he morning sun formed a corona behind him, this manwhose legend was as big as the Texas sky. Although age had dabbed the temples of his dark blond hair with silver and deepened the brackets around his mouth, it hadn’t whittled away at the strength in his tall, lean body or dulled the gleam in those Newman-blue eyes.

A decade earlier, this man and the great Jack Nicklaus had met each other on a course people called the Old Testament and played one of the greatest golf matches in history. On that fateful day Jack Nicklaus had played for the glory of sport, but Dallas Beaudine had played for the heart of the woman he loved... and he’d won.

A shoulder injury had temporarily sidelined Dallie, forcing him into the role of acting commissioner, but he was nearly recovered now, his term as commissioner would soon be over, and the senior tour lay ahead of him like a juicy bone waiting to be devoured. First, however, he had some loose ends to tie up. One loose end, in particular.

Morning dew glistened on the toes of Kenny’s golf shoes as he stepped off the path and walked toward the first tee at Windmill Creek. His stomach gave a nervous twist as he saw Dallie standing there, even though he told himself he had no reason to be nervous. The two of them had played hundreds of rounds of golf over the years, beginning when Kenny was a teenager with the most expensive equipment money could buy and no idea how to use it. Dallie had taught him everything. No, Kenny shouldn’t be nervous, but a film of sweat had broken out on his chest.

He hadn’t seen Dallie since the day he’d been suspended, and he hid his sense of betrayal behind a cool nod as he stepped up onto the tee. “Dallie.”

“Kenny.”

Kenny turned to acknowledge the grizzled Jack Palance look-alike sprawled down on the bench with a red bandanna tied around his forehead and a rubber band holding back his thin salt and pepper ponytail. He was Skeet Cooper, the most famous caddy in golf. Skeet and Dallie had hooked up several decades earlier after a brawl at a Texaco station outside Caddo, Texas, when Dallie’d been a fifteen-year-old runaway and Skeet an ex-con with no future. They’d been together ever since.

“You got a caddy?” Dallie asked.

“He’s on his way.” Kenny’s regular caddy, a wizard named Loomis Crebbs, was carrying Mark Calcavecchia’s bag while Kenny was on suspension, and Kenny’d never missed Loomis more than he did right now. Still, he’d found a good substitute.

Clubs rattled behind them. Skeet Cooper rubbed the corner of his mouth with his thumb and rose from the bench. “Looks like Kenny’s caddy’s here.”

Dallie lifted an eyebrow as his son stepped up on the tee carrying Kenny’s bag.

Ted smiled. “Sorry I’m late. Mom made me eat breakfast. Then she started fussing with my hair, don’t ask me why.”

Dallie took the driver Skeet handed him. “Funny you didn’t mention that you were going to caddy for Kenny today.”

“Must have forgot.” Ted smiled and shifted the bag. “I told Skeet.”

Dallie shot Skeet an annoyed look that didn’t bother Skeet one bit. Kenny gestured toward the tee. “Be my guest. I believe in showing respect for the elderly and the infirm.”

Dallie just smiled. Then he walked over to the tee, swung a couple of times to loosen up, and striped a beautiful drive down the center of the fairway. It was the kind of golf shot Dallie’d cut his teeth on.

Kenny tried to quiet his nerves as he approached the tee, but that film of sweat on his chest wasn’t drying up. He told himself there was no reason to get all agitated about today’s round. Not only did he know every nuance of Dallie’s game, but the residual effects of the older man’s shoulder injury were going to give Kenny a distinct advantage. Even so, his jitters wouldn’t go away because today’s match was about something bigger than a round of golf, and both of them knew it.

Kenny stepped up to the tee, adjusted his stance, and hit a nasty duck hook into the left trees.

Dallie shook his head. “I thought we fixed that when you were eighteen.”

Kenny couldn’t remember the last time he’d hit a shot like that.A fluke, he told himself as they walked off the tee and down the fairway, with their caddies following.

