by Hope Ramsay
“No. Especially not if the only thing that attracts this regular Joe is my bustline.” She wanted to be valued for more than that. She wanted to be taken seriously.
And, well, back in her twisted female mind, she wanted to be taken seriously by the one guy she’d recently met who was most definitely not the salt of the earth and a regular Joe. Just thinking about the warmth of Hugh deBracy’s hands on her made her all quivery inside.
“Sirocco Caroline Rhodes, you listen up now,” Momma said, putting her hands on her hips. “Love is never anything to sneer at. It’s likely to knock you right off your feet when you’re least expecting it, and you have the advantage because Miriam has told you that love is coming your way. The kind of true love that Miriam predicts is a blessing. You hear me?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Caroline gave her bodice another upward tug.
Clay called from the front room. He’d brought his minivan to take them over to the parade staging area. It was time to go. She followed Momma out to Clay’s car feeling exposed, sour, and grumpy.
Three hours later, Caroline’s head had finally stopped throbbing. Her feet, on the other hand, were killing her.
What had possessed her to wear these high heels? She had been standing all that time on the seventy-fifth anniversary float, holding on to a metal bar that was all that passed for safety on this moving contraption. Her arches were throbbing, and the small of her back was in agony.
Of course, if she’d been one of the older ladies, they would have given her a throne to sit in. Miz Miriam was sitting up on the highest level of the float, which looked like an elongated wedding cake with big numerals 7 and 5 at its top.
Caroline, being one of the younger ex-queens, had to stand on the lowest level of the float and wave and smile and endure an endless stream of salacious comments from the rednecks and good ol’ boys lining the parade route. Her station was on the front side of the float so at least she could see where they were going.
This vantage point also gave her a horse’s ass view of the Last Chance Gang, an equestrian group composed mostly of middle-school kids, including her niece, Lizzy. The kids wore white Stetsons and rode ponies. A couple of the older kids did some trick riding and lasso twirling. The kids were cute. But one of their adult supervisors turned out to be Dash Randall himself, looking surprisingly fit for a man who had undergone baseball-career-ending knee surgery a year ago.
Dash was getting his share of attention from the good ol’ girls and their mothers. To be honest, Dash had impressed a lot of kids, too, since he was doing some seriously cool tricks with a lasso. But then Dash had always been a show-off.
Thank goodness it was almost over. The float saluting seventy-five years of Watermelon Queens turned onto Court Street in Allenberg, heading toward the square where the county courthouse and reviewing stand were located.
Caroline tugged up her bodice and fixed her beauty queen smile on her face. Up ahead, the dignitaries had gathered under the bunting-draped plywood of the reviewing stand. Senator Warren sat in the first row surrounded by U.S. and state representatives. A row of local dignitaries occupied the seats behind him. Caroline finally found Hugh, seated in the last row, wearing an impeccably tailored light gray suit with a crisp white shirt and a narrow light blue tie. He sat right next to Cissy Warren, who was dressed, as always, in the most expensive designer fashion money could buy. Hugh and Cissy looked good together—like refugees from Ascot, slumming today with the simple folk.
Her heart gave a little lurch in her chest, and her skin flushed hot with a wave of emotion she had trouble pinpointing. She was embarrassed to have her boss see her wearing this dress. And she was angry at herself for the stupid things she’d done last night. And she was consumed by a very unhealthy fascination with Lord Woolham.
Caroline was so busy trying to figure out these feelings, that she didn’t see disaster coming in the form of Dash Randall, cowboy extraordinaire.
Just as the seventy-fifth anniversary float arrived at the reviewing stand, Dash turned his painted pony and aimed his lasso at Caroline. One minute she was tottering on her inappropriate shoes, and the next she was roped and tied.
Then Dash literally swept her off her feet and right over the edge of the float. Good thing the cowboy wannabe was right there on his horse grinning like some kind of movie star as she toppled into his waiting arms. He eased her landing right into his lap.
Dash turned his pony in a direction opposite to the flow of the parade. A little tightening of his thighs, and his horse responded by trotting off through the ranks of the Davis High marching band and past the float bearing the current Watermelon Queen and her court.
