She glanced at him. His gaze was back on her, the laughter gone from his eyes. What was he thinking about that made him look so…sad?
She stopped the cart across from the green and set the brake. Fans had gathered around the green, ten people thick. “Come on, Dad, concentrate. Visualize the ball going into the cup.”
He raised his hand and strolled to his ball, marked its position, and tossed it to her. She scrubbed the ball, handed it back, and left the green to stand beside Shoo.
Shoo spoke softly. “We might have a playoff.”
“Pray hard. I don’t think my heart could take a playoff.”
“You can do that. Pray, I mean. God would probably rather hear from you than me.”
“I wouldn’t know how to ask. If I ask the wrong thing, I could jinx it.”
“I don’t think jinx is in God’s vocabulary.”
Dad moved into place for his putt.
“Just pray, will you?”
Shoo closed his eyes. “Father, Your will be done.”
Sheesh. A little more positive prayer would have been helpful.
The crowd quieted.
Dad stroked the ball. It traveled straight toward the hole. Allie’s heart hammered and her muscles contracted in preparation to leap toward the sky. Well, metaphorically leap. The ball rolled on the perfect path. She could taste Dad’s sweet victory.
The ball slowed then stopped. Right on the lip of the hole. A collective groan came from the fans. She stared at the ball. Certainly, it would drop.
It didn’t.
Dad walked to the cup and tapped the ball in.
She swallowed hard and flicked a glance at Shoo. “I don’t know about you, but God’s will—the ball stopping on the rim like that—feels like God mocked Dad.”
“Allie, we seldom can see the good work God’s accomplishing through His will, and it often looks like He’s not on our side. But He is.”
“Hmph.”
Chris motioned Shoo to join him on the green. Shoo handed her the flag and headed toward Chris.
Great. Shoo would give Chris the right spot to aim for, Chris would listen this time, and the game would be over. She swallowed hard.
Chris crouched behind his ball and they had a short conversation. Shoo pointed at a spot, said something, and then moved back a few feet and crossed his arms.
The marshals raised their hands and asked for quiet. The tension emanating from the crowd was as fierce as her own.
Chris’s ball headed for Shoo’s indicated spot. Dad was doomed.
The ball rolled, veered to the left, missed the cup, and continued past the hole two feet.
The crowd groaned as if each fan had taken a punch to the belly at the same instant.
Allie released the breath she’d trapped. Dad still had a chance.
Wait a minute. Why had Shoo given Chris a bad read? Certainly, he hadn’t decided to usurp God’s will. He wouldn’t do that. Would he? No. He must have made a bad read. Her stomach roiled. Could his read have been that far off? She’d thought Shoo was different from other guys. He had to be. For teens worldwide.
As Chris approached his ball, he narrowed his eyes, pressed his lips together, and knocked his putter against his calf. He stopped, and without taking a stance, jammed the ball toward the hole. It caught the rim and spun a yard past the cup.
A gasp rose from the fans.
Chris stared at the ball and then went around the cup and tapped his ball in.
The fans clapped, and a few whooped Dad’s name.
Allie moved to take Dad’s putter.
He smiled and put his arm around her. “Not quite how I wanted to win, but we’ll take it, right?”
She hugged him. “Yes, we’ll take it. You were robbed on your putt.” That was true whether or not Shoo interfered.
After the handshaking was done, Dad made a beeline for Karen. She stood with her hands in prayer mode, her fingertips pressed to her broad smile.
Allie and Shoo strode to the carts.
She had to know. “What did you tell Chris about his putt?”
“I pointed at a slight rise in the ground and told Chris he needed to just miss it. He thought it would be better to bank the ball off the rise toward the hole. It banked, all right.”
Allie put her hand to her chest and blew out a breath.
“Wait a minute. You thought I told him to putt to the rise, didn’t you? You thought I cheated.”
Shame flowed from her pea brain to her sagging shoulders. “I thought there had to be some other explanation.” Why’d that sound so lame?
