Dew still clung to the grass as Maggie helped Dixie move the last of the barricades into place. Today Whistlers Bend was a no-vehicle town. Walkers and runners only. For the past three days she and Nick, BJ and Flynn, Maggie and Jack, and Gracie and Wes had worked like mad to take registrations and donations and get volunteers to hand out water and juice at checkpoint.
“Does Nick need help setting up tables for his great pizza bash after the event?” Maggie asked.
“Wes and Gracie are helping him with that.”
Maggie stuffed her hands in her jean pockets. “How long do you think you can avoid him, Dixie?”
“I hear Andy’s back, horny little devil that he is.”
“Forget Andy. We’re talking about Nick. He’s crazy about you. Everyone in town appreciates that. They’ve forgiven him for the lies. Heck, he’s a town hero. Wes and Gracie are more serious than ever.”
“And I’m glad about all that, I really am. BJ will remember to have the runners assemble ahead of the walkers, then participants with strollers and or those pulling their kids in wagons, right?”
Maggie let out a long sign. “You’re impossible. You told BJ three times. She went to medical school. She can handle it. Don’t worry. Whistle For The Cure will be a big success, not only financially but by making everyone aware. Every woman will get a card explaining self-breast examinations and the importance of mammograms.”
“Do we have enough whistles for everyone?”
“The whistles Nick donated, along with the T-shirts and all the food that he spent the past three days cooking. I tell you the aroma coming from Nick’s Place has the whole town drooling. You need to understand him, Dixie. The lying was part of the job, not the man.”
“Seems to me they’re one in the same. How can I separate them?”
“He caught the bad guys, Dix. BJ has her family home with her and Flynn. The FBI is one step nearer to closing down sweatshops that exploit children and use profits for terrorism, prostitution and a lot of other unsavory things.”
“He could have told me, Maggie. I’m supposed to trust him when he couldn’t trust me?”
“Just forgive him. I’ve forgiven Jack and BJ’s forgiven Flynn. They did what they thought was best to protect us.”
“Nick called the shots on this. He could have included me in the loop. I was in on this from the beginning. I found clues, helped him with the whole operation. He told me nothing.”
“He had his reasons.”
“And I have mine. Lies don’t work for me.” Dixie checked her watch. “I have to go. It’s almost starting time.” She smiled. “Let’s enjoy the day.”
She headed for the Sage and the crowd gathering there. The run’s course went from the Purple Sage, around the footpath at the lake, past the docks and old boat rental to the other end of town, then back to the town square. Twice around equaled five miles exactly. Runners would stick to the left, walkers to the right. At noon, Nick would serve pizza and iced tea and lemonade; in the afternoon, there would be homemade ice cream along with the fiddlers from the Cut Loose so everyone could dance.
She remembered dancing with Nick, and the fun they’d had and how they’d made love in the boat rental. She had to get out of Whistlers Bend. Every place she looked she thought of Nick and their time together.
She walked to the front of the crowd and said through the bullhorn, “Welcome, everyone, to the first annual Whistle For The Cure 5-K Run.”
The crowd cheered, then started to run or walk. Dixie managed to avoid Nick, even passed on his incredible pizza, which everyone raved about. She ate an apple while getting the trophies ready for presenting. An apple was a pitiful substitute for mushroom pizza. Maybe this was a sign she should start on that diet. Nah, way too extreme.
She had BJ present the trophies to the runners and walkers. Then she introduced three survivors of breast cancer from the Bend, who got the biggest applause of all for winning the biggest battle of all. They’d gotten another chance at life and she had, too; she had to remember that. Dreams were meant to be followed.
Night fell and the town emptied, returning to normal. It took three hours to pick up litter and take down barricades, then Dixie headed to the Whistle Stop to write an article about the event. Even old Eversole couldn’t give her grief on putting this news on the front page, complete with the pictures Wes took. Whistle For The Cure was simply too big a success.
Everyone was happy, except for her. She wanted Nick. As much as she tried to force him out of her thoughts and throw herself into the day’s activities, he had been there, running around in her head all day, driving her nuts, making her sad. But what could she do? Say, Oh, Nick darling, I forgive you and will trust you for the rest of my life.
She could say that, but she wouldn’t mean it. He’d lied a lot and it mattered.
When she left the Whistle Stop office, it was nearly 2:00 a.m. She walked the deserted streets from the office to Gracie’s. A breeze ruffled the deciduous trees, which would soon be turning gold and red, the pines waiting for the snows sure to follow.
