To Honor and Trust (8 page)

The sound of good-natured voices drifted through the open window of the shack, and both men glanced outside. Wes didn't recognize any of the men in the group, but he hadn't expected to. Bridal Veil was new to him, and so were the people who frequented the resort. He couldn't be sure if that would be an advantage or disadvantage in securing a position.

The older man put two fingers in his mouth and let out a shrill whistle. Two caddies broke from the crowd and ran toward the shack. “Take the one on the right. He knows the course better, but don't tell either of 'em I told you who to choose. The one on the left would never speak to me again, and we don't need no hard feelings.”

Wes nodded. “Thanks for the advice.”

When the two caddies rushed through the door, Wes signaled to the one on the right. “I could use you out on the course if you're not too tired.”

The young man tipped his hat and grinned. “Never too tired to be out on the golf course. My name's Ted.” He reached toward Wes's caddie bag.

“And mine's Wes Townsend. Pleased to meet you, Ted. I haven't golfed this course before, so I'm looking for all the help you can give me.”

The fellow grinned. “Always glad to give advice, Mr. Townsend.”

Wes slapped him on the shoulder. “Then we should get on just fine.”

Just as Callie feared, Thomas had already arrived at the tennis court. He had parked his bicycle, and she could see him lobbing the ball across the net—or at least making an attempt. Over the
past year, Thomas had taken a few classes at the indoor court at his father's club in Indianapolis, but this was an outdoor grass court and would likely require some adjustment.

Callie strode toward the court and took a position a short distance from the sideline. When Thomas missed the ball and went running to fetch it, the instructor approached her. He was a small-framed man, with dark hair and eyes the color of strong coffee. “Good afternoon. I'm Archie Penniman, the tennis instructor here at Bridal Veil. I don't believe we've met.”

“Callie Deboyer. I am tutor to the Bridgeport children. This is the first year any members of the family have been enrolled for tennis lessons. Thomas has probably informed you that he has taken a few lessons in Indianapolis, but he's never before played on a grass court.”

“And what about you, Miss Deboyer? I noticed your name on my list of students. Have you had lessons back in Indianapolis?”

He smiled and stepped closer—too close, as far as Callie was concerned. She took a backward step. “No, I must admit that I haven't. The nearest I've come to playing tennis is badminton, and that with the children. I don't have a racket.”

“That's not a problem. We keep a number of them available for guests who are taking lessons and might not own a racket.”

“Why don't you go on with the lesson for Thomas? It's far more important that he have additional lessons before heading off for boarding school next year. Whether I learn is of little importance.”

“But you've signed up for instructions.” He leaned in. “And I'd enjoy teaching you far more than a young boy preparing for boarding school.”

His breath grazed her neck. She frowned and stepped back. “Please keep a proper distance, Mr. Penniman.”

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend. It must be your beauty that keeps drawing me toward you.” He appeared contrite. “Please accept my apologies.”

Mr. Penniman obviously considered himself quite the ladies' man—the type of fellow Callie tried to avoid. She didn't want to misjudge him, but he was much too forward for her liking.

“Your apology is accepted.” She glanced toward Thomas, who had stooped down to retrieve the ball. “To be honest, I'm not particularly athletic, so you will find much greater reward teaching Thomas.”

“Ah, but the note I received expressly stated that your skill level should reach or exceed young Thomas's. That means I'll need to spend more time with you, for his parents obviously want him to have a strong opponent in order to further build his skills when you return home in the spring.”

Thomas ran toward them holding the ball aloft. “Are you ready, Mr. Penniman?”

Callie gestured toward the court. “I shall begin my instruction on our next visit. Please don't disappoint Thomas, Mr. Penniman.”

“If that's what you wish. It's my desire to please you.”

Callie wasn't certain what to think of Mr. Penniman. Surely he was trustworthy and a gentleman, or the club wouldn't retain him. She glanced up as Thomas laughed and sent the ball flying across the net. For Thomas's sake, she'd find some way to handle Mr. Penniman and his unwanted advances—at least she hoped she could.

After his return from the golf course yesterday, Wes made several inquiries regarding the whereabouts of Mr. Nusbaum. However, the man had proved to be as elusive as the club's absent golf pro. After playing the course, Wes had hoped to speak to the supervisor and secure the position as golf pro. He'd even decided he would agree to take the job on an interim basis. Should Bobby McLaren appear, Wes would immediately step aside. He'd had the proposal ready to present, but Mr. Nusbaum was nowhere to be found. And there certainly was no reason Mr. Nusbaum shouldn't agree to his offer. Wes couldn't accept any pay for the position or he'd lose his current status and be unable to enter further tournaments as an amateur.

Slipping away after lunch proved a bit more difficult than Wes had anticipated. Without his knowledge or agreement, his mother had scheduled a game of family croquet. For once, his brother Daniel and brother-in-law, Richard, sided with him and agreed that the men should not be included in the game. His mother had finally acquiesced but only after reminding them that she would accept no excuses regarding the upcoming masked ball.

