Beneath Southern Skies

by Terra Little

  She wasn’t quite sure how she felt. Was she angry? Hurt? Disappointed? What? With so many emotions churning around inside her, it was hard to pinpoint exactly which one took precedence. Foolishly, she’d thought that, when the time came for them to part ways, it would happen differently, more meaningfully, as if they had actually come to mean something to one another. Not like this—not with a casual “I’m leaving” and nothing more.

  God, how stupid was she? Had she really thought that something more than a good time would come out of this? I mean, she was dealing with the infamous Nathaniel Woodberry, wasn’t she? Tressie could no more see him settling down with one woman than she could see herself venturing into the jungles of Cuba to hunt down a story. The images just didn’t jell—neither of them—and they never would.

  Play it cool, Tressie. No need to let him see how discombobulated you are right now.

  None of the sophisticated women in movies lose their cool when an affair goes south, so you shouldn’t, either. Shake it off and get your head back in the game, would you?

  She cleared her throat and swallowed the lump.

  “How long will you be gone?”

  He hadn’t volunteered that information and he should have. At least, she thought he should’ve. It had been quite some time since she’d been in an intimate relationship with a man, but some things were a given. Was he leaving Mercy for good or...? Feeling exposed for reasons that she couldn’t quite name, she sat up in bed and wrapped the sheet around her to wait for his answer.

  “No more than a couple of days,” Nate said from the depths of the bathroom. The shower switched on full blast, and his voice rose to be heard over it. “I have a couple of interviews scheduled in New York. After that, I’ll be back. I told you about the interviews, didn’t I?”

  Yes, the interviews. He had mentioned those, she remembered, and released the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding until just then. Television news interviews about Mercy, Georgia, and what was going on here. Right. A few days. Okay.

  “Are you coming in with me or should I save you some hot water?”

  She looked up and saw him leaning in the bathroom doorway, gloriously naked and peering into the semidarkness of the bedroom at her, and thought, Uh-oh. Just the sight of him caused her heart rate to pick up and goose bumps to pop up all over her skin. A telltale surge snaked through her belly and made a beeline for that sensitive little bud between her thighs. Her reaction to him was instinctive, like a reflex that she couldn’t control, and it wasn’t showing any signs of weakening as time went on. If anything, it had only gotten stronger.

  As if a lightbulb had suddenly come on in her head, she saw herself clearly just then and didn’t like the image staring back at her at all. How in the world, she wondered with something like an awestruck expression on her face, had she managed to fall half in love with the world’s most confirmed bachelor? Then again, how could she not have? Here they were, in this godforsaken little town together, with nothing to do but be with each other day in and day out. What else was she supposed to do but lose her heart and, apparently, her common sense in the process?

  This was bad. This was really, really bad.

  Maybe his leaving for a couple of days was a good thing. The time apart would give her the space to clear her head and decide what her next move would be. She’d always known that she wouldn’t stay in Mercy forever and, really, she was starting to feel that she’d been here too long already. Maybe it was time to think about returning to New York and putting all her energy into rebuilding some sort of career for herself.

  Maybe...

  “Tressie?”

  Since she’d been in Mercy, she had let it all fall by the wayside—her career aspirations, her obligations and responsibilities back in New York, the sale of Ma’Dear’s house and land, everything. Now, with his announcement that he was carrying on with the details of his life, came a reminder that she needed to get back to carrying on with the details of her own life. This was an affair, plain and simple, and if there were any feelings involved, she was sure they were purely one-sided. The mistake in getting too attached, too dependent on the here and now, was all hers, and now she needed to get started on rectifying it.

  First thing tomorrow, she promised herself as she unwrapped herself from the sheet and got to her feet. First thing tomorrow she would get started...after he was gone and she didn’t have to look at him, hear him, feel him and want, want, want.

  * * *

  He wasn’t gone for a few days, he was gone for a week.

  Tressie caught herself hovering around her cell phone, waiting for it to ring, the first night he was gone.

  She caught herself doing the same thing, only this time willing the thing to ring, the second night he was gone.

  Then on the third day that he was away, she reminded herself that she and Nate weren’t committed to each other and that he wasn’t obligated to call her. There was no reason for her to feel a little hurt because her cell phone was stubbornly silent, and there was no reason to sit around moping about it.

  But she did.

  His interviews had gone exceptionally well. She knew because she’d been watching on her laptop and marveling at his seemingly effortless camera presence. She’d seen him on television before, but this time was somehow different. More than ever before, she noticed the way his sleepy eyes sparkled and seduced the camera. The way his smile was all sex, liquid and knowing in a way that caused her to shift in her seat more than once. He was a magnificent-looking man in the broken-in jeans, T-shirts and Italian leather sandals that he practically lived in here in Mercy. But in the tailored blazers, collarless shirts and wire-rimmed glasses that he’d worn during his interviews, he was drop-dead gorgeous.

