Winning Dixie Page 10

  The boys led him along a narrow sidewalk that ran down the outside of the garage to a small apartment in the rear. This door, too, was unlocked.

  The apartment was tiny but complete, with separate rooms for kitchen, living room, bedroom. The boys helped him pick out dry clothes and shoes for Pops, and they were on their way in a matter of minutes.

  “Wade?” Ben’s voice sounded small.

  “Yes?”

  “They said when our dad got hurt—”

  Everything inside Wade stilled.

  “—they took him to the hospital, but he died.”

  “I heard about that,” Wade managed. “I’m sorry. It must be hard to lose your dad.”

  “Yeah, but that was a long time ago.” The boy hesitated. “Is, is Pops gonna die?”

  “No,” Wade said emphatically. “Well, I mean someday, sure. Everybody dies eventually, right? But not tonight. Hopefully not for a long, long time. Pops just hurt his ankle, that’s all.”

  “Honest?”

  “Honest. I swear. We’re almost there, so you can see for yourself.”

  Wade’s prediction proved accurate. Pops had a sprained ankle. It was a bad sprain, according to Dr. Hoskins, but nothing was broken. Pops was not happy to be told to keep off that ankle for at least a couple of days, that he needed to stay home with that foot elevated. Pops wanted to argue that he had to work, but Dixie kissed him on the forehead and told him to hush. Oddly, he did.

  Wade rode home from the hospital with the McCormicks so he could help Pops get settled in the man’s apartment. Dixie would join Pops and Wade after she took the boys into the house, and they would talk about the diner.

  Far off toward the east, thunder rumbled. The occasional shaft of lightning set the black clouds aglow. Overhead, stars popped out in the clear sky. Wet streets reflected streetlights, headlights, porch lights. The air smelled sweet, felt damp against the skin.

  For the second time that night Wade entered the garage apartment behind Dixie’s garage. At least this time he didn’t feel like a trespasser as he held the door open for Pops to maneuver his way inside on his crutches.

  “You want to sit in here or go straight to bed?” Wade asked.

  “Bed, hell. I’ve got a twisted ankle, not terminal cancer.”

  Wade pursed his lips to keep from grinning. “Sorry. Just trying to help. Why don’t I go scrounge around the kitchen for something to make an ice pack with. Unless you have a real ice pack around someplace?”

  “Never had much need for one before.”

  “I’ll see what I can come up with.”

  Wade searched the kitchen and came up with a plastic bag, the kind that zipped closed. He shook his head at the old-fashioned ice-cube trays in the freezer. He hadn’t seen a refrigerator without an automatic ice maker in years.

  Well, as long as he didn’t count the one in his current apartment. Maybe it was a Texas thing. But, no, he recalled Dixie’s kitchen clearly enough, and she had an automatic ice and water dispenser in her fridge.

  He filled the bag with ice cubes, zipped it closed, then burped it a few times to get as much air out as possible. He pulled the dish towel off the cabinet doorknob next to the sink and considered his mission accomplished.

  He carried the makeshift ice pack to the divan, where Pops sat with his foot propped on the coffee table. Wade draped the dish towel over the bandaged ankle, then carefully placed the bag of ice on top.

  “How’s that?”

  “Fine. Thanks. Have a seat.”

  “You want any aspirin or anything?”

  “No, but now that you mention it, I sure could use a beer. Get one for yourself while you’re at it.”

  “You’ve got a deal.”

  “Sure was glad you were around tonight,” Pops offered.

  Wade opened two bottles of beer and gave one to Pops. With a sigh, he sat on the opposite end of the divan. “I was glad to help.”

  “She does too much,” Pops said, looking older than Wade had ever seen him. “Has too much on her plate. Business, employees, mortgage, two young boys, an old man who can’t manage his own two feet without tripping over them.”

  “I think if you asked her, she’d say those were good things. All of them. If I hadn’t been there tonight, she would have handled everything just fine.”

  “Maybe, but we’d still be wet and cold without the dry clothes you brought.”

