by Annie Jones
“He still sounds like a fine, handsome man.” The quiet rocking went on like a steady, constant heartbeat.
“He is a handsome man, I’ll admit that. But fine? Not in the ways that count.” An image of Riley lifting Wendy up in his arms flashed in Dixie’s mind. For a moment, she felt a pang of remorse over her harsh and hasty judgment. “You know he had the nerve to try to tell me that Daddy had wanted him to go into business with him for my sake?”
“Oh, he did?”
“Don’t say it like that.”
“Like what?” Lettie blinked in big-eyed innocence.
“Like you believe his wild claim.” She said it as much for herself as for the trusting old soul beside her.
“Why not?”
“It’s just too easy, that’s all. Daddy’s gone and can’t substantiate the story. I mean, I know now that they did meet, Mavis confirmed as much for me, but as to the nature of their talk?”
Dixie moved to the sofa, a traditional top-of-the-line style that had been the mainstay of the Fulton line for thirty years. The upholstery, called wheat on white, looked almost opalescent bathed in the low afternoon sun. It was the kind of piece that reflected well on its owners, suggesting taste, elegance, unchanging style, and uncompromising standards. Dixie wanted to kick it as hard as she could.
Instead, she kicked off her heels. As if some dirt and a few scuffmarks more or less would matter. She swiped at a couple of downy tufts of apricot-colored hair. She plopped down and stretched out on the sofa.
She let her body sink into the thick cushions and sighed. “Oh, Miss Lettie, I’m so tired and confused. I just feel like... like almost everything in my life is slipping through my grasp, careening wildly away, totally out of my control.”
“Well, good.”
“Good?” She jerked her head around to see if Lettie was even still listening. “Those times we step back and say to ourselves that things is out of our hands, that gets us out of the way and gives the Lord some elbow room to start working his wonders.”
“You think one of those wonders he can start to work on right away is finding me a new lawyer to help me sort this all out?” She laid her head down.
“Pshaw. What’s it take to find a legal man? They’s all over! I even got one in my family”
“You do?”
“You think a black man can’t be a lawyer man, too? Or is it you think poor ol’ Lettie can’t have her a grandson over in Jackson with a fancy education? I had an education, you know, Founder Fulton seen to it that I had a lot of book learning.”
“Yes, I know, ma’am. You told me.” She rolled onto her side and propped herself up on one elbow. “It’s just that you so rarely speak of your family. I know you and your daughter, Helen Betty, were estranged before...”
Lettie’s brow crimped as if she had a flash of deep pain.
Dixie let the reference drop. “I always assumed your grandson lived far, far away. Now to hear out of the blue like that he is a lawyer and living in Jackson—”
“Shoo, that ain’t important.”
Dixie could see the woman’s defenses go up. There’d be no more talk of grandsons or any of Lettie’s relatives tonight. Still, Dixie had a small piece of information she’d never had before.
Lettie’s grandson lived in Jackson. He was a lawyer. Dixie needed a lawyer. And even if it ended up he wasn’t the man for the job, when Dixie walked in as a prospective client he’d have to listen to her pitch for a reconciliation with his grandmother. Wouldn’t that make the best birthday present of all for her dear Miss Lettie?
“Besides, Dixie Belle, what you need ain’t the law. What you need is--”
Dixie squeezed her eyes shut so tight they burned. “Please don’t say I need a man to come rescue me.”
Lettic chuckled softly. “Did I ever tell you that story I love so much? ‘Bout the man gots caught up in a great flood?”
“I think you have.” She spoke so softly she knew Lettie could not hear. Even if she did, it would not stop her from telling the story again.
“See, this man, he saw the waters rising and had no way of escaping them ‘cept to climb up top of his roof, but the water it just kept a’coming. So the man, he took to praying with all his heart that God have mercy and come and save him.” As Lettie spoke, her rocking grew faster, then eased off and slowed down again.
The low creaking of her chair gave off a natural sound effect for the building and ebbing tension of her tale.
