"I haven't seen her or talked to her, but if I do, I'm going to strongly suggest she tell you to-"

"I love her!" Heath hadn't meant to shout, but he couldn't stop himself, and the woman who'd just emerged from the house across the street scurried back inside. "I love her," he repeated in a voice that was only marginally quieter, "and I need to tell her that. But I have to find her first."

"I doubt she'll call me. Not unless that pregnancy test-"

"I'm warning you, Robillard, if I find out you know where she went, and you aren't telling me, I'll break every goddamn bone in that million-dollar shoulder of yours."

"The boy's talkin' smack, and it's not even lunchtime. You are so whipped. Now here's the thing, Heathcliff, the reason I've been calling you. A couple of high rollers at Pepsico contacted me, and-"

Heath hung up on God's gift to the NFL, hit the button to unlock his car, and set off for the Loop and Birdcage Press. The book club meeting wasn't scheduled until one, which gave him time to cover an extra base.

"I spoke with Molly this morning." Annabelle's former fiance surveyed Heath's unshaven jaw and mismatched outfit from behind her desk in the marketing department of Molly's publishing company. "I hurt Annabelle more than enough. Did you have to dump on her, too?"

Rosemary wasn't the most attractive woman Heath had ever seen, but she was well dressed and dignified. Way too dignified. Completely the wrong person for Annabelle. What the hell had she been thinking? "I didn't set out to dump on her."

"I'm sure you thought you were doing her a huge favor when you proposed," Rosemary drawled. Then she proceeded to blister Heath with a way too insightful lecture on male in-sensitivity, exactly what he didn't need to hear right now. He escaped as quickly as he could.

As he made his way back to his car, he saw that half a dozen more calls had come in, none of them from the person he wanted to talk to. He tore the parking ticket off his windshield and headed for the Ike. By the time he reached the expressway, his stomach was a mass of knots. He told himself she'd come home sooner or later, that this wasn't an emergency. But nothing could still his sense of urgency. She was in pain because of him-suffering from his stupidity-and that was intolerable.

He hit a traffic backup on the East West Tollway and didn't reach the Calebow house until one-fifteen. He scanned the cars lining the driveway for an ugly green Crown Victoria, but Annabelle's car was MIA. Maybe she'd ridden with somebody else. But as he rang the bell, he couldn't shake off a sense of foreboding.

The door swung open, and he gazed down at Pippi Tucker. Stumpy blond pigtails stuck out on each side of her head, and she held a menagerie of stuffed animals against her flat chest. "Pwince! I didn't go to preschool today 'cause my school got busted water pies."

"Is that right? Is, uh, Annabelle here?"

"I been playing with Hannah's stuffed animals. Hannah's at school. She don't have busted water pies. Can I see your phone?"

"Pip?" Phoebe appeared in the hallway. She wore black slacks and a purple turtleneck draped with a blue and yellow paper lei. She took in Heath's unkempt appearance through a pair of rimless half glasses. "I hope the police caught whoever mugged you."

Pippi hopped up and down. "Pwince is here!"

"I see." Phoebe set her hand on the child's shoulder without taking her eyes off Heath. "Did you come all the way out here to gloat? I wish I were a big enough person to congratulate you on your new client, but I'm not."

He wedged past her into the foyer. "Is Annabelle here?"

She pulled off her glasses. "Go ahead. Tell me all the ways you plan to bankrupt me."

"I don't see her car."

Her cat's eyes narrowed. "You've talked to Dean, right?"

"Yeah, but he didn't know where Annabelle was." Grilling Phoebe was a waste of time, and he headed for the living room, which was spacious and rustic, with exposed beams and a loft. The book club had gathered in a nook beneath it, all of them except Annabelle. Even casually dressed and draped in paper leis, they were an intimidating bunch of women, and as he crossed the room, he felt their eyes on him like hypodermics. "Where is she? And don't tell me you don't know."

Molly uncrossed her legs and rose. "We do know, and we've been ordered to keep our mouths shut. Annabelle wants time to herself."

"She just thinks she does. I have to talk to her."

Gwen regarded him over her enormous stomach like a hostile Buddha. "Are you planning to give her more reasons she should marry a man who doesn't love her?"

"It's not like that." He gritted his teeth. "I do love her. I love her with all my frickin' heart, but I can't convince her of that if somebody won't tell me where the hell she's gone."

He hadn't meant to sound so angry, and Charmaine took offense. "When did you have this miraculous realization?"

"Last night. A blue woman and a bottle of scotch opened my eyes. Now where is she?"

"We're not going to tell you," said Krystal.

Janine glared at him. "If she calls, we'll relay your message. And we'll also tell her we don't like your attitude."

"I'll relay my own damned message," he retorted.

"Not even the great Heath Champion can bulldoze his way through this." Molly's quiet stubbornness sent a chill up his spine. "Annabelle will contact you in her own way and in her own time. Or maybe not. That's up to her. I know it goes against your nature, but you'll have to be patient. She's calling the shots now."

"It's not as though you won't be busy," Lady Evil drawled from behind him. "Now that Dean has turned his back on the goodwill of the woman who holds his contract-"

He spun on her. "I don't give a damn about Dean right now, Phoebe, and here's a news flash. Some things in life are more important than football."

Her eyebrows rose ever so slightly. He turned back to the women, ready to strangle the information out of them if he needed to, only to discover he had no anger left. He lifted his hands, shocked to see they were unsteady, but not as unsteady as his voice. "She's… I-I have to make this right. I can't stand knowing she's… That I've made her suffer. Please…"

But they had no hearts, and one by one, they looked away.

