Lady Be Good

by Susan Elizabeth Phillips

  “Small Texas towns aren’t terribly kind to a gay man.”

  “No, I don’t imagine so.”

  A flicker of unhappiness crossed his face, then disappeared. “I’ll show you to your room.”

  Chapter 8

  Emma ate by herself that night. After announcing that Kenny had gone off to practice, Patrick served her a delicious pasta salad, along with fresh green beans drizzled with olive oil and garlic, a crusty French roll, and a thick wedge of blueberry tart for dessert. She ate on the sun porch, which was furnished in shiny black rattan covered in a crisp green and white awning stripe. More flowers overflowed from a collection of rustic vases sitting on antique tables. Behind the house, a grove of pecans grew, while a patio and swimming pool sat off to one side, and the white-fenced pasture where the horses grazed stretched in the distance. Earlier she had taken a walk along the river to enjoy the wildflowers.

  Despite the peaceful atmosphere and the scented air blowing in through the screen door, she felt restless. Why hadn’t Kenny returned? Even though she’d told him she’d stay out of his way, she wished he didn’t find her presence so unpleasant.

  Patrick refused her offer to help with cleanup, so she spread out her research notes and worked for a while as it grew dark. Bugs, attracted by the lights on the porch, slammed into the screen, while crickets sawed away. She heard the quiet hum of the dishwasher, the call of a night bird. The peacefulness reminded her of St. Gert’s after the girls were asleep.

  Her spirits dipped lower. At this rate, she would return to England with her reputation more intact than ever. She saw Patrick crossing the lawn toward the small apartment he’d told her he maintained above the garage. Impulsively, she called out, “Do you have Torie’s number posted somewhere?”

  “There’s a list on the side of the refrigerator.”

  A few moments later, she had Kenny’s sister on the phone.

  “No, I don’t have any plans,” Torie said after Emma explained what she wanted. “But I don’t think Wynette’s bars will exactly suit your taste.”

  “What’s the fun of going on holiday if I don’t try new things?”

  “Well, all right. If you’re sure about this, I’ll pick you up in half an hour.”

  Emma dressed in the pair of dungarees she’d bought the day before along with a stretchy white bubble-knit just short enough to reveal a thin band of skin at her waist and just tight enough to emphasize her breasts. Although the short sleeves hid most of the Lone Star tattoo, they revealed the banner bearing Kenny’s name. Humiliating, but necessary, she decided, and vowed not to look in the mirror. She only hoped Beddington’s henchman was bright enough to bring along a camera.

  Torie picked her up in a dark blue BMW, which she drove at an alarming rate of speed. Emma closed her eyes and clutched the armrest.

  “You look nervous.”

  “I’m not good in cars.”

  “That makes life hard, especially in Texas.” Torie slowed down.

  “It rather does everywhere.”

  Now that they weren’t moving so fast, Emma took a moment to study her companion. Torie wore a turquoise body suit with fitted black jeans that displayed a pair of endlessly long legs. A concho belt glimmered at her waist, and Mexican silver earrings swayed from her lobes. She looked rich, lovely, and wild. Not for an instant would Beddington ever have considered making Torie Traveler his wife.

  Torie glanced in the rearview mirror. “You really should learn to drive.”

  “Uhmm . . .”

  “Really. I could teach you.”

  “That’s lovely of you, but I don’t think so.”

  “The devil’s got quite a grip on you, doesn’t he?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “I guess I know what that’s like.”

  Emma heard sadness in her voice, and something told her that a marriage to Dexter O’Conner wasn’t all that bothered Torie. Her breezy manner and spoiled, rich-girl demeanor camouflaged a great deal of pain.

  “Are you getting along all right with Patrick?” she asked. “He’s pretty protective of Kenny, and he can be funny about people.”

  “He was very helpful,” Emma replied.

  Torie laughed. “It drives Daddy crazy having an openly gay man living at the ranch with his only son. But everybody knows Patrick’s the best housekeeper in the county, and, if you ask me, the day Kenny rescued him was lucky for both of them.”

  “How did he rescue him?”

