Lady Be Good (31 page)

“But surely you spoke to someone.”

“Not that I remember.”

Her spirits plummeted. She was no better off now than she’d been when she’d stepped off the plane. “Beddington knew I bought a tabloid, so his spy had to have been right there in the drugstore. But why didn’t he report anything else?”

A shapely female jogger approached, her ponytail swinging, but Kenny didn’t seem to notice. She appreciated the fact that he didn’t look at other women when he was with her. He really was a wonderful man, despite his foibles. Intelligent and entertaining. He also had a surprisingly old-fashioned sense of courtesy. Already today he’d been interrupted at least a dozen times by fans, and he’d responded to all of them politely while, at the same time, making it evident that his first obligation was to her.

They had reached the end of the accessible part of the Riverwalk, and they turned around. It was quiet here, tucked down below the city streets, with only the occasional interruption of a passing river taxi or a stray tourist. The feeling of privacy reminded her of St. Gert’s in the late afternoon. Even with the girls racing about, there were wonderfully secluded spots tucked away here and there.

“I should never have assumed the spy was a man,” she said. “It could just as easily have been a woman.”

“Now I recall I do believe I saw Old Mrs. Cooligan over by the Fannie Mae display. She’s eighty if she’s a day, but she’s real spry.”

“Go on and make fun. It’s creepy knowing that I was being followed, but not being able to figure out who was doing it. And why have they stopped?”

“I understand, sweetheart. And you know how I feel about your attachment to that pile of stones on the other side of the pond, so I’m not going to say anything more about it.”

“I know what you’re thinking.” She regarded him peevishly. “You’re thinking I’m going to turn into one of those dotty, dear things. That I’ll start talking to myself and collecting cats and wearing ratty old jerseys that smell like mothballs.”

“I have to confess those things didn’t enter my mind. Now, seeing you in a black garter belt with—”

“Just because I’m British and unmarried, and because I have a respect for tradition, doesn’t mean I’m eccentric.”

“I believe your freeway just sprouted a strange exit ramp. Where exactly are you headed with this?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Forget it.”

“You know, Lady E, instead of accusing me of psychological abnormalities, you might try looking inside your own muddled brain.”

“Me? I’m as clear as a glass of water.”

“If that’s so, why do you keep seeing yourself as some dried-up old maid?”

“I don’t. But I know I’m not exactly a sexpot.”

“Now, there’s a lie.”

“It isn’t a—” She looked up at him. “What are you saying?”

“That you’re a sexpot.”

“You’re only being nice.”

“I’m only being male. See, I’ve got this thing about your mouth—”

“There you go again! It’s so unfair. If I were a man, I’d be considered a strong leader. But because I’m female, I’m bossy.”

“We’re not talking about bossy—although you are. We’re talking about the fact that you’ve got about the sexiest mouth I’ve ever seen on a woman.”

“My mouth is sexy?”

“Uh-huh.”

She swallowed. Stared at him. “Now I know you’re lying.”

“I only lie about things that aren’t important. Do I have to remind you of what you were doing with that mouth around eight o’clock this morning?”

She didn’t see how he could still make her blush, but it happened. “Yes, well, thank you.”

He laughed and drew her close. “Thank
you
.”

Instead of trying to contact Hugh, Emma spent the next morning in bed at the ranch making long, lazy love with Kenny. She couldn’t imagine any woman having a more thrilling, more considerate lover, but she wished it weren’t so important for him to stay in control. Not that she wanted to take over all the time—it was lovely having someone so blissfully competent in charge—but occasionally she’d like to have the upper hand, if only so she could experiment on that lovely body of his. It was a problem she was certain they could have worked out over time, but there was so little left.

After a leisurely breakfast, they headed for the stable, and, for the next few hours, rode through the woods, then along the Pedernales. Kenny, mounted on Shadow, slouched comfortably into a western saddle, while she rode China on an English one.

“Kenny, have you noticed . . . ? It’s probably just wishful thinking on my part, but my tattoo seems to be fading a little.”

“Just settling deeper into your skin, is all.”

