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She lifted an eyebrow at him so he'd know his country-bumpkin act wasn't fooling her for a minute. Hayseeds didn't buy paintings like these. “Dallas, is it remotely possible for you to carry on a conversation that's not loaded down with manure?”
“Probably not.” He grinned and then gestured toward the dining room. “There's an acrylic in there you might like. I bought it at this little gallery in Carmel after I double-bogeyed the seventeenth at Pebble Beach two days in a row. I got so depressed I either had to get drunk or buy me a painting. I got another one by the same artist hanging in my house in North Carolina.”
“I didn't know you had a house in North Carolina.”
“It's one of those contemporaries that sort of looks like a bank vault. Actually, I'm not too crazy about it, but it's got a pretty view. Most of the houses I been buying lately are more traditional.”
“There are more?”
He shrugged. “It got so I could hardly stand staying in motels anymore, and since I started finishing in the money at a few tournaments and picking up some decent endorsements, I needed something to do with my cash. So I bought a couple of houses in different parts of the country. You want something to drink?”
She realized that she'd had nothing to eat since the night before. “What I'd really like is food. And then I think I'd better get back to Teddy.” And call Stefan, she thought to herself. And meet with the social worker to discuss Doralee. And talk to Holly Grace, who used to be her best friend.
“You coddle Teddy too much,” Dallie commented, leading her toward the kitchen.
She stopped in her tracks. The fragile truce between them was broken. It took him a moment to realize she wasn't following him, and then he turned to see what was holding her up. When he spotted the expression on her face, he sighed and reached for her arm to lead her to the front porch. She tried to pull away, but he held her fast.
A chilly blast hit her as he pushed her outside. She spun around to confront him. “Don't make judgments about my mothering, Dallie. You've spent less than a week with Teddy, so don't start imagining you're an authority on raising him. You don't even know him!”
“I know what I see. Damn, Francie, I'm not trying to hurt your feelings, but he's a disappointment to me is all.”
She felt a sharp stab of pain. Teddy—her pride and joy, blood of her blood, heart of her heart—how could he be a disappointment to anyone? “I don't really care,” she said coldly. “The only thing that bothers me is what a disappointment you apparently are to him.”
Dallie stuffed one of his hands in the pocket of his jeans and looked out toward the cedar trees, not saying anything. The wind caught a lock of his hair, blowing it back from his forehead. Finally he spoke quietly. “Maybe we'd better get back to Wynette. I guess this wasn't such a good idea.”
She looked out at the cedars herself for a few moments before she nodded slowly and walked toward the car.
The house was empty except for Teddy and Skeet. Dallie went back out without saying where he was going, and Francesca took Teddy for a walk. Twice she tried to introduce Dallie's name, but he resisted her efforts and she didn't push him. He couldn't say enough, however, about the virtues of Skeet Cooper.
When they returned to the house, Teddy ran off to get a snack and she went down to the basement where she found Skeet putting a coat of varnish on the club head he'd been sanding earlier. He didn't look up as she came into the workroom, and she watched him for a few minutes before she spoke. “Skeet, I want to thank you for being so nice to Teddy. He needs a friend right now.”
“You don't have to thank me,” Skeet replied gruffly. “He's a good boy.”
She propped her elbow on top of the vise, taking pleasure in watching Skeet work. The slow, careful movements soothed her so that she could think more clearly. Twenty-four hours before, all she had wanted to do was to get Teddy away from Dallie, but now she toyed with the idea of trying to bring them together. Sooner or later, Teddy was going to have to acknowledge his relationship to Dallie. She couldn't bear the idea of her son growing up with emotional scars because he hated his father, and if freeing him of those scars meant she would have to spend a few more days in Wynette, she would simply do so.
Her mind made up, she looked over at Skeet. “You really like Teddy, don't you?”
“'Course I like him. He's the kind of kid you don't mind spending time with.”
> “It's too bad everybody doesn't feel that way,” she said bitterly.
Skeet cleared his throat. “You give Dallie time, Francie. I know you're the impatient type, always wanting to rush things, but some things just can't be rushed.”
“They hate each other, Skeet.”
He turned the club head to inspect it and then dipped his brush in the varnish can. “When two people are so much alike, it's sometimes hard for them to get along.”
“Alike?” She stared at him. “Dallie and Teddy aren't anything alike.”
He looked at her as if she were the stupidest person he'd ever met, and then he shook his head and went back to varnishing the club head.
“Dallie's graceful,” she argued. “He's athletic. He's gorgeous—”
Skeet chuckled. “Teddy sure is a homely little cuss. Hard to figure how two people as pretty as you and Dallie managed to produce him.”
“Maybe he's a little homely on the outside,” she replied defensively, “but he's a knockout on the inside.”
Skeet chuckled again, dipped his brush, and then looked over at her. “I don't like to give advice, Francie, but if I were you I'd concentrate more on nagging Dallie about his golf than on nagging him about Teddy.”