“I’ll meet you at your car.” He climbed into the cart and charged toward the cart drop.
10
Shoo set Chris’s golf bag upright on the cement and fed a bill into the drink machine. After Allie dissed his integrity, he needed to calm down.
“Shoo, I’ve been looking all over for you.”
Shoo grabbed the soda from the well and turned to Chris’s voice. Chris and a knock-out gorgeous woman approached.
Why had Chris hunted him down? He always brought Chris’s clubs to his car.
Shoo held the soda can by the rim and indicated Chris’s golf bag. “I was about to take your clubs to your rental.”
Chris waved off the clubs. “I want you to meet my swing coach, Margie Treadstone.”
Hmm. Not what most people would picture as a golf coach.
Margie offered her manicured hand. “Nice to meet you, Shoo. Chris told me how you got your name. I like it.”
He shook her hand. “Thanks. Glad to meet you.”
“Like me, Margie’s a Florida Cracker,” Chris said. “She’s in town on business and leaves this evening.”
Surely, Chris didn’t plan to ask him to take Margie to dinner. Not that an evening with a beautiful woman was a chore. More likely Chris wanted him to take her to the airport. Could he refuse without turning Chris off? He needed the caddy job, but he also needed to train. Time was short.
“This morning you mentioned you’re training for the pro-am in St. Simon Island.” Chris removed his golf cap, ran his hand over his bald head, then tugged his hat back on.
Shoo nodded. He resisted checking his watch. Allie probably had the engine racing, determined to fit in nine holes before dark.
Margie opened her mouth to speak, but Chris cut in. “Before I whisk her off to the airport, Margie has a few minutes to give you some pointers on your swing. No charge to you.”
Wow. That was unexpected. “I don’t know what to say.”
Her laugh tinkled like delicate wind chimes. “Say yes. Let me take a look at your swing, Shoo.”
Margie was a lot like Christine. Tall. Feminine.
“I—I—”
As Chris turned toward the clubhouse, he spoke over his shoulder. “You’re close enough to my size. Take my clubs to the driving range. I’ll get a bucket of balls.”
“Wait.” Margie caught up to Chris. “Will you put my handbag in your car?”
“Sure.” Chris took her bag and detoured toward the parking lot.
Margie smiled and nodded toward the driving range. “Shall we? I don’t have long.”
What should he do? Allie was waiting. He went for his phone. Oh, yeah. He’d left it in his room. “Do you have a cell I could make a quick call on?”
“Sorry. It’s in my handbag.”
Margie only had a few minutes. Allie could hold on for that long, couldn’t she? “Help with my swing would be great. Thanks.” Wait until he told Allie about this opportunity. She’d regret she’d missed the show.
He lifted the soda can. “Would you like a soda?”
“No, thanks.”
Side by side, they headed to the range. He popped the top on the can, letting out a carbonated whoosh, and took a long swig. The burn felt good.
As they walked and made small talk, Margie’s scent pervaded the air. He could swear she wore the same perfume as Christine’s. Nostalgia hit hard. Last he’d heard, Christine was still single but had met a guy.<
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Margie turned to him, and her silky dark hair floated across her shoulders. “Chris says it’s about time he listened to his caddy’s advice on his putting.”
He’d stick to his caddying rules and let her comment slide. “How long have you been coaching Chris?”
“About a year.”
They arrived at the range, and Chris joined them toting a bucket of range balls. He turned over the bucket and let the balls spill onto the grass in front of Shoo. “Enjoy.” He stepped away from the tee. “Come to the clubhouse when you’re finished, Margie. I’ll be in the bar.” He turned to Shoo. “You’ve got my second set of keys, right?”
“Yes. I’ll load your clubs and leave the keys under the mat.”
“Good. I’ll see you in Conover on Wednesday. You traveling with your caddy group?”
“Yes.” Shoo directed his hand toward the range balls. “I really appreciate this.”
“No problem.” Chris waved and left.
