That Touch of Pink. Teresa Southwick
helped?”
“I do, indeed.”
Abby sighed. “You’d be right. But don’t let on to Kimmie. I always tell her to use people’s given names and I’m fairly certain none of the above are on Fred’s birth certificate. Or Dixon’s, either, for that matter.”
“She’ll never hear it from me. But in that spirit, I’d be happy to role-play with you for your next conversation with Riley Dixon.”
The thought of seeing him again sent quivers through Abby and she remembered the mayor’s comment on auction night about thrills and chills. His words were turning out to be annoyingly prophetic. She wondered if she might be better off if she waved the white flag and retreated.
Riley Dixon watched the elevator doors close, then turned to his sister. “We got the contract.”
Nora smiled. “To put security systems in all the district’s high schools?”
“Yup. Starting with Charity City High.”
“Congratulations.”
“Yeah.”
“So you’re excited?” Nora asked, toying with the pen on her desk.
“Of course.”
“Then why do you look like someone let your favorite pistol rust in the rain?”
“I don’t know.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I guess it’s because we shouldn’t need metal detectors and surveillance systems in high schools.”
“It doesn’t mean that all kids have gone over to the dark side,” she pointed out.
“I know.”
“You can’t take responsibility for what’s wrong with the world today.”
“I know that, too. But it seems wrong to profit from it.”
She lifted her shoulders. “The Board of Education budgeted for the security measures. And frankly, if they’ve decided it’s necessary, I’ll sleep better at night knowing they’ve hired the best company for the job. So will a lot of high school parents. Mostly the kids are good, normal kids. You’ve been hired to make sure they’re safe from the occasional bad apple. The school district feels it’s money well spent. Why don’t you?”
“Thanks for trying to make me feel better.”
“You’re welcome. In exchange, I’d like to know why you practically threw Abby Walsh out of your office.” She tucked a strand of auburn hair behind her ear and met his gaze.
Riley knew his sister well, meaning she wasn’t going to back off. “She was here to make arrangements for the survival weekend I donated to the Charity City auction.”
“Wow. That clears up any confusion,” she said sarcastically. “And here I thought she’d done something really bad. Like having the audacity to look a lot like Barb Kelly.”
Riley winced. Abby Walsh was petite and feminine and beautiful. Her skin looked soft and her shiny brown hair even softer. It was like a curtain of silk teasing her shoulders. And Nora was right. Abby looked an awful lot like the pregnant woman he’d married to give her baby a name. The same woman who walked out two years later when the biological father finally showed up to claim his rights. Better late than never had made him feel like hell.
“Her daughter needs some kind of scouting badges,” he explained.
“And you jumped to the conclusion that she was cut from Barb Kelly cloth and dumping the kid on you.”
“Yeah.” Just like old times, he thought. “I’m glad you understand.” It’s what he loved about Nora.
“But I don’t understand. Didn’t you clarify the situation?”
He sat in one of the chairs in front of her desk. “She claimed she’d never turn the kid over to a complete stranger and said she’d be going on the `outing’ too.” He huffed out a breath. “Outing. As if it’s a society picnic with hoity-toity baskets and buckets of champagne.”
“It couldn’t be possible that you thought she was phat.”
“You’ve got eyes. Did you think she was overweight?”
He thought she had the curviest little body he’d seen in a long time, although it was hard to tell in that full-skirted thing she’d been wearing. But her arms were toned and the silky shirt she wore under it molded to her breasts in a way that tempted a man and made him hot all over.
“I didn’t say F-A-T. I said P-H-A-T—pretty hot and tempting.”
“No,” he lied. “I didn’t think that.”
“Okay. Then I have to conclude you’re scared.”
He stood, to crank up the intimidation factor, and glared down at her. “This is me we’re talking about. When I was in the army, I parachuted into hostile territory with nothing but a knife, a sidearm and a radio. I’m not afraid of anything.”
“And this is me,” Nora said, unfazed by the intimidation ploy. “I was there to pick up the pieces when Barb Kelly walked out with the child you fell in love with—”
“Don’t go there,” he warned.
“Why not? You just did.”
“No, not where you think. I just faced reality a long time ago. I’m a place-holder.”
“Not that again.” She sighed. “Poor you. You were adopted, and Mom and Dad love me best because I have their DNA. Trust me, it’s not that special.”
“You’re wrong. You’re pretty special.”
“So are you. For the record—and this is the last time I’m inflating your fragile male ego—the folks love you. Dad’s shirt buttons are in serious jeopardy of popping every time he boasts to his buddies about his son the Army Ranger.”
“Enough,” he said. “I’m not a kid any more.”
“You’re acting like one.”
“Am not.” He grinned as she sighed. “Do me a favor and just bury it.”
“You can duck into your foxhole if you want,” she said. “But I think you noticed the resemblance to Barb, too, and it scared the stuffing out of you.”
“You’d be wrong.”
“Then why did you refuse to keep your word and do the survival weekend?”
“I’m busy. Just got the new contract.”
“You didn’t have it in the bag when she was here. Definitely scared.”
“Busy.”
“Scared.”
“Busy.” Now it was his turn to sigh.
Squabbling just like when they were kids. And their parents had always seemed to take her side. Because she was their biological child and he’d been adopted when they’d thought conceiving their own baby was impossible. But there was something about Nora. He simply couldn’t hold it against her that she was a product of the folks’ love and DNA. He’d felt protective of her from the moment she had come home from the hospital. He had a bond with her. More than that—he loved her.
“Is there any way I can convince you you’re wrong?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Are you going to share, or do I have to use more aggressive interrogation techniques?”
“No tickling,” she warned.
“Then talk.”
“Right back at you, Riley. Face Abby Walsh. And talk.” She sighed at his look. “The thing is, you don’t have a choice. This is you. Although you try