“I hear from Francie that you got married,” Dallie said.

Kenny nodded.

“Simplest thing for you to do, I s’pose.” Dallie chewed the words as if they had a bad taste to them. “Hard for the press to get too riled up about a man defending his bride. Easiest way out.”

Kenny had to struggle to keep his voice even. “Only a person who doesn’t know Emma could say something like that.”

Ted piped up from behind Kenny’s shoulder, “That’s what I tried to tell him, but he wouldn’t listen.” He stepped between them. “The thing is, Dad, Lady Emma’s a lot like Mom once she gets an idea in her head.”

“I doubt that. Your mother refused to marry me until I got my life straightened out. Seems Lady Emma’s not that particular.”

Kenny didn’t like the implied criticism of Emma, and he was getting ready to say so when Ted stumbled over nothing and bumped him hard with his bag. “Sorry. Hey, Dad, how’s your shoulder feeling?”

“The shoulder’s fine. It’s my game that’s rusty.”

Not all that rusty. Kenny ignored the sight of Dallie’s ball lying in the middle of the fairway and concentrated on his slight of Emma. “Maybe I should give you a couple of strokes,” he said. “Doesn’t seem fair taking advantage of a handicapped senior citizen.”

Dallie pointed off to the stand of trees on the left where Kenny’s ball rested. “I figure your handicap’s going to even out mine.”

“What handicap are you talking about?”

“The fact that you’re scared shitless.”

A chill slithered right down Kenny’s spine. He should have known better than to bait a master strategist like Dallie. Still, he couldn’t let Dallie intimidate him, and he started to respond only to have Ted bump him with the bag again.

“Will you watch where you’re going?”

“Sorry.”

And sorry was the word for the way Kenny played for the next nine holes. He missed half the greens and left himself miles from the pin on the ones he hit. Fortunately, Dallie’s driving distance and long iron play weren’t back to normal, so after nine holes, Kenny was only down by two.

Just as they made the turn for the back nine, a golf cart came clattering up. “Kenny, darling!”

The British accent was less noticeable than the one he’d recently grown used to, but just as familiar. He turned and began to smile, then saw that Francesca Serritella Day Beaudine wasn’t alone.

Next to the gorgeous television star sat his very own wife. She was wearing his favorite hat, the straw one with cherries on the brim. They bobbed as the golf cart hit a bump. Both women wore sunglasses. Emma’s were her no-nonsense pair with the tortoiseshell frames, while Francesca’s were trendy oval wire-rims.

She waved with one hand, while she drove the golf cart with the other. Francesca was one of his favorite people—not only beautiful, but smart, funny, and kind, in her own peculiar fashion. Still, he wished she were anywhere but here. “Emma and I decided to ride along and give the two of you moral support.”

As the cart drew closer, he saw that Francesca was wearing some kind of pricey designer outfit, but it was Emma’s simple, flower-strewn T-shirt that caught his attention. As he observed the gentle rise and fall of her breasts beneath the bright yellow cotton, he remembered that he hadn’t been able to curl his hands around those breasts last night because his new wife insisted on sleeping alone.

He frowned. The last thing he needed while he was struggling through one of the most stressful rounds of golf he’d ever played was to be distracted by Emma’s breasts. And he couldn’t give Dallie an even bigger psychological advantage by letting him see that the women’s appearance had unsettled him, so he forced a smile as he approached their cart.

“Hey, Francie.”

“My darling Kenny!” He was enveloped in a cloud of chestnut hair and expensive perfume. “You eloped, you naughty boy. I’ll never forgive you.” She beamed at him, and then her green cat’s eyes flew to her son. “Teddy, you’re not wearing a visor. Did you put your sunblock on?”

Kenny had to give Ted credit for only rolling his eyes once. “Yes, ma’am.”

She turned her attention to her husband. “Dallie, how’s your shoulder? You’re not pushing yourself too hard, are you?”