Kate and Cameron were spending the night at BJ’s to celebrate Drew’s and Pete’s return, leaving Gracie alone. But Wes would not be spending the night with her. Gracie and Wes were courting now, but no casual sex for the mother of two kids. She and Wes had decided it just wasn’t right.
Dixie went up the front walk to her sister’s. A dog barked in the distance, but other than that her footsteps were the only sound. She turned the knob to let herself in, except the door was locked. That was a good thing, meaning Gracie had taken Nick’s warning about Glen seriously. But it was also bad, because Dixie had forgotten the darn key.
Sleeping on the porch had definite appeal because she was so tired, but a bed had more. Just a few more steps, she encouraged herself, as she went around to the basement door. She found the key under the third flowerpot on the left and let herself in.
The scent of fresh paint washed over her as she flipped on the overhead lights illuminating the Hair Flair. Sinks, chairs, dryers were in place, supplies stood piled on the stairs, waiting for the new cabinets scheduled for delivery tomorrow—And Glen was staring right at her. Fatigue vanished. Apprehension settled in as he growled, “What the hell are you doing down here?”
“Why do you have a gasoline can in your…Holy cow!”
“Yeah.” His lips curled in a sour smile. “Holy cow.” He pulled a gun from his waistband.
“Does everyone own a gun these days? I hate guns,” Dixie said.
“You should have stayed with your boyfriend tonight, because I’m going to burn this place to the ground and get the insurance money. The kids are gone, Gracie’s upstairs and I sure don’t give a crap about her or you.”
Great. Now what? “Your name’s not on the deed anymore, Glen. Forget this. Go crawl back under a rock and leave Gracie and the kids alone.”
“You think you’re so damn smart. The insurance money will go to the kids, and I get the kids because I’m their papa. Knowing Gracie, she’s probably got a nice life insurance policy. And you showing up is a real good thing, now that I think about it. I bet old Gracie left the kids to you, so if I can get you out of the picture along with her, the kids and money are mine without any legal problems.”
“Hell, why do you think? I need money. My supply dried up. Word has it your boyfriend and that Wes guy had something to do with bringing down the smugglers and costing me a real sweet job with them.”
From the corner of her eye, Dixie caught sight of Gracie creeping down the steps, carefully tiptoeing around the supply boxes. Okay, now what? Keep Glen’s attention and give Gracie time to concoct some great idea, whatever that was.
“The kids are upstairs, Glen,” Dixie ventured, hoping that would change his mind or just keep his attention on her. “Kate had a sore throat.”
Gracie took another step down and Dixie added in a rush, “And Gracie isn’t alone. Wes is with her right now.”
“Gracie wouldn’t do that with the kids here. She’s all about doing things right. You’re lying through your teeth.”
“Trust me. Wes is here and Nick is on his way. We’re all going to have a midnight snack.” How pathetic an excuse!
“Well, ain’t that special.” Glen gave a cynical laugh that said he wasn’t buying this explanation for one minute. Gracie tried the next stair, except this one creaked. Gracie was the good daughter; she’d never learned to walk on the edges!
Glen spun around as Gracie snapped up a can of hairspray, yanked off the lid and zapped Glen right between the eyes before he could figure out what in the world she was doing.
He yowled in pain, dropped the gun to the new linoleum—hopefully, it didn’t make a dent—then grabbed his face as Dixie charged, capturing him in a full-body lunge, sending them both to the floor. Least he was underneath her and cushioned the impact. Glen was good for something after all!
“You’re killing me. You’re killing me,” Glen yelled. He swore and fought as Dixie sat on his butt and wrestled one arm back. Gracie tripped down the last step, sending boxes everywhere. She plopped down next to Dixie and wrangled back Glen’s other arm.
“Get off me!” Glen swore again, and Dixie grabbed a blow-dryer from the overturned box, wrapped the cord around one wrist, then the other, and pulled tight.
Dixie stared at her sister. “I knew you were a natural at this salon stuff. Nice shot with the hairspray.”
“I can’t breathe,” Glen moaned.
Gracie laughed. “I don’t care.” She said to Dixie, “Sister power. Better than ever.” They exchanged high-fives. “Guess we should call Jack.”
“Maybe Wes and Nick. Glen is part of the smuggling operation. He might have some information the FBI can use.” She poked Glen in the ribs and he grunted. “Glen here has been a really big pain for a really long time, and the creep was going to barbecue us tonight. He deserves jail and all its amenities, such as the friends he’ll meet there.”
