Thomas jerked as though he’d been deep in thought. He reached over and tried to turn up the heat, but it was already set on high. “Your heater is broken,” he grumbled.
Dan sighed. He shouldn’t be surprised, he’d known the day was going to suck before they left town. “There’s a throw in the backseat if you’re cold. You want to tell me why you’re giving me the silent treatment?”
Doc turned the vents to aim his way before glancing over. “Sorry. I have a lot on my mind. Appreciate you driving today. Samantha will be happy to see you.”
Dan wanted to see her, too, and make sure those idiots he’d hired to scare off Wanowski hadn’t done anything to hurt a hair on his goddaughter’s head. “I still can’t believe she’s up here. You should have run it by me first, Thomas, you know that.” He hated when his authority was questioned—probably one of the main reasons Wanowski rubbed him wrong. The WarHawks’ captain seemed to take pleasure in challenging him at every turn.
But, not for much longer.
“He’s my patient, Coach. It’s my responsibility to get him rehabilitated and back to work. I was doing my job.” Doc’s tone was frosty.
Dan frowned. He couldn’t remember a time his old friend had been so abrupt. Normally, Thomas was the antithesis of grumpy old man. The team players completely entrusted themselves into his care and he’d never let them down. He and Doc went back a long way—twenty years. It bothered him to have this rift between them.
“Look man, what’s done is done. As long as Sam is okay, and Wanowski is ready to win us the cup, what do you say we forget it? No harm, no foul.”
The tires lost traction for an instant and Doc straightened in his seat. “Slow down before you get us killed.”
Dan bit back the expletive hovering on the edge of his tongue. Bickering their way up the mountain wouldn’t do anything to ease the growing strain. He slowed down and moved over for the plow going the other way. There was a brief moment of total whiteout conditions, thanks to the spray created by the big truck. When they burst through the other side, he heaved a giant sigh and released his death grip on the steering wheel. “Whew, that was a close one.”
“Maybe, I should have driven,” Doc said, his hand locked around the holy-shit handle.
Dan looked over and grinned. “Too much excitement for you, old-timer?”
Thomas scowled and dropped his arm. He took a long swallow from a go-cup filled with hot coffee mixed with milk and sugar—too much sugar, so far as Dan was concerned. “Now I remember why I moved to Victoria, to get away from this crap,” he said, and wiped a slightly shaky hand across his mouth.
Amen to that. Dan didn’t know why anyone would choose to isolate themselves in the back of beyond the way Donaldson had with this cabin. Most of the players invested in swanky condos or million-dollar homes in the city. But it had worked to get Wanowski out of his way long enough to create the conjecture amongst the fans needed before the playoffs. Now, when they entered the arena, it would be as the underdog—right where he wanted them.
Doc pointed to a break in the trees, showing a nearly invisible road on the right. “That’s it there. About five miles straight up.”
Oh, joy. Dan signaled—though, who was going to care, the deer?—and slowed for the turn. It immediately became apparent the road was little more than a goat path and hadn’t been plowed in some time. Between the evergreens towering over them and the colorless landscape, it was easy to feel small and insignificant. It made him antsy.
“They’d better be ready to go. I’m not hanging around out here all damn day,” he grumbled, sneaking another glance at the mushrooming gray clouds. “That storm is going to hit sooner rather than later.”
Doc nodded. “Sam promised she’d have everything ready to go. We should be back to town in time for dinner.”
Dan’s stomach chose that moment to rumble. Small wonder, they’d left at the butt crack of dawn this morning. He’d had to settle for a six-pack of donuts with his coffee and had finished both before they’d even left the highway. “Good, I think I’ll make Wanowski buy us a steak for being such a giant pain in the ass.”
Thomas chuckled. “I have a feeling he thinks the same about you.”
The SUV crept slowly up the hill, now and then bouncing over washboards hidden under the snow. The clock on the dash read two pm, but it seemed closer to evening with the overcast skies. They hadn’t seen another soul since the plow truck, which made Dan wonder where Hewett and his partner were holed up. There weren’t a lot of homes in the area, though if they were mercenaries like they purported themselves to be, he guessed they could find a cave or whatever outdoorsy people did in storms. As long as they stayed out of sight, he didn’t give a shit. They hadn’t been worth the money he had to fork over, that’s for sure. He could have done a better job himself.
