Perhaps the dress wouldn’t be a waste, but now more than getting him in bed she wanted to get him to talk.
He pulled out the chair for her and dished out the salad as she poured them each a glass of wine. As they ate she told him about the many different orders she had coming into the bakery.
He listened and she appreciated that, but in his eyes, she could see he was still thinking too much.
Christopher reached across the table and laid a gentle hand on hers. “How’s your arm?”
“I’ll survive.”
“Sorry I was in a bad mood. I’ll be glad when this tournament is over and we’ve saved the rink. For a few years at least.”
“I don’t think you should play.” Malory stood to clear the table.
“What?”
She picked the plates up from the table and walked to the sink with them. “I’m worried about you. That’s all.”
Christopher followed her to the kitchen with the glasses. “Why would you be worried?”
She’d wished she hadn’t said anything. She ran water in the sink and slid the plates into it. “It’s just that I know you’ve been injured and maybe you shouldn’t risk it.”
Christopher grabbed her arm and spun her toward him. “Risk what?”
“It’s nothing.”
“You’ve been talking to my mom.” He threw his head back. “What did she tell you?”
“She just mentioned that you’d been hurt often and maybe you were worried about getting hurt again.”
“I’m a grown man, a professional. I know the risks and I choose to take them.”
Malory wiped her hands on the towel that hung by the sink. “She’s concerned about you. I’m concerned about you. Isn’t that enough?”
“Why are you concerned? I’ve played hockey my whole life.”
“And if you get hurt one more time, it could kill you.”
He shook his head. “That would be my mother over exaggerating.”
Malory lifted her eyebrow. She wasn’t convinced it was that simple. “You’re not worried?”
“No. And you shouldn’t be either.” He pulled her into his arms. “The only person who should be worried is Quincy LeBlanc.”
Malory raised her arms and laced them around his neck. “Do you suppose that girl at the rink ran back to LeBlanc completely confused? I loved her expression when I jumped on you. I mean, if she came to shake things up, it didn’t work.”
“Maybe he’ll get word that he didn’t ruin anything.”
Hours after dinner had been cleaned away Malory lay in his arms in the moonlit bedroom, his breath on her neck, his words repeating in her head. He wasn’t worried. Or so he’d said. But she didn’t believe him. From the moment Quincy LeBlanc had signed on for the tournament, Christopher had had his back up. He might not be worried about it, but she was worried enough for both of them.
Christopher held tight to Wil all night. Her hair brushed his face. Her scent filled his senses. And his nerves made him made him tense and moody. He didn’t like it. No, he didn’t like it one bit.
His mother had every right to worry about him, and if Wil cared about him, she had a right to worry too. Though he wasn’t about to let on that it worried him, the truth was, he was scared to death.
There was no way he was going to back down. He had a fight to fight, and he was going down swinging. Harvey Wilson wasn’t going to lose that ice rink. It was built on hope, dreams, and love. Christopher owed everything he’d become to the man who believed in him, and to his mother, who loved him. He’d risk his life to secure that the rink, and Harvey Wilson would have the opportunity to change the life of at least one more young boy who just needed someone to believe in him.
Hearing her breath steady, he let go of her and rolled on his back, resting his hands behind his head. It was a charity event. There was no chance he was going to get hurt. Even Quincy LeBlanc would have a mind about him.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The bakery filled with the scents of brownies and cakes. With the Christmas pageant and the hockey tournament just around the corner and of course Christmas only a few days later, orders were pouring in from everywhere. Malory would have called in Maggie to help her, but with the population of Aspen Creek nearly doubled on a daily basis, Maggie wouldn’t be able to leave the diner.
Harvey offered to make her deliveries, but not during Maggie’s rushes as he was busing tables at that time.
Malory opened the oven doors and pulled out a tray of brownies, setting them in the cooling rack as she put another tray in. She took an already-cooled tray from the rack, set it on the table, and gave it a dusting of powdered sugar across the top. Then she reached for her ruler and began making marks in the brownies with her knife.
The temperature change when the door opened caught her attention before the sound of the bell registered in her mind. Malory walked to the front, wiping her hands on her apron.
“Morning.”
“Good morning.”
“It’s cold out there. How about a cup of coffee?”
“Maybe.” The man closed the door behind him and slid his sunglasses from his eyes. His short, spiky blond hair was expensively frosted and his eyes glittered a midnight blue.
He walked toward her with a confidence Malory wished she had, and in response to it she found she had leaned against the counter casually. His long leather trench swished at his feet, and he winked as he neared her.
“Smells like heaven.”
She laughed easily. “It does, doesn’t it?”
The man rested his arm against the counter. “I hear you have a cranberry muffin to die for.”
His French accent added to sexy mystique of the stranger who’d walked through her door.
Malory nodded. “If I do say so myself, they are wonderful.”
“You would to have a dozen, eh?”
“I’ll box them up for you.”
She returned only a moment later, a white pastry box in her hand.
The man laid his hand on hers. “Better, you have a couple plates? Perhaps you could take a break. Share one with me.”
