Valerie Hansen - The Hamilton Heir

“Embarrassed? Why would you be embarrassed to drive a perfectly good BMW?”

“Because a car like that probably costs more than most of my clients earn in a whole year. Maybe more. I try to make them feel comfortable accepting help, not show them how the other half lives.”

“And I’m the other half?”

“Something like that.”

“I see.”

He mulled over her statement and realized she had a valid point. “Okay.”

“Okay what?”

“I’ll drive you.”

“That wasn’t what I meant.”

“I know. But I am the one who smashed your car so I figure I owe you.”

“You don’t have to do this.”

“Consider me a fellow volunteer, just helping out in a pinch.” Tim couldn’t believe she was still hesitating.

“Tell you what,” Dawn finally said. “I’ll make a few calls, see if maybe Pastor Abernathy or Amy are free to deliver tonight.”

“Amy? You mean my sister? Why her?”

“Because she’s been doing some of the evening meal distribution, too. I thought you knew?”

“I suppose she may have mentioned it.” Tim set his jaw. “Look. I happen to know she has a late meeting scheduled. Forget about arranging for a substitute. I’ll drive you. Period. In the meantime, do you want me to throw a little mud on the BMW so it won’t look too nice?”

Dawn could tell she was out of options so she capitulated. “I don’t think that will be necessary. I’ll explain when I hand over the meals.”

“I’m almost afraid to ask what you plan to say.”

“You can hear it for yourself,” she told him with a smile. “I’ll want you to come inside with me and meet some of my favorites. They’re delightful people. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”

“No more surprised than I am right now,” Tim said. “Why have you never talked about doing volunteer work?”

“I guess it never came up,” she answered. “You and I don’t have many in-depth conversations.”

“Well, maybe we should have,” he said. “I’m impressed.”

“I didn’t tell you about it to make points.”

“Still, you did,” he said with a smile. “I should be in the office all afternoon, after my lunch with my mother, so let me know when you’re ready to go.”

The rest of Dawn’s day flew past in a blur and 5:00 p.m. arrived before she knew it. Normally, she looked forward to taking the meals to her regulars. This evening, however, she was decidedly uneasy. Not only was she faced with having Tim Hamilton acting as her chauffeur, she’d realized belatedly that he was going to have to drive her home, too. Hamilton Media was located in Davis Landing, in the high-rent district along the Cumberland River, while she lived in Hickory Mills, a place often referred to as the “wrong side of the tracks.” She didn’t relish having her hypercritical boss see her modest apartment, even from the outside.

She considered phoning for a taxi, then changed her mind for fear of offending him. The door to Tim’s office stood ajar and she could hear him talking on the phone, so she waited till he’d ended his conversation before rapping on the door and easing it open a bit farther.

“Mr. Hamilton?”

“Yes?”

He had removed his jacket, loosened his pale blue silk tie and rolled up his shirtsleeves, yet his wavy dark hair was perfectly combed and he still looked like a glossy ad for Armani suits or expensive Italian loafers.

Dawn hesitated, then plunged ahead. “All that correspondence you wanted is stacked on my desk, waiting for your signature.”

“Good. Thanks.”

“I—uh—I thought I’d go home now.”

“Is it that late already?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Then we’d better get going.” He stood. “Where do you live?”

“Hickory Mills. On Third Street.”

“Then let’s go. Can’t keep hungry folks waiting for their dinner.”

“I still feel bad about this. I wouldn’t agree to it except—”

“Except I murdered your car. Have you heard anything about its repair or am I going to have to pay for its funeral, instead?”

“Repair. Definitely repair,” Dawn said, smiling. “The garage called. They promised a price break and I told them to go ahead. I hope that was okay.”

“Fine. Very efficient, as usual.” He slung his jacket over one shoulder, then joined her at the door. “I was going to do a bit more work before I called it a day but I guess I can come in early tomorrow. Let’s go.”

Having to take two steps for each of his long strides, she was nearly running by the time they got to the elevator. He reached out and held the door for her to pass.

“Thanks,” she said. “I’m glad you’re not in a hurry. I’d probably have to wear track shoes to keep up with you if you were.”

“You were moving pretty fast this morning,” Tim countered. “I had to run down the stairs to catch you.”

“Good thing you have such long legs then, huh?” Dawn saw him eye her much shorter stature and discerned a touch of wry humor in his expression. “My legs are not too short,” she insisted. “They reach all the way to the ground, don’t they?”

Tim chuckled. “That, they do.”

Suddenly, Dawn wished she’d kept her mouth shut instead of calling attention to herself. She wasn’t ashamed of her lithe figure or the feminine clothing she favored, she just hadn’t meant for her otherwise reserved boss to take special notice. There had been times, ever since she’d started working for him, that she’d secretly wished he’d at least acknowledge her as a living, breathing human being. Now that he had, however, she wasn’t so sure she liked it, especially since they were cooped up in a cramped elevator. Alone.

Don’t be silly, her sensible side argued. There’s nothing wrong with taking an innocent elevator ride with a man, no matter how handsome and dashing he happens to be. And there was certainly nothing wrong with Tim Hamilton’s manners. He was every bit the perfect Southern gentleman he’d always been.

Particularly in regard to other women, she added contritely. Until today, his suave graciousness had seemed reserved for women he saw socially. Now that Dawn was the recipient of the Hamilton charm, she wasn’t sure how she ought to react. One thing was certain, however. This was going to be a very long evening.

If she could have been positive the whole unfolding sequence of events was God’s idea, maybe meant to show Tim how to appreciate the simple things in life more, she’d have been happier with the situation. Then again, who was she to question her Heavenly Father?

The same silly person I’ve always been, she answered honestly. Some things were just beyond human comprehension and the only times she got herself into real trouble were when she tried to second-guess the Lord and help Him out.

That ridiculous thought made her smile. As if God wasn’t capable of doing anything He wanted whether she cooperated or not!

When they reached the ground floor, Herman Gordon hailed them. “Night, Mr. Tim, Miss Dawn.” He bent to retrieve a picnic basket from beneath the counter that he and his wife, Louise, considered their private bailiwick. “Here’s the stuff you ordered from Betty’s, sir. It was just delivered a few minutes ago. Miss Justine brought it over.”

Tim took the basket from him. “Thanks, Herman. Have a good evening.”

The old man waved a clipboard. “Gotta sign out. Them’s the rules.”

“Do it for us,” Tim called back, hurrying Dawn toward the door. “You know who we are.”

Dawn snickered quietly. “He’s a stickler, isn’t he?”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Tim said. “I just figured we’d better make tracks or he’d start telling us one of his long stories and you’d never get your meals delivered.” He led the way to his car. “Speaking of which, I thought we might be hungry, too, so I ordered a little dinner to go.”