by Lisa Childs
“Okay then. I’ll follow you back to the school, and we’ll talk.” Just talk, he reminded himself as he eased away from her—from the sweet temptation of that full mouth. He forced himself to head toward the Jeep.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” she asked.
He glanced back, surprised. Had she wanted him to kiss her? “What?”
“Your daughter.”
Moments later he walked back into the inn and laughter erupted.
“Forget someone?” Buzz asked. The old hockey fanatic was holding the baby in his arms.
Hell. How had he forgotten her? Sure, she’d only been with him a few days. But he worried that his forgetfulness was about more than a change in his routine or even the concussion. He’d inherited a certain gene from his mother—the out-of-sight, out-of-mind one.
Except that he struggled to forget about Priscilla Andrews even when she was out of sight.
“It’s lack of sleep, son,” his dad said gently, as if trying to reassure him. “We’ll get you some help. You’ve been the one staying up late with her. Me and the boys will pitch in more.”
He shook his head. “They’ve got school. You’ve got work. And she’s my responsibility.”
He wouldn’t give up as easily as his mother had; he’d stick it out as long as he could—despite that pressure on his chest, pushing the breath from his lungs so that he had to struggle for air.
Chapter Eight
Priscilla leaned back in her desk chair and drew in a breath so thick with the scent of fried potatoes she could nearly taste the salt and grease. “Tater Tots day in the cafeteria?” she asked her sister, the lunch lady.
In her white—or mostly white, given the food stains—uniform, Maureen grinned. “Do you want me to bring you some? I could reheat ’em.”
Priscilla’s empty stomach roiled at the thought of mushy tots. “No thanks.”
“Have you had any lunch yet?” Due to their age difference, Maureen often acted more like Priscilla’s mother than her sister.
“No, Mom,” she mocked her sibling. “I had a meeting with Principal Drover. There was no time to grab anything.”
Maureen gave an unladylike snort that would have had their mother puckering her face in disapproval. “I’m sure he ate something.”
Priscilla shook her head. “No. He was going to eat at home with his wife, since he was leaving early.”
“As usual. And left you with all the work—as usual.”
“I don’t mind,” Priscilla assured her. It wasn’t as though she had anything else to do. Trout Creek didn’t offer a lot in the way of entertainment. Or single men. “This is what I want,” she reminded her sister as well as herself. “If I’ve already been doing the job. The school board will have to give it to me when he finally retires.”
“If he ever retires,” Maureen said. “And if you keep doing his job for him, he won’t need to.”
Priscilla shrugged. “That’s fine, too. At least I’m doing the job I love.”
“You love it? Really?” Maureen arched a brow.
She laughed at the doubt on her sister’s face. “Yes, I do. This is what I studied so hard for.”
“To spend 24/7 in school?” Maureen shook her head pityingly.
“I enjoy my job,” she insisted. And she was good at it. Since she’d been hired, a higher percentage of Trout Creek graduates had enrolled in college.
“You need more than this job,” her sister said. “You need a man in your life.”
Brooks immediately sprang to mind. But she pushed him away, as she had every other time she’d thought of him over the past few weeks. They’d finally worked out that schedule, setting up a tryout date and subsequent practices. Until the hockey games started, she really didn’t need to see much more of him. Except every time she closed her eyes, she pictured his grinning face, those dark eyes full of laughter and passion and the trace of fear he couldn’t hide behind cocky bravado.
He was scared and overwhelmed. And she didn’t blame him. But she couldn’t help him.
She had, however, showed up at the Icehouse to supervise tryouts and practices. It was part of her duties as athletic director to make sure he could handle his job and the kids. But she’d stayed in the stands and just watched, telling herself that she didn’t need to talk to him. She didn’t want to talk to him, to have him stand so close and peer so intently into her eyes that she thought he was going to kiss her again. That she hoped he would…
“Did you hear me?” Maureen asked. “You need to start seeing someone.”
“Okay, Mom,” she teased again. Their mother constantly nagged Priscilla to find another husband.
Maureen laughed, a little uneasily though. “Stan keeps telling me that I’m turning into my mother.” She shuddered. “Say it ain’t so.”
“Um…you know I can’t tell a lie.”
“I know. You were always the perfect one.”
Priscilla snorted now. “I’m a far cry from perfect.”
“Maybe,” Maureen replied skeptically. “But it doesn’t stop you from trying.”
That was true. She had tried to be the perfect wife, the perfect mother, but she’d failed miserably at both. At least she had her career. Here she succeeded every time a kid graduated and went on to college or the military or a good job.
“So, nag, did you come visit me just to make sure I’ve eaten?”
Maureen smiled. “No. I envy your appetite and your figure, especially since someone talked me into chaperoning the homecoming dance this weekend and I need to find a new dress.” She patted her full hips. “Someone has to make the sacrifice to ensure all that food is safe for the kids to eat.”
“You’re such a martyr,” Priscilla teased.
“Yup, that’s me. A fat Joan of Arc. So since you got me this job and talked me into chaperoning, you’re going to have to go dress shopping with me.”
