At the trunk, Shoo gave her a funny look as if he thought an alien had taken over her body.
As the sun disappeared, they piled into the car. Shoo dropped Mark and Paul at the motel, and then he drove toward Allie’s home.
She collapsed the headrest to her level. “I like your friends.”
“They like you.” His gaze lingered on her, and then he returned his attention to the road.
“What?”
“You seem different. I can’t figure you out.”
“Good. Isn’t a woman supposed to be mysterious?” She rippled her fingers.
“Yeah, I bet Intrigue is your middle name.” His tone couldn’t have been more deadpan. “What’s going on?”
“What do you mean?”
“You spoke. You sweet-talked. You were nice. You performed a tap dance, for goodness sake.”
Allie laughed.
He pointed his finger at her. “And that, too. You laughed.”
“I have good news.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“It was so strange. I spilled my guts to you about Dad sending me away, and the next day—this morning—Dad and I reconciled.”
His eyes lit up. “That’s great, Allie.” He lifted his free hand for a fist bump.
She obliged.
“Will you tell me about it?”
“No.”
“Hey, I’m sorry I made references to your ignoring me at the nightclub.”
“Not forgiven.”
He dropped his jaw in a mock hurt look. “You’ll hold back the details because I mentioned the nightclub?”
She chuckled. “Let me just say the reconciliation was emotional, sweet, and a huge relief.”
“So now you’ll always be friendly and charming and positive?”
“Not always.”
Not if he started agreeing with his father about his golf career.
~*~
Late to the Smokey Pig, Allie slipped into the booth beside Paul and across from Shoo and Mark. The guys already had their drinks. Taking in the barbecue aroma, Allie’s mouth watered. The waitress put on her brakes long enough to take her order—pulled pork platter and sweet tea.
Mark surveyed the dining room. “This place is hopping for so late.”
“It’s one of the more popular places in town.” Allie stuck the dessert menu into its holder so the hot fudge brownie and ice cream faced the wall. “Do you guys get tired of eating out every night for months on end?”
Mark patted his belly. “Before I caddied on tour, I was a scarecrow.”
Shoo and Paul guffawed.
The offended look Mark gave the guys oozed genuineness until Mark grabbed the dessert menu and plopped it in the holder with the brownie facing out. He captured Allie’s gaze. “Never reject the one you love.” He put a finger to his lips and touched the brownie.
She laughed.
Shoo plunked his straw into his root beer. “It’s hard to eat healthy, that’s for sure. I’m looking forward to getting to the Cup Championship in two weeks and to my stepmom’s cooking.”
Once home in San Francisco, would Shoo hold up under his dad’s devices to redirect Shoo’s career? Man, she hoped so.
A teen sitting across the room gnawed at his corncob while staring at their table. Besides Mark revering a brownie photo, what else could they be doing that warranted his interest?
The waitress arrived with her giant tray and served plates mounded with food. Conversation stopped while they dug in.
The curious teen left his friends and approached their table. His eyes became round as he addressed Shoo. “Aren’t you Chris Reed’s caddy?”
“Yes.” Shoo extended his hand. “Shoo Leonard. We’re all caddies.”
The teen shook Shoo’s hand. “Brandon Hale.” Brandon’s eyebrows drew together. “Steve Leonard’s son?”
“That’s me.” Shoo swept his hand around the table and introduced them to Brandon. “Why don’t you pull up a chair and join us?”
Brandon dragged a chair over. “My friends are about to leave. I can only stay a minute.” He sat. “I followed Reed today. He’s got a real chance to win tomorrow.”
Mark tossed his shorn corncob onto his plate and pointed his butter-smudged finger at Allie. “Her father does, too.”
Brandon swung his head to face Allie. “Who’s your father?”
“Mill Masterson.”
Brandon hesitated. “Yeah, I saw on the leader-board he’s tied with Reed. Sorry, I don’t know him that well.”
