She fumed as she rode down to the main floor in the elevator and stalked across the lobby. How much longer was she going to have to put up with this? Once again, she regretted the fact that her friend Caroline was out of the country. She very much needed a sympathetic ear.

The gray January afternoon held that ugly hint of permanence that always seemed to hang over northern Illinois at this time of year. She shivered as she climbed into her Saturn and sped toward the elementary school in Aurora where she was scheduled to do a science program for the third graders.

Some of her colleagues teased her about her volunteer work there. They said that having a world-renowned theoretical physicist teaching elementary-school children, especially disadvantaged ones, was like having Itzhak Perlman teaching beginning violin. But the state of science education in the elementary schools disturbed her, and she was doing her small part to change it.

As she hurried into the assembly room where the third graders were waiting and set down the supplies she’d brought with her for the experiments, she forced herself to put aside thoughts of Jerry’s newest act of bureacratic sadism.

“Dr. Darling! Dr. Darling!”

She smiled at the way the third graders had corrupted her last name. It had happened during her first visit two years ago, and since she hadn’t bothered to set them straight, the appellation had stuck. As she returned their greetings and gazed into their eager, mischievous faces, her heart twisted. How she wanted a child of her own.

She felt an unexpected rush of disgust directed entirely at herself. Was she going to spend the rest of her life filled with self-pity because she didn’t have a child, but not doing anything to correct the situation? It was no wonder she hadn’t been able to conceive a warrior’s baby. She didn’t have a backbone!

As she began her first experiment, using a candle and an empty oatmeal box, she made up her mind. From the beginning she’d known her chances of conceiving after only one attempt were slight, and now it was time to try again-this weekend, when her fertility was at its peak.

She knew from her dedicated perusal of the newspaper’s sports’ section that the Stars would be in Indianapolis for the AFC Championship quarterfinals this weekend. According to Jodie, Cal was going to his family home in North Carolina shortly after the season was over, so if she put this off any longer, he might be gone.

Her conscience chose that moment to remind her that what she was doing was immoral, but she firmly silenced that nagging voice. On Saturday, she would put her misgivings behind her and head for Indianapolis. Maybe this time the legendary quarterback could score a touchdown just for her.

It had rained all day in Indianapolis, delaying the Stars’ Saturday morning flight out of Chicago and backing up the schedule. By the time Cal left the hotel bar on Saturday night and headed for the elevator, it was nearly midnight, an hour past the team’s normal game-night curfew. He passed Kevin Tucker, but neither man spoke. They’d already said everything they had to at a press conference a few hours earlier. They both hated the public ass-kissing they were forced to do, but it was part of the job.

At every one of these conferences, Cal was forced to look the reporters straight in the eye and go on and on about Kevin’s talent and how much he appreciated his support and how both of them only wanted what was best for the team. Then Kevin would start in about all the respect he had for Cal and how privileged he was just to be part of the Stars. It was all bull. The reporters knew it. The fans knew it. Cal and Kevin sure knew it, but, still, they had to go through the motions.

When Cal got to his room, he loaded a videocassette of the Colts’ last game into the VCR that the hotel had provided and kicked off his shoes. As he lay back on the bed to watch, he pushed thoughts of Kevin Tucker aside to concentrate on the Colts’ defensive line. He fast-forwarded to the second quarter and pushed the play button, then watched until he found what he wanted. He hit the rewind button and watched again.

With his gaze firmly fixed on the screen, he unwrapped his pillow mint and ate it. Unless his eyes were playing tricks, their safety had a bad habit of signaling a blitz by looking twice toward the sideline. Cal smiled and tucked the information away.

Jane stood in front of Cal Bonner’s hotel-room door dressed in the ecru silk suit and taking deep breaths. If tonight didn’t work, she would have to learn to live with self-pity because she couldn’t go through this again.

She realized she’d forgotten to take off her glasses, and she quickly stuck them into her purse, then hitched the gold-chain strap higher on her shoulder. If only she had some of Jodie’s little relaxation pills, this might be easier, but tonight she was on her own. Summoning all her will-power, she raised her hand and knocked.

The door swung open. She saw a bare chest. Blond chest hair. A pair of green eyes.

