Pretend Mom (3 page)

"Buttercups and Indian paintbrushes,
your favorites," she murmured. "You used to say they were God's
flowers, put on earth to be cherished."

Dixie had no idea how long she stayed
there, kneeling over the graves, talking as though someone might
answer, but the sun was slowly sinking when she finally
straightened and got to her feet.

Hearing a noise behind her, she turned
in time to see her mother's old friend, Mrs. Butie. She called a
hello. Mrs. Butie clutched at the expensive flower arrangement in
her hands as she proceeded to a far corner of the cemetery, where
she turned to stare at Dixie. Mrs. Butie's husband had died nearly
twenty years ago, but she always placed flowers on his grave one a
month.

Suddenly, Dixie wished she'd chosen
something more appropriate to wear. It wouldn't make a difference
to anyone but her; everyone had his or her own preconceived ideas
about her by now. Small towns were like that. Nothing she did or
said would change them. Cut-offs and a T-shirt seemed out of place
with Mrs. Butie staring at her so.

Pulling her large frame rigid and
adjusting the midriff of her dress with a snort, Mrs. Butie
grunted. "I'd heard you'd come home. And we all know why." Mrs.
Butie pulled the few weeds about the older grave site.

Dixie bowed her head, confused by the
outburst and hurt by the sting in Mrs. Butie's voice. How could
Mrs. Butie know why she was home? She wasn't sure herself. "Good to
see you again, Mrs. Butie," she called and walked away, trying not
to run or look back. Not a very clever comeback, but then Dixie had
never been clever with words.

Life was unfair. She couldn't make Mrs.
Butie like her, so she wouldn't try.

There was a special place where Dixie
escaped when things became too difficult to handle. It was nothing
more than an old oak tree, yet somehow the tree gave comfort to
those in need. It wasn't far down the road from where she lived.
There were a lot of names engraved on that old tree, hers
included.

Dixie hurried towards the tree as dark
clouds began to gather and manifest into an early summer storm. At
first there were only a few large sprinkles, and Dixie thought she
might escape the storm altogether. She finally reached the oak
tree. Nothing had changed. It still stood majestically looking out
onto a wheat field to one side and a deep ravine to the
other.

Once she reached it, she felt safe.
Even though trees weren't the best place during a storm she knew
this particular tree would never harm her. It gave too much solace.
She sat down for a minute, resting against it. As a child she had
called this her thinking tree. And Dixie had a lot of thinking to
do.

She knew immediately she had to see
Kevin, and gauge her reactions to him. Why it had become such an
obsession with her she didn't know, but it had. Perhaps it was
because Ed, her agent, had asked her to marry him and she felt so
uncertain. Ed was wonderful, but when he kissed her she didn't see
stars. When he proposed it wasn't in a romantic setting, it was at
work. She needed a break, to get away and see if her heart missed
him. And seeing Kevin might put it all in the proper
perspective.

She had so loved Kevin as a young girl
growing up, and he had never given her much encouragement. Still,
she couldn't marry another man without being sure that her feelings
for Kevin were in fact just infatuation.

Suddenly lightning and thunder roared
above her. She clung to the big trunk of the tree. She was in a
dangerous place, and had to leave. She waited patiently for the
rain to slacken. But the storm wasn't bashful; it seemed to magnify
her sorrow, the wind whipping the huge limbs about, and a low
creaking sound emanated from it.

Already soaked, her shorts felt heavy
against her bare legs and her t-shirt plastered her breasts like a
mask. Her dark hair dangled against her shoulders
limply.

Glancing upward she saw the branches of
the tree swaying heavily in the wind, performing some primitive
dance about her. The leaves floated in little rivulets down the
hillside. Just below, the gully was quickly filling with water.
She'd have to cross it to get to the road. Going the other
direction led to the cemetery.

The rain became erratic, first in heavy
sheets so she couldn't see. She waited for the next slack before
darting down the steep ravine. Small branches tore at her ankles as
she practically slid down the incline. An old piece of barbed wire
caught at her t-shirt as she continued toward the ravine and hit
the ground with a thud. She felt the rip and the deep prickling of
her skin as the wire stabbed her in the ribs. Still, she managed to
keep a steady pace, groping for a better foothold as she tried to
cross the ravine.

She kept reassuring herself there was
no need to panic. It was only a gully-washer and she'd be fine once
she crossed the ravine. The house was only a couple of miles down
the road. She'd be home soon, drying off and wondering why she ever
thought such wild thoughts.

Still the road seemed further and
further away, as though it had moved.

Deliberately, she slowed her pace,
calming herself. Don't panic, she told herself. Surely there was
something humorous in this. Where had her sense of adventure gone?
The fact that she'd always managed to get herself in some kind of
trouble crossed her mind. Goodness, it was only a
rainstorm.

Yet, as the rain became violent again
and beat at her from all directions, the wind changed, and it was
increasingly difficult to catch her breath. Without warning she
plunged downward, towards the rapidly rising water. She lost a
tennis shoe as she continued to slide. The water was moving like a
small river now, rushing over rocks, making a gurgling
sound.

As she began making her way across the
flooded ravine, her foot lodged solidly between what felt like an
old tree root and a rock. She tried to wiggle the rock, but it
wasn't budging. She tried again; still nothing.

"Don't panic," she screamed aloud this
time. Things like this always worked out in the movies. Any minute
she would loosen the rock and move away, unhindered.

It wasn't as though she were about to
die, for goodness sake. All she had to do was keep her head and
wait until the water itself dislodged the rock. Still the fact that
the ravine was very deep on this side scared her a little, had she
gone on the other side, it wouldn't have been this deep and she'd
be on the road by now. She'd automatically opted for the fastest
way home, and the most dangerous.