“My shoulder’s doin’ just fine. I seem to be two holes up on your darlin’ Kenny.”

“Oh, dear. And I’m certain you’re both being quite beastly about it. They are, aren’t they, Teddy?”

“Oh, no, ma’am. They’re acting like perfect gentlemen. That’s the kind of game golf is.”

Dallie grinned at his son, and even Kenny had to smile at that one.

Francesca introduced Emma—who seemed to be ignoring Kenny—to Dallie. He chatted with her for a few moments, then, apparently satisfied with their conversation, turned back to the tee. “Ladies, you’re in for a treat today. You’re about to see how age and experience can overcome youth and laziness. I believe I’m up.”

As Dallie stepped onto the tee, Kenny wanted to wrap his driver right around the sonovabitch’s neck. It was one thing for other people to tease him in front of Emma, but he didn’t want Dallie doing it.

For the next seven holes, Kenny played as hard as he’d ever played, but his long game wasn’t there, and he hit the ball all over the course. Luckily, his putter kept him alive, and, going into seventeen, the match was finally even. His nerves, however, were as jagged as his long game. And the women weren’t making it any easier.

After a dozen years of marriage, Francesca still hadn’t gotten the hang of even the most rudimentary golf etiquette. Kenny didn’t mind the talking so much, although that aggravated him. What really bothered him was that Francesca kept deciding to move her golf cart just as he was getting ready to hit. In all fairness, she moved it when Dallie was getting ready to hit, too, but it didn’t seem to bother Dallie. It sure did bother Kenny, though. And the one time he’d politely asked her if she had her cart parked right where she wanted it before he teed up, she’d looked hurt, Emma had given him a glare that could have frozen a swamp, and Dallie’d snapped at him as they walked down the fairway. “You haven’t learned a damned thing this past month, have you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m beginning to believe it.” He turned away to walk with Skeet, and Kenny rounded on Ted.

“What the hell’s he talking about?”

Ted gave him a pitying look, as if he were thirty-three and Kenny twenty-two. “Just what he’s been saying for years, is all. That some things are more important than golf.”

What kind of answer was that? Kenny was so frustrated he wanted to scream, but he couldn’t do that, so he gritted his teeth, grabbed his seven iron, and proceeded to hit his ball five yards over the green.

Emma, in the meantime, continued to ignore him. She smiled at Ted, laughed at one of Dallie’s jokes, regarded Skeet warily, and chatted away with Francesca. The few times she looked at Kenny, she had this closed-up expression on her face, as if she’d sealed herself away from him. It made Kenny feel guilty, which made him even madder.

He sweated through another glove, and his shirt was soaked as he pulled his second shot on number eighteen and ended up in heavy rough. He couldn’t let Dallie beat him. If that happened, it would be as if everything Dallie believed about him was right, as if, somehow, the suspension could be justified. In all his life, Kenny’d only done one thing really well, and now even that had deserted him.

Dallie’s second shot was a perfect lay-up in the middle of the fairway. Kenny wiped the sweat from his eyes with his sleeve and tried to ignore the cattle stampede that had started in his stomach. He had to dig this one out of the rough to get it close to the pin. One great shot. That’s what he needed to wipe the smug expression off Dallie’s face. One great shot.

Ted handed him his wedge. Kenny took his stance and drew back the club, but as he was about to connect, Emma sneezed. It distracted him just enough that he got too far under the ball, which caught the front of the green and came to a stop a good thirty feet below the pin.

He slammed the club head into the ground, an act of temper he hadn’t displayed on the golf course since he was seventeen. Then, Dallie had taken away the abused club, snapped it in half, and shoved it into Kenny’s bag.Guess you won’t be needing that club anymore.

“You got it a little fat,” Ted pointed out unnecessarily.

Dallie didn’t say a thing.

Francesca asked Emma if she’d steal Patrick’s recipe for lemon pound cake. Why wouldn’t they go away! Why wouldn’t those women take that damn, noisy, rattling golf cart and, even more important, the straw hat with its bobbing cherries, and get out of here!

