by Neesa Hart
The humor faded from Lily’s eyes. “Maggie,” she said, her voice softer, “I’m just worried about you. He seems really nice. Don’t get scared on me and bail out. You need to take some control in your life.”
Maggie nodded. “He is nice. He’s very nice. He’s almost too nice. I’m starting to think maybe he’s a serial killer or something. You know how they always say on those cheesy TV shows how nice they are, how no one suspects they’re keeping dead bodies in the cellar.”
It was Lily’s turn to laugh. She quickly glanced at her watch. “The second period starts in four minutes. Tell me everything.”
By the time they returned to their seats, Maggie had filled Lily in on how she’d met Scott. She’d even gone so far as to tell her that there was definitely a certain passion between them. She was good and sorry for revealing it when they reached their seat to find Scott and Lily’s husband Tom deep in conversation.
Lily flashed Scott a brilliant smile. “So, Scott, Maggie tells me you’re an architect.”
Scott waited for Maggie to sit down before he nodded at Lily. “That’s right. I’m bidding on Cape Hope.”
Lily took her seat between Maggie and Tom. She scooted so close to Maggie, she nearly forced her onto Scott’s lap. Maggie shot her a quelling glance. Lily ignored it. “Well, isn’t that a pleasant coincidence. I mean, you and Maggie working on the same project.”
Maggie felt herself cringe at the telling glance she received from Scott. She pointed to the ice. “Look,” she said, determined to change the subject. “The period’s starting.”
Scott’s gaze lingered on her face a few more seconds before he turned to watch the game. By the middle of the third period, Maggie was so tense from Lily’s constant prodding on one side, and Scott’s intense gaze on the other, she nearly pulled her hair out in frustration. The game was tied. Maggie twisted her hands in her sweatshirt, and tried to ignore the knot in the pit of her stomach.
Ryan had the puck. “Come on, Ry,” she shouted, watching him charge on goal. He passed to Franklin seconds before an opposing defenseman leveled him. Ryan sprawled on the ice, spinning twice before he bounced off the dasher boards.
It was Scott’s turn to shout at the referee. “Hey! Hey, where’s the call? He almost took his head off!”
Lily looked at Maggie and grinned, a smug, knowing smile that made Maggie squirm. She had the uncomfortable feeling that she was blushing.
The game finally ended in a tie. Maggie felt her breathing start to return to normal. Scott smiled at her, and it went erratic all over again. “That was great,” he said. “You were right about those kids being little devils on the ice.”
Maggie nodded. Lily leaned beyond Maggie. She stuck out her hand to Scott. “It was nice meeting you, Scott.”
He took her hand. “It was nice meeting you.” His gaze slid to Tom. “You too, Tom.”
Tom nodded briefly, pausing to study Scott, his gaze wandering to where Scott’s left hand rested casually on Maggie’s shoulder. “I hope you have success with Cape Hope. Maybe we’ll see you around.”
“I hope so, too.”
Lily studiously avoided Maggie’s attempts to make eye contact. “If you’re going to be in town for a while,” she told Scott, “you and Maggie should come to dinner.” She paused as she tapped her lower lip. “Ryan and Franklin are such good friends, I’m sure they’d enjoy the time together.”
“We’ll do that,” Scott said.
Maggie exhaled a long breath. “Lily—”
Lily turned, her expression tabby-cat sly, and looked at Maggie. “Yeees?”
Maggie glared at her. “I’m not sure how long Scott will be in Cape Hope. He’s on a business trip.”
“Well, then,” Lily said, “maybe Ryan should come home with us tonight. I’ll be glad to get him off to school in the morning.”
Maggie groaned. She buried her face in her hands. Scott laughed. “It’s all right, Lily, I think we can handle Ryan. We will take you up on that dinner offer, though.”
Lily beamed at him. “I’m looking forward to it.” She waved as Tom tugged on her hand, guiding her out of the bleacher seats.
Scott squeezed Maggie’s shoulder. “What’s wrong, Mag?”
She looked up. “Aren’t you the least bit concerned that Lily just automatically assumed that we wanted to be alone tonight?”
A smile tugged at his lips. “Are you?”
