The Putting Green Whisperer

by McCarthy, Zoe M. ;

  “Hunter, do you know how to fold an airplane?” Allie said.

  Hunter’s head bobbed.

  “We can have a race to see who folds an airplane the fastest.”

  Hunter tore two pages from his notebook.

  Hmm. How could he lure Allie away from entertaining the five-year-old? Twenty-four-year-old boys needed attention too.

  Hunter and Allie flipped their papers back and forth as they folded airplanes. Then the boy shot his arm up, holding his lopsided airplane. “I win!”

  “That’s enough, Hunter,” the boy’s mom said. “Let the lady rest.”

  “OK.” Hunter pronounced the second syllable in a harsh breath and then taxied his planes on his tray.

  Allie turned to Shoo, sending him a whiff of her minty gum. “I’ve been meaning to ask. How’s your hand feeling after this morning’s workout?”

  He flexed his fingers. “Good. The pain’s gone. My hand gets stronger everyday.”

  “Great. Did you see the replay of Sergio’s thirty-foot putt on ten last week?” Allie launched into reviewing several holes played by various golfers on the PGA tour.

  Did she have a life outside of golf?

  Allie switched to periodization training benefits. When she moved on to a cross-specific training program, he signaled a timeout.

  Allie stopped talking and regarded his hands formed into a T. “What?”

  “Tell me something about you. Something not related to golf.”

  “Why?”

  “I thought we could have a normal conversation.”

  She stared at him, and then her gaze drifted past him as if she was thinking. Her gaze shifted back to him. “You mean like I had two coffees this morning?”

  Now she was being obstinate. “No. Like, tell me about the gold cross you wear.”

  Her hand went to her blouse. “I thought guys liked to talk sports.”

  “We do, but sometimes we want to know more about our friends.”

  She twirled her ponytail around her finger. “Didn’t we do that on the golf green the first time we played golf? You know, we talked about our hardships with our families. I’d rather not go there today.”

  “OK, but I’d like to hear about the cross you wear. I promise I won’t try to evangelize you.”

  She shrugged. “OK. My mom gave it to me for my sixteenth birthday. There. Happy?”

  He glared at her. She could do better than that.

  And she knew it. Her eyes narrowed. “If you frown at me, I’ll just play with Hunter.”

  Hunter slept curled up against his mother’s arm.

  Shoo nodded toward the five-year-old.

  Allie turned to Hunter and then back to him.

  He put on his best smug smile.

  She scrunched her nose and stuck out her tongue.

  He laughed. “Will you at least tell me about your mom?”

  “I like talking about Mom, but when I tell you how good she was, you’ll say I’m choosing to remember only the good parts. That no mother can be that perfect.”

  “Manipulator.” He poked her arm. “Now that you’ve filled me in on the wrong thing to say, of course, I’ll not say it.”

  She cocked her head at him. “You’ll think it, though.”

  “Why don’t you tell me what you think and stop trying to control what I think?”

  Her lips quirked, and she regarded him for a few seconds. “OK.”

  He must have passed a test. She readjusted her seatbelt and turned to face him. He’d swear her electric blue eyes sparkled.

  “My mom played with me, corrected me in a loving way, taught me how to make cookies, helped me with my homework when I needed help, and read books to me until I learned to read. That’s when I read to her while she sewed or made dinner.”

  He arched an eyebrow at her. “No mother could be that perfect.”

  She clamped her mouth shut and glowered at him.

  He lost his battle to keep a straight face and chuckled.

  She punched him in the arm. Hard.

  “Ow!”

  “You deserved that.” Her lips twitched at the corners. She was losing the straight-face battle too.

  He lifted her ponytail and fashioned himself a mustache with the tip. “Yes, I did, but I couldn’t resist.”

  She pulled her ponytail from his grasp and moved it to her other side. “You’re a goof.”

  He turned toward her and rested his head against the seatback. "My mother—my birth mother—treated me the opposite. Children were to be seen, not read to. My stepmother is more like your mom.” He lifted his hand. “Now don’t judge me or say I’m only trying to push my faith on you, but I think one difference that made my stepmother a better parent was her faith. She’s more selfless than I’ll ever be.”

