Home At Last Chance (Last Chance #2)(21)
Author: Hope Ramsay

Miriam chuckled. “Oh, come now, Hettie, you don’t believe I can actually predict these things, do you? And besides, what did I predict? I didn’t tell Sarah that she and Bill were a match made in Heaven.”

“You didn’t?”

“Of course not. Just because Millie, Thelma, and Lillian decided Sarah was perfect for Bill doesn’t mean I predicted this.”

Hettie turned and stared. “What?”

“I told her to look for a man with good values and a strong faith. You would think the world had turned on its axis the way Lillian and the rest of the gals have interpreted that bit of advice.”

“But wait, that’s what you told me.”

“Precisely. It’s my all-purpose advice on the topic of matrimony.”

“Your all-purpose… what?”

“You don’t really think the Lord has time to spend whispering in my ear all the time, do you? So, in a pinch, when He’s been silent, I give the advice my momma gave me. It’s good advice. Marrying a man who has family values and a strong faith saves a load of unhappiness in the end. Don’t you think? It certainly worked for you, didn’t it?”

Reverend Ellis, the pastor of Christ Church, smiled benignly at Sarah, revealing a pair of perfectly matched dimples. His dark hair was just a little unruly, and a lock curled down across his brow in Superman fashion. He was about the same age as Tulane.

But far more mature.

And intimidating. Although Sarah figured that was mostly because of the Roman collar that marked him as an Episcopalian priest. That and the fact that she found him… well… extremely attractive. And even sexy, which was unsettling because in her mind, ministers were not supposed to be sexy.

Finding Bill Ellis attractive was almost like ceding territory in the war she’d been waging with Mother the last few years. Bill Ellis was way more attractive than any seminary student Mother had ever brought home for dinner.

But she was not interested. She was speaking with the minister only because of the long list of funeral-related tasks she needed to accomplish for Ruby and Rocky. That list was considerably longer this morning, because Rocky was hung over and more or less useless.

First thing on Sarah’s expanded list was making the arrangements for the flowers in the church during the funeral services. This was not nearly as straightforward as it might seem, she was discovering.

“So,” Bill said with his winning smile, “it’s not that I have any objection to having lilies in the sanctuary.” He leaned a little closer. He smelled really good for a man of the cloth. “You see,” he continued, “Lillian Bray, who chairs the Garden Club and the Ladies’ Auxiliary, can be formidable when it comes to her gladioli—especially this time of year.”

Bill rolled his eyes briefly toward a large silver-haired woman in a powder-blue tent dress who stood by the sideboard, shoveling a piece of pecan pie into her face. Lillian chewed and nodded back. And so did the thin blonde standing beside her.

Holy moly. Lillian’s companion was dressed to the nines in a designer suit and a Hermes handbag, which Sarah was sure she hadn’t bought in Last Chance, South Carolina. The minister did a slight double take before also giving the woman a little nod. He stared for just a moment too long.

When he turned back, his face was a little ruddy.

Well, so much for William Ellis being the man of God Miriam Randall had predicted for Sarah. The guy was obviously carrying a torch for the woman in Armani silk. Which begged the question—who in Last Chance actually dressed in Armani and Hermes?

Sarah cleared her throat and concentrated on the task at hand. “Reverend Ellis,” Sarah said in her best Boston polite voice, “National Brands wants to pay for the flowers in the sanctuary. The family has requested lilies. And since Pete Whitaker was the sponsor of Tulane’s Super Late Model car for many, many years, donating the flowers is our way of showing respect for the man who helped Tulane develop into the talented driver he is today.”

The minister gave her a professional smile. “Yes, but, you see, Lillian’s gladioli are prize-winning.”

“They are?”

“Oh, yes. And any flowers you put in the sanctuary on Friday will still be there for Sunday services, and you have no idea what a pain in the neck Lillian can be about flower choices when her gladioli are in bloom.”

“So I’ve—”

“Maybe I can help,” the blonde in Armani interrupted. “Hello, I’m Hettie Marshall.” She offered one slim hand. “Jimmy Marshall, the owner of Country Pride Chicken, is my husband.”

So, Reverend Bill had a thing for a married woman.

That was interesting.

Friday at noon, Tulane sank down into his seat in Eugene Hanks’s office for the reading of Pete’s will.

Tulane’s head hurt, and his stomach felt uneasy, and his eyes burned. Getting shit-faced and crying himself to sleep had not been a real good idea. Letting his feelings out sucked.

Rocky sank into a seat next to his. She also looked like crap. It occurred to him that she had never been much of a drinker, and the girl had probably consumed four beers last night. She had actually slept in this morning, which was most un-Rocky-like.

“You okay?” he asked.

She shrugged. “It could be worse.”

“How?”

She gave him a tired smile. “I could be trying to plan this funeral instead of letting Sarah do it. She’s a wonder. Really. And did you see how Hettie Marshall took her under her wing? I’m telling you, with Sarah joined at the hip to the Queen Bee, Momma and Aunt Arlene can relax, and I don’t have to have a single conversation with Bill Ellis. This is a minor miracle.”