It wasn’t until she spied the Allenberg Fire Department, bringing up the rear of the parade, that Caroline managed to catch her breath and her senses enough for fear to set in.
She’d never liked horses much, and the feeling of losing control scared the crap out of her.
“Put me down,” she said, but her voice came out in a rasp. “You know I don’t like horses.”
“I know, but bear with me. I won’t let you fall, and this is all for a good cause.”
Good cause? What good cause? All she could think about was the fleeting glimpse she’d gotten of Senator Warren’s face as she tumbled into Dash’s arm. Oh God. She was never going to live this down. Her chance at that promotion had just evaporated.
“Dash, what in the Sam Hill are you doing?”
“Getting Bubba to move on.”
“What?”
Dash looked down at her from under his ten-gallon hat. “Remember? Yesterday you said we needed to hit Bubba upside the head so he’d move on with his life. This is it. See, the way I figure is that I match Aunt Mim’s prediction for you just about as good as anyone else in town. I’m about as regular a guy as you can get, and I actually earn my living working with my hands. So I figured that if I roped and tied you in front of everyone, folks would naturally start gossiping. We just have to play along for a while. We’ll pretend to be falling madly in love, and in the meantime, we’ll figure ways to introduce Bubba to some other single ladies. I figure we got several who might work. There’s Jenny Carpenter and your friend, Rachel.”
“Rachel? Are you kidding? I wouldn’t wish Bubba on Rachel even if he were the last man on earth.” Caroline started to hyperventilate.
“Calm down now. I got you, and I’m real good with horses. And we don’t have to try to match up Bubba and Rachel. We can concentrate on Jenny Carpenter. I’m sure the church ladies would love to get Jenny married off to someone other than Bill Ellis, her being a Methodist and all.”
“You’re insane. And you’ve just made me a laughingstock. My boss and everyone in Allenberg County just saw you rope and tie me. Bubba is going to be furious with you. And the church ladies are going to try to match us up as soulmates from now until the rapture happens.”
“Yeah, I thought it was a pretty brilliant plan on my part. Honey, we’re now officially the talk of the town.”
CHAPTER
10
Hugh shook off Cissy Warren’s clingy hand and stood up in order to get a better view of Dash making off with Caroline. “Good God, are they going to let him get away with that?”
Hugh’s fists balled up of their own accord. Where were Caroline’s brothers now? He looked around, searching for a means of exit. If he could appropriate one of those horses, he could—
No, wait. That would be crazy. He was allergic to horses, and he was not very good in the saddle—not any kind of match for Dash Randall with his rope tricks. He felt suddenly quite queasy. He’d been looking forward to seeing Caroline all morning. This was not what he’d had in mind.
“Don’t worry about her,” Cissy said. “That cowboy making off with her is Dash Randall. He used to catch for the Houston Astros. He’s worth millions. Besides, you have to admire the man’s direct approach.”
No, Hugh most definitely didn’t admire Dash’s approach. In Hugh’s estimation, lassoing a
former Watermelon Queen off a parade float was rather lowbrow.
He forced a smile to his face as he sat down in the hard folding chair. The heiress to the Warren Fabrics fortune studied him with a pair of Alice blue eyes. Her ash blond hair fell straight to just above her jawline, the bangs drooping down to partially obscure one eye. A narrow nose, sharp cheekbones, and a pointed chin gave her a thin, predatory look. She reeked posh. She was precisely the sort of woman his grandfather had married—on several occasions.
“Caroline can rescue herself if she needs to. Honestly, if I were her, I’d relax and enjoy the ride.” Cissy leaned in and draped herself over Hugh’s arm, where she remained for the rest of the parade.
When the festivities concluded, Cissy led Hugh through the crowd toward her father, Senator Rupert Warren, who was standing with a very large man wearing a tan suit and a pink and green bow tie. Warren turned as they approached, his face lighting up when he spied his daughter. He gestured toward Cissy and Hugh, then said, “Big Bob, let me introduce you to Hugh deBracy, Baron Woolham. Hugh, this here is Big Bob Thomas, mayor of Last Chance.”