Kenny threw the wedge back at Ted and marched toward the green. This was Emma’s fault! If she hadn’t shown up, he’d have been able to pull himself back together. But here she was sucking everything right out of him. Just like his mother used to do.

And then the miracle happened. Dallie’s approach shot, which was dead on line, caught a gust of wind that blew it long. The ball ended up nearly as far above the pin as Kenny was below it.

“Well, now, weren’t those two sorry excuses for golf shots,” Dallie said, as if it didn’t matter all that much.

It mattered to Kenny. Each of them had long putts, but Dallie’s was tougher, and Kenny had one of the steadiest putting strokes on tour. For the first time since the round had begun, Kenny began to feel some confidence. He was going to make this putt.

Dallie pointed to the small wooden bridge that led to the eighteenth green and reminded Francesca that she couldn’t take her cart across. “That’s all right,” she replied. “Emma and I need to stretch our legs anyway, don’t we?”

Emma said nothing, and he wondered if she had any idea what was at stake right now. As she got out of the cart, the gold wedding band he’d slipped on her finger caught the sun. He remembered the expression on her face when they’d spoken their vows, an endearing combination of earnestness and apprehension that had made him want to wrap her in his arms and tell her he wouldn’t ever let anything hurt her.

Behind him, the women’s sandals tapped on the wooden bridge as they crossed to the green. Kenny heard Francesca explain that it was the last hole, and the men were tied, and after all this time the entire match was coming down to a putting contest, and wasn’t golf the most ridiculous game.

He couldn’t argue with that. He whipped off his sodden glove and shoved it in his pocket, but even though his shirt was sticking like glue to his skin, he felt his old confidence surge back as he took his putter from Ted and approached the green. Over the years he’d played in more high-pressure rounds than he could count, and he wasn’t going to let Dallie psych him out like this.

He glanced at Emma, and when he saw the way she was watching him, a rush of adrenaline shot through his veins. This was the first time she’d seen him play, and, by damn, she wasn’t going to watch him lose to a man nearly twenty years his senior.

He finally felt as if he were in control. His stomach quieted, his mind settled, and, right then, he knew he had it. Nothing on earth was going to stop him from making this putt. Dallie Beaudine was about to learn that suspending Kenny Traveler had been the biggest mistake of his life.

He smiled to himself and looked over at Dallie, who had folded his arms over his chest and was studying the position of the two balls, one at the top of the green, one at the bottom, the pin in the center.

Then Dallie grinned. “Let’s have ourselves some real fun, Kenny, and leave this match up to the ladies.”

Kenny stared at him. “What?”

“Our wives. Let’s let them finish up for us.”

If Dallie had been speaking Greek, Kenny would have understood him better. “Our wives?”

“Sure.” Dallie turned and smiled down at the women, who were standing near a live oak tree. “Francie! Lady Emma! Kenny and I are tied up here. Just to make it interesting, we’ve decided we’re going to let the two of you putt out for us. Nobody’s playing behind us, so you can take all the time you need.”

Emma’s eyes widened, and Kenny exploded. “Bull! We’re not doing any such thing!”

The acting PGA commissioner turned to stare at him, his Newman-blue eyes icy. “I’vedecided that we are.”

Kenny felt a hitch in his spine, and his stomach, which only moments before had been calm, twisted into another agonizing knot. “You son of a bitch!” he hissed.

Dallie smiled at him pleasantly, then spoke so softly only Kenny could hear. “It might not be a good idea to let your wife see you’re upset. Might make her tense, and a sensitive woman can’t putt worth a damn if she’s nervous. I’m only mentioning this because I’ve decided we’re going to let the two of them settle this whole thing between you and me.”

A feeling of dread crept through him. “You can’t mean it.”