  “I think you’re a born goodie-two-Shoo.”

  He laughed. “You didn’t know me before my stepmother took over raising me.”

  “A real bad boy, huh?”

  “I was self-centered then, and I still am. At least now, I recognize it and battle against it. It’s something I pray about. A lot.”

  Her forehead creased, and she looked pensive. “In some ways, I think a sport where a player has to stay focused on his game, in order to make it as a pro, causes him to appear to be self-centered.”

  “I’m not sure focus on anything is a good excuse for self-centeredness.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up, Shoo. You’re not a person I’d tag as selfish. I saw how kind you were to the teen at the barbecue restaurant. You get people to write poems for your father, for Pete’s sake. And you’ve been an all right guy to me. I know I haven’t been easy to take sometimes, but you’ve overlooked that and allowed me to train you.”

  He pulled back. “You don’t think I’ve taken advantage of you? Getting all your help for free?”

  “Nope. There’s nothing I’d rather do. In case you haven’t noticed, I love golf.”

  “And kids.”

  “Yeah.” She nodded, her expression reflective and her smile sweet. “Yeah, I do.”

  “See.” He tapped her hand. “We’ve had a conversation where golf played only a minor part.”

  “OK. I’ll tell you about my cross.” She laid her temple against her seat.

  Weird. It was as though they were lying on a vertical bed gazing at each other. “I’d like that.”

  “My mom did right by teaching me about God. Church every week, Sunday school, and she read the Bible to me. My faith problem is not her fault. I never took to the church stuff, especially since Dad didn’t embrace it. When Dad went back on tour and I spent the summers tagging along with him, I liked spending my Sundays away from church.”

  “I remember that feeling.”

  “On my sixteenth birthday, just weeks before Mom’s car accident, she sat with me on my bed and reiterated the salvation part. That’s when she gave me the cross. So for a few weeks, I believed it all, and then God took her from me.”

  Ah. Allie believed in God but was angry with Him. From her hurt, she’d chosen to go it alone. Man, how he’d like to carry this conversation further, but he’d promised Allie he wouldn’t.

  ~*~

  Allie peddled the stationary bike in Shoo’s motel exercise room—if a small room with two bikes and a treadmill could be considered worthy of the name. Last night’s stale sweat odor lingered.

  Hopefully, she and Shoo would have the room to themselves to work on flexibility. People watching them and asking questions messed up the rhythm. At least she didn’t have to worry about the senior players coming down to workout. Most avoided one-star motels like this one.

  Dad should win a medal for all the times he’d loaned her his rental for Shoo’s training. Today, Dad expected the car back for a 9:00 AM departure to his San Antonio friend’s home. Although she’d welcome a break, she’d chosen a full training day with Shoo over Dad’s invitation to go along.

  Boy, just thinking about Shoo’s improvements in strength, endurance, and play in th
e last two weeks sent her heart thumping, creating a cardiovascular workout in itself. She wouldn’t tell him yet, but he was ready. If she had to sacrifice sleeping and eating to add extra polish to his debut pro-am, she would. Gladly.

  She closed her eyes. The whirr of the wheel calmed her, even as her thigh muscles burned. She kept her breathing and pumping at a steady rhythm. “Mom,” she whispered between breaths. “It’s like old times.” She took a breath. “With Dad.” Another breath. “We talk about you. Karen’s good. You’d like Shoo. At the McGladrey. He’ll play awesome.”

  The door whooshed. She opened her eyes. Shoo’s killer smile topped off her cardiovascular workout. Good thing this was the last day they’d spend together. She checked the date on her watch. Only thirteen more last days.

  Shoo draped his towel over the handle on the second bike. “I thought I’d beat you here.”

  “Never.” She grinned and stopped peddling. “What do you think about working on flexibility this morning?” She toweled her face.

  “Oh, I like flexible. Let’s go get coffee.”

  “Ha. Ha. Not that kind of flexibility, bud.” She climbed off the bike.

  “Flexibility is good, but I think I need to continue with my strength and power.”

