The Putting Green Whisperer

by McCarthy, Zoe M. ;

  ~*~

  A soft breeze fluttered Allie’s bangs, tickling her forehead. Over the last fifteen holes, her tight shoulder muscles had loosened and her heart had calmed. Something about treading a golf course quieted her soul. The blue sky. The emerging fall colors. The mowed grass scent.

  Shoo’s little game of standing closer and closer to her on the greens as they progressed through the links was impossible to ignore. He’d been so transparent she’d wanted to laugh. The guy was determined to get on her good side.

  Now, he planted himself less than a foot from her shoulder. Could he get any closer?

  She got a whiff of a woodsy, jasmine scent. Caddies wore cologne?

  He leaned toward her and spoke barely above a whisper. “On eighteen, I’ll put my arm around you.”

  She sputtered a laugh and clamped her hand over her mouth to smother her outburst.

  Obviously bothered, Parker stepped away from his ball.

  Allie’s cheeks burned. Great. She’d be ejected from her caddying career before it started.

  Shoo crossed his arms over his chest and grinned down at her, then turned his attention to the putting.

  She glanced at his profile. His self-satisfied smirk widened. Heaven help her, she found the guy almost tolerable. That complicated things for Wrathful Woman.

  Shoo leaned his head near hers and spoke in a hushed tone. “So, you do have a sense of humor.”

  Trying to disregard his tantalizing woodsy cologne, she set her gaze on the putting action. “I let it out of the closet now and then. But I keep it on a short leash. So don’t kill yourself in your one-man act.”

  He chuckled.

  They quieted for Parker’s putt.

  After the putt, Shoo turned to her. “Chris says you play golf.”

  “Yep.”

  “Any good?”

  She looked at him. “I can’t read the greens like you do, but I hold my own.”

  He drew away from her and stared at her. “How’d you know I could read greens?”

  She faced forward. “You’re not the only one who’s done some stalking.” She cast him a sideways glance.

  His eyebrows drew together. “When?”

  “Tuesday night when you and your buddies fooled around with putts on the fourteenth green at Carywood. All your reads of the green were perfect. I trailed you to the next tee.”

  “Sooo…did your stalking have something to do with your reaction to me at check-in this morning?”

  Heat traveled up her neck.

  The marshals raised their hands for quiet.

  Whew. Saved by the putt.

  Dad stroked the ball. It rolled and dropped into the cup.

  The crowd cheered and clapped.

  “Another birdie for Dad.” Nothing like stating the obvious, but no evasive response to Shoo’s question had entered her head.

  “Yeah. Your dad’s smokin’.”

  Grinning, Dad approached and held out his putter. She took it, gave him a thumbs-up, and headed for the cart. Away from what Shoo’s inquiring mind wanted to know.

  ~*~

  Shoo drove Chris to the eighteenth tee. The crowds were thick along the fairway ropes from the tee to the green. He followed close behind Allie and Mill’s cart. She picked her way through fans, obviously unaware of quiet-motored carts approaching them from behind.

  He’d gotten a smile from Allie, even if her hand hid her spreading lips during her burst of laughter. No sweat. He’d already gotten a preview when she’d approached him at the caddies’ check-in. A smile so alive it outmatched her remarkably blue eyes. And miles better than the stoic expression she’d worn at the first tee.

  Chris drained the water from his plastic bottle and belched. Getting a dose of hotdog odor, Shoo cut short his intake of breath. The crackling noises the bottle made as Chris crushed it sent prickles up Shoo’s spine. Was it really necessary that Chris pulverize the bottle before he tossed it into the cart’s rear basket?

  The guy could make his short putts on a flat lie, but he misjudged the slight inclines, dips, and swells on his longer putts. That’s what caddy Shoo Leonard could do for his game, but every time Chris had asked for his advice, he’d ignored it. Every time. What else could Shoo do? Unless asked, a caddy didn’t offer pointers to his player.

  Shoo stopped the cart. As he approached the green, Allie paced off the yardage to tomorrow’s hole indicator. He chuckled. The girl needed longer legs.

