by Hope Ramsay
Was she nuts? He sincerely wanted to take her there, but he wasn’t going to do that. She was the kind of woman a man took to the Ritz and made love to.
“You aren’t the kind of woman who ought to see the insides of the Peach Blossom Motor Court. And you sure as hell shouldn’t see it with a guy like me. You’re a nice girl, and I’m not taking you there, okay? We’ve ended our hell-raising session for the evening.”
“Here is a news flash for you,” she rejoined in a flat voice that telegraphed her ire. “I’m here trying to have a bad-boy experience. The entire point is for me to see the insides of a place like the Peach Blossom Motor Court with somebody like you.”
Of course she wanted a fling with a bad boy, every woman did. But he was tired of being the designated bad boy. These relationships were great until the inevitable moment when the good girls realized that he was not good at things like lifelong commitment. There were always tears and recriminations when that happened.
And just imagining Sarah in tears twisted up his gut. He didn’t want to hurt her. He liked her way too much for that.
“Well, I’m not the bad boy who’s going to screw you tonight,” he said, purposefully using that word to wake her up and make her realize the danger that she faced.
She was startled for a moment, clearly disturbed by the profanity. And that little hesitation told him all he needed to know. It confirmed that he was doing the right thing, even if it was one of the most difficult things he’d ever done in his life.
“Why is it that guys like you think you can egg on a girl like me, just so long as you stop before the action gets hot? If a girl did that to you, you would call her a tease,” she said.
Tears gathered in her eyes. He’d just hurt her. But she would get over it.
“Look,” he said on a long, frustrated sigh. “you stay here. I’ll go get our clothes.”
CHAPTER
11
Steve Phelps sat down at the computer, the lights of the New York skyline glowing dully in the darkened office. He glanced at the silver clock on Deidre’s desk. Eleven o’clock on Saturday evening. National Brands was quiet as a tomb.
He waited for Deidre’s workstation to boot up. When the log-in screen came on, he pulled a yellow sticky note from his breast pocket and carefully keyed in the user name and password.
“Yes,” he hissed when Deidre’s desktop appeared. He was in. Tracy down in IT had come through for him. She had actually given him the log-in information with few questions asked. He’d simply told her that Deidre was traveling in the wilds of South Carolina and had no Wi-Fi connection and needed someone to check an incoming e-mail.
Tracy, a born-and-bred New Yorker who had never been farther south than Newark, actually believed that most of South Carolina was devoid of cell phone connectivity. Steve wasn’t a complete dunce when it came to selling people the big lie. He knew that to do that, you just had to appeal to a person’s inner prejudices.
Breaking into Deidre’s computer was a long shot, but Steve was desperate. He couldn’t let Deidre mess up a good thing, could he?
Cottontail Diaper sales had never been better, and he was reaping all the glory for that. But if Deidre moved forward with her car seat safety program, any future accolades wouldn’t fall to him.
Besides, with Deidre protecting Sarah, Steve was in a precarious situation. What if Deidre found out that he hadn’t written the Cottontail Diaper marketing memo? What if Deidre found out that he’d ripped off Sarah’s ideas for the Cuppa Java campaign?
He needed to figure out something quick before Deidre took the NASCAR program back or Sarah outed him.
The easiest solution to his problem would have been to come up with some brilliant marketing strategy for Rice Doodles, the new snack-food product that had landed on his desk.
Unfortunately, Rice Doodles were tasteless and odorless. The fact that they were diet food was completely irrelevant. No one would eat that crap after tasting it once, no matter how desperate they were to lose weight. This probably explained why Deidre had given his team the task of coming up with the marketing program. In Steve’s opinion, Rice Doodles were unmarketable.
Steve was up against a wall. If he didn’t figure out something quick, he might have to join the swelling ranks of the unemployed. And that was not a good option for him. He had very expensive tastes.
Removing Deidre from his career path seemed to be the best option open to him at the moment. And for that, a little inside corporate espionage seemed reasonable.
