"I think there's a good example, right over there," he said, nodding in the direction of the gossiping women. "Maybe we could put you in the beauty contest, instead."
She almost choked on her soft drink. "Me? No thanks. Look, don't worry about me. I can handle it, really. I'm an old hand at it."
His eyes darkened, almost to smoldering. "Sweetheart," he looked her right in the eyes as his voice carried, "I've been worrying about you for too long to stop now …"
Whether it was his words, or the tone he used, it captured her full attention. He meant he was worried about her and his brother. Not her, personally. She had to stop reading more into their conversations. Still, she squirmed. Her eyes locked on to his for a moment, then she purposely broke the contact.
"T…thanks Mike," she barely uttered.
"Later." He promised and left her as quickly as he had approached.
The quaint endearment he always used with her sent a thrill through her. Did he talk that sweet to all the girls? She never bothered to find out. She had to stop reading more into his words and actions.
She was mulling over what he'd said when Mrs. Butie and Amanda stopped by. "You don't waste time do you? Already trying to steal Janet's fiance?"
Dixie crimsoned, but held her voice steady. Dressed in her jeans and blue oxford shirt, Dixie felt on more equal footing today. If anyone had been flirting lately, it was Mike, not her. "Mrs. Butie I hardly think carrying on a brief conversation with Mike Dalton is sufficient cause to be accused of flirting with him. He does have friends in this town, and I'm one of them. I won't be here long, anyway. Why don't you try gossiping about someone who might appreciate it?"
"Impudent aren't you? You always were. Why don't you go back to New York, where you belong? I was talking about your lewd behavior." She gasped, her chest heaving with anger. "Janet would never stoop to your level of trickery. Thank God, Mike knows it."
"Hello, Mandy!" Dixie ignored Mrs. Butie. "Are you having fun?"
"Hi, I wanna balloon," she cried.
"Later, dear," Mrs. Butie said.
Mandy looked as miserable as her father had earlier. Dixie wished she could help, but Mike was capable of changing things if he really wanted to.
"You promised." Mandy put her hands on her hips and pouted.
"Oh, all right." Mrs. Butie took Mandy by the hand and headed straight for the balloon vendor.
Once she was free of the viper's tongue, Dixie reflected on the relationship that Mrs. Butie chose to remind her of. Maybe it was true. Maybe Mike was practically engaged to Janet. It certainly made sense he hadn't denied it when the boys said the same thing. But was it really her concern?
About a quarter to seven that evening, Dixie wandered toward the baseball throw and found a young man winding the tickets.
"Hi, I'm Dixie. I believe I'm going to be working with you tonight." She extended her hand.
The short, stocky young man looked at her. "Sure. Dad told me. I'm helping him out for a while. Don't you remember me?" he asked, seeing her puzzled look. "I'm Old Man Tucker's son."
Of course he was. And it was strange hearing the son call the father, 'Old Man Tucker'. John Tucker was an unusual young man. The only resemblance he bore to his father was the balding head of sandy hair. Even his personality opposed his father's.
"Why, I'm sorry, I didn't recognize you."
"I'm not surprised. I'm about thirty pounds heavier, and already losing my hair, like my dad."
"I probably wouldn't know half the kids I went to school with, now. Say, that reminds me, where is Carol? I've been dying to see her. My brothers said the two of you got married."
"Yeah, we've been married for some time now. She'll be along. She talks about you all the time. She's been hounding me about going to New York, forever. I told her it costs too much. She's writing a song. Wouldn't you know? Do you think you could look at it for her?"
"I probably could. If she has it ready I'll be glad to take a look at it. Of course I can't promise anything, you know. And if it's not ready, she can mail it later. I can hardly wait to see her. It's been so long."
"You probably won't recognize her either, she's about eight months pregnant."
"You're kidding?" Dixie laughed. "Oh, that's wonderful. Tell her I'm dying to see her. I guess I better get ready now, huh?"
"Have you got a suit?"
