Love's Sporting Chance: Volume 2: 5 Romantic Sporting Novellas

by Cynthia Hickey

  LOVE’S SPORTING CHANCE

  Volume 2

  Cynthia Hickey

  Darlene Franklin

  Niki Turner

  Debby Mayne

  Kathleen Y’Barbo

  Love Over Par by Cynthia Hickey

  Tobogganing for Two by Darlene Franklin

  The Skiing Suitor by Niki Turner

  Lured by Love by Debby Mayne

  Olympic Goals by Kathleen Y’Barbo

  LOVE OVER PAR

  A Love’s Sporting Chance Novella

  By Cynthia Hickey

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  www.cynthiahickey.com

  I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;

  Your works are wonderful,

  I know that full well

  -Psalm 139:14 (NIV)

  1

  1890, Long Island, New York

  Katherine O’Connor bypassed yet another storefront not hiring. Since her parents dragged her to America a year ago, against her wishes, she might add, she had yet to find employment. She refused to be one of the wraiths standing on a street corner selling wilted flowers or penny boxes of matches.

  The fact she had a brogue didn’t help. Despite her insistence that she was from Scotland, not Ireland. Prejudice ran as deep against her people as it did against the Negro in the South. Katherine wanted to go home, and not the tenement in the heart of the bustling city.

  She pulled her thin shawl tighter against the early chill of a spring morning and continued her search. She had told Mam she wouldn’t return until she found something. After Da’s leg injury in a wood mill outside the city, he hadn’t found other employment, and Mam’s laundry services barely paid for the roof over their heads.

  So engrossed was she in her dark thoughts, she almost passed the iron gate. She stopped and took in the lush grounds, so reminiscent of her beloved Scotland. She gripped the bars in both hands and pressed her face against the cool iron. A golf course! She glanced at the sign.

  Country Acres Club. Now hiring caddies.

  Here was her chance. Having played the sport of golf since she could walk, the job would be perfect for her.

  The gate slid on well-oiled hinges as she pushed it open, then jumped to the side as a carriage filled with well-dressed people rumbled past. She glanced at her clean but patched wool skirt. No help for it. Kat O’Connor was not one to put on airs.

  With her shoulders square and her nose in the air, she marched up the gravel drive toward the towering building at the end of the drive. She approached the large double wooden doors and found her path blocked by a muscular man in a navy jacket.

  “Hired help enters through the kitchen.” He glared down his nose at her.

  “I’m here to apply for a job.” She met his stare with one of her own.

  “We aren’t hiring.”

  “The sign out front says you’re hiring caddies.”

  He laughed. “Women don’t play golf in America.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “You steal my country’s game and refuse its people the right to play?”

  “Only the females. Go away. Check the advertisements regularly. Sometimes we hire maids and kitchen girls. The owners won’t discriminate against the Irish.” He turned and sauntered away as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

  Which he most likely didn’t, considering he was a man and most likely American born. She sighed, refusing to give up. Where there was a will, there was a way, her dear grandmam used to say back home.

  She spotted a few young boys playing ball in a corner of the grounds. She smiled. They appeared to be about her size. She made her way to them.

  “Hello.”

  They stopped and stared.

  “I have five bits in my pocket. I would like to buy a shirt, a pair of trousers, stockings, shoes, and that peaky hat.” She grinned. “Oh, and to borrow the use of a knife.”

  “What for?” The boy closest to her size approached her. “Going to rob a bank?”

  She blinked. “What a ludicrous question. Are you going to sell me what I need or not?”

  He shrugged. “Sure. I’m not against a bit of fun. I’ve extra clothes in the buggy. Wait here.” He dashed away, leaving Kat to stare awkwardly at his playmates.

  “Anyone have a pocket knife?” she asked.

  One of them handed her a pearl handled knife that cost enough to feed her family for a week. She sighed and melted into the bushes. “Wait there.” Behind the bush’s covering, she closed her eyes, lifted her mane of hair, and whacked away, bringing her hair to barely above her shoulders.