He opened Deidre’s e-mail program and began reading her messages. It didn’t take long for him to find Sarah’s memo on car seat safety.
So, Deidre was stealing Sarah’s ideas, too.
Either that or the two of them had teamed up.
Deidre stealing Sarah’s ideas didn’t surprise him. But Deidre teaming up with Sarah scared the crap out of him.
Steve finished perusing Deidre’s e-mails. There were a lot of messages between her and a couple of executives at Penny Farthing Productions, the owners of the Racer Rabbit cartoon character.
Holy crap, Deidre was far along in negotiating a deal that would permanently change the Cottontail Disposable Diaper bunny. Wow. Using Racer Rabbit was going to cost the company a fortune in licensing fees.
When he’d finished with the e-mails, he started opening Deidre’s personal files. There wasn’t much there, until he found a file named “Kelly.”
He opened that one.
Oh, yeah. Pay dirt.
Haley carefully folded the pretty green-and-yellow prayer blanket the way Miz Miriam Randall had shown her. There was a big pile of blankets that she and her big sister, Lizzy, were folding.
They were helping Miz Miriam and some of the other old church ladies like they always did this time of year. Granny said that helping to make prayer blankets was probably the bestest thing that a girl could do for folks who were sick.
Granny said that the prayer blankets were kind of magic. They had so many prayers inside them that a sick person would just naturally get better because of it.
Haley kind of wished her momma had had a prayer blanket like this when they’d been in that car wreck. Then maybe Haley would have a mother instead of a Sorrowful Angel. All in all, Haley reckoned a momma was way better than a dumb old angel who didn’t really know how to get back to Heaven.
She folded blankets and wondered if maybe the little old ladies at church could pray the angel back to Heaven. The little old ladies sure knew how to pray.
Haley had just finished folding the last of the blankets when the door to the fellowship hall opened, and Miz Hettie Marshall came into the room. The old ladies stopped talking and looked up.
Miz Hettie was old, but not nearly old enough to be making blankets, which probably explained why Miz Hettie took one look at all of them and got a strange look on her face and said, “Oh.”
“What can we do for you, Hettie?” Miz Miriam asked. Miz Miriam was tying big ribbons around each folded blanket. She was doing this on account of the fact that her arthritis was too bad for her to do any sewing. Even so, Lizzy was helping a lot with the bow tying.
“I was looking for Bill,” Miz Hettie said. As usual, Miz Hettie was dressed real pretty. Granny said Miz Hettie had the best fashion sense in all of Allenberg County.
“Oh, I reckon he’ll be here in a minute. Vivian just went up to get him. We’re about to do some praying. Why don’t you join us?”
Miz Hettie looked like she didn’t really want to do any praying, and that made Haley feel kind of sad. So she spoke up. “Miz Hettie, of course you want to help.”
“Well, I—”
“It’s really great,” Haley said. She climbed down from the chair she’d been standing on and went over to take Miz Hettie’s hand. Miz Hettie had cold bony hands, but she was still real pretty. “We all get to pray for the sick people, and that makes the magic.”
Miz Hettie didn’t budge, so Haley dropped her hand. The lady looked down at Hale
y for a long minute. She wasn’t mad. She seemed kind of confused, for a grown-up. “Magic?”
Haley shrugged. “Yeah, kind of. You know, like the magic of prayers.”
“But—”
The preacher walked into the room right then, with Miz Vivian right behind him. “Don’t try to talk her out of it, Hettie,” he said with a big smile.
Haley liked this preacher, even though there were times when he could be a little scary. But he was way younger than old Reverend Reed, and he was always nice to the kids in Sunday school. He could tell stories from out of the Bible using all kinds of funny voices.
It was cool.
Miz Hettie turned and looked at the preacher. The preacher looked back. They kind of got stuck looking at each other for a long time. That’s when Miz Miriam coughed that kind of cough grown-ups do when they want to get someone’s attention.
The preacher looked at Miz Miriam. “So, you ladies ready?”
“We are,” Miz Miriam said.