“Oh, I mean it.” Dallie’s soft words fell over him like a poisonous vapor. “If Emma wins for you, you’re back on the tour. But if Francie wins for me, then your vacation just got extended.”

“You can’t do this!”

“I’m the PGA commissioner. I can do any damn fool thing I please. And you’d better keep your voice down because, if you let Lady Emma find out what’s really at stake here, you’re not going to have a chance in hell of finishing out the season.”

A roaring went through his head like a demonic train. Dimly, he heard Francesca chatter on about a new shampoo, and Emma say something about a conditioner.

“You’re crazy! This isn’t legal, and it sure as hell’s not ethical! I’m going to have my lawyers all over this.”

“You do that. Considering how fast our legal system works, it should only take four or five years for you to win your case.” Dallie glanced toward the women, smiled, then looked back at Kenny. “You’re the one who turned this golf round into a life-and-death match. Isn’t that why you sweated through that pretty shirt of yours before we even got to the second tee? I’m just playing your game now, Kenny, except I’m making it interesting enough to keep myself from dying of boredom.”

Dallie turned his back to him and, oozing charm with every step, walked over to Emma. “I don’t know how familiar you are with golf, Lady Emma, but the object right now is for you to get Kenny’s ball into the cup with fewer strokes than it takes Francie to get mine there. I’m sure if you just do your best, Kenny’ll be happy.”

Kenny’s voice was coldly furious as he stepped around Dallie, then turned himself so Emma couldn’t hear. “It’s not even close to a fair contest. Emma’s never held a golf club in her life. Francesca’s been around it for years.”

Dallie raised one eyebrow. “You’ve seen Francie play. Everybody in Texas knows she’s the worst golfer that ever picked up a club. Seems to me I’m the one at a disadvantage here.”

Kenny’s fists clenched at his sides. “You’re crazy, you know that? The craziest son of a bitch I ever knew.”

“That’s the way most people make their lives enjoyable, champ. Being a little crazy. I keep waiting for you to try it for yourself.”

There it was again! That insistence that he was missing something everyone else understood.

Dallie walked over to Francesca, kissed her nose, and handed her his putter. “I know putting isn’t your strong suit, honey, any more than using a driver or hitting an iron, but if you concentrate a little bit, I’m sure you can put that ball right in the cup.”

Kenny spun toward Emma. Ted was handing his putter to her—the same putter Kenny’d used to win last year’s Players Championship. As she took it, she started nibbling away at her bottom lip with that worried expression on her face that always managed to twist around his heart. Now, however, it just made him feel violent. He forced himself to go over to her. “Just relax, will you?” The words didn’t come out in the reassuring way he’d intended, but like a drill sergeant’s barked orders.

Emma’s teeth sank into her bottom lip. “Kenny, what’s going on here?”

She’d gotten real quick on the pickup when it came to his personal business, and he wasn’t surprised that she’d figured out something was up. He managed to shrug. “Sonovabitch finished me off when he suspended me. I guess now he’s just spitting out the bones.”

“You don’t want me to do this, do you?”

“I don’t have much choice.”

“Remember what I told you about female psychology and golf,” Dallie called out from the other side of the green.

Kenny tried to take a deep breath, but the air was too thick to penetrate his lungs. “You ever putted a golf ball?” he asked Emma as calmly as he could manage.

“Of course I have.”

Relief shot through him. “You have?”

“I played miniature golf several times when I was a teenager.”

He winced. A long-ago experience on some two-bit miniature golf course was worse than useless. “That’s good, then,” he managed. “You know what to do.”

On the other side of the green, Dallie was coaching Francesca. “I know it looks far, sweetheart, but it’s all downhill, so if you hit the ball too hard, it’s going to fly right by the cup.”

“I know that,” she sniffed. “Really, Dallie, it’s a simple matter of physics.”

Francesca sidled up to the ball, and Kenny was relieved to see that she was lined up so crooked she wouldn’t come within six feet of the cup.

