his bites the big one,” Mae muttered as she raised her Kahlua and cream to her lips and took a sip. One shiny black pump hung precariously from her toes as she jiggled her right foot. Over the top of her glass she watched a low-riding Chevy slowly roll past, bumping out bass and spewing toxic fumes. She waved her hand in front of her face and wondered if she hadn’t made a mistake in choosing to sit out front. From her small bistro-style table, she had a clear view of anyone walking toward the funky old jazz bar. The melodious flow of saxophone poured through the open doors and out into the dusky sunset of downtown. Around her, couples talked of what concerned most people in Seattle: rain, coffee, and Microsoft.

She set her drink back on the table and glanced at her watch. “He isn’t coming,” she told herself, and shoved her foot back inside her shoe. It was Friday night. She didn’t have to work for a change, and she’d put on lipstick and mascara for nothing. She’d even put on a dress. A nice little black slip dress with nothing on under it. She was freezing and her latest lover, Ted, was a no-show.

He’d probably gotten detained by his wife, she thought, and reached for her purse. She usually didn’t carry a purse, but she didn’t have anyplace to put her money tonight, not even her underwear. She pulled out a twenty and set it on the table. She wasn’t going to wait any longer for him. She wasn’t that desperate.

“Now, what’s a girl like you doing all by yourself?”

Mae looked up and opened her mouth to tell the guy to buzz off. Instead she frowned and said, “Just when I thought this night couldn’t get any worse.”

Hugh Miner laughed and turned to the men with him. “You guys go ahead,” he said as he pulled out a chair opposite Mae. “I’ll join you in a minute.”

Mae watched the men walk inside and she grabbed her purse. “I was just leaving.”

“You can stay for one drink, can’t you?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Because I’m freezing, she thought. “Why would I want to?”

“Because I’m buying.”

Free booze had never been an incentive for Mae, but just then, a red-haired waitress walked up to the table and proceeded to make a fool out of herself. She cooed, rubbed up against Hugh’s shoulder, and did everything but fall down and give him oral pleasure. She was pretty with big blue eyes and a nice body, which she asked Hugh to autograph, but to his credit, he declined.

“But I’ll tell you what, Mandy,” he said to the waitress. “If you bring me a Beck’s and...” He paused and turned his attention to Mae. “What are you drinking?” he asked her.

She couldn’t leave. Not now. Not when Mandy was sending jealous daggers her way. Other women weren’t usually jealous of Mae Heron. “Kahlua and cream.”

“If you bring me a Beck’s and a Kahlua and cream, I’d be real grateful,” he finished.

“How grateful?” She looked around, then leaned down and whispered into this ear.

Hugh laughed silently. “Mandy,” he said, “I’m not real interested, being that what you’re asking is against the law in some states. But listen, I came here tonight with Dmitri Ulanov. Now, he’s a foreigner and doesn’t know he could get arrested for what you’re suggesting. You might get him to take you up on it.”

As she laughed and walked away, Hugh leaned back and glued his gaze to Mandy’s behind.

“I thought you weren’t interested,” Mae reminded him.

“Nothing wrong with looking,” he said, and turned his attention to Mae. “But she’s not as pretty as you.”

Mae was so positive he said that to every woman he met that she wasn’t the least bit flattered. “What did she want to do?”

Hugh shook his head and his hazel eyes shined. “Now, that would be telling.”

“And you don’t ever tell?”

“Nope.” He shrugged out of his leather bomber jacket and handed it across the table to her. His shoulders appeared wide beneath his cream-colored dress shirt.

“Are my goose bumps noticeable from across the table?” she asked, and gratefully accepted the jacket. It was huge and warm draped over her shoulders. It smelled of musky male.

He smiled at her. “Your bumps are very noticeable, yes.”

Mae didn’t have to ask which bumps, and she’d been around the block too many times to get uptight and embarrassed.

“Are you ever going to answer my question?” he asked her.

“What question?”

“What is a girl like you doing all by yourself?”

“Like me?”

“Yeah,” he laughed through a smile. “Sweet. Charming. I imagine that a lot of men are attracted to that warm personality of yours.”

She didn’t think he was funny, “Do you really want to know why I’m here?”

