rapping at the driver-side window startled him back to the present.
He turned to find an auburn-haired, fiftysomething woman smiling at him and his spirits lifted as he stepped out to join her. Sharon Dixon, owner of Dix’s Woodland Warehouse, had always been good to his mom. To him, too, come to think of it. Funny how you forgot things like that.
The once-robust woman had lost considerable weight, though, since he’d last seen her. Had she been ill? His mother hadn’t mentioned it but, then again, after Paris’s engagement he no longer checked online to see what the pretty Miss Perslow might be up to, and forbade Ma to share any Canyon Springs gossip with him.
“As I live and breathe,” Sharon whispered, her former smoker’s voice as rough as sandpaper. “I’d heard you were back in town, doll. I’m sure your mother is tickled to pieces.”
He noticed she didn’t include his dad in that observation.
“Look at you. All grown up.” Her smile widened as she took him in from his booted toes to the baseball cap on his head. “I imagine you’re beating off the girls with a bat these days.”
He gave a dubious chuckle. “I can’t say that’s been much of a problem.”
“It will be if you stick around here for long.” She winked.
Right. While women elsewhere didn’t seem to have any objections to what reflected back at him in his mirror, he doubted any in this town would line up to compete for a guy who’d grown up on the wrong side of the tracks.
“I’m glad our paths crossed today, Cody. I have something for you to give your mom.” She dipped her fingers into a jacket pocket, then handed him a check. “It’s payment for wreaths and table decorations she left on consignment last week. They sold out within days.”
He glanced at the amount on Dix’s Woodland Warehouse check stock, then raised a brow. He used to gather bags of ponderosa pinecones for Ma, but had no idea people paid that kind of money for homemade Christmas decorations. He pulled out his wallet and tucked the check inside. “I’ll see she gets this.”
When she wasn’t with Dad.
“I’ve hesitated to contact her with all that’s going on.” Sharon gazed at him with sympathy. “But I have customers asking about future deliveries. There would be guaranteed sales if she can find time to put together more wreaths. The greenery or pinecone variety both sell well. Those quilted table runners are popular, too.”
“Thanks. I’ll let her know, Mrs. Dixon.”
“It’s Sharon.” She wagged a finger at him. “I thought we went through this when you were a teenager.”
They had, but he still felt funny calling her by her first name. His Texas-born mama had been a stickler for proper etiquette, Mister and Missus being drilled into him from infancy. Not that his manners had made any difference in this town.
“I’ll give the message to her...Sharon.”
She studied him for a long moment, windblown snowflakes lighting in her hair. “How is your father?”
Not many asked. Not many cared. But he knew Sharon’s concern, like Paris’s, was genuine, not merely fishing for gossip to share with neighbors who clucked their tongues at those no-good Hawk men. Dad couldn’t care less about their disapproval, but Cody knew it hurt Ma, even though she’d never said as much.
“He’s as well as can be expected.” Which meant Leroy Hawk wasn’t happy and was making sure no one else was, either. The wind shifted direction, whipping around them with a blustery gust. “You’d better get back inside, ma’am, before this wind knocks you off your feet.”
“Tell your mother she’s in my prayers. You are, too.”
“Thanks.” He’d willingly take any prayers he could get, for within hours of crossing the Canyon Springs city limits, anger and resentments he thought God had put to rest resurfaced. And now, finding Paris living here... He hadn’t expected the ambitious Dalton Herrington to settle down as a small-town doctor.
For a moment he thought Sharon might try to hug him, but apparently his expression prevented that. Instead, she fixed a look on him that said she understood more than he gave her credit for, then she headed back to her store.
Mrs. Dixon had always gone out of her way for his mother, for which he was grateful. It still galled, though, to know people were aware of your lack. That people—like Paris—knew you and yours were struggling and in need of a handout.
But, God willing, not much longer.
* * *
“Oh, sweetheart, this dress is breathtaking on you.” Saturday morning, the well-coiffed Elizabeth Herrington stepped back to better view Paris in the three-way mirror outside the dressing rooms of a Canyon Springs boutique. “If only Dalton were here to see you.”
Paris stiffened, avoiding Elizabeth’s misty-eyed gaze in the reflection before her.
“I don’t know...” She swished the skirt from side to side, the exhilaration she’d felt when she’d slipped into the floor-length gown evaporating at the mention of Dalton’s name.
She didn’t fault Elizabeth, though. Widowed not long before the loss of Dalton, she’d loved her only son dearly and generously included Paris in that all-embracing affection. Right from the beginning, when her mother died when Paris was fourteen, Elizabeth had stepped into her best friend’s shoes to comfort and guide, to treat Marna and Merle Perslow’s daughter as if she were her own. What could possibly have been more natural, more gratifying for her efforts, than to have the girl she adored grow up to marry her only son?
But Elizabeth’s fondness had been undeserved. She had no idea Dalton would still be alive...if it hadn’t been for Paris.
“I’ll think about it.” She turned her back to the sales associate to be unzipped.
Elizabeth frowned her disappointment. “It’s only a few weeks until the charity event. In this dress you’ll be the belle of the ball. It fits as if made for you, and the black velvet sets off your dark hair and fair complexion to perfection.”
That’s what Paris had thought, too. At first, anyway. Now the dress had lost its luster.
“Please hold this until you hear from me,” Elizabeth instructed the sales associate, not questioning that her instructions would be followed even if it might cost the boutique a sale. There were certain advantages to being a Herrington in this town.
Paris returned to the dressing room to change into her street clothes. As much as she loved Elizabeth, as good as Dalton’s mom had always been to her, would the dear woman ever let her live her life outside the confines of a relationship with her son?
Maybe this shadow world was Paris’s penalty for having attempted to go against family wishes three and a half years ago. Which made what she planned to do now—leave Canyon Springs—seem all the more disloyal to those who loved her.
Once outside the shop, Elizabeth motioned her toward Dix’s Woodland Warehouse. “Let’s take a look at Dix’s seasonal items. I love how it’s decorated this year. I think Sharon’s daughter has played a huge part in that.”
Newly