  Something landed on the top of the bush. Her eyes shot open. Draped over the branches were an assortment of boy’s clothing. “I’ll be right out,” she said.

  “Keep it. The knife, too. We’re always looking for ways to upset our parents.” The sound of pounding feet signaled their retreat.

  Kat laughed, then sobered at the sight of her hair lying at her feet. No bother. It was too heavy anyway. She stripped to her underclothes, cut a strip from the bottom of her chemise, and then tied it as tight around her chest as possible. She donned the boys clothing, stuffed her hair under the cap, and folded her feminine clothes to be retrieved later.

  This was it. She’d either be hired or not. All she would lose was a few inches of hair that would grow back. She took a deep breath and stepped from the bushes.

  ~

  Bradford Woodward rode his quarterhorse, Red, through the gates of Country Acres. He rode up to the clubhouse and handed the reins to a stableboy before approaching the full length porch where his brother Robert was speaking with a young lad.

  “Ah, there he is,” Robert said. “My brother Bradford is in charge of our sporting events. Bradford, I’ve hired the first of our golf caddies. This is Kevin O’Connor.”

  A dainty young man with eyes the color of the winter sky and a dusting of freckles across his nose turned. His dazzling smile had Brad taking a closer look. “Are you strong enough to heft a bag of clubs?”

  “Yes, sir. I’ve been playing meself for years in Scotland.”

  Brad rubbed his chin, his hand rasping over several days of stubble. “Since Bobby has already hired you, I’ll give my consent. Don’t make me regret it.”

  “Oh, I won’t, sir. Thank you.” He thrust out his small hand.

  Brad returned the shake, feeling a bit better at the presence of callouses. At least the boy was no stranger to work. “If you’re able to start immediately, I have some things arriving by coach…ah, there they are.” He turned to greet the approaching wagon and waved it toward the back of the club, before turning back to Kevin. “Follow me, boy. Have you eaten?”

  “Not since this mornin’.”

  “We’ll find you something in the kitchen.” He led Kevin to the back and into the kitchen. If the boy was going to do the work required for his position, he’d need to put on some weight. “Mrs. Oglesby, this is Kevin.” He waved the boy into the kitchen.

  The head cook, a friendly plump woman, turned with a smile. Her smile faltered. “Kevin? Aren’t you a bonnie lad.”

  Brad thought the same thing. “Can you give him a sandwich, then send him back to me? I’ve some things to be unloaded that he can help me with.” He clapped the boy on the shoulder. The youngster’s knees buckled. “Steady.” He grabbed his arm, shaking his head at the boy’s slenderness. What had Bobby been thinking to hire him? The boy was as sturdy as a sapling
.

  Leaving him in the cook’s nurturing hands, he headed for the supply wagon. There were only a few crates he thought the boy could lift with help, much less on his own. Perhaps, until the golf course was ready, the boy could help in the kitchen or running errands. He’d make sure he earned his fifty cents a day. A high salary for someone with limited experience.

  Kevin joined him a short while later, tugging his cap lower on his head. “I’m ready.”

  “How old are you?” Brad studied his shaded face.

  “Fourteen, sir.”

  On the brink of puberty. He’d lose his soft voice for harsher tones soon enough. “We need to unload this wagon and stack the crates inside that building. I’ll help you.” Brad stripped to his undershirt and grabbed the largest crate, hefting it on his shoulder.

  The boy’s eyes bulged.

  “Well, come on then.” He motioned his head toward the wagon.

  Kevin grunted as he wrapped his arms around a crate and staggered under its weight. “I’ve…got it.” He shuffled toward the shed.

  Brad shook his head and sighed. It was going to be a long day.

  At the end of it, wrung out and wanting to shake his brother for hiring such a scrawny caddy, Brad poured a ladle of water over his head and shook like a dog.

  “Cut it out. You’re getting me wet.” Bobby leaned against a fencepost and wiped water from his vest.