  “OK, but we don’t want he-man biceps getting in the way of your swing.”

  He flexed his arm. His bicep bulged. “This baby blocking my swing?”

  Her laughter bubbled out in a giggle. Wait. She didn’t do giggles. Usually. The thrills his muscle-demo had sent rippling through her empty stomach had simply caught her off guard.

  She gulped from her water bottle. “Since Dad needs his car, how about we take a taxi to Canyon Springs Golf Club and play two rounds this afternoon. Time’s getting short and so are daylight hours. Thirty-six holes today should be good for your game and your endurance.”

  “Sounds good. Last week, Mark mentioned playing some golf on our next day off.”

  She pointed to the rubber mat on the floor. “OK, he-man, down on all fours and raise your lower back.”

  He snapped his towel at her. “I sorta prefer this exercise.”

  Allie vacuumed in a breath and jumped back.

  Shoo snapped the towel again. “It keeps drill-sergeant trainers at a safe distance.”

  “Oh, are you in big trouble.” She rose onto her toes and drilled her gaze into his. “I’d like to see you try that again.”

  He stepped back and obliged.

  Allie caught a corner of the towel. Shoo yanked his end, and she crashed into him, her face plowing into his chest.

  Oof!

  His arms steadied her against him. His heart pulsed a scintillating rhumba on her cheek, and the faint scent of his aftershave teased her nose.

  He drew his head back and lifted her chin. Warmth evaporated from where he’d withdrawn his arm. “Are you OK?”

  Only if he held her forever.

  As he searched her face with his fingertips, her skin sizzled.

  Whoa! What was she doing? This was an accident not his sudden desire for a romantic scene.

  She jerked from his grasp and rubbed her nose. “Yeah. I’m OK.”

  The taste of blood could only mean her teeth had punctured the inside of her lip. No need to mention the injury, though, and send Shoo into rush-her-to-the ER mode. At the rate things were going, he’d carry her to the car in his arms. Evidently a dangerous place to be for a woman who dreamed of such nonsense.

  He gave her a sheepish grin. “Maybe we should drop the strength-building exercises.”

  “Yeah.” The pain in her nose subsided, and her momentary rapture dissolved. “So, Tarzan, you don’t care for the drill-sergeant trainer. Fine. How about this?”

  She took a hostess pose and slid her open hand toward the mat. “I invite you to a wonderful exercise for your lower back. It will require that you get down on your hands and knees, though. I promise you milk and cookies, if you complete your reps.” She batted her eyelashes.

  He laughed. “That was priceless. Do it again.”

  She jabbed her finger toward the mat.

  He lowered himself to all fours. “OK, but I’m holding you to the milk and cookies.”

  She perched on the bike seat and counted while she casually ran her knuckle over the inside of her lip. Her fist came away with only a trace of blood. Hopefully, her lip wouldn’t swell, and he’d forget the incident.

  If only she could.

  After he’d completed several sets of arching his back, he sat on the mat. “Dad called last night.”

  “Oh, yeah?” What negative words had Steve spoken to Shoo today?

  “He’s trying to be positive about the McGladrey Classic, but I think he was hoping I’d had enough of the tour. He probably prayed for the daunting rain we had last week. The good news is I think he realizes two more weeks traveling, living on P-and-Js, and sleeping in warped beds won’t change my mind about my golf career.”

  “I should hope it doesn’t. The McGladrey will show you that you’ve got what it takes.”

  He regarded her. “You really think so?”

  “I know so.”

  “What do you see as my biggest weakness at this point?”

  Your father. “If I had my way, we’d stop the guys from playing rounds with you. You need to play as many holes as possible. They hold you back.”

  “Is that why you walked along and didn’t play the last time we golfed in Conover?”

  “Yes.”

  “OK. Mark is on his own today.” Sitting with his legs extended on the mat, he grasped his toes and pulled them toward him. “What do you want to do tonight?”

  “No card game?”

  “Mark said he wouldn’t play against us anymore. He dislikes always losing. And Grady knows a woman here. She’s picking him up sometime today.”

