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  Torrie waved to a couple of golfers in the distance. One shouted something about rain coming and drove off.

  Oh, shit, Grace thought with a worried glance at the darkening sky that had seemingly emerged from nowhere, its approach growing more ominous by the second. She hadn’t brought a jacket and they were miles away from the clubhouse.

  “Hey,” Torrie said, clambering out of the cart. “Let me show you this awesome sand bunker, Grace. It’s nasty as hell. Eats golfers alive. C’mon already!”

  “I think it’s going to rain. Shouldn’t we get back?”

  Hands on her hips, Torrie exuded impatience. “It’ll just take a sec.” Her grin was a challenge. “Besides, you don’t melt in the rain, do you?”

  “I might, you know. Like one of those ice sculptures at a fancy martini bar.” But Grace was already gamely stepping out of the cart.

  “Nah. You’re not nearly so fragile.”

  “Oh yeah?” Grace heard the doubt in her own voice. For all you know, I might fall apart any minute, Torrie. Unlike you, who’s probably never fallen apart or backed away from anything in your life.

  The grin slid from Torrie’s face and she stared pensively at Grace, as though she might be trying to read her mind. She’d never looked so serious, and Grace imagined it was how she looked when she stood over a game-winning putt, so focused and intent. Grace wanted the old Torrie back—the one she could quickly put in her place with a smart remark or a castigating look.

  “You’re far too smart and ambitious to let any weaknesses or fears get in your way for long, Grace. I expect you’re one of the strongest women I could ever hope to meet.” She held her hand out to help Grace into the deep bunker, then smiled convincingly. “And I do meet a lot of strong women in this business.”

  Grace took the steadying hand and realized that, for the first time, it was the real Torrie Cannon next to her, welcoming and helpful and sure of herself, but in a subtle and genuine way—like a weightlifter who knows her own strength without having to pick up every heavy object in sight to prove it.

  “You know something, Torrie?” They were still holding hands, even after gingerly climbing down into the six-foot deep sand maw.

  Torrie looked expectantly at her with a trace of dread in the hardening of her mouth and the narrowing of her eyes. She looked steeled to take whatever Grace might say, whatever challenge or criticism Grace might heap on her, and it rattled Grace a bit, this willingness to just take it. And in that instant, Grace knew she was right when she’d told Torrie that she was afraid of women. Afraid of criticism too. She was really not the cool-headed, warm-blooded slut she pretended to be.

  “What?”

  “You’re far more charming when you’re like this than how you were last night.”

  Torrie laughed. “You mean when I’m being sensitive and thoughtful instead of trying to constantly seduce you?”

  Grace laughed. “Insightful too, aren’t you?”

  “I’m all of those things and more. See what you’re missing?”

  “Ah. The old Torrie begins to emerge. I’d wondered where she went.”

  Torrie’s hand moved to the soft side of Grace’s wrist, stroked it gently once, twice. “Grace, I don’t mean to be… I mean… I still think you’re incredibly—”

  The rain came crashing down all at once, pounding so fast and hard, like tiny needles against Grace’s skin. She tried to scramble out of the massive depths of wet sand, but it was both slippery and gummy and she couldn’t get any traction. Torrie gave her butt a firm shove from behind. Grace would have reprimanded her for taking liberties, or at least whacked her hand away, but the shove worked well enough for her to tug herself the rest of the way out.

  Torrie stood helplessly in the bunker, dripping wet, her hair plastered to her like a second layer of skin. She looked pissed and defenseless. The paradox of this strong woman needing help was not lost on Grace. It must be killing Torrie.

  “Do you need help?” Grace shouted above the rain.

  “My shoulder. I—I don’t think I can climb out on my own.”

  Grace dropped to her hands and knees at the edge of the bunker, oblivious to the muck, and reached her arm out. “Grab on.” She dipped lower, reached further, until her body was fully supine on the wet ground.

  “Grace, you don’t have—”

  “Grab on, dammit!” The rain was blurring her vision, but Torrie finally grabbed her hand and Grace pulled with all her strength. Torrie was bigger and heavier, but somehow they managed, and then it was Torrie pulling Grace up from the wet ground with her good arm.

