Paradise (2 page)

“Hello?”

The VP of Human Resources came on the line.

“Good to hear from you, Ms. Watkins…Oh? What sort of a change?…I see.” She grimaced as she listened to Ms. Watkins’ proposal. “That’s quite different from the original plan…Yes, I understand…the new executive wants his own initiatives in place…You want me to meet with him?…Let me think…Oh, I see…In that case, yes, I’m willing to go with the new arrangement…Okay. I’ll be in
New York
as scheduled. You’ll call again to confirm?…If I can ask --”

But Ms. Watkins hung up before Robbie had a chance to raise any questions. Of course, she agreed to the request. What choice did she have? Cripes. This was going to throw a monkey wrench into her plans. Monkey wrench? Shoot, her whole life would change.

A huge bug splattered on her windshield. She’d think about Excelsior later. Right now, she had a date with a swamp.

Checking her watch, she saw she still had thirty minutes before her scheduled appointment at McGraw Tours. No point in arriving early at your own funeral. She scanned the road signs for a place to delay the inevitable.

In search of a cup of coffee, she pulled into the parking lot of “Maisie’s Li’l Nook.” Where did they get these folksy names? She chuckled. Wouldn’t you know? McGraw Tours was located in the only town in the
Western Hemisphere
yet to be discovered by Starbucks. Oh well, she should have expected that from
Tiny Town
,
USA
.

The overcast sky didn’t provide a warm and fuzzy feeling either. A faint rumble of thunder in the distance caught her attention, and she snuggled deeper into her navy blazer to ward off the early morning chill.

A good cup of coffee could make any morning better. She angled her Camaro into the last available space between a monster truck and an oversized van. As she climbed out, she thought her little car resembled a sacrificial chicken surrounded by hungry carnivores.

There were a load of families here if the number of kids running around was any sign. Maisie’s looked like the most popular place in town. Actually, it looked like the only place in town. Hmm, like the endless trail of diners her mother had worked in when Robbie was a kid.

Squeezing her way into the cramped diner, she waited in the long line at the counter. A quick perusal of the place confirmed she’d stepped back into the 1950s where the dominant decorating theme was gray-swirled Formica and maroon plastic.

Smells reminiscent of every greasy spoon she’d ever been in wafted under her nose, invoking an internal shudder as identical scenes from her childhood skirted the edges of her mind. Like then,
the predominant aroma, that of good strong coffee, held the forefront.

She scanned the wall-to-wall patrons. The tiny place overflowed with screaming kids, screaming parents, and way too many plaid shirts. Every item in the L.L. Bean catalog was modeled by someone in the joint -- even the little curtain climbers wore down vests and hiking boots.

Many of the adults seemed to favor those Crocodile Hunter outfits that the McGraws wore to the Giveaway. On the right body type, she had to admit, they looked rather dashing. Unfortunately, there were few “right body types” wearing them today.

A blue oxford shirt, blazer, and designer jeans clearly marked her as an outsider. Her Cole Haan loafers probably weren’t standard garb here either. And to think, she didn’t have a single piece of plaid on her -- or with her.

Not knowing what one wore to a swamp, she’d packed for every eventuality. She’d thrown jeans, jackets, shorts, tops and her new yellow lamb’s wool jogging suit into her bag. Her loafers, running shoes and two strappy pairs of sandals would have to take the place of those attractive work boots the McGraws sported.

Sadly, she didn’t own a single Crocodile Hunter ensemble and had totally overlooked the plaid requirement. She had tossed in sexy underwear, too. If she was going to be eaten by alligators, at least, she’d look good when they hauled her body out.

“A little louder ‘en usual in here t’day,” said a voice close behind her.

She turned around to a tanned, rugged man about her height, who’d shouted in her ear. “Really?” she shouted back. “How can you tell?” The guy wore the standard Crocodile Hunter uniform and wasn’t shy about perusing her outfit. His sparkling gray eyes took in every inch of her.

His lips moved in response, but she couldn’t hear him over a crying baby. She smiled and returned her attention to the front of the line. Hmm, the Good Ol’ Boys up here were sure easy on the eyes. That guy’s muscles had muscles. And he definitely had the “right body type.” With hair the color of aged bourbon tied back in a ponytail, he looked too yummy to be stuck out here in the middle of nowhere.

She peered around the heavyset man ahead of her in line. What was taking so long? One older woman worked the counter while another about her own age waited on tables of people she couldn’t hope to please.

She saw a younger version of her mother in that waitress. Working endless days, waiting on customers too absorbed in their own worlds to do more than recite their orders and ignore her.

“Maisie mightn’t be the fastest thing on two legs,” Good Ol’ Boy said close to her ear, “but her food is worth the wait.”

Distracted from her thoughts, she turned and gave him a bright smile. Those muscles certainly were no strangers to food, good or otherwise.

“I’m sure it’s…filling,” she said, flustered, facing the front of the line again. Leah’s suggestion about a Rebound Man flitted across her mind. Could she have come across a candidate so quickly?

She finally worked her way to the front of the line, although talking–shouting–with Good Ol’ Boy made the time pass quickly. He was certainly a charmer. But at this rate, she’d be late for her tour. The coffee smelled heavenly. It was sure to be worth the wait.

Thank goodness that family with the screaming kids finally left. Once she ordered, maybe she could talk to that handsome hunk without sounding like they were in a wind tunnel.

Opening her mouth to place her order, she was bumped from behind. Oh, my goodness. Good Ol’ Boy was touching her. Wait a minute. Unless Good Ol’ Boy had grown six inches, this was a new character. Rock hard planes of a man’s body pressed against her back.

