Down Home Dixie (14 page)

They sat at the picnic table with Bubba's dog curled at their feet. Kyle hadn't kicked back like this since Rivervale Bridge, and it was good to be talking guy talk. Dixie was fun, and he liked how they tossed topics back and forth, but sometimes he was hungry for the kind of things men talk about.

“My family lost a lot of members in that war,” Chad said as they watched the water spilling out of the artesian well and wending its way downhill to the lake. “Their surnames were Kershaw and Wood, Dawson, Browning and Honour. It was a terrible war in terms of how many Americans died, North and South.”

Kyle said that he'd joined the reenactors because of his love of history and his wish to memorialize everyone who fought and died. “It really has nothing to do with who my great-great-great-grandfather was,” he said.

“You know how we still feel about General William T. Sherman around here,” Bubba said, not unkindly. “My great-grandfather cursed every time he heard his name. But that was a long time ago. And, Yankee, I like you.” He punched Kyle's arm.

“Yeah,” Chad chimed in, and then he told Kyle where his reenactor group met and how he often traveled long distances to reenactments. Like Kyle's group, Chad's donated net proceeds from their sponsored reenactments to historic preservation.

“You could visit a meeting sometime,” Chad offered. “At least forty percent of our members are transplants from the North. You wouldn't feel out of place.”

By the time they'd finished their beer, Kyle was sure he wouldn't. “I'd like that,” he said.

They all stood. “Say, Kyle, those rocks need resetting around that well,” Bubba said.

“I figure if I could make a waterfall to tumble over the rocks, it would be really pretty.”

“I'm a bricklayer, and I can supply the mortar. How about if I drop by some Saturday and we see what we can accomplish.”

“Great idea,” Kyle said. “You, too, Chad?”

“Count me in.”

Sharing a spirit of compatibility, the three of them went back to the workshop, where Kyle asked Bubba to hold one of the birdhouses steady while he glued on a perch. “Say, Kyle,” Bubba said, squinting a bit. “Doesn't this bird palace look a lot like Dixie's new house?”

Kyle was amused. “You noticed,” he said.

“Why, you've put in the dormer windows and even that funny little niche by the front door.”

Kyle had taken his time over this particular birdhouse, a surprise for Dixie. Mayzelle had mentioned on the sly that Dixie's birthday was coming up soon.

“She's not supposed to see it until her birthday,” Kyle said. “Don't tell her, okay?”

“Okay. She'll be pleased about it. Dixie does like pretty things.”

Kyle sent Bubba on his way with one of his birdhouses for Katie. After they left, he went in the house and found Dixie coiling up the iron's cord. She'd ironed his uniform, and it hung on the stand beside her own clothes.

“I like Bubba, just as you said I would,” he told her.

“That's good. How about if I invite him and Katie for dinner soon?”

“Go for it.”

She'd tuned the radio to the classical-music station out of Columbia. It was playing a waltz, something elegant and Strausslike. He pulled her into dance position and swooped her into the hall.

“I didn't realize you could dance like this!” Dixie exclaimed.

“What else don't you know about me?” Her eyes were bright and she smelled of spray starch, which inexplicably turned him on.

“I don't have a clue whether you like turnips,” Dixie said, matching him step for step as he twirled her toward the staircase. “Which I might serve in a salad when we have Bubba and Katie over.”

“I'll try the turnips, but I can't promise anything.”

“I'll call Katie and ask them for tomorrow night.”

“Chad, too?”

“If you like.”

“I like,” he said, stopping suddenly and running his hand lower until he encountered warm flesh.

“You ready to make love?” Dixie asked as she nuzzled his neck.

“Maybe. Since we'll be busy tomorrow night.”

She unbuttoned his shirt. “I'm busy right now. Why aren't you?”

As always, there was no resisting her. “Have you ever made love on an ironing board?” he asked playfully.

“
Eeew.
Think of something else.”

He swung her into his arms and climbed the stairs with her à la Rhett Butler and Scarlett O'Hara, except that the staircase wasn't grand and Dixie was whooping with laughter. When he deposited her on the bed, she reached up and pulled him down on top of her. And then they were both very busy indeed.

