"Christ," he muttered and swallowed hard. He was Rob Sutter. For over a decade, he'd been one of the most feared players in the NFL. He'd been shot and lived to talk about it. He took a deep breath and punched a button for the elevator. If he didn't get a grip, he was going to start crying like a little girl.

Barely an hour after Rob returned home from Seattle, he hooked up the elementary school float and pulled it behind his HUMMER in the Easter parade. He looked for Kate as he passed the M&S, and he saw her standing with a cowboy from the Rocking T ranch. His name was Buddy something. Through the HUMMER windows, her gaze met his. Then her eyes got the squinty look he recognized, and she turned away. No smile. No wave. He got his answer. Yep, she was mad as hell.

After the parade, he went to Sutter Sports and tried to catch up on his work. He had over a thousand e-mails to read or delete. Of those thousand, about thirty were business related, and he had to respond. Forty boxes of inventory had arrived while he'd been away and needed to be processed.By eight that night, he'd gotten through half of what he needed to get done.

He was wiped out, but there was one more thing he had to do that couldn't wait. He reached for the telephone on his desk and dialed Stanley Caldwell's home number. No one picked up. Kate wasn't home, but he figured he knew where he could find her.

He stood and unbuttoned the cuffs of his black-and-green flannel shirt. He rolled up the sleeves and headed for the grange.

The trip took him about five minutes, and he could hear the thump of heavy bass and the twang of steel guitar as he pulled into the dirt parking lot. The door to the grange vibrated as he opened it and stepped inside.

Except for the bright lights shining on the stage and the bar at the other end, the inside was pitched in darkness. Rob ordered a beer from the bar then found a spot in front of a wall where it wasn't quite so dark. He wasn't sure, but it looked like tinfoil Easter eggs were hanging from the ceiling beams. Someone in a white bunny costume hopped around and handed out something from a basket. Rob placed a foot on the wall behind him. While his gaze scanned the crowd, searching for a certain redhead, a man with a head like a cue ball squeezed beside him.

"Hi," he said over the music. Rob glanced at him, at the words

liza minnelli

written in silvery glitter on the front of his sweatshirt. "I'm Tiffer Cladis. My mother may have mentioned me to you."

"Yeah, and I'm not gay." He returned his gaze to the crowd and spotted his mother and Stanley out on the dance floor.

"That's a shame. I've never been with a hockey player."

Rob raised his Budweiser to his lips. "That makes two of us."

"You're into women exclusively?"

"Yep, just women." Rob took a drink and spotted Kate over the bottom of the bottle. One of the Aberdeen twins had her out on the dance floor, two-stepping to some band's crappy rendition of Garth Brook's "Low Places." She had on a white shirt and some kind of pleated skirt. Red and really short. From halfway across the room, he watched her weave in and out of the crowd of dancers. He got a flash of leg, and desire curled in his stomach. "I'm into women in skirts," he said as he lowered the bottle.

"I could wear a skirt." Tiffer raised his beer. "I like to wear skirts."

Rob chuckled. "But you'd still have a dick and a five o'clock shadow."

"That's true."

Rob imagined Tiffer hadn't had an easy life. Especially living in a small town in Idaho. "Your mom tells me you're a female impersonator."

"Yeah. I do a very good Barbra."

"Is there a lot of demand for that in Boise?" The music ended and he watched Kate move from the dance floor to a small group of people that included the sheriff's wife. The light from the stage lit up the bottom half of her, and Rob could see that her skirt looked like a little kilt.

"No. That's why I work in an antique shop with my lover."

Rob had heard that Scottish men went commando beneath their kilts, and he wondered if Kate was keeping up with tradition. His gaze lowered down her long legs to those boots that kept him up at night. Literally. She placed the toe of one boot behind the heel of the other. She rocked her heel from side to side, enticing him. "Don't you think your lover might object to you propositioning other men?"

"No. He's married and has three children. He blends better than I do. Even when I try. Like tonight."

Rob looked at Tiffer's Liza sweatshirt and figured Tiffer might as well have had a neon sign with an arrow pointing at his head. If he really wanted to "blend," he should man-up. Scuff his white sneakers, chug his beer, and leave Liza at home.

"I date other people, too."

Rob returned his gaze to Kate. "Do you find anyone to date in Boise?"

"Actually, the gay population in Boise is bigger than you might think. There are several gay bars right in the heart of the city."