“I suppose you’re right.” She heard a rustling in the woods and saw an armadillo rooting near a fallen tree trunk. Imagine being so close to such a curious animal. Her thighs ached pleasantly from being on horseback, or maybe she was still experiencing the aftereffects of their lovemaking.

He tilted his Stetson lower over his eyes. “I’ve been thinking . . . your next term doesn’t start for another week, and the Antichrist doesn’t seem to be in any rush to lift my suspension, so there’s no need for you to hurry back. Why not stay a little longer?”

She straightened, then shot him a quick glance. “I have nonrefundable airline tickets.”

“I’ll take care of the tickets. Don’t you worry about it.”

At least he was no longer in a hurry to get rid of her. The idea should have made her happy, but she felt depressed instead. If they hadn’t been sleeping together, Kenny wouldn’t have wanted her to stay. “I’m an administrator. Classes might not start right away, but my job does. Two weeks is the longest holiday I can take.”

“I don’t get it. You already told me the duke’s going to fire you. What difference does it make if you don’t show up?”

“He hasn’t fired me yet, and until he does, I’m responsible for St. Gert’s.” She worried her bottom lip. “I still have another twenty-four hours or so. Maybe something will come to me.”

They rounded a bend, and, as she saw the house in the distance, she thought how much she loved it. She loved this ranch, this state. She felt like a different person here, one who wasn’t so lonely.

He frowned. “It just doesn’t seem like you need to rush off right now when we’re having such a good time.”

They were having a good time—the best time of her life—and she couldn’t repress a certain wistfulness. “Better to end it on a positive note, don’t you think?”

It took a moment for him to respond. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right,” she said briskly, concealing the ache she felt.

Anything else he might have wanted to add was lost as the stable came into view. He straightened in the saddle and uttered a particularly foul obscenity, the same one that sent St. Gert’s girls to Emma’s office for a pointed discussion of appropriate language.

She followed the direction of his gaze and saw a group of men standing next to a paneled white van. One held a professional-quality video camera on his shoulder and was filming them as they approached. Another stood slightly off to the side looking down at the notebook in his hand. He was shorter than the others and more formally dressed in a dark brown sports coat, tan slacks, and a pale green sport shirt. As they drew nearer, she spotted gold snaffles glimmering on the vamps of an expensive pair of loafers.

“Keep your mouth shut,” Kenny growled. “I mean it.”

“Who are they?”

“Trouble, that’s who.”

As they rode closer, Emma noted that it was the man with the notebook who held Kenny’s attention. Of medium build, he had a square-jawed face, small nose, and a brush haircut. A pair of high-fashion sunglasses hung by a cord around a muscular neck.

The cameraman moved closer, pointing his lens directly at Kenny as he reined in his horse. “This is private property, Sturgis.”

“I’ve never seen your ranch, Kenny. I heard it was nice. How about taking me on a tour?” The man had the deep, well-modulated tones of a professional broadcaster. His smile was oily, and Emma detested him immediately.

“I don’t think so.” Kenny dismounted, passed the reins over to his stable boy, then helped Emma down.

“This is business, Kenny, and I want an interview.”

“You’re the last reporter I’d give an interview to. By the way, how’s that eye healing up? Who’d have figured you’d turn out to be a bleeder?”

The man shot Kenny a look of undiluted hostility, then turned to Emma. “Sturgis Randall. I’m with
World Sports Today
on the International Sports Channel.”

“This is Emma,” Kenny said before she could respond.

That was all—no last name and no title from the man who loved telling everyone they met, from store clerks to busboys, that she was royalty, even though she wasn’t.

Sturgis nodded, then dismissed her. He was far more interested in his mission than in Kenny’s companion. “While you’ve been out playing cowboy, Tiger’s ten under at Augusta. The fact that you’re not there to challenge him is big news, and I’m going to report it.”

“And here I thought you’d already done enough for me.”

Sturgis bristled. “You attacked me in front of a few million golf fans.”

Emma had heard the story from Torie, and she knew Sturgis had thrown the first punch, but, as usual, Kenny didn’t defend himself.

“Both of us are professionals,” Sturgis went on. “We can put it behind us. Let’s see the ranch.”

“Some other time.”