The sound of rushing water brought her
gaze around. She felt it rising against her legs. "Get hold of
yourself," she scolded, looking about her to see if anyone had been
watching or listening to her tirade. There was no one about. She
was alone, very alone.

Everything would be fine as long as she
didn't do something foolish. She simply needed some kind of lever,
something with which to pry the rock away.

"It's right over there, if I can just
reach it!" she shouted to herself. If she could just reach it, she
could pry herself loose. She strained forward, her fingertips
barely grazing the branch. If she didn't work fast, it would float
completely out of reach. She leveled the unrestricted part of her
body with the water, as she tried again to grab the branch. It was
at her fingertips.

The t-shirt flapped against her. She
felt the cold water splashing against her breast. Darn! Why hadn't
she worn a bra? Why hadn't she dressed more appropriately? And yet,
this was certainly not the time to worry over modesty.

She tensed as her trapped foot seemed
to lodge deeper and the current rushed over her hips. The water was
rising. She had to hurry. The ground had been so dry and the water
wasn't soaking in.

Finally, she grasped the branch and
began working along the edge of her foot. She couldn't see what she
was doing; the storm had darkened the sky like someone pulling down
the blinds. Unable to see she stabbed herself twice with the
branch. The rock moved, but not as she planned. Instead it struck
several painful blows to the bottom of her foot and lodged her
deeper. She was burying herself!

She could see the obituary now, Rising
water takes rock star Dixie Kincaid's life.

The water rose steadily now, nearly
covering her midriff. Dear God, it was just a gully. She couldn't
drown … could she? The rain pounded on her like crabapples falling
off a tree. She could feel the frantic struggle going on inside
herself to survive. Her mind must be working way too
fast.

"Maybe you deserve to die!" she cried
aloud.

Then suddenly something dark and
ominous encompassed her. Against the roaring of the water, and the
extreme darkness she couldn't tell what was happening.

A voice came from nowhere, startling
her. "Hold on, sweetheart, you're not dead yet!" came a low
drawling voice that had her heart hammering against her chest with
relief.

It was Mike, of all people. She knew it
even before she could actually see him. She could almost feel those
tiger-eyes sparkling through the darkness, and see the pearl white
of his teeth beneath the broad brim of his western hat. Her heart
fluttered wildly as he came closer, trying to scoop her up against
him.

"My foot," she cried out as he realized
just how trapped she was.

He flicked his hat away with the back
of his hand, and dipped his hands beneath the surface of the water
to find the icy cold foot still deeply embedded. Gently he tugged
and pulled but nothing happened

She heard him grunt, as he bent to the
task of dislodging her foot with a vengeance. He grabbed the stick,
then ducked under the water to try to dislodge the rock. He came up
every now and then to reassure her. As though him saying it would
make it all come right. Oddly enough she believed him and a sense
of calm overcame her.

When nothing worked, she heard him
mumble in an angry tone, and then he went totally under the water.
Before long she heard a loud swishing, and felt the release of her
foot as it came free.

Coming up slowly, the rock and a
pocketknife in one hand, her foot in the other, he
laughed.

But Dixie wasn't laughing. She was
frozen. He quickly scooped her into his arms, pulling her from the
current rushing about their waists. Dixie's hands glided
automatically around his neck. The last two things she remembered
was shuddering violently into a black void and that his arms around
her seemed like a whole world of protection for her. She'd never
been this safe in all her life.

***

Later, she was mildly aware of voices
moving about her in a rush, as Mike carried her inside her house. A
half-hour later, Dixie's eyes opened to a room full of
people.

"Grandma Emmy, she's awake." A
beautiful pixie sat the foot of her bed.

Perhaps she was dreaming.

"Dixie." Emily came forward, bending
over her and taking her hand in her own. "Oh, child, you gave us
such a scare. We thought you were dead when Mike brought you
in."

"I thought so, too," she murmured as
Mike pivoted around to lock gazes with her.

"Thank God Mike found you when he did.
If he hadn't been out rounding up strays for old man Tucker just
before the storm hit, he might not have spotted you. He said it was
so dark he didn't know who or what it was but he spotted something
thrashing around in the ravine. He thought you were a calf at
first. You had us so worried, dear. We thought you went to the
cemetery."

Dixie rubbed her eyes, as though to
clear them. Straightening herself she met the concerned stares of
her brothers. "I'm sorry. I did go to the cemetery; I just walked
for a while, afterwards. I wanted to think."

Emily Kincaid worried too much, and
Dixie warmed to the instant compassion. She hadn't had anyone fuss
over her in years. She regretted now that she'd failed to notice
her stepmother's attributes when her father was alive, giving him
all her attention. How unfair she must have seemed, and what a
loving woman Emily was not to hold a grudge.

Mike walked to the edge of the bed, a
slow, lazy smile playing at his mouth. He was still wet, his jeans
clung to him like a second skin, and there were traces of dried
mud, but no one seemed to mind.

Suddenly conscious of the way she must
have looked when he brought her home, she snuggled deeper under the
covers. Then her gaze took in the little girl at the foot of her
bed. She had big brown eyes and nearly black hair. She was
beautiful, but not a pixie.

"Hello, who are you?" Dixie asked
her.

"I'm Mandy. Amanda. Are you going to
get well?"

"What a beautiful name. I think I'm
going to be fine." Dixie smiled looking about the room for
explanations and locking gazes with Mike. "I guess I owe you my
life, Mike. I bet I was a mess." She could barely manage to look at
Mike.

Mike scrutinized her pale face, "Your
foot sure is. I'm just glad I happened by. If Old Man Tucker's gate
hadn't broken and half his cows got out, I might never have seen
you. Sorry, but I thought you were a stuck calf when I first
spotted you."