by Hope Ramsay
“I wasn’t talking about the baby-changing memo,” he said.
“Oh.”
“I want to understand why you used the death of Deidre’s baby the way you did. I want to believe that you couldn’t write a thing like that. But it has your name on it. I don’t want to doubt you. But doubt is eating me alive.”
“Oh. You read all the memos?” Her voice came out in a whisper.
“Deidre sent them to me yesterday. I have to tell you that the one you wrote where you said I didn’t have to win a race to sell diapers really stung. But not as bad as the one where you trashed Deidre. The Sarah I’ve come to know would never do a thing like that.”
Sarah twisted her fingers together. “I don’t expect you to believe me, but I didn’t even know Deidre had lost a child in a car wreck. Honestly. I didn’t write that memo. Steve wrote it. He wrote it to get rid of Deidre. He offered me a job last night, but I told him to go to hell.”
Tulane’s lips twitched, and he shoved his hands into his pockets. He looked emotional. Unshed tears glittered in his eyes.
“Look,” Sarah said, “I’m not trying to get out of the blame for what happened. I may not have written that awful, hurtful memo, but everything that happened is still my fault. I’m so, so sorry about everything that’s happened. And now that I’ve apologized, I’ll just get out of your life.”
Sarah pulled the beauty shop drape from around her neck and handed it to Ruby, who was standing there with tears in her eyes, too. A quick inspection of the other women in the shop showed that half of them had their hankies out. Mascara was running all over the place.
“Thanks for the haircut,” Sarah said. “How much do I owe you?”
Ruby gave her a little hug and kind of pushed her forward, toward Tulane. “Sugar, you owe me a grandbaby when the time is right.”
Sarah didn’t have a chance to examine that comment, because the next thing she knew, she was enveloped in Tulane’s arms. He pulled her right in to his chest, the way he’d done on Monday, and he pressed his lips to the top of her head. He smelled great, like himself, and his breath feathered over her skin. She sagged against him.
“I accept your apology,” he whispered. “And I’m really sorry that for about ten hours I believed what Deidre said about you. I should have listened to my heart instead of the bullies. I’m so sorry I didn’t come find you last night. I was stupid. I let Lori Sterling feed me her rum punch, and you know how deadly that stuff is.”
Sarah closed her eyes and drank in the sensation of coming home.
“Uh, Sarah, we need to go someplace private, ’cause there’s something else I have to say.”
She looked up at him. “I don’t think so. The ladies are here as witnesses, I think.” Tears of relief were starting to smear her vision.
“Yes we are, Tulane, so get on with it,” Ruby said.
“Yes, ma’am.” His smile broke out in earnest as he looked down at Sarah. “I have something else I need to apologize for.”
“You do? What?” Sarah asked.
“For not being honest with you on Monday.”
“But you were honest, right from the start. You were clear about everything.”
Tulane grunted a little laugh. “No, honey, you were clear. But maybe not so honest. See, you could say that—” He bit off the words and looked around at the ladies.
“Momma, this is really private stuff.”
“Uh-huh, we haven’t had such fun since all of Clay’s ex-girlfriends came to town and confused the living daylights out of him. Now, you get on with it, you hear.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Tulane looked back down at Sarah. “I’m really sorry about this. I should take you out into the alley and say this, but Momma would kill me, so I’m going to say it here.”
“I don’t mind.”
“I figured, since you’re basically one of them.”
“I am?”
“Oh, yes, you are. So see, the thing is, you were clear on Monday, but I knew you were lying. You were lying to yourself. And I knew it, going in. I let you believe it was all just a casual thing because that was what you wanted, but I always wanted more.”
“You wanted more?”
“Yeah, and if I’d been a man instead of an idiot on Tuesday morning, I would have stayed and told your father that I loved you and that my intentions were honest. He asked me, by the way, and I was so angry at being blindsided that I said something stupid.”
“You love me?”
