PAR FOR CINDERELLA

by MCCARTY, PETIE

  More like she can’t leave the only guy who didn’t desert her.

  “It’s nice having her care so much, but a heavy load of guilt for me to carry around.” Pain shone briefly in Frank’s eyes before he shuttered his expression.

  Too much pain for just guilt over his niece Casey staying to watch over him. There were more layers to the two Stuarts than met the eye, and Aidan intended to peel a few back.

  Chapter 10

  Casey smothered her anger to focus on the tournament that afternoon, a tournament that meant a lot of business in one day for their out-of-the-way golf course, no matter how meticulous her uncle maintained the greens and fairways.

  Seeing Frank’s beautiful greens desecrated by herbicide made her heart ache, just like Aidan taking off the night before and ignoring her. Granted, they’d had their dustups yesterday, but she had fallen for the newcomer’s tender concern over her concussion, his eye-twinkling teasing, and his big heart. And okay, his knee-buckling kisses too.

  And where had all that gotten her? Nowhere. Aidan had ditched Casey last night to go the Sand Dollar and let Deedee Bartow seduce him. He’d deserted her just like every guy she had ever harbored any feelings for.

  I know better. Never trust a hunk.

  She had been shocked speechless when she arrived at the course and saw the damage to the greens. Logic said the only difference between this week and last week was the appearance of a stranger named Aidan. After the shock, anger had settled in. Her heart had warned Aidan would never hurt Frank by ruining his greens, no matter how mad he was at Casey, but her head had pointed out that Aidan knew where the herbicide and the shed key were kept. Neither she nor Frank knew for sure where Aidan had been every single minute the night before, though her uncle seemed certain Aidan was innocent.

  Good Lord, she had gone and accused Aidan outright, and she could see how that had hurt him. Well, he had hurt her too. Deedee Bartow, indeed. If that’s who he wanted, more power to him. Casey would wash her hands of him, ignore him for the rest of his stay, like he had ignored her last night. All over a little caddy job.

  Thinking of Aidan caddying for talkative Ernest Delby brought a smile to her face.

  “Is that pretty little smile because you saw me coming?” a voice called. PJ Bartow and his two best friends from high school strutted down the parking lot ramp to the line of waiting golf carts.

  PJ stood six feet tall with his quarterback-build and a slight paunch from lack of hard work. Behind him, as always, paraded Darryl Jakes, PJ’s football-team linebacker who’d only gotten bigger and was still as slow-witted and slow-footed as ever. Last in line traipsed Jimmy Batten, PJ’s skinny, mean safety on the team, known for his late hits and his ability to instigate the other two in nefarious activities. Jimmy’s eyes always looked a little wild, and the three friends had been known for years as the Bully Trio. For good reason.

  She should have known the Bully Trio would show up for the tournament. When they got close, she could smell beer—lots of beer—on all three of them. Liquor of any kind in these three always meant trouble. Even beer.

  The last member of their golf foursome turned out to be Jerry Sanders, the loan officer for Seashore Bank & Trust. He was a good guy, even if he was the beck-and-call boy for George Fisher, the bank president and good buddy of Archer Bartow. Maybe Jerry could keep the other three in line, at least for the tournament.

  “You have to check in with the sponsors before you can get your cart,” she told the men as they approached.

  Jerry Sanders jumped in. “We already did, and we start on hole number three for the shotgun start.”

  “Looks like your greens aren’t up to snuff,” Jimmy taunted, but PJ put a hand up to silence him.

  “You okay?” PJ asked Casey. “After you, uh, fell in the other day?”

  After I fell in? She didn’t buy his supposed concern. He didn’t show the least bit of remorse over causing her accident.

  “I’m fine,” she snapped, then glared at Jimmy. “And our greens are just fine too.”

  Rory drove the second cart up alongside the first for the foursome, then hustled over next to Casey, though he looked scared to be facing the Bully Trio. Heck, he’d looked scared since the two of them had discovered the burnt greens that morning.

