by Susan Crosby
Panic? Yes, that was exactly what she’d felt.
He hadn’t said goodbye. That had been the purpose of the night they’d shared, and neither of them had said the word. She didn’t know what to make of it. In her case, her throat had closed. She couldn’t say it—or anything else.
“What do you hear from your folks?” Aggie asked.
Dixie latched on to the change of subject. “They’re like a couple of teenagers. Mom loves the shows and the hustle and bustle of Las Vegas. Dad keeps winning at the slot machines, and I guess he’s in tool heaven at the hardware convention. That ends tomorrow, and they’re supposed to head to San Diego, which was their original destination, but who knows? They may get lost somewhere else.”
“And they still don’t know about Shana?”
“Um. It hasn’t come up?”
“Speaking as a mother, I think you’re making a mistake, Dixie. What if Shana takes off without seeing them? Without them meeting their granddaughter?”
“Aggie, your kids adore you. You’ve never been estranged from any of them, except for maybe some normal teenage rebellions, you know? Even Jake and Donovan checked in when they were gone. But anyway, it’s up to Shana, not me. When I hear that Mom and Dad are headed home, I’ll talk to her. I think the longer she’s here, the better the chance she’ll stay.”
“You know your folks better than I do,” Aggie said. “And your sister. Speaking of which, here she is now. I called and told her I would bring Emma to see you.”
Shana looked good. Exceptionally good, Dixie decided as her sister scooped up Emma, laughing. The job had put her shoulders back and brought her head up.
Thank you, Joe. He’d seen that Shana needed her pride restored and done something about it.
It turned into a girls’ night in. Aggie picked up Nana Mae and brought her back. They ate lasagna and garlic bread, and Shana told stories about customers at the tree farm, the other women trying to guess who she was talking about.
“Which woman,” Shana asked, “waved off help sawing down her tree, then not only cut down an eight-footer herself but hauled it to her truck, loaded it and tied it down?”
All three women guessed, each getting a no for an answer.
“June Morrison,” Shana said finally.
“June, the librarian?” Dixie asked. “That scrawny thing?”
Shana giggled, which warmed Dixie’s heart in such hopeful ways. The dark circles were gone from Shana’s eyes. She no longer looked gaunt, although still a little haunted at times.
When she stopped laughing, she asked, “Which man took three hours to choose a tree—and then only because I made the decision for him?”
“The mayor,” Nana Mae guessed correctly. “That man is incapable of making a decision.”
And so the evening went. At some point, Dixie sat back and surveyed the room. Women—and one baby—from four different generations, enjoying a good meal and some laughs. She’d forgotten her problems for a while. Hadn’t thought about Bruno or the delay he’d caused or the confrontation with him—from which she’d emerged even more strong, confident and competent.
She’d forgotten about Kincaid, too, and how complicated he was making her life, even as he also simplified it. She’d even forgotten to call Laura and ask about voiding the contract.
What she hadn’t forgotten, not for a second, was how much she missed Joe, missed him in ways she hadn’t in the past year, because she’d spent so much of that time just being hurt and angry.
What she felt now was a different kind of ache that stayed with her, low and throbbing, even through everyday events like this evening. She watched Nana Mae cuddle Emma, who somehow knew she shouldn’t squirm too much, who stared into the older woman’s tender gaze and smiled. Dixie watched Aggie enjoying them, too. She’d been a doting daughter-in-law to Maebelle McCoy for a very long time. It was the relationship Dixie had always anticipated she would have with Aggie.
Shana caught Dixie’s eye and smiled, as if to say, “This is good.”
Dixie smiled back.
Later, when she climbed into bed, she ran a hand over the empty space next to her, remembering the night she’d shared with Joe. After a minute, she picked up her phone, started to dial his cell number to tell him about her evening with his mother and grandmother….
“Don’t,” she told herself, setting it down. “Let him be.”
