Lady Be Good (39 page)

“How do you figure that? I don’t have a damn thing to feel guilty about.”

Once again, she sprang to her feet. “You lied to me!”

He shot up, too. “I never lied. I just didn’t tell you everything.”

“Are you people about done back there?” the bus driver called out. “My tour group’s on its way.”

“We’re done,” she said firmly. And then she looked Kenny straight in the eye, so he wouldn’t mistake her meaning. “We’re absolutely done.”

“Don’t you say that!” To her astonishment, he grabbed her arm and pulled her tight against him. “I never figured you for a quitter. Where’s all that British stiff upper lip bull? First little bit of trouble on the horizon, and you’re ready to give up.”

“This is more than a little bit of trouble. I don’t know you at all.”

“You’re going to give up, aren’t you? You’re going to walk away.”

“I just need some time to think.”

“There’s a guarantee of trouble.”

“Don’t you dare be condescending. I can’t play by your rules, Kenny. I’m not made that way. I can’t take things as they come and see what happens. I need time to adjust and think things through.”

It was a long, silent drive back to the hotel.

O
n the plane, Kenny buried himself in a book he’d
bought at the airport gift shop, and Emma pretended to read a magazine. They barely spoke, but this time she didn’t challenge his silence because she had nothing more to say to him.

She was so ashamed of herself. How could she have agreed to this travesty of a marriage when she’d known there was nothing between them except sex? There was no honesty, no understanding, no real commitment. Yet she’d married him anyway, just like a dotty, dear thing making a desperate, last-minute lunge for the brass ring.

As they arrived in Dallas and made their way down the concourse, Kenny had never moved more slowly nor looked more unapproachable. Not even the fans who recognized him seemed to want to come any closer. It wasn’t until they’d reclaimed her luggage that he finally looked fully at her.

“What’s it going to be?” he said stonily. “Are you running back to England like a scared rabbit, or are you going to stay here and fight?”

She’d been thinking of nothing else since they’d left Hoover Dam, and she’d already made up her mind what she was going to do. “This isn’t a war.”

His eyes were as cold as frozen amethysts. “Let’s just say it’s a test of character, then. Who has it and who doesn’t.”

“Are you implying that I’m lacking in character?”

“I don’t know yet. Are you running or are you staying?”

His attitude infuriated her. “Oh, I’m going back to Wynette, all right. I’ve already made up my mind about that.”

A flicker of satisfaction passed over his features. “You’re finally making sense.”

“Unlike you, I know this isn’t a game, and I’m going back so we can sort this out. But I’m not staying at the ranch.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that I’m not running, but I’m not moving back in with you either.”

“That doesn’t even half make sense! You were living at the ranch before we got married, so why would you move out now?”

“Stop looking so outraged. This isn’t a real marriage, and you know it.”

“It’s as real as it gets, and I’ve got the license to prove it.”

“Stop it, Kenny. Just stop. You know exactly what I mean, so don’t try to hide behind that righteous indignation.”

“I don’t have a clue what you mean.” He picked up her suitcases and stalked toward the parking garage.

She didn’t even try to keep up with him. She was going to attempt to live up to her responsibility because that was the way she was made, but she wouldn’t go scurrying after him.

When she finally got into the car, the radio was blasting. He glared at her and began pulling out of the parking space. As she fastened her seat belt, the sports report came on.

No official word yet from PGA commissioner Dallas Beaudine concerning golfer Kenny Traveler’s latest brush with—

He punched another button and turned the volume up. He needn’t have bothered because she had no intention of bringing up the subject of their marriage right now. The next move was his.

The trip to Wynette seemed to take forever. Although they’d both ignored the airline food, neither of them felt like eating, so they only stopped for gas. Just before dusk, Torie called from Wynette to find out what time they’d be getting in. She also told Kenny that she’d spent the night at his condo, and Emma found herself wondering whether Dexter had been with her, although that possibility didn’t seem to occur to Kenny.

The miles crawled by, and finally they reached the northern edge of Wynette. “Would you drop me off at the hotel, please?” Even as she was saying it, she wondered why she’d wasted her breath because she knew exactly how he’d respond.

“If you’re going to run away from home, you’ll have to do it on your own. I’m not going to help you.”

She was too tired to argue with him. Tomorrow was soon enough. She leaned back in the seat, closed her eyes, and didn’t open them again until they reached the ranch.

They entered the house from the garage. Kenny moved ahead with her suitcases, then set them down to unlock the door. He held it open for her and she stepped inside.

One moment the kitchen was dark, and the next it blazed with light.

“Surprise!”

“Surprise! Surprise!”

“Here comes the bride . . .”

Emma gazed at all the bright, cheery faces that filled the kitchen and realized that her miserable day had just taken a turn for the worse.

“Time to cut the cake!” Patrick called out after the toasts had been delivered and guests introduced.

Kenny and Emma moved from opposite sides of the room toward the confection Patrick had created, a creamy vanilla tower with two of Peter’s Fisher-Price figures perched on top, along with paper flags of the bride’s and groom’s respective countries. Emma wondered if anyone had noticed that the bride and groom in question had been talking to everyone except each other.

Her head ached, and she wanted nothing so much as to curl up and go to sleep. She gazed enviously at Peter, who had fallen asleep on Kenny’s shoulder, leaving a drool mark on the collar of his golf shirt.

In addition to the Traveler family and Dexter, Ted Beaudine was present, along with Father Joseph, a few executives from TCS, and a score of Kenny’s friends from the Roustabout who’d been entertaining each other with more stories of Kenny’s misbegotten childhood: how he’d stolen one woman’s science project, thrown someone’s best pair of sneakers onto a power line, lost someone else’s little brother.

