Last Chance Beauty Queen

by Hope Ramsay

  “Rethink in what way?”

  “Well,” she said, reaching out and running her long fingernails across his cheek in a gesture that was supposed to be alluring, “first of all, I think you should go get your things. Then we should drive back to Columbia and find a nice restaurant and a good hotel for you.”

  “Are you propositioning me?”

  She giggled. “In a way, yes.”

  “Well I—”

  “No, listen.” She pressed her finger against his lips. He didn’t really like being silenced that way.

  “You want to build this factory and make your loom, right?” she said. “But you don’t have the money to get the job done. The fact is, even if they condemn that piece of land, you’d be hard pressed to find the money to build the road and deal with the swamp. You are undercapitalized. You are going to fail.”

  Anger bubbled down in his gut. He’d heard this before. So many times, on so many things. “How do you know I’m going to fail?” He bit off the words, momentarily losing his cool.

  “Because I’ve taken a look at your personal balance sheet.”

  “Right. Caroline told me all about that. Did you put a private investigator on my trail?”

  “Yes, I did. And don’t look like that. A woman like me has to be careful. I know you’re underfunded. And I know you’re considering marriage to a woman whose only assets are her assets. But it’s okay, because you’re smart and classy. I like classy men. And I happen to be rich enough to afford you.”

  “I’m so glad I have your approval,” he said, the sarcasm barely disguised.

  “Don’t be angry. I had a feeling we weren’t going to get very far with these yokels today. Now you need to listen to me.”

  “Why should I?”

  “Because, dear Baron, we’re wasting our time here. Daddy’s taken a look at the specs for your loom, and he thinks you’re brilliant—as an inventor and engineer, not a businessman. Given that, it just makes sense for Warren Fabrics to buy your design. Then we would have exclusive rights to this technology, which is going to revolutionize textile manufacturing. We’d finance the production line. You could be in charge of that if you wanted. Or you could spend your time inventing the next big thing, which I imagine is what you’d rather do.”

  Hugh stared at her for a long, tense moment. Cissy had just offered him the perfect solution. She’d even offered him an opportunity to get out of the business end of things and concentrate on what he loved the most—tinkering around with bits of machinery.

  So why was he hesitating?

  One single thought came to his mind—Caroline on Sunday morning talking about how she loved Last Chance and all of its citizens. Her passion had touched him. She wanted to save the chicken plant and find a way to build Hugh’s factory here, where it would matter to a bunch of ordinary people.

  If he said yes to Cissy, the factory would go elsewhere. No doubt there would be people in the I-85 corridor who would welcome new jobs, but they wouldn’t be Caroline’s people.

  He should say yes to Cissy. Caroline, herself, had suggested that Cissy was the solution to his problems.

  But he couldn’t. For some reason, the people of Last Chance had gotten under his skin. Especially one particular senatorial aide.

  “So what do you think?” Cissy asked, pressing her advantage.

  “Can I think about it?”

  “What’s to think about?”

  “Well, I had set my heart on building an independent business. I would love to do business with Warren Fabrics, of course. And your offer is very generous, but I need to think it over.”

  Cissy was, no doubt, used to getting her way, and the look she gave Hugh underscored that point. She was spoilt rotten. “That took balls,” she said.

  “What? My wanting to do things on my own, or my wanting to think things over?”

  “You have no money. You need me. You’re dreaming if you think you can do this on your own.”

  “You are probably right about that. My grandfather always said I spent too much time with my head in the clouds. But that’s who I am, Cissy.” He opened the car door before she could vent any more anger at him.

  “You’ll be sorry about this.”

  Hugh ignored the venom in her words. “Thank you, Cissy. You’re quite generous, and I haven’t said no. I just want to think about it,” he said as mildly as he could.

  “I don’t make offers like this twice.”

  “Well, then, I guess I’m rather out of luck then.”

  Cissy’s lip curled. It wasn’t a very attractive look on her. “Have it your way.” She turned the key and revved the Corvette’s motor. She yanked the gear lever, ground the clutch, and spun the tires as she backed out of the drive. It was a shame the way Cissy treated that beautiful piece of machinery.

