Country Courtship (The Texas Two-Step Series, Book 2) (10 page)

When had golf courses become such dangerous places?

Using his toe, he tapped down the turf torn up by the club head. Leaning over to scoop it up, he pondered how odd the whole situation was. He was used to fathers showing up while he was busy, demanding to know his intentions. But now circumstances were reversed. Here he was, trying to force his intentions on some poor unsuspecting father.

Topsy turvy.

Ever since meeting Kelli everything in his world was upside down.

Even his sister Charlie had commented on it. But so what if he daydreamed over his morning cereal rather than immediately devouring it? It did not mean he was in love, no matter what Charlie said. Nothing could be further from the truth.

Certainly nothing was going on for a sister to get all het up about. In his opinion, people often forget to put milk and sugar in their coffee. And for all Charlie knew, maybe he now preferred his coffee black.

Sisters!

But right now he needed to think about fathers.

What do fathers most want to hear?

He couldn't and wouldn't promise marriage. It was way too soon for that. So what on earth was he doing here? What could he tell a father to enlist his support?

Bobby Gray couldn't believe how foolish he was. Coming here had been a rotten idea. Worst he'd ever come up with. He turned on his heel to return to the parking lot.

But he was too late. Mr. Palmer had arrived.

And the man evidently recognized Bobby Gray because he greeted him with exceptional bonhomie and a clap on the back. "Great to see you again, Bobby Gray."

"Nice seeing you, too, sir," he replied while looking for an escape route. He had suddenly become even more anxious to find one, because two dark-suited body-guard types were approaching, each toting a golf bag. Could they be Larry and Mike? Bobby Gray took a step back and placed a protective arm over his gut. Just in case.

He was beginning to think these two were different men, though, because neither looked the least bit ashamed—or inclined to jump him. He could only hope their golf bags contained clubs rather than AK 47s.

Then his heart did a peculiar shudder when he caught sight of the fourth in their party.

It was Kelli, dressed in a Polo shirt and khakis. Like a beauty contestant carries roses, she cradled a bouquet of beheaded Big Berthas in her arms.

"I believe you lost your head." He extended his hand, and the recently lofted head.

"Defective irons," she said defensively with a snap of her hair.

As if that explained anything.

"What are you doing," she added in a belligerent tone, "following me?"

"You think I was waiting for you?"

She swept her hand to indicate the golf course. "What else should I think?"

"I was waiting for your father." Bobby Gray turned. "Mr. Palmer, I was hoping for a moment of your time, sir."

"You could have called his administrative assistant for an appointment," said Kelli. "Like a normal, non-stalker person."

"I tried, but she told me he was playing golf." He faced Kelli's father again. "So I came here, Mr. Palmer."

"I'd love to visit, Bobby Gray, but I have a business meeting as soon as the round is over. Maybe another time?" Mr. Palmer headed for the green and stuck a tee in the turf.

"Told you." Just like a man, thought Kelli, to butt in where he wasn't expected, even if he did look really cute in comfy jeans and with his hair windblown.

"Well, his assistant seemed to think it was worth a shot."

Jessica had probably thought her dad would replace Kelli with Bobby Gray, since she knew how poorly Kelli played. "You should have met up with us at an earlier hole."

"I didn't want to interrupt his game."

"Shows how much you know about golf."

He pointed at her head-less clubs. "Bet I'm better'n you. I don't launch missiles."

Shows how much he knew. His impact on her good sense could be likened to the damage caused by a missile. "Do you like golfing?"

He shrugged, then shot one of those dimpled smiles her way. "I'm more of a ride-a-horse than a ride-a-golf-cart kinda man."

She nodded at her broken clubs. "I think it's pretty obvious I am, too."

"Maybe you'd like to—"

Although she heard him speaking, she didn't pay any attention to what he was saying. Her internal alarm had suddenly sounded, but she wasn't sure what caused it. Glancing around, she didn't see anything alarming. She turned back toward her left and her gaze settled on a small bridge spanning a water hazard. On the bridge was a good-sized turtle, slowly making his way to safety. On a direct collision course was a golf cart traveling at rocket-speed—well, at least high speed for a golf cart.

It was obvious the driver didn't see the reptile.

Kelli turned toward her father and the body guards, but they were busy on the green and weren't close enough to hear her. However, the cowboy stood right beside her. "Bobby Gray, you have to rescue him!"

"Who?"

She pointed. "That poor turtle on the bridge!"

Bobby Gray looked, assessed the situation and started running. He called back to her, "Don't worry, I'll save him!"

It dawned on her that she didn't need a man to save the animal. When had she started acting all girlie? Her behavior was ridiculous. She was the veterinarian, not him. She dropped her headless clubs and took off in pursuit.

Bobby Gray had a big lead and his strides were those of a trained athlete, but Kelli pounded along behind him. He reached the wooden boardwalk of the bridge first and signaled to the golf cart to stop. However, the driver didn't understand or didn't see. He kept hurtling at top speed toward the turtle and the cowboy.

Kelli reached the bridge just as the golf cart did. "Stop! You're going to run over the turtle!"

The driver didn't hear her either. Bobby Gray ran for the turtle, reached down to pick it up—and began yelling. Kelli was horrified to see him waving his arm and, with it, the entire huge turtle in the air.

