Pretend Mom (5 page)

Uncle Paul was a big man, similar in
many respects to a German tank. Dixie stared, wide-eyed at the
thick mass of gray hair sweeping across a wide forehead that she
barely recognized, and deep-set blue eyes that cut through her on
contact. He pushed Emily aside as though she was a pesky fly in his
way.

"So," he flagrantly admonished Dixie,
giving her a quick, but thorough, glance, "you finally decided to
come home, did you?" He paused, waiting only seconds before
continuing his tirade. "Well? Come on, let's have it. What's in the
Will?"

Dixie blinked in astonishment. What on
earth was her uncle talking about? And why did he tower menacingly
over her as though he meant to do her in?

Swinging her feet to the floor, she
braced herself to stand—and, ignoring the wincing pain from her
ankle, she looked directly at him. She knew she'd have to do
battle, but she hadn't planned on doing it with her
family.

"What Will? Who's Will? What are you
talking about, Uncle Paul?"

His temper out of control, his voice
boomed like thunder. "Don't play games with me, Dixie. You know
exactly what I'm talking about. You came home to find out if your
father left this house to you, didn't you?"

Dixie's mouth dropped open, and she
leaned against the wall near her bed.

"I came home to rest, and visit, Uncle
Paul. That's all."

"Rest hell!" he raved, his eyes
narrowing. "You're not fooling anyone with that act. You're not
some simple little idiot. You're here about the Will so don't try
to deny it. Well … we'll settle it once and for all before you
leave, I guarantee it."

What anger! But what was he talking
about? The thought of a Will had never entered her mind. As far as
Dixie was concerned, the house, this house, if that's what he was
talking about, belonged to her stepmother, and that's all her
father had to leave anyone. He hadn't been a rich man. It had
absolutely nothing to do with her, and she wouldn't change it if
she could.

Naturally, she hoped Emily wouldn't
sell it until the boys were grown, but even so, it wasn't her or
anyone else's business. Not even her uncle's.

Resting her forehead on the bedpost she
hesitated to say anything, afraid she might agitate her uncle
further. She hadn't come home to fight, and didn't want to fight,
with anyone. Her head was spinning, and thinking became all but
impossible.

She winced as she moved on her foot,
and her ankle throbbed with pain even though Emily had wrapped it
well. "Look, Uncle Paul, I've come home for a much needed rest. A
rest—that's all. I've had a very hectic schedule for the past three
years and I'm tired. Worn out. I haven't the least notion what
you're raving about. Or why you're looking at me like
that."

"Then start explaining!" he
demanded.

"Explaining! Explaining
what?"

Her Uncle's face redded.

Emily peeked her head through the
doorway, then edged her way into the room slowly, guilt marring her
features. Apparently from the look on her ashen face she felt
completely intimidated by Uncle Paul. Dixie had to do something.
Could this be the reason Emily needed Dixie's help? She could
understand that. Her stepmother had been placed, innocently, into a
dangerous position with Uncle Paul.

"Leave Dixie alone, Paul. Can't you see
she's worn out and in pain? She's been through an ordeal." Emily
weakly tried to defend her. "Why just yesterday she
nearly—"

"I don't care what she's been through.
I quit caring about any of you, long ago. John Kincaid had a chance
to better himself years ago and wouldn't take it 'cause he couldn't
imagine this land being strip-mined."

"He couldn't bear the thought …" Emily
began.

"Yes, so his wife and family did
without all those years, because of his stubborn foolishness. So he
lost out with the money. But he had the old home place. He saved
that, and I must admit I'm glad. Even if he was a fool, he saved my
birthplace—my sister's and mine—your mother, Dixie. Okay, so he
saved the place, now I'm here to take over. I've let this go far
too long, as it is. I've merely been waiting for you to return
home, so we can settle things once and for all."

Emily's mouth shot open to say
something.

Uncle Paul cut Emily a look of complete
indifference before returning his attention to Dixie. "Stay out of
this, Emily, it isn't your affair. This is Johnson
business!"

Dixie felt herself turn red, as her
temper flared. Johnson business indeed! "Now wait just a minute,
Uncle Paul. In the first place you can't just march in here and
start acting like some dictator. This is still Emily's home. Mom is
as much family as you, and has been for twenty years. She
practically raised Audrey and me. You can't come into her house,
and talk to her like that. She's earned the right to call it her
home."

An ominous black cloud seemed to hover
overhead. Her uncle lowered his voice, apparently so Emily couldn't
hear. "Everyone says you've come back for your
inheritance."

"Then everyone is wrong," she
snapped.

"Are you saying you don't care what
becomes of this house, this land?" he asked.

"I'm saying I have no inheritance, here
or anywhere else. I make my own way, and have for years. All my
parents ever had is this house. Emily's house, no—her home. Of
course I care about it. It's my folks' home. It's where Mom and the
boys live. I care. But it's theirs, not mine. You better remember
that, Uncle Paul. Just for your general information, that decision
was made years ago, when Dad was still very much alive and well. He
made his own Will, in his own handwriting, stating the house would
go to Emily, as it rightfully should. The same as you would do for
your family."

"By God, it should never have happened.
None of this should belong to Emily, you hear? This is Johnson
land. Your dad got this land when he married your mother. I intend
seeing it stays Johnson land." Her Uncle's face turned red again,
his veins popping out on his neck, as his temper flared once more.
"Emily's not a Johnson, and you certainly don't act like one
yourself. I'm ashamed to admit we're blood kin. This land belonged
to your mother, your real mother. It's Johnson land and always will
be—or have you forgotten that?"

"Of course I haven't forgotten. But for
your information, my mother put everything in Dad's name a few
years after they were married. It was her decision. So it was his
then. Now it's Emily's—Mom's."

