Winning Dixie Read online

  And she was, he thought. She was trim and tight, her muscles toned from keeping up with two boys, an old man, a business and hundreds of customers. His hand wasn’t quite steady when he reached for the snap on her jeans.

  She pushed his hands away. “My turn.” She unbuttoned his shirt. Her fingers fumbled the job a couple of times, and it warmed him all the way through.

  They stood there in the lamplight beside the bed, two people, both nervous, both eager, cherishing each other and the new love they’d found. When she opened his shirt and saw the long, thick scar down his chest, she nearly wept.

  “I’m so sorry they had to do this to you. But I’m so grateful, too.” She placed her hand over his heart and felt the strong, steady beat. “It’s a good heart, for a good man.”

  Wade felt her words seep clear into his bones.

  They finished undressing each other, and he took her down onto the bed, where he braced himself above her on his forearms. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  She met his gaze squarely, her heart, and her voice, filled with certainty. “Yes.” She entwined her arms around his neck and pulled his lips toward hers. And finally…finally, they kissed.

  Oh, he was sweet. Warm and darkly flavored, the way a man should be. She savored him with her lips and tongue, giving him all she had, all she was, trying to tell him with her kiss all the feelings she had for him but couldn’t express in words.

  He broke away from her mouth to taste her neck, her shoulder, her collarbone. The valley between her breasts. He teased her, kissing his way up one slope, down another, but never, never right on the tip, where she craved it. He trailed his tongue down to her navel, and lower. Then over the juncture of one thigh, then the other.

  Someone was making small moaning sounds, and she was stunned to realize it was her. Suddenly she’d had all the torturous pleasure she could stand without returning the favor. She pushed Wade over and straddled his hips.

  “My turn,” she whispered. Then she kissed him, from head to toe. She started at his brow and moved on to his cheeks, his nose, but skipped his mouth. She might not be able to move on from there, and she didn’t want to miss any part of him.

  His skin was salty, his cheeks rough with five-o’clock shadow. His throat, such a strong throat. And sensitive, if his sharp intake of breath meant anything.

  It was the scar she was after. She wanted to kiss it, somehow make it better. A smooth strip down the middle of his glorious chest.

  Wade stayed as still as he could while she kissed his scar. The last woman who’d seen it, more than a year ago now, had turned up her nose and called it ugly. He’d put his shirt back on and taken her home. Hadn’t seen her since. Any tiny sting left over from that episode melted away in the tender heat of Dixie’s ministrations. She wasn’t merely kissing it, she was tasting it with her tongue and her lips. Every ounce of blood in his body rushed to his groin.

  Who would have thought a scar could become an erogenous zone?

  Certainly not him, because thought was not possible as she reached the end of the scar and dipped her tongue into his navel. If she took that sweet, hot mouth of hers any farther down…

  She didn’t. She kissed her way back up his chest. She was kinder to him than he’d been to her, for she found his nipples and let her mouth play. Wade nearly reared off the bed, so exquisite was the sensation. By the time she moved to the second nipple, he was breathing hard and fast, and blood and heat pounded through his groin and he was ready to explode.

  He rolled and took her with him until she lay beneath him and he lay in the cradle of her thighs. “This,” he managed between clenched teeth. “This is where I belong. Right here, with you.”

  “Yes,” she whispered fiercely, her hips rising to meet his. “Yes. Yes. Yes.”

  Something inside them snapped. He locked his mouth on hers and they devoured each other. Tongues danced, lips and teeth nipped. Hands grasped, slipped on sweat-slicked skin. Hips thrust, hers to his, his to hers. Heat and tempo built until Dixie thought there was simply no more to feel. But she was wrong.

  Wade trailed one hand along her hip, over, down, between her thighs. When he touched her, her back arched off the bed. She tried to bite back the cry of stunned pleasure. Too tame a word, pleasure, for what raced through her.

  “Not without you,” she moaned. “Please, I don’t want to go without you.”