But it was so hard. He’d rarely been more than a ten-minute drive away, and even when she didn’t see him, she heard about him, knew what he was up to. Now she didn’t have a clue. He could be sitting in his hotel room, thinking about her. Or out with a woman who’d been forward enough to invite a handsome out-of-towner to dinner—or he could’ve done the asking.
Dixie stared at the ceiling for a long time, then she rolled over, pulled his pillow into her arms and held tight, knowing it was just wishful thinking that she could still smell him on the fabric.
Chapter Thirteen
“Pizza’s here!” Dixie shouted. “Come and get it while it’s hot.”
The six men who’d been uncrating and moving salon equipment from a semi in her parking lot didn’t knock her down, but only because she hopped out of the way in time. They were after the six large pizzas, three family-size salads and a whole lot of beer and soda she’d provided—the price of doing business, she thought, satisfied.
That and the muscle power of Kincaid, some volunteer McCoy men and a paid crew of two. In nine days, minus Sunday off, Kincaid and his team had demolished the shop, opened the wall to the additional space next door and were ready to replumb. Kincaid himself worked fourteen-hour days.
Dixie enjoyed watching the hardworking men dig into the food. She’d dragged sawhorses and sheets of plywood into the middle of the space to create tables, although they would have to stand while they ate. Four portable heaters took the edge off the cold December evening, but didn’t really warm the place much. It was Friday night. The men were giving up personal time to be here, the truck having shown up four hours late.
Joe’s brother Donovan leaned a shoulder against the bare stud next to her then took a big bite of pepperoni-and-sausage pizza, looked at her. “You’re grinning like the village idiot.”
“Every town needs one. Guess it’s my turn.”
He laughed. “Yeah, I suppose we all take turns, don’t we?”
“What do you hear from Joe?” she asked lightly.
He looked at his watch. “My guess is he’s pulling into his driveway, give or take ten minutes.”
He’s home. It’d been the longest twelve days of her life. “I imagine he’s exhausted.”
“I think he’s on a success high,” Donovan said. “He called as he was leaving the airport, all wound up.”
She looked at her fingernails. “Does he have to leave again right away?”
“Looks like it. That’s a sign of success, though, right? He’ll be home again for Christmas. Fortunately, most city governments don’t conduct much business then.”
“Aren’t you eating, Dixie?” Kincaid asked, joining them, leaning against the stud on the other side of her.
Her stomach was doing cartwheels. She wasn’t sure she could keep anything down. Joe was home. He hadn’t said goodbye….
Was that just a technicality?
“I’ll eat in a minute,” she said to Kincaid.
Shana stepped into the fray, still dressed for work in her heavy jacket, knit hat and mittens. Her cheeks were red, her eyes bright. She’d come so far in just a few weeks. “I was on my way to pick up Emma, then I smelled pizza.”
“Have some. There’s plenty,” Dixie said. “I’ll join you, now that the initial feeding frenzy is over.”
“Kincaid is looking cozy,” Shana said quietly, sending him an unfriendly glance.
“Stop it, Shana. He hasn’t said or done anything improper.”
“He wants to.” She tugged off her mittens and stuffed them in her pockets.
Did he? Dixie went out of her way
to keep things friendly but businesslike, not giving him any reason to hope for more. She wished she could. He was a great guy. She just didn’t feel that way about him.
“So, I have news,” Dixie said. “Guess who’s coming for Christmas?”
The color drained from Shana’s face. Her plate tipped, her pizza slipping. Dixie grabbed it, righted it.
“I’m sorry,” Dixie said. “I was so excited, I didn’t think. Not Mom and Dad. It’s Gavin. Gavin’s coming for Christmas. He’ll be here Christmas Eve, actually. For the first time in years, our brother has not volunteered to be on call Christmas day.”
“Does he know I’m here?” Shana asked, setting down her plate.
“That’s why he’s coming.”
“What’d he say when you told him?”
“‘It’s about time.’”
