Chances are that if women made men, they would add a larger dose of sensitivity than that usually instilled in the factory version.

But would they create a character as sensitive, warm, physical and caring as Jarrett Daniels, the protagonist of home­town author Sally Simon's "Country Pride and Joy" (Sally Simon Books, $15.00)?

I doubt it, and so we have the irony of a novel being more believable than its main character.

Jarrett Daniels is a Charlotte County sheriff's deputy who happens to run across Trevor Lane, a teenager who is lying comatose behind a strip mall in Port Charlotte.

Right then and there, a reader has a sense of place, for what's more ubiquitous here in our county than the strip mall? Daniels suspects the boy is a drunk or a drug­gie, just sleeping off a high, but becomes alarmed when he discovers blood seeping from a gash on the boy's head. Turns out the boy is a victim of a vicious crime.

Daniels, a bachelor whose wife had long ago taken his son and fled to Arcadia, becomes obsessed with Trevor. After rushing him to the hospital, he later takes the teenager home to nurse him back to health. So far so good. I suppose rubbing witch hazel on the lad and crooning lullabies is part of parenting. And in the early stages of the book, one gets a sense that maybe, just maybe, Alan Alda had infused the spirit of this kindly, gruff sheriff's deputy with the grace to give word and action to emotions men have been taught to keep concealed.

But then the mittens come off, as Daniels explains him­self to Trevor shortly after installing him in his Punta Gorda home.

"I got a powerful need to comfort, Trevor. Always have. And I come from a long line of touchy-feely people, so I need that physi­cal contact. It's like a kind of language to me, the way your music is to you. I got a powerful need to be touched and be touched. Nothing dirty, Trevor. Never that."

Trevor nodded.

"I figured that out. I'M sorry you don't have your little boy. You're really good at this."

Simon is really good at describing the life we lead here in Charlotte County and the Gulf Islands, to mangle the county tourism office's phrase.

Most of the book takes place in Punta Gorda, in the older, historic section bound­ed by Punta Gorda Isles on the east and Cooper Street to the east.

From the broad deck under the green-and-yellow striped awning at the Best Western Hotel to the teen-packed promenade of the Town Center Mall, Simon offers a series of snapshots of county cant and culture.

She does the area justice, reveling in the simple, unadorned world we know of creeping ixora and nosy neighbors. Simon under­stands the transparency of small-town Florida life. The homes here have glass walls, and many know or are relat­ed to many others.

But her allegiance to details only a fellow resident would understand (such as PGI'ers being reluctant to cross the Peace River bridges) lifts her book above travel fiction genre. She writes as would a musician, listening to her words and establishing a mellifluous synthesis of slang and proper talk that echoes the syntax of those who call themselves native Floridians.

Even better, Simon instinctively understands the defensiveness and pride that comes of living in a town where folks from other places come to tell you how they did it better up there.

Her rhythm is excellent, both in dialogue and descrip­tive narration, as she controls her pacing as a musician would rein in a piece of many parts.

But she loses control when it comes to explaining the relationship between Jarrett and Trevor. The boy has a specific problem that lands him in the hospital, and a unique history that reinforces the damage of his victimization. Daniels' actions in light of the boy's history are disturbing, and possibly illegal. Daniels' kindness and gentleness, at least to this reader, becomes uncomfortable.

"Country Pride and Joy" will deservedly be a talked-about book, as readers and those who know them will enjoy pointing out the places and people named in the 650-page novel. But there's a deeper story here, one which Simon apparently is unable to keep from intruding. And that's the tale that will haunt readers weeks after they fin­ish the book.

You can e-mail James M. Abraham at jabraham@ sun-herald.com.