unday afternoon football played out across Zach’s huge TV, but he paid zero attention as Denver hammered the 49ers.

“She’s pretty and interesting and I really liked her. I wanted to see her again,” Joe said from his side of Zach’s big leather sofa. “We kind of said that if we both weren’t busy we’d go out again, and then…And then I kinda told her to get some friends so we could have a threesome. I said, ‘I’ll provide the meat,’ and I don’t even know where that came from, Z. One second I was looking up at her, thinkin’ about how good she looked, and the next I was talkin’ about a skin sandwich.”

Joe looked so miserable, Zach figured it was best not to laugh at his friend. “Did you say ‘skin sandwich’?”

The defensive coach nodded and took a drink of his Lone Star. “I’m pretty sure.”

But there was only so much a man could hear before he burst out laughing. It bubbled up from his chest and shook his shoulders. He had to set down his Pearl to keep from spilling beer in his lap.

“It’s not funny.”

From where Zach sat, it was funny as all hell. And a load off, too. Joe hadn’t so much as kissed Adele, and he was fairly sure there wouldn’t be a second date between the two of them.

“I hadn’t even been thinking about a threesome, and then I just opened my mouth and started going on about it. It was like something took over, and I had no control.”

Unfortunately, Zach knew the feeling, and his laughter died. Where Adele was concerned, he obviously had no control either. Just thinking about his loss of control scared him. Anybody could have walked into that bathroom while he’d had Adele up against the wall, his hands on her bare breasts, his hard-on pressed into the hot crotch of her jeans.

Not only did his lack of control scare him, it shocked him to the core. In his life, he’d enjoyed some fairly wild stuff, but he’d never put himself or his reputation at risk. He’d always kept control. Always called the shots. Been very careful not to create a scandal, and he didn’t even like to think about what would have happened if the football coach had been discovered going at it in the bathroom by a couple of high-school girls.

“I’ve never had a threesome,” Joe grumbled as he took another drink of his beer. “You probably have.”

Zach shrugged. “They kind of lose their shine after a while.”

“I don’t think I can ever face her again.”

There was no way Zach could avoid Adele. It just wasn’t possible. Tiffany and Kendra were friends and on the same dance team. They were bound to run into each other again.

Unresolved issues. He reached for his beer as Denver scored a touchdown on a fifteen-yard drive. That was one way of putting it, he guessed. He thought about her standing in that bathroom, her pink nipples pressed into his palms, and figured there was only one way to resolve those “issues.” And it didn’t involve avoiding Adele and walking around with a constant hard-on.

After the game was over, he showed Joe the door and made dinner for himself and Tiffany. He grilled chicken, tossed a Caesar salad, and warmed up a loaf of artichoke bread he’d picked up at the local deli. His daughter was unusually quiet, and he asked her if there was anything wrong.

“No.” She shook her head and played with her salad. He really didn’t believe her, and it wasn’t until the following Thursday morning that she finally let him know what had been on her mind.

“I have my first dance competition this Saturday,” Tiffany reminded him from across the table in the breakfast nook. “I’m leaving for San Antonio tomorrow after school.”

Of course he knew. They’d talked about it all week. “I wish I could be there, sugar bug, but you know I’ve got the Amarillo game in Lubbock that day.”

She stirred her cereal and sighed. “I know. Not everyone’s parents can go.”

Zach took a bite of a toasted bagel with cream cheese and wondered if she was purposely trying to make him feel guilty. Or rather, guiltier.

“Kendra’s family can’t go. ’Course that’s because her momma’s in the hospital, and her aunt has to stick around in case of an emergency.”

“Tiff, you know I’d go if I could.”

She nodded, and they ate in silence for a few more moments before she said, “I’m thirteen.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“Old enough to go to dance competitions without you.”

“That’s right.” His guilt eased a bit as he slathered strawberry jelly on his bagel.

“Old enough to pack enough money and make sure I don’t miss the bus home.”

He took a bite and chewed. “Yep. You’re old enough to do a lot of grown-up things.”

“And old enough to wear makeup?”

He swallowed. “What?”

She looked up at him. “Daddy, everyone at school wears makeup.”

