She could still remember how he looked when she glanced back at him in her rearview mirror. He stood tall and dignified with those saddlebags slung over his shoulder. And he was grinning.
"What's this R.C. like?" Jane asked, settling onto the corner of her desk as she watched Lacey turning different ways to admire the hat.
"Very pleasant. And tall. I didn't realize that until he stood up and we walked off the plane together. I also didn't realize he had a prominent scar on his left cheek."
"What from?"
Lacey shrugged. "I didn't ask and he didn't volunteer. But it must have been something quite serious." She shook her head, thinking again of the pain he must have endured.
"Tell me more."
Lacey turned and smiled at Jane. "I don't know what to tell you. We simply talked during the trip back. You know how those conversations go. Except he was different."
"In what way?"
"He was interested in me, but not in the usual way men are. You know. He didn't ask me all those tacky married-or-not questions. It was as if it didn't matter. He talked to me on a person-meeting-a-person level. Besides, he let me do most of the talking."
"Maybe that was why you liked him so much," Jane teased.
Lacey had thought of that. He had flattered her and had coaxed her into discussing her favorite subject. But he had acted as if he were interested in her answers and had encouraged her even more by bringing the subject back to her whenever she had tried to talk about him. "He was such a gentleman, too," Lacey said. "You don't find many of those around anymore. He even helped me with all of my bags, and you know how much I came home with this time."
Jane nodded. She was still working on the invoices and sorting through the collection of catalogs Lacey had picked up in Atlanta.
"He was just so-o-o-o nice," Lacey cooed, then smiled and laughed at her blatant admiration.
"And now the hat." Jane shook her head, crossing her arms again. "Things always seem to fall into your lap. Two men in the works now, and you're meeting Rafe tomorrow night."
Lacey wrinkled her nose. "I know. I was wondering how I could get out of it, but I can't think of a tactful way."
"Why would you want to get out of it?" Jane asked, laughing.
"Because I liked R.C. better."
"But you haven't even met Rafe yet," Jane said, putting her hands on the edge of the desk and leaning her weight forward. "How can you say you liked R.C. better?"
"Because I have met him and I liked what I saw."
"But you know so much more about Rafe Chancellor than you do the Stetson man. Everyone's told you what a neat person he is, and he's sent you all those notes and messages."
Lacey took the hat off and put it back in the box. "I know. He sounds good on the surface. But that must be the catch. He has to look like a beanpole."
"Would that be so bad?"
"Depends on how tall the beanpole is."
Jane laughed at her. "Would you let his looks stand in the way if he was perfect in every other way?"
Lacey shook her head. "But it's the only reason I can think of that would have prevented him from approaching me directly."
"Did you ever consider the fact that he might just be a romantic?"
"We-e-e-ll…"
"Give the man a chance. He's spent over a week 'courting' you for this date. The least you can do is follow through with the original plan and have a good time."
"I'd still rather be out with R.C. He has a lot of character too."
"How can you tell, when you know so little about him?"
"Because I liked the way he looked, scar and all."
Jane laughed, hopping off the desk. "You're hopeless. You have one man chasing you sight, unseen, who sounds like the white knight on a white steed, and another who, just based on looks alone, you're convinced is John Wayne. If I were you, I'd think about that old saying—a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush."
"Depends on the bushes," Lacey answered. What Jane had said was right. No matter how much she now dreaded meeting this Rafe Chancellor, her sense of honor dictated that she must. One date couldn't be that bad. At least R.C. hadn't called yet. It would kill her to have to tell him she couldn't go out with him because of Rafe Chancellor.
The next evening, Lacey paced the floor waiting for the car and driver Rafe Chancellor was supposed to send to pick her up for their date that evening. She had received a short note in the mail from him yesterday, written in his own handwriting, reissuing the invitation for dinner that evening and stating the time someone would be by to pick her up.
Why couldn't the man come to pick her up himself? she had complained to Jane that afternoon.