“The folks at Global National think an interview is a good idea. And since they’re one of your sponsors and a big advertiser on my show, they seem to be calling the shots on this one. But maybe you don’t mind losing a sponsor. . . .”

A sense of outrage came over Emma at this invasion of Kenny’s privacy. The fact that he was a public figure didn’t give anyone the right to barge in on him like this.

Kenny’s face was set in stone. “No interview. I already told your boss that.”

“And every other reporter in the country.” His tone grew unctuous. “I understand, Kenny. So I’ll tell you what . . . we’ll just film your ass as you run away.”

His expression grew smug, while Kenny’s complexion darkened with anger. It took her a moment to understand, and then she realized he’d made it impossible for Kenny to refuse without looking churlish. Randall must know that Kenny wouldn’t be able to stomach the idea of every golf fan in American seeing footage of his backside as he walked away from the camera.

And then her skin prickled as she realized that she’d been presented with a golden opportunity. A reporter! A television camera! Just when she’d been about to give up, she’d been handed a chance to disgrace herself in a more public manner than she’d ever imagined. She caught her breath. Even Beddington couldn’t ignore this!

Kenny heard Emma’s quick inhalation and then saw the calculation in her expression. Her eyes darted from Sturgis to the cameraman, and every hair on the back of his neck stood up. Lady E had just realized she had a national audience right at her fingertips ready to witness whatever shenanigans she came up with.

He braced himself. Emma was quick, and any second now she was going to throw herself into his arms, or strip naked, or start doing a hula.

If he didn’t want to sink his career, he had to get her out of here, even if it meant submitting to an interview. “All right.” He shrugged. “Why not? It’ll be a good chance to set the record straight.” He turned to her. “Emma, this is going to be boring. Wait for me inside, will you?”

He braced himself for the worst and tried not to think about the fact that she was about to turn him into the biggest joke in professional golf. Lee Trevino’s pranks, Ben Wright’s comments about lesbian golfers, even Fuzzy Zoeller’s remarks about fried chicken and collard greens after the ’97 Masters, would be nothing compared to whatever Emma was getting ready to bring down on his head.

And then . . . nothing. He watched with astonishment as she took a deep breath, nodded, and turned away. He felt like pinching himself. Was she really going to walk away?

Without giving the cameras a second glance, she walked straight toward the house, leaving behind what might be her last chance to cause a public scandal. And he knew exactly why she wasn’t kicking up. Because she didn’t want to hurt him.

“We’re ready to go,” the cameraman called out. “Over there.”

He tore his thoughts away from Emma and headed toward the fence, trying not to think about what she’d just sacrificed. Distracting pictures started floating through his mind of the way she’d looked that morning as she’d slept next to him with her forehead puckered as if she were trying to conjure up scandalous schemes in her sleep. He remembered butterscotch curls spilled across the light blue pillowcase like ribbons of honey trailing over the sky.

“Kenny?”

He tensed. Since when did an ol’ boy like him start thinking about
ribbons of honey
? He sure didn’t need that kind of distraction right now, and he resolutely turned his attention back to Sturgis.

“Let’s get this sonovabitch over with.”

Fool!
Emma yanked open a drawer looking for a corkscrew. She’d let the opportunity of a lifetime slip by! And why? Because she was an idiot, that’s why! A complete
id-jut
!

The door banged as he stalked into the kitchen. He looked tense and irritable. Good! She wanted an argument right now. She craved one! Anything to release this awful frustration.

He stopped next to the counter, took off his hat, looked at her, and smiled. As he gazed at her, all the tension seemed to melt from his body, and the transformation was so astounding that she couldn’t quite absorb it. It was as if a great thundercloud had been dispersed by a single shaft of light.

His smile was so warm she felt as if she were being bathed in it. His eyes . . . those astonishing eyes . . . Her skin prickled, her heart pounded, blood surged through her veins. Her ears rang, her sight blurred, her bones quivered. She gripped the edge of the counter.

After days of being so sexually aware of him that her body seemed to exist in a constant state of arousal, this was entirely different. This reaction had come from someplace so deep inside her that she hadn’t known it existed.