by Annie Jones
Lightning and thunder crashed together just outside the windows. The clouds huddled dark and dangerous now, heavy with a held-back downpour.
Dixie held her breath. Riley wanted to kiss her, and for all the alarms going off in her brain, the haze of emotion blurring the very way she viewed it all, she was going to let him. She tipped back her head, went up on very tippy toes and—
“Land-a-goshen! What are you two doing in here?” Sis rushed in, flapping a placemat from the dining room ahead of her all the way “Can’t you hear that alarm going off? Can’t you see the smoke?”
Aunt Sis grabbed up the broom leaning against the nearby wall and took one well-aimed bat at the blaring smoke alarm. It gave out a sickly whine then plummeted to the floor, barely missing the dog’s water dish.
“I have a feeling she’s done that before,” Riley muttered. In one sure move, Riley reached over and flicked off both burners on the stove.
“I...I must have forgotten to turn the burner off when I finished with the eggs.” Dixie’s cheeks were hot as fire themselves, both from what she had done and from what she had almost done. She stepped away from Riley as though he were the source of all the smoke and commotion. In a way, he was.
Sis went right on fanning the placemat, coughing and choking as she cried, “How could you let this happen, Dixie? You, of all people, know how it’s possible in one careless moment to make a mistake you will regret the rest of your life!”
“Yes, ma’am. I do. Thank you for, um, intervening before I did just that.” She spoke to Aunt Sis but her eyes remained on Riley.
Sis whipped the mat in the air one last time. “Oh, I am going to do a lot more than intervene. I am going to take over for you.”
“That could prove interesting.” Riley’s smile inched up higher on one side.
Dixie shivered at the hint of a secret that neither one of them had acknowledged—the kiss that never was.
“Interesting?” Sis pulled open the usually stubborn towel drawer with one hard, purposeful yank. She snatched up a towel and slung it over her shoulder, then nabbed an apron hanging on a hook by the refrigerator. As she cinched the cheery red and yellow ties around her waist and made a big bow, she scowled at the mess on the stovetop. “If you’re worried that I’m not up to the job, Mr. Walker, you needn’t trouble yourself. Dixie only does the cooking when she’s home because she enjoys it so much.”
“Really?”
“Oh yes.” Without looking, Aunt Sis answered as if Riley had spoken directly to her, though his teasing gaze had been fixed quite firmly on Dixie. “Our little Dixie is quite the homebody. More so than I ever was or am inclined to be, but one does what one must to contribute to the overall well-being of one’s household. Something I am sure you appreciate.”
“Yes.” He kept his gaze fixed on Dixie, his voice hushed. “I’m just chocked full of appreciation, ma’am.”
“Good to hear, sir.” She attacked the stove with vigor, moving the skillet to the back, shifting the plate of eggs closer to keep them warm, then testing the grits by churning the spoon through a few times. “I hope that means you harbor no reservations about my helping care for your mother during her convalescence with us.”
“Me? No, I don’t have any reservations at all Miss Sis.”
“Call me Aunt Sis—Aunt. You may as well.”
Riley raised his eyebrows.
Dixie put her fingers to her lips, and tugged her robe closed high at the neck. “Aunt Sis, I think you’re making an assumption based on one unintentional moment...”
“Everyone does,” Sis explained without looking at them.
“Everyone does what?” Dixie dreaded the answer but she had to ask.
“Calls me Aunt Sis, relative or not. And since Riley and his mother and his daughter will be living with us, he ought to, too.”
Dixie exhaled. She felt a perfect fool on so many levels already this morning and she wasn’t even out of her pajamas yet! This did not bode well for her day.
“Now, you two skeedaddle. I have some last-minute things to attend to, then I’ll bring breakfast on out to the table.”
“I’ll stay and help.” Dixie had no intention of walking out that door side-by-side with Riley, not after she’d almost kissed the man, not after she’d literally set off the smoke alarm with the recklessness of her behavior. “You go on out, Riley. Tell everyone we’ll be there straightaway.”