  The sprite was an enigma. She’d shadowed him and the guys on the golf course the other night. Then minutes ago, she’d been quick to slide him a compliment on his ability to read greens. Her praise had been unexpected, especially after her cold shoulder and limp handshake on the first tee.

  There was no figuring the woman out.

  Christine had been predictable. Well…except for the whopper she’d delivered when she’d broke off their engagement. That shocker would last him a lifetime.

  Sure, God knew best. At least, that’s what he kept telling himself. But the breakup convinced him he didn’t need, or want, to get involved with any woman for a long…long…time. No room in his career right now for a demanding, or even a sweet, female like Christine. He needed to focus on his strict training schedule.

  From what he’d seen so far, Allie was neither demanding nor sweet. She came across as a woman unsure whether she wanted to bounce or roll.

  Lord, I think Allie could use a friend.

  4

  On the last green, Allie collected the flagstick. For this hole, she’d stay on the green. Discourage Shoo from joining her and asking questions she couldn’t answer.

  Oh, she could answer them, but not without some form of, “When you were eleven you were a sleazy jerk.”

  Flagstick tucked under her arm, she stood near the sand trap. Cheering rose from a few fairways over.

  Shoo backed off the green opposite the trap.

  She should rejoice that her tactic to avoid him had worked, but she missed his subtle clowning.

  Chris’s putt rolled away from the cup by a long shot. Someone needed to point the guy to his caddy for green-reading help.

  Allie collected Dad’s putter and moved into the flurry of players and caddies exchanging game-over handshakes. Shoo stuck out his hand to her, his gaze focused on her eyes. As she grasped his hand, she gave him the same smile and nod she’d offered the others. No need to encourage the guy. She headed for the cart.

  Was Shoo standing on the green, watching her retreat? If only she had eyes in the back of her head. She chanced a glance over her shoulder.

  Shoo crossed the green to his cart. Good. Their get-to-know-each-other act was done for the day.

  As Allie sank Dad’s putter into his black bag, she caught a whiff of grilled hamburgers. Her stomach growled. If she’d had the brains to slip a ten into her pocket this morning, she’d hike to the food trailer right now.

  Dad would have money. She turned toward the green. Dad trekked the autograph-signing path, stopping to sign hats and programs the fans waved over the restraining rope. She’d have been too uncomfortable to ask him for food money, anyway.

  Overall, Dad had played awesome for the practice round. Hopefully, today’s play would carry over to tomorrow when his score counted.

  She unzipped the ball pocket on the bag. Should she make sure Dad played with the same lucky ball tomorrow, or did he always use a new ball?

  Shoo appeared beside her.

  Startled, she dropped the golf ball. “You scared me!” She swiped the ball from the grass. “What are you, some kind of cat?”

  “Sure. I’m a Carolina Panther.”

  “I thought you lived in California.”

  “I do, but I grew up here. I still root for the Panthers.”

  “Me, too.” She stored the ball. “Did you want something, or did you suddenly feel like prowling over this way?”

  “You want to get a bite to eat later? Talk golf?”

  What else did he think she’d talk, which movie star
would be the next to have a baby? Or her favorite recipe for mac and cheese?

  Hold on. A quick bite would be a good time to hear about his green-reading talent. But how would she keep him from asking about her getaway at check-in this morning?

  She stuck her hands in her pockets. “I…”

  “I get it.” He took a step back. “You have to wash your hair. It’s OK.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Did I say that?” He didn’t give a person time to think.

  “Sorry.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Take your time.”

  She would. An hour across a restaurant table from Shoo gave him too much opportunity to ask questions. She didn’t want to lay into him about what he’d done. She wanted the story of his amazing gift. No more than that. With a little luck, she could avoid him for four weeks and go on happily disliking him.

  The Carolina Boogie was the perfect place to control the conversation. Before they went inside to the pounding music, she’d pump him for his story and keep him so focused on himself he wouldn’t have time to interrogate her. Didn’t all men like to talk about their prowess? And inside, the music would be too loud to chat. The plan should work.