Dixie got up, rummaged through the boxes on the steps and held up a little purple bottle. “You should show Glen here how really good you are with hair care,” she said to Gracie. “I think you should streak his hair blond. He’ll be so appealing to all his new friends in jail.”
Glen wiggled, nearly upending Gracie. “You can’t do this to me. I’ll be…Everyone will think I’m…You know what will happen to me in jail if I go there looking like that!”
Gracie sighed. “We can’t dye his hair, Dixie, unless we give him a manicure, too. Flamingo Pink. Do his toenails to match. I have some perfume samples. His new roommates will be so impressed. I have a new depilatory. We could test it out on his legs. Smooth-leg Glen could be his new name.”
“You can’t do this,” Glen wailed. “I’m sorry, okay? I should never have tried to burn you out. Don’t shave my legs! Don’t do any of this.”
Dixie dumped the purple liquid into a bowl and found a streaking brush, then handed it to Gracie as she straddled Glen’s back. “When we get done with you, Glen, you’re going to be so lovely.”
NICK PRIED OPEN ONE EYE, grabbed the cell phone from the nightstand and grumbled, “It better be good.”
“It is.”
“Dixie?” He hadn’t talked to her since their parting at the ranch. Oh, there’d been the monosyllabic exchanges over the 5-K run, but that was all. “What’s up?” he asked as he parked himself on the edge of his bed, feeling himself come awake instantly.
She said she had a hair dryer he might be interested in and he should bring Wes, that it was important and she and Gracie were sitting on something big and beautiful. She disconnected. “What the hell?”
But if Dixie was talking to him, he was listening. In the past two weeks, he’d tried everything to get her to listen to him. He’d had flowers and doughnuts delivered to her every morning, cookies at night, casseroles of linguine, lasagna and ziti. But not a word of acknowledgment till now.
He shrugged on his clothes and met up with Wes as he ambled up Gracie’s walk. “What’s going on?” Nick asked.
“Beats the hell out of me. Gracie said to bring my camera.” The light was on in the new salon, so they aimed for that. A new red canvas awning sporting Hair Flair in gold letters covered the doorway, with pots of flowers on either side. “Hi,” said Dixie as he and Wes entered. She and Gracie were sitting on someone. She gave a little finger wave. “We have a present for you.”
She got up, then Gracie did. Nick stared. “Glen? I think. What happened to his hair?”
“Don’t let them sit on me any more, man. My functionality as a male has been seriously compromised and my eyelashes are stiff as a board. They shaved my freaking legs. Isn’t there a law or something?”
Wes nudged the gas can. “I take it this isn’t the newest thing in hair care.”
Gracie sobered. “It could have been bad. But now he’s going to jail, and Dixie and I got him all gussied up for the occasion. Besides a new hairdo, he’s got a new manicure and pedicure and he’s smelling oh, so sweet. He’s all ready for the jail in Billings.”
Nick and Wes laughed and Glen barked, “I have rights, dammit, rights.”
Wes aimed his camera. “I’ll get some shots of the gas can. Send some guys down to take prints from the doors. You need to give a statement,” he said to Gracie. “Mind coming into Billings? Can’t wait to hear the whole story.” He nodded to Nick. “He can transport Glen so he won’t bother you anymore.”
“I’ll stay here and get the kids in the morning, which isn’t all that far off,” Dixie said.
Gracie purred to Wes, “I’ll change and be right back. Maybe you should help me pick out what to wear.”
Wes’s cheeks reddened to the color of Gracie’s new awning. “I…I can do that.”
They left, and Nick sat in one of the swivel styling chairs and leaned back. “Didn’t have enough action for one day? Had to scare up more?”
“This was so not my doing, except I helped with the dye job.”
Her eyes sparkled. She was made to be a reporter. She loved the action and being in on everything. How could he deny her that? “I found Glen trying to collect fire and life insurance all at one time,” she said. “I distracted him while Gracie shot him with Volumizing with Extra Hold. We tied him up, then glamorized him.”
Nick chuckled. “Takedown Dixie-style.”
“And Gracie’s.” She smiled, but there was a glint of something serious in her eyes. “There’s more. You’ll be interested in how I distracted Glen. I lied my butt off. I told Glen so many fibs I’m surprised my tongue didn’t fall out of my mouth. Funny how that happened.”
“I don’t think any of this is funny at all,” Glen mumbled.