Unfortunately, Skeet Cooper had to open his big damn mouth. “Aim a little more to the left, Francie, or that ball’s gonna end up in Tulsa.”

Francesca gave him her thousand-watt television star smile, adjusted her stance, drew back the putter and hit the ball so hard it flew down the green, past the cup, and nearly hit Kenny’s ball on the opposite fringe.

Teddy groaned. “Mommm...”

“Beastly game.”

Dallie lifted one eyebrow. “I thought you said it was a simple matter of physics.”

She stood on her tiptoes and planted a kiss on his jaw. “I’ve never been good with science.”

Francesca’s wild putt had given Kenny a reprieve, but, as his gaze flew back to Emma, he knew the match was far from over. She had such a death grip on his putter that her knuckles had turned white. Somehow he had to relax her, but he was so rigid with rage and resentment, he couldn’t speak.

Ted moved up next to her. “Let me show you how to hold the club, Lady Emma.” He peeled the putter from her fingers, then repositioned it in her hand. “You need a firm grip, but not that tight. And the important thing is to stay completely still over the ball. That’s the reason Mom can’t putt; she’s always moving around. Mainly talking.” He stepped back.

Emma needed a hell of a lot more instruction than that! Kenny strode toward her. “Since Francesca missed, you don’t have to get it in the cup on your first putt, but you have to get it close. Aim right for the cup. And hold the club a little lower. Keep your head still. Just do everything Ted said.”

He’d meant to reassure her, but her knuckles grew pale again as she resumed her death grip on his putter.

Ted shot him an annoyed look, but Kenny had too much at stake to stand idly back and allow her to screw this up for him. “Move your arms, but keep everything else completely still. The motion comes from your shoulders, do you understand? Take the club back and then move it right through the ball in one smooth motion. Got it?”

Instead of listening to him, her grip grew even tighter as she moved behind the ball. He realized he’d been thrust into his worst nightmare. He’d been forced to hand control of his life over to someone else. And not just anyone, but a domineering woman who professed to love him. It was his childhood all over again.

His eyes felt gritty as she drew back the club and tapped the ball. It barely rolled four feet before it came to a stop.

“The cup’s up there!” he exclaimed. “You’re not even close!”

“I didn’t want to hit it too hard like Francesca.”

He ground his teeth. “Francesca had a downhill putt. Yours is uphill. Youneed to hit an uphill harder.”

“Well, you might have told me that first instead of bombarding me with all that other twaddle.”

Twaddle!

He realized Dallie was staring at him, and his gaze was even more censorious than before. “Francie, you’re away. This time it’s uphill. Just try to get it close, okay?”

“Of course, darling.”

She lined up all crooked again, and Kenny shot Skeet a lethal look, daring him to intercede. Unfortunately, he’d picked the wrong person to intimidate because it was his own turncoat caddy who betrayed him.

“Move your right foot back, Mom, or you’re going to hit it way to the left.”

Francesca did as he suggested, then stopped to push a lock of hair back from her face. “If I’d known I was going to play, I’d have brought barrettes. You don’t happen to have a barrette, do you, Emma?”

“I don’t think so. Let me check my purse.”

These women were going to kill him!“Emma doesn’t have a barrette!” Kenny snagged Emma’s arm as she started to head back to the cart. “I took her last one this morning.”

Francesca gave him a snooty look, held back her hair with one hand, grasped the putter with the other, and sent the ball flying up the green.

Kenny caught his breath. She’d hit it way too hard, but by some miracle her line was straight. If the ball caught the back of the cup, it was going to drop. It was going to...

The ball clipped the right edge of the cup, and Kenny’s heart stopped as he waited for it to fall.

It wobbled, held the edge, then rolled past.

Francesca let out a whoop. “I almost made it! Did you see that? Did you see it, Dallie?”

“I sure did!” Dallie beamed at her. “What do you think, Kenny? About the best putt this woman ever hit. A little strong, but she had the right idea.”

