Heart of Dixie (Moreover #1) Page 3

  “Why on earth would they need an election this time of year? It’s a little early, even for a preliminary.” I’d been gone a decade, and put this small town in my rearview, but I dealt with the political machine on a regular basis.

  “Well, you remember Handy Dougal.”

  My face must have shown my confusion, but I had no recollection of anyone named Handy.

  Ruby merely lifted a shoulder. “Maybe not. Anyway, the old guy passed back in June—sudden stroke, you know—and left the town in need of a new mayor. Your daddy and that tightwad Harriet Cleary were on the ballot for November, but . . . well . . .” Ruby twisted her sweating glass in her hands; the condensation coated her palms. Her gaze lifted to the porch rafters. Tact hadn’t always been her strong suit, but what did I know after all this time?

  “Now that Cooter’s dead the town needs a replacement for the ballot, huh?” I didn’t give her a chance to answer me. “Who are the town’s choices?” And why did I care? I didn’t know these people.

  “Well, there’s that goofy Trip Pierce.” Ruby turned up her nose as she mentioned his name. “Threw his hat in the race in the last election and then lost against Cooter. Nuttier than a Mars Bar, I say. More balls than brains.”

  Yeah, I didn’t know goofy Trip Pierce, either. But I let Ruby ramble on about him and his people, my mind wandering again until my brain registered a phrase that brought me crashing back to the present. “I’m sorry, Miss Ruby. Can you say that again?”

  Ruby paused in her monologue, her eyes sliding back and forth as though searching for the phrase that snagged my attention. “You mean about Deke?”

  I was afraid that was what I heard. My heart thumped in my chest and I could only nod.

  “Word is they’re trying to talk him into running against Trip. Nearly a done deal from the chatter making its way around.” My heart raced so fast I laid my hand over my chest to keep it from escaping.

  “He’d be a good candidate, you ask me. Fair, committed to this town and its values. Not bad to look at, either.” Ruby winked and grinned and suddenly looked ten years younger.

  What was it with the women in this town?

  It shouldn’t matter to me. I shouldn’t care. No, that wasn’t right at all; I should care. Deke had always been a good person. The best. We were friends once. And before we became lovers, we found our way to being best friends.

  I left Deke here in Moreover with harsh words between us. With the experience of age, I could admit those words should have been tempered with tact, but words once spoken can’t be unsaid. So I lived with the guilt of my actions for the past ten years. And even now felt the weight of regret.

  I rose. Set my empty glass on the tray before me. “I really should be on my way. I didn’t mean to take so much of your time. I have so much to do today, too.” I’d set myself a tight timeline and sticking to it was the only thing that would get me out of here and back to my real life.

  Ruby hefted her bulk from her chair and followed me down the porch stairs that were lined on either side with blooming shrubbery. “You be sure to stop by the diner before you leave. “I want a chance to cook you a good meal. You’re so thin.” She removed a few dead blossoms as she spoke, pocketed them in her apron. “I’ll want a chance to chat with you again too, girl. You can tell me about the city.”

  I edged my way toward the gate and my getaway car. “I’ll be sure to come by often while I’m here.” No problem keeping that promise; Moreover wasn’t bursting with eating establishments. “As a matter of fact, I’ll be meeting Beth Williams there for lunch today.”

  Ruby chuckled. “Ah, the new deputy. Always been a good girl, that one.” What the heck? I beeped my car unlocked and decided I wouldn’t let my feelings be hurt. But those were easy lines to read between.

  Cool air blew from the vents when I turned on the engine. Ruby waved from the waist-high fence so I lowered my window. “See you at lunchtime, Ruby. Thanks for the drink and the chat.” And the dent to my ego.

  Ruby just flapped her flabby arm and yelled as I turned the car around to go back the way I came. “I’ll see you in a bit, girl. Make you something special. You’re too thin!”

  I needed coffee. Sleep would be better but that wasn’t happening anytime soon, so like a junkie scrounging her next fix, I searched the streets for my next dose of espresso. The bakery coming up was a possibility, but the curious eyes of the crowd out front kept me driving until it was behind me. I’d be running into old neighbors while I was here—there was no way around it—but I didn’t care to run a gauntlet my first hour back.

