“I’ll tell them a bee got you, and I’m taking out the stinger.”

“Don’t touch my stinger!” She grabbed for her shorts, but they were already heading for her knees. “Stop that!”

He peered down at her panties. “It’s the badger. You lied to me.”

“I wasn’t paying attention when I got dressed.”

“Hold still. I’ve just about found that stinger.”

She heard herself sigh.

“Oh, yeah …” His body moved against hers. “There it is.”

Half an hour later, just as they were emerging from the woods, a very familiar-looking Suburban came barreling around the Common. Kevin told himself it was just a coincidence as he watched it screech to a stop in front of the B&B, but then Roo barked and raced toward it.

Molly let out a squeal and began to run. The car doors opened, and a poodle that looked like Roo jumped out. Then came the kids. It seemed like a dozen, but it was only four, all of them Calebows who were rushing his not-so-estranged wife.

Dread pooled in the pit of his stomach. One thing he knew: Where there were Calebow kids, there were bound to be Calebow parents.

His steps slowed as the luscious blond owner of the Chicago Stars slithered from the driver’s side of the car and her legendary husband emerged from the passenger side. The fact that Phoebe had been driving didn’t surprise him. In this family, leadership seemed to shift back and forth according to circumstances. As he approached the car, he had an uneasy premonition neither of them would like the circumstances at Wind Lake.

What were those circumstances? For almost two weeks now he’d been acting crazed. Training camp was a little over a month away, but he was either laughing with Molly, getting mad at her, freezing her out, or seducing her. He hadn’t watched any game film in days, and he wasn’t working out enough. All he could think about was how much he loved being with her—this sassy, aggravating kid-woman who wasn’t beautiful, silent, or undemanding, but a pain in the ass. And so much fun.

Why did she have to be Phoebe’s sister? Why couldn’t he have met her in a bar? He tried to imagine her in glitter eye shadow and a cellophane dress, but all he could see was the way she’d looked that morning in her underpants and his T-shirt. Her bare feet had been hooked over the rung of a chair, her pretty hair tousled around her face, and those wicked blue-gray eyes had shot trouble at him over the rim of a Peter Rabbit cup.

Now Molly hugged her nieces and nephew, apparently forgetting that her clothes were rumpled and she had pine needles in her hair. He didn’t look much better, and any astute pair of eyes could see what they’d been up to.