  “There is that.”

  “See? She needed you tonight. We all did. Which makes me want to ask just how long you plan on hanging around.”

  Wade took a sip of beer and leaned back to hide the fact that his heart started pounding. “So, are you asking?”

  “She doesn’t have a man to stand for her.”

  “Oh, yes, she does. She’s got you,” Wade said. “Don’t sell yourself short, Pops.”

  “I’m an old man. I won’t be around forever. And you didn’t answer my question.”

  “I don’t know how to answer it,” Wade said honestly. “But I will tell you this. I can’t explain yet, but neither Dixie nor her sons will ever want for anything, whether I stay or go, whether I live or die.”

  “Do tell. How in the hell do you plan to manage that? Does she know about any of this?”

  Wade suddenly thought he knew what a tightrope walker must feel—one wrong step and, kablooey. “Not yet,” he said. “And I’d appreciate if you wouldn’t say anything until I’ve had a chance to talk to her about it.”

  “I knew there was something about you right from the beginning. Who are you?”

  Wade met the old man’s gaze squarely. “My name’s Wade Harrison, I swear. I mean only good for Dixie and the boys. I would cut off my right arm before I would intentionally hurt them.”

  Pops studied him for a long moment. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “Only what I can’t.” Your grandson’s heart beats in my chest. “Not yet. Not until I find a way to explain to Dixie.”

  Again Pops studied him. “I guess I don’t have any choice right now but to take you at your word.”

  “Thank you.” The relief left him weak and shaky. This man’s opinion meant a great deal to him, and it had nothing to do with the man’s relationship to McCormick.

  “But I’ve got my eye on you, boy.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Now we’ll shut up about it. I just heard the back door open. She’s coming.”

  By the time Dixie joined Pops and Wade in the garage apartment, they were seated on the divan, sipping beer, both men with their feet propped on the coffee table. Two running shoes, one loafer, one set of bare toes peeking out from beneath a bag of ice. Her own legs were rubbery with the need to get off them and rest.

  “I brought these,” she said to Pops. “I’ll put them in the freezer. You can use them after those cubes melt.”

  “Peas?” Pops eyed the bag skeptically. “You brought me a bag of frozen peas?”

  “For your ankle.” She crossed the room and put the peas in the freezer.

  “Boys get settled down?” Pops asked.

  “More or less.” She took a beer from the fridge and opened it.

  “Sit down,” Pops said. “Before you fall down. Mercy, girl, you look worse than I do.”

  “Gee, thanks.” She sank onto the easy chair facing the divan.

  “Maybe you’re the one who should stay home tomorrow.” Pops laughed at his own joke.

  Dixie smirked. “Somehow I don’t think Wade would appreciate having to run the place by himself.”

  “You got that right,” Wade said. “Even if I did, you’d lose all your business. I can scramble eggs and grill steaks and burgers outdoors. Otherwise, if it involves anything more complicated than a microwave, it’s beyond my abilities.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Pops waved away any concern. “I’ll do the cooking tomorrow, same as I always do.”

  “But you can’t,” Dixie protested. “You heard the doctor.”

  “Ah, what does he know? I�
�ve got shirts older than him.”

  “Your shirts don’t have a medical degree,” she fired back. “You’re staying home for the next two days with your foot propped up right where it is.”

  “Am not.”

  “Heaven help me, you sound just like one of the boys.”

  He grinned at her. “Do not.”

  She looked at Wade, who appeared to be trying very hard not to pay attention. “You see what I have to put up with?”

  “Oh, no.” He raised a hand in the air. “I’m not taking sides in this. Except to say that I agree, Pops, you need to stay home.” And Wade knew as he said the words just what it meant, how it felt, to let—no, to be forced by circumstances beyond your control, by the betrayal of your own body—to let someone else take over your domain. It hurt like hell.

  “Traitor.”

  “What can I say?” Wade offered a sympathetic smile. “She signs my paycheck.”

  Pops sighed. “I guess every man has his price, but I thought you were better than that.”