"I still say it's romantic," Jane had answered. "Like Prince Charming sending a golden coach with six white horses to pick up Cinderella for the ball."
"With my luck," Lacey had commiserated, "Prince will answer to a whistle and turn out to be a dog."
"There is one consolation," Jane said, laughing.
"Which is?"
"If the coach turns out to be a pumpkin, you can always make a pie."
Lacey didn't feel any better thinking about that backup plan. This date with Rafe Chancellor might be a pleasant way to spend the evening, but she would probably not hear half of what he told her because she'd be thinking of R.C. instead.
He had given her no indication on the invitation where he was taking her or what they would be doing. She assumed the evening would begin with dinner. They both loved to dance, so that could conceivably be worked into the date. She liked to have some idea of the kind of date she was going to have in order to know what to wear.
By deduction she figured he would take her somewhere worthwhile for dinner—like Mary Mahoney's French House or White Pillars. He'd better, was what she decided. After all the buildup for this date over the past two weeks, she was, at the very least, worth dinner at one of those two places. If he tried taking her to the Pit Grill, she'd find taxi fare home.
Since the driver would be arriving at seven, she assumed they would have a drink or two first, getting acquainted. He owed her that much, since he seemed to know so much more about her than she did about him. After a couple of Blue Maxes she might manage to make the rest of the evening a blur. Maybe he'd take her home early and she could sit by the phone again, waiting for it to ring from R.C. this time.
She hadn't taken long deciding what she wanted to wear. Something stylish, of her own design, to give her extra confidence in herself just in case she should need it. But nothing exceedingly flashy, or, heaven forbid, sexy. She didn't want to encourage him. She also wanted to wear some-thing with just enough flair so other men would notice her and he wouldn't be so surprised to find out she wasn't an easy woman for a man to catch. She put on a blue voile skirt with a matching camisole and diaphanous short jacket. It was sensuous yet demure, conservative yet distinctive.
Then she paced, watching the hands on the clock creep toward seven.
Promptly at seven she heard a car in the drive. Peeking through the curtains in the living room, she thought at first Jane's exaggeration of the golden-pumpkin coach hadn't been far wrong. It was a gold car, and one that predated anything of her experience, with running boards and a large round hood.
Lord, she thought, Rafe Chancellor did come out of the Middle Ages. How am I going to last through the night? How am I going to let my neighbors see me driving away in that… that… whatever it is?
Maybe her appendix would come to her rescue and rupture before she had to open the door. Maybe a long-lost relative from the other side of the world would suddenly show up in town and she'd have to cancel this date. Maybe she'd just grit her teeth and open the door.
"Hello," she said to the tall blond man standing on the other side. A measure of relief washed over her. He didn't look half-bad. He was quite handsome, actually. This might not be like taking medicine after all. She smiled and held out her hand. "I'm happy to meet you, Rafe."
"I'm happy to meet you to
o, Lacey, but I'm not Rafe."
"Oh," she said, frowning, shaking his hand. "Who are you?"
"I'm Captain Kincaid. Rafe sent me to pick you up."
"Oh," she said, frowning again.
"Don't look so worried," he said, smiling. "Rafe's a good man. He just couldn't get away to pick you up himself, so he sent me. I don't think you'll be disappointed when you finally meet him."
"He told you about me, then?" she asked, unclasping her hand and clenching it nervously at her side. "Did you know this is supposed to be our first date and I don't even know what he looks like?"
"You'll know him when you see him," Captain Kincaid answered, smiling. "He's that kind of man. Stands out in a crowd, even when there isn't a crowd around."
"You speak very highly of him," Lacey observed. "Do you know him well?"
"With Rafe it doesn't take long to feel as if you know him well. He's that kind of man, despite all his reserve. If he likes you and accepts you, he lets you know it. You'll see what I mean."
"I hope so." She sighed, then admitted, "I guess you realize I'm kind of nervous about this."
He smiled. "Don't be. Like I said, Rafe's a good man. You won't be disappointed."
"Can I get that in writing?"
