Deep Dixie

by Annie Jones

  “Fat chance!” She angled her shoulder to block his access to the paper, which reminded him of a giant slimy noodle as she pulled it from the water and began folding it in accordion pleats. “You’re the ladder climbing, heavy lifting, keeping-your- decorating-tips-to-yourself part of this operation, remember?”

  “How could I forget? After last time?” They had finally gotten those curtains up, he recalled, but not before they almost tore the house down.

  “Then just stand back, pal, and let me do my work.” She flapped her elbows a few times.

  “And your job would be...? Demonstrating the chicken dance?” He mimed birds’ beaks opening and closing with both his hands.

  “Watch it, mister.” She glanced at her watch, ignoring him a bit too flagrantly. “I’ve got five minutes to kill while the paste sets up. Don’t make me have to get in my rowboat and come over there and dunk you.”

  “I’d like to see you try it. Just make sure you know how to dogpaddle before you do, though.” Riley laughed and turned away, craning his neck as he surveyed the alcove to make sure the walls were clean and ready to take the paper.

  Behind him, Dixie huffed.

  He went right on inspecting the wall.

  Her tennis shoes crunched over the plastic dropcloth beneath the worktable.

  He could just imagine her pacing, pouting, glowering at him to try to make him pay attention to her again. He feigned intense interest in a speck of dust in the corner of the alcove.

  The plastic rustled some more, then all went quiet.

  She’d given up awfully easy... He stood stock still, listening.

  Quiet. Too quiet. Maybe he should just—

  “Hey!” He slapped his hand to the side of his neck just seconds after the splat of warm, watery goo landed there. He pivoted to find Dixie standing a few feet away, her hands dripping with water from the paper trough.

  “Oops, sorry!” Her eyes were big and her smile grew wide. “Guess I splashed you a little while I was dogpaddling by.”

  Laughter bubbled up from within him. “Okay, okay. You got me. You proved you could do it and you got me.”

  “I got you!” She sang out in triumph, then, fingers still dribbling pasty water, launched into a victory version of the very chicken dance he’d teased her about earlier. “You think all you have to do is order me around and I will do your bidding.”

  “Since when?” He laughed right out at that. How could you not laugh along with anyone usually so dignified acting like a nut and enjoying herself so much while doing it?

  “Since when?” She flapped and wriggled. “You have always tried to set yourself up as my boss, Riley Walker, ever since you ran that stop sign and we—”

  “I ran the stop sign? Oh, that tears it.” In two steps he’d overtaken her. Latching one arm around her waist, he pulled her to his side so abruptly that she would have lost her footing if he had not had everything firmly under control.

  Dixie gasped for air. “Oh, my!”

  “Any more gloating and you’ll be doing a Southern fried chicken dance, m’dear.” He tugged her cap off, then lowered his face to within a few inches of hers and gave her a grin he was sure rivaled that of even the most roguish of Southern scoundrels. “You do know how to make Southern fried chicken, don’t you?”

  She blinked, her lips slightly parted. “I—”

  “You have to dip the whole thing in batter first.” One arm supporting the small of her back, he dipped her backward.

  She clutched at his shoulders with both hands.

  He laughed then looked up from her flashing eyes to the waiting trough of water.

  Her eyes widened even more. “You wouldn’t dare!”

  Even with every card stacked against her, she held her ground. What a stubborn...irritating...amazing...wonderful woman this was. He let his gaze fall on her mouth...felt his grip on her tighten...and drew a ragged breath as he looked into her eyes again.

  She licked her lips. “You wouldn’t dare.” It was a whisper this time.

  He felt himself smile. “Oh, yes I would. I shouldn’t, but I can’t help myself, Dixie.”

  * * *

  The kiss startled and enlivened Dixie, made her happy and terrified all at once. Just like Riley, himself.

  When he began to pull away, she curled her fingers into the soft cloth of his sweatshirt and drew him back for one more sweet, fleeting kiss. Then her hands relaxed and she let the shirt slide beneath her damp palms as he stepped back, his head still bowed.

