CHAPTER TEN

 

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THE POUNDING IN Murphy's head had finally settled into a dull ping. Like a bent knuckle tapping on his brain as opposed to the earlier sledgehammer. If he were at home, he'd head out for a swim in his clear mountain lake. Or take the puppy for a walk in the seemingly endless woods.

Instead, Murphy had made a conscious choice to leave his peaceful solitude for the city and a shitload of self-imposed chaos. The tie and jacket slung carelessly over a nearby chair and the Italian leather shoes, polished to a high shine, toed off the second he entered the house, were the kind of trappings he'd left behind without a backward glance.

At one time, Murphy obsessed over his appearance. Today, other than a haircut and trim for his beard, he hadn't given his wardrobe a second thought. Cyclones management had sent the suit with a tailor to make sure the fit was just so. As he stood for the fitting, wishing he was anyplace else, Murphy knew without question that if the man he was today ever ran into his former self? The meeting would not end well.

"I was a raging asshole." Hardly a revelation. Murphy turned his gaze toward the window. "At least we have water to look at, girl. Though Lake Washington is a damn sight bigger than our little pond."

Fast asleep in Murphy's lap, the puppy sniffled, yawned, before she settled deeper into her favorite spot in the entire world. Casey—she finally had a name—well-fed and loved, had grown by leaps and bounds in the past six weeks. But she would never get too big for a happy snuggle. Casey had become his constant companion. An earnest and understanding confidant. And a ray of sunshine he hadn't realized he needed. And, now, couldn't imagine his life without.

"I could have left you with Zeke," Murphy said as he absently scratched behind her ear. "The general offered to keep you while I was away. And the two of you get along like two peas in a pod."

Casey raised her head, her eyes sleepy but solemn. Murphy interpreted the look to say she was right where she wanted to be. Where he went, she would gladly follow. Or, maybe she simply needed to go outside.

"I'll take her."

Blue O'Hara—a ray of sunshine with her fire-lit red hair and bright silvery eyes—lifted thirty pounds of dog as easily as if she weighed less than a bag of feathers. Casey sighed with contentment as she nuzzled Blue's neck. Murphy didn't blame her. Spencer Kraig's fiancée was a beautiful woman with a friendly smile and a warm personality. She didn't smell bad either.

Murphy protested. "Spencer dropped us on you. Without a lot of notice, I might add. We don't want to be any bother."

"Don't be silly." Smiling, Blue patted his shoulder. "My help—whatever you need—is part of the package."

Tired, on edge, and sorry for the first time in months he couldn't swap out water for a tall beer, Murphy felt a twist in his stomach as a wave of resentment washed through his blood.

"I know I fucked up in the past, but are the Cyclones so worried about their investment that their head of PR has to play babysitter? Don't you have a better way to earn your paycheck than keeping tabs on me?"

The warmth in Blue's distinctive gray eyes turned icy. As quickly as he'd overreacted, Murphy regretted his words. He had the feeling he'd put his oversized foot in his mouth, but he couldn't pull the size thirteen appendage out fast enough to stem the damage.

"Blue, I—"

"Spencer considers you his close friend," Blue interrupted, her chin jutting out. "I meant to offer the same. My friendship. However, if you'd rather keep our relationship on a strictly professional plane, I can accommodate you. Now, if you'll excuse us. This little girl needs some fresh air. As do I."

"Blue…"

Spencer chuckled as he took the chair opposite Murphy. Together, they watched as Blue and the puppy disappeared out the French doors.

"Pretty spectacular, isn't she?" He handed Murphy a bottle of water, then opened one of his own. "Knows how to shrivel a man's balls with one look." Spencer chuckled. "Damn, I love that woman."

"I jumped to the wrong conclusion." Head first. "I'll apologize when she returns."

Spencer dismissed Murphy's concern with a wave of his hand.

"Blue understands the strain today put on you."

Murphy nodded slowly. "I suppose strain is as good a word as any. The problem is, I didn't have to stand in front of a room full of bloodthirsty sports writers. Or let them and every talking head in the country gleefully stir up the past. The life I made for myself away from baseball and the public eye was a good one. Smooth and easy. Drama and bump free. I could have stayed where I was. Perfectly content."

