by Neesa Hart
It didn’t help matters any that Scott looked even more handsome than she remembered. She had secretly hoped that her tears on the plane had muddled her vision, and that Scott Bishop wasn’t as alarmingly attractive as she’d thought. That hope had been handily demolished. He was wearing well-worn jeans, a blue-and-green flannel shirt that made his eyes sparkle, and a roomy navy wool jacket. Maggie’s stomach had fluttered when she’d seen him smiling at her from the foyer of her house.
In the distance, she could see the Boston skyline. Ryan began pointing out buildings to Scott. Maggie was so absorbed in her own thoughts, she didn’t notice Scott’s hand reaching for hers until she felt the pressure of his gloved fingers. She nearly jumped through the windshield. When she slammed on the brakes, Scott gave her a curious look.
“Sorry,” she mumbled. “I thought I saw something in the road.”
Ryan indicated a group of buildings and bridges on the left. “That’s the harbor,” he said.
Scott asked Ryan about one of the ships, earning another litany of description. As they neared the stadium, Ryan’s nonstop chatter turned, inevitably, to the matter at hand. Maggie eased her way through the city streets, idly listening as Ryan rattled off statistics about the Boston Bruins.
Occasionally, Scott would slide a glance in her direction, but he appeared to be content to listen to Ryan while he continued to hold Maggie’s hand. When he started to rub his thumb on her palm, her mouth went dry as dust. Maggie firmly instructed herself to get a grip. As they neared the stadium, Maggie used the excuse of the traffic to free her hand from his grasp. Her relief was short-lived, however. Scott asked Ryan a question about the “sticking” rule, then settled his hand on Maggie’s knee.
She headed for The Fleet Center.
“There’s the stadium, Mom,” Ryan said, pointing to the enormous coliseum-type structure that housed the Bruins and the Celtics.
“You ever been here before?” Scott asked him.
“Sure. Lot’s of times. Coach brings us.”
“Coach?”
Maggie cleared her throat. “Chuck Bullard is Ryan’s hockey coach. He’s also a forward for the Boston Bruins.”
“I’ve never seen a game here, though,” Ryan said. “The tickets cost too much.”
Maggie concentrated on the traffic. She hoped Scott couldn’t see her discomfort.
“Well, then, we all got lucky,” Scott said. “I’ve never seen a hockey game either.”
“Never?” Ryan asked. Scott might as well have told him he’d never been to a grocery store.
“Not even on television.”
“Wow.”
“Hockey’s not very popular in Texas,” Scott said.
Maggie thought he sounded embarrassed. “They play more football and baseball there, Ryan.”
“Oh.”
Scott flashed Maggie a grateful smile. “Thanks. I was beginning to feel like a foreigner.”
“Mom,” Ryan said, “can we buy a program so I can show Scott all the players?”
“I guess,” she said.
“And a soft pretzel?”
She turned into the parking garage. “Sure.”
“And a jersey?”
Maggie gave Ryan a dry look. “Don’t push your luck.”
“But, Mom—”
“I said ‘no,’ Ryan.”
He flopped back against the seat. “I told Franklin that we’d get him a puck.”
Maggie pulled into a parking space. “Well, then, I guess you’ll just have to catch one.”
“Can’t we buy one?”
“No, Ryan.” She gave him a sharp look.
Scott was studying her in the dim, fluorescent lighting. She fought the urge to meet his gaze. “Don’t forget your coat,” she told Ryan, as he climbed down from the Bronco.
He grabbed the jacket off the seat. Scott reached for Maggie’s arm, delaying her when she would have gotten out of the car. “Maggie, is something wrong?”
“Wrong?”
“You seem, I don’t know, tense.”
“Nothing’s wrong.”
He held her gaze for several long seconds. Ryan dragged her door open. “Come on, Mom. I want to see where our seats are.”
“You’re sure,” Scott said.
Maggie let Ryan pull her from the car. “Of course,” she told Scott, then slammed the car door. He let himself out on his side of the Bronco. Maggie made Ryan wait until Scott rounded the vehicle.
