by Lisa Childs
“I wanted to thank you, Miss Andrews, for reporting the Hoover baby situation to me.”
Since the social worker had already done that in the message she’d left the previous evening, Priscilla suspected there was more to this call. “You don’t know for certain that she’s a Hoover, do you?”
“The DNA results won’t be back for a while,” the social worker replied. “But a preliminary blood test couldn’t rule out Brooks Hoover as the baby’s father.”
“What does that mean?”
“The Hoovers told me last night that I can share this information with you, otherwise I wouldn’t be able to violate their privacy,” Mrs. Everly said. “Brooks and the baby have the same blood type and several of the same markers.”
“So that’s why you let him take her home?” But Brooks had been certain the baby was his, even before they’d gone to the hospital. How had he known?
It wasn’t as if he’d carried the child for nine months. Hell, he hadn’t even known he’d gotten the mother pregnant. But when he’d found the baby on his doorstep, it was as if he’d recognized her, as if he’d instinctively known she was his. And he’d authorized Mrs. Everly to release the blood test results to Priscilla because he’d wanted her to know, too.
So she wouldn’t worry or just to prove his point? Settling onto the bed next to the baby, Priscilla studied her face, and she could see it now—the Hoover look. It was there in the dimple in her cheek, in the fists curled at her sides as she slept.
“I also let them take her because the sheriff has a foster care license,” Mrs. Everly explained. “He got it years ago in case there was a situation where he had to care for a child until legal guardians could be located.”
Priscilla nodded even though the woman couldn’t see her. “I appreciate your calling to explain that.”
“That’s not why I phoned,” the woman admitted. “I have a favor to ask of you.”
“A favor?”
“Yes, I’m going to be busy with home visits on the other side of the county this week, so I won’t be able to get out to Trout Creek myself until later next week,” Mrs. Everly explained. “I could really use your help, Miss Andrews, and I thought, given that you had called me with your concerns, you might want to check in on them for your peace of mind and mine.”
“You want me to spy on the Hoovers for you?” Brooks already thought she was doing that because she’d shown up at the practice he shouldn’t have called.
“It wouldn’t be spying,” Mrs. Everly insisted. “You’d just be checking on the welfare of a child.”
“I’m not the right person for this job,” Priscilla said. She hadn’t been able to ensure the welfare of her own child.
“I need your help,” the social worker pressed. “Other people might be intimidated by the sheriff or dazzled by Brooks Hoover’s celebrity, but I know you’ll be objective, given the situation.”
She had just called the nurse over the baby’s sigh. She couldn’t be objective and she couldn’t get involved. Just sitting here next to the sleeping infant brought back too many memories and too much pain.
“I—I don’t know,” Priscilla said.
“You’re not worried any longer that they might not be able to properly care for her?” the older woman asked.
During the five years she’d been assistant principal at Trout Creek High, Priscilla had met with the social worker about certain students. Those kids had been teenagers, old enough to tell her about their problems. The infant lying on the bed could not express herself. She needed someone to speak for her.
And Brooks couldn’t be trusted to protect her the way babies needed to be protected. “Yes.”
“So you’ll do it?”
“Yes.” And just as she’d hung up on the nurse, she hung up on the social worker.
“Hey, everything okay?” a deep voice asked from the doorway.
Priscilla blinked back the tears that had welled in her eyes and turned toward the man who’d invaded her bedroom. “What are you doing here?”
“We wrapped up early. The kids had something else they needed to do.”
“See, that’s why we have to coordinate these things,” Priscilla said as she rose from the bed. Not wanting him to notice the tearstains on her face, she turned toward the window. “You can’t just call them at the last minute.”
“They’re not at another practice,” he said.
A movement in the yard distracted her. She might have thought it was a deer, if not for the bright clothing. She leaned closer to the glass. A teenager jumped up and down, pulling tissue from tree limbs. Then she noticed other kids doing the same.
“They’re cleaning up,” Brooks said, his deep voice close to her ear. He’d crossed the room and stood behind her, his chest brushing against her back as he stared out the window, too.
Goose bumps lifted on her skin, and she shivered at his nearness. “You persuaded them to do that?”
The kids pulled down every tissue-paper streamer from the tree branches, where they had been strung like Christmas lights. She would never have managed to get the kids to admit to TPing her place, let alone clean up their mess. Maybe she had misjudged Brooks Hoover.
But then she remembered her real question. “What are you doing here?” she asked again. “In my bedroom?”
STARING AT THE CARVED OAK bed with frilly white sheets that matched the frilly white curtains, Brooks realized exactly where he was. “Uh…you didn’t answer when I knocked, but your car was here. I wanted to make sure everything was all right.”
“She’s fine!”
The defensive tone of her voice drew his attention, but Priscilla wouldn’t meet his gaze.
“She fell asleep on the way here and hasn’t woken up,” she continued, “even when I took her out of the car seat and changed her.”
Brooks chuckled. “I’m not surprised.”
“Why? Does she sleep a lot? Do you think she’s sick?”
“No.” He grinned. “In fact, she didn’t sleep at all last night. So it’s no wonder she’s out now.” He groaned. “And since she’s sleeping today, she’ll be sure to stay up all night again.”
