Secret Garden (3 page)

Leonard was Colin’s accountant and business manager. “What’s so bad about that?” Colin asked. Leonard’s management company ran Colin’s website, made his travel arrangements, took care of all the stuff that Colin didn’t enjoy doing. Leonard had even snagged Colin a few endorsements—nothing big, one with a sportswear company that was little more than a struggling start-up, and another with a ball company that, admittedly, spread money around to pretty much every tour pro, just to flood the tour as much as possible with their brand of golf balls. But every dollar counted.

“It’s nothing,” Mack said. “It’s just business.”

Colin hoped their business was still okay. He’d become used to the lifestyle—a far better living than they’d had on the minors tour. That first year in the pro tour, Colin had made close to a million dollars, and he’d bought Daisie Lee a house and a new car. He’d spread the wealth to Mack, too. Stepped up their accommodations on tour.

The thought of losing that made his guts ache.

He just...needed to keep this gig going. Keep the wolf from the door. Do what made everybody happy.

Colin gripped his nine iron and headed toward the ball.

Truth was, his game
had
been slipping lately. There had been magic in Colin’s game once. Time was he’d pulled off amazing feats, with seemingly little effort. Every so often he still had glimmers of that, and if he just focused hard enough, maybe he could find it again in time for the next tournament. Make the final cut, and thus earn a slice of the purse money, which would automatically boost his ranking again.

Mack crossed his arms and watched silently.

Don’t think.
Colin gave the ball his usual address, whistled under his breath, swung...

And completely undershot it.

He stood there, staring at the dead ball for a while. He honestly didn’t know how to begin to fix this.

He turned to Mack. All the greats had caddies who helped them with this sort of thing. Made coaching comments, or had swing coaches on call. “Any tips?”

“Seriously?” Mack laughed. “You hate tips.”

Yeah, well, that was true, too. Colin typically avoided overanalyzing things. He’d always thought that was the secret to his success, and his college golf coach had been fine with it. Mostly, Colin was allergic to critical people who weren’t helpful. “Anything
constructive
?”

Mack ran a hand through his hair. “How about I videotape you, and then you take a look at it yourself?”

Colin paused. He hadn’t done much of that lately. When he was young, he’d been videotaped a lot. “Sure. Let’s do it.”

“Tomorrow,” Mack said.

“Right.”

Colin took his putter from Mack and prepared to finish up the hole. Two putts later, he sank the ball in the cup, for a bogie on the eighteenth and final hole. Overall, he was three shots under par, which was great for an amateur golfer, but not so impressive for a tour pro.

Pensive, Mack took out his pencil and filled out Colin’s scorecard.

“I’ve got two more weeks to prepare for the New York Cup,” Colin said. “I’ll be fine.”

“Yep,” Mack agreed. But he didn’t meet Colin’s eye. He was lying, and Colin knew it.

Not feeling like himself, Colin headed toward the Nineteenth Hole, Winwood’s combination pro shop and bar-and-grill. Mack followed with the golf bag slung over his shoulder. But a few yards from the gravel path that led from the golf cart rental stand, a foursome of ladies Colin knew from the club—Doris was the blonde ringleader—stopped their cart and hurried over to hug Colin.

He didn’t show the ladies a hint of his worried mood. Instead, he gave them each a smile, a kiss on the cheek, a few “shooting-the-breeze” good words. Because at the end of the day, Doris and her friends were Colin’s people, and he appreciated their support. He was
supposed
to be here on the golf course at Winwood. He never had a doubt about that in his mind.

Sometimes, though, his motto failed him, and he had a fear that he had some kind of defect. That he would waste whatever gift or talent he’d been given.

“Yo, Walker!”

On the steps to the clubhouse stood Doc Masters, one of the stars of the pro tour, ranked number five. The muscular bald guy had skin on his neck so burned by the sun that it was textured like an alligator’s. As always, he was surrounded by his entourage.

Cocking a hand on his hip, he said to Colin, “I saw you on the roster for the New York Cup.”

Colin turned slowly, the grin still on his face. Sensing trouble because they knew Doc, Doris led her friends to their tee time.

“Yes,” Colin said to Doc. It seemed as if everybody was waiting to see if Colin could pull it off again. Including him. “I’ll be there.”