"If you were so content and happy, why did you jump at the chance to play ball again?"

An excellent question with more answers than Murphy had yet to figure out. Partly, his old competitive spirit had kicked in. He hated to lose. Passionately. A trait he was certain he'd outgrown. Apparently, he was wrong.

No matter how many accolades or awards had come before, the way Murphy left the game was a big fat red check in the loss column. Loser wasn't a word he wanted attached to his name. When Spencer came to him with maybe the craziest idea he'd ever heard, he should have said no.

Yet here he was, ready to suit up again for the chance to wash the bitter taste from his mouth that, try as he might, he'd never been able to entirely wash away.

"What if I fail?"

"You knew the risk when you signed your contract."

Good old Spencer. Yoda to his teammates. They first met when they played for the St. Louis Cardinals. Murphy, a few years older, but not half as wise. Spencer, the upstart rookie who would soon take the league by storm.

A born leader even then, Spencer was the man everybody turned to for guidance. Murphy, on the other hand, had loved to party, happy to coast on his natural, God-given talents.

The team bad boy and the whiz kid. Why they'd become fast friends was a mystery. But for some reason, they clicked, the bond strong. When Spencer left St. Louis to sign with the Cyclones, they stayed close. When Murphy hit rock bottom, Spencer was the first one there with a hand up.

"You've put your ass on the line for me."

Spencer took a long, thoughtful drink of water. When he lowered the bottle, a smile formed on his lips. One that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"If you asked a favor of me, you know I would do my best to help you out."

"I do."

"Friends to the end."

"Get to the point, Yoda."

Spencer didn't rile easily, but when somebody pushed far enough, the man—much like his fiancée—could take his opponent down with a single look. Or a right cross to the chin if need be.

"I'm convinced you can still play the game. The Cyclones' pitching staff is young and inexperienced. A veteran catcher is exactly what they need. However, if you can't hack the day-to-day grind, I won't think less of you."

Murphy knew another shoe was about to drop. Any second.

"But?" he prodded. Like with a Band-Aid, he preferred Spencer expose the wound with one quick, clean pull.

"If you do anything to fuck with my team, I will be the first in line to kick your ass out the door. Have I made myself clear?"

"As glass."

Murphy looked at Spencer, his gaze unwavering. Spencer looked back. Thirty seconds passed. Then as if on cue, they grinned. The subject was closed. For now. Murphy was on probation and nobody, not even his best friend, was about to give him an inch of leeway.

"You weren't quite so in my way or the highway emphatic when you first suggested I attempt a comeback," Murphy said, chuckling.

Spencer shrugged. "I didn't want to say anything that might discourage you. But you knew without me telling you."

Of all the baseball people Murphy knew, Spencer wasn't the most fanatical. Keep the game pure. Don't mess with tradition. And all that crap. What singled his friend out was his belief in team first. Not that he was a saint. Spencer was one of the best—if not the best—players in the game. And he didn't play for free by any means. However, he cared about more than just winning. He looked out for his teammates with an unheard of and unwavering ferocity. Murphy included.

"About my living arrangements." Murphy didn't want to sound ungrateful. Nor did he want to get in Spencer and Blue's way. Nobody appreciated a third wheel. "I need to find my own place. After all, I'm hardly a charity case."

The creative ways Murphy had found to screw up his life read like a graphic novel. Vividly drawn but schizophrenic. Part slapstick. Part horror. However, he'd been smart about one thing. Money. With the eagle eye of an excellent business manager, the generous paychecks he'd earned during his playing days—and continued to pocket because of a guaranteed contract—had grown. And grown. And grown. To be honest, the amount was a bit mindboggling.

"A place of your own would be impractical," Spencer said with a dismissive shake of his head.

"But—"

"A baseball season has a unique rhythm and routine. Remember? For the next few weeks, you'll be too busy to think about anything else," Spencer reasoned. "Even after you get your footing, we'll be on the road half the time. You might as well hang your hat where you're around friends instead of strangers. Nick and Travis are within shouting distance. If you get sick of us, one of them will be happy to take you in."