The following Saturday morning was Dixie's birthday. She exclaimed at great length over Kyle's present of the birdhouse, which she loved, and fixed them a true Southern breakfast complete with eggs, sausage, grits and biscuits. Her grandmother called, her sister and Voncille, too. She and her relatives laughed a lot when they were on the phone, and they had so many things to say to each other that it was hard to hang up.

After she finished her conversation with Voncille, Kyle appeared in the kitchen doorway. “I'm considering what I'm going to do today. Do you have to work?”

“No, all's quiet on the real estate front.”

“Nothing from Lana Pillsbry on that house you showed her?”

“Not a word. I'm worried. I hope she doesn't find something else.”

“Hey,” he said. “She'll buy it.”

“There's many a slip 'tween the cup and the lip in this business.”

“I'm supposed to go to Camden and tend to a couple of horses. It's your birthday, so why don't you ride along with me. If you haven't planned anything better, that is.”

Dixie stood up. It was almost as if he'd been reading her mind; she wanted to spend the day with him. “Sounds great. I'll be ready in a jiff.” She shot him a happy smile as she hurried upstairs to her bedroom and changed into jeans and a sweater.

When she came downstairs, Kyle was jingling his keys, impatient to be going.

“I could fix lunch,” she said. “We could have a birthday picnic.”

He glanced at his watch. “I won't be hungry for a long time after that humongous breakfast. We'll grab something to eat when we're ready.” He slid a companionable arm across her shoulders as they walked toward the truck.

Their mood lightened even more once they were on the road with the greening trees whizzing past, the black pavement unfurling before them. As he drove, Kyle explained the work he'd been doing for Mac McGehee, the farrier who was still recovering from a stroke. “He won't be back to normal for a long time. Maybe he won't be well enough to work at all. He offered me a chance to buy his equipment, take over his customers.”

“What about your business in Ohio?” Dixie asked.

“I spoke with Harry who's still covering for me. He's got it under control.” Kyle didn't say anything more than that, and Dixie didn't press him for more details. She was reluctant to seem too eager for him to change his life around. He'd said he was considering a move to South Carolina, but she realized that any final decision in that direction should be made by Kyle alone.

When they arrived in Camden, Kyle drove through quiet streets to a stable on the outskirts of town, parking in the shade of an enormous willow oak. As soon as they were out of the truck, a short squat man stepped out of the paddock and hobbled toward them, greeting Kyle warmly.

“Jarvis Wilfield, this is Dixie Lee Smith,” Kyle said, drawing her forward with an arm around her shoulders.

“We couldn't have managed without Kyle to help us out,” Jarvis told Dixie, his eyes lighting up as he shook her hand. “He's a godsend.”

Dixie murmured something appropriate and followed the men into the cool shadowy stable. In a stall toward the rear, a big roan was peering over the door.

“That's the one,” Jarvis said, leading the way. Dixie inhaled the heady scents of hay and feed and horse while the two men led the roan outside. He was a sturdily built gelding, and Dixie followed them into the paddock.

“Old Dexter here is a fine horse,” Jarvis said. “He works weddings, mostly. Local brides like to hire Dex and his surrey for their departure from the church, and he loves the duty. Trouble is, he threw a shoe the other day and we've got a big wedding coming up this weekend.”

Kyle stroked Dexter's flank before bending to pick up the horse's foot. He inspected it carefully. “Not a problem,” he said. “We'll set up my equipment and take care of it.”

As Jarvis tied Dexter loosely to a fence rail, Kyle and Dixie went back to his truck where he opened the back hatch. “First the anvil,” Kyle said. “Then the stand.” Kyle placed the anvil carefully on the stand and directed Dixie to reach for two farrier's aprons hanging on hooks inside the truck. When they reentered the paddock, Dexter, waiting patiently, turned his head at their approach.

Dixie had always liked horses, but ever since her grandfather sold the pony he'd kept at the farm during her childhood, she hadn't had many chances to ride.