  “The deserters.” Days went better for her lovesick heart when they had chaperones. “I went online last night. The Alamo closes at five-thirty. If we can get an early tee time this morning, we’ll have time to do that, if you want. I’ve already toured the Alamo twice when Dad played here during his comeback years.”

  “I’ve seen it too. How about dinner somewhere along the Riverwalk? My treat.”

  Was Shoo Leonard asking her on a date? Her mouth went dry.

  He chuckled. “Don’t look so shocked. You’ve done so much for me, the least I can do is buy you dinner.” He raised his arm for a fist bump.

  16

  Shoo grabbed his buzzing cell and sat on the bed, the mattress’s concave slump forcing him to sit at a slant. “Mark. What’s up?”

  “What’re you guys doing tonight?”

  Since when did Mark want to miss his reality shows? He must be lonely. “Allie and I plan to eat at a restaurant at the Riverwalk. I’m leaving here to pick her up at four. Want to join us?”

  Mark’s breathing filled the silence. Probably counting his pennies. “I’ll go along for the walk, but I can’t afford to eat out. I didn’t golf today, either. Man, I wish Rick would make it into the money. My expenses are killing me. And I wish the airlines would let me sit in baggage.”

  “Especially since you sleep the entire flight. Seriously, I know it’s hard.” If only Shoo could be freer with his money, but he needed to save so he could afford travel and cheap motels when he broke into the PGA. Tonight, splurging on dinner to thank Allie for her help already pushed his food budget to its limit.

  Mark didn’t expect anything from him. They’d all been in Mark’s situation, done their time filling their bellies with Ramen noodles and stale peanut butter sandwiches. Still…

  “I’ll meet you in the lobby at four,” Mark said.

  Shoo took a quick shower and put on a long-sleeved, button-down, collared shirt. He should have done laundry today. This green shirt was his last clean non-golf shirt.

  His dirty clothes formed a pyramid in the closet. Tonight, when he returned to the motel ready to crash, he’d hate himself for ignoring the pile so long and hav
ing to wash clothes in the sink.

  When Shoo entered the lobby, Mark, dressed in a T-shirt and shorts, sat sprawled in a tattered armchair that should’ve been replaced months ago.

  Mark extended his hand in Shoo’s direction. “You didn’t say anything about the dress code being date clothes.”

  Shoo spread his hands toward his slacks. “This is casual. Besides, these are the only clean clothes I have.”

  “Tell me about it. If I don’t do laundry tomorrow night, I’ll be caddying in my underwear.” Mark snapped his fingers. “Oh, that’s right, the maid took them away and burned them.”

  A taxi arrived out front. “There’s our ride.”

  “Maybe I should stay here. I don’t want to butt in on your date.”

  “Come on.” Shoo held the motel door. “It’s not a date, Mark.”

  When they reached Allie’s motel, one a few notches better than theirs, she was waiting outside.

  Amazing. Allie owned a skirt. Her short-sleeved blouse was silky blue, and her black shoes were those feminine ones his sisters called flats. She still wore her ponytail. Did she ever wear her hair free?

  He curbed a smile. Allie’s feminine shoes couldn’t hide that she was an outdoors girl. The tan line at her ankles was so severe she appeared to wear light beige socks with her flats. Even so, she looked nice. Sometime, though, he’d like to see what she looked like with her hair down.

  As she approached the taxi, he moved from the backseat to the front passenger seat, and she climbed in beside Mark.

  Shoo addressed the driver. “What’s a good, casual restaurant on the Riverwalk?”

  “Casa Rio. You can sit outside under a colorful umbrella and watch the boats float by. Very romantic.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Now, I feel really out of place,” Mark said. “Like a third wheel.” He slapped the seat’s synthetic leather. “Why didn’t you guys tell me you were going on a date?”

  “It’s not a date.” Allie and Shoo spoke in unison.

  “Yeah. Right.”

  Shoo turned in his seat. “I’ll prove it to you. Look close. Is Allie wearing lipstick?”

  Allie’s face flushed and her eyes sparked like blue diamonds under a spotlight. Uh-oh. Obviously, the wrong thing to joke about. He hadn’t meant to embarrass her.