On Thin Ice

by Bernadette Marie

  Malory sank down into the couch. Marriage wasn’t horrible. Her outlook on marriage was horrible. She’d never really loved Alan the way she should have. She’d loved the thought of his companionship and she’d loved his mind. He was a wonderful conversationalist, when it came to things he knew about. Otherwise, he was quiet and reserved.

  Christopher Douglas was anything but quiet and reserved. Oh, and talk about opinionated.

  And he was insightful and compassionate. And she was fully in love with the man who so many years ago left her with a broken heart.

  She reached for her necklace and touched the medal that hung from the chain. Perhaps he had always watched over her. Hadn’t she always felt him near her heart?

  She wouldn’t say no if he asked her to marry him again. In fact, if he took too long, she’d ask him.

  Suddenly it was what she wanted for Christmas more than anything else.

  Christopher quietly pushed open the front door to Wil’s house. It was well past midnight, and the glow of the television filled the room. The fire had died down to just a glow, and there lay Wil, wrapped in a blanket and asleep on the couch. Had she waited up for him? Was this how it could be?

  He closed the door quietly so he wouldn’t disturb her.

  The Christmas Pageant had him worried; one of the girls had sprained her ankle. The bills kept piling up on his desk, though the tournament he’d put together was selling out and he’d had calls all day from the media wanting to set up to cover the event.

  It certainly looked like it was going to be a huge success, not only for the rink but for all of Aspen Creek. If people were coming from all over to see the event, surely, they would stay and spend money in the many other shops in town—but he’d have to play and that twisted in his gut.

  Since he’d retired professionally, he’d been on the ice. He’d spent hours every week puck handling and running drills, but in none of those hours had he been forced into the boards by a lunatic like Quincy LeBlanc.

  Wil stirred on the couch, but she didn’t awaken. He toed off his boots and set them on the tile floor by the door and quietly made his way to her. He smiled as he looked down at her. It was a proud moment when Wil told off that blonde at the rink. LeBlanc would get the message. Wil wasn’t going to let him get to her, so why did it shake him up so bad?

  There was so much to lose now, that’s why. More than the respect of the town, or the ice rink, there was Wil. What if she bought into LeBlanc’s lies? And what if the game turned sour?

  He raked his fingers through his hair. He had to play. Everyone was counting on him.

  When he touched her arm she startled awake and then, eyes heavy, she smiled at him. His heart nearly burst.

  “Hey, beautiful. I thought you were meeting me in bed.”

  “That was the plan,” she said through a yawn. “Now we can go together.”

  He helped her to her feet. With an arm around her waist, he walked with her to the bedroom. She stumbled to the bed and fell back to sleep.

  The day had been drawn out and tedious. He’d skated much longer than he’d anticipated. He was exhausted, but he couldn’t fall asleep. And his insomnia had nothing to do with the beautiful woman in the bed with him.

  It was Quincy LeBlanc who occupied his mind.

  The game was less than two weeks away. He was physically in good shape, and his skills were still intact as a player, but his mind wasn’t on the game. His last concussion, he’d smashed into the boards as Quincy LeBlanc shot up in front of him, Quincy’s shoulder under his chin, their skates tangled. Chris’s head snapped back and then there was black.

  He let out a breath. It still stuck in his chest when he thought of it. The man could have killed him and not given him another thought. It wasn’t the first hit he’d taken from him either. Why did he have to be the first guy to sign up for the game? Why was it his name that would bring the biggest draw?

  Rubbing the back of his head, Christopher got up out of bed and walked to the bathroom to run a hot shower. It would be fine. They were all professionals, and the game was going to be professional. He would keep the rink open and save what Harvey Wilson had worked for his whole life.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Malory drove down Main Street after closing up the bakery. As Christmas drew near, the town bustled with tourists. Every shop had customers streaming in and out. The sidewalks were full of people, arms laden with packages, even in the freezing temperatures. The small house, just off the street, which was set up each year as Santa’s house, had a line that wrapped around it.

  This was what she’d missed.

  This was why she’d come home.

  She pulled into Maggie’s parking lot just as she flipped the sign to Closed. Maggie waved at her.

  The same men who hung around after closing time were still seated at the table, bantering back and forth as Maggie gathered the salt- and pepper shakers from each table.

  “I know you miss this so much you can’t stay away.”

  “That must be the draw.” Malory hung up her coat and collected shakers off the other tables as she passed. She set them on the counter, on the designated trays, and began to take off their lids.

  “Hey, fellas, wrap it up,” Maggie called out to the men.

  They grumbled and a bubble of joy filled her. When she was young, she hadn’t appreciated routine, no matter what it was. Now she embraced it.

  Maggie rested her arms on the counter. Malory watched as Maggie tried to read her just by the expression on her face. Once that would have had her shifting in her seat, probably because she’d been guilty of something. That’s what mothers did when they wanted you to offer up information.

  Maggie tilted her head. “He’s staying with you?”

  “You may be one of my dearest and closest friends, but do you seriously need details?”

  “Yes.” Maggie laughed and began to open the ketchup bottles. “I have a lot to gain if this works out.”