  “You won’t. I’m with you all the way.” He dipped a finger inside, felt her readiness to accept him. Settling his hips in place, he nudged at her opening. Then he was inside her, and nothing had ever felt so right. “Are you with me?”

  She raised her knees to take him in deeper. “Yes. Oh, yes.”

  He began to move, and she moved with him. Long, slow thrusts at first that quickly sped to a breathless pace as they chased that first explosion together. And when it happened, Dixie called out his name, and he followed her off the edge of the world.

  Wade was the first to stir. When his mind started functioning again, he pressed his lips to Dixie’s neck and worried that he might be crushing her. He shifted his weight, but she wrapped her arms around his waist and made a small sound of protest.

  He settled his hips, but kept his upper body weight braced on his forearms.

  “I suppose,” he said lazily, “since we’ve already agreed to get married, and now we’ve made love, it’s probably a little late to concern ourselves with birth control.”

  Dixie meant to laugh pleasantly. But she was so sated, she didn’t have the strength. It came out as a slight snicker. “You think?” she said. Then she patted his backside. “Not to worry. I’m on the pill.”

  He looked down at her, all tousled and sleepy-eyed, and smiled.

  “You look pleased with yourself,” she said.

  “I’m pleased with both of us. I’m pleased with the whole wide world. I’m afraid that any minute I might burst out in song, and believe me, I don’t have the voice for it. It’ll scare you to death, and you’ll call off the wedding. Then we’ll discover that you got pregnant tonight, and the whole town will be talking about that unwed pregnant woman who slings hash at the diner.”

  Dixie heard his attempt at a Texas drawl and caught the gist of what he was saying and burst out laughing.

  “What? You don’t like my accent?”

  “I’m trying to picture how to explain being pregnant and unmarried to Pops and the boys.”

  “Do you want to get pregnant?” He wasn’t laughing now.

  Suddenly neither was she. “Maybe. I’ve always wanted more children, but had pretty much decided that wasn’t going to happen. But I’m not in a hurry. We’ve got time to decide. If you don’t want anymore kids, I can live with that.”

  He gave her a crooked smile. “And if I want a dozen?”

  “Then you better gather up several more wives, because I’m not giving you a dozen, unless they start coming in big batches.”

  “Like puppies?”

  “That’s right. A litter. Then we’d have a need for all that money of yours.”

  He stroked his finger down her nose. “Does my money really bother you so much?”

  She lowered her gaze and combed her fingers through the hair on his chest. “I don’t know. I don’t know how much money you have. I’ve never had more than enough to get by on.” Her eyes flew open. “You have to believe that I’m not after your money. Tell me you believe that.”

  “Of course I believe it. I’m not worried about that.”

  “I’ll sign any prenup you want, I swear.”

  Wade smiled. “My father will think that’s great. My mother and sisters will roll their eyes and think you have no sense, that you should have gotten me to guarantee specific funds to you if we break up, and I should support your children— What?”

  “Your parents? Oh my God. What are they going to say about all of this?”

  “This? You and me? They’ll look at me and say, ‘it’s about damn time.’ The thing they’re going to raise their
collective Harrison eyebrows at is the paper.”

  “What paper?”

  “Well.” He rolled off her and bunched up the pillows. They snuggled up side by side and he told her his plan. “You’ve heard that Bill Gray is retiring and selling the paper.”

  “No. I hadn’t heard.”

  “You’ve been in the kitchen. You miss the good stuff in there.”

  “Don’t I know it. Tomorrow I’m free! But what about the paper?”

  “I’m going to make him an offer.”

  “You? A small-town newspaper?”

  “Don’t scoff at small-town newspapers. The entire Harrison Corporation and our personal family fortune began when my great-great-grandfather started a small-town weekly in Montana. I want to take the Tribute Banner and see what I can do with it. I want to edit it myself, manage it myself, the whole works. My father and sisters are going to be pea green with envy. My mother is going think I’m out of my mind, and then she’s going to quietly have a stroke.”

  “Maybe you should talk it over with your family before you commit yourself to it.”

