He waggled his brows at her and grinned smugly. Woop.

Leslie, nothing. And she was seriously miffed about it too. Her face stretched tight and her eyes went hard. Then she rolled her head from side-to-side and shrugged her shoulders as she muttered something unintelligible under her breath.

He knew it wasn’t flattering.

For some reason that struck him as funny. When he laughed out loud she glared at him and declared, “You pitch like a pansy, Kowalskin!”

A collective gasp came from the crowd of spectators that had gathered outside in the crisp autumn air to watch the backyard game. Somebody, probably Drake, whispered loudly with a finger snap and a barrelful of attitude, “Oh no she didn’t!”

But she had.

His brows dropped low over his eyes. So she was feeling that way about things. Okay, fine. Two could play that game. “You bat like a girl, sweet cheeks.” He put the emphasis on bat and sweet cheeks, Philly-style.

She tossed her sleek ponytail over her shoulder and raised her elbows into position, looked at him all haughty. “Not the same insult, sorry.”

Peter threw the second pitch and she swung and missed again. This time he laughed right at her. “Ouch, that must sting.”

The last pitch she connected with. It came straight back at Peter and he caught it with his left hand. She was so not happy.

The pretty lady was out.


LESLIE WATCHED THE game resume from a chair pulled up along the first base line. She was trying hard to ignore how royally miffed she was that Peter had gotten her out. It was just a stupid game.

She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms, watching the play continue. Soon Peter was up to bat, and since he was batting left-handed his back was to her. Leslie’s gaze raked over him and her pulse kicked up a notch, annoying her.

But he looked good. She had to admit that. The man knew how to wear a fitted thermal Henley. It was open at the buttons and pulled up around his forearms, his black leather bracelet visible. His muscles were showed off to perfection. And his backside? So. Nice. As she studied him he flipped his ball cap backward and grinned.

“Bring it,” he challenged José.

The young Costa Rican wound up and threw the Wiffle ball. With only his left hand on the bat, Peter pulled it back and released, connecting soundly and sending it flying between first and second base. As soon as he’d hit the ball he started running full-out toward first, holding his right arm steady.

Drake cursed loudly at first base and went running after the ball, the closest player to it. He pointed and waved at Peter as he darted off the base, looking over his shoulder furtively. “Don’t you cross that base, Walskie!” With another quick glance over his massive shoulder he bent down to retrieve the round plastic, but it was too late.

With a final long stretch of his powerful legs, Pete crossed first base safely. Running through it, he passed the bases and turned around to the right and jogged back, grinning wickedly. “Show us the goods, Snuffy!”

Paulson tossed his mitt on the grass with an overly dramatic sigh and shrugged out of his thick, padded flannel shirt. “Cover your eyes, ladies,” he called out, pretending to be all bent out of shape. She knew he was faking by the sparkle in his eyes. “Don’t want all you women gettin’ hot and bothered by what you’re about to see.” He glanced over his shoulder at Peter. “You too, sissy boy. You can’t handle this much sexy.”

Right. Like that was going to be a problem. As she watched, he took the hem of his T-shirt, pulled it up through the front collar and tied it in a knot, effectively turning the shirt into a bikini top. His thick mat of chest hair sprang out above and below the knot like a Chia Pet.

He spotted one of Carl’s older daughters with a headband and said with his arm out, hand coaxing. “Gimme your hair thing, girlie.” She dropped it in his hand with a shy smile and he put the thick pink sequined band on, making his curly afro even bigger. Then he puckered his lips at Peter as he strutted back to first base, saying with a good-natured grin, “How do you like me now, bitch?”

Leslie laughed while the two continued to banter, but pretended that it was Drake—not Peter’s wicked sharp sense of humor—that she found so funny. Sonny and Lorelei walked up to her just then and sat in chairs on each side, sandwiching her in.

“So what do you think?” Lorelei asked as she gestured to her new place with an excited smile. “Isn’t it great?”

It really was. Big and homey—and it fit the country girl’s personality to a T. “It’s fabulous, honey.”

The game came to a stop then when Mark called it on account of the meat being just about ready. Good, because she was starving. And he’d been tormenting her with the tantalizing aroma of barbequed meat since she’d arrived. So now she was going to elbow her way to a big fat piece.

