Down Home Dixie (16 page)

Andrea accepted a mug, which was good. He'd never been able to have a meaningful conversation with her before her morning caffeine fix.

“What's to eat?” she asked with a yawn.

“Eggs in the refrigerator, bagels in the freezer.”

“We could eat breakfast together.”

“Think again.”

“And then I need to get online and send some e-mails.”

“There's a Wi-Fi connection in Dixie's home office. Feel free.” He'd postpone their discussion until after she'd sent her e-mails because then Andrea would have no excuse to stay. She'd pack and leave.

Kyle tossed a sponge into the dish drainer and flicked on the garbage disposal. Andrea bent down to peer into the refrigerator, thereby revealing a rounded expanse of breast. Despite his best intentions to get their discussion over with, he shut off the disposal and beat a hurried retreat for the door, unwilling to be coaxed into betraying Dixie by Andrea's intentional exposure of body parts. That wasn't his only concern by this time. Twinkle had started to yip, never a good sign. Once Andrea put him on the floor, it was one second to lunging mode.

“Andrea, I have to go out. There's a truck stop on the bypass called Dolly's, and I'll meet you there for lunch.” Strictly speaking, Kyle didn't have to go anywhere right now, but it seemed advisable to vacate the premises. Dolly's was a public place, and Andrea would be less likely to cause a ruckus with other people around.

“Kyle?”

Ignoring Andrea's plaintive voice, Kyle kept walking to his truck and subsequently scratched out of the driveway. Dolly's wasn't the best choice for a heart-to-heart with Andrea, since the place was frequented by easy women, but as he'd discovered one day recently, the cook there made a great burger. Besides, he didn't care to risk parading his ex-girlfriend past Kathy Lou and the regulars at the Eat Right Café. There was enough gossip about his romance with Dixie without adding Andrea to the mix.

 

“W
HAT DO
I
HAVE TO DO
to get you back?” Andrea asked, her hands curved around the bun of a giant butter burger, the house specialty.

Kyle thought this over, which took approximately half a nanosecond. “Why would you want me when you've seen fit to break up with me four—no, make that five—times?”

“We're so good together, Kyle,” Andrea said matter-of-factly. He had the idea that she, in her CPA fashion, had toted up a row of figures and come up with the answer: KYLE. She didn't seem to attach much, if any, emotion to her claim to him. Nor had she ever, he realized belatedly.

“We're not good together at all,” he objected, nudging a fallen French fry away from the edge of the table. “We fight, we make up. We trot along at a steady pace for a while and then we slam up against a stone wall. The reality is that we have almost nothing in common.”

“Sex,” Andrea said, offering the word up like a prayer, though it was almost lost in the blast of loud twangy music wailing from speakers directly over their heads.

The truth was that Kyle hadn't liked what went on between the sheets with Andrea nearly as much as he enjoyed his rollicking sex life with Dixie. Andrea wasn't inventive or imaginative. She approached the sex act as something that people had to do, like homework, or—or paying taxes. Fill out this form, sign that one, and lo, someone has a climax, which should hold both of them until the next payment is due.

“WE LIKE SEX,” Andrea repeated loudly just as the music ended, and several patrons turned to stare curiously.

For the first time, Kyle noticed that Andrea's smile, which come to think of it, only appeared briefly now and then, was bracketed by frown lines that remained when her face was in repose. He forced himself back to the issue at hand.

Somehow it didn't seem proper to tell Andrea that he'd found someone who was a whole lot better at lovemaking. “Sex isn't all there is to a relationship,” he said. He forcibly pulled his gaze away from Andrea's low neckline, which featured a narrow red ruffle coasting down into her cleavage.

“We have mutual friends,” she said, as if that should give him pause. He recognized the mulish expression that always accompanied such arguments.

Before Kyle had a chance to respond, Andrea ticked a bunch of names off on her buttery fingers. “Rod and Allison, and Steve. I introduced him to you, remember. Elliott and Margo. Jan Cahoun, when she isn't at her place in Colorado.”