  “My God, you’re a mess, Grace.”

  Torrie’s eyes flicked briefly over Grace, who felt totally naked in her wet clothing she was sure left nothing to the imagination. She didn’t want to look down at herself, at the clinging material that was propelling her cold, wet nipples forward like tree buds eager for spring blossoms. She wanted to run for the cart, cover herself with something, anything. Mercifully, Torrie did not stare at her like a starving animal, and instead took her elbow and led her quickly to the cart.

  “I don’t happen to have a change of clothes on me, but c’mon. There’s a rain shelter at the next tee box.”

  Shivering, Grace stood under the wooden structure and pulled her arms around herself for warmth. Her teeth chattered with a mind of their own.

  “I’m sorry about this, Grace.”

  “Not…your…fault,” she managed between the shivers and the chattering teeth that were on overdrive.

  “Jesus, I wish I’d brought an extra shirt or a jacket for you.”

  “S’okay, Torrie. I know…you want…to be chivalrous.”

  Torrie winced. “Guess I can’t help that butch thing.”

  “Hey, Tor!” Muffled hollering penetrated the sound of the pounding rain as another golf cart appeared. The figure, swathed from head to foot in bright yellow rain gear, nevertheless sprinted for the rain shelter.

  The woman was dark haired and blue-eyed, much like Torrie, only a bit shorter and more angular, as though a wood carver had forgotten to round out and smooth the edges. She was grinning widely.

  “Shit, Tor. What are you doing out in this weather? Didn’t you see it coming?”

  “If I’d seen it coming, do you think I would have let us get caught in it?” But Torrie was grinning back, then both sets of nearly identical eyes landed on Grace.

  “Grace, this is my caddie, who also happens to be my cousin, Catie. Catie, this is Grace Wellwood, chef extraordinaire and savior of this weekend’s big dinner.”

  A wet hand shook hers. “Nice to meet you, Grace. By the way, I rarely answer to Catie, at least from the likes of this one.” She jerked her head at Torrie. “It’s usually Triple C, or sometimes just C. Covers all the bases that way.” She winked teasingly, taking a playful punch in the arm from Torrie.

  “I see,” said Grace. “No pun intended, by the way.”

  Catie laughed but then her expression turned peculiar. She seemed to study Grace like an object she could pick up and turn round and round. Her eyes stayed a little too long on her chest, then shot back up to her face. “You look awfully familiar.”

  Grace shrugged, and then it struck her at the same moment Catie suddenly lit up like a Christmas tree. Grace’s hand crawled up to her suddenly burning cheek. Oh, Christ. It can’t be.

  Catie grinned stupidly and clapped her hands together in delight. “So you’re that Grace. Are you still a great kisser?” Grace was sure the look of mortification on Torrie’s face matched her own.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Torrie wiped the sweat from her forehead with her good hand. She’d remembered to put a sling on her injured side to keep her shoulder immobilized. If she couldn’t golf, at least half a workout was better than sitting on her ass, being tempted by the solace of alcohol and the temptation to pine over the elusive, enigmatic Grace Wellwood.

  Torrie’s mind slid seamlessly to the scene Catie had made in the rain shelter hours ago, and s
he burned with questions. She remembered so vividly the look of horror on Grace’s face, as Catie’s stupid question hung in the air, heavy like a rain cloud that had somehow found its way inside the shelter. No one had said anything until Grace very firmly demanded to be taken back to the clubhouse, no matter how hard it was raining. Torrie ordered Catie to hand over her raincoat to Grace as some sort of penance, and she and Grace took off, silent for the entire ride. Grace clearly didn’t want to talk about the incident, and it took all of Torrie’s self-control not to pry. She was irrationally pissed that Grace and Catie had had some sort of mysterious encounter. She knew it wasn’t her business, and yet she couldn’t help but feel like she’d just had something stolen from her. How could Catie possibly have gotten to first base with this smart, talented, sexy, sophisticated woman who seemed to take such pleasure in squashing Torrie’s ego? Why on earth would Grace ever have permitted a dalliance with Catie, while treating her like some sort of sexual leper?

