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RANDALL STEPPED PAST the crowd of onlookers and met Traci halfway across the garden path, took her hand and led her away to stand under a small honey locust tree. Her hand was trembling, and she had been crying.
“I feel stupid,” she sniffled.
“You look gorgeous,” he said and tried to kiss her.
“No, my makeup. It took hours to make me look like a natural beauty.” She let out a tiny nervous giggle. “Hollywood kisses only.” She kissed the air next to each of his cheeks. “It feels so weird. Everybody’s staring at me.”
“It’ll be fun. Enjoy yourself. You've worked hard to get here and deserve all the spotlight. They picked the perfect woman to be the spokesperson. I'm so proud of ...”
“You're making me nervous. I think you should go.”
He took off his sunglasses, looked deeply into her eyes and smiled. “I thought you wanted me here.”
“I do.”
He stroked her arm gently. This was no time for a panic attack. “Well, which is it? You want me to stay or you want me to go?”
“Both.” She exhaled a short giggle. He could see her quick breaths as she tried to constrain the nervous energy.
“And how am I supposed to do that, my angel?”
“You're smart, figure it out.” More giggling and fear. He held her by both shoulders, lowered his face in front of hers and took a long slow deep breath. She placed her hand on her stomach then joined him on the next breath and he counted down the exhale.
“You can do this.” He tightened his grip on her shoulders and kissed her cheek.
“Miss Traci, I need you in position,” the reporter called from the staging area.
“Let me go ...” she whispered.
“Never,” he whispered back and pulled her close. “No ...” he thought. “Nothing is going to ruin this day for you.” He waited for that familiar sensation of her muscles softening under his fingertips as she settled gently into his embrace.
Two years and here they were, right back where they first met. He knew she was the one the moment he saw her wearing that ridiculous neon green Dependable Flyers helmet. When she said that she wasn’t ready, he waited. Through all her flashbacks and panic attacks, he listened ... and waited. It was worth the wait. Everything about her was worth the wait. Sure, she challenged him, but he wouldn’t want it any other way. Soft and fierce with a matched determination to hold him accountable. Someone he could trust with his heart.
“Miss Traci, we’re waiting for you!”
That reporter “Lenny-somebody” waved at them, then snapped his fingers impatiently. He was some big deal in the local media so Randall gave him a pass and didn’t tell him where to get off. He looked over and caught a glimpse of Ray Winston standing next to Mayor Gundry.
“I'm not sure about that guy, Ray,” Randall said nodding toward him.
“Who are you sure about?” She tsked her tongue, pushed away from him and adjusted her dress.
“You,” he smirked and tried to pull her close again. She twisted his thumbs and wiggled out of his grasp.
“Are you sure it's not because I said it wouldn’t hurt if you wore a tailored shirt like his sometimes? Or, maybe even a suit?”
“Well, that could be part of it. But no, there’s something else . . .”
“I know Ray can be super rude sometimes, but he really believes that what he's doing is going to make things better for everyone. And, he’s very successful at what he does. You have to appreciate that part, at least, especially since we’re working side-by-side now.
“Yeah, about that ...”
“Can you stop being a cop for five minutes?”
“Traci ... that’s not fair.”
“For just one minute?”
He didn’t want to ruin this moment by talking about Ray Winston. “... kiss me,” he said with a wicked smile.
Lenny snapped his fingers again.
Randall ignored it, chuckled and grabbed her waist. She wiggled away. Traci didn't like public displays of affection, but he was all about it, leaving no doubt for anyone around them. He watched her gather her poise and step back to the staging area.
“Hey, watch it! That's my girl, right there. If she even stubs her little pinky toe, I'm holding you personally responsible ... Lenny.”
“Yes, sir.” Lenny held Traci with both hands back to position on the larges stone in the demo pile.
Traci mouthed “Go away...” at him then frowned sweetly which gave him even greater incentive to double-down.
“I said what I said,” he teased and watched Traci burst into laughter. “Mission accomplished. The prettiest smile in the world.” Lenny helped her be seated on the narrow retaining wall and started asking a battery of interview questions with a local channel WME TV-43 news camera over his shoulder. She handled them like a champ.
Randall turned to Ray and nodded a quick acknowledgment. It was the least he could do, and that’s all he would do, the very least. Ray approached him along the garden path.
“It's an important day for S&K,” Ray said, “and for the Friends of Magnolia Grove Foundation and as such, our little Spokeswoman.”
“Yep.” Randall folded his arms across his chest and kept his eyes on Traci and how that Lenny was taking up too much of the camera angle.
“I've got to give her credit, she fought hard to preserve this place and the farm. Looks like everything is working out in her favor. And,” Ray shrugged, “she seems happy.”
