PAR FOR CINDERELLA

by MCCARTY, PETIE

No matter. Casey had established their working relationship and set boundaries. She wanted to make Aidan mad enough he wouldn’t try to kiss her again. That way her heart could remain safe from the vagabond her father had dragged home. She only had to keep up the pretense for the next four weeks.

  Delby should be finishing his round any minute now. Maybe Aidan decided to wait until after Delby left to explode at Casey over her high-handedness. That thought gave her pause. Enough that when Uncle Frank sauntered into the pro shop a few minutes later, she was thrilled to see him.

  “Where have you been all day? Sit down and tell me what’s going on.”

  “I mowed greens and fixed broken-down equipment,” he said dryly. “Just like I do every day.”

  “I’m just interested in your day,” she said as nonchalantly as she could.

  Frank frowned, but movement out the window caught his attention. Two men were walking up from the eighteenth green, Ernest Delby chattering animatedly to Aidan who carried his golf bag. Every ten yards or so, Ernest would stop and wave his arms dramatically as though to punctuate his harangue. Aidan would only nod acquiescence, then step in behind him when Delby started walking again.

  Uh-oh.

  Frank was on his feet when Delby burst through the pro shop door. Before he could ask what in the world was going on, Delby shrieked, “I shot eighty-five!”

  Uncle Frank’s jaw dropped. “How? You’ve never even broken a hundred before.”

  “I know,” Delby agreed cheerfully. “Aidan helped me.”

  Frank eyed Casey. “He was supposed to be working not playing golf.”

  “Oh, he wasn’t playing,” Delby assured him, with a grin that stretched from ear to ear. “Aidan was my caddy.”

  “Your what?” Frank gave his niece a pointed glare. “Casey Jolene, you want to tell me what’s going on?”

  Yikes! When her uncle called her Casey Jolene, he was usually good and angry. Quite angry.

  “Ernest has always wanted a caddy, and we never had one, but with extra help now, I thought we could accommodate his request.”

  “Did you now? And how did Aidan feel about that?”

  “Oh, he was a huge help,” Delby answered for her—thank goodness. “He fixed my putting. That’s where most of my strokes disappeared. No three-putts and only three two-putts in the whole round.” Ernest threw his arms wide. “He also helped me with my driver and my sand wedge. I was rushing every single shot, Aidan said.”

  Frank looked out on the verandah. “Where is Aidan?”

  “Oh, he carried my bag to the bag drop,” Delby said. “He’ll be right in.”

  “He’s already in,” came a voice from the doorway to the front lobby.

  Ernest was on him in a heartbeat, clapping Aidan on the back. “Best time I ever had on a golf course, son. You’re a marvelous teacher.” He withdrew his money clip. “And here’s your tip.” Tugging a ten from the wad of bills, he handed it over.

  Aidan stared at the bill.

  “Go on. Take it, son. You earned it.”

  Aidan gingerly took the proffered bill. With one last clap on the back, Ernest sashayed toward the front door, his stride a series of joyous bounces.

  Aidan strode forward, his eyes hard, and Casey resisted the urge to back away from her side of the counter. He slapped the ten down. “Deduct that from my bail.”

  He turned for the door.

  “Hold on there,” Frank called. His gaze darted from Aidan to Casey and back again. “I don’t know what possessed Casey to make you caddy for Ernest . . .”

  “I told you—”

  “Quiet.” Uncle Frank silenced Casey with an accusatory finger.

  “We don’t do caddies here,” he told them both, and then to Aidan, he said, “That will be the last time you have to caddy.”

  Aidan smirked at her. Smirked! She wanted to throw a scorecard at him.

  “However,” Frank went on, “if you’re as good as Ernest says you are, we might consider golf lessons.”

  “I got lucky with Delby.”

  “I don’t think so. I’ve played golf with Ernest before, and it’s painful. Yesterday, I would have bet my last dollar the man would never break a hundred.”

  “I don’t have a PGA card,” Aidan argued.

  “You don’t need one. I own the course, and I decide.”

