Читать книгу Secret Garden - Cathryn Parry - Страница 11
ОглавлениеPresent Day Central Texas
COLIN WALKER HAD a motto in life: take nothing seriously and keep everything light.
On a lazy summer’s Monday afternoon, he was doing just that—strolling the fairways at Sunny Times Golf Academy in Winwood Springs, Texas, sizing up the lay on a chip shot and aiming to enjoy the day with his caddie and best friend, Mack. That was when he became aware of Mack’s cell phone buzzing.
He turned toward Mack, who stood beside Colin’s golf bag. Mack stared at the screen of his phone, a concerned look on his face.
Colin was a tour pro. In his and Mack’s world, there was protocol. A caddie who wasn’t paying attention to the game was not to be tolerated. But Colin just shrugged. He figured that Mack was a grown-up, and if something needed his attention, then Colin wasn’t going to get upset.
Instead, he ambled over and pulled a nine iron from his bag. Normally, this was Mack’s job, but Mack was busy with his text message. A party of four was on the course behind them, so Colin needed to keep playing and stay with the flow of the game.
He approached the ball, knelt and squinted at it where it lay in the rough beside a green that sloped downward in a steep, thirty-degree pitch to the cup, marked with a red flag.
The flag hung limply, no movement, no breeze. Colin wiped the sweat from the back of his neck. It was hot, a humid June afternoon, and it might have been Colin’s imagination, but waves of steam seemed to be coming off the fairway.
Straightening, he strolled back to Mack. “What do you think of the lie?” Colin asked, nodding toward the gopher hole his ball was nestled against. “Nine iron, or should I use a wedge?”
“Seven,” Mack said absently, and Colin had to laugh, because a seven iron was absurd. But his caddie didn’t even smile, busily tapping out a text message, and not paying attention to the game at all.
“And people wonder why I’ve slipped to one hundred in the rankings,” Colin said with a laugh.
“One hundred twenty-four,” Mack muttered.
Colin turned. “Seriously?”
“It was on the Golf Channel this morning.”
Colin took off his glove and stretched his hand, then put the glove back on. He was trying not to think about that. To keep it light.
Mack gave him a look. Mack had risen from the college world to the minors tour to the big show—the pro tour—with Colin, and Mack knew exactly what was at stake. If Colin slipped below number 125 on the “money list,” then he would lose his tour card. If he lost his tour card, he lost his ability to play in the tournaments with the big purses and the big attention.
The tour card was the golden ticket. People dreamed of it, prayed for it, gave up everything for it. Every golfer remembered how he felt the day he’d earned it.
A sick feeling settled in Colin’s gut, as if things were spinning out of control. He knew that if he wasn’t careful, then he was somehow going to be abandoned again. Dropped, as if he was nothing. And then everything would change for the worse.
Colin looked away from Mack, toward the red flag flying over the eighteenth hole, trying to clear his head.
“We still have the New York Cup ahead of us,” Mack said quietly. “Everything will come together. That tournament is good luck for you. Remember last year?”
“Yep,” Colin said tightly. He’d kept it light and they’d come in second place. It had been his best showing and had confirmed that he was right not to take anything too seriously. Being laid-back about life was how he’d ended up on the pro tour in the first place.
He glanced at Mack, who had turned back to his cell phone. “What are you texting about, anyway?” Colin asked, leaning toward the screen. “Did you meet a girl last night or something?”
“Nope.” Mack shoved his phone in his pocket. He seemed cagey, giving a smile that Colin knew was fake. Colin had roomed with him his first two years at the university, and of all his friends on the golf team, Mack was the only one that Colin had introduced to Daisie Lee. Daisie Lee adored Mack like a second son. “Colin-clone,” she called him. Maybe he was. Mack didn’t take anything too seriously, either.
“Go take your shot,” Mack ribbed him.
“I will when I’m ready.”
“It’s an easy chip shot. You do those in your sleep.”
“Now you’re really making me worry. What’s on your damn phone?” Playfully, Colin reached for it, but Mack swatted his hand away.
“Okay, fine.” Mack sighed, taking off his cap and wiping his brow. “I was going to tell you after you finished the hole, but if you’ve got to know now and ruin your game, great— It was Leonard, letting you know he’s here for a noon meeting.”