Kenny felt sick. Francesca’s ball had stopped barely ten inches above the cup. Even she could tap it in from there. If Emma didn’t put the ball close on her next putt, she wouldn’t have a chance at a tie. And he no longer believed she had it in her to put it close. Her behavior had grown too erratic. He had to do something.

His heart raced. He moved toward Dallie. “I’ve got an idea for a new contest, Dallie. Francesca and me. I only get one putt, she gets two. What do you say, Francie? You’re not even a foot away, and I’m over twenty-five feet. If I don’t make my putt, you win.”

Francesca shaped her lips into a little girl’s pout that was at complete odds with her barracuda brain. “Absolutely not! Emma and I are having fun, aren’t we, Emma?”

Emma’s complexion had turned green beneath her sunglasses, and he knew she’d figured out that more was at stake here than a simple game of golf. “As a matter of fact, it might be a good idea if Kenny—”

“Oh, no, you don’t!” Francesca settled a hand on her slim hip. “Kenny’s one of the best putters on the tour. Even from that far away, he’ll probably put it in, and then I’ll lose. At least I have a chance with you.” She pointed one manicured fingernail toward Kenny’s ball. “Hit it, Emma.”

Kenny squeezed his eyes shut. Francesca was going to sink her putt. But could Emma put hers in in two? Not a chance if she didn’t get it close. “Hit it smooth.” His jaw was so tightly clenched it ached. “All you have to do is put it up there.”

She lined up properly, but the club head wobbled as she took it back. He closed his eyes... heard Ted groan... opened his eyes...

She’d left it short by two and a half feet.

His ball now rested nearly three feet below the cup, while Dallie’s was less than a foot above. If both women sank their putts, it would be a tie. But Emma’s putt was farther.

“My turn!” Francesca said.

His ball was away, and it wasn’t her turn. He waited for someone to correct her, and, when nobody did, started to say something himself only to hold back at the last second. If he said anything, they’d all stare at him as if he’d twisted the head off a kitten. His blood boiled, and he could feel himself beginning to lose what remained of his self-control.

Francesca stepped up. “Do you think I should putt with my sunglasses on or off?” she asked her husband.

Of all the idiotic questions!His entire future was at stake, and Francesca was worried about her sunglasses!

Dallie, however, acted as if her question was perfectly reasonable. “I guess that’s up to you. However you feel comfortable.”

“Are you going to keep your sunglasses on?” Francesca called across the green to Emma.

Emma turned to him and Kenny felt himself losing it.

“I don’t know,” she said. “What should I do, Kenny?”

“Don’t worry about the fucking sunglasses!”

Francesca frowned at his explosion. “Little pitchers,” she said with a pointed look at Ted.

Ted sighed.

Dallie grinned.

Kenny felt as if the top of his head had blown off.

Francesca moved into position. “This is so exciting. I’ve never won before, and even I can make this. You won’t be upset if I win, will you, Emma? I’m not actually very good, but—Oops.”

Yes!Kenny could barely contain a whoop of victory as Francesca’s putt caught the lip of the cup and rolled past six inches.

“Bloody stupid game!”

Oh, yes! Yes!Now that the pressure was off, even Emma could do this. She had two chances to win this thing for him and only a two-and-a-half-foot putt. His sexy, determined, Emma!

He slipped in front of her, turning his back to the rest of them so no one else could hear. Every one of his senses was fully alert as he willed her to concentrate. “Now listen to me, sweetheart. Pay attention to every word I’m saying. You’ve only got a two-and-a-half-foot putt, and you have two chances to get it in. You can do this. I want you to line up nice and straight and take that club head back smooth, not like you did last time. I don’t want to see any wobble. And hold yourself completely still. Nothing moves except your arms, you understand? Take the putter straight back, then bring it through the ball right toward the hole. Now do you have any questions? Any questions at all?”

She bit her lip and peered up at him from beneath the brim of her straw hat. “Do you love me even a little bit?”

