Home at Last Chance

by Hope Ramsay

  Sarah tried to decide if she minded being in trouble. For once in her life, she didn’t think so, even though she wasn’t entirely sure how Tulane had gotten her into trouble. It seemed clear that any trouble was entirely of her own making and involved a very stupid memo about a pink car.

  Deidre shook her head. “I’m going to have to make you the liaison to Ferguson Racing or run the risk of further alienating Jim Ferguson. I can’t afford to do that right now. I need his cooperation on this car seat idea. This project is very important to me, Sarah. And that means you’re going to have to relocate here.”

  “You’re going to do what Ferguson asked? You’re going to make me leave New York?”

  “Not permanently. Just for a few months. I’m sorry. I know it’s awful here. I tried to find a Starbucks and they don’t have them anywhere. But I’m going to have to do it. Jim can be a pain in the ass sometimes, and it’s your job to make him happy.”

  It struck Sarah right at that moment that moving to South Carolina was a good way to get out of the library and far, far away from Steve Phelps.

  That sealed the deal right there.

  “Okay,” she said with more enthusiasm than was probably wise.

  “You’ll do it? Really?”

  She nodded.

  “Good. Now, let me make myself clear. You’re job is not to express your thoughts on the color of the car, the design of the uniforms, the corporate logo, or the organization of the car seat safety campaign.”

  Sarah found herself nodding, because at that point it seemed the best thing to do if she didn’t want to mess up what had just happened.

  “And one more thing,” Deidre said, wagging a finger at her. “While you’re in South Carolina, I want you to compile a complete dossier on Tulane Rhodes. I want to know everything about him—secret ex-wives, bastard kids he doesn’t want to talk about, DUI convictions. You understand? That bio of his is a complete fabrication, and I’m not going to have some complete jerk, or worse yet a reprobate, as the spokesperson for my car seat safety campaign. Is that clear?”

  “Yes,” she said. Oh boy, this was bad. Sarah had promised Tulane that she would keep his secrets. She couldn’t break that promise, even if she hadn’t spit on it. Promises were something a person kept, no matter what.

  Deidre raised her eyebrow in a truly amazing facsimile of Grandmother Howland. “I want every detail of Tulane Rhodes’s life, and I want it on my desk by the middle of next week. You have a talent for research. Use it. Are we clear?”

  “Yes,” Sarah managed to choke out from her clenched teeth.

  “Good,” Deidre said as she turned and examined herself in the bathroom mirror. “I’ll expect regular reports. And I don’t want you to rest until you have uncovered all his secrets. We need to find a way to pressure Jim into firing him. He’s all wrong as a spokesperson for my campaign. So I need the dirt and I need it quickly. Hopefully, Tulane Rhodes will misbehave and make our jobs a whole lot easier.”

  Five days later, Sarah sat in the little office Ferguson Racing had given her in their vast complex of garages and meeting rooms. She stared out her single window at the view of a large parking lot filled with pickup trucks and team haulers. The last few days had been a whirlwind. She’d left her apartment in Brooklyn; found an extended-stay hotel in Florence, South Carolina; rented a car; and ensconced herself here in redneck land. She felt like Custer scouting out the Indians.

  If the folks here knew that her main job description was to mess things up in order to get Tulane fired, they might not be very charitable. What on earth was she supposed to do?

  Her moral dilemma became obvious when Tulane strolled into her office and sat his long, lean body down in her single office chair. He wore a gray striped golf shirt and a pair of blue jeans so faded that the knees were starting to unravel. He smiled that little smile of his and put a stack of papers on her desk. Then he gave her a singularly wicked look and said, “Welcome to Dixie, honey.”

  “Uh, thanks.” She folded her hands together, hoping that he wouldn’t notice the way they were sweating. He filled up her tiny office and made her realize that her new job was fraught with all kinds of occupational hazards.

  Why did he have to be so handsome? He walked into a room, and her hormones immediately perked up and started paying attention.

