Thus, the wheels were set in motion for a trade the likes of which had only really been seen in the NFL. The Badgers dealt two of their power forwards?a crafty, if slow, veteran, and a young, somewhat talented rookie, plus their number four pick in the draft, all for the services of Pallas Dylan Lambert as the Badgers? new head coach.

When Mac heard the news, he came as close to having a stroke as he hoped he?d ever get. All of his arguments, and he made quite a few, fell on deaf ears.

He tendered his resignation the day the deal was signed.

The Badgers accepted him with open arms the next day.

Which was why, two years later, he found himself sitting in the crowded stands at Madison Square Garden, watching Dylan Lambert watch ten young women run up and down a basketball court during the final game of the NCAA Women?s Basketball Championship.

The game itself was an entertaining one, with the number one ranked University of Connecticut Huskies going up against the number two ranked University of Tennessee Lady Vols. The lead had changed hands two dozen times and halftime was still five minutes in the future. The young players were giving it their all, both for the glory of their schools, and for the eyes of whatever professional scouts happened to be watching.

Shifting uncomfortably in a seat much too small to hold his generous frame, Mac turned to his left to study Dylan?s profile as she stared, with hawk-like intensity, down onto the court. From the corner of his eye, he could see several fans staring at Dylan and whispering among themselves. Thus far, his glares had been enough to warn them off, but he knew that wouldn?t be the case for long.

Since her playing career had ended, Dylan?s public appearances had dwindled down to almost nil, by choice. Even so, she was a bigger draw than even the game the fans had paid good money to see, and things could get sticky for them both.

He shifted again. ?Dylan??

The piercing gaze swung his way, all put pinning him to his seat. Even after eight years, he still wasn?t used to it.

He cleared his throat and tried again. ?Do you think we could get back up to the Sky Box now? They?re starting to watch you more than the game.?

He breathed a sigh of relief when Dylan?s gaze swung away to casually scan the crowd, then tightened up again when she looked back at him, a smirk firmly in place on her face.

?Aww, c?mon, D.,? he rushed on, desperate to get her to see things his way. ?Remember last time you were out like this? They practically had to call in the National Guard to get us out of the mob scene! I?ve still got fingernail marks in places fingernails were never meant to be.?

?You can go up if you want.? Her voice was deep and warm, holding a slight note of affectionate teasing.

?Dylan?Mr. Johnson spent good money for that box. Don?t you think it would be a good idea to at least pretend you?re enjoying his generosity?? He knew he was whining, but somehow, he couldn?t seem to stop himself.

?Going corporate on me now, Mac?? The teasing note turned a bit wry, and Mac held back a wince by sheer will.

?You know that?s not true, D. It?s just?this crowd?s making me a little antsy, y?know??

Dylan?s gaze swung away again, looking over the crowd. The intensity in her eyes caused all but the most ardent admirers to blanch and turn away. Her smirk broadened. ?I?m comfortable where I am, Mac. G?wan back up. I?ll be along in awhile.?

?Excuse me, Dylan, but no way. If you?re so set on staying in the lion?s den, I?m staying with you. Somebody?s got to watch your back and it might as well be me.?

Shaking her head, Dylan turned her attention back to the court just as the halftime buzzer sounded. As the players began to file back toward their locker rooms, she leaned back in her seat and opened her program, idly leafing through its glossy pages.

Only when she noticed Mac?s tension reach the breaking point did she deign to look up. A large group of fans was headed purposefully in her direction and gaining steam as word spread swiftly that ?the Goddess? was in their midst. Mac stood quickly, edging his burly body in front of her for protection. Though only an inch taller, he was double her weight, and would have made an effective shield if she had let him.

But Dylan Lambert was born knowing how to play the game, and with a smile more manufactured than genuine, she stepped from behind her living wall to greet her adoring public. Pulling a Sharpie from the inside pocket of her leather trench, she accepted the first program with grace and scrawled her signature before handing it back and accepting the next.

As if from behind a broken dam, the programs, basketballs, trading cards, T-shirts, hats, and the occasional bit of bared flesh came under the heavy caress of her pen. On and on it went until finally the arena?s security guards filtered down and dispersed the crowd back to their seats.