Big Bob, who had to weigh more than twenty stone, gave Hugh a ham-handed shake. His big easy smile conveyed the feeling that he was a regular sort of bloke that got things done by being practical and honest.
“Well,” Big Bob said, “I reckon I’m the mayor until November. I’m going fishing after that.” Bob loosened his watermelon-themed tie.
“I do hope I can get my problem sorted before November. I’d love to drop by sometime and talk to you about the factory,” Hugh said.
Big Bob nodded but he didn’t look terribly enthusiastic. “That would be fine. After the festival.”
Before Hugh could press the mayor for an earlier appointment, a high-pitched voice sounded through the reviewing stand like a herald with a slightly off-key trumpet.
“Lord Woolham, oh, Lord Woolham.”
A moment later, a zaftig woman with a helmet of gray hair came toward Hugh like the Titanic advancing on the iceberg.
“Ah, Lillian, there you are,” Big Bob said as he shifted his bulk aside to make room. “Lord Woolham, may I introduce Lillian Bray, the secretary of the Last Chance Town Council. Lillian, meet Lord Woolham.”
“Oh, your grace, I’m just so honored to meet you.” The woman took Hugh’s hand and pumped it as if she were trying to bring forth water from a well.
Hugh clamped down on his tongue and refrained from pointing out that he was not of a high-enough rank to be called “your grace.”
“Well,” huffed Lillian as she turned toward Big Bob. “I think we need to tackle the Bert Rhodes problem as quickly as possible. We should schedule an emergency meeting of the town council this week to discuss what we can do to help his grace.”
“Well now, Lillian, I don’t—” Bob began.
“That might not be a bad idea,” Cissy said. “Couldn’t the town council condemn that old golf course, or something?”
Big Bob scowled. “Now, Miz Warren, we don’t exactly have the money to—”
“Well, that’s an idea,” Lillian said.
Bob took out a handkerchief and mopped his brow. “Lillian, I think we should wait and think on this a little bit. I don’t want to go up against a bunch of church ladies.”
“Piffle,” Lillian said, “I already talked to Jimmy Marshall. He thinks an emergency meeting of the council is a good idea. I’m sure he can control his wife.”
“I wouldn’t count on it,” Bob said, tucking his handkerchief into his pocket.
“Well, Kamaria isn’t opposed to an emergency meeting. I talked with her last night about it. And we all know she’s going to win next November’s mayoral election.” Lillian turned and waved at an African-American woman who stood at the other end of the reviewing stand having a conversation with a group of women of various sizes, ages, and ethnic backgrounds. Despite their differences, all of those ladies looked like churchwomen.
Hugh suddenly wished that Caroline were beside him whispering in his ear about all these tangled relationships. Caroline had tried to brief him about all this, but he wasn’t very good at names and faces and politicking.
“What’s this about church ladies?” Senator Warren asked.
Big Bob hitched up his trousers so that his belt buckle rested above his paunch. “Rupert, we got us a group of crusading women, led by the wife of our leading citizen. They want to protect that miniature golf course on the land Baron Woolham needs for his factory. They say Golfing for God is a wonderful family place that can teach kids their Bible stories.”
“Oh, that’s not good,” the senator said.
Bob nodded and turned toward Lillian. “Lillian, you’re in the minority of church women in this county. Hettie’s done a remarkable job of organizing the Committee to Resurrect Golfing for God. And I don’t want to go up against Hettie Marshall and her current cause.”
“Hettie Marshall? Really?” Cissy said in a surprisingly chipper tone. “Would that be the daughter of Judge Gregory Johnson who married Lee Marshall’s boy?”
“It is, ma’am,” Bob said.
Cissy turned toward her father. “Daddy, you know her. Remember? Greg and Roberta’s daughter? I went to summer camp with her. And we were sorority sisters at Clemson. Maybe I can help.” Cissy turned and gave Hugh a big, brassy smile full of beautifully straight white teeth.
“Hmmm,” Senator Warren said. “I didn’t know anything about this committee of churchwomen. Hugh, in this state it’s real bad politics to get crosswise with any churchwomen.”
“I am aware of that, sir. We have churchwomen in Woolham.”
