Back to jogging, she passed a Frisbee golf area, then a horseshoe pit. To her right, a loon flapped slowly off the water, a trail of sunlit droplets in its wake. As the bird lifted into the sky, so did Frankie’s mood.

About halfway through the park, she veered off the trail, down a short path that opened into a wide grassy field with picnic tables dotting the perimeter. Old chalk markings indicated the space was used for soccer or football games.

Level ground. Nicely private. Perfect for her aikido practice, especially when she used her jo. Carefully, she did her stretches. Her wound pulled a bit, but it’d be all right.

Starting the kata, she gripped the jo lightly, feeling it become part of her body. As she went through the twenty suburi of thrusting, striking, countering, and figure-eights, energy rose and flowed from her center outward and into the staff.

Balance and grace—the heart of aikido—were what would turn an opponent’s attack into defeat.

The sense of being watched intruded on her peace, and she spun smoothly to scan her surroundings.

Gryff beside him, Bull was leaning against a tree, studying her, scarred arms over his chest. His tank top clung to his thick pectoral muscles, damp with sweat. He’d obviously been jogging with Gryff.

Like a giant wave, her blood surged in her veins, roared in her ears, and tumbled her senses. Bull. Santo cielo, the very air seemed to sparkle.

The dog trotted over, and she smiled in relief. She knew how to talk with him. “Hey there, Gryff.”

He accepted her enthusiastic petting with a wagging tail and a quick lick to her wrist.

“You’re a good dog. A fine dog.” As her brain rebooted and came back online, she straightened and smiled at Bull. “Good morning. Did you enjoy the show?”

How long had he been watching her?

“Why, yes, I did, thank you.” That too-sexy-for-words dimple appeared as he smiled. “You’re exceptionally good, but I assume you know that. How long have you been practicing?”

“I started in elementary school.” She grinned. “My mother wanted me to take dance like my sisters, but there were bullies in my class, so my father said I could learn self-defense. Mama chose aikido because it’s so ‘pretty’.”

Later, Frankie had stayed with it because the philosophy agreed with her own.

“Aikido really is beautiful.” Bull’s brows drew together. “But it’s not the most effective fighting style.”

How many times had she heard that criticism? Unhappily, it was true, in many ways. Not that she’d admit it. A girl had her pride. “Is that a way of saying you want to spar?”

His eyes lit. “Well. Sure. I never turn down a chance to fight.”