Mine 'Til Monday Read Online Free

each other off like oil and water.
    Her feelings for him hadn’t changed much, obviously. At dinner tonight, she’d seemed equally unimpressed with the charming and suave approach as with the hayseed/rogue thing.
    And what the heck did it matter, anyway? Mud rose and stomped off toward his bedroom, tugging his shirt off as he went. He must have a few screws loose to be trying any moves at all. This was a business venture—for Dorothy, anyway. And for him, a chance to fulfill an old promise. Nothing more.
    Besides, there were plenty of other women he could call.
    By next Monday, he’d be done with this whole project. Might call for a celebration, even, with that gal he’d met at that party a few weeks back. The one whose number had been burning a hole in his pocket.
    But now, for some reason, that phone number didn’t beckon him at all.
     
     
    “Have you ever picked up a golf bag in your life?” Mud demanded.
    Dorothy regarded the thing uncertainly. Examined the canvas with great interest. Avoided those blue eyes, steely now with frustration.
    “I play tennis,” she said, a little defensively. “Pretty well, in fact.”
    “How the heck have you gotten this far with Miranda?” he shot back. “The gal’s a golf nut. Got some of the old gents shaking in their shoes out at the club, from what I hear.”
    Dorothy shrugged, shifted a step back on the close-cropped green. “We always have lunch at the tennis club,” she said.
    “We talk a lot. You know. Besides, I, uh...”
    Dorothy let her voice trail off. She looked down the fairway, where a foursome was making good progress toward the green. They were next. Even worse, an impatient-looking knot of men stood not far behind.
    “You what?”
    “I told her you’d been teaching me. For...a while.”
    “Oh, man.” Dorothy snuck a glance at him. Mud wiped a hand across his brow, squeezed his eyes shut and grimaced. When he opened them she read resignation there.
    “Okay. Follow me.”
    He turned abruptly and strode off, back toward the clubhouse. Dorothy struggled with her bag, trying to turn it on the little wheeled contraption, as he lunged further and further down the path.
    “Wait!” she finally cried in desperation. “I can’t—I don’t know how—”
    She could feel four sets of eyes on her as Mud stopped, then slowly, slowly turned around to face her, a hand shading his eyes from the sun.
    “You need a hand, miss?” a voice drawled behind her.
    “This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done,” Dorothy muttered under her breath, then arranged her features in the most pleasant expression she could manage as she turned.
    “It’s just—I’m not familiar with this particular type of— of—” She gestured at the contraption. “Wheeled thingie” was probably not the proper name, but then again it hardly seemed substantial enough to be called a cart.
    Dorothy hated to be wrong. Hated it worse than just about anything. She had been brought up to be an expert, to be tops in her field. To be the one other people came to for help, not the other way around. If Albrights didn’t know something about a subject, it was because it wasn’t worth knowing.
    “Yes,” she mumbled, feeling her face flush with color. “I guess I need a little help.”
    “Your, uh, friend know you’re just starting out?” one man asked, amusement sparking his query, while another adjusted the wheels for her and placed the handle in her hand.
    “I suppose that he does now.”
    Trying to ignore the warmth flooding her face, Dorothy murmured her thanks and then jerked much too hard, so that the cart propelled her along down the path toward Mud, who was waiting with a look of bemused resignation.
    “Where are we going?” Dorothy asked, trying to match his long stride.
    “Driving range.”
    “Oh.”
    The day was beautiful, at least, and the course gorgeous. That might be some small excuse for the game, Dorothy considered as she struggled to keep up with Mud, who seemed