Leonard was Colin’s accountant and business manager. “What’s so bad about that?” Colin asked. Leonard’s management company ran Colin’s website, made his travel arrangements, took care of all the stuff that Colin didn’t enjoy doing. Leonard had even snagged Colin a few endorsements—nothing big, one with a sportswear company that was little more than a struggling start-up, and another with a ball company that, admittedly, spread money around to pretty much every tour pro, just to flood the tour as much as possible with their brand of golf balls. But every dollar counted.
“It’s nothing,” Mack said. “It’s just business.”
Colin hoped their business was still okay. He’d become used to the lifestyle—a far better living than they’d had on the minors tour. That first year in the pro tour, Colin had made close to a million dollars, and he’d bought Daisie Lee a house and a new car. He’d spread the wealth to Mack, too. Stepped up their accommodations on tour.
The thought of losing that made his guts ache.
He just...needed to keep this gig going. Keep the wolf from the door. Do what made everybody happy.
Colin gripped his nine iron and headed toward the ball.
Truth was, his game had been slipping lately. There had been magic in Colin’s game once. Time was he’d pulled off amazing feats, with seemingly little effort. Every so often he still had glimmers of that, and if he just focused hard enough, maybe he could find it again in time for the next tournament. Make the final cut, and thus earn a slice of the purse money, which would automatically boost his ranking again.
Mack crossed his arms and watched silently.
Don’t think. Colin gave the ball his usual address, whistled under his breath, swung...
And completely undershot it.
He stood there, staring at the dead ball for a while. He honestly didn’t know how to begin to fix this.
He turned to Mack. All the greats had caddies who helped them with this sort of thing. Made coaching comments, or had swing coaches on call. “Any tips?”
“Seriously?” Mack laughed. “You hate tips.”
Yeah, well, that was true, too. Colin typically avoided overanalyzing things. He’d always thought that was the secret to his success, and his college golf coach had been fine with it. Mostly, Colin was allergic to critical people who weren’t helpful. “Anything constructive?”
Mack ran a hand through his hair. “How about I videotape you, and then you take a look at it yourself?”
Colin paused. He hadn’t done much of that lately. When he was young, he’d been videotaped a lot. “Sure. Let’s do it.”
“Tomorrow,” Mack said.
“Right.”
Colin took his putter from Mack and prepared to finish up the hole. Two putts later, he sank the ball in the cup, for a bogie on the eighteenth and final hole. Overall, he was three shots under par, which was great for an amateur golfer, but not so impressive for a tour pro.
Pensive, Mack took out his pencil and filled out Colin’s scorecard.
“I’ve got two more weeks to prepare for the New York Cup,” Colin said. “I’ll be fine.”
“Yep,” Mack agreed. But he didn’t meet Colin’s eye. He was lying, and Colin knew it.
Not feeling like himself, Colin headed toward the Nineteenth Hole, Winwood’s combination pro shop and bar-and-grill. Mack followed with the golf bag slung over his shoulder. But a few yards from the gravel path that led from the golf cart rental stand, a foursome of ladies Colin knew from the club—Doris was the blonde ringleader—stopped their cart and hurried over to hug Colin.
He didn’t show the ladies a hint of his worried mood. Instead, he gave them each a smile, a kiss on the cheek, a few “shooting-the-breeze” good words. Because at the end of the day, Doris and her friends were Colin’s people, and he appreciated their support. He was supposed to be here on the golf course at Winwood. He never had a doubt about that in his mind.
Sometimes, though, his motto failed him, and he had a fear that he had some kind of defect. That he would waste whatever gift or talent he’d been given.
“Yo, Walker!”
On the steps to the clubhouse stood Doc Masters, one of the stars of the pro tour, ranked number five. The muscular bald guy had skin on his neck so burned by the sun that it was textured like an alligator’s. As always, he was surrounded by his entourage.
Cocking a hand on his hip, he said to Colin, “I saw you on the roster for the New York Cup.”
Colin turned slowly, the grin still on his face. Sensing trouble because they knew Doc, Doris led her friends to their tee time.
“Yes,” Colin said to Doc. It seemed as if everybody was waiting to see if Colin could pull it off again. Including him. “I’ll be there.”