  Sullenly engrossed in her bicep curl, she barely noticed Catie stroll through the gym’s doors and halt in front of her.

  “Hey,” Catie said cautiously.

  Torrie looked up with all the cheerfulness of a bear.

  “Are you pissed at me, Tor?”

  Torrie set the twenty-pound dumbbell down with a deliberate thud. She couldn’t keep the annoyance out of her voice, and her question came out more as an accusation. “Do you have to sleep with every woman you meet?”

  “Who said anything about sleeping with her? Jesus! And it’s Grace Wellwood I assume we’re talking about.”

  Torrie moved over on the bench to make room. They didn’t look at one another.

  “Anyway,” Catie continued. “Since when do you have a moral issue with sleeping with someone you hardly know?”

  Torrie picked up the dumbbell again. “Just forget it.” She grunted her way through a few repetitions, then added peevishly, “It’d be a helluva lot more satisfying having this conversation over a drink.”

  “I’m behaving myself this week, since you decided to loan out my services to Eileen Kearney. Otherwise I’d be happy to get roaring drunk with you over a woman.”

  Torrie had generously agreed to allow Catie to caddie for another player. It wouldn’t be fair to keep her from earning money just because Torrie wasn’t fit to play. “The paycheck will keep you in wine and women a little longer. That should make you happy.” Torrie knew she sounded judgmental and jealous, but she couldn’t help herself. “And I never said I wanted to get drunk over a woman.”

  Catie refused to be baited and bumped shoulders with her affectionately. She’d learned over the years never to take Torrie too seriously when she was blowing off steam. “Look, I wouldn’t have opened my big mouth this morning if I’d known you had a thing for her.”

  “I never said I had a thing for her. Jeez. You sound like we’re back in high school or something.”

  Was that what Torrie’s feelings for Grace amounted to? A high school crush? A meaningless infatuation meant to distract her from her pitiful life right now? A hollow, self-serving exercise, like all her other relationships had been? Torrie had little experience in matters involving her heart, but she knew Grace was different from the others. Or at least, her feelings for Grace seemed different—less defined and much more boundless than they’d been for anyone else. She hadn’t been this excited about pursuing a woman in a very long time, and if she didn’t entirely understand the reasons, it was enough to know that she was acting like a jealous teenager.

  “Christ, aren’t you in a mood.”

  Torrie reached for a lighter weight and began working her tricep. “Do you think? I’ve got a bitching, aching shoulder, I can’t even swing a golf club for another month at least, and then I find out you had a thing with… All right, with someone I’m interested in. I’m sorry I’m not Miss Fucking Personality today.”

  Catie howled with laughter. “Well put, cousin.”

  “Emily Dickinson I’m not.”

  Catie picked up Torrie’s water bottle from the floor and handed it to her. “Sorry. I know this week is tough for you, being here and not playing. And if you can’t even get laid, then—”

  “Piss off, C.”

  “All right, all right. Just kidding. So you’re interested in her, huh?”

  Torrie took a slug of water. “Look, are you going to tell me what happened between you two, or is it some mystery you’re taking to the grave?”

  “What?”

  “This thing you had with Grace.”

  “I wouldn’t exactly call it a thing. ”

  “You kissed her, though.”

  “Yeah, I did. I mean, we did.” Torrie looked at Catie and wished she hadn’t. Catie, the bitch, was grinning as though she’d just cleaned out Fort Knox. “Damn, it was good. The kiss. I still remember it. Anyway, I was staying with Aunt Connie on the island. It was six years ago. I think it was a couple of summers after we’d graduated from college. It was your sophomore year on the tour, but you were taking time off to work on your swing, remember?”

  “Yeah, I remember.” Torrie sighed. Fuck, I wish I’d gone to Sheridan Island with Catie. Then it might have been me kissing Grace. And maybe Grace would have been game for it back then. Unlike now.

  “I told you about this a long time ago, Tor.”

  Torrie searched her memory. There were so many sexual adventures on both their parts over the years, she could barely keep track of her own, never mind Catie’s. “I don’t remember, okay? It’s not like I keep a journal of all your little escapades or something. Besides, if I did, I’d have constant writer’s cramp.”