  “This is all very amusing,” Dixie said, “but I need to go call around and find someone to work tomorrow.”

  “Can you cook?” Wade asked.

  “Of course, but not while I’m waiting tables.”

  “Why can’t I wait tables?”

  “You?” She stared openmouthed.

  “You?” Pops looked thoughtful.

  “Yes, me. I can wait tables. I mean, if you don’t try to make me wear a skirt.”

  Dixie had a sudden vision of Wade in a skirt, bare, hairy legs sticking out. She burst into laughter.

  “I’m glad you think it’s funny,” he muttered.

  “Nah, don’t worry.” Pops slapped him on the shoulder. “She can’t make you wear no skirt, seeing as how she never wears one herself.”

  “Are the two of you going to take this act on the road?” Dixie asked. “If I cook and Wade waits tables, who’s going to wash dishes?”

  Wade shrugged. “How long can we go without running out?”

  Pops cleared his throat. “I could—”

  “No!” Dixie and Wade said in unison.

  “You’re staying home,” Dixie stated.

  “And that’s that,” Wade added. “Surely the two of us can manage for a while in the morning. If it looks like we won’t make it on our own, you can call in help. Or maybe that man who came by looking for work will come back.”

  Pops squeezed one eye shut and peered at the two of them with the other. “It could work. If everybody hustles.”

  Dixie had to agree. It could work. “If business is light. I can’t believe I’m hoping business will be light. Still, I guess we’ll give it a try. And, Wade, I really appreciate this extra effort. We’re all of us grateful for your help tonight.”

  “Hell, girl, don’t go thanking him. He’ll start thinking he’s not one of the family, and I guess we’ve pretty much adopted him after tonight.”

  She smiled. “I guess you’re right. He’s ours.”

  She had no idea, Wade thought, just how true that was. At least, his heart was theirs. In more ways than one, if the emotions tumbling around inside him meant anything. But he was surprised, in view of their earlier conversation, that Pops would say so. Surprised, relieved and enormously pleased.

  He had never known, he thought as he sat there and listened to the two of them talk about everyday things, laundry, the boys’ homework, what it was to stand, if not on the outside, then right on the edge of something so…appealing, so perfect, to want it for himself, to forget for long hours at a time that it wasn’t already his.

  It. Them. The woman with her wit and resolve and generosity. The man with his wisdom and integrity. The boys. Oh, God, those boys.

  They weren’t his. He knew that. He hadn’t come here to make them his. But now he wanted them. He wanted their mother. She hadn’t been part of his plans at all, yet he felt that if he didn’t get his hands—and his mouth—on her, and soon, he might go insane.

  And now the tabloids knew he was missing from New York. His sister was right. They would find him. So he’d better get his act together, do whatever it was he was going to do about the memory of James Donald McCormick, and get the hell out of Dodge.

  Was he going to tell Dixie he had her ex’s heart? Was he going to tell her sons?

  If he told anyone, it would have to be her. Then it would be her decision whether or not to let the boys know.

  But first, he thought with a silent laugh, he had to turn himself into a waitress.

  God, if his board of directors could see him now.

  “You’re smiling,” Dixie said.

  “What? Oh. Just relaxing. It’s been a hectic evening. I bet Tate was disappointed about his game getting rained out.”

  “Yes, he was. And speaking of my sons, I better get back and check on them. They’re supposed to be cleaning their rooms and getting ready for bath time.” She pushed herself to her feet.

  Wade rose, too. “I’ll walk out with you. Good night, Pops. Enjoy your time off.”

  “Hmph.”

  “Can I do anything for you?” Dixie asked Pops. “Bring you anything?”

  “I’ll be fine, Dixie girl. You two skedaddle now so this old man can get his beauty rest.”

  “All right, then.” She leaned down and kissed his cheek. “I’ll be out in the morning to change your bandage before I leave for work.”

  “You will not. I’m a grown man. I can change my own bandage.”

  Dixie started to argue, but Wade took her arm and gave it a gentle but definite squeeze.