  “Dixie, I—”

  “No, let’s not talk it to death, Riley. We both felt that building up for days now, weeks even, and I think we both realize that while we might have enjoyed it, it just can’t...” She strangled on the words.

  “It can’t happen again.”

  Though that’s exactly what Dixie had intended to say, to hear it in his low, resonate voice, cut at her emotions like a dull blade hacking away at a tender flower. She shut her eyes and moved back a step and then another until the side of the work- table pressed against her hip.

  “We’re living under the same roof. Our businesses are interdependent. Our families have come to care about and count on one another.” She held her hands out, palms up and close to her body, making a stilted attempt at a shrug. Her throat got tight and her eyes stung, but she pulled a soft smile up from somewhere deep inside herself. “We can’t lay all that on the line for some misplaced romantic notions. What if it didn’t work out? I don’t exactly have a terrific track record with things working out.”

  “Me, neither, though I’ve always remained friends with the women I’ve dated.”

  “Then maybe we should just cut out the middle part and do just that—remain friends.” She took a deep breath, nudged her smile wider, then wider still until it worked as much on her as it was meant to work on Riley. Her spirits buoyed a bit. She stuck out her hand. “It’s a deal then. We’ll just stay friends.”

  “Deal.” Though he shook her hand once it was hard enough to send a tingle all the way through her. Or should she blame his touch alone for that? Or the fact that she saw a hint of sadness in his eyes as he let his hand fall from hers. “Friends it is, then.”

  “Good.” She nodded.

  “Good.” He put his hand to his neck, then pulled it away and frowned. He moved toward her. “One thing we need to do first, I think.”

  He was going to gather her up in his arms and kiss her senseless...and she was going to let him do it despite her brave bargain to be just friends.

  Which only went to prove she’d already lost most of her common sense.

  Riley took another step.

  Her heart raced. She raised her chin.

  He reached his arm out.

  Dixie braced both hands behind her on the worktable.

  Riley stepped close, he shifted left then right.

  How sweet that he felt so unsure. She went up on tiptoes just enough to show she would not reject his advance.

  “Ah, that’s it,” he murmured, then lunged forward and grabbed a paper towel from the work table to wipe the water from inside his collar. He narrowed his eyes at her. “Okay, then, friend, we’d better get this paper on the wall. And while we’re doing that, maybe we should go over some ground rules.”

  “Ground rules?” Embarrassment and confusion, not emotions Dixie welcomed, clashed in her mind. She snatched up the red cap Riley had taken off her head just before he’d kissed her and jammed it down low, until it grazed her eyebrows. Maybe the brim would hide the blush on her cheeks with its shadow. “Ground rules for what? For hanging paper?”

  “For our friendship.” He lifted the wet folds of paper in his arms and strode to the alcove. “You’d better hold this while I get up this ladder.”

  “Yes, of course.” She hurried over and when he got to the rung that enabled him to reach the top of the wall he held his hands out. She helped him apply the sky-blue paper dotted with white, fluffy clouds, her thoughts and feelings stormy.

 
; “Okay.” He kept his eyes on his work. “For instance, no kissing.”

  “Of course! No kissing.” She grabbed a wide brush with stiff, yellow bristles and began to work the bubbles out from the center of the wallpaper sheet. “And no jealousy allowed, either. You know, in case one of us would want to go on a date with someone else.”

  He laughed. “You got your eye on someone?”

  “What do you mean me? You could just as easily—”

  “Nope.” He moved his own brush over the carefree clouds in long, even strokes. “I’m in no position to start any new relationship right now, even if I wanted to. But I am flattered that you’d be jealous if I did.”

  “Me? Ha! I could care less who you see or date or even talk to.” She flicked her wrist and ended up splattering tiny droplets of watered-down paste everywhere. She ignored it and went on working, saying aloud what she truly, sincerely, almost nearly had convinced herself she believed in her heart. “So I guess that makes the jealousy issue a moot point, old buddy of mine, because I’m sure not going out man-hunting anytime soon. Like I said before, I don’t exactly have a terrific track record with things working out.”