Heaving out a relieved breath, Mac plopped back down in his seat and took out a handkerchief, mopping his sopping brow. ?God, I hate this shit,? he muttered, half under his breath.

Dylan gave him a fond clap on the shoulder, then turned back to the court as the players filed out from their locker rooms. Her gaze immediately zeroed in on one young woman from the Huskies who effortlessly caught a rifle-pass from her teammate and made a sweet shot from just past mid-court. Her teammates cheered as the ball went through the basket without touching the rim, and the young shooter pumped her fist as she ran toward the basket to rebound.

Dylan smiled.

Mac straightened in his seat when he saw that smile bloom, and squinted against the bright lights in an attempt to see what had generated such an expression. It was an impossible task.

?What?? he finally asked.

Dylan turned away after a moment, and quickly leafed through her program until she came to the page she wanted.

?Her,? she said, tossing the program on his lap.

Mac looked down to see a fresh-faced, attractive green-eyed blonde woman staring back up at him, the grin on her face an interesting mixture of sweetness and deadly intensity. As he scanned her statistics, his heart first rose, than sank as her name rang a bell.

?Dylan??

?She?s the best point guard in the game, Mac.?

?She?s also five foot five!?

?So? There are at least ten others in the league her height, and they?re doing just fine.?

?Yeah, but the difference is that those teams didn?t have any choice but to draft them! You?ve got the number one pick and a whole slew of point guards to choose from, Dylan! Why not Keisha Brown? She?s got a sweet shot, and she?s four inches taller!?

?Lousy attitude.?

Mac sighed. ?Well, what about one of the Jackson twins??

?Lazy.?

?Both of them??

?Both of them.?

?Nissa Tomalin? You have to admit she?s an outstanding player.?

?Sure she is. It?s her personal life that?s gone to hell.?

?She beat that rap, Dylan.?

?No.?

?But??

?I said no, Mac. Catherine Hodges is the one I want. She?s got class, she?s got game, and she?ll make the Badgers into winners.?

Mac opened his mouth, then closed it again. What he had to say next made him feel all kinds of a bigot, but it needed to be said nonetheless. ?Dylan?she?s gay.?

The blue eyes that turned to him had an expression that made his balls shrivel up. ?Who she sleeps with is not my concern, Mac. What she does on the court is.?

?It might not be your concern, Dylan, but did you forget about the man who owns this team? The man who is, on issues like this, so far to the right that Pat Robertson looks like a Commie standing next to him? He?ll never go for this, not in a million years.?

?My orders are to turn this team into a winner. Without Hodges, that won?t happen. Period. Either he wants to win, or he wants to be an asshole. It?s his choice.?

?Dylan??

Dylan turned in her seat, facing him directly, clearly annoyed. ?Listen, Mac. You?re the General Manager. So do your goddamn job and convince him that I?m right on this.?

?How can I do that when I?m not even sure you?re right?!?

Dylan?s long arm flung out wide. ?Look at her, damnit! Look at her play, then tell me with a straight face that there is anyone out there who even comes close to her.?

Though technically her superior, Mac knew an order when he heard one, and so obediently turned to watch the game in progress. Not more than a minute later, the diminutive Husky stole ball from her opposing point guard, dribbled the length of the court and fed a no-look pass to her trailing forward that would have made some members of the NBA green with envy.

Mac?s shoulders slumped. Dylan was right. Again. And though he loved her like the daughter he never had, he hated it that she was always right.

Dylan had the good grace not to smirk as Mac conceded his defeat by standing, head lowered. ?I?ll talk to him, D. God knows I can?t promise anything, but I?ll talk to him.?

Her acceptance was gracious. ?Thank you,? she said, simply and sincerely.

He nodded. ?Now, will you please come up to the box with me???

Grinning, she rose easily from her seat, twitching her coat into place and stepping into the aisle. As Mac began to climb the stairs toward the sky boxes, Dylan turned to stare, one last time, down onto the court, eyes narrowing as they tracked Catherine Hodges the length of the court and back.

Her smile bloomed again.

Catherine Frances Hodges, known as Hodge to her teammates, felt herself being carried along in the flow of an overjoyed crowd, heading back to the locker room. The cheers of the audience could still be heard in the background, but they were fading quickly, drowned out by the whoops and hollers of the players and staff making their way down the long, brightly lit hall.