The knock came again, a little louder this time. She loved Aunt Mae, but why couldn’t the dear woman understand she needed a little more time? And sleep.
She should’ve never checked how Shoo’d done in the McGladrey pro-am yesterday. As thankful as she was that his team finished second, confirming what Shoo could do, reading the stats had erased all the healing she’d accomplished.
She rolled to her side and buried her face in the pillow as the tears started. Where was Jesus’ peace?
Aunt Mae inched open the door. “Allie, it’s Karen on the phone.”
Karen?
“I texted Dad yesterday.” The pillow muffled Allie’s words. She’d texted Dad so he wouldn’t worry. After she’d sent a text last week that she wasn’t ready to hear anything about Shoo, he’d given her space. No doubt, Aunt Mae and Dad talked, but so far, they’d allowed her to heal—or was it wallow—her own way.
Aunt Mae nudged her with the phone. “You need to take this, honey.”
Allie sat up, wiped away a tear that hadn’t reached the pillowcase, and raked tangled hair from her face. She should shave her head.
“Thanks.” Allie put the cell to her ear. “Hi, Karen.” Had she sounded cheerful enough?
Aunt Mae fluttered her fingers in a toodle-oo and shut the door.
“Hi, Allie. I had to call Mae’s phone. Yours only rings.”
“Sorry.”
“I have a message for you from your dad. He had a flight to catch. Do you have something to write with?”
“It’s so detailed I need to write it down?”
“Yes.”
Allie looked around the room. A pen protruded from a cup on the sewing machine under the window. She scooted barefoot to the sewing machine and back.
“OK. I’ve got a pen.” Perched on the bed, she poised the pen over a blank end page in her paperback novel.
“Your Dad has a caddying job for you. You’ll caddy for Jeff Morgan tomorrow at the OHL Classic at Mayakoba. Your flight leaves from—”
“Whoa. Dad got me a caddying job in Mexico on the PGA tour?”
“Yes, but I don’t know any more than what he wrote on this paper. It says he overnighted your passport to you. You should receive it this morning.”
Her passport was still good? Yeah, barely. She’d gone with Dad to the British Open the summer after her high school freshman year.
Things might be looking up. If she did well for Morgan, maybe she’d have a full-time job on the PGA tour. A dream come true. Ha! She might make it to the tour before Shoo did. Not so funny, though, when she ran into him now and then after he made it into the PGA.
“Did you get that part, Allie?”
She hadn’t. “Please read it again.” She’d deal with Shoo-sightings later. She was caddying on the PGA. Hallelujah!
~*~
Allie had no control over her late arrival to El Camaleon Golf Club. Dad had arranged everything—well, almost everything. Last night flying into Rivera Maya and shuttling to the hotel had been a breeze compared to this morning’s late shuttle ride. Now with no PGA identification, she waited at the entrance as an official pressed a phone to his ear and made several calls about letting her enter. She’d barely make it to Morgan’s tee off, if she made it at all.
The official got off the phone and handed her passport to her. “You may go inside Miss Masterson. The caddy check-in is down the cart path and to the left.”
Allie thanked him and took off at a run.
Please, Jesus, let me make it in time. Maybe the late morning tee time would be shifted forward due to slow play. She could only hope.
She rounded the clubhouse. Mark stood with his bib tucked under his arm and craning his neck as if he was looking for someone.
“Mark!”
“Allie, what are you doing here?” He crossed the grass to her.
“Dad got me a job caddying for Jeff Morgan, and I’m so late. Everything has gone wrong this morning.”
He grasped her elbow and ushered her to a long table. “Let’s get you checked in and out on the course.”
Mark spoke to the volunteer. “Will you call in that Morgan’s caddy is on her way?” She nodded. He turned to Allie. “Don’t worry. Play is a little behind.”
That was good, but Morgan had to be perturbed that she hadn’t been there to help him with his warm-up. At least today’s event was the practice round. Still…
She pulled the MORGAN bib over her head.
Mark led the way toward the first tee “I can’t believe you’re here.”
“I’m surprised to see you too. Last I heard you’d quit caddying.” Couldn’t Mark walk a little faster?
“Me, quit?” He chuckled. “Actually, your dad recommended me for a position. I’m psyched to be back on the regular tour.”
They stepped off the cart path to let a service cart pass.
“Great.” Dad had been a busy man. “Who’s your player?”
Mark pointed toward the first tee, where fans crowded the ropes. “Looks like they’re back on schedule. Your group is after the next group.”
She scanned the waiting area next to the tee box. No sign of Morgan. Her stomach tightened until it ached. Thankfully, Mark was here to help her. She turned to him. “What do you think? Should I try to catch Morgan on his way over from the practice green or wait here?”
The group ahead of them moved toward the tee box. Morgan’s group would be up in minutes.
Mark nodded toward the stands. “There’s your player,” he whispered.
She spun around. No Morgan. “Where?” Shoo? She gasped.
Shoo walked from the cart path behind the stands carrying his clubs and looking around, perturbed. His gaze flitted past Allie, and then his double take brought it back to her. He strode toward her.
Mark grasped Allie’s elbow and led her away from the tee area to meet Shoo. Good thing. She was still stunned.
Shoo stared at her, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Allie. How’d you get here?” He turned to Mark. “And you, where have you been?” He turned back to Allie before Mark could speak.
Allie’s heart beat so fast she might have to sit on the grass to recover. “I—I’m caddying for Jeff Morgan, but he’s not here. How’d you get here?”
