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.”
“That’s old news. Both my girls change their minds so often it drives me loca.” She smiled over at Dawn. “So, how did it go with you and the boss man last night?”
Dawn’s head snapped around. “How did you know he was involved?”
“Small town. Big, talkative church,” Gabi said with a smile. “I probably knew who you were with before you made your first meal delivery.”
“Probably. It was quite an evening.”
“Bad?”
“Not exactly.” Dawn was shaking her head slowly, pensively. “Tim—Mr. Hamilton—was a perfect gentleman. And he related well to the oldsters, especially Stuart Meyers.”
“Whoa!” Gabi gave her a quizzical look. “Tim? Since when have you called him that?”
“Since last night when he told everybody at Northside, including me, to use his first name. I’m going to have to be really careful not to do it at work.”
“Not necessarily. Maybe it’s okay because the guy likes you. On a personal level, I mean.”
“It wouldn’t matter to me if he did. Timothy Hamilton is not the kind of man I’d ever consider forming any kind of relationship with. He’s too— I don’t know—stuffy? Rigid? Polished?”
“You forgot, rich. And powerful.”
“Yeah. That’s another problem. He has no idea what it’s like to struggle to make ends meet, so he really can’t relate to those of us who have. Does that make sense?”
“Completely. From what I’ve seen of him when he’s come into the business office at the hospital, the guy is hard as nails. It’s like he knows he could buy or sell any of us and have change left over, so he isn’t worried about not getting his own way.”
“That’s exactly how I’ve always pictured him,” Dawn said. “But for a while last night he seemed different. You should have seen him with Stuart Meyers. They were like two little boys playing toy soldiers. If I hadn’t been pressed for time, I suspect they’d have reenacted the entire battle of Nashville.”
“No kidding? That is amazing.”
“It sure is.” She stared out the window, unseeing, as they crossed the Cumberland River into Davis Landing on Mill Road and came to the corner of Main where the Hamilton Media building stood.
“You can just let me off out front,” Dawn said. “I don’t want to make you late.”
Gabi laughed. “That’s no problem today, kiddo. You got me up at the crack of dawn, no pun intended. I’ve got over an hour to kill before I’m due at the hospital.” She pulled to a stop. “How’s this?”
“Fine. Thanks.” Dawn gathered up her purse and sack lunch and started to get out of the minivan.
Gabi laid a hand lightly on her arm. “Why was that?”
“Why was what?”
“The early call. The trip from your place to here takes less than twenty minutes, even when traffic is bad. Why did you ask me to pick you up at seven when you don’t normally leave home till nearly eight?” She suddenly broke into a grin. “You were avoiding Tim Hamilton, weren’t you? That’s it. You didn’t want him to be the one to pick you up. By leaving an hour early you cut your chances of being home if he did show.”
“That’s ridiculous.” Dawn knew her reddening cheeks were giving away a truth she didn’t want to admit, even to her best friend.
“It is not. I can see it in your eyes. Did he upset you or something? I thought you said he behaved like a perfect gentleman.”
“He did. It’s not him that I’m worried about. It’s my reaction to him that scares me silly.” Dawn swallowed hard and nervously licked her dry lips. “Miss Ada kept going on and on about how pretty I was and Tim agreed with her.”
“So? What’s so terrible about that?”
“It wasn’t what he said, it was the way he said it.” Dawn looked at her friend and heaved an audible sigh. “Unfortunately, he sounded like he meant every word.”
Dawn was already hard at work when her boss burst into the office, tie and coattails flying. He gaped at her. “Where were you? I knocked and knocked. Your dog was barking like crazy. If one of your neighbors hadn’t told me you weren’t home I’d still be beating on your door and making a fool of myself—if the dog hadn’t broken out and had me for breakfast, first.”
“I’m sorry. When we left here yesterday you said you planned to come in early so I thought…”
Tim raked his fingers through his dark, wavy hair, leaving it slightly mussed. Dawn couldn’t recall seeing him this agitated since Wallace’s diagnosis of leukemia had been officially announced to the staff.
“Okay. Forget it,” he said, visibly calming himself and regaining his characteristic air of unperturbed authority as he straightened his tie. “How about some coffee?”
“Sure.” She got to her feet and started for the small kitchenette beside the washroom. “I just made a fresh pot.”
“No. Not up here,” Tim said. “Let’s go over to Betty’s where we can relax and talk.”
“Betty’s?” Dawn’s voice squeaked so badly she was sure it had risen at least an octave.
“The Bakeshoppe and Bookstore? Right across the street? It’s been there since 1941. The plaque on the wall says so.”
He’d begun to smile, Dawn noted. Sort of. Actually, he was gazing at her as if he wondered where her wits had gone. Well, he wasn’t the only one who wondered that!
“I know all about Betty’s,” she said cynically. “What I can’t figure out is why you want to go there with me.”
“Why not? I found out yesterday that your table manners are fine. Why wouldn’t I want to eat with you?”