  “Fine, then.” He seemed totally absorbed in working out a long, rippling crease over a particularly fat, cottony cloud.

  “Fine.” Well, what more had she hoped for, she asked herself as she worked her sticky fingers over the textured paper, checking for imperfections. That he’d deny the validity of her statement? That he’d rush to reassure her that many, many of the things she attempted worked out very well indeed, things that mattered far more than rotten romances? How could he, in good conscience, do that? What, in the little more than a month that he’d known her, had worked out right for her?

  She still had not convinced Fulton to meet with Miss Lettie or to even let Dixie tell the dear old woman that she’d found her grandson. Guilt over that had slowed the work on Lettie’s birthday book to a halt—not that Dixie had gotten anything much done on it beforehand, either. In fact, with time running out, it was likely she’d have to abandon the whole idea of writing Lettie’s life story entirely. Chock up yet another monumental flop for Dixie.

  She gritted her teeth and swiped her hand across her faded blue overalls to get rid of some wayward paste.

  The downstairs phone rang. Peachie Too barked. General commotion ensued. Nothing out of the ordinary there. Aunt Sis will handle it.

  Above her on the ladder, Riley was putting the finishing touches on a near-perfect job. It did not surprise her that his first effort at hanging wallpaper had turned out flawless. Riley did everything well.

  She put her fingers to her lips...Everything.

  “Ready for the next panel.” His feet landed on the carpet with a cushioned thud. “Mind if I cut and measure this one?”

  “Please do. I’m sure you’ll do a better job than I ever could.”

  “I didn’t mean it that way, I just wanted to try to do it for myself. You’ve done a great job, Dixie. I hope you didn’t think I wanted to bully my way in and take over.”

  “I know.” She waved him off. Riley did not need to bully his way into taking over anything, he simply threw himself into the work so thoroughly that there wasn’t any need for anyone else. At least that’s how it was fast becoming at work.

  In their first week at it, Fulton and Riley had straightened out the mess her daddy had left. It only made sense the two of them could do that since most of it, she had quickly learned, either related to the deal Daddy wanted set up with Riley or was falsely created by Greenhow to convince Dixie to let him take over the management of the business. Dixie still ran the furniture manufacturing plant and oversaw the outlet store, but the deeper they got into things, the more she saw why her father had always kept running the businesses as a one-man operation.

  After thirty years, Fulton’s Enterprises was pretty much a well-oiled machine, the kind of thing Riley could run on his own and still be home for dinner every night by six, just like her father always had been. Dixie’s contribution amounted to very little at work, and since Sis had everything under control on the home front—

  “Riley! Riley? Hon, do you still have your little phone up there with you?” Aunt Sis called up the stairs with all the timbre and sophistication of an operatic cow bellow.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Riley had the decorum to walk to the doorway so that he didn’t have to holler through the hallways.

  “Well, pick it up, won’t you dear, you have a phone call.”

  “A...?” He looked to Dixie, pointing. “It’s right by your knee in that tarp. Do you mind?”

  She scrambled to locate the small black phone in the layers of canvas tarp.

  “Aunt Sis, how do you know that I have a call on my phone?” He turned his attention back downstairs.

  “Because I answered the phone down here and the person asked to talk to you.”

  “She must have given whoever it was your cell number.” Dixie gave it a gentle underhanded pitch. “Heads up!”

  “Thanks.” He held his hands open and caught it with great ease. He also dropped it with great ease. But it did appear to Dixie that he had some amount of trouble holding in what he really wanted to say about that as the phone bounced on his toe, then onto the floor, then went skidding out onto the hardwood floor of the hall.

  Dixie couldn’t see what happened from there but she heard the thunk-a-thunk-a of something tumbling down step after step, then the clatter of plastic reverberating in the high-ceilinged entry way at the foot of the stairs.

  “Is this the cell phone you were talking about, dear?”

  Riley sighed. “Yes, Aunt Sis.”

  “Then I’ll just answer it myself.”

  Dixie looked away so Riley wouldn’t catch her laughing.