"You dare to call her your
mother?"

"Why not? She's practically raised me,
Uncle Paul. Emily's like flesh and blood to me."

"I want you to know that I'll do
everything in my power to see that she doesn't keep the
house."

"But why?" Dixie countered. "You have a
big beautiful home up on Beacon Hill. It's all you could ever want.
And your children want for nothing. Why this house?"

"Because, girl, I was born in this
house, raised in this house. I'm entitled! It means something to me
that your mother lived here, too. I would think it would have meant
the same to you."

Dixie studied the big burly man in
front of her with new understanding. Compassion for the situation
swamped her. Was the same Uncle that used to carry her piggyback to
the store when she was a little girl? How could it be? That man had
been so kind, so gentle, so understanding.

He'd changed, drastically. Even his
taste in clothes and refinements were different. Now, he wore
business suits and crisp white shirts. No dirty overalls for him
any longer. He was a big-shot landlord in town, a very hard to deal
with landlord, according to Emily. It was hard to believe this was
the same man who took the time to read children's stories to her on
Saturday afternoons.

Dixie closed her eyes for a moment,
trying to comprehend the situation and handle it rationally. Her
good business sense taught her to control her temper, to weigh the
facts.

"I was born here too, Uncle Paul. But
that was a long time ago. There is nothing to settle, and I have
nothing left to say to you, until you're ready to apologize to Mom
and me."

Something jolted momentarily in her
Uncle's face. "I owe no apologies. Just don't get in my way, girl.
I aim to fight for what's mine."

"Give it up, it's not worth it," she
murmured dully.

For a moment he was quiet, and then he
looked her up and down. "You—you have no right talking to me like
this. You come home after all this time. You just pull up stakes
and leave when your family needed you most. When your sister dies.
When your father was getting sicker. Well, let me tell you
something, kid, you are no Kincaid or Johnson in my book! You
deserted your folks in their time of need, and folks here won't be
forgetting that so soon."

Part of what he said was the truth and
it hit home with a sting. Dixie's eyes rolled to the ceiling,
preventing her tears from flowing and giving her a chance to
control her rioting emotions. How could mere words cut so deep, and
leave such a sharp wound? She knew it was coming; only she didn't
think it would come from family.

Emily rushed to her side. "Don't let
him upset you, dear."

Dixie gathered her strength. "Don't
worry, Mom, it's just his way of saying, welcome home."

"But I do worry," Emily huffed, pulling
Dixie to her. "I've always worried about you, dear. The sweet,
little girl who wouldn't let anyone help her get over her mother's
death. I remember how you'd sneak away to cry so no one would hear
you. The only reason you couldn't stay was because it hurt you too
much to see them dying. I knew that. I thought everyone did. You've
always kept things so bottled inside you. You were so unlike
Audrey. As if you were afraid to burden anyone with your problems.
You're so thin, and you look so tired. And … your voice
..."

Dixie started to say something, but her
uncle brushed past her in a flame of fury. "She doesn't deserve
even your pity, Emily. Now, mark my words on the matter, you
haven't heard the last of this. I'm sorry for you, Emily—you and
the boys, but I can't just let this thing go on. You're a woman,
apt to do foolish things. I can't let this house go."

Did everyone think women incapable of
thinking for themselves?

He stalked out the door, slamming it so
hard the walls vibrated throughout the house.

Dixie stared after him, and suddenly
the whole incident seemed ridiculously funny, and she and Emily
burst out laughing as they looked at each other.

***

That same afternoon Dixie went outside
to the small garden. Bored, she wanted to get out and see the
countryside, feel the sunshine, smell the good clean earth again.
She loved the fresh scent of her mom's small rose
garden.

Deciding what she wanted to work on,
she went into the kitchen for her gardening supplies, surprised and
delighted that everything was still in its place. Nothing had
changed; a comforting thought. She sighed. She found the garden
gloves in the same old drawer along with a string to tie her hair
back from her face.

The twins had just bought Emily a new
rose bush, and it needed to be planted, so she merrily continued
with the task. Engrossed in her work, she was unaware of anyone
joining her until a shadow loomed. Placing a hand over her eyes,
she squinted.

"Dixie," came the deep voice that
haunted her days and nights lately. "Is everything all right over
here?"

"Yes … of course it is,
why?"

"From the phone conversation I had with
Emily earlier, I wasn't sure. I got tied up with Ed Newton, but I
came as soon as I could."

So Emily called Mike when Uncle Paul
was over, Dixie surmised.

"Ed Newton?"

"Yeah, I bought some cows from
him."

"I never asked, but you're still
working your dad's spread, I guess."

"It's mine now. Kevin wanted no part of
it. And yes, I'm still working it. It's Amanda's and my
home."

"Well, there really was no need to
disturb you, Mike. Everything is fine." When he said nothing, she
went on. "Do you always come flying over here when there's
trouble?"

"So there was trouble?"

"Not really, we took care of it
ourselves. I suppose Mom is a little intimidated by Uncle Paul.
Most people would be. He is overbearing," she said, not bothering
to put aside her work for his company, and hoping her voice would
hold out. She didn't want to blow things out of
proportion.

"I see, so you're finally calling
Emily, Mom?"

"I'd say it's about time, wouldn't
you?"

"Absolutely." He smiled, making her
ultra-aware of her senses again. But he was silent a long time and
he hadn't moved a muscle to leave, so she looked up at him
again.

Unprepared for the increase in her
pulse rate at the sight of him, she glanced away. Dear God, was he
always this attractive, or was she just now noticing?

"Since I'm here, can I help?" He bent
down beside her, his masculine scent flaring her nostrils, and she
shot him a disproving glance.