“Hello, Dexter,” she said, wishing he could talk back. However, this horse was no chattery Mr. Ed. He blinked patiently, his long lashes dark and feathery, and whinnied softly as she stroked his face and rubbed his ears.

Kyle, acting very professional, ran his hand along Dexter's leg. Facing in the same direction as the horse, he bent so that his knees supported the horse's hoof. Dexter didn't seem to mind; he was more interested in whisking his tail back and forth to chase away a horsefly.

Dixie stood back and watched as Kyle efficiently scraped out the dirt packed between the hoof wall and the V-shaped pad toward the back of the hoof. “I might as well put you to work,” Kyle said to Dixie. “You interested in trying this?”

Not one to be left out, she answered, “Sure!”

Kyle stepped aside so that she could move into position. As Kyle instructed, she picked Dexter's hoof up off the ground. Kyle handed her a metal brush. “Brush away the debris until the hoof is clean,” he told her.

When Dixie had completed the task, she glanced up at Kyle, who was standing nearby. “Now what?”

“We change places,” he said.

Dixie moved aside, and Kyle carefully used a knife to trim a good quarter of an inch from the edge of the hoof. He smoothed the hoof's edge with a metal file called a rasp. “I bet you didn't realize you were going to witness a horse's pedicure today, did you?”

She laughed. “Hey, it's my birthday. Amazing things could happen.” She was thinking of that sale to Lana and what a great present it would be if Lana called today and told her she'd take the house.

Kyle turned the rasp over and used it to even out the bottom of the hoof. Then he left Jarvis to murmur encouraging words to Dexter before going to the truck and heating up the propane forge.

Staying well back from the work area, Dixie perched on a nearby stone wall.

“These flames heat to over 2000 degrees Fahrenheit,” Kyle said. Muscles rippled in his arms as he readied his equipment. “Hand me that pair of tongs over there, will you?” He smiled at her, the sun glinting off his hair.

Holding the horseshoe with the tongs, Kyle placed it in the forge. Minutes later, when he opened the door, Dixie reeled from the blast of heat. Kyle carried the very hot shoe to the anvil for shaping. Kyle hammered the metal thin on one side, explaining that he was turning up the metal around the shoe's edges so that it wouldn't shift on the horse's foot.

Kyle had to return the shoe to the forge several times before the shape was perfect. When he was satisfied, he smoothed the edges on a power grinder. Back in the paddock, he bent down under the horse again and held the shoe against the hoof. As he kept the shoe in place, Kyle tapped nails through precut holes. “The angle of the nails is important,” he said. “When it's right, the nail's point emerges through the hoof wall.”

When all the nails were hammered in, Kyle set the foot on a metal stand and snipped off the nail tip. He smoothed their edges with the rasp and directed Dixie as she brushed on a clear sealer. Through it all, the horse stood quietly, an amused glint in his eyes as if entertained by the mysterious antics of humans.

“There, that's done,” Kyle said. “Good boy, Dexter.” He stroked the horse's neck.

Jarvis came out of the stable, all smiles. Together they led Dexter back to his stall, and Jarvis gave Dixie a carrot to feed him. Dexter seemed unaffected by his experience, and Jarvis seemed much relieved that no bride would be disappointed this weekend for lack of a proper conveyance for her wedding.

With Dexter properly shoed, Kyle forged corrective shoes for a Tennessee walker before trimming the hooves of a gentle mare who worked with a therapist for visually impaired children. By the time they were ready to leave, it was well past lunchtime. The hours had passed so quickly that Dixie had hardly noticed. She understood now why Kyle loved his work.

They bought a bucket of hot wings and a couple of Yoo-hoos at a local take-out place near the edge of town and stopped to eat a late lunch at a small picnic area off the highway. A lonely swamp stretched into the distance, the reeds along the shore waving gently in the wind. From a nearby cypress, a blue jay chided them for disturbing his territory. A lazy turtle ambled out from under the lone weeping willow and stared for a moment before drawing its head and feet back into his shell.

