PAR FOR CINDERELLA

by MCCARTY, PETIE

  Evelyn sprang forward and tackled her before Casey could reach the mayor, and the two went down in a flailing mass of arms and legs.

  “Evelyn, get out of the way!” Bartow shouted, aiming the gun.

  The front door slammed open so hard, the walls shook. Evelyn and Casey froze. Bartow wheeled around and his nose suddenly exploded with a sickening crunch. Globs of blood spurted everywhere.

  He screamed and clutched at his face and nose with both hands.

  A blur.

  A body.

  Archer went down. Screamed again.

  Someone grabbed Evelyn from behind. Casey scrabbled away, watched her Uncle Frank yank Evelyn to her feet.

  Aidan jerked a bleeding, sobbing Bartow hard to his feet, and tucked the gun he had wrested from the mayor’s grasp in his waistband. A golf ball, covered in blood, lay on the carpet at their feet.

  “My nose. My nose.” Bartow cried like a baby.

  “How? What?” Casey stared at Aidan. Nothing had ever looked so good to her in all her life.

  He gave her his sexy half-smile and yanked Bartow’s free hand up hard behind his back and elicited another squeal from the mayor. “No weapon in Frank’s truck, only a bunch of golf balls.”

  “Did you hear everything?” Casey asked her uncle.

  “Most of it,” Frank said in a hoarse voice. Unshed tears filled his eyes.

  “He killed Daddy.”

  “And now the bastard will pay,” Frank promised grimly.

  The truth about her father’s death was trauma to deal with later. At least her father would be avenged. For now, Casey was happy to be alive.

  “Thought you played lacrosse and golf in college,” Belle said to Aidan.

  “Varsity baseball in high school.” He grinned. “Pitcher.”

  “Accurate,” she said.

  “Not really. I was aiming for his eye.”

  Bartow moaned.

  Evelyn had gone limp as a dishrag in Frank’s grasp. “Archer, how could you?”

  “I tode you. It was all for you,” he mumbled, holding his nose shut to slow the bleeding.

  “Well, what do we have here?” a deep voice said at the open door, and Sheriff Watson took a single step into the living room.

  “Oh dank God,” Bartow moaned and tried to struggle free, causing fresh spurts of blood to shoot out of his nose.

  Aidan pushed the arm higher behind his back until Bartow shrieked.

  “Get your hands off the mayor,” Watson growled. He unsnapped the flap on his service revolver, drew it out, and pointed it at Aidan. “Now!”

  Another gun and arm appeared in the open doorway right behind Watson’s head. “I wouldn’t if I were you,” a voice rumbled, as one of the two polo-shirted men Casey had seen at the festival eased through the door.

  Everyone froze.

  “Who are you?’ Watson snarled.

  “FDLE,” Liam Shaunessy announced, as he stepped in alongside the officer. “Meet Special Agent Harry Tum.”

  “Drop your weapon,” Tum ordered the sheriff. “Hands on the back of your head. You know the drill.”

  A red-faced Watson did as he was told. Shaunessy kept going and helped Belle to the couch. “Ma’am, you’re bleeding. You need to sit down. The ambulance is on the way.”

  The other polo-shirted festival visitor moved into the room and handcuffed Bartow who wailed when the officer yanked his hand away from his nose.

  Aidan swept Casey into his arms, hugged her as though he would never let her go. “Oh, baby! Damnation, when I saw him point that gun at you, my heart stopped beating, and all I had was a bunch of damned golf balls. I knew I couldn’t miss.”

  “You didn’t,” she whispered. “You saved us.”

  Her heart ached painfully from both love and betrayal for this man. She was still head over heels in love with Aidan. Her hero and her betrayer. Her heart had been torn right in two.

  Two of Watson’s deputies came in through the kitchen, and Casey turned her head to stare.

  Shaunessy grinned. “Apparently, Watson’s deputies hate him and the mayor just like everybody else in town. They’ve been a big help tonight.”

