by Hope Ramsay
“This happened to you?”
“Yeah. Miriam told me to search for a knight in shining armor—precisely the fantasy that had gotten me into very bad situations for most of my life. I wasn’t really ready to hear what she had to say.”
Sarah frowned. “Clay doesn’t give me a real knight-in-shining-armor vibe. A bad old redneck on a motorbike, yeah, but a knight?”
“It’s worse than it appears,” Jane said. “Clay is a Boy Scout who is ready to rescue me at a moment’s notice while simultaneously being the epitome of a sensitive, new age guy—in disguise, of course.” She smiled like a woman deeply in love.
“You really adore him.”
“He changed my life.” Jane let go of a sappy sigh and continued, “So, I’m telling you, resistance is futile. And, for the record, you and Bill Ellis are like a match made in Heaven.”
Five minutes later, Sarah found herself riding shotgun with Last Chance’s chief of police in his really impressive automobile. For a small town with limited resources, the authorities had obviously spared no expense when it came to Stone Rhodes’s cruiser. The thing was loaded down with computer and communication equipment that could rival any big city.
He had just made a right turn onto Palmetto Avenue when his radio burst to life with a female voice. “Hey, Stone, I got a report of trespassers down at Speed Demon.”
“Shit,” Stone said right into his mic.
“Yup. I’m thinking what you’re thinking.” The woman on the other end of the line had a low seductive voice and a broad Southern drawl.
“Thanks, Darlene. You tell Sheriff Bennett yet?”
“Nope. I reckon you got a fifteen-minute head start before things get out of hand.”
“I’m on my way, darlin’, thanks.”
“Don’t mention it, Stony. You can buy me a drink next time you’re down this way.” The voice practically purred.
Okay, so maybe the grumpy chief of police was getting some action on the side. Sarah figured there was a lot about the tall, dark, and handsome chief that the church ladies of Last Chance probably didn’t know. Stone leaned over and flipped a switch on the dash, and his police lights started doing their thing.
He turned toward Sarah. “I reckon I’m going to need your help.”
“My help?”
“Mmm. See, that was a call about a disturbance over at the dirt track where Tulane and Pete used to run cars all summer. I figure we got us a situation where the spokesperson for Cottontail Disposable Diapers is raising hell and trespassing. We leave this situation alone, and Tulane will end up arrested by the county sheriff.
“So I’m thinking you and I have a strong mutual interest in rescuing Tulane before that happens. And, as they say, you can catch a whole lot more flies with honey than with vinegar.” He gave her a little smile that revealed a whole bunch of dimples and crow’s-feet. “And besides, I figure you are being paid to keep him out of trouble, and I’m just his older brother, who has been kicking his butt for years.”
And with that, Stone hit the accelerator, pulled a U-turn that threw Sarah up against the door, and then took off like a speed demon himself, right down the middle of town. Sarah reached for the “oh shit” handle and didn’t even blush.
She was coming to realize that all of the Rhodes men had a talent for breaking traffic laws.
Tulane took another slug of beer and swallowed it hard so it trapped the air bubbles in his esophagus. He held on to the incipient burp, and then began a slow release of it as he burped the words to the chorus of the old Tracy Byrd song “Watermelon Crawl.” He got as far as “drink don’t drive” before his burp gave out.
“Ha, I win,” Clay said from his place atop the pit-row wall at the defunct Speed Demon Racetrack. “I got all the way to watermelon.”
“Yeah, but Pete could burp the entire refrain. You guys are wimps,” Rocky said in a slightly slurred voice. She sat on the hard dirt at the base of the pit wall, wearing a pair of cutoffs and a tank top, with her hair pulled back in a ponytail. She looked like the sister Tulane remembered from his childhood, not the kick-ass staffer for a U.S. senator. He didn’t get to see his sister very often these days. He missed Rocky.
But not as much as he missed Pete.
He turned away from his siblings, trying not to think about Pete, which was hard here at the Speed Demon dirt track, drinking beer and burping Tracy Byrd songs.