"Nick and Travis are great guys. But they're in the same situation as you." When Spencer raised a questioning brow, Murphy wiggled his ring finger. "Each has a new fiancée."

"Love is in the air." Spencer gaze softened as Blue entered, a tail-wagging puppy at her heels.

"She did her business like a good girl," Blue placed her hand on Spencer's. Love indeed, Murphy thought as he witnessed the look that passed between the happy couple. "I think I'll turn in."

"Give me a few minutes, I'll be right behind."

"Good night, Murphy. And…" She leaned over to kiss his cheek. "Welcome to our home."

Surprised, Murphy wondered—not for the first time—why he had been blessed with such amazing friends. After the crap he'd pulled and the bridges he'd burned, he shouldn't have anything left but ashes. Yet, here he was. Surrounded by second chances and some of the best people he'd ever known.

"I told you," Spencer said with an air of justified smugness. "Our home is yours, Murphy. Besides, your wing of the house is practically in another zip code. Privacy won't be an issue."

"Fine." Murphy held up his hands in surrender. "You win."

"I usually do, my friend. I usually do." Spencer rose to his feet. "Two more things. First? Blue is a forgiving soul. Lucky for me. However, the apology you mentioned earlier would be a nice touch. For good measure, send a couple dozen roses to her office."

"Flowers? Aren't they a bit of a cliché?"

"If you'd done something really bad, Blue would shove them down your throat. Petal by petal. In your case? Trust me. Send the flowers. Now, I have a gorgeous fiancée waiting for me so, I'll say good night."

"Wait," Murphy called out. "You said you had two more things to say. What was the other?"

Without turning, Spencer answered as he continued up the staircase.

"After you get settled. In a week or so. You and I need to have a talk."

"About?"

"You, my sister, what went on while she was at your cabin. And whether or not I need to kick the shit out of you."

With a look over his shoulder, Spencer paused at the top, his green eyes so like Jordyn's, the realization was like a punch in Murphy's gut. Certain his point had been made, he disappeared down the hall.

"Son of a bitch." Murphy rested his elbows on his knees. Rubbing his face, he sighed, "Jordyn."

From where she had collapsed near his feet, Casey raised her head with a hopeful look in her big, brown eyes.

"I know, girl." He patted her head. "I want to see her as much as you. More, if truth be told. However—"

Casey whined as if she knew his destination and didn't approve.

"How do you think Spencer would react if I pulled Jordyn into the chaos that surrounds me? I know." Murphy nodded to his silent yet perceptive friend. "Jordyn is an adult. She makes her own decisions. Runs her own life. If I go to her, I'll break the promise I made her father. And myself."

If Casey could have rolled her eyes, Murphy was certain she would have chosen right then to show off her new skill.

"Sorry, girl. Talking to you is one thing. You're a great sounding board. But the day I let a dog become the arbiter of my conscience is the day I head to the nearest mental health facility and ask them to throw away the key."

As he stared out the window, watching the lights from the nearby houses play over the water, Murphy settled deeper into the chair. Before the summer ended, his path was bound to cross with Jordyn's. He hoped by the time they met again, her sweet taste would have faded from his memory. But he had his doubts.

With a touch of the sadist, Murphy closed his eyes, licking his lips. Mmm, he sighed. Sweet. As if he'd just brushed his mouth over Jordyn's soft, smooth skin.

The signs were there. Murphy knew how an addiction could grab hold with a vice-like grip, determined to never let go. However, as surely as he breathed in and out, unlike alcohol and drugs, Jordyn would never try to drag him down into a miasma of destruction and regret.

The old Murphy, filled with too much ego and too little self-awareness, wouldn't have hesitated to rush forward without a second thought about the consequences. But not this time.

"Jordyn isn't an addiction." Murphy let out a humorless chuckle. "Though she's damn potent. And lingers in the blood longer than any drug."

The first time Murphy saw Jordyn, he'd pegged her as dangerous. He'd been wrong. She could be the best thing to ever happen to him. The problem? He knew for her sake, he should stay away. Because he didn't want to turn out to be the worst thing to ever happen to her.