Scott tried again. “Maggie—”
She felt like a fool. They were two responsible adults, and she was acting like a first-class idiot. She stopped. Ryan gave her hand a sharp tug. “Wait a minute,” she told him. She met Scott’s gaze. In the hazy lighting of the parking deck, his eyes looked like amber crystal. “I’m sorry. I . . . it’s just that this—” she muttered beneath her breath in frustration. “I haven’t done this in a long time.” She wondered if Scott would think she was talking about the hockey game.
His smile told her that he didn’t. “You haven’t been on a date since Mark. Have you?”
She shook her head. “No.”
Scott reached for her hand. He looked so relieved, Maggie almost laughed. “Good,” he said. “I haven’t been on one since Annie. We’ll just have to muddle through. I think I forgot all the rules.”
“Mom.” Ryan pulled at her hand again. “I want to find our seats.”
“Ryan.” The look she gave him momentarily stilled his protests. She glanced back at Scott. “I’m sorry I’m so edgy.”
He squeezed her hand. “You’re not the only one. I’ve got to be a complete idiot to bring a woman and her kid to a sporting event I know nothing about. A guy’s ego, and all.”
Ryan pointed to the elevator bank. “Look, Mom. It’s Sergei Polokov,” he said, sounding awed.
Maggie recognized the Bruins defenseman from the distance. He was entering through the players’ door. “Sure is.” She gave Scott a conspiratorial look. “By the end of the evening, you’ll be an expert. Ryan’s going to talk your ear off.”
She let Ryan lead the way into the stadium complex. They found their seats at rinkside center ice. “Your boss sure knows how to pick ’em,” Maggie said.
Scott stuffed his gloves into the pockets of his jacket. “He’s a big fan,” Scott said. “He used to live in Boston.”
She sank into her seat. The tension she’d felt from the moment Scott had arrived on her doorstep had finally dissipated with her confession in the parking deck. She still felt odd, and out of place, but it helped knowing he wasn’t entirely comfortable either. Fortunately, Ryan’s excitement had an unexpected side benefit. His continuous commentary on everything from the color of the stadium seats to the new display on the digital scoreboard eliminated the need for conversation.
By the time the game began, Maggie was feeling almost completely at ease. Ryan sat between her and Scott, giving Scott detailed analysis of the action on the ice. As expected, the play between the Bruins and the New York Rangers was fast-paced and aggressive. It kept Ryan fully occupied. Maggie used the time to concentrate on what she was going to do about Scott Bishop and his presence in her life.
“Yikes!” Annie hopped out of the way as a Bruins defenseman bore down on her.
Mark laughed. “He can’t hurt you, Annie.”
“That doesn’t mean I want to be run over.” She picked her way gingerly across the ice. “It also doesn’t mean I can’t fall and break my neck out here.” She gave Mark an acid look. “Why are we standing in the middle of the ice?” From the corner of her eye, she saw the Rangers center level the Bruins defenseman. “Serves you right,” she muttered as the man skidded past her, facedown on the ice.
“I had no idea you were so vindictive,” Mark said.
“I’m not vindictive.” She screeched, and brought her hands to her face as two more players skated through her image. “I just think you could have found a better place for us.”
He indicated the sellout crowd with a sweep of his arm
. “The game’s sold out. These are the best seats in the house.”
“I don’t care about the game.” She pointed to Scott and Maggie. “I want to be over there.”
“There’s nowhere to sit over there.”
“We can’t hear what they’re saying”—she sidestepped a fallen player—”from over here.”
“We don’t need to hear what they’re saying.”
“You’re not cooperating.”
He pointed to Maggie. “Look. Maggie’s not saying anything. Ryan’s doing all the talking, and I’ll bet you ten to one he’s telling your husband more than the guy ever wants to know about hockey.”
Annie had to dodge a flying puck. Mark didn’t even flinch as the black missile sailed through his forehead. “I’d laugh if you got knocked unconscious.”