Priscilla expelled a little sigh of relief. “That’s good.”
“That I’m up all night?”
“That she’s okay.”
“The doctor who checked her out at the hospital last night said she was very healthy,” he assured her.
“Oh, that’s good—really good.”
“You’re the one I wanted to make sure was all right,” he said. “You seemed a little nervous about watching her. And you look pretty upset right now.”
Her eyes were shiny. Tears? And her cheeks looked damp, too. “You’ve been crying,” he said.
She shook her head.
“You were on the phone. That must’ve been why you didn’t hear me knock. Did that call upset you?” A protective instinct made Brooks want to strike whoever had hurt her—which was funny, since he’d probably hurt her himself years ago, when he used to tease her.
She shook her head again. “I’m fine.”
But she still wouldn’t meet his gaze. So he closed his hands around her shoulders and turned her to face him.
“You’re not fine,” he said. But, physically, she was. Even with tear-reddened skin, she was beautiful, those deep green eyes softened with vulnerability. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
Her mouth curved slightly into a faint smile. “Why? What are you going to do about it?”
Quit? It was probably what she wanted—if that’s what had upset her. But he suspected she was too tough to cry over the fact he’d been hired. No, whatever had brought her to tears was very painful, probably too painful for her to share with a man she did not trust. So all he could do was help make her forget about whatever had hurt her.
“What am I going to do about it?” he asked, moving his hands from her shoulders, down the curve of her back to her waist. He pulled her against his chest. “I’m going to kiss it better.”
He waited for her to tense or to shove him away. Instead she laughed. His breath caught at the transformation—the brightness of her eyes and the overwhelming beauty of her full lips curved into a wide smile. And he followed through on his threat and lowered his mouth to hers.
Her breath mingled with his as she gasped in surprise. But then she kissed him back, her lips—so silky soft—pressed against his. And her fingers tangled in his hair, clutching his head close.
He deepened the kiss, touching his tongue to the full curve of her lower lip. He slid the tip across it before slipping it inside her moist, sweet mouth.
She moaned and shifted closer, her breasts soft against his chest. He tightened his grasp on her waist, his hands moving over the curve of her hips. But before he could tug her nearer, someone shouted.
“Coach!”
“Hey, Coach!”
The baby awakened with a startled cry. And Priscilla jerked from his arms and stumbled back. Her eyes dry now, wide with shock, she stared at him. And he suspected he hadn’t kissed anything better. If anything, he’d kissed it worse.
He carefully lifted the baby from the bed and carried her into the living room. She settled down before he even crossed the hardwood floor. His brothers stood outside the open door to the front porch. The other kids who’d come along to help lingered on the gravel driveway, hanging back and partially hiding behind their vehicles.
“We’re done,” Ryan said, his brown eyes hard with resentment.
Brooks suspected that right now they weren’t too happy he’d stayed in Trout Creek. “Did you get it all?”
“Every ply,” Brad snapped.
“Now you need to apologize to Ms. Andrews,” he said, glancing back over his shoulder to where she stood behind him—quite a ways behind him, as if she was afraid he might grab her again. Or that the kids might notice she’d been crying. What the hell had made her cry?
He doubted she would tell him, even if they didn’t have an audience. As if eager to get rid of him, she’d brought out the baby carrier, blanket and diaper bag.
“What would we be sorry for?” Brad asked belligerently. “We didn’t do anything.”
“C’mon,” he urged them. “You owe her an apology.”
“We agreed to clean up,” Brad reminded him. “And that was just so she’d consider lifting Debbie’s suspension. We’re not going to admit to doing anything.”
Ryan shook his head in agreement. “She’ll suspend us for sure.”
“I haven’t picked the team yet,” he reminded them. “Neither of you are guaranteed a spot on it.”
“But we’re your brothers,” Ryan whined.
“And we’re the best hockey players in Trout Creek,” Brad arrogantly added.
At the moment that didn’t mean a whole lot.
“You need us,” Brad threatened, then grabbed his brother and headed back to the Jeep.
“Smart-ass,” Brooks muttered. He turned back to Priscilla. “You’re right. We need another tryout.”
Her pretty mouth had thinned into that tight look of disapproval again as she handed over the car seat. “And they’re right. I would suspend them if they admitted to TPing my trees.”
“They still should have apologized.” He settled the baby into her carrier and took the blanket and diaper bag from Priscilla’s outstretched hand.
“It wouldn’t have been sincere. You only got them here with the promise that I’d consider letting Debbie back on the team.”
That was what they’d thought, but he’d really wanted them to take responsibility for their actions, the way he was trying to do with the baby. But since Priscilla always thought the worst of him, she probably wouldn’t believe that—especially after he’d kissed her.
So instead he asked, “Will you?”
She shook her head. “I can’t.”
“Are her grades really that bad?” he wondered. “I heard she was a great student.”
“You heard she was a great player.”
“Yeah,” he admitted. “And I need more great players on this team to have any hope of winning a game.”
“You need players who want to play,” Priscilla said. “And Debbie doesn’t want to play.”
“Why not?” he asked.
