PAR FOR CINDERELLA

by MCCARTY, PETIE

  The golfers finished the par three seventeenth with matching birdies. Aidan felt sick in his gut. All that remained was the par five 565-yard eighteenth hole. A straight fairway, no dogleg, traps on both sides of the green, and a water hazard to the right of the green. To beat PJ, he would need a double eagle two. Not unheard of on a par five, but definitely far from common, and the best PJ could get was a birdie. Close to impossible.

  Aidan had thought for sure he would pick up a stroke on seventeen when PJ had a long twenty-five-foot putt to Aidan’s three-foot birdie putt, but PJ had caught another break. His putt had paused right on the very edge of the cup. Aidan had breathed a sigh of relief only to watch the ball suddenly drop into the hole.

  I need a miracle and with the way I’ve been playing—

  As he stood to the side of the tee box while PJ teed up his drive, Aidan felt a small hand slip into his larger one and squeeze.

  “I have faith in you, Aidan. Don’t play smart anymore. Go for it,” Casey whispered and squeezed his hand one more time before stepping back into the gallery.

  Aidan felt some of the tension melt from his shoulders. She was right. Smart golf wouldn’t win this hole. This one hole was the whole enchilada. The match started and ended right here. He would put his heart and soul in the next two swings—a heart he suddenly realized his little sweetheart held in her two small hands.

  PJ must have felt some nerves at this last hole, or else he was too pumped up. His drive finished on the left side of the fairway at the edge of the rough. A smattering of applause followed.

  Aidan teed up and when he straightened, he looked into the beautiful green eyes that he saw too often in his dreams. “This one’s for you,” he told Casey, not caring who heard. He drove the ball with all his might, so she would know how much he cared.

  A tumult of whistles, catcalls, and cheers rolled together in an ear-deafening din.

  “That’s gotta be over 300 yards!” someone hollered, and the crowd clamored again.

  PJ glared and hurried to get in front of Aidan as they walked down the eighteenth fairway.

  PJ was away, his drive at least fifty yards back of Aidan’s, and he and Jimmy argued over club selection—Jimmy wanting PJ to play it safe and PJ wanting to show off. The two settled on the three-metal, and PJ readied to show up Aidan. He would need his fairway shot to be 290 yards in order to reach the green, and even PGA pros would have a tough time making that shot. Though he tried to kill it, the three-metal shot left the ball fifty yards short of the green.

  Still too close for Aidan who would have preferred PJ in a trap or better yet, the water hazard to the right of the green, which would cost him a stroke. Then Aidan could take the match with an eagle three.

  As the two opponents reached Aidan’s ball, Ian checked his caddy notebook. “It’s 325 yards to the sand trap behind us.” He grinned at Aidan. “Not bad, lad. Not bad at all.” He leaned in close. “Now hit this one with everything ye’ve got,” he whispered and handed Aidan his three-metal.

  Aidan stared down the fairway, visualizing the green and the cup. His peripheral vision caught Ian sliding over next to PJ, and then he heard the rumble of his friend’s Scottish burr.

  “Make a sound, ye little bastard, and I’ll strangle ye right here.”

  Aidan set the club face at his ball.

  No holds barred.

  He took a deep breath.

  Go for it.

  And he struck the ball with all his might.

  The small white orb shot into the air in a straight arc aimed right at the pin to a chorus of, “You da’ man!” from the gallery.

  “It’s got the distance,” Ian murmured, once again back at Aidan’s side.

  “Go ball,” he heard Casey yell from the edge of the gallery.

  Aidan couldn’t take his eyes off the small white dot that hit the front edge of the green—the crowd exploded because he was on in two—and rolled toward the flagstick.

  Up the slight slope, the blessed ball kept moving. And then Aidan lost sight of it. He jumped up to see more of the front-to-back-sloped green. He couldn’t spot his ball.

  “Did you see where it went?” he shouted at Ian, taller than everyone else.

  “Into the bloody hole!” Ian roared and swooped up Aidan in a bear hug. “Into the bloody damned hole!”