“No.” The thought of his baby all tarted-up with rouge horrified him. “You don’t need makeup.”

“Just a little bit?” she wheedled.

“No.”

“If Momma were alive, she’d let me.”

That was probably true, but it wasn’t an argument that swayed him. “Honey, you’re pretty without it.”

“You never let me do anything the other girls do!”

“Now, that’s not true.”

“It is! Last summer you didn’t let me go to the fair with Lyndsy Shiffer, and everyone but me got to go.”

“That’s because Lyndsy’s momma does most of her parenting from a barstool over at the country club.”

“She wasn’t going to be drinkin’ that night.”

“Uh-huh.”

Tiffany stood. “I hate my life! I want my mother. She’d understand!” She turned and ran up the stairs to her bedroom.

Zach stared at the empty stairway, then lowered his gaze to the bread in his hand. What the hell had just happened? Was Tiffany really that upset over a little mascara and lip gloss? It wasn’t as if those things were really important. Nothing to get all worked up about.

He finished eating, then loaded the dishwasher. He didn’t even pretend to understand teenage girls. They were so…emotional. He shoved his car keys into his pocket and headed upstairs. He’d given Tiffany a good fifteen minutes to cry whatever was bugging her out of her system. It was time he took her to school.

He rapped his knuckles on the door as he opened it. Tiffany lay on her stomach in the middle of a big pink confection of a bed surrounded by pillows and stuffed animals. Cinderella’s castle was painted on one wall, complete with horse-drawn pumpkin carriage. The room had been designed for a little girl, not for the teenager sniffling under the gauzy pink canopy. The teenage girl who thought she was old enough to wear makeup.

Tiffany raised her head as Zach walked across the room. “I miss Momma,” she whispered.

Zach glanced about at the many photographs of Devon in the room and sat down beside his daughter. “I know you do.” He reached for Tiffany’s hand and played with her silver ring. “But she isn’t here, and I’m trying to do what I think is best.”

Tiffany rolled onto her back and pulled her hand from his. “If Momma were here, I could talk to her about girl stuff.”

“What stuff?”

She shook her head. “Just stuff I can’t talk to you about.”

“You can talk to me.”

She looked at him out of the corners of her eyes. “I don’t think so.”

“I know lots of girl stuff.” Which he figured was true, although his experience was more with big-girl stuff.

She shook her head and stared up at the ceiling. “There’s just stuff you won’t understand.”

“Like makeup?”

“Yeah. And…”

“And what?”

“Why all the other girls at school got their period, and I don’t.”

“Whoa.” Zach shot to his feet, and he heard ringing in his ears.

“See.”

He sat back down and felt heat creep up his neck. “You can talk to me about that stuff.”

“Um-hum.”

“No, really.” He scrubbed his face with his hands. There wasn’t a damn thing he knew about girls and their periods. Except maybe that they got bitchy around that time. God, he’d never thought about when girls should get theirs. He didn’t want to think about it now. Not about Tiffany. “So, all the other girls, huh?”

She looked over at him, his little girl who was trying so hard to grow up yet wasn’t ready to give up her Cinderella bedroom. “Dad. You don’t have to talk about it.”

“No. No, this is good.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Are you worried that there’s something wrong with you?”

“Maybe.”

“Well, we can take you to see a doctor.”

“No!” She shook her head, and her cheeks turned pink.

“Okay. You can always call one of your grandmothers and ask them about it.”

Her nose wrinkled. “Maybe.”

And because he felt so totally inept, so totally guilty for being out of his league, he said, “And maybe you can wear a little lip gloss. Light pink.”

“And some mascara.”

“A little.”

“And eye shadow. Blue.”

“Good God, no.” The thought of his little girl tarted-up in blue eye shadow horrified him almost as much as the thought of her cheeks caked in rouge. “The next thing you’ll want is your nose pierced like that bull we saw at the fair last summer.”

She shook her head. “Oh, Daddy.”

W ednesday afternoon, Adele pulled her hair back and made a mad dash to Kendra’s school. She’d gotten wrapped up in her writing and was late picking up Kendra and Tiffany.

