Lady Be Good Part 36

"In the meantime, Traveler's troubles with the PGA have gotten worse since he was involved in a brutal barroom brawl with an elderly international businessman."

Emma shot up out of her seat. "He's not elderly! And it wasn't a barroom brawl!"

"No official statement yet from acting commissioner Dallas Beaudine." Sturgis gave the cameras a smarmy smile. Sturgis gave the cameras a smarmy smile. "A word of advice, Kenny ... Since your golfing career doesn't seem to be going anywhere, maybe you and your socialite bride can take up fox hunting." "A word of advice, Kenny ... Since your golfing career doesn't seem to be going anywhere, maybe you and your socialite bride can take up fox hunting."

Emma couldn't bear it. "How can he get away with that?"

"His ratings are good. In America, that's all that counts." Patrick jabbed at the remote to turn off the television. "Let's go to a movie. We need a diversion."

It was a little after eleven and the lights were still on when Kenny returned to the ranch. He'd practiced all day, then stopped at his father's house to play with Petie for a while. Afterward, he'd parked down by the river so he could nurse his various grudges against Emma for making something difficult out of something simple, but the river wasn't a good place for him. He kept remembering that they'd made love there.

As he let himself into the kitchen, he felt a stab of guilt for leaving her by herself all day. Then he reminded himself that he wasn't the one causing all the commotion in this marriage.

He headed to the refrigerator to see if Patrick had left him anything. As he pulled out a plate of cold chicken, the door that led from the backyard to the sunporch squeaked. He looked up and felt a catch in his throat as Emma walked in.

Her hair was tousled and her cheeks flushed from the breeze that had picked up outside. She looked so pretty, and he wanted her so much. He didn't like the feeling. He didn't like wanting things he couldn't win with big drives, solid irons, and steady nerves.

She started as she saw him. "Oh, I didn't know you were back."

Guilt hit him again, but he determined not to let it get the best of him. "I do happen to live here."

"I'm aware of that."

Her calm response made him feel like a p.r.i.c.k. "You want some chicken? There's plenty here."

"I ate earlier."

"Some wine, then. We could take a bottle upstairs."

"No, thank you."

He moved around the counter toward her. He'd hit golf b.a.l.l.s until his muscles ached, but he hadn't been able to get her out of his mind. Now he knew he couldn't keep his hands off her a moment longer. Somehow he had to talk her out of her stubbornness. Or seduce her out of it.

Maybe it was her steady gaze or that inherent sense of dignity she seemed to carry around with her whether she was buying lice shampoo or stealing salt shakers, but he suddenly wasn't so sure he could seduce her.

Patrick came into the kitchen. "Well, well, look who finally remembered where he lives." He waved the piece of paper he held in his hand. "This fax came in earlier. Looks like it's showdown time in Dodge City."

"What are you talking about?"

"It seems that a certain Dallas Fremont Beaudine is requesting the pleasure of your company on the first tee at Windmill Creek Country Club at seven o'clock tomorrow morning."

"Great," Kenny muttered in disgust. "This is just great."

Patrick turned to Emma. "Francesca scribbled a note on the bottom. She'd like you to call her as soon as you get up in the morning."

Kenny slapped down the drumstick he'd just picked up. "So he's back in town. Now, doesn't that just put the icing on the cake."

Patrick folded the fax neatly in half. "If I were you, Kenneth, I'd be very nice to Lady Emma. Who knows what tales she might tell Francesca."

But as Kenny looked across the counter into Emma's solemn eyes, he knew she wouldn't say one bad thing about him to Dallie's wife. And somehow that bothered him more than anything else.

Chapter 23

The morning sun formed a corona behind him, this man whose legend was as big as the Texas sky. Although age had dabbed the temples of his dark blond hair with silver and deepened the brackets around his mouth, it hadn't whittled away at the strength in his tall, lean body or dulled the gleam in those Newman-blue eyes. whose legend was as big as the Texas sky. Although age had dabbed the temples of his dark blond hair with silver and deepened the brackets around his mouth, it hadn't whittled away at the strength in his tall, lean body or dulled the gleam in those Newman-blue eyes.