Allie licked barbecue sauce from her finger and smiled. “You shouldn’t. He’s back after a long time away from the PGA.”
Brandon asked who Mark’s and Paul’s players were and then turned to Shoo. “I’m bummed your father isn’t playing on the Senior Tour. He’s a great golfer.”
And Brandon, he wants to deny his son the same glory.
“Dad wanted to spend more time with the family.” Shoo drew on his soda. “Do you golf, Brandon?”
Allie studied Shoo while he engaged Brandon in conversation. He made the teen feel comfortable and important. If this was how he treated youth as a caddy, he’d be a pro as a player. Unless his head grew too big.
The chairs at Brandon’s table screeched over floorboards. Brandon said his goodbyes and received fist bumps from Shoo and Paul. When he joined his departing friends, they whispered among themselves and shot glances toward the caddies’ table. As they exited the door, Brandon’s friends punched his arm and ruffled his hair. Oh, the fame of fist bumping with PGA caddies.
Mark stretched. “I ate too much. I think I’ll pass on the dancing.”
“Me, too.” Paul shoved aside his plate piled with rib bones.
Shoo did the same. “Sorry, Allie, I’ve got to get up at four to get my workout in.”
“You guys are wimps.”
No need for hurt feelings. They could back out on the dancing because they’d accepted her as one of the guys. Not as dating material that would require them to act like gentlemen. She’d earned their respect. In this caddying business, she’d stick to her new motto: buddies were best.
She lined up her utensils on her plate and looked at Shoo. “Where do you work out?”
“In the motel’s fitness room. Why? Will you come and join me for some pain?” His smirk lacked his killer-smile charm.
“Yeah.” Just two buddies sweating together.
He raised his hand for a fist bump.
She tapped his knuckles.
Shoo held one fist toward Paul and the other in Mark’s direction. “How about you guys?”
Paul raised his palms. “Not me. I’m going to sleep in as long as I can.”
Mark slam-dunked his balled napkin onto his plate. “Ditto.”
“It looks like it’s you and me, Allie. I’ll leave word at the front desk that my trainer is coming in around four-thirty.”
Trainer? Allie’s heart leapt. He had to be kidding. He had no idea how much she could do for him, and how much she’d like helping him train for the pro-am.
Wow. Becoming a caddy, a reconciled daughter, and a trainer, all in one week. She couldn’t ask for more…except…
Forget it. Buddies were best.
8
Shoo sat with his back against the headboard. Crumbs dotted his boxer shorts, his open Bible, and the spiral-ringed notebook he used as a journal. He popped the last of a cinnamon and raisin granola bar into his mouth and collected the crumbs. No need to encourage mice. The crumbs stored inside the wrapper, he read the next Bible verse.
Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day.
He wasn’t losing heart, but after reading the verse it seemed dumb to go to the weight room and pump up his muscles. The Apostle Paul said Shoo would waste away, anyway. But Paul’s point this morning was meant to zero in on what was happening inside his heart, not his body.
So, what occupied his heart? He hovered his pen over the notebook.
Joy, for one thing. Allie had reconciled with her father. She seemed more relaxed—well, as relaxed as someone as tense as Allie could be—and happier. That’s what forgiveness accomplished, but how long would it last without a relationship with Jesus?
The image formed of Allie’s face at the Smokey Pig when he’d mentioned his training. After he’d joked about her joining him, her blue eyes had sparkled. Would she really drive all the way over here this morning? What time would she need to get up to make it here by four-thirty? She’d be insane to make the trip.
He reread the Bible passage.
God nudging Brandon to approach their table at the Smokey Pig ranked as another joy. Could he take the encounter as confirmation that golf was his calling to reach today’s youth? He clicked his pen. Caddying wasn’t golfing, but the game had connected him with the teen. If only Dad could have seen Brandon’s face as they talked.
He jotted the verse and these thoughts in his journal and read the next verse.
For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.