 

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SUNDAY DINNER WAS a Kraig family tradition. Some of Jordyn's fondest memories involved sitting around the big mahogany table her mother pridefully kept polished to a high gleam. As she and her brothers grew from childhood to adolescence, their lives became busy with friends and afterschool activities. Full schedules meant crazy hours and meals were eaten at whatever hour they wandered in.

However, one night a week, Dorothy Kraig had insisted they sit down together. No excuses allowed. The tradition continued long after the nest was empty. If physically possible, they gathered together every week. Not out of obligation or maternal dictate. They came out of respect for the parents who raised them. But most of all, they came out of love.

As Jordyn took plates from the antique sideboard, she thought about the tales the dining room walls could tell. Stories of laughter and tears. Arguments never left to fester for long. She and her brothers had forged an unbreakable bond over big meals while they recounted their weekly adventures in the outside world.

A safe haven. A nurturing, happy environment. And—big bonus—Jordyn could honestly say she liked her family as well as loved them. She didn't know a lot of her contemporaries who could claim the same.

"Humming and smiling. You must have had a good day," Spencer said as he entered the room.

Without a second thought, he drew Jordyn in for a hug. Just as naturally, she hugged him back. She loved all her brothers, but she'd always had a special connection with Spencer.

"Not as good as yours." Jordyn handed him a stack of napkins. "An extra-inning win? Very nice."

"I'll take the W," Spencer acknowledged as he placed a napkin next to each plate. "However, if Broadbent hadn't blown the lead in the seventh, I would have been here an hour earlier."

"If the catcher had blocked the ball in the dirt, the Rangers wouldn't have scored the tying run."

Jordyn refused to mention Murphy by name. However, she'd opened the door, all Spencer had to do was cooperate and step through.

"As catchers go, Wilt Pearson is at best a backup for a backup." Spencer executed a perfect what will be, will be shrug. "Hopefully, he can hold the pitching staff together until Friday."

Frustrated, Jordyn almost growled until she saw the familiar teasing light in her brother's eyes. Damn him. He wanted her to ask about Murphy. Usually, in a battle of wills, they were evenly matched. But, tonight, Jordyn was afraid she would be the first one to blink.

"The Cyclones sent Murphy down to the triple-A club in Tacoma," Blue said, just in time to save the day. Normally, she didn't take sides between her best friend and her fiancé. But tonight, she stood firmly with Jordyn. "He needs to knock off the cobwebs and get back his rhythm. A few games, then he'll join the big club."

Jordyn nodded. A short stint in the minors was routine for anybody who hadn't played in a while. She should have remembered. The look Spencer gave her said he agreed. And that he knew why she wasn't as quick on the uptake as usual.

"About Murphy—"

"No." Blue jumped in. "You don't get to go there, Spencer."

Spencer crossed his arms, a stubborn glint in his green eyes. "My friend. My sister. My business."

"He really believes what he said," Blue laughed, turning to Jordyn. "You didn't interfere when your best friend started dating your brother."

"Jordyn and Murphy are different from you and me."

"Because…?" Blue's raised brow dared Spencer.

"Fine. You want the truth? Jordyn is a girl. There. Are you happy?"

"On so many levels, the last thing I am is happy. First?" Blue waved a finger in Spencer's face. "Jordyn is a woman."

"Stuff the P.C. crap, Blue. Girl. Woman. You know what I meant."

"I know exactly what you meant, fella."

Quietly, Jordyn backed from the room. She would have stepped in if she didn't have the feeling Blue and Spencer got a charge out of arguing. They obviously enjoyed the chance for a little verbal sparring. Far be it for her to interrupt.

In the kitchen, Dorothy Kraig gave her husband a piece of cheese stuffed celery, followed by a kiss. Such a handsome couple, Jordyn thought with pride. Nearing sixty, they looked a good decade younger. We take care of each other, her mother once said. They watched their diets. Took long walks. Loved. And laughed. A lot. They had found the perfect prescription for a long, happy, healthy life.

The unshakable, undeniable love between Jordyn's parents had always been a wonderful constant in her life. She believed a man and woman make a relationship work not from fairy tales she'd read in books. Byron and Dorothy Kraig showed her a real life forever after. Almost forty years and going strong.

