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  Phin sat beside her, intent on the game, oblivious to the heat.

  “So Tuckers don’t have sweat glands?” she said, as she watched Dillie come to bat.

  Dillie fanned the ball, and Phin winced and said under his breath, “Watch the ball, Dill,” and a second later, the coach stood up and yelled, “Watch the ball, Dillie!”

  “Uh, this doesn’t really matter to you, does it?” Sophie said.

  Dillie hit a single, and Phin said to himself, “Okay, that’s not bad, not bad.” Then, evidently realizing she’d been talking to him, he turned to her. “What?”

  “Oh, jeez, you’re one of those Sports Parents,” Sophie said. “It’s not just a game, it’s a reflection of you and all of those in your bloodline who ever picked up a bat. It’s—”

  “We like to win,” Phin said. “It’s the American Way

  .”

  “Right,” Sophie said. “ ‘We’re ten and one.’ ”

  “What?”

  “It’s from a movie,” Sophie said. “ ‘We’re Americans, we’re ten and one.’ The ‘one’ being Vietnam. Never mind.”

  He frowned at her. “Stop quoting. What do you have to be nervous about here?”

  Sophie looked around at the various curious and hostile faces, with Virginia glaring in their midst like a basilisk. “Let’s just say I’m not feeling the love.” She started to twist her fingers where her rings had been, and Phin put his hand over hers.

  “You’re okay.” He folded one of her hands into his and moved it to his knee, and she sat there in the sun, holding hands with the mayor, while Temptation parenthood looked at them from the corners of their eyes and whispered.

  It was probably a nice change from talking about the murder and the video premiere.

  The next batter grounded out, and Dillie went to play third base.

  The pitcher wound up and threw the ball with her eyes closed and it sailed over the head of the batter and into the backboard.

  “Oh, Christ,” Phin said under his breath. When Sophie raised an eyebrow, he leaned closer and said, “This kid can’t pitch, but she has low self-esteem so her mother insists.”

  “You’re kidding,” Sophie said. “Why are we whispering?”

  Phin pointed to a tense woman in navy shorts sitting two rows in front of them. “That’s Mom. President of the PTA. Nobody to mess with.”

  The pitcher wound up again and threw the ball almost straight up in the air. “Concentrate, Brittany!” the woman two rows down yelled, and when Brittany got the ball back, she screwed up her face in intense concentration and flung it as hard as she could. It went west and hit Dillie smack on the temple.

  “Ouch,” Phin said under his breath.

  Dillie picked herself up and rubbed her head, and her coach went out to see her. Dillie nodded, and then the coach motioned somebody in from off the bench, and Dillie came up into the stands.

  “I’m really okay,” she said to Phin, blinking tears from her eyes. “Coach just thought I should sit down for a minute.”

  “Let me see, honey.” Phin looked in her eyes and held up two fingers. “How many fingers?”

  “Two,” Dillie said, focusing on his hand. “I can go back in.”

  She sniffed once, and Sophie said, “Oh, take a break. Come here.” She opened her arms and Dillie crawled into her lap and put her head on Sophie’s shoulder. “We could use some ice here, Dad,” Sophie said to Phin, as she took Dillie’s cap off. “If you can’t get that, get a cold can of pop.”

  “Actually she should probably go back—” Phin began, but Sophie met his eyes and he stopped.

  “Ice,” she said, “or there will be a scene.”

  “Okay,” Phin said, and went.

  “It kind of hurts,” Dillie said.

  “I can imagine.” Sophie kissed Dill’s forehead where the bruise was starting to come up. “Now you match your dad. He has one, too.”

  “So do you.” Dillie looked up at her, as if she were gauging the moment, and then she said, “The whole family matches.”

  Sophie caught her breath.

  “Don’t we?” Dillie said, pressing closer, and Sophie thought, with more certainty than she’d ever dreamed possible, This is what I want.

  “Yes,” she said, and Dillie said, “Excellent,” and cuddled closer.

  Phin came back with some ice in a plastic bag. “Let’s see, Dill.” Dillie straightened a little and then winced as Phin put the cold bag against her bump. “Just hold it there a minute and then you go back.”

  “I don’t think so,” Sophie said, holding Dillie close and watching the field. Brittany had just whiffled one past the new third baseman, who was looking very uneasy.

  “Back off,” Phin said to Sophie. “This is my kid. She’s a fighter. Right, Dill?”

  Dillie straightened and nodded. “I’m a Tucker, and Tuckers are brave. We don’t quit.”

  “Yeah?” Sophie said. “Well, I’m a Dempsey and Dempseys are smart. We don’t go back on the field until the coach pulls the pitcher who’s trying to bag her limit on third basemen.”

  “I beg your pardon,” Brittany’s mother said from two rows down.

  “Sorry, Catherine,” Phin said at the same time Sophie said, “Teach your kid to pitch before you force her out on the field.” When Phin turned to give her the universal Shut the fuck up look, Sophie added, “Well, I don’t think maiming her friends is helping Brittany’s self-esteem. Look at her.”