“Oh excuse me, Ma’am. I was just trying to grab a Danish. I didn’t mean to sweep you off your feet.” A large hand clasped her elbow saving her from falling over the counter. “Would you mind if I jumped the line and got a cup of coffee?” A deep voice with just a hint of a Southern accent asked close to her ear. “My boss will fire me for sure if I’m late for work again.” The overpowering scent of Irish Spring assailed her as she tried to steady herself.

She turned to find herself staring at a button. A button on a Crocodile Hunter shirt. She shifted her eyes right and left. A Crocodile Hunter shirt on a very broad chest. Slowly, her gaze inched upward until she stared into the most striking golden eyes she’d ever seen. Eyes that held hers, refusing to break contact until the towering, dark haired man raised an eyebrow in questioning amusement.

Cripes. It’s George of the Jungle.

He had a strong jaw and full lips that hinted at the curve of a smile. His black hair was well shaped but about four weeks overdue for a visit to the local barber. It hung over the collar of his jungle shirt, giving him the roguish look of a safari hunter.

The Crocodile Hunter uniform fit snugly over his contoured torso, accenting the well-defined, muscled arms that extended from the short sleeves. Tanned and sprinkled with dark hair, they could have picked her up and set her aside with very little effort. She didn’t look, but knew he wore the requisite work boots. L.L. Bean outfitted everybody in this town.

She looked from George of the Jungle to Good Ol’ Boy and back. Whatever they put in the water up here sure made for a well-put-together male population.

“No, no go right ahead. I’m in no hurry.” She wouldn’t mind staring at the two of them for the rest of the day.

“Appreciate it, darlin’. Hey, Maisie, get me a cup and a couple of those Danishes,” he called, his deep voice sending shivers down to her toes. His eyes twinkled and there was no mistaking the corners of his mouth turning upward into a crooked grin.

“Sure thing, honey.” The old woman’s apple core face beamed at the man behind Robbie. “I’ll be right with you, Missy.” Maisie turned away but not before a loud guffaw escaped her.

“Hey, Eddie,” called the hassled waitress who suddenly didn’t appear so hassled anymore. Her dark hair no longer hung in her eyes, and a gleaming smile widened her lips to unheard of proportions. She arched her back, her C cups vigorously testing the snaps on her faded pink uniform.

Ignoring several tables clamoring for her attention, she sashayed over. A sharp thrust of her hip shoved Robbie away, and she angled to lean against George of the Jungle.

“I sure had a good time last Saturday night,” she cooed, her long crimson fingernails playing with the top button of his shirt. “You gonna be at the lodge dance this weekend?”

He winked at the woman, his crooked grin expanding into a full fledged smile, revealing a row of teeth so white and so straight, it was a wonder Colgate hadn’t signed him for their toothpaste ads.

All of Robbie’s sympathy for the harried waitress fled. Now only a caricature of every trashy country waitress ever to appear on a sit-com stood before her. And she knew a lot about trashy waitresses -- way too much.

“You know I’d never miss a chance to see a pretty thing like you, Lou Ann. You save a dance for me, ya hear?”

Robbie rolled her eyes. Backed into the counter, she couldn’t help but hear the exchange. Squeezing sideways, she attempted to put some distance between them before the waitress’s heavy scent of “Eau de Grits and Syrup” cologne rendered her unconscious.

With a gentle push, George of the Jungle eased Lou Ann away and reached around Robbie to grab the cup and sack Maisie held for him. His hand skimmed her shoulder and he leaned into her, his chest brushing the front of her blazer. A long shiver ran down her spine as the warm touch of his breath grazed her ear. “Thank you for being so understanding, Ma’am,” he whispered before pulling back.

“I went ahead and put JT’s usual in your sack,” wheezed Maisie. “He was here a minute ago. Can’t imagine where he got off to.”

“Thanks, Maisie, I’ll see he gets it. Put it on my tab. While you’re at it, go ahead and tack on whatever this little lady is having.” He arched an eyebrow at Robbie. “She’s such a good sport.”

“You don’t have to…” Robbie began, but he whirled and was gone before she could finish. With a disparaging look and her nose in the air, Lou Ann returned to her customers.

“Don’t you pay Eddie no never mind,” the old woman shouted. “He’s just used to getting his way is all, and it’s easier to let him have it as to argue with him. Now, what can I git you, Missy?”

She gave Maisie her order and had no choice but to put it on Eddie’s tab. She scanned the room, but Good Ol’ Boy seemed to have disappeared while the little drama had occupied her. Too bad. He had all the requirements for a sexy
Rebound
Man.

* * * * *

Back outside, Robbie drew in a huge breath. Maisie’s was not for the faint-hearted. What a slice of humanity. There had to be a John Deere convention or a tractor pull in town. Surely, all these people weren’t crazy enough to go to a swamp.

A wave of relief tinged with regret washed over her. Two opportunities for a Rebound Man and she blew them both. Not that she was in the market for a Rebound Man -- that was all Leah’s idea. With Rick out of the picture, she could devote her time to her career. Whatever that would be considering this morning’s phone call from Excelsior. Still those guys were fabulous male specimens. They certainly had all the correct parts -- and the “right body type.”

She wandered over to her car, flipping up the plastic tab on the top of her coffee. The strong aroma greeted her eager nose. Pleasant memories of other spring mornings drifted back. She closed her eyes and took a sip. Yeah, you could always count on a greasy spoon for a great cup of coffee.