Down Home Carolina Christmas (8 page)

He nodded, keeping his eyes on the road. “It's not a part of my life that I like to share with most people. The facts could be twisted into all sorts of headlines—Luke Mason—Did He Kill His Own Sister? Or The Secret Tragedy in Luke Mason's Life. You get the idea.”

She studied his expression, mindful of the loss that he clearly felt even now. “Why did you tell me?” she asked, genuinely curious.

He spared her a glance before accelerating into the curve in the road. “You said you wanted to know the real me, but that's impossible unless you understand how the loss of my little sister shaped my life.”

She wasn't sure what to say, so she kept quiet. Luke went on talking.

“I've heard that traumatic events can bring a family closer together, but Mom, Dad and I didn't do a good job of shoring each other up during the mourning period. We foundered separately, my mother finding solace in alcohol and my father becoming distant and remote. As for me, I left as soon as I could.”

By this time, everything Carrie understood about Luke Mason was altered, and she realized that she could no longer hide behind a screen of disinterest. She was beginning to feel a sense of intimacy brought about by the sharing of his confidences and her proximity to him in the car. She sensed that speaking of his early life was a catharsis for him. She let him go on, wanting to learn as much about him as she possibly could.

“At least my parents didn't blame me for what happened. By the time I left for college, Mom had her problem pretty well under control. Dad—well, at first he had his hands full with Mom, and he didn't really pay all that much attention to me when I was a teenager. Now we live so far apart that it's hard to spend time together, and my parents don't like the West Coast. They prefer the small town where I grew up, but it gets so cold. Last year Mom slipped on an icy curb and broke a bone in her foot. I worry that it will happen again. And even if I convinced them to move to California, they'd be alone much of the time. I'm away a lot.”

He fell silent, and Carrie gazed pensively out the window. The four-lane highway sped past—Yewville's famous peachoid water tower, the Quik-Stop, a livestock auction. She had taken for granted that if people had a lot of money, problems melted away.

“Well, I didn't mean to render you speechless with my life story,” he said after a few minutes' quiet. “How about you? Who are you, Carolina Rose? Are you the serious woman who runs a business or the church lady who loves to wear lightweight floaty dresses, or are you the person who likes to speak her mind when something rubs her the wrong way?”

“Sounds like you know almost everything already.”

“There's bound to be a lot more to learn.” He slanted a grin in her direction.

She drew a deep breath. “I was born right here in Yewville at the A.B. Dixon Memorial Hospital, named after a great-uncle of mine who was the only doctor in town for many years. I went to school at Florence Tech, where I learned auto mechanics.”

“Tell me how that came about.”

“When I was a kid, I refused to play with my Fisher-Price toys and Barbies. I had more fun dismantling all the clocks in the house until we didn't have any that worked anymore. Mama finally sent me down to Smitty's, where I hung out with Daddy and Granddaddy every available minute.”

“I'm surprised they didn't shuttle you right back home to Barbie,” Luke said with a grin.

“By that time, Barbie and Ken had given up on me and taken up residence in my sister's room. Daddy and Granddaddy both figured that my interest in the garage was a phase I was going through, but when I had to decide what to do after high school, I studied a list of possible careers and didn't want to pursue any of them. I like the smell of gasoline and new rubber tires, and I don't mind getting greasy or dirty. When I told Granddaddy about my plans to join him and Daddy at the garage, he gave a big guffaw and said, ‘Well, child, now tell me what you really want to be. A nurse? How about a teacher? You're great with kids.'

“I explained all over again why I didn't want to nurse or teach school, and when he understood how serious I was, Daddy backed me up. Next thing I knew I was enrolled in an auto mechanics course. Daddy left me the garage, and it's a great little business. Hub keeps offering to buy it from me when I find out what I'm going to be when I grow up, but like I told him, this is it. He thinks I'm crazy.”

“It helps to have a passion for what you do,” Luke said thoughtfully. “I knew from the time I was a kid putting on magic shows in the backyard with my sister that I wanted to be a performer.”

They had reached the outskirts of the city, but Carrie wasn't in a hurry to get to the restaurant. “You must have been awfully young when you made that decision,” she said.

“I was about ten years old. I studied theater in college, got my big break when an agent spotted me in a play on campus. He sprang for a plane ticket to California, and I started auditioning. I've never looked back.”

“You make it sound so easy,” Carrie said.

“It wasn't,” Luke replied. “I've left out the bad parts, like living in a grungy apartment with rats. And then there was the time a roommate of mine disappeared with my stereo, all my CDs and my clothes.”

