a dog struck Dawn funny. Old Beau might not be a very good conversationalist but he sure was easy to talk to, wasn’t he?
It was just as well Beau wasn’t able to give sage advice, she reasoned as she proceeded to don jeans and a blue short-sleeved sweater and run a brush through her hair. If she could think of any way to get out of spending the evening driving around with her persnickety boss, she’d send him packing in a heartbeat.
Chapter Three
Northside Community Church was well known not only because of its place in the history of Hickory Mills and Davis Landing, but also because it had a reputation for running exemplary outreach programs. The community kitchen and its preparation of meals-on-wheels was one such endeavor. The youth program was another.
Behind the white-painted brick facade and wide, columned portico of the original, more traditional church sat a more modern complex of two-story buildings in which that kind of humanitarian work was carried on daily.
Tim had known about the programs before he’d become Dawn’s temporary chauffeur but seeing one of them in operation gave him further appreciation of all the effort that went into managing such important projects.
It also showed him how well-respected his administrative assistant was in the community. Although she was a Tennessee transplant, she’d apparently been totally accepted by everyone at Northside, natives included.
Watching her greet the other kitchen volunteers so fondly gave him pause. Clearly, there were places where she was more fully accepted than he was, even though he and his family were an integral part of the entire area’s history and current prosperity.
Dawn stood aside, tugged the hem of her short-sleeved sweater over her jeans to smooth it and motioned him to come on into the kitchen. “Ladies, you know Mr. Hamilton? I had car trouble tonight and he was kind enough to offer to drive me on my rounds. Wasn’t that nice of him?”
Amid a tittering chorus of welcome, Tim strode forward as if arriving at a board meeting and offered his most amiable smile. “A pleasure to meet you all,” he said. “Please, call me Tim.”
Shaking hands with those who weren’t too deep in kitchen cleanup to offer, he saw Dawn standing back, hesitating. His smile widened. “Yes, you, too, Ms. Leroux. I’m sure it won’t destroy office protocol if we’re more informal tonight. It’ll help your clients relax, especially since they probably haven’t met me before, don’t you think?”
“I suppose so.” She swallowed hard. “Um, Tim.”
Tim couldn’t help being amused by her obvious nervousness. The woman was practically quaking. What was the matter with her? Did she think he was going to say or do something inappropriate? He’d been to Northside often enough in the past to be familiar with Pastor Abernathy and a few of the regular parishoners, especially the ones he played golf with, so what in the world could be bothering Dawn? She’d seemed just fine when she’d arrived and begun greeting the other workers like long-lost sisters. Now, however, she seemed jittery, as if she couldn’t wait to get out of there.
She found her voice moments later and pointed. “Those insulated boxes on the end of the counter are ours. The dinners go inside. If you’ll help me carry them to the car we can be on our way.”
“Sure.” He bestowed amiable smiles all around, said, “If you ladies will excuse us,” and joined Dawn. In the background he imagined he heard audible sighs. Those poor women must be exhausted. He wondered if they worked there the whole day.
Following Dawn to the car with the stack of padded boxes he asked about it. “How long do those volunteers work? Is it an all-day shift?”
“We break it down into two, usually,” Dawn said. “The earlier shift is much larger. They do the majority of the cooking every Monday, Wednesday and Friday morning. A different bunch puts together the evening meals and cleans the kitchen.”
She paused at the rear of his car while he opened the trunk. “Most meals are delivered earlier, between noon and two or three o’clock. That’s why there aren’t other drivers picking up now. And that’s why it was so hard to find someone to take my place. We only have a few regulars who like their food at suppertime and I’m able to handle all the ones in town. I work Monday and Wednesday nights. Amy drives the country route on Fridays.”
“I see.” He carefully arranged the boxes in the trunk before closing it and starting for the passenger door. Dawn was already there, had it open and was climbing in. Acting like the gentleman his mother had raised wasn’t easy where Dawn Leroux was concerned, was it? It didn’t matter to Tim whether or not their outing was for pleasure. He didn’t have to be dating the lady to want to treat her with propriety.
“I would have gotten that door for you,” Tim said, sliding behind the wheel.
“It’s not necessary. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
He gave her a lopsided smile. “I don’t doubt that for a second. What I meant was, it’s a simple courtesy. One I’m used to offering.”
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I didn’t think of it quite that way.”
Tim thought he detected an odd tinge of emotion in her tone as she turned to stare out the side window. He wondered if he’d embarrassed her. He certainly hadn’t meant to. He never had understood women, even though he’d grown up in a household with a mother and three sisters. Amy and Heather had never seemed to mind being treated with respect. Melissa? Well, that was another story. Melissa was a special case. She seemed to struggle with personal issues that didn’t faze the others.
“Who’s our first customer?” Tim asked, taking care to keep his tone light and friendly.
“Stuart Meyers,” Dawn said. “He lives alone in one of those shotgun houses all in a row down by the river. It’s not far. Go back the way we came and I’ll tell you when to turn.”
“Right. I haven’t heard anybody mention shotgun houses in years. Aren’t those the ones that are supposedly so small you can fire a shotgun in the front door and the shot will travel out the back door before the pattern spreads enough to hit anything?”
“I see you know something about history. Stuart will love you. How smart are you about The War?”
“Smart enough to know exactly what you mean and to not call it the Civil War unless I’m talking to a Yankee,” Tim said with a grin. “I was in school before I’d heard the conflict called anything but The War Between the States.”
“It was the same in Louisiana,” Dawn said. “Or The War for Southern Independence. That was always my favorite name for it.”
“That figures, since you’re so independent yourself. I know Tennessee provided troops to both the North and the South. Which does your Mr. Meyers favor?”
“He’s not fussy. He loves to argue both sides.” Dawn pointed. “Take that narrow road over there. Stuart’s is the second house on the right. The one that needs painting.”
Tim refrained from saying that he thought all the houses in sight were in serious need of maintenance, most of them too far gone to be saved by a simple coat of paint. He parked as instructed, then released the trunk latch from the driver’s seat before getting out.
He was standing at