Tulane made a grumpy sound. He didn’t exactly think the whole Sarah and Bill thing was a miracle. Predictable, maybe. Still, for some idiotic reason he couldn’t quite articulate, seeing Bill and Sarah bonding annoyed the crap out of him.

“I saw all three of them an hour ago, heading to the church in Hettie’s sports car,” Rocky said.

“Don’t rub it in.”

Rocky gave him a little smile. “Tulane, do you have a thing for Sarah?”

“No.” He said the word too quickly.

“Then you should be happy. I really think Sarah may be the one they’ve been searching for. I mean, she’s so nice, and her family came over on the Mayflower and everything.”

Tulane rolled his neck, fighting the tension that hadn’t been released last night. He blew out a deep breath, battling all the demons that seemed to be fighting him these days. “Yeah, now if we can just keep her from blabbing all the family secrets to the people in New York. You know, Rock, I understand how Sarah has been a help, but all in all, I wish she wasn’t around.”

Rocky leaned over and took his hand in hers. It felt nice to have his sister’s undivided attention. In a lot of ways, Rocky had always been his best friend coming up. “That was a lie. You’re as glad as I am that she’s here. So what if she saw you cry like a baby last night? Her being here is a good thing.”

“Right, you tell me that tomorrow after ya’ll get to the church and find out they painted Uncle Pete’s coffin pink.”

Rocky patted his hand. “Tulane, c’mon, she’s nice.”

“Exactly my point.”

Rocky tilted her head at him and gave him her own version of the Look. It was really annoying that even his little sister could stare at him that way.

“You like her, don’t you? A lot. Come to think about it, she’s exactly your type. Nice as the day is long, solidly built with lots of S-curves, and all of that with brains, too.”

His face got hot.

“You better watch out, or I might come to the conclusion that you’re jealous of the preacher.” She smiled like a demon.

He leaned in. “Rocky, I swear, if you say one word to—”

“Look, I’ll make a deal with you, Tulane. You quit calling me ‘Rocky,’ and I won’t say one word to Momma about anything.” As usual, Rocky had her way with him. She always did.

“Okay, Caroline,” he said.

She turned and sat straight in her seat just as Eugene Hanks, Pete’s attorney, took his place behind his big mahogany desk and cleared his throat.

Around him, Tulane’s brothers and sister, Momma and Daddy, Aunt Arlene, and Alex, Arlene’s son by a previous marriage, settled into their chairs. The room suddenly felt unbearably cold.

“Well,” Eugene said, “Pete’s will is pretty simple. Ya’ll can read it for yourself. I’ve made copies for you. But here’s the gist of it. He’s giving three-quarters of the hardware store to Arlene, and the other one-quarter goes to you, Clay.”

Eugene looked up at Tulane’s older brother with a little smile. Across the room, Cousin Alex made a choking sound.

Eugene continued. “Pete told me the last time we talked, about a week ago, that he hoped you and Jane would stay in Last Chance. He said he didn’t see why you couldn’t write songs here. And he told me that Arlene felt that Jane had a real talent for hair and makeup and was a godsend to Ruby down at the Cut ’n Curl. So, just in case the songwriting business goes south, he wanted you to have a piece of the store.”

Clay nodded his head, his eyes filling with tears. Beside him, Jane reached out and stroked his back. Tulane had to admit that it was real nice to see Clay with a sensible, bighearted woman, finally. Clay was such a softhearted man. When they were kids, Tulane used to sometimes call him a crybaby because he was never really able to hide his emotions. Right now, Tulane wished he had the ability to let the grief go the way his older brother could.

“Well now, let’s see,” Eugene continued. “He’s left the house to Arlene and all the savings to you as well. He left you moderately well off, Arlene.”

“He was a good man,” Arlene said, dabbing at her eyes. Her mascara was a mess.

“There is only one final thing.” Eugene picked up a sealed envelope. “He left this letter for you, Tulane. I have no idea what’s in it, but he asked me to give it to you on the day his will was read to the family.”

Tulane felt suddenly numb from head to toe. He took the sealed envelope and sat down.

“So what does it say, son?” Ruby asked.

Tulane didn’t really want to read the letter in public, but his family had leaned in. He was trapped. No doubt, Pete had intended for this to happen. Otherwise, he would have asked Eugene to give Tulane the letter in private.

Tulane tore the envelope open and pulled out a single piece of white computer paper. On it, in Pete’s shaky handwriting, was a single paragraph.

Tulane,

I have loved you like the son I never had. I am so happy that God allowed me to live long enough to see you finally achieve the success that you worked so hard at for so long. It was my pleasure to help you along that road, son. I wouldn’t have traded a day of watching you grow up to be a man. Now, I have only one favor to ask. Don’t abandon the man who gave you life. Your daddy needs your help right now, and you are the only member of his family in a position to help him. I want you to remember me by giving your daddy the money he needs to rebuild Golfing for God, just as I supported you all those years when you needed help to pursue racing as a career.