Part 36 (2/2)

”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.

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