“Good,” Doc said. “My wife’s sister is coming in to town, and she’s a fan of yours. She wants to hang with Colin’s Crew.”
Colin’s Crew. The merry band of fun-loving, young-at-heart supporters who followed Colin along the fairways in his tournaments as he played each successive hole. Golf being mostly a staid sport, spectators tended to stay put at a hole, watching all the golfers as they played through. But not Colin’s Crew. Colin had never encouraged it; it had just sort of happened back in the early days.
Colin made it a point to sign everybody’s autographs. Shake everybody’s hands. High-five the little kids, especially. He wanted to make everybody feel good about the game of golf. Maybe it tripped up his focus a bit, but that wasn’t so bad. All told, he was pretty damn lucky in his life, and he knew it.
Colin shrugged. Spending time with Doc and his sister-in-law wouldn’t be a hardship. “Sure. We’ll meet up for drinks afterward.”
“You can hang out with her on Sunday.”
Colin stared at Doc. Outwardly, there was no malice in his statement. It hadn’t even occurred to Doc that in assuming Colin wouldn’t make the final cut—that he would be eliminated before the final day of the tournament—he was insulting Colin.
Doc walked off. Usually, Colin would have laughed it off. But some old spark of commitment, of competitive spirit seemed to rebel. “Sure,” he called after Doc. “When the network guys interview me with the trophy, I’ll be sure to bring her up to the press box with me.”
Doc paused. Then he turned and let out a guffaw. “That’s a good one.” He rubbed his chin. “Hey, do you need a ride on my private jet? Anytime, just give me a call.”
“We will,” Mack interjected. Colin didn’t blame him. Traveling by private jet was better than flying commercial.
“Call me,” Doc said to Colin. “We’ll keep in touch.”
Colin leaned back and gave him the good ol’ boy smile he’d learned after they first moved to this part of Texas when he was a kid. Acting as if nothing riled him. As if he was just an easygoing guy. No drama, no pain.
“That guy is an ass,” Mack said, once Doc was well out of earshot. “But he’s an ass with a private plane.”
“Yep,” Colin agreed. He headed into the clubhouse and then directly toward the conference room where he habitually met with Leonard. “But I’m not going to waste my time worrying about him.”
Mack grabbed Colin’s arm, stopping him. “Actually, Colin, now that we’re finished with the round, I, uh, need to tell you something.”
“Is this what the texting was all about?”
“Well...yeah.”
“See?” Colin said, pointing his finger at Mack. “I know you.”
“Can we just step over here?” Mack asked, nodding to a table in the far corner of the snack bar.
“Why? Is Golf Digest here to grill me? Am I being waylaid?”
“No, it’s not Golf Digest.” Mack laughed nervously. “Your mom’s here. Daisie Lee is upstairs in the conference room with Leonard.”
“What?”
“She needs to tell you something important, and she wants to do it in person,” Mack said quickly. “She texted me from Leonard’s phone—they were already in the conference room. I had nothing to do with that.”
“Oh, great. She saw the money list.” In his opinion, Daisie Lee spent entirely too much time following his life. Yeah, she was his mother. He loved her, and he’d always worry about her, too, but barging in on his business meetings was too much. “Thanks for warning me.”
“There’s more.” Mack blew out a breath.
“She’s upset, isn’t she?”
Mack gave him a look. Great. Now he would have to calm her down. Get her to smile. Make her laugh.
That was his job.
Colin glanced around them. They were in the middle of the crowded snack bar at lunchtime. People in golf shoes and polo shirts walked past carrying trays. Golf school was in session over on the far driving range, evidently.
He glanced toward the stairs. “You said she’s up in the conference room?”
“She is. But, Colin—”
“I’m on it,” Colin interrupted, and headed up the stairs to the private second-floor room that management let him use for his meetings. He was just about to open the door and reassure his mom when Mack blocked him with a hand.
“Look, I didn’t want to have to tell you this,” Mack said, “but...you probably have to go to a funeral this weekend.”
“What? Whose?”
While Mack just mouthed, I’m sorry, the door opened and his mother said in her loud twang, “Honey, I came as soon as I heard.”