  Aidan gazed down at her bruised and torn cheek, and his jaw hardened. “Sweetheart, you’re bleeding.”

  Shaunessy turned to Belle. “Do you have any bandages?"

  Casey gestured toward the open door. “There’s a first-aid kit in the glove compartment of my Jeep,” she told Aidan. “Help Aunt Belle.”

  Frank’s head jerked up. “Aidan, wait!”

  But he was already through the front door.

  “What about this one?” Frank asked, still hanging on to Evelyn.

  Tum had finished mirandizing the sheriff and Bartow. “She’s next.”

  “I’ll take her from you,” one of Watson’s deputies said and pulled out his handcuffs.

  “Me?” Evelyn came to life. “What did I do?”

  “Arson and felony vandalism for starters,” the deputy said, as he tugged her arms back and locked the cuffs on her.

  “That damn PJ,” she hissed.

  “Then there’s accessory to fraud and money laundering,” the deputy continued.

  “Wait! No!”

  “I’d shut up if I were you,” Frank told her and headed out the door after Aidan.

  “You can’t arrest me!” Watson shouted, as his own deputy led him outside. “I’m the sheriff here.”

  “Not any longer. Your reign of terror in Cypress Key is officially over,” his other deputy happily informed him. “The jail’s already full, what with PJ Bartow, Judge Robbins, and George from the bank taking up the cells, but we’ll make room for the three of you. We’ll just double y’all up.”

  “We will take Watson and Bartow to Gainesville tonight for arraignment,” Agent Tum announced, “as soon as the EMTs treat Bartow’s broken nose. We’ll come back for the rest tomorrow.”

  Watson’s eyes went wide.

  “Thought that might get your attention,” the deputy said and pushed the sheriff out the door, as the ambulance screeched to the curb, and red lights flashed through the open front door.

  Two EMTs appeared in seconds and laid Belle down on a power-stretcher.

  “I don’t need to go to the clinic,” she complained. “It’s just a little cut.”

  “You need to get checked out, Aunt Belle,” Casey told her.

  “So do you, ma’am,” the other EMT told Casey.

  She held up a finger. “Just give me a second first.”

  The EMT frowned, but she headed out the door anyway.

  Frank and Aidan stood arguing at the open door to the Jeep. Aidan turned when she approached. He had the first-aid kit in one hand, and he held up the U.S. Open application papers with the other.

  “What is this?” he demanded.

  ~ ~ ~

  Aidan sprinted to the Jeep for the first-aid kit. Frank hollered to him, but he kept going. Casey was hurt. Bleeding. The sight of that bruising gash on her cheek almost knocked his legs out from under him. He’d been so anxious to get her safe in his arms he hadn’t noticed. How could he have missed that?

  Easy answer? His brain was still trying to process the image of Bartow aiming his gun at her and trying to get a clear shot. And all Aidan had to defend her with was some stinking golf balls.

  When he and Frank raced up in the Jeep and approached the house, they’d heard voices. One was a male voice. Not good.

  “Do you have a gun in your truck?” he had asked.

  Frank had given him a jaw-dropping stare. “What do I look like, the FBI?”

  “Anything we can use for a weapon?”

  Frank shrugged. “Don’t think so.”

  “Tire ir
on?”

  “Lost it.”

  Aidan had gone back to look. No tire iron, no tools, nothing but a backpack herbicide sprayer and a handful of golf balls rolling around. So he grabbed a handful. And prayed.

  “I’ll take the front. You go around back,” he’d whispered to Frank. “I’ll give you time to get in place back there. When I kick in the front door, you storm in from the rear.”

  “Maybe we should wait for Shaunessy and the officers,” Frank whispered back. “Shaun said he’d be right behind us as soon as they took care of PJ.”

  He’d pointed at the house. “What if Casey and Belle don’t have that kind of time?”

  His hand shook with the panic overwhelming him. The truth had pummeled him out there in front of Belle’s house. He loved Casey. A world without her in it wasn’t worth having. Couldn’t see, didn’t want a future if he couldn’t see her waiting in it for him.