"Rick and Reid won't be here," Jordyn's mother announced. "Their families are spread out all over today in the middle of one activity or another. But they should wrangle everybody together next week."

"I can chew them out later. For now…" Jordyn tapped her father on the arm. "I'll use you as an appetizer."

"What did I do?" Byron Kraig frowned."

Dorothy took a bubbling casserole from the oven.

"Think hard, dear." She gave Jordyn an exasperated smile. "Men tend to forget what they'd rather not deal with."

"Oh." Byron looked a little sheepish, running a hand through his still thick, dark hair. "If you're talking about Murphy, I didn't do anything wrong. Subject closed."

"Subject wide open." Jordyn had always been encouraged to speak her mind. As long as she proceeded with due respect. She wasn't angry. Simply perplexed. "Why didn't you tell me who he was?"

"He asked me not to."

"What happened to your motto? Family first. Last time I checked, I'm your daughter. And Murphy is what? A casual acquaintance?"

Byron's expression turned thoughtful.

"We'd met a few times through Spencer. When Murphy had his problems. I reached out to see if I could help."

Jordyn shouldn't have been surprised. Her father was the kind of man who tried to lift others up when they needed a hand.

"What happened?" she asked.

"At the time, Murphy had closed himself off to most of the world. Spencer was one of the few people he let in." Byron put an arm around Jordyn's shoulders. "When he asked me not to tell you about his past, I agreed because I didn't think you would see him again. He wanted your memory of him to stay untainted."

"I see." At least Jordyn thought she did.

"Your father thought you would be happier not knowing. Maybe he was right. Maybe he was wrong." Dorothy smiled, her dark eyes warm and loving as she brushed a finger over Jordyn's cheek. "He didn't choose Murphy. He chose you."

With a nod, Jordyn rested her head against her father's. Family first.

"I have a question."

"Only one?" Byron laughed. "As a child, you were a non-stop question machine. Not much has changed."

"Mom," Jordyn winked. "I don't know how you've managed to stay married to such a smart—"

"Watch your language, young lady," Byron warned.

"Aleck," Jordyn finished with wide-eyed innocence.

"Hmm." Her father didn't look convinced, but he let the subject drop.

"What did you want to know, sweetheart?" Dorothy asked as she put her husband to work slicing tomatoes.

"Everybody knew Murphy except me?"

Dorothy handed Jordyn a head of lettuce, pointing toward the salad bowl.

"I met him only once when your father and I visited Spencer in St. Louis. He took us all out to dinner after the game. Charming young man."

She couldn't argue, Jordyn thought as she sliced the lettuce into bite-size chunks.

Spencer and Blue entered the kitchen hand in hand just in time to catch the gist of the conversation. Blue's family was just as big on the whole Sunday get-together. Luckily, her parents lived within walking distance. When they were in town, the couple could visit his and hers and didn't break a sweat.

"Rick and Reid met Murphy the same way. Though I think we were on the road at the time. Denver, maybe? We hit some of the clubs."

"On a game night?" Dorothy asked as if her grown son were still a little school-age boy.

Spencer chuckled. "Not me. However, in the interest of showing Rick and Reid a good time—long before they were responsible, married men—Murphy may have missed curfew."

"Don't look at me." Blue held up her hands. "I just met the man before the press conference."

"You get a pass." Jordyn turned to her brother. "I came to a few games in St. Louis. Why didn't I get the full Murphy experience?"

"Do you think I possess above-average intelligence?"

"Most of the time," she conceded. "What does one thing have to do with the other?"

"A smart man," Spencer explained, "doesn't put a lamb anywhere near the Big Bad Wolf."

Jordyn let Spencer's words sink in before she decided to laugh or tear her brother a new one.

"I'm the lamb?" she asked Blue. She believed the smart thing was to get a second opinion.

"Apparently." Blue nodded with due solemnity. A twinkle in her eyes.

"Murphy, obviously, was cast as the Big Bad Wolf."

