Fancy Pants (Wynette, Texas #1)(159)

Dallie reminded himself that it wasn't Teddy's fault, but it still took all of his self-control to walk over and greet them. His fans in the gallery immediately began asking him questions and calling out encouragement. He joked with them a little bit, glad of the distraction because he didn't know what to say to Teddy. I'm sorry I screwed everything up for us—that's what he should say. I'm sorry I haven't been able to talk to you, to tell you what you mean to me, to tell you how proud I was when you protected your mama that day in Wynette.

Skeet was holding out his driver as Dallie turned away from the gallery. “This is the first time ol' Teddy's going to see you play, isn't it?” Skeet said, handing him the club. “Be a shame if he didn't see your best game.”

Dallie shot him a black look, and then walked over to tee up. The muscles in his back and shoulders felt as tight as steel bands. Normally he joked with the crowd before he hit, but today he couldn't manage it. The club felt foreign in his hand. He looked over at Teddy and saw the tight little frown in his forehead, a frown of total concentration. Dallie forced himself to focus his attention on what he had to do—on what he could do. He took a deep breath, eye on the ball, knees slightly bent, drew back the club and then whipped it through, using all the strength of his powerful left side. Airborne.

The crowd applauded. The ball fired out over the lush green fairway, a white dot speeding against a cloudless sky. It began to descend, heading directly toward the clump of magnolias that had done Dallie in the day before. And then, at the end, the ball faded to the right so that it landed on the fairway in perfect position. Dallie heard a wild Texas cheer from behind him and turned to grin at Holly Grace. Skeet gave him a thumbs-up, and even Teddy had a half-smile on his face.

That night, Dallie went to bed knowing he'd finally brought the Old Testament to its knees. While the tournament leaders had fallen victim to a strong wind, Dallie had shot three under par, enough to make up for the disaster of the first day and push him way up on the leader board, enough to show his son just a little bit about how the old game of golf was played. Seve was still in there, along with Fuzzy Zoeller and Greg Norman. Watson and Crenshaw were out. Nicklaus had shot another mediocre round, but the Golden Bear never gave up easily, and he had scored just well enough to survive the cut.

As Dallie tried to fall asleep that night, he told himself to concentrate on Seve and the others, not to worry about Nicklaus. Jack was eight over par, too far behind to be in contention and too old to pull off any of his miraculous last-minute charges. But as Dallie punched his pillow into shape, he heard the Bear's voice whispering to him as if he were standing right there in the room. Don't ever count me out, Beaudine. I'm not like you. I never quit.

Dallie couldn't seem to hold his concentration on the third day. Despite the presence of Holly Grace and Teddy, his play was mediocre and he ended at three over par. It was enough to put him in a three-way tie for second place, but he was two shots out of the lead.

By the end of the third day's play, Francesca's head ached from watching the small motel television screen so intently. On CBS, Pat Summerall began to summarize the day's action.

“Dallie Beaudine has never played well under pressure, and it seemed to me he looked tight out there.”

“The noise from the crowd obviously bothered him,” Ken Venturi observed. “You've got to remember that Jack Nicklaus was playing in the group right behind Dallie, and when Jack is hot, like he was today, the gallery goes wild. Every time those cheers went up, you'd better believe the other players could hear, and they all knew Jack had made another spectacular shot. That can't help but shake up the tournament leaders.”

“It'll be interesting to see if Dallie can change his pattern of final-round defeats and come back tomorrow,” Summerall said. “He's a big hitter, he has one of the best swings on the tour, and he's always been popular with the fans. You know they'd like nothing better than to see him finally pull one out.”

“But the real story here today is Jack Nicklaus,” Ken Venturi concluded. “At 47 years of age, the Golden Bear from Columbus, Ohio, has shot an unbelievable sixty-seven—five under par—putting him in a three-way tie for second place, right along with Seve Ballesteros and Dallas Beaudine....”

Francesca flipped off the set. She should have been happy that Dallie was one of the tournament leaders, but the final round was always his weakest. From what had happened in today's round, she had to conclude that Teddy's presence alone wouldn't be enough to spur him on. She knew stronger measures were called for, and she bit down on her bottom lip, refusing to let herself consider how easily the only strong measure she had been able to think of could backfire.

“Just stay away from me,” Holly Grace said the next morning as Francesca hurried after her and Teddy across the country club lawn toward the crowd that surrounded the first tee.

“I know what I'm doing,” Francesca called out. “At least I think I do.”

Holly Grace spun around as Francesca caught up with her. “When Dallie sees you, it's going to ruin his concentration for good. You couldn't have come up with a better way to blow this final round for him.”

“He'll blow it for himself if I'm not there,” Francesca insisted. “Look, you've coddled him for years and it hasn't worked. Do it my way for a change.”