Worth the Drive (4 page)

He acknowledged Binky’s compliment, then tried to put the blonde from his mind and focus on his livelihood for the rest of the round. He still had seven holes to play, lots of chances to make some birdies.

His body was fluid and the game seemed effortless. The pure physicality of his swing sang to him. His arms and shoulders became one with the club.

“A couple of fine Sheilas we’ve got with us today, hey mate?” Barclay said two hours later as they stood next to each other and watched the Curtis kid putt out on the eighteenth hole.

Darío
knew exactly to which women Barclay was referring, but something in the man’s lecherous tone made him shrug ignorance.

“Right behind you, mate. T
hey’re standing together by the ropes.”

Darío
snuck a look behind him, but he knew exactly where the women were. Though he had turned his mind back to the round, he had never lost track of the Swede, and was delighted that she was still with the group to the final hole.

“
Sí
, ees
muy
preeetty.” He drawled the words, laying his Spanish accent on a little thick. His first few years that he’d played in the States, he’d been able to feign a language barrier when paired with a blowhard like Barclay. It was an easy way to have a nice, quiet, peaceful round.

As he started winning, and became more well known, the fact that he spoke impeccable English became common knowledge and he could no longer play that game. English was the language spoken on the European Tour as well, and
Darío
had been proficient since learning it as a child. He had been somewhat disturbed recently to realize that he now dreamt in English. It was nearly as innate to him as Spanish, but every now and then, he thickened his accent and pretended not to understand certain words to halt an unwelcome conversation.

It didn’t work in this instance as Barclay kept on. “Did you see the tits on the blonde? Well, both of them, actually, but the blonde. My God, do you think they’re real? And those legs? Can you imagine those thrown over your shoulders?”

Darío
was no prude, but his belief was that crude language, such as Barclay’s, was best used between the sheets, not between the ropes. He had never partaken in locker room talk, even as a youth.

The picture Barclay painted was indeed evocative. Just as long as he was in the starring role and not Barclay.

Barclay seemed not to notice
Darío
’s bristle – or ignored it – and kept on. “My God, but I’d like to get my hands on her. Think I’ll give it a whirl when we’re done here. Lord knows I need something soft to lay my head on to take the sting out of this awful round. Those lovely tits seem just the thing.” Barclay was
four
over to
Darío
’s now four under.

Darío
couldn’t describe the flash of emotion that went through him when he thought of Barclay’s clammy hands on
his
blonde. He chastised himself for the thoughts, but could not escape them. She wouldn’t fall for some lame line that Barclay was likely to offer up, would
she? He smiled to himself, thinking of how he’d assigned a deep intelligence and good taste to a woman he’d never met. Still, he knew his Swede - as he’d come to think of her - would not be fool enough to buy whatever B
arclay Ives
was selling.

Chad Curtis putted out, ending the round. The gallery had grown as the hour grew later, with more locals wishing well to their hometown boy. The cheers from the crowd were loud and boisterous for one of their own. They were also kind to
Darío
, appreciative of the stellar round he’d shot.

Chad had shot even par,
playing
very well for his first round as a professional in front of a nerve-inducing, hometown crowd.
Darío
had ended up at four
under, the best round he’d shot in nearly a year. Barclay finished at four over. Unless he had the round of his life tomorrow, Barclay would probably miss the cut, making an early exit from the tournament. Never one to be cruel,
Darío
was nonetheless cheered by that thought.

The three golfers made their way to the scorer’s tent, which was actually a trailer, and checked, then signed their official scorecards. When they came out, they went to the ropes that led from the trailer to the clubhouse doors, giving the golfers a straight shot through the crowd. The ropes were always lined with autograph and memorabilia seekers.
Darío
typically gave a half dozen balls away to children after each round, making sure he gave one to any child who
had
followed his group
during his round
.

Half of the crowd went after Chad, which was only natural, him being a local. The other half went after
Darío
as crowds still did, even though
Darío
had not played well the last two years. Due to winning three majors, albeit several years ago, his name still carried a certain cache among golf fans.

Darío
started to sign his name on hats and programs as he slowly made his way along the ropes, keeping an eye on Barclay who was searching the crowd for the Swede. He knew the second Barclay spotted her, following Barclay’s beady eyes to the Swede.

She stood away from the crowd, her eyes not following Barclay, but following
Darío
. He had thought he’d felt her eyes on him during his round, but it was hard to tell with her wearing th
at hat. She’d taken the hat off and
it slapped lightly against her thigh. Her face was even more arresting than
Darío
had imagined. Stunning cheekbones, a cool beauty reminiscent of a woman his mother adored, Grace Kelly.

And she was looking straight at him.

The piercing blue of her eyes made the pen in his hand slide off the paper he was signing. She seemed to sense his reaction, because her head tilted back, as if their connection had been physical.

He finished the autograph and handed it back to the man who looked puzzled when he saw the squiggly lines go off the edge of his program.
Darío
made toward the Swede. She was several steps beyond the crowd and to get to her
Darío
would either have to leave the safety of the ropes and brave the crush of the crowd, or somehow wave her over, through the avid autograph seekers, to the ropes.