“I asked.”

She could lie or make something up. Instead she decided to shock him with the truth. She wrapped her fists in his jacket and leaned across the table. “I’m meeting my married lover, and we’re going to have wild sex all night at the Marriott.”

“No shit?”

She’d shocked him, all right. Now she expected moral outrage from a man she suspected was fairly bankrupt in the morality department.

“All night?”

Disappointed by his reaction, she sat back. “Well, we were going to have wild sex, but he hasn’t shown up. I guess he couldn’t get away.”

The waitress approached and set down their drinks. As she put Hugh’s beer in front of him, she whispered something close to his ear. He shook his head and dug in his back pocket for his wallet, then handed her two fives.

The waitress had hardly walked away before Mae asked, “What did she want this time?”

Hugh raised his beer to his lips and took a long pull before he set it back down. “To know if John was going to show up tonight.”

“Is he?”

“No, but even if he were here, she isn’t his type.”

Mae took a sip of her drink. “What’s his type?”

Hugh smiled. “Your friend.”

When he smiled and his eyes lit up that way, Mae could see how some women might find him very handsome. “Georgeanne?”

“Yep.” He twirled the neck of the green bottle between his thumb and fingers. “He likes women who are built like her. He always has. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t be in the mess he’s in. She’s torn him up pretty bad.”

Mae nearly choked on her drink. She licked the coffee-flavored liqueur from her top lip and sputtered, “Torn him up? Georgeanne is a wonderful person and he has made her life hell.”

“I don’t know about that. I only hear John’s side, and he doesn’t really discuss his personal business with anyone. But I do know that when he found out about Lexie, he kind of freaked out. He got real tense and edgy for a while. She was all he talked about. He canceled a trip to Cancun which he’d planned for months, and he pulled out of the World Cup, too. Instead he invited Lexie and Georgeanne to his house in Oregon.”

“Only because he wanted to trick Georgeanne into trusting him while he screwed her over—in more ways than one.”

He shrugged. “I don’t really know what happened in Oregon, but it sounds like you do.”

“I know that he hurt—”

“Mae?” a male voice interrupted. She turned to her left and looked up at Ted, who stood next to the table. “I’m sorry I’m late, but I had a little trouble getting away.”

Ted was short and skinny, and Mae noticed for the first time that he wore his pants a little too high on his waist. He looked like a real wimp next to the piece of beefcake across the table. “Hi, Ted,” Mae greeted, and pointed toward Hugh. “This is Hugh Miner.”

Ted smiled and held out his hand for the well-known goalie.

Hugh didn’t smile, and he didn’t shake Ted’s hand. Instead he stood and stared down at the smaller man. “I’m only going to say this once to you,” he said in a calm voice. “Get the hell out of here or I’ll beat the shit out of you.”

Ted’s smile and hand fell at the same time. “What?”

“If you ever come near Mae again, I’ll beat you to a bloody stump.”

“Hugh!” Mae gasped.

“Then when your wife comes to the hospital to identify your body,” he continued, “I’ll tell her why I had to kick your ass.”

“Ted!” Mae flew to her feet and shoved her way between the two men. “He’s lying. He won’t hurt you.”

Ted looked from Hugh to Mae, then without a word, turned on his heel and practically ran down the street. Mae swung around and threw Hugh’s jacket on the table. Balling up her fist, she punched him in the chest. “You big butthead!” People sitting at other tables outside the bar turned to look at her, but she didn’t care.

“Ouch.” He raised his hand and rubbed the front of his shirt. “For such a little thing, you hit pretty hard.”

“What in the hell is your problem? That was my date,” Mae seethed.

“Yeah, and you should thank me. What a weasel.”

She knew he was a little bit of a weasel, but he was a nice-looking weasel. It had taken her three months to find him, and she hadn’t tried him out yet. She grabbed her purse off the table and looked down the street. Maybe if she hurried, she could catch up with him. She turned to leave and felt strong fingers wrap around her arm.

“Let him go.”

“No.” Mae tried to jerk her arm free but couldn’t. “Damn it,” she cursed as she caught one last glimpse of Ted’s retreating back. “He probably won’t ever call me again.”

“Probably not.”