  “I’ve never given lessons,” he tried again.

  “Doesn’t matter. You can fix Delby, you can fix anyone. It’s either that or you stay in the cart barn the whole time.” Uncle Frank gave Aidan a devilish grin. “Or I can teach you how to mow.”

  “I’ll give golf lessons,” Aidan agreed without hesitation.

  Casey wanted to throw a scorecard at her uncle. Golf lessons? Really?

  “How much?” she wanted to know.

  Frank glanced over at her. “How much what?”

  She rolled her eyes. “To charge for the lessons.”

  Her uncle stared out the verandah windows for a few minutes as if the answer was out there on the eighteenth green.

  “We’ll start low, say twenty bucks a half hour,” he finally said. “If Aidan continues his Delby success, we’ll raise the rates.” He grinned again. “We won’t even have to advertise. Ernest will tell everyone in town about this eighty-five.”

  “Ernest, at least, will want his caddy back.” Now she smirked at Aidan and got a scowl for her effort.

  “You’ll explain that was a one-time treat for him, but he’s welcome to take his lessons out on the course if he chooses.”

  “Fine.”

  She didn’t like this. Uncle Frank had stepped in and muddied her boundary lines. Aidan would now think he worked for Frank. Which technically he did.

  “Good.” Frank clapped Aidan on the back. “It’s quittin’ time. How about a beer?”

  “Sounds good.”

  Aidan didn’t spare Casey a glance as the two men sauntered, side by side, into the Nineteenth Hole—the name of Frank’s snack bar—and left her behind. She didn’t know how she felt about that. She and her uncle had never shared a beer at the end of the day. They just went home and made dinner. She wouldn’t begrudge Uncle Frank having someone—a male someone—to talk golf with.

  As they stepped through the doorway to the snack bar, she heard Aidan say, “What are the chances of me borrowing the Jeep for the evening? I thought I’d get dinner in town and have a look around.”

  Before she could call out and remind them both that the Jeep belonged to her, Frank replied, “Sure. No problem.”

  What the—

  Her boundaries had definitely been muddied. And Aidan Crosse was trying to steer clear of her. Was that what she wanted?

  Chapter 9

  Thankful Frank had gifted him with the Jeep for the evening, Aidan grabbed a quick shower in his coffin-with-a-faucet and struck out for Ocean Boulevard where most of Cypress Key’s restaurants were located. He’d asked for the Jeep because he needed to regain some semblance of control. To decide for himself where he would go, what he would eat. He’d felt like a mouse under a cat’s paw all afternoon, and he hated it. The need to get away and reassert his personal control had been overwhelming.

  Aidan was always the one in charge—the one calling the shots—in business and in his personal life. Today Casey had bridled him on both fronts. He had refused to show weakness and let her know her edicts had bothered him, but inside he strained hard at that leash. The last thing Aidan needed was a woman telling him what to do. His world was full of women dying for him to tell them what to do. He grimaced. And most opted to be so submissive for the money. His money.

  Casey had opted to ride home in Frank’s truck after he gave her Jeep away for the night, and that suited Aidan just fine. The afternoon had been lowering enough, he did
n’t need her to rub it in. Aidan Cross didn’t caddy. Caddies carried for Aidan at the few exclusive country clubs where he held memberships. He even had his favorite caddies, but that didn’t mean he wanted to trade places.

  Although if he were to be completely honest, he had enjoyed the round with the excitable Ernest Delby. Aidan hadn’t even minded the little guy verbally replaying his good shots on their trek to the next green. His excitement and ebullience had been contagious.

  Though Aidan had been decades younger than Delby, he clearly remembered his first good drives and sand shots, and especially the first good putts. Knew the euphoria that nestles deep in a golfer’s gut with each special shot. The same euphoria that lured him back out the next time even though his score from the previous round wouldn’t appear in record books.

  You come back for the drive that felt like you hit a cotton ball instead of a golf ball. Coupled with the satisfying thwump! sound. Not a thunk or a whack. A special sound devoted to a special drive.