“Did you ever get your things back?”

“I filed a police report, but the officers told me that they'd probably never catch the guy. I ran into him years later panhandling in San Francisco. He was wearing a T-shirt of mine with the name of a New Hampshire wilderness outfitter written across the front. He'd grown a beard and was about fifteen pounds thinner than when I knew him. I dropped a few bills in his hand and never let on that I recognized him.”

“I would have at least asked about the things he stole. If I were you, I mean.”

“He was in far worse shape than I was. It didn't hurt me to be generous.”

Carrie regarded Luke with new respect. It took a big person to do a kindness for a person who had wronged him.

Luke braked the car in front of the restaurant at the same time as Tiffany Zill's limo. Tiffany emerged, accompanied by a retinue. Carrie caught a glimpse of the inside of the limousine and spotted pale gray upholstery and a TV, but no hot tub. Dixie would be interested in that.

Tiffany, attired in a slim black dress and wearing an engagement ring with a diamond the size of a goose egg, appropriated Carrie's arm and pulled her aside. She had an air of intrigue, of conspiracy, and at first, Carrie couldn't figure out why.

Then Tiffany whispered in her ear, “I'm so glad about you and Luke,” she said with barely concealed glee.

“Pardon me?” Carrie said politely.

“Usually on location, Luke gets in that car of his and takes off for parts unknown when we have a break. Thanks to you, he'll probably stick around this time. At least, that's what I'm hoping.”

“What?” Carrie was flabbergasted.

“I must say that I couldn't be more pleased that you two are having a little romance.”

“Tiffany, there's no romance.” Carrie was astonished right down to the tips of her toes.

“I told you, I'm all for it. You're helping me out because I need Luke nearby or I won't be able to concentrate on this part. He inspires me, and by keeping him occupied, you're helping me, too.”

Usually Carrie liked to help people, but this was bizarre. Tiffany seemed to think that the whole world existed to take care of her.

Tiffany went right on talking, oblivious to Carrie's dismay. “You can tell me, Carrie. I'm not going to squeal to the
Enquirer
or anybody else. Now, let's go inside. You absolutely must tell me what's going on between the two of you!”

“You've got the wrong idea,” Carrie told Tiffany in bewilderment as she was drawn into an alcove inside the restaurant. Tiffany's people stood by the hostess stand, and Luke and Whip huddled nearby, having what appeared to be a business conversation.

Tiffany could hardly contain her curiosity. “Luke told me you were running late this evening so I shouldn't bother to pick you up in the limo. He'd drop by your house and get you, he said. Well, Luke Mason generally stays away from women on location, so I figured out that he really likes you. So bring me up to date, okay?” Tiffany leaned closer, all ears.

“I wasn't running late. He told me
you
were!” Carrie said after she regained her powers of speech.

Tiffany stared, then laughed. “I was right on time. Luke is a shrewd operator when he wants to be.”

“I guess so,” Carrie said, casting a doubtful look toward Luke. He caught her eye and winked, whereupon the observant Tiffany smiled.

“Luke's a nice guy,” Tiffany said. “Don't get hurt, that's all.”

Carrie was still digesting this advice when the perky young hostess breezed by. “Your table is ready,” she said, so their group followed and was seated at the best table in the house, the one with a view of the atrium garden and partially screened from other patrons by a waterfall. Carrie, still numb from her conversation with Tiffany, glanced around with interest, dazzled by the fine china, the candlelight and the pianist playing classical music.

Luke sat down across from her, and she avoided his eyes. Whip ordered wine, an unfamiliar foreign label. The bottle was delivered to their table by a sommelier, who abandoned his arrogance when he recognized Luke and Tiffany. After they both signed an autograph for his wife, Luke asked the waiter to bring multiple appetizers. Carrie made herself ignore Luke, but it wasn't easy. She was self-conscious about her table manners and secretly blessed her mother, who had always insisted that she and Dixie understood about silverware placement and what wine went with what.

Carrie found that she liked the escargots, which arrived curled up into little hollows on the plate and smelling all garlicky, but as she chewed and swallowed, it crossed her mind that she was now eating snails very much like the ones she was always exterminating from her garden. The artichoke was actually more appetizing, even if it was more difficult to eat.

Tiffany's business assistant, Ali something-or-other, was notable for skin tanned into leather and streaky hair fastened in a knot at her nape. She appeared to have a thing for Whip, gazing at him unblinkingly throughout the meal. Tiffany's gofer was a pale little guppy of a girl named Becky Goldsmith, who scarcely spoke except to place her order, and then it was in a murmur inaudible to everyone else. Carrie attempted to draw her out, and managed to extricate the information that Becky was a recent college graduate with a major in film and that this was her first real job. The girl seemed intimidated by the big names at the table and was even too shy to carry on a conversation with Carrie, who finally gave up.

