The American Princess - Best Love Story Ever (12 page)

"Nothing sadder than finding a dead robin in
your bird bath," he told him.

Robin Bender got the message.

Bull
Fighting PussCat

Bull Fighting PussCat was a shorthaired, gray
and white tabby. She still had nightmares that featured an incensed
bull charging toward her, head lowered, eyes glazed, and nostrils
flaring. In her nightmares she hissed, arched her back, and prayed,
even though she knew that it was too late for prayer.

* * *

Brad and PussCat were family. She would be
going to Coastal Carolina with him. Six years earlier, they had
become inseparable when he saved her from a bull at his uncle's
farm, northeast of Toronto near Stockton. The fearless mouser had
managed to get herself cornered by an irate bull that was intent on
sending her to cat Valhalla. The bull's first charge knocked
PussCat senseless—his second was about to finish her.

Brad was sitting on the fence that surrounded
the bull's enclosure when the bull charged, caught PussCat on his
horns, and tossed her into the air. Damn fool cat's a dead carp, he
thought. But friend to all animals that he was, he jumped into the
enclosure and saved her, but not without first being gored
himself.

"From now on," he told the fur ball, "if you
want me to save your butt again, you'd better pick on someone your
own size." It was advice that PussCat would regret ignoring.

* * *

PussCat was like no cat Brad had ever known,
probably due to her formative year as a barnyard cat. He cherished
the ornery pussy, and she doted on him.

PussCat terrorized the local cats, and had to
be de-clawed, but even de-clawed, she remained invincible—a
pussycat to be reckoned with. Her territory reached as far as she
cared to extend it; dogs soon learned to keep their distance. Once,
Brad saw a neighbor attack PussCat with a broom, and he watched in
amazement as she held her ground, and then fought back.

"Stay away from me you deranged animal," the
neighbor had hollered before retreating.

The only weapons that could deter the
fearless mouser were a spray bottle full of water or a garden hose.
Without one of those weapons at their disposal, the neighbors had
no choice but to let PussCat do whatever she pleased.

Brad brushed, fed, and carried PussCat around
on his shoulder. Most pussycats become more attached to the houses
they live in than to the people in them, but PussCat was
different—she was a one man cat, who would only purr for Brad.
Nevertheless, when they arrived at their Myrtle Beach cottage, Brad
buttered her paws, and kept her inside until she became accustomed
to the place.

Carolina Boun

It was a fortunate set of circumstances—or
the work of Mercury—that was taking Brad to play hockey at Coastal
Carolina University, twenty miles west of Myrtle Beach. Six years
earlier, Coastal had lobbied to have the University of South
Carolina's hockey program located at what was then U.S.C.'s Myrtle
Beach campus. Jason Moore, an ex-patriot Canadian who presided over
the thirty-six-member board of directors of the Myrtle Beach Area
Chamber of Commerce, had led the campaign for the hockey program.
Moore loved Myrtle Beach. He had vacationed there for years, and
when, at fifty, he took early retirement from teaching, that was
where he wanted to open his retail golf and tennis discount
outlet.

The one thing Moore missed at Myrtle Beach
was hockey. But when the University of South Carolina was asked to
participate in a southern university hockey conference, he saw his
opportunity to make Myrtle Beach perfect.

As far as the U.S.C. Board of Governors was
concerned, the money for a hockey arena could be better spent on a
team of under-water basket weavers. So when the Myrtle Beach Area
Chamber of Commerce offered to pay for an arena on the Coastal
Carolina campus, the U.S.C. Board voted unanimously to locate the
varsity hockey team there. It was a decision that the Board soon
regretted as the popularity of hockey soared with the arrival of
the Florida Panthers and the Tampa Bay Lightning.

The Coastal Carolina Gray Ghosts won the
conference championship in their first year—1990—and they won it
every year thereafter. That was thanks to the coaching skills of
Alister Wylie. Wylie had coached NHL teams for eight years, but at
sixty he had decided it was time to ease into retirement. When
Jason Moore approached him, and asked him to coach the Gray Ghosts,
he'd eagerly accepted.