  “And maybe I shouldn’t. This is something I want to do. I want to prove to myself that I can. I want to contribute something to this town. I want to live here, with you and our children—Ben and Tate and any others we might have—and Pops.”

  “Have you talked to Bill Gray yet?” she asked.

  “No. Tomorrow morning. I can transfer some funds to the bank here.”

  “I’m sure they’ll be glad to see you coming.”

  “I wouldn’t replace any staff at the paper right off. Leave everything in place and see how it goes for a while. I’d just slip into Gray’s place at first, take over the editorial, the managing, editing, whatever else he does. But that’s for tomorrow. I guess you left Pops in charge at the house?”

  “Yes, and I better be getting back before he sends the hounds out to find me.”

  “Aha. You don’t have any hounds,” he pointed out. “Which reminds me that I’ve always wanted a dog, so I’ll probably be getting one, unless you have strong objections, in which case, we can negotiate.”

  She grinned. “A dog, huh? Anything else?”

  “Guitar lessons. I always wanted to learn to play.”

  She laughed. “You can become the next Willie Nelson. Anything else?”

  “Just one.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “When do you want to get married?”

  Dixie laughed and sat up, pulling the sheet up to cover her breasts.

  “Going shy on me?”

  “Why, Mr. Harrison, I barely know you.”

  Wade raised his brow. “Oh, I think you know me better than just about anyone else I can name.” He grinned, pulling the sheet from her grasp. “It was spoiling my view. About that wedding date?”

  “I don’t have a clue,” she said honestly. “Everything’s happened so fast. First we have to tell our families.”

  “My family’s first question is going to be, ‘When?’”

  “Hmm. You’re right. It would be easier all around if we did it after the boys start back to school. That way, if we decide to take off a few days on a honeymoon, they can stay with classmates and some other poor woman won’t have to watch them all day while they’re in school. Business is lighter at the diner, then, too. September. The middle of the month?”

  “Whenever you say. I’ll be there. Do you want to do it up big, or fly to Vegas and get married in the Love Me Tender Wedding Chapel by an Elvis impersonator?”

  “You made that up. Love Me Tender Wedding Chapel?”

  He shrugged and smiled. “Whatever. Big, small or elope?”

  “Won’t your parents expect you to have a big wedding in New York?”

  “No. They’ll expect me to make my bride happy.”

  “Oh. Well, then. That’s easy. Kiss me.”

  He did. Thoroughly. It was two in the morning before he walked her home.

  Pops saw them coming up the drive, hand in hand. He saw the way they stopped, looked at each other. The way they kissed. His vision blurred.

  “You can rest easy, Jimmy Don. You done good.”

  Epilogue

  September 14

  Tribute Park

  Tribute, Texas

  Nearly half the town had turned out for the dedication ceremony. Dixie was beside herself with curiosity. So was Pops. Ben and Tate were wild. They knew the new monument had something to do with their dad. That would be their real dad, not the new stepdad they were getting the very next day when their mom and Wade got married.

  Wade was nervous and trying not to show it. The nerves, he knew, were a sign of how important the community acceptance and approval of this monument was to him. He’d worked tirelessly these past few months, researching town records, talking to residents, coming up with the names and circumstances of other local people who’d done heroic deeds outside of war. Ordinary citizens who’d committed extraordinary acts.

  Between working on that and taking over as the new owner, publisher and editor-in-chief of the Tribute Banner, and spending time with his future family, he’d been…what was it they said around here? Busy as a one-armed paperhanger. Or maybe, busy as a one-legged man at a butt-kicking contest?

  The latter seemed more unfortunate than busy, but he would get the hang of this Texas talk, eventually. To brush up on his skills, he turned to his parents, who, along with his sisters and their families, had come down to see Wade and Dixie get married tomorrow, and said, “How y’all doing?”

  His father chortled.

  His sisters laughed.

  His nieces and nephews mimicked him in singsong voices. “How y’all doin’? How y’all doin’? Y’all. Y’all. Y’all.”

