One Friday morning her head ached so badly she called in sick for her volunteer tutoring and went to bed. Other than dragging herself outside long enough for Roo to do his business and occasionally forcing down a piece of toast, she slept all weekend.

When Monday came, her headache was gone, but the aftereffects of the cold had sapped her energy, so she phoned in sick again. Her bread box was empty, and she was out of cereal. She found some canned fruit in the cupboard.

On Tuesday morning as she dozed in bed, her sleep was disturbed by the buzzer from the lobby. Roo hopped to attention. Molly burrowed deeper into her covers, but just when she was falling back asleep, someone began pounding on her door. She pulled a pillow over her head, but it didn't block out the deep, familiar voice clearly audible over the sound of Roo's yips.

"Open up! I know you're in there!"

That awful Kevin Tucker.

She sneezed and stuck her fingers in her ears, but Roo kept barking and Kevin kept banging. Miserable dog. Reckless, scary quarterback. Everyone in the building was going to complain. Cursing, she dragged herself out of bed.

"What do you want?" Her voice sounded creaky from lack of use.

"I want you to open the door."

"Why?"

"Because I need to talk to you."

"I don't want to talk." She grabbed a tissue and blew her nose.

"Tough. Unless you'd like everyone in this building to know your private business, I suggest you open up."

Reluctantly, she flipped the lock. As she opened the door, she wished she were armed.

Kevin stood on the other side, dazzling and perfect with his healthy body, gleaming blond hair, and blazing green eyes. Her head pounded. She wanted to hide behind dark glasses.

He pushed his way past her snarling poodle and shut the door. "You look like hell."

She stumbled over to the couch. "Roo, be quiet."

The dog gave Molly an offended sniff as she lay down.

"Have you seen a doctor?"

"I don't need a doctor. My cold is almost gone."

"How about a shrink?" He walked over to the windows and began opening them.

"Stop that." It was bad enough that she had to endure his arrogance and the threatening glare of his good looks. She didn't have to tolerate fresh air, too. "Will you go away?"

As he gazed around at her condo, she noticed the dirty dishes littering the kitchen counter, the bathrobe hanging over the end of the couch, and the dusty tabletops. He was an uninvited guest, and she didn't care.

"You blew off the appointment with the attorney yesterday."

"What appointment?" She shoved a hand into her ratty hair, then winced as it caught on a snarl. Half an hour ago she'd stumbled into the bathroom to brush her teeth, but she couldn't remember taking a shower. And her shabby gray Northwestern nightshirt smelled like poodle.

"The annulment?" He glanced toward the pile of unopened mail spilling out of the white Crate & Barrel shopping bag next to the door and said sarcastically, "I guess you didn't get the letter."

"I guess. You'd better leave. I might still be contagious."

"I'll take my chances." He wandered over to the windows and gazed down at the parking lot. "Nice view."

She closed her eyes to sneak in a nap.

Kevin didn't think he'd ever seen anyone more pathetic. This pasty-faced, stringy-haired, musty-smelling, sniffling, sad-eyed female was his wife. Hard to believe she was the daughter of a showgirl. He should have let his attorney take care of this, but he kept seeing the raw desperation in her eyes when she'd begged him to hold her legs together, as if brute strength alone could keep that baby inside her.

I know you hate me, but…

He couldn't quite hate her any longer, not after he'd watched her fruitless struggle to hold on to that baby. But he did hate the way he felt, as if he had some sort of responsibility for her. Training camp started in less than two months. He needed to be focusing all his energy on getting ready for next season. He gazed at her resentfully.

You have to set an example, Kevin. Do the right thing.

He moved away from the windows and stepped over her worthless, pampered dog. Why did someone with her millions live in such a small place? Convenience, maybe. She probably had at least three other addresses, all of them in warm climates.

He sank down on the sectional couch at the opposite end from where she was lying and studied her critically. She must have dropped ten pounds since the miscarriage. Her hair had grown longer, nearly to her jawline, and it had lost that silky sheen he remembered from their wedding day. She hadn't bothered with makeup, and the deep bruises under those exotic eyes made her look as if she'd been somebody's punching bag.

"I had an interesting conversation with one of your neighbors."

She settled her wrist over her eyes. "I promise I'll call your attorney first thing in the morning if you'll just leave."

"The guy recognized me right away."

"Of course he did."

She wasn't too tired for sarcasm, he noticed. His resentment simmered.

"He was more than happy to gossip about you. Apparently you stopped emptying your mailbox a few weeks ago."

"Nobody sends me anything interesting."

"And the only time you've left your apartment since Thursday night is to take out your pit bull."

"Stop calling him that. I'm recovering from a cold, that's all."

He could see her red nose, but somehow he didn't think a cold was the only thing wrong with her. He rose. "Come on, Molly. Holing up like this isn't normal."

She peered at him from beneath her wrist. "Like you're an expert on normal behavior? I heard you were swimming with sharks when Dan found you in Australia."

"Maybe it's depression."

"Thank you, Dr. Tucker. Now, get out."

"You lost a baby, Molly."

He'd made a statement of fact, but it was as if he'd shot her. She sprang up from the couch, and the way her expression turned feral told him more than he wanted to know.

"Get out of here before I call the police!"