Nick glared at Glen, who then added, “All right, all right. I’ll shut up.”
Dixie continued. “I had to save my sister and lying seemed like a very small price to pay.” She let out a big breath. “Besides, it’s not like I haven’t lied before. Truth be told, I’m probably the queen of lying. I’m sorry I’ve given you such a hard time lately. It’s just that—”
“You were hurt and this was personal,” Nick said, suddenly feeling closer to Dixie Carmichael than ever. “Does this mean we—you and me—have a chance?”
“I’m going to drive to Denver, maybe get something at the Post, maybe not. I have to try, Nick. You understand that. Heard you’re putting the finishing touches on the restaurant.”
“I’m going to cater Jack and Maggie’s wedding.”
He stood as Gracie and Wes returned. Dixie went for the stairs. He watched her go. He did a lot of that lately. And he hated it. He had his dream; she had hers. He just didn’t know how to get the two together.
By the next afternoon he still didn’t have a clue, and it wasn’t for a lack of trying. All the way to Billings and back.
He answered a knock at the front door, signed for another shipment of pasta dishes he’d ordered as Dixie came toward him, waving a letter, totally happy. Damn, he liked seeing her that way—radiant, full of life, ready for fun. He’d miss that. He’d miss her.
“What’s got you in such a good mood?” he asked as she entered the restaurant.
She gazed around. “Wow! This place is fabulous. I like the fountain in the middle and the trellis effect overhead. Cozy and not stuffy.”
“That’s what I was aiming for.” Others had stopped and complimented him on the restaurant, but none of those compliments mattered as much as Dixie’s. “So, what’s with the letter? Good news?”
“I got this from the Boston Globe. Seems they picked up that panning article I did on you and liked it. They’re interested in seeing more articles. Just freelance, of course. Still…You’re not looking all that surprised.”
That was because he was taking in every wonderful inch of Dixie Carmichael. Totally enjoying her and not paying that much attention to what she was saying. Besides, he already knew. “Hey, I’m surprised all to hell. So, tell me more.”
She gave him the squinty-eyed stare. “You did this.” She waved the letter in the air. “You got the Globe interested in me.”
“Dixie, I’m with—or was with—the FBI.”
“With newspaper connections. You admitted that when you told me the papers wouldn’t pick up my smuggling story and here’s the Globe picking up another story of mine. All that picking up seems a little too coincidental. And the Globe is in Boston. You were raised in Boston. I may not be an FBI agent, but I can put that together easy enough.”
“I sent a guy I grew up with the article. But he wouldn’t have bought it if he hadn’t liked what he read. That’s the truth. You’re not going to turn his offer down, are you? It’s a good opportunity, exactly what you want. What you deserve.” And what he didn’t want at all. But…
A grin slid across her face. “I guess I should say thanks. I won’t let you down.”
She kissed him, making him happier and sadder than he’d ever been in his life. He’d helped her realize her dream, but she was leaving and Boston was far away. “Let me fix you a celebration dinner.”
Even though she still smiled, her eyes clouded with sadness. “I…can’t. I haven’t told BJ or Maggie about the letter and I’m meeting them at the Sage—” she checked her watch “—right now and I have to pack and tie up loose ends and…Well, you get the picture.” She swallowed. “Besides, I really suck at goodbyes.”
His heart physically ached. He hadn’t thought her going would be this painful. He forced a grin. “If you’ve never driven in Boston, maybe you should fly in.”
He was just filling time, finding anything to talk about. He couldn’t give her up, not yet.
“I’ve considered that, but the Camaro is who I am and it would be like leaving everything behind.” Her voice hitched and she gazed at him. “I can’t leave everything.”
Leaving. Damn, he hated that word. Maybe because that was what the women in his life did. For whatever reason, they left him. “Well then, Dixie Carmichael, have a safe trip. I’ll miss you.”
MORNING CROWD filled the tables at the Sage as Maggie fidgeted in the booth. “I can’t believe this is our last breakfast together.” She nodded to Dixie’s car, which sat parked on the street. “How’d you fit all your stuff in a Camaro?”
BJ drummed her fingers on the tabletop. “You have maps and your AAA card and your cell’s charged and—”
Dixie stilled BJ’s fingers and continued to hold her hand. “I’ll be okay. And I’ll be back for Maggie’s wedding.”
“I bet you’ll be too busy or too caught up in your new life,” Maggie huffed.
She sounded as sad as Dixie felt. “I’d never be that busy,” she said. “I’ll be back.”