In fact, Tulane was well aware that his sister had suggested they all meet up here for the express purpose of remembering Pete. She had even persuaded Clay to bring his bolt cutters so they could get past the padlock on the gate.
This officially meant they were trespassing.
“Hey, ya’ll, is it worse for a senator’s aide to get caught trespassing or for the spokesperson for Cottontail Disposable Diapers?” Tulane asked.
“Cottontail Disposable Diapers,” Clay and Rocky said in unison.
Tulane turned and scowled at the two of them. “Why does it always work that way?” He gestured broadly toward Clay. “You come equipped with bolt cutters.” Then he looked down at his sister. “And you dream everything up and come with a twenty-four-pack of beer. I’m just along for the ride. But I’m always the one who gets the book thrown at me.”
“Usually by Uncle Pete,” Rocky said. “Here’s to the old guy. I’ll miss the way he used to bawl you out.” She raised her beer bottle and took a hearty swig. Then she wiped a little tear from her eye with the back of her beer hand.
“Well, I suppose not having Pete bawl you out is something to be grateful for, huh?” Clay said.
Rocky snorted. “Clay, you need to quit with that positive stuff. I mean, it sucks that Uncle Pete is dead, so don’t go finding silver linings, okay?”
“Sure, Rocky,” Clay said. “Anyway, I reckon Tulane’s got a new nursemaid now. And, boy howdy, she’s a lot better looking than Pete.” Clay let go of a drunken laugh.
“Oooh, Tulane, does she yell at you like Pete? That would be real entertaining, because I got a feeling Sarah doesn’t know any cuss words. And Pete sure did know how to cuss. In fact, I probably learned every dirty word I know from Pete,” Rocky said, raising her bottle again. “I’m gonna miss him. You remember that time he nearly blew up the house when he got an idea to deep-fry a turkey for Thanksgiving? I swear I learned seven new cuss words that day.”
“Yeah.” Clay’s voice wavered, and he snuffled a little—in an entirely manly way, of course.
Tulane turned away again. Someone really needed to do something about this situation, or they would all be bawling their eyes out. So Tulane took another swig of beer and swallowed down on the bubbles. He turned around and this time, instead of trying to sing “Watermelon Crawl,” he began reciting the Lord’s Prayer. He’d seen Pete burp the entire prayer from beginning to end one time. Pete was a really impressive burper.
He got as far as the word “temptation,” even though Clay cracked up and ended up spewing Budweiser from both nostrils while Rocky howled with laughter.
That was more like it. No tears. He didn’t want to cry. Pete wouldn’t want a bunch of tears either.
“Hey, ya’ll, remember the way Pete blared that watermelon song over the loudspeakers of the store every year at festival time?” he asked.
“Don’t remind me. That man had a thing for that song. He even asked me if I was ready to crawl on my hands and knees and wiggle and jiggle that year I was Watermelon Queen.”
Clay snorted. “I sure would have liked to see you crawling around in that dress. As it is, everyone’s saw you wiggle and jiggle, girl, so I wouldn’t worry none.”
“Thanks. And the next time Bubba Lockheart tries to carry me off, I hope you are the guy who talks him down. I really don’t know what I would have done that time if Pete hadn’t interceded. Damn, I’m gonna miss him.” Rocky’s voice cracked.
Clay hopped down from the wall and sat beside her, putting his big arm around her shoulder. He gave her a hug, and then she completely fell apart, leani
ng over on him and bawling all over his shoulder.
Damn. She was getting snot all over Clay’s T-shirt, and Clay was doing his best big-brother routine.
The party was coming apart at the seams. Tulane needed to do something quick. A guy like him, who was forced to ride around in a pink car and kiss little babies at his personal appearances, did not need to cry in public. A guy like him needed to have some really stiff rules about emotional stuff like that.
He polished off his beer and headed toward Stone’s old pickup, which Tulane had driven down here after taking Rocky to the Buy Low to get the beer.
This seriously weakened his argument about how he had been hanging with his siblings and was completely innocent of any premeditated trespassing. Although in his favor was the fact that Clay had driven himself and supplied the bolt cutters. So Clay bore the lion’s share of the responsibility for any trespassing that might have happened.