“Sure,” she agreed, warming to the thought of a trip to the mall in the city.
“And you need a new dress, too,” Maureen said.
“Why?” She shrugged. “I have my usual standby.”
Her sister looked disgusted. “That black sack you wear to funerals?”
“It’s timeless and classy.”
“It’s boring and ugly.”
“So?” She didn’t choose her clothes to draw attention to her body. Growing up the proverbial “ugly duckling,” she’d learned to use her brains and determination to get ahead—not her looks.
“You need to dress up more.”
“Why?” she asked again.
“Because there’ll finally be a single man who’s under forty and over eighteen at the dance this year.”
Confusion furrowed Priscilla’s brow. “Who?”
“Brooks.”
She laughed. “He’s not going to be there.”
“Why not?” Maureen asked, her eyes wide with surprise. “Don’t you need more chaperones? Isn’t that why you roped me into helping?”
She had roped Maureen into helping because she figured her sister needed a night away from her younger kids and husband. “I really only want school employees to act as chaperones for the homecoming dance.”
“He is a school employee now,” Maureen reminded her.
“If I’d had my choice, he wouldn’t be.” She’d interviewed some better candidates, retired teachers who would have loved the part-time position of hockey coach.
“You really turned down Brooks Hoover?”
She almost choked, then swallowed hard. “For a job.”
“Yeah.” Her sister’s eyes widened with curiosity. “What else would you have turned him down for?”
Even now, weeks later, her lips tingled at the memory of that kiss. “Uh…babysitting…”
Maureen reached across the desk and grabbed her hand. “He asked you to babysit?”
“Yeah…”
Her sister squeezed her fingers. “You should tell him about…”
“About what?” Priscilla asked.
“Ancient history? It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“It’ll always matter,” Maureen said, her voice sympathetic. “What you have to remember is that it wasn’t your fault. It was a tragedy you couldn’t have prevented.”
That was not what her husband had thought. Even though he’d tried to hide it, Priscilla had seen the accusation in his eyes. He’d blamed her for bringing home germs from the school where she’d worked. But none of the kids had had meningitis.
Tears stung Priscilla’s eyes, but she blinked them back. “It’s fine, really. I actually did watch her once.”
“You did?”
She gave a sharp nod. “She’s a beautiful baby.”
“With his genes?” Maureen let out a lusty chuckle. “Of course she’s beautiful. You really should ask him to chaperone.”
The only problem with Brooks being a chaperone was who would chaperone him?
WITH A JERK, Brooks awoke—Faith clutched tight against his chest. She cried out, then settled back against him. How had he fallen asleep? Probably because she had kept him awake all night.
The real question was what had jarred him from his sleep. His skin tingled, as if someone was staring at him. He glanced toward the open door of the small office next to the gym that Priscilla had assigned to him. If he remembered correctly, it had once been the janitor’s closet. A woman leaned against the jamb. Even in the shadow of the dark gymnasium, her body was all lean lines and full curves.
“Priscilla?” he asked, then cleared the rasp from his throat. He glanced at his watch. How long had he been asleep? To figure that out, he’d have to know when he’d nodded off.
“It’s me,” she confirmed as she stepped inside his office, dragging her heels across the worn linoleum as though reluctant to get any closer to him.
“I expected you to be at every practice to make sure I’m not corrupting the kids.” He chuckled. “But now you’re even spying on me here?”
“I’m not spying on you.”
“You were just standing there, not saying anything,” he reminded her. And exactly how long had she been in the doorway?
“I didn’t want to wake you,” she explained. “You look like you could use the sleep.”
He pushed a hand through his tousled hair. “That’s no lie. But why don’t you speak to me when you stop by at practice?”
“I don’t want to interrupt—you’re busy with the kids.”
He suspected she was busy, too—busy avoiding him. He should have been relieved that she hadn’t found a reason to fire him. But every time he caught a glimpse of her in the Icehouse, his pulse quickened with excitement. Then she would walk out without saying a word and that excitement would turn to disappointment.
“You don’t have practice tonight?” she asked.
“Had to give ’em a night off,” he said.
“And yourself, too.”
He swallowed his frustration. She was still determined to think the worst of him. He wouldn’t disappoint her by explaining that he’d wanted the kids to take a break because their muscles were already strained. To force them to practice again would have risked serious injuries. “Yeah…”
“So why are you here?” She stepped closer, her gaze on the baby, who slept against his shoulder. “With her?”
“Faith,” he said.
“Faith?” Her green eyes widened in surprise. “How do you know her name? Did you find her mother?”
“No.” The sheriff’s inquiries hadn’t turned up any new information. To help the investigation, Brooks had offered to call some of his teammates, but his dad had shot down the idea concerned the press would get hold of the story. Rex worried that other women, not her mother, might try to claim the baby. Brooks just had to trust that Faith’s real mom would come back on her own. But Brooks had lost his trust in women a long time ago.
“So you named her?”
“She needed a name.” He rubbed his finger across the baby’s cheek. “And it seems to fit.” He’d been digging deep within himself, looking for faith that he could handle all his new responsibilities.
