Winning Dixie Page 4

  “Fourteen ninety-two,” Ben muttered at their morning table in the banquet room. “Fourteen ninety-two. How am I supposed to know what the heck happened way back then?”

  Wade brought orange juice for the boys while Dixie ran the electronic cash register through its morning paces to get it up and running.

  “Way back when?” he asked.

  Ben grimaced. “Fourteen ninety-two.”

  “Columbus,” Wade prompted.

  “What about him? Is that when he discovered America?” Ben groaned and buried his face in his hands. “How am I supposed to keep it all straight in my head?”

  “It’s a poem,” Wade offered.

  “What’s a poem?”

  “‘In 1492, Columbus sailed the ocean blue.’ Or something like that. That’s how I always remember it.”

  “No foolin’?” Tate asked.

  “No kidding?” Ben asked.

  “No foolin’, no kidding.”

  “Gol’, thanks, Wade,” Ben said. “What else do you know?”

  Wade laughed. “Sorry. That’s about it.”

  He smiled all the way back to the kitchen. God, those boys were something. Seeing them made his day.

  But oddly it was their mother who filled his thoughts the most. He didn’t know whether to be irritated or intrigued by her. She worked too damn hard. He had the strongest urge to carry her away to somewhere soft and quiet and massage her tired feet until she purred.

  Every time that picture floated through his little pea-size brain, the next image was of her whacking him up the side of his head with a plastic-coated menu for being too fresh and presumptuous.

  But with her customers she was always laughing or encouraging or commiserating or whatever that particular customer needed. She considered them all her friends.

  Every evening Wade walked. After a few days he knew the town front to back, side to side. It was a nice little town—clean, with new school buildings, rodeo grounds, a small hospital, a community swimming pool next to a park. On the other side of town sat another park, this one with three baseball fields with backstops. One field came complete with two six-tier bleachers and a couple of all-purpose concession stands. Pretty fancy stuff for such a small town.

  Thursday evening Wade was three blocks away from the park on the south side of town when he heard shouts and cheers. When he drew near and rounded the last corner and the park came into view, he realized it was a ball game.

  The first thing Wade realized was that the town of Tribute was so quiet and peaceful that a man could hear a softball game from three blocks away. The second thing he realized was that this was a Little League game. He recognized Ben McCormick as the second baseman.

  And someone recognized him. “Hey, Wade!” Tate McCormick waved from beneath the stands, where he played with a group of boys his age. “Guys, it’s Wade!”

  “Hey, Tate.” Wade tucked his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and ambled over toward the back side of the stands. “What are you guys up to?”

  “Chasing a lizard,” Tate stated proudly.

  “No fooling? Is it a big one?”

  “Nah,” another kid said.

  “He’s just a little ’zard,” Tate said. “Did ya come to watch Ben play?”

  “I guess so,” Wade said, stepping back when Tate crawled out from beneath the bleachers. “I was out taking a walk and heard all the yelling. Thought I’d see what was going on.”

  “They’re playing the Wildcats from Bremond.”

  “Are these Wildcats any good?” Wade asked.

  Tate pinched his nose and made a face. “Wildcats stink.”

  “Yeah? Who’s winning?”

  Tate threw out his arms and shrugged. “I dunno. Haven’t been watching. Let’s go ask Mom.” Without waiting, he grabbed Wade’s hand and started around the bleachers and up into them. The next thing Wade knew, he was seated between Dixie and Tate on the fourth row up. Pops sat on Dixie’s other side.

  “Out taking in the local color?” Dixie asked with a smile.

  “I went for a walk and wondered what all the yelling was about,” Wade said.

  Tate leaned around him and grinned at his mother. “And I brought him up here so he could watch the game. What’s the score?”

  “Six to four,” Dixie supplied.

  “We’re six?” Tate asked, his face scrunched up as if he wasn’t sure he was going to like her answer.

  “We’re six,” she told him.

  “All right!” Tate made a fist and pumped his arm in the air. “I told ya, the Wildcats stink.”