  The crowd broke into a thunderous cheer so loud it turned Aidan’s ears inside out.

  Casey beamed at him from the sidelines, and he saw her mouth the words, “You did it!” Heck, he couldn’t hear anybody.

  PJ had stomped off toward the green, already a dozen yards in front of them. Aidan worked to catch his breath, couldn’t have clawed the grin off his face. Ian scooped up the bag and fairly trotted up the fairway, stopped to do a little Scottish jig, and danced on as Aidan hustled to keep up.

  The crowd finally stopped cheering as most of Cypress Key filled the area surrounding the green. PJ shoved Jimmy back from his bag and yanked out the sand wedge, took a couple practice swings, and addressed the ball. The gallery grew deathly quiet save for the miniscule click of a camera.

  PJ whipped around and stormed into the crowd. “Who took that picture?” he hollered.

  A fourteen-year-old girl held up her old-style thirty-five mm camera and said, “S-Sorry.”

  PJ grabbed the camera and heaved it into the water hazard. “You could have ruined my shot,” he screamed, and the girl began to sob.

  “I might just strangle him anyway,” Ian growled.

  Frank held up both arms and shouted, “Quiet!” to silence the now-grumbling gallery.

  PJ lined up his shot again, and you could hear a blade of grass drop. He swung the wedge. The ball lofted into the air. He’d chili-dipped the shot, and the ball stopped ten feet short of the pin. He threw the wedge right at Jimmy and shot another glare at the girl who now had tears streaming down her cheeks.

  PJ strode ahead of Aidan and onto the green, claiming the honor. Aidan could have taken his ball out of the hole and let the crowd go crazy again, but he stood to the side and waited. He would win fair and square or not at all.

  PJ looked surprised, but shrugged, and eyed his putting line from three different angles, telling Jimmy to “piss off” when he offered his help.

  PJ lined up the putt.

  Aidan held his breath. He’d done what he could, but this was a makeable putt. PJ swung through the putt—maybe too pumped with adrenaline—but the ball sailed two feet past the hole, and the crowd went wild.

  Aidan reached into the cup, pulled out his ball, walked over, and handed it to the camera-less girl. The crowd thundered even louder. Ian pumped the putter in the air like an ancient claymore and let loose what had to be a Gaelic war cry.

  PJ and Jimmy tried to slide through the crowds around the green and make a speedy exit without giving Aidan and Ian the proper congratulations on their win. The gallery was having none of that. Gaps were tightened up, and the losing opponents were pinned on the green.

  Aidan caught PJ at the back of the green and held out a hand. “Good match.”

  PJ curled his lip at the proffered hand but finally took it. “Congratulations,” he choked out for the crowd, but his eyes flashed in anger. He lowered his voice for Aidan alone, “I’ll get you back.

  “No, you won’t,” Aidan said cheerfully,

  When PJ tried to jerk his hand free, Aidan held fast and squeezed until PJ’s face turned pink. The cheat struggled but couldn’t get loose. Aidan squeezed harder. PJ sucked in a hard inhale.

  “Now you listen to me,” Aidan said, his voice pitched low and full of promise. “You have that check here for Frank in the morning, and you go buy that girl a brand-new camera, better than the one you ruined.”

  PJ scowled. The next squeeze painfully overlapped fingers until PJ’s ey
es went wide and he nodded his acquiescence.

  “The best you can buy,” Aidan growled, “and she gets an apology to go with it. Right?”

  PJ looked ready to sob but nodded.

  “I don’t want to have to come looking for you to finish this.”

  PJ gave one last weak nod, and Aidan let him go. His hand and knuckles looked the color of half-ripe strawberries. The crowd made a gap for PJ’s exit, and he half-ran for the parking lot, not waiting for Jimmy.

  Aidan heard the gun of an engine, and he saw Archer Bartow wheel his big gold Cadillac out of the lot almost running down PJ in the process.