“There it is,” Doc announced as the house rose out of the gloom.
Dan had to give Donaldson credit, the place looked nicer than he’d expected—smaller, too. No way was he getting stuck up here with Wanowski in a blizzard. Fate couldn’t be that unkind. Of course, that’s when the snow decided to fall. Big, fat flakes that covered the windshield like decoupage. He flicked on the wipers and took grim satisfaction in destroying Mother Nature’s artwork.
“About damn time,” he said as he pulled up in front of an impressive set of stairs leading to a wraparound deck. “Well, where are they then?” He tapped the horn impatiently.
Thomas shot him a disgusted look. “Give them a second to get to the door, why don’t you?” He opened the car door and let in a gust of cold air. “Besides, I need to use the facilities before we leave.” He grunted as he climbed out of the vehicle and stretched, then frowned when Dan remained where he was. “You plan on staying here by yourself?” He shook his head and slammed the door shut.
Dan watched as Doc climbed the stairs and knocked on the door to the house. He could either sit here shivering or go in and get them all moving himself. The door opened and warm interior light spilled onto the deck. Fine, he’d go in and make nice, then. Damn, Wanowski.
19
Mac opened the door to Doc and stood back to let him in, a mixture of relief and regret churning in his gut. The time on Mount Washington with Sam had turned out to be so much more than he’d expected. She was more than he’d expected.
“Good to see you, Doc. Look, no crutches.” Mac tipped his leg one way, then the other, pleased with the returning mobility. “Come on in, it’s chilly out there.” He moved aside so the other man could enter but froze when the coach’s ruddy face appeared as he climbed the stairs to the deck. “I see you’ve brought company.”
“Play nice,” Doc warned. “Now where’s that niece of mine? I need a hug.”
“I’m here, Uncle. I’ve missed you.” Sam stepped into the hall and hurried into his arms. They were almost the same height and shared a strong family resemblance with the honey blond hair—though Doc’s was more white than blond—and cornflower blue eyes.
“Has this young man been treating you right?” Doc patted her shoulder and peered into her face. “If not, I have connections. We can make him disappear.” His smile was a trifle too enigmatic for Mac’s comfort.
He nodded to the coach as he entered and was pretty sure the chill that followed him in wasn’t all weather related. “Coach. I wasn’t expecting to see you out here. How’s the team?”
“Good, no thanks to you.” Coach Harris shivered violently, then proceeded to cough up a lung. When he got his breath back, he opened his arms to Sam. “Got a hug for the old man?” he asked, his voice raspy.
Sam sent an apologetic glance toward Mac before leaning in to give the coach a peck on the cheek. “Thank you for keeping Uncle Thomas company, Uncle Dan. Though it sounds like you’d be better off in bed.”
Uncle Dan? The coach was Sam’s uncle, too? What the hell? Was this some kind of twisted game they were playing? Screw with the hockey player’s head until he quit. He could see the coach coming
up with something like that—but the joke was on him. Mac had slept with the decoy.
Anger propelled him down the hall. He needed a few minutes to get his head on straight, before he said something he’d regret. He could hear their laughter even after he closed himself into the den, and it seemed to mock everything he’d come to feel for Sam. Could she really have been a party to a collusion of this magnitude? He didn’t want to believe it, but what other explanation could there be? It was common knowledge the coach couldn’t stand him. If the doc and Sam were related to him somehow, then it followed they wouldn’t have his best interests at heart. He’d been a fool.
“Hey,” Sam said from behind him. “We wondered where you’d gone. Is anything wrong?”
Mac turned and barely refrained from snarling. She looked like a dream come true, standing there. The light streaming in over his shoulder created a halo, her beauty ethereal in the soft rays of the sun. So lovely; a seductress sent to destroy him—and she’d almost succeeded.
“Some family you have there. No wonder you managed to get a contract with the team on your credentials.” His hands clenched at his sides. It was either that or give in to the urge to wrap them around her scheming throat. She looked puzzled, then increasingly angry. Maybe he should add actress to her qualifications.
