Last Chance Beauty Queen (Last Chance #3)(9)
Author: Hope Ramsay

She had done a marvelous job of sweet-talking that copper out of arresting him. And really, he had seriously overreacted this evening. Given all of that, Caroline had been remarkably civil and helpful. That wouldn’t have mattered to Granddad, of course. Granddad was a terrible snob—he would have looked right through a working-class girl like Caroline and steamrollered over her and her father’s golf course.

And that, in a nutshell, was the difference between Hugh and his granddad.

He stepped up on a creaky porch step. The old Victorian home was just a little shabby—kind of like Woolham House, although on a much smaller scale. He reached the top step and realized that he wasn’t alone.

A little white-haired lady sat rocking patiently on the porch. “Good evening,” he said in his best public school voice. “You must be Miriam Randall. I’ve heard a great deal about you.”

“Sit down and visit a spell. It’s Hugh, isn’t it?” She gestured toward an adjoining rocker.

Granddad would have sniffed at this woman using his first name. But Hugh kind of liked the fact that she’d been so familiar.

And besides, he was in a different land, with different mores, and he’d gotten into quite a bit of mischief. So he sat in the rocker and rested his head against its back. His companion kept up her steady motion, an old floorboard protesting with each transit of the rocker. The sound of the squeaky board provided a counterpoint to the buzz of insects and the deeper song of the frogs.

Boxwood and summer perennials perfumed the balmy night. “Your garden is quite lovely,” he remarked in a bald-faced attempt to get on her good side. Gardeners, he knew from long experience, could be easily wooed into long, benign conversations.

“Well, thank you, son, but it’s not my garden. I have a brown thumb when it comes to plants. Lord knows what will happen when Harry leaves me.”

“Harry?”

“My husband of fifty-one years. I’m afraid the Lord means to take him from me soon.” She gazed out toward the screen of pines that hid her home from the street. She seemed melancholy, and Hugh decided to remain silent until he could politely get away to his room, where a great deal of work awaited him. His prototype had been built, of course, but he and his handpicked team of engineers (basically a bunch of classmates from university who were moonlighting on the project) were still working out some of the kinks in the planned manufacturing process. There would be dozens of e-mails to read.

Miriam lifted her old hands from the rocker’s arms, and Hugh noted the swellings at each joint. His old Great-Aunt Maude had suffered terrible arthritis in her hands, and often the pain would drive her from her bed and down into the ladies’ parlor, where old Sam would set a fire for her in the stone fireplace. Sometimes, when Hugh had come home from school on holiday, he’d sit up with her well into the wee hours, telling stories over tea, just to help ease her pain.

Great-Aunt Maude had been gone for almost fifteen years. He relaxed into the movement of the rocker and let the nostalgia settle in. It was a lovely, star-filled night—perfect for reverie.

Miriam took another deep breath and let it out. “You know I keep praying that the Lord will send Dash a gardener, but that’s a selfish kind of prayer. The Lord will send Dash what Dash needs, and Lord knows that boy needs a great deal. I reckon I’ll have to be happy if He sends a strong woman, even if she does have a brown thumb like me.”

“Well, I suppose Dash could always hire a gardener if push came to shove.”

“Ah, so you’ve been in town long enough to know the state of my nephew’s bank account.”

“Well, I had heard something along the lines that he was well off.” Which begged the question as to why Miriam Randall’s house looked as if it might tumble down around her ears. Was Dash one of those selfish bastards?

“Hiring a gardener would break Harry’s heart. Harry loves this garden, and the house, too. He used to work on things all day long. Kept him fit until the last year. Now he can’t breathe well enough to walk across the room. Dash hired a man to do some weeding, and Harry nearly ’bout had a fit.”

She let go of a long breath. “Well, I don’t have much to complain about. Fifty-one years of happiness is more than most of us get, I reckon.”

Perhaps Dash wasn’t selfish at all. And the old lady didn’t need or want any kind of affirmation of what was, after all, a platitude. Fifty-one years of happiness were more than many got, but if one was left behind, it would still never be enough.

She rocked a long moment in silence. “I do like a man who knows when to keep his mouth shut.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It was intended as such. And more so, given what you’ve been up to this evening.”

“Ah, I was wondering when you’d get to that. Shall I pack my bags and take myself off to the Peach Blossom Motor Court?”

Miriam laughed and turned her head. The yellow porch light caught a glimmer in her dark, myopic stare. Her eyeglasses were perched on the top of her head, and the twin indentations on either side of her nose told him that she was probably blind without them.

He knew the feeling. He was utterly blind without his contact lenses. But there were times when leaving them out and letting the world blur would give him a moment of inner peace.