The preacher took Haley by the hand. His hands were big and warm. And then he took Miz Hettie by the hand, too. “Come on, then, let’s all gather around these beautiful prayer blankets ya’ll have made today.”
The old ladies gathered around the table where Miz Miriam finished tying the last bow on the last blanket. And then everyone laid their hands on the blankets, even the Sorrowful Angel, who had been hovering nearby all day. And then the preacher said a prayer.
But the praying went on for a long time after he finished speaking. And in that time, it seemed like the Sorrowful Angel’s halo started to glow. For a moment, Haley thought maybe the old ladies would get the angel back to Heaven.
But that didn’t happen. Instead, when the praying was over, Miz Hettie was crying almost as hard as the Sorrowful Angel.
“Hettie, what’s the matter?” the preacher asked.
She shook her head and pulled a tissue from the pocket in her skirt. “I don’t know, Bill. Do you believe in an ark big enough to hold all the species in the world?”
He smiled and looked down at Haley and then back at Miz Hettie. But he didn’t say anything one way or another.
Miz Hettie sniffed, dabbed her eyes, and then looked the preacher in the eye once again. “I know. It’s a silly question, and I’m not asking if you’re a literal reader of the Bible. I’m asking about something deeper than that.”
The preacher nodded. “Ah, I see. You’re asking me if I believe in what Haley just called the magic of prayer?”
And durned if Miz Hettie didn’t nod her head. “Yes, that’s what I’m asking. You know, like the way you used to feel when you were Haley’s age.”
“Well, if that’s your question, then yes, Hettie, I believe very strongly in the magic of prayer. And I believe the Lord can make miracles.”
“Bill, I really need to talk with you.”
And with that, the preacher excused himself, and he and Miz Hettie went off to the church office. The old ladies immediately started talking about how Miz Hettie had started crying, but Miz Miriam only said it was about time for that dam to break.
Haley wasn’t sure what Miz Miriam meant by what she’d said. She sure hoped Miz Miriam hadn’t said a bad word.
A week after Pete’s funeral, early on a Monday morning, Sarah’s ringing cell phone destroyed her plan to sleep in on her day off. She groped around the nightstand for her cell and flipped it open. “Yeah,” she said.
“Sarah, it’s Ruby Rhodes.”
“Is Tulane all right?” Adrenaline jolted her system. She and Tulane might not be speaking to each other, but that didn’t mean Sarah didn’t care.
“Well, I’m not sure, sugar. I’m not calling about him.”
Sarah sat up and fluffed the pillows behind her. “Uh, you aren’t? But—”
“Look, Sarah, first of all, I wanted to thank you for all you did for us during Pete’s funeral. We are all mighty grateful for your help.”
Sarah squinted at her bedside clock. It was not even eight in the morning. “Oh, well, it was nothing, really.”
“But that’s not why I’m calling.”
“No?”
“No, sugar. See, I heard all about what you told Hettie the other day about Golfing for God. And, well, you really lit a fire under her. She’s usually so shy and soft-spoken and almost standoffish, but, well, I reckon you just helped her see what my husband’s golf course is really about, and now she wants to form a committee.”
Sarah flashed on a mental image of the blonde woman in Armani and Hermes.
“Hettie Marshall wants to form a committee?”
“Oh, yes. Reverend Ellis was so enthusiastic about the idea of resurrecting the golf course, especially after Hettie told him about how you have to just believe like you were a six-year-old. Sarah, that’s so insightful. Really.”
“Uh, well, that’s real nice, Ruby, but—”
“To be honest, it was actually Bill who suggested that Hettie form a committee. But, you see, having Hettie be supportive of something like this changes everything. So, I know it’s a really long drive, but I was wondering if you could come down here for the first organizational meeting.”
“The first organizational meeting?”
“Yes, of the Committee to Resurrect Golfing for God. We’re going to meet at the beauty shop this morning. And Hettie is quite adamant that we need some professional help with fundraising and marketing and just plain getting organized. And well, see, I’ve heard about all the work you’ve been doing on that car seat program. And, well, I thought maybe…”
“Uh, Ruby, Tulane won’t be happy about this.”
