Skirting the Ice (The Bannister Brothers #3)

by Jennie Marts

  But it also wouldn’t help her chances at making the team a success if she ended up in jail for disorderly conduct. And she wasn’t sure that she and Jack would walk away the victors in this particular dog-fight.

  Too bad the guy wasn’t challenging them to a match of wits instead of fists. Then Jack could kick his ass.

  “There you go, upsetting my woman again,” Gorilla Guy said, his eyes narrowed in anger. He grabbed Jack’s shirt again and hauled him close to his face, the distinct sound of the shirt’s fabric ripping tore through the air as he tightened his grip.

  The bar had gone quiet, the patrons pausing their pool games to watch the drama.

  “Hey Bannister, I thought you said you weren’t gonna cause any trouble tonight,” the bartender called. “You and your goon brothers caused enough damage the last time you got into a fight here.”

  Gorilla Guy glanced at the bartender then back down at Jack. “Bannister? Are your goon brothers the Brawling Bannisters? The ones that play for the Colorado Summit?” He glared down into Jack’s face, as if daring him to answer yes.

  Oh great, it wasn’t enough that she’d spilled her beer down the front of a mean-ass biker, he had to be a mean-ass biker that was also a disgruntled hockey fan.

  “Yeah, so what?” Jack’s voice sounded tough but Murphy could feel the slight tremble in his hand as he held her behind him. She held her breath, waiting to see what the big man would do.

  The biker’s glare hardened then slowly, like the way syrup spreads across a warm pancake, his lips curled into a sly grin. “So, I love those fuckin’ assholes.”

  Murphy let out a relieved breath as he loosened his grip on Jack’s shirt and gave his shoulder a hard pat.

  “They put a beat-down on that little bitch that plays for Dallas last season that had me laughing my ass off.” He turned to the other bikers standing around the table. “This guy’s all right. His brothers are the Brawling Bannisters.”

  Affirmations of acceptance rumbled through the crowd, and the bar’s noise level resumed as the other patrons went back to their games, losing interest now that the possibility of a fight was gone.

  “Sorry about your shirt, dude.” Gorilla Guy smoothed the tear against Jack’s collar. “How about you let me buy the next round?”

  Jack’s expression eased, but Murphy could still feel the tight tenseness of his body. “Thanks anyway, but we were just heading out.” He slipped her hand into his and pulled them around the table, grabbing their jackets from the pegs on the wall where they’d hung them earlier. “We appreciate the offer and hope you all have a good night.”

  The cool night air hit Jack’s heated cheeks as they stepped out of the door.

  It had taken everything in him to act cool and walk calmly from the bar. Now that they were outside, he let go of Murphy’s hand and leaned forward on his knees, trying to catch his breath.

  Screw it. He pulled out his inhaler and took a deep puff, feeling the medicine work to loosen his tight lungs.

  Murphy let out a relieved laugh. “Oh my gosh, that was crazy. I can’t believe we almost got into a bar fight.”

  He was far from amused. “I can’t believe you’re laughing about it.”

  She reared back, obviously shocked at the intensity of his statement. “Whoa. I wasn’t laughing that hard.”

  He took a deep breath, still trying to regulate his oxygen intake. “I just don’t think it’s funny. It sucked. That guy was huge—he could have killed me. And you.” He reached up and tenderly touched his swollen cheek.

  “You’re right. I’m sorry. And you did take a good hit to your face. Are you okay?” She reached toward his cheek, but he brushed her hand away.

  The last thing he wanted right now was for her to feel even more sorry for him. He already felt enough like an idiot. What would have happened if the bartender hadn’t yelled his last name? Or if that guy hadn’t have been a hockey fan?

  And as thankful as he was that the guy was a fan, it just went to show one more example of how his brothers being bad-asses got him out of scrapes.

  “I’m fine,” he murmured, pulling on his jacket and heading for the bike. “Let’s just go.”

  “What’s wrong?” Murphy hurried to keep up.

  He passed her the helmet hanging from the handlebars. “I don’t want to talk about it. I just want to go home.”

  “Okay.” Her brow wrinkled as she gave him a concerned look, but she didn’t say anything more.

  Needless to say, the ride down the mountain was considerably different from the ride up.

  He sat stiffly behind her, putting as much space between them as he could. His hands rested lightly on her waist, but there was no flirty attempts to cop a feel this time.

  Shame burned in his gut the entire ride down the mountain, and he spent the time berating himself for being scared and for not acting tough enough. He should have just thrown a punch at the guy. To hell with the consequences.

  That’s what his brothers would have done.

  Except his brothers would have been able to handle it if the guy started punching back.

  Jack would have probably ended up in the hospital.

  Which would have been bad enough to endure the pain and embarrassment of getting his ass kicked, but then he would have had the expense of the doctor bills as well.

  This was why he liked to just stay home. The likelihood of getting his ass kicked while watching television in his living room was very small.

  But if he’d stayed home, he would have missed out on the rest of the date with Murphy. And the time spent at the rest stop against the tree. And he sure as hell wouldn’t have wanted to miss that. That was in the top ten best moments of his life.