His smile widened into a grin. "From what he's told me, haven't you already gotten that in writing from the invitation?"
She blushed and nodded. "I suppose so."
"Are you ready?" he asked, not making any moves to step over the threshold uninvited.
"Yes, just let me get my purse," she said, stepping back into the living room and picking up her clutch. She left the couch light on, but turned off the overhead and locked the door behind her.
Captain Kincaid stood aside, waiting for her, and escorted her down the steps to the waiting car, where Lacey saw a small dark-haired woman seated in the front. He opened the door for Lacey and introduced his wife.
That figures, Lacey thought. Since Rafe Chancellor couldn't come himself, he had sent someone who was married and couldn't steal her away from him before she even had a chance to meet him. Otherwise he would have sent someone who couldn't possibly appeal to her or accidentally overshadow him.
"I'm pleased to meet you," Lacey said, realizing that she was pleased to have someone to talk to to dispel her butterflies, but displeased that the meeting with Rafe was delayed past seven o'clock. "Is this your car?" she asked Captain Kincaid.
"No, it's Rafe's," he answered, getting in behind the steering wheel and starting the antique.
"What is it?"
"A Chevy. Didn't he tell you about it?"
She remembered now—1933—the car he was restoring. She should be grateful he hadn't sent a buckboard pulled by a plowhorse to pick her up. Maybe they weren't going to dinner after all. Maybe they were going to a parade. Maybe they were the parade. "So that's what this is. I did wonder when you drove up. Is 'Captain' your first name?"
He laughed and his wife corrected her. "It's Bob. Rafe has told us all about you, Lacey. I knew it was going to be fun meeting you."
"Are you having dinner with us tonight?" Lacey asked.
"We are," Bob told her, "along with five or six other guys and their wives."
Lacey hoped this occasion wasn't in her honor. "Why so many people?"
"It's sort of a reunion of some of Rafe's buddies from Vietnam. Plus a couple of new guys, like me. Rafe didn't think you'd mind meeting everyone at once."
Lacey felt as if she were on a runaway stallion that didn't know what "whoa" meant. Not only had she not met him, but he was giving her an Army's worth of people to meet, all on the first date. From the way Captain Kincaid was acting, it looked as if everyone knew more about Lacey than Lacey knew about anything!
Maybe the car would have a flat tire. If it didn't, she'd have to make sure it got one somehow. A broken heel, or a twisted ankle, or a swooning headache. Heavy on the headache. Mentally she started counting the money in her wallet. Did she have enough cab fare? "Where are we going?" she asked of her abductors.
"To the Officers' Club at Keesler. Ever been there?"
"No."
She could almost predict his next words: "You'll like it."
"Do you run a delivery service for all of Rafe's dates?" Lacey asked.
Mrs. Kincaid giggled and looked over at her husband.
"No, this is the first time he's asked me," Captain Kincaid answered. He glanced over to Lacey and smiled. "And once he sees you, I wouldn't be surprised if he no longer needs my services. He'll probably want to do the driving himself from now on."
"Does he approach every girl he meets the way he did me?" Lacey asked, determined to get whatever information she could out of Rafe's friends, if she couldn't learn anything from Rafe himself.
"He told me about the flowers and the cards," Mrs. Kincaid said, looking at her husband again and touching his arm as he drove. "We've only been married a few months, but Bob doesn't do romantic things like that anymore."
Lacey smiled. By the way she was looking at her husband, that reprimand was just teasing. Whatever Bob did instead of sending flowers made up for the lack of blooms in the marriage.
"I think this is a first for him," Bob answered.
"I'll admit, even to him," Lacey said, "that the approach was novel. I did enjoy all the attention. But dragging out this meeting two weeks is driving me nuts. Even now he's sent you to pick me up instead of coming himself. That's somewhat unsettling."
"Blind dates always are," Mrs. Kincaid agreed.
"But this one's different," Bob joined in.
"How?" Lacey asked.