  He turned and watched Casey charge across the green. He caught her as she leaped into his arms and wrapped her legs around his waist. Having dreamed of holding her just like this and now getting his wish, he relished the feel of her slender body molded to his from neck to hips and the feel of her heels clamped together over his backside. Made his eyes roll back in his head. He would have given his entire fortune to be somewhere, anywhere alone at this very moment.

  She pulled his head down and kissed him with all the exuberance he could feel vibrating through her body. He let go his need and lost himself in the kiss, not caring they were wrapped together like a pretzel in the middle of the eighteenth green.

  The ring of applause surrounding them finally urged their lips apart. Half of Cypress Key circled them, clapping wildly for his win—Ian and Frank buried among them—and apparently in celebration of his subsequent display of affection for their hometown girl. Suddenly nervous, Casey hopped down, her cheeks flushed in adorable embarrassment.

  He grabbed her back and placed a swift hard kiss on her lips. “I don’t care who saw that,” he announced. The crowd cheered their approval.

  Aidan glanced all around the green at the residents and held out his arms. “Thank you for your support.”

  “You had us worried, Aidan,” someone called.

  “I had me worried,” he shot back, and the crowd clamored with laughter all over again.

  The entire gallery insisted on stopping to shake his hand before exiting the green. When the last hand was shaken and the last hug delivered, he found Ian, Casey, Rory, and Frank patiently waiting.

  Mamie had stolen her hug from Aidan before everybody else, so she could clean up in the tent and head for Maisey’s.

  “Come along then, lad,” Ian said, still grinning from ear to ear. “We’re headed to Steamers to have dinner and celebrate. I’m buying.”

  “I imagine half the town is already there waiting on us,” Rory added excitedly.

  Half the town was awaiting their entrance. Aidan had the best evening of his life. He finally felt like he was home.

  And couldn’t help but wonder how long the feeling would last.

  Chapter 22

  Festival booths and tents of all sizes were going up all over town on Wednesday morning as Aidan and Casey drove to the course. This was always one of her favorite times of year for Casey loved to see the tourists from all over Florida descend on Cypress Key to get great seafood and beautiful crafts. Her only tour Wednesday was scheduled at two o’clock, but the boat had been booked for two daily tours on Thursday and three each on the official festival days of Friday, Saturday, and Sunday.

  At breakfast that morning, Frank had said, “Maybe Aidan should do the tours Thursday through Sunday.”

  “But you need me at the course,” Aidan had argued.

  “Casey, can Aidan run the pro shop? Did you train him?”

  She didn’t want to give up her boat tours—she loved doing them, plus she hated being ordered not to—but darned if her uncle didn’t have a point. “No, I didn’t,” she admitted.

  “So who will run the pro shop if you’re doing the tours?” Frank asked, all innocence.

  She couldn’t ask Mamie to do double duty for three days. That wouldn’t be fair.

  “I’ll do the pro shop, and Aidan can do the tours,” she agreed grudgingly.

  As she turned, she caught her uncle winking at Aidan. Innocence, my butt.

  She gave up though. They needed the extra tour boat money this weekend as much as the extra greens fees the festival would bring.

  Besides, this was her last morning with Aidan for a few days, and Casey intended to enjoy it. She hadn’t been able to stop grinning since she awakened that morning. Aidan had won his match with PJ, who wouldn’t be coming back to harass her at the course. The celebration at Steamers with Ian and everybody had been more fun than she’d had in years, especially since Aidan had treated her like his girlfriend in front of the whole town. He held her hand or had his arm on the back of her chair most of the night while everyone made him retell the double-eagle story over and over again. And the cuddling she and Aidan had done on the sleeper sofa later had been nothing short of magical.

  If it hadn’t been so late and the festival weekend starting, she might have let him steal third. She promised herself to let him hit a triple very, very soon. She’d hoped that Aidan might tell her he loved her since the evening had turned out to be so romantic, so perfect, but instead he had said only, “You’re the only woman who has ever turned my brain to mush with her kisses.”

  Yeah, she could live with that.