Abruptly he flung the reptile into the water. What a jerk. Bobby Gray's yells turned to screams—of pain?

When Kelli caught up with him, she planned to do some yelling of her own about animal cruelty, but the look on his face and the blood creeping down his arm made her throat freeze.

Maybe...

She looked into the water and got her first close-up view of the Chelydra serpentina. Okay, so most people probably knew it as the North American
snapping
turtle.

"Are you okay?"

Bobby Gray stood stock still, clutching one of his hands in the other. Red droplets continued forming.

"Did he sever your finger?"

"I think he ate half my hand!"

"While snapping turtles are carnivores, they don't usually go after anything larger than ducks." She tried to wrest his hand out to where she could see it.

"Shows what you know." He kept a tight hold on his injured paw. "Haven't you ever heard of evolution?"

"Animals' eating habits don't generally evolve unless their food sources dry up."

He nodded toward the turtle and his eyes flashed with a dangerous glint. "You think those things survive on golf balls?"

"Just let me see your hand."

He didn't reply. He merely twisted away from her to keep his injury out of her reach.

"I. Am. A. Doctor. Let. Me. See. It."

"You administer vaccines to small mammals. That hardly makes you qualified to treat human dismemberment."

She felt the urge to perform a little dismemberment on him. Her profession was far more complicated than that—even on the dull days. She ground out, "Give me your hand. Now."

Her way-past-angry tone must have gotten through to him because he relaxed his grasp and lifted his fingers a little so she could glimpse his injury.

All of his digits were intact, but a nasty bite discolored his left pointer. Bobby Gray appeared relieved when he, too, saw that none of his fingers were missing.

"Let me staunch the bleeding," she said, turning to grab the first-aid kit out of her golf bag, but realizing she'd left it on the eighteenth fairway when she'd run after Bobby Gray. She did have a
mainly
clean washcloth—she carried it to wash dirty golf balls—tucked into the waist band on her pants. The green was dry and she'd used the cloth only once.

Careful to keep the used side away from the poor cowboy—considering his reaction to his injury, he'd probably freak if he saw the bit of clean dirt coming even a little near his injury—she took his hurt hand in hers and applied pressure. Soon the wound closed up.

Which was good, because being that close to him made her really nervous. He'd been quiet, a little too quiet for her comfort. She looked up and lost her way in his dark lashes and bright green eyes. Rather than his usual wide grin, he displayed a serious expression and she didn't think it was from pain. At least not injury kind of pain.

What was it then?

Passion? At the thought, she released his hand and took a step back, almost falling off the bridge and into the murky pond.

He reached out with his good hand and gently, yet firmly, grabbed her. "Careful."

He wasn't sure how long they stood that way, his palm clasping her wrist. He sensed rather than felt the pulse in her wrist quicken. Her eyes widened, as if she were alarmed. Her soft breath fanned out across his face as she met his gaze.

He'd felt their shared energy of mutual attraction before, but what now passed between them was far more significant. Something inside him flared, grew and reached out to her.

Abruptly she shielded her gaze from his beneath a lock of hair, breaking the connection that held them both mesmerized.

"I'd better catch up with Dad," she whispered. She practically ran back to the eighteenth hole.

He didn't want her to leave. He wanted whatever was happening between them to continue and strengthen until he could neatly label it—passion? Or something far more?

Even now, he could almost smell her, like a memory niggling to come alive, and he darned well wasn't ready for her to go away. She provoked his inner male, the one that was determined to catch her and make her his own.

With that thought, Bobby Gray took off after her and within minutes was close on her heels. He saw the same thing she observed—her dad was no longer there.

She had no protection here, at least not from him.

Her expression, when she turned, told him she saw the rodeo champion who'd been awakened by her touch.

* * *

Why wouldn't Bobby Gray leave her alone? She wasn't ready yet—not for him, not for any man. Was she?

She darted to the clubhouse, thinking her dad would be waiting for her there. As she opened the door, air conditioning whipped her but she ignored the chill and checked the main room and the restaurant.

No luck.

"Maybe he's outside in the parking lot," suggested Bobby Gray as if they'd been in conversation all along.

Which they hadn't.

She didn't like the way he'd caught up with her and now held the front door to the clubhouse open for her so solicitously, either.

"Thanks. But I don't need your help."

He dropped his arm and stepped through the door so that it almost slammed into her nose. He marched off.

Finally, she told herself, but a little voice deep inside nagged that she was a liar who didn't really mean it.

Yanking the door open herself, she stepped out and searched the parking lot for her dad's long white stretch limo.

It took a few minutes for her eyes to adjust to the blinding sunlight reflecting off the pavement and glinting off cars. A wave of wispy heat rose from the concrete.

The limo wasn't anywhere to be seen and she couldn't keep the flash of hurt from her face, although she quickly threw on a grim smile as a silver pick-up truck approached.

Her father must have assumed that Bobby Gray would see her home.

"Need a ride?" asked the cowboy in question as he guided the truck beneath the green canvas awning in front of the country club. He dangled two glistening bottles of ice cold water from his hand as if offering her diamonds. She had to admit, he knew exactly how to get her attention.

Chapter 8