“She said I should come by after work, backyard deal for Cinco de Mayo. I figure a cookout, maybe on the fancy side, considering, some Mexican beer, tortillas.” He shook his head. “Is anybody not here?”

“I think they covered everybody.”

“Sorry that took so long.” Emma hurried up, a margarita in her hand. “There were circumstances.”

“Yeah, I saw one of them.”

After giving Jack a puzzled smile, she turned to Malcolm. “Hi, I’m Emmaline.”

“You’re the Cobalt.”

“I . . .” Her eyes widened, then filled with contrition. “Yes. You must be Malcolm.”

“Mal.” He gave her a long, head-to-toe scoping out. “You know, it’s a good thing you look like your mother, who I hope to marry. Otherwise I’d replay the ass-kicking I gave your partner when I thought she was you.”

“And I’d deserve it. Even though I learned my lesson, and I’m being much more conscientious. You did a great job. You have serious skills. I wonder if you’d have time to service my van if I bring it in next week.”

“You don’t just look like her, do you?”

Emma smiled as she sipped the margarita. “You need a plate,” she told him, “and a great deal of food.”

“Why don’t you show me where—” Mal cut himself off when he caught the warning in Jack’s eyes, and the casual and proprietary stroke of his hand down Emma’s hair. “Right. Maybe I’ll just go graze awhile.”

“I’ll do the same,” Carter decided.

Del’s lips quirked. “Looks like I’m empty.” He jiggled the beer bottle. “Em, who’s the long brunette? Pink top, skinny jeans?”

“Ah . . . Paige. Paige Haviller.”

“Single?”

“Yes.”

“See you later.”

“He should’ve asked me if she had any brains,” Emma said as Del strolled away. “He’ll be bored in thirty minutes or less.”

“Depends on what they’re doing for thirty minutes.”

She laughed up at him. “I suppose it does.” She slipped a hand into his to squeeze. “It’s a good day, isn’t it?”

“I can never figure out how they pull this off.”

“They work for weeks, and hire a platoon to help set up the games and activities. And Parker helps coordinate. Speaking of which, I—”

“Who was the guy?”

“The guy? There are a lot of them. Give me some hints.”

“The one you were kissing a little while ago.”

“Bigger hint.”

That crawled into his spleen. “The one who looked like the prince of Denmark.”

“The prince of . . . Oh, you must mean Marshall. One of the circumstances why I was so long getting back.”

“So I saw.”

She cocked her head, and the faintest frown line formed between her eyebrows. “He was late getting here. With his wife and their new baby boy. After he came out to get me, I went in to fuss over the baby for a while. Problem?”

“No.” Idiot. “Del was yanking my chain, and I walked into it. And the mixed metaphor. Let’s rewind. Speaking of which?”

“We dated a little, a few years ago, Marshall and I. I introduced him to his wife. We did their wedding about eighteen months ago.”

“Got it. Apologies.”

She smiled a little. “He didn’t grab my ass like a certain crazy artist grabbed yours.”

“His loss.”

“Why don’t we mingle, be sociable?”

“Good idea.”

“Oh,” she said as they started to walk, “speaking of which, I had a thought. Since I have several errands in town tomorrow, if I stayed at your place tonight, I’d be in town. Parker rode in with me, as we both needed to get here early to help, but she can ride back with Laurel. It would save me from going back and forth.”

“Stay at my place?”

She lifted her brows, and the eyes under them went cool. “I could bunk on the couch if you don’t want company.”

“No. I just assumed you’d need to get home after this. You usually start pretty early in the morning.”

“Tomorrow I’m starting in town, not quite as early. But if it’s a problem—”

“No.” He stopped, turning her so they faced each other. “It’s fine. It’s good. But don’t you need some things—for tomorrow?”

“I put some things in my car when I had the thought.”

“Then we’re set.” He leaned down to kiss her.

“Looks like you need another beer.”

Then jerked back at her father’s voice.

Phillip smiled. Casually, from the looks of it, Jack thought. Unless you were the one who’d just made arrangements to sleep with his daughter.

“Negra Modelo, right?” Phillip offered one.

“Yeah, thanks. Great party, as always.”

“My favorite of the year.” Phillip laid an arm around Emma’s shoulders. Casually, affectionately. Territorially. “We started the tradition the spring Lucia was pregnant with Matthew. Friends, family, children. Now our children are grown and making families of their own.”

“You’re feeling sentimental,” Emma said, and tipping her face up, brushed her lips over his jaw.

