AllFreeNovel
Share Us
After the revelation of her famous parents, Skipjack wouldn’t leave her alone. “So what was it like growing up with Jake Koranda as a father?”
She’d heard that question a thousand times and still found it offensive that people didn’t also acknowledge her mother, who was just as accomplished as her father. She delivered her pat answer. “Both of my parents are just Mom and Dad to me.”
Ted finally realized she might have some value to him. “Meg’s mother is famous, too. She runs a big talent agency, but before that she was a famous model and actress.”
Her mother had appeared in exactly one film, Sunday Morning Eclipse, where she’d met Meg’s father.
“Wait a minute!” Spencer exclaimed. “Son of a— I had this poster of your mother on the back of my bedroom door when I was a kid.”
Another statement she’d heard a few zillion times too many. “Imagine that.” Ted slanted her another of his looks.
Skipjack didn’t stop talking about her famous parents until they approached the seventeenth hole. Thanks to some bad putting, Kenny and Skipjack were down one hole, and Skipjack wasn’t happy. He grew even unhappier when Kenny took a phone call from his wife before he teed off and learned that she’d cut her hand while she was gardening and had driven herself to the doctor to get a couple of stitches. It was apparent from Kenny’s end of the conversation that the injury was minor and his wife wouldn’t hear of him dropping out of the match, but from then on he was distracted.
Meg could see how much Skipjack wanted to win, just as she could see that it didn’t occur to either Ted or Dallie to back off, not even for the future of the town. Dallie had played consistently well, and Ted’s erratic play was now a thing of the past. She was getting the weird feeling that he might even be enjoying the challenge of making up the three holes she’d cost them.
Skipjack snapped at Mark for taking too long to hand over a club. He could feel his win slipping away and, along with it, the chance to brag that he and Kenny Traveler had beaten Dallie and Ted Beaudine on their home course. He even stopped pestering Meg.
All Team Beaudine had to do was miss a few putts, and they’d put Spencer Skipjack in a magnanimous mood for future negotiations, but they didn’t seem to get that. She couldn’t understand it. They should be catering to their guest’s enormous ego instead of playing as though only the outcome of the match mattered. Apparently they thought tossing jokes at one another and letting Skipjack feel like an insider was enough. But Skipjack was a sulker. If Ted wanted him to be receptive, he and his father needed to lose this match. Instead, they were pressing even harder to maintain their one-hole advantage.
Fortunately, Kenny came to life on the seventeenth green and sank a twenty-five-foot putt that tied up the teams.
Meg didn’t like the determined glint in Ted’s eye as he teed off on the final hole. He lined up his drive, adjusted his stance, and launched his swing . . . at the exact moment she accidentally on purpose dropped his bag of golf clubs . . .
Chapter Eight
The clubs landed with a crash. All seven men standing on the tee spun around to stare at her. She tried to look abashed. “Oops. Dang. Big mistake.”
Ted had pulled his drive into the far left rough, and Skipjack grinned. “Miz Meg, I sure am glad you’re not caddying for me.”
She stubbed her sneaker into the ground. “I’m really sorry.” Not.
And what did Ted do in response to her blunder? Did he thank her for reminding him of what was most important today? Conversely, did he stalk over and wrap one of his clubs around her neck as she knew he wanted to? Oh, no. Mr. Perfect was way too cool for any of that. Instead, he gave them his choirboy smile, wandered back to her with his easy lope, and righted the bag himself. “Now don’t you stress, Meg. You’ve just made the match more interesting.”
He was the best bullshit artist she’d ever known, but even if the others couldn’t see it, she knew he was furious.
They all set off down the fairway. Skipjack’s face was flushed, his golf shirt sticking to his barrel chest. She understood the game well enough by now to know what needed to happen. Because of his handicap, Skipjack got an extra stroke on this hole, so if everybody parred it, Skipjack would win the hole for his team. But if either Dallie or Ted birdied the hole, Skipjack would need a birdie himself to win the hole, something that seemed highly unlikely. Otherwise, the match would end in an unsatisfying tie.
Thanks to her interference, Ted was farthest from the pin, so he was up first for his second shot. Since no one was close enough to overhear, she could tell him exactly what she thought. “Let him win, you idiot! Can’t you see how much this means to him?”
Instead of listening to her, he drilled a four-iron down the fairway, putting him in what even she could see was perfect position. “Butthead,” she muttered. “If you birdie, you’ve just about guaranteed your guest can’t win. Do you really think that’s the best way to put him in a good mood for your odious negotiations?”
He tossed his club at her. “I know how the game is played, Meg, and so does Skipjack. He’s not a kid.” He stalked away.
Dallie, Kenny, and a glowering Skipjack put their third shots on the green, but Ted was only lying two. He’d abandoned common sense. Apparently losing a game was a mortal sin for those who worshipped in the holy cathedral of golf.
Meg reached Ted’s ball first. It perched on top of a big tuft of chemica
lly nurtured grass in perfect position to set up an easy birdie shot. She lowered his bag, contemplated her principles once again, then brought her sneaker down as hard as she could on the ball.
As she heard Ted come up behind her, she shook her head sadly. “Too bad. It looks like you landed in a hole.”
“A hole?” He pushed her aside to see his ball mashed deeply into the grass.
As she stepped back, she spotted Skeet Cooper standing on the fringe of the green watching her with his small, sun-wrinkled eyes. Ted gazed down at the ball. “What in the—?”
“Some kind of rodent.” Skeet said it in a way that let her know he’d witnessed exactly what she’d done.
“Rodent? There aren’t any—” Ted spun on her. “Don’t tell me . . .”