She stepped into the room and carefully shut the door before rounding on him, her chin thrust out like a pugilist’s. “I don’t know what crawled up your butt, Wanowski, but you can just take those mean words and, and… shove them.”
He smirked, though the situation was anything except funny. “That’s the best you can come up with? You better grow a thicker skin than that if you plan on playing with the big boys.” He swung over to the bar fridge and cracked open a beer, though the frothy stuff caught in his throat. “How long were you and the coach planning to keep me from playing? Did he send you out here to distract me, Sam? Keep the big, dumb hockey player busy, right?” He took another drink, then laughed. “Well, sugar, you certainly did a fine job. I wasn’t thinking of the puck last night while we messed up your sheets, that’s for damn sure. Your uncle should give you a raise.”
A sharp gasp echoed from behind and the next second a hand reached over his arm and upended the bottle of beer down his shirtfront. “No wonder Uncle Thomas was hesitant about bringing me out here, you’re just as big a jerk as everyone says you are.”
Mac grimaced as the beer forged a trail down his chest and under the waistband of his jeans. Damn, that was cold.
Sam stared at him. “Where is this coming from, Mac? I thought we were past your attitude—that we’d made a connection.”
He didn’t trust the betrayal in her gaze. “Why didn’t you tell me the coach was your uncle? Don’t you think that’s something I should have known?” He fisted the shirt at his back and tugged it over his head, then used the soft cotton to dry his stomach. “Damn, I smell like a brewery now.” He glanced up and caught her biting her plump lower lip, her eyes tracking his hands. His pulse kicked in response. He turned away and threw the discarded shirt on a chair before he did what his body was urging and took her in his arms. “Quit looking at me that way,” he said, his voice little more than gravel scaping his throat.
She glared. “Quit stripping in front of me, then.” She crossed her arms over her chest and glanced over her shoulder—looking for reinforcements, maybe? “He’s not my uncle.” Her gaze met his, then flitted away. “Dan Harris is my godfather. He’s known our family for years. I didn’t think it was relevant because Uncle Thomas hired me, it had nothing to do with Uncle Dan.” Her eyes came back to his, pleading. “Please, Mac. You have to believe me.”
Did he? It was possible Doc had overstepped his bounds, but Mac still smelled a subterfuge. He’d learned to trust his gut out on the ice, and it was telling him there was something going on here—he just had to figure out whether Sam was a part of it.
* * *
Sam didn’t know what had triggered Mac’s sudden mistrust, but it hurt. Even though they’d—he’d—decided to keep their relationship casual, she’d mistakenly thought he cared about her. Now she wasn’t so sure. His anger at her godfather seemed deeply personal. She couldn’t understand how the jovial man she’d grown up with could incite that kind of suspicion.
She glanced at the closed door. Her uncles had gone to the kitchen to make sandwiches for the road, but soon they’d be wondering where she and Mac were, and she didn’t want them finding out about his outburst. Though why she should want to protect him after the things he’d accused her of doing… He’d actually believed she would sleep with him in order to keep her job. So much for thinking they had something special. Then again, he’d been looking for ways to distance himself from their relationship since it began. Guess he’d found it.
“Are you going to tell them what I said?” Mac asked, following her gaze to the door.
Seriously? He had so little confidence in her, he thought she’d go running straight to her uncles? Fine. She was done with this conversation—maybe even with Mac.
She straightened her spine and strode for the door. “No. I wouldn’t want them to think I’m hurt because you used me like one of those hockey bunnies. You’re not worth it. Goodbye, Mac.”
“Sam, wait,” he said to her back as she swung the door open. Coach stood on the other side, a chagrined look on his grizzled face.
“Uncle…” she started, but when she noticed the black pistol pointed at his back, her mind went blank.
20
Sam couldn’t comprehend what she was seeing. Her beloved Uncle Thomas held a menacing gun in a shaky two-handed grip, his pale face set in stone.
“Move,” he told Uncle Dan, nudging him into the room with the muzzle of the weapon. “I don’t want to hurt you—any of you—but I will, if necessary.”