A cool breeze picked up. Margie donned the jacket she’d carried over her arm. “OK, hit a few for me, Shoo. Seven iron first.”
From Margie’s comments, she sounded impressed with his swing. She suggested an adjustment. Surprising how the slight change made a difference. Margie might not look like a golf coach, but she knew her stuff. Only one problem, the lesson had already lasted more than fifteen minutes. Allie would be spitting tees by now. Should he thank Margie and leave?
Margie checked her fancy watch. “Well, Shoo, I have to go.”
“I can’t thank you enough.” He stored the driver and hefted the golf bag to his shoulder.
They walked toward the clubhouse.
“Where is home for you, Shoo?”
“Walnut Creek, California.”
“I have clients in the Golden State. If you ever want to sign a coach, let me know.” She handed him a business card.
He chuckled. “Sure. It might be awhile, unless you accept used golf balls for payment.”
She released a musical laugh. “One step at a time. I’ll find a spot on my schedule when you’re ready. You have great potential.”
The Lord had come through with another affirmation. He couldn’t wait to tell Allie.
Margie cocked her head toward him. “Chris said you injured your hand. May I see it?”
They stopped on the cart path. He offered his hand, and she took it in hers.
“The pain gets less every day,” he said.
While they bent their heads over his hand and she studied the slight deformity, he looked up. Allie stood near the cart drop. Their gazes connected for a brief second before she performed an about-face, as abrupt as the one she’d executed on the first day he’d met her, and stormed off.
His stomach turned.
Lord, don’t let Allie abandon me.
His clubs lay in the back of her SUV.
~*~
Allie marched to her car, her sneakers slapping the pavement. She would explode into tears any second. What was going on? She’d hated herself for doubting Shoo’s motives on Chris’s putt. But now this? Shoo holding some woman’s hands so intimately? She’d never pictured him as a pick-up artist. Especially, when he knew she was waiting. She jogged. Had she been a fool to believe Shoo respected her as a friend?
As she approached her burgundy SUV—her refuge—she fumbled her keys from her pocket and dropped them. She swept them up and increased her speed. She had to make it to the car before she erupted.
She yanked the car door open, climbed into the driver’s seat, and fired the engine. A glance in the rearview mirror revealed Shoo jogging toward the cars near the clubhouse, Chris’s golf bag strapped over his shoulder.
Hmph. Let Chris give Shoo a ride. Or the voluptuous groupie.
She plowed the SUV forward as tears slid from her eyes.
Shoo, framed in the mirror, stood facing her retreat with his hands planted on his hips.
He could train alone tonight. She was done with him. She took one last look at him still standing in the same place, Chris’s bag now on the pavement. She would not look in the mirror again. Too painful—
Clubs.
Shoo’s clubs were in the back. Sheesh. She slammed on the brakes.
She couldn’t help herself. She lifted her gaze to the mirror. Shoo shut Chris’s trunk and started jogging again. Toward her. What made him trust she’d refrain from peeling off as soon as he reached the passenger door? Maybe she’d do that. Serve him right.
Shoo climbed in, panting. “It’s—
“I stopped for one reason.”
“You’re a kind and understanding person?”
He walked on quicksand. “Because your clubs are in the back.”
“It’s not what you think, Allie.”
“I don’t want to hear your lame excuses.”
He crossed his arms over his chest and stared ahead. “OK.”
She drove toward the exit.
He placed his elbow on the window ledge. “Look, Allie, I’m sorry. Sorry I made you wait, but it couldn’t be helped. I left my phone in my room. What happened is a good thing.”
Like he’d asked the gorgeous groupie to follow him to the pro-am in Georgia, and she’d said yes?
She stopped the car, set it in park, and let her arms slide off the steering wheel to her lap. “OK. Tell me the good news.”
“That woman you saw me with—”
“You mean the one you held hands with while I waited for you in the car so we could train for your pro-am?”
He frowned and then took in a start-over breath. “That woman you saw me with is Chris’s swing coach.”
