J.C. felt a light stroking on her cheek. She smiled -- contented, charmed even.

Then she smelled something along the lines of Limburger cheese. Oh God. She coughed and raised one eyelid. And got an eyeful of big wet nose and large pink tongue.

She turned her head to the side. "Try not to take this personally, but you need to get serious about that bad breath. The Milk Bones just aren't cutting it."

"Back, Red Dog, back." Liam elbowed the dog away. "If it makes you feel any better, he was only showing his affection."

"That kind of affection I can do without." She reached behind her head to check her latest injury.

"Here, let me do that." He felt the swelling at the base of her crown. "It's a good size lump, but no bleeding."

"I suppose I should be grateful for small favors." J.C. closed her eyes. The feel of his fingertips stroking the injured area was like heaven. It was enough to make her forget the coldness of the ground seeping into her bones.

"Hey, don't go passing out on me again."

Her eyes stayed shut. "Don't worry. I'm enjoying this too much to waste it on an unconscious state. You don't happen to give massages for a living, do you?"

"Not normally, but for you I could make an exception." His hand moved a little lower to the base of her neck.

J.C.'s eyes opened a fraction. Liam's face was inches from hers. "Your breath is much better than your dog's, you know."

"Thank you. And I bet I could lick your face better, too." He pulled back with a startled look on his face. "I can't believe I said that."

J.C. smiled. "It's the best offer I've had all day. But if you don't mind, I think I'll take a rain check, wait until I have one bump at most. In the meantime--" she motioned with her head "--Maybe I'll try sitting up again."

"You sure you want to risk it?"

J.C. was acutely aware of his body straddling hers, the way his naked chest expanded and contracted as he breathed in and out. Boy, was J.C. aware of it. "You realize you have your shirt off?"

"Frankly, I was thinking more on the lines of you still having yours on."

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh." He angled his head as he studied her face. "You make a habit of blacking out on strange men in the woods?"

"Only with you." J.C. shook her head. And winced. Liam winced back. "Take it easy." He returned to rubbing the back of her head. "Does it still hurt?"

"If I told you more than ever, would you keep doing what you're doing?" She let her eyes drift halfway closed.

"I'm happy to keep doing it even if you're not in pain."

J.C.'s eyes opened slowly, and she thought a moment before speaking. What the hell, she might as well spill it all. "You know, this isn't the first time I've hit my head with you in the near vicinity. The last time was about fifteen or so years ago." Actually, it happened fourteen years and four months ago, but she figured spouting a figure like that might make her seem obsessive. She wasn't. It was just her number skills working overtime.

Liam stilled his hand on the back of her head. "Fifteen years ago? That's going back a ways. All the way to high school." He thought a moment. "So how come I don't remember?"

"You wouldn't."

Liam looked into her rich brown eyes. "Trust me, I'd remember you."

"C'mon. We're talking high school."

"You're right. What can I say? I was your typical adolescent male overwhelmed by hormonal urges and a desperate need to get my driver's license." He started to massage her head once more. "So jog my memory."

J.C. inhaled deeply. "Okay, it was like this. I was a freshman in Hightstown High Ð the town I'm from, across Route One? -- when I saw this picture in the newspaper of Liam McDonald, you." She laid out the details quickly. "What can I say? I was your typical adolescent female overwhelmed by hormonal urges and a desperate need to meet Prince Charming -- thoughts of a car didn't enter into my picture. Anyway, overcome as I was by unrequited lustÑ"

"If I had only known. Think of the mutual hormonal urges."

"Well, yes, I think I'd rather not." J.C. didn't mention how at night she used to hug her pillow to her face and pretend she was kissing him. For years, she associated making out with the smell of fabric softener.

"Anyway, it seemed like all my dreams had come true when I finally saw you in person, at a swim meet." She narrowed her eyes. "I had just finished competing in the fifty free. I don't remember how I did, but I do remember that you were standing by the edge of the pool, wearing one of those itty-bitty SpeedosÉ."

Even to her innocent eyes back then, Liam had appeared to be, shall we say, mature for his age. She glanced down. Nothing much appeared to have changed. "Truly embarrassing as this is to admit, I was so rattled that when I went to pull myself up out of the water, I conked my head on the pool gunnels but good, the net result being there was blood everywhere."

Liam grimaced. "Did you need stitches?"

"A few." Six. The faint scar was still visible by her hairline.

Liam took a moment to digest all the information. "So I've been the cause of head wounds -- twice? Surely there must be something I could do to atone for my sins?" He punctuated this last inquiry with a smile that somehow managed to look contrite and inviting at the same time.

Never slow on the draw, J.C. could imagine all sorts of things -- well, a few in particular. But now more than ever she was aware of how the chilly dampness of the wet leaves was working its way through her clothes and into her skin. Could she ignore the cold reality of the latter in favor of the sweet fantasy of the former?