“Agreed, but there's also something called commonality of interest. For instance, I'm bored with that theater group you're so fond of.” Most of their mutual friends were in it.

“But—”

He waved away her objection. “Boring.
Boring.
It's always the same actors in a different play. I don't like getting gussied up in a tux, yet you love attending formal opening night of the season and parading me around like I'm Twinkle on a leash. We disagree about politics, food, music and my work. Frankly, Andrea, I'm amazed that we lasted as long as we did.”

“You know the last play of the season is coming up, and I'm counting on you as my escort.”

“I don't care to watch the same person who starred as Annie in
Annie Get Your Gun
playing a slightly long-in-the-tooth Nellie Forbush in
South Pacific.
”

“Shawna is one of my best friends.”

Kyle said nothing.

Andrea took another bite of her burger and chewed, meanwhile overtly checking out the big-haired woman in a sequined tube top who was moving among customers in the back room where the pool table stood.

“Is that what Southern belles wear around here?” Andrea asked after she'd swallowed. Her gaze followed the woman, who laughed uproariously and pinched a guy's cheek as they watched.

The woman was likely one of the floozies imported from across some state line or other for temporary work. “Uh, I don't know,” Kyle said. “You shouldn't have come here, Andrea.”

Andrea, returning her attention to matters at hand, poked at the slab of tomato resting on her lettuce. “I had to make sure you're all right,” she said self-righteously.

“I'm as all right as I've ever been.”

“Maybe we need couples counseling. Shawna knows this woman—”

“As I have already told you more than once, it's over. You like the idea of counseling, you go right ahead.” He again cautioned himself to hold his temper.

“Tell me about Dixie,” Andrea said. “What is she to you?”

There were all sorts of ways that Kyle could have replied to that. Dixie was a sweet fragrance borne upon a gentle southern wind, a balm to his soul. She was sunshine, she was rain, she was earth, water and sky. She was, in fact, everything.

“We're a couple,” he said, a simple declaration. “I don't know what I'd do without her.” This was, he realized as he spoke, the truth.

Andrea appeared more than a bit flustered. “And you met how?”

“It's really none of your business, Andrea.”

“I'm only looking out for you.”

“Well, go look out for someone else. Falling in love is something that a person generally can handle on his own.” He wasn't quite sure he'd said that until a light went out in Andrea's eyes and her face turned ashen.

“You—you're in love with Dixie?”

He waited a long moment, turning the idea over in his mind. In love with Dixie? Could it be true?

“Yeah,” he said. “I guess I am.”

“I see,” Andrea said quietly.

“You've met her. You can see why I care about her.” He took pity on Andrea, though he was certain by this time that they would have broken up for good whether he'd found Dixie or not.

“You wouldn't have to love her.”

But I want to.
“Leave it, Andrea. Nothing can come of pursuing this. Of pursuing
me,
” he corrected. “Take on the next plane home and have a nice life.” He spoke as kindly as he could.

Her eyes suddenly filled with tears. “Oh, Kyle,” she said brokenly, his cue to leave, but before he could escape, she jumped up and bolted toward the door, her short skirt flouncing above her knees. This momentary glimpse of a long expanse of leg—he was only human—meant that he didn't realize she'd left her purse on the floor until she was backing her rental car out of the parking lot.

Twinkle poked his nose out, sniffed, and eyed Kyle's pants leg. Kyle responded by shoving what was left of Andrea's butter burger in on top of the dog and snapping the flap of the purse down tight.

He grabbed the purse and headed for the door. There was something about carrying a woman's handbag that made a man want to mince along, but he fought it. It helped that he was wearing his work boots. A pert bespangled woman eyed the purse he was carrying. “You out for some fun this afternoon? Both ways?”

He kept walking.

