"Why?"

"I want to watch."

"Why on earth...? I dont get what youre saying."

"Mr. Zacharias, you could rig any list you make up. Pick the ones you know are living within their means. My way, it will be as random as possible."

"Theres no need for you to stand over my shoulder to do all this. Im an honest, G.o.d-loving man."

"Me, too," Dylan said charmingly. "So my plan should work for both of us."

Rachel arrived early to her Sat.u.r.day morning dance cla.s.s. She wanted to get to the barre before the girls showed up because shed planned a different warm-up in her head and had to try it out before she asked the students to follow her. When her taxi pulled up to the building, she found one of her students waiting outside. In the five-degree weather. Without a hat or gloves. Rachel was covered from head to toe in warm wool.

"Kammy, what...what are you...never mind. Lets get inside."

Tugging the girl by the hand, she drew her up the steps, unlocked the door and let them both into the waiting area on the first floor. It wasnt warm yet, as the heat needed to be turned up. The owner of the studio, who rented Rachel the upstairs room, didnt start until ten.

"Sit, sweetie." Rachel adjusted the thermometer and felt a blast of warm air come through a register. "Over here. Youll warm right up. No, dont take off your coat yet."

When Kammy finally thawed out, she removed her coat, took off her boots but kept her gaze averted. She sat on the bench to don her ballet slippers. Rachel dropped down next to her. "What happened, Kammy? I cant let this go unaddressed."

"My mother had to be to work at seven."

Rachel glanced at the clock. Seven-fifteen. "How long have you been outside?"

"Not long." The girl still wouldnt look at her. She had the thickest eyelashes. Her hair, which had to be bound up for cla.s.s, flowed to her waist.

Gently she touched Kammys shoulder. "Give me a time."

"Six-thirty," she mumbled.

"Sweetie, being out in the cold for forty-five minutes in this weather is unacceptable."

"It was either that or I couldnt come."

All right, these kids were poor. Which was why Rachel set up this cla.s.s. But responsibility wasnt foreign to them. Shed met with all the parents and theyd signed an agreement. Shed never thought to include that they couldnt dump the kids off at any time. What to do? "I need to think about this."

The girl grabbed her hand. "Please dont kick me out. I wanna be a dancer like you. This is my only chance."

Well, the girl was good. Very good. But she was already ten and should have had extensive training by now, as Rachel had since she was five.

"I wouldnt think of kicking you out." And though her knee-jerk reaction was to kick the mom in the pants, she knew lower-income people didnt have control over their lives sometimes.

"Lets go upstairs." She touched Kammys hair. "Ive got some pins to put this up."

Kammy turned grateful dark eyes up to her. "Thank you, Miss Rachel."

"My pleasure. Maybe you can help me try out the new warm-up I planned today."

Tears clouded Kammys eyes, but she stood, probably hoping Rachel didnt see them.

But she had. And they made her vow shed find a way to keep Kammy in cla.s.s and help her to get to the studio safely.

The gym at a high school in Brooklyn was stifling, as usual. To add to Rachels discomfort was the man sitting so close to her in the crowded bleachers that they rubbed hips. But shed figured this was an easy way to acquaint Dylan with her life-a good part of her life-and not have to be alone with him while she did it. The kiss the other night in the car still haunted her dreams. And waking hours.

"What number is she?" Dylan asked over the buzz of excitement and the slap of b.a.l.l.s on the court.

"Thirty-four."

He scanned the floor. "She looks just like you!"

Rachel couldnt help smiling. "She does, right down to the same color eyes. But Rebecca and Mike have light eyes, too."

"She got your beautiful red hair."

Warmed by the compliment, Rachel said haughtily, "Auburn."Letting her gaze focus on the girls who were warming up for their game in this midwinter tournament, she tried to ignore Dylan, but it was impossible. Hed put on some new aftershave and it teased her nostrils.

Dylan waited, watching the girls take foul shots, before he asked, "Do you always come to her basketball games?"

"I try. Oh, look, theres Rebecca." Her sister was making her way down the side of the court with her son, Ronny.

