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“Anyway, when have you ever depended on anyone, darling?” Jaime pursed his lips and blew an exaggerated puff through them.

“Regardless, no one’s asking you to attach yourself to that fossilized goat.

Personally, I don’t think he’s worth waxing your legs for.

But”—he rocked forward, a teasing glint in his hazel eyes—“someone out there is . Maybe even the bikini area.”

She tried to hold back the sputter of laughter. “You’re impossible, Jaime Holworth.”

“Certainly.” Covertly, he took her hand, his fingers curling around hers with a deliberate gentleness. “However, if I didn’t adore you—” He faltered, his voice cracking, then he let out a soft, dramatic sigh. “My lucky stars.”

Fontana prided herself on her heightened awareness, never the type to bump into people in crowded malls or on narrow sidewalks.

It was a form of self-defense, maybe, but she kept a sharp eye on her surroundings.

Yet, as she tilted her head to follow Jaime’s gaze, she realized she’d let her guard slip.

Big time. She’d relaxed too much, the Indian summer sun warming her back, the spirited echo of children’s voices, and the crack and pop of baseball filling the air.

Without a second’s notice, she’d let Campbell True stroll right back into her world.

“ Ohh-la-la. Shaken, but not stirred. Not yet.” Jaime leaned forward to get a better view, his Vans thumping against the bleachers. “Now, why do I have a feeling Promise’s solitary notable is scanning this boisterous crowd for you? Must’ve been a memorable ride he gave you yesterday.”

“Hush,” she whispered, her pulse thumping in her ears.

One swift glance across the grassy parking lot told her all she needed to know: sexy and annoyed male on the loose.

Campbell True shoved his fingers through his hair, squinting, then released the tousled strands with a severe frown of displeasure.

Braced against the side of the dream machine, his legs bared by cutoff jeans, wind molding a baggy sweatshirt to his chest, the transformation from elegant taskmaster to rough-and-ready male nearly toppled her from her perch.

Fortunately, the sun chose that moment to blind her. Unfortunately, through the golden shimmer, she thought she saw Campbell find his mark.

“I guarantee Mr. Beautiful hasn’t set foot in this park since the day he went ballistic against that twisty oak sitting outside”—Jaime squirmed, practically dancing in place—“whatever you call the spot on the right side. His daddy hauled him out of here quicker than you can say ‘boo.’ Never played baseball again, from what I heard.”

“Left field,” Fontana murmured, her gaze following Campbell as he marched toward the bleachers, his knotted fists banging against his hips.

An intimidating, long-legged stride, shoulders rolling with every step.

Surely, he’d only come for his brother’s practice.

She’d left a note, proper procedure in her book.

“He’s not looking for me. Obviously, he’s here to see Kit. Finally accepting some responsibility.”

As if he’d read her mind, Campbell’s gaze snared hers, dead to rights. He halted, a razor-thin smile crossing his face.

Jaime let out a squeak beside her. “Told you. Told you.”

Fontana jammed her butt against the bench and angled her chin, staring down the advance. Okay, Atlanta, take your best shot . Sure, her heart danced in her chest and her throat ached a little it was so dry, but she would not cower.

He couldn’t dish out anything she hadn’t taken at some point in her life.

Every interaction she’d had with men—except Jaime—had been a battle of mastery and might.

A losing battle. Even Henry, who thought he had her best interests at heart.

Why should Campbell True be any different?

A child she’d grown to love—and suspected the irate man stalking toward her loved as well—stood between them.

Love or no, she couldn’t shake the belief that he’d make a second-rate parent for a discerning child, if he ever gained the legal right.

She simply couldn’t.

“Are you gonna run?” Jaime whispered, “or gear up for a showdown?”

Squeezing her eyes shut, she said a silent prayer to her think-before-you-speak guardian angel. One who did not hang with her often.

It won’t help to anger the man again, Fontana .

Blocked vision allowed the sounds of everyday life to penetrate her consciousness: vehement coaching from fathers, the occasional crack of wood, the dull slap of rubber soles against packed dirt, and a ball striking the chain-link fence.

Listening instead of looking, she heard the muddled clamor swirl away like water down a drain.

