Sweet Caroline(6)

“Are you all right?” My leg muscles tighten, ready to spring.

“He’s out there.” She fluffs the ends of her overly sprayed hair.

“Who? Ralph Carter?” I grin.

Mercy Bea twists her red lips into a grimace. “No, Ralph is not here. Your man is here. J. D. Rand. Dang, Caroline, he’s handsome. Got arms the size of a tree trunk. Shoulders like rocks.”

“He’s not my man.”

“What do you mean he’s not your man?” She crouches close as if she’s about to tell me a huge secret. “He’s been in here every day for the past three weeks.”

Yeah, I know. “We’ve gone out a few times.”

“Are you two . . . well, you know.” Her eyebrows wiggle.

“Mercy Bea, no.” Embarrassment explodes in my torso and rings in my ears. “What is wrong with you?”

The nosy waitress angles toward me. “Miss Goody Two-Shoes, he’s one fine, fine deputy. Not my type, mind you—too pretty for me. But I appreciate his qualities. I can see why the ladies fall all over him.”

I point to Mercy Bea’s tip envelope. “First of all, there’s your tip money. Second of all, if I was, well, you know, I wouldn’t tell you.”

I busy myself with my plate of Frogmore Stew. Not that it’s Mercy’s business, but I’ve never . . . you know-ed . . . in my life. When I was six-teen, Daddy sat me down for a “little chat” when his office manager’s daughter, Janie, turned up pregnant. He started out with, “The backseat of a car is no place to become a woman.” Then his voice cracked, and his foot started tapping. Fast. “Sex should be between two people in a committed relationship.”

I never looked him in the eye. Never asked one question. No sirree, Bob.

“Do you understand, Caroline?”

I nodded. Please, can I go now? Is that Henry outside with his buddies?

“Caroline.” Dad bent forward to see into my eyes. “Here it is. You gals got it. The boys want it. Talk about woman power, all this nonsense about wanting to be like men. Shoot, you ladies got it made. Look, baby, as long as you don’t give in, you’re in control.” He stood and wagged his finger. “You’re not the blue-light special at K-Mart. Don’t act like you’re for sale, cheap.”

To this day, I can’t shop at K-Mart.

Mercy Bea shakes her tip envelope under my nose. “Hey, where’d you go? J. D.-land?”

I glance up, corncob between my teeth. She wrinkles her face. “Wipe your face, girl. He’s asking for you.”





3

Hey, beautiful.” Beaufort County deputy J. D. Rand smiles at me from the other side of the counter, tucking his Foster Grants inside the top of his uniform. His greeting is like a warm splash. But I play it cool.

“Hey yourself.” I fill a glass with ice and Diet Coke. “Want some lunch?”

“Is the special still any good?”

Lowering my chin, I peer at him from under my brow. “You want me to ask Andy if his special is fresh?”

“On second thought . . . bring me the special.” J. D. grins with a pound of his palm against the counter.

“What sides do you want?” I jot “Spcl” on my order pad.

J. D. glances at the Daily Special chalkboard. “Green beans and salad. That’ll do me. Got to fit into my uniform tomorrow.” He winks.

My skin flushes hot. “B-be right back.” How does he do that to me?

When I return with his plate, J. D. cups his hands over mine. “Are you free tomorrow night?”

“W-what’d you have in mind?”

“We could go fishing. Or down to the beach?” His long-lashed, chocolate gaze lands on my face while his thumb traces the fleshy part of my hand.

I gulp a deep breath. “F-fishing sounds fun.”

“It’s a date then.” His smile is intoxicating, his invitation flattering, and I find my reserve melting. In the past, J. D. was known as a ladies’ man, but in recent years, his rep has actually chilled. The word among our friends is he’s settling down, growing up.

“I’ll pick you up around six?” J. D. pats the massive bicep choking his uniform sleeve. “After my date with the gym.” He nods with another teasing grin and wink.

“Six o’clock, tomorrow.”

His bravado is endearing. Handsome as all get-out, confident in an I-wear-a-badge kind of way, J. D. grew up with a drinking daddy who cared more about José Cuervo than his own children. J. D.’s worked hard to cover the hole his daddy dug in his heart.

For me? Okay, I admit it’s nice to have male attention that isn’t wrapped around, “Hey, Caroline, warm up my coffee, will you?”

By five p.m., the Café is closed, empty, and silent. Andy and Russell cleaned the kitchen and punched out. Finished with my side work, I launch e-mail while waiting for Dad to pick me up.

To: CSweeney

From: Hazel Palmer

Subject: Are you ready this time?

Caroline,

An amazing opportunity has opened up here at SRG International in Barcelona. And I do mean amazing. Not like the other two jobs I offered you before. Ten times better. Do you want it? I went way out on a limb this time for you, Caroline. Risking my rep.

Yes or no?