  “Yes,” Wade said seriously. “You told me.”

  “Hey, Pops, we had a lizard down under the stands,” Tate called out. “Mom, can I have a soda?”

  “Do you have any money?” Dixie asked.

  “No.”

  “I guess that answers your question, then, doesn’t it?”

  “Aw, Mom. Okay, I got enough for a soda.”

  “You do, huh?” Dixie said. “Well, if you want to spend it on a drink, that’s up to you. But there won’t be any more money coming your way until Monday.”

  “None?” Tate cried, just on the verge of outrage.

  Following the conversation, Wade felt as if he was at a tennis match, back and forth.

  “Not a penny, and you still have to buy your lunch tomorrow.”

  “Tightwad,” Pops muttered to Dixie. “If you’re gonna go,” he said louder to Tate, “get me a root beer. Keep the change.” He winked and handed the boy a five.

  “Pops,” Dixie said darkly.

  Pops blinked in exaggerated innocence. “What?”

  Wade copied Pops and pulled a five from his pocket and handed it to Tate. “I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

  “I changed my mind.” Tate grinned. “I’m having what he’s having.” He pointed at Pops.

  “Watch it, Bub.” Dixie gave him a mock glare and raised her fist toward him.

  Tate grinned. “It was worth a try. You want something?”

  Dixie leaned over and ruffled his hair. “I want a kiss, but since we’re in public, I’ll settle for whatever you and Wade are having.”

  In the process of releasing Tate and lowering her arm to her side again, the back of her forearm brushed against Wade’s arm. A spark, sharp and hot, arced between them.

  Dixie sucked in air between her teeth.

  Wade inhaled sharply.

  She looked at him, startled.

  He looked at her, stunned.

  “Yeah?” Tate said. “Then gimmie a fiver.”

  The sound of the boy’s voice reached down into the deep recesses of Wade’s brain and brought him back to awareness. He swallowed, hard, his mouth lined with cotton.

  Dixie seemed to be having as much trouble as he was. “Five?” she finally said, her gaze still locked on Wade. “A soda doesn’t cost that much.”

  “No,” Tate said with a snicker, “but you know how those delivery charges are. They just keep going up and up.”

  Dixie finally looked away, and Wade felt suddenly new and exposed, as if she’d taken a layer of his skin with her.

  “Highway robbery,” Dixie said to Tate, handing him a five from the purse in her lap. Her hand was shaking.

  Good, Wade thought. At least he wasn’t the only one who felt as if lightning had just struck.

  Wade watched her watch her youngest son traipse down the steps until the boy reached the ground and dashed the five yards to the concession stand. She seemed to have recovered faster and easier than he was able to.

  He cleared his throat. “He’s really something,” Wade told her. “Both your boys are. You must be proud.”

  She looked dazed, and he wanted to grin. Hell, he wanted to shout. Dixie McCormick is not indifferent to me!

  And he, it appeared, was not indifferent to her.

  Of course, he’d known the latter. Every time she came into the kitchen, his gaze was drawn to her like steel filings to a magnet. He nearly groaned at the thou
ght. He’d become a cliché. Then he smiled, realizing he didn’t care, because what little he knew about Dixie he liked. And he liked being attracted to her. And he liked that she’d felt that shocking, electrifying touch every bit as much as he had.

  “Of course I’m proud,” she answered. “As a peacock. But that’s not what you were thinking about just now.”

  He let out a laugh. “Are you a mind reader?”

  She laughed, but a telltale blush colored her cheeks. “No.”

  Okay, time to move things along a notch. “Actually, I was having a nice little fantasy about you and me under the bleachers, alone, in the dark.” The instant the words were out, Wade wanted them back.

  She stared at him, stunned, her blush turning even deeper. Then she glanced sharply away. “Oh, look.” She motioned toward the ball field in a none-too-subtle change of subject. “Third out. Our guys are up to bat now. And here comes Tater with our drinks.”

  “Got it,” Wade said quietly. He didn’t need it spelled out for him to get the message. It had been a long, long time since he had blundered so badly with a woman. Now it was his turn to blush. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I was out of line.”

