The Ballad of Dixon Bell. Lynnette Kent

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СКАЧАТЬ Pete Mitchell came into the kitchen, put his hands on his wife’s shoulders and leaned down to kiss her cheek. “He ate breakfast with us yesterday morning after the game. He’s planning to renovate the family mansion and take up permanent residence.” Pete and some of his friends—Adam DeVries among them—had been playing basketball together on Saturday mornings since high school. The traditional game was almost always followed by a traditional breakfast at the Carolina Diner.

      And now Dixon had returned to take part in the male-bonding ritual. Kate let her curiosity get the best of her. “That’s a big project, restoring Magnolia Cottage. Did Dixon say…”

      “Where the money would come from?” Pete grinned. “He worked in the oil business, and I gather he’s made good money there with investments. Plus, he said he does some kind of freelance work he earns royalties on.”

      “He writes books? Articles?”

      “We never got to specifics. Maybe some kind of consulting. But I definitely got the impression he’s played it smart the last few years and doesn’t have to worry about finding a job here in New Skye. Dixon was always a bright guy, so I wouldn’t be surprised to learn he’d made himself a fortune.”

      Kate was, but didn’t say so. Maybe she hadn’t paid enough attention to Dixon Bell when she’d had the chance.

      “There you are.” Mary Rose put one hand over her husband’s and gestured with the other. “An intelligent, unforgettable—not to mention rich—man has moved into town just when you need him.” She looked up at Pete. “He’s not married or engaged, is he?”

      “Don’t think so.”

      “I am,” Kate reminded them. “And Trace and Kelsey don’t need more upheaval in their lives.”

      Mary Rose stuck out her lower lip in a pout. “You always say that.”

      “Because it’s always true. They’re my first responsibility, especially since L.T. can’t be bothered most of the time.”

      “But you deserve a life, Katie!”

      Pete squeezed his wife’s shoulders and she subsided with a sigh. “Speaking of the guy upstairs, Dixon wants to play ball with us next Saturday and wondered if Trace would join us and even out the teams.”

      Had Dixon acted on that small moment so quickly? “Y’all are sure you want to play with a thirteen-year-old?”

      He grinned again. “Yeah…we’re dying to prove we can outrun a kid twenty years our junior.” The grin faded. “But I’m doubtful that Trace will accept the invitation coming from me. I’m down near the bottom of his list of people to hang out with.”

      In a fit of rebellion last spring, Trace and two of his friends had engineered a bomb threat during a street fair in downtown New Skye. Pete, a North Carolina State Trooper, had been the one to arrest Trace and turn him over to the police. Her son was still doing community service and going to counseling as the result of that incident.

      “So Dixon said he’d call,” Pete continued. “If you don’t mind letting Trace play with us.”

      “Of course not. I’m sure Trace will be thrilled.” Kate hoped she wasn’t blushing at the idea that Dixon would call, that she would get to talk to him again. “L.T. doesn’t give him that kind of time anymore.”

      She fidgeted through the hours after her sister and brother-in-law left, not wanting to venture out of the house in case the phone rang. Which was silly, Kate knew, because Dixon might call any time during the week. She couldn’t hold her breath all week long.

      But the July afternoon was muggy and unbearably hot, not suitable for working outside. After putting together a pasta salad for supper, she sat down at the kitchen table with her checkbook and bank statement, determined to get the balancing done this time. Trace and Kelsey were in their rooms and the house was completely quiet except for the low thud of Trace’s music vibrating through the ceiling.

      And Kate did manage to concentrate, so completely that she actually jumped and gasped in surprise when the phone rang. Only one ring, though, and she sank back into her chair when she realized that Kelsey had no doubt answered. After several months of restriction, her daughter had recently regained phone privileges, which were being liberally enjoyed. The call was probably from one of her friends. Or Sal…whose very name conjured up a whole different set of problems.

      But the feet pounding down the staircase a few minutes later belonged to Trace, not his sister. He burst into the kitchen, holding the cordless phone from her bedroom in one hand.

      “Hey, Kate, this is Dixon Bell, that friend of yours, you know? And he wants me to play basketball with him and his friends next Saturday morning. Mr. DeVries and Mr. Crawford and—” he took a breath “—Pete. That’s okay, right? It’ll be just grown-ups except for me. I told him I thought you’d say yes. You will, right? I can go?”

      Kate stared at her son for a moment, speechless. She hadn’t seen him this excited in months. Certainly not since his father had left. And maybe not for a long time before. One miracle, courtesy of Dixon Bell.

      “Please, Kate?”

      She shook her head to clear it. “I think it sounds great. Be sure to thank him for the invitation.” The urge to ask to speak with Dixon was almost overwhelming, but she managed to keep control as Trace put the phone to his ear.

      “It’s okay,” he said, still with that Christmas-morning eagerness in his voice. “What time should I be there? Oh, okay. That’ll be good. I’ll be ready. What? Oh, sure.” He put the phone on the table beside Kate’s hand. “Dixon wants to talk to you.”

      Breathless, she picked up the receiver with a shaking hand. “Hello?”

      “Hey, Kate. How are you?” His warm voice seemed to release all the tension in her shoulders.

      She sank back in her chair. “I’m fine, thanks. And I really appreciate that you’ve included Trace in your ball game. He’s thrilled, of course.”

      “I think it’ll be fun. He’ll give us old guys a standard to strive for.”

      “What time should I have him at the school Saturday?”

      “Don’t worry about getting out so early. I’ll pick him up about a quarter to seven, if that’s okay.”

      The conversation was coming to an end and she couldn’t think of a good reason to extend it. “If you’re sure…”

      “That’s set, then. Now…” He paused for a long moment. “What about us?”

      Kate wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly. “Us?”

      “Yes, ma’am. That dinner I wanted to share with you. Can we set something up?”

      Be careful what you wish for, she thought, because it hurts so much when you have to refuse. “I—I don’t—”

      “If dinner doesn’t work, what about lunch? I could bring Trace home after breakfast on Saturday, grab a shower and a change of clothes, then pick you up and we could have a sandwich together. Or,” he added when she still hadn’t found her voice, “you could meet me somewhere.”

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