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God.” She sighed and planted her chin in the palm of her hand as she gazed at him with admiring wistfulness. “I can’t even imagine. Except for a week Carly and I spent in Cancun three—no, God, it’s been four years ago now—I’ve never even been out of the States.”
    â€œYou’re kidding me.” He wasn’t faking his amazement. He imagined she would have had the old man trotting her here, there and everywhere. In first class, wasting away the family fortune to such an extent that she’d had no choice but to return to dancing in a chorus line.
    â€œI wish I were. Unfortunately, it’s the God’s honest truth. Pretty sad, huh?”
    â€œYou mean to tell me a nice Irish girl like you has never even made it back to the Motherland?”
    She gave him one of those one-sided I’ve-seen-it-all smiles. “You think I’m Irish?”
    â€œAren’t you? With that red hair and a name like McCall, I figured you had to be either Irish or Scottish.”
    She laughed and he watched a couple of businessmen at a nearby table turn to give her appreciative looks.
    â€œBy way of Warsaw, maybe,” she said. “I grew up in a little Pennsylvania steel town I’m sure you’ve never heard of. And until about a year and a half ago, I was Treena Sarkilahti.”
    â€œSo McCall is your stage name?”
    â€œNo, it’s my married name. Was my married name. I’m a widow.”
    â€œOh, man.” He sat back, and to his surprise discovered chagrin was yet another thing he didn’t have to feign—at least not a hundred percent. He’d honestly expected her to snap up the stage name excuse he’d offered and found it slightly shocking to hear the word widow. It conjured all sorts of sympathetic images he had no desire to feel. “I’m sorry.”
    â€œMe, too. He was a great guy.”
    If you have really low standards, he thought. But he stowed the bitterness that belonged to another time. It sure as hell wouldn’t advance his agenda to dwell on it at this late date.
    But even as he opened his mouth to literally charm the pants off her, she said, “You know, in a strange kind of way you remind me of him a little.”
    He stared at her in horror.
    She laughed. “I know. Nothing like hearing a woman compare you to her dead husband, huh? Jim was a self-made man without a lot of education and you’re smoother than he was. But all the same, you’re…kind…like he was. And big like him. He was a real man’s man.”
    Now he knew she was a liar. Kindness was not a word he’d use to describe his father. It sure as hell wasn’t part of his own makeup, either.
    Not anymore.
    But a man’s man—oh, yeah, Dad had been that all right. He’d lived to fish and hunt and play or watch every sport known to man.
    He’d cared more about other men’s opinions—even those of complete strangers—than about his own kid’s state of mind. How many times had the old man towered over him, trying to get him to behave in a way that would garner the approval of his peers? A ghost of his father’s voice whispered in disgust from a dark corner of Jax’s mind.
    â€œChoke up on the bat, Jackson, and keep your eye on the ball. Christ Almighty, boy, you swing like a girl!”
    Treena touched the back of his hand. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have brought him up.”
    Blinking the old memories away, he focused on his agenda. The old man had been right about one thing. He needed to keep his eye on the goddamn ball. Looking at the sexy redhead across from him, he silently cursed for allowing that little crease of worry to develop between her eyebrows. “How long has your husband been gone?”
    â€œA little over four months.”
    â€œThat’s no time at all. Of course he’s going to be in your thoughts.” Leaning forward,