“Sorry,” she said, as they piled into Sherilyn’s Toyota. “I was working and lost track of the time.”

“No problem.” Kendra shut the front passenger’s door and shoved her backpack onto the floor between her feet. “Can you take us to the Estée Lauder counter at Dillard’s?”

“Sure. What do you need?”

“I need some makeup.” Tiffany climbed into the backseat, and as soon as she buckled herself in, Adele pulled out into traffic.

Adele could use a few things herself. “Is it okay with your dad?”

“Yes. Daddy gave me his credit card and said not to come home looking like a hooker.”

“Like Jenny Callaway,” Kendra said through a snort, and the two girls started to laugh.

The last time Adele had seen Daddy, he’d just come out of a bathroom stall. At first she’d been too blinded by the hope of no more curse to feel much of anything other than relief and pure joy over what had happened in that bathroom. A week later, she just wanted to curl up and groan. If those girls hadn’t walked in, she wasn’t so sure she wouldn’t have ended up having sex with Zach against the wall. She didn’t want to think about what might have happened if Zach hadn’t pulled her into the stall before those girls opened the door.

“Aunt Adele?”

She looked over at her niece. “Yes.”

“No Kendra,” Tiffany whispered loudly from the back.

Kendra turned and looked between the seats at Tiffany. “She might know.”

Adele looked in the rearview mirror at Tiffany shaking her head. Her eyes huge. She looked so much like her mother, it brought back memories of Devon making fun of the brand of pants Adele wore. “What’s up?” Adele asked.

Kendra sat back in her seat. “When did you get your period?”

The car swerved a little as Adele glanced over at her niece. “Why?”

“’Cause Lilly Ann Potts got hers last week. That makes everyone in the eighth grade but Tiffany.”

Adele stopped at a red light and once again glanced in the rearview mirror. Tiffany leaned forward with her face buried in her backpack. She seriously doubted every girl in the eighth grade had her period but Tiffany. “Are you worried about it?” Adele asked.

Tiffany shrugged.

“She thinks something might be wrong with her,” Kendra provided. “And she doesn’t have a momma to talk to her about it.”

The light turned green, and Adele drove through the intersection. At the age of thirteen, she hadn’t had a mother either, and she knew what it was like to have that important piece missing in your life. To always feel the loss and sorrow and longing in your heart, but at least she’d had Sherilyn. Perfect, pain in the butt Sherilyn to explain things to her. “My mother died when I was ten. Just like you. Only I had an older sister to talk to about embarrassing stuff I couldn’t talk to my daddy about.”

Tiffany lifted her head. “I tried to talk to my daddy about it. He said I could go to a doctor, but I don’t want to, and I don’t want to talk to my grandmas either. And there might not be anything wrong anyway, but I saw a story on TV about girls who have too many boy hormones or something and they don’t get their periods and they grow a mustache. I don’t wanna grow a mustache.”

Adele had never heard of such a thing, but she supposed it could happen. “I think I was thirteen when I got my period, but my friend Gail was fourteen. She was littler than I was and a late bloomer.”

“See. I told you not to worry.” Kendra picked at a blue patch of polish on her stubby thumbnail.

“I think my mom was a late bloomer,” Tiffany said.

“Yes. I think she was.”

Tiffany sat straight up. “You knew my mom?”

“We graduated from Cedar Creek High the same year,” she said as she turned into Dillard’s parking lot. “We didn’t hang around with the same group of friends, but I knew her.”

Adele parked the car, and the three of them got out and moved toward the front of the store.

“Did my momma have lots of boyfriends?” Tiffany asked, and folded her arms across the chest of her red sweater.

Devon had always dated a football player. “I believe she did.”

“Were they cute?”

“Sure.” Adele hung her purse on her shoulder. “Your daddy knew her better than anyone, I imagine.” They walked into the store and paused at the perfume counter. “You should ask him about her.”

Tiffany shrugged and sprayed herself down with Juicy. “I do ask him, but he didn’t know her before UT. And he just says stuff like, ‘there was no one like your momma’ and that she loved me.”