  “Well, don’t ya’ll look good enough to eat?” Aunt Arlene said as Caroline and Rachel reached the top row of the grandstand.

  Arlene pulled off her oversized sunglasses and peered at them out of a pair of sherry-colored eyes that had been decorated with false eyelashes and green eye shadow.

  Rachel looked much better after the intervention at the Cut ’n Curl. She wore a pair of daisy dukes that showed off her long-stemmed legs, a little red bandanna halter-top, and a brand-new, sassy layered hairdo.

  Momma and Jane had really outdone themselves. Their flawless application of concealer hid all traces of Rachel’s spectacular crying jag.

  Caroline wore her usual preppy summer outfit—a pair of navy madras Bermuda shorts, a white golf shirt, and a pair of espadrilles.

  “Well,” Arlene said, zoning in on Caroline’s clothes, “let me amend that last remark. Rachel looks great. But Rocky, honey, you look like a refugee from a Hilton Head sailing regatta. If you’re going to wear madras like that, maybe you should think about pink. Pink is such a nice color on you.”

  Caroline let the comment roll right off her back. After all, Momma had told her the same thing, right before her lecture about how Baron Woolham was not exactly the man Miriam had predicted for her.

  Caroline had listened and nodded. Then she’d dropped her bombshell about the new job in Washington. She assured Momma that she was not interested in any kind of liaisons with English barons or regular Joes. Her entire purpose for being at the demolition derby tonight was to get Rachel hooked up with Bubba.

  And if she had to kiss a pig—or Dash Randall—to get it done, she was prepared to make the sacrifice. Rachel had a thing for Bubba. Caroline wasn’t entirely comfortable with that, knowing Bubba as intimately as she did, but Caroline was not about to talk her best friend out of it.

  Any woman who cried over Bubba Lockheart the way Rachel had was going to be good for him. And Bubba needed someone who cared enough to have a crying jag over him, because Caroline never had cared that much.

  Caroline plopped down beside her aunt-by-marriage and studied the arena where the demolition derby was about to start. The fire department had brought in a couple of big pumpers and hosed the place down so that the entire area was now mired in a good six inches of red mud. The commingled scents of funnel cake and corn dogs filled the air.

  “So, girls, I heard all about the Lasso Fiasco and its aftermath. Rachel, honey, I’d say you are dressed for action tonight. And let’s all pray that Bubba is smart enough to get it.”

  Caroline turned toward her aunt. “You know, Arlene, it’s amazing how gossip travels in this county.”

  Arlene put her sunglasses back on. “Faster than tweets on Twitter.”

  “Since when do you tweet?”

  “Since Alex bought me a new smart phone. If the church ladies ever catch on to texting, we’re all done for.” She chuckled at her own joke and took a couple of long-neck Buds from the cooler at her feet. She twisted off the tops.

  “Here you go, girls. The beer is on me.”

  Caroline took the Bud and pressed the cold bottle to her head.

  “So speaking of gossip, everyone’s been talking about
how that big ol’ strapping duke feller outbid Dash for you at the kissing booth. Course, depending on which version of the story you hear, the duke either got outsmarted by Dash, or Dash got outsmarted by the duke. Which way is it, sugar? I’m dying to know.”

  “He’s only a baron, not a duke,” Caroline said then took a slug of beer. It was cold and refreshing.

  “Duke, baron, whatever. C’mon, baby, Aunt Arlene wants to know all.”

  “Well, there’s nothing to tell. Momma and Jane put me in that humiliating position because Dash lassoed me off the parade float and everyone misinterpreted that.”

  “You know, Rocky, you could have explained the truth,” Rachel said.

  “Right. And if I did that, then Bubba would have bid for me, not you.”

  “And you would have avoided the gossip that’s running around as a result of you dancing barefooted with Lord Woolham into the wee hours,” Arlene said.

  “We were just having fun. Since when can’t I have fun at the Watermelon Festival?” Caroline’s voice sounded really defensive, even to her own ears.

  “Well, you have a point,” Arlene said, “and I can hardly blame you, if what they say about his kiss is true.”

  She blushed.

  “Uh-huh, it must be true,” Arlene said.