She frowned into Hugh’s smiling face. “Why did you do that?”

He shrugged. “I didn’t like him.”

“What?” Mae laughed without humor. “Who cares whether you liked him or not? I don’t need your approval.”

“He isn’t the man for you.”

“How do you know?”

He smiled at her. “Because I think I’m the man for you.”

This time her laughter was laced with amusement. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“I’m serious.”

She didn’t believe him. “You’re exactly the type of guy I never date.”

“What type is that?”

She looked pointedly at his hand still gripping her arm. “Macho, muscle-head, egomaniac. Men who think they can push around people who are smaller and weaker than them.”

He let go of her arm and retrieved his jacket from the table. “I’m not an egomaniac, and I don’t push people around.”

“Really? What about Ted?”

“Ted doesn’t count.” He wrapped the jacket around her shoulders again. “I could tell he had that small-man syndrome. He probably beats his wife.”

Mae frowned at his outrageous assumption. “What about me?”

“What about you?”

“You’re pushing me around.”

“Honey, you’re about as weak as a wrecking ball.”

He turned the collar of his jacket up around her jaw and put his hands on her shoulders. “And I think you like me more than you’re willing to admit.”

Mae looked down and closed her eyes. This was not happening. “You don’t even know me.”

“I know you’re beautiful and I think about you a lot. I’m very attracted to you, Mae.”

Her eyes popped open. “Me?” Men like Hugh weren’t attracted to women like her. He was a well-known athlete. She was a flat-chested, skinny girl who’d never had a date until after she’d graduated from high school. “This isn’t funny.”

“I don’t think so either. I liked you the first time I saw you standing in the park. Why do you think I’ve been calling you?”

“I just thought you liked to harass women.”

He laughed. “No. Just you. You’re special.”

She allowed herself a moment to believe him. A moment to feel flattered by the attentions of a big jock she had no intention of dating. The moment didn’t last long before she remembered how he’d teased her the first time they’d met. “You’re a real jerk,” she said.

“I hope you give me a chance to change your mind.”

She grabbed his wrist. “This isn’t funny anymore.”

“I never thought it was funny. I usually like girls who like me back. I’ve never fallen for someone who hated me.”

He looked so serious she almost believed him. “I don’t hate you,” she confessed.

“Well, that’s a start, I guess.” He moved his hands to the sides of her neck and tilted her chin back with his thumbs. “Are you still cold?”

“A little.” The warmth of his palms on her throat spread a quivering heat to her stomach. She was shocked and somewhat dismayed by her reaction.

“Do you want to take our drinks and go inside?”

Her shock settled into confusion. “I want to go home.”

Disappointment tugged one corner of his mouth downward, and he moved his hands to her upper arms. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

“I took a taxi.”

“Then I’ll take you home.”

“Okay, but I won’t invite you to come inside,” she said. There were some women who might consider her promiscuous, but she did have her standards. Hugh Miner was handsome and successful, and he was behaving like a perfect gentleman. He just wasn’t her type.

“That’s up to you.”

“I mean it. You can’t come in.”

“I believe you. If it makes you feel better, I promise I won’t even get off the bike.”

“Bike?”

“Yeah, I rode my Harley. You’ll love it.” He put one arm around her shoulders and they moved toward the entrance to the bar. “First I need to find Dmitri and Stuart and tell them I’m leaving.”

“I can’t ride on your motorcycle with you.”

They stopped by the entrance and allowed a group of people to exit. “Sure you can. I won’t let you get hurt.”

“I’m not worried about that.” She looked up into his face, illuminated by an orange Miller light shining above the door. “I’m not wearing any underwear.”

He froze for a few seconds, then smiled. “Well, there you go. We have something in common. Neither am I.”

John followed Caroline Foster-Duffy through the entry hall of Virgil’s Bainbridge estate. Her blond hair was streaked with gray and fine lines had settled in the corners of her eyes. She was one of those women fortunate enough to mature with wisdom and grace. She had the wisdom not to fight her age with brassy hair dye or cosmetic surgery, and the grace to look beautiful despite her sixty-five years.