  Wade’s mother gave Dixie a mock glare. “Did you teach him that?” Mrs. Harrison demanded.

  “Who, me?” Dixie claimed innocently, with a hand to her chest. Then she leaned closer to her future mother-in-law. “You’re getting a kick out of this. Admit it.”

  Myrna Harrison’s lips quirked. “I’ll do no such thing, daughter.”

  On the riser built beside the new monument for the occasion came a loud squeal of speakers not adjusted properly. “Ladies and gentlemen!” called the mayor. “It’s time to begin, so corral the kids and gather round. I’m sure you’ve noticed the new sign renaming this area more fittingly as Tribute Park. You’ve all seen and shared in the pride of the two monuments to our war dead on the other side of the park. Always we honor those who give the ultimate sacrifice so that we might live in freedom.

  “But a person need not be in a war to be a hero. Sometimes, an ordinary citizen is called upon to do the extraordinary and steps forth to accomplish it without complaint. These heroes, too, must be honored and remembered. Today, thanks to a private endowment, we dedicate this new monument to our civilian heroes.

  “We’ve researched in detail to come up with the names of people we believe belong on this memorial, but I’m sure there are some we missed. If any of you know of someone who’s done something truly heroic, write down what they did and why they belong on this monument and send it to city hall. All decisions as to inclusion are made by the town council.”

  Wade wiped his damp palms along the thighs of his jeans. A moment later he felt Dixie’s small hand slip into his and squeeze. He looked down into those blue, blue eyes and felt the encouragement she offered in those eyes, in her hand, in her smile.

  She hadn’t seen the monument yet. No one had except the workmen. Even Wade hadn’t seen it. He’d created the concept on paper. The council had approved the drawing and the granite he’d suggested. But he hadn’t seen the finished product, and it was killing him.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” said the mayor, “I give you the Tribute Wall.”

  One of the council members pulled on a rope, and the canvas covering that hid the monument rose up and back to reveal a five-foot-high by twelve-feet-long curving wall of smoky granite. Carved top center ran the words: Tribute to Heroes. Similar to other memo
rials, it was divided into several equalsize panels.

  The first name on the first panel was Melba Throckmorton, a local schoolteacher whose heroic efforts saved a classroom of students from a deadly tornado, at much risk to herself, in 1901.

  Next came a grocer named Wendell Stoklasa. In 1923, unarmed, he faced down armed bank robbers to shield a pregnant woman whom he’d never met. He took the bullet meant for her. He survived the ordeal, but lost his leg as a result.

  There were a couple of others listed, but Wade pulled Dixie and their families to the second panel. Wade stood in front of the wording so no one could see, and motioned to someone in the back of the crowd.

  Dixie turned to look but didn’t recognize the strangers, two men and a woman, who came to stand beside him.

  “Dixie, Pops, Ben, Tate, I’d like you to meet some newfound friends of mine. This is Harvey Willard, John Bates and Justine Adams. And now—”

  “But, Wade, who—”

  “Just read, Dix. Just read.”

  So, Dixie read.

  Because of his generosity and courage, in 2004 James Donald McCormick saved the lives of five people, gave sight to a sixth and made the lives of four others infinitely more livable. He was an organ donor. Justine Adams, John Bates, Wade Harrison, Martin Letterman and Harvey Willard thank you, Jimmy Don, for their lives. Constance Easly thanks you for her sight. Kim Jenkins, Patricia Bardo, Eve Miles, and Pete Richmond thank you for the grafts and ligaments you donated. You’re our hero.

  Wade read every word twice, making sure there’d been no mistakes. Then he turned to Dixie.

  She stood with both hands over her mouth, tears streaming down her face. “Oh, Wade. It’s…it’s wonderful. Pops? Do you see?”

  Pops saw but couldn’t speak.

  “Boys.” Dixie put a hand on the back of each of their necks. “Can you read all that? That’s your dad. See? Your dad’s a genuine hero. It says so right there on the new wall.”

  “Golly.” Ben’s eyes were huge.

  “For real?” Tate asked, slightly confused.