use their weight room. None of them should go out on that field until they're conditioned for it. You know what I mean?"

"They need to build up their muscles and their stamina."

"Exactly. Otherwise they could get hurt."

"You called them 'our team.' "

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did. I heard it as clear as a bell."

He changed the subject. "What did that messenger want? I saw you talking to him on my way to the water-cooler."

"There was a mix-up at the hospital. I sent him to the ER staff secretary. She'll straighten it all out."

He nodded, then changed the subject once again. "How much money do you think the cash prize will amount to for the

fishing tournament?"

"I don't know how many will enter this year, but if I were to guess, I'd say two men in a boat, fifty dollars each… and last

year they had over seventy entries…"

"So, if we say eighty people sign up this year, that's four thousand."

"That's a lot of money around here."

"Four thousand dollars could buy a lot of shoes."

"Sounds like you've got a plan."

"Yeah, well, the key to the plan is to win."

She laughed. "No kidding. What about my dad?"

"What about him?" he asked as he pulled into her drive and parked the car.

"Two thousand dollars will belong to him."

"He'll donate it. Your dad's a softy." He followed her to the front door. "But like I said, the key to the grand plan is to win

the tournament."

"It's killing you that you can't just go out and buy the team what they need, isn't it?"

She'd hit the nail on the head. "Yes," he admitted. "But I know I can't do that. Their parents would get their backs up. I'd be stomping on their pride. Right?"

"Yes, you would. You'll go broke if you keep buying little boys expensive fences and shoes and football pads for the team and heaven knows what else."

"No kid should have to worry about an alligator in his backyard."

She turned at the door, put her hands on his shoulders, and kissed him.

"What was that for?" he asked when she sauntered away.

She looked back, gave him a quick smile, and said, "Why did I kiss you? That's an easy one. I kissed you because I think you're sweet."

He reacted as though she'd just insulted him. "There is nothing sweet about me."

"Oh? You were worried about embarrassing that boy wearing his brother's shoes, weren't you?"

"I never said I was worried."

She smiled. "No, but you were, weren't you?"

"Yeah, but-"

"You're… sweet."

"I make a lot of money, Michelle, and it sure as certain isn't because I'm sweet."

He was slowly advancing, and with each step he took toward her, she took a step back.

"I don't care how much money you make. You've got everybody fooled back in Boston, don't you? They probably think you're

a killer prosecutor."

"I am a killer prosecutor and proud of it."

"You were concerned about John Patrick, and that's why you purchased the fence. You know what that makes you?"

"Don't say it," he warned.

"Sweet."

He shook his head. "No. I know why you really kissed me, babe. Be honest."

He caught her around the waist as she was backing into the library. She was laughing as he pulled her up against him. His

chest was like a brick wall. A warm brick wall.

He leaned down until his mouth hovered just an inch or two above hers. "Want me to tell you why you kissed me?"

"I'm waiting in breathless anticipation."

"It's simple. You want me."

He expected a protest, but wasn't the least disappointed when she said, "When you're right, you're right."

"You know what else?"

"What's that?" She leaned back so she could look at him.

"You're dying to get your hands on me." He pulled her closer.

She wrapped her arms around his waist and hooked her thumbs in his waistband.

"I did get my hands on you. You really need to work on that ego. I've noticed you don't have any self-confidence around

women. It's sad really… but…"

"But what?" he asked, rubbing his jaw against the side of her face as he waited for the zinger.

"You're still sweet," she whispered into his ear, then took his earlobe between her teeth and tugged.

He groaned. "I'll show you sweet."

Tilting her head back, his mouth came down on top of hers, and he kissed her with a passionate hunger. The kiss was wet,

hot, wild, and thoroughly arousing.

Then it got better. The expression "putty in his hand" came to mind as she clung to him and allowed him to rob her of every

logical thought. The kiss went on and on, and the taste of him was so wonderful, she kept trying to get closer and closer.

His touch was sinfully carnal, and she never wanted him to stop. He stroked her arms, her back, her neck as he worked his

magic, and she was caught up in such an erotic spell that the only thought she could hold on to now was a chant. Don't stop. Don't stop.

"Don't."

She said it out loud a second after he'd pulled back.

They were both shaking. "Don't what?" he whispered gruffly.

He was panting. She was arrogantly happy because she knew she was the reason for his distress, but then she realized she

was doing the same thing.

"Don't what?" he repeated as he leaned down and kissed her once again. A light, gentle caress that left her wanting more.

"I don't know."

"This is getting out of hand."

Her forehead was pressed against his chest. She bumped his chin when she nodded.

"And speaking of hands…"

"Yes?"

He kissed the top of her head. "You probably should move yours."

"What?"

"Your hands." His voice was gritty.

A gasp. Then, "Oh, God."

It took about five seconds to extricate herself from his jeans. Her face was burning as she turned and walked out of the room.

She could hear him laughing as she climbed the stairs.

She grabbed her robe, went into the bathroom, and stripped out of her clothes. After she turned the shower on full blast, she stepped into the tub and all but ripped the shower curtain apart as she pulled it closed.

"Reason number one," she muttered, "he'll break my heart."

Lwas a quarter to seven when Theo and Michelle ached The Swan, and the place was hopping. Old vans and rusted-out

pickups sporting rifle racks and bumper stickers almost filled the parking lot. I'd rather be fishing seemed to be the bumper sticker of choice, but the one that caught Theo's eye had the word Gator-Aid painted in bright fluorescent letters. When he

looked closer, he noticed the picture of an alligator with a Band-Aid. He didn't know what that was supposed to mean.

He also noticed there weren't any brand-new vehicles in the lot. If there was any doubt that it was a poor area, the proof was

all around him. Some of the pickups looked as though they belonged in a junkyard. But if he'd learned anything while in Bowen,

it was that people made do with what they had.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked him as she led the way around a dented gray van.

"How hard it is to scrape a living here," he answered. "But you know what? I haven't heard any complaints."

"No, you wouldn't. They're too proud."

"Did I mention you look pretty tonight?" he asked.

"In this old thing?"

This "old thing" was a short V-necked blue-and-white-checked sundress that she'd spent twenty minutes deciding upon. She'd spent another twenty minutes working on her hair. She wore it down around her shoulders, and it curved softly around her face. She'd worked hard curling it to make it look as though she hadn't. Then she'd added some blush to highlight her cheekbones, and brushed on a tiny bit of lipstick and gloss. When she realized she was becoming compulsive about her appearance-she'd