“He’s been expecting you,” she said as they passed the formal dining room. She paused at a set of double mahogany doors and looked up at John with concern shining in her pale blue eyes. “I’m going to have to ask you to keep your visit short. I know Virgil called you to meet with him tonight, but he’s been working harder than usual the past couple of days. He’s tired, but he won’t rest. I know something is wrong, but he won’t share it with me. Do you know what has happened to upset him? Is it business?”

“I don’t know,” John answered. He was into the second year of his three-year contract and didn’t have to worry about negotiations for another year, so he doubted Virgil had called him to discuss his contract. And besides, he didn’t handle negotiations personally, he paid a sports management corporation to take care of his professional interests. “I assumed he wanted to talk about his draft choices,” he said, although he did think Virgil’s request to talk to him in person was peculiar, especially at nine on a Friday night.

A frown wrinkled Caroline’s brow before she turned and opened the door behind her. “John’s here,” she announced as she walked into Virgil’s office. John followed her into a room filled with cherry wood and leather, sculptures of Japanese fishermen and Currier & Ives lithographs. The different textures blended and created an impression of wealth and taste. “But I’m only going to let him stay for half an hour,” she continued. “Then I’m going to make him leave so that you can get your rest.”

Virgil looked up from several papers scattered across the executive desk in front of him. “Shut the door on your way out,” was his response to his wife.

Her lips flattened into a thin line, but she said nothing and backed out of the room.

“Why don’t you have a seat?” Virgil motioned to a chair on the opposite side of his desk.

John looked into the older man’s face, and he knew why he’d been summoned. Bitterness and fatigue pulled at the little pouches beneath Virgil’s eyes. He looked every bit of his seventy-five years. John sat in a leather wing chair and waited.

“The other day you seemed genuinely surprised to see Georgeanne Howard on television.”

“I was.”

“You didn’t know she had her own program here in Seattle?”

“No.”

“How can that be, John? The two of you are quite close.”

“Obviously we’re not that close,” John answered, wondering exactly how much Virgil knew.

Virgil picked up a sheet of paper and handed it across the desk. “This says you are a liar.”

John took the document, and his gaze quickly scanned the copy of Lexie’s birth certificate. He was listed as Lexie’s father, which normally would have pleased him, but he didn’t appreciate anyone digging into his personal life. He tossed the paper back onto the desk and met Virgil’s stare. “Where did you get that?”

Virgil waved off John’s question with his hand. “Is it true?”

“Yes, it is. Where did you get it?”

Virgil shrugged. “I’ve had someone doing a little checking on Georgeanne, and imagine my surprise when I saw your name.” He held up several court documents along with John’s legal acknowledgment of paternity. Virgil didn’t hand them over, but he didn’t need to. John had his own copies at home. “Apparently you fathered a child with Georgeanne.”

“You know I did, so why not cut the bullshit and get to the point.”

Virgil set the papers back down. “That’s one thing I’ve always liked about you, John. You don’t pussyfoot around anything.” His gaze never wavered as he asked, “Did you have sex with my fiancée before or after she left me standing in my own backyard looking like a ridiculous old fool?”

Even though John didn’t like anyone digging into his past, or appreciate the personal question, he did think it was fair. He respected Virgil enough to believe he deserved an answer. “I met Georgeanne for the first time after she left the wedding. I’d never seen her before she came running out of your house and asked me for a ride. She wasn’t wearing a wedding dress, and I didn’t know who she was.”

Virgil sat back in his chair. “But at some point you did know.”

“Yes.”

“When you found out who she was, you slept with her anyway.”

John frowned. “Obviously.” The way he saw things, he’d done Virgil a big favor by taking Georgeanne away from that wedding. She could get downright mean, and John didn’t think the older man could take being told he wasn’t memorable in bed. Not like John.

Virgil was better off without her. She could make a man hot and half-hard, then tell him that he was embarrassing himself. Then with that voice of hers dripping honey and daggers, remind of his second marriage to a stripper. She was vicious, no doubt about it.

“How long were you lovers?”

“Not long.” He knew Virgil, and the old man hadn’t called him across the sound just to hear some juicy details. “Get to the point.”

“You’ve played some damn good hockey for me, and I’ve never cared where you put your dick. But when you fucked Georgeanne, you fucked me over.”

