The Hamilton Heir (7 page)

She supposed she could turn her rental car around and go home but she really didn’t want to do that. Nor did she feel it would be wrong to stay. There was always a guard on duty so she and Tim wouldn’t be in the building unchaperoned, and besides, maybe he’d just left the car there and ridden to the hospital to visit Wallace with Amy or some other member of his family.

“Right, Dawn,” she murmured sarcastically, “and pigs can fly, too. The man is here and you know it.”

Of course he was. And she found she was looking forward to going upstairs and seeing him, sharing her supper with him. Tim seldom remembered to eat when he was working. It would do him good to have a decent, home-cooked meal.

She began to smile as she started toward the entrance. This trip would have been a good idea
even if she’d had the sense to consciously plan it. Tim needed food, she needed to work on her article in the peaceful atmosphere of a nearly deserted office and she made some of the tastiest, heartiest soup in the South. What could be better?

The part-time guard saw her approaching and opened the door for her. She greeted him. “Evening, Sam. How’s it going?”

“Great, Ms. Dawn.” His nose twitched. “Hoo-whee, that smells good. What is it?”

“Homemade soup, Louisiana style. I’m taking it to Mr. Hamilton. I assume he’s here?”

“Yup. Been up there nearly all day, according to the sign-in sheet. That man’s a workin’ fool.”

“You can say that again.” She suppressed a chuckle. “Come on up and eat with us if you like. I brought plenty.”

The guard touched the brim of his cap and held the elevator door for her while he pushed the proper button. “Thank you, ma’am. I may just do that, soon as my relief gets here.”

“Good. We’ll look for you.” The doors slid closed with a solid whump.

The trip that was usually over before Dawn noticed it had begun, seemed to take forever. When the shiny brass elevator doors finally slid open on the third floor, she found, to her chagrin, that she was on edge.

Imagine that. Must be because of the unfinished article.

She stepped into the hallway carrying the
covered pot as cautiously as possible. So far, so good. The quilted cozy she’d wrapped around it insulated her hands but the pan was both heavy and cumbersome, especially since she didn’t want to hold it close to her body in case it sloshed.

Turning the knob and giving the office door a hard bump with her hip as she had her apartment door, she expected it to swing open. It didn’t budge. It did, however, rattle on its hinges. She set the soup pot on the floor and crouched beside it so she could rummage through her shoulder bag for the key.

Suddenly, Tim jerked the door open.

Still hunkered down, Dawn was so startled she lost her balance and plopped into an awkward sitting position at his feet. Feeling a bit foolish but delighted she’d chosen to wear jeans rather than change into more suitable office attire, she tilted her head up and smiled. “Hi.”

Tim was frowning. “What are you doing down there?”

“Right now? Sitting here.”

“I can see that. What I meant was, it’s Saturday. Why are you here at all?”

He held out his hand and she grasped it, letting him pull her to her feet. “I came to use the computer.”

“You don’t have one at home?”

“Nope. Never needed one till today. I get all the word processing I can stand during the week. When I’m off work I’d just as soon be out doing things, wouldn’t you?” Dawn knew what his answer would be the minute she asked.

“No.” He eyed the quilt-wrapped object on the floor. “What is that?”

“Our supper.” She was brushing invisible dust off her clothing. “Would you mind? Be careful. It’s hot.”

Tim’s scowl lines deepened. “What are you talking about? I didn’t order any food.”

“Of course you didn’t. You rarely eat properly.” As he bent to pick up the pot she sidled past him and led the way into the office.

Tim followed. “What is this stuff.”

“Soup. I made it myself.”

“You hauled a pot of hot soup all the way over here? You’re crazy. You could have been burned.”

“So far, so good,” Dawn said brightly. She pointed. “Put it right there on the counter next to the coffeemaker. One of these days I’m going to have to spring for a Crock-Pot, I suppose. In the meantime, this works fine.”

“It looks like you wrapped it in a sleeping bag.”

She began untying the ribbons that had held the cozy in place. “Actually, I made this little quilt for taking hot food to church suppers. Of course, I can always warm food on the stove there if it cools too much. Since we don’t have that option, we’d better dig in pretty soon. Either that or we’ll have to nuke it.”

“What?”

Bless his heart, he looks totally bumfuzzled,
she thought with amusement. “I brought soup,” she said as if explaining to a child. “You and I are going to eat it. Soon. Whether you like it or not. Understand?”

Tim had rolled up his shirtsleeves and shed his
usual silk tie before Dawn’s arrival. Now, he folded his arms across his chest and struck a defensive pose. “We are, huh?”

“Yes, we are.” She grinned at him. “You’ll love it. I made it myself. From scratch.”

“Why didn’t you just open a can?”

“Where’s the adventure in that?” she joked. “I didn’t think to bring bowls so we’ll have to spoon it out of coffee mugs.”