“Well, of course I’m concerned. Lily is one of my best friends, but I don’t necessarily want her to think I’d just fall into bed with you.” She looked around to ensure no one was listening. “That is what she thought, you know?”
He looked appalled. “No!”
At his mock outrage, Maggie poked him in the ribs. “It’s not funny.”
“Come on, Maggie, loosen up. I’m sure she was just trying to help. Besides”—he lowered his lips to the curve of her ear—”I was half-tempted to let her have Ryan for the night.”
Maggie felt a heated flush race up her skin and bury itself in the roots of her hair. She coughed. Should she tell him she had been more than half-tempted, or try to bluff her way through? When she met his intense gaze, her embarrassment fled. She was suddenly oblivious to the lingering crowd, the damp smell of the ice rink mingled with popcorn and beer. Instead, she noticed the spicy scent of his aftershave. She noticed the way his eyes gleamed and the shine in his hair under the glare of the fluorescent lights. She noticed the cleft in his chin, and the firm contours of his mouth. And she reached out to trace a finger over the full curve of his lower lip. “So was I,” she said in a soft whisper. “I didn’t want her to think it, but so was I.”
Scott’s gaze turned heated. He visibly swallowed, grabbing her hand in his to press a brief kiss into the palm. “Maggie, I—”
“Hey, Maggie!”
It took a minute to absorb the intrusion. The voice came from her left. Maggie blinked. She tore her gaze from Scott’s.
“Maggie!”
She finally identified the voice. Chuck Bullard, Ryan’s coach and the leading point scorer for the Boston Bruins, was signaling to her. She gave him a bright, welcoming smile, then waved him over. “Hi, Chuck.”
He climbed over the side of the dasher boards. He started up the bleachers toward them. “Maggie, have you got a minute?”
She nodded. “We’re waiting for Ry to change.”
Chuck stopped in front of them and leaned over to kiss her cheek. “How have you been?”
“Good.” She turned to Scott. “Chuck, this is Scott Bishop, a colleague of mine. Scott, this is Chuck Bullard from the Boston Bruins.”
Chuck laughed, and stuck out his hand. “Not tonight, I’m not. Tonight I’m Coach Bullard. Nice to meet you.”
Scott draped an arm over Maggie’s shoulders before shaking Chuck’s hand. “Nice to meet you, too,” he drawled.
Maggie gave him a speculative look before turning back to Chuck. “What’s the trouble, Chuck?”
He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his coaching jacket. “I’m worried about Ryan.”
Scott studied Bullard through half-closed eyes. The man was handsome, he supposed, in a rugged sort of way. He had dark curling hair and a broad smile that Scott thought showed a remarkable number of teeth for a professional hockey player. He didn’t like the way the man was looking at Maggie. And he sure as hell didn’t like the way she’d introduced him to Chuck Bullard as her “colleague.” What the hell kind of statement was that? And why was Maggie looking at Ryan’s coach with that soft look in her eyes?
“What about Ryan?” Maggie asked.
Chuck’s expression conveyed his concern. “Did he tell you about the father/son game next Saturday?”
“No,” Maggie said, clearly surprised.
“I didn’t think so.”
“I didn’t think to ask him because it’s usually not until after the New Year—right?”
Chuck nodded. “We moved it up this year. It was becoming too difficult to cram into the traini
ng schedule.”
Maggie looked at Scott. “Every year, Chuck organizes a father/son game for the team. He tries to get some of the Bruins to referee. A few even play.”
“It’s a charity thing,” Chuck said. “The proceeds go to the Boston Literacy Council.”
Maggie gave Chuck an adoring look that made Scott’s toes curl. “This is so good of you, Chuck.”
He shifted on his feet. “It’s nothing, Maggie. Really.”
“Don’t be so modest,” she said. She looked at Scott. “Chuck didn’t learn to read until he was twenty-one. He’s the Boston area spokesman for the Literacy Council.”
“That’s great,” Scott said, admitting a reluctant admiration.
Chuck cleared his throat. “Anyway, I really want Ryan to play. I think he’s hedging on me because of his dad.”
“It’s been worse lately,” Maggie said.
