With a strong drive and decent bounce on the fairway, Risk's golf ball landed near the bridge. There, he debated which club would take him over the water hazard.
"Three wood," his caddy, Tommy Mitchell, suggested.
Risk squinted against the sun. "You sure?"
"As sure as you were when you hit the home run in the World Series."
Risk took the young man's advice. He quickly became the only golfer to hit the green with one stroke. Among Zen, Aaron, and Psycho, more balls went into the lake than on the island green. Psycho threatened to put water wings on his next golf ball.
The lake diver who retrieved golf balls would make a fortune later that day.
While waiting for them to succeed, Risk surveyed the crowd, seeking Jacy Grayson. He knew she stood near. He could feel her presence. He found her less than a hundred feet away, pressed between Stevie and a queen palm on one of the spectator mounds. One hand shielded her eyes; the spray from the foun-tains misted her face. Their eyes locked for several heartbeats. The contact warmed him, driving a mating heat straight to his groin. His Bad to the Bone tattoo felt on fire. When she lifted her hand, her fingers were crossed. He knew she wished him luck.
He would sink the putt in two. Easily. He'd win the tournament for her. Tonight he'd give her both the trophy and his body. The trophy would go in her curio cabinet. His body in her bed.
The weekend had turned around nicely.
It took thirty minutes for the foursome to wrap up their round of golf. When Aaron sank the final putt, the crowd cheered as loudly as when the golfers had first started the day. As they crossed the bridge, the gallery broke through the protective ropes and mobbed the men. Under the direction of the marshals, the crowd was moved off the fairway so the next foursome could play through.
So much for getting to Jacy quickly, Risk thought as she faded into the crowd. For the next hour he shook hands, smiled, and signed autographs. He wrote his name on the bill of golf caps, on magazine photographs, and on baseball jerseys. When one young woman requested he write his name across her crocheted breast, he pointed her in Psycho's direction. Psycho obliged, printing both his name and team number in permanent marker.
"We need to get the players to the barbecue," Risk heard Stevie Cole call to one of the marshals. He took the initiative. Easing through the crowd, he motioned to Zen. Zen nodded and crossed to his golf cart.
"I'm riding back with Einstein," Psycho announced as he dove behind the wheel.
"Maybe you ought to let Zen drive," Risk called after him.
"Maybe you ought to start walking back to the clubhouse now, old man, so you arrive before dark," Psycho shot back.
Risk took a step forward, and Psycho hit the accelerator before Zen was completely settled on the seat of the cart. Zen banged his knee against the dash and Risk saw the shortstop wince. Psycho was a royal pain in the ass.
Releasing a breath, he watched the cart cut across the course instead of staying on the golf path. It barreled over the hillside. Fans scattered and the group of golfers still on the fairway looked ready to run for their lives.
"After eighteen holes with Psycho, you deserve a medal."
Lolita Lampeka seduced his senses. The warm vanilla scent was pure Jacy. He turned and watched her approach. Damn, she was beautiful. He took her hand and gave it a squeeze. She squeezed back. "I'll let you reward me tonight."
"You won't be disappointed."
As one, they dipped beneath the protective ropes that once again divided golfers from the gallery. It felt good to have Jacy by his side, Risk realized. It felt right. When a fan approached, she stopped when he stopped. She took one step back, allowing Risk to give his undivided attention to the person requesting an autograph. From his earliest Little League days, Risk had understood the importance of fans. In the majors, fans paid high prices to fill the seats at the ballpark. Without them, he had no game.
He appreciated Jacy's patience. Even when a group of cropped-topped, short-shorted brunettes surrounded him, she gave ground. Jacy looked more curious than jealous. Almost amused by the attention given him.
"Such a stud," she said when the groupies cleared and they could again proceed along the path.
"Think so?"
"Your fans see you as one."
"How do you see me, babe?"
"Haven't you had enough ego stroking for today?"
"Not by you."
"I'll stroke you tonight."
Tonight was good. They would come together for the burn. If commitment slipped between the sheets, Risk would propose. It was all in the timing…
"Look, there's Stevie near the clubhouse entrance," Jacy noted. Stevie motioned them to join her.
"Slip in and take a breather before the barbecue," Stevie suggested. "We're waiting for the remaining golfers to gather."
The Shadow Woods clubhouse sprawled in shades of forest and olive green, offset by mauve; the decor was highlighted with black-and-white photographs of Frostproof in its infancy. A wall of glass captured the view of the golf course and the massive redwood deck where preparations were underway for the barbecue. Risk spotted Zen and Psycho seated within a cluster of brown leather chairs. Aaron and his fiancee, Natalie Llewellyn, stood off to the side. Neither looked overly sociable.
By the time Risk hit the bar and returned with two tonics and lime, the second group of golfers had appeared. Romeo and Chaser were among them.
"Jacy, sweetheart." Romeo draped an arm about her shoulders and planted a kiss on her cheek. "Am I safe from golf balls to the groin in the clubhouse?"
Jacy looked at Risk. Risk darted a dark look in Romeo's direction. "Eventually you'll have to step outside," he warned.
Romeo released Jacy. He then reached into the side pocket of his navy slacks and slipped out a money clip. He peeled off a fifty and dropped it on the glass coffee table next to a crystal vase arranged with red and yellow freesia. "Ante up, gentlemen. It's time to tally."
Time to tally meant adding up the phone numbers, pictures, and panties the golf groupies had slipped in the players' pockets during the tournament.
Psycho and Chaser added their money to the pile. As did two other Richmond players. Zen shook his head. Risk refused to play.
"Bet the old man's pockets are empty," Psycho said, openly challenging Risk.
Chaser grinned from behind dark aviator glasses. "Maybe one pity number from a woman over fifty."