a quirked brow before he took a practice swing, stopping the club right before it hit the ball.
I tugged on the hem of my skirt — which was plenty long enough, by the way — with my eyes on the group of four older women eyeing me and whispering from the seventh hole.
“Mrs. Landish and her gaggle of geese are looking at me like I’m not a member,” I said. “Or like my skirt is so high my tush is showing.”
Dad followed my gaze, smirking as he turned back toward the ball. “Well,” he said, squaring up his feet and lining up the club with the ball. “You know they’re always looking for something to talk about — and you skipping off with Noah Becker in the middle of the night is worthy gossip.”
He swung, smacking the ball down the green. It flew high and arched, about two-hundred feet before it came back to Earth, and Daddy turned, a toothy grin of pride on his face.
My jaw was hanging — and not from his shot.
“What do you mean that I ‘skipped off with Noah Becker’,” I scoffed, neck heating.
“I don’t know,” Dad said on a shrug. “I just heard them saying something about you and Noah Becker at the Black Hole when we were checking in for our tee times earlier.”
“We were at the same bonfire party, yeah. But, so was half the town.”
I glanced at Mrs. Landish again, who shook her head with pursed lips, saying something to her passenger seat rider before cruising off in her golf cart of gossip.
I rolled my eyes. “Honestly. And Mrs. Landish wasn’t even there.”
“She doesn’t have to be — not with the way news travels in this town.”
“News,” I spat, plucking my driver from my bag and stepping up to the tee. “Stratford needs a craft fair or something to keep them entertained.”
Dad chuckled at that, putting his own driver away before he leaned an elbow on our golf cart, watching me line up my shot. “Don’t worry about them. Someone else will do something equally as innocent and have them drawing other dramatic conclusions in no time.”
I smirked.
“But, just to be clear… you didn’t skip off with Noah Becker in the middle of the night… right?”
I stopped where I was lining up my shot, leaning one hand on the butt of my driver as I leveled my face at my father. “Dad.”
He put his hands up. “I was just checking. You know the reputation those boys have. Gotta make sure my little girl is safe.”
I smiled, shaking my head as I got back to my shot.
My pulse ticked up a bit at the lie I’d told my father as I took a practice swing. Daddy was right — the Becker boys did have quite the reputation. But, if I was judging only by the Noah I was with Friday night, I would never understand why.
He was kind. And patient. And funny.
My smile widened remembering how focused he looked as he brushed his horse down and got him ready to ride. But, as soon as he’d popped into my mind, I shoved him back out.
Smack.
My own ball went flying down the green, landing about twenty-five yards shy of where Dad’s had. He cheered, clapping me on the shoulder as we watched the ball roll a bit.
“That’s my girl! Come on, you drive.”
The rest of the afternoon slid by easily, but I didn’t miss how Daddy was checking the time on his watch often. If I knew him, he’d likely scheduled out the precise amount of time it would take to get in a round of golf before he had somewhere else to run.
I was his daughter on his time, but it didn’t bother me. I knew I wasn’t the only one who needed him. When you’re the mayor of a small town in Tennessee, you’re pulled a million different directions. And, if I was being honest, he inspired me. He was the reason I’d gotten involved with volunteering, the reason I hadn’t stopped at just showing up there, but took it into my own hands to make our nursing home the nicest in the county.
Dad was a doer, and he’d raised me to be one, too.
“So, how is my little girl?” he asked when we were riding out to the ninth hole later that day. “Ah, I don’t even know if I can call you that anymore, now that you’re an engaged woman.”
I smiled, taking my sunglasses off to wipe the lenses