And if the Rainiers were his last hope, he was theirs, too. The team was in deep trouble. Management denied it fervently to the sports reporters and even to the players, but a persistent rumor said the team would be sold before the end of the season and moved to some other city. He rubbed his shoulder again.

Jarrett knew the Rainiers’ troubles were precisely the reason they had plucked him as a last-chance free agent. The team’s owner, Andrew Elliott, needed a winning season, but couldn’t afford the best pitcher in the world. He also didn’t have time to groom a new pitcher. So like any desperate owner strapped for cash, Elliott had gone bargain hunting and found Jarrett, injured but full of potential, experience and skill. So while Jarrett was not exactly the Rainiers’ best hope, he was the best hope they could afford. He was realistic about this. Even grateful. They were taking a chance on him. He would give them everything he had, which might be a considerable contribution if his shoulder held up. And if not? Well, best not to think of that.

Coach Cummings blew a short, sharp blast on the whistle that always hung around his neck. Every head snapped to attention, including Jarrett’s. Alongside the coach stood the peachy-skinned redhead.

“Men, I want to introduce Samantha James. She’s with Emerald Advertising. The club has hired her and her company to promote our team and maybe get a few more citizens into the stadium when we take the field.” All eyes that weren’t on her already shifted to look at Samantha. No one bothered looking at the coach again. “I’m going to bring her around and introduce her. She would like to speak with each of you personally, since—”

“Honey, you can get as personal with me as you’d like,” a voice called out from the back of the room. The remark was accompanied by a loud snap that could only have come from the elastic of a jockstrap. The words and the snap brought a burst of laughter from the rest of the team.

Jarrett watched to see how the redhead, Samantha, took the teasing. He thought she would either wither and crawl under a rock, or storm out and threaten to sue the whole bunch of them for sexual harassment. He saw her crane her long, slender neck to find the perpetrator.

“Well, honey,” she said, a faint smile on her lips, “the first thing I’m looking for is a spokesman in a TV commercial. A really loud one. You might just get the part.”

This comment raised another round of laughter. The redhead gave as good as she got, without ruffling any feathers. Jarrett’s admiration reluctantly rose a few notches. Sexy as sin and a sense of humor: the woman might be dangerous.

“All right, listen up!” the coach yelled over the raucous banter and hooting that had resumed. He paused for a fierce glare at the players. “As I was saying before I was interrupted, Ms. James would like to meet all of you—God only knows why. So cooperate with her and try to act your best for a change.” As soon as the coach finished speaking, the noise in the locker room went back to its previous high decibels.

Jarrett watched discreetly as Samantha moved from one player to the next. The coach performed introductions. She seemed to be joking with each guy, if the smiles and laughter were any indication. She was even getting along with the worst chauvinists on the team. Such a sweet little thing, she was. Pretty as the dew on a honeysuckle vine, as his daddy in Oklahoma would say. Too bad sweet things got chewed up and eaten in this locker room.

She and Coach Cummings circled the room, starting at its far end. With each handshake and burst of small talk, those long, gorgeous legs took one more step toward Jarrett. He had to admire her poise. The only woman in the room, she seemed indifferent to the state of dress—or undress—of the men with whom she shook hands and talked. He glanced at his own towel and decided to leave it. Besides, he couldn’t very well drop it to the floor with her in the room. Or could he?

SAMANTHA PUT ON HER best business smile and gave each player a firm, confident handshake. She asked questions, tried to remember each name and laughed where appropriate. All the while, her head swirled with ideas for an ad campaign. Each man put on a show for her benefit, unknowingly fueling her creative process. Teasing comments flew, but they were never aimed directly at her. Their quips were saved for one another, each one trying to insult the other better than he had been insulted. Their jokes told her volumes about each man. Her anxiety had nearly disappeared, and she began to worry less about being the only woman here as her hope grew. This might not be such an impossible job after all. With the right hook, a good spin and a few flashy graphics, the public would love every single player—even if they didn’t think much of the whole team.

The Rainiers were a challenge for any advertising firm. With a string of losses and a host of scandals, their public image was at rock bottom. Before meeting these men, when she had first won the dubious honor of promoting them, she had wondered about the chances of increasing ticket sales. And her own chances at helping them do it. Now before her was a room full of boys pretending to be professional athletes. It was comical, even touching. They wanted so much to be liked, respected and admired. It seemed hopeless. Yet she had to come up with an idea that would capture the very jaded hearts of former fans and regain some of their lost loyalty. The Rainiers’ future was at stake. So was hers and her company’s.

Her mind wandered off on another tangent. Maybe she could use the idea about little boys playing baseball. It would make a cute, humorous TV spot, something endearing that would show their innocent, earnest side. While considering this, she found herself standing before a tall man. He was clad only in a towel, which draped around his lean hips precariously. That towel drew her eyes as well as her imagination. She stopped thinking about the appeal of little boys in TV commercials and started considering other appealing possibilities. As she stared at the towel, the tall man reached down and tightened the damp cloth to fit more snugly. The white terrycloth barely left enough room for her imagination to work.