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Home at Last Chance
Hope Ramsay  What It's AboutDear Reader, You won’t believe what’s happened. My son Tulane has come back home! You remember Tulane? He’d set out to find fame and fortune in the big, wide world outside of Last Chance, and I’m mighty proud. But that’s not the half of it-Tulane isn’t only back, he’s brought a young lady with him. Now Sarah-she does PR for Tulane’s stock-car team-she’s from Boston, but she’s just about the sweetest girl you could meet. I think she’s meant to keep Tulane out of trouble after that story in the papers, but he doesn’t want to talk about it. Anyhow, the Ladies Auxiliary can’t wait to start matchmaking and introduce Sarah to our Reverend Ellis. But mark my words, Sarah is tired of being a good girl. And no one is better at breaking the rules and raising Cain than my son . . . Listen to me going on and keeping customers waiting. I best get back to work, but you come round again. The Cut ‘n’ Curl’s got hot rollers, free coffee, and the best gossip in town. See you real soon, Ruby Rhodes Share:
               The ExcerptTulane Rhodes leaned forward in his seat and scowled at Sarah Murray out of a pair of greeny-gray eyes. “You painted my car sissy pink and put a bunny on its hood. How do you expect me to feel?” he snarled. Sarah breathed in the scent of leather upholstery and corporate money. The National Brands Learjet had been placed at her disposal. She had about an hour–the time it took to fly from Martinsville, Virginia to Columbia, South Carolina–in which to take charge of this angry man. She wasn’t sure she could do it even if she had a hundred years, but she was going to give it her best shot. Her career depended upon it. She squared her shoulders inside her black power suit. “Pink is the official color of the Cottontail Disposable Diaper brand,” Sarah said. Her mother would be proud of her calm, controlled tone. Mother always said a proper Boston lady didn’t raise her voice, but used quiet logic instead. Sarah really didn’t want to be her mother, but right now, it was the best strategy she could muster. Sarah continued ticking off points on her fingers. “Also, the car in question doesn’t belong to you. It belongs to Jim Ferguson Racing. And I’m sure I don’t have to point out that Mr. Ferguson is not happy with you right now. National Brands paid Mr. Ferguson millions of dollars for the privilege of painting that car pink. As part of the sponsorship deal you–as Mr. Ferguson’s driver–have a responsibility to show up at personal appearances. If you had shown up at your appearances last week, National Brands wouldn’t have felt the need to send me here to do your advance work.” “To bully me, you mean,” Tulane said as he settled back into his seat and crossed his arms over his chest. His biceps twitched. He was angry. And huge. Tulane Rhodes filled the reclining seat with six feet and two hundred pounds of South Carolina good ol’ boy. He possessed all the classic markers of his kind–a broad drawl and buzz-cut hair that framed an angular face with too many sun-induced laugh lines and crow’s-feet. A well-worn Alabama T-shirt stretched across his broad shoulders. And a battered Atlanta Braves baseball cap topped off the ensemble. Maybe if Tulane had worn a blue blazer or a Nike golf shirt with khakis, he might have overcome the stereotype. But he hadn’t, and he didn’t. Sarah was in trouble. This man was dangerous, and angry, and likely to run her over at two hundred miles an hour if he ever found out that she was the reason he was driving a pink stock car. He was also wickedly handsome, had a reputation for being a bad boy, and those green eyes of his had the unsettling effect of making her feel as if her panties were on fire. She needed to concentrate on the task at hand but she had no idea where to begin. So she borrowed a page from Grandmother Howland’s handbook. She gave Tulane Rhodes The Look. When given with the proper stare and just the right lift of an eyebrow, The Look could turn someone to stone in about one second flat. Grandmother Howland, who had been a devoted librarian and churchwoman, could lift her eyebrow perfectly and command silence, just like that. “I am not a bully, Mr. Rhodes. I expect you to be an adult about this,” Sarah said in a soft voice that she tried to invest with all of the proper venom of her grandmother. Tulane cracked the smallest of smiles. Lines bunched up around his eyes while his lower lip stretched into a sexy curve that displayed a couple of dimples. The mental image of Grandmother faded. “Ma’am, pardon my asking, but you got something stuck up that butt of yours?” “I beg your pardon?” The Look vanished. “Well, you were