  At the corner I turned to the right. The Piggly Wiggly used to be just ahead . . . oh, there it was. Caffeine was caffeine, no matter what concoction they hid it in. I’d just run in for a soft drink.

  I pushed open the door that led inside and paused to get my bearings. The store was larger than I remembered—had they expanded?—and filled with shelves of canned goods and household staples. A refrigerated case ran the width of the far wall. Bingo!

  “Hello, can I help you?” The voice came from my left. I turned to find the same woman sitting behind the store’s nearest register who’d been there the last time I entered that door, ten years older but wearing the same sour expression. A gossip rag hung open in her hands.

  I craned my neck to catch the headlines. Drew had managed to escape this edition. “Good morning. Mrs. Marshall, right?”

  “Of course. And you’re George’s girl, Dixie. Do you need a basket?”

  George? Who the heck called Cooter by his real name? “No, thank you. I’m just here for a soda.” I pointed toward the refrigerated case. “Unless you have a fountain?”

  “Hrmph. This ain’t Mack Donald’s. Fetch yourself a can.” She gave her magazine a snap and went back to reading.

  My toes pinched as I walked, slowing my footsteps with the reminder of how long I’d been wearing new heels. But my meeting yesterday morning had been an important one, and the shoes were cute, damn it. I’d change into something more practical once I was back out at the car and could dig through my suitcase. Enough was enough, no sense in blisters.

  My stride slowed even further as I neared the Promised Land—rows upon rows of chilled beverages. They even had a nice selection of wine back here, a pleasant surprise I’d be sure to keep in mind for later.

  A few high-topped tables had been installed in this section; one of them already occupied. I came up from behind, but the man seated there was a stranger to me. This was someone I definitely would have remembered—broad shoulders hunched over a pile of paperwork, boots propped on the rail of his stool, softened denim straining over his obviously muscular thighs. Yum.

  The guy lifted his head to take a sip of his drink as I passed and his dark hair fell loosely over his shoulders. When he reached back to tie it up in a loose man bun, I got a glimpse of short scruff that covered his face. It was undoubtedly soft, as velvety smooth as the caramel-colored irises covered by his tortoiseshell frames. I froze; my gaze swept back to those eyes. What the hell?

  The bell on the entry door chimed again—no surprise there. It had been dinging regularly since I first sat down; the place did a steady business. What was a surprise was the clack of high heels that filtered in through my thoughts, coming from the front of the store and moving steadily closer. The footsteps were slow and careful as if the woman was trying to not draw attention to herself. Good luck with that. Not much cause for heels in Moreover.

  I picked up my plastic bottle for a sip, then slashed a mark through question number seven on the exam in front of me. This was Robby’s paper; didn’t he drive the ’69 GTO? I could only shake my head. He ought to know all about speed and velocity.

  The heeled footsteps halted beside my table. “Deke?”

  My pen slashed red ink across Robby’s test as my chin jerked up. I’d recognize her voice anywhere. After all these years, I still heard her. In the empty hallways of Chalmers Union High. Fishing on Jackson Pond. In my sleep.


  My heart stopped. Then landed in my fucking lap. It really was her. Tall and tanned and dressed as if she just stepped out of a high-powered boardroom. I shuffled off my chair and found my feet. Along with a bit of leftover resentment conjured during breakfast with my brother. “Dixie.”

  Her lips parted in a tentative smile that didn’t quite make it to her eyes as she moved closer. “You’re mad still. I know you are and I get it. I wasn’t even planning to look for you while I was in town, but I walked in the store and here you are—”

  I fumbled my arms around her, then released her to hold the soft skin of her hands. No rings. Something skidded in my chest when this registered and I scrambled to hold close the anger and abandonment that had guided my actions for so long after she left.

  But my reason seemed to be lost somewhere in the dark, thick cloud of her hair. “Shut up, Dixie. Just stop talking. I’m not mad. Yes, yes, maybe I still am some. More confused than angry after all this time.” Her hair was long now. It trailed over her shoulders and down her back when she let out a deep sigh. Her shampoo was different now too, something like vanilla, which blended nicely with the rich floral of her perfume. I breathed her in as I pressed a kiss to her temple, a jolt zipping through my body and short-circuiting my brain.