He shook his head. “No you wouldn’t. Without me, you couldn’t get off the ice.”
“I could, too.”
“Please,” he said. He removed his hand from her elbow. She wobbled. “You can barely stand up.”
“It’s slippery.”
“It’s ice. Of course it’s slippery.”
“Smart aleck.”
“Look,” he said. He pointed toward the Bruins goal. “Don’t you want me to explain what’s going on?”
“If we were with Scott and Maggie, Ryan would be explaining what’s going on.”
“He’d also be distracted.”
“Can’t he see us out here?”
Mark shrugged. “Sure. He envies us, too. We’ve got the best seats in the house.”
“So why isn’t he distracted if we’re over here, and he would be if we were over there?” she asked. She knew she sounded even more confused than she actually was.
“Because, he won’t feel like he has to talk to us,” Mark said. “This way, he can concentrate on the game.”
Annie ducked as a hockey stick flew over her head. “We aren’t here so Ryan can concentrate on the game, you know. We’re here to help Scott and Maggie.”
“Annie,” Mark said, sounding exasperated, “if Ryan concentrates on the game, Maggie won’t have to concentrate on him. If she doesn’t have to concentrate on him, she can concentrate on”—he paused perceptibly—”other stuff.”
“Oh.” Comprehension dawned. “Oh.” Annie beamed at Mark. “You are helping.”
“I’m helping. Now will you shut up and let me explain what’s going on?”
Annie stepped over a spot of blood on the ice. “I know what’s going on.” She pointed to a fight that had broken out behind the Bruins goal. “They’re trying to kill each other.”
Four
The Bruins won five goals to three. Ryan was so worn-out from the excitement, and the late hour, that he fell asleep almost before he managed to climb into the backseat of the Bronco. Maggie buckled him in. “That’s it,” she told Scott. “He’s catatonic.” She tossed Scott the keys. “Would you mind driving back?” she asked.
He looked at her in surprise. “Driving?” It wasn’t the thought of driving that made him nervous. It was the thought of getting lost. He hadn’t bothered to pay much attention when Maggie had driven them to the stadium, thinking she would drive on the way back, as well. The thought of confessing his deplorable sense of direction to Maggie made him feel squeamish. He’d swallowed enough male pride for one night with his self-confessed ignorance about the game. He balked at the idea of telling her he couldn’t find his way out of a paper bag.
He fingered the keys. It couldn’t be so hard, he reminded himself. Cape Hope was north of Boston. As long as he stayed on the interstate and followed the signs, how bad could it get?
“Don’t worry,” Maggie was assuring him. “We’re right on the expressway. You won’t hit any traffic.”
He remembered their conversation on the plane. He’d told her he didn’t rent a car because of the traffic. “Sure,” he said, pulling open the passenger-side door for her. “I’ll be glad to drive.”
“Thanks for doing this. I’m beat.”
He chanted “north on the expressway” like a mantra all the way around to his side of the car. He had to adjust the seat to accommodate his height. He finally climbed in, then favored Maggie with a look of supreme confidence. If he pulled this off, he was going to nominate himself for an Academy Award. “North on the expressway, right?” he said, hoping he sounded cavalier.
She rested her head back against the seat with a slight yawn. “North then west. You can’t miss it.”
He could miss it. He could miss a skyscraper in the middle of west Texas. If he wasn’t careful, he could miss the nose on the end of his face. “Right.” He threw the car into reverse, then eased out of the parking space.
Maggie was asleep before he exited the parking garage.
He knew he was in trouble when he saw the freeway sign to Providence. Rhode Island. He reassured himself with the notion that Massachusetts, unlike Texas, was such a small state, that it was common to see road signs indicating out-of-state locales.
Until he passed the WELCOME TO RHODE ISLAND sign. Scott shot a quick glance at Maggie. She was sleeping like the dead. Ryan was softly snoring in the backseat. Scott seriously considered his chances of getting them out of the mess he’d created without Maggie knowing. He wondered if he could sneak into her house and set all the clocks back by two, maybe three hours, before she woke up.