  Frank had raced around back, and Aidan had moved in close. Ear to the old door, he could make out most of what was said inside. He tried to stop the shakes that had taken possession of him. He swallowed down continuous deep breaths. Casey needed him. He needed Casey. Aidan needed someone for the first time in his life, and the knowledge oddly gave him strength. The tremors ceased.

  When the scuffle broke out and Bartow yelled for Evelyn to get out of the way, Aidan knew he was out of time.

  He kicked in the front door, and his heart stopped beating. Instinct didn’t desert him, never had. Pitching memory took over, and he winged a golf ball as hard as he could. Hit Bartow’s nose. And hoped it was irreparably broken and would hurt for-freaking-ever.

  Casey was safe. And she felt amazing in his arms again. He hadn’t seen her or held her in two days, since that kissing debacle with Deedee. He hadn’t wanted to let her go, but she was bleeding, hurt. He had to fix things, make her wound better.

  He climbed in the Jeep and opened the glove box. Papers lay on top. He removed them and searched with his free hand. His fingers touched a plastic container, and he withdrew the box, then held his hands up under the dome light to be sure.

  Yes. He had the first-aid kit and . . .

  What the hell?

  Papers with his name on them, albeit Crosse with an e. He held the two-page stapled document directly under the dome light. Some type of entry form for the U.S. Open trials at the Foxwood Golf and Country Club in Ocala, Florida next week.

  So that’s where Casey had gone yesterday, the day after she saw Deedee jump him. Casey wanted him gone before she ever found out who he really was. The pain of that blindsided him. Nothing had hurt that much before in his life. He had never cared for someone so much before in his life.

  Frank appeared in the small pool of light next to the open door.

  Aidan climbed out, held up the application. “Did you know about this?”

  Frank sighed. “Only after she did it. I tried to call you back. Didn’t want you to find it.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, she’s had it for two days and hasn’t given it to you yet. I hoped she’d come to her senses and changed her mind.”

  “Casey, change her mind? Right.” Aidan caught movement past Frank’s shoulder. “Your niece is coming.”

  “Crap. I’ll leave you two to settle this,” he said, then left them alone.

  Aidan’s hurt had blended with anger and Frank’s betrayal. Frank had known about the application and hadn’t said anything. Whether he thought he’d had a good reason or not.

  Before Casey even stopped moving, Aidan held up the documents. “What is this?

  Stunned, she stared. Briefly.

  “What does it look like?”

  “I know what it is. I want to know why?”

  He watched her eyes in the light from the Jeep’s interior. He saw pain, sadness, and if he wasn’t mistaken, she was holding back anger.

  “It was your dream. I wanted you to have your dream.”

  “No, you’re pushing me away with both hands. No, that’s not right either.” He held up the papers again. “This? This is you throwing us away. Everything good and wonderful we had, you’re tossing away. Tossing love into the trash.”

  She gasped.

  The tremors had returned. The papers in his hand shook. Panic had raced back with the bleak future in his hand.

  “Throwing us away?” she repeated and pulled something from her pocket.

  A newspaper clipping. She smoothed it out on her thigh and moved closer to the light, so he could see.

  “Then what is this?” Her eyes had filled with tears.

  His gaze moved from her face to the picture she held up.

  Oh God, no. Not now.

  He stared at the society section of the Palm Beach Post. At a picture of himself with Lisa. The only words in the byline his eyes focused on read, Could wedding bells be ringing . . .

  What could he say? How did he explain now with no preparation, no groundwork laid. How in the hell did he fix this?

  “Forget an E somewhere, Mr. Cross?” she hissed. An angry tear escaped and trekked down her cheek.

  He fought the urge to wipe it away.

  “You lied to me.”

  His self-preservation prodded, “I didn’t. I am Aidan Cross.”

  Her eyes flashed. “Aidan Cross, the billionaire, not Aidan Crosse, the yacht crewman.”

  He winced.