“Good,” Doc said. “My wife’s sister is coming in to town, and she’s a fan of yours. She wants to hang with Colin’s Crew.”

Colin’s Crew.
The merry band of fun-loving, young-at-heart supporters who followed Colin along the fairways in his tournaments as he played each successive hole. Golf being mostly a staid sport, spectators tended to stay put at a hole, watching all the golfers as they played through. But not Colin’s Crew. Colin had never encouraged it; it had just sort of happened back in the early days.

Colin made it a point to sign everybody’s autographs. Shake everybody’s hands. High-five the little kids, especially. He wanted to make everybody feel good about the game of golf. Maybe it tripped up his focus a bit, but that wasn’t so bad. All told, he was pretty damn lucky in his life, and he knew it.

Colin shrugged. Spending time with Doc and his sister-in-law wouldn’t be a hardship. “Sure. We’ll meet up for drinks afterward.”

“You can hang out with her on Sunday.”

Colin stared at Doc. Outwardly, there was no malice in his statement. It hadn’t even occurred to Doc that in assuming Colin wouldn’t make the final cut—that he would be eliminated before the final day of the tournament—he was insulting Colin.

Doc walked off. Usually, Colin would have laughed it off. But some old spark of commitment, of competitive spirit seemed to rebel. “Sure,” he called after Doc. “When the network guys interview me with the trophy, I’ll be sure to bring her up to the press box with me.”

Doc paused. Then he turned and let out a guffaw. “That’s a good one.” He rubbed his chin. “Hey, do you need a ride on my private jet? Anytime, just give me a call.”

“We will,” Mack interjected. Colin didn’t blame him. Traveling by private jet was better than flying commercial.

“Call me,” Doc said to Colin. “We’ll keep in touch.”

Colin leaned back and gave him the good ol’ boy smile he’d learned after they first moved to this part of Texas when he was a kid. Acting as if nothing riled him. As if he was just an easygoing guy. No drama, no pain.

“That guy is an ass,” Mack said, once Doc was well out of earshot. “But he’s an ass with a private plane.”

“Yep,” Colin agreed. He headed into the clubhouse and then directly toward the conference room where he habitually met with Leonard. “But I’m not going to waste my time worrying about him.”

Mack grabbed Colin’s arm, stopping him. “Actually, Colin, now that we’re finished with the round, I, uh, need to tell you something.”

“Is this what the texting was all about?”

“Well...yeah.”

“See?” Colin said, pointing his finger at Mack. “I know you.”

“Can we just step over here?” Mack asked, nodding to a table in the far corner of the snack bar.

“Why? Is
Golf Digest
here to grill me? Am I being waylaid?”

“No, it’s not
Golf Digest
.” Mack laughed nervously. “Your mom’s here. Daisie Lee is upstairs in the conference room with Leonard.”

“What?”

“She needs to tell you something important, and she wants to do it in person,” Mack said quickly. “She texted me from Leonard’s phone—they were already in the conference room. I had nothing to do with that.”

“Oh, great. She saw the money list.” In his opinion, Daisie Lee spent entirely too much time following his life. Yeah, she was his mother. He loved her, and he’d always worry about her, too, but barging in on his business meetings was too much. “Thanks for warning me.”

“There’s more.” Mack blew out a breath.

“She’s upset, isn’t she?”

Mack gave him a look. Great. Now he would have to calm her down. Get her to smile. Make her laugh.

That was his job.

Colin glanced around them. They were in the middle of the crowded snack bar at lunchtime. People in golf shoes and polo shirts walked past carrying trays. Golf school was in session over on the far driving range, evidently.

He glanced toward the stairs. “You said she’s up in the conference room?”

“She is. But, Colin—”

“I’m on it,” Colin interrupted, and headed up the stairs to the private second-floor room that management let him use for his meetings. He was just about to open the door and reassure his mom when Mack blocked him with a hand.

“Look, I didn’t want to have to tell you this,” Mack said, “but...you probably have to go to a funeral this weekend.”

“
What?
Whose?”

While Mack just mouthed,
I’m sorry
, the door opened and his mother said in her loud twang, “Honey, I came as soon as I heard.”

Colin groaned inwardly. “What happened?” he asked in as calm a voice as he could manage.