“I know. I talked with him after practice Saturday. He said he forgot to ask you about the father/son game.”
Scott could see the internal struggle on Maggie’s face. “He’s just feeling so awkward,” she said. “It’s hard for him.”
Chuck put his foot on one of the bleacher seats, and leaned forward. “You know I’ve got extra guys from the Bruins who want to play, Maggie. I’m already lining up Bill Turson and Sergei Polokov with two of my kids. Not all the dads can skate, you know?”
“I know.”
“I’ll get Ryan a partner. Hell, I’ve been putting pressure on Lipter to play for three years now. I think this might be just what Carson needs to convince him.”
Maggie smiled. “Carson Lipter. You really know where to hit a guy, don’t you, Chuck?”
“I know Ryan really looks up to Carson. I don’t want Ryan not to play just because his dad can’t play with him.”
“I’ll talk to him. That’s the best I can do.”
“Do you think it would help if I talked to Carson?”
Maggie hesitated. “I don’t know. I think Ryan would still feel—different. Like he had a substitute dad instead of the real thing.”
Scott saw Ryan emerge from the locker room and look around. He waved at him. “There he is,” Scott said.
Ryan smiled, and bounded up the bleachers toward them. “Hi, Coach. Hi, Mom. Hi, Scott. Did you see me cream into the boards? Wasn’t it awesome?”
Maggie groaned. Chuck ruffled Ryan’s hair. “You’re supposed to stay on your feet, Ry, not kiss the boards.”
Ryan shrugged. “It was cool. It didn’t hurt or nothing.”
“Ryan,” Maggie said, “Chuck and I were just discussing the father/son game. Why didn’t you tell me about it?”
Ryan’s face fell. “I forgot.”
Maggie sat down so her face was at eye level with his. “Chuck said he’d get you a partner if you wanted to play. He thinks he can even get Carson Lipter.”
“I don’t want to,” Ryan said, his eyes starting to cloud over.
Chuck put a hand on his shoulder. “You won’t be the only one there with a Bruins partner, Ry. You know I’m assigning Polokov and Turson to Teddy and Buck.”
“I know.”
Maggie pushed a lock of hair off his small forehead. “But you still don’t want to play?”
Ryan shook his head. “I don’t want a partner. I want Dad.”
Maggie turned anguished eyes to Chuck. Chuck looked uncomfortable. Scott straddled a bleacher and sat down in front of Ryan. “What if I play with you?”
Ryan tipped his head and studied him. “Why would you? You’re not my dad.”
Scott shook his head. “No, I’m not. But I’m your friend, right?”
Ryan looked unsure. “Yeah. I guess.”
“So friends help each other out. You need a partner. I’m your friend. Seems pretty obvious to me.”
“I don’t know.” Ryan shrugged.
Scott nudged his chin up. “Come on, Ryan. I want to. Honest.”
“But you don’t know how to play hockey.”
“So you’ll teach me.” He stuck out his hand. “Do we have a deal?”
Ryan hesitated only briefly before he shook Scott’s hand. “Deal.”
Scott was vividly aware that Maggie was looking at him with that same soft look she’d given Chuck Bullard earlier. He felt it all the way to the roots of his hair. He smiled at Ryan. “Well, now that we have that settled, what do you say we go out for dessert?”
“Cool.” Ryan looked at Maggie. He seemed to have recovered with childlike swiftness. “Can we go to Tom Foolery?”
Maggie nodded. “I think we can swing that.” She looked at Chuck. “Thanks, Chuck. I really appreciate everything you’re doing.”
Chuck shrugged. “He’s a great kid, Mag. I like working with him.” He held up his hand and looked at Ryan. “High five, Bruiser?”
Ryan smacked his hand. “High five, Coach.”
“I’ll see you later, Maggie,” Chuck said, before he looked at Scott. “I appreciate your willingness to do this.” He paused and looked thoughtful. “You can skate, can’t you?”
Scott nodded. “Of course,” he said, and prayed to God he could learn before the game.
Mark frowned as he watched Scott and Maggie leave the ice rink with Ryan. “I’ll bet he’s never played hockey in his life.”
Annie shook her head. “He hasn’t.”