They spread their food and drinks on a circular concrete picnic table with a wide-angle view, polishing off the wings one by one.

“Now you have firsthand knowledge of what I do for a living,” Kyle said. He smiled at her across the table.

Dixie reached for another piece of chicken. “I'm impressed with the way you relate to the animals,” she said truthfully.

He picked up her hand and kissed it. “It meant a lot to have you with me today.”

“I liked it, too,” she replied, surprised that he'd say so.

“You'll come with me again sometime?”

Sometimes Kyle was so dear, like this morning when he gave her the clumsily wrapped birdhouse that he'd crafted just for her. “Far be it from me to shirk work of any kind,” she said warmly. “Especially when there are hot wings involved.”

This had been a perfect day, a wonderful birthday, and she wished it didn't have to end. Kyle must have been of the same mind, because as they were cleaning up the site, he said, “Say, Dixie. Have you ever made love under a weeping willow?”

She laughed, delighted that he'd suggest it. “No, but there's always a first time.”

Kyle waggled his eyebrows at her and went to the truck to fetch a blanket. She helped him spread it under the tree, and he took her hand. “Dixie, Dixie,” he murmured. “What am I going to do about you?”

“I have some indecent suggestions,” she told him, arching her brows as he drew her close. He began to undress her, letting clothes fall where they would, and she crossed her arms across her chest.

“You're so beautiful,” he said. “Let me see you.” He took her arms and uncrossed them, exposing her to his gaze. Then slowly he undressed until they were naked together.

“We're like Adam and Eve,” she said softly, and he smiled.

“Without the fig leaves.”

The sunshine filtering through the filigree of branches bathed them in a delicate shimmering light, the breeze whispered on their bare skin. Kyle's eyes were dark and glinting with gold, and for a moment, she thought she divined a deeper emotion in their depths. She took a moment to marvel how love had flowed so easily into her life, taking its form in him. Her perception trembled on the verge of what she was ready to articulate, and she dared to hope that he was ready, too.

But he didn't speak. His arms went around her. It seemed natural to come together there, to hold each other in that cool, shadowy refuge as he drew her down to the blanket.

Caught up in the magic of the moment, all at once Dixie's senses opened like the blossom of a flower. Touching, tasting, inhaling his quickened breath; her heart racing, her throat vulnerable to his kisses, her mouth crushed against his. His hands cooling her hot breasts, his lips drawing her nipples deeply into his mouth. Her greediness for Kyle knew no bounds, and she was lost in a haze of passion. No, not lost but found, and it was so good, so right. When his heart shuddered against hers, she rose to meet him, her world imploding along with his.

Afterward, she lay with her lips in the hollow between his collarbone and throat, her eyes closed, realizing that she had never known such joy. When she opened her eyes, the late-afternoon sun had tinged the swamp with amber light and gilded the branches of the willow. The air was hushed around them, and it was as if they were the only people in the world. Dixie would have stayed there until the night enfolded them, but a chill twilight had begun to spread across the marsh, and they agreed that they must go.

Before they left, Kyle held Dixie in his arms for a long moment.

“Our lovemaking is like a communion of souls,” he said. “We're special, Dixie. I never expected to find a woman as exciting as you.”

“I never figured I'd find a man who could appreciate me.”

He chuckled and slapped her lightly on the rump. “We'd better get out of here before Lizard Man turns up. Didn't that guy who saw him have a bucket of fried chicken beside him on the car seat?”

Dixie laughed. “Yes, but all we have left are the bones of a bunch of chicken wings. I'm not too sure even Lizard Man would want those.”

They gathered up the blanket and their picnic things, and Kyle took her hand as they walked back to the truck.

As Kyle drove toward home, it occurred to Dixie that her thirtieth birthday could turn into the kind of night on which a woman who has made up her mind to find a husband, maximized her chances and found the perfect man could expect a proposal of marriage. Maybe later they could walk down the dock and gaze at the stars, giving Kyle a chance to pop the question. Wrapped in a cocoon of pleasure and anticipation, she fantasized about the possibility on the drive back to Yewville.