The Ballad of Dixon Bell

“Yeah, your boyfriend’s one of them. And ol’ Mano’s working for him. I’d say there’s a pretty strong link between Bell and Torres and my ruined houses.”

“Dixon Bell wouldn’t stoop to vandalism. He’ll deal with you face-to-face.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it.”

“So open your eyes.” Dixon spoke from the entry hall. “And say what’s on your mind.”

“This is family business. You don’t belong.”

Kate couldn’t let that comment pass unchallenged. “You’re the one who doesn’t belong, L.T. By your own choice.”

L.T. swung back to her. “Listen, bitch—”

Dixon snaked an arm around his throat from behind. Dragging the other man backward, he strode to the front door and launched him down the steps.

Kate held her breath, hoping and praying L.T. would simply leave.

Instead, he charged.

Dear Reader,

When I was a teenager I fell in love with The South—a mythical place where wide, lazy rivers reflected the moon’s glow and sultry evenings seduced lovers with the perfume of gardenia blossoms and honeysuckle vines. Add a plantation house standing ghost-white amidst moss-draped live oak trees, and you have the perfect recipe for romance.

Dixon Bell and Kate LaRue are two people who see that side of the South in their hometown of New Skye, North Carolina. Dixon’s been wandering the world for thirteen years and has yet to find a place he’d rather live. When he learns that Kate—the first and only woman he’s ever loved—will soon be free, he knows it’s finally time for him to go back. He doesn’t anticipate the complications he encounters in wooing Kate. Maybe coming home isn’t supposed to be easy.

Kate barely noticed Dixon when they were in high school together. She can’t help noticing him now, however, and she can’t ignore the longings he awakens in her love-starved soul. But she’s imprisoned by the unwritten rules and expectations of the society she grew up in. Being an adult in your own hometown is never as easy as you’d expect.

The Ballad of Dixon Bell is the second book in my new series for Superromance, AT THE CAROLINA DINER. If this is your first visit, welcome to a world where you run into somebody you know whenever you step out your door, where the family’s always aware of what’s going on in your life and can usually track you down if they want to, where friends are tried and true. A world where romance is still very much alive—just ask Dixon and Kate.

And watch for The Last Honest Man, coming in August!

Lynnette Kent

P.S. I’d love to hear from you. Write me at PMB 304, Westwood Shopping Center, Fayetteville, NC 28314. Or visit my Web page, www.lynnettekent.com.

The Ballad of Dixon Bell

Lynnette Kent

To the Southern Gentlemen I know best:

Frank, Barry and Ed.

And, as always, for Martin.

Love you, guys.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER ONE

March

Boswell, Colorado

“YOU MAKING TIME with your sweetheart again, Dixie?”

“That ain’t his sweetheart. That’s his baby girl. Right, Dixie?”

Dixon Bell just grinned at the cowboys’ teasing and kept walking at a slow, easy pace toward the three unbroken horses poised along one curve of the corral. The buckskin and the pinto danced away as he got close. The black quarter horse mare knew him, though, and had come to trust him a little. Ears twitching, tail flicking, she watched him approach. She was nervous, sure. But willing to give him a chance.

“Hey, there, gorgeous,” he crooned, coming to a stop by her shoulder. He put a hand on the smooth, warm skin of her neck. “Thanks for waiting for me. How’s it going?”

She turned her head toward him, nosed his arm and chest, then jerked away as the buckskin came near again. Ears drawn flat against her head, eyes wide, the mare warned the other horse off.

“No need to be jealous, sweetheart.” Dixon chuckled as he stroked his palm along her back. “I’ve only got eyes for you.”

Talking quietly, he ran his hands over her ribs, her flanks, her chest, combed his fingers through her jet-black mane. As she calmed, he bent to stroke her legs, lifting each foot in turn, all the time praising her for standing still, for letting him have his way.

Then he straightened up and allowed the halter he’d hooked over his shoulder to drop down to his hand. “Remember this?” He held it under her nose, watched her sniff. “We got this on yesterday. Let’s try again.”

