More than anything, Bailey wanted to go home to her apartment over Uncle Tiptoe and Aunt Aileen’s garage where there was no golf, no Miss Texas, and no Marc MacNeal. Maybe she could. If she could find a replacement, she could feign illness. She picked up her cell phone and began to scan through her contacts, looking for a likely coworker. Of course, if Marc noticed she’d gone, he would know humiliation had made her go to ground, but she didn’t care. Right now, pride meant nothing, and getting the hell out of here meant everything.
Bailey dismissed most of the names she scrolled through for one reason or the other—working today, on vacation, sick kids. She finally found a likely candidate and was just about to dial her and offer her first-born when Missy sped up in her golf cart. This time she was alone.
“Bailey!” she yelled even before she jumped out. The woman was in an absolute panic.
Her stomach dropped as she grabbed her kit and ran to meet Missy.
“What is it, Missy? Is someone sick? What’s wrong?” Please, God, not Marc. What if it was more than a headache, something that she would have caught if she had not been distracted and so intent on being mean to him? A headache was the first sign of so many things—aneurysm, stroke, tumor, meningitis. She hadn’t even asked where his head hurt or if he was nauseated! She began to mentally tick through the names of the doctors playing in the tournament.
“Nothing like that,” Missy said. “But Miss Mississippi 2010 has a stomach virus!”
Relief settled over her. “Where is she? I’ll take a look at her. It could also be the heat or something she ate.” It wasn’t like her to overreact, but Missy inspired that, and she might be overstating Miss Mississippi’s illness.
“She’s not here. She’s still in Mississippi,” Missy said.
What the hell? “Then how does this concern me? I’m not going to Mississippi to take care of her.” Though, come to think of it, that wasn’t a bad idea. If she did, she for sure would never see Marc again. Almost against her will, her head turned to scan the course for one more look . . .
“Oh, Bailey! Of course not. But were you going to the gala tonight?”
“No.” Thank God. By then, even if she had to see this tournament through, she’d be safe and alone at home with a Lean Cuisine and a romance novel. Or murder mystery. Yes. That would be a better choice given her current mood.
“I need you to go with my cousin. Miss Mississippi was going to be his date, but she’s throwing up her guts.”
“No,” Bailey said, forgetting for a moment that no one ever told Missy no. “I absolutely cannot do that. I don’t even have a dress.”
Missy narrowed her eyes. “Yes, you do. You must. You were at the benefit ball for breast cancer in May. And you were not naked or inappropriately dressed. I would have remembered.”
Busted. It was true enough that she had a dress, a dress she liked—gold and bronze-sequined from the strapless sweetheart neckline to the floor. It was the kind of dress that might be over the top for the red carpet but was perfect for a country club dance south of the Mason-Dixon Line. Under other circumstances she might have liked for Marc to see her in that dress, but other circumstances were long gone.
“Believe me,” Missy plowed on. “I’m just the woman to understand not wanting to wear a special occasion dress more than once. But I don’t remember the dress, so no one else will. Heck, I don’t even remember what I wore. Anyway, most importantly, my cousin hasn’t seen it.”
The dress was so not the point.
As Bailey cast around for the words to make Missy understand that she was not going to that gala, six feet of blonde Lone Star State Sass prissed up like she owned the world and put a hand on Missy’s arm.
“Missy, I need a ride out to watch the tournament? I want to watch Polo play?”
Missy nodded. “Just a second.” Then she turned back to look at Bailey, which was more than Miss Texas had done. “Please, Bailey. I’ll owe you. I really need this.”
Bailey would have caved but—wait. Had Missy said her cousin? Hadn’t she heard those Beauford brothers from Tennessee were Missy’s cousins?
“Who’s your cousin?” Bailey asked.
Missy smiled like she had just been dealt a king to go with the four aces in her hand. “Jackson Beauford,” she said.
Jackson Beauford—the country music superstar and most famous of the three brothers, not to mention the best looking.
“Yum!” Miss Texas said. “Jackson Beauford is your cousin? Aren’t there two others? Twins? A pro football player and a rodeo cowboy?”
“There are actually four, including one you would not have heard of. But yes,” Missy said, “first cousins, Daddy’s side.”
That’s when it hit Bailey. Like the football player and the cowboy, only people who followed his sport knew who Marc MacNeal was. And, well, as far as Miss Texas—would anyone recognize her on the street? But everyone who had ever turned on a radio, looked at a magazine cover, or watched television knew who Jack Beauford was.
“All right, Missy,” she said. “I’ll go. Sure.”
“Oh, Bailey! Thank you,” Missy said. She was already hauling ass back to her golf cart with Miss Texas in tow. “Jacky will pick you up. I’ll get with you on the arrangements!”
They were barely out of sight before a sick feeling settled into Bailey’s stomach. She had let her pride get the best of her. Not only was she going to have to go to that dance where he would be, but now faking the bubonic plague to get away from this tournament was no longer an option.
Suddenly, wanting Marc to see her on Jackson Beauford’s arm seemed terribly childish.