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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 bitch!” 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 damn 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 damn 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 hell 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 hell’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 bitch 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 reassuring 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. “Sonovabitch 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.
