12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

“ T he Black-Eyed Susan? That’s the name of your ranch?” Clark asked.

“It sounds more like a bar,” Cleo muttered, but Dottie’s sharp ears heard it.

“The Black-Eyed Susan is the name of the pink and yellow flowers growing all over the property,” Dottie explained. “A century ago my family tried to get rid of it, but it don’t want to leave. So we made friends with it instead and my great-great grandmama named the place after it. We’ve lived symbolically with it ever since.”

Cleo’s brow furrowed and Clark whispered, “I think she meant symbiotically.” Ah, that made so much more sense.

Dottie disappeared into another room after showing Clark and Cleo into a sitting room with plush red sofas and knitted afghans draped on everything that sat still. Dottie was an entirely different person than the one who sulked in the back of the car all the way here. The drastic change gave Cleo whiplash.

Clark sat back in a chair and picked up a knick knack from the end table. There were others scattered throughout the room, on the fireplace mantle and other tables. Little glass figurines and music boxes, memorabilia that Cleo imagined had probably been collected slowly over the last hundred years. “This isn’t exactly what I pictured Dottie’s place would look like. What about you?” he asked.

“Not at all. I’m shocked, to be honest.” Cleo leaned forward, elbows resting on knees. “But then, I think I’ve misjudged Dottie entirely.”

“She’s not the old biddy you first thought she was?” Clark needled.

“Oh yeah, because you pegged her correctly right from the moment you met her, when she was coming onto you.”

“She wasn’t coming onto me; she was just flirting a bit, which I’d bet is how she talks with most men.”

“Not Dale.”

The V showed up between Clark’s brows. “No, not Dale. It appears she only flirts with men she’s not interested in.” Was that what Clark did–flirt with women he wasn’t interested in? He didn’t flirt with Cleo. Her brain began analyzing what that might mean and immediately went back to that moment when they were doing the dishes and he looked like he was going to say something to her.

She pushed the memory away. “What do you think happened between her and Dale today? I’ve never seen a man look so scared one minute and sad the next.”

“It was definitely strange.” Clark wiped his hands on his jeans and stood. “I know we’re guests, but do you think she’d mind if we looked around?” Curious as well, she followed him down a hallway they’d seen Dottie take and found the woman whipping up some kind of batter in a bowl, her fluff of hair swaying erratically with every movement.

“Oops, I was gettin’ the tea ready, but I mighta gotten a bit distracted,” she shouted.

“You don’t need to stand on ceremony with us, Dottie; put us to work,” Clark told her, which was how Cleo ended up in a red gingham apron with a crazy-looking chicken face on it that said, ‘I may look calm, but in my head I’ve pecked you three times.’ Dottie’s apron read ‘Crazy chicken lady.’ She handed Cleo the bowl she’d been stirring and told her to keep going.

Half an hour later, the three were sitting at the table with fresh fruit Clark picked from the garden, biscuits and gravy, and the yummiest milk Cleo had ever tasted. She guzzled half the glass and looked up with a milk mustache smile. Clark grabbed his phone and snapped a picture of her before she wiped it on her sleeve.

Clark turned to Dottie. “What has happened to our Cleo?”

She smirked. “That’s called gettin’ countryfied!”

After lunch Dottie took Clark and Cleo outside and showed them around her property. “We used to have a bunch of horses who worked these fields, as well as goats, cows, and just about every other farm animal you can name. Now we’re down to one cow: Milkshake; three pigs: Hogwash, Spam, and Harry Porker; and twenty-two chickens: Princess Lay-a, Hen Solo, Cluck Vader, Henny Penny, Amelia Eggheart, Attila the Hen, Eggs Benny, Abrahen Lincoln, Peck-a-dilly, Blanche, and the Dirty Dozen.” She ticked those names off on her fingers and Cleo shared a smile with Clark. Leave it to Dottie to come up with the best names she’d ever heard.

“I pay my neighbor to work the fields and bring in crops ‘cuz I cain’t do it myself anymore. ‘Sides, it’s just me, and I ain’t got no one to pass it onto anyway.” Dottie regarded the fields and Cleo wondered if she felt regret about leaving school to come back here and run things, only for it to end with her. It probably wasn’t the legacy she expected to hand down to the next generation.

Cleo picked a flower and it gave her an idea. She knew she didn’t want to be Dottie’s age and filled with regrets, and it made her bold. “Dottie, can I ask you a question?”

“Sure, honey.”

“What’s your favorite flower?”

Dottie looked surprised. “Well, what’s that got to do with anything?”

“Just answer, please.”

“Well, honey, it’s a hydrangea.”

Cleo bobbed her head, deciding. “Can I ask a follow-up question without getting my head bit off?”