She wasn’t happy about it, but did finally let him slip the soft halter over her nose and ears. Left to run wild in the Colorado hills since her birth two years ago, she hadn’t been trained to accept human restraints. Though she balked when he hooked the lead rope to the halter, the mare eventually consented to be led around the corral without too much fuss…as long as the buckskin kept her distance. This quarter horse wasn’t interested in sharing her man with anybody else.

“She’ll make a good mount,” the ranch foreman commented when Dixon left the corral. “You’re sure taking your time, though. There’s easier, quicker ways to break a horse.”

“I’m not interested in easier and quicker,” Dixon told him. “Usually that means some kind of pain for the animal. I’m content to take things slow, exercise a little patience.”

“Next thing we know, you’ll be hugging trees.” The foreman gave him a friendly punch in the arm as they parted ways. Dixon returned the halter to the barn and headed to the bunkhouse to wash up for dinner. The aroma of grilled meat hung in the dry mountain air, teasing him with visions of steak and potatoes. He’d been up at dawn, heading out to round up cows and calves, and the only food he’d managed all day was a quick sandwich at lunch. Hungry wasn’t a big enough word for the emptiness inside him tonight.

A stop at the mailbox on his way in rewarded him with a letter from home. Dixon delayed the pleasure until he’d changed into a clean shirt and jeans and washed his hands. Then he sat on his bunk to read what his grandmother, Miss Daisy Crawford, had to say.

She wrote, on lavender-scented paper in an old-fashioned, flowing script, of her friends, her neighbors, the civic meetings she went to, the goings-on at church. One of her cats had been sick, some kind of kidney problem, but the vet prescribed a new diet which seemed to be working. The weather had been strange this year—variably cold and hot—so she never knew what to wear when she went out.

Finally, I thought you might want to know that we’ve had something of a scandal here recently. L.T. LaRue—whom I would designate a scalawag, if there were still such a thing—up and left his family a few weeks ago. Moved out of their house and into a love nest with his office secretary, declaring to the world his intention to get a divorce and marry this girl young enough to be his daughter. I taught her in Sunday School just a few years ago; I can’t imagine what could have happened to bring her to such a state.

This domestic tragedy leaves Kate LaRue—she was Kate Bowdrey, as I’m sure you recall—alone to take care of two teenagers. Poor Kate, she’s struggled to put up with that man these ten years, even adopted his children, and look what he’s gone and done to her. Some men just are not to be relied upon.

Dixon read those next-to-last paragraphs several times, then sat staring at his grandmother’s pale-blue stationery without seeing the words written there. His brain had latched onto one important point—Kate Bowdrey LaRue was getting a divorce. That meant she wouldn’t be married anymore. As in single. Unattached. Available.

And that meant the time had come for him to go home.

July

New Skye, North Carolina

WITH A CLAP OF THUNDER, the sky broke open. Raindrops pelted the pavement and windows like bullets. Caught unprotected as she locked her car door, Kate LaRue shrieked and dashed for the nearest cover, which happened to be the green-and-white striped awning of Drew’s Coffee Shop.

She was drenched when she got there, of course, her thin linen top practically transparent, her skirt hanging heavy around her waist. Water squished between her sandals and the soles of her feet.

“What a mess,” she muttered as she pulled her shirt away from her bra, only to have it stick again. Around her, the smell of wet pavement blended with the pungent scent of coffee brewing inside the café. “I’ll have to go back home and change.”

“Beautiful day, don’t you think?” The voice, strangely familiar, came from behind. “There’s nothing like a southern rainstorm to clear the dust out of the air.”

Kate turned to look at the tall, lean man standing with a shoulder propped against the brick wall that framed Drew’s window. “You’re joking, right?”

He had a wide, white grin in a tanned face. “Not at all. After a few years of eating dirt in the west Texas oil fields, I appreciate a good rain.”

“You don’t sound like you’re from Texas.” In fact, he sounded as if he’d lived right here in New Skye, North Carolina, his whole life. She should know him, Kate was sure. But good manners forbade that she just out and ask him what his name was.

“Thank goodness. I’d hate to be identified by my twang.” He straightened up to his full, lanky height. “Would you like to step inside and get a drink? Something to warm you up?”