  His thoughts battled each other in a constant war, fighting over the hazards of this relationship. Was it even worth it?

  Was risking his heart and his pride to be with Murphy worth the grief and agony of not being with her at all?

  Could he endure the rollercoaster of emotions that she put him through every time they were together?

  How did one woman take him from feeling like the king of the mountain to the lowest dirt on the earth?

  Was she worth the price of the damage she was inflicting on his heart and his self-esteem?

  Speaking of damage, his cheek was killing him—the throb of pain keeping up with the thrum of the motorcycle engine. But the pain in his face was nothing compared to the pain of his wounded pride. And the heartache burning in his chest.

  Murphy pulled the bike into the driveway and cut the engine. She waited for him to climb off, then dismounted herself and put the kickstand in place. “Let me just put the bike away, and then we’ll go inside and get some ice for your cheek.”

  Her expression was soft with obvious concern, but he didn’t want her concern. He didn’t want her feeling sorry for him. He just wanted to crawl into his own bed and pull the covers over his head and pretend like the last hour hadn’t happened.

  “I’m good,” he told her as he watched her open the garage door and wheel the bike inside.

  “We need to get some ice on your cheek to keep the swelling down.”

  “I’ll take care of it.” He rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. “Look, I appreciate you taking me out to dinner and all, and I don’t imagine this is how either of us thought our date was going to go, but I think I’m gonna call it a night and head back to my place.”

  “What? Why? Because of a little tiff with a biker? Nothing even happened.”

  Nothing happened to her, maybe. But he’d been humiliated and embarrassed.

  “Look, I don’t feel like I’ll be very good company tonight. I just want to go home and crawl into bed.”

  “You can crawl into bed here.” Her voice softened. “With me.”

  He shook his head, misery flooding his chest like black ooze through a swamp. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea either.”

  Her eyes clouded with confusion, and her shoulders drooped. She bli
nked and shook her head, as if not sure of what she was hearing. “What? Crawling into bed here? Or crawling into bed with me?”

  “Either. Both. I’m not sure.”

  Her eyes widened, then her stance shifted as she pushed back her shoulders, and her mouth tightened into a thin line. Her voice held the slightest tremble as she stated, “Then maybe you should go home.”

  He stared down at his feet, his arms hanging at his sides, wishing that he was strong enough to just let this go and take her into his arms and kiss her senseless. Either that or that the ground would open up and swallow him into it so he wouldn’t have to look at her. Look at the hurt and the pain that he’d put into her eyes. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  “Sure.” She turned and walked up the porch steps and into the house.

  Had he just let the best thing that ever happened to him walk away, he wondered as the door shut firmly behind her.

  Murphy rolled over. Again.

  She couldn’t sleep, couldn’t settle down. Her mind was as restless as her body.

  The sheets twisted around her legs as she tried to free them. The room was warm, stuffy. She’d stripped down to just a tank top and a pair of bikini underwear, but she was still too hot. Pushing off the tangled top-sheet, she let out a groan and pounded the pillow with her fist.

  The clock on the bedside table crept closer to one in the morning. The air outside was still, not even a hint of a breeze ruffled the curtains at the open window.

  What the hell had happened tonight?

  How had things gone from happy to horrible in such a short space of time?

  The events replayed through her mind and so many of them were amazing. She and Jack had been having such a great time. If they would have only left after they’d eaten instead of starting the game of pool. If only she hadn’t have bumped into the gorilla guy.

  It didn’t do any good to think about that stuff now. The damage was done. She couldn’t change it. Couldn’t change the way Jack felt.

  She needed to sleep, to think about this in the morning when her mind was fresh.

  Winston was curled at the foot of the bed, and she focused on trying to match the rhythm of her breathing to the steady sound of his snores.

  She’d almost drifted to sleep when his snores stopped, and he raised his head, a low growl forming in the back of his throat.

  Instantly awake, she grabbed her phone, ready to call…who? Who was she going to call? Not Jack. He’d made it pretty clear that he wasn’t interested in hearing from her tonight.

  The police?

  What was she going to say? “Hi, my dog just woke up and is growling. Could you send a squad car right away?”

  No, she was on her own with this one.

  Winston stood, his nose tilted up as he sniffed the air.

  She let out a tiny yelp as he jumped off the bed and ran out of the room. She heard him run down the stairs, and she cautiously climbed from her bed to follow.

  As much as she was afraid, she also wanted to catch this guy—figure out who was behind the creepy stalking. And the only way to do that was to catch him in the act.

  Keeping the lights off so as not to scare him away, she crept down the dark stairs, a litany of self-talk running through her head.

  Winston was in the living room, sitting next to the windows that faced the back yard, his body rigid as he let out a small whine. The curtains were closed, and she shivered as she imagined her stalker standing on the other side.

  So close.

  All she had to do was pull back the curtain, and she’d know who it was.

  But she couldn’t. She stood frozen in fear, her body trembling as a cold sweat broke out along her spine.

  The dog wasn’t barking, wasn’t emitting that low dangerous growl in the back of his throat that he’d made upstairs and when he’d heard the intruder the other night.

