Lady Be Good (43 page)

Dallie smiled at him pleasantly, then spoke so softly only Kenny could hear. “It might not be a good idea to let your wife see you’re upset. Might make her tense, and a sensitive woman can’t putt worth a damn if she’s nervous. I’m only mentioning this because I’ve decided we’re going to let the two of them settle this whole thing between you and me.”

A feeling of dread crept through him. “You can’t mean it.”

“Oh, I mean it.” Dallie’s soft words fell over him like a poisonous vapor. “If Emma wins for you, you’re back on the tour. But if Francie wins for me, then your vacation just got extended.”

“You can’t do this!”

“I’m the PGA commissioner. I can do any damn fool thing I please. And you’d better keep your voice down because, if you let Lady Emma find out what’s really at stake here, you’re not going to have a chance in hell of finishing out the season.”

A roaring went through his head like a demonic train. Dimly, he heard Francesca chatter on about a new shampoo, and Emma say something about a conditioner.

“You’re crazy! This isn’t legal, and it sure as hell’s not ethical! I’m going to have my lawyers all over this.”

“You do that. Considering how fast our legal system works, it should only take four or five years for you to win your case.” Dallie glanced toward the women, smiled, then looked back at Kenny. “You’re the one who turned this golf round into a life-and-death match. Isn’t that why you sweated through that pretty shirt of yours before we even got to the second tee? I’m just playing your game now, Kenny, except I’m making it interesting enough to keep myself from dying of boredom.”

Dallie turned his back to him and, oozing charm with every step, walked over to Emma. “I don’t know how familiar you are with golf, Lady Emma, but the object right now is for you to get Kenny’s ball into the cup with fewer strokes than it takes Francie to get mine there. I’m sure if you just do your best, Kenny’ll be happy.”

Kenny’s voice was coldly furious as he stepped around Dallie, then turned himself so Emma couldn’t hear. “It’s not even close to a fair contest. Emma’s never held a golf club in her life. Francesca’s been around it for years.”

Dallie raised one eyebrow. “You’ve seen Francie play. Everybody in Texas knows she’s the worst golfer that ever picked up a club. Seems to me I’m the one at a disadvantage here.”

Kenny’s fists clenched at his sides. “You’re crazy, you know that? The craziest son of a bitch I ever knew.”

“That’s the way most people make their lives enjoyable, champ. Being a little crazy. I keep waiting for you to try it for yourself.”

There it was again! That insistence that he was missing something everyone else understood.

Dallie walked over to Francesca, kissed her nose, and handed her his putter. “I know putting isn’t your strong suit, honey, any more than using a driver or hitting an iron, but if you concentrate a little bit, I’m sure you can put that ball right in the cup.”

Kenny spun toward Emma. Ted was handing his putter to her—the same putter Kenny’d used to win last year’s Players Championship. As she took it, she started nibbling away at her bottom lip with that worried expression on her face that always managed to twist around his heart. Now, however, it just made him feel violent. He forced himself to go over to her. “Just relax, will you?” The words didn’t come out in the reassuring way he’d intended, but like a drill sergeant’s barked orders.

Emma’s teeth sank into her bottom lip. “Kenny, what’s going on here?”

She’d gotten real quick on the pickup when it came to his personal business, and he wasn’t surprised that she’d figured out something was up. He managed to shrug. “Sonovabitch finished me off when he suspended me. I guess now he’s just spitting out the bones.”

“You don’t want me to do this, do you?”

“I don’t have much choice.”

“Remember what I told you about female psychology and golf,” Dallie called out from the other side of the green.

Kenny tried to take a deep breath, but the air was too thick to penetrate his lungs. “You ever putted a golf ball?” he asked Emma as calmly as he could manage.

“Of course I have.”

Relief shot through him. “You have?”

“I played miniature golf several times when I was a teenager.”

He winced. A long-ago experience on some two-bit miniature golf course was worse than useless. “That’s good, then,” he managed. “You know what to do.”

On the other side of the green, Dallie was coaching Francesca. “I know it looks far, sweetheart, but it’s all downhill, so if you hit the ball too hard, it’s going to fly right by the cup.”

“I know that,” she sniffed. “Really, Dallie, it’s a simple matter of physics.”

