Free Leaving Carolina by Tamara Leigh Page B

out.
    His mouth tilts. “I wasn’t raised in the South.”
    “Where are you from?”
    “My dad was a marine, so that pretty much covers everywhere.”
    “That must have been hard.”
    “Mostly it was uncertain, which is why I’m inclined to stay in Pickwick.” He graduates to a smile. “It’s a good place to settle down.”
    “I’m sure it’s a fit for some.” I grimace. “Now that it has a Wal-Mart, it can hardly be called small town’ anymore.”
    “Most of the changes are for the better.”
    Though overall I approve, I can’t help but think of Martha. Yes, she said she’s happier at Cracker Barrel, but I hate that one of the few good things about Pickwick is gone. “Some of the changes aren’t for the better.”
    Axel pulls off his sunglasses and crosses his arms over his chest. Someone not trained in body language, who doesn’t know to factor in context and other nonverbal cues (raised eyebrows and lids, curved mouth), might say his stance is defensive, but I’m a professional. He’s simply settling in to the conversation. Not good.
    “The way I understand it,” he says, “ten years ago Pickwick’s population was declining and businesses were struggling or closing, including the old mill.”
    The textile mill Grandpa Pickwick left to Bart’s father when he passed away and which I understand closed down when Uncle Bartholomew’s get-richer-quicker stab at the stock market failed.
    “What turned it around,” Axel continues, “is the new highway exit that provides easier access to Pickwick, as well as the town’s commitment to renewal and preservation of its heritage.”
    Heritage? I never stepped inside a Wal-Mart until I shook the Pickwick dust from my feet.
    “The population has nearly tripled, and it’s not only newcomers who are responsible, but those who left and have returned to be with their families.”
    That last tempts me toward “warm and fuzzy,” but I have no interest in Pickwick. Once I convince Uncle Obe to let bygones be bygones, I’m out of here. “I’m happy that Pickwick is thriving.”
    Axel’s Blue eyes narrow. “But it has nothing to do with you.”
    Am I that transparent? Piper Wick who specializes in advising high-profile personalities on the use of body language and the well-chosen word? Of course, I have little to lose by revealing my true feelings to this stranger. “You’re right. It has nothing to do with me.”
    The press of his lips is so fleeting I’m not sure if it’s from disappointment or disapproval. I wish it were neither since it makes me feel like a snob.
    Axel starts to turn away. “I need to fix the mower.”
    On impulse—what has come over me?—I hurry forward and touch his arm. “I’m sorry. That sounded…” The muscles beneath my fingers are warm and firm and the golden hair is ticklish, but I don’t snatch my hand back. That could be read as “bothered,” which I’m not. “I didn’t mean to sound cold.”
    His eyes slide to mine, reengaging me and providing the excuse to return my hand to my side. Not bothered at all.
    “It’s just that I never intended to come back to Pickwick. Yet…here I am.”
    He returns the sunglasses to his face. “Sounds inconvenient.”
    He said it, not me. “Family calls.”
    “You didn’t have to answer.”
    And let Uncle Obe wreak havoc with his tell-all will? I almostsay it aloud, but no one outside the family need know about this matter.
    “Unless you’re worried about how the changes to the will could affect you.”
    A gasp sends saliva down the wrong tube. Though I struggle to preserve my dignity, the instinct for survival is stronger, and I bend forward and hack.
    Axel’s soiled boots come into view, and he thumps my back. “Better?”
    My, he’s close. “Yes, thank you.” As I straighten to peer into his darkened lenses, he removes his hand from my back. “You know about my uncle’s will?”
    An eyebrow pops up above his left lens. “I have lived here for two