“Pretty soon, came a great peace over the man and he took to mean that God would be coming to his rescue directly.”
Dixie crossed her ankles then turned her head until the jacquard finish of the sofa cushion chafed lightly at her cheek. She could just barely see Lettie from this vantage. “Yes, I know, and then a rowboat came along—”
“Am I telling this or are you?” Lettie pursed her lips like she’d popped a sourball into her mouth and angled her sparse, wiry eyebrows down.
“You are, ma’am.” Dixie tried not to show her amusement at seeing the old gal get her ire up. Miss Lettie still had a lot of life in her, and Dixie hoped to draw on her advice and guidance for a while yet to come.
“Well, like you said, ‘round come somebody in a rowboat, tells the man to hop in and they’ll go on to safety. No, says the man, God is coming directly for me. I’m going to wait on him.” Lettie waved her hand in the air like she was sending the row- boat away herself.
Dixie smiled.
“The water keeps on rising. Soon enough another rowboat comes along and the man does the same thing.” Lettie waved again. “Then one-a-them helicopters comes over, and even though the water is about to overtake him, lah, if that fool don’t send that helicopter on its way too. Then you know what happens?”
“The man drowns and goes to heaven.”
Lettie slapped her hands together. “The man drowns and goes to heaven! And when he gets there he asks the Lord why the Lord didn’t come to the rescue and the Lord says—”
Dixie joined in. “I sent you two rowboats and a helicopter, what more did you want?”
A steely silence greeted her.
“I cotton, for somebody so smart…” Lettie shot Dixie a look that could have blistered paint, “I’d think you’d have sense enough to consider that this Walker man just might be—”
“Oh no.” Dixie held her hand up, not wanting Miss Lettie to even finish that thought.
If Lettie had any more to add, Dixie did not know. And she never would since Peachie Too came bursting into the room, barking like a record played too fast or a dog breathing a tank full of helium. The animal snarled and bared its teeth at no one in particular. Then, catching sight of its tail poking out from beneath the tartan plaid fitted cape Aunt Sis had wriggled onto the dog this morning, it began to chase its hind end in a whirl of activity that made Dixie dizzy just to watch.
“Oh, my Sis is home.” Dixie sat up. “The Judge can’t be far behind, and here I haven’t even thought about what to fix for dinner.”
Aunt Sis’s perfume wafted into the room before her footsteps even reached the threshold. “You’ll just never guess who I ran into just outside my meeting of the Commemoration Day steering committee asking directions for a hotel and a nice place to eat tonight.”
Dixie wriggled her toes and ran her fingers through her hair, sending her hair bouncing over her face and shoulders. “As long as you didn’t offer to put them up here and invite them home for supper, I don’t really care Aunt Sis.”
“Oh, but I did, dear.”
“So we meet again, Miss Fulton-Leigh.”
That mocking masculine voice went through her like a shard of glass. She stopped mid toe-wiggle and dared to lift just enough of the brunette veil from her eyes to confirm her greatest fear.
Riley Walker stood in the doorway of her home, big as life, grinning like he’d just won the Kentucky Derby without a horse!
“You!” Dixie seethed the word out through horror-clenched teeth.
“Y
ou mean you already know Mr. Walker, Dixie?” Aunt Sis tittered out a nervous laugh.
Dixie just sat there, her hands in her hair, her legs sticking straight out, and her shoeless feet extended at odd angles.
Riley stepped into the room.
“Well, don’t just sit there with your jaw hanging open, Dixie Belle.” Lettie’s rocker fell into a quiet rhythm with the ever ticking clock. “Get yourself up and do something. I do believe your rowboat has arrived.”
Chapter Eight
“The only reason I agreed to your help in getting supper ready is so there wouldn’t be any witnesses.” Dixie let the swinging kitchen door fall shut with a whoosh that just barely missed her unexpected guest’s backside.
He didn’t even flinch. “I’m not too worried about witnesses, Miss Fulton-Leigh.”