“Faith…”
The baby opened an eye and glanced around. “I—I don’t think she’s going to grow up hating you over that name.” Priscilla sounded wistful.
“I’m sure she’ll find another reason.” He was also certain that in time he would give her one. “And that might not stay her name.”
“Why not? You think you’ll change your mind?”
He shook his head. “No, but her mother could have given her a different name.” But if she had, why wouldn’t she have written it in her brief note?
“Faith’s a good name,” Priscilla said. “Now, you never answered my question—what are you doing here?”
He gestured at the pad on his desk. “I’m still trying to figure out my team.”
She leaned over the desk and tilted her head to read his writing. He sucked in a breath as the neckline of her gray sweater dipped to reveal the curve of her breasts. He tensed.
Priscilla tapped his pad, drawing his attention from her cleavage back to the scribbles he’d made on the paper. “You don’t have many names written down. A lot more kids showed up to the official tryout.”
“If I put half those kids in a game, they’d get killed out there. I’ll let ’em practice, but I can’t play ’em.” He knew how quickly someone could get seriously hurt, even if prepared.
“You’re used to playing with professionals. These are just kids.”
“All those pros start out as kids with a hell of a lot of talent.”
“Not every high school player has the talent to go pro. You know the odds are against anyone from a high school team becoming a pro athlete in any sport. That’s why I insist that the emphasis at Trout Creek be on academics now. They need to be fully prepared for the reality of their futures.”
Maybe he would have been, had she been the assistant principal back when he was in school. But would anyone have gotten through to Brooks? All he’d ever wanted to do was play. Still did.
He sighed. “You’re right. But I made it pro.” And he would make it back to the pro league again. “There are a couple of kids out there who might, too.”
“Your brothers?”
He nodded. “Brad’s got incredible speed and puck control. And his brains make up for what he lacks in muscle. And Ryan.” He shook his head. “He’s strong and fearless. I don’t think there’s anything he can’t handle. But I can’t play both of them the entire game.” Despite the shorter periods in high school hockey, he couldn’t risk his brothers’ futures by having them on the ice so often they got hurt. “Your nephew’s good, too. He’s one of the faster skaters. He needs to be out there with Brad, not in the net. But he’s the only one with goalie experience. Except for Debbie.”
“Just so you know, I never suspended Debbie from the game. She chose not to finish out the season last spring. And I talked to her recently,” Priscilla confided. “She doesn’t want to play.”
In the corner of the tiny office, static buzzed from the old black-and-white television. “These are some tapes from last season,” he said. “They weren’t great.” Which was probably why he’d fallen asleep watching them. “But she was. And she loved the game.”
Priscilla heard the love in his own voice—but it was for a sport, not a person. He gestured toward the screen, and she watched the goalie and her big defenseman throw their arms around each other after a save. When she saw how tightly and how long Debbie hung on to Ryan, she realized it wasn’t Debbie’s love of the game she was watching. It was her love for Brooks’s brother.
Since the younger Hoover boys tried to emulate their older brother, they dated cheerleaders and perky, popular girls. Ryan dating Debbie would have been like Brooks dating Priscilla back in high school—something that never would have happened then. Or probably even now.
“She might still love the game,” she said, “but she doesn’t want to play with the team anymore.”
“Why not?
The guys didn’t hassle her. They really respect her and want her back.”
She gestured toward the frozen frame—showing Debbie’s arms wound tight around Ryan. “I don’t think she wants their respect. At least not his.”
Brooks stared at the couple. “If you’re right…” He shook his head. “Poor girl.” Obviously he knew his brother well, despite having spent so much time away.
Priscilla sighed in commiseration. “She’s coming to school regularly again, and her grades are better than they were before. But I don’t think you’re going to talk her into playing.”
Brooks nodded. “She didn’t even come to tryouts. But if I can’t get her, I really need Erik Brouwer back. He tried out, but said you haven’t lifted his academic suspension from last year.”
“Erik’s grades have improved. If he wants to come back, I’ll allow it. On one condition…” Priscilla bit her lip, surprised that she was going to do this.
He arched his brows above dark eyes that sparkled with mischief. “Really? What’s your condition?”
“I need you to chaperone the homecoming dance next weekend.”
He leaned back in his chair, the smile sliding from his handsome face. “Really?”
“Yes.”
“But I thought you didn’t trust me with the kids.”
She nodded. “I didn’t, but you did get them to clean the toilet paper off my trees. They listen to you. I just have to trust that you’ll say the right things to them.”
“And do you trust me?” he asked, his gaze intent on her face, as if her reply really mattered to him.
“No,” she honestly admitted. “But I’ll be there to make sure you stay in line.”
That cocky grin lifted his mouth again. “So you’ll be chaperoning my chaperoning?”
“Yes.”
“It’ll be loud?” he asked with a wince. “And the kids will be out of control?”
“Yes. I haven’t been at a homecoming dance yet where I haven’t had to throw someone out. That’ll be your job, by the way. And I always have to suspend someone afterward for the trouble they caused.”