pulled off his white leather glove and turned to head down the fairway. He’d spend years living this one down.
Hunter fell into step beside him, the two caddies staying several paces behind. “Let me make sure I’m understanding this. In a haze of passion, on a lark, at the hotel chapel, she agrees to marry you, and you pull out a prenup. She didn’t find that odd?”
Jack was trying hard not to think about the hotel chapel, nor the lies he’d told her to get her there. “There were other things to sign. And she wasn’t paying all that much attention to the details.”
“Because you’re irresistible to women?”
Yeah, right. “It’s a curse.”
Hunter’s laughter rumbled across the quiet golf course. “My sympathies. So, what now?”
Jack shrugged. “Now we get divorced.”
“Just like that?”
“I suspect she’s called her lawyer already.”
“You don’t think she’s going to sue your ass?”
“Based on what? Showing poor judgment in Vegas? If that was grounds for action, our legal system would be gridlocked into the next century.” No, Jack was pretty sure he was safe on the financial front.
Hunter stopped next to his ball, sizing up the lay of the course and checking the direction of the wind rustling through the palm fronds. “So, that’s that?” he asked Jack, then glanced at his caddy with his brow raised.
“Six iron,” the young man suggested.
“Not exactly,” said Jack. “Gramps is still engaged to Nanette.”
“Well, you can’t marry them all,” said Hunter.
Jack’s marrying days were definitely over. “I wasn’t thinking about me.”
Hunter lined up his shot. “Look into my eyes,” he said matter of factly, with a swing and follow through. He went to stand directly in front of Jack. “Not with a gun to my head.”
“I’m sure she’s a knockout.”
“And I’m sure you’ve lost your mind.” Hunter handed the club back to his caddy, and they all started for the spot where Jack’s ball lay.
“You got a better plan?” asked Jack.
“I’ve got a thousand of them. And none of them involve me marrying anybody.”
“He marries Nanette, it’ll cost us.”
“There are more important things in life than money.”
As they made their way over the fine-trimmed grass, Jack pondered the relative value of money and emotional health. He’d never really thought about it before because money had always been paramount. But if his wakefulness the last two nights was anything to go by, money had some serious competition. He wished he’d put Kristy on a commercial plane the minute they hit Vegas.
He didn’t need the stress of worrying about how she was feeling, nor of his conflicted memories, nor of dwelling on the prediction of a long-ago gypsy. Which, by the way, was beginning to feel like a curse.
The curse of the midnight gypsy. It would make a good movie title. Hunter could be the hero. Jack the villain. Kristy would get rich, and the redheaded girl would be adored by fans around the world.
He lined up on the ball, chipping it up onto the green, less than ten feet from the hole.
“So, whatever happened to Vivian?”
Hunter glanced up sharply. “Huh?”
“She was the redhead, right?”
Hunter stared at Jack as if he’d lost his mind.
“A couple of years ago. You dated that redhead who beat the crap out of you at golf.”
“Only because she used the ladies’ tee.”
“So, you do remember.”
Hunter shrugged, snagging his putter and walking onto the green. “Sure.”
“Where is she now?”
Hunter crouched down on one knee, eyeing the slope of the terrain. “Why do you care?”
“You remember when you burned down the gypsy’s tent?”
Hunter stood up. “You mind if I play golf now?”
“Seriously,” said Jack.
“No. I’ve forgotten the rampaging elephants, the fire department and the lawsuit that grounded me for a month.”
Jack grinned, his mood lightening for the first time in forty-eight hours.
“You remember what she said?”
“How did this get to be about me?”
“She said a redheaded girl would give you twins.”
Hunter shook his head in disgust and turned to address the ball.
Jack held his tongue while Hunter swung the putter.
The caddy lifted the flag, and the ball plunked into the hole.
“She also said I would marry a woman I didn’t trust,” said Jack. “Think about it, Hunter. What were the odds?”
Hunter slid the putter through his grip, handing it upside down to his caddy. “Please don’t let the shareholders hear you talking like this. They’ll have you impeached.”
Jack stared hard at his cousin. “You remember what else she said.”
“That you’d buy a golf course.” Hunter glanced around. “You bring your checkbook?”
“Don’t play dumb.”
Hunter snorted. “I don’t need to. You’re doing a fine job of that all by yourself. You’re a logical man, Jack. I didn’t marry Vivian. There are no twins. And gypsies can’t predict the future.”
Maybe not consistently, but the two Jack had talked to were sporting pretty good averages. And the first one had also predicted Jack and Hunter would blow the family fortune. “Are we over-leveraged on anything?”
“No. Now hit the ball.”
“Nothing out there that can bite us in the ass?”
“Not unless Kristy signed the lamest prenup ever.”
Jack took a deep breath, running the cool shaft of his putter across his palm and settling his grip on the black, perforated rubber. Hunter was right. The prenup was fine. Kristy took away what she brought to the marriage, and Jack took away what he brought. Which was exactly the way he wanted it.
