Chapter Two

      “I’m heading into Yuma. Anyone want to come along?” Dixie asked as she waltzed into the kitchen Wednesday afternoon. Three of her brothers—the unemployed ones—played poker.

      “I’ll see your five Lemonheads and raise you two.” Conway pushed the candy to the center of the table.

      “Stupid move, bro,” Porter said.

      “I’ll see your two, little brother, and raise you five.” Buck grinned.

      “Hey, did anyone hear my question?”

      Three heads swiveled in Dixie’s direction and her brothers spoke in unison. “What?”

      “I’ve got an appointment with the owner of Susie’s Souvenirs in Yuma. Who wants to go with me?”

      Conway gaped as if she’d left her brain upstairs in the bedroom. “We’re in the middle of a poker game.”

      “Well, excuse me for interrupting.” She grabbed her purse from the counter and stepped onto the wash porch.

      “Man, she’s touchy,” Conway said.

      “I heard that!” The smack of the screen door punctuated Dixie’s shout.

      Halfway to the truck Porter’s voice rang out.

      “Hey, Dix, wait for me!”

      “If you’re coming along to pry the name of the baby’s father out of me, you might as well stay here,” she said when he skidded to stop in front of her.

      Porter’s smile flipped upside down. “How’d you know?”

      Dixie hopped into her 1982 red Ford truck, then cranked the engine and turned on the air conditioner. As soon as her brother shut the passenger-side door, she shifted into Reverse and backed away from the barn. Porter wasn’t the brightest member of the Cash clan but Dixie had a soft spot for the brother closest to her age. “They sent you to do their dirty work because you’re the youngest—”

      “No, you’re the baby of the family.” He shook his head. “A baby having a baby. That doesn’t sound good when you say it out loud.”

      She glanced in the rearview mirror. Buck and Conway stood on the porch arms crossed over their chests, faces sober.

      “I’m not saying who the father is, so you might as well finish your poker game.” She stopped the truck.

      Porter checked the side mirror. “Nah. I’ll go with you.”

      Chicken.

      At the end of the dirt drive, Dixie turned onto the county road and drove west. The trip into Yuma took less than a half hour once they reached the interstate. “You could look for a job while we’re in town.”

      “No one’s hiring.”

      Porter was lazy. She supposed he didn’t know any better. His engaging smile and puppy-dog eyes made people want to take care of him and Porter never snubbed a helping hand. “Wouldn’t hurt to fill out an application,” she said.

      “Drop me off at the bowling alley. I’ll ask if they’re hiring.”

      And if they weren’t, Porter would bowl a few games. When her brother wouldn’t stop fidgeting, she asked, “What’s the matter with you?”

      “How come you didn’t tell us you had a boyfriend?”

      “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

      His mouth sagged. “You mean, you just…you know…”

      “Yes, Porter. I had sex.”

      “But you’ve never dated anyone, except for that guy in the high-school band.”

      “Rick McKee? He wasn’t my boyfriend.” But Rick had taken her virginity in the backseat of his car the night of the junior prom—an unremarkable experience.

      “You’re not supposed to have sex with a guy if he’s not your boyfriend.”

      “I bet you’ve had sex with a girl and you never saw the girl afterward.”

      “It’s different for guys.”

      “You’re such a chauvinist.”

      “Jeez, are all pregnant women as crabby as you?”

      “Sorry.” Dixie had kept her emotions bottled up inside her since she’d discovered she was pregnant. If only her grandmother were alive to help her navigate this uncertain time. “I’m scared, Porter.”

      He turned down the radio. “Scared of what?”

      “Of losing my dream.”

      “What dream?”

      “Never mind.” She rarely shared her plans for the future with her brothers—mostly because they wouldn’t understand. Dixie’s dream was really her grandmother’s dream. When Ada Cash passed away, Dixie had stood before her open casket and vowed to find a way to make her grandmother’s family soap recipes famous.

      “I used to have a dream,” Porter said.

      “What was it?”

      “I wanted to be a monster truck driver.”

      Dixie’s dream had a better chance of becoming a reality than her brother’s.

      “Doesn’t matter anymore,” he said.

      But dreams did matter. Grandma Ada had wanted to sell her soaps to Colgate but Grandpa Ely had insisted she was “plum off her rocker” if she believed a big corporation would buy a few fancy bars of soap from a nobody. Dixie was determined that even in death her grandmother would not remain a nobody.

      “Why monster truck driving?” she asked.

      “Can you keep a secret?”

      “Of course.” None