His mom crossed her arms and looked at him. But instead of being upset, she seemed strangely pleased. “Your grandmother called me.”

“Mimi?” Colin asked, his heart pumping harder. “What’s wrong?”

“With our people? Nothing!” Her eyes widened at the thought of that. Then her mouth turned down. “Your
other
grandmother called,” she said coolly. “The one in Scotland.”

Colin’s pulse slowed.

He hadn’t heard from his father’s family since he was a kid. Then, suddenly, when he turned pro a few years back, his grandmother—Jessie—had sent him a note through his website. Leonard had told Colin, but Colin had informed him that he wasn’t interested. He’d pushed that part of his life out of his head as if it had never existed. He’d figured it would freak Daisie Lee out if he started up any kind of relationship there, and that was the last thing he wanted.

Colin steadied his nerves and entered the conference room, where Leonard sat in a rumpled suit, a bunch of papers likely showing Colin’s reduced financial circumstances spread before him.

Leonard stood clumsily, his face perspiring from the lack of air-conditioning.

“Colin,” Daisie Lee said, following him inside, “there’s good news, too. You’re getting an inheritance—a sizable inheritance—and all you have to do is show up for it.”

Colin stared. He felt as if life was moving in slow motion. Nobody in his father’s family had money, as far as he knew. Then again, he’d been just a kid when he last saw them. Eight years old. “Whose funeral is it?” he asked. “Is it Jamie’s?”

His grandparents would be elderly now. Colin hadn’t heard from his grandfather once since the divorce. He still remembered that Jamie had stood by Colin’s father when he left them. Colin would never forget that day.

Daisie Lee waved her hand. “No. And I don’t blame you for not wanting to see
those people
but you’ll just have to endure it. They offered to let you stay at their house. That ugly little crofter’s cottage.”

“That ugly little crofter’s cottage” had been heaven to Colin once—if only because he got to see Rhiannon when he went there. He closed his eyes at the memory.

So if Jessie and Jamie were both still alive, that meant...

Colin took off his cap. Stared into Daisie Lee’s eyes, which were bright with animation. “Are you telling me that my father died?”

“Yes.” She nodded. “He had a heart attack. That’s why Jessie called me.”

He couldn’t focus. His vision seemed to be swimming and he blinked hard to clear it. Somehow he remained stubbornly on his feet.

“No,” he said. Mack and Leonard were staring at him, so he sat. “I’m not going to his funeral.”

“Colin, there’s a
million-dollar inheritance
.”

Colin closed his eyes. He felt sick. He hadn’t wanted to think about any of this stuff from his childhood. It was easier to pretend that it didn’t exist. He sure as hell didn’t want his father’s money.

“I’m a tour pro,” he said. “Last year I grossed almost that much myself.”

There was silence in the room. Leonard cleared his throat, but Colin caught Mack giving him a look.
Don’t fight it,
the look said.
Just go, and take the money.

“I know my tour card’s at risk,” Colin bit out. “But I still don’t want anything from him.”

“Oh, Colin,” Daisie Lee whispered. She seemed sad, and that tore him up inside, the way it always had.

Gritting his teeth, he walked to the end of the room and grabbed a paper cup, pouring a drink from the watercooler. Somebody in the hall outside came over to wave and smile at him through the conference room window, but he just couldn’t muster up that old, carefree Colin attitude to wave back at them.

He was all tapped out. Didn’t care about keeping up his cool. When it came to the subject of his father, nothing was light, and never would be.

His hand shook as he raised the cup to his lips. For so long he’d thought that someday he’d bump into his father at a tournament, maybe. Show him that he’d been wrong. Rub it in, even.

It had been a secret, stupid desire, something he’d never shared with anybody, or even really dared to admit to himself, because it was petty. And it was sad, too, because a part of him really had wanted his dad to say he’d made a mistake. That he did love Colin.

Now it was too late.

My father is dead.

Colin heard a choking sound, and he was shocked to realize that came from him. He pressed his palm to his forehead. He didn’t want to
feel
this.

His mother came over to him and gingerly put her hand on his shoulder. “Colin, honey, I know it’s hard. What he did to us when he left...well.” She shook her head, collecting herself, and pushed the screen of her phone toward him. “Look. The most important thing now is that we need to be practical. If you lose your tour card—”