“She is. And I plan to keep it that way.” Ahh, that was better. They were taking photos of Traci with the award, wearing a hard-hat, standing beside the sunflowers ... okay, much better.
“You have to admit, though, she has a bit of a temper.”
“I'm not afraid of a few sparks.”
“A few?” Ray said.
“I guess it takes a certain kind of man to handle that heat. I'm that man.” Randall wasn't pleased with the way they cornered Traci into working with Ray over there with that Dewey Station bunch of suits. He looked him over. There was something about this guy he didn't trust. It seemed like Ray was always trying to push his buttons knowing that if he reacted it would put Traci’s job at risk. Best thing was to make the boundaries clear. And he knew exactly how to do that. “Hey, I need to ask you about something.”
“Me?”
“Yeah ... you. Let's take a ride.”
Ray followed Randall to his car and looked with disgust at the Chevelle covered in its gray coat of primer. Randall gave him a side-eyed glance. “It's a work in progress. Traci calls it the putty-mobile. Probably not your style, huh?”
“We'll take my car. A little something I picked up over the weekend.” He pointed to the Miami Blue two-seater Porsche Boxter T Model with twenty-inch wheels, central exhaust, the works.
“How can he afford so many expensive cars? Where does a guy like him get that kind of money? I need someone to answer a few questions about what actually happens over there,” Randall thought.
“You sure I can fit in that thing?” He bent down and looked inside. “This thing is sweet, though.”
“I'll let the top down.” Ray smirked and pressed the key fob.
“Sure, one sec.” Randall walked over to the opposite side of the driveway, balled up his fist and let it down with a thud on the top of the squad car with a sleeping officer inside. Then lowered his face and sunglasses to stare into the man's eyes.
“Sorry, Captain.”
Randall glared at him for a few minutes, then rejoined Ray at the Boxter.
“Alright, let's go.”
––––––––
JAMESON’S FAMILY JEWELERS since 1956. with its simple black canopy and stoic façade was an anachronism in the modern-day Keeferton retail district. As nondescript as the outside was presented to passersby, inside the place was lit up like the floodlights at a Ragin’ Reds ballgame.
Randall took his badge from his pocket and attached it to his belt when he noticed the new “No Guns Allowed” sign on the shop window. He was already out of his element around this stuff. And he didn’t want any noise from the salesman about the firearm holstered over his civilian clothes. He couldn’t blame them for trying to keep their establishment safe. There were a lot of changes going on in Keeferton and not all of them were good.
Ray pointed to the FAMU insignia on Randall's baseball cap. “You know I went to BCU, right?”
“Oh really?” Randall said with a raised eyebrow, took off his sunglasses and clipped them to his collar. “I know a few good people that went to Bethune Cookman. But only a few.” Why does he like to bait me? And why would he want Traci to lose her job? Is that his deal or what? Something didn’t add up. He kept browsing through the showcase of gems with the price tags tucked discreetly out of sight.
“I did my undergrad work there,” Ray continued.
“Well, I coached a little ball for them before I moved back here.” He stood up to his full height and placed his hand at his waist, a subconscious reflex move toward his gun even if he had no intention of using it. “Okay, you’re a BCU alum, I won't hold that against you. But when football season starts, you know we’re going to kick your ...”
“May I help you gentlemen?”
“Yes, let's stick to the business at hand, shall we?” Ray said with a smirk.
Randall pointed to a ring on display. “How about that one right there?” The salesperson slid the felt covered tray onto the top of the glass and retrieved the ring of choice. Ray took the jeweler’s loupe and looked it over carefully.
“What do you think?” Randall asked.
“I think it’s perfect if you’re trying to insult the woman you supposedly love. If that’s what you’re going for, then buy it.”
“Sir, I beg your pardon. I assure you . . .”
Ray raised his hand and the salesperson fell silent.
“Tell Tom Dudley that Ray Winston is here.”
The owner arrived swiftly from a door adjacent to the mirrored wall along the back of the store.
“Mr. Winston so good to see you. Your package from Clarke’s of London has arrived from customs. I have it in the back if you would please follow me.”
“Fine. Did you have any trouble?”
“None whatsoever. I have the documents ready for your signature.”
“My friend is here to select an engagement ring. I trust you to direct him to the most excellent selection of loose stones and mounts, not this . . . sham merchandise. Something worthy of a ...” Ray gave a sideways glance toward Randall. “Nubian princess.”
“Right ...” Randall said through a tightened jaw.
“Of course, this way.”
“Hey Ray, I’m not sure that I’m ready for the prices in the back,” Randall whispered.
Ray stopped to admire himself in a pedestal mirror, replaced his tie clip with one made of abalone set in sterling silver from the adjacent display and said, “We’ll work something out. Trust me.”