"You'll see," Bob answered. "It's not really a blind date after all, is it? You've already met him in a way; and you've had friends of his, like us, talking about him. That should reveal something about the man you're about to meet."
"Well, it does. Still, it's a little like a grab bag at a carnival. You know you're going to get some kind of prize, but you're not sure it's going to be the one you want."
Bob laughed. "If you start having a bad time this evening," he said, "just let us know and well take you home early. You can't have a better guarantee than that, now, can you?"
"Thanks," Lacey said. "Don't be surprised if I take you up on it. You won't mind leaving early?"
He shook his head. "But I don't think you're going to need to leave with us. You'll see what I mean when you meet Rafe."
Lacey hoped so. She settled back in the roomy antique car and decided to try to think of something else, something pleasant, something that had nothing to do with Rafe Chancellor and her icy feet. Her mind latched onto R.C.
Where was he tonight? What was he doing? Was he spending his Saturday night alone? Was he trying to call her? When she got home, would there be a message on her answering machine from him?
This date would only last a few hours, she told herself, trying to calm her breathing as they passed through the gates of Keesler Air Force Base, where all the military in the area congregated for their social functions. Just a few hours of eating and drinking. Lots of drinking. She hoped this was one of those parties where they handed you a drink at the door before they offered to take your coat, not that she was wearing a coat tonight, but she surely could use a drink—a bottle of something and only one ice cube. No glass.
What would she say to all of these strangers she would be meeting in a few minutes? It was bad enough that her own date was a stranger. She didn't even know what to say to him, but to have all of his friends thrust on her the same night…
"Are all of these people part of the group I'm going to meet tonight?" Lacey asked, seeing the cars in the lot where Bob finally parked the car.
"I don't think you'll have to worry about that," he told her. "Since this is the Officers' Club, there will probably be a lot of people here whom Rafe knows, but his group is just a small one. Six or seven couples."
Lacey didn't feel any more cheered by that information. She was out of familiar territory on this military base anyway. Th
ose tall chain-link walls they had passed through at the gate hadn't given her much of a sense of security. Could civilian taxi drivers drive through those gates to pick her up if she decided she wanted to leave?
Bob walked around the car and opened the door for Lacey and his wife. Lacey took her time getting out; she was in no hurry to rush into any man's arms.
When they walked through the doors of the Officers' Club, Lacey relaxed, a little. It didn't look foreign. In fact, it looked no different from the lounge of a plush hotel. There was even artwork on the walls, distinctive paintings, not furniture-store print-outs in plastic frames. What did you expect? she asked herself. Some kind of white-slavery hall? A harem?
"He's probably in the lounge," Bob said, directing the way. "Dinner wasn't planned until later."
Lacey didn't say anything. Her heart was pounding. In just a few minutes she would meet the real Rafe Chancellor.
What if this whole thing was some sort of elaborate joke? What if there wasn't such a person as Rafe Chancellor?
George wouldn't do that to her, her reason argued. And everyone else she had talked to had confirmed that such a person existed and was in fact likable. But what if… ?
What if she fainted?
"In here," Bob said, indicating the bar area of the club and letting the women lead the way. The room was dark and candlelit; with stools hugging the counter and glassware hanging by stems from ceiling racks.
Lacey paused a moment, adjusting to the light, her eyes scanning tables. Which group was the one she would soon belong to? Which man was going to catch her eye and single her out with the signal: I'm Rafe Chancellor. You're mine for the night.
Bob wasn't helping at all. He was standing back, waiting for her to step forward. "Which one is he?" Lacey asked, whispering to Bob over her shoulder.
"You'll know him when you see him," he answered. When she turned around to glare at him, he smiled.
She looked around the room, starting in the nearest shadowy corner. A table for four. All men. All with backs to her. Clearly they weren't expecting anyone to join them; nearby was a couple immersed in each other, drinks melting on the table in front of them; a large, somewhat noisy group occupied another corner of the room. Men and women together, several tables pulled together. That had possibilities.
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