Zach was right. Adele had never met anyone else like Devon, which was a good thing. “You should ask Genevieve Brooks.” Adele picked up a bottle of Burberry, pulled back her sleeves, and spritzed her wrists. “She knew your mother better than I.”

Tiffany shook her head, and her golden blond hair brushed the shoulders of her sweater. “She only talks to me so that she can be around my dad. The others, too.”

“Smell this.” Kendra held her wrist up to Tiffany’s nose. “It smells like grapefruit.”

They set down the bottles of perfume, and Tiffany asked as they moved to the Estée Lauder counter, “What was Momma like in school?”

A heinous bitch. “Well, she was perky and cute.” Adele dug around in her memory for something nice to say. “She was a cheerleader and popular.” Then she flat out lied. “She was just plain wonderful.” She swallowed past her constricting throat. “Really great.”

Tiffany grinned, showing a mouthful of metal. Her whole face lit up from the inside out. “Everyone loved her.”

“Yes. Everyone loved her.” Adele smiled and was glad that she’d lied.

“Grandma Cecilia says that people loved her ’cause she was so sweet to everyone.”

Adele opened her mouth, but her throat closed completely. Apparently one lie about Devon a day was her quota. “Mmm-hmm,” she managed and was saved further comment by an Estée Lauder salesclerk with a pile of blond hair and perfect makeup. The clerk set the three of them in chairs in front of mirrors and let them play with makeup as she gave them tips.

Adele felt bad for Tiffany. Going through your teen years without a mother was rough, and although she was positive Zach loved his daughter, he could never be her mother. She could never go to him with those excruciatingly embarrassing questions that every girl had when her body changed from a little girl’s into a woman’s. She wondered if she should tell Zach that Tiffany had talked to Adele about her worries.

While the girls applied a little pink rouge, Adele picked out liquid eyeliner and drew a narrow, plum-colored line across the base of her lashes. She pumped up the volume of her lashes with some Illusionist mascara, then turned to her niece. “What do you think?”

“I like the eyeliner, but…”

“But what?”

“No offense, Aunt Adele, but the scrunchie has to go.”

“Go where?”

“In the garbage.”

She lifted a hand to the ponytail at the back of her head. “What’s wrong with my scrunchie?”

Tiffany leaned forward, and answered, “It’s so nineteen-nineties. Noooo one wears scrunchies anymore.”

“Jordon Kent’s mom does,” Kendra said as she gazed at herself in the mirror. “I saw it when she picked him up from school.”

“Yeah, and she wears mom pants and big bangs, too.”

Adele suddenly felt really old and lowered her hand. “Really? My scrunchie is a fashion no?” How had she not known that? And how had she suddenly become so incredibly uncool?

“Your scrunchie is a fashion heck no.” Tiffany gave her a consoling smile. “But you’ve got pretty eyes.”

Pretty eyes? Wasn’t that what people always said to unattractive people when they couldn’t think of something nice to say?

“And you’re really cute when your hair isn’t in a scrunchie,” Tiffany added, throwing Adele a bone.

Cute? “Thank you.” She looked up at the saleswoman. “I’ll take the Illusionist mascara. The plum eyeliner and lipstick in maraschino.” She glanced at her watch, then she turned to her niece, “What are you going to get?”

“Me? I don’t have Momma’s credit card.”

“Don’t worry about it. I have tons of credit cards.”

“Really.” Kendra smiled. “You’d buy me some makeup?”

“Sure. I don’t think your mother will mind, and I haven’t given my cards a workout since I’ve been here. I’m feeling a little deprived.”

“Do you mind if I get concealer?” Kendra pointed to a pimple on her chin. “This is so embarrassing.”

Adele looked at the choices of concealer the saleslady had placed before them and pointed to a small tube with a wand. “Do you like this one? It looks like your color.”

Kendra nodded and the saleswoman turned and opened a drawer of concealer.

“Do you want to go see your momma before or after dinner?” Adele asked her niece.

“After. Tiffany’s coming over to our house, and her daddy’s picking her up around six.”

“Oh.” The memory of Zach with his big “skilled” hands on her breasts inconveniently popped into her head.

“I hope it’s all right, but Daddy’s practice is going to run a little late tonight.”