He very slowly laced one arm over the other across his chest, which looked somehow even broader than she remembered. Probably because of the starkness of his white shirt and the absence of his elegant tie, which had lent a civilizing effect to all that brawn.
“Anything happens to me I reckon you know you’d be the prime suspect, witnesses or not.” He dipped his chin and a lock of his curly black hair fell forward onto his tanned forehead. “Seeing as you’re the only person I know who isn’t utterly dazzled by my exceptional wit and charm—and my uncommon humility, of course.”
Brawn tempered by a gentle good nature that she could see twinkling in his dark eyes, and which brought a genuine warmth to that rakish grin. Dixie wished she could just—
“Spare me the nonsense, Mr. Walker. The truth is I brought you in here because I don’t want anyone to overhear what I have to say to you.”
“Hmmm. Strange that you didn’t have that fear when you tried to discuss our new business partnership in the drugstore earlier today.”
“We don’t have a business partnership, and that is something I will discuss openly and often with anyone who cares to lend an ear.” She swept her gaze upward over the pale yellow walls of the small kitchen, a modern marvel for the late eighteen hundreds when it was built.
Oh, the many discussions this place had heard. The arguments, the plans, the tears, and laughter and so much more that had drifted up from this spot toward the high ceilings and beyond. Yet never once, she suspected, had any of those conversations been so pointed, so concise, so outright rude as she was about to be. “I cannot believe Aunt Sis invited you home with her, and you accepted! This is so typical.”
“Your aunt is prone to bringing in strays?”
“My aunt is prone to many things.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “What’s typical, though, is that some member of my family has acted without thinking, leaving me to come along behind and clean up the mess.”
He laughed, just enough to let her know he was having fun with her but not so much as to imply he was delighting in her dilemma. “Wendy and I can clean up after ourselves, if that’s any help.”
At the mention of Wendy, Dixie softened. Just a smidge.
Riley must have sensed that as he stepped toward her and lowered his voice. “You know, acting on an impulse is not always a bad thing. In fact, my personal belief is that if the impulse is well grounded—”
“Puh-Iease, Mr. Walker.” She held her hand up to stop him. “You’ve met my Aunt Sis—”
“And her little dog, too.”
“Does anything about that woman scream well grounded to you?”
“Just her taste in relatives.”
“You are making what I have to do very difficult.” She shut her eyes but could still feel him near her like a deeply banked fire that radiated through a chilled winter room.
That scared her, scared her more than she knew how to handle. This man could spell the end of everything she held dear, and letting herself fall under his spell could only make matters worse. She had to fight it, keep her mind fixed on the danger he represented and not be lulled into complacency by the thrum of his rich, deep voice.
“What do you have to do, Miss Fulton-Leigh? Besides prepare dinner?”
“Mr. Walker, I have to—and let me first say this is offered without any personal animosity and with all due regard befitting this particular situation—I have to tell you to get out of my house!”
* * *
Riley leaned one shoulder up against the wall, crossed his arms then settled one ankle over the other, content to let his body language tell her he’d settled in for the long haul. “Seems like your version of Southern hospitality is missing a few letters, Miss Fulton-Leigh. It reads more like Southern hostility.”
“Well, isn’t that very clever of you to come up with that?”
“I thought so...” He restrained the grin that wanted so badly to break out.
“And that would be an interesting thing to note if you were working the jumble puzzle in the newspaper.” She moved toward the door again as she spoke, extending her arm in a sweeping motion as if showing him the way out. “Or perhaps if you are ever a contestant on Wheel of Fortune—”
“Not interested.” He did not budge from where he stood.
“Beg your pardon?” Her smile tightened.
“In going on a game show.” He shook his head. “Not interested.”