  If Aidan continued his honest appraisal of the afternoon, he would have to admit he got a huge kick in the pants from having provided Ernest with that euphoria. According to Ernest, it had been virgin euphoria.

  Which immediately steered Aidan’s unwilling thoughts back to Frank’s bratty niece. Casey didn’t know anything about giving euphoria to someone else. She only gave them a pain—usually lower spine and below the waist. The minx had coerced her way onto his yacht, shoved him into the marina, and forced him to play caddy. All in one day and in an effort to put Aidan in his place.

  Hah! Like that would happen.

  Aidan was no lap dog.

  He would honor his commitment to Frank and work until his stupid court hearing. Meanwhile, he would dig around until he discovered what the seemingly nefarious Bartow was up to with his shenanigan loans. If Aidan fixed things for his future neighbors, they may not hate their new golf resort.

  He hoped.

  Meanwhile, he would give Casey Stuart a wide berth and not spare one single thought for her lithe, sexy figure or her God-please-let-me kissable lips. Or her special firebrand sass—doing and saying things few other women would.

  No way. No thought. Not one. No thoughts at all.

  Freshly showered and shaved, he steered into the parking lot of one of the local watering holes on Ocean Boulevard broadcasting Happy Hour and Killer Seafood Treats on a brightly lit marquee. His choice was based only on the number of cars in the parking lot. Staring through the Jeep’s windshield at the Sand Dollar Tavern, he saw a poster board sign in the front window advertising an Annual Cypress Key Seafood Festival. Good for them, he thought. This little town needed all the tourist help possible. His golf resort would change all that and bring in dozens of new profitable venues.

  He hadn’t seen Casey since he left the golf course, but Frank had wandered downstairs to remind him he had breakfast duty in the morning—great, just great—and Casey had a doctor appointment in the morning, so Frank would be doing the tour with him.

  “I thought you didn’t know the spiel,” Aidan accused.

  Frank gave him an unrepentant grin. “I don’t. I’ll wing it.” He shrugged his big shoulders. “I know most of it. Feel free to jump in with anything you’ve learned.”

  “I’ve only done one tour,” he grumbled.

  “Yeah, but you’re a quick study. Look how fast you picked up the caddy thing.” Frank chuckled at Aidan’s scowl. “Good thing I put a stop to that, or you could have ended up caddying for PJ Bartow.”

  Aidan stiffened. “Does he play the course often?”

  “Often enough. Though I always keep an eye on him. I’m just yanking your chain, son.” Frank smiled ruefully. “I’m not as good a tour guide as Casey, but I’ll muddle through. Just don’t forget breakfast.”

  “Her doctor appointment is just a checkup, right? She didn’t mention it to me.”

  “Probably because she’s not speaking to you or about you. I asked how you were doing, and she told me to mind my own business.”

  Aidan almost smiled. There was some solace in knowing he had irritated her as much as she had irritated him.

  “She seems her normal self, but you’ve spent more time with her today than I have. What do you think?” Frank asked.

  “I don’t know what’s normal for her.”

  “Oh, independent as hell. She never stops moving and always pushes herself to do more. She tries to do everything herself and has a tough time accepting help from anyone. She has an even tougher time accepting affection from anyone else. A defensive mechanism I suppose from losing her mother early on and her father not much later.”

  “Then she’s been normal all day,” Aidan agreed and wondered why Frank felt compelled to give him the characterization on his niece. Warning him or welcoming him?

  “That’s what I thought.” The older man keenly studied him. “Well, enjoy yourself tonight, and I’ll see you at breakfast.”

  Aidan decided Frank’s reasons for sharing so much about Casey didn’t matter. He would be leaving Cypress Key in less than a month, and he couldn’t risk getting involved with one of the residents at the site of his newest project. Especially one so prickly and temperamental. He didn’t do temperamental.

  Clad in cargo shorts and a souvenir tee shirt from one of his yacht’s hundred ports of call, Aidan fit right in with the clientele. He chose an empty bar stool and didn’t bother looking around since he knew next to no one in Cypress Key. Besides, that was the whole purpose of his night out. To meet Cypress Key residents.