“Yeah, I do. But the question is, do you love me?”
She wrapped her arms around his neck. “You love me? Really?”
“Yeah, Sarah, I do.”
“I love you back. I’ve loved you for a long time.”
He gave her a less than erotic kiss on the lips, then linked a trail of semi-chaste kisses to her earlobe.
Sarah wanted him to do something wicked with her ear, but instead he whispered, “Sarah, honey, I know you say you’ve given up breaking the rules, but I’m feeling a little constrained here with this audience. And I thought, since I’m already AWOL from the track, that it might be real fun to go on over to the Peach Blossom Motor Court for a long, serious conversation about our future, followed by a little hanky-panky. I’m sure Lillian Bray would enjoy the show, and since we’ve already got an audience, I’ll bet we don’t even get into too much trouble.”
Her whole body flushed and she looked up into his beautiful green eyes. “You want to take me to a no-tell motel? Really?”
“Oh, yeah.”
EPILOGUE
Two weeks later, the blazing sun beat down on the top of Sarah’s head as she walked down a row of soybeans. Not that she was an expert in South Carolina agriculture, but Tulane called them soybeans, and she figured he probably knew.
This particular soybean field belonged to a person named Old Man Nelson.
“It’s over here,” Tulane said, taking Sarah’s hand like a little kid and pulling her down the row toward a giant live oak that stood smack-dab in the middle of the field.
Sarah was dressed for the outing in a pair of sneakers and shorts and a sleeveless T-shirt. Her skin reeked of sunblock. Ruby had been sure to hand her a large tube of the stuff when they stopped by the Cut ’n Curl earlier in the day to say hi. Ruby had given her a whole lecture on the Southern sun and what it was likely to do to her fair skin and freckled face.
Sunblock notwithstanding, Sarah was glad when they reached the shade of the tree. Its gnarled roots and spreading branches made it a great climbing tree. It had to be very old, and its bark was marked with hundreds of carved initials.
“Shoot,” Tulane said as he ducked under the oak’s branches. “There isn’t any space left, is there?”
He sounded so disappointed. This business of coming out here and carving their names was very important to him. His parents’ names were somewhere on that tree, and so were Stony’s and Sharon’s, and Clay’s and Jane’s, and from the looks of it, most of the couples who lived in Last Chance.
“I guess we’ll have to bypass the graffiti,” she said gently. “I’m sure you’re relieved. I’ve heard all about Clay’s tree house and how you fell out of it when you were twelve and almost died. Your mother explained that you’ve been afraid of heights ever since.”
Tulane turned around and stared at her. “You don’t understand. We have to do this. It’s a tradition.”
She glanced over at the tree. The trunk was easily eight feet in diameter, and every inch of it was covered with carvings. The carvings ran from the roots all the way past the first branches, which forked from the trunk about seven feet from the ground. It looked as if lovers had been forced up to those first branches to find pristine bark to destroy. The carvings wound around the trunk at least fifteen feet up.
“I’m amazed there are that many lovers in Last Chance,” she said.
“Generations of folks have carved their names in this tree. Look yonder.” He pointed to an old carving bearing the initials CR and
EA. “That’s Chance Rhodes’s carving.”
“You mean the guy who lost the plantation in that card game and condemned your family to generations of poverty and the occasional angel sighting?”
“Yeah, him. He started the tradition. And we’re going to continue it, but before I have to man up and go climb that tree, there’s something we need to discuss.”
“What?”
“I want to move back to Last Chance. I want to make my home here. I want to be part of Hettie’s committee, and I want to do more. I want to help this town rebuild itself. Shoot, Sarah, all this land used to belong to my kin, but my stupid ancestor lost it all in a card game. I want to get it back.”
“Because you don’t want people to laugh at you?”
He shook his head. “No. I just want to do the right thing. And, honey, that’s what I love the most about you. You make me feel like a grown-up man, and you make me want to be worthy of that feeling. And, also, you’re on the side of the angels, which in my family doesn’t exactly hurt.”