"Now, she looks like she cant be related to you." Smaller in stature, with dark brown hair, Rebecca and Rachel bore no resemblance to each other. But they were best friends and confidantes. Though she hadnt told her sister about Dylan. Truthfully, Rachel didnt know what to say. She waved to them. "Becca, up here. We saved you seats."

Smiling when she saw Rachel, Rebecca did a double take-because of Dylan?-then climbed the steps and slid into the row with Rachel on her left and Ronny on her right. Ron leaned over his mother. "Hi, Aunt Rachel."

"Whats this 'hi stuff? You too embarra.s.sed to give me a kiss in front of your friends?"

The boy turned beet red. Dylan looked around Rachel from the other side. "Dont let her make you do it, son. Youll never live it down."

Ronny nodded vigorously and settled for squeezing his aunts hand.

Rebecca took a bead on Dylan. "And you are?"

"Dylan ONeil."

"Oh, Lord, Rach, look out for those Irishmen."

"You should know. You married one."

Dylan asked, "Your husbands Irish?"

"Yeah." Rebecca nodded to the floor. "Mike Murray. Hes on the court."

Leaning in, not too close, Rachel added, "He coaches the team and teaches Phys. Ed. here at the high school."

She could tell Dylan was surprised. As were her very disappointed parents when Rebecca-who-had-done-everything-right hadnt married another doctor and instead had chosen a more middle cla.s.s lifestyle in Brooklyn.

The whistle blew, and the kids trotted to courtside. An announcer with a booming voice introduced the opposing team, then the starting five from the home school. "And last but not least, our point guard for the Spartans, Rachel Murray."

Glancing over, she saw Dylans dark brows rise. "You didnt tell me you have a namesake."

Rachel whispered, "I havent told you everything."

This time, he leaned in so there was no air between them. "Not yet, doll. But you will."

For some reason, the notion didnt scare her as much as it should.

Dylan turned his attention to the game. Rachel Two s.n.a.t.c.hed the ball after the tip at midcourt and started down the floor. She dribbled like a pro. She pa.s.sed as well as any college player hed ever seen. The ball came back to her and she took a shot from the three-point range on the left side. It swished into the basket, without touching the rim.

"Wow!" Dylan remarked and the crowd cheered loudly.

But it was the woman next to him who snagged his attention. Dressed in snug grey jeans, black boots and a collared sweater, hair perfect, makeup the same, Rachel bolted up and yelled between cupped hands, "You go, girl." She then proceeded to whistle with her fingers in her mouth.

Dylans jaw dropped. Who knew the polished, sophisticated woman had this side to her? Unfortunately, he loved his nieces and nephews, attended a lot of their games. That he and Rachel had this in common disconcerted him. G.o.d, he hoped they didnt find much more they shared. It was already h.e.l.l being with her, even in a crowded gym that was beginning to smell like the inside of a locker room.

For the entire game, Rachel behaved the same. At one point, when the referee called a foul on her niece, Rachel stood, shouting, "You need gla.s.ses, ref."

Rachel Two turned toward the stands and instead of being embarra.s.sed by Rachel Ones outburst, she giggled at her aunt. Oh, h.e.l.l.

With only twenty seconds left on the clock, the other team tied the game. Again, Rachel Two took the ball, threw it into play, got it back and dribbled fast down the court. This time she didnt pa.s.s. Instead, she weaved in and out of players, dribbled around others, and charged to the basket. She shot the ball up in a perfect arc; it circled around the rim-twice!-then dipped inside, just as the buzzer rang.

In the stands, Rachel jumped up and down, whistled again and hugged her sister. All the spectators came to their feet, too, screaming as she was.

As soon as the team did their lineup/good game hand slaps, Rachel Two took off and threw herself into her dads arms. They hugged with such affection, it made Dylan go soft inside.

His Rachel preceded him down the steps, distracting him from her behavior by the way her jeans hugged her a.s.s-again! The family crossed to the coach and the star while Dylan hung back.

More hugs and greetings. Huge grins. Then Rachel turned to him. "Come on over, Dylan. I want to introduce you."

It wasnt until the two of them were walking to the door-Dylan noticed her driver had come in to watch the game-that Dylan commented, "Who are you and what did you do with the Rachel I know?"