  “They don’t look like it,” Jimmy sneered, but PJ put a hand on his arm. Darryl just waited for orders like a good guard dog.

  “I said they’re fine!” She knew she shouldn’t provoke them, but no way could she just let them denigrate Frank’s course when there was a chance the trio could be responsible.

  “Let’s go,” PJ ordered, and the foursome climbed into their carts, not bothering to thank Rory for loading their clubs from the bag-drop rack.

  PJ glanced back at Casey from his seat in the cart and winked. “I’ll see you later.”

  She blew out a sigh of relief and felt guilty for wishing Aidan had been there as backup instead of out driving the ball picker. Especially after the accusation she leveled against him. She and Rory hustled the last of the tournament stragglers to their assigned locations, and the shotgun start went off at one-forty-five. All in all, not too bad.

  Shortly thereafter, she brought out the drinks cart to start making rounds. Rory helped her fill the thermal boxes on the specially outfitted cart with ice, beer, and soft drinks, and she stowed canvas bags of cups and snacks on the seat next to her.

  “You want me to make the run for you?” Rory offered. “The Bully Trio looks ready to start trouble today.”

  “No, I’ll be fine. They won’t bother me with all the golfers out on the course, and if they’ve had too much to drink, I won’t serve them.”

  She suspected the Trio had flasks hidden in their golf bags despite the parking lot and course access points all sporting signs that read, No outside coolers, food, or drink on the golf course.

  She hoped she was right about being safe on the course.

  Golfers stopped her on each of the first five holes to purchase drinks. Casey noted the fifth group was playing slower when she saw the foursome in front of them had already cleared the fifth green and moved on to the sixth hole with its sharp dogleg right and fairway lined with trees. Number six paralleled the back boundary of the driving range, and she could hear the faint hum of the old tractor Aidan drove.

  “You guys will have to speed up some,” she politely reminded the group. “The foursomes behind you are bunching up.”

  All four golfers dutifully nodded, and she sped down the fairway toward the sixth hole. Making the turn at the fifth green, she careened around the corner to the tee box at hole six. To the right was the restroom building for the front nine, and a cart had parked alongside. Big Darryl waited in the driver’s seat for whoever was in the restroom.

  Great.

  She pulled up even with his cart. “Y’all want something to drink?”

  Darryl motioned her forward. “Go on and take care of PJ and Jimmy,” he ordered. “Jerry and I will catch up to you there.”

  So Jerry Sanders was in the men’s restroom. That meant PJ and sneaky Jimmy were around the dogleg. Out of sight of the slow foursome behind them.

  She sighed. PJ had caught her out on the course alone once before when he and Darryl were playing a round. It had been a slow day with very few golfers around. PJ had tried to force a kiss on her that day, and Darryl had only laughed when PJ had pinned her against the drinks cart. He’d only let her go when she beaned him with her ice scoop. She smiled at the memory until she remembered she’d left her ice scoop back at the clubhouse.

  Steering through the dogleg, she spotted PJ’s cart about forty yards from the green, parked next to the strip of thick woods that separated the sixth fairway from the driving range. PJ stood at the cart and stared into the thick understory where Jimmy had apparently gone in search o
f his ball.

  PJ turned around as she pulled up. “Where’ve you been?” he asked impatiently. “I thought you would’ve been out here right after the start.”

  “I had to load my cart first, and there were five foursomes before yours,” she said calmly.

  Mentally counting to ten, she exited the cart and lifted the lid on her soft drinks box. She swiveled around to ask what PJ wanted and bumped right into him.

  “What are you doing?” Casey squeaked and tried to push him back. Paunch or no, he was still like shoving at a brick wall.

  “Trying to get a little hug.” PJ laughed and grabbed her around the waist.

  The liquor fumes in his breath almost gagged her, way stronger than when he’d arrived. No doubt from the stash in his golf bag. He lifted her in a bear hug and spun her away from the cart.