What were his light and momentary troubles? He thumbed the button on his ballpoint pen, staring at the blank TV screen. Click, click. Click, click.
How about Dad’s resistance to his calling? Undoubtedly, Dad prayed before giving his counsel. Had he or Dad gotten God’s will right?
He flexed his fingers. His hand injury didn’t bode well for points on his side of the scorecard. Or was God testing his mettle to see how easily he might quit?
Shoo turned the bedside clock to face him. Four-twenty. He had a few more minutes. What else might be a momentary trouble? Click, click.
Definitely the need to afford rooms like this one so he’d have access to workout equipment. Sure, he earned more than Mark or Grady. Chris won more prize money than their two players put together, but these medium-priced motels took a chunk away from his rookie-year savings.
He could camp on the guys’ economy room floor for the next two weeks in Conover and in San Antonio, but without the weights, he’d lose all he’d gained in muscle development. No. Easy access to a weight room was nonnegotiable. More off-brand peanut butter and jelly sandwiches comin’ up.
OK. What else?
How about Allie coming this morning? Click, click, click. Why had he impulsively invited her? Click, click, click. Encouraging her to share his workout took the Allie-ministry a little too far. He had no time to spend yakking during his training. He needed to make too much progress. Click, click, click.
He gathered his study materials, stacked them on the bedside table, and threw on shorts and a T-shirt. He’d skip shaving and brushing his teeth for now. On the minuscule chance Allie would drive over, he’d get downstairs early and fit in some reps.
~*~
The quietness at four-thirty in the morning was the best time of day in any motel. The hushed thuds of Shoo’s workout shoes on the carpet turned into soft taps on the tile floor leading to the weight room. He exchanged raised-hand greetings with the night clerk as he passed the lobby. No sign of Allie approaching through the automatic front doors. Good.
He turned down the short hallway to the snack machines and workout room. Light emitted from the weight room window. He slowed his pace. A first time for everything. No one had ever beaten him to the equipment.
He paused outside the window. On the other side of the glass, Allie sat on the stationary bike going a hundred miles an hour, her eyes closed and the cords to her earbuds hanging down her face. Her green tank top over her black workout shorts was spotted with sweat. He smiled. If God got her here before dawn, then God planned for him to minister to the woman.
He should have brushed his teeth.
He patted his pocket. Ahh. He had gum. Liddell would be proud. He always arrived prepared.
He lifted the flap on the slim gum box. Empty. Argh. She hadn’t spotted him. Maybe he should run upstairs and brush his teeth.
Wait a minute. What did he care if he had minty breath or not? He never worried about brushing his teeth for the guys. If she couldn’t handle morning breath, she could peddle somewhere else.
He swung the door open. A French-vanilla blast hit him. Wow. A fresh change from the normal odor that greeted him. A tall foam cup sat on the floor beside her gym bag. And next to it on a Carolina-blue towel, a glorious packet of gum.
He raised his voice above the whir of the bike and whatever she was listening to. “Good morning, early bird! Any worms left for me?”
Allie’s eyes popped open and she stopped peddling. “You bet there is.” She removed her earbuds. “Crunches, Russian twists, and single leg squats.”
What had happened to yakking away during training time? This little lady meant business. Allie hadn’t risen at an ungodly hour to join him in a workout. She’d signed on to kill him. But he had his own routine, and he liked it.
He raised his eyebrows and pointed at the gum.
She nodded.
He unwrapped a piece and popped it into his mouth. “I’ve been working on flexibility. Want to join me?” The spearmint flavor slid down his throat, making the morning right.
“Flexibility is good, but your injury has probably put you behind in the strength you need. We have little time before the pro-am, so I thought you could spend a week on power and coordination, and maybe endurance activities in the evenings. We’ll hit hard on flexibility and endurance the last two and a half weeks.”
We? He cocked his head. Who was this woman? And who was supposed to minister to whom today?
He looped his towel over the handle on the second bike. “You’re more than a weekend training nut, aren’t you?”