"Nobody forced the role on him, Jordyn." Spencer drove the point home with absolute clarity. "Murphy embraced his bad boy status. Reveled would be a good word. A debaucher of women. Though they were always more than willing to let him do his worst."

"Debaucher?" Jordyn and Blue exchanged amused looks. "Welcome back to the nineteenth century. I had no idea you were such a prude, Spencer."

"He isn't." Blue squeezed Spencer's hand. "Except where his sister is concerned."

"Dinner's ready," Dorothy announced.

The conversation turned to more neutral subject matter as they enjoyed the meal. But Jordyn couldn't keep Murphy out of her mind. She couldn't reconcile the man she'd read about, the one Spencer described, with the man she'd spent two glorious days getting to know in and out of bed. Which was he? The arrogant, yet talented baseball player? Or the sensitive artist? Debaucher of women? Or sensitive, creative lover?

Jordyn knew what she wanted to believe. But was she a victim of wishful thinking? Or had he really changed? For the life of her, she couldn't decide.

"I know you believe Murphy can still play, Spencer." Byron set his fork on his empty plate. "Two years out of the game is a long time. And catcher is a brutal position. Even for a young man."

"Murphy is hardly old," Dorothy said. "Who wants dessert?"

"Who doesn't?" Blue asked. "Let me help."

"Thirty-six isn't old in the real world. However, age creeps up on even the most diligent athlete," Byron said.

"Amen," Spencer sighed.

Nobody at the table tried to reassure Spencer or lay on the platitudes. They understood that every athlete had a shelf life. The end to a career could be twenty years down the road or the next day, depending on the durability of each individual body. Or, worst of all, an injury too severe to come back from.

Spencer was only thirty. In his baseball playing prime. However, he'd been around, seen too much, to take anything for granted.

"Murphy is in better shape today than when he played every day." Spencer thanked his mother when she handed him a slice of lemon cake. "And he's smarter. More grounded. He'll bring a lot more to the game this time around."

"But…?" Dorothy urged.

"For the first few games, Murphy is going to hurt like hell." Spencer grinned as if he enjoyed the idea. "I almost feel sorry for him."

"I can't believe you would take pleasure in your friend's pain." Blue tsked. Then, unable to keep a straight face, laughed. Bryon joined in.

"I don't see what's so funny." Dorothy sent her family a chiding look.

"Not exactly funny, Mom." Spencer coughed, trying his best to straighten his smile. "Murphy's a veteran. However, he's a new Cyclone. We don't have time to welcome him properly."

"What do you mean?" Dorothy asked, obviously confused. "I thought you already welcomed him?"

Jordyn knew exactly what Spencer meant. She locked eyes—so like her own—with her brother's. Though he'd managed to control his laughter, mirth still danced in his deep-green irises.

"New guys get hazed, Mom," Jordyn explained. "His inevitable aches and pains will be Mother Nature's way of doing to Murphy what Spencer and his cronies can't."

"I sympathize," Spencer insisted. "In fact, I would be the first to present Murphy with a big bottle of Advil. However, since his stint in rehab, he won't take even the mildest pain medication. Herbal remedies are out as well. Some can present as a false/positive for banned substances."

"Over-the-counter medication isn't illegal," Byron pointed out.

Spencer shrugged. "Murphy's a stickler. After everything he went through to get clean, I can't say I blame him."

Her father wasn't the only one surprised. Jordyn knew Murphy didn't drink. He'd told her. At the time, she hadn't thought to ask why. Most people wouldn't think twice about drinking a beer to help themselves relax after an exhausting day. Murphy didn't have the option.

He wouldn't even allow himself a simple aspirin. Jordyn felt a wave of sympathy. And more than a little concern.

After she had been presented with all the facts, Dorothy took a moment to digest the information. Then, reached over to take back Spencer's piece of cake.

"Hey," he protested.

"Only good boys get dessert, young man," his mother told him.

"What about Dad and Blue? I wasn't the only one who laughed at Murphy's misery."

"They can do without, too," Dorothy declared.

"Thanks for throwing us under the bus, bud." Blue used her long index finger to poke Spencer in the arm. She made certain her nail bit through the cotton of his lightweight shirt.