Adele didn’t know if she was ready to see “Daddy” so soon. She’d hoped to maybe avoid him until the memory of the bathroom incident faded a bit. “Of course it’s all right. Sheri won’t mind if we come a little later than usual.”

The saleswoman piled the concealer and pink lip gloss with Adele’s makeup and Tiffany pointed out the cosmetics she wanted. “You’re so lucky, Kendra,” Tiffany said, and sat back in her chair. “I wish I was going to have a baby brother.”

“We get to feel him kick all the time.”

“You have to let me babysit with you.”

“Okay. I’ll let you change his poopie pants.”

Tiffany wrinkled up her nose. “Yuck.”

The saleswoman set curling mascara, two tubes of pink and rose lip gloss, and a clear cube with a pot of bright blue color in the center.

“Is your daddy going to be okay with that blue eye shadow?” Adele asked the thirteen-year-old.

Tiffany nodded and whipped out Zach’s Platinum American Express card. “He won’t mind.”

A t six-fifteen, Zach stood on the porch of Sherilyn’s condo wearing a bulky hooded sweatshirt. Gray November sky bathed him in a slight shadow and, like always, the sight of him did funny things to her insides.

“Hello, Adele.”

“Tiffany,” she called over her shoulder, “your daddy’s here.” She stepped out onto the porch and closed the door behind her. “I need to talk to you.”

He looked down at her, his expression carefully blank. “If it’s about what happened in the bathroom, I think it’s pretty safe to say that we both got carried away and…”

“It’s not about that.” She took his arm and pulled him down the steps. He’d once told her that he was a human furnace, and he was right. Warmth radiated from him and heated up her hand and forearm. “There’s something more important for us to talk about than what happened in the bathroom.” After they’d returned home from Dillard’s she’d thought about Tiffany’s concerns about her body, and the more she thought about it, the more she’d figured she should talk to Zach. “Tiffany told me that she’s afraid that she’ll never get her period and she’ll grow a mustache.”

They stopped at the bottom of the stairs and he turned to face her. “She told you all that?”

Adele nodded and let go of his arm. “I thought you should know she talked to me about it.”

“She mentioned something about it the other day.” He looked down into her eyes. “But she didn’t mention the mustache.”

“Evidently she saw something on TV that’s freaked her out.” Adele shrugged with one shoulder. “I’m sure she’s just a late bloomer. Devon was small.”

“Her momma was tiny, so maybe.”

Tiny and petite and beautiful. Adele looked away and folded her arms against the chill. She wore a long-sleeved shirt, but it wasn’t enough protection against the cool night air. “She asked me questions about Devon.”

They walked side by side down the walk toward his silver Escalade. “What questions?”

“What she was like in high school. Stuff like that.”

“What did you tell her?”

Adele glanced up at him and said flatly, “I lied.”

“About?”

“I told Tiffany that Devon was wonderful and everyone loved her.”

She wasn’t sure, but she thought he smiled with one corner of his mouth. “I take it not everyone thought she was wonderful.”

Adele stopped at the curb. “No. Not everyone did.”

He shoved his hands into the pocket of his sweatshirt and looked over her head as if he was distracted by something going on across the street. “Thank you. I know that Devon wasn’t your favorite person.”

“No.” She glanced behind her, but no one was out and about but her and Zach. “She made my life hell.”

“You weren’t the only one.”

She wondered if Devon had made Zach’s life hell, too. “No matter what I think of Devon, or of you, Tiffany seems like a nice girl. She’s been really sweet to Kendra at a very difficult time in my niece’s life.”

“Tiffany is a nice girl.” His eyes narrowed as he continued to stare over her head. “I didn’t know she was worried about growing a mustache, and I thought she could talk to me about whatever’s on her mind. I guess there are some things she feels uncomfortable talking over with her dad.” He finally looked at her. “If she says anything else, I’d appreciate it if you’d let me know.”

Adele nodded. “I lost my mother when I was ten, so I know how she feels.”

“That’s right. You told me that at UT.” His gaze slid to her mouth and down the front of her shirt. His voice got really low, his drawl more pronounced when he said, “I’ve got something for you.”