A decade earlier, this man and the great Jack Nicklaus had met each other on a course people called the Old Testament and played one of the greatest golf matches in history. On that fateful day Jack Nicklaus had played for the glory of sport, but Dallas Beaudine had played for the heart of the woman he loved ... and he'd won.

A shoulder injury had temporarily sidelined Dallie, forcing him into the role of acting commissioner, but he was nearly recovered now, his term as commissioner would soon be over, and the senior tour lay ahead of him like a juicy bone waiting to be devoured. First, however, he had some loose ends to tie up. One loose end, in particular.

Morning dew glistened on the toes of Kenny's golf shoes as he stepped off the path and walked toward the first tee at Windmill Creek. His stomach gave a nervous twist as he saw Dallie standing there, even though he told himself he had no reason to be nervous. The two of them had played hundreds of rounds of golf over the years, beginning when Kenny was a teenager with the most expensive equipment money could buy and no idea how to use it. Dallie had taught him everything. No, Kenny shouldn't be nervous, but a film of sweat had broken out on his chest.

He hadn't seen Dallie since the day he'd been suspended, and he hid his sense of betrayal behind a cool nod as he stepped up onto the tee. "Dallie."

"Kenny."

Kenny turned to acknowledge the grizzled Jack Palance look-alike sprawled down on the bench with a red bandanna tied around his forehead and a rubber band holding back his thin salt and pepper ponytail. He was Skeet Cooper, the most famous caddy in golf. Skeet and Dallie had hooked up several decades earlier after a brawl at a Texaco station outside Caddo, Texas, when Dallie'd been a fifteen-year-old runaway and Skeet an ex-con with no future. They'd been together ever since.

"You got a caddy?" Dallie asked.

"He's on his way." Kenny's regular caddy, a wizard named Loomis Crebbs, was carrying Mark Calcavecchia's bag while Kenny was on suspension, and Kenny'd never missed Loomis more than he did right now. Still, he'd found a good subst.i.tute.

Clubs rattled behind them. Skeet Cooper rubbed the corner of his mouth with his thumb and rose from the bench. "Looks like Kenny's caddy's here."

Dallie lifted an eyebrow as his son stepped up on the tee carrying Kenny's bag.

Ted smiled. "Sorry I'm late. Mom made me eat breakfast. Then she started fussing with my hair, don't ask me why."

Dallie took the driver Skeet handed him. "Funny you didn't mention that you were going to caddy for Kenny today."

"Must have forgot." Ted smiled and s.h.i.+fted the bag. "I told Skeet."

Dallie shot Skeet an annoyed look that didn't bother Skeet one bit. Kenny gestured toward the tee. "Be my guest. I believe in showing respect for the elderly and the infirm."

Dallie just smiled. Then he walked over to the tee, swung a couple of times to loosen up, and striped a beautiful drive down the center of the fairway. It was the kind of golf shot Dallie'd cut his teeth on.

Kenny tried to quiet his nerves as he approached the tee, but that film of sweat on his chest wasn't drying up. He told himself there was no reason to get all agitated about today's round. Not only did he know every nuance of Dallie's game, but the residual effects of the older man's shoulder injury were going to give Kenny a distinct advantage. Even so, his jitters wouldn't go away because today's match was about something bigger than a round of golf, and both of them knew it.

Kenny stepped up to the tee, adjusted his stance, and hit a nasty duck hook into the left trees.

Dallie shook his head. "I thought we fixed that when you were eighteen."

Kenny couldn't remember the last time he'd hit a shot like that. A fluke A fluke, he told himself as they walked off the tee and down the fairway, with their caddies following.

"I hear from Francie that you got married," Dallie said.

Kenny nodded.

"Simplest thing for you to do, I s'pose." Dallie chewed the words as if they had a bad taste to them. "Hard for the press to get too riled up about a man defending his bride. Easiest way out."

Kenny had to struggle to keep his voice even. "Only a person who doesn't know Emma could say something like that."