  “How about meeting me at the Carolina Boogie.”

  “My friends and I have driven by the place. It looks like a nightclub. They have a menu?”

  “Basic stuff. Burgers, salad, club sandwiches. I’ll meet you there.” No way would she be without her car to escape Shoo if necessary.

  He raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips. “OK. I think I can borrow a friend’s car. Say seven o’clock?”

  ~*~

  The house was quiet. Allie stood at head of the stairs. Maybe she could slip out unnoticed. So far, her track record was good. An hour ago, after she’d dropped off Dad and visited the ATM machine, she’d sneaked into the house without running into the parents.

  Aromas left over from Dad and Karen’s dinner awakened her hollow stomach. If she didn’t eat soon, she’d collapse.

  She crept down the stairs and rounded the newel post.

  “Allie? You coming in or going out?”

  Caught.

  Allie moved to the living room doorway.

  The Scrabble board between them, Dad and Karen sat at the family game table, the one where Mom, Dad, and she had mulled over Scrabble words. Karen sitting in Mom’s place twanged her heartstrings.

  Allie shoved her hands into her back capris pockets. “I’m meeting a friend.”

  Dad added tiles to the Scrabble board. “We didn’t know you were here, so we ate without you. Karen made your favorites. Macaroni and cheese, and meatloaf with catsup on top. She covered the dishes to keep them warm. It’s all ready to eat.”

  Talk about temptation. Allie hadn’t eaten meatloaf with catsup in a long time. And mac and cheese, too.

  Karen rested her hand on Dad’s arm. “That’s all right, Allie. You go out and enjoy your friend. Leftovers will be in the refrigerator if you want to heat them later.”

  That was easy. And nice of Karen. Or did Karen want the stepdaughter gone? Probably not. Karen wouldn’t have made her favorite meal if she’d wanted an Allie-free house. “Thanks. I will.”

  Dad squeezed Karen’s hand. Heaviness oozed its way from Allie’s heart to her stomach.

  Dad scooted back his chair and approached her. “Allie, I want you to know I enjoyed our day together. Sort of like old times.” He gestured toward her. Then, as if unsure what to do with his hands, he hid them in his pockets.

  “Yeah. You played great, Dad.” If only she were a kid again. Asking for Daddy hugs. Loving his taps on her nose, followed by What’s the race, Allie Face?

  Dad’s gaze flicked away and darted around the den. “Well, better let you go. Have fun.”

  Oh, she planned to have fun, all right. After Golf Groupie heard Shoo’s story. Then Wrathful Woman would seek a little payback.

  ~*~

  Allie pulled into the Carolina Boogie parking lot. Shoo sat in a sedan under a pole light. Allie’s stomach tightened.

  For a lily-livered moment, she eyed an open spot close to the building. Maybe meeting Shoo was a mistake. Maybe by being alone with him—in the sense no one she knew would be around to rescue her—she’d set herself up for more abuse from the guy. And, her payback could go all wrong and backfire.

  But what did her fears have to do with parking spaces? She drove on and parked beside his car.

  While she snapped her keys onto the ring inside her tan canvas bag, her door clunked open.

  Her heart slammed against her ribcage, and she whipped her face toward the door. Shoo stood like a doorman, wearing that smile her memory couldn’t recall on eleven-year-old John’s lips. “Do you take pleasure in scaring me to death?”

  Shoo stood aside to let her out. “Just acting the gentleman.”

  “More like a pouncing panther.”

  “This panther is famished.”

  She directed her thumb to the passenger seat. “Would you get in for a minute?”

  He held his hand against his flat belly and cast a longing look toward the nightclub. “Aren’t you hungry?”

  She nodded toward the passenger seat. “Come on. Your stomach can hang on for another couple of minutes. It’s hard to hear inside.”

  He jogged around to the passenger door and climbed in. “What’s up?”

  Allie shifted behind the wheel and faced him. “Will you tell me your story? I mean, about your green-reading abilities and why your teammates thought you’re a PGA shoo-in.”