She didn’t think she wanted to know what he had for her. It might be something she hadn’t had in a long time. Something she really wanted but really shouldn’t want. She frowned to cover up her confusion. “Grow up, Zach.”

He looked at her for several moments, then said, “Sweetheart, you have a dirty mind.”

She placed a hand on her chest. “Me?” Before she could respond further, the front door opened, and Tiffany moved from the porch and down the steps.

“You ready?” Zach asked, the hot lazy drawl gone from his voice.

“Yep.” Tiffany hung her backpack over one shoulder and opened the Cadillac’s passenger door. “Thanks for taking me to Dillard’s.”

“You’re welcome.” She placed her hand on Tiffany’s shoulder. “And just remember something. Being a late bloomer might suck right now, but when you’re thirty, you’ll look twenty-five, and all your friends will be jealous.”

F or the first time in years, Zach dreamed of Devon. In the dream, he was back at UT, walking alone from the tunnel at Texas Memorial Stadium. The sound of his cleats echoed off the concrete and the helmet in his hand bumped his thigh. His footsteps slowed, then stopped as he noticed Devon standing at the big gaping entrance wearing the Chanel suit he’d buried her in.

“Hello, Zach.”

A heavy, suffocating weight settled in his chest.

“Aren’t you going to say hello?”

“Why are you here?”

She flipped her blond hair and leveled her green gaze on him. “I’m pregnant.” She smiled and placed a hand on her flat stomach. “You’re going to be a daddy.”

The heavy, suffocating weight squeezed his lungs and closed his throat. He woke up gasping for air; his heartbeat pounding in his head. The quilt felt like lead, holding him down, and he pushed it off. He sat on the edge of the bed, never so glad to be awake in his life.

“What a fucking nightmare.” He stood and walked through the dark room toward the bathroom. The carpet beneath his feet changed to heated tiles, and he moved past the dais with the big spa tub. Moonlight shone down on him from the domed skylight windows as he pulled himself out of his boxer briefs and used the toilet. The last time he’d dreamed of Devon, she’d come back from the dead to yell at him for trying to divorce her. He preferred those dreams to this latest.

He tucked himself back into his underwear and flushed the toilet. He didn’t know why Devon had popped up in his dream to tell him she was pregnant, he was just damn glad he’d woken up, and it hadn’t been real.

The overhead moonlight ran down his spine and behind as he moved beneath the skylights to the bedroom. He thought back fourteen years when Devon had tracked him down at the house he’d lived in with a couple of football buddies. She’d told him she was pregnant. She’d conceived the last time they’d been together. Just a few days before he’d broken up with her.

“I’m not one of those girls who has children out of wedlock, Zach. I won’t do it.” She crossed her arms over her chest, the implication clear.

As he’d looked at her standing there, a girl he’d once loved, he’d felt as if his life was slipping through his fingers like sand. There was only one thing he could do.

He’d done the right thing.

Goose bumps broke out across his chest as he moved through the house to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. He reached inside and pulled out a gallon of milk. Within the glow of bright light, he drank straight from the container.

He’d been raised to do the right thing. There’d never really been a choice, but it hadn’t been easy. Marrying Devon because she was having his baby caused problems from the beginning.

He lowered the carton and sucked milk from his top lip. One of the biggest problems had been that he’d always wondered if the pregnancy had been an accident or if Devon had stopped taking her pills on purpose. Then a few years before her death, she’d admitted that she’d stopped taking them. They’d been arguing about their lack of a sex life, and she’d wanted to make him mad.

“Yes, I quit taking them. I admit it. They made me fat,” she’d said. “You always wondered and now you know.”

“You should have told me.”

“What does it matter now?” she’d asked, and she was right. It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter fourteen years ago, ten years ago, or even now. Accident or no, he’d married her. She’d given him a beautiful daughter, and he’d never been sorry about that.

He shoved the carton in the refrigerator and shut the door. He loved Tiffany, but there’d never been another accident. He’d made sure of it.

The last thing he wanted was another marriage with a woman he didn’t love and couldn’t trust. He’d been there and done that, and it had sucked.