"Dorothy," Byron cajoled, taking his wife's hand, kissing the back. "Love of my life. I'm sorry. Truly. I was an insensitive fool."

Dorothy snatched back her hand, crossing her arms over her chest. Her expression intractable.

"I'm not the one who needs, no, deserves your apology."

Jordyn bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from grinning as she watched the mini-theatrics play out before her. Nobody involved took the proceedings seriously. Nothing was on the line but a bit of Sunday dinner fun. Still, everybody played their parts to perfection.

Unnoticed, Jordyn slipped from her chair and out of the room. Byron fell to his knees, head bowed, repentant. Dorothy would soon relent. However, she would hold out as long as possible to prolong the fun.

The whole lot of them were crazy. Jordyn's family was looney in the best possible way. And she wouldn't have changed a single thing and would fight tooth and nail the first person who tried.

The patented Kraig brand of insanity had given her an idea. But she needed help. Jordyn lifted her phone, mentally crossing her fingers. After the second ring, her prayers—and call—were answered.

"Jordyn," the woman said, a genuine warmth and welcome in her tone. "What a pleasant surprise."

"Hello, Claire."

Claire Thornton was one of Jordyn's favorite people. They'd met at a gathering of Seattle businesswomen and become fast friends. Her husband, superstar running back Logan Price, was certified Seattle sports royalty. Which Jordyn supposed, made Claire a princess by association. She certainly carried herself with the confidence of a woman who could easily wear a crown on her head.

However, Claire was much more than a pretty bauble on her famous husband's arm. She was immensely successful in her own right. Claire ran a multimillion-dollar business that featured her own handcrafted line of creams, lotions, and potions.

Jordyn had wheedled and pushed and prodded—gently, of course—for over a year until she convinced Claire to concoct an exclusive line for Periwinkle. The items were so popular, they sold out almost as soon as they were placed on the store shelves.

"I need a favor," Jordyn said.

"If I can help, you know I will."

Relieved, Jordyn relaxed. Friends. She wondered how she would ever get by without them.

"Are you familiar with Murphy Baldwin?"

Claire chuckled. "I would have to have lived under a rock for the past week not to have heard. Besides, Murphy and Logan are old friends. He called Logan to pick his brain. To get some advice about making a comeback after a few years out. We had him for dinner before he signed his contract."

Head tipped back, Jordyn let out a sigh. Why was she surprised? From what she could tell, everyone in her personal universe had met Murphy. And knew his story.

Jordyn shook off her chagrin. Her feelings weren't important at the moment.

"If you're at home, I'd like to come by."

"Sure. Logan and the boys are on a backyard adventure," Claire said. "They're a bit too young for a full-out camping trip. However, my men—big and little—love lying under the stars. They are so cute, bundled together in one oversized sleeping bag. Before long, Logan's Sundays will be devoted to football. He wants to get as much time in with Miles and Geoff as possible."

The pride and love in Claire's voice radiated through the phone.

"Logan is a good father."

"And a good husband. And a good man. And I'm a very lucky woman."

Jordyn didn't often feel envious of others. Her life was too full to want what somebody else had. Still, she easily recognized the twinge near the vicinity of her heart. Anybody could find a husband. Finding one who was worth keeping was another matter altogether. She couldn't help but wonder if she would ever be as lucky as Claire and Logan.

"You can come over anytime." Claire broke into Jordyn's wayward thoughts.

"I'll see you in about thirty minutes."

"You're in a hurry. Do you want to give me a hint about the favor you need?"

"Better I explain when I get there."

Thoughtfully, Jordyn put away her phone. Murphy hadn't called. Or tried to see her. The reason could be simple. So much had happened in a very short period. He'd been thrown into a whirlwind of activity. If he had time to catch his breath, she would be surprised. His last priority would be to contact her. A woman who, despite the intense two days they'd shared, he barely knew.

Or, perhaps Murphy's actions were more calculated. He might not want to see her. Period. If so, was she about to make a huge mistake?

Jordyn stiffened her spine, tossing away her concerns as she headed to say goodbye to her family. All she wanted was to help Murphy, not invade his life. If he rejected her friendly overture, at least she could say she tried.