Allie jerked in her chin. That woman was a coach? Right. “This keeps getting better and better. You’re telling me that voluptuous woman dressed in a form-fitting suit, in out-of-season hot pink, no less, and spiked heels is Chris’s coach?”
“Yes. Now will you let me tell you the story or not?”
She glared at him, and then ran her pinched thumb and forefinger across her clamped lips.
“She’s Margie Treadstone, from Florida. She was in town for meetings and stopped by to see Chris in action for the last few holes.”
“Did she scold him for ramming his putt on eighteen and throwing away the tournament?”
He grinned. “No, but she said he’d told her he should start listening to his caddy.”
“Duh.”
“Yeah. Anyway, he asked her to give me some pointers on my swing before he took her to the airport.”
“Wow.” The pungent taste of a scorned-woman waned. “I didn’t know Chris had something like that in him. Nice of her, too.”
“I’m sure he told her to put her time on his tab.”
Allie leaned toward him. “So, did she give you something you can use?”
“She rotated my upper body a little more on my follow through. It made a difference. I can’t wait to show you.”
“And Ms. Treadstone thought you also needed some handholding?”
“Ha. Ha. She asked to see my injured hand.” He poked her shoulder. “It’d be good if you’d stop jumping to conclusions about my motives and character. If I seem out of line, give me the benefit of the doubt until you ask me—nicely—what’s happening.”
Ouch. She deserved his reprimand. “OK. I promise to work on my leaping.”
“Thank you.”
“I’d really like to check out your new swing.”
“Now you’re talking.” He powered down his window, and his dark curls rippled in the wind. He breathed in deeply. “Can you smell it?”
“What?”
“Autumn.”
She smelled something, all right. It was green and rotten and disgusting.
Jealousy.
When she thought he’d left her waiting while he’d pursued his own interests, she could say she was reacting to his disrespect, but the truth was she’d succumbed to jealousy. She could never let herself sink that low again.
Friendship with Shoo was dangerous to her health.
Man, the person she was becoming interfered with the great training job she’d been accomplishing with Shoo. No matter how hard she tried to be his buddy, her feelings got in the way. Now she’d crossed boundaries. Professionally and in their friendship. Not good for her or Shoo.
She still had a few hours before they wrapped up tonight’s training to figure out how she’d tell Shoo—nicely—that she resigned as his trainer.
~*~
Allie tracked the last of the range balls as Shoo launched it toward the 250-yard marker. Considering how the evening had started with all her accusations, the training had gone well.
Shoo was a trooper. He’d practiced putting, and they’d fit in six holes before coming to the lighted range and working through four baskets of balls. Employing Margie Treadstone’s adjustment, had given him more control over where he sent the ball.
The night’s easy camaraderie had to be chalked up to her decision to make tonight the last training session. Starting tomorrow, she’d no longer have to hide her feelings from Shoo and play the buddy off the course.
Shoo slid the club cover onto his driver. Her heart pounded. The clock had struck, the other shoe had dropped, and the time had come for the guillotine blade to lop off her head. Time to tell Shoo she quit.
“I’m beat.” He stacked the empty baskets. “What time is it?”
She checked her watch. “Nine.”
Her shoulder muscles tightened. Shoo would demand a reason for her bailing. Even so, no way could she tell him the truth: I love working with you, but every time we meet, I want to hold your hand and rest my cheek against your chest to listen to your heart beat.
On the other hand, telling Shoo she had feelings for him would probably scare him off. But with Chris and Dad so closely matched, what were the odds she and Shoo wouldn’t be assigned to the same group in the next three weeks? Slim. She couldn’t bear him avoiding the love-crazed woman.
No. Coming up with a professional or other excuse would work better. She’d just have to endure her sloppy feelings on the days their players were paired together. At least, she could hole up in her motel room or tag along with Dad in the evenings.
“Allie, you coming?”
She jogged a few steps to catch up to him. “You want to go for ice cream?”
The Putting Green Whisperer Page 9