“That’s not what I meant.” Dawn had a terrible thought. Suppose he was planning to take her out of the office so he could let her down easy? “You—you aren’t going to fire me, are you?”
“No, I’m not going to fire you. Come on. I haven’t had anything to eat yet. I could really use a cup of coffee and a sweet roll.”
She hesitated. “Well, I—”
“Look. Consider this an assignment if it will make you feel better. I want to discuss a few business ideas I’ve had since last night and I thought it would be more enjoyable if we could do it away from here.”
“Business? You want to discuss business with me?”
He chuckled. “Yes, Ms. Leroux. I want to hear what you think about possible changes in the newspaper. Can you think of any reason why I shouldn’t run them by you?”
“No. But if you’re planning to try to out-do the Observer, I’m not sure talking about it at Betty’s is a good idea. Nothing stays secret once it’s reached the Bakeshoppe rumor mill.”
“Point taken. We’ll sit in the back and talk quietly, privately,” Tim said with a grin. He nodded toward the door he’d just entered. “Come on. Let’s get out of here before somebody shows up with a crisis that won’t wait and keeps us from our breakfast.”
Dawn wasn’t surprised to see every head turn when they walked into the Bakeshoppe together. By this after
noon, local gossip would probably have them romantically involved. The idea sent a tingle zinging down her spine. Speaking of which, Tim had placed his hand at her back so gently she could hardly feel it, yet she knew without a doubt that it hovered there.
“You shivered,” he said. “If you’re chilly, let’s sit away from the ceiling fans.”
“Okay.”
Dawn led the way past the old original bakery counter to a small round table tucked away in a far corner and slipped gracefully into one of the black-painted wooden chairs before he could pull it out for her.
Buffeted on two sides by shelves crammed with used books and topped with antique knickknacks, she folded her hands on the tabletop and regarded him seriously as he took his place across from her.
“I think it should be safe to talk back here,” Dawn said, “as long as we don’t speak too loudly.” She would have continued if their waitress, Betty’s older daughter, Justine, hadn’t approached with two glasses of ice water and an expectant expression.
“Morning, folks.” Justine pulled out a pencil and poised it over her order pad. “What can I get you?”
Tim looked at Dawn when he said, “Two coffees?”
She nodded.
“And a couple of cinnamon rolls. They smell delicious.”
“That’ll be fine,” Dawn said.
Justine wrote rapidly. “Coming right up. How was that picnic lunch we fixed for you yesterday, Mr. Hamilton? Satisfactory?”
“Very good. The basket’s in my car. I’ll have Herman return it to you.”
Dawn waited until their order had been delivered and they were once again alone before she said, “Okay. What’s your idea? And why did we have to come over here to talk about it?”
“Partly because it’s not a formal proposal. Not yet,” he said. “I’d like to get your take on it before I go any further. Once I mention it to Ed Bradshaw he’ll want to handle everything the same as he always did when Jeremy was running the show, and that’s not what I have in mind.”
“Really.” She forked a bite of warm cinnamon roll into her mouth. “Umm, this is good. Go on.”
“It came to me while I was talking to Stuart Meyers last night. Colorful characters like him are too often overlooked. Suppose we launched a weekly column featuring interviews with some of the old-timers, starting with Stuart? Do you think it would help the Dispatch stay more in touch with the interests of its subscribers?”
“I don’t know about that, but it would sure please Stuart. He’s always lamenting the lack of enthusiasm younger people have for history.”
“Exactly. Do you think he’d be willing to grant an interview?”
“I don’t see why not. Once he got started talking, the trick would probably be getting a word in edgewise to ask him questions.”
“I know. That’s why I want you to be the one to talk to him and write the first article.”
Dawn choked on his suggestion and covered her mouth with her napkin until she could swallow. “Me?”
“Yes. You’re a natural for the job. You already know him. And your background is in English. It’s perfect.”
She took a sip of her water, hoping to calm the nervous tickle that was threatening to close her throat. A dire conclusion had arisen. “You are firing me.”
Tim shook his head and looked at her as if she were delusional. “No. I’m unfairly doubling your workload. Does that make you feel better?”
Swallowing more water to buy thinking time she realized he was serious. “You want me to do both jobs?”
“Just temporarily. After we run the first article we’ll see how it flies. If it’s a success we’ll assign a regular reporter to carry on.”
“Temporarily,” Dawn echoed. “I think I’m beginning to see. You want me to moonlight as a writer.”
“Exactly.”
“What if I’m no good?”
“Editors can fix anything,” Tim assured her. “Just give it your best shot and we’ll go from there. What do you say?”
“I say, I’m nuts to even consider it.” She’d begun to smile slightly. “But it sounds like fun. Okay. I’ll do it. When do you need the article?”
“Is two weeks too soon?” Tim asked.
She arched her eyebrows and rolled her eyes. “How should I know? I’ve never done anything like this before. I have no idea if I’ll need two weeks or two months.”