Holding out his hand, he directed her to the entrance of Drew’s, where she was certain he would open the door for her. Suddenly, just from the way he looked at her, she was equally certain he knew exactly who she was. She studied him for a long moment, searching for a clue in the rich, brown waves of his hair, the glint in his dark eyes, the tilt of his head. When the answer swam up from the depths of her memory, she caught her breath at the impossible rightness of it. “Dixon? Dixon Bell?”

His grin widened. “Took you long enough.” He put his hands on her shoulders and leaned in to kiss her cheek. “I was beginning to think I’d have to show you my driver’s license. How are you, Kate?”

Without thinking, she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tight. “You’ve been gone so long. Welcome home!”

She felt his warm hands through the wet cloth on her back, felt the wall of his chest against her breasts. His shoulders were wide and strong. He smelled of starch and soap. And man.

Another bolt of lightning struck, this one inside Kate.

“My goodness.” Drawing a shaky breath, she dropped back on her heels, letting her arms slide from his shoulders as she stepped away. “I still can’t believe it’s you. How long have you been home?” She pushed her hair off her face, registered how wet it was and knew what a mess she must look.

“Just a few days. I got here at the beginning of the week.” Dixon slipped his hands into the pockets of his slacks and glanced at the shops and businesses around them. “Seems like there have been some pretty big changes. Downtown looks great.”

“It does, doesn’t it? We’re not finished, of course. But I think the restoration and renovation projects are going really well, with no small thanks due to your grandmother. I haven’t seen her for several weeks. How is she?”

“Hard to handle, as always. She mentioned that she’s worked you to death on some of her committees.”

Kate chuckled. “Miss Daisy’s a pistol, that’s for sure. I hope I have half her energy when I’m her age. I think we celebrated her eighty-fourth birthday at the women’s club last month, didn’t we?”

“That’s right. And as far as I can tell, she keeps a cat for each year. I can’t find a chair in the whole house that isn’t occupied by at least one feline.” He hunched his shoulders. “I’m not crazy about cats.”

“She didn’t have so many when you lived with her?” Dixon’s parents had died when he was very young, so he’d grown up in his grandmother’s house.

“One or two at a time—not a whole herd. I guess when I wasn’t here, she collected cats to keep her company.”

“So where have you been all these years? We haven’t seen you since the summer after graduation.”

He shook his head. “To get that story, Ms. Bowdrey, you have to let me buy you coffee.”

She pretended to sigh in resignation, even as she smiled. “If I have to.” But as she crossed the threshold, Kate realized she’d better set things straight. “By the way, it’s LaRue.”

His forehead wrinkled as he stood holding the door open. “I beg your pardon?”

“I’m married.” She walked into the shop ahead of him. “My last name is LaRue.”

Thunder pealed again and Dixon sucked in his breath. Kate’s declaration hit him like a punch to the ribs. Miss Daisy had definitely mentioned a divorce in her letter. They hadn’t talked about Kate since he’d been home—he wasn’t prepared to let anybody in on his plans yet, not even the lady herself. But surely he hadn’t misunderstood. Miss Daisy had said that L.T. LaRue wanted a divorce. Was Kate contesting? Did she intend to stay married to the jerk?

He couldn’t ask her outright, of course. Not a mere fifteen minutes after they’d met for the first time in thirteen years.

Not even though he’d thought of Kate Bowdrey LaRue every single day since their high school graduation.

But today, at last, he could do more than just think about her. He followed her into the shop, taking great pleasure in the sight of her slim figure, a little more revealed than she probably would have liked in those damp clothes. Her long, coffee-dark hair lay heavy on her shoulders with almost too much weight, it seemed, for her graceful neck to support. She appeared fragile, in need of protection. And yet she’d held her family together in the face of her husband’s desertion. His Kate was much stronger than she looked. The thought gave Dixon tremendous satisfaction.

As they sat down at one of the tiny tables with icecream-parlor chairs, he glanced around and took in their surroundings. “Drew’s Coffee Shop is a real change from the newspaper and cigarette stand holding this space when I left. New Skye must be getting seriously up-scale.”