  “Are we really going to discuss this again?”

  “C’mon. Let me dream about a normal life with a daughter-in-law and grandkids.”

  Malory coughed, and Maggie picked up a rag from the counter and threw it at her.

  “There is a business side. If you two occupied only one side of the duplex, I could rent out the other side for twice what you’re paying.”

  “I’m not paying.”

  “You see my point.”

  Malory shook her head. She loved the woman who stood before her making checklists of her life. No matter what Malory decided in her life, even if it hadn’t included Christopher, Maggie Douglas would support her.

  “I’m in love with him,” she blurted.

  “Not a day you haven’t been.”

  That was true enough, Malory thought. From the moment that dirty-faced, long-haired little boy had peeked his head around the wall of the skating rink while she was learning to skate backward; she’d been in love with him. “I’ve been giving some thought to his marriage proposal.”

  Maggie reached for her hand. “Did he ask again?” Her voice was light and airy, hopeful.

  Malory shook her head. “No, he seems too occupied to talk about marriage right now.”

  She took the container of salt and began to fill the shakers. The men left, and Maggie walked to the door, locked it, and turned back toward Malory.

  “He’s scared, you know. Not of marriage. He’s scared to play hockey again.”

  Malory spun on her stool to face Maggie. “Afraid to play? It’s what he’s always done.”

  “Yeah, but this is different. He played his heart out when he played professionally. He always played his heart out. But before he retired he took some hard hits. They told him if he got hit too many more times, it just might kill him.” Maggie tipped the ketchup bottles up one top each other and let them begin to drip down into the bottom one. “No one would play if he wasn’t playing, and I don’t blame them. But that LeBlanc guy has him scared.”

  Malory shi
fted on her stool uncomfortable with what Maggie had told her. “No one would take a shot on someone in a charity game.”

  “Quincy LeBlanc would.”

  Malory’s mouth gaped open. “Why? Why would he do something like that?”

  “He’s always had it out for Chris. It started out when Chris got the center position LeBlanc was vying for and he got cut. Then a call on LeBlanc their rookie season for a hit on Chris. He was fined and suspended.”

  “Guys get hit in hockey all the time.”

  “Yeah, but the slash he took to Chris nearly cost him his career. He’s been after him ever since.”

  “He shouldn’t play then.”

  “He will.”

  “Can’t we get this LeBlanc guy to quit?”

  Maggie shrugged. “He’s the biggest draw.”

  Malory let out a long, ragged breath. “This is stupid. He can’t risk his life on some stupid idea I had.” Guilt was scratching at her insides. If he got hurt, it would be all her fault. The game was her idea. If she’d known he’d get hurt, she wouldn’t have mentioned it at all.

  “He wouldn’t risk it if he didn’t believe in it.”

  Malory felt the onset of a headache creep across her forehead. She rubbed her temples trying to soothe it away.

  Everything was going to be okay. She had to believe everything would work itself out, or she too would begin to fear something awful could happen to Christopher during the hockey game.

  Christopher sent another puck flying up the ice only to have it bounce off the post. He threw his stick down the ice and sent with it a string of curses.

  Harvey stood at the end of the rink, his arms folded, and watched. “Been a long time since you could make that shot.”

  “I can make it.” Christopher picked up his stick and tried the shot again. The result was the same.

  “You’ll do fine. This is all in fun.”

  Fun. He’d have to remind himself that from time to time.

  Harvey opened the door and stepped cautiously out onto the ice. “News van just pulled up. They want to talk to you about the game.”

  Christopher pursed his lips and squeezed his eyes closed. Harvey placed a sturdy hand on his shoulder.

  “What’s gnawing at you?”

  There was no good in telling Harvey a lie, he’d see right through it. “I can’t play like I did. I’m not as fast. Certainly not as skilled.”

  “And you think these other yahoos are? C’mon, you only have four that are still in the game. The rest are retired. Heck, that one guy is what, sixty? You think he’s sitting at home fretting over it? No, because he’s coming to help a friend and save a landmark.”

  Christopher shook his head. Harvey was right; it was a rare occasion when he wasn’t.

  “There’s something else. It’s about Wil.”

  “You and Wil got some trouble?” Harvey crossed his arms over his chest and widened his stance.

  “No.” He wanted to laugh, but shook it down inside of him. “No, we’re doing really good. I was thinking that at the end of the game . . .” He rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. “Well I was thinking . . .”

  “Out with it. You’re making me nervous.”

  “I thought I’d ask her again to marry me in front of God and everyone. I think she’d be more open to it now.”

  Harvey nodded thoughtfully. “Not afraid she’d shoot you down in front of a thousand people?”

  “Kinda my plan, actually. If everyone is watching, she won’t say no.”

  “Maybe you should have tried that last time.”

  “Yeah, maybe.” Christopher twisted the end of his skate into the ice and felt Harvey’s stare on him. He stopped and looked at the man who had been his best friend and had stepped into the role as his father so many years ago. He knew what it was to love Wil and want the best for her. Christopher was certain that was him, but he felt the need to make sure Harvey understood. “I love her. I want to make her happy forever.”