  Down on the field, Brittany was sniffing back tears. That didn’t stop her from pitching, of course, and with one mighty heave, she took out the new third baseman.

  “I want to be a Dempsey,” Dillie said.

  “What?” Phin said, and Sophie said, “No, no, honey, you’re a Tucker. You’re just like your daddy. You need to defeat somebody on a regular basis or you’ll start to twitch. Just wait until the coach disarms Brittany, and then you can go back.”

  Brittany’s mother stood up, sent them a meaningful look, and stalked down the bleachers.

  “Listen,” Phin began, but out on the field, the coach was on her knees talking to Brittany, who was sobbing and nodding in what looked hike relief.

  “Yeah, sports are great for kids,” Sophie said, and when the new pitcher came in, she said, “I don’t know. This one looks wild, too.”

  Phin shook his head. “Tara Crumb. Her mother pitched the junior high to the semifinals and her father played high school baseball with me.”

  “Yes, but do they work with her?”

  “Nightly,” Phin said. “This one can pitch. Will you let go of my kid?”

  Sophie opened her arms, and Dillie said, “Jeez, are we sure?”

  “Oh, for crying out loud,” Phin said, and Sophie said, “Yes. We have examined the family tree in detail, and they pass. You may go.” She handed Dillie back her cap and added, “Put your cap on, though, it’s hot out there.”

  Dillie nodded and started down the bleachers again.

  “Clearly you do not understand athletics,” Phin said.

  “Clearly, I do,” Sophie said. “Davy and Amy both played. And believe me, any pitcher who hit either of them lived to regret it. Dempseys get even.”

  “It’s a game, not a war,” Phin said, his eyes on his daughter as she went back on the field.

  “Then why is your daughter wounded?” Sophie said, and then stopped.

  Down at the foot of the bleachers, Brittany’s mother was talking to Liz Tucker. While Sophie watched, Liz lifted her eyes to the top of the bleachers and stared, unblinking, at her son and the nightmare he’d brought to the game.

  “Your mom’s here,” Sophie told Phin, who was still watching Dillie.

  “I know.”

  “Boy, are you in trouble now.”

  He leaned back and let his arm fall along the rail behind her. “I’ve been in trouble since I met you. This is just more of the same.” He squinted at the field as Tara pitched a strike. “You’re a pain in the ass, but you’re worth it.”

&nb
sp; “Oh. That’s good to know.” Sophie tried not to look at Liz.

  When Tara pitched her second strike and Dillie pounded her fist into her glove on third, Phin said, quietly so his voice didn’t travel, “Thanks for taking care of my kid.”

  “My pleasure,” Sophie said.

  “But try to avoid my mother.”

  “Absolutely,” Sophie said, keeping her eyes off Liz.

  “And fuck my brains out later,” Phin said, still staring at the field.

  Sophie turned to see if anyone had heard. Evidently not; they weren’t coming for her with pitchforks. “Are you trying to get me killed by a mob of softball moms?”

  “They didn’t hear,” Phin said. “And it’s your fault. You’re sitting there driving me crazy.”

  Sophie looked down at her damp blouse and reddening arms. “I’m soaked in sweat and cranky.”

  “Doesn’t matter.” Phin did look at her then, and the smile he sent her pretty much telegraphed to everybody everything he’d said before. “All you have to do is breathe, and I fall.”

  Sophie felt herself flush. “Oh.” She swallowed. “You’re definitely getting lucky later.” She turned away from him before she fell into his lap right there.

  Out on the field, Tara struck out the batter, and Dillie jumped up and down with joy.

  And down at the bottom of the bleachers, Liz stared up at Sophie, not joyful at all.

  Phin pulled up in front of the farmhouse after the game and said, “I have to work until five and then Wes is coming by at seven. I’ll be late coming out tonight.”

  “Or I could come buy a book between five and seven,” Sophie said, and he met her eyes and she thought, Oh, Lord, take me now.

  “I’d appreciate it,” Phin said. “But you deserve more time than that so I’ll see you at five, but I’ll still come out when I get rid of Wes.” Phin leaned to kiss her, stopping when she moved back and jerked her head a fraction of an inch toward the backseat and Dillie.

  “I could look out the back window so you could kiss Sophie,” Dillie said.

  Sophie smiled at Dillie. “Oh, honey, he wasn’t going to—”

  “Look out the back window, Dill,” Phin said, and when Dillie turned around, he kissed Sophie hard. “I’ll see you at five,” he said in her ear, and kissed her again, and when they drove away, she thought, But that’s six hours.

  She jumped the gun and got there at four-thirty, wearing her pink dress, and Phin said, “What kept you?”

  “I’ll be upstairs,” Sophie said. “ ‘Take me to bed or lose me forever.’ ” She headed for the stairs and heard him come out from around the counter, and then she heard the closed sign smack against the front window. “I can wait until five,” she called back, and he hit the step behind her and said, “I can’t.”

  But upstairs, he got a bottle of wine from the refrigerator—“It’s safe to drink,” he told her. “I bought it out of town”— and when she had her glass, he flipped on the stereo, and Dusty started to sing “I Only Want to Be with You.”

