and she felt so uncertain. Ed was wonderful, but when he ki
ssed her she didn't see stars. When he proposed it wasn't in a romantic setting, it was at work. She needed a break, to get away and see if her heart missed him. And seeing Kevin might put it all in the proper perspective.
She had so loved Kevin as a young girl growing up, and he had never given her much encouragement. Still, she couldn't marry another man without being sure that her feelings for Kevin were in fact just infatuation.
Suddenly lightning and thunder roared above her. She clung to the big trunk of the tree. She was in a dangerous place, and had to leave. She waited patiently for the rain to slacken. But the storm wasn't bashful; it seemed to magnify her sorrow, the wind whipping the huge limbs about, and a low creaking sound emanated from it.
Already soaked, her shorts felt heavy against her bare legs and her t-shirt plastered her breasts like a mask. Her dark hair dangled against her shoulders limply.
Glancing upward she saw the branches of the tree swaying heavily in the wind, performing some primitive dance about her. The leaves floated in little rivulets down the hillside. Just below, the gully was quickly filling with water. She'd have to cross it to get to the road. Going the other direction led to the cemetery.
The rain became erratic, first in heavy sheets so she couldn't see. She waited for the next slack before darting down the steep ravine. Small branches tore at her ankles as she practically slid down the incline. An old piece of barbed wire caught at her t-shirt as she continued toward the ravine and hit the ground with a thud. She felt the rip and the deep prickling of her skin as the wire stabbed her in the ribs. Still, she managed to keep a steady pace, groping for a better foothold as she tried to cross the ravine.
She kept reassuring herself there was no need to panic. It was only a gully-washer and she'd be fine once she crossed the ravine. The house was only a couple of miles down the road. She'd be home soon, drying off and wondering why she ever thought such wild thoughts.
Still the road seemed further and further away, as though it had moved.
Deliberately, she slowed her pace, calming herself. Don't panic, she told herself. Surely there was something humorous in this. Where had her sense of adventure gone? The fact that she'd always managed to get herself in some kind of trouble crossed her mind. Goodness, it was only a rainstorm.
Yet, as the rain became violent again and beat at her from all directions, the wind changed, and it was increasingly difficult to catch her breath. Without warning she plunged downward, towards the rapidly rising water. She lost a tennis shoe as she continued to slide. The water was moving like a small river now, rushing over rocks, making a gurgling sound.
As she began making her way across the flooded ravine, her foot lodged solidly between what felt like an old tree root and a rock. She tried to wiggle the rock, but it wasn't budging. She tried again; still nothing.
"Don't panic," she screamed aloud this time. Things like this always worked out in the movies. Any minute she would loosen the rock and move away, unhindered.
It wasn't as though she were about to die, for goodness sake. All she had to do was keep her head and wait until the water itself dislodged the rock. Still the fact that the ravine was very deep on this side scared her a little, had she gone on the other side, it wouldn't have been this deep and she'd be on the road by now. She'd automatically opted for the fastest way home, and the most dangerous.
The sound of rushing water brought her gaze around. She felt it rising against her legs. "Get hold of yourself," she scolded, looking about her to see if anyone had been watching or listening to her tirade. There was no one about. She was alone, very alone.
Everything would be fine as long as she didn't do something foolish. She simply needed some kind of lever, something with which to pry the rock away.
"It's right over there, if I can just reach it!" she shouted to herself. If she could just reach it, she could pry herself loose. She strained forward, her fingertips barely grazing the branch. If she didn't work fast, it would float completely out of reach. She leveled the unrestricted part of her body with the water, as she tried again to grab the branch. It was at her fingertips.
The t-shirt flapped against her. She felt the cold water splashing against her breast. Darn! Why hadn't she worn a bra? Why hadn't she dressed more appropriately? And yet, this was certainly not the time to worry over modesty.
She tensed as her trapped foot seemed to lodge deeper and the current rushed over her hips. The water was rising. She had to hurry. The ground had been so dry and the water wasn't soaking in.
Finally, she grasped the branch and began working along the edge of her foot. She couldn't see what she was doing; the storm had darkened the sky like someone pulling down the blinds. Unable to see she stabbed herself twice with the branch. The rock moved, but not as she planned. Instead it struck several painful blows to the bottom of her foot and lodged her deeper. She was burying herself!
She could see the obituary now, Rising water takes rock star Dixie Kincaid's life.