In desperation, Carrie turned to Tiffany's bodyguard, the big bull-necked guy named Ham, but he didn't speak to anyone, only ate huge quantities of shrimp cocktail and ordered not just one steak for himself but two, which made up for Tiffany, who reluctantly insisted, under Whip's watchful eye, on ordering only a Cobb salad.

Before the main course arrived, so did the director of
Dangerous.
Jules Trout was a morose little man who engaged Whip in a long discussion about camera angles. While this was going on, Luke sat grinning at Carrie across the table, and she wondered if he suspected that Tiffany had revealed his subterfuge.

Tiffany seemed uninterested in talking to Ali, Becky, Ham or any of the others. “My real name's Daisy Maria Zillendorf,” she confided to Carrie between nibbles on her salad. “Since my mother intended for me to be in show business, you'd expect she'd have named me something more starlike. Tori, for instance. Or Reese.”

“Daisy's a lovely name,” Carrie said.

Tiffany lifted her shoulders and let them fall in an expression of disinterest. “Oh well, Tiffany's the name my manager chose for me, and I changed it legally,” she said.

“Well,” Carrie said, unable to imagine changing her name, at least her given ones. “I was named Carolina Rose after my father's two favorite things, his home state and the flowers growing in the fields near his house. I guess it's a good thing he didn't hunt, or I'd be named something a whole lot worse, like Remington Duck.”

Luke, across the table, exploded into laughter.

“You're not supposed to be listening,” Tiffany chided. “This is girlfriend talk.”

“What should I do—cover my ears?” Luke said, and Carrie, secretly amused, forced herself to focus on her T-bone.

Tiffany's cell phone rang. “Sorry, I've got to answer this one. It's from Peyton,” she said, and she hurried off to accept the call in private.

Becky went with her, and while Whip was drawn into a hush-hush conversation with Ali about Tiffany's supposed weight problem, Luke leaned closer to Carrie.

“I'm trying to help Tiff by bolstering her self-confidence. You're doing a good job by acting interested in her, so thanks. She tends to eat too much when she's unhappy.”

“I really
am
interested in her,” Carrie said.

“Sometimes Tiffany latches on to someone who can keep her anchored to reality when she's on location. I've worked with her once before, and I was the one she chose to be her friend. This time, it's you.”

“I, um, well, I guess I'm flattered,” Carrie said, at a loss. It wasn't as if she and Tiffany had much in common.

Tiffany returned, her cheeks flushed with pleasure. “I hate being separated from my fiancé,” she confided to Carrie, who until then hadn't known that the two were engaged.

“We'll go on hiatus in a month or so, and you and Peyton can get together then,” Whip pointed out.

“Maybe he'll even fly me to Paris,” Tiffany said wistfully. “To walk beside the Seine and kiss at the top of the Eiffel Tower.”

Carrie must have seemed startled at the casual mention of rushing off to somewhere so exotic. “Peyton is the heir to the Kirk Hotel fortune,” Tiffany informed her blithely. “He has oodles of money. I haven't announced my engagement yet—we're keeping it to ourselves. For now, we're what they call an item.”

Carrie mulled this over, realizing that somewhere along the line she'd stopped feeling out of her element. Tiffany's ruminations about her diet and her fiancé had convinced her that despite having fame and a lot more money than most, these were ordinary people with ordinary concerns, never mind that half the world knew who they were. Or thought they knew.

Out of sensitivity for Tiffany's diet, Carrie skipped dessert, though she almost weakened when the waiter delivered a scrumptious chocolate gâteau to a nearby table. No one else ordered dessert, either, though, and after Whip paid the check, they trooped outside, collecting awestruck glances from patrons who recognized Luke and Tiffany and whispered behind their hands as their party passed. Tiffany made a fuss about everyone's staying and waiting for the car with her, saying that some fan could accost her—and Ham the bodyguard conspicuously placed his body between hers and a cluster of patrons congregated under the portico.

In the meantime, Luke stayed close to Carrie, and she found that it was difficult to be angry with him. A couple of times, he tried to make her laugh, but she only managed a smile. She knew she'd have to speak to him about his subterfuge in picking her up, and she wasn't looking forward to it.

Soon Tiffany's driver appeared with the limo. “Thanks again, Carrie,” she said warmly. “I'm so, so grateful.”