Ted piped up from behind Kenny's shoulder, "That's what I tried to tell him, but he wouldn't listen." He stepped between them. "The thing is, Dad, Lady Emma's a lot like Mom once she gets an idea in her head."

"I doubt that. Your mother refused to marry me until I got my life straightened out. Seems Lady Emma's not that particular."

Kenny didn't like the implied criticism of Emma, and he was getting ready to say so when Ted stumbled over nothing and b.u.mped him hard with his bag. "Sorry. Hey, Dad, how's your shoulder feeling?"

"The shoulder's fine. It's my game that's rusty."

Not all that rusty. Kenny ignored the sight of Dallie's ball lying in the middle of the fairway and concentrated on his slight of Emma. "Maybe I should give you a couple of strokes," he said. "Doesn't seem fair taking advantage of a handicapped senior citizen."

Dallie pointed off to the stand of trees on the left where Kenny's ball rested. "I figure your handicap's going to even out mine."

"What handicap are you talking about?"

"The fact that you're scared s.h.i.+tless."

A chill slithered right down Kenny's spine. He should have known better than to bait a master strategist like Dallie. Still, he couldn't let Dallie intimidate him, and he started to respond only to have Ted b.u.mp him with the bag again.

"Will you watch where you're going?"

"Sorry."

And sorry was the word for the way Kenny played for the next nine holes. He missed half the greens and left himself miles from the pin on the ones he hit. Fortunately, Dallie's driving distance and long iron play weren't back to normal, so after nine holes, Kenny was only down by two.

Just as they made the turn for the back nine, a golf cart came clattering up. "Kenny, darling!"

The British accent was less noticeable than the one he'd recently grown used to, but just as familiar. He turned and began to smile, then saw that Francesca Serritella Day Beaudine wasn't alone.

Next to the gorgeous television star sat his very own wife. She was wearing his favorite hat, the straw one with cherries on the brim. They bobbed as the golf cart hit a b.u.mp. Both women wore sungla.s.ses. Emma's were her no-nonsense pair with the tortoisesh.e.l.l frames, while Francesca's were trendy oval wire-rims.

She waved with one hand, while she drove the golf cart with the other. Francesca was one of his favorite people-not only beautiful, but smart, funny, and kind, in her own peculiar fas.h.i.+on. Still, he wished she were anywhere but here. "Emma and I decided to ride along and give the two of you moral support."

As the cart drew closer, he saw that Francesca was wearing some kind of pricey designer outfit, but it was Emma's simple, flower-strewn T-s.h.i.+rt that caught his attention. As he observed the gentle rise and fall of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s beneath the bright yellow cotton, he remembered that he hadn't been able to curl his hands around those b.r.e.a.s.t.s last night because his new wife insisted on sleeping alone.

He frowned. The last thing he needed while he was struggling through one of the most stressful rounds of golf he'd ever played was to be distracted by Emma's b.r.e.a.s.t.s. And he couldn't give Dallie an even bigger psychological advantage by letting him see that the women's appearance had unsettled him, so he forced a smile as he approached their cart.

"Hey, Francie."

"My darling Kenny!" He was enveloped in a cloud of chestnut hair and expensive perfume. "You eloped, you naughty boy. I'll never forgive you." She beamed at him, and then her green cat's eyes flew to her son. "Teddy, you're not wearing a visor. Did you put your sunblock on?"

Kenny had to give Ted credit for only rolling his eyes once. "Yes, ma'am."

She turned her attention to her husband. "Dallie, how's your shoulder? You're not pus.h.i.+ng yourself too hard, are you?"

"My shoulder's doin' just fine. I seem to be two holes up on your darlin' Kenny."

"Oh, dear. And I'm certain you're both being quite beastly about it. They are, aren't they, Teddy?"

"Oh, no, ma'am. They're acting like perfect gentlemen. That's the kind of game golf is."

Dallie grinned at his son, and even Kenny had to smile at that one.