John stood and seriously considered jumping across the desk and pounding the crap out of Virgil. If Virgil hadn’t been so much older, he might have. Georgeanne was the most seductive and hottest woman he’d ever been with, but she wasn’t just a fuck. She was more than that to him, and she didn’t deserve to be talked about as if she were trash. With an effort, he held on to his anger. “You still haven’t gotten to the point.”

“You can have your career with the Chinooks, or you can have Georgeanne. You can’t have both.”

John liked being threatened less than he liked people digging into his personal business. “Are you threatening me with a trade?”

Virgil was deadly serious when he said, “Only if you force me to.”

John considered telling Virgil to shove it up his wrinkled old ass. Five months ago he might have. Even though John loved playing for the Chinooks and couldn’t see himself stepping into the captaincy for another organization, he didn’t respond well to threats. But he had too much to lose now. He’d just discovered that he had a child, and he’d just been granted joint custody. “We have a daughter together, so maybe you should tell me what you mean by ‘have.’”

“See your kid all you want,” Virgil began. “But don’t touch her mother. Don’t date her. Don’t marry her, or you and I are going to have trouble.”

If Virgil had made the threat a year, or even a few months, ago, John probably would have walked out and forced a trade. But how could he be a father to Lexie if he had to move to Detroit or New York or even Los Angeles? How could he watch Lexie grow if he wasn’t living in the same state? “Hell, Virgil,” he said as he watched the older man stand, “I don’t know who dislikes the other more, Georgeanne or me. If you’d asked me last week, you could have saved yourself some trouble, and saved me the trouble of driving over here. I want Georgeanne like I want a berry ringer, and she wants me even less.”

Virgil’s fatigue-rimmed eyes called John a liar. “Just remember what I said.”

“I’m not likely to forget.” John looked at the older man one last time, then turned and left the room. He walked from the house with Virgil’s ultimatum echoing in his ears. You can have your career with the Chinooks, or you can have Georgeanne. You can’t have both.

He waited for the ferry for fifteen minutes, and by the time he reached his houseboat, the absurdity of Virgil’s threat forced a strained chuckle from him. He supposed the older man thought he’d found the perfect revenge. And it might have been a good one, too, but John and Georgeanne couldn’t stand to be in the same room together. Forcing them together would have been a more fitting punishment.

Buzzers and bells, squealing tires, and breaking glass filled John’s ears as he watched Lexie crash into trees, run up on sidewalks, and flatten pedestrians.

“I’m gettin‘ pretty good,” she yelled above the chaotic atmosphere of the arcade.

He stared at the screen in front of Lexie and felt a dull ache start at his temples. “Watch out for the old lady,” he warned her too late. Lexie mowed down the senior citizen and sent her aluminum walker flying.

John didn’t particularly like video games or arcades. He didn’t like shopping malls, preferring to order what he needed by mail, and he didn’t really care for animated films either.

The video game ended, and John turned his wrist and looked at his watch. “It’s about time to go.”

“Did I win, John?” Lexie asked as she pointed to her score on the big screen. She wore the silver filigree ring he’d bought her from a jewelry vendor at Pike Place Market on her middle finger, and on the seat next to her sat the little hand-blown glass cat he’d purchased at another stall. The back of his Range Rover was loaded with toys, and he was just killing time before he and Lexie headed up the street to the movie theater so she could see The Hunchback of Notre Dame.

He was trying to buy his daughter’s love. He was unrepentant. He didn’t care. He would buy her anything, spend his time in dozens of loud arcades, or sit through hours of Disney if he could hear his child call him “Daddy” just once. “You almost won,” he lied, and reached for her hand. “Get your cat,” he said, then the two of them wove their way out of the arcade. He’d do just about anything to have the old Lexie back.

When he’d picked her up at home earlier that afternoon, she’d met him at the door without a trace of eye shadow or rouge. It was Saturday, and even though he preferred to see her sans hooker makeup, he was so desperate to see the girl he’d met in June that he’d suggested she wear a little light lip gloss. She’d declined with a shake of her head.

He might have tried to talked to Georgeanne again about Lexie’s unusual behavior, but she hadn’t been home when he’d picked her up. According to the teenage sitter who wore a ring through her right nostril, Georgeanne was working but was due home before he returned with Lexie.