  “So I just came from Jim’s office, and he told me that I have to be nice to you. He also says that anyone as smart as you are when it comes to marketing could probably unsnarl all of this stuff.” He pointed to the stack of papers.

  “What’s this?”

  He shrugged. “A lot of e-mails and crap from people who want a little piece of me. Jim says I need to go through this stuff and figure out which offers I want to take. He says it would be good for my career. Only trouble is, I have no head for this crap.”

  She pulled a piece of paper off the stack. It was from a toy manufacturer who wanted to work with Tulane on a toy pink car with a snuggle-bunny driver. Obviously, any toy like that would have to get National Brands’ approval and probably a license fee for the use of the trademark.

  “All right, I’ll go through this paperwork for you and weed out the good ideas from the bad ones.”

  “I’d be obliged.” He paused a moment and then leaned forward a little in his chair. “I reckon having you here will make it easier to keep an eye on you, just in case you get any ideas of spilling the beans on my secrets.”

  “Um, about that topic, Tulane, there’s something I need to tell you.”

  “Uh-huh?”

  “See, um, well, Deidre wants to know your entire life story, and I’m supposed to give it to her by the end of today. She wants to make sure you’re an acceptable spokesperson for car seat safety. She’s looking for someone with more of a mom-and-apple-pie kind of reputation, you know.”

  He crossed his arms and leaned back. “So, you’re going to try to fix things for me by telling her all about Haley, aren’t you?”

  She shook her head. “No, I’m not. I promised you that I wouldn’t. But I think it would help your cause if you’d release me from that promise. I think Deidre needs to know the truth.”

  “Hell, no.” The twinkle left his eyes, replaced by something hard.

  She nodded. “Okay. I understand. But you should know that if I don’t tell her something, she’s going to…” Crap, how could she explain what Deidre was planning to do? It was so unfair.

  “Going to what?”

  She swallowed. “See, she’s on a tear about the car seat thing. When I suggested car seats, I had no idea she would adopt the idea like a woman possessed. But she’s really hot to trot on this, and that’s a problem.”

  “Is it? It’s going to get me out of baby-changing races, isn’t it?”

  “Uh, maybe, but not if she decides you’re unacceptable as a spokesperson for car seat safety, it won’t.”

  “What?”

  Sarah pressed her hands together. “See, she wants to make sure you have pure motives.”

  “Pure motives? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  She shrugged. “She’s not sure you’re the right image for the campaign.”

  “The right image? Honey, my only job is winning races and showing up where you and Jim tell me to go. My job is not to project an image. Does Jim know this?”

  She shook her head. “No. I thought I would discuss this with you first, since I gave you my promise. I could hardly have an honest conversation with Jim without telling all your secrets. Which reminds me, doesn’t he know about your family?”

  “Yeah, he knows about Daddy running a mini-golf place. But I never told him about the angels. I’m not telling anyone about them.”

  “I guess I understand. But—”

  “Look, Sarah, I’m going to hold you to your promise. You can tell Deidre whatever you want about my background, just so long as you don’t tell her the truth about Daddy or Haley and the whole angel thing. I don’t want the world laughing at my family.”

 
“Tulane, I’m not sure Deidre would laugh. I mean, if you explained about Haley and her mother, then—”

  “I’m not having this conversation.” He stood up and walked to the door. “You fix it, you hear? You tell her anything you like just so long as you protect Haley from that woman. And while you’re at it, why don’t you fix my image, too. The way everyone is talking about you, you’re a freaking miracle worker.”

  He turned on his heel and left her sitting there with a headache.

  Her cell phone chose that moment to ring. She checked the caller ID. Mother.

  Boy, when it rained, it poured. And Mother had this uncanny ability to call every time Sarah’s conscience tweaked. It was like Mother and Jiminy Cricket were joined at the hip or something.

  Sarah pressed the talk button. “Hello, Mother.”

  Mother’s soft but cultured voice came over the line. “So are you settled? I haven’t heard from you since Friday and I was starting to worry.”

  “Yes, I’m settled. National Brands put me up in one of those fully furnished extended-stay hotels. And I discovered that they actually do have Starbucks here. So I’m fine. Really.”