They had all agreed they wouldn't dream of missing the event. Had he been able to discover some way to avoid the dance, Wes would have done so, but he knew the other men in the family used such events to broaden their search for possible investors. For years he'd watched his father and oldest brother, Charles, work their way through a room. He disliked the way these men seemed to use each other to advantage. Of course, it wasn't only his relatives—among the wealthy, it had become a customary way of making connections and doing business. Watching these men through the years was one of the reasons Wesley had chosen a profession that would lead him away from the business world.

And though his medical career had proved to be a disastrous mistake, his decision to eschew the family business remained a steadfast choice. He didn't want to be there, and he didn't believe God wanted him there, either. Perhaps working as a golf pro this winter would give him—and God—time to formulate a plan. He smiled, thinking of Miss Deboyer and her prayers for the other golfers. She said she prayed over concerns of both great and small consequence, but he wondered if she'd ever faced a matter of enormous import. Probably not. She appeared to be a young woman who had sailed through life with little difficulty.

Walking toward the golf course, his gaze fell upon several interesting plants, and once again he wondered if he could best use his skills to serve mankind through research. With his love of botany and his strong medical background, that made the most sense. And yet, he remained unsure. As he entered the caddie shack, he pushed aside thoughts of his future career and greeted Ted, the caddie who had accompanied him on the course yesterday.

Two other men were inside the shack, and Ted tipped his cap and pointed his thumb toward one of them. “This here's Mr. Nusbaum. I told him you'd be coming to see him.” The young man grinned. “I see you brought your clubs.”

“Couldn't come to the golf course without clubs, now could I?”

The caddie motioned to the other man. “I'm ready to hit the links whenever you are, Mr. Branson.”

Mr. Nusbaum extended his hand. “Ted tells me you're quite a golfer—said your name was Wes and you've won a few tournaments. I assume you've got a last name, but Ted said he couldn't recall it.”

“Townsend. Wesley Townsend.” Wes gripped the man's hand and gave it a firm shake. “Good to meet you.”

The supervisor motioned toward a couple of worn wooden chairs. “Sit down and let's talk.” He settled on one of the chairs and withdrew a pipe from his inside pocket. “So you're interested in working as our golf pro?”

Though he would have preferred to keep his identity secret, Wes wouldn't dare attempt to hide the fact that he and his family were guests staying at the clubhouse. After explaining that instead of participating in some of the other activities, he'd prefer to work at the golf course, he leaned back and stared at Mr. Nusbaum. “Are you willing to give me a try?”

“To tell you the truth, I'm between the devil and the deep blue sea, and you're making me a good proposition. I like the idea that you're willing to step aside if Bobby should show up, which I doubt at this point. What I don't like is that you and your family are guests at the hotel. It could make some of the other workers uncomfortable. And maybe some of the guests, too.” He arched his brows. “Know what I mean?”

Wes nodded. “I do. If you like, I could try to keep it under my hat, but there might be guests who would see me at the clubhouse and recognize me. I think if we tell any concerned guests that I'm not being paid and have agreed to step in and help because of the circumstances, there would be no problem.”

“Why would you do that?” He hesitated. “Are you thinking if you don't take pay you could come and go as you please? I can't say that I have a golf pro available and then not be able to count on you.”

Wes straightened and shook his head. “I'd do it because I'd prefer to be on the links rather than sitting in the clubhouse, and because I can help. Who knows? One day I may decide upon this becoming my profession.”

Mr. Nusbaum took a match to his pipe and puffed on the stem until the tobacco took hold. “Now, why in the world would a fellow from a family of wealthy businessmen consider a future as a golf pro? Makes no sense.”

Wes shrugged. “I doubt it will ever happen, but if it does, I'd be pleased to have a reference. Do you golf, Mr. Nusbaum?”

“No. I don't have time for playing sports. I'm too busy trying to make sure the guests are happy.” He held the stem of his pipe in the corner of his mouth. “And if I was going to take up a sport, it wouldn't be golf. Can't make much sense of the game, but I know it's become important to folks who frequent resorts.” He motioned toward the course. “We've expanded this one—started out pretty small years ago, but now it's eighteen holes and considered a pretty good course around these parts.”

“I agree. It's a course that requires a good deal of skill on the last nine holes but is easy enough on the first nine that beginners aren't discouraged.”

“Right. That's what Bobby said, too.” Mr. Nusbaum removed the pipe from his mouth. “I know what you've told me about your game and the trophies you've won, but if I get complaints from the guests that they're unhappy with your abilities, I'll . . .”

Wes held up his hand. “If you get complaints, I want to know. And if you or the guests are unhappy with my performance, then I'll step aside just the same as I said I would if Bobby McLaren returns.”

“I don't suppose there's much more I could ask for, though I do feel that I'm taking advantage of you. We'll see how things work out, and if all goes well and you should need that reference letter in the future, I'll be glad to oblige.”

Wes extended his hand. “Then we've got a deal. All I need to know is when I begin and what lessons are scheduled.”

“You can begin right now. I'll go up to the clubhouse and see that notices are sent to all of the guests who have signed up for lessons.” Mr. Nusbaum clapped Wesley on the shoulder. “Glad to have you here, Mr. Townsend.”

