Lady Be Good

by Susan Elizabeth Phillips

  They finally separated, if only to breathe.

  “First he half drowns her,” Shelby drawled, “then he kisses her. You’ve got strange ways with women, Kenny.”

  They both looked up to see that the entire family as well as the Beaudines had gathered around the pool to watch them.

  “At least he didn’t spank her,” Torie said.

  Dex wrapped his arm around her shoulders and smiled.

  Kenny gazed up at them with a mixture of annoyance and affection, and Emma realized she felt that same blend of emotions herself. They were so nosy, and so caring. Well, she’d always wanted a family, and it seemed she’d finally been given one.

  “Would it be asking too much to have a little privacy?” Kenny growled.

  “Not a good idea,” Torie said. “If we leave you alone with her for much longer, you’ll just screw everything up again.”

  Emma decided it was time to take her stand. “That’s quite enough, Torie.” With a great deal of reluctance, she detached herself from her husband and headed for the ladder.

  “I’m just trying to look out for your best interests, Lady E,” Torie said as Emma climbed out onto the deck.

  “No, you’re not. You’re baiting your brother.”

  Kenny had climbed out behind her, and she shot him a warning glance, reminding him of their agreement. Then she returned her attention to his family.

  “I want everyone to listen to me because I only plan to say this once. Kenny is a highly intelligent, extremely talented man. And contrary to public opinion, he is neither spoiled, lazy, nor incompetent. Am I making myself understood?”

  They all stared at her. All of them except Dallie Beaudine, who tucked one hand in his pocket and smiled.

  “Let me be even clearer,” Emma went on. “Kenny and I plan to have children, and I’ve no intention of allowing them to grow up listening to stories of their father’s youthful misdeeds. I am counting on every one of you to make that extremely clear to the good citizens of Wynette. To be more specific, if I hear another story from anyone in this family . . . or in this town . . . about Minnie Mouse cookies, stolen lunch money, school suspensions, miscellaneous property damage, or any other escapade I’ve yet to learn about, I will make certain that all of those dollars Kenny is pumping into local charities instantly dry up.” She lifted her hand and snapped her fingers. “Just like that.” She turned to Kenny, hoping he’d understand that enough was enough, and this simply had to be done. “So I don’t recommend any of you testing me on this because I have a great deal of influence with my husband. Isn’t that right, Kenny? And he will go along with my judgment on this matter.”

  Was she the only one who saw the crinkles of amusement forming around his eyes before he gave his family an apologetic shrug? “I’m sorry. She made me promise that she could defend me whenever she wanted. Who knew it’d go this far?”

  Torie’s nostrils flared with indignation. “How could you agree to something so lamebrained?”

  Emma shot her a warning look.

  “She was holding all the cards,” Kenny replied.

  Torie frowned, then sighed. “I’m sorry, Lady E, but this is going to spoil all kinds of fun.”

  “That’s too bad,” Emma replied. “You’ll simply have to find someone else to be the butt of your jokes because from now on Kenny Traveler is to be treated with respect, both inside and outside this family. Is that crystal clear?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  When the chorus finally stopped, she condescended to give them a satisfied nod. “Excellent.”

  Shelby leaned toward Torie and whispered, “Just tell me she’s not going to make us call him Lord Kenny.”

  “Not,” Emma replied, “as long as you don’t upset me.”

  They regarded her warily. She turned to Dallie and smiled. “Thank you for looking out for him. We’re very much in your debt.”

  Behind her, Kenny started to choke.

  “My pleasure.” Dallie’s answering smile was as warm as the Texas sun.

  She continued addressing him as she pounded Kenny on the back. “I assume you’ll be issuing a press release announcing Kenny’s return to the tour.”

  “First thing tomorrow.”

  “Would it be too much to ask if I could have some input into its content?”

  Dallie looked at Kenny, who finally had his breath back. “Your wife seems to want to start writing your press releases.”