Kyle figured that the half patty of hamburger meat might keep Twinkle's teeth occupied until they arrived back at the house. If not, he could probably bid a fond goodbye to this brand-new pair of Dockers.

Wouldn't you know that Leland Porter would insist that Dixie take possession of the cat on the very day that the worst spring thunderstorm in years decided to roll through the South Carolina Piedmont. And that the cat, a long-haired, white-bibbed gray tabby called Muffin, was smart enough to work her way out of the cardboard box that they'd pressed into service as a cat carrier. And would hop up next to the back window of Dixie's car and meow piteously the whole way back to her house.

Dixie spotted no sign of Andrea's rental car or Kyle's truck when she drove up to the house and into the garage. No sign of any people whatsoever. Dixie wished for the umpteenth time that the previous owners of her place had seen fit to attach the garage to the kitchen by a breezeway. Maybe that could be a building project for the future. Right now, she needed to convey Muffin to the house if the cat wasn't to spend the rest of the day crouching in the back of the Mustang. Anyway, Dixie wanted to show Muffin her new home.

Dixie leaned into the back of the car to take hold of Muffin. Only the cat's front paws had been declawed, and Muffin demonstrated a perverse disposition to deliver mighty kicks with her back legs. Somehow, in a flurry of fur and accompanied by wails befitting a banshee, Dixie managed to haul Muffin from the car.

She dashed through the rain, the cat squalling and kicking, and tried the back door, which she never locked. On this day, however, someone had locked it, and she suspected that the culprit was Andrea, to whom she'd given a set of keys last night. Andrea had frowned when Dixie informed her that the back door always remained unlocked, and Dixie, tired of the conversation anyway, had tossed her the extra set of keys.

With rainwater sluicing uncomfortably down the back of her neck and probably shrinking her new dry-cleanable suit, which she'd donned that morning to impress Andrea that she was a real businesswoman, too, Dixie tried to summon her wits about her. Kyle might have left his own set of keys in the playhouse, and she could use his to get in the door.

“Bear with me,” she said to Muffin. She didn't dare set the cat down, seeing as how Muffin didn't seem overly enthusiastic about her recent change in ownership. Leland had assured her that Maine coon cats were “gentle, sweet and calm.” All except this one.

There was nothing to do but to run out to the playhouse with Muffin tucked under her arm like a football, grab Kyle's house keys off the hook where he'd left them and sprint back to the house.

She'd no sooner stepped inside the door and set Muffin down with the admonition to “wait right there while I get a towel and dry both of us off,” when a beribboned ball of brown fur rocketed out of the pantry and set up a barking alarm that could have wakened half the dead in Yewville Cemetery.

Twinkle.
Why hadn't she thought of him?

Well, because Andrea customarily carried the Yorkie around in her purse, and Andrea's rental car was missing, presumably parked wherever Andrea was at the moment, and therefore her dog shouldn't be around, either. A perfectly logical assumption, though there was no logical way of explaining this to Muffin.

Muffin, uttering one of her banshee yowls, launched herself into orbit. One of her back claws shredded the right foot of Dixie's new panty hose in transit.

The dog took off after the cat, and Dixie followed both. Through the hall, past the sewing room, into the living room and, from there, a mad dash upstairs. Muffin managed to stay in front of Twinkle, but the dog was not to be deterred. A flutter of fur, both Maine coon and Yorkie, drifted in their wake.

By the time Dixie made her way to the second story, Twinkle was jumping and barking, jumping and barking. His ecstasy at having something fun to chase propelled him from the master bedroom to the guest room to the tiny hall closet. Where Muffin had disappeared to Dixie could not figure.

“Muffin? Muffin?” she called, wary of what Twinkle might do if the cat actually reappeared. To forestall any further attack on the part of the Yorkie, Dixie lured him downstairs with a hot dog from a new packet in the refrigerator, though he seemed less than interested. She shoved his water dish inside the pantry, tossed the frankfurter on the floor and slammed Twinkle inside. Then she went to find the cat.