Colin groaned inwardly. “What happened?” he asked in as calm a voice as he could manage.
His mom crossed her arms and looked at him. But instead of being upset, she seemed strangely pleased. “Your grandmother called me.”
“Mimi?” Colin asked, his heart pumping harder. “What’s wrong?”
“With our people? Nothing!” Her eyes widened at the thought of that. Then her mouth turned down. “Your other grandmother called,” she said coolly. “The one in Scotland.”
Colin’s pulse slowed.
He hadn’t heard from his father’s family since he was a kid. Then, suddenly, when he turned pro a few years back, his grandmother—Jessie—had sent him a note through his website. Leonard had told Colin, but Colin had informed him that he wasn’t interested. He’d pushed that part of his life out of his head as if it had never existed. He’d figured it would freak Daisie Lee out if he started up any kind of relationship there, and that was the last thing he wanted.
Colin steadied his nerves and entered the conference room, where Leonard sat in a rumpled suit, a bunch of papers likely showing Colin’s reduced financial circumstances spread before him.
Leonard stood clumsily, his face perspiring from the lack of air-conditioning.
“Colin,” Daisie Lee said, following him inside, “there’s good news, too. You’re getting an inheritance—a sizable inheritance—and all you have to do is show up for it.”
Colin stared. He felt as if life was moving in slow motion. Nobody in his father’s family had money, as far as he knew. Then again, he’d been just a kid when he last saw them. Eight years old. “Whose funeral is it?” he asked. “Is it Jamie’s?”
His grandparents would be elderly now. Colin hadn’t heard from his grandfather once since the divorce. He still remembered that Jamie had stood by Colin’s father when he left them. Colin would never forget that day.
Daisie Lee waved her hand. “No. And I don’t blame you for not wanting to see those people but you’ll just have to endure it. They offered to let you stay at their house. That ugly little crofter’s cottage.”
“That ugly little crofter’s cottage” had been heaven to Colin once—if only because he got to see Rhiannon when he went there. He closed his eyes at the memory.
So if Jessie and Jamie were both still alive, that meant...
Colin took off his cap. Stared into Daisie Lee’s eyes, which were bright with animation. “Are you telling me that my father died?”
“Yes.” She nodded. “He had a heart attack. That’s why Jessie called me.”
He couldn’t focus. His vision seemed to be swimming and he blinked hard to clear it. Somehow he remained stubbornly on his feet.
“No,” he said. Mack and Leonard were staring at him, so he sat. “I’m not going to his funeral.”
“Colin, there’s a million-dollar inheritance.”
Colin closed his eyes. He felt sick. He hadn’t wanted to think about any of this stuff from his childhood. It was easier to pretend that it didn’t exist. He sure as hell didn’t want his father’s money.
“I’m a tour pro,” he said. “Last year I grossed almost that much myself.”
There was silence in the room. Leonard cleared his throat, but Colin caught Mack giving him a look. Don’t fight it, the look said. Just go, and take the money.
“I know my tour card’s at risk,” Colin bit out. “But I still don’t want anything from him.”
“Oh, Colin,” Daisie Lee whispered. She seemed sad, and that tore him up inside, the way it always had.
Gritting his teeth, he walked to the end of the room and grabbed a paper cup, pouring a drink from the watercooler. Somebody in the hall outside came over to wave and smile at him through the conference room window, but he just couldn’t muster up that old, carefree Colin attitude to wave back at them.
He was all tapped out. Didn’t care about keeping up his cool. When it came to the subject of his father, nothing was light, and never would be.
His hand shook as he raised the cup to his lips. For so long he’d thought that someday he’d bump into his father at a tournament, maybe. Show him that he’d been wrong. Rub it in, even.
It had been a secret, stupid desire, something he’d never shared with anybody, or even really dared to admit to himself, because it was petty. And it was sad, too, because a part of him really had wanted his dad to say he’d made a mistake. That he did love Colin.
Now it was too late.
My father is dead.
Colin heard a choking sound, and he was shocked to realize that came from him. He pressed his palm to his forehead. He didn’t want to feel this.