“Tell them yourself. I don’t need anyone in here distracting me while I...create.” Aunt Sis placed her hand in the middle of Dixie’s back and gave a light shove.
It was a feat of tremendous grace as well as grit-your-teeth- and-save-your-pride-at-all-costs pig-headedness that kept her from stumbling face first into Riley’s chest. Instead, she staggered, bumping her hip against the corner of the cupboards. It smarted but she did not let her pain show.
“Are you all right?” Riley leaned down to be eye-level with her.
“I’m fine. Fine.” She flung her hand out, meaning to give an elegant flourish toward the kitchen door in silent suggestion that he lead the way out. The gesture threw her off balance. She took a step back to regain her equilibrium, careful not to tromp on the poor, lifeless smoke alarm, only to land the heel of her fuzzy pink house shoe in Peachie Too’s water bowl.
No, she thought as she lurched along after Riley into the dining room with one soggy slipper and an ego to match, this did not bode well for her day at all.
* * *
They drove without talking for a good long while. The rain came in sheets then let up. The thunder rattled the windows and lightning scored white-hot across the sky. Then the clouds let loose again. And so it went.
In the midst of the deluge, it seemed almost unbearably intimate in the close quarters of the truck’s cab. The silence hanging between them only made it more so. He could hear her steady breathing, feel every move she made as she fidgeted with her hair, her dress, her mother’s pearls. It fascinated him how she sometimes simply skimmed the strand with her fingers, as if that simple act focused her, put her in touch with who she was and where she had come from.
Dixie was unlike most women Riley had known. She wasn’t driven and willing to run over anyone in her way like Carol, nor was she hard and manipulative like his sister, Marcia. Dixie was on her way to being someone extraordinary, he could see it in her flashes of fearlessness, in the strength of her faith, even in her moments of weakness. Dixie was a lovely flower, a seed planted deep in winter, who was just now pushing her tender green leaves up past her latest adversity.
Dixie was—he paused to steal a look at her as he slowed for a four-way stop—was asleep. He smiled. The poor thing had every right to be exhausted. She’d been through so much these last few weeks...and most of it all alone.
“Get your rest, Sweet Dixie Belle.” He knew the gentle thrumming of the rain on the roof of the truck would keep his voice from disturbing her. “I’m here now. Our partnership is firm, and so is my resolve not to let emotions get in the way of either of us reaching our goals.”
* * *
“Well, we’re here and it’s going to be smooth sailing from here on out.” Dixie scanned the unevenly spaced white-lettered names on the black felt directory in the building’s lobby. Her head throbbed and her stomach rumbled from hunger, but she wasn’t taking any chances on more things going wrong with this well-intentioned mission. Dixie ran her finger down the glass covering the office roster until she saw the name she’d been searching for. “Here he is.”
“Are you sure that’s Lettie’s grandson? Maybe you should have asked him over the phone if you had the right man.”
“And give him the chance to refuse to even see us and let us make our case? No, sir. I did not come all this way to let that happen.”
“Maybe he wouldn’t have refused to see you. Or just maybe he’d have told you up front that you have the wrong guy.”
“It’s not the wrong guy. Look at that name.” She stabbed her finger at the neat row of lett
ers.
“Fulton Summers,” Riley read aloud. He shook his head, his expression caught somewhere between confusion and awe. “My, but your family’s influence does have a far reach.”
“There were only three Summers listed online, and only one of them with the first name Fulton. It has to be Lettie’s grandson.” Dixie raised her head, letting the gesture tack on her nonverbal so there. “And for the record, I’m not at all surprised to see something of my family reflected in the man’s name. His mother and mine were close as sisters once upon a time, before—”
Dixie cut herself off. She’d told him all he needed to know about the matter. Speaking about the rest of it would only put her in a poor state of mind for meeting Fulton. She tapped the glass with her fingernail. “That’s not important now. Look here, office number 308.”