Shana smiled and pressed her fingers to her mouth. “We were never close as kids, but I’ve missed him, you know?”
“I do know. I only see him a couple of times a year myself, and I live two hours away. But, you know, Shana, he did the same thing as you did. We just always knew where he was living.”
“It must have been hard on you, being the one left behind, having to deal with Mom and Dad on your own all the time. Did you resent Gavin and me?”
“Sometimes. But what were my options? I didn’t want to leave town.”
“Never?” Shana asked. “You’ve never had a desire to see something beyond this place?”
“There are places I’d like to visit, but to move? Why? I love this place. It’s home.”
“Speaking of home, I need to pick up Emma. Thanks for dinner. And for calling Gavin.” She gave Dixie a hug, then took off.
The men tossed their paper plates in the trash and headed back to the parking lot to bring the equipment into the newly created space, currently the storeroom. She’d considered building separate rooms for each stylist but rejected the idea. Most of her steady clientele would be townspeople. They liked seeing who was passing by the shop, and liked being seen. It was a gathering place. People frequently stopped in and visited clients while Dixie was doing their hair.
She was still working on lining up renters for the other stations, as well as a massage therapist, manicurist and an esthetician. She wanted to create a fun but soothing atmosphere. It meant careful hiring, and she’d had little time, being busy in her temporary salon morning to night, then fulfilling her responsibilities at the hardware store. So much to do.
She was exhausted all the time, yet energized, too.
Because the men had told her to just get out of the way, she walked over to the front window and looked into the darkness. Streetlights illuminated the quaint wooden sidewalks and storefronts. Not much happened downtown at night. The Lode was open for dinner, and they were only a block up the road, so cars lined the street, but the ice cream shop next door shut down early in the winter months. There was little foot traffic.
Are you home yet, Joe? Will you call? Come see me?
Did you miss me?
The men finished up and left, except for Kincaid.
“Can I take a few minutes of your time?” he asked.
“Sure.”
He smiled. “Maybe upstairs, where there’s better heat?” He tapped a rolled-up blueprint against his thigh.
“Oh. Of course. Come on up.” He hadn’t been upstairs since she’d moved in. It would be polite to offer him a hot drink. She didn’t see how she could avoid it.
“Coffee would be good,” he said when she asked, and because that took a little time, he sat at the counter, looking around the open space. She hadn’t had time to hang photos yet, but Shana had taken care of everything else.
“The place looks nice, Dixie. You’ve made it a home.”
“I’m very happy here.” As soon as the coffee started to brew, she said, “So, what’s up?”
“Do you know when Joe will be back?”
He’s home. Just the thought of it got her heart racing. “Soon, I think. Why?”
“I’m still waiting for him to sign the papers. Normally it wouldn’t be a problem, since listing a house in December rarely pays off. But I’ve got someone who’s interested in it. At full asking price.”
Dixie turned away, busying herself with getting out mugs. The thought of someone else living in her house had only been an idea before. The reality of it almost brought her down. “Have you called Joe?” she asked, trying not to let Kincaid see her hands shaking, but the mugs rattled as she set them on the countertop.
She saw him look at her hands, so she shoved them in her pockets, trying to look casual.
He studied her face for a few seconds. “I’ve called him several times, left a message each time.”
“I don’t know what to say.” And she didn’t. “I’ve done my part.”
He sat back a little, watched her for a while, then, “Are you afraid to be alone with me? Do you think I’m after you?”
Aren’t you? “It would be egotistical of me to say yes, wouldn’t it?”
“Here’s the thing, Dixie. I like you a lot. I haven’t had a woman friend before, and I’m enjoying that. But that’s all. When I’m interested in a woman, I like her to be looking at me. You’re looking at Joe. Is that clear enough?”
Relief settled over her. “I like you, too.”
“Okay, then. Business as usual.”
“But better,” she said and poured him a cup of coffee.