While he was trying to figure
out
the best plan of action, the Swede’s attention was drawn away by Barclay
,
who had already left the ropes and was at her side, touching her arm.
Darío
saw her stiffen at the touch, and was pleased to see her drop a cool façade on her beautiful face as Barclay made his play. He saw her head shaking no, at first slightly, then a bit more emphatically. She finally pointed to the woman she’d been walking with.

The woman was along the ropes not far from where
Darío
stood, talking intently with Chad
Curtis. They seemed to be making plans to meet later. Chad was giving her directions to a restaurant and they both agreed on a time for later that evening.
Darío
couldn’t help overhearing the directions to the meeting place as disappointment washed over him at the realization that the women had been following his threesome because of Chad Curtis.

He looked back toward the Swede, who was finally getting Barclay to take the hint. As Barclay made his way back to the ropes, the Swede looked back at
Darío
, seemingly not surprised to find
Darío
still looking at her. She rolled her eyes at
Darío
, as if to let him in on her amusement of Barclay.
Darío
grinned, sharing the Swede’s humor, and watched as she rejoined her friend.

As the two women turned to leave the course,
Darío
quickly tried to commit the directions Chad Curtis had given the Swede’s friend to memory.

It was time to try a new place for dinner.

Chapter Three

This is a game of misses. The guy who misses the best is going to win.

-Ben Hogan
, professional golfer

You couldn’t really even call the Armadillo a restaurant. It was no more than a dive bar that happened to serve food. The chairs stuck to the floor, as did your shoes. The bartender had
a front tooth missing
. Her husband, also behind the bar, didn’t look much better. George Strait blared out of the jukebox.

Katie loved it.

Plus, they made the most incredible Margaritas.

Her first one went down fast. Too fast, but after a full day in the hot Texas sun walking a golf course that was over five miles long, the cool drink slid down her parched throat with ease. The salt on the rim of the glass stung her sunburned lips. She’d slathered enough sunscreen on her skin to escape the pink sting of sunburn, but she’d forgotten about her lips. The ice in the glass soothed the sting of the salt and the drink numbed her in all kinds of ways. She kept her mouth near or in the glass as she listened to Lizzie and Chad talk business.

She had tried to beg off, told Lizzie she’d order room service at the hotel, but to no avail. Lizzie was insistent that Katie join her and Chad.

Chad had flattered Katie by making an attempt to hit on her. Over the years, she’d gotten the graceful brush off down pat and Chad didn’t seem to mind her subtle rejection. He only shrugged and mentioned that a bunch of his hometown buddies
who
still lived in the area would probably be stopping by later to help him celebrate his first official start as a PGA Tour player.

The thought of a bunch of twenty-one year old Texas yahoos in celebratory mode made Katie’s second Margarita slide down as smoothly as the Hank Williams song that now played on the jukebox.

“I love this place,” she yelled. She was trying to be heard over Hank, but by the way Lizzie and Chad’s heads bolted up, she figured she’d overshot her mark.

Lizzie eyed Katie’s near-
empty glass. “Careful, KitKat, those aren’t made of water, you know.”

Katie ignored her friend and instead leaned her head against the back of the chair, feeling her hair stick to something that she didn’t want to think about. She let the warm buzz of the drink glide through her body, matching the heat the sun had left on her skin.

The music moved from Hank to Patsy, and Katie hummed along to “Crazy”. She could hear Lizzie and Chad discussing business, but only made out snatches of Lizzie’s pitch.

Blah blah blah, national exposure. Blah blah blah world arena. Blah blah blah part of our family of athletes. Blah blah blah first golfer to be represented by….

She had no doubt Lizzie would land Chad Curtis as an account at Hampton PR. Or, Hampton and Associates, as it had been known for several months since Lizzie had taken on partners to free herself up to move back to the Copper Country.

To marry
Finn
. To become stepmother to his children. To probably become mother to his child someday. To be happy.

Happy. The condition seemed foreign to Katie as she tried to rememb
er the last time she’d been
truly happy.

Was she happy seven months ago, when she didn’t know about Ron and Amber? When she’d thought her marriage safe? Safe. That was the word that she came up with when thinking about her marriage pre-bombshell. Safe, not happy.

So, if not happy seven months ago, when? Her mind began twirling a calendar back in her head, almost like the shuffling of a Rolodex containing years, images, incidents. Some elusive memory seemed almost within reach when she was pulled out of her reverie by a deep, definitely male voice coming from behind her chair.

“Hello, Chad. Apparently we did
n’t
spend enough time together already today, for here we are again.”

There was humor in the voice. The lilting Spanish accent
and deep voice
sent the same current through Katie as it had earlier when he’d wished his fellow players well on the first tee.

Katie’s head sprung forward, some of her hair staying behind, indeed stuck to the chair as she’d feared. Her hands scrambled to free herself, but the movement was awkward, and before she was able to complete the task, the same voice said, “Allow me.” Her hair was disentangled from whatever had made the back of the chair sticky to begin with. Katie didn’t even want to begin to imagine what that substance could possibly be.

Chad rose from his seat, his hand stretched out over Katie’s head. “
Hola,
Darío
, I didn’t know you’d be here tonight. Not too many people know about this place.”

A strong, brown forearm reached past Katie’s head to shake Chad’s hand. “You forget,
I have been on Tour many years. There aren’
t many good restaurants that I have not been told about.”