“Really, Daddy, this situation has disaster written all over it,” Cissy said. “I don’t think you should entrust it to Caroline. I’m surprised you even asked her to help, given her obvious conflict of interest.”
“I sure do wish ya’ll would quit calling her Caroline. Her name’s Rocky. Rocky Rhodes,” Lillian said.
“I believe she legally changed her name,” Hugh said.
“Well, thank God for that. Can you imagine going through life with a name like Rocky Rhodes?” Cissy’s laugh sounded like a braying jackass, with an unmistakable note of cruelty in it.
“No, I can’t,” the senator said, “but I don’t think less of Caroline because her parents gave her an unfortunate name, or that man lassoed her. The fact is, Lord Woolham, I asked Caroline to help because she has a knack for untangling difficult situations. Especially those that require a certain amount of political delicacy, if you catch my drift. I knew her father owned the land, so I figured she’d be even more motivated to find a unique solution to your problems. If you trust Caroline, she’ll find a solution for you. She hasn’t failed me yet.”
“Daddy,” Cissy said, her voice sounding brittle. “I know Hettie. I mean we’re on the same social standing. I’m sure I can help.” Cissy’s arm tightened again, and Hugh got the feeling he was in the embrace of a very large and deadly boa constrictor.
“Sweetie, Caroline has a real knack for untangling things.”
Cissy’s grasp spasmed on Hugh’s arm. She was furious with her father, but managed to keep a lid on it. Instead she gave the senator a phony smile and then looked up at Hugh. “I can get you that land. You trust me, and everything will work out fine.”
Hugh didn’t trust Cissy very far. He was learning not to trust anyone. Besides, he halfway understood Cissy—she was brassy and hard and a lot like Granddad. She saw what she wanted, and she went after it.
Granddad would have approved of her. Not just her approach to life, but the fact that she fit all the requirements of a deBracy bride—she had both a pedigree and a fortune.
Dash let the horse walk its way down an unpaved road, heading toward the Painted Corners Stable. Caroline clutched the saddle pommel and tried to get her heartbeat under control. She didn’t know where the fear ended and the anger started. “This is exactly like that time you blew up my Barbie dolls.”
“No, it’s
not,” Dash said from his place behind her. “That was all about my getting back at your little friend, Savannah, and the mean things she said about my daddy. You and the Barbies were collateral damage. I’ve been meaning to apologize to you for that.”
“Well, this is a weird way of apologizing. Honestly, this is the worst idea you’ve ever had.”
“You asked me for something big and outrageous. This is what came to mind.”
She gave him an elbow to the ribs. “You’re incorrigible. Couldn’t you have told me about this? We could have discussed it. My boss was on that reviewing stand, Dash. Did you give one moment’s thought to how this might affect my career?”
“Well, no, to tell you the truth. But the fact is, you were busy getting drunk and dancing with that Brit, which probably wasn’t such a smart career move either. And besides, I reckoned that it would be better and more believable if you didn’t know what I planned. That way it could look just like I was staking my claim on you.”
Dash guided the horse into the main corral. “You weren’t really staking your claim on me, were you?” Caroline asked.
He laughed. “No, ma’am, that’s for sure.”
He stood up in the stirrups and swung his leg over the saddle. When his foot hit the ground, he winced. “Damn, that knee ain’t never gonna be the same,” he muttered, bending down to rub it.
Caroline found herself sitting atop the horse all by her lonesome. “Get me down from here.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Dash called one of his stable hands over to help hold the horse’s reins. He untied the lasso around Caroline’s middle. Then, in a manly display of strength, he lifted her free of the saddle, turned, and set her on her feet.
Her stiletto heels immediately sank right into something soft.
“Uh, Dash, you didn’t just put me in horse poop, did you?” She lifted up her skirts.
“Uh-oh, did I? I’m sorry. We got a lot of that stuff around here, you know.”
“You did this on purpose.”
“I didn’t. But you know, this situation provides you with a real opportunity to trash that old dress. You let the skirt get soiled, you might have a good excuse for taking the dress off.” His crooked smile made an appearance. “That would make you feel better, wouldn’t it? You could dress in a shirt buttoned up to here.” He gestured to his neck.