Despite her physical discomfort and the nagging reminder of what still stood between Fulton Summer’s family and her own, her spirit had begun to lift. She tugged at Riley’s rain-dappled sleeve and took a step backward toward the elevator doors behind them. “We’ve actually found Lettie’s grandson and in a few minutes we’ll be planting the seeds for a long overdue reunion. Maybe we’ll even kindle a new relationship that’s going to benefit all of us personally and professionally. Don’t tell me you’re not just a little excited about that.”
He held his hands up, his footfalls leaden but compliant as she dragged him along. “Anything that gets me back on track with the adoption is pretty exciting to me. It may sound mercenary, but I can’t help but think that having the grandson of one of the people who will be influencing Wendy represent us in court will be a positive thing.”
Dixie pressed the up button on the elevator then looked around the simple but clean lobby. “It’s not a very fancy place, is it?”
“I’ve seen worse.”
“Yes, but I mean for a lawyer. When you compare this building with the one of Greenhow, Greenhow, Byson, and Pryor...”
“Considering we’re looking for pretty much the opposite experience as we had with them, I’d say we’re off to a good start.”
Dixie smiled. Riley’s approval in this situation meant a lot to her, and not just because if things went smoothly here they’d agreed to hire Lettie’s grandson to do their legal work. “So, you have a good feeling about this?”
The elevator groaned to a stop, announcing its arrival with a harsh electric buzzer. The doors rolled open.
Instead of answering, Riley motioned for her to get on the elevator.
“Riley?” She stepped into the dark, paneled space, foreboding closing in on her. “You do have a good feeling about this, don’t you? You wouldn’t even consider using this lawyer for Wendy’s case if you didn’t have a good feeling, would you?”
“I don’t make my decisions on emotion, Dixie.” He stepped inside and turned to face the doors as they swished shut. He pushed the button marked 3 and the elevator whirred and groaned then hurtled upward.
The elevator slowed. The number 3 flashed in green over the doors then blinked out. The door slid open.
He looked down, put his finger under her chin, and whispered, “But to answer your question, yes. I do have a good feeling about this. I just don’t actually know what this is going to be.”
It was the most perfect time for that kiss now. And the least probable. Despite the wild ride of he had given her emotionally, and the lingering lightheadedness from the upward lunging of the elevator, Dixie knew that Riley Walker would never follow a statement about not letting his emotions rule his actions with something so impulsive.
She smiled up at him and nodded. “I guess the only way to find out is to dive in, then, right?”
Chapter Twelve
“Oh my!” Dixie’s astonishment as they stepped into Fulton Summer’s office escaped her lips before her brain had a chance to rein it in.
“I take it you’ve been caught off-guard, Ms. Walker?” Fulton stood, seeming neither agitated nor surprised.
“Actually, I’m Riley Walker.” Riley thrust out his hand.
Dixie wondered whether Riley were trying to diffuse the tension created by her idiotic outburst or hoping to make a quick ally in the other man and distance himself from Dixie entirely.
“Glad to know you, Mr. Walker.” The lawyer gripped Riley’s hand.
“Nice to meet you too, sir.” Riley gave a nod and released the handshake. “And this is—”
“I am so sorry.” Dixie rushed forward the moment Fulton’s hand was free. She seized it and began pumping vigorously. “I just hadn’t thought about how familiar you would look. I mean, I shouldn’t be surprised after, well, a lifetime looking at Miss Lettie, that is Letticia Gautier, my--”
Fulton dropped Dixie’s hand like it weighed a ton. “My grandmother?”
Riley moved in close behind Dixie. She welcomed the comfort of his nearness.
“Is she dead?” Fulton said it so coldly that Dixie shivered.
“No! No, she’s not dead,” she came back with almost a huff.
“Oh. I see.” He dropped into his seat and rubbed his eyes with one hand, causing his gold, wire-rimmed glasses to bob up and down on top of his thumb and forefinger.
Dixie’s hopeful enthusiasm plummeted. She studied the man behind the old but immaculate wooden desk. He wore his black hair cut very short and it had begun to recede on either side of his smooth forehead.