“Suppose I’m not hungry?”

She eyed him mockingly and shook her head. “You’re starving. I can hear your stomach growling all the way over here. It sounds worse than Beau’s does when his supper’s late.”

“It does not.” He placed the flat of one hand over his abdomen and gave her a doubtful look.

Dawn laughed. “Well, maybe not, but I’ve known you long enough to know that when you’re working, you almost always skip meals.”

“That’s true.”

“Besides, it would be impolite to refuse to taste it.”

“I suppose it would.” A lopsided smile began to spread across Tim’s handsome face and his eyes twinkled. “Guess I’ll be forced to eat some, won’t I?”

“Guess so.” She handed him a brimming mug and a spoon. “I hope it’s not too hot for you. I used a few of my mama’s favorite Cajun spices.” She bowed her head over her own steaming cup and said, “Thank You, Father, for this good food and good company. Amen.”

When she looked up, Tim was still standing there, mug in one hand, spoon in the other, staring at her.

“That was sure short and sweet,” he said. “When my father says grace he usually covers everything from the sorry state of the world to the price of paper. When I was a kid we could count on our food getting cold before he was done.”

Dawn chuckled warmly. “I figure God already knows all that other stuff so I just thank Him and get on with it. I’ve never been comfortable with too much formality, even in church.”

“Interesting,” Tim said. He blew gently on a spoonful of soup and tasted it. “Hey. This is good.”

“And you’re surprised? I should be offended.”

“I didn’t mean it that way. I can see now why you bother making this. Does it take a long time?”

“Yes. But some things, like good soup and true friendships, are better simmered slowly.”

She smiled and made eye contact, suddenly far more self-assured than when she’d arrived. “And they’re both definitely worth the wait.”

D
awn had been so positive Tim would find fault with her efforts in writing about Stuart Meyers, she’d almost keeled over in a faint when he’d given the article high praise and had passed it on to Ed Bradshaw with orders to run it in the features section of the following week’s special supplement to the paper. Moreover, judging by the nice letters and phone calls they’d received after it had appeared, readers of the
Davis Landing Dispatch
were equally pleased and impressed.

“I’m going to make this a weekly column,” Tim told her, waving a folded copy for emphasis. “Even Bradshaw agrees, and he’s usually the last one to accept change.”

“Who are you going to get to write it?”

“I’m happy with the writer we already have.”

Dawn’s eyes widened. “Not
me?
Oh, no. You promised the job was only temporary.”

“That was before I knew how good you were going to be at it,” Tim said.

“I’m good at making soup, too. You said so yourself. But that doesn’t mean I should open a restaurant.”

He laughed. “True. Tell you what. Suppose I assign you and Felicity to alternate weeks? Would that be better?”

“Maybe. I had no idea how much work went into writing anything, let alone a person’s whole life story. It’s given me more respect for the business, that’s for sure.”

“Speaking of business,” Tim said. “I have to put in an appearance at the yearly stockholder’s get-together at Opryland in a few weeks.” He grimaced. “I’d rather sit through a dozen regular board meetings than one of those black-tie dinners but I have no choice. For once, I wish Dad or Jeremy were back at the helm so they could go instead.”

“I’m sorry.” She was shuffling papers that needed filing and not looking at her boss as she offered standard words of commiseration. “Anything I can do to help?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.”

Dawn’s head snapped up.
“Yes?”
The question was followed by an unspoken
Uh-oh
and a shiver of trepidation.

“Yes. I thought the whole ordeal would be more bearable if you accompanied me this time.”

“Me?”

“Sure. Why not? It’ll do you good to get to know
some of the people you speak to on the phone. And I know there will be plenty of good food there so you won’t have to bring your own like you do around this place.”

She wasn’t sure whether or not he was serious. “What about…” Racking her brain, she tried to remember the name of the romance du jour. “Gloria?”

“I’m not looking for a date,” Tim said. “I want an intelligent companion who knows this business as well as I do.” He smiled. “Or nearly as well.”

“Nope. No way.” Dawn was shaking her head so emphatically her blond hair swung against her cheeks. “Can’t do it.”

“Why not? The stockholders won’t bite. And I’m not bad company, am I?”

“Of course not. It’s not you. I…I don’t have anything to wear to a formal dinner.”

“What’s wrong with what you have on right now?”

“Oh, sure. It’ll be fine. I’ll run right home and sew sequins all over the frilly ruffles on this blouse.” The look of incredulity and condescension she sent Tim’s way was enough to make him hesitate.

“Sarcasm? Right. Sarcasm. I get it.” He rounded his desk and picked up the phone. Instead of dialing out, he pushed a button for interoffice communication and was immediately connected to his sister, downstairs in the
Nashville Living
office. “Heather? Tim. Listen, we have a fashion emergency in my office. Can you come up here for a second? Yes. Right now.”