  “Patrick was driving around taking photographs for this coffee table book he wants to do on out-of-the way roadhouses. Stopped at a place near the limestone quarry and ran into a bunch of rednecks who decided to prove their masculinity by beating the crap out of him. Four against one. Kenny came along just in time. He can’t stand stuff like that. It about drives him crazy.”

  “What did he do?”

  “Let’s just say that Kenny doesn’t lose his temper too often, but when he does, it’s a wondrous sight. He ended up taking Patrick back to his house to recover, and he got up the next morning just in time to see a pan of homemade cinnamon rolls coming out of the oven. Kenny took one whiff and hired Patrick on the spot. There’s been a ton of gossip about it, not to mention all the trouble Kenny got into with the PGA when the road-house fight made the papers.”

  “He did the right thing.”

  “I think so. Still, he got criticized. I swear, if you listen to the locals, the only thing Kenny can do right is win tournaments.”

  “People don’t like him? That surprises me.”

  “Oh, no. They love him. Everybody knows he’s done more good for this community than all the rest of us put together. He’s built a community center and provided the seed money for the new library—a whole bunch of things like that. And he lends his name to every good cause that comes along. But giving Kenny a hard time has been this town’s favorite leisure activity for so long that nobody thinks twice about it.”

  “How so?”

  “People have long memories, and they’re still holding a few grudges from his misbegotten childhood. Nobody yet has broken his record for the most suspensions from high school. And the retired police chief can tell you stories that’d make your hair stand on end. Seems everybody has a grudge. Judy Weber won’t let him forget that he copied off her arithmetic quiz in fourth grade, then convinced the substitute that she was the one cheating. He stole a Hank Aaron baseball card from Bob Frazier in sixth grade, then tore it up. He took kids’ lunch money, broke their toys, dumped girlfriends right and left, and pretty much cut a wide path of destruction wherever he went until Dallie Beaudine finally took him in hand after Mother died.”

  So Dallie Beaudine was the mysterious person Kenny had referred to earlier that day. Obviously Kenny’s relationship with Francesca’s husband was far more complex than she’d guessed. “Still, he’s apparently been a model citizen since his late teens. It seems that people should let bygones be bygones.”

  “Kenny doesn’t mind getting teased. And he might be a model citizen, but he sure has some big character flaws. In case you haven’t noticed, he’s lazy.”

  “I did notice,” Emma said dryly. “Still, laziness isn’t a major crime.”

  “Sometimes it is with him. He just—I don’t know. It’s hard to explain. He just doesn’t care about anything but golf. That’s how his bloodsucker business manager siphoned off so much of his money. Kenny never bothered to check up on him.”

  Emma remembered the matter-of-fact way he’d described the child he’d been, without displaying a morsel of sympathy for the circumstances that had led to his misbehavior. While she didn’t believe that adults should use a dysfunctional childhood as an excuse for not getting on with their lives, she’d also seen a great deal of parental incompetence in her career and she didn’t think anyone should continue to do penance for it. Yet that seemed to be what Kenny was doing.

  “He distances himself from everything but golf,” Torie went on. “Especially women. He’s treated every girl-frie
nd he’s had like a queen—buys her expensive presents, sends her flowers—but the minute she starts getting her hopes up that the relationship’s permanent, he vanishes.”

  Emma realized Torie was issuing a subtle warning, but she said nothing.

  Torie continued, “Everybody in the world wants to be Kenny’s best friend, but I’m the only one he lets get halfway close. I never knew a man so determined to hold himself apart from other people. I guess he’s afraid if he starts caring too much about anybody, they’ll manipulate him like our mother did. Manhood didn’t come easy to Kenny, and he’s sure not going to let anything threaten it.”

  “It’s ironic that someone with so much natural charm is fundamentally a loner.”

  “He’s the friendliest man in the world, until somebody either pisses him off or tries to get inside his head. Then he uses that charm to isolate himself. Or he acts dumb. About drives me crazy when he does that, since he’s the smartest man I know. My brother goes through books like most people go through potato chips.

  Torie fell silent. Emma considered simply telling Kenny’s sister that she had no intention of getting personally involved with her brother, but she didn’t want to make herself look foolish.