  “Forget it,” she said, reaching to take the drink from the cardboard tray Tate carried.

  For the rest of the game Wade and Dixie kept their attention focused on the field, yet each was more aware of the other with every passing minute.

  Wade tried to distract himself by looking around at the spectators. He recognized three people as customers from the diner. Another was the assistant manager at his motel. The woman down on the first row, he thought, was a checker at the grocery store.

  He glanced beyond the stands, just past the concession stand, and did a double take. “An ambulance?”

  “That’s the ambulance,” Dixie told him.

  “Do these Little League games get that rowdy?”

  She laughed. “Not usually, no. But the EMS guys like to get out in the community whenever they can. Anytime we have a gathering of any size, you’ll usually find them nearby.”

  Wade couldn’t fathom an ambulance and crew having nothing better to do than hang around Little League games. If the rest of the world heard about this, everyone would want to live here, then the place would be as busy and hazardous as New York or any other large city.

  He would just keep his mouth shut about how safe and quiet it was in Tribute, Texas.

  Besides, no one he knew would believe him.

  When Ben came up to bat, he popped two flies, then hit a double to left field, sending the runner at third on into home, scoring a point for his team.

  “Way to go, Ben!” Tate called.

  Dixie stood and yelled, “Yea, Ben!”

  “Atta boy, Ben!” Wade hollered.

  “Taught the kid everything he knows,” Pops declared.

  Dixie arched her brow and gave Pops a mock glare. “I beg your pardon?”

  “About horses,” Pops finished with a wrinkled grin. “Taught him everything he knows about horses. He learned his baseball from you, Dixie girl, and a damn fine job you did with him, too.”

  Dixie nodded her head once, sharply. “That’s better.”

  The next batter knocked Ben in. Two more innings, and Ben’s team took the Wildcats for a final score of nine to six.

  “Hooray!” Tate started down the bleachers. “Dairy Queen, here we come!”

  “Dairy Queen?” Wade asked Dixie as she and Pops rose and started toward the aisle.

  “The parents always treat the players to ice cream after a game.” she told him. “Why don’t you come with us?”

  Wade smiled. “I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

  Dixie returned his smile. “Of course you would. Come on. I’ll buy you a cone.”

  “There’s a lesson here, boy,” Pops told him. “When the boss wants to pay, say yes.”

  “Sounds like good advice to me,” Wade allowed.

  Dixie didn’t know what to think of Wade. If she had felt that mutual zap of heat and electricity with any other man she knew, he’d have pounced on her like a duck on a june bug.

  But not Wade. Thank God. He’d let her know with a look that he’d felt the same thing she’d felt, but that he wasn’t going to act on it. Not yet, at least.

  Then again, perhaps rather than wonder at his reaction, she should be wondering why she had reacted to him when she hadn’t felt anything physical for any man in months. Maybe longer.

  “Mom?”

  Dixie blinked and realized Ben had been holding out his hand, waiting for her to give him the money for an ice cream cone.

  “Oh. Sorry. Here. Get enough for all of us.”

  “We all get vanilla,” Ben said to Wade. “Is that all right with you?”

  “Sounds good,” Wade told him.

  Ben grinned and did a little skip-hop step on his way to the order window.

  “He’s glad you came with us,” Dixie told Wade.

  Wade smiled and looked around the Dairy Queen parking lot at the kids and their families, all talking at once, reliving the game, laughing, joking. He tucked his hands into his hip pockets and rocked back on his heels. “I’m glad to be here.”

  Dixie shook her head, tilted it and narrowed her gaze at him. “Who are you, Wade Harrison?”

  He laughed. “Pardon?”

  She shook her head again. “It’s a cliché, I know, but, what is a man like you doing in a place like this?”

  His smile slipped a notch. “You invited me to come for ice cream. But I see that this is a family thing.” He motioned to all the families around them. “I appreciate the invitation, but—”

  “No,” she said quickly. “I didn’t mean it that way. You’re welcome here. I invited you because we—Pops, the boys and I—wanted you to come. We enjoy your company.”