  Silence beat for a long moment. “Sweetie, I talked to Dean Albert this morning, and the opening in the fundraising department is still—”

  “Mother, we’ve been over this. I don’t—”

  “But it’s a perfect job for you. You could use everything you learned about marketing. You’d be working to help poor people and troubled teens instead of using your talents to sell diapers. I thought I raised you to have a conscience.”

  Oh brother, she was laying it on. Guilt percolated up through Sarah’s middle. What would Mother say if she knew the whole truth—about the pink car memo, and the lies, and the morally ambiguous promise she’d made to Tulane?

  Mother would be horrified.

  Good reason to stay here in South Carolina.

  Mother continued to list all the reasons why Sarah should give up her career, move home, and do good deeds.

  “Mother, this new job is a big opportunity for me, okay?” Sarah replied when Mother paused for a moment in her tirade.

  “Sarah, I know you think it’s a big opportunity, but have you thought deeply about what the Lord wants you to do with your life? I only worry because…”

  Mother continued her sermonizing while Sarah leaned forward and studied the marketing numbers that marched across the display of her laptop. She had to do something quick or Tulane might be out of a job.

  What had he said before he left? Oh, yeah, that she needed to change his image.

  Sarah quit paying attention to her mother, especially since Mother was saying stuff Sarah had heard a million times before.

  The numbers started speaking to her in their own language. And what they had to say was truly amazing.

  “Are you listening?” Mother asked.

  “Yes, Mother,” Sarah answered mechanically as she frowned down into her computer screen.

  Mother sighed audibly on the other end of the line. “Sarah, I really don’t like the sort of person you are becoming. I’m sorry to be so negative, but there it is. I’m your mother, and I’m entitled to an opinion. There is more to life than selling diapers.”

  Mother was right about that, but holy moly, Tulane’s pink car was selling boatloads of them.

  How could that be? The memo had been a joke.

  But the numbers didn’t lie. The numbers said that Tulane’s name recognition with consumers had been steadily climbing, despite the fact that he had failed to finish in two races. In fact, the best he’d managed so far in his rookie season was a twenty-ninth place finish.

  “Well? Aren’t you going to say anything in your own defense?” Mother asked.

  “Um, Mother, I’m really busy right now. Maybe we can talk another time?”

  “You haven’t been listening.”

  “I have been listening. And I’ve heard it before. You want me to come home to Boston and take the job with the Urban Ministries of Massachusetts. You think that using my talents to sell things is a waste of spirit. I know. I’ve heard. But selling things is something I’m really good at. And everyone wants to do what they are good at. I mean, God wouldn’t have given me this talent if He didn’t mean for me to use it.”

  “Well, that’s nonsense. If you were good at breaking and entering, I doubt that the Lord would want you to do that.”

  That was Mother, always with the snappy comeback filled with a moral lesson. “There isn’t anything wrong with selling things. It’s not the same as breaking and entering.”

  “Just so long as you don’t sell your soul.”

  “I have to go. I have work to do.”

  Like lying to Deidre about Tulane? her inner Puritan asked. Like ruining people’s lives because of a little revenge that went awry?

  Darn. Her inner Puritan was worse than Mother and actually sounded like Jiminy Cricket. “Good-bye,” Sarah said and pressed the disconnect button before Mother and her inner Puritan could gang up to make her feel like a spiritual loser.

  She turned her attention back to the marketing report on her computer. She shook her head in disbelief. Her stupid pink car memo wasn’t so stupid after all.

  A plan began to evolve in her mind. She could save Tulane’s career and, in the process, make him an incredibly wealthy man. She turned away from the computer and pulled out the messy stack of papers Tulane had left on her desk.

  She started reading, and she didn’t move from her office for the rest of the day. By quitting time, she’d written Deidre a memo, but it wasn’t the dossier on Tulane that Deidre had asked for.

  It was, in fact, the memo Deidre had forbidden her to write, but she’d written it anyway, because Deidre would recognize a good idea… and probably steal it.