  But something was out there.

  Something so scary that the dog could only whine.

  She had to look.

  Her heart pounded against her chest, her blood roaring in her ears, as she reached a shaky hand out to pull back the curtain.

  Her mind went into hyper-drive, running through every scary clichéd scenario she could think of—Freddy Krueger with his knife-life fingers clicking out a slow rhythm, a mask-covered Michael, Jason holding a machete dripping with blood.

  No—she refused to go there. She couldn’t be scared of someone in a hockey mask—she faced that almost every day.

  But what if it was worse?

  What if it was a clown?

  If a clown was standing in her backyard looking toward her window, she would either scream bloody-murder, have a heart attack, or pee her pants—and quite possibly, all three, at the same time.

  Don’t be ridiculous.

  There is no clown or horror movie icon standing in my backyard.

  But there was something back there. Something that was making her dog upset and making the hair stand up on the back of her neck.

  And imagining a fictional character was easier than facing the real threat of the hooded man that they had seen on the camera footage the night before.

  She had to face it. Knowing had to be better than what she was imagining.

  Do it! Open the curtain.

  She took a deep breath, steeling herself for what she would see, her fingers tentatively curling around the edge of the curtain.

  Do it. Quick—like ripping off a Band-Aid.

  She yanked the curtain open, letting out a small shriek of fear as she saw a man on her back patio.

  But it wasn’t a machete-wielding camp counselor—it was Jack.

  He’d been stretched out on the lounge chair on her back porch, a sleeping bag and a baseball bat across his lap. His face had been tilted down, a headlamp affixed to an elastic band wrapped around his head shining onto the paperback novel he’d been reading.

  A paperback that went sailing into the air when she’d yanked back the curtain.

  Jack scrambled out of the chair, grabbing for the bat and holding it out in front of him, his eyes blinking behind his glasses.

  “It’s just me,” she yelled through the glass, then tugged the back door open and stepped out onto the porch.

  “Holy crap! You scared the shit out of me,” he said, bending forward, and placing his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath.

  “Me? I scared you? You scared the shit out of me. What are you doing out here?”

  “I was trying to read a book.” He leaned down and snatched the paperback from the porch as Winston ran excitedly around his feet. He gave the dog a quick scratch on his chin before standing back up.

  “No. I mean why are you out here? Sitting on my back porch.”

  His brows knit together in an expression of confusion. “What do you mean why? You know why. There’s some creep that’s been sneaking around your backyard.” He shrugged his shoulders, avoiding her gaze. “So I’m keeping watch.”

  “But what about all that stuff earlier about not wanting to stay the night here? About being by yourself tonight?”

  He looked down at his hands, the beam from his headlamp illuminating the way he tightly clutched the book. “Just because I wanted to be by myself doesn’t mean I was going to leave you unprotected. I can be mad and still watch over you.”

  Her heart tumbled in her chest.

  He’d been the first boy she’d ever fallen in love with. But those were the feelings of a teenage girl. She’d spent the last few days with this man wondering if those feelings were still there, if her heart was still as deeply attached to this man. And now she knew.

  If she’d any doubt that she was still in love with Jack Bannister, this moment had just obliterated it forever.

  Even though he was angry, and humiliated, and from the sounds of his earlier comments, not even sure that he still wanted to be with her, he’d still shown up in the middle of the night to watch over her.

  He’d camped out in an uncomfortable lawn chair wit
h a sleeping bag, a paperback, and a baseball bat to protect her.

  He was such a dork. But he was her dork. Even with his hair sticking up around the edges of the headlamp’s band and his glasses slightly askew, he was still so damn cute. Her heart melted like an ice cream cone in the hot sun.

  This wasn’t puppy love or the infatuation of a silly teenager. This was real.

  Whatever happened between them—wherever their relationship led—one fact would hold true.

  She was in love with this man.

  This didn’t seem the appropriate moment to confess her love, though.

  Besides, he’d just scared the crap out of her and almost given her a heart attack. She wanted to be mad at him for scaring her, but she couldn’t. His thoughtfulness made her so dang happy. And how could she be mad at the guy when he was making himself so uncomfortable just to be near her.

  A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” he muttered, his gaze still trained on his hands.

  “But you can’t stay out here.”

  His head popped up, fiery determination in his eyes. “I’m not leaving you alone.”

  She tried to speak, but had to swallow at the emotion clogging her throat. “I’m not asking you to leave. I’m saying you can’t stay out here. Come inside.”

  The tenseness in his shoulders eased. “I don’t know if I’m ready.”

  Pain seized her chest, like a hand crushing her heart. She’d just realized she loved the man, but that didn’t mean he loved her back. Didn’t mean he even liked her.

  She needed to remind him why they were so good together. Why he should like her. Although for the life of her she couldn’t think of more than three reasons at the moment. And she wasn’t sure having identical-looking dogs, both loving pizza, and being good in bed together were enough to base a sound relationship on.

  But she wasn’t going to give up on them. Not yet. She just needed to tread lighter—not go at him like a hockey player. She needed to use the finesse of her stick-handling skills instead of charging him and crashing him into the boards.