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“Exactly.” Ice tea sloshed over the rim of his glass as he set it down with a thud. “His image has already taken a beating, and this doesn’t help. By not making the announcement on his own, it’s almost as if he’s deliberately shooting himself in the foot. I can just imagine what that bitchy Sturgis Randall is going to say during his show this evening. I’m not even watching.”
But neither he nor Emma could resist, and after a dinner at which Kenny remained notably absent, Emma carried their coffee mugs over to the couch while Patrick turned on the television.
Sturgis Randall waited until the end of his program to pounce. “The fact that his career is on the skids doesn’t seem to be bothering golfer Kenny Traveler. Instead, the troubled champion has taken a bride. And no ordinary American girl for our Kenny. Instead, the Texas millionaire, who also happens to be the heir to giant Traveler Computer Systems . . .”
“That’s not true!” Patrick exclaimed. “He made Warren disinherit him years ago.”
“. . . has chosen a British blueblood, Lady Emma Wells-Finch. That’s Wells-Finch, with a hyphen. It seems the beautiful noblewoman is the daughter of the fifth Earl of Woodbourne.”
“Beautiful!” Emma was outraged. “I most certainly am not beautiful!”
“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. “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 prick. “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 balls 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.”