  “Hello? Hello? No wait, that’s not right. There now. Hello?” Sis’s struggle carried up the stairwell, loud and clear. “Riley, honey, is it supposed to be in three pieces?”

  “I heard a crash. Is everything all right?” The Judge’s voice carried upward.

  “Everything is just fine, Smilin’ Bob-Busybody, I have everything under control. I’m taking care of things just fine.” The tremor in Sis’s voice belied her confident claim. “Now why don’t you go on back to your naptime?”

  “I’ll have you know I was in my office doing important business,” Dixie’s grandpa blustered.

  “Do you think what I do around this house isn’t important? You think I wouldn’t much rather be heading my committees and chairing my boards and generally seeing to the cultural well-being of my beloved Fulton’s Dominion than trying to juggle the schedule of a house full of—”

  “Would you two pipe down in there? Wendy and I are trying to get Miss Lettie caught up on her stories in here,” Riley’s mother, Verdi, called from one of the downstairs bedrooms.

  Peachie Too barked.

  Sis wailed something about not being appreciated. “Even my own precious princess puppy-toes has turned against me!”

  “I had to drive to Jackson to get that phone, you know.” Riley said it too softly for anyone but Dixie to hear, not that they would have heard or cared as they squabbled quite blissfully on.

  “I’m sorry. I never should have thrown it.”

  “Hey, your throw was impeccable. It was my catch that stunk.” His gaze met hers. “I guess I was distracted.”

  By me?

  “You know, worried about who’d be calling me here.” He answered as though he’d known what she was thinking, then raised his head, drew a deep breath, and stepped into the hallway. “Aunt—oh, you’re here.”

  “Here’s your phone, dear. I can’t work these new-fangled technological things. I’m an artist, you know, not some mechanical wizard.” Her poppy-red lower lip trembled. “You’d better hurry and answer your phone, dear, that lady is waiting.”

  “Aunt Sis, my phone hasn’t rung and...what lady? Waiting where?”

  “I don’t know where she was calling from.”

 
; Dixie fit the pieces together, which was more than Riley would be doing with his phone anytime soon from the looks of it. “Okay, I think I know what’s going on here. Aunt Sis, Riley’s cell phone is not some cordless extension of our phone here at home. He can’t just pick it up and talk to someone who calls our number. So what we need to know from you is, did you hang up on the lady who called?”

  “Gracious, no. That would have been rude.”

  “Great.” Riley handed his cell phone to Dixie. “I’ll just go downstairs and get—”

  “I told her good-bye first.”

  “You what?” Riley froze.

  “I didn’t just hang up on her, I told her good-bye first.”

  Dixie physically put herself between Sis and Riley. Not in her wildest imaginings could she believe that Riley would do anything to harm her often-off-kilter aunt, but after so many weeks of living in this household with two families—had it really been almost three weeks since Riley’s mother arrived?—Dixie had learned one thing: she was a born buffer. Grit and grace, her only redeeming attributes it seemed at times, served her well these days.

  Riley moved in behind Dixie and she could feel how tense he was...as she felt the heat of his body and heard the quiet rasping of his hard breathing.

  Dixie stood up as straight as she could. “Told whom goodbye, Aunt Sis? Did you get the woman’s name?”

  “Oh, yes. I didn’t write it down, if that’s what you’re asking but she identified herself to me immediately upon my answering. What nice manners, you know, folks don’t do that much anymore. Just is so-and-so there or let me talk to thus- and-such.”

  Dixie sensed Riley’s building tension over the mystery woman. She knew his anxiety had penetrated her own calm composure when she took Aunt Sis by the shoulders and gave her a shake. “What was the woman’s name, Aunt Sis. It’s important that you get this right. Was it Marcia?”

  “Mar—oh, my no.”

  Riley exhaled.

  For some reason Dixie did not share in his relief as equally as she had his stress. She tried to tell herself that had nothing to do with her own conflicting feelings about a woman calling Riley. No jealousy, remember? We’re just friends, nothing more. Women could call him all day and it should not matter to Dixie in the least.