“Of course he won’t be happy. That’s why I’m asking.”
Sarah leaned back on her pillows and let the silence on the line speak volumes.
“What exactly are you up to, Ruby?” Sarah finally asked.
“Well, officially, I’m just asking you to come and help us make a start with this committee. Unofficially… I have been known to be a real pain in the backsides of my offspring from time to time. And now that they’ve gotten too big to spank, I have to find other ways to make my point.”
Sarah sat there for a long moment. She should say no. But she was a scorned woman, and her fury knew no bounds. It would serve Tulane right if she joined up with the church ladies, especially after the way he’d treated her last Friday at the river. If he wanted her to be a church lady, maybe she should just join up with them and make his life miserable.
The irony of teaming up with church ladies because Tulane refused to take her to a cheap motel was not entirely lost on Sarah. But, by the same token, helping the church ladies rescue Golfing for God seemed like a worthy pursuit, especially because it was Sarah’s own idea. With this request, the ladies were acknowledging her contribution. They wanted her professional help, which was like a victory all by itself.
And besides, it was Pete’s last request.
The fact that it would drive Tulane insane was merely icing on the cake.
“Um, okay,” Sarah found herself saying.
“Really? You’ll help?” Ruby sounded surprised.
“Yes, but it takes two hours to drive there. What time is this meeting?”
“You’ve got plenty of time. It starts at lunch. Thelma is bringing a casserole and Millie promised some red-velvet cake for dessert.”
Sarah collected her notes and began stuffing them into her briefcase. The organizational meeting of the Committee to Resurrect Golfing for God had been a surprising success. Miriam Randall, Thelma Hanks, Millie Polk, Jane and Ruby Rhodes, and Hettie Marshall had all attended. Of course, Lillian Bray had not deigned to attend because she remained firm in her convictions that Golfing for God was a blasphemous eyesore.
So the initial attendees had all taken positions on an executive committee, and Sarah had outlined the steps they needed to take to get the group incorporated, obtain nonprofit status, and begin to market their cause.
The ladies were going to consult a lawyer about the lega
l requirements but were already planning a group cookbook and a press release.
“Well,” Ruby said as she closed the door behind the last of the committee members, “that went well, don’t you think?” The hairdresser turned and gave Sarah a big smile. “Thank you so much for coming. Now, in return, I’d like to do something for you.”
Ruby advanced, a surprisingly wicked gleam in her green eyes.
“Oh, it’s not—”
“Oh, yes, it is, sugar. It’s completely necessary. Now you just relax, you hear, and let me take care of it.”
“Take care of what?”
“That awful hairdo.”
“But—”
Her protest was cut short when Ruby seized her by the upper arm and gently guided her toward the hair-washing station at the back of the Cut ’n Curl.
“You are a beautiful woman, Sarah, but sometimes I get the feeling you’re trying to hide all that beauty under a bushel basket.” Ruby gently pressed Sarah into the seat and then pried the banana clip loose from her hair.
“You know, these things can be handy, but they shouldn’t ever be a crutch.” Ruby tossed the offending item into a trash basket. “And besides, pulling all that glorious red hair back like that makes you look like a librarian.”
“It does?”
“Yes, sugar, it surely does. And if you want my advice, you aren’t going to catch any interesting men wearing your hair that way. Now just lie back and let me fix it.”
Sarah decided not to fight it. Her hair did need fixing. And so did her wardrobe. Two hours later, Sarah emerged from Ruby’s care buffed, waxed, made up, trimmed, painted, and detailed. Surely this was what the boys down in the shop meant when they talked about a full body-off frame-up restoration.
She looked fabulous, but she was still worried. After all, even a full body-off restoration didn’t change the underlying automobile. Sarah doubted that anyone could fix what was really wrong with her.
And that was simple. She exuded some kind of reverse pheromone. Men took one look at her and ran for cover every time.