"Ten years from now Myrtle Beach will be
better known for hockey than it is for golf," Wylie had told
Moore.

"I admire your enthusiasm, Coyote," Moore had
replied. "But perhaps you'll forgive me if I don't hold my breath
'til it happens."

* * *

Brad rented a two bedroom cottage—just off
the Coastal Carolina campus—from Chick and Joe Mortimer, a Canadian
couple, who were too elderly to trek south for the winter, but who
were unable to part with their retirement home, and the fond
memories that went with it. They had watched Brad grow up, so they
were confident that he would take good care of their home. The rent
was only $200 a month.

* * *

It was painful for Brad to head off to
college in South Carolina and leave Sandy behind. His summer with
her had been everything he'd hoped for, and more, thanks to her
passion for both tender romance and decadent loving. When he wasn't
teaching tennis at a Toronto summer camp, Sandy was helping him
with the basics of lovemaking. Although most of the time they just
fumbled along together. He owed her. She fulfilled his fantasies,
and taught him to shampoo twice.

"Shampoo twice with me whenever we can, and
those days will be a good hair days," she told him. And they
were—or at least they were until Veronica Manderville happened
along when they were testing her waterbed for leaks. But
unbeknownst to Brad, Mrs. Manderville's arrival in the middle of
the waterbed test wasn't just an unfortunate happenstance. Mercury
had returned to earth, and when he'd arrived, the first thing he'd
done was tell Mrs. Manderville that Brad was playing Doctor with
her daughter—without a license.

Sandy had begged her mother to allow her go
to Coastal Carolina with Brad, but Veronica Manderville had
refused. Brad was pretty sure that he knew why. So Sandy was off to
Queens University, and he was off to Coastal Carolina without
her.

* * *

As Brad drove Old-yellow through West
Virginia on Interstate 77, John Denver's song, Take Me Home,
Country Roads, kept repeating in his head. West Virginia was
beautiful country, but then Country Roads made him predisposed to
appreciate its heavenly qualities.

"Look at those up-and-down baby mountains,
PussCat," he said. "If you could iron them out, this place would be
bigger than Texas." He promised himself that, before he graduated
from Coastal, he'd stop and spend some time in West Virginia,
because, further along in the song, country roads were taking a
fellow home to his 'mountain mama'. Brad decided to enlighten
PussCat. "Every guy in West Virginia isn't just given a mountain
woman, you know. And you can be darn sure that if you don't spend
some time here you won't be put on the waiting list to get one.
It's not as if you can just order a mountain woman from a Sears
catalogue." But he had more to think about than mountain women,
because before he'd left for Coastal, he'd contacted Birth Parent
Locators, and started a search for his birth parents. "Wonder what
they're like?" he asked, as he rubbed behind PussCat's ear.

He reached forward to the dash, and patted
Lucky Ducky on her head. He knew that having a ducky at his age was
silly. But his mother had told him that his birth mother had left
the duck for him. Lucky was the only tangible evidence he had that
his birth mother might have loved him. So he'd named her Lucky
Ducky, and then had been unable to part with her. Lucky was a
constant reminder that he needed to love, and be loved.

Brad brushed PussCat from time-to-time as the
miles slid by. "What a perfect summer it was. If only Mrs.
Manderville hadn't caught me doing my stallion thing with Sandy, on
her waterbed. But even if I'd been looking more like a missionary
than a stallion, it was game over when I shoved my foot in my
mouth, and invited her to join us."

Trouble

"Mr. C, it's Jim Bob. May ah speak to B-J if
she's around?"

"Sorry, Jim Bob, she's out for the
evening."

"Do yu know how ah maght ged in touch with
her?"

Victor Chance hesitated. "You may be able to
catch her at the Park."

"Thanks, Mr. C." Jim Bob shut down his
cell-phone, and headed for the Park.

One lousy date with B-J since the prom, he
thought, and it was lousy. "Ah'm not even close t' gettin' into her
pants."