  “Thank you,” he said. “The feeling is mutual.”

  Hmm. Dixie folded her arms across her chest. “You don’t strike me as a man who needs reassurance or ego stroking. Are you pulling my leg?”

  “Not at all.” He was the picture of innocence.

  “Hmm.”

  “You asked what I was doing here,” he said. “I took that to mean that you thought I shouldn’t be here.”

  She shook her head. “I just wonder why you would choose to hang out in Tribute, when you could be back in New York.”

  A car full of teenagers drove by, the bass from the car stereo pounding a beat through the pavement, shrieks of laughter streaming from the open windows.

  “Have you ever been to New York?” Wade asked her.

  “I can’t say that I’ve ever had the pleasure.”

  “It is a pleasure,” he told her. “For some people. For others, a small town like Tribute is paradise.”

  “And for you?” she asked.

  “Me? I like them both. But right now, Tribute is nudging out New York.”

  “Why?”

  He met her gaze squarely and smiled. “I’m liking the view.”

  Good grief. She was thirty-one years old and was blushing over a man. For the second time in one night.

  Heaven help her.

  Chapter Three

  While the McCormick family gathered around the table for Sunday dinner, the morning’s rain moved east and the sun came out. Dixie managed to keep the boys in their seats long enough to finish eating, but the instant she gave the nod, she could have sworn their legs were spring loaded. They leaped from their chairs and flew out the back door. A moment later the basketball made a splat, splat, splat against the wet driveway.

  Dixie let out a sigh. “I know I used to have that much energy sometime in my past, but I sure don’t remember it.”

  “Old age settin’ in?” Pops asked, his tongue plainly in his cheek.

  He knew just the right buttons to push. Her back straightened as if she’d taken a hit with a cattle prod. “Bite your tongue.”

  Pops chuckled. “What you need, little girl, is a vacation.”

  “Ye
ah, like that’s going to happen.” She pushed herself up from the table and moved to the counter. “Pie?”

  “Did I cook it?” he asked.

  “Of course. It’s apple.”

  “Then I’ll take a slice. You know, if you were to find yourself interested in some fella, that’d be just fine with me.”

  Dixie nearly dropped the knife she was using to slice the pie. “What?”

  “Don’t ‘what’ me,” he responded with a laugh. “I saw the way you and that new dishwasher looked at each other the other night after Ben’s game. And every day at work since then.”

  Dixie’s heart jumped up to her throat and her face heated up. “That new dishwasher has a name, Pops.”

  “Yeah. It’s Wade. And don’t change the subject, little girl. Pretty woman like you needs to have a love life. Let’s face it, you ain’t gettin’ any younger.”

  “Now you’re calling me old?”

  “You’re still sidestepping the subject.”

  “Which is?”

  “You—on a date—with a man.”

  “I’ve had dates,” she protested.

  “Not lately. Not this year, nor most of last.”

  “What do you do, take notes?”

  Pops heaved a sigh. “All I’m saying is, Jimmy Don was my grandson, and I loved him. You loved him, even after the divorce, and I know you had to divorce him or go crazy. He couldn’t be bothered with growing up, and you had two babies. You didn’t need a third. But he’s been gone a long time now, and all men aren’t irresponsible idiots. You need a man, and your boys need a father.”

  “Pops!” She was stunned. He’d never talked about Jimmy Don this way, never interfered in her life in such a personal way before.

  They had spoken of the needs of her sons in the past, though. Their need for a male role model. At Pops’s age, it wasn’t fair to expect him to fill that role, but he was all she had in that respect.

  Her father was a wonderful grandfather, but he and Dixie’s mother lived in Florida and saw the boys only a couple of times a year. Their other grandfather, Hal—Pops’ son, Jimmy Don’s dad, and Dixie’s ex-father-in-law—filled the void when he could, but he was a long-haul trucker, gone for weeks at a time and home only a day or two before heading out again.