She laughed.
“So you wouldn’t mind living here?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Oh, Tulane, I can’t think of another place I’d rather call home. I love this place.”
“That’s good, because we have an appointment with a realtor after I finish with carving our names. And after that, we’ve got a meeting with Reverend Ellis. I figure we better get married quick, especially since everyone knows we spent that afternoon at the Peach Blossom Motor Court.”
“Well, I’m not worried about the Last Chance ladies. And I’m okay with a quick wedding, before my mother decides to plan it for us.”
“Good,” Tulane said. “So, there’s only one more detail I need to clear up, and then I guess I’ve got to go climb that tree.”
“Are you stalling?”
“Maybe a little.” He reached into his jeans and pulled out a little red leather box. “You need a ring.”
“Oh!”
He handed her the box. “Look, if you don’t like it, I’m sure we can—”
“I’m sure I’ll like it.” She opened the top of the box and found an old-fashioned ring of rose gold with a fiery opal in its center.
“It’s beautiful. Wherever did you find it?”
“It belonged to her.” He nodded toward the tree and the initials EA. “Elizabeth Ames. It’s been handed down for years. It was the one thing Chance Rhodes didn’t lose in that card game. Momma wore it for a long time, and so did Sharon, but…” His voice faded out.
“Oh, Tulane, did Stone give you this?”
He nodded. “I told him I was going down to the jewelers to look for a ring, and he insisted that I have this one.”
“I can’t—”
“Stony wants someone to wear it. He hates the fact that it’s been sitting in a box, gathering dust. It’s important to him that you have it. He thinks you’re good for me, which probably explains why he didn’t give the ring to Clay for Jane. I’m afraid that Stone and Jane got off on the wrong foot with each other. But I bet he eventually comes around. Stone moves like a glacier on a lot of things.”
Sarah nodded. Poor, brokenhearted Stone. She understood. Stone didn’t intend to ever marry again.
She took the ring out of the box and slipped it on her left hand. It fit perfectly. “The green in this opal is the same color as your eyes,” she whispered.
The next moment she was in his arms, being thoroughly kissed. The kiss was heading in an entirely predictable direction when Tulane gently pushed back.
“Uh, I would love to get sidetracked, honey, but we have appointments this afternoon. I think I need to screw my courage up and go climb that tree.”
“You know you don’t have to do that. We could pretend we did it.”
“Honey, we’re not going to lie about this, okay? And besides, it’s important.”
He turned and studied the oak. “Man, it looks like Clay had to climb all the way up that branch. Look, up there, there’s Clay’s and Jane’s initials.” He pointed to a spot about fourteen feet up, where the initials WJC and CPR had been carved.
“All right, if we have to do it, you could lift me up and I could—”
“I am climbing this tree, Sarah, even though it scares the crap out of me. I need to fly.” He said this with a firm nod of his head. Then he gave her an adorable look and asked, “Got any fairy dust, Tinkerbell?”
“No,” she said. “No fairy dust. But I promise you, I’ll be here to catch you if you fall.”
Caroline Rhodes Knows the Baron of
Woolham has his eye on her family’s
land in Last Chance.
Can she take her eyes off him long
enough to do something about it?
Please turn this page for a preview of
Last Chance
Beauty Queen
CHAPTER
1
Mirrors never lie.
Caroline Rhodes caught the fleeting spark of surprise in her own eyes as she studied her reflection in her Camry’s rearview. Despite her professional hairdo and flawless makeup, the mirror still reflected an image of the small-town Watermelon Queen she had once been.
She touched up her lipstick and gave herself one last implacable stare, full of restless energy and a stubborn chin. Then she snatched her black Coach briefcase from the passenger seat and stepped into the South Carolina heat.