His mother came over to him and gingerly put her hand on his shoulder. “Colin, honey, I know it’s hard. What he did to us when he left...well.” She shook her head, collecting herself, and pushed the screen of her phone toward him. “Look. The most important thing now is that we need to be practical. If you lose your tour card—”
He turned to her, suddenly furious. “I will not lose my tour card.”
“Of course you won’t, Colin. I know. The inheritance is... Think of it as a contingency plan.”
He turned and stared out the window. “Then tell Jessie to mail me the check.”
“I did, but she said you need to be there, for lawyers and signatures and whatever else. Then she mentioned Mr. Sage, Jamie’s employer. Colin, I looked him up on the internet. Do you remember the family?”
Colin shook his head, ignoring her outstretched hand, cradling the phone. He didn’t like that she was getting so excited about this. For too long, Daisie Lee had cried over the divorce, and Colin, even as young as he was, had been the one who’d had to lift her spirits.
“Don’t frown, Colin. Surely you remember the MacDowall family that lived in the castle? Rhiannon, the little girl? She was so sweet to you. The two of you were so close back then.”
Of course he hadn’t forgotten her. Rhiannon had been the one great thing about that place. The best thing, actually.
But then, Rhiannon had never written to him the way she’d promised. Colin couldn’t help thinking that he’d done something wrong, because he’d believed her when she said that she would write him.
She’d seen everything that had happened, though—had heard what his father had said to him, and Colin had always figured that in the end, it had affected her decision to keep in touch.
“Rhiannon’s mother,” Daisie Lee continued, “was a Sage. The Sages of Scotland—you’ve heard of them? They own that big shampoo and cosmetics empire?”
Daisie Lee didn’t wait for his reaction. She just kept talking, an excited look on her face. “Colin, they’re now about the wealthiest people in Scotland. Can you believe it?”
“I really don’t care about that,” he said coldly. Because he didn’t.
“Their company is called Sage Family Products. Here, I looked it up. They sponsor professional athletes.”
He saw where this was going, all too clearly. She was trying to ensure his financial stability in the event that he crashed and burned on the pro tour. She was just being a mother.
He sat down at the table and put his head in his hands. He just wanted to keep his tour card and his dignity. No amount of money could save that.
Daisie Lee’s voice was softer now, but she was still revved up. Apparently, she really was convinced that Colin should return to the place that she’d scorned for so many years.
Not that he’d blamed her. Daisie Lee’s life had been tough after the divorce. The laughter had died in their little home. For a while, they’d been living in a trailer in her mother’s front yard, next to a chicken coop. Daisie Lee had cried herself to sleep every night, and he’d heard it because the trailer had been so small.
But the worst thing of all was that his father hadn’t once asked how they were doing. Colin hadn’t heard a word. Not a card on his birthday, not a call at Christmas.
He could never, ever forgive that.
Colin stood. Everyone was staring at him. Mack, Leonard, his mom. In a sense, they all depended on him. Colin had never thought of himself as someone big on commitment—he’d expressly avoided it, in fact—but when it came right down to it, he was fast realizing that he was a committed man.
He had a team to support. A caddie, a business manager, his fans, his sponsors... They were all good to him—friends—and Colin didn’t desert his friends.
Maybe it was just important to him that he end up being the good guy that his father hadn’t been.
Mack was watching him, waiting for his decision.
Leonard rolled his pen in his fingers. He looked sorry about the whole thing. Daisie Lee was filled with crazy hope. Mack, too, probably.
Colin didn’t like his options. Either go to Scotland and renew the relationships he had no interest in cultivating, or stay here and watch an opportunity to help his team slip away from him.
If he lost the tour card, if he ended up back on the minors tour, or worse, working in obscurity as a club pro, knowing that he’d failed his talent and he wasn’t worth it, then he would need money for his support system. He loved them.
“I’ll go,” he said quietly.
“You will?” Daisie Lee asked.
“Sure.” He would be responsible and bring home the income stream that would keep them all going. He would do it, but he wouldn’t like it.
While Leonard nodded, Colin took another drink of water. Crushed the cup with all the fury he had inside him.
Mack rose. With a quiet voice he said, “I’ll talk to Doc about hitching a ride on his plane. I know he’s going to a charity tournament in the Highlands this week.”
“Thanks,” Colin said. “I appreciate it.”
