Last Chance Beauty Queen (Last Chance #3)(13)
Author: Hope Ramsay

“Oh, right.”

“And besides, there are the angels who live here.” Daddy stood his ground and folded his arms across his chest. He looked pretty badass when he did that.

Caroline crossed her own arms and hugged herself. She really hated it when Daddy started talking about the angels. She hadn’t always felt that way, but about the time she had figured out that the Ark was not life-sized (the same year her older brothers clued her in to the whole Santa Claus myth), she also realized there weren’t any angels. That had been extremely painful.

Hugh rubbed his chin with his right forefinger and thumb as if he were thinking deeply. “I was wondering if I might have a word with the angels? How many are there?”

This line was delivered utterly deadpan. It surprised Daddy almost as much as it surprised Caroline. “You want to talk to my angels?” Daddy tilted his head and studied Hugh more closely. In all of Caroline’s memory, no one had ever asked to speak with Daddy’s angels. Ever.

“Well, of course I do. I understand they aren’t happy about my factory. I’d like to find out why.”

Daddy’s bushy brows lowered, and he gave Hugh his scary Daddy face. “You think I’m crazy, don’t you? You reckon I’m going to turn around and start talking to the air?” He shook his head. “And I almost liked you there, for a minute.”

Daddy turned toward Caroline with a killing look in his pale eyes. “Girl,” he said, “I’m going to forgive you for this, on account of the fact that I can see that Baron Woolham is as stubborn as a mule. So do us all a favor and explain to him how the angels don’t talk to everyone, won’t you? And then, in real slow words, you tell him I ain’t never gonna sell this land.”

Daddy turned on his heel and strode back toward the azaleas that lined Jesus’s tomb, shaking his head the whole way.

“Well,” Caroline said up into the frowning face of Hugh deBracy, “that went well, don’t you think?”

“I expected him to let me talk to the angels.”

Caroline gave him a funny look. “You’re kidding, right?”

“That tack always works with my Aunt Petal, the one with the gnomes and fairies. She speaks with them regularly.”

A giggle bubbled right out of Caroline’s chest. And once that giggle started, it developed a mind of its own, until it had grown from a chortle right into a bona fide belly laugh. Before she knew it, she was having trouble breathing, and tears were leaking from her eyes.

Hugh caught her sillies when that happened, and his laugh softened everything about him. It took a good minute before either of them managed to reexert control.

When Hugh had finally quit chuckling, he said, “Aunt Petal enjoys her daily chats with Woolham House’s gnomes and faeries. And in her case, she’s always been willing to invite me in for tea and conversation.”

His gaze shifted toward Daddy, who had gone back to pruning azaleas. “It would appear that your father is not nearly as dotty as Aunt Petal. That’s a shame, really.”

“I’m glad you realize that. And I hope you can see now why it’s going to be impossible to change my father’s mind. And not to be the bearer of bad news, but there are a lot of other reasons why you should think about another location.”

“What reasons?”

“I was down at the courthouse this morning looking at land platts, and I discovered that there is swampland right over there.” She pointed in a southeasterly direction. “It’s located on the land you now own. If you build on that land, the state and federal government will be all over you for wetlands permits.”

Hugh’s face turned pale. “Swampland? Really? You’re not just saying that?”

“Would you like me to take you for a canoe ride? I’m sure one of my brothers would be happy to take you upstream right into that swamp. When they were kids, they used to go gator hunting up there.”

He blanched. “Do you think George knew this when he bought the land?”

“I don’t know, but I do know you and your partner paid way too much for that land given the development issues it poses.”

“I see. Any chance of getting my money back?”

“I don’t know. We could always appeal to Hettie Marshall’s honor.”

“Hettie Marshall? Chairwoman of the Committee to Resurrect Golfing for God? She’s the one who sold the land?”

“No. Hettie probably doesn’t know a thing about it. But her husband does. He’s the one who took you to the cleaners.”

“I see.” He frowned and managed to look just a little forlorn.

“Look, not all is lost. Tomorrow morning, during the Watermelon Festival parade you may have a chance to chat with Hettie about things. Her husband is a member of the town council, and I’m sure they’ll be on the reviewing stand during the parade. Maybe you can talk her into getting her husband to give you your money back.”

Of course, Lord Woolham had no chance of getting his money back. Jimmy was either bribing officials, or propping up the chicken plant, or God knew what else. It didn’t really matter. All that mattered was that Jimmy was clearly hurting for cash and getting his money back was going to be difficult.

She didn’t tell his Lordship this, of course. He wouldn’t have believed her. He was going to have to figure this out for himself.

Then, maybe, she could work with him to find a solution to his problem.

Chapter 8

At around eight-thirty that evening, Caroline headed down to Dot’s Spot, Last Chance’s main watering hole. She told Momma and Daddy she was going to hear Clay and Jane’s band, the Wild Horses, but her ulterior motive was to hang out at the bar and talk to Roy Burdett.

