AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“You can thank me later,” she said.
“Problem over there?” Skipjack called from the opposite fringe.
“Ted’s in trouble,” Skeet called back.
Ted used up two strokes getting out of the hole she’d dug him into. He still made par, but par wasn’t good enough. Kenny and Skipjack won the match.
Kenny seemed more concerned about getting home to his wife than relishing the victory, but Spencer chortled all the way into the clubhouse. “Now that was a golf game. Too bad you lost it there at the end, Ted. Bad luck.” As he spoke, he was peeling away at a wad of bills to tip Mark. “Good job today. You can caddy for me anytime.”
“Thank you, sir. It was my pleasure.”
Kenny passed some twenties over to Lenny, shook hands with his partner, and took off for home. Ted dug into his own pocket, pressed a tip into her palm, then closed her fingers around it. “No hard feelings, Meg. You did your best.”
“Thanks.” She’d forgotten she was dealing with a saint.
Spencer Skipjack came up behind her, settled his hand into the small of her back, and rubbed. Way too creepy. “Miz Meg, Ted and his friends are taking me to dinner tonight. I’d be honored if you’d be my date.”
“Gosh, I’d like to, but—”
“She’d love to,” Ted said. “Wouldn’t you, Meg?”
“Ordinarily yes, but—”
“Don’t be shy. We’ll pick you up at seven. Meg’s current home is hard to find, so I’ll drive.” He gazed at her, and the flint in his eyes sent a clear message that told her she’d be looking for a new home if she didn’t cooperate. She swallowed. “Casual dress?”
“Real casual,” he said.
As the men walked away, she contemplated the evils of being forced on a date with an egotistic blowhard who was practically as old as her father. Bad enough by itself, but even more depressing with Ted watching her every move.
She rubbed her aching shoulder, then uncurled her fingers to check out the tip she’d received for spending four and a half hours hauling thirty-five pounds of golf clubs uphill and down in the hot Texas sun.
A one-dollar bill looked back at her.
Neon beer signs, antlers, and sports memorabilia decked out the square wooden bar that sat in the center of the Roustabout. Booths lined two of the honky-tonk’s walls, pool tables and video games another. On weekends, a country band played, but for now, Toby Keith blasted from the jukebox near a small, scarred dance floor.
Meg was the only woman at the table, which left her feeling a little like a working girl at a gentleman’s club, although she was glad neither Dallie’s nor Kenny’s wife was present, since both women hated her. She sat between Spencer and Kenny, with Ted directly across the table along with his father and Dallie’s faithful caddy, Skeet Cooper.
“The Roustabout’s an institution around here,” Ted said as Skipjack finished polishing off a platter of ribs. “It’s seen a lot of history. Good, bad, and ugly.”
“I sure do remember the ugly,” Skeet said. “Like the time Dallie and Francie had an altercation in the parking lot. Happened more’n thirty years ago, long before they were married, but people still talk about it today.”
“That’s true,” Ted said. “I can’t tell you how often I’ve heard that story. My mother forgot she’s half my father’s size and tried to take him down.”
“Damn near succeeded. She was a wildcat that night, I can tell you,” Skeet said. “Me and Dallie’s ex-wife couldn’t hardly break up that fight.”
“It’s not exactly the way they’re making it sound,” Dallie said.
“It’s exactly the way it sounded.” Kenny pocketed his cell after checking on his wife.
“How would you know?” Dallie grumbled. “You were a kid then, and you weren’t even there. Besides, you’ve got your own history with the Roustabout parking lot. Like the night Lady Emma got upset with you and stole your car. You had to run down the highway after her.”
“It didn’t take too long to catch up,” Kenny said. “My wife wasn’t much of a driver.”
“Still isn’t,” Ted said. “Slowest driver in the county. Just last week she caused a big backup out on Stone Quarry Road. Three people called me to complain.”
Kenny shrugged. “No matter how hard we all try, we can’t convince her that our posted speed limits are only polite recommendations.”
It had been going on like that all evening, the five of them entertaining Skipjack with their good ol’ boy patter, while Spence, as she’d been instructed to call him, soaked it in with a combination of amusement and the faintest hint of arrogance. He loved being courted by these famous men—loved knowing he had something they wanted, something he had it within his power to withhold. He dragged his napkin over his mouth to wipe off some barbecue sauce. “You’ve got strange ways in this town.”
