One minute hot, the next cold.
When he kissed her next, he wanted her to want it as much as he did, not to be second-guessing herself.
He would kiss her again. Soon. She might not want to admit it, but she wanted the kiss as much as he did. Everything in her expression, her stance, her eyes, said so.
“Well, I guess you’re a damn saint, then, eh?”
There went the cold again. And the hurt.
“Far from it.”
Looking away, she shrugged. “Not to hear Agnes tell it.”
“Agnes is biased. She’s my godmother.”
Chrissie’s eyes widened. Obviously Agnes hadn’t told her that part.
“Her husband, Bud, and my father grew up in the same neighborhood and were best friends. Somehow, that friendship survived my father’s personality all these years.”
“Something wrong with your father’s personality?”
Ha, now there was a tricky question if ever there was one.
“Most people would say he’s near perfect.”
Her eyebrow arched. “But not you?”
Not a subject he wanted to discuss any more than he wanted to discuss Sudan or Yemen or Kerry. Maybe less so.
“So, about those Braves...”
He watched emotions play across her face, but she let any further questions she had go. How many times had he closed his eyes and recalled her face? How many times when the whole world seemed to have gone crazy had he closed his eyes and just remembered everything about her?
“Yeah, well, apparently you don’t recall, or maybe you never knew—” her chin tilted upward “—but I’m not a fan of baseball.”
Well, no one was perfect even if in his mind she was close.
“That’s un-American,” he teased.
She shrugged. “Overpaid bunch of men who never grew up as far as I’m concerned.”
His lips twitched. “I’ll have you know those guys work hard.”
She gave him an accusing look. “You sound as if you’re one of them. Former player or just a wannabe?”
He laughed and it felt good. Foreign, but good. He’d not had many reasons to laugh over the past four years. It hadn’t all been bad. Some parts had been wonderful. He’d been helping people who desperately needed help. But overall there hadn’t been nearly enough laughter.
For all the craziness, he’d felt as if he was doing something positive in the world, had felt alive and needed.
“Nope, never been much of a baseball player,” he admitted. “But I have a few friends on the team.”
“On the Atlanta Braves baseball team?” She sounded incredulous.
He nodded. His father handled more than one of the players’ finances, was a real-estate mogul, and prior to Trace leaving the country they’d moved in the same social circles. These days, all the parties and hoopla seemed pointless when there were people starving and being killed for their beliefs or place of birth.
Shaking off the memory, he focused on the petite blonde staring up at him and drank her in like a breath of fresh air.
Chrissie’s brows pinched. “Just who are you, anyway?”
Determined that he was going to keep the past four years at bay, not think about pending decisions that needed making about his future, Trace grinned. “That’s right. You forgot my name.”
For the first time, a smile toyed on her lips.
A guilty smile.
That she’d pretended not to remember him was as telling as her comment about his not asking for her phone number.
He stuck out his hand. “Hi. I’m Trace Stevens. I’m a volunteer in the medical tent. I’ll be working closely with you over the next couple of days.”
“Not that closely.”
It occurred to him that just because his life hadn’t moved forward, a lot could have changed in hers.
He’d just assumed she was single, available.
His gaze dropped to her left hand and specifically to her empty third finger.
“No wedding ring,” he mused out loud. “Boyfriend?”
“I’m not married.” Her lower lip disappeared between her teeth. “But I date from time to time.”
He let her answer digest, not liking the green sludge making its way through his veins. He had no claims on her. He never had. When he’d spotted her across the tent he hadn’t even considered that she might be involved with someone else. He’d just seen her and wanted her.
Four years had come and gone. It wasn’t as if he’d have expected anyone to have waited on him.
And to wait for what? A weekend fling every few years when he came home?
He had nothing to offer beyond that and never would.
CHRISSIE NEEDED TO get away from Trace. Quickly. Being around him made her insides mush.
“So,” she said as a way of moving the conversation away from anything personal. “What can I do to help get things set up?”
“Bud and Agnes are so organized they have most everything taken care of. The bins of donated supplies are over here and are labeled. We can set the area up along the lines of what we did four years ago.”
Chrissie’s face heated, which told her way too much about her state of mind.
“A triage area and a treatment area?” Had her voice been several octaves higher or was that just her imagination?
“Yes.” How dared he sound so calm? “We’ll set one treatment area up to be a bit more private, just in case.”
No. No. No. There went her naughty imagination again to places it shouldn’t go. To memories of a former private treatment area where her body had been quite ravished.
She couldn’t prevent her blush.
Hoping he didn’t notice, or that he’d think it the result of the Georgia heat, she nodded. “That works for me. How many volunteers do we have in the medical area this year?”
The more the better. She hoped they were so over-staffed that being alone was impossible.
“Around a dozen, I think.” He pulled out a list and began reading it. “We have a couple of doctors, a couple of nurses, a paramedic, a few nurse practitioners, and a few techs, and then some med and nursing students. It should run smoothly.”
“Trace Stevens, is that you?” a female voice with a light accent called out from the other side of the tent.
Trace and Chrissie both turned. A pretty brunette with long sleek hair pulled into a ponytail headed their direction. A huge smile was on her face and Chrissie wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d broken into a run to close the gap between her and Trace quicker.
“Alexis,” he greeted the woman, who wrapped her arms around him and gave him a big hug. “I just saw your name on the list.”
Chrissie was beginning to think she was going to have to peel the woman off to get her to let go of Trace, but eventually, and with obvious reluctance, she stepped back and brushed her hands down her white shorts and turquoise top.
“I