AllFreeNovel
Share Us
A grizzled man with a graying ponytail, small eyes, and a pressed-over nose came out of what she’d learned was the bag room. This could only be Skeet Cooper, the man Mark had told her was Dallie Beaudine’s best friend and lifelong caddy. As Mark strode over to the group, she dipped her head, dropped to one knee, and pretended to tie her shoe. “Good morning, gentlemen,” she heard Mark say. “Mr. Skipjack, I’ll be caddying for you today, sir. I’ve heard you have quite a game, and I’m looking forward to watching you play.”
Until this precise moment she hadn’t thought far enough ahead to ponder exactly which player Mark would assign her to.
Lenny, the coleslaw-hating caddy, wandered out. He was short, weather-beaten, and tooth challenged. He picked up one of the enormous golf bags resting against the bag rack, slung it over his shoulder as if it were a summer jacket, and headed straight for Kenny Traveler.
That left . . . But of course she’d end up caddying for Ted. With her life in free fall, what else could she expect?
He still hadn’t spotted her, and she began retying her other sneaker. “Mr. Beaudine,” Mark said, “you’re breaking in a new caddy today . . .”
She set her jaw, conjured up her father in his most menacing screen role as Bird Dog Caliber, and stood.
“I know Meg will do a good job for you,” Mark said.
Ted went absolutely still. Kenny regarded her with interest, Dallie with open hostility. She lifted her chin, squared her shoulders, and made Bird Dog meet the frozen amber eyes of Ted Beaudine.
A muscle ticked in the corner of his jaw. “Meg.”
As long as Spencer Skipjack was within earshot, she realized Ted couldn’t say what he wanted to. She nodded, smiled, but didn’t offer even a simple “hello,” nothing that would force her to call him “sir.” Instead, she headed for the rack and hoisted the remaining bag.
It was exactly as heavy as it looked, and she staggered ever so slightly. As she heaved the wide strap across her shoulder, she tried to figure out how she was going to lug this thing over five miles of a hilly golf course in the blazing Texas sun. She’d go back to college. Finish her bachelor’s and then get a law degree. Or a degree in accounting. But she didn’t want to be a lawyer or an accountant. She wanted to be a rich woman with an unlimited checking account that allowed her to travel all over the world, meet interesting people, take in the local crafts, and find a lover who wasn’t either crazy or a jerk.
The group began moving toward the practice range to warm up. Ted tried to lag behind so he could rip her a new one, but he couldn’t get away from his honored guest. She trotted after them, already breathing hard from the weight of the bag.
Mark sidled up next to her and spoke softly. “Ted’s going to want his sand wedge when he gets to the range. Then his nine-iron, seven-iron, probably his three, and finally his driver. Remember to clean them off when he’s done. And don’t lose his new head covers.”
All these instructions were starting to jumble together. Skeet Cooper, Dallie’s caddy, glanced over at her and studied her with his beady eyes. Beneath his ball cap, his grizzled ponytail fell well below his shoulders, and his skin reminded her of sun-dried leather.
As they reached the practice range, she set down Ted’s clubs and pulled out an iron marked with an S. He nearly tore off her hand wrenching it away from her. The men began to warm up at the practice tees, and she finally had a chance to study Spencer Skipjack, the plumbing giant. In his fifties, he had a rawboned, Johnny Cash sort of face, and a waistline that had begun to thicken but hadn’t yet developed a paunch. Although he was clean-shaven, his jaw bore the shadow of a heavy beard. A straw Panama hat decked out with a snakeskin band sat on thick dark hair shot with gray. The black stone in his silver pinky ring glinted on his little finger, and an expensive chronometer encircled a hairy wrist. He had a big, booming voice and a demeanor that reflected both a powerful ego and the expectation of everyone’s attention.
“I played Pebble last week with a couple of the boys from the tour,” he announced as he pulled on a golf glove. “Picked up all the green fees. Played damn good, too.”
“Afraid we can’t compete with Pebble,” Ted said. “But we’ll do our best to keep you entertained.”
The men began to hit their practice shots. Skipjack looked like an expert player to her, but she suspected he was out of his league competing against two golf pros and Ted, who’d won the U.S. Amateur, as she’d heard repeatedly. She sat on one of the wooden benches to watch.
“Get up,” Mark hissed at her. “Caddies don’t ever sit.”
Of course not. That would make too much sense.
When they finally left the range, the caddies lagged behind the golfers, who were discussing their upcoming match. She pieced together enough to understand they were playing a team game called “best ball,” in which Ted and Dallie would be matched up against Kenny and Spencer Skipjack. At the end of each hole, whichever player had the lowest score for that hole would win a point for his team. The team with the most points at the end won the match.
“How about a twenty-dollar Nassau to keep the game interesting?” Kenny said.
“Shit, boys,” Skipjack countered, “me and my buddies play a thousand-dollar Nassau every Saturday.”
“Against our religion,” Dallie drawled. “We’re Baptists.”
Doubtful, since Ted’s wedding had been at the Presbyterian church and Kenny Traveler was a Catholic.
When they reached the first tee, Ted
came toward her, his hand out, his eyes venomous. “Driver.”
“Since I was sixteen,” she replied. “You?”
He reached past her, snatched off one of the head covers, and pulled out the longest club.
Skipjack teed up first. Mark whispered that the other players would have to give him a total of seven strokes overall to make the game fair. His shot looked impressive, but nobody said anything, so it must not have been. Kenny went next, then Ted. Even she could see the power and grace in his practice swing, but when it came time for the real thing, something went wrong. Just as he neared the point of impact, he lost his balance and sent the ball careening off to the left.