She could have sworn there was a twinkle in his eye. He was absolutely mesmerizing.
“Don’t you have someone else to mess with?” The voice came from the doorway. Malory felt the cold snap through the bakery as Christopher walked in.
The handsome man lifted his hand from hers and turned toward the door.
“Ah, Christopher. What, no hello for a dear friend?”
“Dear friend?” He took a step closer to him, his shoulders pushed back, and his chin raised. “Didn’t realize we were friends.”
“Be that as it may, I am here to save your sorry little town. You do not do it without me, you know.”
Christopher planted his feet exactly the way he’d done when he was twelve, right before he punched Steven Summers in the jaw. She hurried around the corner, but his hand came up in what she hoped was a goodwill gesture, and she stopped.
But the man only laughed and slid his Oakleys back on.
“I have the press waiting for me, Douglas. Do not worry, I will not to smear the name of your quaint little town.” He turned his shielded stare toward Malory, picked up the box of muffins, and threw down a fifty. “Petite, you could make so much better than this guy. There are real men in the world. You should find yourself one.” With a wink he walked out the door.
Christopher stood, his feet still planted, opening and closing his fists as the bell that welcomed customers rang and the door slammed shut.
Malory’s jaw dropped. She looked down at the money and felt vile. She’d rather he threw the muffins across the room than put his dirty money on her counter.
Malory took a deep breath. “Quincy LeBlanc?”
“Quincy LeBlanc.”
Guilt punched into her gut. She’d flirted with him. How had she done that? It was like he’d put her under a spell. He sauntered in and spoke, and she swooned. No wonder he had a way with women—and men for that matter. It see
med like the world would buy up whatever Quincy LeBlanc had to offer.
She supposed that was what gave him his appeal, and he knew it would give the draw to Christopher’s cause.
And it would steal the thunder away from Christopher Douglas.
She took a step toward Christopher, but stopped. She held off reaching out to him. After having been pulled in by Quincy LeBlanc she didn’t trust herself. And after scanning a look over Chris she didn’t think he trusted her either.
Christopher shoved his balled fists into his coat pockets and walked to the back of the bakery. Malory followed, staying a safe distance behind.
“Want some coffee?” She moved toward the coffeepot and took down two mugs, but he shook off the offer. “I have muffins.”
“I don’t want coffee and I don’t want muffins. I want to throw something.”
Malory set the mugs back on the shelf.
His nostrils flared as he steadied his hands on the prep table. “Do you know how you were looking at him?”
She swallowed hard, but the guilt lodged itself in her throat. “I’m sorry.”
“Oh, I don’t blame you. Everyone looks at him like that. Everyone. That’s why he’s here. He’s here to show the world what a big man he is. They’ll eat it up, but I promise you, before he leaves Aspen Creek, he will have screwed us, even while he helps us.”
“Is he really such a bad guy?” The look he shot her gave her her answer.
“The players are coming in today.” He straightened himself and took her hands in his and kissed her fingers. “This is it. This is what we planned.”
But his eyes shifted toward the floor. Her heart broke for him. He should have been ecstatic about what was going to happen, and it was painfully obvious that he wasn’t.
Malory nodded. She never would have suggested the tournament had she thought it would bring him down so much. Although she was sure it was only Quincy LeBlanc who ruined the joy in the event for him.
“What can I do to help out?”
“Be here when it’s done.”
“I promise.” She moved in closer to him.
“I’m going to hold you to that. Give some serious thought to the past month. Think of all the things I’ve said to you. Think about moving your stuff to my side of the wall.” He gave her hands a squeeze as he started for the door.
Malory did a quick inventory of the month in her head. It had been a whirlwind of events and emotions, and she’d let him bare his heart then she’d turned him down flat—even flirted with the guy he hated most. But if he was saying to her what she thought, he was he was giving her another chance. It wasn’t a marriage proposal, but she wasn’t going to screw it up.
“Chris,” she called out and he stopped. “I would love to live on your side of the wall.”
He didn’t turn back around, but he stood a little taller and as he climbed into his truck she could see his smile before he drove away.
It was the first time in almost a month that Christopher had walked through the doors of the rink smiling; he was even whistling a tune. He heard the music for the ten-year-old skater who would be participating in the pageant. The song ended, and a handful of people applauded.
Christopher cleared the wall at the entrance and scanned the people in the stands. One caught his eye as he turned.
“Douglas.” The giant of a man stood and strode toward him. “I was beginning to think it was a rumor that you actually lived in this place. Own the rink too, I hear?”
“Guilty.” He shook the hand the man offered and felt the warmth of friendship envelop him. Cal Brighton had been the best thing to happen to him during his professional career. Christopher wasn’t sure he’d have survived had Cal not had his back.
“So did you decide you’d come as a spectator, or are you going to play?” Christopher sat on the bench and Cal plunked down next to him as they watched the next skater take the ice.
“ I’m too old to play with you youngins.” Cal gave him a nudge.
There wasn’t more than ten years between the two men, but in terms of hockey that did make Cal much older.
“We could use a coach.”
