She wanted that back. She needed that back.

On the field, as though her desire had formed a whip and lashed out from her body, Leith looked up from where he was toeing the dirt behind the trig. It wasn’t like his gaze had been wandering around the crowd and then he did a double take when his eyes mistakenly landed on her. No; he raised his head, his stare making a burning line across the grass, and found her instantly.

Jen startled, pushing away from the tree, her arms falling to her sides. Her first thought sent her back in time and space to how she might have acted in seventh grade when the boy she crushed on looked her way. For a moment, she considered ducking low and crawling away. But he’d seen her, recognized her, knew she was there—there was no denying it now. And really, she’d come here to talk to him anyway.

Leith froze and just stared. Then, shaking himself out of it, he excused himself from the other competitors and stalked toward her, kilt flapping about his legs, those powerful arms swinging. A few onlookers watched him pass, skittering out of his way as though he might mow them down.

Jen took a deep breath and left the shade of the tree, meeting him on the border of the field.

She smiled at him, because he was just too beautiful and it made her heart swell with equal parts pleasure and hurt. His eyes, however, were far too wide with confusion and, yes, a little anger. For showing up? For not calling first? She couldn’t guess, but it actually made what she’d come here to do a little easier. She’d prepared for his doubt, and if there was one thing Jen Haverhurst excelled at, it was planning.

“Hi.” His twinge of anger morphed into wonder and surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m sorry,” she replied, suddenly feeling the ninety-degree heat in triplicate. “I didn’t mean for you to see me until after you’d thrown. I didn’t want to distract you.”

He ran a hand through his wet hair and swept a gaze around the grounds. “I should’ve known word would get out. Aimee?”

Jen nodded. She almost said, “I wish you’d told me you’d thrown in Gleann,” but then realized that would have been the worst thing, considering how they’d parted. Instead she said, “When I heard you were throwing this close to New York, I had to come.”

His eyebrows made a V. “What happened to London?”

That fed her a little more confidence. “That’s one of the reasons why I came. I have a lot to tell you, a lot to say. Will you meet me tonight? After this is over?”

His face said that he was being cautious because she’d disappointed him twice before.

No more. I won’t disappoint you anymore, she longed to say right then and there, but knew he wouldn’t buy it. She needed him to meet her later.

“It won’t take long,” she added hurriedly, “if you have plans with the guys or something.”

He rotated each arm, signaling that his mind was divided between her and why he was here on this field. “We were all going to grab a beer in town later.”

“Please. A few minutes, is all.”

He considered her for more seconds than she thought herself capable of withstanding. “All right,” he finally replied, and she exhaled. Then she gave him the address of where she wanted him to come.

He started to walk away and she got scared over his indifference. Then he stopped and turned back around. “The heavy hammer’s not my best event. Just so you know.”

These games were larger in attendance than Gleann’s, but the grounds weren’t that much more expansive, and the athletic field was ringed with trees. There was room enough to throw the heavy hammer without compromising safety, but the light hammer, with its sixteen-pound weight and the way it cut through the air much faster and farther, couldn’t be thrown here due to space.

Out of all the heavy athletic events, to Jen the hammer was the craziest. The movement to throw it was incredibly primitive, and also looked beyond unnatural. Dangerous, even. Every time she watched this particular throw, someone’s broken back or ripped muscle seemed imminent. As she recalled from Mr. MacDougall, form was paramount.

She worried terribly that she’d screwed this up for Leith. That he’d break form and then totally break his back.

The other competitors cycled through their first attempts, including the sole female thrower who had the raucous support from the gallery. As far as Jen could tell, she threw awesomely, using a smaller hammer than the guys. Good on her.

The announcer left Leith and Duncan for last.

When Leith’s name was called, he raised an arm to the onlookers, his profile showing lips pressed tightly together. He approached the trig, divided from the audience by the fencing, his steps heavy and focused. For this event the throwers faced the audience, their backs to the open field, and loosed the hammer backward over one shoulder. They used the best of three throws.

She didn’t know why she’d been so worried. Leith was nothing but centered.

Lifting the hammer up by the long end, the ball resting on the ground, he kicked his legs out, shifting to find the perfect stance. When he got it, he tilted the long hammer to one side and wrapped both hands around the end of the bar, pinky of one hand resting against the thumb of the other. He swung the ball out far to his right so his arms were angled low in front of him and the ball was in the grass. Knees slightly bent, he shifted his weight, heaved the hammer ball off the ground and swung the thing in a great arc in front of his body. It seemed to start slowly, almost too slowly, but using his tremendous power, the hammer looped once up and around his head. Momentum and strength brought it swooping back down in front. He kept it going, around and around and around his body. Faster and faster with every turn, every second. His face reddened, his features flat with exertion.

Each loop around was punched with a crazy power that pulled out every line in every muscle of his arms. Just when it seemed like the hammer movement would carry him off his feet, he brought it across his left shoulder and . . . released.

Leith roared, fists slapping to his sides.

Jen held her breath.

The ball sailed back and back over the empty space, looking far too heavy and strange to ever be airborne. It landed hard in the grass and a kilted judge jogged over to give it a measure, but it was clear to everyone in attendance that he’d blown away all the other competitors.

Only then did Leith swivel around, and it was to great applause, perhaps none louder than Duncan’s masculine grunts of “Yeah! Yeah!”

The judge called out a distance to the announcer, who said into the microphone, “Seventy-three feet, one and a quarter inches.” As a new round of cheers went up, Leith finally smiled, his shoulders dropping in obvious relief. In clear pride. He melted into his group, and the other throwers pounded fists on his back.

Duncan threw one foot shorter than Leith on his first attempt, then six inches longer on his second.

Leith never beat his first hammer throw, but he also never stopped smiling or laughing. And Jen thought that the only time she’d ever seen him look happier was the night they’d first kissed, all those years and miles away.

Chapter

27

Leith wheeled his truck into the parking lot of the address Jen had thrown at him back at the games. It was a small, well-kept strip mall on the outskirts of the seaside community of Norwalk. He sat behind the wheel in the lot, staring at the suite number she’d indicated, confused by the dark windows with the drawn shades. A sign was taped to the glass—For Rent. Call Sheryl. And then Sheryl’s number—but Leith double-checked the address and, yep, this was where Jen had told him to go.