  “Look, he’s a good kisser, okay?”

  “You know, seeing as he’s here to force your daddy off his land, enjoying his kisses might not be a good move,” Arlene said.

  “I know.” Caroline took another swig of beer.

  “And besides, he hardly matches what Miriam predicted for you, does he?” Rachel said, getting her digs in.

  Caroline nodded, but her mind kept running over the things Hugh had done over the last few days. He’d been surprisingly accurate with a wooden hoop and a baseball, winning her that stupid stuffed animal that still sat on her bed at Momma’s house. He’d won nearly every game he played.

  And he’d talked to Daddy about the broken frogs down at Golfing for God like he actually knew how to fix them.

  And he had a bunch of engineering degrees that he’d told her about.

  And he had a blood blister on his thumb.

  She thought about that blister and her insides melted. Damnit, he was not a regular guy.

  He was just exceptionally talented at carnival games and juggling booze bottles. And he was kind and sweet to everyone he met. Even Lillian Bray loved him, despite the fact that he’d given another blue ribbon to Jenny Carpenter yesterday in the pie-baking contest.

  He didn’t match the forecast. Did he? Maybe.

  That was scary. She pushed it aside. It didn’t matter because Miriam had predicted that he’d end up with Victoria Ashton, heiress. Caroline just needed to remember that.

  Assuming, of course, that Miriam really was infallible.

  Where had that thought come from? Was it possible for Miriam Randall to be wrong? That possibility had never occurred to Caroline before.

  “Hey, ya’ll,” she said to Rachel and Arlene, “do you believe in Miriam Randall?”

  “You mean like a god?” Rachel asked.

  “No, I mean about her ability to foretell matrimonial bliss.”

  “What is it, hon, are you worried? Do you really love Dash even though he thought that whole lasso thing was a joke?” Aunt Arlene asked.

  “No. I don’t love Dash. But I guess I’m a little bit worried. What if my true love isn’t a regular guy, and I go around trying to find a regular guy and I miss my real soulmate because I’m not looking for him.”

  “Rocky,” Rachel said, “quit obsessing. If Miriam said you’re going to marry a regular guy, you’re going to marry a regular guy. And from what I’ve heard, the minute you look at this guy, you’ll know—down deep.”

  Down deep where? In her girl parts? Oh, yeah, she felt that sexual pull the first time she’d laid eyes on Hugh deBracy. She’d also been annoyed at him for being a snob.

  But he wasn’t a snob, was he? He was…

  She wouldn’t let her mind go there. Hugh was a decent human being.

  “What’s got you so worried?” Rachel asked.

  Caroline put the empty bottle down beside her feet then turned on the bleacher seat so she faced her aunt and her best friend. “Suppose you found someone, and you could see that he might fit Miriam’s advice, but he had a forecast of his own from Miriam that you knew you could never match? What then? Should you try to become the woman he’s looking for?” Not that Caroline could become an heiress, of course, but she asked the question anyway.

  Aunt Arlene pushed her sunglasses up onto her frosted hair and gave Caroline one of those meaningful looks that older women always give younger women when wisdom is about to be imparted. Caroline braced herself for the bad news. “Honey, I just don’t understand why you’re always thinking that you need to be somebody other than who you are. I think, in order to find your soulmate, or just to make a good marriage or relationship, you’ve got to be yourself. You can’t go pretending to be someone else just to please a man. That’s just dumb, and you’re smarter than that.”

  “I am smarter than that. That’s what Sharon told me a long, long time ago. And that’s why I told Bubba no.”

  “Exactly. So don’t go being dumb now, especially since I heard from your momma that you finally landed that job in Washington. When you find the right man, he’ll be all right with you being who you are, working for the senator and all. Trust me on this. Miriam helped me find my match, and your Uncle Pete never tried to change me.”

  Caroline leaned over and dropped her arm across Arlene’s shoulders to give her a squeeze. Uncle Pete had passed away only a few weeks ago, after a long battle with cancer. Arlene was living alone for the first time in her life. “You doing okay, Arlene?”

  She managed a trembling smile. “Yeah, I’m okay. But I sure do miss your uncle.”