grimacing, you know? You looked like you had gas pains or something. I guess it was just a passing thing, huh?” His smile broadened. The man was on to her. Her black suit hadn’t hidden her good-girl nature apparently. Sarah had no other weapons at her beck and call so she forged ahead just like Grandmother would have done. “I would appreciate it if you would refrain from using such vulgar language. I must remind you that you will be the spokesperson for Cottontail Disposable Diapers, a family product with a wholesome image,” Sarah said. “Well, I’m not the wholesome family man you’re looking for.” Tulane broke eye contact and ducked down to stare out of the window to his left. The jet had just taxied to the end of the runway, and the engines revved in anticipation of takeoff. The glare from the window highlighted the pulsing tendons in his jaw. He shifted his gaze. “I know diddly about diapers. On the other hand, I did read something about National Brands making some real fine rubbers. You want to paint my car with a logo for condoms, I’m right there with you. I’m willing to talk about safe sex any day of the week. In fact, I try to practice safe sex every day of the week. But diapers. Uh-uh. Way I figure it, a diaper bunny is about the shittiest thing you could put on Jim Ferguson’s Cup car.” Sarah could feel her cheeks coloring at Tulane’s use of profanity. When was she going to get over this? She was twenty-five years old, a graduate of Harvard University, and she wanted to be like Deidre Montgomery, National Brand’s vice president of marketing–a woman totally fluent in business profanity. How could Sarah ever achieve success in business if she couldn’t get over of her strict upbringing. “Don’t sputter now,” Tulane said as if he could read her most intimate thoughts. “I hate it when a woman starts sputtering in outrage. It always reminds me of Miz Lillian Bray, the chairwoman of the Christ Church Ladies Auxiliary, back home in Last Chance, South Carolina. You cuss in front of her and you’re liable to end up serving endless hours as an altar boy.” He looked out the window again. The Learjet was rolling, and the engines pressed Sarah back into her seat. With a roar, the little jet sped down the runway, rotated nose up, and surged into the sky. The ground dropped beneath them, providing a view of the spring-green vistas of the Virginia countryside. Sarah studied the man for a long moment, trying to imagine him as an altar boy. She failed. Her experiences with altar boys had been far-reaching and entirely unsatisfying. “Mr. Rhodes, I think it would be helpful if you considered me to be just like Miss Lillian. Just remember that my reports back to headquarters will make or break your career.” Oh boy, she was so lame–like she really had that kind of authority or power. He was in trouble, but not that much trouble. He gave her a smarmy look that started at her chest, came up to her face, and went back down, as if he realized she had overreached. She should have resented that gaze, but it made her feel oddly titillated and strangely alive. She didn’t think any man had ever looked at her quite like that, as if she were a fat slice of Boston cream pie. “If you don’t mind my saying so,” Tulane said, “you are a whole lot younger than Lillian Bray. And, for the record, you sure don’t have her skill when it comes to The Look either.” Sarah opened her mouth and shut it again. How on earth did he know about The Look? “You were about to say something?” Just how had this conversation taken this strange turn? “Mr. Rhodes, I need you to remember you are now a spokesperson for Cottontail Disposable Diapers. You have to be a role model. Why don’t we spend our time more profitably, by going through our schedule for the next couple of days?” He settled back into the brown leather seat and tipped his baseball hat down over his eyes. “Honey, you can yammer all you want, but I was up late last night going over car setups with my crew chief, and I thought I’d get a little shut-eye before you have me officiating at diaper-changing contests.” “Mr. Rhodes, those events are designed to build traffic at the store.” Tulane opened one eye and angled his head. “Oh, really? I thought it was just for the fun of it.” “Sorry.” “Uh-huh. Look, lady, I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to go to Value Mart and put on a pink shirt with a bunny logo and sign autographs for people who are laughing at me. I’m only here because ya’ll bullied Jim Ferguson and he told me to be here or else. So you could do me a huge favor and just hush up.” His head slapped back on the seat, and his eye shut. That was it–Sarah’s career was officially over. 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