He walked blindly out of the house. The wind had picked up, and a blast of chilly air cut through his jacket. Mechanically, he reached for his phone, hoping against hope that she'd called, knowing she hadn't.

The Chiefs were trying to reach him. So were Bodie and Phil Tyree. He set the heels of his hands on the hood of his car and bowed his head. He deserved to suffer. She didn't.

"Are you sad, Pwince?"

He looked back toward the house to see Pippi standing on the top step of the porch, a monkey under one arm, a bear under the other. He fought a wild urge to pick her up and carry her around for a while, to tuck her under his chin and hold her close, just like one of those stuffed animals. He drew in a little air. "Yeah, Pip. I'm kind of sad."

"You gonna cry?"

He pushed his response around the lump in his throat. "Naw, guys don't cry."

The door behind her opened, and Phoebe emerged, blond, powerful, and merciless. She paid no attention to him. Instead, she crouched at Pippi's side and adjusted one of her pigtail stubs, speaking softly to her. He reached in his pocket for his keys.

Phoebe headed back into the house. Pippi dropped her stuffed animals and scampered down the steps. "Pwince! I gotta tell you something." She ran toward him, pink sneakers flying. When she reached his side, she tilted her head back to gaze up at him. "I gotta secret."

He crouched next to her. She smelled innocent. Like crayons and fruit juice. "Yeah?"

"Aunt Phoebe said don't tell nobody but you, not even Mommy."

He glanced toward the porch, but Phoebe had disappeared. "Tell me what?"

"Belle!" Pippi grinned. "She went to our campground!"

A surge of adrenaline shot through his veins. His head reeled. He pulled Pippi off her feet, drew her against him, and kissed the hell out of her cheeks. "Thanks, sweetheart. Thanks for telling me."

She cupped his jaw and pushed him away with a frown. "Scratchy."

He laughed, gave her another kiss for good measure, and set her back on her feet. He'd forgotten to turn his phone off, and it rang. Her eyes widened. He automatically reached for it. "Champion."

"Heathcliff, I need an agent, man," Dean barked, "and I swear to God, if you hang up on me again-"

He thrust his phone to Pippi. "Talk to the nice man, sweetheart. Tell him all about how your daddy's the greatest quarterback who'll ever play the game."

As he pulled out of the driveway, he watched Pippi heading back to the porch, his phone pressed to her ear, her pigtails twitching while she chatted away for all she was worth.

Inside the house, the front draperies moved, and through the window, he glimpsed the most powerful woman in the NFL. Maybe it was his imagination, but it looked like she was smiling.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Heath reached the Wind Lake Campground a little before midnight. Only the watery glow of the Victorian streetlamps on the commons and the single porch light at the bed-and-breakfast shone through the rain-swept darkness. His wiper blades beat at the Audi's windshield. The unheated cottages sat empty and shuttered for the season. Even the caged yellow dock lights in the distance had been turned off. He'd originally planned to fly, but foul weather had closed the small airport, and he hadn't been patient enough to wait out the delay. He should have, because the storm had stretched the eight-hour trip to ten.

He'd gotten a late start leaving Chicago. Not having Annabelle's engagement ring in his pocket bothered him-he wanted to give her something tangible-so he'd driven back to Wicker Park to pick up her new car. Maybe she couldn't wear it on her finger, but at least she'd see how serious he was. Unfortunately, the Audi Roadster hadn't been built for a six-footer, and after ten hours, he had stiff legs, a cramped neck, and a killer headache he'd been feeding with black coffee. Ten Disney balloons bobbed in the backseat. He'd seen them tied together when he'd stopped for gas and impulsively bought them. For the last sixty miles, Dumbo and Cruella De Vil had been slapping the back of his head.

Through the rain-drenched windshield, he made out a row of empty rocking chairs swaying on the front porch. Even though the cottages were closed up, Kevin had told him the B &B did a decent business this time of year with tourists searching for fall foliage, and the Roadster's headlights picked out half a dozen cars parked off to the side. But Annabelle's Crown Vic wasn't one of them.

The Audi lurched in a rain-filled pothole as Heath turned into the lane that ran parallel to the dark lake. Not for the first time did it occur to him that setting off for the north woods based on information fed to a three-year-old from a woman who held a giant grudge against him might not have been his smartest move, but he'd done it anyway.

He hit the brakes as his headlights picked out what he'd spent the last ten hours praying to see: Annabelle's car, parked in front of Lilies of the Field. Relief made him light-headed. As he pulled up behind the Crown Vic, he gazed through the rain at the darkened cottage and fought the urge to wake her and set things straight. He was in no condition to negotiate his future happiness until he'd had a few hours' sleep. The B &B was closed up for the night, and he couldn't stay in town, not when Annabelle might decide to take off before he got back. Only one thing to do…

He backed the Audi around until it blocked the lane. Once he was satisfied she couldn't get out, he turned off the ignition, shoved Daffy Duck out of his way, and tilted the seat all the way back. But despite his exhaustion, he didn't immediately drift off to sleep. Too many voices from the past. Too many reminders of all the ways love had kicked him in the teeth… every damn time.


* * *

The cold awakened Annabelle even before her alarm, which she'd set for six. During the night, the temperature had dropped, and the blanket she'd pulled over herself couldn't ward off the morning chill. Molly had told her to stay in the Tuckers' private quarters at the B &B instead of an unheated cottage, but Annabelle had wanted the solitude of Lilies of the Field. Now she regretted it.

The hot water had been turned off last week, and she splashed cold on her face. After she helped serve breakfast to the guests, she'd treat herself to a long soak in Molly's tub. Yesterday, she'd volunteered to help with breakfast when the girl who usually worked the morning shift had fallen ill. A small but welcome distraction.