Maggie nodded at the new waitress as she refilled coffee cups, served up breakfast and took orders. “She’s okay, but she’s not you.”
Dixie needed every ounce of self-control not to jump up and help. Her waitress days were over, she reminded herself. “She’ll be fine. Waitressing takes a little getting used to, and for the customers to get used to her.”
“Have you seen Nick?”
“Day before yesterday. We said goodbye then.”
“Well then,” Maggie said as she studied her fingernails, trying to look nonchalant but failing miserably. “I suppose you don’t know about the auction.” She pulled a yellow paper from her purse and skidded it across the table to Dixie. “My, my, I wonder what it’s all about.”
Dixie read the flyer, feeling her head start to throb. “He’s selling off the restaurant? Why would he do such a thing?”
BJ took her hand. “You’re asking the wrong person, Dix, and I so think you should ask the right one.”
Dixie checked her watch. “The auction’s starting in fifteen minutes. This makes no sense.” She felt her brain fog. “What is that man doing now? Nick’s Place is his dream. He quit the FBI for it. He was ready to open, just waiting on the white rattan tables and chairs he’d ordered.”
Maggie stirred her coffee. “Guess it isn’t as big a dream as he thought. Maybe he has other dreams.” She put down her spoon and said to BJ, “Think I’ll walk on over to the auction. What about you?”
BJ stood. “Good idea.” She gazed down at Dixie. “Coming? Or going?”
“If this is something you two cooked up, I’ll—”
“No way.” Maggie dropped enough money for the coffee and a tip on the table. “Whatever Nick has planned is all his own doing and I didn’t know anything about it till this morning, when I got this flyer taped to my mailbox. Aren’t you dying of curiosity? I sure am. Maybe you should ask Nick. At least show up and find out.”
BJ smiled too sweetly. “’Course we can write you all about it. Tell you want happened.”
“You? Write? Either of you? I’ll be dead and in my grave before that happens.”
BJ added her money to Maggie’s. “Probably.” She put Angela in the stroller and followed Maggie out of the Sage.
A pout pulled Dixie’s lips together. They didn’t even see her off, wave from the sidewalk, throw rose petals in her wake, and they’d left a bigger tip for the new gal than they’d ever left for her.
What was going on? She could drive out of Whistlers Bend and get on with her life…though she’d probably combust from a terminal case of curiosity before she crossed the state line.
Five minutes, that was all it would take to stop by, see what was going on, satisfy her insatiable nosiness, and then she could leave town in peace.
Dixie added her money to the others and walked up the street to Nick’s Place. A crowd was already spilling out of the restaurant onto the sidewalk. She walked faster and started elbowing her way in as people gave her dirty looks, but suddenly she didn’t care about them—only about Nick.
She got as close as she could, till the throng became too tightly packed for her to press on. The old ladder he’d been on that first day she and Nick met lay propped against the wall. She climbed up the first two rungs. Nick had piled boxes of his new dishes on the table beside boxes of glassware beside boxes marked table linens. Other boxes stood against the wall; unassembled bistro tables lay in a heap in the corner.
She waved her hand to get his attention, and when his eyes focused on her, he smiled hugely, his eyes bright and filled with happiness, making her feel happy she hadn’t left. He wedged himself through the noisy crowd till he reached her. “What is this all about?” she asked.
“I’m selling out, Dixie.” He stepped up onto the ladder beside her and kissed her full on the lips right there in front of half the population of Whistlers Bend. “I’m going to Boston with you.” The crowd quieted, suddenly captivated by the conversation, and she couldn’t blame them—she was pretty captivated, too.
“What are you talking about?” She gestured at the restaurant. “This is what you want. You told me so. Everyone in town will swear to that.”
He kissed her again, taking her breath away. “You’re what I want.” The crowd went dead quiet, the female half—and maybe some of the males—letting out an audible sigh of appreciation. He continued. “I’m auctioning the restaurant stuff off and then selling the building to Wes for his photo studio.”
She grabbed his arms. “Nick, you hate big cities. This is a bad idea.”
“I’ll get a job in one of the restaurants there. Boston has tons of great restaurants. I can find my way around. It’s where I grew up. I got this covered, Dixie. I want us to have a chance together, and that’s not going to happen if I’m here and you’re in Boston. I’ve got to be in Boston, too, with you. I finally figured out what was wrong in my life. Women have always left me and I hated that. Then I realized it wasn’t their leaving me that was the problem, but my not going after them. I’m going after you, Dixie. I want to be with you.”