“My dad has always supported this tournament, and he put me on the list for a sponsor’s exemption a while back, but it wasn’t until now that a player’s injury opened a spot.”
Mark laughed. “Don’t you guys get it?”
“What?” Shoo and Allie said simultaneously, turning to Mark.
Mark untied and tugged up Morgan’s bib that Allie had donned.
“What are you doing?” She pivoted toward Mark as he pulled the bib over her head.
“This is mine,” he said. “And this”—he shook out the bib he’d kept under his arm—“is yours.”
LEONARD was printed on the back. Allie whipped her gaze to Shoo. His eyes widened.
“Your fathers arranged all this,” Mark said. “Everything. Right down to you being a little late, Allie. So you wouldn’t go looking for Morgan at the driving range. Even the volunteer at check-in was in on it. Morgan doesn’t tee off until this afternoon.” He turned to Allie. “Your aunt and stepmother had their parts too.”
Shoo stared at Mark. “You’re not my caddy?”
“Nope. I’m caddying for Morgan. Your fathers had a ball setting up the details.”
Allie closed her mouth. Then opened it. “You mean, the late shuttle and the delay at the gate were arranged by Steve and Dad?”
Mark grinned. “Actually, no. They sent me down a day early to meet with a tournament bigwig and arrange minor details. I was a little worried they’d done too good a job on the you-being-late part. You had my heart going.”
The players ahead of Shoo’s group moved off the tee and headed down the fairway.
Allie tied on her bib. Why would Dad do such a thing? He knew how difficult it’d been letting Shoo go. With trembling hands, she reached for Shoo’
s golf bag, sensing him studying her as if he expected her to say something.
She slid the strap off his shoulder, keeping her focus on a bag zipper, his breath tickling her ear. If she looked into his eyes, she’d start bawling.
“I’m sorry, Shoo. That our fathers did this.” She spoke to his bib as she looped the strap over her shoulder. If only he’d stop staring.
She turned and joined the others in Shoo’s group waiting for the players on the fairway to move out of range. How would she make it through eighteen holes without destroying the paltry progress she’d made in getting over Shoo?
Who was she kidding? Her meager headway had vanished the moment he’d appeared from behind the stands.
Shoo planted himself in front of her.
She startled and took a step backward.
His hands went to his hips. “Well?”
What was he accusing her of now? “Well, what?”
“Didn’t you get my message? On the scorecard?”
“What scorecard?” She nodded to the tee box. “You’re up next.”
He grasped her chin and forced her to look at him. “The scorecard I stuck in your aunt’s front door.”
“We don’t use the front door—Wait. You came to my aunt’s house?” The woodsy, jasmine scent on the back-door handle. He’d driven all the way to Laytonville to talk to her? “When?”
“The day you stood me up. I almost missed my flight. I’m not complaining. I just want you to know how hard you’ve been making it for me.”
“What did the card say?”
The announcer came forward pulling the microphone cord after him.
Shoo’s gaze remained on her. “It said I love you, and that we needed to talk.”
She glanced at the announcer. “Shoo, the announcer called your name…” He loved her?
He cupped her face in his hands and captured her gaze. “I love you.” He rubbed his thumbs across her cheeks. “I need you, Allie. We’re a team, remember?”
“Shoo Leonard. To the tee box, please.” The announcer spoke louder into his microphone.
Her heart pounding, Allie pulled her head from Shoo’s grasp and glanced around. Fans had rotated to face them. Their hum grew louder, Spanish mixed with English. The announcer directed his hand toward the tee box, his gaze intense on Shoo. What should she do? Melt into Shoo’s arms, or get him on the tee box?
“Allie?”
She turned to Shoo. “Do you realize,” she whispered, “LEONARD on the back of my bib is showing your potential fans that you’re ignoring the PGA announcer on the biggest day of your life?”
His brown eyes drilled into hers. “Yes, this is the biggest day of my life, but forget the announcer. Did you hear what I said?”
Forget the announcer? Hundreds of eyes were trained on them. Shoo’s future—their future—hinged on his hike to the tee box. She backed away, pulled his driver from the bag, and thrust it toward him.
He stuck it under his arm and grasped her shoulders. “Look at me, Allie. Do you love me?”
He’d never looked so earnest. But—But the PGA was waiting. As his caddy, it was her job to keep him on task.
She turned her face away from the crowd. “You sure picked a lousy time to tell me what I’ve been dying to hear for weeks,” she whispered.
His eyebrows rose and his mouth gaped.
Before he could accuse her of dropping out of all communication modes for the last week, she pressed her finger to his lips. “Yes, you goof, I love you. Now go hit that ball like I’ve seen you sail it hundreds of times.”
She freed herself from his grasp and faced the tee box, holding her body as rigid as possible to contain her heart from flopping around like a Mexican jumping bean.
Now if she could hold her elation to a simmer until after Shoo’s drive she’d—
Shoo spun her around. His killer smile spread. “What do I need to do to get your full attention?” He lifted her chin. “Maybe this’ll work.” He bent and, oh wow, his lips met hers, so soft and warm and…and her Green Whisperer kissed her.
And kissed her.
The fans clapped and cheered and whistled.
“Well, folks,” the announcer said. “Today, we have a first. We have a delay of game, while Mr. Leonard finishes kissing his caddy. Come back next year, fans, we may have a wedding.”
Shoo Leonard loved her.
Jesus, tell Mom I’ll be OK. I have You, and I have Shoo.
Thank you
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The Putting Green Whisperer Page 24