“You really have no idea?”
He shrugged. “No.”
“I don’t know. But you can’t understand how someone might not want to play?”
“No, I can’t,” he answered honestly. From the moment he’d strapped on his first pair of skates and picked up a stick, it was all he had ever wanted to do.
“So if it was up to you, you’d be playing instead of coaching?”
“Of course.” Smelling the ice, watching the kids play—or whatever they’d been doing—had made him want to get back to the sport even more.
Priscilla’s gaze slipped to the carrier in his hand. He glanced down at the baby, who had fallen back asleep. Would he be playing—even if he got medical clearance—now?
“Thanks for watching her,” he said as the pressure weighed down on his chest once more. He felt like that teenager again, helping his single dad raise his younger brothers. Hockey had helped him out of the trap his life had felt like twelve years ago. But it couldn’t free him now.
“I won’t be doing it again,” she said as if warning him. “You’ll need to make other arrangements in the future.”
When he was cleared to play, and he had to have faith that eventually he would be, he’d have to find someone to watch her. A nanny to travel with him? How the hell else would he manage…alone?
THE CABIN FELL EERILY silent after they left, quieter than it had ever been. Usually the silence relaxed Priscilla, but this afternoon it left her restless.
Or maybe that was Brooks’s fault. Not only had he manipulated her into watching the baby, he’d kissed her. Why? He’d probably just felt sorry for her, since she’d been such an emotional mess.
Damn him.
She’d preferred the numbness she’d felt until now. But holding that infant, watching her sleep, had thawed Priscilla. And his kiss had warmed her up.
She touched her fingers to lips that still tingled from the contact with his. The man knew how to kiss. But then, he’d had plenty of experience back in high school. She couldn’t imagine how many women he had kissed since—so many that he didn’t even know who the mother of his child was.
Priscilla would not be kissing him again. Overcome with emotion, she’d lost her mind for a minute there. She’d forgotten who she was—his boss.
Pushing the kiss from her mind, she turned on her laptop to focus on work. But instead of going to the school site and updating student files, she went instead to the online social network. And pulled up his page.
Her ex-husband’s picture downloaded, revealing his reddish-brown hair first. His hairline had receded, just a little. Remembering how he’d often studied it in the mirror, she smiled. But then his eyes appeared, full of warmth and happiness.
She had seen him that happy only once, the day their daughter was born. He hadn’t been that happy on their wedding day. Of course, if she hadn’t been pregnant, he probably wouldn’t have married her. They had always been more friends than lovers. And after Courtney had died, they hadn’t even been able to maintain the friendship.
He wasn’t alone in the photograph. His wife, a beautiful woman with light-colored hair, sat next to him. And each of them held a child: one a few years old and the other a toddler.
Priscilla wanted to be happy for him. After all, she had loved him. But all she felt now was bitterness and pain.
With his picture-perfect new family, he had moved on; she had just moved back to Trout Creek. Maybe Maureen was right. Maybe it was time Priscilla truly put the past behind her, instead of just trying to forget it.
That hadn’t worked, anyway. While she’d dated a few times since coming home, she hadn’t really given anyone a chance. She had never kissed anyone the way she had Brooks Hoover—maybe not even her hu
sband.
Chapter Seven
“Aren’t you going to watch the game?” Brad asked as he tromped into the kitchen.
Brooks glanced over his shoulder at his youngest brother and shook his head. “No.”
“But it’s your team—the Eagles. Don’t you want to see how they do?”
Without him? No. He was afraid they might do well, that they might not need him. Maybe they wouldn’t call him back, even when he got his medical clearance.
“It’s just an exhibition game,” he said. The regular season wouldn’t start for weeks yet. “And I’ve got my hands full here.” Literally.
“You’re doing dishes?” Brad asked, his voice full of shock and disgust.
Since he’d been back, his father wasn’t the only Hoover that Brooks had disappointed. His brothers had expected more from him—more than he was. They wanted him to be the man he was on the ice—the relentless, aggressive player who never made a wrong move. Off the ice, he didn’t seem to be making any right ones.
“I’m not doing the dishes.” Brooks stood at the sink, the spray nozzle in one hand, the infant in the other as water sluiced over her. He held her carefully, her body resting on the towel he’d used to cover the cold stainless steel. Those big, dark eyes of hers stared up at him, studying him, as if she didn’t completely trust him not to drown her. He wasn’t so confident himself. But he couldn’t ask his dad to give her every bath. And taking care of her got his mind off another female.
“You’re giving the kid a bath in the sink?” Brad sounded horrified.
“Have you seen the tub?” he asked. It wasn’t that dirty, but when he’d leaned over it, he’d gotten dizzy. The effects of the concussion had yet to wear off.
Maybe that was why he’d kissed Priscilla Andrews the day before, because the concussion had addled his brain. Even though she was beautiful, she wasn’t his type. She was too serious and too vulnerable. Already wounded, she would get hurt even more if she got involved with him. But hell, she was too smart to be interested in him. She had kissed him back, though. The memory of her silky lips would have kept him awake even if the baby hadn’t.
He shook his head and pushed the kiss from his mind.