Francesca introduced Emma-who seemed to be ignoring Kenny-to Dallie. He chatted with her for a few moments, then, apparently satisfied with their conversation, turned back to the tee. "Ladies, you're in for a treat today. You're about to see how age and experience can overcome youth and laziness. I believe I'm up."

As Dallie stepped onto the tee, Kenny wanted to wrap his driver right around the sonovab.i.t.c.h's neck. It was one thing for other people to tease him in front of Emma, but he didn't want Dallie doing it.

For the next seven holes, Kenny played as hard as he'd ever played, but his long game wasn't there, and he hit the ball all over the course. Luckily, his putter kept him alive, and, going into seventeen, the match was finally even. His nerves, however, were as jagged as his long game. And the women weren't making it any easier.

After a dozen years of marriage, Francesca still hadn't gotten the hang of even the most rudimentary golf etiquette. Kenny didn't mind the talking so much, although that aggravated him. What really bothered him was that Francesca kept deciding to move her golf cart just as he was getting ready to hit. In all fairness, she moved it when Dallie was getting ready to hit, too, but it didn't seem to bother Dallie. It sure did bother Kenny, though. And the one time he'd politely asked her if she had her cart parked right where she wanted it before he teed up, she'd looked hurt, Emma had given him a glare that could have frozen a swamp, and Dallie'd snapped at him as they walked down the fairway. "You haven't learned a d.a.m.ned thing this past month, have you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I'm beginning to believe it." He turned away to walk with Skeet, and Kenny rounded on Ted.

"What the h.e.l.l's he talking about?"

Ted gave him a pitying look, as if he were thirty-three and Kenny twenty-two. "Just what he's been saying for years, is all. That some things are more important than golf."

What kind of answer was that? Kenny was so frustrated he wanted to scream, but he couldn't do that, so he gritted his teeth, grabbed his seven iron, and proceeded to hit his ball five yards over the green.

Emma, in the meantime, continued to ignore him. She smiled at Ted, laughed at one of Dallie's jokes, regarded Skeet warily, and chatted away with Francesca. The few times she looked at Kenny, she had this closed-up expression on her face, as if she'd sealed herself away from him. It made Kenny feel guilty, which made him even madder.

He sweated through another glove, and his s.h.i.+rt was soaked as he pulled his second shot on number eighteen and ended up in heavy rough. He couldn't let Dallie beat him. If that happened, it would be as if everything Dallie believed about him was right, as if, somehow, the suspension could be justified. In all his life, Kenny'd only done one thing really well, and now even that had deserted him.

Dallie's second shot was a perfect lay-up in the middle of the fairway. Kenny wiped the sweat from his eyes with his sleeve and tried to ignore the cattle stampede that had started in his stomach. He had to dig this one out of the rough to get it close to the pin. One great shot. That's what he needed to wipe the smug expression off Dallie's face. One great shot.

Ted handed him his wedge. Kenny took his stance and drew back the club, but as he was about to connect, Emma sneezed. It distracted him just enough that he got too far under the ball, which caught the front of the green and came to a stop a good thirty feet below the pin.

He slammed the club head into the ground, an act of temper he hadn't displayed on the golf course since he was seventeen. Then, Dallie had taken away the abused club, snapped it in half, and shoved it into Kenny's bag. Guess you won't be needing that club anymore. Guess you won't be needing that club anymore.

"You got it a little fat," Ted pointed out unnecessarily.

Dallie didn't say a thing.

Francesca asked Emma if she'd steal Patrick's recipe for lemon pound cake. Why wouldn't they go away! Why wouldn't those women take that d.a.m.n, noisy, rattling golf cart and, even more important, the straw hat with its bobbing cherries, and get out of here!

Kenny threw the wedge back at Ted and marched toward the green. This was Emma's fault! If she hadn't shown up, he'd have been able to pull himself back together. But here she was sucking everything right out of him. Just like his mother used to do.

And then the miracle happened. Dallie's approach shot, which was dead on line, caught a gust of wind that blew it long. The ball ended up nearly as far above the pin as Kenny was below it.

"Well, now, weren't those two sorry excuses for golf shots," Dallie said, as if it didn't matter all that much.