  “I love her too, and I’d like to see you do just that.” He put his hand on Christopher’s shoulders again. “I’ve always thought of you as a son. I was pretty pissed when you messed things up between you and Wil, and she made you pay for it.”

  Christopher nodded. He couldn’t deny that Malory had made her point clear, and so had Harvey. When he thought back to it, he realized Harvey had given him extra shifts to work; he’d gone a month without having the opportunity to resurface the ice, and now Christopher wondered if perhaps it was Harvey who’d left the lunch bag in the abandoned locker he’d made him clean out. He’d never smelled anything so foul.

  Harvey gave him a thoughtful nod. “But I can’t think of anyone else I’d like to see her with.”

  He might lose the game. He might lose the respect of hockey fans around the world if he played so poorly, but he’d get the girl. There was no chance she’d turn him down this time.

  Or was there? This was Wil after all. As much as she respected him, she was likely to kick him while he was down too. Especially if she had an audience.

  He’d just have to hope she didn’t feel the need for revenge.

  As Harvey stepped off the ice, Christopher skated around the net and guided a puck on his stick around the edge of the rink to the other end. He drove it up the center, the puck balanced back and forth on his stick until he had a clear shot. He hit the puck and it flew into the net.

  He caught sight of Harvey, who smiled as he turned away. Yeah, everything was going to be okay.

  Malory set out plates on the small table in Christopher’s kitchen. They’d spent the better part of the week at her place, so it was his turn to play host.

  She heard his truck pull up in front and she scanned the room. Plates were set, candles and fire lit, soft music playing. The blinds on the patio door were open to the view of the lake below them and the Christmas tree that twinkled in the middle. She’d dug out a slinky black dress, more suited for summer, but she was warm enough. There was seducing to be done, a man’s mind to put at rest, and that called for a slinky back dress.

  Christopher plowed through the garage door, and she heard the clank of rubber on metal and visualized him kicking his boots into the corner next to his washer.

  She’d left her hair down and hoped it fell over her shoulders seductively enough. She’d painted her lips just the right shade of pink to have them look soft.

  Christopher came in from the hallway, looked around the room, and stopped. “What is this?”

  Her shoulders stiffened and her lips tightened. “What do you mean, what is this?” She threw her arms into the air. “Dinner. A nice one too.”

  “I didn’t know you were going to be here.”

  He certainly didn’t understand the whole relationship thing, she thought. It was made up of little things like sexy dresses and dinners after a long day. Darn him for being so snide.

  “Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t clear it with you.” She spun back into the kitchen as the oven timer went off. “I thought you could use a nice surprise and a quiet night at home.”

  She yanked open the oven door and shoved her hand into the oven mitt.

  “It’s been a long day, Wil.” She heard his ragged breath, but found no sympathy for him.

  “Don’t I know it. I went to work at four, remember.” She reached in for the baking dish and hit her forearm on the hot rack. She pulled back with a cry and then a curse.

  Christopher ran to her and pulled the mitt from her hand.

  “You burned yourself.”

  “No kidding.” She pulled her arm from his grasp and walked to the sink. She turned on the water and stuck her stinging burn under it. “That hurts.”

  “I’ll go find you some cream.” He tossed down the mitt on the counter.

  “Don’t bother. I have some at home.”

  “You are home, Wil.” She heard him from the bathroom shoving aside bottle and tins in the medicine cabinet.

  “If this is what home feels like, I don’t feel to
o welcome in it.”

  He walked back toward the kitchen, a tube of cream in his hand. “Here, let me put this on.”

  Malory snatched it from his fingers. “I can do it. Get the chicken out of the oven before it burns.”

  She went about rubbing the cream on her burn; the stinging dulled. Christopher set the baking dish on the stove and dipped his head.

  “Malory, I’m sorry.”

  She shot her head up, forgetting all about the pain of the burn. “What did you say?”

  “I said I’m sorry.” He turned away, his long, dark hair shielding his face.

  “No. No. You called me Malory.” She couldn’t hide the hint of humor in her voice.

  “You asked me to.”

  “And you told me no.” She walked to him, lifting her hands to his face and brushing back the curls that made him so sexy. “I didn’t know you knew my name.”

  “Of course I know it.” He pushed her hands away and paced the floor. “I’ve done a lot to disrespect you over the years. I need to fix that.”

  “Well, not snapping at me when we talk would be a start.” She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the counter. If this were a cartoon, smoke would be steaming from his ears as his mind went a million different directions. He was in a mood, but she could see he was fighting himself to right it.

  “I’m sorry.” His shoulders dropped and his eyes softened.

  “Okay, and you can forget that Malory stuff too. It sounds funny when you say it.”

  He let out a laugh. “Feels funny to say it too.”

  “So, are you going to let me finish the dinner I have slaved over?”

  “Did you slave over it in that pretty dress?”

  Malory smiled. Well, at least he was still alive. He’d noticed the dress. “As a matter of fact I did.”

  “Well then, I guess I’d better help serve. Especially since you injured yourself making me dinner.”