The water rose steadily now, nearly covering her midriff. Dear God, it was just a gully. She couldn't drown … could she? The rain pounded on her like crabapples falling off a tree. She could feel the frantic struggle going on inside herself to survive. Her mind must be working way too fast.
"Maybe you deserve to die!" she cried aloud.
Then suddenly something dark and ominous encompassed her. Against the roaring of the water, and the extreme darkness she couldn't tell what was happening.
A voice came from nowhere, startling her. "Hold on, sweetheart, you're not dead yet!" came a low drawling voice that had her heart hammering against her chest with relief.
It was Mike, of all people. She knew it even before she could actually see him. She could almost feel those tiger-eyes sparkling through the darkness, and see the pearl white of his teeth beneath the broad brim of his western hat. Her heart fluttered wildly as he came closer, trying to scoop her up against him.
"My foot," she cried out as he realized just how trapped she was.
He flicked his hat away with the back of his hand, and dipped his hands beneath the surface of the water to find the icy cold foot still deeply embedded. Gently he tugged and pulled but nothing happened
She heard him grunt, as he bent to the task of dislodging her foot with a vengeance. He grabbed the stick, then ducked under the water to try to dislodge the rock. He came up every now and then to reassure her. As though him saying it would make it all come right. Oddly enough she believed him and a sense of calm overcame her.
When nothing worked, she heard him mumble in an angry tone, and then he went totally under the water. Before long she heard a loud swishing, and felt the release of her foot as it came free.
Coming up slowly, the rock and a pocketknife in one hand, her foot in the other, he laughed.
But Dixie wasn't laughing. She was frozen. He quickly scooped her into his arms, pulling her from the current rushing about their waists. Dixie's hands glided automatically around his neck. The last two things she remembered was shuddering violently into a black void and that his arms around her seemed like a whole world of protection for her. She'd never been this safe in all her life.
***
Later, she was mildly aware of voices moving about her in a rush, as Mike carried her inside her house. A half-hour later, Dixie's eyes opened to a room full of people.
"Grandma Emmy, she's awake." A beautiful pixie sat the foot of her bed.
Perhaps she was dreaming.
"Dixie." Emily came forward, bending over her and taking her hand in her own. "Oh, child, you gave us such a scare. We thought you were dead when Mike brought you in."
"I thought so, too," she murmured as Mike pivoted around to lock gazes with her.
"Thank God Mike found you when he did. If he hadn't been out rounding up strays for old man Tucker just before the storm hit, he might not have spotted you. He said it was so dark he didn't know who or what it was but he spotted something thrashing around in the ravine. He thought you wer
e a calf at first. You had us so worried, dear. We thought you went to the cemetery."
Dixie rubbed her eyes, as though to clear them. Straightening herself she met the concerned stares of her brothers. "I'm sorry. I did go to the cemetery; I just walked for a while, afterwards. I wanted to think."
Emily Kincaid worried too much, and Dixie warmed to the instant compassion. She hadn't had anyone fuss over her in years. She regretted now that she'd failed to notice her stepmother's attributes when her father was alive, giving him all her attention. How unfair she must have seemed, and what a loving woman Emily was not to hold a grudge.
Mike walked to the edge of the bed, a slow, lazy smile playing at his mouth. He was still wet, his jeans clung to him like a second skin, and there were traces of dried mud, but no one seemed to mind.
Suddenly conscious of the way she must have looked when he brought her home, she snuggled deeper under the covers. Then her gaze took in the little girl at the foot of her bed. She had big brown eyes and nearly black hair. She was beautiful, but not a pixie.
"Hello, who are you?" Dixie asked her.
"I'm Mandy. Amanda. Are you going to get well?"
"What a beautiful name. I think I'm going to be fine." Dixie smiled looking about the room for explanations and locking gazes with Mike. "I guess I owe you my life, Mike. I bet I was a mess." She could barely manage to look at Mike.
Mike scrutinized her pale face, "Your foot sure is. I'm just glad I happened by. If Old Man Tucker's gate hadn't broken and half his cows got out, I might never have seen you. Sorry, but I thought you were a stuck calf when I first spotted you."
Emily patted her hand, "Come on, Mandy, let's go get Dixie a bowl of hot soup, and you a cookie." Emily waved the child from the edge of the bed and the boys from the room.
"Thanks, Emily. It sounds wonderful." Dixie smiled.
She rose up and let the covers fall, only to grab them again when Mike took a chair and drew it close to her bed. "You've been to the old oak tree, haven't you?"
Pretend Mom Page 2