Darting a glance at Peter, her stomach pitched off-center when she found him staring at her and their eyes locked from across the lawn. His were guarded, but she still saw the sensitivity he was trying to hide, and it made her heart flop over in her chest. Sucking in sharply at the sensation, she quickly looked away. What was she supposed to say to him now that everything felt so awkward and tense between them? They weren’t even speaking to each other. And not that she’d admit it to him, but she missed the talking.

I want you.

The words echoed in her ear, making her belly quiver. I choked, Leslie. I fucking choked, okay? She shook her head and broke eye contact.

What did it all mean?

A tight, breathless feeling came over her and she thought, a little frantically, whatdid she wantittomean? She shook her head vehemently. Nothing. She wanted it to mean nothing because then there was nothing to face, nothing to risk—nothing to break her heart and leave her devastated.

Sucking in air, Leslie released a slow breath as she saw Peter stride off toward his Cruiser like a panther, all strength, grace, and prowess. And it gave her butterflies just watching. Turning to Lorelei she said bluntly, trying to take her mind off him, “I want one of your kittens.”

Sonny shot her a look of sympathy. “They got to you too, didn’t they?”

She crossed her legs and sighed. “You have no idea.”

Sonny laughed with appreciation. “Oh, I think I do, since I’m going home with one too.”

Leslie replied quickly, sitting up a little with concern, “I get the pretty one. The white, fluffy one with the gray spot on its back.” She already had a name. It was Missy. And she was hers.

Lorelei piped up, “But what if that’s the one I want to keep?”

She brushed her off. “The kitten and I have a connection, lady. We’re like this.” She held up a hand to show her tightly crossed fingers. “She told me she wants to come live with me, so you’ve been stripped of any voting right.” Leslie was more than a little embarrassed by just how excited and happy she was by the prospect of snuggling up with a warm body in bed at night, of having some company. It was so unlike her.

The brunette’s lips twitched and her green eyes glittered with amusement. “Then by all means,” she said graciously. “Who am I to stand in the way of true love?”

That made Leslie smile until she heard the sound of a guitar playing through the open back door of the house. And when a cocky, rough male voice started singing along with the melody, in perfect pitch and way, way sexy timbre, she scowled. Without a doubt he was doing it just to tick her off. That was so like Peter.

Standing, Leslie glanced at the women and said with forced casualness, “Deal on the kittens?”

Sonny nodded and tossed her mass of wavy red-gold hair over her shoulders. “Deal. Charlie wants the male tabby anyway.”

She looked at Lorelei, who just shrugged her shoulders and replied, “I’m good with whatever.”

“Cool.” That was all she said, but inside she was giddy. The ten-year-old girl in her who had begged for a kitten mercilessly and never got one because her mom had allergies was jumping up and down squealing, “Yay, kitty!”

Together the women walked back inside, the smell of homemade cooking permeating the big country kitchen. Containers and pans crammed the counters full; the ballplayers and their families brought food potluck style. There were baked beans, salads, Sonny’s homemade pie that did in fact look legendary, and a ton of other stuff. And it all smelled so good that it made her mouth water.

Logan, Lorelei’s bull-rider brother, was in the kitchen with his sweet baby girl Michelle helping her to fill a small plate, his head tucked down next to hers while they shared a bite of melon. He’d taken his cowboy hat off but sported a crease all around his dark head from where it had been, and he smiled at his daughter happily.

Leslie crossed her arms and melted into the wall, taking a moment to appreciate the scene. All these people had come out to her brother’s new place to show their support because they loved him like family. They took care of each other.

She was thankful he had that and that she got to be a part of it. Their own family wasn’t even a fraction that close, not since her parents had divorced six years ago and were no longer speaking.

Suddenly feeling introspective, Leslie pushed away from the wall and went around the back way to get to the big, cozy living room. When she got there, Peter was sitting on a corner of the raised stone fireplace surrounded by people eating. He had his guitar in hand, picking out the G. Love tune “Rainbow” for their entertainment. Hat still on backward and head down, he was grooving to the music while he sang along with the sloppy blues.