She figured by eight-thirty Roy would be on his fourth or fifth beer. That meant she might get something out of him about those safety issues down at the chicken plant. Not that the safety issues were directly related to her reason for being in town. But still, in her experience, finding solutions to insoluble problems usually hinged on having more, not less, information.

She pushed open the door. All the regulars were there tonight, and Hugh deBracy was slumming with them. Bam, one glance in his direction, and the entire room faded out, leaving his Lordship in sharp relief.

He didn’t look like an English baron tonight. Oh no. Tonight he was wearing a pair of faded blue jeans and a black T-shirt that showed off his seriously cut muscles. He was sitting at the bar listening in rapt attention as Roy regaled him with one of his fishing stories. This particular whopper involved a twenty-pound largemouth bass that got away.

Hugh actually appeared interested, in addition to looking really, really hot and sexy. And not at all like a character out of one of Momma’s regency romances.

The man would have fit in anywhere in those blue jeans. They looked soft, and there was a little worn spot on the left back pocket where he kept his wallet.

This was a disaster.

As long as Hugh was there listening, Roy was going to talk fishing. So any plan to get Roy to gossip about the plant went right up in smoke.

Aw hell. She was here now. She had to stay and have at least one drink or everyone would want to know why she had turned around and walked out.

Speculation would rage on and on and center on her relationship with Lord Woolham. Not that she had a relationship with the baron. But people would talk. And she couldn’t afford that, especially seeing as Senator Warren was going to be in town tomorrow and might hear something stupid.

So she marched across the floor and up to the bar, where she nodded at Hugh and Roy, and then, in an attempt to appear cool and sophisticated, she ordered a dirty vodka martini.

This earned her a glare from Dottie Cox, the proprietor and chief bartender. Dottie was pushing sixty hard, but didn’t look a day over forty-five, at least not in the dim neon glow that passed for light in the establishment. Tonight, Dottie wore a watermelon pink western shirt with green fringe along its yoke and down its arms. Her ears were adorned with a pair of dangly watermelon earrings.

Dottie leaned on the bar, earrings swaying. “Rocky, since when are you drinking vodka martinis?”

“Since right now.” Caroline was painfully aware of Hugh standing right on the other side of Roy. Hugh was watching every move while nodding at Roy like he was actually listening to the fishing story.

Hugh was drinking something whiskey colored in a glass without ice. It looked like a manly and sophisticated drink. No long-necked Buds for him, even if he did look like a regular guy in that T-shirt and jeans.

“I’m not sure I have any olives,” Dottie said.

“No olives? In a bar?”

Dottie shrugged, her fringes swaying. “I know. It’s pitiful. But ain’t no one ever comes in here and orders martinis.”

“I used to drink appletinis.”

“That’s not a true martini. That’s a sweet excuse of a girly drink.” Dottie smiled like a sage.

“Do you have vodka and vermouth?” Caroline asked.

Dottie didn’t answer the question. She continued in a sagacious voice. “Course if you wanted an appletini, I could get it for you. I have a whole batch of apple vodka and schnapps that I laid in just for when you come to town.”

Dottie reached out at that point in her oration and patted Caroline’s hand. “Rocky, sugar, I know youth is a time for experimentation with alcohol. But don’t you think it’s time to settle down to one favorite drink? That way I could stock the ingredients. To tell you the truth, honey, I’m having a hard time keeping up with your drink choices.”

“Experimenting? With alcohol? Really? Can I help?” Hugh’s voice was smooth and sophisticated. But this was not exactly what she expected an English aristocrat to say out loud in a honky-tonk. Heck, she didn’t expect an English aristocrat to ever set foot in a honky-tonk.

Dottie snorted a laugh. “Ain’t he cute? I could listen to him talk all day. And, honey, any man who comes into my place and orders a single malt scotch straight up is swoon worthy, if you ask me.”

“Right.” Caroline turned and nodded at Hugh. “Glad to see you’re getting on the right side of the locals.”

“So glad you approve. So, what are you experimenting with this evening?” he asked, launching one of his charming, boyish smiles—the one where his dimple came out. Darn him.

Dottie leaned in and batted her eyes. “She ordered a dirty vodka martini. I’m not sure I have any olives, though. If you want my opinion, the girl is just being uppity. A month ago, she came in here and ordered a Broken Down Golf Cart.”

“A what?”

Dottie nodded, and her earrings bounced happily. “It’s a shot made with Midori and almond liqueur. It’s disgustingly sweet, but on the other hand, a drink by that name might be just right for Caroline, given her family’s business. Know what I mean?”

Hugh had the audacity to nod in agreement. Then he sort of smirked in Caroline’s direction. “So vodka martinis are new for you, then?”

“I don’t think it’s your business.”

“No, it’s probably not. But you know I’m rather an expert in helping people find the alcoholic beverage that fits them. Sort of like your Miriam Randall only with booze, not soulmates.” He said this in a voice so loud it carried across the room.