That Touch of Pink (3 page)

“I paid for the weekend he donated to the auction. The check cleared already. And he's refusing to make good on the deal. Maybe you'd prefer Indian giver?”

“Native American would be a little more politically correct,” Jamie pointed out.

“Politically correct would be for him to give me what I paid for—a weekend campout so Kimmie can earn her nature badges. I should have seen this coming. After all, he's a man. By definition, that makes him a slacker.”

“Are we talking about Riley Dixon or your ex-husband?”

“They're interchangeable,” Abby said.

“Is he as hot as I've heard?”

“Who? Fred?”

“I've seen Fred,” Jamie pointed out. “I meant Dixon.”

“He wouldn't have to wear a bag over his head in public,” she grudgingly admitted.

An image of the man's dark hair, blue eyes and flawless physique flashed through her mind and Abby braced herself as her stomach lurched from the same elevator sensation she'd experienced just a short while ago. But, he was a reminder about judging a book by its cover—a hunk with the face of a hero and the heart of a welsher.

“So he's really good-looking?” Jamie pushed, obviously wanting details.

“He's weathered,” she said carefully. “A little bent and battered, but buff in all the right places.”

“So you like him,” Jamie declared in a grating I-knew-it tone.

“I don't like him. But I'm not blind and I don't tell lies in spite of the fact I don't like him. Here's the thing. When he told me he wouldn't take us on the campout, I got that Fred-feeling in my gut.”

“You're telling me Dixon is a shallow jerk who'd leave you in the lurch to try out for a TV reality show?”

“It's not the trying-out part. It's the finding-Ms.
Fear-Factor
-who-jumped-on-his-bandwagon-and-his-bones-after-which-he-never-came-back part,” Abby said, remembering that particular brand of devastation. “And I don't know if Dixon would do that. I never in
tend to find out. Because in my book, breaking one's word on first acquaintance is a giant red flag.”

“From what I've heard, Riley Dixon is a hard worker. A former Army Ranger who's built a profitable security business in under five years. Soldiers don't get to be Rangers by slacking off.”

“Then we're back to welsher.” She met her friend's gaze and sighed. “Okay. I'll admit to some lingering hostility toward the man who shirked most of his responsibilities—the most important one being his daughter.”

“I understand why you'd have this over-the-top reaction. Kimmie doesn't have a dad, and you've got to be both mother and father to her.”

“That's all true. But I've come to terms with it.” She ignored her friend's raised eyebrow. “Part of coming to terms with it is knowing my limitations. I bought Riley Dixon to fulfill the father role for the weekend. How was I to know that he's a macho jerk who breaks his promises? In my book, that makes him a Fred The Flake clone.” Abby huffed out a breath that lifted her bangs off her forehead. “Like all men, Riley Dixon is ducking his obligations.”

“Not all men are that way.”

“No? Couldn't prove it by me.”

“Let me rephrase. Not all men are flakes. Just the ones you meet.”

“Why is that? I'm a high school librarian. Every day I deal with kids who don't return books, don't turn in assignments and just generally don't do what they're supposed to do. It's my job to mold them into capable, dependable, efficient, honest adults. Admittedly, I've only been doing this for a little over three years, but I've
had students come back and say I've made a difference in their lives. So is it just bad karma that I'm surrounded by irresponsible, dishonest men? Am I a flake magnet? Should I roll over and let Mr. Macho walk all over me? What recourse do generally law-abiding people have when someone doesn't live up to their obligation?”

“Did you or did you not say he offered to reimburse you?”

“He did.”

“So take the money and hire one of those mounted police guys. I hear they're quite impressive in their tight trousers and red coats. The hats are a little funny-looking, though.”

One corner of Abby's mouth twitched in amusement. “Texas is a little far from the Canadian border to make that a viable solution.”

“Too bad,” Jamie sighed. “What about a Texas Ranger? The hats are better, and they're right in our own backyard.”

“That's law enforcement, not nature guide.”

“They're hot, too.”

Abby stared at her. “Maybe you need to go home and take a cold shower.”

“I don't want to go home,” she said, an odd look on her face.

Instantly alert, Abby stopped pacing. “Is something wrong, Jamie?”

“No.” She shrugged.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Abby asked. “Does it have anything to do with the guy your parents bought you at the auction?”

A smile curved up the corners of Jamie's mouth. “Yeah. A little. I'm dealing with it. No big deal.”

Abby had learned that if her friend didn't want to talk about something, nothing could drag it out of her. So they might as well go back to the problem at hand. “Okay. Let's come up with some really creative grounds for suing Riley Dixon.” Abby was glad when her words produced a laugh.

“So you refuse to let him reimburse you and just camp out with Kimmie in your new backyard and take her to the park for a walk?”

“No can do,” Abby said. “Not authentic enough for The Bluebonnets. It's gotta be real. At least one night living off the land. With dirt and no flushing toilets. Microwave bad, fire good,” she said in her best caveman voice.

Jamie laughed. “That seems pretty extreme.”

“Don't tell Kimmie that. She's got her heart set on getting all her badges. You know her. When she gets something in her head, she's going to do it. And come hell or high water, she'll get it perfect. I keep telling myself that determination is a good quality in an adult.”

“There's got to be another way.”

“I don't want to find another way. I had it all figured out and paid for.” She held her hands out, palms up. A helpless gesture, and she hated feeling helpless—maybe even more than she hated relying on a man. “What am I going to do?”

“Talk to him again.” Jamie shrugged as if it were that easy.

“Are you saying you won't sue him?”

“No. I'm saying people are too sue-happy these days when a simple conversation could save time, aggravation and money. He's ex-military. Surely he's a rational, logical man.”

Abby sighed. “Listen to yourself. Any self-respecting legal eagle would take this case and run with it for all the billable hours they could get. You, my friend, are going to starve.”

“I can afford to take off a few pounds.”

“You are so lying. And you're too thin. You're sure there's nothing you want to talk about?”

“No. Except I know you don't really want to sue Riley Dixon. You just needed to let off steam.”

“Busted,” Abby said.

“And I suspect the name-calling did wonders for your anger abatement level.”

“You think slacker, welsher, jerk and flake 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?”