  “Stop it, PJ!” she shrieked. “I’m not going to serve you. You’ve had too much already.”

  “Why? Because I’m trying to get a little squeeze out of you?”

  He aimed his lips for hers, but she ducked and he caught her cheekbone.

  “Put me down, you big oaf!”

  “Oaf, is it?”

  The minute her feet touched the ground, she shoved away from him. “How much have you had? Oh, never mind. I don’t serve anyone who’s already had four beers.”

  He grinned deviously. “Then we’ve had only two.”

  The understory rustled loudly as Jimmy exited the woods, swaying a bit though the terrain was fairly flat. “What do you got there, PJ?”

  “A little tease who says she won’t serve me.”

  “That so? Maybe she just needs a good kissin’.” Jimmy laughed uproariously at his own joke.

  “I tried that, but I missed,” PJ said, grinning like a goof.

  “Give me a try.”

  “Sure.”

  PJ gave Casey a hard shove into Jimmy’s arms, and much too quick for his alcohol level. Stumbling backward, Jimmy wrapped her up and tried to hit her lips with his as she zigged her head left and then zagged it right to avoid his sloppy mouth.

  She heard a cart drive up and prayed it was the foursome from hole five come to rescue her, but it was Darryl and Jerry catching up to their group.

  Chuckling, Darryl bounced out and yelled, “Keep away!”

  Jerry stayed back in the golf cart either from fear or embarrassment, but he would lend her no help.

  Each of the Bully Trio tried to slap a wet kiss on her mouth or face as they tossed her easily back and forth between them.

  “Stop it!” she screamed over and over, knowing it was useless. No one could hear her over the din of the ball-picker tractor on the other side of the wooded boundary.

  She fought as best she could against each of them, elbows, knees, nails when she could dig in.

  Eventually, Jerry stepped from his cart and yelled, “Come on, guys! Let’s just get our beer. Let her go.”

  The Bully Trio only whooped and catcalled. Casey screamed in rage, kicking out at PJ’s leg when Darryl had tossed her over. Her sneaker grazed his shin bone, and she lost her balance, tumbling to the ground and taking PJ with her.

  He rolled on top and pinned her to the ground. Real panic choked her as PJ pressed in close with a maniacal leer and groped at her breast. She fought with every bit of strength she had remaining, trying to kick and knee him and get in a punch, but his big body and long arms and legs bracketed her to the ground. No real witnesses to her attack, only PJ’s friends.

  Terror and adrenaline sent her blood rushing until her ears echoed with each pounding heartbeat amidst her screams of, “Get off me!”

  The roar of the tractor grew louder and drowned out the deviant jeers and shouts of laughter from PJ’s friends. No one would hear her now. Her muscles burned with the effort of fighting off PJ. She had little or nothing left.

  The ground vibrated beneath her back with the approach of pounding footsteps, followed by a thunderous roar. Someone yanked PJ off her, and Casey could see Jimmy and Darryl staring past her, their eyes wide with shock, their mouths hanging open.

  The sound of a dull, mushy thunk! had Casey scrambling to her knees to see. The sound echoed a second time. The sound of a fist hitting flesh stretched over bone. The sound of Aidan’s fist pounding PJ’s face. PJ went down like a sack of potatoes and lay groaning in a heap, folded up like a rag doll.

  Jimmy started forward, and Casey yelled, “Look out!”

  Aidan spun around and ducked Jimmy’s drunken swing. Another Aidan-powered fist laid him out on the ground next to PJ.

  “You want some?” Aidan shouted at Darryl and Jerry. “You bastards! You stood by and watched? Get out of here! You’re banned from the course.”

  “But Aidan—” Casey started to argue.

  Scared as she’d been, the dastardly trio and their friends spent a hell of a lot of money at Frank’s golf course and brought in a lot of business every week. The course may not recover from a loss like that.

  “No buts!” he roared back at her.

  Jerry wisely yanked Darryl back toward their cart. “Come on,” he pleaded with his triple-X-sized friend.