Dawn didn’t know what his sister had said in reply but there was a definite look of smugness on Tim’s face when he hung up and turned his attention back to her. “Okay. Problem solved. Our Makeover Maven is on her way.”

“I don’t need a makeover,” Dawn protested.

“I don’t think you do, either, but Heather’s great with clothes, especially since she was made over herself. If you two put your heads together, I know you can come up with something suitable for you to wear to the dinner. I think she gets a lot of her clothes at Engel’s Department Store.”

“What part of ‘no’ don’t you understand?”

“It’s not in my vocabulary.”

“You can say that again.”

He began to do so. “It’s not in—”

Dawn’s “Arrrgh” was forceful enough to silence him but it did nothing to wipe the self-satisfied grin off his face.

“Okay,” she finally said, pacing across the office and back. “Listen carefully. I can’t buy anything at Engel’s, period. I couldn’t even afford one of their silk scarves. I know. I looked once. And I’m certainly not going to embarrass us both by wearing a dress I got at the local discount store. There’s a world of difference. Believe me. Men might not be able to tell quality like that, but women can. I simply won’t do it.”

Tim had opened his mouth to answer when his younger sister breezed into the office. Heather’s confidence had grown so much since her makeover
it never ceased to amaze him. She had definitely come into her own and it was evident Tim was as proud of that blossoming confidence as she was.

“Heather! Boy, am I glad to see you,” he blurted.

She scanned the office, looking confused. “I thought you said there was an emergency.”

“There is.” Tim palmed a credit card and Dawn saw him pass it to his sister as he headed for the door. “Use that. I’ve got to run.”

Dawn made a face and called after him, “Chicken!”

When she turned her attention back to Heather, the look of astonishment on the poor girl’s face was so funny she couldn’t help smiling. “It’s a long story.”

“Take as long as you need,” Heather said. “Anything that has my oh-so-perfect big brother this flustered has to be worth hanging around long enough to hear.” She perched a slim hip on the edge of Dawn’s desk. “Okay, give. And don’t leave anything out. I want to hear all the juicy details.”

Tim lay low until he saw both women leaving the building. Together. Smiling and chatting. That was a good sign. It also meant he could return to his office without encountering either of them or having to explain what urgent, imaginary errand had taken him away in the first place.

Women. Can’t live with ’em, can’t live with ’em,
he rephrased inaccurately, much to his own amusement. Boy, was
that
the truth. It seemed as though
the more he tried to relate to Dawn, to understand her, the more trouble he got himself into.

A lot of their conflict had to do with finances, he assumed, given her negative reaction to his suggestion that she accompany him to the dinner at Opryland. Who would have guessed she’d think she had to have different clothes? All the other women he knew, his mother and sisters included, had everything they needed in their own closets at home. Of course, that didn’t mean they didn’t buy a new outfit at the drop of a credit card. Dawn probably could have worn a dress she already owned, too, if she hadn’t been so stubborn. He’d never seen her in anything that didn’t make her look attractive—including the jeans she’d worn the night she’d shown up with the pot of soup.

That kind of personal reflection brought him up short. Since when was it appropriate for a man to think of his executive assistant as a beautiful woman?

When she was,
he answered easily. Dawn Leroux was beautiful—inside and out. The way she cared about others was part of her charm. And it was what made her so good at her job, whether she was working at Hamilton Media or volunteering in the community. Her pure heart shone through and colored whatever she did.

That was why he’d asked her to go to the stockholders’ gala with him, Tim told himself. It was a perfectly plausible reason. He did want an intelligent companion and he valued Dawn’s opinions.
Therefore, what could be more logical than to include her in the after-hours dinner meeting?

Riding the elevator back to the third floor he let his mind wander. What kind of dress would she choose with Heather at her side? he wondered. Maybe he should have told his sister how good Dawn looked in blue. It brought out the summer sky in her eyes and made her skin glow with just the right amount of warmth. And that long, blond hair of hers! Ada Smith had been right on target when she’d remarked on its beauty.

The elevator doors slid open. Jarred from his reverie, Tim started to exit as his sister, Amy, stepped on.

“Hi. I was just on my way up to see you,” Amy said with a smile. “But if you’re getting off here, I’ll wait.”

Tim wasn’t about to admit he’d been so caught up in his daydreaming about Dawn he hadn’t even realized what floor he’d stopped on. Instead, he stepped back and motioned for his eldest sister to join him. “No problem. Come on. We can talk in my office.”

“Oh? Is Heather gone?”

“I just saw her leave,” Tim said with a suppressed sigh. “Hopefully, she and my assistant will be out all afternoon.”

“That was what I wanted to talk to you about,” Amy said.

Raising an eyebrow, Tim crossed his arms over his chest and nodded. “Yeah. I figured you’d want
to know what was going on as soon as the news hit the office grapevine. It started out as a simple idea, honest. Somehow, things got out of hand.”