Maybe he’d talk to Georgeanne later, he thought as he and Lexie headed toward the movie theater. Maybe they could both behave like reasonable adults and resolve what was best for their daughter. Yeah, maybe. But there was just something about Georgeanne that tweaked his nerves and made him want to provoke her.

“Look!” Lexie came to an abrupt stop and stared into a shopfront window. Behind the glass, several striped kittens rolled in a furry ball and chased each other up a carpeted scratching post. About six baby cats were kept in a large wire pen, and as she watched in awed wonder, John was treated to a glimpse of the little girl who’d stolen his heart in Marymoor Park.

“Do you want to go inside and take a quick look?” he asked her.

She glanced up at him as if he’d just suggested a felony. “My mommy says that I...” She paused and a slow smile lifted her lips. “Okay. I’ll go inside with you.”

John opened the door to Patty’s Pets and let his daughter into the store. The shop was empty except for a saleswoman who stood behind the counter writing something in a notebook.

Lexie handed him the glass cat he’d bought for her, then she walked to the pen and reached over the top. She stuck her hand inside and wiggled her fingers. Immediately, a yellow tabby pounced and wrapped its furry little body around her wrist. She giggled and lifted the kitten to her chest.

John shoved the glass figurine into the breast pocket of his blue and green polo shirt then knelt down beside Lexie. He scratched the kitten between the ears, and his knuckles brushed his daughter’s chin. He didn’t know which felt softer.

Lexie looked at him, so excited she could hardly hold it all in. “I like her, John.”

He touched the little cat’s ear and brushed the back of his hand across Lexie’s jaw. “You can call me Daddy,” he said, holding his breath.

Her big blue eyes blinked once, twice, then she buried a smile in the top of the kitten’s head. A dimple dented her pale cheek, but she didn’t say a word.

“All of those kittens have had their shots,” the saleswoman announced from behind John.

John looked down at the toe of his running shoe, disappointment tugging at his heart. “We’re just looking today,” he said as he stood.

“I could let you have that little tabby for fifty dollars. Now, that’s a real steal.”

John figured that with Lexie’s obsession for animals, if Georgeanne wanted her to have one, she would. “Her mother would probably kill me if I took her home with a kitten.”

“How about a puppy? I just got in a little dalmatian.”

“A dalmatian?” Lexie’s ears perked. “You gots a dalmatian?”

“Right over there.” The saleswoman pointed to a wall of glass kennels.

Lexie gently put the kitten back into the pen and moved toward the kennels. The glass cubicles were empty except for the dalmatian, a fat little husky asleep on its back, and a big rat curled up in a food bowl.

“What’s that?” Lexie asked as she pointed to the almost hairless rat with the enormous ears.

“That’s a Chihuahua. He’s a very sweet little dog.”

John didn’t think it should be allowed to be called a dog. It shook all over, looked pathetic, and gave dogs in general a bad name.

“Is it cold?” Lexie wondered, and pressed her forehead to the glass.

“I don’t think so. I try to keep him very warm.”

“He must be scared.” She placed her hand on the kennel and said, “He misses his mommy.”

“Oh no,” John said as the memory of wading out into the Pacific to rescue a little fish for her swam across his brain. There was no way he was going to pretend to save that stupid shivering dog. “No, he doesn’t miss his mommy. He likes living here alone. I bet he likes sleeping in his food dish. I bet he’s having a really good dream right now, and he’s shaking because he’s dreaming he’s in a strong wind.”

“Chihuahuas are a nervous breed,” the saleswoman informed him.

“Nervous?” John pointed to the dog. “He’s asleep.”

The woman smiled. “He just needs a little warmth and lovin‘.” Then she turned and walked through a set of swinging doors. A few seconds later the back of the glass kennel opened and a pair of hands reached for the dog curled up in the dish.

“We need to get going if we want to make the movie in time,” John said too late. The woman returned and shoved the dog into Lexie’s waiting arms.

“What’s his name?” Lexie asked as she looked down into the beady black eyes staring back at her.

“He doesn’t have a name,” the woman answered. “His owner gets to name him.”