“We all are,” Whip said as Tiffany kissed Carrie on both cheeks.

Carrie smiled, embarrassed, and then Tiffany and everyone else got in the limo. Tiffany waved out the tinted back window as they drove away.

By that time, the valet had brought Luke's car around. As soon as they were alone, Carrie lit into him.

“You didn't tell me the truth about why you came to get me, Luke,” she said. “Tiffany wasn't going to be late picking me up.” She focused accusing eyes on his profile.

“I wanted to see you,” he said. “You aren't exactly the easiest person to get to know.”

“I'm not supposed to be,” she retorted heatedly. “I'm not a movie star, and you and I have nothing in common. Nothing at all.”

“Maybe we don't,” Luke said quietly. “But I'd like to.”

The silence stretched out as soybean fields and tumbledown tobacco barns on either side of the highway whipped by. Finally Luke spoke, placing his hand on hers, and that made her resolve crumble. “I've met a beautiful woman who appreciates a fine car and who isn't intent on adding me to her chain of conquests. I sense a compatibility between us, Carrie Rose Smith.”

Helplessly she thought about this for a moment and in the end decided not to deny it. “You don't have to explain, Luke. I've felt it, too.”

“I detected the chemistry right away,” he said.

“Chemistry isn't enough.”
But it might come close.

“Oh, there's more. There's lots more,” he said with great conviction.

Like dizziness accompanied by a huge helping of desire.
“Um, what are we going to do about it?” she asked, though she immediately began to worry that her tone was too arch. She kept facing front but slid a glance out of the corner of her eye.

He smiled, flashing his dimple and putting her at ease. “We'll figure it out.”

Before she could reply, she heard a rumble of thunder from the direction of Yewville. It was, at this point, perhaps the only thing that could have distracted her attention from Luke Mason.

“That sounds ominous,” she said, shifting in her seat to peer ahead. “I hope it's not raining.”

“I thought we were in a drought,” Luke said.

“We are, but the last thing the home place needs is rain.”

“What's the problem?”

“A leaky roof,” she said uneasily. “I've known about it for a while but have put off getting it repaired. Can you speed up, Luke? I'd better get home.”

He obliged, whipping the car around curves as raindrops spattered. Within minutes, they were driving in a downpour. Water sluiced across the road and Luke slowed the car to a crawl.

“This may have been the worst of it,” Carrie said hopefully as the storm began to diminish. “Maybe it hasn't even started raining at my house.”

“It's worse up ahead,” Luke said, and he was right. The trip that should have taken them less than half an hour stretched out to forty-five minutes with rain drumming on the roof of the car and even a few hailstones falling, which Luke should have been more nervous about, considering how much it would cost to smooth dings out of a Ferrari. Carrie voiced her concern, but he only laughed and said that what mattered was staying safe.

When they arrived at her place, it was still pouring, and Luke edged the car as close to the front of the house as he could without running over her impatiens. Carrie got out first and dashed onto the porch, fumbling for her key. Luke was close behind her and helped her to open the door when the key kept slipping out of her damp hands.

Inside she ran to the back porch. There water was streaming in much harder than last time. She shouted to Luke to get her a bigger pot than the one now overflowing onto a hand-braided rug that Miss Alma had made.

“Is it okay to use this oval enamel roasting pan?” he hollered back as he rummaged in the pie safe near the kitchen table.

“Sure,” she said, and he brought it to her before hurrying to the keeping room, where she told him he'd find a bag of rags. A pink sticky note was floating along in a current of water headed for the door, and she stooped to snatch it up and read it:

It was signed “Love, Dixie.” Carrie immediately crumpled it and tossed it on the kitchen counter.

Luke shrugged out of his blazer and dropped to his hands and knees to mop up water. That was when the lights flickered and died.

“Oh, great,” Carrie said. She felt her way to the pantry and scooped up a couple of flashlights, switching one on as she sloshed in Luke's direction. The light flickered on too late to prevent her from stumbling over his outstretched leg, but she caught herself before she fell on top of him. She handed him a flashlight.

“I'd better check the attic,” she said, rushing upstairs. Her flashlight beam revealed that more leaks had developed and existing ones had burgeoned into a flood.

Carrie, worried about Dixie's silk dress and, unwilling for it to be ruined by the water, slipped out of it and flung it over a dressmaker's dummy in a corner. She grabbed a robe from one of the many boxes of old clothes and shrugged into it, then wrapped the tie around her waist, before getting to work cleaning up the water advancing across the floor. The last thing she needed was rainwater seeping through to the ceilings below.