Chuckling quietly, Tim took another sip of his coffee. “Try to make it sooner than that, will you? When Dad gets back on his feet he may want to take over everything again. I’d like to have my innovations in place and be able to prove they’re working before I get booted out on my ear.”
“He would never do that to you.”
“Why not? He did it to Jeremy—with help from the stress of his illness.” Tim settled back in his chair, both hands wrapped around his nearly empty coffee mug, and stared at it as he spoke. “I know I’m doing a better job managing Hamilton Media than my brother did, but that doesn’t mean Dad will see it that way. I’ve always had to prove myself to him. I still do.”
Dawn didn’t know what to say. To her relief, Tim swiveled in his chair and redirected his interest, acting ashamed that he’d admitted to having an Achilles’ heel. “Where did that Justine go? We could use refills.”
“I don’t know. I see Betty over by the coffeemakers.”
Tim waved politely, trying to catch the older woman’s eye without success.
“Looks like she’s really distracted this morning,” Dawn remarked. “Something must be bothering her. She’s usually the first one to jump up and make the rounds with a fresh pot.”
Tim pushed away from the table, his cinnamon roll hardly touched. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve had enough coffee, anyway. Take your time finishing. I’ll pay the tab on the way out and meet you back at the office.”
“Don’t you ever relax?”
“Not when there’s work to do.”
“We both came in early today. I think we can afford to take the time to drink a second cup of coffee.” She glimpsed Justine across the room and waved. This time, the silent summons worked. “Here she comes. See? You’ll have your coffee in a sec. Now please, sit down and give me a few pointers on writing a feature article, will you? I’m already starting to be sorry I agreed to try.”
“You’re friendly with Felicity, aren’t you? Ask for her help. Just let her think you’re working on a piece for a historical newsletter or something like that so she doesn’t blab to Bradshaw before we’re ready.”
Dawn scowled at him. “Lie?”
“Well, no, not exactly. Just withhold the truth.”
“That’s the same thing as telling an outright lie.”
“Who says?”
“The Bible.” She studied his handsome face for some sign he recognized the biblical principle. If he did, it didn’t register in his expression. “It warns against bearing false witness, for one thing. Besides the Ten Commandments, I think that’s found in the thirteenth chapter of Romans.”
“My mother and sisters handle all that religious stuff,” Tim said. “I don’t have time to fool with it.”
“I’m sure I’ve seen your brother Chris at our Northside Community Church services, too. Recently, he’s been coming with Felicity.”
“I suppose he may go to church on the days he’s off duty. Look, you can tell her as much as you feel you need to in order to get her help. Just caution her to keep it quiet, okay?”
“Okay.”
Dawn accepted a belated coffee refill from Justine but Tim waved her off, tossed down money for the tip and left the table.
Watching him stride purposefully toward the exit, Dawn was struck by how terribly alone he must feel. His father, Wallace, who had been in charge of the Hamilton Media dynasty, was still ailing and might die from complications of the treatment meant to cure him. Nora, Tim’s mother, spent most of her time and energy at her husband’s side. Jeremy, Tim’s eldest brother, had left town after what had been reported by o
ffice gossips as a terrible family quarrel, and his baby sister had run off with her no-good boyfriend at a time when it looked like the Hamilton family was coming apart at the seams, which it apparently was, if Tim’s attitude was any indication.
Setting Tim even further away from the others, his siblings were apparently connected, heart and soul, to a faith he openly rejected. Poor guy. If ever there was a man who had earned the title of “Loner,” it was Tim Hamilton.
Justine returned to the coffeemakers, ostensibly to refill her glass pot, and confronted Betty. “Okay, Mom. He’s gone. You can come out and go back to work now.”
“I am working.” She pushed back a stray wisp of graying hair and turned to rinse her plump hands in the sink.
“You know what I mean,” Justine countered. “What’s gotten into you?”
“Nothing. I just had things to do over here.”
Justine blew a quiet raspberry her mother’s way. “Phooey. You’ve been getting weirder every day, especially lately. You can’t expect me to keep waiting on every Hamilton who comes in here all by myself. Sooner or later, someone will notice how you’ve been avoiding them.”
“I don’t avoid them. Not exactly. I just prefer to have someone else take their orders.”
“Like me?” Justine’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “If it bothers you, think how I must feel. Have Wendy do it if you don’t want to. Just give me a break, okay?”
Betty looked surprised at her eldest daughter’s outburst. “Your sister’s busy in the kitchen.”
Justine stood firm, shaking her head in disbelief. “I don’t care. After what you told me about you and Wallace, how do you expect me to behave naturally around any of them? Huh? We work ourselves practically to death keeping this place running while guys like Tim Hamilton sit up in their fancy offices across the street and look down on folks like us, literally and figuratively.”
“They do not!”
“Oh, yeah?” Upset, Justine failed to lower her voice when she said, “Wallace sure looked down on you.”
The Hamilton Heir Page 5
