“As I swung a third time, he grabbed my wrist. "That's enough hitting," he growled. "You don't exactly hit like a girl, you know.”

“If you have an important point to make, don't try to be subtle or clever. Use a pile driver. Hit the point once. Then come back and hit it again. Then hit it a third time - a tremendous whack.”

“Hell,' Shane spit in disgust. 'I can't hit a girl. Here, Claire. You hit her.' He tossed her the bat.”

“You didn't break my nose,” he says.“Too bad.”“No, that’s good,” he says. “Because I would've broken yours.”“You’d hit a girl?”“We fight all the time.”

“Mamma, don't you see -- you shouldn't hit me. He shouldn't hit me. You shouldn't hit me about God, Mamma. You should never hit anybody about God . . . .”

“I laughed as I twisted to face him and raised my arm to hit in one move. He caught my wrist and my laugh caught in my throat. A mischievous grin curved my mouth as I raised my other hand to hit him. He reached over me and caught that wrist too, gently pinning my arms above my head as he straddled my hips. The space between us boiled my blood.”