Her J. Crew suit lapped up sunshine as she walked over the parking lot’s blazing blacktop to the front doors of the Columbia Hilton. She passed from the July heat into the sedate and blessedly air-conditioned lobby, then headed toward the steak-house restaurant, the heels of her pumps clicking over the marble floor like little hammer blows. With each heel strike, the tension coiled inside her.
She was here to meet Hugh deBracy, the umpteenth baron of somewhere in England, who wanted to buy a piece of land and put up a factory to make looms and employ lots of South Carolinians. Unfortunately, the land he wanted wasn’t for sale.
Caroline’s job was to make this problem disappear—a feat that would take a miracle.
She stepped into the dark, cold environment of the steak house and scanned the sparse luncheon crowd. She had never seen a photo of Hugh deBracy, but she found him without any trouble.
He was in his mid-thirties and wore Savile Row and a slightly loosened regimental tie. Except for his curly Byronic hair, the man looked like the dictionary definition of an uptight peer of the realm. He sat at a booth halfway down a long row, and he looked up from the menu he’d been perusing as if he could sense her studying him.
The man’s gaze widened as if in recognition. He stood, dropping the menu and nervously tightening his tie.
Then he ogled her.
His glance dropped to her ankles, taking in her Prada pumps, and then rose in a slow circuit that moved up her bare, suntanned legs and the professional silhouette of her business suit. The gaze stopped ever so slightly when it reached the hint of lace at the V of her jacket where, predictably, it stuck.
As an ex beauty queen, Caroline was used to this.
She had to hand it to this guy, though. He managed all that ogling without losing one smidgen of his cool. His stare remained calm, aloof, and deadly as sin.
She squared her shoulders and walked forward. His gaze rose to meet hers. The corner of his mouth twitched, and his eyes—the color of scotch whiskey—softened.
“Miss Rhodes?” he asked.
The sound of her name, spoken in his deep voice with those clipped British vowels, did something totally inappropriate to her insides. What was it about men like this, anyway? She had a serious addiction to high-class, snobby men. And, like all addictions, this one wasn’t good for her health, sanity, or self-image.
“Yes,” she said firmly as she gathered up her own couth and smiled. “Lord deBracy?”
“Um, that would be Lord Woolham. The title applies to the peerage, not the surname. I am delighted to meet you.” He nodded his head but didn’t e
xtend his hand in greeting. He stood there, ever so stiff and British, until it occurred to Caroline that he was seriously annoyed by her mistake in the form of address.
Talk about uppity. She took a seat in the booth facing his. She wasn’t going to kowtow to this dude.
“I want to thank you for meeting me here,” he said as he glanced away, nodding at the waiter.
“It’s not a problem. Senator Warren wants me to help you in any way I can,” she said. Her words were fraudulent. Being here with him was a problem. She had everything at stake: career, family, and self-image. His Lordship had nothing at risk except a potential factory.
The waiter came along and they ordered: roast beef for him and a small house salad for her. When the waiter left, His Lordship opened the business conversation, as if he didn’t have the time or inclination for small talk or pleasantries with a lowly born worker bee like Caroline.
“So,” he said, leaning forward slightly. “According to the senator, you’re the woman who can help me solve my real estate problem.”
She gave him a big, professional smile. “Well, I’m afraid my boss overestimates my abilities, this time around.”
One of deBracy’s eyebrows arched. “This time around? Is there something peculiar about this case, or are you being humble?”
She almost laughed out loud. “Lord deBracy, there is—”
“Lord Woolham, not deBracy.” He almost winced as he spoke.
She decided not to even worry about the title. The nerve of the guy. Didn’t he know this was America?
She launched one of her beauty-queen smiles. “I’m afraid there is something peculiar about this case.”
“Oh?”
The waiter came back with His Lordship’s roast beef. DeBracy put his napkin in his lap and began cutting the steak with his knife and fork with a single-minded purpose that verged on obsession.
“I’m afraid this is a very difficult case,” she said.