“We like to think we’re coming into our own,” Kate said earnestly, her hazel eyes wide and serious. With her face washed by the rain and her rich curls springing to life around her face, she looked very young, as young as his memories of her. But she was even lovelier than he remembered, which seemed almost impossible. “This hasn’t ever really been the hick town it looked like. We’re trying to adjust the image to reality.”

“I don’t know…I recall going to class with some real yokel types. Remember that guy Elmer? He wore overalls and plaid shirts and bright-yellow work boots to school every day?”

“Elmer Halliday.” Kate nodded. “He sold his daddy’s tobacco farm about ten years ago and bought a chain of convenience stores. He’s one of the richest men in town these days.”

“But does he still wear yellow work boots?”

“No, he wears Italian-knit shirts and custom leather loafers and spends a lot of time on the golf course at the country club.”

Mouth agape, Dixon dropped back against his chair. “They let Elmer into the country club?”

“Well, his family can trace their roots in the area to the War Between the States. And all that money…” She shrugged. “There’s a lot of new blood coming into town. Nobody can afford to be a snob these days.”

“Hey, Kate, how are you?” As if to prove the truth of her words, a woman with blue, buzz-cut hair and a row of silver rings curling around the rim of each ear stood beside them. “Nasty storm, isn’t it? What can I get you two?”

“Hi, Daphne.” Kate tucked the laminated menu into its metal holder. “I’ll have a mocha latte with whipped cream and cinnamon.”

The waitress didn’t have to switch her attention to Dixon—she’d been staring at him since she arrived at the table. “And for you, gorgeous?”

Dixon grinned and gave her a wink. “How about a double regular coffee?”

“I knew you were the strong silent type. Coming up.”

When Daphne was out of earshot, he turned to Kate. “Definitely new blood.”

Smiling, she shook her head. “So what have you been doing all this time, Mr. Bell? Where did you go when you left home?”

“Well, let’s see…I hitched a ride out of town on an empty livestock truck and spent the first night on a picnic table in a state park in Greensboro.”

Her jaw dropped. “You’re not serious.”

“The second day, I rode to Knoxville on an oil truck.”

“And where did you sleep that night?” When he hesitated, she gave him a stern look. “I don’t want the censored version.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He sketched a salute, though he was a little surprised at her forthrightness. The Kate Bowdrey he remembered had been vitally concerned with appearances and propriety. “A very nice woman took pity on me as I stood on a downtown corner in the pouring rain and she let me sleep on the couch in her apartment.”

“‘A very nice woman?’ Does that mean prostitute?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“You must have been so excited.”

Dixon gave a hoot of laughter. “How would you know that?”

“I have a teenage son. I can imagine how he and his friends would react.” She grinned mischievously. “How long did you stay in Knoxville?”

There would be no fooling Mrs. LaRue, would there? “A few months. I got a job playing guitar in a bar, but the bar changed management, and music styles. Then my…roommate…and I had a disagreement and I decided to move on. At least this time I had a car, so I headed west on I–40 toward Nashville.”

Daphne brought their drinks. She stood close enough that her hip brushed Dixon’s shoulder as she set down the mugs. “Anything else?” There was no mistaking the message underlying her simple question.

“Don’t think so,” Dixon said without emphasis. Daphne pouted all the way back to the serving counter.

Kate’s eyes twinkled as she sipped her latte. “That was quite adept of you.”

Dixon shrugged. “She’s nice enough, but my hair’s longer than hers. I couldn’t handle it.”

“So what happened in Nashville?”

He took a long draw from his coffee. “Didn’t get there. At least, not right away.”

“Why not?”

“Well, this was a used car, see, and I was a dumb kid. ’Bout as soon as I got it up to seventy miles an hour on the interstate, parts started popping off. I left a fender in Knoxville and a couple of springs in Dobbin, about eight miles west. The muffler dropped off in Timothyville.”

Kate shielded her face with her hand. Her shoulders were shaking.

“Things got loud, then, but I was bound and determined to make Nashville. When the transmission dropped, though, I knew I was done for.”

“Oh, goodness.” She gasped with laughter. “I imagine you might. What did you do?”