As Tiffer rattled on about the dating scene in Boise, Rob watched Kate. He'd come here to talk to her about the other night, but that wasn't all he wanted. Kate gave him something that had been missing in his life. Something that made her occupy his thoughts and order granola bars just to see her face. Something more than sex, although he wanted more of that too. And when he was through getting more, he was sure he'd want more of the same.

He took a drink of his beer and watched her laugh at something Shelly Aberdeen was saying. What he should have done was call her while he'd been in Seattle, but each time he'd reached for a phone, he'd stopped himself. The conversation he wanted to have with her should happen in person, and to be completely honest, he hadn't known what to say. He still didn't. "I'm sorry I pushed you to the floor and climbed on top of you," might be a good start, but not if she'd enjoyed herself as much as he'd enjoyed himself. Or as much as he'd thought she'd enjoyed herself. If he apologized, she might think he thought the sex had been bad, when it had really smoked. She was already mad at him, and if he… "Christ," he muttered—he was starting to think like a girl.

"Who do you keep staring at?"

He turned his attention to Tiffer. "Come on, I'll introduce you." He definitely should apologize for running out like he had. He'd start with that and see where it got him.

He moved through the crowd with Tiffer on his heels. They passed the Worsley brothers, who gave him evil glares until they spotted Tiffer. Then they put their heads together and pointed. It didn't take a genius to know what they were saying. Rob hoped they didn't make the mistake of saying it to his face. His mother and Stanley were in the crowded grange somewhere, and he didn't want his mother to see him mop the floor with the numb-nutted Worsleys.

Hope Taber looked up first and saw him. "Hey Rob," she said and moved to include him and Tiffer in their circle. "How's Adam working out at the sporting goods store?" she asked as the band tuned up for another song.

"Real good. He and Wally both." He stood next to Kate within an oblong pool of blue light that spilled from the dance floor. The sleeve of his flannel shirt brushed her arm. "Have you ladies met Regina's son, Tiffer?"

"Of course," Shelly said and reached for Tiffer's hand. "Your mother told me you were coming home for Easter. She's been excited for weeks."

"It's good to be back for a visit," he said, but he didn't sound very convincing. He glanced across Rob at Kate and looked her up and down. "Love the naughty highlander look."

"Thank you." She subjected Tiffer to the same up and down scrutiny. "Love your Liza sweatshirt."

The band struck up Tim McGraw's "Real Good Man," and Rob leaned closer to Kate. "I need to talk to you."

"Talk."

"On the dance floor."

She pasted on a phony smile and turned to look at him. Her voice was a tad too cheerful when she said, "Whatever you have to say to me, you can say it right here."

He wasn't buying the cheery crap for a second. He leaned in and spoke next to her ear. "Are you sure about that? 'Cause I was going to comment on how much I enjoyed eating whipped cream off your nipples."

Her mouth fell open, then snapped shut. "You wouldn't say that."

"Yeah, I would. Especially since the Worsley brothers are gearing up to tell everyone that Tiffer here is my boyfriend. Call it a preemptive strike just to prove I'm into girls." Her hair smelled like it had the other night. Kind of like spring flowers. "If you don't believe I'll do it, we could always bet again. I like betting with you."

"You don't play fair." She folded her arms across her chest. "You cheat."

"Guilty." He leaned back and looked into her face. "Shall we?" He didn't wait for her answer before taking her elbow. "Excuse us." He set his beer on a nearby table and moved with her to the middle of the dance floor. He placed his palm in the middle of her back and folded her hand in his. They both took a step forward at the same time, and her chest collided with his. Not that he minded. "Honey, I'm going to lead this one." They started again. She let him lead, but dancing with her was like holding on to a wooden cutout. "Relax," he said next to her temple.

"l am."

"No. You're moving like you have a stick up your butt."

"Charming." His hand slipped a little lower to the waist of her wool skirt. "Say what you have to say, but make it quick," she said.

"Are you wearing panties under that skirt?"

"Is that what you want to know?"

Well, it was one of the things he wanted to know. "Not if you don't want to tell me." He moved with her closer to the stage, and the bright lights slid through the deep reds of her hair. The music was too loud, so he waited until they moved away from the stage and into the deeper shadows of the dance floor. "I think I need to apologize, but I'm not sure exactly what I should apologize for." He pulled back and looked at her for some clue as to how to proceed. Women could twist things until a guy didn't know which end was up. He spun her around and brought her so close to his chest that her breasts brushed the front of his shirt.