The elevator had hummed its way to the third floor and the doors were sliding open. “How simple?” Amy asked.

Tim blocked the door with his hand so it wouldn’t close too soon. “All I did was ask Dawn to go to the stockholders’ dinner with me. The next thing I knew, I was sending Heather to Engel’s with my assistant and my gold card.”

“That makes perfect sense to me,” Amy said with a knowing smile. “It’s black-tie. Dawn probably needed something nice to wear.”

“That’s what she said. I don’t get it. I mean, I understand her wanting a new dress for the occasion. All the women I know act like that. I just can’t see what the big deal is if she has to wear what she already has in her closet. She always looks great to me.”

“Oooooh,” his sister drawled. “Have you told her that?”

“I don’t know. I suppose I have. Why?”

Amy merely shook her head and stared at him. “For a savvy executive in charge of a company the size of this one, you sure can be dense sometimes.”

“I don’t want to spend Tim’s money,” Dawn insisted, peeking at her companion between the dresses on the rack at Engel’s. “If I have to do this, I’ll pay for it myself.”

Heather was adamant. “Nonsense. Tim said this was for a business dinner and he’s as good as commanding you to go, so he should have to pay. It’s no different than it would be if somebody like Ed Bradshaw had to rent a tux.”

“I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

“Well, start to,” Heather said with a smile. “I’d offer to lend you something new of mine if we had the same basic coloring but I don’t think I have anything appropriate that would do you justice.” She held up a slim, shimmering, teal-blue sheath with a handkerchief hemline. “How about this one? It’s perfect with your hair and eyes.”

“It is pretty fabric.” Dawn lifted the sleeve, read the attached price tag and dropped it as though it had burned her fingers. “No way!”

“Oh, come on. It’ll serve Tim right if we charge some expensive stuff. Besides, it’s against the Code of Women to refuse to spend a man’s money when he offers.”

“What Code of Women?”

Heather giggled. “I just made that up. If there isn’t a code like that, there should be. Think about it. Suppose Tim told you he wanted a hundred copies of a fancy, full-color brochure and the copy machine at the office was broken? Would you write them all out in longhand and then color them with crayons? Or would you go find the equipment to do the job right?”

Dawn got her point but made a wry face anyway. “Okay. I’ll try on a few things. But let’s be sensible about this. I don’t want to bankrupt the poor man.”

Heather just rolled her eyes.

“Well, I don’t,” Dawn insisted. “It’s not right to take advantage of this situation, even if Tim did bring it on himself.”

“Fine. Whatever,” Heather said as she grabbed several more dresses off the rack and slung them over her arm. “Come on. Let’s try these on you for starters. I don’t want to bother looking for shoes or other accessories till we see what basic color scheme we’re dealing with.”

Dawn was lagging behind. “Shoes? Accessories? Wait a minute. Who said anything about all that?”

“I did. You don’t expect me to abdicate my duty to
Nashville Living,
do you? Their new Makeover Maven can’t turn out a half-complete Cinderella job. I have a reputation to protect. Can’t be slipshod. How would it look to my boss?”

“Your sister Amy is your boss.”

“Right. And Tim is everybody’s boss these days, even Amy’s. When he says ‘Jump,’ we all ask, ‘How high?’”

Sighing, Dawn quit arguing and followed Heather to the dressing rooms. This day had certainly been eventful. And it was far from over. If Tim’s sister had her way, his credit card would be in meltdown in a few hours. The question was, how could Dawn rationalize accepting that kind of expensive treatment, even at Heather’s insistence? It didn’t seem right. Or proper. Or even smart. Yet she couldn’t see a graceful way out of the situation.

The current state of affairs wasn’t merely a challenge to her sensibilities, she realized with a jolt. It was a test of her faith. If she truly believed God’s hand was guiding every aspect of her life—which she did—how could she question the recent turn of events without also doubting her Heavenly Father’s wisdom? How, indeed?

Gown. Shoes. Purse. Dawn’s head was swimming by the time she and Heather had finished shopping. She’d put her foot down when Tim’s sister had suggested buying jewelry, agreeing to borrow something, instead. Unfortunately, that choice had proven at least as troubling as the purchases they’d made because Heather still lived at home with her parents.

Dawn was already in awe of the whole family so she wasn’t thrilled with Heather’s suggestion they drop in at the Hamilton mansion to look at jewelry on their way back to the office. With Heather driving, however, she had no choice but to go along with the idea.

The Hamiltons didn’t call their residence a mansion, of course. They had too much class for that. To them it was merely their ancestral home; an enormous, old, redbrick, Greek Revival–style house at the very outer edge of north Davis Landing. Dawn had seen it from the outside many times and had tried to imagine what the interior might look like but she wasn’t prepared for the real thing.