  “Oh, so now you’re calling me a slut?”

  Torrie grimaced. “Relax. Can’t you take a joke?” The faint memory of a long ago conversation began to surface. “Was that the summer you had some wild weekend fling with a straight woman or something?”

  “Who was about to get married,” Catie finished. “Yeah, that was it.” She shook her head and smiled again. “You know, Tor, those straight ones are sometimes the most uninhibited in bed.”

  Torrie clenched her fists at the dawning realization, feeling a little sick inside. Grace. And Catie. Grace and Catie, getting i t on. “So you did sleep with Grace!” She shuddered at the visions that came unbidden. Anger flared with surprising intensity.

  “No, no! Not Grace!”

  “What?”

  “Grace was just there with her friend, Trish something-orother. They’re both chefs. And older.” Her eyes took on a fresh gleam. “I like the cougars, you know? They’re so fucking hot, and they always know exactly what they want.”

  “Christ, would you just get on with it?”

  Catie gave a dramatic sigh. “All right, already. This Trish was the one I had the fling with. I guess she was looking for an exotic dish before she settled down for a life of meat and potatoes.” Catie giggled. “Yeah, she wanted to try some sushi.”

  “You’re such a pig, C. I can’t believe we’re related.”

  “What? Are you the Queen of England now?”

  Catie had changed little from their high school and college years of smoking dope, drinking beer and sleeping around. Torrie had managed to tone down her own proclivities, mostly because she’d begun to grow bored with the scene. Especially lately. Somewhere along the line, sex for her had gone from being a prolific hobby to a habit she’d periodically continued more out of boredom than anything. It just didn’t hold the same appeal anymore…until now. “Yeah, that’s me. Queen Torrie. And you’re my lady-in-waiting.”

  Catie cackled, stood and curtsied.

  “Sit down, you clown,” Torrie whispered. “Somebody will see you.”

  “Do you want to know about the kiss or not?”

  “Yes, I want to know. Why else would I be putting up with you right now?”

  “So. In between all this crazy sex with her friend, I snuck downstairs to grab a beer out of the fridge and Grace was in the kitchen, a little drunk and looking like a fri
gging goddess in a skimpy tank top and tight little cutoffs. Man, she was a sight.”

  Yeah, Torrie thought dreamily. She would look like a goddess.

  “And we just, I don’t know, fell into this amazing kiss up against the fridge that went on forever. Well, not forever. Just until Trish went looking for me and found us in a lip-lock.” She sighed ruefully. “It was a shame they didn’t want to go for a threesome.”

  “And that was it? The end of it?”

  “Yeah, pretty much. Trish thought it was somehow incestuous and kicked me out. Then they were gone the next day. To tell you the truth, I’d pretty much forgotten about the whole thing until I saw Grace again.”

  “Huh,” was all Torrie could manage. She couldn’t quite wrap her mind around the idea of Grace behaving so recklessly. It was something Torrie would do, but surely not Grace. She’d been drunk, however, and it wasn’t like Catie and Trish were in a relationship. And it was just a stupid kiss, after all. She told herself it was nothing. Except it didn’t feel like nothing.

  She thought about kissing Grace and wondered how different it would feel, how unlike all the other kisses with women it would be.

  Torrie awkwardly cradled the half-dozen, long-stemmed white roses and bottle of expensive brandy in the crook of her bad arm and knocked with her good one. She should have done it the other way around, she scolded herself, juggling the items and feeling abnormally clumsy.

  She was such an amateur at this courting stuff, and she knew it showed. She was awkward and probably looked worse. Maybe she could blame it on her injury, on her state of mind at wanting so badly to be able to play and defend her title this week. She was out of sorts, for sure, and not the least bit because she was so intrigued by this woman who clearly had no interest in her sexually.

  The door swung open and Grace, slack-jawed with surprise, stood frozen in her cotton pajamas dotted with bright bouquets of balloons, her hair pulled back into a bouncy ponytail. She looked as Torrie imagined she must have looked as a teenager, all cute and cuddly and innocent.