“Then that was pretty damn dumb of him to volunteer to play. He’s going to look like a fool.”
Annie studied the back of Scott’s head. “He did it for Ryan.”
“He did not.”
“Yes, he did,” she argued. “He did it because he knew it was important to Ryan.”
Mark snorted. “Shows what you know. He did it because he thinks Maggie is hot for Chuck Bullard.”
Annie shot him a withering look. “You are the most unromantic man I have ever known.”
“I’m practical. I saw the way Maggie was looking at Bullard. She thinks the guy walks on water. Scott felt jealous, so he volunteered to play. He’s going to feel like a moron when he gets on the ice.”
Annie glared at him. “Drop dead, Connell.”
He grinned at her. “You’re too late, Babe. I’ve already got it covered.”
Eight
Scott’s smile of greeting faded when he saw the harried look on Maggie’s face the following afternoon. He’d agreed to meet her at her house for lunch, but one look at the worry lines around her eyes told him things were not going well.
“Hey there,” he said.
Maggie managed a weak smile. “Hi. I almost forgot you were coming.”
“Should I be insulted?”
She shook her head. “Come on in. I’m sorry I’m such a grouch.”
He paused to brush the snow off his shoulders. “Anything I can help with?”
“No. I’m just really feeling pressured to get my sketches done by Thursday. I decided to make a few changes. It put me behind again.”
“Look”—he shrugged out of his coat—”you’ve never done a bid like this before, have you?”
“No.”
“You don’t have to submit an exact product. Hell, half of it will change after a structural design is determined. They’re just looking for style.”
Maggie took his coat to hang it in the hall closet. “I don’t have a style.”
She sounded so miserable that Scott had to laugh. “Maggie, it can’t be that bad.”
“I’m just drowning in work, and I don’t feel like I have enough time to finish it.”
“OK, look. Why don’t we just forget about lunch? I’ll make us a couple of sandwiches, and you can work straight through.”
She stared at him. “You’d do that?”
“Even I can handle peanut butter and jelly.”
“No, no, I meant, you don’t mind? What about your day?”
Scott studied her, thoughtful. She seemed genuinely amazed that he was willing to give up something as mundane as a lunch date. “What about it? I came to spend the day with you. That’s
what we’re doing.”
“But Ryan will be home around two-thirty. I’ll have to help him do his homework.”
“Geez, Maggie, I’m not a complete idiot. I think I can help a seven-year-old deal with his homework. Just go work. If we don’t hear from you by dinner, we’ll come check your pulse.”
Maggie hesitated. “Are you sure?”
“Sure. Don’t worry about it.”
“But—”
Scott put his hands on her shoulders. He turned her toward the stairs and gave a gentle shove. “Go.”
“All right, but—”
He leaned against the banister and smiled at her. “You know, it’s no wonder you don’t get anything done. You talk too much.”
Maggie stared at him a moment longer, then pressed a quick kiss to his forehead before she ran up the stairs. Scott stood in the foyer for a long time, staring out the window, wondering. Maggie had seemed surprised, stunned even, by his offer to give her some much needed peace and quiet. It made him wonder how Maggie had ended up so unsure of herself—and it made him determined to do something about it.
Two and a half hours later he cocked the phone against his shoulder as he walked to the front door to answer the doorbell. “OK, Kristen,” he told his secretary, “tell Bill I’ll talk to him about it tomorrow.” He swung the door open. Ryan stared at him. “OK,” Scott said into the receiver, “you know where to find me.” He placed the receiver back in the cradle, then smiled at Ryan. “Hiya, sport.”
Ryan dropped his Batman backpack into a corner of the hallway. He gave Scott a curious look. “Hi. What are you doing here?”
Scott dangled the phone in his left hand. He took Ryan’s coat with his right. “Your mom’s upstairs working. I told her I’d wait for you.”
“What’s she doing?” Ryan stuffed his mittens into the sleeves of his coat.
“Drawings and stuff for the Cape Hope project. How was your day?”
Ryan shrugged. “It was OK.” He leaned to the side to look beyond Scott into the living room.
Scott smiled at the small wave Ryan gave the couch. “You waving at Annie?”
The boy’s look was wary. “Yeah.”