Oh, God Not now! Not this! Shit! Wasn’t this just like a woman!He bit back a stream of expletives and tried to speak reasonably. “We’ll talk about it after we’re done, all right?”

She shook her head. The cherries bobbed. “I need to talk about it now.”

“No, Emma. It doesn’t have to be now.” His own eyes stared back at him from the reflection in the lenses of her sunglasses, and they looked wild.

She lifted her chin an inch. “Yes. It does.”

Blood churned like acid through his veins. “Don’t do this to me. Why? Why does it have to be now?”

“I don’t know. I only know that it does.” Her chin trembled, she slipped off her sunglasses, and he saw that her eyes were dark with pain. His unruly stomach cramped as he watched her try to pull herself together. “Never mind. I’m being foolish. Besides, I already know the answer.” She slid her sunglasses into her pocket. “What a goose I’ve been about all this. I’m in way over my head with you. Of course, you’ve known that all along. Well, it has to stop.” She managed a brisk little smile. “I’ll do my best to hit your putt, Kenny. And then I’m getting out of your life.”

His stomach... it wasn’t ever going to be the same. “You’re talking stupid. I don’t want to hear this.”

“Nevertheless, it has to be said. And you of all people should understand. Don’t you remember, Kenny?” Once again that heartbreak of a smile, full of strong intent, but wobbly at the corners. The saddest thing he’d ever seen. “Love that has to be earned on the golf course, or anyplace else, for that matter, isn’t worth it. Love has to be a free gift or it doesn’t have any value at all.”

Just like that, she pulled the world out from under his feet.

She stepped around him to line up, and as she gripped the putter, he remembered his father, and Petie, and the Diaper Derby, and the way Emma’d looked when she’d jumped on that Gray Line tour bus. He shivered. All morning he’d been sweating, but now he was chilled right down to his bones. And somehow he knew that, if he let her hit this putt, he would have lost her forever.

The knowledge came to him from someplace deep inside, a small, constricted place where he’d kept so many feelings locked away. Now that place spilled open and he saw that he loved this woman with every breath in his body.

She’d already drawn back the putter, her line was perfect, and his heart shot right up into his throat.

“Emma!”

The putter wobbled. Stalled. She looked up.

He smiled at her. Or at least he tried. His vision blurred as his life settled into place around him. “The game’s over, sweetheart,” he said huskily. “We’re going home now.”

“What?” Dallie shot forward, his eyes glittering. “You can’t do that! You heard what I told you. If you walk away, you know exactly what you’ll be giving up.”

Kenny nodded. “I know. But this is upsetting Emma, and I’m not going to have it.” He snatched the putter from her hand and shoved it at Dallie. “I forfeit the match. It’s all yours, and you can damn well do whatever you want with it.”

Then he wrapped his arm around Emma’s shoulders and began to lead her off the green.

“But your putt...” she said. “I told you I’d make your putt.”

“Shhh... it’s all right. You don’t have to earn my love on any damn golf course, Lady E. It’s yours for the asking.”

She stopped walking and stared up at him.

He’d just thrown his career out the window, but as he gazed down into that heart-stopper of a face, he knew this woman was worth a thousand careers. And with that knowledge, he finally understood everything that had eluded him for so long. He understood that, each time he’d played eighteen holes, he’d been trying to justify his life, and that he wasn’t going to do it anymore. He saw that he was more than a man who knew how to swing a club, that he had a brain, ambition, and some dreams for the future he hadn’t even known existed. As he stood there next to the eighteenth green, he finally understood what had been eluding him—that there were a lot of things more important in his life than golf, and the way he loved this woman was at the top of his list.

He ducked beneath the brim of her hat and brushed her lips with a kiss.

Dallie’s soft chuckle drifted his way across the green. “Congratulations, champ. I knew you’d get the idea sooner or later. And welcome back to the pro tour.”

Kenny barely heard. He was too worried about the fact that Emma wasn’t kissing him back.