"Sure, under by clothes. Just let me know when you're ready."
"Great. Hang on to these tickets, while I check to see if everything is working properly—we don't want to have any accidents—then you can hop in."
Seeing old friends, her apprehension faded. What could be so bad? A few minutes later a couple of kids wandered up to her and asked if they could be first. She nodded, taking their money for the tickets, then walked towards the cage. Handing John Tucker the remainder of the tickets, she slipped behind the booth and took her clothes off.
The bench hovered above the water and her toes dangled in its icy depths a few minutes later. A light summer breeze ran across her newly exposed skin, making her shiver.
After a nod to John, she prepared herself. The bench held her easily. From this spot she could watch nearly half of what was going on at the stage.
She watched the boys take their turns with the ball. The first one threw it way out of bounds. She sighed with relief. Perhaps she wasn't as brave as she had thought. With every throw of the ball she cringed. But the torment of the first dip was soon over when the second boy stepped up and immediately hit the target. A shout of glee rose from them as she went down.
Dixie came back up smiling, glad it had been boys who dunked her first. That wasn't so bad. She could handle this!
John looked at her apprehensively as she remounted the bench, looking like a drenched mouse.
"You okay?" he asked.
"Fine," she said, wiping the water from her face. How could she possibly sound so confident and feel so ineffectual? And the problem was, her throat felt scratchy.
It was still very early, and the crowds were sparsely scattered over the fairgrounds. She searched the sea of faces milling the different booths, happy in the knowledge that her mother and the others had successfully pulled off another good year. She wondered idly if her brothers were anywhere close. She felt they must be, but she couldn't spot either of them in the crowd.
John came up to the cage. "Now look, Dixie, don't take this personally, but I've got to try to draw a crowd around here. I'll have to haggle, and I don't want you to get upset with me, understand?"
A wave of unexpected panic rose inside her, but she squashed it with a fake calm. This was only a game, and everyone had blown it out of proportion. Her only fear was fear itself. She chuckled.
"All for a good cause go ahead," she encouraged.
John's barker routine was earth-shattering to Dixie. All her fears assailed her at once and she suddenly felt vulnerable. This was home, reality. Most of the people here were, at the least, indifferent to her. She realized that the day she came home. Here she had no title, no distinction. She became just another hometown kid who left to make their fortune. For the first time, Dixie wondered about herself. She left home a nobody and came back a success. Wasn't anyone here happy for her? Didn't anyone here care that she was a success? And did all her friends write songs in hopes of getting them recorded by her?
"Gather round folks and knock the pretty lady into the icy waters. Here she is, folks! Our own Dixie Rose Kincaid. Home town big shot. Now is your chance to even all those old scores. Make her swim for her trouble. Come on, it's easy. Come knock the smile off Dixie Kincaid's face …"
Old scores?
Smile?
The laughing crowd—were they all sneering at her? Did they all hate her, like Mrs. Butie? Or had she let her imagination scare her silly?
No, of course they didn't. Why, she'd known a lot of them for years. She recognized—a few of them.
Still, she read no compassion in their faces as they pitched the ball with every intentio
n of dunking her. She suddenly felt as though everyone with a bad life was after her, persecuting her. She wanted to tell them she wanted to record all their songs, every one of them. Only that would be a lie.
She was becoming hysterical, and laughed at herself. No, not these people. These people were just hometown friends. Not would-be hopefuls.
The indignity of her position left her shivering
Suddenly a two hundred and fifty-pound Neanderthal came up to the booth, laughing loudly. "Give me one of those balls. I'll knock her off her high horse. Watch this folks!"
And he did, three times in a row. The crowd roared. Dixie barely had time to reach the bench before he had her submerging again. At least she had the good sense not to wear make-up.
Although John cast her a look of concern once or twice, he kept selling the tickets as though his life suddenly depended on it. She caught a glimmer of her brothers not far away and waved to them.
Both came running.
"You okay?" they chorused.