  Sophie sat up on the bed, delighted. “Why, Mr. Robinson, are you trying to seduce me?”

  “Because that’s so difficult? No. I’ve just developed a taste for Dusty. And you.” She laughed up at him, and he looked at her for a long minute, and said, “My dad would have loved you.”

  “Oh,” Sophie said.

  “Scoot over,” he said, and she did. He sat down and kicked off his shoes. “So how was your day?” he said, and leaned back on the pillows beside her.

  Sophie cuddled up to him and sipped her wine. Good stuff. “My favorite part was when the coach threw Brittany’s mother out of the game.”

  “That was good.” Phin nodded. “You probably missed the part where Brittany’s mother complained to the head of the Temptation Athletic Association to have the coach removed.”

  “Oh,” Sophie said. “Is the president reasonable?”

  “That would be Stephen Garvey.”

  “Oh, jeez, is there anything we can do?”

  “The coach is staying,” Phin said. “Drink your wine.”

  “Fixed it, did you?” Sophie said, and drank her wine.

  “Yep.”

  “Do you have any idea how sexy power used for good is?” Sophie said, looking over her wineglass into his eyes.

  “Really?” He settled deeper into the pillows. “Did I ever tell you how I battled Stephen to get Temptation new streetlights?”

  Sophie put her wineglass down. “Take me.” He grinned at her, and then he put his wineglass down and leaned over and kissed her, slowly, and when they were naked under the quilt together, he still moved slowly, even though she’d said, “We’d better hurry if Wes is stopping by.”

  “The hell with Wes,” he’d said. “Stay a while.” Then he touched her everywhere she loved to be touched and when her breathing slowed to match his, she touched him, too, and the afternoon dissolved into soft laughter and heat and bone-deep pleasure. And when he finally took her, he moved so deliberately that he stretched minutes into eternity, and she stayed with him, looking into his eyes and sliding against his body and living in his kiss until she was so flooded with heat, she glowed. Then, after eons, he whispered, “Now,” in her ear and rolled to bear down on her, and the heat fused and broke and she clung to him as every nerve she had went incandescent.

  And when she stopped trembling, he was still holding on to her, shuddering and breathless and spent against her. She buried her face in his shoulder and thought about the day she’d had with him, and the laughter and the pleasure and the solid rightness of it all, and she felt so safe and satisfied and better that she held him tighter and when they were both calm again, she told him the truth: “I love you.”

  His breath went out on a whoosh. After a very long time, he pulled away from her, and when he smiled down at her, he looked as if he were trying to sell her a used car.

  “Uh, thank you,” he said.

  Thank you? “You’re welcome,” Sophie said, disappointment and annoyance breaking nicely through her satisfaction. “What’s the matter with you?”

  “Why are you in such a hurry? Three weeks and you’re throwing commitment around.”

  “That wasn’t commitment, that was emotion,” she said flatly.

  “That was commitment,” Phin said, just as flatly. “You know I’m crazy about you, why—”

  “Say the L word and I’ll know.”

  “What happened to ‘You Don’t Have to Say You Love Me’?”

  “I’m not a fan of Dusty’s masochist period,” Sophie said. “You have to say it.”

  Phin rolled out of bed. “You know, you were right, Wes is going to be here anytime. We should probably get dressed.” He grabbed his boxers and headed for the hall and the bathroom.

  “Was it something I said?” Sophie called after him, but he was already down the hall, and it took all her self-control to keep from throwing his alarm clock at the wall.

  Okay, she’d been stupid. But she really did love him. The middle of great sex probably wasn’t the best place to have that realization, since great sex did tend to cloud a woman’s mind, but now that she knew it, she also knew it had been there for a while.

  She got out of bed and picked up her bra, determined to think of a way to make him admit he loved her because, of course, he did, the dummy, she had no doubts about that. The fair way would be to confront him and make him talk about it, but she’d just tried that and look where it had gotten her.

  So, time to be a Dempsey. Time to throw away all her conscience and pride. Time to cheat and lie and get, what she needed. She sat on the edge of the bed and thought about Phin’s weak spots. He had so few. Sex. Shirts. Pool.

  Pool.

  She heard the shower go on in the bathroom and thought, This boy is toast. Then she got dressed, made one quick stop in the bathroom while he was still in the shower, and went downstairs to show him exactly what he was dealing with.

  When Phin came out of the bathroom, Sophie had gone, whi
ch made him feel relieved and guilty until he heard balls knocking together on the pool table. He put his khakis and his shirt back on and went downstairs with dread in his heart.

  The last thing he wanted to do was explain why he didn’t love her back although he cared about her, of course, more than any other woman he’d ever known, but not “I love you,” not after only three weeks— was she insane? They had such a great tiling going here, and it could lead to commitment in a couple of years, maybe when Dillie wasn’t so vulnerable and his mother got used to her, and until then they could keep things going if they were just careful, didn’t expect too much, but no, she had to say it. Christ, women.