LITMIR.BIZ

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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.”

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