Joe huddled inside the recessed doorway of the shoe store across the street from Dixie’s salon, his face stiff from the cold, his ears frozen, even with his collar pulled up. He’d gotten home, deposited his luggage in his bedroom, turned on the heat, thumbed through the accumulated mail, then left.
He wanted to see her. Needed to see her. But when he’d arrived, she’d had a shop full of people. At one point she’d stood at the front window, looking out. He’d willed her to see him in the darkness, but he’d been well hidden.
So he waited, watching a semi leave, then several cars, including Donovan’s, but he could see through the plate-glass window, knew one person remained—Kincaid.
Fifteen minutes ago, her living room lights had come on. Kincaid’s SUV was still parked out front. Which meant they’d gone upstairs. Together.
What did it mean? How long should he wait? Too many conclusions jumped in his head.
Under similar circumstances, Kincaid had left the scene—or so he’d said. Apparently, he was of stronger character.
Joe knew he should leave. It was like eavesdropping, when you never heard anything good. He didn’t want to know if something was going on between them—and he had to know. He wanted to talk to her, to share how the trip went. He’d been busier than he’d anticipated. Had spent each night working in his hotel room, modifying each project to a particular city’s needs. His ideas had been met with enthusiasm. He would make return trips after the holidays, after they’d had time to make decisions.
Every night he’d wanted to call and talk to Dixie about it. She’d been there five years ago when he’d first developed a plan for LandKind. He’d talked constantly about it to her.
And now, after a year of not sharing their day-to-day lives, he felt a need to do so. All during the drive from the airport, he’d been anticipating talking to her—
Hell. When had he started lying to himself? He wanted to take her to bed—and then talk. Maybe.
They hadn’t said goodbye, either of them. Had she noticed? Was he making something of nothing?
He shrugged deeper into his jacket, debating again whether he should leave, not wanting to know if Kincaid spent an hour—or the night. A shadow passed in front of her living-room curtains, then another. A few seconds later, Joe saw them come toward the front of the shop. Kincaid came out the door and got into his car without looking back. Had they kissed upstairs? Were they officially dating?
Dixie locked the door, moved around the space, going from heater to heater. She went out of sight, probably to lock the bac
k door, then the work lights went off one by one.
Joe waited for Kincaid to pull away, then jogged across the street and around the back. He rang the bell.
Seconds later, the door opened.
“You should ask who’s here,” he said, jealousy making him more curt than he had a right to be. He’d thought he wanted Dixie and Kincaid together. Craziest idea he’d ever had.
“I’d hoped it was you,” she said breathlessly.
His doubts went up in flames. He reached for her, pulled her into his arms, kissing her as if he hadn’t seen her in years. He couldn’t get her close enough, his jacket like a wall between them.
“You’re freezing,” she said, leaning back and putting her hands on his cheeks, their warmth almost painful. “Come inside. Hurry.”
They rushed up the stairs. He followed her into her bedroom, where she started stripping.
“What’re you waiting for?” she asked. “I’m going to warm you up. Unless you’d rather have coffee. I just made a pot.”
Her eyes were shimmering, a little laughter mixed with a lot of desire. He caught up, finished undressing as she hopped under her covers, giving him barely a glimpse of the body that had flashed in his mind constantly, even during meetings.
He dove under the blankets with her, pulled her close, heard her gasp, felt her stiffen. “Sorry,” he said, and he was, at least about being a human icicle against her, though not for anything else. He was where he wanted to be.
With their arms and legs wrapped around each other, their torsos touched, fire and ice, desire and need.
Ever so slowly, her heat transferred to him, through him. They didn’t move for a long, long time, didn’t say a word, just held tight.
“Your back’s still cold,” she said, sliding her hands up and down his body. “Roll over.”
Because he would’ve followed her over a cliff at that point, he did. She curved herself behind him, tucking her legs against his, her free hand rubbing his chest, gliding down his body, then staying to linger. He’d already been aroused by the time he’d gotten in bed with her, a fact that couldn’t have escaped her.