She pushed aside the protective instincts that their gleeful stories of Kenny’s headlong rush toward self-destruction always aroused in her. He was a grown man, and if he didn’t choose to defend himself, it was no concern of hers.

She moved toward the cake from one side of the room, while Kenny approached from the other. As Warren came forward and took Peter, he smiled fondly at Emma. “If I haven’t said it before, welcome to the family, Lady Emma. I couldn’t have found a better woman for Kenny if I’d picked her out myself.” He regarded his son with that overly eager look that broke her heart. “Congratulations, son. I’m proud of you.”

Kenny barely acknowledged his words as he positioned himself in front of the cake. Her heart ached for both of them: the father who wanted to make up for old sins, and the son who couldn’t forgive a childhood of neglect.

Patrick handed Emma the cake cutter, which he’d decorated with red, white, and blue ribbons. “More patriotic than bridal,” he sniffed, “but I didn’t have much warning.”

She smiled at him, then looked down as Kenny’s hand settled over hers, that broad, tan palm sheltering her own smaller, whiter one, those strong, elegant fingers curling around hers. The sight of their joined hands made her eyes sting. If only their hearts were as tightly linked.

Kenny took a sip of wine, then moved across the kitchen to turn off a light that had been left burning on the sunporch. Lady E had fled upstairs the minute the last of the guests had left, and he knew it wasn’t because she was in a hurry to hop into his bed. No, Lady E was holed up by herself tonight. He wondered if she’d go so far as to lock her door, but then he knew she wouldn’t. She’d rely on his honor instead to keep him away.

His honor. To the public, it was badly tattered, but nothing could make him regret what he’d done to Hugh Holroyd.

He stepped out onto the sunporch, then saw too late that he wasn’t alone. His father sat on the couch with Petie curled up asleep in his arms. He felt himself stiffen as he always did when he was with his father. “I thought you’d left.”

“I sent Shelby back with Torie. I wanted to talk to you alone.”

Warren was the last person Kenny wanted to talk to tonight, or any night for that matter. “In case you haven’t notice, I’m on my honeymoon.”

“From what I saw tonight, it doesn’t look like much of a honeymoon. Lady Emma was barely speaking to you.” Petie made a little mewing sound in his sleep, and Warren cuddled him closer.

Had his father ever held him like that? He was startled to feel a stab of jealousy. It made him ashamed, and then something inside him relaxed. Emma was right. Warren had learned from the past, and all the worries Kenny’d been having about his little brother were groundless. Petie wasn’t going to have to earn their father’s love.

“Petie should be in bed,” he said gruffly.

“He will be soon.” Warren pressed a kiss to the top of the baby’s head. “He was so comfortable, I didn’t want to disturb him.”

Once again, that queer, painful stab. Petie was being given his father’s love as a birthright. Torie had received the same thing. Only Kenny’d had to earn it—one tournament at a time.

Now his father wanted to pretend that everything was fine between them. But it wasn’t fine. Kenny had needed a father when he was a kid; he sure as hell didn’t need one now.

“I’m concerned about you and Lady Emma.”

“Her name’s Emma. She doesn’t use her title. And there’s nothing to be concerned about.”

Warren stroked Petie’s back and gazed out the sun-porch windows toward the dark pecan grove. “I’m not much of a praying man. I can’t do it right—just doesn’t come naturally to me—so I leave it up to other people. Like Shelby. Now, she’s a real good prayer, and she says Emma’s the answer to her prayers for you.”

“I didn’t ask Shelby to pray for me.”

“No, you didn’t. I asked her.”

“If she’s so good at praying, put her to work getting me back on the tour.” Kenny tossed back the remaining contents of his wine glass and turned toward the kitchen, but his father’s voice stopped him.

“Come back here and sit down.”

“It’s late. I’m tired.”

“I said,
sit down
.”

It was the nightmare voice from his childhood:
“Set your butt right down on that chair. You’re a damn disgrace! You know that, don’t you? A spoiled little brat . . .”

But Kenny wasn’t a kid anymore, and if Warren wanted a showdown, then by damn they were going to have one. He set his wine glass on the table, leaned against the doorjamb, and stared insolently across the sunporch at his father. “You got something on your mind, just come out and say it.”

“All right.” Warren had to look up at him, but it didn’t seem to bother him as much as Kenny wanted it to. “I know you don’t think much of me, and it’s no mystery why. I wasn’t there for you when you needed me, and you’re not going to forgive that. But you’re still my son, and I can’t stand by and watch you screw up the most important thing in your life because you’re still fighting all those things that happened to you when you were too young to defend yourself.”

Kenny’s lips felt stiff. “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”

“I’m talking about the way your past keeps affecting your future. I like Lady Emma. We all do. And when the two of you are in a room together, you don’t seem to be able to take your eyes off each other. You’ve never been like that with any other woman.”

He wasn’t going to explain that his marriage to Emma was more an accident than a lifelong commitment. Instead, he stared belligerently at his father. “I married her, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, you married her. But it’s plain that the two of you still have a lot of problems to work out.”

“Whether we do or not isn’t any of your damn business.”

“Listen to me, Kenny. For just once in your life, listen. I’ve never been happier about anything than I am with the way you’ve made something of yourself, even though I know Dallie Beaudine deserves the credit rather than me. More than anybody on the face of this earth, including your sister, I understand exactly what you’ve had to overcome to get where you are. And I’ll tell you this: There aren’t many people who could have done it.”

For a moment a flash of gratitude shot through him, but the praise had come too late. “Get to the point,” he snapped.