Page 52 of Unmasking Mr. Crown

“And it’s not like my alma mater, Chicago Art Institute, did much on the gridiron," Kate added with a laugh.

Dash zoned out for a moment.

Damn.

This woman is the whole package.

Smart. Talented. Beautiful. Bakes desserts that look like they belong on a magazine cover. And loves college football.

"Is that your dad there on the horse?" He pointed to a photo on the bookcase.

"The man himself."

"You grew up with horses?"

"More than we could count. Dad trains everything—racehorses, jumpers, polo ponies. Cutting horses too. And for some pretty impressive clientele."

"What a coincidence. I’m in the market for a new polo pony."

"You play?"

“Played,” he corrected, touching his scar.

Kate winced. “Ouch.”

“Now that I'm settled back here, I'm ready to pick it up again."

"You should come to my dad’s birthday party. He could put you in touch with the right people. Hell, he might even have the exact horse you’re looking for."

Dash ran his hand through his hair. "I'm honored, but … I’ve never even met him. I don’t want to intrude, especially not on his big day."

"He’d love you. My sister too. That's us flying kites, back before our mother died."

He followed her gesture to a photo he’d eyed earlier.

"You said your father’s name is Powell, but you go by Fitzpatrick," Dash said with gentleness. “Is that for artistic reasons?”

Kate’s expression softened. "Fitzpatrick was my married name. The man in the cap. Malcolm. He passed away three years ago. Cancer."

Dash’s chest tightened. He took her hand. "Kate … I’m so sorry."

"Thank you. He was wonderful. I miss him every day. But I’m trying to move forward. Baby steps, you know?"

She stared at the photos for a moment. Dash held his breath, ready to be a compassionate listener should she wish to reveal additional details of her late husband. Instead, she clicked to TCM and said, “Let's see what's playing. I hope it's Fiddler on the Roof or The Thomas Crown Affair.”

At the mention of the title, Dash's pulse kicked. Amelia Earhart. Thomas Crown. Names that haunted him. And yet here he sat with a beautiful, complicated redhead. She wasn’t Amelia, but she might be someone just as important.

"Dash?" Kate touched his arm. "You okay?"

He nodded. "Sorry. Just mentally shuffling my travel plans. Nashville might be calling.”

"Are you saying you'll come to the party?" she asked with hopeful eyes.

"Depends on several factors." His gaze shifted to the tray on the table. "Not the least of which is your cheesecake here."

She slid closer. "Suppose I sweeten the deal?”

"What'd you have in mind?"