She opened her mouth, then shut it, scowled, and cocked her head, sending her still irresistibly tousled hair tumbling against her flawless neck. “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand that—”
“Think about it.” He pushed himself away from the wall and strolled in her direction, his arms still clamped over his chest. When they stood side by side, he leaned close enough to speak quietly, but without the implied intimacy of a whisper, in her ear. “Why would I need a glamorous game show? With all that tension?”
He hit the last word hard and Dixie jumped, just enough so that only someone standing as close as he would notice it, but she did jump.
He went on. “That frenzied sense of anticipation?”
She set her lips in a grim line and glared at him from the corners of her eyes.
“The prospect of walking away with everything or being left with nothing but embarrassment and disappointment? Not to mention an enchanting hostess dripping charm and with the uncanny ability to get worked up over absolutely nothing at all?” He could tell by the set of her jaw just how badly she wanted to respond to that implication-packed bombshell, so he hurried on to make sure she didn’t get the chance. “Why would I want to go on a game show, Miss Fulton-Leigh, when I can stay put and get all that right here in your home?”
If looks could kill...well, Riley thought, she might not have done him in but when he looked in those beautiful eyes, it did occur to him that he had seen warmer glints off the teeth of jagged-edged buzz saws.
“You are reprehensible, do you know that?” she whispered.
“My mother calls me a troublement.” He tried not to seem too proud of the title.
“If only she would call you home.” Dixie held her ground.
“She can’t. She isn’t at our home. She’s in the hospital.”
Dixie started at that. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize...” She touched her fingertips to her lips as if she wished that could somehow take back her flip remark. “I hope she’s all right.”
“Broken hip. She’s a fighter, though, she’ll be fine with therapy and time to recuperate.” He actually felt bad because Dixie so obviously felt bad. “That’s why I have Wendy with me this trip and why I have to take care of as much of the business of getting set up in our new home now as possible. When Momma is ready to join us, I’d like it to be one smooth transition into our new place.”
“I’m sure your mother will appreciate your thoughtfulness.
It’s always nice when someone takes another person’s situation into account while making plans that involve that other person.”
“Subtle,” he muttered, then lifted his hands in mock surrender. “Listen, Miss Fulton-Leigh, when your aunt invited me to come to your house, I never imagined it would come
as a personal imposition on you. I just assumed...well, let’s just say it never crossed my mind that you’d be stuck with the extra cooking duties.”
“I won’t be...that is, I wouldn’t be, if you were actually staying.” She crossed the floor in front of him to a painted door with a glass knob. “I’m not cooking anything from scratch tonight.”
The warped old door banged against its frame when she shimmied it open to reveal a long, narrow staircase descending into complete darkness.
“Taking me to the cellar are you? Not only do you not want any witnesses, you don’t want anyone to find what you’ve done with the body.”
“Don’t be silly. Give me credit for knowing better than to hide the evidence of my misdeeds in my own basement, Mr. Walker.”
He chuckled.
“After all, I haven’t lived my entire life in a family of lunatics without picking up a few pointers along the way”
His laughter died in his throat, making something of a choking sound as he swallowed hard. There was that reference again. In all the excitement of his decision today, he had forgotten about the vague rumors of eccentricities and his mother’s warnings.
Riley had met John Frederick face to face and had found the man to be of sound mind and exemplary spirit. And so far, he saw absolutely nothing lacking in Dixie’s character, except for that obvious shortsightedness on her part in not taking a shine to him immediately.Then there was the Judge, the man from whom Riley had taken the reins of control just today when he became the chief executive officer and senior stockholder in Fulton’s Cartage. Riley knew little of that man except what he’d seen on paper—a bold signature across the papers authorizing Howard Greenhow to negotiate the deal on his behalf.
Still, the man was a judge. Riley took comfort in that reminder. They didn’t let just anyone become a judge...unless, of course, your family ran an entire town! An uneasiness began to twist low in Riley’s gut. He raked his fingers back through his hair.
“Mr. Walker? Hello?” Dixie snapped her fingers and he realized she’d been trying to get his attention. “I have to go downstairs now, to get something from the freezer for dinner tonight.”