Dottie turned sad eyes on her and sighed, “I s’pose so.”

“What happened this morning with Dale?”

Dottie looked resigned. She led the pair back to her porch and sat in a chair with a huff. Clark followed suit but Cleo remained standing, steeling herself to hear the worst. If Dale had done something to Dottie, would she and Clark be able to do anything about it? She almost wanted to take back her question.

Dottie’s reply was not what she expected. “He asked me to marry him.” What ?

“What?” Clark sat up. “He proposed?”

Dottie nodded, her head down and hands wringing in her lap.

“That was why you felt the need to throw pancakes at him?”

When she didn’t respond, Clark took her hand and calmly said, “Dottie, we thought Dale had hurt you.”

Dottie pulled her hand from his. “Dale wouldn’t hurt a fly. He’s always been the gentlest man I’ve ever known.”

“But, what happened to him being married?” Cleo asked.

“He was married for a few years, he said, but then his wife ran off with her hairdresser.”

“Her hairdresser?” Cleo parroted.

“Apparently the hairdresser was moving to Memphis and Dale’s ex said she’d never find another hairdresser like him, so she went with him. She served Dale divorce papers a month later.” Cleo smothered a giggle and tried to look appropriately serious for Dottie’s sake.

“So, he hasn’t been married in a while, and he still loves you?” she prodded.

“He said he never stopped loving me, even after I shut him down last time. I thought we’d simply be friends again, but then he told me that we were both getting older and deserved to be happy, and for him that meant being with the love of his life. He’s retiring this year and wants to come live with me at the Black-Eyed Susan.”

Clark and Cleo shared a look. He was so handsome, looking all concerned about Dottie. Cleo’s heart thumped hard, reminding her it was still in there for whenever she was ready to feel something again.

Clark cleared his throat. “I guess I’m waiting for the part where he said something that made you start throwing breakfast food.”

Dottie shot to her feet. “I already told you. He asked me to marry him!” She began wringing her hands again and pacing.

“That’s it? That’s when the pancakes became flying saucers?”

“Don’t you laugh at me,” Dottie shook her finger at Clark. “This is not funny.”

“It’s a little bit funny,” he said.

Cleo put her arm around Dottie’s shoulder, awkwardly at first until she pushed through the discomfort. “Dottie, Clark and I are just trying to understand you. A man who you are obviously still in love with tells you he loves you, too, asks you to marry him, says he’ll retire and move here with you, and you treat him as if he tried to molest you or something.” She bit her lip and faced Dottie head on, channeling the voice she used with the children she worked with at the foundation. “Can you help us understand?”

Dottie pulled at her hair. “I just think that nothing has changed, not really. Dale says he’s willing to give everythin’ up to be with me, but that’s just it: he’ll give up everythin’ that matters to him, and what will he get in exchange? A mean old lady who will end up drivin’ him crazy. He’ll resent me and what I took from him, and we’ll both be miserable.”

Cleo felt a pang of sympathy. She opened her mouth to say something when Clark beat her to it.

“Dottie, I’m not exactly an expert on love or relationships, but I do think I’m a good judge of character.” Dottie shifted to face Clark. “And from what I could see of Dale, he is a good man who is lonely. His life in Jackson, while comfortable, isn’t something you’ll be robbing him of. He’ll only be an hour from the friends and family he’ll be leaving, and look at all he’ll gain! I mean, just look at this place, at you! A man would have to be nuts not to want this.”

Clark motioned out to the fields and then passed a hand through his blonde hair, mussing it in the process. “Most of us don’t get second chances, and yours has dropped into your lap, despite your every attempt to sabotage it. I think you need to give Dale a chance. He knows what he’s asking, and he won’t regret it. And neither will you.”

Cleo’s heart had started pounding in her chest as Clark spoke. It wasn’t just from how good he looked, pacing back and forth on the deck or his impassioned speech. She had been wrong about Dottie, but she saw again just how much she’d misjudged Clark as well. He wasn’t cold-hearted and severe. He had a crusty exterior, but she kept glimpsing his gooey, sweet core, like a creme brulee. Cleo loved creme brulee.

Dottie shook her head. “It’s too late. I’ve ruined everything.”

Clark stopped pacing and said, “Maybe not.” Then he jumped down the porch steps and, taking long strides that ate up the lawn, plodded around the house. They heard the car start and pull out. Instinct told Cleo to run after him before he left her behind, but she forced herself to stay put. She had an inkling about what he might be doing, and she’d just have to trust him, no matter how hard that was.

This might take some time and she needed a distraction while they waited for Clark. Moving toward the chicken coop, Cleo yelled over her shoulder, “Come on, Dottie! Show me how to collect eggs!”