  CHAPTER

  6

  Despite its Scottish name, Tavish McStaggers was the epitome of the Southern roadhouse. Neon beer signs festooned its tinted glass windows and lit up a dim and smoky interior. The smoke hanging over the oak bar, pinball machines, and pool table reminded Sarah that she was no longer in New York City. This was tobacco country. They didn’t believe in making smokers go outside to do their thing.

  It was Wednesday evening, and she’d been invited to an impromptu dinner with the members of the No. 57 Cottontail Disposable Diaper Ford. Sarah was a little nervous about this meeting, but she figured that meeting the members of Tulane’s team was part of her new job description.

  Fifteen people sat around a table at the back of the restaurant, including Tulane and Doc Jackson, the crew chief; Sam Sterling, the team’s manager; and Sam’s wife, Lori, who was the logistics coordinator.

  Tulane, Doc, and Sam sat around one end of the table. Sarah took a seat at the opposite end, next to Ken Lewicki, the team engineer.

  The remaining team members could only be described as a bunch of good ol’ boys, with crew cuts, tattoos, and a prodigious amount of facial hair. Some of these big, hairy men were members of the pit crew—the ones National Brands dressed in pink every Sunday. Now, jeans and Harley-Davidson T-shirts seemed to be the uniform of choice.

  These men inspected Sarah like she had just come to visit from a foreign country. Which was probably true, since four days ago she had been living in Brooklyn. How on earth had she ended up in this alien territory? Short answer: misguided revenge; two days in Last Chance, South Carolina, learning Tulane’s secrets; and the strange machinations of Jim Ferguson’s mind.

  A waitress came by, and Sarah ordered a diet Coke.

  “Not much of a drinker, huh?” Ken Lewicki said when the waitress left. He lifted his own soft drink in a toast.

  Well, that made him unique, because everyone else seemed to be drinking beer. She mentally slapped herself for ordering the soft drink. She really needed to learn how to be a better social drinker.

  Unlike most of the men at the table, Ken was clean-shaven with spiky bronze hair, a square chin, a perfectly straight nose, and clear blue e
yes. He didn’t have one trace of a Southern accent.

  “You’re not from the South, are you?” Sarah said.

  He laughed. “Haven’t you heard? Stock car racing is now a nationwide fad. I’m from Lansing, Michigan. And, if I’m not mistaken, you’re from someplace in New England.”

  “Boston.”

  “So how do you like the South?” he asked.

  “I haven’t been here long enough to form an opinion,” she replied carefully.

  He chuckled then and started talking all about his own experiences negotiating the alien culture of the South. The man seemed oblivious to the fact that the other people sitting nearby found his remarks incredibly loud and insensitive.

  Kenny also didn’t know when to stop talking. Sarah started to space on his conversation as he waffled on about this and that and the other thing. While her mind wandered, she glanced around the table at the rest of the team. Eventually her gaze landed on Tulane, who was deep in conversation with his crew chief.

  Like just about everyone at the table, he was talking in a language she couldn’t follow, but that didn’t seem to matter as she studied the way he held his knife and fork, the way he chewed his food, the way his mouth quirked at the corner when he laughed.

  Her insides reacted immediately, and it wasn’t just because he and Deidre had put her in a moral bind. Oh no, this was a much more visceral feeling. She’d felt it the minute he’d waltzed his jeans-swathed backside into her office this morning. She was seriously attracted to this guy.

  He was everything alien and dangerous—the very antithesis of the sort of man Mother would approve of. And certainly not the guy Miriam Randall had told her to be searching for. His unsuitability drew her like a flame draws a moth.

  Tulane looked up at that moment and caught her stare. A slow smile spread across his lips, folding his cheeks into rows of laugh lines, his eyes dancing seductively. He appeared ready to forget the conversation they’d had earlier in the day.

  She smiled back as heat crawled up her face.

  “So,” Tulane said in a voice that carried all the way down to her end of the table. “Who’s for pool?” He held her stare, and then asked, “Sarah?”