  Kenny looked a little embarrassed, but not too much. “I’ll talk to her.”

  For a moment, she allowed her cheek to rest on his sodden golf shirt. “It won’t do you any good. You’ll defend everyone in the world except yourself.” She turned to the group. “In case the rest of you still don’t understand this, Kenny doesn’t believe he deserves to be defended. It’s because he’s still doing penance for his misguided youth.” She gazed up at him. “But no longer. Promise me.”

  “Point number four?” he said.

  She nodded.

  He smiled. “I’d already made up my mind about that.”

  As Dallie’s gaze returned to Emma, his eyes were filled with respect. “I’ll have one of our PR people call you first thing tomorrow. The two of you can work it out on the phone.”

  “The three of us will work on it,” Kenny said. “I have our future children to think about.”

  Emma smiled up at her husband. “Now,” she said softly, “it’s time for point number five.”

  “You’re making me nervous.”

  “That’s too bad.” Emma locked the door behind her. “Where’s that clothesline I bought?”

  “Clothesline!” he croaked.

  “I may not have to use it. Not if you follow instructions.”

  He regarded her warily. The first thing she’d done when they got back to the ranch was order him into the shower—by himself!—and announce that she’d meet him when he was done. Now here she was, wrapped in a frilly little white piece of nothing with violets scattered all over it.

  He’d pulled on a pair of jeans, but, feeling optimistic, he hadn’t bothered with anything else.

  She gave him a brilliant smile, happy right down to the tips of her toes. He understood the feeling. This woman was the love of his life, and he wasn’t ever going to let her go. That didn’t mean, however, he’d allow things to get boring.

  “Maybe it’s about time you tell me exactly what point number five involves.”

  “Let me see. . . . How to explain in a way you’ll understand. . . .” She tapped her index finger against her front tooth, then smiled brightly. “Nothing to do, I suppose, but come right out with it. I’m dominating, you’re submitting.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Oh, no.” She walked over to the nightstand, picked up his wallet, pulled out some bills, and dangled the money in front of him. “I believe this will take care of your fee for the night.” She took her time stuffing the bills into the front pocket of his jeans. Damn, but he was going to enjoy being married to this woman.

  “My fee?”

  “For following orders. Being my submissive sex object. My hired escort for the night.” She studied his body, making him feel as if he were being scrutinized for purchase by a very cute wolf. It was a nice feeling. But he didn’t want to spoil her fun by giving in too easily, and he managed to glower at her. “Exactly what do you think you’re doing?”

  “Uhmm . . .” She actually licked her lips. “Deciding which part of you I’m going to feast on first.”

  Hot blood surged through his body, and his skin got clammy all over again. She knelt on the bed, looped a finger through one of the belt loops of his painfully tight jeans, and tugged. “I pick . . . here.” Clasping his hips in her palms, she nuzzled the skin right above his zipper, and, before he knew what was happening, she had him naked and flat on his back, where she began subjecting him to the most exquisite torture he’d ever experienced.

  As h
e fought for sanity, he tried to remember why he’d been so adamant about not letting her take the lead in bed. Just one more way he’d allowed his past to screw up his life. Well, no more. . . .

  “I think . . .” he managed, “you’re missing a spot.”

  “It’s a lot more than a spot,” she said saucily, “and I want to hear you beg.”

  As it turned out, a whole lot of begging went on in that bed for the rest of the night, and not all of it came from him. Most of it did, though, and he had the time of his life. Point number five, he decided, had a lot going for it.

  Toward dawn, they found themselves awake again. “Did you ever imagine it could be like this?” she whispered against his inner arm.

  “Not in a million years.” He trailed one of her silky curls through his fingers. “I love you so much, baby. More than you can imagine.”

  “I can imagine,” she said. “Because I know how much I love you.”

  They lay there for a while, petting each other and feeling happy.

  “I’ve been thinking . . .” He smiled against her hair. “With your leadership skills and my talent for rescuing you from embarrassing situations, I do believe we’re going to have ourselves a fine life.”