  “It’s strange,” Torie said. “Unlike Kenny, my second ex-husband had a picture-perfect childhood, but he turned into an immoral slimeball. You just never know with people.”

  “How long have you been divorced?”

  “A year, but we were separated for a while before that. Tommy was a womanizer. Daddy warned me not to marry him, but I wouldn’t listen.” A deeply unhappy expression crossed her face. “Maybe if I’d been able to have a baby, Tommy would have settled down, but it didn’t happen.”

  “I doubt that a baby would have kept him faithful.”

  “I know you’re right. Still, it’s hard being a two-time loser.” She pushed a hand through her hair. “My first husband was a college romance gone bad. He drank, and when he drank, he’d go on these crying jags, then he’d bust up our apartment. It didn’t last a year.” She reached for the radio. “Daddy says I can’t be trusted when it comes to men, which is why he wants me to marry Dexter. But I don’t—” She looked into the rearview mirror, and her hand stalled on the radio buttons as she frowned. “That sonovabitch has been tailing me ever since we left Kenny’s ranch. I swear he was parked there waiting for me.”

  “Really!” Emma twisted around to look and saw a dark green Taurus. “Do you think he’s following us?”

  “Could be.”

  Emma’s mouth went dry. Beddington’s watchdog was on the job.

  Wynette, Texas, was a charming old town with a shady square at its center and a prosperous, downtown shopping area that hadn’t been forced out of business by a mall. Since Kenny had bypassed Wynette when he’d driven to his ranch, this was Emma’s first chance to see the town, and Torie took her on a tour that ended up at a honky-tonk called the Roustabout. A green Taurus stayed with them all the way.

  As they went inside, Emma kept trying to look over her shoulder to see who might follow them.

  “This is where everybody in town hangs out,” Torie said. “It’s been here for years.”

  Unlike the cozy pubs in Lower Tilbey, the Roustabout was a vast, open room, with a square wooden bar in the middle. Emma saw two pool tables, a row of video games, and a small dance floor with a jukebox blaring out country music. Although it was a weeknight, most of the tables were occupied, as were the booths that ran along one wall.

  Once again, Emma glanced over her shoulder, and this time she saw a beefy man in a floral sport shirt coming through the door. The skin on the back of her neck prickled as he began to stare at her, and her heart beat faster. Was he Hugh’s spy? Was he the man who’d been driving the green Taurus?

  Torie moved ahead of her toward the bar, lifted one hand to her mouth, then let out a shrill whistle. “Listen up, y’all.”

  Although the jukebox continued to play, the conversation died as everyone regarded her with interest.

  “This is Lady Emma,” Torie announced. “Kenny’s showing her around for a few days. She’s from England. She also happens to be a real, live aristocrat, despite that tattoo on her arm. Lady Emma, say a few words to these rednecks, so they’ll know you’re for real.”

  “I’m delighted to meet all of you,” Emma said self-consciously. She tried to hunch her shoulders just enough for her sleeve to drop lower, but it didn’t move, and several people’s eyes lingered on her tattoo. Even so, her British accent seemed to impress them.

  Torie took Emma’s arm and turned her to the bar. “Joey, give me a glass of Chardonnay, will you? What would you like, Lady Emma?”

  “Gin and tonic, please.” Emma didn’t like gin and tonic—not like she liked margaritas—but she wanted everyone to see her drinking. At the same time, she had a permanent reminder emblazoned on her upper arm of her need to stay sober, so she made up her mind to dump the drink and substitute water as soon as she got the chance. No one would be the wiser.

  The bartender served their drinks, and a number of the bar’s patrons came up for personal introductions, which Torie provided. One man suggested she lock away her valuables before Kenny stole them, and a woman said not ever to let him turn a jump rope for her because he’d trip her sure as anything. Both comments were greeted with knowing chuckles from the crowd.

  Eventually, Torie led her toward a table in one corner where a young male who looked to be in his early twenties sat by himself sipping a beer. As they approached, Emma wondered if there was something in the Wynette water supply that produced such good-looking people. First Kenny, then Torie, and now this young man. He had crisp auburn hair and strong features that included high cheekbones and a square, solid jaw. His shoulders were broad, his body slim but hard-muscled.

