Lady Be Good Part 37

It mattered to Kenny. Each of them had long putts, but Dallie's was tougher, and Kenny had one of the steadiest putting strokes on tour. For the first time since the round had begun, Kenny began to feel some confidence. He was going to make this putt.

Dallie pointed to the small wooden bridge that led to the eighteenth green and reminded Francesca that she couldn't take her cart across. "That's all right," she replied. "Emma and I need to stretch our legs anyway, don't we?"

Emma said nothing, and he wondered if she had any idea what was at stake right now. As she got out of the cart, the gold wedding band he'd slipped on her finger caught the sun. He remembered the expression on her face when they'd spoken their vows, an endearing combination of earnestness and apprehension that had made him want to wrap her in his arms and tell her he wouldn't ever let anything hurt her.

Behind him, the women's sandals tapped on the wooden bridge as they crossed to the green. Kenny heard Francesca explain that it was the last hole, and the men were tied, and after all this time the entire match was coming down to a putting contest, and wasn't golf the most ridiculous game.

He couldn't argue with that. He whipped off his sodden glove and shoved it in his pocket, but even though his shirt was sticking like glue to his skin, he felt his old confidence surge back as he took his putter from Ted and approached the green. Over the years he'd played in more high-pressure rounds than he could count, and he wasn't going to let Dallie psych him out like this.

He glanced at Emma, and when he saw the way she was watching him, a rush of adrenaline shot through his veins. This was the first time she'd seen him play, and, by d.a.m.n, she wasn't going to watch him lose to a man nearly twenty years his senior.

He finally felt as if he were in control. His stomach quieted, his mind settled, and, right then, he knew he had it. Nothing on earth was going to stop him from making this putt. Dallie Beaudine was about to learn that suspending Kenny Traveler had been the biggest mistake of his life.

He smiled to himself and looked over at Dallie, who had folded his arms over his chest and was studying the position of the two b.a.l.l.s, one at the top of the green, one at the bottom, the pin in the center.

Then Dallie grinned. "Let's have ourselves some real fun, Kenny, and leave this match up to the ladies."

Kenny stared at him. "What?"

"Our wives. Let's let them finish up for us."

If Dallie had been speaking Greek, Kenny would have understood him better. "Our wives?"

"Sure." Dallie turned and smiled down at the women, who were standing near a live oak tree. "Francie! Lady Emma! Kenny and I are tied up here. Just to make it interesting, we've decided we're going to let the two of you putt out for us. n.o.body's playing behind us, so you can take all the time you need."

Emma's eyes widened, and Kenny exploded. "Bull! We're not doing any such thing!"

The acting PGA commissioner turned to stare at him, his Newman-blue eyes icy. "I've decided that we are." decided that we are."

Kenny felt a hitch in his spine, and his stomach, which only moments before had been calm, twisted into another agonizing knot. "You son of a b.i.t.c.h!" he hissed.

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 d.a.m.n 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 d.a.m.n 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 h.e.l.l 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 h.e.l.l'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 b.i.t.c.h 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 rea.s.suring 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. "Sonovab.i.t.c.h 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 d.a.m.n 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 h.e.l.l 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 rea.s.sure 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 need to hit an uphill harder." 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." "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 sungla.s.ses, 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 n.o.body 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 sungla.s.ses on or off?" she asked her husband.

Of all the idiotic questions! His entire future was at stake, and Francesca was worried about her sungla.s.ses! His entire future was at stake, and Francesca was worried about her sungla.s.ses!

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 sungla.s.ses 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 f.u.c.king sungla.s.ses!"

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