  “Me, too.” Caroline leaned in and gave Arlene a little kiss on the cheek.

  Arlene gathered up her composure and batted Caroline away. “Don’t you get all syrupy on me now. Your uncle wouldn’t be happy about that. He was the happiest man I ever knew. And I’m trying to be happy without him.

  “Here, have another beer.” Arlene leaned into her cooler and pressed another cold one into Caroline’s hand. She took a deep swallow. It tasted yeasty and better than anything Hugh had made for her the other night at Dottie’s. Maybe she should read the signs. Like she was a beer person, not a martini person.

  The loudspeaker squawked, and engines roared to life. A string of dilapidated cars made their way onto the muddy rodeo arena. One of those cars—a beat-up Dodge—belonged to Bubba. Caroline could just see the ex-linebacker-turned-mechanic behind the wheel, wearing a crash helmet, the ends of this too-long hair coming out the back.

  She swept her gaze around the crowd.

  Her backside practically lifted right out of the chair the minute she saw Hugh. She hadn’t expected to see an English aristocrat at something as hopelessly lowbrow as a demolition derby. But then, hadn’t he told her that he’d helped Bubba work on the car?

  The baron had climbed up to sit on one of the hay bales set up across the way. He and Dash were sitting together like they were a couple of old buddies. Hugh wore his faded jeans and a black T-shirt—an outfit that wasn’t that much different from what Dash was wearing. Hugh was drinking beer from a long-necked bottle. Dash was drinking a Coca-Cola.

  Arlene gave Caroline a little nudge in the ribs and leaned in to scream in her ear over the revving of the motors. “Honey, who is that beautiful man sitting with Dash?”

  “That, Aunt Arlene, is Hugh deBracy, Baron Woolham.”

  Arlene leaned back, her eyes growing wide. “You mean that man over there is the duke who knocked out Bubba’s teeth, got you drunk at Dotty’s, and then kissed you senseless at the kissing booth yesterday?”

  “Wow, news does get around this town, doesn’t it?”

  Arlene leaned in. “Honey, it all makes sense now.”

&nbs
p; “What?”

  “That man is cuter than a baby’s butt. And he’s… well, he must spend some of his time in the royal gym.”

  Rachel laughed. “Yeah, he’s got some pretty impressive biceps there.”

  “So what did Miriam tell him he needed to be looking for?” Arlene asked.

  “She said he should be looking for a woman with a really big checkbook. You see, he’s undercapitalized, and if he can’t get Daddy’s land, he’s going back to England to marry an heiress named Lady Ashton.” She said the words and felt her throat close up. It was so unfair. Why couldn’t a girl like her have a guy like him? Like Cinderella.

  She took another gulp of beer and could almost hear Sharon’s voice echoing through her head. Sharon had told her that a woman shouldn’t ever believe in Cinderella.

  It sort of suggested that Sharon hadn’t been as happy in her marriage as Stone had been. And Caroline didn’t want to think about that. Was it possible that the whole Sharon and Stone thing was a myth, too? Like the Bubba and Rocky Show?

  It didn’t matter. Sharon was right. A girl had to think with her head, not her private parts. And Hugh was not the one Miriam had forecast for her. Even if Hugh was kind of a regular guy in some respects, Caroline could never overcome the reality of what Miriam said Hugh needed.

  He didn’t need her. She had no fortune to give him.

  Two hours later Bubba had once again won the day, smashing all comers with his hulking Dodge. The victor was celebrating down on pit row.

  Caroline linked her arm through Rachel’s and practically dragged her down to where the celebration was taking place.

  “Uh, maybe this is a huge mistake,” Rachel said.

  “You cried over Bubba, Rachel. You said you thought you’d never get another chance. Well, I’m not about to let that happen.”

  She stopped and gave Rachel a big hug. “Really, I want Bubba to have a life that doesn’t involve him mooning over me. So I would be so grateful to you and to God if it turns out that you and Bubba belong together, because honestly, I’ve been praying for him—a lot.”

  Rachel let go of a little laugh. “I had a thing for him in middle school, but I knew he liked you more. I always thought, you know…” She shrugged, and her cheeks flushed.