Dixie Under Siege (A Warrior's Passion #2) - Natasza Waters Page 0,4
damnation, she had to marry Josh.
She and Josh had dated through senior year, but they’d been hanging out since middle school. Her parents were traditionalists. Firm believers that sex before marriage was a mortal sin. Not to mention if word got out that the preacher’s daughter opened her legs to the Hunters’ son, she’d be painted with a scarlet letter. Primarily the girl’s fault. Least, according to her father.
Josh wasn’t at all concerned about their shotgun wedding, and she didn’t even have a bun in the oven.
The Hammond clan didn’t reflect The Waltons by any stretch. There weren’t fuzzy moments and daily hugs. There’d never been a time when her mother sat on Dixie’s bed and gave encouraging words of wisdom. The impending marriage wasn’t a bonding moment between mother and daughter.
The rapid tick, tick, tick of needle piercing fabric from Amelia’s sewing machine was a familiar sound in the laundry room. She patched the boys’ shirts and jeans. Sewed her own dresses and Sasha’s school play costumes. But her mother wanted no part of Dixie’s special day.
Doris, Josh’s mom, had done all the running around and making arrangements for the reception, which would be held at the Hunters’ ranch. Dixie’s father had asked a pastor from the neighboring town to perform the ceremony. She wouldn’t be surprised if her dad feigned ill and didn’t come. In fact, she’d put money on it.
Josh’s mom had picked her up and they’d gone shopping for a simple gown. Dixie’s mom had made an excuse that she was too busy that day.
At the bridal boutique, she’d stared at herself in the mirror. While her prospective mother-in-law had gushed how lovely she looked in the satin wedding dress, Dixie saw her dreams culled like a Thanksgiving turkey.
After Josh’s mom dropped her off at home, Dix had raced upstairs and quickly hung the dress in her closet, but it felt more like hiding the evidence. Amelia Hammond had never asked to see the gown.
Before leaving the racket of the kitchen, she gazed at her mom fussing over the ham frying on the stovetop. Her mother wasn’t the type of woman who spent money on manicures or visits to a salon. Every morning, she twisted her brunette hair into a bun at the nape of her neck. Years of canning and digging in the garden left her slender hands popping with blue veins. She wondered whether her mother ever had dreams to become something other than a homemaker.
But she’d never asked, because they’d never talked.
Dix headed down the two wooden steps from the wraparound porch and across dry dirt with a hint of orange, compliments of her home state.
Even though testosterone ranked higher than estrogen in her family, she never remembered any heart-to-hearts with her mother. Passing the corral, three of the Quarter Horses sauntered over and hung their chins over the white fence. Unfortunately, she didn’t have any apples hiding in her pockets, but the animals watched with perked ears.
As she neared the barn, the chickens clucked. Opening the weathered door, she stepped inside and closed it behind her. They owned over two hundred egg layers. The population of St. George sat around eighty grand. Folks from the city loved to pick up farm-fresh eggs, but the money supporting the family came from cattle and vegetables.
Dixie snagged a woven basket from the counter next to the entrance where they stacked empty cartons for new customers. Folks who bought from them weekly reused their empty cardboard cartons, doing their part to save the environment.
Shifting the bird’s feathered butts, she collected the brown eggs for breakfast and placed them in the basket.
Lost in thoughts of the upcoming wedding, an egg slipped from her fingers, landing with a dull smack on the concrete floor. The rich, brown shell cracked open and the deep orange yolk oozed out. She blinked at the mess.
She loved Josh. Handsome, with thick brown hair and dark blue eyes, he was the guy who turned girls’ heads. With broad shoulders and thick biceps from working on his family’s ranch, he’d turned Dixie’s head, too. But she wanted more than to grow a garden and collect eggs.
Dixie’s dreams would never become a reality if she married him. In the top drawer of her bedroom desk lay two scholarships and the acceptance letter from Penn State. She’d studied hard at school, pulling in top grades. Worked after school and during summers to save money. She didn’t own a cell phone or a car like her girlfriends.