  He chuckled. “I didn’t expect you to ask me anything like that.” He stared at the windshield as if he found the insects circling the pole light fascinating.

  Was he stewing over her request? Most guys would jump at the chance to talk about themselves. She waited, her gaze drifting to the rearview mirror. The neon B in the word Boogie on the restaurant sign shuddered as if it was ready to go out

  Shoo slapped his knee. “OK. Since I’m starving, I’ll give you the short version.”

  She opened the console and handed him an unopened red and orange bag of cheese puffs. “I want the long version.”

  His smile made his brown eyes sparkle. “Ok. Long version. Of course, you know my Dad is a retired pro golfer.”

  She nodded.

  “My mother fared poorly with a golfer for a husband. He was gone a lot, and she was left with three kids. So early on, she exchanged Dad, my sisters, and me for a life on her own in Oregon. Divorced us. My dad remarried, and through our lovely stepmom, we all became Christians, even Dad.”

  Ha. Shoo probably bamboozled God. What did all this have to do with Shoo’s golfing expertise, anyway?

  Shoo opened the bag and popped a cheese puff into his mouth. “I saw the movie, Chariots of Fire, when I was in fifth grade. You know, the film about Eric Liddell, the 1924 Olympic medalist who, because of his faith, refused to run heats on Sunday?”

  She nodded and dug into the bag for a puff. “When I traveled with Dad on tour, he rented the old film, and we watched it in our motel room. Good movie.”

  “I researched everything I could about Liddell.” Shoo dipped in for another puff. “What impressed me most was how he became an example for young people, even when the Japanese held him captive in an internment camp in China, along with many teens, during WWII. He died in that camp. Separated from his family.” Shoo paused, a puff suspended below his nicely formed lips.

  Allie pulled her gaze from his mouth. “I didn’t know how Liddell died. That’s sad.”

  “It is.” He popped the puff into his mouth. “In interviews with several teens imprisoned with Liddell—then in their eighties or nineties—they recalled how he helped and encouraged them. That’s when I decided to become an example for youth, and I started working hard on my golf game.”

  “And you discovered your gift then?” She licked cheesy residue from her fingers.

  “Not right away. I asked God every day to make me the Eric Liddell of golf.”

  �
��How can you be the Eric Liddell of golf and refuse to play pro golf on Sunday, the final day of all PGA tournaments?”

  “On tour, worship day is Tuesday. Players, caddies, and their families can attend the PGA Tour Bible Study.”

  Shoo believed in God. Like Mom. What did Wrathful Woman think about that? Not sure. “So, you’d refuse to play golf on Tuesday?”

  “I like to think of it in a positive way. I’d make attending the Tuesday worship a priority over everything else. Like I do for the Champions Tour Bible Study, which is held on Thursday or Friday nights. It’s well attended. You should join us.”

  She’d pass…although, it’d be interesting to sit among the over-fifty pros who attended. “Go on with your story.”

  He eyed her for a moment. “The summer after sixth grade, I played a round of golf by myself. It was a hot weekday on an empty course. I laid down on a green and stared at the blue sky.”

  Sixth grade? He’d have been about eleven. He was building a completely different picture than the boy she’d suffered under. But one thing she explicitly remembered. One boy’s name was John Leonard, and he was nothing like the boy lying on the green alone staring up at the sky.

  He crunched down on another puff. “Am I boring you yet?”

  The picture of the boy on the green snapped from Allie’s mind. “What? No. Go on.”

  “I rolled to my side and looked toward the hole. Like never before, I saw the green’s contours. Every slight incline, every swell, and the minuscule ridges where the grass grew the tiniest bit longer. Everywhere I looked, the green and all its secrets opened to me in zoom mode. I knew God had given me something special.”

  “Wow.” She swallowed the aching lump in her throat.

  “My play was good enough to keep me ranked number one on the Wake Forest golf team all four years and, as a senior, I was Atlantic Coast Conference player of the year. But, my teammates thought I was a shoo-in mainly because of my putting. Therefore, the nickname Shoo.”

  “That’s a great story. When do you think your hand will be healed enough to compete on a mini-tour?”