All he had to do was walk through the door. God knew he had enough aggravation on his plate right now with the publicity the People article had kicked up. And just being with her was making his gut churn. If only he could forget the way she'd looked when she'd been trying to hold on to that baby.

Even as the words were coming out of his mouth, he tried to cut them off. "Get dressed. You're coming with me."

Her rage seemed to frighten her, and he watched her struggle to make light of it. The best she could manage was a pitiful croak. "Been smoking a little too much weed, have you?"

Furious with himself, he stomped up the five steps that led to her bedroom loft. Her pit bull shadowed him to make sure he didn't steal the jewelry. He looked down at her from over the top of the kitchen cabinets. God, he hated this. "You can either get yourself dressed or go with me the way you are. Which will probably get you quarantined by the Health Department."

She lay back on the couch. "You're so wasting your breath."

It would be for only a few days, he told himself. He was already in a foul mood about being forced to drive up to the Wind Lake Campground. Why not make himself completely miserable by bringing her along?

He'd never intended to go back there, but he couldn't avoid it. For weeks he'd been telling himself he could sell off the property without seeing it again. But when he couldn't answer any of the questions his business manager had posed, he'd known he had to bite the bullet and see exactly how run-down it had become.

At least he'd be getting rid of two ugly duties at the same time. He'd settle the campground and badger Molly into getting her butt moving again. Whether it worked or not would be up to her, but at least his conscience would be clean.

He unearthed a suitcase from the back of her closet and yanked open her drawers. Unlike her messy kitchen, here everything was neatly arranged. He tossed shorts and tops in the suitcase, then threw in some underwear. He found jeans along with sandals and a pair of sneakers. A couple of sundresses caught his eye. He threw them on top. Better to take too much than have her sulk because she didn't have what she wanted.

The suitcase was full, so he grabbed what looked like her old college backpack and glanced around for the bathroom. He found it downstairs, near the front door, and began dumping in various cosmetics and toiletries. Succumbing to the inevitable, he headed for the kitchen and loaded up on dog food.

"I hope you're planning to put all that back." She was standing by the refrigerator, the pit bull in her arms, her rich-girl's eyes weary.

He'd like nothing better than to put it back, but she looked too damn pathetic. "You want to take a shower first, or do we drive with the windows down?"

"Are you deaf? I'm not some rookie you can order around."

He propped one hand on the edge of the sink and gave her the same stony look he used on those rookies. "You've got two choices. Either you can go with me right now, or I'm taking you over to your sister's house. Somehow I don't think she'll like what she sees."

Her expression told him he'd just thrown a Hail Mary.

"Please leave me alone," she whispered.

"I'll look through your bookshelves while you take a shower."

Chapter 8

A smart girl never accepts a ride from a stranger, even if he is a hottie. "Hitchhiking Hell" article for Chick magazine

Molly crawled with Roo into the backseat of the snappy SUV Kevin was driving instead of his Ferrari. She propped up the pillow she'd brought along and tried to go to sleep, but it wasn't possible. As they sped east past the urban blight of Gary, then took I-94 toward Michigan City, she kept asking herself why she hadn't opened her mail. All she'd needed to do was show up at the attorney's office. Then she wouldn't have been body-snatched by a mean-tempered quarterback.

Her refusal to talk to him was beginning to seem childish. Besides, her headache was better, and she wanted to know where they were going. She stroked Roo. "Do you have a destination in mind, or is this a make-it-up-as-you-go kidnapping?"

He ignored her.

They drove for another hour in silence before he pulled over for gas near Benton Harbor. While he was filling the tank, a fan spotted him and asked for an autograph. She clipped a leash on Roo and took him into the grass, then slipped into the bathroom. As she washed her hands, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. He was right. She did look like hell. She'd washed her hair, but she hadn't done anything more than drag her fingers through it afterward. Her skin was ashen, her eyes sunken.

She began to reach into her purse for a lipstick, then decided it took too much effort. She thought about phoning one of her friends to come get her, but Kevin's implied threat to talk to Phoebe and Dan about her physical condition made her hesitate. She couldn't stand causing them more worry than she already had. Better to go along with him for now.

He wasn't in the car when she returned. She debated getting into the backseat again, but doubted he'd talk to her unless she was in his face, so she put Roo there instead and climbed in the front. He emerged from the service station with a plastic bag and a Styrofoam coffee cup. After he got inside, he stuck the coffee in the cup holder, then pulled a bottle of orange juice from the sack and handed it to her.

"I'd rather have coffee."

"Too bad."

The cold bottle felt good in her hands, and she realized she was thirsty, but when she tried to open it, she discovered she was too weak. Her eyes filled unexpectedly with tears.

He took it without comment, unscrewed the lid, and returned it to her.

As he pulled away from the pump, she choked back the tightness in her throat. "At least you muscle boys are good for something."

"Be sure to let me know if you want any beer cans crushed."

She was startled to hear herself laugh. The orange juice slid in a cool, sweet trickle down her throat.

He pulled out onto the interstate. Sand dunes stretched on their left. She couldn't see the water, but she knew there would be cruisers on the lake, probably some freighters on their way to Chicago or Ludington. "Would you mind telling me where we're going?"

"Northwest Michigan. A hole called Wind Lake."

"There goes my fantasy of a Caribbean cruise."

"The campground I told you about."

"The place where you told me you spent your summers when you were a kid?"