A lady in the back said that was the most romantic thing she’d ever heard, and the crowd nodded in agreement, a few people dabbed moist eyes. Nick made his way back to the auctioning table. He swung a hammer against a chunk of wood. “The first things on the auction block are the dishes.” He held up a pasta plate. “Basket-weave pattern, good quality, dishwasher and microwave safe.”
Dixie remembered the first time he’d cooked for her and he’d told her about his plans for Nick’s and… “I’ll take them all,” Dixie blurted. “Whatever you paid for them.”
Every eye focused on her, and Nick said, “Dixie? What will you do with all that china? You’re moving to Boston.”
“I’ll make a lot of friends.” She scribbled a check and passed it through the crowd making its way up to Nick.
He studied it, shook his head, then held up a wineglass. The ones with bubbles blown into the glass, which Nick had liked more than the cheaper glasses. Dixie yelled, “I’ll take them all…to go with the china.” He gave her an incredulous look and she wrote out another check and passed it forward.
“The next items,” Nick said, “are the tablecloths and napkins.” He held up one tablecloth. “The color is—”
“Italian Sunset,” Dixie said. “The same color as the Roman shades on order for the windows. A great color. I’ll take them. And I’ll take the fountain and the bistro tables.” His eyes met hers, and she remembered when he’d shown her a picture of what he’d had in mind. She wrote another check.
Nick shook his head. “Well, that brings us to the stove and—”
“I’ll take it.” How could she let someone have the stove he loved so much? “And the refrigerator.” She made out yet her check.
“That’s all I have. Except—” his eyes met hers across the crowd “—the chef.”
“He’s kind and thoughtful and brave and fun and a darn good dancer,” Maggie blurted. “And your life without Nick in it will suck.”
“All those things are true,” Dixie said. Everyone was pin-drop quiet. “I’d love to take the chef.”
He laughed and came to her and scooped her into his arms. “Sold,” he said. The crowd cheered and Nick kissed her as she wrapped her arms around his strong neck. She loved him with all her heart, every inch of him.
Nick set her down and the crowd slowly filed out of the restaurant, promising to return when the tables got delivered and Nick’s Place opened for business. Nick closed the door. “You didn’t have to do any of this, you realize. I really meant it when I said I was selling out to follow you to Boston. It wasn’t a trick.”
“But now you don’t have to.”
He picked up the checks she’d written him and put them in her hand. “I don’t need these. All I want is you.”
“Then we’ll be partners in Nick’s Place. I’m a great waitress.” She smiled. “And I wouldn’t be happy in Boston without you. You make me so happy, Nick, happier than any newspaper job ever could.”
He kissed her forehead, his lips on her skin a touch of heaven. “I’ve got some business to take care of. Me staying here wasn’t in my plans.”
“You have to tell Wes the place isn’t for sale?”
“But there’s another place. I’ll be right back, okay?”
“I can come with you.”
“You unpack our dishes and glasses.”
And she did, then put together one of the bistro tables. She was happy, really happy. She and Nick would be working together as partners.
The front door opened and Nick came in. She asked, “Did you get Wes a place for his studio?”
“Above the Whistle Stop, and he has a job on the newspaper.”
Dixie felt her eyes bulge. “Eversole agreed to hire on Wes? He’s such a skinflint I never would have imagined he’d do such a thing.”
“I have powers of persuasion with the editor—at least, I hope so.” He handed her an official-looking paper. “Bill of sale for the Whistle Stop. I bought it from Eversole for you. I know it’s not the Boston Globe, but it’s all yours, to make whatever you want of it. You gave me my dream, Dixie, the restaurant. I had every intention of following you to Boston. I wanted to give you your dream, at least partly.”
She studied the paper in her hand. “You did this for me? How did you get that geezer to sell?”
“Well, I had all these checks and Eversole likes mining a lot more than running a newspaper. He’s always wanted to try his hand at finding gold. And I think dinner every week was mentioned.” Nick laughed. “You want me to live the life I want and I want that for you with all my heart. I love you, Dixie Carmichael.”
He fished in his pocket and pulled out a filigree ring with an emerald-and-diamond setting. “This has been in the Romero family forever, and that’s what I want you to be. Celest sent it to me when I told her I was planning to marry you if you’d have me. I love you, Dixie.”
She threw her arms around his neck. “I love you, Nick, and I’ll marry you. You are my dream, the happiness I’ve always wanted.”