She laughed, a sultry sound that hit him in the gut, despite the throng that surrounded them. "I know, I lose it here. I cant help it."

Unable to resist, he moved closer. Now all he could smell was her perfume. "Personally, I thought it was cool."

She didnt brush him off. "Did you?" "Yeah, you should see me at my relatives games. Im just like you."

"Who do the kids belong to?"

"Patricks second oldest boy and one of his daughters do basketball. My son and Liams play baseball."

"All those games to enjoy."

They exited the gym, and a blast of frigid air hit them. Rachel tucked her hands in her pockets. When she shivered, he reached over, pulled up her collar and closed the front of her coat. Then he looped the scarf close around her neck.

She halted in her tracks, causing people to b.u.mp into them or move around them. It wasnt until he saw the expression on her face that he realized the intimate thing hed done. So much for crowds of people preventing them from being alone.

Chapter 7.

It was a slow night at Baileys Irish Pub. Dylan was washing gla.s.ses behind the bar, listening to some Irish music drift out from the jukebox. He was comforted by his brother Pat taking inventory at the other end and the scent of food cooked for dinner. A few stools over, Liam nursed a cup of coffee and read the newspaper.

But this mellow mood would be interrupted by Rachels show, on in a few minutes; Dylan knew he had to watch it to keep an eye on her for his column. But he purposely hadnt called her in the two days since her nieces basketball game and she hadnt emailed or contacted him, either. He hadnt come up with a way of working together and ignoring his white-hot attraction to her, so distance seemed to be the best alternative.

And must be nothing big had happened in the world of politics or pop culture, since the deal was shed notify him about any newsworthy story she was on to.

Patrick came down the bar with the remote. "Arent you gonna watch your girlfriend, boy?"

"My what?" How could Pat know...? His brothers brows furrowed. "Rachel Scott. I was kiddin about the girlfriend part."

"Um, yeah. Im gonna watch her."

"Hmm." Pat fiddled with the remote, then said, "Shouldnt I be? Kiddin about that? Is something more going on?"

"Of course you werent serious. Rachel Scott and I are adversaries."

Without saying more, thank the good Lord, Pat turned the volume up on the television. And there she was, more beautiful than Dylan had ever seen her. She wore a dark green, knit dress and dangling earrings that sparkled like real gems and probably were. Her hair was up in a knot on her head, with little tendrils escaping it. Hed never seen her style it that way.

"Good evening, viewers. Welcome to The Rachel Scott Show. Tonight we bring you some breaking news. But first some background. Three months ago, after the November elections, we ran a story of how a bridge to New York from the small town of Fort Case experienced unexpected lane closures. Cars sat in gridlock nearly four days. Children could not get to school. Emergency vehicles were unable to reach their destinations in a timely way and businesses suffered."

Dylan knew all about the snafu, had looked into it and found nothing. He hadnt paid much attention to its aftermath. Traffic in New York was always crazy. He wondered what she was getting at.

The camera panned into a close-up. He caught his breath at the, well, beauty of her. "Weve been investigating this story for a month and just discovered some interesting facts. First, the mayor of Fort Case"-his picture came on-screen-"did not support the governors bid for reelection in our border state, which, as it turned out, he won by a landslide, anyway. Second, an aide close to the governor was heard saying she wouldnt want to be in that mayors shoes. Her boss held grudges."

Dylan had run that story down, too, but it hadnt gone anywhere. And Rachel had never mentioned she was working on it, either.

"However, tonight, we want you to know that the Rachel Scott team has discovered that the Port Authority official, who was appointed by the governor and is an old high school buddy of his, just resigned because of health reasons. Seriously? Do you believe that? Lets ask our panel."

"Huh." Liam had come down the bar and joined them to watch the show. "I cant imagine why the governor of a state would do something so petty. He must not have known about the closures."

"Youre a Pollyanna, boy." Pat poured his own java and refilled Liams. "Hes Italian, and those guys hold grudges."

"Stereotype much, Pat?" Liam retorted.

Shrugging, Pat said, "If the shoe fits."

Dylan stared at the screen, not commenting.