The cat, however, seemed to have disappeared altogether. A search of closets, under her bed, the bathroom and the linen closet produced nothing except the desiccated body of a cockroach left behind by the previous owner.

She really ought to do some spring cleaning around here. Maybe she could start next week.

Dixie sank down on the overstuffed chair in the corner of her bedroom. She wondered where Kyle and Andrea had gone.
Kyle and Andrea,
she repeated in her head.
I don't much like the sound of those words in such proximity.

At least they'd taken their separate cars, which seemed like a good sign. Then again, was it?

 

K
YLE CAREENED
his truck into Dixie's driveway, unsure what to expect. He'd dropped Twinkle off earlier before running the truck by Smitty's for an oil change. That had seemed like as good a way as any to spend the afternoon. Andrea's sedan wasn't parked in the driveway, and he assumed she'd gone for a drive or something to settle her nerves. He wondered when she'd start to miss Twinkle.

His heart was gladdened by the sight of Dixie's Mustang sitting in its usual place in the garage. He bounded up the steps to the house, found the door unlocked and heard Twinkle whining in the pantry.

“Dixie?”

No answer. She had to be here, though. He hadn't shut Twinkle in the pantry, and Andrea never would.

“Dixie? Honey?”

He heard a muffled noise from above and took the stairs two at a time. Dixie was huddled in the big chair in the dormer of her bedroom, a tissue pressed to her nose.

“Dixie, what's wrong?” He knelt beside her.

“Everything. Andrea, that awful dog and now Muffin is missing.”

“Muffin?”

“My new cat. And you were gone.”

“I'm here now.” As for the rest of it, he was pretty sure Andrea would be departing soon.

“Tell me about Muffin,” he said, searching for a safe topic.

“Leland had to leave town, so I brought Muffin home today and Andrea's purse dog tried to eat her.”

“Better he should eat the cat than my ankle,” Kyle muttered.

“What?” Dixie said.

“Nothing. I don't believe that dog could eat a cat, he's so tiny. Most cats could devour him in one bite.”

“This cat has no claws. She couldn't hold him down long enough to eat him, more's the pity.”

He slid his arm around Dixie, surreptitiously flicking a stray sequin off the back of his hand before she spotted it. “Let's you and me go out to dinner, what do you say?” That should cheer her up.

“It's raining, my hair's a mess and we have leftover ham casserole in the refrigerator.”

Experience had taught him that Dixie didn't like to waste food, so he dropped the going-out-to-dinner idea. Besides, he loved ham casserole.

“Your hair will dry as pretty as ever. I'll make it clear to Andrea that she has to eat someplace else.”

“Did you make anything else clear today?” Dixie asked, slanting a sideways look at him.

“She understands there's no resuming the relationship,” he said. It hadn't been easy, and he didn't like to make women cry. Plus, he'd had to drive home with that fool dog making sounds like a food processor as he scarfed up the hamburger in the bottom of Andrea's purse.

“If that's the case, I guess everything will be back to normal around here soon.” Dixie smiled a watery smile, and he kissed her temple.

“I sure hope so,” Kyle said. “Now, get into some dry clothes. When you come downstairs, I'll open a bottle of wine.”

“Okay.” She gave him her hand, and he pulled her up. She began to jettison the wet clothes, which was why Kyle didn't leave as he'd planned. Dixie stripped all the way down to nude and started reclothing herself from the bottom up. First she shimmied into a pair of lace panties, pulled the matching bra out of a drawer and decided against it. Her breasts were round and firm as she shrugged into a sweatshirt, and Kyle couldn't pull his gaze away.

“Anything wrong?” Dixie asked.

Before he could answer, Andrea's car drove up. Hearing it, Dixie joined him at the bedroom window. The storm had abated and the sky was clearing.

“Don't worry, I'll handle this,” he said, turning toward the door.

“Not so fast. Milo's truck is following right behind her.”

