Page 154 of Well Played

Glad for the company, she returned the putter to her bag and leaned her back on the iron railing beside Mac. Warm air drifted from the space heater nearby, a thoughtful consideration from the St Andrews Links Trust that she was grateful for. “I hope so. I can carry my own bag if I have to.” With all the courses in the area—actually, in the entire country—maintained as a walking experience, she would have to if she didn’t get a caddie. “But I was hoping someone could advise me where to aim shots to avoid the hazards and bunkers—all one hundred and twelve of them—and which clubs to use.” Also calculate exact yardages, determine wind directions, read the greens, and clean the clubs and balls. “It’s my first time here, you see. Are you sure you can’t caddie for me?” she cajoled.

“Ah dinnae ken the game, lassie,” came the gentle rebuff. “New Tom, he’s class. Best caddie in St Andrews. Single, too.”

Lana puffed out a breath of frustration. “The best or not, if he’s not here in five minutes, I will have to fire him and find another caddie.” Mitch Morris’s single status didn’t interest her one bit. She twisted around to check if the starter had returned to his box, intending to ask if there were any other available caddies.

Yes, she’d read that the quickest notice the Links Trust could handle was two hours before the tee time. But this could be considered a special circumstance. The starter had told her earlier that the twosome she was supposed to go with this morning had canceled, so there should be two loopers to choose from. He’d also mentioned that the next group teeing off ten minutes later was a complete fourball, which meant she wasn’t allowed to join them.

A scowl tightened her features. She had to play now or lose her precious spot for forty-eight hours. While tee times at the Old Course were relatively easier to secure with fewer people lining up for them during the winter months of December to February, they were still hot commodities. And what if there was frost tomorrow? No, she had to play right now.

“Here’s the laddie now.” Mac pointed to the right. To a man running at full tilt towards them along Grannie Clark’s Wynd, the road that intersected the 1stand 18thholes.

Lana gaped as her assigned local caddie drew close. Jamie Fraser? With his curly light brown locks, blue eyes, and the addition of a thicker beard and mustache, the man approaching her resembled the famous actor who played the leading man in a popular romantic historical fantasy book-turned-into-TV-movie series.

Unlike the Highland warrior from the eighteenth century, this man was very much from the present. Except for the lack of beanie and gloves, he was dressed almost exactly like her—black golf pants, blue puff vest over gray hoodie with probably a long-sleeved thermal undershirt beneath it, and gray golf shoes. Even flushed and dripping with sweat from his run, he was beautiful. Tall, too. At least a couple of inches taller than her five feet, nine inches.

She gave herself a mental head shake and closed her mouth into a firm line. Good looking or not, he was late. He should have been here while she warmed up at seven. She crossed her arms when he finally reached them. “Mr. Morris, I take it.”

Dropping his backpack to the ground, Mitch rested his hands on his knees and panted an apology. “I’m … verra sorry … I’m late, Ms. Aguilar. I had a … family emergency.”

“Oh.” What else could she say? He sounded sincerely distressed.

“Is it yer ma?” Mac butted in. He handed Tom/Mitch a bottle of water.

Accepting, her temporary caddie nodded, untidy hair falling over his eyes. He flicked it away with a large hand. “Aye. Mum’s fine now. At home resting.” He twisted the lid off and drank deeply, nearly draining the bottle.

His mom was ill? Now she felt bad about planning to fire him.

Mac pushed his considerable heft away from the railing. “Ah’ll come round tae yer bit and visit her.” He said something else in a local dialect then tipped his cap to Lana. “Lassie, Tom here’ll take good care of ye. Enjoy yer round.”

Before she could ask for pick up plans, Mac loped off in the direction of his car, which he’d parked illegally on the street just steps from the clubhouse.

When she turned back to her caddie, he had shouldered her golf bag and was holding out her three-wood with both hands like a page offering a sword to the knight he served. “I hope I can make it up to you, Ms. Aguilar.”

She accepted the second longest club in her bag, tucked it under her arm, and walked over to the forward tee—the Green tee—while donning her leather golf gloves. “Call me Lana. And are you Tom or Mitch?”

“Lana.” He pronounced her name with an “h” at the end of each syllable. “I’m Mitch. How do you want me to assist you today apart from carrying your bag? May I volunteer advice and information, or do you prefer I keep quiet unless you ask questions?” In sharp contrast to his conversation with Mac, he seemed to deliberately downplay his regional lilt, enunciating the words to the point that he sounded formal. She wouldn’t need closed captioning with him, unlike the TV actor or her cabbie.

She pushed her tee into the ground and placed a ball on it. Straightening and stepping back, she practiced a couple of swings. “I could use the advice. I’ve read everything I could get my hands on about the course, but I can’t claim to have retained anything.” The jetlag didn’t help either, even though she’d had the whole of Monday to acclimatize herself to the changes in weather and time zones. “Also, I’ve never played from a mat in the middle of the fairway.” The small piece of Astroturf the starter gave her when she registered was required in the winter to help stop divot damage to the course’s delicate fescue turf. “Please remind me, especially in the first couple of holes.”

He gave a jaunty salute in response, his smile dazzling in its brilliance.

Lana nearly smiled in return but stopped herself with a quick self-reprimand.You’re here to improve your game, Lana. Not to flirt.A meme from a taco commercial popped up in her head.Why not both?

She turned the idea over. Tomorrow was Valentine’s Day. She hadn’t planned on going out, but it would be nice to have a date, especially in a place she didn’t know anybody and couldlet loose for once. Discreetly, of course. She’d be coming back in August. It wouldn’t do to create a scandal that could haunt her in the future.

Mac, who looked to be a family friend, had said Mitch was single. The lack of a ring supported the claim that he was unmarried. It was no guarantee, though. As attractive as he was, he’d probably already asked somebody out. She could be spending the most famous date night alone reading a book.

“Are you nervous?” Mitch cut into her musings.

Startled, she glanced at him. Nervous? She was about to say no, but she looked around and it hit her with the suddenness of a rogue wave on the North Shore at home in O’ahu. The wide-open course, unencumbered by trees, was laid out before them, glistening with remnants of early morning frost and mist from the North Sea. The concept of thin places came to mind. To imagine a gossamer veil between worlds on the oldest public golf course in the world, in a place that had been here since the 1550s, wasn’t much of a stretch.

Awe washed over her.I’m at the first tee of the Old Course in St Andrews, Scotland.The Home of Golf. To serious golfers, to her, this was considered hallowed ground. And she was actuallyhere. She remembered reading something Jack Nicklaus, considered by many as the greatest golfer of all time, had once said: “To be remembered in this game, you have to win an Open at St Andrews.” She figured he’d meant the Women’s Open too.

The haunting notes of a bagpipe drifted from one of the shops, raising gooseflesh on her skin. She shivered inwardly, though not from the cold. “I probably will be on the first round of the Women’s Open in August. But today, I’m okay. Feeling privileged that I get to play this historic course.” And to have the resources to afford it, thanks to placing in the top ten in all fivemajors last year and thanks to her sponsors. She squared her shoulders and faced him. “I’m ready.”

Mitch’s eyes glinted with what looked like admiration. “So am I.”

Heat bloomed on her cheeks at the intensity of his gaze. At the invitation. But this was no time to act on any attraction between them. Yet. After the round, maybe. Speaking of which … “How long do you think it’ll take us to finish the round?”

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