The only bright spot in his week had occurred at a DuPage County nursery school where he’d gone to film a public service announcement for United Way. When he’d walked in the door, the first thing he’d noticed was a pixie-faced, redheaded teacher sitting on the floor reading a story to a group of four-year-olds. Something had gone all soft and warm inside him as he’d studied her freckled nose and the spot of green finger paint on her slacks.

When the filming was done, he’d asked her out for a cup of coffee. Her name was Sharon Anderson, and she’d been tongue-tied and shy, a welcome contrast to all the bold-eyed women he was accustomed to. Although it was too early to speculate, he couldn’t help but wonder if he might not have found the simple, home-lovin’ woman he was searching for.

But the residual glow from his meeting with Sharon had faded by the day of the Jets game, and he continued to seethe over the loss as he endured the postgame activities. It wasn’t until he stood on the tarmac waiting to board the charter that would take them back to O’Hare that he snapped.

“Son of a bitch!”

He pivoted so abruptly he bumped into Ronald McDermitt, knocking the acting general manager off-balance so that he dropped the book he was carrying. It was what the kid deserved, Dan thought callously, for being born a wimp. Although Ronald was no more than five-foot-eight, he wasn’t bad-looking, but he was too neat, too polite, and too young to run the Chicago Stars.

In pro teams the GM directed the entire operation, including hiring and firing of coaches, so that, theoretically, Dan worked for Ronald. But Ronald was so intimidated by him that his authority was purely academic.

The GM picked up his book and looked at him with a wary expression that made Dan crazy. “Sorry, Coach.”

“I bumped into you, for chrissake.”

“Yes, well . . .”

Dan shoved his carry-on bag into Ronald’s arms. “Get somebody to drop this off at my house. I’ll catch a later flight.”

Ronald looked worried. “Where are you going?”

“It’s like this, Ronald. I’m going to go do your job for you.”

“I—I’m sorry, Coach, but I don’t know what you mean by that.”

“I mean that I’m going to look up our new owner, and then I’m going to acquaint her with a few facts about life in the big bad NFL.”

Ronald swallowed so hard his Adam’s apple bobbed. “Uh, Coach, that might not be a good idea. She doesn’t seem to want to be bothered with team business.”

“Now that’s just too bad,” Dan drawled as he set off, “because I’m going to bother her real bad.”

5

Pooh got distracted by a Dalmatian as they were crossing Fifth Avenue just above the Metropolitan. Phoebe tugged on the leash.

“Come on, killer. No time for flirting. Viktor’s waiting for us.”

“Lucky Viktor,” the Dalmatian’s owner replied with a grin as he approached Phoebe and Pooh from the opposite curb.