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He found Cimarron tucked
beneath her table, as sleepy-eyed as Dayne. The Dobie flicked his ears, but
didn't rise to greet him.

“Second time you've stolen
my dog,” he accused.

“I only worked one hour,”
she told him. “Business was slow. I biked home, let Cim out, and he followed me
back to my camper.”

“Where you both took a nap?”

She stepped into the
kitchen, started making coffee. “I didn't sleep well last night,” she said
slowly. “I was worried about you.”

That set him back. “Worried,
why?” No one stressed over him. Ever.

“You don't have a job,” she
went on to say. “You look healthy and employable, but you may have trouble
finding work. It's your shaved head. Interviewers judge on appearance. You look
hardened, like a man who's spent time in a county facility.”

Jail?
His
jaw went slack. He'd always looked tough. He couldn't change his
features. On the plus side, his hair was growing back. “I'll find work,” he
growled.

“Until then, I have a
solution. Hear me out.” She hopped onto the lower counter, swung her legs, and
smiled. “I met Ben and Brenda Dixon at the warehouse this morning. They own the
smaller pop-up. The couple's from Norton, a town in western Virginia. They were
complaining the trailer parks in Richmond are full.”

No room at the trailer
parks.
Kason went still. Acid
built in his stomach. This couldn't be good. Surely she hadn't...

“The Dixons love baseball,”
she continued. “They're season-ticket holders, in town to catch the Rogues
opener.”

Kason sucked air—his
privacy was about to go public.

Son of a bitch.

“I told the Dixons they
could park their trailer on the empty land.” She seemed quite proud of herself.
“I'm certain whoever owns the acreage wouldn't mind two more vehicles for three
days.”

Kason ran one hand down his
face. Tomboy was making assumptions. He owned the land, and the invasion set
his teeth on edge.

“What about the bus?” His
jaw was locked so tight, the words hissed through his teeth.

“The Coachman belongs to
Ben's brother-in-law and his wife, Brick and Marge Lawrence. Brick looks just
like his name.” She chuckled. “Short, solid, and in great shape for a
sixty-year-old man.

“The Lawrences have an
open-door policy for baseball fans. Everyone's welcome,” she told him. “They
packed twenty people in the Coachman for a party last year when the Rogues made
the play-offs.”

Baseball fanatics, parked
fifty feet away.

A nightmare on Rhodes
Street.

“The Coachman is huge,” she
raved. “Brick gave me a tour. Two bedrooms, closet space, and the bathroom has
a tub. Both RVs have their own generators and auxiliary batteries. They won't
mooch our electricity.”

No mooching.
Their self-sufficiency didn't cool his temper. Four
unknown people now squatted on his land.

Dayne sprang off the
counter, opened the silverware drawer. Beneath a stack of plastic forks and
spoons, she withdrew a wad of cash. She waved the money beneath his nose.
Excitement made her hand tremble.

“I saved the best for last,”
she beamed. “Six hundred dollars! The couples each paid a hundred dollars a
night.” She pried open his fingers, stuffed the cash into his clenched fist. “Now
you have money until you get a job.”

Kason let it all soak in.
He stood numb to her generosity. He'd seen red over her renting RV spaces to
strangers. But however misguided, she'd done it for him. So he'd have spending
money.

She was giving him the
whole amount, when she should have kept half. She needed the cash far more than
he. His anger splintered, and an unidentifiable warmth spread about his heart.
The tomboy found him worthy of her consideration. The meaning of her gesture
was not lost on Kason. Her kindness overwhelmed him.

His conscience weighed as
heavy as the hundred-dollar bills in his hand. He needed to come clean.

“There's more.” She pointed
toward her bedroom. “Look on the dresser. A Rogues baseball cap and bobblehead.
Gifts from Ben. The cap's yours, if you want it.”

Kason owned the official
baseball cap. The bobblehead he'd soon whittle to tooth picks. Each Rogue had
one made in his likeness, sold as memorabilia at James River Stadium.
Apparently Ben was a fan of Psycho McMillan.

“To celebrate your
windfall, I made butterscotch pudding,” she added.

Pudding crowned the day.
He'd skipped lunch, and could eat the whole bowl. She'd been very thoughtful.
He looked at Dayne, and saw hope in her eyes. She cared. Really cared. She
wanted to make his life better. It scared the hell out of him.

There'd be major repercussions
once the truth was revealed. She'd believe he'd played her. He could lose her
trust. Her friendship. Her respect. All because he'd kept silent about his true
identity. His silence made Dayne uneasy.

She shifted from foot to
foot, slapped her hands against her thighs. Bit down on her bottom lip. Then
exhaled sharply. Tomboy was a bundle of nerves.

“Does the money offend you?”
she finally asked. “I only wanted to boost your spirits. Let me help you now,
and you can help me later. Don't be mad—”

“I'm not mad.” He set her
straight.

She touched his arm. “I've
faith in you, Kason. You'll be back on your feet in no time.”

Pressure pushed like a palm
against his chest. The truth was on the tip of his tongue.

“Look,” he started, “there—”

“There's Ben and Brenda.”
Through the window, Dayne caught sight of their SUV pulling in beside the popup.
She slid past Kason and threw open the door before he could stop her. She waved
to catch their attention. “You're antisocial, Kason, but you need to meet them.
They're very nice people.”

Nice or not, he wasn't
ready for an introduction. The meet and greet would not bode well for him.