“I still see you running on the lawn with your friends, trying so hard to win prizes at ring toss, or to break one of the pinatas. Like your mother, you bring the color and the life.”

“Papa.”

Phillip shifted his gaze, directly into Jack’s. “It’s a lucky man who’s offered that color and life. And a wise one who values it.”

“Papa,” she repeated, but in a warning tone now.

“A man only gets so many treasures,” he said, and tapped her on the nose with his finger. “I’m going to check the grill. I don’t trust your brothers or your uncles for long. Jack,” he added with a nod before he walked away.

“Sorry. He can’t help it.”

“It’s okay. Did I sweat through my shirt?”

Laughing, she hooked an arm around Jack’s waist. “No. Why don’t we go show those kids how to break a pinata?”


Later, they flopped down on the grass to watch some of the teenagers in an impromptu game of soccer. Parker joined them, slipping off her sandals, smoothing down the skirt of her sundress.

“Night soccer,” Jack commented. “Not your usual.”

“Do you play?” Emma asked him.

“Not my game. Give me a bat, a football, a hoop. But I like to watch.”

“You like to watch anything where a ball’s involved.” Mac dropped down beside them, tugged Carter down with her. “Ate much too much. It just kept being there.”

“Oh, that’s just pitiful,” Emma muttered when the ball was intercepted. “Does he think it has eyes, radar?”

“You like soccer?”

She glanced at Jack. “Girls’ Varsity at the Academy. All-State.”

“Seriously?”

“Cocaptains,” she added, wagging her thumb between herself and Parker.

“They were vicious.” Laurel knelt on the grass beside Parker. “Mac and I would go to the games, and pity the opposition. Go on.” She elbowed Parker. “Go on out and kick some ass.”

“Hmm. Want to?” Emma asked Parker.

“Em, it’s been a decade.”

Emma boosted up to her knees so she could slap her hands on her hips. “Are you saying we’re too old to take those losers and weak feet? Are you saying you have lost—your—edge?”

“Oh, hell. One goal.”

“Let’s score.”

Like Parker, she slipped out of her sandals.

Fascinated, Jack watched the two women in their pretty spring dresses approach the field.

There was discussion, some hoots, a few catcalls.

“What’s up?” Mal sauntered over to study the two groups.

“Emma and Parker are going to kick some soccer ass,” Laurel told him.

“No kidding? This ought to be interesting.”

They took position on the grass in the floodlights, with Emma and Parker’s team set to receive. The women glanced at each other, then Emma held up three fingers, then two. Parker laughed, shrugged.

The ball sailed through the air. Emma two-fisted it to Parker, who took it on the bounce, and dodged her way through three opponents with a blur of footwork that had the earlier catcalls turning to cheers.

She pivoted, feinted, then bulleted the ball cross-field to where Emma sprang to receive. She scored with a blurring banana kick that left the goalie openmouthed.

In unison, she and Parker shot up both arms and screamed.

“They always did that,” Mac told the group. “No modesty at all. Go Robins!”

“Girls’ soccer team,” Carter explained. “State bird.”

When Parker started to leave the field, Emma grabbed her arm. Jack heard her say, “One more.”

Parker shook her head; Emma persisted. Parker gripped her skirt, held it out, and whatever Emma said in response made her former cocaptain laugh.

They took defense against an opposing team who had considerably more respect now. They fought, blocking, rejecting, pushing their opponents back.

Jack’s grin spread when Emma shoulder tackled an opponent. And looked gorgeous doing it, he realized—and just a little fierce. A fresh wave of lust curled in his belly as she charged the player in possession. Her slide tackle—Jesus, just look at her!—had the teenager off balance with his instep pass.

On alert, Parker leaped at the next hard, high kick, skirts flying as she sprang and executed a dead-on header.

“Well, well,” Mal murmured.

“Interception!” Laurel cried out when Emma trapped the ball. “Woo!”

Emma avoided her opponents’ attempts to regain the ball with a quick cut back. She bicycle kicked the ball back to Parker, who shot it between the goalie’s legs.

Hands up, a scream, and Parker slung an arm around Emma’s shoulders.

“Done?”

“Oh, so very done.” Emma sucked in a breath. “No longer seventeen, but still. Felt righteous.”

“Let’s leave winners.” They held up joined hands, bowed to applause, then deserted the field.

“Baby,” Jack said as he grabbed Emma’s hand to pull her back down to the grass, “you’re a killer.”