“Then you have one.” Cal let out a breath and narrowed his eyes. “What are you thinking having LeBlanc here?”
Christopher shook his head. “He was the first guy to commit to the tournament. Most of the sales came from his fans. He’s working his angle. He has photo ops set up, autograph sessions, and I think he has a book in his pocket he’s going to announce.” Christopher leaned his elbows onto his thighs and blew out a breath. “Truth is, he’ll be the one to save the rink. Not me.”
“Don’t you say that. That’s what he wants you to think.”
And it was working. But he had to keep a head about him. As long as the rink stayed open, he’d have won his battle.
“So.” Cal reclined back and rested his arms on the bleacher seat behind him. “How did you divide the teams? Canadians versus Americans? Detroit against everyone else?”
Christopher laughed, but he knew what he was asking. “I put him on my team. I’m not taking chances that I’ll end up in the boards with him.”
“Smart move. Especially since I’m not out there to pull the ass off you.”
“Yeah.” He gave Cal a respectful nod.
Christopher walked back to his office, sat at his desk fielding phone calls from the media, and welcoming the players who were checking out the rink and getting settled into the motel. His mother had called and said she needed some help for the dinner rush, as she’d be staying open late. He was glad the tournament was funneling dollars into the community.
Harvey had volunteered to help, and Malory had called and offered up her evening too. Maggie had been sure Christopher was too busy but as usual she had an idea.
“Who do you have that will wait tables? I have hockey fans filtering in from everywhere. If you had a few of your guys here with aprons on, I’d bet we could save a few more businesses in this town.”
Christopher looked out his office door. There stood half a dozen men who would don aprons if he asked.
“I’ll get you some help, Ma. I’ll send your trainees over.”
Christopher managed to sneak out of the rink around nine and head toward his mother’s. The parking lot was still full and though Maggie had been on her feet since early that morning, she still floated past each table with a smile. Cal Brighton served coffee, and three more players ran orders and talked to the patrons who had come to town to see them play.
Wil worked the counter as though she were tending bar. There was a sparkle in her eye as she flirted with an old man in a Detroit jersey, winning him over as she did with everyone she met.
He stood just beyond the door looking in, amazed that asking a few friends to play a hockey game in town would bring such a sense of community to so many.
Maggie caught sight of him and waved him in. He smiled and made his way through the front door to cheers from his friends, neighbors, and fans alike. Wil’s eyes softened on him, and for the first time in a very long time, he felt like he belonged again. He’d never leave the valley again.
He slipped a smile toward Wil, who returned it. He’d never let her leave again either.
“Who’s at the rink?” Harvey hollered from the kitchen as Christopher found a stool at the end of the counter.
“Mac Stern. Said he wanted some ice time with some real players. I think he’s showing the kids off to the media.”
Malory brought a cup of coffee to the end of the counter and set it down in front of him.
“Hey, sailor, whatcha have?”
“A nibble of you.”
“Ah, a sweet talker. Well, who am I to turn away a customer?” She bent over the counter, grabbed the lapel of his coat, and pulled him into a slow, warm kiss.
“If I’d known that was on the menu I would have ordered it.” The man in the Detroit jersey nudged Christopher.
“Local special.” Malory turned with a wink.
/> “Looks to be a heck of a game you put together, Mr. Douglas.”
It was another first. It had been a long time since he’d sat in a restaurant and had a perfect stranger call him by name. Though it didn’t settle well that the man wore a Detroit jersey.
“I think it’ll be successful.” Christopher lifted his coffee to his lips.
“Couldn’t believe LeBlanc signed on to help you. I thought he hated you, but all the same, that’s why I’m here. My grandson and I are big fans of his. Yours too,” he added quickly. “He was very kind today when my grandson saw him coming out of the local bakery. He asked him for an autograph and a picture and he took the time.”
Christopher chewed on the inside of his cheek.
“Mac called,” Malory said, walking by with a bowl of stew. “Said they’re done if you want to lock up.”
“I’ll head over to do that. When will you be home?”
“Not for a few hours.” She set the bowl down and wiped her brow. “Even if we close up soon, we have a lot to do for breakfast rush. And I have to be at the bakery by four.”
“I’ll go in with you and help. It’s the least I can do since you helped out Mom.”
She nodded. “Get some rest.”
Christopher leaned over the counter and gave her a peck. Then he patted the Detroit fan’s shoulder. “I’m glad you and your grandson made the trip for the game. I hope you have a great time.”
The man thanked him as he walked out of the restaurant.
“You married to him?” the man asked Malory as she topped off his water glass.
She watched Chris drive away. “Not yet.”
Malory agreed that she and Christopher would meet her father at Maggie’s for breakfast. Maggie had pulled in every full-time employee she had as well as those who filled in from time to time.
The four of them occupied a back booth and together they shared their first meal together since Thanksgiving.
Maggie reached across the table and patted Christopher’s hand.
“I feel like I haven’t seen you all in ages.”
“We were all in here last night, Ma.” Christopher let out a little laugh. “She needs a vacation, Harvey. She’s been working way too hard.”
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