Despite the temptation -- and Liam McDonald, the grown-up Liam McDonald, was certainly a temptation -- J.C. knew the odds of a long shot coming through were just about nil. Not because she had been slighted so many times -- the exception being her dork of an ex-husband, Stan de Riviera.

No, it was just that when it came to the odds, or numbers in general, J.C. simply knew them. It was one of those inexplicable traits, like the way some people had a photographic memory for faces. Ask her the population of Indianapolis and she could supply it. Want the cost of forty-foot cabin cruiser with twin outboards and an ebony-covered wet bar? No problem. She'd rattle it off without a sweat. And knowing numbers the way she did, she knew that in the long run, the house always won -- whether it was the Bellagio or that pompous ass, Triple A.

So what did J.C. say at this potentially crucial turning point in her life? At a moment when she could realize a lifelong dream of getting down and dirty with a blond, and from all appearances, well-endowed god?

"If you want to do something, maybe you could stop rubbing my head and help me up?" she said.

"Of course. Talk about stupid. You must be wet and uncomfortable." And demonstrating the lightning-quick reflexes that had proved so effective on the hockey rink, basketball court and numerous other sporting venues, Liam immediately angled his body and sprang to his feet. No one had ever accused Liam McDonald of not being the brightest bulb either, especially when it came to people skills. "Here, give me your hand."

And he did, with a swift, efficient tug. His other arm naturally -- oh, so naturally -- circled J.C.'s back to support her momentum, a momentum that had her tumbling even closer into his personal space, or more precisely, his personal body.

J.C. felt an immediate buzz akin to the one she got on the roof of her mouth after eating a Three Musketeers and an Oh Henry bar -- only now it wasn't confined to her mouth. Instead, the shooting sparks targeted particular body parts not remotely connected to her wisdom teeth. Her nipples strained so much against her bra you'd have thought she was suffering from massive water retention.

"You all right?" His lips brushed precariously close to her ear.

She sniffed loudly. "Not really."

"You want to lie down again?"

"No, actually, I think that would be a really bad idea." She placed both hands on his biceps -- very strong, nicely delineated biceps -- and pushed herself away, attempting to focus on something other than the feel of his body against hers andÉ well, the feel of his body against hers.

She slowly rotated her neck until she spotted the abandoned liquor bottle. Never let it be said she was a litterbug. Potential graffiti artist, yes, but otherwise a model citizen -- if you didn't count the parking tickets, that is.

She moved to retrieve the bottle.

"Here, let me." Liam beat her to it, lightning reflexes and all, and picked up the scotch and the crumpled paper bag. He handed them over. "Doing a little partying?"

"More like a wake." Which reminded her. She went back to searching the ground.

"Missing something else?"

"I had a Swiss Army knife." She kicked the leaves.

Liam joined her, looking around. Red Dog used the opportunity to do some serious sniffing as well as his male dog-marking thing.

Finally, J.C. located the pocketknife half-hidden under a fallen branch. Liam swiftly reached down, picked it up, and placed it in her upturned palm. What should have been a simple passing of a smooth, hard implement somehow morphed into this semi-prolonged awkward moment where both their lips formed perfect little O's as they stared at their coupled hands, which were in turn, joined for a moment or two beyond purely necessary. Hmm. Even Red Dog stopped to stare with an intense focus usually reserved for tracking squirrels.

Reality check, reality check, a light in J.C.'s brain flashed on and off in a nervous staccato. She took a step back.

And Liam raked his hand through his hair before clenching it in a fist by his side. "Planning on carving your initials?" he asked, indicating the knife, a safer topic of conversation than dissecting what had just past between the two of them.

It wasn't often that a sharp blade was benign.

J.C. nodded stiffly. "Something like that." She stared at the tree where she had intended to do her handiwork. "It sure is a big sucker," she marveled, gingerly arching her neck to view the top of the spreading limbs. In retrospect, it would have been a desecration to carve Archibald A. Armstrong's initials into it.

Liam followed her gaze. "They call them wolf trees."

"Wolf trees? What? They attract feral dogs to bay at the moon?" No wonder she kept far away from nature.

Liam laughed, a kind of rough chuckle that had J.C.'s throat get all knotty like she had a wad of Juicy Fruit gum stuck in it. "Not quite. You see, way back, this small wooded area would have been ploughed farmland, too -- except for that tree. It was the custom for a farmer to sometimes leave one tree in the middle of the field, and then that single tree was called a wolf tree."

"I get it É the lone wolf."

"Exactly. A very male concept if ever there was one." He leaned over and grabbed his T-Shirt, but instead of slipping it one, he scrunched it up in a ball and wiped off a streak of mud that cut across his chest right by one of his dusky nipples.

Ah, yes. J.C. exhaled loudly. "Y'know, I think it's time I headed home," she said, thinking herself very wise. She took a few steps -- unsteady for a number of reasons -- toward the open field. Liam offered his arm, but she shook her head. "I'll be fine," she responded, careful to avoid the rocks.