Resolutely, he pulled off the interstate. “Maggie,” he prodded her arm. “Maggie, wake up.”
“Hmmm.”
Not very promising. “Maggie,” he tried again. “We’re lost. Wake up.”
Her eyelids drifted open. “Lost?”
“Yeah.”
“Where are we?”
He paused. “Providence.”
Several seconds of silence elapsed before Maggie sat bolt upright in the seat. “Providence? Rhode Island?”
“I guess.”
She looked around. “What time is it?”
“Uh,” he checked his watch. “After two.”
“In the morning?”
“Well, it’s dark outside. It’s either morning, or it’s the world’s longest-lasting solar eclipse.”
Maggie gave him a blank stare. He could tell by the glazed look in her eyes that she still wasn’t fully awake. “Solar eclipse?”
“Earth to Maggie,” he said, deliberately making his voice sound hollow.
She blinked. “Solar—” the joke finally made sense. Maggie dropped back against the seat with a choked laugh. “How on earth did we end up in Providence?”
“Are you mad?”
“Is this anything like running out of gas on your way home from the prom?”
Scott shook his head. “No. It’s more like forgetting to get gas in the first place.”
“Providence,” she repeated. She sounded incredulous.
Scott wished she would stop saying it. “Yeah. If you just point me in the right direction, I’ll get us back on the road. You can go back to sleep.”
“Scott, Providence is almost an hour south of Boston.”
“I know.”
“But we left the stadium at just after eleven. If you took a wrong turn on the freeway, why is it so late?”
“I think I got here by way of Des Moines.”
“Des—” Maggie started to giggle. She pressed her gloved hand to her mouth, but it didn’t help.
Scott squirmed. “It’s not that funny.”
“Scott, what happened?”
“You gave the keys to your car to a man with no sense of direction,” he said. He figured he probably sounded surly, but couldn’t help it. He didn’t like it that Maggie was laughing at him.
“Just how bad is your sense of direction?” she asked.
“In my apartment in Texas, I have a sign on the wall that tells me which way to turn when I come out of the bathroom.”
Her giggle turned into a full-fledged laugh. In spite of himself, or maybe because of it, Scott laughed, too. He was surprised to find how much he liked lau
ghing with Maggie. “Stop laughing.” He gave her a playful poke in the ribs. “You’ll irreparably damage my ego.”
“Sorry.” She wiped a hand over her face. “I’m sorry.”
“Are you going to get us out of here, or not?”
“Do you want me to drive?”
He shook his head. “I’ll drive. Just stay awake and talk to me this time. We might end up in San Francisco if you don’t.”
“I’ve never been to San Francisco.”
“I have. It’s foggy. You can’t see a damn thing.”
“I’ll bet you got lost a lot.”
“Every time I walked out the front door. Now how do we get out of here, Captain?”
Maggie laughed again. “All right. Turn around and head north.” At his pointed look, she indicated the direction with her finger. “That way. I’ll talk you through this.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it. I want to make sure Ryan is home in time for school next Monday.”
The drive didn’t take nearly as long as Scott had feared. Or perhaps it only seemed shorter because Maggie kept up a steady stream of conversation. They talked about their childhoods, told funny stories about their courtships, laughed at each other’s jokes, enjoyed each other’s company. Scott felt better than he had in a long time.
Sometime on the long trip, Maggie’s hand found its way into his, where it rested comfortably. He liked the feel of her fingers entwined with his, and wished they weren’t both wearing gloves.
She was telling him a story about Ryan when he pulled into her driveway. “We’re here,” she said. She sounded surprised.
“We’re here.” He wished they weren’t. He wasn’t ready to give up the closeness of the car. In the moonlight, Maggie’s hair looked like spun silver. Despite her baggy purple jacket, he had a vivid recollection of the way her dark red sweater hugged her figure. It made his fingers twitch.