Last Chance Beauty Queen (Last Chance #3)(7)
Author: Hope Ramsay

“Well,” Miriam said in her chipper voice, “I can’t say what his occupation might be, but it stands to reason that a man like that would probably work with his hands.” The old lady cocked her head sideways and blinked her deep brown eyes at Caroline as if she were studying tea leaves in the bottom of a cup.

“Uh, thanks, Miz Miriam,” Caroline said, “but I’m not actually looking for a soulmate, or even a steady boyfriend, right at the moment. I’m really trying to help Senator Warren get reelected. And then I’m hoping that he’ll give me a job in his DC office. So all in all, I could wait to find true love. I could wait a long time.”

“Yes, but can your true love wait for you?” Miriam said.

Lessie giggled like a schoolgirl. “You know,” she said, “you don’t want to wait too long, dear. The biological clock just keeps ticking, and if you don’t pay it any mind, you might find yourself an old maid. And besides, everyone knows it’s a blessing to be one of Miriam’s matches. Those marriages never fail. Ever. So you listen to her advice, you hear?”

Chapter 4

Caroline guided her oldest brother’s Ford pickup into the parking lot at the Red Hot Pig Place, a low cinder block structure out on the two-lane state road that stretched between the towns of Last Chance and Allenberg.

The Pig Place served real barbecue, not that tomato-based garbage that most suburban barbecue places served. The pork hash at the Pig Place was made with vinegar and pepper sauce, the hush puppies were guaranteed to clog your arteries, and the slaw was creamy and delicious.

For all that, Caroline, who was constantly watching her weight, would have preferred a restaurant closer to Orangeburg where she and Rachel could get a decent salad. But Caroline knew how much Rachel loved barbecue. And Rachel never had to worry about her weight.

Rachel was acting kind of weird tonight. She insisted that they take the back corner booth, and once they were seated, she kept looking around and jumping every time someone came through the door.

“Hey, Rache,” Caroline asked once their platters of hash had arrived, “what’s up?”

Rachel looked down at the checkered tablecloth, her shoulders slumped, her hair down around her face in a way that hid her beautiful peaches-and-cream skin, her incredible topaz eyes, and her amazing bone structure.

Rachel didn’t think she was pretty. Caroline had been trying to argue her out of that belief ever since she could remember. But then Caroline knew the treachery of looking into mirrors. Somehow they always managed to reflect back every fault.

She reached forward and patted Rachel’s hand. “Honey, what’s happened? What’s wrong?”

Rachel pulled her hand back, picked up her fork, and played with the hush puppies on her plate. “They’re cutting corners at the chicken plant,” she finally said.

“Cutting corners?”

She nodded and finally looked up with a truly tortured look on her face. “On safety. And I’ve been worried sick about it. I shouldn’t even tell you. You’ll probably tell someone in Columbia, and the whole thing will come crashing down on me. I don’t want to be responsible. I just want my job. But I want things to be right at the plant.”

“Are you talking about OSHA or food safety?”

“A little bit of both.”

“Holy smokes.”

“Yeah, exactly. What should I do?”

“You have to call the authorities.”

“But, Rocky, Mr. Marshall seems really preoccupied these days, and I hate to say it, but he hardly ever shows up for work. I never really thought Hettie Marshall was married to a lazy man but…” Rachel let her voice fade out and popped a hush puppy into her mouth. She closed her eyes and chewed.

There was nothing like hush puppies from the Pig Place to provide immediate comfort, and about two thousand calories each.

“You have to tell the authorities. Lives might be at stake.”

Rachel swallowed her food and took a sip of her sweet tea. “But if I call the authorities, they’ll close us down, and I’m not sure we’ll ever reopen. And if we don’t reopen, I don’t even want to think about what will happen to Last Chance.”

The hush puppies in Caroline’s stomach turned to lead. “Of course you’ll reopen.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure. I don’t think Mr. Marshall is in a very good financial position. I think he took a big hit during the economic downturn a couple of years ago, and the plant is hanging on by its fingernails. To make things worse, Mr. Marshall doesn’t seem to be working very hard at keeping us afloat.”

“That’s not good.”

“No, it’s not.” Rachel leaned in and spoke in a near whisper that just carried over the twangy sound of Brad Paisley singing on the radio. “I know how important Golfing for God is to your family. Heck, Momma’s even joined the committee to resurrect it. But Daddy has been talking nonstop about how having a new factory in town would be a good thing. And he should know. He’s a banker.”

“Yeah, so your momma said this afternoon at the Cut ’n Curl. Boy, this could get really ugly.”

Rachel nodded. “Look, Rocky, the point is that Golfing for God, even if it becomes a real tourist attraction, will never employ as many people as the chicken plant. And that’s a fact no one can dispute.”

Caroline’s appetite for unhealthy food evaporated. She was conflicted six ways to Sunday, wasn’t she?

“Oh, crap,” Rachel said. “We’ve got trouble.”