  “Hey, Ted. How you doin’?” Torie took a seat at the table without waiting for an invitation, then gestured toward the empty chair on the other side for Emma.

  “Can’t complain. How about you?”

  “Same old. Same old. This is Lady Emma.”

  As Emma nodded, the man named Ted glanced at her tattoo, then gave her a lazy, meandering smile that made her wish she were ten years younger. “Ma’am.”

  “He’s only twenty-two,” Torie said, as if she were reading Emma’s mind. “Isn’t that a major crime for us older women?”

  Ted smiled and ducked his head to study his beer bottle.

  “You seen Kenny?” Torie asked.

  “He was here a minute ago.”

  The fact that Kenny had gone out on the town without inviting her was annoying. Apparently she was going to have to drop Francesca’s name again to remind him who was in charge.

  As if she’d conjured him, Kenny came ambling across the room. He had a beer bottle in one hand and a golf club swinging loosely from the other. He tossed it to the bartender, who tucked it away.

  His eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he saw Emma, then he looked at Ted. “The next lesson in the alley’s on you. Randy Ames keeps wanting me to fix his slice, but he won’t do a thing I tell him. Maybe you’ll have more luck.”

  “Are you a golfer, too?” Emma asked Ted, deliberately ignoring Kenny as he took the chair next to her.

  “I’ve been known to play a little.” Although Ted phrased his sentences like a Texan, he didn’t have any drawl. Curious.

  Kenny snorted. “Ted here was the top amateur in the state three years running. Second best golfer UT’s ever had play for them.”

  “There’s some debate about that.” Torie shot her brother a sly look. “Ted did manage to win three NCAA individual titles, instead of somebody I could mention who only won two. Plus, Ted also managed to graduate, something else a certain person I could mention seems to have neglected.”

  “College is hard.” Kenny scratched his chest. “And the debate over who’s the best is resolved as far as I’m concerned.” He regarded Ted smugly. “Only one of us had the guts to turn pro.”

  Ted smil
ed his shy smile.

  Torie turned to Emma. “See, Ted’s this egghead genius, so all his life he’s been torn between golf and nerd stuff. Around here people consider him sort of a genetic freak. Even his own parents.”

  Instead of taking offense, Ted nodded. “That’s so.”

  “He’s just finished his bachelor’s and master’s degrees at the same time.” Kenny’s pride was visible, and Emma could see there was something special about the relationship between these two men. “Playing varsity golf slowed down his academic career or he’d have finished up a lot earlier.”

  “Didn’t see any need to hurry.”

  “Exactly what I told you,” Kenny said with satisfaction.

  Emma pretended to sip from her drink as the three of them chatted with the ease of people who’d known each other for a long time. It was Torie who introduced the subject of Kenny’s suspension. “It’s so unfair,” she said. “Anybody who knows Kenny knows he wouldn’t hit a woman on purpose. He’ll drive ’em crazy and screw around on ’em, but he won’t hit them.”

  Kenny looked aggravated. “That’s not why I was originally suspended, and I never screwed around on a woman I cared about in my life, at least not since I was sixteen.” He glanced over at Ted. “I swear, somebody needs to swat her.”

  “Don’t look at me. I’m scared of her.”

  Torie leaned over and kissed Ted’s cheek. “If you were just a couple years older, sonny boy, I’d show you the time of your life.”

  “I doubt I’d survive it.”

  “You ask me,” Kenny said, “the Antichrist is going through some kind of midlife crisis. Sonovabitch turns fifty this year. I think it’s twisted his mind.”

  Ted tilted his chair back and stretched out his legs. “He’s just pissed off at you is all.”

  “Abuse of power,” Kenny grumbled. “Thinks he’s the damned President of the United States.”

  Ted smiled.

  “I’m serious,” Kenny went on. “Everybody who belongs to the PGA expects the commissioner to be fair. Even though he only has the job temporarily, he should at least pretend to be impartial.”