  At half past six, the tavern had mostly filled. Suits were spread throughout the Happy Hour crowd, probably folks who stopped off on their way home from work. He ordered a draft beer and sipped his drink while watching the occupants of the surrounding bar stools and the already boisterous crowd.

  The stools on his left harbored a young couple who only had eyes for each other, the guy feeding the girl some of the complimentary bar pretzels. Sheesh! The stool on his right seated an older man, skin like an old wallet, bibb overalls, and a definite shrimp scent. Not hard to figure he must be one of the town’s shrimpers, and judging by his expression, the shrimp hadn’t been running that day.

  “Tough day?” Aidan asked to make conversation.

  Wallet grunted, then eyed him. “Too many of them lately.”

  “Shrimp not running?”

  Wallet took a long pull on his own draft beer. “Partly.”

  The guy was quiet for so long, Aidan wondered if he would say anything else.

  “You’re not from around here, are you?” the older man suddenly asked.

  “Is it that obvious?”

  Wallet shrugged. “Everyone who lives in Cypress Key knows this has been a bad year for shrimp.”

  “You’re right,” Aidan replied. “I only got into town yesterday. Why is this such a bad year?”

  Wallet sighed heavily. “We had above-average rainfall the last year, which led to a lot of fresh water coming down the Suwannee River, which in turn hurt the chances for shrimp to grow. Increased water-flow means an increase in fertilizer, manure, and urban runoff discharging into the Gulf, and that contributes to dead zones.” He took another slug of his beer.

  Aidan waited, then finally said, “Okay, I’ll bite. What are dead zones?”

  Wallet grinned. “Though you’d never ask. Dead zones are areas with high acidity and low oxygen levels that make it harder for the critters to survive.” His grin vanished. “Too many dead zones around here.”

  “Wow, I never realized shrimp had dead zone issues.”

  “You’re not a shrimper.”

  “No, I’m not. I suppose Big Louie’s having a tough time too.”

  The shrimper eyed him suspiciously. “If you’re new here, how do you know Big Louie?”

  “I me
t him yesterday. Nice guy,” Aidan said quickly. “Helped me out of a pinch.”

  Wallet’s wrinkled eyelids stretched to their limit. “You the guy who drop-kicked Bartow into the drink?”

  Oops! Maybe Wallet is a friend of the Bartow jerk.

  “In a manner of speaking. More like a shove. With my foot.”

  No way to sugarcoat kicking someone’s ass into the water.

  The laughter barked out of Wallet in more of a bellow, and heads in the tavern immediately turned.

  Okay, not a friend of PJ Bartow.

  The shrimper had a good laugh, a strong healthy laugh for someone who only moments earlier looked so forlorn, and Aidan laughed right along with him.

  “He deserved it,” Aidan growled, thinking of PJ causing Casey to tumble headfirst overboard.

  “You’re right,” Wallet agreed, and his shoulders shook with laughter as tears came to his eyes. “Big Louie told us the story this morning. All of us. Let me buy you a drink.”

  “Not a chance,” Aidan said. “Let me buy you one.”

  “Why?” Wallet turned obstinate, more like proud.

  “For not hating me on sight for shoving the mayor’s son into your marina.”

  That calmed Wallet. He held out a hand. “Byford Traynor. Pleased to meet you. Very pleased.”

  Aidan shook it and signaled the bartender for two more drafts on his tab. “I take it you don’t care for PJ.”

  “Nope, and his dad’s worse. Way worse.”

  “I’ve been hearing that a lot, and I’ve only been here a day and a half.”

  The bartender delivered the beers, and Byford took a long pull on his fresh one. “Thanks for the beer.”

  Aidan nodded and waited.

  “Thanks for saving our Casey too. That dumbass PJ wouldn’t have known what to do, and Louie says it was his fault anyway.”

  “Yup.”

  “What are you gonna do about your . . .” The shrimper hesitated, looked embarrassed.