Francesca sidled up to the ball, and Kenny was relieved to see that she was lined up so crooked she wouldn’t come within six feet of the cup.

Unfortunately, Skeet Cooper had to open his big damn mouth. “Aim a little more to the left, Francie, or that ball’s gonna end up in Tulsa.”

Francesca gave him her thousand-watt television star smile, adjusted her stance, drew back the putter and hit the ball so hard it flew down the green, past the cup, and nearly hit Kenny’s ball on the opposite fringe.

Teddy groaned. “Mommm . . .”

“Beastly game.”

Dallie lifted one eyebrow. “I thought you said it was a simple matter of physics.”

She stood on her tiptoes and planted a kiss on his jaw. “I’ve never been good with science.”

Francesca’s wild putt had given Kenny a reprieve, but, as his gaze flew back to Emma, he knew the match was far from over. She had such a death grip on his putter that her knuckles had turned white. Somehow he had to relax her, but he was so rigid with rage and resentment, he couldn’t speak.

Ted moved up next to her. “Let me show you how to hold the club, Lady Emma.” He peeled the putter from her fingers, then repositioned it in her hand. “You need a firm grip, but not that tight. And the important thing is to stay completely still over the ball. That’s the reason Mom can’t putt; she’s always moving around. Mainly talking.” He stepped back.

Emma needed a hell of a lot more instruction than that! Kenny strode toward her. “Since Francesca missed, you don’t have to get it in the cup on your first putt, but you have to get it close. Aim right for the cup. And hold the club a little lower. Keep your head still. Just do everything Ted said.”

He’d meant to reassure her, but her knuckles grew pale again as she resumed her death grip on his putter.

Ted shot him an annoyed look, but Kenny had too much at stake to stand idly back and allow her to screw this up for him. “Move your arms, but keep everything else completely still. The motion comes from your shoulders, do you understand? Take the club back and then move it right through the ball in one smooth motion. Got it?”

Instead of listening to him, her grip grew even tighter as she moved behind the ball. He realized he’d been thrust into his worst nightmare. He’d been forced to hand control of his life over to someone else. And not just anyone, but a domineering woman who professed to love him. It was his childhood all over again.

His eyes felt gritty as she drew back the club and tapped the ball. It barely rolled four feet before it came to a stop.

“The cup’s up there!” he exclaimed. “You’re not even close!”

“I didn’t want to hit it too hard like Francesca.”

He ground his teeth. “Francesca had a downhill putt. Yours is uphill. You
need
to hit an uphill harder.”

“Well, you might have told me that first instead of bombarding me with all that other twaddle.”

Twaddle!

He realized Dallie was staring at him, and his gaze was even more censorious than before. “Francie, you’re away. This time it’s uphill. Just try to get it close, okay?”

“Of course, darling.”

She lined up all crooked again, and Kenny shot Skeet a lethal look, daring him to intercede. Unfortunately, he’d picked the wrong person to intimidate because it was his own turncoat caddy who betrayed him.

“Move your right foot back, Mom, or you’re going to hit it way to the left.”

Francesca did as he suggested, then stopped to push a lock of hair back from her face. “If I’d known I was going to play, I’d have brought barrettes. You don’t happen to have a barrette, do you, Emma?”

“I don’t think so. Let me check my purse.”

These women were going to kill him!
“Emma doesn’t have a barrette!” Kenny snagged Emma’s arm as she started to head back to the cart. “I took her last one this morning.”

Francesca gave him a snooty look, held back her hair with one hand, grasped the putter with the other, and sent the ball flying up the green.

Kenny caught his breath. She’d hit it way too hard, but by some miracle her line was straight. If the ball caught the back of the cup, it was going to drop. It was going to . . .

The ball clipped the right edge of the cup, and Kenny’s heart stopped as he waited for it to fall.

It wobbled, held the edge, then rolled past.

Francesca let out a whoop. “I almost made it! Did you see that? Did you see it, Dallie?”

“I sure did!” Dallie beamed at her. “What do you think, Kenny? About the best putt this woman ever hit. A little strong, but she had the right idea.”

Kenny felt sick. Francesca’s ball had stopped barely ten inches above the cup. Even she could tap it in from there. If Emma didn’t put the ball close on her next putt, she wouldn’t have a chance at a tie. And he no longer believed she had it in her to put it close. Her behavior had grown too erratic. He had to do something.