  “A very fine life.” She kissed him. “I insist upon it.”

  Epilogue

  Emma opened one of the buttons on the light blue dress shirt Kenny had just finished fastening. “I’m in the mood for point number six.”

  His hand was warm as it curled around her hip. “Absolutely not. The last time you insisted on point number six I pulled a hamstring.”

  “Stop exaggerating. You didn’t pull a hamstring.”

  “Just about.” He bathed her with the smile he kept in reserve just for her. “Besides, pregnant women have no business messing around with point number six.”

  One of the very best things about seeing so much of Francesca was having the opportunity to learn from a master, and Emma actually managed a pout. “But I have my heart set on it.”

  He nibbled at her bottom lip . . . which was one of the very best things about pouting. “You sure?”

  “Uhmm . . .”

  “All right, then. I s’pose we can let Patrick entertain our guests till we get downstairs.”

  “Our guests! I forgot!” She leaped away from him and scrambled toward her closet, where she grabbed a loose-fitting coffee-colored sheath. “Goodness, Kenny, they’ll be here any minute. This is all your fault. If you hadn’t started kissing me . . .”

  “Can’t seem to avoid it. You and your big belly are about the cutest things I’ve ever seen.”

  She grinned at him. She was only three months pregnant, and her belly wasn’t big at all. They hadn’t even told anyone yet, although they planned to do exactly that during today’s Thanksgiving dinner.

  She and Kenny had loved keeping this secret to themselves, whispering over it just before they fell asleep at night, discussing names, exchanging secret smiles. Who could have imagined that a handsome rogue like Kenny Traveler could get so much enjoyment from having a pregnant wife?

  Her condition had made her emotional, and her eyes misted. She loved being married to him, loved him so much that just watching him walk into a room filled her with pleasure. He was proving to be the very best sort of husband—passionate, loving, and utterly steadfast.

  And she was rather proud of herself for being the best sort of wife—at least for him. She knew she was partially responsible for the fact that he had stopped letting the past shape his identity. Now he was the man he should have been all along—someone who was comfortable in his own skin and no longer doing penance for his childhood.

  Although he still loved playing the lazy doofus within the family, no one seemed to be fooled. And since their marriage, his popularity with the public had blossomed, thanks in large part to Francesca Beaudine, who’d overlooked her long-standing policy of not interviewing golfers—“the most boring athletes in the world”—on her monthly Francesca Today television special.

  The interview had taken place on the sunporch at the ranch, with Kenny and Emma sitting on the couch and Francesca elegantly perched in a nearby chair. During the course of the interview, Emma had, among other things, reduced Sturgis Randall to toast. She’d also defended her husband with a humor and vigor that had convinced the American public that Kenny Traveler couldn’t be quite as pampered as they thought, not if he’d chosen to marry a down-to-earth scrapper like Emma. It hadn’t hurt that Francesca, who at no time during her career had ever pretended at journalistic detachment, also joined in Kenny’s defense.

  “The most embarrassing interview I ever went through in my life.” Kenny’d shuddered afterward to Warren and Dallie. “With the way those two women were going at it, I could hardly get a word in edgewise. Promise me something, both of you. If Emma ever decides to drag me in front of the cameras like that again, one of you’ll just shoot me.”

  While Dallie had laughed, Warren had pretended sympathy, but Emma knew he was delighted to have his son publicly vindicated.

  Unlike Sturgis Randall, Hugh Holroyd had escaped her public censure, but only because Emma had been afraid he’d use St. Gert’s to retaliate. At the time of the interview, her continuing worry about the school’s future had been the only mark on her happiness. Not long afterward, however, she’d hit upon a new plan of action. After dozens of phone calls, she and Penelope Briggs had managed to put together a consortium of parents, alums, local businesspeople, and miscellaneous Travelers who wanted to buy St. Gert’s. Unfortunately, Hugh had discovered Emma was behind the deal and had perversely refused to accept.

