The Ballad of Dixon Bell. Lynnette Kent
“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.”
Unable to resist any longer, Kate sighed. “I think we could do that. I—I would like to have lunch with you.”
“That’s a d—…that’s great.” She thought she heard him blow out a long breath. “I’ll look forward to seeing you…and Trace…on Saturday.”
Kate hung up the phone, feeling a wide smile crease her cheeks, stretch her lips. Dixon had such wonderful manners. He would “look forward” to seeing her on Saturday.
But not half as much as she would look forward to seeing him.
DIXON DIDN’T PUSH to keep Kate on the phone, though he couldn’t think of a nicer way to pass the Sunday afternoon than listening to her soft southern voice in his ear. An idea occurred to him—the possibility of writing a song about a woman’s voice, her words, her tone, and how they affected the man who loved her. The concept had potential, he decided, and went upstairs to fetch his pad of paper and make some notes. Sitting on his childhood bed in the sleepy quiet of the old house, he found it easy to think about Kate, to imagine words she might use in love, in laughter, in passion. Next weekend, he’d have hours to listen to what she had to say and how she said it. He only had to get through five long weekdays, first.
This afternoon, though, thinking too much about Kate unsettled him enough that he decided to get out of the house, despite the July heat. Miss Daisy had curled up on the sofa with the cats and the newest Tom Clancy novel, then slipped into a genteel nap, so Dixon tiptoed across the front hall and shut the door carefully behind him. On the right side of the house, where there had once been a rose bed and boxwood parterre in a knot pattern, he found shade and a weed-free spot under a tulip poplar. He checked for ant beds at the base of the trunk and settled in with his notepad on his knee to consider landscape plans.
But in only minutes his mind wandered back to Kate. Convincing her to have lunch with him had been a significant effort. She acted for all the world as if she was afraid that he would hurt her if she let him get too close. Which would make sense, Dixon thought, if he were L.T. LaRue. Did Kate believe all men were cut from the same cloth?
He looked around at the sound of a car door being shut and nearly growled aloud when he saw LaRue’s SUV parked in front of the house. Kate’s ex had brought someone else with him this time, a man Dixon didn’t recognize.
Already irritated, he got to his feet, dusted the grass and dirt off