The person who finally showed up looked as though he should be incarcerated in a home for wayward boys. A pimply teenager in filthy overalls with a two days’ growth of scraggly beard, he took a bigger interest in Jennifer than in the state of her malfunctioning car. He stared at her legs while she tried to explain what had happened, and then stuck his head under the hood and poked a few things with a selection of greasy tools he had brought with him. Jennifer stood anxiously nearby, wondering how long this was going to take.

He straightened and turned to face her. “Lady, this car has got to be towed. We can send somebody out for it later, and I can give you a ride back to the station in the truck.”

That suggestion had little to recommend it The truck wasn’t in much better shape than its driver, and an excursion in the country with this lecherous adolescent wasn’t exactly what Jennifer had in mind. She was hesitating, trying to decide what to do, when she heard voices behind her.

The practice had broken up, and the players were heading out to their cars. She saw Lee, walking in a group of three, talking to a husky guy at his side who was gesturing in the air, obviously delivering a punch line. Lee laughed, and turned his head, catching sight of Jennifer. He stopped, and she saw him say something to his companions, who then followed his progress towards Jennifer with their eyes.

Lee took in the scene at a glance. “Hi, Jen,” he said. “What’s going on?”

Jennifer was ashamed of how glad she was to see him. She had thought she was long past the point where she had to depend on a man to solve her problems, but Lee as an alternative to Greasy George was a no-choice situation. Lee would help her.

“My car broke down, and the garage sent this man to take a look at it.”

Lee took his wallet out of his pocket and handed the boy a folded bill before Jennifer could protest “Thanks for coming out,” he said. “I’ll take care of this now.”

The boy shrugged and shambled off toward his truck. Lee turned his attention to Jennifer.

“How’ve you been, paleface?” he asked, slamming the hood of her car. “Aside from this encounter with Tony’s Garage, that is.”

“I wonder if that was Tony,” Jennifer said. “He doesn’t look old enough to drive.”

“Or clean enough,” Lee added, and Jennifer smiled.

“That’s better,” Lee said. “Now let’s see what we can do about this car.”

He was pulling his own keys from his pocket when a black Corvette cruised past with two of Lee’s teammates in the front seat.

“Look out, Chief,” one of them yelled.

The other whistled shrilly and gave Lee the high sign, cackling madly. Then the driver honked the horn and the car sped away on screeching tires.

Lee shook his head, and Jennifer could have sworn there was a faint tinge of red sweeping up his neck under that dusky skin. “Those guys,” he said. “I keep hoping they’ll grow up, but they keep disappointing me.”

“Why do they call you ‘Chief’?”

He looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. “Because I’m Norwegian, Jennifer.”

Jennifer swallowed and tried again. It had come out wrong, the way everything always seemed to when she tried to talk to him.

“I meant, why do you let them call you that? I would have thought you wouldn’t like it.”

He glanced at her curiously. “Why wouldn’t I like it? They’re my friends. I’m not some hypersensitive loony with a chip on my shoulder, Jennifer. It only bothers me when I think somebody is trying to put me down because I’m an Indian.”

“The way you thought I was when we first met,” Jennifer said, before she considered it Then she bit her lip. She hadn’t wanted to remind him of that.

But he only smiled slightly. “That’s right.” He lounged back against the door of her car and folded his arms. “But now you can call me Chingachgook or Running Water for all I care.”

Jennifer laughed, and he leaned forward to tilt her chin up with a long, brown forefinger. “Just as long as you call me.”

She sobered and stared into his searching, depthless eyes. The shouting and horseplay of the departing players faded into the background, and it was as if they were alone in the parking lot She wanted to kiss him, had to restrain herself from doing so then and there, with all of his teammates milling around them. And he knew it His eyes became heavy lidded, slumberous, and his lips parted, as if in anticipation of a caress.

“Hey, Chief, you posin’ for a statue?”

The voice rang out behind them, and they sprang apart guiltily, as if caught in some misdeed. The Freedom’s quarterback sauntered up to them, grinning widely.

“Jennifer, I’d like you to meet Joe Thornridge, my bodyguard,” Lee said sarcastically. “He substitutes for my mother when she isn’t available to keep an eye on me. Joe, Jennifer Gardiner.”

Joe stuck his hand out to Jennifer, whose small one was lost in his huge, meaty palm. “How do, ma’am?” Joe said in a thick Southern accent. “I’ve seen you at the offices. Pretty hard to miss, I’d say. And I met your secretary, Dolores.”

I’ll bet you did, Jennifer thought with amusement.

“You better watch out for the Chief, here, little lady,” Joe said warningly. “He’s got all those fancy moves, ya know? If you need anybody to take over for him, somebody a little safer, say a Southern gentleman, you just let me know.”

Jennifer smiled. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

“I think your wife is calling you, Joe,” Lee said.

Joe sent Lee a wounded look.

“Scram, kid,” Lee said.

Joe slung his duffel bag over his shoulder and ambled off, caroling, “Remember what I said,” back to Jennifer.

“I’ll remember,” she answered.

“I’d forget, if I were you,” Lee said darkly. “He’s got two kids already and a pregnant wife.”

Jennifer glanced at him, amazed. He was only half kidding. Could he possibly be jealous? Joe had only indulged in some good-natured teasing. There was no reason for Lee’s testy reaction.

They were alone in the lot now; the last of the men had left when Joe did.

“Well, I guess we’d better see about this car,” Lee announced and turned to walk around it. His legs suddenly buckled under him and Jennifer had to rush to catch him, to keep him from falling to the ground.

Despite his slim appearance, he was quite heavy, and she staggered under his weight. He clutched at her, and she eased him against the rear fender of her car.

“That’s one of my fancier moves,” he grunted. “Trick knee, it gives out on me at the damndest times.”

He was speaking directly into her ear, draped over her for support As she stepped back, he held her, pulling her into his arms.

This was their first real physical contact, and it completely unraveled Jennifer. His body was lean, hard, and totally male. He ran his hands down her arms and across her back, molding her to him. She resisted the strong impulse to cling and refused to allow herself to melt into him. When he saw that she was not going to cooperate, he released her, and she moved away from him, flustered.

“Are you all right now?” she asked faintly.

“I was better a minute ago,” he answered, referring to their impromptu embrace.

Jennifer wouldn’t discuss it. As far as she was concerned, it had been a mistake.

“What causes that to happen?” she asked, moving to lock the doors of her car.

He had no choice but to follow. “I’ve had three operations on that knee in five years,” he replied. “At this point, it’s held together with chewing gum. I just have to move the wrong way, and it collapses.”

“Does it give way during games?” she asked.

“Sure does,” he answered. “Especially since the other team knows it’s a weak point and aims straight at it That’s why there are always a lot of clipping fouls against me.”

“Clipping?”

He demonstrated. “When someone is going to tackle you, he comes in like this,” he said, lowering his head and aiming for her legs. “But if he catches you in the back of the knees, it’s a violation, called clipping.” He made a chopping motion, as she had seen referees do during games. “With me, they’re always trying to nail that bad knee, and yet keep it legal at the same time, which is very hard to do.”