Wiping the water dripping down her nose and chin she laughed. "Sure, I'm fine. I'm a hit, I think …" She gulped as she fell back into the water again.
There wasn't time for conversation; the big man was knocking her in at every other breath. Gasping and choking she came up for air, trying deftly to maintain her composure in front of her worried brothers.
They both ran over to John and protested but the big man kept buying more balls. "Stay out of this, kids. I like watching her go down. That's what she's here for, isn't it? I wanna see how many times I can dunk her without missing."
"But the beauty contest is startin' over there, mister." Will diverted the man's attention to the stage.
"Beauty contest, huh? Well, I wouldn't want to miss that. She sure ain't much to look at now, is she? But I'll be back, honey, you can count on it." He tossed Dixie a warning smile.
Thanks to her brothers, she had a breather. The crowd began dispersing, most of the men heading for the stage area, where the girls were already lining up. Her brothers left once they were confident she was okay. Never had Dixie been so thankful for a beauty contest.
John shook his head as he came up to the cage, his eyes going fleetingly over Dixie with keen scrutiny. "Sorry 'bout that guy, Dixie. There's one in every crowd. But that's the only way to make any money at this kind of thing. I ought to know. I've worked the state fair for seven years straight. You have to have a crowd-pleaser, and unfortunately, you're it."
His lame apology didn't help Dixie much, but she knew he was probably right.
"You don't have to apologize. That's what I'm here for. At least we're selling tickets. Oh, look, the beauty contest is starting. Looks like most of the crowd is gathering there. My brothers say Janet is a cinch to win. Wanna lay odds?"
John shook his head. "Not me. I don't bet on anything but sure things. Just because her boyfriend is one of the judges don't make it so, though. Mike's a fair man. A lot of others up there are just as nice to look at. Come to think of it, you aren't so bad yourself. Why'd you volunteer for something like this? Didn't you know what they'd do to you?"
"It's all for a good cause, like you said."
He nodded and smiled. "You're a good sport, Dixie. And I take back every rotten thing I ever said about you."
"Thanks, what rotten things?"
He laughed.
"Say, John, is Mike Dalton Janet's boyfriend?" she found herself asking.
"Well, they aren't engaged or anything, but he sees a lot of her, I'm told. Why?"
"Just curious. I'd heard as much, from her aunt. I've been gone so long, it's hard to catch up on who's with who around here."
"Yeah, same old gossips."
He moved away to draw another crowd in. He nodded at her to take her position.
So Janet and Mike were an item. It had to be true if the whole town thought so. Not that it meant anything to her; it didn't—couldn't. But he certainly hadn't acted like he was attached to anyone.
From the cage Dixie could get a good view of all the contestants and Janet stood apart from most of the others, despite what John had said. From the looks of the contest, the small town of Wylie had turned quite sophisticated lately. Janet wore the smug look of a girl who knew exactly how beautiful she was. She'd win. But before Dixie could affirm her own conclusions she was dunked with little warning back into the icy waters. She gulped the water away and renewed her attention to the stage as soon as she came up. It seemed easier to tolerate this mild abuse if she concentrated on something else. The girls were behind the stage now, changing into their beautiful flowing gowns. She envied them, feeling more like a drowned rat than a beautiful woman.
With her attention diverted, the water didn't seem so cold, and it didn't bother her so much. Until another man walked up to the batting range and blatantly declared his intention to drown her. And he looked as though he could do it, too.
"Hey, lookie here—" he called, waving several of his buddies over. The men had been drinking, which wasn't permitted on the grounds. They were itching for trouble. "Ain't she cute? Let's see if I can wipe that million dollar smile off her face."
"Hey, you know who she is?" one of them called.
"Who?" the man with the tickets in his hand asked, gazing at his friend.
"She's that New Yorker. Yeah, I know it is. She used to be from around these parts, I've heard. Got too big for her britches and moved up north. Works for one of them big recording studios. Sure it is. I saw her picture in the paper 'bout a week ago. Way to go, Cal. You're dunking' one of them weirdo rockers."