  “You’re an imbecile.” Brad reached for his shirt. “The boy is weak as a baby rabbit.”

  “But…he knows his golf. I asked questions before offering him the job.”

  “The course isn’t green yet. It’s going to be a couple of months before he’s a caddy.”

  Bobby shrugged. “You’ll figure it out. I’m leaving him in your capable hands. Pa’s dream is becoming a reality. Don’t rain on his grave. I’m visiting Ma at the asylum tomorrow. I’ll be gone for a couple of days.”

  Brad nodded. His heart ached at every mention of their mother. After Pa died as the result of a gunshot and mugging, Ma’s mind had never been the same. Some days she came out of her stupor enough to recognize her sons, other times she stayed lost in whatever world occupied her mind. It was their inheritance that allowed Brad and his brother to build the club. It hadn’t taken long for Long Island’s wealthy residents to arrive, more than happy to spend their money on extravagant membership fees.

  Dressed, with most of the dirt washed off him, he entered the club and climbed the stairs to the top floor where he and Bobby lived in an apartment more luxurious than either one of them had ever dreamed of. Brad stood in front of the large glass window and spotted a young woman emerging from the bushes and heading out the gate.

  From her clothing, he could tell she wasn’t a guest. An employee, most likely. Why hadn’t she asked for a ride? With the hard work his employees did, he had a man hired for the sole purpose of giving the workers who didn’t live on the outlying edges of the club a ride into town. Happy employees were productive employees, Pa had always said.

  Brad turned from the window and thought of menial jobs so that Kevin could earn his pay the next day.

  2

  “What did you do?” Mam’s eyes widened when Kat crawled from her pallet in front of the fire.

  “I cut my hair and got a job as a caddy at the Country Club.” She left out the fact that her boss was as handsome as any heavenly angel and could barely control his impatience with the ‘young lad’.

  “They hired a woman as a caddy?” Mam turned away from the pot on the stove.

  Kat sighed. “No. I’m pretending to be a boy.” She slipped behind the changing curtain, bound her chest tight, and emerged a few minutes later as Kevin.

  “Saints have mercy!” Mam put a hand over her heart. “Rory, get a good look.”

  “I won’t have it,” Da said, looking up from his paper.

  “It pays fifty cents a day, Da.” Kat took down three tin bowls from a shelf. “We need the money.”

  His shoulders slumped. “I know, daughter. But, this is hard work for you. You are a small thing. This should be my job.”

  “I can do it.” Although every muscle in her body ached, she was determined not to let her family down. “You must focus on getting stronger.”

  He lifted watery eyes. “You are a good daughter.”

  Kat ate her bowl of thin oatmeal, then shoved her hair under her cap. “I’ll be home for dinner.”

  Ma slipped a coin in her hand. “It’s dark. Take the transportation.”

  “No, Mam. You buy milk with that.” Her gaze dropped to her mam’s waist. “You’re making another life, aren’t you?” Kat prayed this one would live long enough to be born. Mam had lost so many after Kat’s difficult birth. “See a doctor.”

  Tears filled her eyes as she planted a kiss on Kat’s cheek. “Go. Don’t be late. God go with you.”

  Kat nodded and slipped out the door and into the early morning cold. She folded her arms across her middle and set off at a quick pace. It would take her more than an hour to walk the distance. Perhaps she should take Mr. Woodward’s advice about a ride home after work. She’d arrive early enough to help Mam prepare their evening meal. Maybe she could ask to be paid each day, rather than the end of each week. Her salary would keep their heads above being destitute.

  By the time she entered the kitchen of the club, a fine sheen of perspiration dotted her upper lip, and the sun was peeking over the roof of the clubhouse. She splashed water on her face and turned to greet the cook. “Good morning, Mrs. Oglesby.”

  “Good morning, Kevin.” She thrust a mug of hot coffee at her. “Something to take the chill from your bones. Mr. Woodward is waiting for you in the stable.”

