Grace shut the door and started the car. "That's not for three days," she said as she rolled down the window.

He'd read his mother's poetry, and even though he was no great judge of good writing, he knew hers was bad.

Real bad.

"I'm opening the store in two weeks, and I have tons to do to get ready." Which was also true but was just as lame as his first excuse.

"Fine. I bought Amelia a little something. Come by the house before you leave town."

He'd hurt her feelings, but he'd rather get puck shot in the nuts than go to a poetry reading. "I really can't make it tonight."

"I heard you." She put the SUV into reverse and said, as she backed out, "If you change your mind, it starts at seven."

Rob stood in the empty parking space and watched his mother drive away. He was thirty-six. A grown man. At one time in his life, he'd slammed hockey players against the boards and fed them their lunch. He'd been the most feared player in the NHL and had led the league in penalty minutes. They'd nicknamed him the Hammer, in tribute to the original Hammer, Dave Schultz.

And tonight he was going to a group social that he knew consisted of old women so he could hear his mother's poetry. He only prayed this one wouldn't be as bad as her poem about nut-hungry squirrels.

The Gospel poetry social started right at seven with a discussion about binding the group's poems and selling them at this summer's Rocky Mountain Oyster Feed and Toilet Toss. This year's social director, Ada Dover, stood at a pulpit in the front of the grange conducting business.

Chairs had been set up inside the long room. There were about twenty-five ladies… and Rob. He'd purposely come in a half hour late and sat in the empty back row by the door. When the time came, he figured he could make a quick getaway.

"We can't afford a booth," someone pointed out.

From several chairs up, he saw his mother raise her hand. "We can sell them in the Mountain Momma Crafters' booth. Most of us belong to the Mountain Momma Crafters anyway."

"I bet the poems will sell faster than last year's Kleenex cozies."

Rob pushed up the sleeves of his ribbed gray sweater and wondered if a Kleenex cozy was like those knitted things his grandmother used to put on her extra roll of toilet paper. If he remembered right, hers had lots of lace and a doll's head stuck on the top.

The back door by his right shoulder opened and he glanced up to see Stanley Caldwell, looking like he'd come for a root canal. Along with the fridge night air, his granddaughter blew in behind him, looking even less pleased than her grandfather. Stanley spotted Rob and moved toward him. "Do you mind if we sit next to you?" Stanley asked.

Rob glanced up past Stanley to Kate, at her hair curling about the shoulder of her peacoat and her glossy pink lips. Her attention was directed at Ada, and she was doing a good job of pretending he didn't exist. "Not at all," he answered as he stood.

Stanley moved to the third seat and stopped, leaving the seat next to Rob free. Kate gave her grandfather a hard stare as she stepped past Rob. The shoulder of her coat stirred the air an inch in front of Rob's sweater as she brushed by him. Her white cheeks were pink from the cold, and the scent of her cool skin filled his chest.

For one brief instant, her gaze met his, and the wealth of her dislike for him filled her rich brown eyes. Her obvious feelings toward him should have mattered, but they didn't. For some reason that he couldn't begin to comprehend, he was attracted to Kate Hamilton more than he had been to any other woman in a long time. He didn't kid himself. It was sex. Nothing more and competently understandable, given the way they'd met. He didn't feel bad about his purely sexual attraction. Not that he would have anyway. Every time he saw her, he saw the woman who'd propositioned him. The woman who'd wanted to show him her bare ass.

They took their seats and Stanley leaned across his granddaughter to say, "Never thought I'd see you here."

Rob turned his attention from Kate to her grandfather. "My mother's reading her poem tonight. I didn't have a choice. What's your excuse?"

"Katie blew my alibi and Regina's been calling all day, threatening to pick me up and drive me here herself." He pointed to Kate. "I made Katie come 'cause it's all her fault."

Kate folded her arms beneath her breasts and her lips pursed a little, but she didn't say anything.

Stanley shrugged out of his shearling jacket and laid it across his lap. "Have I missed anything?"

Rob shook his head. "No."

"Damn."

