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are old friends."
"Only when it's convenient for her," she said. "Her father worked for my father years ago. She seems to think that makes us family. You heard the crack she made about sitting with my father at St. Thomas tonight? She'll probably spend the whole evening trying to convince him how horrible a daughter I am for not showing up to dine with him at family night."
"Speaking of Avery," Ray interjected, "what does he think of Lonesome Pines? If I recall correctly, your father wasn't exactly warm to the idea of relying on tourist dollars to support our local economy. I quoted him several times on that subject back when he was still chairman of the county commissioners."
Correen pulled herself to full height in her seat. What she lacked in size she compensated for with her demeanor. She tilted her head forward slightly and her eyes adopted the same steely glint Ray had witnessed in her father's eyes so many times during the years he'd covered county commissioner meetings for the Citizen-Gazette.
"Lonesome Pines isn't a golf course for tourists," she declared. "It will be a private course for residents and guests only."
"Nine months," Ray said.
"What?"
"That's how long I give before you start selling associate memberships to non-residents," he said. "In fact, I'll bet it doesn't even take that long. Evan said in his little speech that the course should be ready for play in fourteen months, which puts opening day some time around May of next year. I'll wager the course is open to the general public by that Thanksgiving."
"Why Thanksgiving?" Correen asked. She had drooped back into her seat again, clearly amused by Ray's conjectures.
"Thanksgiving gives you a solid six months to realize you're losing money hand over fist," Ray said. "And it gives you just enough time to sell rounds of golf to the locals as Christmas stocking stuffers."
Correen locked eyes with Ray. The corners of her mouth twitched into a flickering smirk.
"I'll take that bet," she said at last. "What do I win if you're wrong?"
Ray thought about what he could offer up. Money was out of the question. A man who has to stretch a single box of macaroni and cheese through two dinners shouldn't bet money he can't afford to lose. He opted instead for the only thing a newspaper reporter ever really has to offer anyone: free publicity.
"If I'm wrong, you'll get a full-page spread on the astounding success of Lonesome Pines Country Club," he said. "I'll even throw in a feature article on your horse farm for the sports section. But what do I get if I'm right?"
Correen hesitated and looked around the tent for inspiration. "Oh, I know! A year of free golf at Lonesome Pines. Do you play?"
"I've never even played miniature golf," Ray said.
"Then I'll throw in free lessons from whatever golf pro Evan hires," she added.
"Deal," he said.
They clinked their bottles together to make it official.
Sunday, Part IV
Time melted away. The hour Ray told himself it would take to get the basics before ditching the groundbreaking turned into three, in part because he always underestimated the amount of time he would spend at events, and also because he was enjoying his chat with Correen Wallace. His happy distraction ended when the meeting of the minds across the tent broke up and Evan Wallace came to collect his wife.
"What have you two troublemakers been up to over here?" he asked. The question seemed a lighthearted one, but Wallace appeared genuinely interested in knowing what they had been discussing. His wife dismissed his piqued curiosity with a wry smile and a wave of her hand.
"I've arranged for a full page article to be printed about Lonesome Pines Country Club in the Citizen-Gazette," Correen told her husband, whose face lit up at the prospect. "However, we will have to wait until Christmas of next year."
"Thanksgiving," Ray corrected.
"Yes, that's right," she agreed. "Thanksgiving."
Evan Wallace furrowed his brow and glanced at the empty beer bottles
"Only when it's convenient for her," she said. "Her father worked for my father years ago. She seems to think that makes us family. You heard the crack she made about sitting with my father at St. Thomas tonight? She'll probably spend the whole evening trying to convince him how horrible a daughter I am for not showing up to dine with him at family night."
"Speaking of Avery," Ray interjected, "what does he think of Lonesome Pines? If I recall correctly, your father wasn't exactly warm to the idea of relying on tourist dollars to support our local economy. I quoted him several times on that subject back when he was still chairman of the county commissioners."
Correen pulled herself to full height in her seat. What she lacked in size she compensated for with her demeanor. She tilted her head forward slightly and her eyes adopted the same steely glint Ray had witnessed in her father's eyes so many times during the years he'd covered county commissioner meetings for the Citizen-Gazette.
"Lonesome Pines isn't a golf course for tourists," she declared. "It will be a private course for residents and guests only."
"Nine months," Ray said.
"What?"
"That's how long I give before you start selling associate memberships to non-residents," he said. "In fact, I'll bet it doesn't even take that long. Evan said in his little speech that the course should be ready for play in fourteen months, which puts opening day some time around May of next year. I'll wager the course is open to the general public by that Thanksgiving."
"Why Thanksgiving?" Correen asked. She had drooped back into her seat again, clearly amused by Ray's conjectures.
"Thanksgiving gives you a solid six months to realize you're losing money hand over fist," Ray said. "And it gives you just enough time to sell rounds of golf to the locals as Christmas stocking stuffers."
Correen locked eyes with Ray. The corners of her mouth twitched into a flickering smirk.
"I'll take that bet," she said at last. "What do I win if you're wrong?"
Ray thought about what he could offer up. Money was out of the question. A man who has to stretch a single box of macaroni and cheese through two dinners shouldn't bet money he can't afford to lose. He opted instead for the only thing a newspaper reporter ever really has to offer anyone: free publicity.
"If I'm wrong, you'll get a full-page spread on the astounding success of Lonesome Pines Country Club," he said. "I'll even throw in a feature article on your horse farm for the sports section. But what do I get if I'm right?"
Correen hesitated and looked around the tent for inspiration. "Oh, I know! A year of free golf at Lonesome Pines. Do you play?"
"I've never even played miniature golf," Ray said.
"Then I'll throw in free lessons from whatever golf pro Evan hires," she added.
"Deal," he said.
They clinked their bottles together to make it official.
Sunday, Part IV
Time melted away. The hour Ray told himself it would take to get the basics before ditching the groundbreaking turned into three, in part because he always underestimated the amount of time he would spend at events, and also because he was enjoying his chat with Correen Wallace. His happy distraction ended when the meeting of the minds across the tent broke up and Evan Wallace came to collect his wife.
"What have you two troublemakers been up to over here?" he asked. The question seemed a lighthearted one, but Wallace appeared genuinely interested in knowing what they had been discussing. His wife dismissed his piqued curiosity with a wry smile and a wave of her hand.
"I've arranged for a full page article to be printed about Lonesome Pines Country Club in the Citizen-Gazette," Correen told her husband, whose face lit up at the prospect. "However, we will have to wait until Christmas of next year."
"Thanksgiving," Ray corrected.
"Yes, that's right," she agreed. "Thanksgiving."
Evan Wallace furrowed his brow and glanced at the empty beer bottles
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