Caroline followed Rachel’s gaze to the front door, and wouldn’t you know it, there stood a trio of ridiculously good-looking men: Dash Randall, Bubba Lockheart, and his Lordship, Baron Woolham. Dash in his Wranglers, and Bubba in his mechanic’s uniform, fit right in to the roadhouse décor. But Baron Woolham, dressed in a pair of gray worsted slacks, a Cutter & Buck golf shirt, and tasseled loafers that might have come from Cole Haan, looked a little like Queen Elizabeth at Wrestlemania.

The hostess led the three men to a table not far away. Boy and howdy, those three guys had sex appeal. In spades.

Even Bubba, who looked like he’d come from his job at Bill’s Grease Pit via a stop at Dot’s Spot for a beer or two. He wore his dark blue work shirt with his name—Bubba, not Francis or Frank Jr. or any other iteration of his true Christian name—embroidered in bright red thread right above his shirt pocket. The shirt stretched across his broad shoulders and chest. He’d rolled up the sleeves to expose forearms covered with sun-bleached blond hair and a heart-shaped tattoo that said “Rocky.”

Rachel leaned forward. “Is that guy with Bubba and Dash the baron?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, boy.”

“Yeah, I know. Look, Rache. Maybe we should go now.” Caroline looked around for their waitress, who had taken that moment to disappear.

“Uh-oh,” Rachel said, her whisper even more urgent.

Caroline returned her gaze to the table where the men were sitting just in time to see Baron Woolham unfold all six feet and some inches of his ramrod-straight body from his chair and begin walking—in a stately manner—in their direction.

Caroline watched him advance and couldn’t help herself. She gave him the once-over gaze, from the tips of his loafers, up his long legs, over his flat stomach and broad shoulders and right up into those incredible whiskey-colored eyes.

In short, she ogled his Lordship. And she knew better, really. Because Bubba was right there in the room, and Bubba didn’t like her ogling other guys. Not that Bubba had any say in the matter, but that never stopped him from thinking he had a say in the matter.

So it came as no surprise when Rachel hissed, “Oh, crap, look at Bubba.”

Caroline tried to do just that, but Baron Woolham had come to a stop right in front of Caroline, blocking her view. His eyes crinkled up at the corners so handsomely. “I’ve been trying to reach you,” he said in his ever-so-polite accent.

Every atom in Caroline’s system went nuclear. The man was a walking fantasy. He was, in every respect, the complete antithesis of Bubba and Dash. He was not a regular Joe, and Caroline needed to stop letting her hormones run rampant every time he showed up on the scene. It was just plain stupid not to listen to Miriam Randall’s advice about things like this.

And besides, he was an English aristocrat—completely out of her league.

“I didn’t hear from you,” his Lordship continued. “Do we have an appointment with your father tomorrow?”

“I’m working on it. Believe me when I say that he’s not really interested in talking to you.”

“I see.”

“I’ll call you in the morning if I have any success.” She managed a little smile, even though she didn’t feel like smiling. What she felt was an odd mixture of sexual attraction for deBracy, irritation at him for being so demanding, and pure panic that Bubba was about to do something Bubba-like.

Hugh took that moment to study her chest in a rather salacious fashion. She was wearing a perfectly ordinary white golf shirt, buttoned all the way up. There wasn’t even a hint of cl**vage. But he looked anyway.

And for once, she kind of enjoyed being looked at.

Bubba finally erupted. “Rocky!” he shouted in a too-loud voice that everyone in the restaurant heard. The rest of the patrons stopped eating and turned to watch the latest episode in the Rocky and Bubba Show. Oh great, the last thing she wanted was to make a scene of any kind in a public place.

Hugh turned around. And Caroline could finally see Bubba again. His face was red, and he was advancing on them in a way that spelled trouble.

Rachel was practically hyperventilating at this point. Caroline felt like hyperventilating, too.

“Hey, Bubba,” Caroline said in her calm, cool, professional voice. “How are you? It’s really nice to see you again. Rachel and I were just having our supper.”

“Hey, Rachel,” Bubba said, giving Caroline’s friend a little nod. Then he turned his sad, moony face on Caroline. “Rocky, you need any help? Because I saw the way this guy was looking at you, and I know how you don’t like that sort of thing.”

Caroline’s face burned. She’d been caught red-handed. And Bubba was right. She hated guys who leered at her bustline. But Hugh hadn’t actually leered. And besides, Hugh’s look made her tingle from head to foot.

She took a deep breath. “No, Bubba, I’m fine, really. Why don’t ya’ll—”

“I need to get home,” Rachel announced in a firm voice. “And Rocky is driving. Come on, Rocky, we need to go.” Rachel stood up and headed across the room toward the cashier, leaving two plates of half-eaten hash on the table.

God bless Rachel. She knew how to make an exit when it was required. Caroline gave Bubba a big, phony grin. “Well, Bubba, it was nice seeing you. But I gotta get Rachel home.” Caroline took a step forward in the direction of the cashier.

“Don’t go, please.” Bubba’s words were practically a whine. He grabbed Caroline by her left wrist and yanked her back.