âThere are a lot of people in this town who have a grudge against you, L.T.â
âYeah, your boyfriendâs one of them. And olâ Manoâs working for him. Iâd say thereâs a pretty strong link between Bell and Torres and my ruined houses.â
âDixon Bell wouldnât stoop to vandalism. Heâll deal with you face-to-face.â
âIâll believe that when I see it.â
âSo open your eyes.â Dixon spoke from the entry hall. âAnd say whatâs on your mind.â
âThis is family business. You donât belong.â
Kate couldnât let that comment pass unchallenged. âYouâre the one who doesnât belong, L.T. By your own choice.â
L.T. swung back to her. âListen, bitchââ
Dixon snaked an arm around his throat from behind. Dragging the other man backward, he strode to the front door and launched him down the steps.
Kate held her breath, hoping and praying L.T. would simply leave.
Instead, he charged.
Dear Reader,
When I was a teenager I fell in love with The Southâa mythical place where wide, lazy rivers reflected the moonâs glow and sultry evenings seduced lovers with the perfume of gardenia blossoms and honeysuckle vines. Add a plantation house standing ghost-white amidst moss-draped live oak trees, and you have the perfect recipe for romance.
Dixon Bell and Kate LaRue are two people who see that side of the South in their hometown of New Skye, North Carolina. Dixonâs been wandering the world for thirteen years and has yet to find a place heâd rather live. When he learns that Kateâthe first and only woman heâs ever lovedâwill soon be free, he knows itâs finally time for him to go back. He doesnât anticipate the complications he encounters in wooing Kate. Maybe coming home isnât supposed to be easy.
Kate barely noticed Dixon when they were in high school together. She canât help noticing him now, however, and she canât ignore the longings he awakens in her love-starved soul. But sheâs imprisoned by the unwritten rules and expectations of the society she grew up in. Being an adult in your own hometown is never as easy as youâd expect.
The Ballad of Dixon Bell is the second book in my new series for Superromance, AT THE CAROLINA DINER. If this is your first visit, welcome to a world where you run into somebody you know whenever you step out your door, where the familyâs always aware of whatâs going on in your life and can usually track you down if they want to, where friends are tried and true. A world where romance is still very much aliveâjust ask Dixon and Kate.
And watch for The Last Honest Man, coming in August!
Lynnette Kent
P.S. Iâd love to hear from you. Write me at PMB 304, Westwood Shopping Center, Fayetteville, NC 28314. Or visit my Web page, www.lynnettekent.com.
To the Southern Gentlemen I know best:
Frank, Barry and Ed.
And, as always, for Martin.
Love you, guys.
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
March
Boswell, Colorado
âYOU MAKING TIME with your sweetheart again, Dixie?â
âThat ainât his sweetheart. Thatâs his baby girl. Right, Dixie?â
Dixon Bell just grinned at the cowboysâ teasing and kept walking at a slow, easy pace toward the three unbroken horses poised along one curve of the corral. The buckskin and the pinto danced away as he got close. The black quarter horse mare knew him, though, and had come to trust him a little. Ears twitching, tail flicking, she watched him approach. She was nervous, sure. But willing to give him a chance.
âHey, there, gorgeous,â he crooned, coming to a stop by her shoulder. He put a hand on the smooth, warm skin of her neck. âThanks for waiting for me. Howâs it going?â
She turned her head toward him, nosed his arm and chest, then jerked away as the buckskin came near again. Ears drawn flat against her head, eyes wide, the mare warned the other horse off.
âNo need to be jealous, sweetheart.â Dixon chuckled as he stroked his palm along her back. âIâve only got eyes for you.â
Talking quietly, he ran his hands over her ribs, her flanks, her chest, combed his fingers through her jet-black mane. As she calmed, he bent to stroke her legs, lifting each foot in turn, all the time praising her for standing still, for letting him have his way.
Then he straightened up and allowed the halter heâd hooked over his shoulder to drop down to his hand. âRemember this?â He held it under her nose, watched her sniff. âWe got this on yesterday. Letâs try again.â
She wasnât happy about it, but did finally let him slip the soft halter over her nose and ears. Left to run wild in the Colorado hills since her birth two years ago, she hadnât been trained to accept human restraints. Though she balked when he hooked the lead rope to the halter, the mare eventually consented to be led around the corral without too much fussâ¦as long as the buckskin kept her distance. This quarter horse wasnât interested in sharing her man with anybody else.