“No, I don’t think I’ll send you off to the Peach Blossom. That would put you at Lillian Bray’s mercy.”

“Lillian Bray?”

“Hmm. She’s the chair of the Christ Church Ladies Auxiliary, a member of the town council, and the chair of the Garden Club. Now there is a woman who takes gardening seriously. Her gladioli are legendary.”

“Really?” he said politely, as if he were sitting down to tea with Great-Aunt Maude.

“Yes. And she’s on your side, if you must know.”

“Well then, I will have to seek her out and enlist her work on my behalf.”

“You do that.” There was a sour note in Miriam’s voice.

“I take it you’re not keen on my building a factory here in Last Chance. Would it change your mind if I told you it would employ two hundred people?”

“Not if it means disturbing the angels who’ve been watching over this town for a hundred and fifty years.” She stopped rocking. “You know about the angels, don’t you?”

“Oh, yes, Caroline was very thorough with her briefing. I told her we needed to get the angels on our side.”

Miriam huffed a laugh. “Lord a’mercy, you are a funny man. But honey, that may be harder than you think.”

“Why not? The factory will create jobs. If the angels are interested in protecting the town, wouldn’t they see that?”

“Hmmm. Good point. But you see, the angels are probably on the side of the environmentalists. And even if they aren’t, I’m thinking Elbert’s angels are more interested in having people learn their Bible by playing golf than helping with the unemployment situation. And that’s why we formed our committee. The golf course could easily save the town. It is a marvel, and well, there is only one Golfing for God, and there are factories everywhere.”

“That’s a very good point. I wonder if it would be possible to move the golf course.”

“Move it?”

“Hmm. Yes, all the statues and whatnot.”

The old woman leaned forward. “Hugh, honey, have you seen the golf course?”

“No. I gather Caroline is trying to schedule something for tomorrow.”

Miriam chuckled. “You know, I wouldn’t count on Rocky being entirely on your side on this.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m not counting on her.”

“No?”

He shook his head. “She’s conflicted, of course. I’m certainly not above using her local knowledge. But I’m not foolish enough to trust her.”

“If you don’t mind my saying so, I think you had better count on the fact that you aren’t going to get that land. You’d have to convince God, and He’s on Elbert’s side, I believe.”

“That’s too bad for the people of Last Chance, isn’t it? Because I’m very close to losing my patience. I could very easily return home to the UK, marry Lady Ashton, and forget about this project altogether.”

Miriam turned and pulled her glasses down and rested them on her nose. They were thick trifocals, upturned at their corners and decorated with rhinestones. They reminded Hugh of Aunt Petal’s eyeglasses, although Miriam’s frames were a steely blue and Aunt Petal wore frames the color of a male gnome’s hat—holly berry red.

Miriam eyed him through the glasses as if seeing him for the first time, which was probably the case given the thickness of the lenses. He braced himself for the well-worn suggestion that he should find another site for his factory.

But Miriam surprised him when she said, “Lady Ashton? Really? Is she rich?”

“Well, yes.”

“So did someone tell you that you should be looking for a woman who will bring you a fortune?”

“Well, to be honest, Mrs. Randall, my forebears have made a science of doing that sort of thing. You know, I come from a long line of aristocrats, who were not a particularly talented bunch, unless you count picking the right brides.”

“Right brides? All of you? Do you have the sight then?”

“The sight? No, we’re just a practical bunch. Every one of my forebears going back ten generations or more has picked a bride who has brought wealth to the family.” He hesitated for a moment. “Except my father, poor sot. His marriage was a disaster and then he died quite young. My father, I’m afraid, was a failure.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, honey.”

Hugh shrugged. “Well, I was only three at the time. I don’t remember my parents. Before I went off to school, I was raised by my grandfather and my Aunts Maude, Petunia, and Petal. I am well aware that marrying the right woman is important for a person such as myself. Lord knows Granddad drilled that point into my head relentlessly. Marrying well is practically a duty in my family.”

She reached over and squeezed his arm. “Hugh, honey, listen to me. You should be looking for a wife who will help you find your fortune. Just remember that, and you’ll do just fine.”

He cleared his throat. “Um, can I ask you something?”

“How do I know?”

“Well, no, that’s not what I was going to ask. I was going to ask why you aren’t concerned about losing the factory.”

She snickered like an old lady enjoying herself. “Oh, I reckon the factory will work its way out. My main concern in life is to make sure people find their soulmates.”

“What? I’m sure my forebears were more interested in money than love.”

“All the more reason you should listen to me.”

She turned and started to rock again, pushing her glasses up to the top of her head and closing her eyes. “Sometimes I can just see how two people fit together. Folks around here say I’m a matchmaker, but that’s not really what I do. God makes the matches, but sometimes He clues me in.”