Not that it would matter if they got caught. Clay always managed to wiggle out of any blame that might be assigned.
Tulane got in the truck and fired up the engine. Man, that old pickup sounded good. Stone knew how to take care of a motor, all right. Pete had taught him good.
Tulane pulled the truck through the gates they’d unofficially unlocked and onto the old track. Clay and Rocky had both gotten over their grief and hopped up onto the pit wall. They watched as Tulane floored that baby and headed toward turn one.
The truck handled great as he power-slid around turns one and two and headed into the straightaway. The dark dirt slid under his wheels, and even though the lights weren’t on and the track had been closed up for four years, Tulane swore he could smell the funnel cakes and hear the roar of the other cars.
A million memories assailed him as he reached turn three and power-slid through it, like one of the old boys who had invented stock car racing as a by-product of bootlegging. He doubted many of today’s pretty-boy drivers knew much about power-sliding a pickup through a turn on a dirt track.
He could almost hear Kenny Lewicki in the back of his head, telling him how unimportant Pete’s lessons about driving and cars were. Well, damn Kenny Lewicki. And damn NASCAR. And damn National Brands. And damn Pete…
The tears filled his eyes and blinded him for a moment. He took the turn too fast, and the truck spun out. His instincts—honed over years of driving this track—kicked in. He guided the truck to a safe stop facing the wrong way, with the front pointed toward the pit entrance.
Where, right at that moment, Stone’s Crown Vic police cruiser made an appearance, with lights flashing.
Dizziness assailed Tulane, and the cruiser lights smeared in his vision. His chest felt like a pressure cooker that had been left on for too long. He was about to detonate. He needed to punch something, or he might…
Oh, crap, he was going to lose it. He hadn’t cried since he was a little kid. He sagged his forehead onto the steering wheel as the first sob hit him. After that, it was all he could do to catch his breath.
At some point in his total breakdown, Sarah Murray, nursemaid, hopped up on the running board, reached in through the open window, and touched him on the shoulder.
Something eased inside him. The girl had a real gentle touch.
“It’s all right, Tulane,” she said. “Just let it all out. You’ll feel so much better.”
He took her advice. He couldn’t have stopped bawling if he’d tried.
He looked up sometime later as his sorrow started to ease, and he realized that the cruiser and all of his siblings were gone. He turned toward Sarah, who stood on the running board, silhouetted against the security lights behind her. He couldn’t exactly read her expression, which was okay with him, because he didn’t want to see any pity in her eyes.
He had a random thought that what she’d just witnessed was going to take their professional relationship in a direction neither of them actually wanted it to go.
“Move over; I’m driving. You’ve definitely had too much to drink,” Sarah said. She tried hard to keep her voice level. Her heart ached for Tulane. He was so sad, and he was trying so hard to hold all those feelings in.
It really wasn’t fair, the way the world imposed rules on men at times like this. She had no doubt he was embarrassed that she had seen him like this.
But she promised herself that she would hold her tongue on this matter, and on all his other secrets.
Tulane scooted across the bench seat. She opened the door and climbed behind the steering wheel. The truck seemed about five sizes too big for her.
“Am I in trouble?” he asked as he sagged back against the passenger-side seat.
Sarah fumbled around until she found the mechanism for moving the seat. She hauled it forward. She could almost reach the pedals.
“No,” she said as she started adjusting the mirrors. “You’re not in any trouble. You can thank Stone for that.”
“I can’t believe he didn’t give me a lecture.”
She turned the ignition key, and the truck rumbled to life. “Well, I think he understands, Tulane.”
“Stone? Understand? I don’t think so.”
“You might be surprised. He thought it might be easier for you to have me drive you back than for him to do it. Besides, there was limited room in the cruiser since your brother and sister are both drunk as skunks.”
“Me, too,” he said in a little-boy voice.
“I know, dear, but it’s all right. Everyone understands. Just don’t make it a habit, okay? Deidre wants someone squeaky clean for her car seat campaign, and breaking and entering, trespassing, and driving a truck around a dirt oval while intoxicated is probably grounds for arrest.”