The dog’s little pink tongue darted out and licked Lexie’s chin. “He likes me,” she laughed.

John looked at his watch, anxious to have Lexie and the dog part company. “The movie is going to start. We have to go now.”

“I’ve already seen it three times,” she said without taking her eyes from the dog. “You’re such a precious darlin‘,” she drawled, sounding amazingly like her mother. “Give me some sugar.”

“No.” John shook his head, suddenly feeling like a pilot trying to land an airplane on one engine. “Don’t exchange sugar.”

“He’s stopped shaking.” Lexie rubbed her cheek against the clog’s face and he licked her ear.

“You’ll have to give him back now.”

“But he loves me, and I love him. Can’t I keep him?”

“Oh, no. Your mother would kill me.”

“She won’t mind.”

John heard the catch in Lexie’s voice and knelt down beside her. He felt his other engine die with the ground rushing up at him. He had to think up something fast before he crashed. “Yes, she will, but I’ll tell you what. I’ll buy you a turtle and you can keep him at my house, and every time you come over, you can play with him.”

With the dog curled up happily in her arms, Lexie leaned into John’s chest. “I don’t want a turtle. I want little Pongo.”

“Little Pongo? You can’t name him, Lexie. He’s not yours.”

Tears welled up in Lexie’s eyes and her chin trembled. “But I love him, and he loves me.”

“Wouldn’t you rather have a real dog? We can look at real dogs next weekend.”

She shook her head. “He is a real dog. He’s just really little. He doesn’t have a mommy, and if I leave him here, he’ll miss me really bad.” Her tears spilled over her bottom lashes and she sobbed, “Please, Daddy, let me keep Pongo.”

John’s heart collided with his ribs and surged up into his throat. He looked into his daughter’s pitifully sad face, and he crashed. He burned. No chance of a reprieve. He was a sucker. She’d called him “Daddy.” He reached for his wallet and surrendered his Visa to the happy saleslady.

“Okay,” he said, and put his arms around Lexie and pulled her closer. “But your mom is going to kill us.”

“Really? I can keep Pongo?”

“I guess so.”

Her tears increased and she buried her face in his neck. “You’re the best daddy in the whole world,” she wailed, and he felt moisture against his skin. “I’ll be a good girl forever and ever.” Her shoulders shook and the dog shook and John was afraid that he would start shaking, too. “I love you, Daddy,” she whispered.

If he didn’t do something quick, he’d start bawling like Lexie. He’d start bawling like a girl right there in front of the saleswoman. “I love you, too,” he said, then cleared his throat. “We better buy some food.”

“And you’ll probably need a crate,” the saleslady informed him as she took off with his credit card. “And since he has very little hair, a sweater, too.”

By the time John loaded Lexie and Pongo and the dog’s accoutrements into the Range Rover, he was almost a thousand dollars lighter. On the way across town toward Bellevue, Lexie chattered up a blue streak and sang lullabies to her dog. But the closer they got to her street, the quieter she became. When John pulled to a stop beside the curb, silence filled the car.

John helped Lexie out of the vehicle, and neither spoke as they headed up the sidewalk. They stopped beneath the porch light, both staring at the closed door, postponing the moment when they would have to face Georgeanne with the shivering rat in Lexie’s arms.

“She’s going to be real mad,” Lexie informed him barely above a whisper.

John felt her small hand grasp his. “Yep. Shit’s gonna hit the fan.”

Lexie didn’t correct his language. She just nodded and said, “Yep.”

You can have your career with the Chinooks, or you can have Georgeanne. You can’t have both. He almost laughed. Even if he were to suddenly fall madly in love with Georgeanne, he figured that after tonight, his career was as secure as Fort Knox.

The door opened and John’s prediction about the fan came to fruition. Georgeanne looked from John to Lexie, then to the shaking dog in Lexie’s arms. “What is that?”

Lexie kept quiet and let John do the talking. “Uh, we went into a pet store and—”

“Oh no!” Georgeanne wailed. “You took her to a pet store? She’s not allowed in pet stores. The last time she cried so hard she threw up.”

“Well, look on the bright side, she didn’t get sick this time.”

“Bright side?” She pointed to Lexie’s arms and shrieked, “Is that a dawg?”