The remainder of the short journey, with Liam and Red Dog dogging her every step, passed in silence. At last, when they reached her car, Liam spoke. "Maybe you could wait up for me to run back to my car so I could drive behind you? I'd hate to have you black out and wrap your car around a telephone pole."

She ran her hand along the polished burgundy hood. "There's no chance of that happening. My car's my baby. I'd never do anything to jeopardize it."

He gave an appraising glance. "It is nice." His gaze switched to her legs. J.C. tried not to think about the runs in her stockings. "Plus it goes with your shoes." He whistled.

She looked up, forgetting the runs entirely.

Red Dog bounded in their direction, his ears flapping like sails luffing in the breeze. He would have plopped his muddy front paws on the side of the car if Liam hadn't snatched him by the collar at the last minute.

"Hold up, buddy." Liam's shoulder jerked up and down from the strain of holding the dog, who was springing to and fro with the manic energy of a jack-in-the box with more than a few loose springs. "He loves going in the car, you see, especially if it's that sporty."

J.C. studied the dog. His deliriously giddy expression seemed to convey less brain power than her car's rear-wheel suspension. "Whatever you say." She eased herself into the driver's seat and closed the door, dumping the scotch and the knife on the passenger seat.

There was a rapping on the window, and she looked up. Liam's head was at her level. She rolled down the window. "Something else?"

He leaned through the open space, resting his naked elbow on the window ledge and seeming oblivious to the fact that it was connected to the rest of his naked torso. "I know what you said, but you're really not going to take off without me, correct?" He gave her his best "aw-shucks" smile. "I'd never get over the guilt, wondering if you'd made it home in one piece."

J.C. rolled her eyes. "Please, I grew up in a household where making your bed was a regular act of contrition. There is no way you're going to make me feel guilty about your neuroses." She carefully avoided looking directly at the whorl of hair around his nipple Ð- peripheral vision was such a bitch -- and stared at his face instead. And was bombarded by his irresistible smile. Geez. She was a goner. Once a fantasy man, always a fantasy man, it seemed.

J.C. gripped the steering wheel. Her knuckles stood out like the hard, pale bumps of a failed white sauce. "I tell you what. If you jog to your car now with no more cute-dog tricks and verbal repartee, I'll wait. But only for three minutes. If it takes you longer than that to run the distance, I'll assume you're either woefully out of shape or that you've dropped of a heart attack. In either case, you wouldn't be of much use to me."

"I had this feeling you were the sensitive type." Liam broadened his smile and let go of the dog. "Still, give me three and a half minutes. Sometimes the car doesn't turn over the first time."

C.J watched man and dog jog off together. Actually, she didn't give much thought to the dog, intent as she was on the view of Liam McDonald's high, tight buttocks beneath the silky fabric of his shorts. "My, my, my," she sighed and looked down. "Oh, yuck."

She was finally getting a good look at her tattered pantyhose. They SO had to go. She swung her legs to the side and snaking her hands under her skirt, lifted her butt off the seat. J.C. grimaced as she yanked down the waistband. The stick shift in the middle wasn't helping matters, as she arched her back, slipping the pantyhose over her rearÉ

"Are you all right there?"

OMIGOD!

J.C. plopped her butt down so fast she practically got rug burn from the seat cushion. She peered down the tip of her nose, all the better to see what Liam McDonald was currently ogling: her legs flopped over the passenger seat, her thighs wantonly cradling the stick shift, her hands under the backs of her thighs, and her skirt rolled up just enough so that the tight pink rosebuds adorning her underpants were on the verge of bursting into blossom in broad daylight.

She removed her hands and attempted a courtroom demeanor that would make Judge Judy proud. "Do you mind?" She glanced over. From the grin on his face, Liam McDonald didn't seem to mind at all.

"Sorry." He didn't look it a bit. "I just wanted to make sure everything was okay. I happened to look back over my shoulder and saw you going through all these contortions. I thought maybe, I don't know, that you were having seizures." Red Dog jumped up and put his paws on the edge of the open window.

J.C. breathed in deeply. "I am not having seizures --merely trying to remove my pantyhose."

"Yeah, that would have been my second guess."

J.C. frowned and turned her attention to the dog. "Hey, I do not do muddy when it comes to this car." She gave Red Dog the evil eye.

Liam yanked him back.

She waited for them to leave, but they just stood there. J.C. shook her head. "You've already used up a minute and a half, by my estimation." Actually, it was ninety-three seconds, but other than J.C., who was counting? "Two more minutes and all promises to let you follow me are null and void."

Liam held up his hands. "Okay. I've got my marching orders." He took a few steps backward and stopped. "By the way?"

J.C. scowled. "Yes?"

"Were those little tiny roses?"

J.C. snarled. "Don't ask me. I don't do flowers."

Little did she know how quickly things could change.