"Well, I'll be. How about that? The guy who dunked the "punk rocker" in the water—about a thousand times." He laughed.
Again and again he bought tickets. Again and again his aim was sure, and she fell into the water, coming up a little more slowly each time. Her attention was no longer focused on lovely dresses, but rather on self-survival.
Each time she mounted the bench she shook a little more. Her skin was cold from the breeze that feathered her each time she came to the surface. Her lips looked blue. And her voice …
The man barely gave her time to mount the bench before he was dunking her again and laughing. His buddies cheered him on, causing a small crowd to gather and laugh.
Dixie tried to get John's attention, but he was no longer there, nor was her brothers. Her mother was on the other side of the bazaar. Where had everyone gone? Why was she suddenly alone? Where had all the good, descent people of this wonderful little community gone?
There would be no rescue from this torture; it was up to her to survive. Dixie bowed up. This was just a game, a silly game. No one died during a charity bazaar, and she wouldn't be the first. She had to use her head.
She had no one to blame but herself for this, she admonished. She'd been warned! Stubborn!
As her head bobbed above the water, she spotted Carol, and tried to wave. Tried to shout. Carol recognized her, and rushed to her husband who was standing at the edge of the stage, watching the girls. He had sold his tickets, he wasn't interested in what the baseball throw was doing. But Carol got his attention, and fast. Poor Carol—to be married to a man like that!
She kept apologizing and trying to calm Dixie, but even her voice held panic.
"Do something, John," Carol pleaded loudly, when the man dunked her again.
"He bought his tickets, Carol. What can I do? Do you want me to give him his money back?"
"If that's what it takes, yes," Carol insisted.
"But I can't, they've already taken most of the money back to the office. I don't have his money any longer. And he's paid for this. It's out of my hands."
At least Carol's heart was in the right place, Dixie thought hysterically as the bench went from under her again.
"And the winner is . . ."
Dixie heard the faint call of the judges in the distance as she went down again. Keep calm. Don't panic, she told herself. Concentrate on the beauty pageant. But something was wrong. She wasn't surfacing thi
s time. Her leg! A cramp! She fought the water and came up splashing, but as soon as she got to the bench, she went down again. Without air!
Bending in the water to massage the cramp she suddenly realized she was out of air. Terror took hold of her. Her leg, her lungs, the water. She had to fight—something told her she had to fight.
It's over. This is it. This time is it! A fever touched her mind. I'm dying, I'm drowning. I must be. Just like Mike warned. Mike! Ever since I came home, I've been drowning.
Just then, two strong arms were about her, pulling her out, dragging her from the depths of a death to which she nearly relented. Her skin crinkled at her fingertips as she grasped the warm earth beneath her. She felt the strong hands pushing the water from her lungs. Pushing and pushing, until it came through her nose, her mouth—it even seemed to spout from her ears. Was she alive or dead?
"Thank God," she finally choked just as those same hands turned her over to meet Mike's half worried, half smiling face.
"Took the words right out of my mouth, sweetheart …"
CHAPTER SEVEN
Will and Tom were at Dixie's side, grabbing her clothes while Mike carried her to his truck. He gently placed her across the seat. She barely stirred.
"Tell your mom I'm taking her home and putting her to bed. She'll be all right thanks to the two of you letting me know, but, for her, the night is over." He smiled at the boys as they placed her clothes on the floorboard of the truck and shut the door.
"We'll come with you," Will offered.
Mike raised a hand. "It's not necessary for the two of you to miss out on all the fun. Besides, I'd appreciate it if you'd look after Amanda. See that she has some fun. Go on, I'll take care of Dixie," Mike insisted.
"Come on, Will, Mike can handle it," Tom encouraged his reluctant brother.
"Okay, and not to worry, we'll take Amanda with us," Will said.
"I'll remember that, boys." Mike chuckled, going around the truck to the driver's side. Scooting Dixie's head up, he propped her on his arm as he slid behind the wheel. She was dead weight.
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