His heart raced. He moved toward Dallie. “I’ve got an idea for a new contest, Dallie. Francesca and me. I only get one putt, she gets two. What do you say, Francie? You’re not even a foot away, and I’m over twenty-five feet. If I don’t make my putt, you win.”

Francesca shaped her lips into a little girl’s pout that was at complete odds with her barracuda brain. “Absolutely not! Emma and I are having fun, aren’t we, Emma?”

Emma’s complexion had turned green beneath her sunglasses, and he knew she’d figured out that more was at stake here than a simple game of golf. “As a matter of fact, it might be a good idea if Kenny—”

“Oh, no, you don’t!” Francesca settled a hand on her slim hip. “Kenny’s one of the best putters on the tour. Even from that far away, he’ll probably put it in, and then I’ll lose. At least I have a chance with you.” She pointed one manicured fingernail toward Kenny’s ball. “Hit it, Emma.”

Kenny squeezed his eyes shut. Francesca was going to sink her putt. But could Emma put hers in in two? Not a chance if she didn’t get it close. “Hit it smooth.” His jaw was so tightly clenched it ached. “All you have to do is put it up there.”

She lined up properly, but the club head wobbled as she took it back. He closed his eyes . . . heard Ted groan . . . opened his eyes . . .

She’d left it short by two and a half feet.

His ball now rested nearly three feet below the cup, while Dallie’s was less than a foot above. If both women sank their putts, it would be a tie. But Emma’s putt was farther.

“My turn!” Francesca said.

His ball was away, and it wasn’t her turn. He waited for someone to correct her, and, when nobody did, started to say something himself only to hold back at the last second. If he said anything, they’d all stare at him as if he’d twisted the head off a kitten. His blood boiled, and he could feel himself beginning to lose what remained of his self-control.

Francesca stepped up. “Do you think I should putt with my sunglasses on or off?” she asked her husband.

Of all the idiotic questions!
His entire future was at stake, and Francesca was worried about her sunglasses!

Dallie, however, acted as if her question was perfectly reasonable. “I guess that’s up to you. However you feel comfortable.”

“Are you going to keep your sunglasses on?” Francesca called across the green to Emma.

Emma turned to him and Kenny felt himself losing it.

“I don’t know,” she said. “What should I do, Kenny?”

“Don’t worry about the fucking sunglasses!”

Francesca frowned at his explosion. “Little pitchers,” she said with a pointed look at Ted.

Ted sighed.

Dallie grinned.

Kenny felt as if the top of his head had blown off.

Francesca moved into position. “This is so exciting. I’ve never won before, and even I can make this. You won’t be upset if I win, will you, Emma? I’m not actually very good, but—Oops.”

Yes!
Kenny could barely contain a whoop of victory as Francesca’s putt caught the lip of the cup and rolled past six inches.

“Bloody stupid game!”

Oh, yes! Yes!
Now that the pressure was off, even Emma could do this. She had two chances to win this thing for him and only a two-and-a-half-foot putt. His sexy, determined, Emma!

He slipped in front of her, turning his back to the rest of them so no one else could hear. Every one of his senses was fully alert as he willed her to concentrate. “Now listen to me, sweetheart. Pay attention to every word I’m saying. You’ve only got a two-and-a-half-foot putt, and you have two chances to get it in. You can do this. I want you to line up nice and straight and take that club head back smooth, not like you did last time. I don’t want to see any wobble. And hold yourself completely still. Nothing moves except your arms, you understand? Take the putter straight back, then bring it through the ball right toward the hole. Now do you have any questions? Any questions at all?”

She bit her lip and peered up at him from beneath the brim of her straw hat. “Do you love me even a little bit?”

Oh, God Not now! Not this! Shit! Wasn’t this just like a woman!
He bit back a stream of expletives and tried to speak reasonably. “We’ll talk about it after we’re done, all right?”

She shook her head. The cherries bobbed. “I need to talk about it now.”

“No, Emma. It doesn’t have to be now.” His own eyes stared back at him from the reflection in the lenses of her sunglasses, and they looked wild.

She lifted her chin an inch. “Yes. It does.”

Blood churned like acid through his veins. “Don’t do this to me. Why? Why does it have to be now?”