  Still holding her hands, I stepped back and looked into her deep-set chocolate eyes, which seemed nearly bruised, and waved her onto the vacant stool at my table. “You look tired, have a seat. Talk to me a few minutes.” Shit! “I’m sorry, that was rude. Of course, you’re beautiful.” I stopped jabbering long enough to blow out an agonized breath. “And just like that I’m the gawky teenage boy you left behind.”

  “There’s nothing gawky about you anymore, Deke.” She looked me up and down and my face went warm. “I heard you teach at the high school now. It looks to me as though you’ve got the hot professor thing down pat.” I strangled out a chuckle and a yawn slipped out with her grin. She shrugged. “You’re right about being tired, though. I’ve been travelling all night. I’ve got a few things to do, then I’m looking forward to some sleep.”

  She was gorgeous and proper in her city girl suit and shiny shoes that were so different from anything I’d ever seen her in before. She motioned toward my work piled on the tiny table. “You never did like working at a proper desk.”

  I scooped up my papers as I searched her face, but if she meant anything besides a simple comment she hid it well. “I forgot my first period was cancelled today, but I was already in town—” Damn it, get a grip. I took a deep breath. “Anyway, I ran over here to grab some juice and finish up some grading.” I pointed to the plastic bottle that was clearly visible and nearly knocked it off the table. I lurched to grab it before it fell to the floor. “Do you want something?”

  She looked down and then away, toward the cold case. “I came in to grab a soda, but then I saw you—”

  “I’m glad you did. Saw me. See me. Said hello.” Dammit! I never would have guessed the sight of her would amp me up this way. Sure, when she left I was wrecked, but I was still a kid. I was no longer that immature, inexperienced nerd I was back then. And Shane was convinced I should hold on to my anger.

  I should go. Should let her go and then stay far, far way. It was safer for me that way. But I hadn’t seen her in forever; something inside me wasn’t ready to give her up yet. I let my gaze wander the room; inspiration had to be here somewhere. My eyes landed on the utilitarian clock hanging on the wall. The time! School!

  But I had to see her again!

  “Dixie, I have to get to class or I’ll be late. Meet me tonight?” Great idea, Einstein, but for what? Dinner? No, better not. What if it turned out to be a bad idea after all? Drinks was safer. Somewhere with bright lights and loud music.

  She studied the floor a minute, gnawing her bottom lip. “Sure. What do you have in mind?”

  “I’ve got a few things to take care of after school; how about dinner?” Dinner? I proceeded to stuff class papers into my messenger bag. Whatever happened to not a good idea, asshole? “Sure, my place. Let me cook for you.” Fuck! My tongue was apparently in charge of this conversation.

  At her hesitant nod, I handed her my cell phone. “Great! Give me your number; I’ll text you so you have mine.” I shuffled through my pack until I found a blank sheet of paper and jotted down the route to my house. “I have a log house a few miles outside of town. Just follow the directions; you shouldn’t have any problem finding it.”

  She handed my phone back, then folded the sheet of paper and shoved it in her oversized purse. “I’ll let you know if I’m running late.” After kissing my cheek, she grabbed a pop from the cooler and clacked her way toward the front, the ring of the cash register the last I heard of her.

  I finished gathering my belongings and hitched my bag onto my shoulder. Dinner with Dixie at my house? What the hell was I thinking?

  Dinner? Oh, no, what was I thinking? I flew from the market, leaving Deke and the memory of his unforgettable eyes behind.

  Was it even safe? It was probably stupid, was what it was. Not only that, but I just added one more thing to my to-do list: find Beth and give her a piece of my mind. She may have thought she was clever, sharing that eye candy teaser, but Deke in the flesh was definitely one thing that had changed in this little town. Big time. A little heads-up would have kept me from tripping over my tongue.

  I gulped down my soda even though there was already enough adrenaline flowing through my body to keep me keyed up for a week. The morning sun grew higher in the sky as I rolled through the stop sign, heading toward my old stomping grounds. In a town this size, it didn’t take long to get anywhere, and that was a good thing. I had much to accomplish and the faster I got it done, the faster I was out of here.

  Memories flitted through my mind as landmarks became familiar. The two houses on my left that I’d cut between on my way to the woods; the Hoffers’ straight ahead and three down, with sheets hanging on the line. Had they always seemed so run down? They must have.