“I… I don’t understand,” she whispered, her skin going clammy.
“It’s pretty simple,” Mac drawled, startling her into glancing his way. He gave a slight jerk of his head to the right and she realized he wanted her to join him. “Your uncle found out how big an asshole the coach is and decided to do something about it. Right, Doc?”
“Takes one to know one, Wanowski,” Coach muttered.
“Shut up,” Uncle Thomas snarled and gave Dan a shove. “Sit down, all of you.” He hesitated, something like remorse sifting through his eyes as he nodded at Sam. “You too, my dear.” He waited while Dan shuffled into a nearby club chair and Sam perched on the edge of the sofa. When Mac remained at the bar, he turned the gun on him. “I’m not playing games, Mac. I said sit down.”
Glass shattered as a shot blasted through the room. Sam screamed and covered her ears. Shocked, she stared at the blood blooming on Mac’s arm. “What have you done?” she cried, sending her uncle a horrified glance. She jumped to her feet and hurried to Mac’s side, ignoring her uncle’s bark to stay where she was. “Mac, god, I’m so sorry.” She tried to get a look at the injury, but he pushed her away, angling his body between her and Thomas.
“It’s fine, just a scratch. You shouldn’t be here,” he said, his gaze on Doc as he used his left hand to staunch the wound. He raised his voice, “You hear me, you crazy old man? Let Sam go. For Christ’s sake, she’s your niece. What do you hope to accomplish by holding us like this?”
Uncle Thomas frowned. “I don’t want to hurt anyone,” he repeated. “If you do as I say, this will be over before you know it.” He muttered something under his breath that Sam couldn’t understand, then strode to the window and glanced out, keeping to the side so he could stay out of sight and maintain an eye on the room.
Sam reached for the clean white towel folded on the edge of the sink, careful to let her uncle see what she was doing. “Let me see that arm,” she said quietly. Her stomach rolled at the sight of the blood seeping between Mac’s fingers. She might be a therapist with first aid training, but gunshot wounds were out of her wheelhouse.
“I think it’s from the glass.” He craned his head
to see the ugly gash. “Guess you were right. If I’d kept my shirt on, it probably would have barely grazed me.” He nudged her with his good arm. “Aren’t you going to say, “I told you so?””
“Mac, this isn’t funny,” she whispered, on the verge of tears. She dabbed at the edges of the gaping four-inch slash, relieved that she wasn’t looking at a round bullet hole. Either her uncle had meant to miss, or he wasn’t a good shot. Hopefully, he’d have no more reasons to prove it, one way or the other.
“Believe me, I’m not laughing.” Mac gently took the towel and wiped his hand clean as best he could. “Want to tell me what’s going on?” He kept a close watch on Doc’s movements, and Sam prayed he wasn’t thinking of doing something stupid—like getting himself killed.
“How can you ask me that?” Reaction was setting in, that must be why she couldn’t stop her teeth from chattering or the thick taste of betrayal from coating her throat. Her uncle’s duplicity was bad enough, but that Mac assumed she might be a part of it…? That hurt.
“Well, I find it suspicious that all of my problems started with you. I’ve been shot at, knocked unconscious, almost burned alive, and now held at gunpoint. You take high maintenance to a whole new level, babe.”
Grr. Sam was tempted to shoot him herself. She had a feeling he was trying to distract her from the very real danger they were in, but their time would be better spent finding a way out of this mess. Her uncle couldn’t be in his right mind, he was acting totally out of character. Maybe he’d sustained some sort of psychotic episode? If she could talk him out of whatever crazy plan he’d concocted, they could get him help.
But first, he had to put down that gun.
“Uncle Thomas, please. Mom wouldn’t want you to be doing this. Can’t we just talk? Maybe there’s something we can do.” She took a step toward him, only to be brought up short by Mac’s hand on her shoulder. She glared at him and tried to break free, but his grip only tightened. Giving up, she returned her attention to her uncle. He’d gone back to sneaking gazes out the window, for all the world acting as though they were under attack.
Skating on Thin Ice: The Men of WarHawks- Book 1 Page 9