When the light at the intersection of 4th and
Ocean Boulevard changed, Jim Bob stomped the Jimmy's peddle to the
floor, and left behind an impressive strip of rubber. He was
pissed. He knew that Betty-Jo had a date with some jerk that
evening, because she'd told him she already had a date, when he'd
asked her out for Friday evening. But then, when he'd asked her out
for Saturday, she'd brushed him off.

"Who studies on a Saturday naght?" he
muttered before he slammed his fist against the dash. "Ah'm gonna
find that gal, and set her straight. Ah saved her ass. She owes
me!"

Capture
a Rainbow

Initially, the coaster ride had been a
nerve-wracking ordeal for Betty-Jo, but Brad had held her so
tightly, that by the time the coaster eased to a stop, she was
feeling almost safe.

"Okay, Brad," she said, "you can let go of me
now."

"...B-J, it's you who's holding onto me."

She gave an embarrassed laugh. "Silly me. So
it is." She released him, retrieved her bear, hooked her arm around
his, and followed him, thankfully, where he led. Where he led was
behind the bingo tent.

She could feel herself being drawn to him: to
his strength, to his aroma, and to his charm. Then she felt herself
being undone by his probing brown eyes, and his velvet and leather
voice. By the time she realized that he was more dangerous than the
coaster, it was too late for her to save herself.

"Poor you," he said with a disarming grin.
"You want me."

"Damn you!" But she didn't pull away. His
eyes, his voice, his dimples, and his grin were too much.

"So tell me, is there a reward for saving you
from that mean ol' coaster?"

He's so sure of himself, but I don't care
anymore. "What kind of reward did you have in mind?"

"From you, an affectionate kiss would be
satisfactory, as long as it's to Raiden specifications."

"Does a Raiden-specified kiss come with an
instruction manual?"

"Of course. Put your arms around my neck. Now
stand on your toes, and pull yourself against me."

Behind the bingo tent, they held each other
as time slowed, and reality drifted away. Their heartbeats merged
while their eyes asked questions, and then provided answers. When
at last she kissed him, her heart was taken, and her soul
surrendered—she was forever Brads'.

"What is your bear's name?" she heard him ask
from somewhere in the cocoon that had enveloped them.

Her reply, inviting and defenseless, hung in
their small world of monumental delight. It was a pledge, and a
promise. "I Love Only You Brad," she said.

In that enchanted place, she knew that to
love Brad Raiden was all she had ever wanted, and all she would
ever need. "I've captured a rainbow," she whispered.

She moved her hand to touch, and then to
caress the stubble on his face. How is it possible for anything to
feel so rugged, so...masculine? Then, wanting more, she moved
against him in wanton surrender—until her legs began to shake. She
tried to ease to the ground, but he kept her positioned, trembling
against him. When he finally released her, she was unable to stand,
and would have fallen if he hadn't held her.

"Unbelievable!" she said as she struggled to
return. "That kiss? What does it mean?"

"Two more weeks of winter?" He punctuated his
reply with his grin.

She smiled all over, and rubbed playfully
against him, discovering his desire. "Fool," she said, "that's
ground hogs and their shadows, not kisses."

His eyes continued to hold hers. "I know one
thing. Your kiss was the finest reward I've been given for
anything." He paused. "I've become fonder of you than..."

"B-J! What the hell ah y'all doin'?" Jim Bob
O'Hara had appeared from out of nowhere, and broken the spell.

She turned and glowered at him. "Listen to
me, O'Hara! A couple of dates don't give you proprietary rights.
And I don't recall signing you on as my chaperon."

"Your daddy told me you'd be here, an ah knew
what you'd be doin'. Pair a you looked lahk a couple a hound dogs
that had locked-on."

"You're disgusting!"

"Didn't know how ah was gonna ged you apart.
Thought ah'd have t' hose yu down." A smug, self-satisfied smirk
worked its way across Jim Bob's face.

"Wart hog!" She lunged at Jim Bob, but
couldn't get close enough to do any damage, because Brad had a
secure grip on the sleeve of her blouse.

"B-J, you're forgetting your manners," Brad
said. "You haven't introduced us." She gave him a derisive look,
which he ignored. Then he stepped toward Jim Bob, and held out his
hand. "I'm Brad Raiden."