She eyed his jet-black End Zone briefs. “Why did you put those things on? I like you naked.”

“I’ve noticed.” His touch grew lighter as he discovered a magical spot in the sensitive nook behind her knee. “You’re a wild woman. This is the only way I can get a little recuperation time.”

She dropped her eyes to the real end zone. “Obviously, Thor God of Thunder is fully recuperated.”

“Halftime is definitely over.” He pulled the sheet away. “And I’m calling the next play.”

Jack pulled his overnight case from the trunk of his car, which he’d parked near the barn. It had been a long time since he’d had to carry his own luggage, but he’d been doing it for the past couple of weeks whenever he left the farm for a quick trip to New York or a longer one to the West Coast. The tour was shaping up. Yesterday he’d approved marketing plans, and today he’d done some prerelease publicity for his new album. Fortunately, the county airport was large enough to accommodate a private jet, so he could get in and out fairly easily. With his pilot running interference, he’d even managed to get to and from his car without being recognized.

Dean had agreed to let Riley stay at the farm until he left for Stars training camp a month from now. That meant April was putting off her return to L.A., something he knew Dean wasn’t happy about. All of them, it seemed, were making sacrifices for his daughter.

It was nearly seven o’clock, and the workers had left for the day. He set his overnight case by the side door and walked around to the back to see whether the electrician had completed the wiring for the porch’s overhead fans. The walls were up, the roof on, and the smell of new wood welcomed him. Out of nowhere, he heard a faint female voice, so innocent, so sweet, so perfectly pitched, that for a moment, he thought he was imagining it.

“Do you remember when we were young,
And we’d awake just to see the sun?
Baby, why not smile?”

He forgot to breathe.

“I know that life is cruel.
You know that better than I do.”

She had the voice of a tarnished angel, dewy innocence tinged with disillusionment. He imagined pristine white wing feathers battered at the tips, a halo tilted ever-so-slightly off center. She improvised with the final chorus, moving up an octave, hitting the heart of every note, her range exceeding his rough rocker’s baritone. He followed the music around the back of the porch.