He had Lettie’s facial structure, and though his skin was just a hue darker it was equally rich and flawless. And yet, upon closer inspection, despite the strong pull of familiarity about him, she saw little else of Lettie.
There was a hardness around his mouth and a beaten-downness to his posture that had come over him when he slumped into the chair upon learning his grandmother was still alive. And where Lettie radiated inner joy, her grandson cast around him something else...not anything sinister or even unsettling so much as—sad. There was a deep, deep sadness about this man.
“Mr. Summers.” Dixie eased down into the chair directly across the desk from the man she hoped to warm to on Lettie’s behalf. “I’ve come here because your grandmother is a very old woman. Very old. Near as we can calculate she will be one hundred years old in three months and a few days and—”
“Stop right there.” He held his hand up, not even looking her way. “If you’ve come here on my grandmother’s behalf, to try to plead with me to reconcile with her before it’s too late, you’re wasting your breath, Ms. Walker. Let me tell you right now, that is never going to happen.”
“Never?” Dixie tipped her head, folding her arms and straightening her shoulders until her backbone was positively rigid. She’d have arched one eyebrow the way characters were always doing in books, if she had the slightest idea how to do it. “Excuse me, Mr. Summers, but did you just tell me never?”
“Oh, boy,” Riley muttered under his breath behind her.
“Mr. Summers, I think you should know straight off that I don’t believe in never, not the way you’re using it.” She reached out and grasped the edge of his desk, just to keep herself from pounding on it in a fit of passion. “I believe in never-ending loyalty and compassion, never let them see you sweat, and have been known to utter the phrase never mind and even never again in certain exasperating cases.”
Riley laughed.
“But where somebody I love is concerned, the idea of never trying to bridge the gap between us, never putting my personal grievances aside long enough to make amends for whatever wrongs stand between us, never seeing the eyes that hold only hope and love for me?” She raised her chin and pressed the hand that had been on the desk to her chest, fighting to force her voice past the emotional catch in her throat. “It’s not in my vocabulary, which means I’m willing to do whatever I can to erase it from yours, as well.”
“Dixie Fulton-Leigh!” Fulton’s face lighted like the slashes of lightning beyond the window. “Why didn’t I recognize you the moment you walked through that door?”
“Your reputatio
n precedes you.” Riley moved around to the seat next to hers, but did not sit in it.
The lawyer shook his head. “Not reputation, Mr. Walker, memory. You see, I’ve met Miss Fulton-Leigh before.”
“You have? Where? When?” She tried to place the man’s face, his name, his mannerisms, anything that might give her a clue as to what he was talking about. “I have to apologize again, Mr. Summers, but I don’t recall—”
“Oh, you wouldn’t.”
Dixie tensed at what seemed an indictment of her character. “I don’t see how I would have forgotten meeting Miss Lettie’s grandson. Even if our paths had crossed under unfamiliar circumstances, such as for business or something entirely unrelated to our families, the name Fulton Summers would have struck a chord in me.”
“I’m sure it would have.” He met her gaze and the sadness she had sensed in him before seemed harder now, though tinged with a soul-deep weariness...something with which Dixie readily identified. “Ironic, isn’t it, that I was named to honor the family that tore my own family apart?”
“That...?” Dixie looked to Riley, then back to Fulton. She struggled to swallow, to keep her emotions in check. “If anything, Mr. Summers, I’d say just the opposite. The irony is that you were named for the family later devastated by the action of your own father.”
“I didn’t...I wasn’t...” He blinked and for that instant his eyes felt to her like eyes she’d looked into a thousand times before. Then he looked away. “I wasn’t thinking about the accident at all when I said that, please believe me. I’d never have brought it up like that knowing how painful it could be for you.”
She could see in every aspect of the gentleman’s reaction that he was speaking the truth. Having just dismissed a lawyer who had sought revenge as his parting shot, Dixie appreciated the kind of man that made Lettie’s grandson. “I believe you, Mr. Summers.”
“Since you’ve brought it up, though, you know that’s just what it was, don’t you? An accident?”