  Aidan dragged the still-moaning PJ to his feet and shoved him at his cart. PJ wobbled off-balance and slammed into the side of the vehicle with a concurrent groan, his nose smeared red with blood. Jimmy scrabbled out of Aidan’s fist range on all fours.

  “Don’t you ever come back!” Aidan thundered at the foursome.

  Frank’s maintenance cart burst through the path of broken and crushed bushes and saplings in the woodline, left behind when Aidan’s tractor plowed through it. The tractor idled nearby with the ball catcher still attached, though most of the golf balls had bounced out of the collector box on the wild charge through the woods.

  “What the hell is going on out here?” Frank bellowed. “I got a call that someone was screaming on the sixth hole.”

  PJ reared up from his seat on the ground next to the cart, his face dark with rage. He thrust his free arm out to point at Aidan. “He tried to ban be from da course,” he fumbled out, while pinching his nose shut to stop the bleeding.

  Frank glanced over at Aidan, whose eyes looked a little wild, his breathing at a near pant as he glared at PJ. “That’s right,” he told Frank.

  Before Frank could ask why, PJ blurted, “He assaulted be and I’b godda sue.” His angry delivery stunted by holding his bleeding nose.

  “No, you’re not!” Casey cried. “If you do, I’ll press charges. You assaulted me, and Aidan only stopped you before—”

  Frank started after PJ with a menacing growl. PJ stumbled backward into his cart, and Jimmy crawled in on the other side. Darryl and Jerry had climbed into their cart to make a break for it when Frank’s cart rumbled through the broken path made in the trees.

  “I oughta beat your ass again myself,” Frank hollered as PJ tried to escape. “You are banned from this course! Don’t you ever show your face here again, PJ Bartow. Now git!” He turned to shout at Darryl’s retreating cart. “Do you hear me? All of you!”

  PJ haphazardly raced his cart off the fairway—with Jimmy hanging on for dear life—and made a straight shot for the clubhouse and parking lot.

  Frank grabbed Casey by the shoulders so he could get a look at her face. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

  “Just shaken up.”

  That was definitely a stretch. She felt far from okay. Residual terror, bumps and bruises from being roughly tossed around by the Bully Trio, more bruises and scrapes from hitting the ground and fighting off PJ, not to mention a pounding headache, but Uncle Frank had gone pale himself and looked unsteady on his feet. She didn’t want to pile on the worry.

  “A lot more than shaken up,” Aidan argued, still breathing hard as he came alongside. “
When I came through the woods from the driving range, the bastard had her on the ground,” he snarled. His right hand balled back into a fist, and he obviously wanted another crack at PJ.

  “We’re calling the police,” Frank said.

  “No! You can’t,” Casey cried. “Sheriff Watson will side with them somehow and turn it back on me and Aidan. Bad enough he banned the Trio. Thanks to Aidan, we just lost a huge chunk of course business.”

  “That’s what you’re worried about?” Aidan looked equal measures of incredulous and pissed off.

  Residual terror as yet unabated made her lash out at Aidan, but Casey couldn’t make herself stop. She had never expected PJ and his friends to go so far. She had never really feared PJ before, and now he had become a wild card.

  “PJ plays here three times a week and always brings friends. So do the others,” she shouted back at him. “That’s a lot of greens fees, and we can’t afford that kind of a hit on our slim course income. We can’t lose this course! Don’t you understand?” She hated that her voice had gone shrill at the end.

  She hated PJ for what he did to her today and should welcome the possibility of never laying eyes on him again. She was stupid to argue against the ban, but losing the course became a real possibility with the loss of PJ’s business. She’d do anything to keep Frank from losing the course he loved.

  Frank gave her a gentle shake. “And we can’t put you in danger, Casey Jo,” he said quietly. His eyes glistened with emotion. “You’re worth a helluva lot more than this damned course.”

  His quiet authoritative tone shook the desperation right out of her and made her see sense. Frank knew it too, and he pulled her in for a hard hug.