He tossed the six hundred
dollars on her kitchen counter, followed her out. The money belonged to her, no
matter the outcome.

The Dixons crossed to
Dayne, and Kason stood off to the side. He wasn't invisible, but at least there
was distance between them. Maybe they'd concentrate on Dayne and not on him. He
could only hope so.

Hope laughed in his face.
The couple greeted Dayne, then turned to him. He went stiff, shoulders squared,
gut clenched, his stance wide.

Combative and unwelcoming.

The Dixons weren't put off.
It was only a moment before recognition dawned. Their expressions soon showed
their excitement. A request for his autograph was a heartbeat away. Shit was
about to hit the fan.

“Kason, meet Ben and Brenda
Dixon,” Dayne said. “Ben's a retired city cop and Brenda once worked at the
courthouse in traffic fines.”

Ben was as bald as Kason
and walked with a slight limp. Brenda stood a half foot taller than her
husband. Both wore Rogues jerseys. Ben's jersey was snug. The man needed a
larger size.

Silence filled their
circle, held everyone in place. A freeze-frame, Kason thought, wishing he could
rewind the moment. He'd kill to go back five minutes so he could explain
himself to Dayne.

Dayne Sheridan watched
Kason turn fierce. He'd gone all deep scowl and darkly narrowed eyes in a
matter of seconds. He looked ready to throw all three of them off the acreage.
There wasn't a friendly bone in his body.

She edged toward him,
lightly nudged him with her elbow. “They're here for three nights, that's all,”
she reminded him. “Then they'll—”

“Follow him to Miami,” Ben
was quick to say.

“Florida?” That made no
sense to Dayne. “Kason lives here.”

“The boy travels with the
Rogues,” Brenda informed her. “The team plays one hundred and sixty-two games.
He's on the road as often as he's home.”

“Rogues?” A major mix-up,
Dayne decided. The Dixons had confused Kason with a star athlete. Perhaps there
was a resemblance, but that's where it ended. A jock would be rich and famous,
whereas Kason was private and poor. She stepped before him now, protective of
his feelings. “I'm sorry, you're mistaken,” she said to Ben. “Kason—”

“Rhodes is the best left
fielder in Major League Baseball,” Ben said filling her in. “We were in Tampa
in February, caught spring training. I'd know him anywhere. With all due
respect, he's one intimidating SOB.”

Rhodes.
Dayne had learned his last name from strangers.
Spring training.
The reason behind his vacated trailer.

Sideswiped, she drew a
steadying breath.

Brenda frowned. “You look
confused, sweetie.” Her sympathy touched Dayne. “Weren't you aware Kason played
ball?”

Her silence was telling. “I
had no idea.” She hated to admit it. “We've been neighbors a very short time. I
don't follow baseball. The Rogues never came up.”

“You know who he is now.”
Ben beamed. “Maybe you can catch a game this season.”

Or maybe not. Kason had
played her, and Dayne was no longer a sport. Humiliated, she felt twice the
fool and totally pissed.

Angry, she stepped back and
looked at him through the Dixons' eyes. She kicked herself for not seeing him
clearly.

He stood tall, all broad
chest and thick thighs.

His expression was harsh,
yet intelligent and intense.

His depth, drive, and
decisiveness were evident.

His chest beat with a
sportsman's heart.

He dominated in his
profession. A lowercase god.

She'd stepped into his life
uninvited. Stolen his privacy. Then crowded him with strangers. Strangers who
had provided him with spending money. The six hundred dollars must be laughable
to a man who made millions.

Dayne was as mad at herself
for not seeing the truth as she was at Kason for hiding it.

“A fan rumor said you were
living in the boonies.” Brenda raised her hand to protect her eyes from the sun
as she scanned the land. “Psycho McMillan once claimed you were raised by
wolves.”

Kason squared his shoulders,
blew out a breath. “You're on my property,” he finally admitted. “I own a
thousand acres.”

The enormity of his
statement put Dayne into shock. His land stretched from the double-wide to the
main intersection. He owned the dirt road on which she rode her bike, and as
far as her eyes could see.

Her face heated, yet her
heart felt cold. Hurt lay heavy on her chest. Two strikes took Kason out of her
life. He'd kept his identity a secret.

Worse still, his job played
out before thousands of fans. Mick Jakes had soured her to men in the
spotlight.

Ben Dixon cleared his
throat, then spoke directly to Kason. “We respect your privacy, son. We had no
idea this was your land. If you'd like us to hook up and haul our RVs down the
road, we're happy to oblige.”

“You'll only hear from us
at the ballpark,” Brenda assured him. “We have seats behind home plate. We'll
be cheering you on tomorrow.”

Kason ran his hand across
the back of his neck, quiet and contemplative. When he spoke, his words
surprised them all. “Stay for the three days. Just give me space. My life away
from the park is my own.”

Definitely his own.
Dayne sighed. She'd stepped all over his feet, had
trespassed far too long.

Kason shook Ben's hand. “I'll
get you a signed team baseball before you leave. And a new jersey.”

Ben looked down at his
belly. “Too many nachos, hot dogs, and beer at the park,” he said ruefully. “Thanks,
Rhodes.”

Ben and Brenda took their
leave. Dayne followed suit. Her legs felt stiff, her footsteps heavy. Her
camper seemed a million miles away.

“Breathe in; breathe out;
move on,” she repeated as she entered her Airstream. She rubbed the
Tomorrow
tattoo at her wrist. There had to be better days ahead.