“You aren’t going to tell her, are you?”
“No.” Sarah turned the wheel and drove the vehicle toward the gate. The cruiser was waiting for her, without its bubblegum lights going. She flashed her headlights and pulled out onto a two-lane road, following Stone back to Last Chance.
She glanced over at Tulane. His eyes were closed. Her heart lurched in her chest. She had a huge crush on this guy, and seeing him cry like that only made it worse. A girl could get a notion that a man like him needed a shoulder to weep on at a time like this.
But, of course, her shoulder was off-limits. And the very fact that Stone had hauled her out here to rescue Tulane underscored her position. It was her job to take care of him. But it was a job. Nothing else.
They drove in silence for a long time, and she thought he’d passed out. But he surprised her when he said, “Thanks for helping me out today; I really appreciate it.”
“All in a day’s work.” Her voice sounded almost professional. “When you get home, you should drink some water and take a few aspirin, and try to get some sleep. Don’t worry about anything. I’ve got it all covered,” she said.
Darn, she sounded like a mother hen. That was good, wasn’t it? She was supposed to be a mother hen. Which, of course, explained why her heart was pounding, and she was fighting the urge to reach out across the bench seat and take his hand in hers.
“Tomorrow’s going to be hell,” he murmured.
“You want to talk about it?”
“No.”
“You loved Pete a great deal, didn’t you?”
He didn’t say a word, but the silence in the cab became a heavy thing. Maybe Tulane wasn’t entirely cried out.
They sat in silence as the lights of Last Chance came into view. When he spoke again, his voice sounded gritty. “He never saw me win.”
“Really? I thought—”
“No, I mean as a NASCAR Sprint Cup driver. Pete never saw me win a race. All those years he supported me. He taught me every damn thing I know, and when I finally made it to the top…” His voice strangled. “Shit,” he said.
“You know, I don’t think less of you because you’re sad, Tulane. It’s not a crime to cry at a time like this.”
“Maybe for some guys. But I have rules about stuff like that.”
“Well, you
told me once you never saw a rule you didn’t want to break.”
“Yeah, well, not this one.”
Sarah made a right turn off Palmetto Avenue onto a street whose name she didn’t know. He started talking again. “It’s so unfair,” he said. “All that hard work to get to the top and what happens? Ya’ll paint my car pink and make me help folks change diapers. It’s stupid. I feel like I let him down somehow.”
He sat up and opened his eyes. “Where are we?”
“No clue, somewhere in Last Chance. I’ve been following Stone.”
He looked around. “Let me out at the curb.”
“But—”
“Just do it.”
Sarah pulled the truck over and, almost immediately, the cruiser ahead of her stopped. Tulane opened the door and stepped out onto the sidewalk. “You’ll find Miriam’s place just down this road and to the left. I’m walking home.”
He slammed the door, turned on his heel, and walked away.
She halfway expected Stone to get out of his car and insist on Tulane being driven home, but Stone was a wiser man than that.
When Tulane was five steps away, Stone flashed his lights and pulled out from the curb. Sarah pulled out behind him. She had no doubt that Stone would guide her safely to Miriam’s.
She gave a quick glance in the rearview mirror. She could just see Tulane walking along the sidewalk, heading in the opposite direction. She hoped he didn’t go off to Dot’s Spot and drink more. But he was a grown man, and he needed to deal with this grief on his own terms.
Still, it troubled her to know that she was responsible for a large measure of his grief. When she wrote the marketing plan for the pink car, she never once thought about what it might do to the man who had to sit in it every Sunday. She never thought that it might be a distraction that would keep him from winning races or making his family proud of him.
Suddenly Sarah could almost hear one of Mother’s tirades about how she was wasting her talents on things that didn’t matter. Shame washed through her.
She needed to find a way to make things better for Tulane.
But how was she supposed to do that?
She had been sent to South Carolina to spy on him. Deidre wanted her to find a reason to get him fired. And the only way to convince Deidre that Tulane might be a good spokesperson for car seat safety was to break her promise to Tulane and tell Deidre about Haley. Sarah was stuck in a moral dilemma.