“Milo? Why is he here?”

“Don't ask me.”

They reached the kitchen in time to greet Andrea as she came in through the back door. Twinkle erupted in a new spate of barking, and Andrea immediately went to the pantry and liberated him. She scooped the dog up in her arms, glowering at Kyle.

Twinkle started barking again at the approach of Milo and his companion, a small puppy. Not that the pup was walking willingly. She obviously was not yet trained to the leash, and Milo was dragging her behind him like a wagon.

“Oh, he's got Minnie Pearl's daughter,” Dixie said, clearly entranced. She went to the door.

“Minnie Pearl? Who's that?” Kyle asked, mystified.

“Bubba's coon dog,” Dixie answered.

“Dixie?” Milo called as he approached. When he reached the screen door, he held up his hand to shade his eyes from the sun, which was now peeking though the clouds. “May I come in?”

Dixie sighed. “Why not. It seems as if everyone else in all creation is here.”

Andrea moved to the far side of the kitchen, dropping her aloof and chillingly polite manner to study Milo and his companion. Twinkle kept squirming to get down, and the puppy was wagging her tail. She trotted over to Andrea on a leash that pulled out of a handle.

“Your Yorkie seems inspired to get to know Starbright better,” Milo offered. He smiled at Andrea, and she stopped frowning.

“Your dog's name is Starbright?” she asked.

“Yup.”

“Why, mine is named Twinkle. Isn't that a coincidence!” Andrea set the Yorkie down beside the pup. They were about the same size and immediately started sniffing at each other.

“Milo, why are you here?” Dixie asked.

Her former boyfriend seemed momentarily disconcerted but recovered quickly. “I came to apologize for the other night. I shouldn't have, well, lost control of myself like I did.”

Andrea perked up, glancing from Milo to Dixie, who blushed slightly. “Oh, that's all right, Milo,” Dixie said.

“It was just the stars and moon and the night and all. It reminded me of times gone by. But I didn't intend to make any trouble between the two of you.”

“What are you talking about?” Andrea asked.

“Don't ask,” warned Kyle.

Dixie glanced at Kyle, waiting to see if he was going to reply to Milo or if she should.

He took the lead. “It's okay, Milo. We're over it, aren't we, Dixie?”

“Over
what?
” asked Andrea. “Twinkle, stop that, it's not nice.” Twinkle was checking out Starbright's nether end.

“Nothing,” Kyle said.

“I'm glad there's no hard feelings. Let's shake on it.” Milo held out his hand.

“First time I ever saw two men shake hands over nothing,” Andrea said disdainfully.

“It wasn't exactly nothing,” Dixie explained. “But it's nothing right now.”

The dogs had aligned themselves face-to-face, and Starbright began to lick Twinkle's muzzle. “Will you look at that,” marveled Andrea. “They're playing kissy face.”

Kyle would bet that Starbright's affection owed less to true love than to the flavor of hamburger that no doubt lingered around Twinkle's mouth. He figured the less said about anything the better, wishing everyone would leave so he could enjoy some much-needed alone time with Dixie.

“I don't believe I got your name,” Andrea said to Milo. She seemed to be regarding him favorably, and he brightened under her scrutiny.

“Andrea Ludovici, this is Milo, uh,” Kyle said, forgetting Milo's last name.

“Milo Dingle,” Milo said, taking in Andrea's low ruffled neckline and the shapeliness of her legs as revealed by her short skirt. “How do you do?”

Kyle almost laughed. If Dixie had married Milo, she would have been Dixie Dingle. Unless she was one of those modern women who would insist on keeping her birth name, which could be the case.

“I've had better days,” Andrea said to Milo. Her eyes were by this time only slightly reddened from crying. She had moved closer to him and was twiddling with a strand of her hair, a habit that used to drive Kyle nuts.

“What do you say we take the dogs for a walk and you can tell me about it,” Milo suggested.