since Nikki had left the house she’d lived in as Drake’s wife, she had felt a little strange driving up to it. The feeling was even more pronounced now that he was dead and she was a guest in this house that belonged to the bank.
Buck had convinced the children to stay at his house while Nikki was away on her flight, and he had driven them to and from school. It was just too much to expect him to move into Drake’s house; Buck used to seethe each time he had to pick up the kids there. But today after school they would return to this house that had been their home.
Dixie and Carlisle were parked at the curb, waiting for her. They had several hours left before the kids would be home from school.
“I really don’t know what to do with this house,” Nikki said to her friends as they met on the driveway. “There’s not a dime of equity in it and the kids really like the neighborhood and schools, so it makes sense to just live here with them. But for me…?”
“Too many bad memories?” Carlisle asked.
“More than I can count. Plus, thanks to Drake’s poor planning, the mortgage payment is horrendous.”
“They say don’t make any big changes right after a death,” Dixie advised.
“If they had been needled and ridiculed by Drake for a dozen or so years, they might not have said that.”
“I know, sugar, but if you’re patient, just hang around here a little while, and maybe somethin’ will turn up nearby. It might be easier for the kids if you didn’t have to change neighborhoods, at least.”
Since Drake’s death, the master bedroom had been closed off. Now she had to go in there and sort out the remains of his life. She left the clothes to Dixie and Carlisle, while she bit the bullet and opened up his desk, filing cabinets, strongbox and safe. Although she had nurtured the secret hope that she would find some hidden stash that would take care of educations, at least, so far there was nothing. What she did find was debt, and evidence of stock trading. The market hadn’t been good to Drake, and he’d borrowed against his 401K and house. He bought on the margin, sold short and lost his shirt.
With Dixie and Carlisle helping, it didn’t take all that long to get rid of Drake’s personal effects, but going through his paperwork was something Nikki had to do on her own, and it would take more than a couple of days. Resigning herself to that fact, Nikki hunkered down for a long, hot summer in her ex’s house.
But after a couple of weeks, it became harder, rather than easier, to be at the house. Nikki took the kids out for most of their meals rather than cook in Drake’s kitchen. And no way could she move back into the master bedroom.
Then April said the magic words. “I hate being here because Dad died here. I wish there was a way we could start over completely.”
Oh, boy, was there ever. Nikki had the kids pack up their favorite things plus clothes, computer, books and games. She called the real estate agent and listed the house, and they all moved to Buck’s.
“As soon as it sells,” Nikki promised April and Jared, “we’ll get rid of the furniture and start over. Completely. New house, new furniture, new pots and pans. A new life for everyone.”
The only person in the family who wasn’t happy about the sale of the house was Opal. “I was so looking forward to coming back—I’ve always loved that particular guest room.”
Nikki made a note to find a house with a guest room that was not quite as accommodating.
Carlisle had stayed with Dixie for a month, and his restlessness was growing more obvious to her by the day. He was cooking special dinners and complaining that she didn’t have the necessary equipment for his gourmet cuisine. He kept tidying up rooms that were already immaculate, and often she noticed that he never turned the page on the book he was reading.
It was with some concern that Dixie prepared to leave Carlisle at home while she went to work a three-day trip. There was no question he was depressed. And Dixie’s house was not far enough away from Robert to give her any peace of mind. She tried to convince Carlisle to go somewhere for the weekend. Or maybe stay at Buck’s with Nikki and the kids.
“Oh, I couldn’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“You know. When it comes to housekeeping, they’re pretty…”
“Relaxed? Laid-back? Easygoing?”
Carlisle rolled his eyes. “More devil-may-care. Or perhaps Early Vandalism.”
She whacked him with a dish towel. “Stop. She’s not that bad.”
“She’s trying to be.”
“Well, just stay away from you-know-who while I’m gone.”
“Just worry about your own you-know-who,” he replied, making her fear the inevitable even more.
“Huh. I’m not even tempted,” she said, a little surprised that it was true. “And I hate to see you go through any more of those humiliating scenes.”
“But why? I’m so good at humiliation!”
As much as she loved him, Dixie conceded it was a good thing she was getting a little break. While she was preparing to transform her whole life, Carlisle appeared wretched. The situation at home was just getting too heavy. A couple of days away would do wonders for her, and she actually looked forward to the work.
She’d done a little trip trading to get a schedule better than the one she’d had while following Branch around, and she’d pulled a Phoenix-Seattle-San Francisco with a nice long layover the first night. She was looking forward to a little seafood dinner, and a cool ocean breeze as opposed to the desert heat.
But the Trip Gods had conspired against Dixie McPherson. She was supposed to be flying with Captain Danny Adams and F.O. Mike McGee. At least, that’s what it said on her printout when she checked in for her flight. But when she boarded and looked out at the ramp, the F.O. doing the preflight walk-around was not McGee. She’d know that long, lanky, arrogant swagger anywhere.
God, what kind of karma had her constantly drawn to men like Branch? Had she, in a former life, been a cruel queen who took young male paramours and then hacked them to bits once she’d had her fun? She hoped so. She sincerely hoped so.
Since Dixie wasn’t senior on the trip, she couldn’t escape first class, the hardest serving job on the airplane, which meant she had to serve the cockpit, as well as the cabin. Given her lack of desire to fraternize, it didn’t look as if the pilots would be well nourished this trip. But long before she could think about beverage revenge, he poked his head into her galley on his way to the cockpit. Branch Darnell, his hat sitting jauntily back on his head, a roguish grin on his lips, and there at his hairline, a devilish-looking bright red gash. Somehow the wound only added to his good looks, which was par for the course. Anyone else would have been disfigured.
The extent of his injury took some of the bluster out of her sails. She let out a long, slow breath and gave her head a slight shake. “Um, I’m awful sorry about that. It was completely unintentional….”
“Aw, don’t beat yourself up, darlin’. I like my women feisty.”
Her