  Until Kenny had intervened.

  Emma fastened her latest gift from her husband around her neck, a breathtaking necklace of delicate gold vines. She smiled to herself as she remembered what had happened at Royal Lytham and St. Annes three months earlier during the British Open.

  Playing spectacular golf, plus having an English wife, had made Kenny the most popular of the American players with the British public and press, and just before he’d gone into the final round, he’d asked Warren to put a phone call through to Hugh. Acting on Kenny’s instructions, Warren had advised the Duke of Beddington that Kenny would be using his press conference that day to entertain the press with some fascinating stories of his wife’s conflict with her former employer. Unless, of course, Hugh decided to behave reasonably.

  It had been one thing for Emma to threaten exposure to Lower Tilbey’s garden columnist, but CNN was quite another matter. Hugh had agreed to accept the consortium’s offer and wash his hands of St. Gert’s.

  Now, in addition to Emma and Kenny, Shelby Traveler was also a part owner of the old school, a surprise birthday present from Warren for his Anglophile wife. Shelby had become a fierce watchdog for St. Gert’s, and, at Emma’s suggestion, had ably represented the consortium at the last Founder’s Day celebration.

  In the months since their marriage, Emma had grown increasingly fond, not only of Shelby, but also of Warren Traveler. In the way of men, he and Kenny didn’t talk much about the fact that their relationship had finally healed. Instead, they simply spent time together: on the golf course, riding horses, playing with Peter, or just enjoying Kenny’s victories. He was currently one of the leading money winners on the tour, despite the fact that he’d grown increasingly selective about which tournaments he played in because he didn’t want to be separated from her.

  And that was one of the best things about her substitute teaching job. She had the pleasure of being back in the classroom, but she could also travel with Kenny whenever she wanted. She planned to continue her scholarly writing when she was home with the baby, and she was also developing a series of teacher training workshops to introduce some exciting new methodology in social studies instruction. She’d presented the first workshop last week, and it had been a huge success with Wynette’s middle school teachers.

  “Come on, sweetheart.” He brushed his thumb across the tip of her nose. “The rei
gning British Open champion needs to be fed.”

  An hour later, eight of them were gathered around the dining room table to celebrate Emma’s first American Thanksgiving and enjoy the platters of food they’d all pitched in to prepare according to Patrick’s orders. Peter perched in a high chair between Warren and Shelby, while Torie fed Dexter particularly juicy morsels of turkey breast from her own plate. Patrick refilled serving bowls and fretted about an overly brown crust on one of the pumpkin pies he would be serving when the Beaudine family and Skeet Cooper joined them for dessert.

  “She kicked me!” Torie shrieked in midbite. “Dex! Feel!”

  Dexter immediately put his hand on Torie’s seven-months-pregnant belly, while Shelby rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Torie, you’d think you were the only woman on earth who ever had a baby. That’s the fourth time you’ve made Dex feel your belly since Patrick passed the turkey.”

  “I don’t mind.” Dexter leaned close and kissed his beautiful wife’s cheek.

  Torie kissed him back, then turned to Shelby. “You’d better stop complaining or I’ll describe everything I’m doing to get ready for breastfeeding.”

  They all groaned except Dexter, who looked like a man well-pleased with himself.

  Kenny smiled as he remembered his sister’s wedding dinner toast to her brand-new husband.

  “Here’s to you, Dex. My third andfinal husband, along with being the love of my life. Do you remember that I told you I had a surprise for you today? Well, guess what, you gorgeous geek? You knocked me up!”

  There’d been no living with her since then. She strutted when she walked, shoving out her pregnant belly for all the world to see and insisting that everyone, from the truckers who ate at the Roustabout to Patrick’s special new friend, Raymond, feel its contours. At the dinner table, she loved nothing more than to share the intimate workings of both her digestive and excretory systems until all of them, even Emma, had begged Dexter to spank her again.