“I think you should call me Wes, don't you?”

Mr. Nusbaum chuckled as he knocked the tobacco from his pipe bowl. “You're right, Wes.” He tucked the pipe into his pocket. “I'll check in with you tomorrow and see how things are going. If there's an emergency, send one of the caddies running.” He stopped in the doorway. “When Ted returns, tell him to inform the caddies I've hired a golf pro, and they'll be back on their regular schedule.”

“Yes, sir.” Wes waved as he bid the supervisor good-bye.

Once alone, he surveyed the small building that acted as a resting spot where the caddies could gather in between games as well as a storage space for golf clubs and belongings the members
didn't want to shuffle back and forth to their cottages or the clubhouse. Though it wasn't grand, there were benches where players could rest, and the few who wore hobnail-spiked shoes could sit on the benches and change. There was an adjacent room he hadn't seen on his previous visit, one with more comfortable chairs and a few tables scattered about. He would be quite happy spending any free time in the small frame building.

“Is anyone here?”

At the sound of a woman's voice in the front office, Wes stepped to the doorway that separated the rooms. Unexpected pleasure swept over him when he caught sight of Miss Deboyer standing in front of the desk. Jagged shards of sunlight streamed through the side window and danced like fireflies on the dark curls peeking from beneath her straw hat.

“Good afternoon, Miss Deboyer. It is a pleasure to see you again.” He didn't miss the surprise that shone in her dark brown eyes that were a near match for her hair. “And may I say that I'm doubly pleased there isn't a bicycle involved in our meeting this time.” He smiled and hoped his joke wouldn't offend her. When she chuckled, he relaxed and strode to the desk. “Are you here about the golf lessons?”

“Yes. The fellow who was in here yesterday told me that Mr. Nusbaum would be available to give me information about the lack of a golf instructor.” She glanced toward the other room. “He said he would be here after lunch. I know I'm a bit late, but I thought he would wait an extra few minutes. Did you see him?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I did.”

“Did he happen to mention if there'd been any news from Bobby McLaren? Thomas is eager to begin his golf lessons, and I do hope someone is going to make proper arrangements.”

“Arrangements have been made. You are speaking to the newly hired golf pro. I am certain teaching you and Thomas will give me great pleasure.” He sounded like a foolish schoolboy, but she fascinated him. This young woman combined elegance and practicality in a way he'd never before experienced.

“You? I thought you were one of the gardeners or groundskeepers.”

Wesley was momentarily taken aback when he realized she thought he was a club employee rather than a guest. The idea pleased him. She was a refreshing young woman, and if she knew he was a guest, she'd likely become quite formal—and embarrassed. “I have studied botany, but I don't believe I said that I worked as a gardener, did I?”

She frowned. “No, I suppose you didn't. I simply presumed that with your wealth of knowledge, you supervised the landscaping or helped preserve the island in some way.”

“I have a genuine love of botany and landscaping, but when I learned the golf pro had gone missing, I told Mr. Nusbaum of my qualifications and he agreed to give me a try. The guests will be unhappy if they're without an instructor for the entire season.” He gestured toward the clubhouse. “Mr. Nusbaum is currently delivering notes to guests who had enrolled.”

“I see. Well, I suppose . . .” She glanced toward the door.

He could see she needed further convincing. “Once you've had your first lesson, I hope that you and Thomas will decide that golf instructor should be listed as one of my accomplishments. I've won several tournaments, but if you or Thomas find my lessons ineffective, I'll ask that any payment be refunded to Mr. Bridgeport.”

A hint of pink colored her cheeks. “No, no. I didn't mean to imply you aren't qualified. I was simply surprised by the turn
of events.” She fidgeted with her belt, obviously uncertain and perhaps embarrassed that she'd challenged him.

“I completely understand your confusion, Miss Deboyer.”

Her shoulders relaxed and she graced him with a cheerful smile. “Since Thomas missed his lesson yesterday, perhaps you have time this afternoon.”

Wes glanced at the book. “If you could be back in half an hour, I believe the three of us would have time for nine holes.”

“Oh, I don't have clubs, so you should have ample time. I'll walk along with the two of you and watch.”

He smiled and pointed his thumb toward the storage area. “There's a caddie bag and clubs with your name on them in the storage area—right beside the ones belonging to Thomas.”

She let her gaze rest on the row of caddie bags and grinned as she recalled telling him she feared clunking a player on the head. “I think you should be very afraid, Wes. Teaching me how to golf may prove to be quite an ordeal.”

He touched his forehead in a mock salute. “I believe I'm up to the challenge, Miss Callie.”

She turned and headed for the door. “It may take me a little more than a half hour. I need to stop by the tennis courts and tell the instructor that Thomas will be golfing this afternoon.”

Wes nodded. “I'll be right here.”

Callie pedaled toward the tennis course. Best to stop there first and then fetch Thomas. She was pleased when she spotted Mr. Penniman standing near the court. He waved and shot her an exaggerated smile as she pulled alongside him.