“I-I’m sorry. I seem to have the wrong room.”

“I guess that depends on who you’re looking for, buttercup.”

He was young, perhaps twenty-four or twenty-five, and arrogant. “I was looking for Mr. Bonner.”

“Aren’t you lucky, then, because you found something better. I’m Kevin Tucker.”

She finally recognized him from the televised games she’d been watching, although he looked younger without his helmet. “I was told Mr. Bonner was in 542.” Why had she trusted Jodie to get the correct information?

“You were told wrong.” His mouth grew faintly sullen, and she gathered that she’d insulted him by not recognizing him.

“Do you happen to know where he might be?”

“Oh, I know, all right. What kind of business do you have with the old man?”

What kind of business, indeed? “It’s private.”

“I’ll just bet it is.”

His leer annoyed her. This young man definitely needed to be put in his place. “I happen to be his spiritual advisor.”

Tucker threw back his head and laughed. “Is that what they call it? Well, I sure hope you can help him deal with all his problems about getting old.”

“I keep the conversations I have with my clients confidential. Could you please tell me his room number?”

“I’ll do you one better. I’ll take you there.”

She saw wily intelligence in his eyes and knew that even with his good looks and glow of health, he was far too bright ever to be a candidate to father her child. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Just let me get my key.”

He got his key, but he didn’t bother with either a shirt or shoes, and he padded barefoot down the hallway. They rounded a corner and went down another corridor before they stopped in front of 501.

It was difficult enough facing Cal without having an onlooker, so she quickly extended her hand and shook his. “Thank you very much, Mr. Tucker. I appreciate your help.”

“No problem.” He withdrew his hand and banged his knuckles twice against the door.

“I believe I can take it from here. Thank you again.”

“You’re welcome.” He made no move to leave.

The door swung open, and Jane caught her breath as she once again found herself face-to-face with Cal Bonner. Next to the youthful glory of Kevin Tucker, he looked more battleworn than she remembered, and, if anything, more formidable: a case-hardened King Arthur to Tucker’s callow Lancelot. She hadn’t remembered quite how powerful his presence was, and she fought an instinctive urge to step back.

Tucker’s drawl seemed deliberately insolent. “Look what I found wandering around, Calvin. Your personal spiritual advisor.”

“My what?”

“I was given Mr. Tucker’s room number by mistake,” she said hastily. “He graciously offered to escort me here.”

Tucker smiled at her. “Did anybody ever tell you that you talk funny? Like you should be narrating wildlife films on public television.”

“Or be somebody’s damn butler,” Cal muttered. His pale eyes raked her. “What are you doing here?”

Tucker crossed his arms and leaned back against the doorjamb to watch. Jane had no idea what had transpired between these two men, but she knew they weren’t friends.

“She came here to give you spiritual advice on dealing with the problems of old age, Calvin.”

A small muscle twitched at the corner of Cal’s jaw. “Don’t you have some training films to watch, Tucker?”

“Nope. I already know everything God does about the Colts’ defense.”

“Is that so?” He regarded him with those seasoned campaigner’s eyes. “Did you happen to notice their safety signals whenever they’re about to blitz?”

Tucker stiffened.

“I didn’t think so. Go do your homework, kid. That golden arm of yours ain’t worth a damn ’til you learn how to read a defense.”

Jane wasn’t entirely certain what they were talking about, but she understood that Cal had somehow put Kevin in his place.

Tucker pulled away from the doorjamb and winked at Jane. “You’d better not stay too long. Old guys like Calvin need their beauty sleep. Now you feel free to stop by my room when you’re done. I’m sure he won’t have worn you out.”

Although the young man’s gall was amusing, he still needed to be put in his place. “Do you require spiritual advice, Mr. Tucker?”

“More than you can imagine.”

“Then I’ll pray for you.”

He laughed and took off down the hall, all youthful strut and blatant disrespect. She smiled in spite of herself.

“Why don’t you go right along with him, Rosebud, since you think he’s so damn funny?”

She turned her attention back to Cal. “Were you that cocky when you were young?”

“I wish everybody’d quit talkin’ about me like I’ve got one foot in the damn grave!”