Cautiously, she blinked, expecting Campbell to be standing before her.

Livid. But some feeling— the same one from last night, whether it was presumption or intuition, whatever you wanted to call it—told her he wasn’t that kind of man.

Violent. Unpredictable. Scary. She could deny it all she liked, but instinct guided her.

And instinct had proven reliably accurate.

“Oh, my , am I glad your prehistoric hunk of junk Jeep pooped out and you needed me for transportation. I hate sporting events—such a sad waste of my minutes—but this? This is history in the making.” Jaime giggled behind his hand, his carefully maintained cool slipping as he scooted forward on the bench.

“History, I tell you. Entertainment on a grand scale. Which Promise hasn’t got much, heck, any of. ”

Fontana swayed to the side and found Campbell leaning an elbow against the dilapidated clapboard enclosure the park superintendent called a dugout.

Maybe it was because he stood on a field, surrounded by everything screaming athlete , but his build looked even more muscular than it had under his sharp suit.

As if a photographer needed muscles like those.

Along with every other person in attendance, because they were all staring, she saw his broad shoulders tense as he stepped back.

“They want him to take a swing,” Jaime said, his voice reaching the high notes, like it did when he was close to hyperventilating before a new job, and she’d have to make him breathe into a bag. “Saints and garlands, they want him to take a swing.”

Fontana frowned, part of the dugout obstructing her view. “ You mean some kid who played so badly his father took him kicking and screaming off the field is being bullied into hitting the ball in front of half the town? How utterly cruel.”

Jaime jerked like a barbed switch had caught him across his backside. “Played so badly…”

“I bet he has awful hand-eye coordination. You should have seen him trying to figure out how to repair an engine.” Fontana twisted a length of hair around her finger, unable to look away from the drama unfolding on the baseball field.

“No matter how irresponsible, irritating, and—personally, I can sympathize—utterly arrogant the man is, there’s no need to make a fool of him.

It’s tempting because he’s successful. Famous in certain circles.

And good-looking, in that smug, one-in-a-million kind of way.

A jerk, I’ll grant, but that’s no reason to take advantage of a known handicap. Not every man’s an athlete.”

Jaime gazed at her, rapt. “Fontana, darling, you misunderstand. Wholly and indubitably. No one’s going to make a fool of him. It’s…it’s not the point.”

Fontana eyed the ballfield with a mounting sense of unease. Campbell's discomfort—a man she didn’t even like —was seeping into her own. “Is this some sort of Southern ritual? Does it end with being pelted by boiled peanuts?”

“It’s a rather long story, and I only know half of it. I’m not sure anyone but Campbell knows the whole thing.”

Fontana glanced at her Swatch, the cracked crystal distorting the hands. “We have an hour of practice left, so there’s time for long stories.”

“Maybe not,” Jaime said, nodding toward the ballfield.

“Oh, shit,” she whispered. “What is Henry doing, shoving a bat in Atlanta’s face?”

“ Atlanta ? Oh, I begin to see the issue.” Jaime hummed, sliding a hand into his pocket. “Um, I forgot to give you this.”

At the tap on her wrist, Fontana glanced down—reaching before she even realized it. Cursing under her breath, she curled her fingers around Campbell Loman True’s blessed driver’s license. “Where did you get this?”

“My coffeemaker’s on the fritz, so I stopped at the diner.

Henry met me in the parking lot, shoved it in my hand, and told me to give it to you.

I guess he knew I was picking you up. Didn’t he have to take his truck by the garage?

” His attention fixed on a game he knew nothing about, Jaime traced his finger along a dent in the bleacher, avoiding her gaze.

“Seemed a little angry, now that I think about it.”

Fontana’s gaze strayed to the dugout. If it came down to anything physical, Campbell had the height advantage, but Henry had at least thirty pounds of solid muscle on his side. Horrified, she watched as Henry thrust the bat at Campbell again. “Oh, please don’t.”

In response to a plea he couldn’t have heard, Campbell lifted his head, drilling her with the first unguarded expression she’d seen on his face. A scalding mix of emotion—fury, disgust, and, most disturbing, blatant, heart-stopping dread.

A shiver of realization racked her. She’d been a frightened child.

She wondered if he had been, too.