  “Was it all a big game? Or was it all about building a golf resort in town and you needed support?”

  God help him, he was turned on. Casey in high dudgeon was gorgeous, a knock-out, and he was desperate to kiss the anger right out of her. As much for his own sake as hers. No time for that. He was in deep muck here and could lose everything, if he hadn’t already.

  Like a whirlwind, Casey kept going. “Did you think you could just waltz in here, treat me like I’m your temporary Cinderella, and I’d fall on my knees to thank you and do whatever you wanted?”

  “No!” Aidan heard a groan in the darkness. Frank lurked nearby to save her. Or was it save him?

  “Dammit, Casey, why are you so angry? I’m still me. Aidan.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “You’d be a lot better off with me.”

  “I’m fine just like I am. I don’t need your blessed money. Prince Charming, you are not!”

  “Dammit, I am too!”

  “All your talk about third base and home runs,” she cried.

  Aidan heard a deeper groan in the darkness.

  “You’re a sneak, Aidan Cross, with or without an e. And a liar. You told Deedee Bartow you were definitely leaving. Without telling me. Were you going to sneak out of town in the night like you snuck in? Go back to Palm Beach to laugh at the naïve tour boat girl with –” She glanced at the news clipping picture. “—Lisa?”

  “Stop it, Casey. Just stop it.”

  “One question. Are you or aren’t you building a golf resort here in Cypress Key?”

  Now Aidan groaned. No good answer for him. Yes, and she sees a betrayal of her and her uncle. No, and he’s the liar she claimed him to be.

  Man up, Cross with no damn e.

  “Yes, I am.”

  “I can’t trust you, and trust goes with love like heartbeats with a pulse.” Casey threw the news clipping at his chest. “I’m sorry I ever met you.” She ran for the house.

  Love? Sorry? No!

  He moved to go after her, and Frank materialized from the darkness, held him back. Aidan had been right all along. Frank was stronger than he looked.

  “Give her time to cool off,” Frank told him. “You’ll only make things worse. She’s been hit with a lot tonight.”

  Aidan sighed. “I suppose you hate me now too.”

  “Heck, no! How could I hate
you? If it wasn’t for you, I would never have found out about my brother. All this time I blamed myself.”

  “Tough to hear all that.”

  “Yes and no,” Frank told him. “But I’m glad to finally know, and Bartow will pay for what he did to Dave.”

  “I really did care about the town and the people,” Aidan said, and watched the EMTs load Belle in the ambulance. She saw him and gave him a thumbs up.

  Too late, Belle.

  “I know you did, son.”

  “And I wasn’t going to put you out of business.”

  Frank smiled. “No?”

  “No.” Aidan studied him. “You don’t look surprised with all this about me.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You knew who I was?”

  “Well, yeah. Belle told me before you ever arrived,” Frank admitted.

  Stunned, Aidan could only stare. “So you knew when you bailed me out?”

  “Sure did.”

  “Would you have bailed me out if you didn’t know?” For some inexplicable reason, Aidan really wanted the answer to that question.

  “Oh, hell yeah. You drop-kicked PJ Bartow into the marina. That was worth bail any day.”

  “Why didn’t you blow my cover, Frank?”

  “I could tell you were the right guy for Casey. I wanted you to have a chance.”

  “A lot of good that did.”

  “Actually, Belle handpicked you for Casey, not me,” Frank confessed.

  “A real fairy godmother, huh?”

  Frank chuckled. “So what are you going to do?”

  “Follow my dream, I guess. I’ve only had two. I’ll head to the U.S. Open qualifier. That’s what she wanted.” Aidan held up the papers still clutched in his hand. “You could call these my walking papers. Or in this case, my golfing papers.”

  Frank groaned.

  “Cheer up. Maybe I’ll get a few pars for Cinderella.”

  Chapter 26

  Casey dragged empty beer cans and crumpled snack bags out of a golf cart and tossed them into the big trash can in the cart barn. Her uncle appeared in the doorway on the side of the building, hands in pockets, grim expression.