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“From what I saw tonight, it doesn’t look like much of a honeymoon. Lady Emma was barely speaking to you.” Petie made a little mewing sound in his sleep, and Warren cuddled him closer.
Had his father ever held him like that? He was startled to feel a stab of jealousy. It made him ashamed, and then something inside him relaxed. Emma was right. Warren had learned from the past, and all the worries Kenny’d been having about his little brother were groundless. Petie wasn’t going to have to earn their father’s love.
“Petie should be in bed,” he said gruffly.
“He will be soon.” Warren pressed a kiss to the top of the baby’s head. “He was so comfortable, I didn’t want to disturb him.”
Once again, that queer, painful stab. Petie was being given his father’s love as a birthright. Torie had received the same thing. Only Kenny’d had to earn it—one tournament at a time.
Now his father wanted to pretend that everything was fine between them. But it wasn’t fine. Kenny had needed a father when he was a kid; he sure as hell didn’t need one now.
“I’m concerned about you and Lady Emma.”
“Her name’s Emma. She doesn’t use her title. And there’s nothing to be concerned about.”
Warren stroked Petie’s back and gazed out the sun-porch windows toward the dark pecan grove. “I’m not much of a praying man. I can’t do it right—just doesn’t come naturally to me—so I leave it up to other people. Like Shelby. Now, she’s a real good prayer, and she says Emma’s the answer to her prayers for you.”
“I didn’t ask Shelby to pray for me.”
“No, you didn’t. I asked her.”
“If she’s so good at praying, put her to work getting me back on the tour.” Kenny tossed back the remaining contents of his wine glass and turned toward the kitchen, but his father’s voice stopped him.
“Come back here and sit down.”
“It’s late. I’m tired.”
“I said, sit down.”
It was the nightmare voice from his childhood: “Set your butt right down on that chair. You’re a damn disgrace! You know that, don’t you? A spoiled little brat . . .”
But Kenny wasn’t a kid anymore, and if Warren wanted a showdown, then by damn they were going to have one. He set his wine glass on the table, leaned against the doorjamb, and stared insolently across the sunporch at his father. “You got something on your mind, just come out and say it.”
“All right.” Warren had to look up at him, but it didn’t seem to bother him as much as Kenny wanted it to. “I know you don’t think much of me, and it’s no mystery why. I wasn’t there for you when you needed me, and you’re not going to forgive that. But you’re still my son, and I can’t stand by and watch you screw up the most important thing in your life because you’re still fighting all those things that happened to you when you were too young to defend yourself.”
Kenny’s lips felt stiff. “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”
“I’m talking about the way your past keeps affecting your future. I like Lady Emma. We all do. And when the two of you are in a room together, you don’t seem to be able to take your eyes off each other. You’ve never been like that with any other woman.”
He wasn’t going to explain that his marriage to Emma was more an accident than a lifelong commitment. Instead, he stared belligerently at his father. “I married her, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, you married her. But it’s plain that the two of you still have a lot of problems to work out.”
“Whether we do or not isn’t any of your damn business.”
“Listen to me, Kenny. For just once in your life, listen. I’ve never been happier about anything than I am with the way you’ve made something of yourself, even though I know Dallie Beaudine deserves the credit rather than me. More than anybody on the face of this earth, including your sister, I understand exactly what you’ve had to overcome to get where you are. And I’ll tell you this: There aren’t many people who could have done it.”
For a moment a flash of gratitude shot through him, but the praise had come too late. “Get to the point,” he snapped.
“What I’m trying to say is . . . as I get older, all the things I’ve done to make money have become less important in my life. I’m proud of the company. I built it up from nothing, and I’m sure as hell not going to stand by and watch it get eaten up. But when I’m sitting out on the patio on a Sunday afternoon, and I start counting my blessings, it’s the people I love that come to my mind, not the company.”
Kenny didn’t want to hear this. “You sound like a fucking Hallmark card.”
But his father refused to retreat. “You’ve got a chance to have a real life for yourself, one that doesn’t start and end on the golf course. You’ve got a chance to build a relationship with a good woman, to have children, and ride your horses, and enjoy this ranch. Don’t screw it up.”
Fury at Warren’s hypocrisy boiled inside him. “Maybe you’d better think twice about that advice you’re handing out. If I start taking time to smell the roses, I won’t be able to win so many golf tournaments. And then you won’t have anything to brag about at all your corporate cocktail parties.”
Warren didn’t flinch from the attack, which made Kenny feel small and mean. Instead, he nestled his palm around Petie’s head and rose to his feet. “It’s all right, son. I understand. I’ve gotten used to feeling guilty where you’re concerned, and you don’t have to forgive me.”