“That’s what the saleslady said, but I’m still not convinced.”

“Take it back.”

“No, Mommy. Pongo’s mine.”

“Pongo? You named it already?” She looked at John and her eyes narrowed. “Fine. Pongo can live with John.”

“I don’t have a yard.”

“You have a deck. That’s good enough.”

“He can’t live with Daddy ‘cause I’d only get to see him on the weekends, then I wouldn’t get to train him not to potty on the carpet.”

“Train whom? Pongo or your daddy.”

“That’s not funny, Georgie.”

“I know. Take it back, John.”

“I wish I could. But the sign by the cash register said all sales are final. I can’t take Pongo back.” He looked at Georgeanne standing there looking as beautiful as always and mad as hell. But for the first time since Cannon Beach, he didn’t want to fight with her. He didn’t want to provoke her any more than he had already. “I’m sorry about this, but Lexie started crying and I couldn’t say no. She named him and cried on my neck and I handed the saleslady my credit card.”

“Alexandra Mae, get in the house.”

“Uh-oh,” Lexie said, then tucked her dog, ducked her head, and ran past her mother.

John moved to follow, but Georgeanne blocked his way. “I have told that child for five years now that she can’t have a pet until she is ten. You take her out for a few hours and she comes home with a hairless dawg.”

He raised his right hand. “I know, and I’m sorry. I promise I’ll buy all his food, and Lexie and I will take him to all of his puppy obedience classes.”

“I can pay for his darn food!” Georgeanne raised her palms and pressed her fingers to her brows. She felt as if her head were about to explode. “I’m so angry I can’t see straight.”

“Would it help if I told you that I bought a puppy book for you to read?”

“No, John,” she sighed, and dropped her hands. “It wouldn’t help.”

“I have a little kennel, too.” He took ahold of her wrist and pulled her after him. “I bought a bunch of stuff for him.”

Georgeanne tried to ignore the leap in her pulse as he towed her along. “What kind of stuff?”

He opened the back passenger door to the Range Rover and handed her a dog crate about the size of a deep dresser drawer.

“He’s supposed to stay in that at night so he doesn’t crap on the floor,” he told her, then reached inside the vehicle again. “Here’s a book on training, another on Chihuahuas, and one more”—he paused to read the title—“How to Raise a Dog You Can Live With. I have food, biscuits for his teeth, chew toys, a collar and leash, and a little sweater.”

“Sweater? Did you buy everything in the store?”

“Close.” He turned and ducked his head into the car.

Over the top of the kennel, Georgeanne glanced at John’s rear pockets pointed in her direction. His jeans were faded a light blue in places, and a woven leather belt was threaded though the loops.

“I know it’s here somewhere,” he said, and she quickly switched her gaze to the back of the four-wheel-drive vehicle. It was filled with huge toy-store bags and a big box labeled Ultimate Hockey.

“What’s all that?” she asked, motioning toward the back with her head.

John looked over his shoulder at her. “Just some things Lexie picked out. I don’t have anything for her to do when she comes over to my house, so we bought a few things. I can’t believe how much Barbies cost. I had no idea they were sixty dollars apiece.” He straightened and handed her a tube. “That’s Pongo’s toothpaste.”

Georgeanne was appalled. “You paid sixty dollars for a Barbie?”

He shrugged. “Well, when you figure that one came with a poodle, the other with a zebra-print jacket and matching beret, I don’t think I got soaked too badly.”

He’d been suckered. Within days of ripping open the box, Lexie would have those dolls naked and looking like she’d picked them up at a garage sale. Georgeanne rarely bought Lexie expensive toys. Her daughter didn’t treat them any better than she did her things that were less costly, but mostly, there were a lot of months when Georgeanne couldn’t afford to drop one hundred twenty dollars on two dolls.

She had a tendency to go a little crazy and spend a lot at Christmas and on birthdays, but she had to budget and set money aside for those occasions. John didn’t. Last month, as their lawyers had hammered out a custody agreement, she’d learned that he made six million a year playing hockey, plus half that much through investments and endorsements. She could never compete with that.

She looked into his smiling face and wondered what he was up to. If she wasn’t careful, he would take everything and leave her with nothing but that hairless dog.