Stanley sat back, and Rob took another long look at Kate, starting at the top of her hair. She was clearly irked, but he didn't care. He'd always been a big fan of true redheads, and looking at Kate's hair was like staring into a fire. One of the first things he'd noticed about her the night they'd met in the Duchin Lounge besides her smooth white skin and big brown eyes had been her hair.

Tonight she appeared cool and composed, but the longer he studied her, the more her full lips pulled into an irritated frown. Her arms remained folded across her wool coat, and her long legs were crossed at her knees and seemed to stretch out forever in front of her. She wore black pants and spiky-heeled boots. The kind that most likely came with a matching whip and paddle. Damn was right.

"If I can have everyone's attention," Ada Dover spoke from the pulpit, drawing Rob's gaze to the front of the room. "I'd like to welcome everyone to this month's social. Especially the first-timers in the back row." Stanley cringed while Rob and Kate sank a little lower in their chairs, but both were too tall to disappear completely.

"As everyone knows, this is poetry night. Quite a few of us have brought something to read. After everyone has a chance to share, we'll begin the social portion of the evening." She glanced down at her notes, then continued, "I'll be the first to share, followed by Regina Cladis."

As Ada launched into a long poem she'd written about her dog, Snicker, Kate's cool composure showed one more sign of cracking. It started with a slightly annoyed sway of her right foot, but after several minutes of Snicker, the little sway worked up to an agitated little kick.

"His eyes are brown," Ada waxed in the final stanza.

"He's the only dog in town

to come when I call Snicker.

His tongue is pink,

his fur is like mink,

and he's one bell of a licker!"

Kate's foot stopped, and Rob thought he heard her murmur something that sounded like, "God have mercy."

Stanley coughed behind his fist, and Rob was grateful that his mother wasn't the only bad poet in the room.

Regina was up next and read a poem about the library where she worked. After Regina, Iona Osborn plugged in a tape player, and the sound of a steady boom bop-bop boom filled the grange. Over the drumbeat Iona recited a poem entitled "If I Were Britney Spears." It was lighthearted and wasn't half as bad as Ada's dog poem. Kate's foot settled into an easy sway once more, then stopped as her long fingers worked the big buttons on her coat. Her shoulder bumped Rob's as she tried to pull her arms from the sleeves. Watching her was like watching someone try to get out of a straitjacket.

He leaned in and said close to her ear, "Lift your hair up."

She stopped her fidgeting and glanced up at him out of the corners of her eyes. She looked like she might argue. Like she might launch into another "I can take care of myself" speech. She opened her mouth, closed it, then ran one hand across the back of her neck, twisted her wrist, and gathered her hair. She scooped it up and Rob reached for her coat. He pulled the back of the collar down as she leaned forward. She drew one arm free and straightened, letting go of her hair. It fell in a gentle wave and brushed the back of Rob's hand. A thousand strands of red silk touching his skin and curling around his fingers. If he turned his palm up, he could gather it in his fist. It had been a long time since he'd felt the weight and texture of a woman's hair in his hands or across his chest and belly. Desire both unexpected and unwanted tugged at his lap.

She looked at him and smiled for the first time since the night they'd met in Sun Valley.

"Thank you," she said as she pulled her other arm free.

"You're welcome." He turned his attention to the podium and folded his arms across his chest. His life had become pathetic. Her hair had touched his hand, big deal. There'd been a time in his life when he probably wouldn't have even noticed. When his attention would have been focused on how to get her out of her bra, not on her hair.

He didn't know how he felt about Kate Hamilton. Other than her amazing body and dominatrix boots, he wasn't sure he even liked anything about her. There were a few men around town who were intimidated by Kate. Who thought she wanted their ball sack for a change purse. Rob wasn't so sure they were wrong. So why was he thinking about her in ways that put his ball sack in jeopardy?

He really didn't know, but perhaps it was because the Kate that everyone knew contrasted sharply with the woman in the Sun Valley bar. That night she'd been soft and warm and inviting. She'd been temptation all wrapped up in one fine package, but she'd been a temptation he'd resisted. A temptation he could still resist.

Is she worth dying for? asked the voice in his head. Is she worth your life? Kate was beautiful. No doubt about that, but as always, the answer was no. There was just no telling when a soft, warm, inviting woman would turn into a praying mantis.