  “We’ll be going, then,” Wade said. “Thanks for the beer.”

  Wade practically dragged Dixie outside and shut the door behind them.

  “What was that for?” Dixie pulled free from his loose grasp.

  “He needs to do something for himself. Being dependent on you, or anybody, makes him feel useless.”

  “Well, that’s just nonsense,” she retorted.

  “Of course it is.” Wade pulled her to a stop at the base of the steps to her back door. “He’ll forget all about it tomorrow. He’ll be dying for somebody to talk to, somebody to fuss over him, by the time you and the boys get home. But for tonight, he needs to be alone.”

  “What’s he going to do, have a pity party?”

  “That’s it exactly. He needs to mope around and feel sorry for himself and gripe about feeling useless.”

  She smiled up at him. “How did you come to know him so well?”

  “He’s my grandfather all over again. If I didn’t know better I’d swear they were twins. Not physically, but in every other way.”

  “Wade…” She placed a hand on his arm.

  That was all the invitation Wade needed. “Dixie.” He pulled her to his chest and slipped his arms around her. “You’re tired.”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his face toward hers. “Not that tired.”

  “Oh, good.” He didn’t so much kiss her as drink her in. As if he’d just spent forty days and nights in the desert, and she was his oasis. She tasted sweet and dark, the way a woman should. She smelled the same way.

  He ran his hands up her back and down again. He wanted to pull her inside, so she was a part of him for real instead of only in his yearnings.

  “I can’t get enough of you,” he murmured against her lips.

  Dixie felt herself melt into him, her bones, her muscles. “Feel free,” she whispered between nibbles, “to keep trying until you do.”

  “That could take a while.” His tongue traced her bottom lip.

  Dixie shivered. Deep down inside, heat pulsed. “I’ve got plenty of time.”

  “Oh, good.” And he drank her up again.

  She reveled in his kiss. Her fingers found their way into his thick, short hair. Against her abdomen, she felt…

  It was the snickering from the back door that broke the kiss.

  “Told ya they were smooching,” Ben whispered.

  “Ooh, yuk,�
� Tate answered. “A lip-lock. Cooties.”

  Wade dropped his forehead against hers. “Time just ran out.”

  “The story of my life.”

  “Why don’t you guys go watch TV while I finish kissing your mama?”

  More snickers, then the back door squeaked shut.

  “There.” He settled her hips against his. “Now, where were we? Oh, I remember. I was chasing cooties, just about…here.” He buried his lips in her neck.

  She shuddered against him. “No fair. I have to go in.” Her head fell back to give him better access. “In a minute. Oh, yes. Right…there. I’ll go in in a minute.”

  In fact, it was several minutes before she went in, and even then she didn’t walk so much as she floated. Or, it felt that way to her.

  Before closing the door, she turned and looked back. He was still standing there. “Wade?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. I’ve always thought of myself as a good kisser, but most women don’t actually say thanks.”

  “Oh, ha-ha. Get to work thirty minutes before opening tomorrow. We’ll see how well your sense of humor stands up to waiting on tables.”

  When she closed the door, Wade finally turned to go. He was halfway home before he realized he was still smiling.

  Chapter Seven

  The first customer entered the diner less than a minute after Dixie told Wade to unlock the door. Wade was still putting the keys away when the door opened.

  Having spent nearly all his time in the diner hidden away in the kitchen, Wade did not know more than a scant few of their customers, and even then, he didn’t know anyone’s name. He wasn’t going to be able to relate to people the way Dixie did, with a familiar ease. He would have to make up for it with that charm his mother claimed he had in abundance.

  This first customer was an elderly woman in a black-and-white flowered dress, a white pillbox hat and, of all things, white, wrist-length cotton gloves.

  “Good morning,” Wade called out from behind the counter. “Just sit anywhere and I’ll be right with you.”

  She eyed him suspiciously and sat near the front. Table two.

  Wade filled a water glass with ice and water and grabbed a menu. At her table, he presented them to her.