The Hamilton Heir

“Tonight?”

“Yes. Two nights this week.”

“Uh-oh.”

“My sentiments, exactly.”

Tim made a snap decision. “Okay. I’ll lend you one of my cars till you get yours back. I’d rather it be the BMW than the Ferrari, if you don’t mind.”

He was pleased to see a little smile starting. The woman was actually pretty, in a well-scrubbed sort of way. Funny he hadn’t noticed that before. He’d always seen her as an efficient adjunct to his office but hadn’t really paid much attention to her as an individual until today. That was usually the way he liked to keep his business relationships, but in this instance he could see there was need for a little more personal connection.

“You’d do that? Lend me a car, I mean?”

“Under the circumstances, yes,” he said.

Dawn shook her head. “I appreciate your offer but I can’t accept.”

“Why not?”

“Well, besides the fact that I’d be scared to death I might scratch your expensive car, I can’t very well show up driving anything like that.”

“Why not?”

Dawn huffed. “Because I’d be embarrassed, for starters. And I’d be worried sick to use it for deliveries. Suppose I spilled gravy or something in it?”

“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.”