“The flower club was meeting.” He laughed. “Madam President couldn’t relinquish her gavel for the trip. But she was as worried as me. Almost,” he added dryly.
“I just cut the trip short, that’s all.”
“So you said.” He threw a protective arm across her shoulders and grinned at her. “Welcome home, pilgrim,” he repeated. “We missed you.”
“I missed you, too,” she said wholeheartedly, hugging him back. It would be all right now. Everything would be all right; she was home.
But all the way to Ashton she only listened half-heartedly to the shouted conversation between her uncle and the pilot while her thoughts were back in Nassau with Cal. It seemed like someone else’s trip, not her own, now that she was back. Time, which had slowed to a crawl on New Providence, was back on schedule again, and in the airport everyone had seemed to be in a maddening rush. The landscape below the four-place plane looked strange, too, because she’d become accustomed to the sight of palm trees and sandy beaches. Perhaps that would help, the fact that she wouldn’t have the island to remind her of Cal with every step she took.
An hour later they landed at the Ashton airport and Mike’s big Thunderbird was a welcome sight. Nikki slid in, leaning back contentedly against the black velour upholstery in the white car’s interior. Even in the blazing heat of a Georgia July, it was comforting.
“I need to get an update on the planning committee’s recommendations for upgrading this airport,” Mike muttered as he cranked the car and turned on the air-conditioning. “That might be a good one for you, Nikki,” he added as he backed out of the parking spot and headed the car toward the highway.
“I’ve still got the background material you loaned me to do that last update with,” she replied absently. Her eyes were staring blankly out the window at the flat landscape with the thick hardwood trees far on the horizon. Closer was the imposing skyline of Ashton.
Ashton was older than the Civil War, having been founded in 1850. It had flaunted its own proud company, the Ashton Rifles, as part of the Confederate army. Two of Nikki’s great-uncles had been members of it, one of whom died at the battle of Cemetery Ridge. The other survived to a ripe old age in Ashton.
A statue of a Confederate soldier stood guard over the town square, while dozens of small businesses huddled in a neat, wide circle around it amid clean air and pretty little trees. The square boasted a large park with benches and sidewalks and masses of flowers donated and cared for by the Ashton Garden Club.
Although Ashton wasn’t technically a small town, it wasn’t a big city, either. It was a nice medium-sized city with a small-town personality: plenty of parking space, good police and fire departments, a daily newspaper, two radio stations and the weekly newspaper that Mike Wayne’s family had founded sixty-five years before. And it was one thing more. It was Nikki’s home.
Her eyes lingered on the newspaper office, tucked between the Ashton Pharmacy and the Clinton brothers’ five and dime store. It was an unimposing little office, with the bulk of its operation tucked away in the back, and Nikki had her own office, next to Mike’s. There was one other reporter, “Red” Jones, a typesetter and an advertising representative.
“Missed it, did you?” Mike asked shrewdly, watching her eyes scan the block for the office.
“I missed a lot of things,” she said with a smile. “The refrigerator, mostly.”
He chuckled. “For the ice, no doubt.”
“And the water. And the soft drinks. And the food.” She sighed. “I didn’t think I’d ever be cool again. But it was a lovely trip, and I’ll be your friend for life if you won’t ask me any more about it.”
There was a brief pause before he answered. “Okay, honey, if that’s how you want it. Now, let’s see if we can get enough together to make some sandwiches with before your aunt gets back from her meeting. Then,” he added with a grin, “we’ll go back to work. Suit you?”
“Oh yes, it sure does,” she said enthusiastically. “Ridiculous as it may sound, I’ve missed my job, too.”
“You love it.” He shrugged. “People should enjoy what they do for a living, Nikki. Life is too short to work for the paycheck alone. Money isn’t the bottom line.”