  “What are you smiling about?” he asked, as he turned the Jeep into the golf course entrance drive.

  “How much fun we had last night.”

  “And more fun to come,” he promised, reaching over to gently brush his knuckles across her cheek.

  His crooked, little smile vanished the second he glanced back through the windshield and spotted a convocation up ahead at the maintenance shed. A ring of people circled Frank who had his arms crossed over his chest.

  “Not again,” Aidan groused. He threw the Jeep into park and sprinted to the building, Casey right behind him.

  Surprisingly, Frank smiled at his approach. “Here he is.”

  The circle of people turned, all residents, all wearing matching grim expressions: Grace Talley from the bakery, Vern Eisley the jeweler, and Matt Bonner who owned Island Pharmacy. Two more people stepped out of the shadows of the maintenance shed and alongside Frank—Rory and his father, Colin Jameson.

  Aidan looked like he was trying not to glower, but if this group thought they could get him to back off of Bartow, they had better think again. Casey didn’t think Aidan Crosse ever gave up. On anything. And why was her uncle smiling?

  “Listen to what they have to say, Aidan,” Frank said.

  A chagrined Jameson stepped forward. “Better late than never, I guess,” he said.

  Only then did Casey notice the document in his hand.

  “This is a copy of my partnership agreement with Mayor Bartow.” He handed the papers to Aidan.

  “What made you change your mind?”

  “Your golf match.”

  “You’re going to help me because I won a golf match?” Aidan asked, incredulous.

  “Of course not,” Jameson said and finally smiled. “It’s because you stood up to PJ and beat him soundly, which is like standing up to the mayor and beating him.”

  “Last one to do that was my brother,” Frank added.

  Aidan stared at Casey’s uncle, his face suffused with concern.

  Jameson’s shoulders slumped. “Everyone in town wishes they could stand up to Bartow, and we don’t like what happened to Big Louie. Rory and I think Bartow was behind Louie’s boat blowing up because Louie stuck up for you. It could happen to any of us, and we want this mayhem to stop. I didn’t like Bartow telling me where my son could work either.”

  Grace Talley stepped forward. “Here’s a copy of my loan.”

  “And mine.” Bonner handed his over, as did Vern Eisley, who asked, “Can your friend really help us?”

  “Yes, he can,” Aid
an said. “I’ll make sure of it.”

  The residents nodded, shook Aidan’s hand, and quietly trudged back to their cars.

  “Grace Talley says more residents are coming,” Frank told him. “I sure hope your friend is as good as you say he is.”

  “Count on it.”

  Casey walked Grace Talley to her car. “We all talked, Casey, and we owe your uncle. Frank helped build my bakery, roofed Vern Eisley’s house, and ya’ll hired Matt’s kids every summer until they went off to college. And now Rory too.”

  “We’re all in this together,” Casey said. “We’ll get this mess fixed.”

  Grace smiled for the first time that morning, and Casey prayed she was right. As she walked back to the maintenance shed, she heard her uncle’s voice.

  “Now I won’t need your loan for my mower.”

  “Yeah, you do,” Aidan argued. “Get your second tour boat out of hock. Get ahead for once instead of playing catch up.”

  “I’ll give it some thought,” Frank told him.

  Casey hurried through the doorway. She and her uncle had decided no loans, and here he was going around behind her back with Aidan.

  “Here she is,” Frank said, when he spied her, to warn Aidan. “Casey, you work the pro shop until one. Aidan will run the cart barn, and I’ll spell you in time for you to take your island tour.”

  Before she could say a word, Aidan leaned in and kissed her cheek. “I’ll scan these documents on the pro shop computer and email them to Shaun, so he can get started on them.”

  “Good idea,” Frank called after Aidan, as he strode out of the maintenance shed.

  She glared at her uncle.

  “What?”

  “I heard you.”

  “Heard me what?”

  “Talking to Aidan about a loan from his friend. You discussed this with him before?”

  “Yes, I did,” Frank said, unrepentant. “Actually, he brought it up, but we talked about it.”