  I pulled to the end of Cooter’s gravel driveway and left my car idling. My legacy. The place looked better than I expected. The long, narrow trailer on the dirt tract before me had its screens secure at the windows and door, but was splattered with mud from a recent rain.

  My memories—years and years’ worth—were full of angst and eagerness to make my own way. Of avoiding my daddy and the sharp edge of his tongue. I desperately searched the area. Somewhere, at some point, something good must have happened here.

  I had it! Glimmers of the one summer my mama and I held hands as we traipsed into the woods to pick blackberries. The earthy smell; birds chattering in the trees; sunlight filtering in narrow shafts through the tall trees. Vines were tangled throughout and clawed at us as we plucked their fruit. We had a bowlful, enough for a pie, before we surrendered to the chiggers. Their bites or the itching they certainly caused were long forgotten, but I remembered our laughter while we picked the juicy berries, and how the deep, bright purple juice stained our hands. I’d turned ten earlier that summer.

  My mama ran off to Chicago with Evers Westerbrooke and his millions by the end of the year.

  I was parked near the last spot I saw Deke before I left. Before those memories could assault me too, I got out of my car and picked my way through the rutted yard. Even barely surviving on a small town news reporter’s wage, my mama kept our house clean and scattered with wildflower seeds she managed to squeeze out of the family budget. It had never been much of a play yard, and now it was just a patch of barren, neglected dirt. The swing set she badgered my daddy into building for my fifth birthday still stood, and had brambles climbing its rusted posts. The metal steps leading to the front door were rusting as well, but seemed safe enough when I tested them with my weight.

  “Hello, pretty kitty cat.” People talked to animals, didn’t they? I wasn’t quite sure of the protocol, but the pregnant tabby rose from her nap to greet me, mewing and winding around my ankles. I ran a hand down her
spine head to tail and she purred. She liked me. I showed her a smile and did it again. “Hey, pretty mama. Are you Coot’s?” Suddenly, she nipped at my hand, then lumbered across the yard to settle in the shade of a low-hanging tree. Bitch.

  Seemed she was Coot’s, after all.

  Okay, time to do what I came for. But still, my hand hesitated on the knob. This was what I’d run from. I could still stick Coot in the ground without stepping foot inside this oversized garbage can. I didn’t need to see it again to imagine the layers of grease covering the kitchen appliances. The crusted-on dishes piled in the sink. The overflowing ashtrays.

  No! I was stronger than that. I squared my shoulders and walked in, then staggered to a halt in the doorway.

  The furniture was all familiar. Well, maybe not the leather Barcalounger or the oversized flat screen centered on the far wall, but this was Cooter’s house. Sort of.

  There wasn’t a thing out of place in the area before me. No dirty laundry thrown carelessly over the furniture. No smelly cigarette butts piled high beside his chair—as a matter of fact, there was a pleasant aroma, almost as though something was baking. I took a few steps until I was at the kitchen doorway.

  The front door squeaked open behind me. “Yoo-hoo! Dixie, that you in there?”

  I spun, my palm flying to my chest. What the hell? “Mrs. Hoffer? You scared the crap out of me!”

  The butcher’s wife stood in the open doorway with keys dangling from her hand. “Sorry, dear. And please call me Elsie.” She moved further inside and closed the door behind her. “I heard you were in town so I thought I’d bake a coffee cake to welcome you back. Then I realized there was no cream for the coffee and had to run home—” She lifted a quart carton from a shopping bag clutched in her other hand as she paused for breath.

  Cinnamon! That’s what smelled so good! “Really, it was nice of you to go to all that trouble, but not necessary.”

  “Oh, no trouble at all, dear.” She dropped her keys on a nearby table. “The recipe is special to me. Won me first place at the county fair.” A mix of pride and modesty lit her face. “Excuse me, I need to put these things away.” She disappeared into the back bedroom, then returned shortly, fluttering past me to open the oven door. “I do love to bake. And with Fred gone all these years, and now poor George . . .” She opened the drawer beside the stove for a hot pad to remove the baking pan, then reached overhead for a couple of mugs once it was cooling on a rack. “I’m afraid I can’t offer you any of that artificial sweetener, but I have sugar here.”