“Yes. I have a BA in exercise and sport science from UNC.” She lifted her finger. “Plus, during Dad’s comeback years, I attended his sessions with his trainer. During the summers, I did the exercises with him, and during the school year, I did my homework in the training room. I learned a lot.”
Shoo made a circling motion with his hand. “And you never brought this up because…”
“I had other things on my mind. Do you want my help or not?”
Maybe he should stop trying to figure out Allie. And he’d be dumb to turn down professional help. A feeling settled inside his heart. A feeling absent from his chest when he woke this morning. A feeling Allie had brought with her when she’d offered to come alongside him and sharpen his iron. Renewed hope.
“Sure, I want your help. I could never afford a trainer. I appreciate it.”
“You’re not paying me?” Her expression remained matter-of-fact. “I expect you to hand over a shiny quarter from your first win next year.”
“Right.” As if he would storm the PGA.
She tossed her ponytail off her shoulder. “Is your sarcasm directed at my cut of the proceeds or at your ability to win next year?”
“The win. I’m confident you’re worth a quarter.” He couldn’t stop grinning.
She scooted off the bike. “Nix the negativity, please.” She breezed by him, dug a bottle from her bag, and chugged a third of its water.
He chuckled to himself. If he couldn’t handle her all-business attitude, he should train somewhere else.
“I’ll show you positive attitude.” He tapped his chest. “Remember, you’re working with the guy who emulates Eric Liddell, the Olympic champ.”
She exchanged the water bottle for her coffee and took a sip. “Save your breath. Stretch and then give me ten single-leg squats for a set of four.”
Man. A five-foot-two tyrant. He stretched while she eyed him and sipped her coffee. He started the squats.
“One.” She took a sip. “Two.” She raised her cup. “OK, now I’ve had my caffeine.” She grinned. “Isn’t this fun?”
~*~
Allie drained the lukewarm coffee. The French-vanilla flavor brought up memories of early mornings with Mom. She tossed the empty cup in the trashcan. Thankfully, Mom-memories would return tomorrow with her next French va
nilla dose.
Shoo finished his Russian twists. “OK.” He blew out a breath. “What’s next?”
Allie checked her watch. “Uh-oh. I gotta get ready. All this fun distracted me from the time.”
Shoo grabbed his towel. “Believe me, I’ve been focused on every minute.” He ran the towel over his face. “You’re not driving all the way back to your house, are you?”
“I brought my clothes. I’ll wash up in the lobby restroom.”
He frowned. “How about this. You can use my shower in exchange for a lift to Prestonwood. Save the guys from driving all the way over here to get me.”
Go to his room? That got a bit personal. And then showering while he waited in the adjacent room? She’d pass…although a shower would make her feel human again. “The restroom is fine.”
“Come on. Don’t get all modest on me. I’ll grab some food in the complimentary breakfast area while you shower. That gives you fifteen minutes with the room to yourself.”
“OK.”
“You want me to bring you a doughnut?”
“No. I brought a P-and-J.”
He handed her his key. “Two-oh-seven. Excuse the mess. I wasn’t expecting company. And I usually pick up after I dress, so housekeeping can find my bed.”
“No problem.” His unshaven face gave him a rugged look. Her heart thump-bumped.
Sheesh. Since when had she allowed her body to have an opinion? She hated the unshaven fad. Like women were supposed to swoon over hairy-faced manliness. Her heart needed a get-real slap for falling for such a fake turn-on.
At the breakfast area, they separated and Allie headed for the elevator. Fifteen minutes was more than sufficient, but she wanted to be reaching for the doorknob on her way out when Shoo knocked on the door.
As soon as she entered his room, the woodsy, jasmine scent filled her nostrils. Goosebumps ravaged her arms. The stimulus wasn’t entirely Shoo’s familiar scent. The temperature in his room had to be in the sixties.
The Putting Green Whisperer Page 7