  It was easy to be distracted by his good looks, but even those couldn’t overshadow his obvious intelligence. He had spoken about the situation in Mercy eloquently and succinctly, providing both facts and folklore, and discussing at length the piece that they had put together. When the discovery of the Underground Railroad stop came up, he provided voice-over for a brief video that had been provided by the university and, again, stressed the significance of the town’s history. In the wake of the interviews, Tressie was impressed with him all over again and, once again, reminded that her time in Mercy and her time with Nate was winding up.

  And, still, he didn’t call.

  It wasn’t as if she didn’t have things to do to keep her busy, she told herself, because she did. Determined to take her mind off him and the void that his absence had suddenly created, she occupied herself by setting up her workshop out on the sunporch and spending time online, creating a new and improved weblog for the relaunch of the Vanessa Valentino name and brand. She even brainstormed a list of ideas for possible story leads, did some preliminary research that seemed promising and sketched out a few possible logo design ideas.

  After that, she made some calls and arranged for the items that she had packed and moved from Ma’Dear’s house to go to a local storage facility and be donated to charity. The only items left in the house were a few essential kitchen tools, the kitchen table and her old bedroom furniture, and she arranged to have those things picked up for donation, too. With the house finally and completely empty, she scratched one more thing off her to-do list. By day four of no-word-from-Nate, she was settled in a room at the Mercy Hotel and back to eating takeout from Hayden’s Diner for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

  On Thursday she had lunch again with Moira, but this time they did more than just talk about putting their heads together for change. They had spent most of their time together discussing the town fair that took place in Truman’s Field every summer. This summer, with everything else going on, plans for the annual fair had fallen by the wayside, but Moira had taken it upon herself to get the ball rolling again, thinking that it would be just what the town needed to boost morale. W
ith Tressie’s help, they had come up with a step-by-step plan for taking care of the million-and-one details that went into planning such an event. Around midnight, when Tressie had finally said her goodbyes and left, Moira was ready to begin making the necessary arrangements. Tressie had purposely held back from getting too deeply involved in carrying out the event, because she wasn’t quite sure if she would still be in town then. As she’d told Moira, her reasons for hanging around were becoming fewer and fewer, especially since she had finally decided to decline Norman Harper’s offer.

  It took her a while to realize that she’d been carrying around the offer documents in her purse like a security blanket, but when she finally did, guilt swamped her all over again. As much as she wanted to feel disconnected from the town and its people, after spending so much time here, it just wasn’t possible. Selling her property and land to Consolidated Investments felt too much like selling out, even if she did desperately need the money. The house held a lot of good memories for her and she thought that maybe, after the town had survived its current crisis and moved on, another family could move into it and create more good memories. Ma’Dear would’ve wanted that.

  So, for the time being, she would keep the house and she would just have to come up with some other way to pull herself up by the bootstraps and carry on. If the people of Mercy could do it, then so could she.

  It hadn’t been an easy decision, but if she was wondering if it was the right one, she got her answer Friday morning when she wandered onto Moira’s property again to see how the dig was going.

  At this point, the student archaeologists were busy sifting through the newly turned earth surrounding the original outdoor dig site. Under the watchful eyes of supervising professors, they were making sure that they weren’t overlooking any important details in what had turned out to be an exhaustive analysis of the grounds behind Moira’s house. Walking slowly and carefully, Tressie surveyed the damage and wondered how long it would take for the grass to grow back and Moira’s meticulously tended flower beds to recuperate from the abuse. Moira must’ve been wondering the same thing, Tressie thought as she spotted the woman in the distance. She was leaning on a man’s arm and pointing the tip of her cane at a recently turned section of dirt. From the way the man’s head was bobbing in agreement, it was obvious that she wasn’t pleased with what she was looking at. Tressie walked up behind them just as Moira was pushing the tip of the cane back into the ground.

  “Well, I guess there’s nothing that can be done about it now, but, still...” Moira was saying. She reached up and pushed her straw hat down more securely on her head and caught sight of Tressie in her peripheral vision. She spun around as quickly as the cane would allow, a wide smile on her face. “Oh, Tressie! I’m so glad you’re here! I was going to call you this evening, but this is even better.”

  “I’m sorry to just show up like this,” Tressie said, moving closer and grasping the hand that Moira extended to her. “I guess I just can’t stay away from the dig site. I’m so fascinated by it.”

  “Who said you should stay away?” Moira wanted to know. “You know you’re welcome to visit anytime.” She looked up at the man at her side. “Dear, this is Tressie Valentine, the woman who discovered the underground room and set all this in motion. You remember me telling you about her.”

  Tressie didn’t recognize the tall, thin man standing next to Moira, though there was something vaguely familiar about him, but she smiled warmly at him anyway. He had short, curly brown hair, curious brown eyes and an easygoing smile that she liked immediately. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said, releasing Moira’s hand to take the one he offered.

  “I believe the pleasure’s all mine,” he said, looking slightly amused. “It’s not every day that one gets to meet the notoriously nosy Vanessa Valentino in person. Until just recently, I’d pictured you as a wrinkled little gray-haired lady with balls of steel.” He noticed the expression on Moira’s face and the narrowed gaze that she aimed at him and did a double take. “What?”