“I walked to the nearest town—’bout five miles, I guess. The first gas station I came to had a Help Wanted sign in the window. I didn’t have much money and I had this seriously broken automobile. So—”

“Kate LaRue, I haven’t seen you in weeks!” A willowy blonde wove through the tables, approaching like a ship at full sail. “Where have you been keeping yourself?”

Kate got to her feet to return an enthusiastic hug. “The kids and I spent some time at the beach after Mary Rose’s wedding. How are you, Jessica?”

“I’m just fine, except for being a bit damp.” Her glance took in Kate’s wrinkled clothes. “You must have gotten caught in the downpour, too.” Dixon thought her smile looked a little spiteful. Then her gaze turned to him and all the spite smoothed away into frank interest. “Hello there. I don’t think we’ve met.”

“Oh, but you have.” Kate put a hand on the blonde’s arm. “Jessica, this is Dixon Bell. Dixon, you remember Jessica Allen? She married Jimmy Hyde, who’s now the district attorney.”

Dixon put out his hand. “Sure, I remember. Good to see you again, Jessica.”

“Dixon Bell?” Her voice went high with surprise, and then she was clutching him around the neck—not nearly the enjoyable experience Kate’s hug had been. Though she was a lovely lady, he felt absolutely no desire to hold Jessica Hyde in return, and he drew back as soon as possible.

“Dixon Bell.” Jessica shook her head, resting her hands on his chest. “I would never have believed it. We wondered about you for simply years. You sit right down and tell me where you’ve been all this time.” She grabbed his wrist with one hand and turned a chair from a nearby table around with the other, then sat down, forcing him to sit, too. As an afterthought, she looked up at Kate. “Sit with us, Kate. I know you must be dying to hear about what Dixon’s been doing.”

Kate stayed standing, and Dixon knew he was doomed. “I most certainly am. But I have a couple of errands I can’t put off any longer. So I’ll let you two talk and I’ll catch up later.”

As she pulled the strap of her purse over her shoulder, Dixon rose to his feet again and moved so that he blocked Kate’s exit. He put a hand on her elbow. “It was great to run into you.” Leaning close, he brushed her soft cheek with his lips and got a whiff of the rose and spice scent that was her perfume. “I’m going to call you,” he promised in a whisper. “Soon.”

When he straightened up, she was staring at him like a startled rabbit. “I—I…” She took a deep breath. “Thank you for the coffee.” As soon as he stepped out of her way, she hurried past him to the door of the shop. Dixon watched through the window as she braved the rain to unlock the door of the green Volvo she’d arrived in. In another second, she was gone.

He took a deep breath of his own and prepared to face the ordeal ahead. “So, Jessica, you and Jimmy are married. Kids?”

She put a hand on his arm as he sat down. “Well, of course. Three boys, all of them playing ball just like you and Jimmy did. But I’m not the one who disappeared for so long. Where have you been?”

“Here and there.” The story lost a lot of its pizzazz with the wrong audience. “Spent some time in Texas…”

KATE SHIVERED in her wet clothes as she came into the air-conditioned house from the steamy warmth outside. The absolute quiet reminded her that she only had an hour before she had to pick Kelsey and Trace up at summer school. In that hour she needed to get to the dry cleaner’s and the hardware and grocery stores. She gasped as she realized she’d completely forgotten to collect the historical society programs from the printer’s next door to Drew’s Coffee Shop, which was why she’d gone downtown to begin with. What had happened to her mind? At two o’clock this afternoon, she’d been sure of completing all her errands on time.

And then Dixon Bell had stepped back into her life.

She couldn’t quite believe he’d reappeared so suddenly, after thirteen years away. But he’d left with the same abruptness. Just a few days after graduation, while the members of their class were still celebrating by staying up late and sleeping until noon, Dixon had stopped showing up for the parties, picnics and get-togethers they’d thrown that summer before college.

No one in town had mentioned him since, not even his grandmother. Kate couldn’t remember anyone who was particularly upset by his absence—he hadn’t dated, had come to the prom by himself, she recalled. If he had been good friends with one or more of the boys, she didn’t know who it would have been. Dixon was just…Dixon. A little weird, a lot unfocused, apt to go off by himself with the guitar he’d always carried to make music only he really listened to.