  Kat wrinkled her nose. Horses frightened her with their snorting and pawing. She sipped at the bitter brew, then set the unfinished portion on the counter. She disliked coffee, but it seemed something a young boy might enjoy drinking early in the morning.

  She stepped back outside and glanced in both directions until she spotted what might be the livery. She moved to the large building and slid aside one of the heavy wood doors.

  Against the inside wall, Mr. Woodward, the one who had hired her, not her immediate supervisor, was involved in some heavy kissing with one of the maids. Kat’s eyes widened and she backed up, only to find her path blocked by something solid. She whirled and came face-to-face with the other Mr. Woodward.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  She nodded and blocked the door. “I was looking for you.”

  He peered around her and frowned. “And found something altogether different. Stay here.” He marched inside, grabbed his brother by the shoulder, and turned the other man to face him.

  “What on God’s green earth are you doing?” He motioned his head for the maid to leave. She scampered past Kat like a frightened mouse.

  “What are you doing?” Boss Woodward shoved his brother until the other man was trapped against the wall. “Did you learn nothing in England? Leave the hired help alone.” He stepped back and ran his fingers through his hair. Catching sight of Kat, his frown deepened. “We’ll talk later.”

  Kat tried to duck out of sight, but not before the much larger man exited the building, took her by the arm and practically dragged her across the grounds to another building. “This is the livery.” He released her and handed her a pitchfork that stood next to the door.

  “Muck out the stables.” He turned on the heel of a polished boot and stormed toward the main building.

  She glanced to where his brother followed him. She worked for a scoundrel and a man of conviction. Neither of which was a good prospect, should they discover her true gender. Sighing, she stepped into the dim recesses of the livery, met with the strong odor of manure and hay. Perhaps, she could pretend hard enough that she knew what she was doing as to fool her boss that she knew what mucking out a stable meant.

  ~

  Brad could not believe Bobby was up to the same tricks that caused them to leave England ye
ars ago. As a man grown, Brad expected better behavior from him. Did he learn nothing? As the older brother, Bobby should be running things, and not only being the face of the club, socializing with the members who believed anyone with an English accent was first class all the way.

  He cooled off with a glass of lemonade and shaved ice before heading to the livery to see what trouble Kevin might have gotten into. He stopped in his tracks upon seeing the boy with a broom and dustpan, sweeping out a stall and dodging the hooves of a nervous horse.

  Grabbing a firm hold of the boy’s collar, he yanked him from the stall. “What are you doing?”

  “Cleaning.” His voice squeaked.

  “You use the shovel and pitchfork. That’s good enough. What were you planning on doing next? Mop?”

  “Actually, yes.” He put his fists on his hips and raised eyes any woman would be envious of.

  Brad shook his head. “The stable looks good. Just use the shovel on the rest.”

  “When will the course be open?”

  “Next week. Tomorrow, you’ll prove to me that you know the names of the clubs. All right?”

  Kevin nodded, a grin spreading across his face. “That sounds wonderful.” He grabbed the shovel and dragged it to the next stall.

  It would take all day, and the poor young man was going to be as beat down as a horse run too hard. Brad shucked his jacket, rolled up his sleeves, then grabbed another shovel and started on the stalls across the aisle. Instead of messing around with the hired girls, Bobby needed to be hiring livery and grounds help. Not to mention another caddy or two. He glanced over his shoulder.

  Kevin wiped his brow with a lace bordered hankie. Brad’s brows rose. He didn’t know of a single young man who would flap around such a feminine article without a load of embarrassment. Since the boy wore the same clothes as the day before, perhaps he had to resort to using his mother’s hankie.

  “Do you need money?”

  Kevin turned. “Who doesn’t?”

  Brad didn’t, not really, but it didn’t seem prudent to say so. “I’ll pay you yesterday’s and today’s wage at the end of the day, and each day after. Did my brother mention we provide our workers with clothing?”