  Moira shook her head slowly, her eyes speaking volumes. “You know I don’t like talk like that. The last time I checked, there was nothing wrong with wrinkled little gray-haired ladies.”

  “Nothing at all, sweetheart. Nothing at all.” Still looking amused, he released Tressie’s hand, then leaned down and pressed an indulgent kiss to Moira’s cheek, making her brighten instantly. Then he straightened and pinned Tressie with a knowing gaze. “Word on the street is that the good folks over at the Inquisitor cut you loose after the story you did on Gary Price blew up in their faces.”

  Speechless, Tressie felt her mouth working, but couldn’t seem to make it produce sound. Had he just called her out publicly as Vanessa Valentino? How in the world did he know who she was? And how had he heard about her being suspended from the Inquisitor? Did everyone know? Suddenly, she was rethinking her decision not to sell to Consolidated Investments. If word truly was on the street, as he said, and everyone who was anyone now knew that she was Vanessa Valentino, her career was over and done with regardless what she did to try and revive it. She’d need all the money she could get her hands on just to survive at least until she found another career path and, with her professional reputation preceding her, who knew how long that would be.

  “You’re wondering how I know who you are,” he said, reading the look on her face like a book.

  “Um, yes,” Tressie managed to get out. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I am.” She’d never even told Moira. Had Nate?

  “Oh, goodness!” Moira piped up, flushing visibly. “Where are my manners? Tressie, dear, this is my stepson, Miles Dixon. You remember me telling you about him.”

  Tressie released a long breath that she would’ve been embarrassed about if she hadn’t been so busy feeling a rush of relief instead. Now she knew why he looked so familiar to her and how he knew who she was. Or who she used to be, as the case was. Where the media was concerned, there was probably very little that he didn’t know or couldn’t find out. If Donald Trump was the man in the business world, then Miles Dixon was that guy in the news arena.

  Remembering Moira’s mention of arranging a meeting between her and Miles, Tressie sent the woman a grateful smile, thinking that her timing couldn’t have been better. A new job would give her even more to look forward to after she left Mercy.

  “Well, then, I guess I should just go ahead and confirm the rumors,” Tressie said, wondering how bad she’d look if she simply threw herself at Miles’s feet and begged for a job. “I was—”

  “No need,” he interrupted, still smiling. “I’ve followed your columns for a while now and, to tell you the truth, I was wondering why you were wasting your talent with them anyway. A gossip column is okay for a time, and there is an audience for something like that, but you’d be doing yourself a disservice by limiting yourself to sticking your nose in other people’s business exclusively.”

  Tressie didn’t know whether to feel insulted or complimented. “Actually, I was planning to continue the Vanessa Valentino column on my own.”

  “And then what?” he asked pointedly. “Give it a few more years and someone might step up with even more connections than you, and be willing to jump into the spotlight instead of hiding behind fake names, and you’ll be a has-been. What will you do then?”

  “Vanessa Valentino is more than just a gossip columnist,” Tressie sputtered indignantly. She was beginning to see why Miles was so successful in the industry. He was borderline insensitive. “She’s a franchise. Or she will be by the time I’m done with her.”

  “Not if you have any hope of working for me.”

  “But I have a following and I’ve already begun setting the stage for a comeback.”

  “Well, then, good luck with that. Let me know how it turns out.”

  Not only was he insensitive, but he was an ass, too. “Thank you. I will.”

&nb
sp; Moira’s flowery laugh eased into the middle of the tension that had suddenly sprung up between them. “Isn’t this working out well?” she asked, looking as though she knew good and well that it wasn’t. Her eyes darted across Tressie’s tight expression and then jumped over to Miles’s placid one. “I had a feeling that you two would work well together.”

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Tressie couldn’t help saying. “Mr. Dixon and I don’t exactly seem to be making a love connection, Moira.”

  “Sure we are,” he said, positioning himself between Tressie and Moira and turning the three of them toward the main house. “As a matter of fact, I think I have a position in one of my New York offices that would fit you perfectly, Tressie. It’s a relatively small paper and I just recently acquired it, but I have big plans for it.”

  Tressie slanted a wary look up at him. Should she or shouldn’t she? In the end, her curiosity won out and she heard herself asking, “Which paper is it?” before she could stop herself.

  “The Manhattan Style Report.”

  As if he hadn’t just dropped the name of one of the world’s leading fashion guides, Miles’s face was completely devoid of any expression when Tressie’s wide, unblinking eyes found his. She didn’t realize that she had come to a sudden standstill in the grass until his arm moved from her shoulders to her waist and gently nudged her along. She stumbled forward clumsily, reeling from bomb he’d just dropped.

  For the past fifty years, the Manhattan Style Report had been the be-all and end-all where fashion was concerned, and things were unlikely to change anytime soon. She had been a faithful subscriber for as long as she could remember, spending hours poring over the pages of the glossy magazine/newspaper hybrid and coveting most everything she saw there, including the prestigious byline credits. She shouldn’t have been surprised that Miles had somehow acquired the legendary publication, but she was. Even more surprising was the opportunity that he was dangling in front of her face like a carrot.