Deep Dixie Read Online Free PDF

reminder of her own struggle to sort out her father ’ s usually well-organized records. Greenhow was some kind of fool if he thought he could hold back the inevitable. Just as Dixie would be some kind of fool to think her drive and determination alone could bring order to the turmoil her father had left behind. In her frustration she kicked the desk leg, realizing too late what she had done.
    Greenhow sucked in his breath, thrusting his hand out, stiff-armed.
    Before he could actually do anything, the whole, deranged heap surged off the side of the desk, swishing and hissing and flapping as the papers poured downward like rain gushing down a gully.
    It did not surprise Dixie how much it soothed her to sit and watch the chaos empty itself onto the floor of Daddy ’ s meticulously appointed office. How she longed to just let go like that, to let everything come swooshing out until there was no more care or worry or grief left. Just imagining herself doing that very thing eased her pinched and knotted muscles a little.
    Greenhow started to bend again to begin retrieving the papers.
    Dixie coughed.
    The three pages remaining sloughed off the edge of the desk to cover his oxblood, wingtip shoes. He pulled up short, snorted, and let the papers be. “ As I was saying, this is really too much to take on, especially for... ”
    He drew the last word out, making a gesture with his hand like someone playing a game of charades. But instead of seeming to coax her to finish the statement, he gave more the impression of someone trying to avoid saying something vulgar in mixed company.
    She gave him a blank look.
    It did not encourage him to elaborate. He just churned his hand in the air with more embellishment and said, “ Especially for... ”
    “ For... ” She mimicked the man ’ s inflection flawlessly, letting her voice trail off just as he had, though she did forego his weak, wincing expression. It was a business trick she ’ d learned from her daddy, throwing someone ’ s words back at the, then nailing them with an icy glare. It often nudged a conscience toward the truth or, lacking that, embarrassed a person into blurting out what they really meant just to fill the awkward silence.
    Her father never did cotton to innuendo or coy implications. Anyone who did business with or on behalf of John Frederick Fulton-Leigh spoke their mind right out. Either that or they kept their mouths shut. If she ever hoped to fill her father ’ s shoes—she glanced down at her size 7 sling-back heels and corrected herself—if she ever hoped to step into her father ’ s position in work and in the community, she could accept no less from her associates than he would.
    She propped her elbows up and laced her fingers together. At thirty-two, with a good fifteen pounds extra padding on her and the kind of air-brushed complexion only a stacked genetic deck could provide, she knew she wasn ’ t as scary as Daddy had been. But she had caught a glimpse of herself in the powder room mirror just before this meeting began. With pale, blue-purple bags under her eyes and her hair pulled back in a low, tightly coiled bun that could hardly be distinguished from the collar of her black silk dress, she looked frightful enough. She set her jaw and pierced Mr. Greenhow with a hard look, goading him to finish what he had started.
    The lawyer coughed. Of course, it was a fake cough. He didn ’ t even hold Dixie in high enough regard to pretend it was anything else by covering his mouth when he did it. Other than that, he made not one sound to attempt to excuse or explain himself.
    Daddy would have thrown the man out the door for less—if the lawyer were lucky. She glanced heavenward, not seeking divine guidance but to steal a quick peek at the familiar bullet hole her father had left unpatched in the office ceiling. Daddy had his ways of dealing with people, mostly relying on his reputation, power, and persona. When they didn ’ t work he found more