by Neesa Hart
Chuck looked at him, dumbfounded. “You can’t skate?”
“It’s not a federal offense, you know.”
“But why did you volunteer to play?”
“It’s a long story,” Scott answered before Maggie could tell him the real reason.
“You’d have gotten killed,” Chuck said.
“It’s starting to irritate me that everyone’s so sure of that.”
“Trust him,” Maggie said. “You’d have gotten killed.” She looked around the ice arena. “If Max is going to do all that advertising tomorrow, there’s a pretty good chance we’ll sell this place out.”
“Or at least come close,” Chuck said. “Especially with so many of the Bruins playing.”
A giggle escaped Maggie’s lips. She clamped her hand over her mouth. Scott looked at her. “What’s so funny?”
Maggie’s eyes were brimming with laughter. She lowered her hand. “I’m supposed to be in charge of the hot dogs and soda.”
“So?” Chuck said.
“So I was planning on three hundred people.”
Scott started to laugh. “How many people does this place seat, Chuck?”
Chuck looked around. “It’s pretty big because the Bruins used to use it for a practice arena. I’d say it seats about three thousand.”
Maggie fell back against the cushions with a shout of laughter. “Where on earth are we going to get five thousand hot dogs between now and tomorrow night?”
Annie swung her legs back and forth under the bleacher seat. She studied Mark’s back. He was leaning against the dasher boards, watching Maggie and Scott and Chuck collect the picnic supplies. “Don’t you flunk this is great, Mark?” she asked.
He gave her a quick look over his shoulder. “Yeah. It’s great.”
“If they sell out the arena, think of all the money they’ll raise.”
He looked back at the ice. “A lot.”
“You don’t sound very happy about it.”
“This is weird.”
“What do you mean by weird?”
“I want to know what kind of game Max Wedgins is playing.”
“Maybe he’s just a nice man.”
“Men like Wedgins aren’t nice. They’re shrewd, generous maybe, but not nice. They don’t do anything without a motive.”
“You heard what Scott said. Maybe he’s doing it for publicity.”
“I don’t think so.”
She rubbed her hands together. She was starting to feel chilled. “Why not?”
“It’s hard to explain.” Mark walked over to where she was sitting. He dropped down onto the bleachers next to her. “I just think he’s up to something.”
“Is it a good something?”
“I’m not sure.”
“But you’re worried?”
“Yeah. I’m worried.”
Annie put her hand on his forearm. “Why?”
Mark met her gaze. “Maggie needs this job. Not because of the business, although it would help, but because she needs to know she can do it.”
“What do you mean?”
He propped his elbows on his knees. “I don’t think I realized, not until recently anyway, how much Maggie gave up when she married me.”
“Mark—”
He shook his head. “No, really. You don’t understand what it was like for her. We moved something like six times in the first two years of our marriage. She never had time to make friends, or develop interests, or be her own person. Maggie had to become an extension of my career. That was the way it worked.”
He glanced back at the ice where Maggie was leaning against Scott as they walked toward the exit. “That’s why she’s so scared.”
“She thinks she’ll become a part of Scott just like she became a part of you.”
“Yeah.”
Annie nodded. “She told him that, or something like it, the other day.”
“If she gets this bid, it will really prove to her that she’s capable of making it on her own.” Mark looked down at his hands. “That’s why we’re still here. I’m sure of it.”
“But there’s nothing we can do to help her get the bid.”
“I could talk to Max Wedgins again.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’ve already alerted him to the situation between Pete and what’s-her-name. If you do anything else, then Maggie still won’t have achieved what she wants. If you get the job for her, she won’t have done it on her own.”
“But she won’t know.”
Annie shook her head. “Men really are dense.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It doesn’t matter whether or not she knows, Mark. It matters that she went after the job and got it. That’s what counts.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“You’re just going to have to trust me on this.”
Mark reached for her hand. “I’m just afraid that I’m running out of time. Look at me. I’m almost gone.”
Annie looked at their joined hands. His was nearly invisible, while hers was still stubbornly present. “I know.”
Mark seemed to read her mind. “There has to be some reason why you’re still here, Annie. Maybe they need you more than they need me.”
She shook her head. “No. That’s not it. Scott is ready to move on. He’s completely ready.”
“Then what’s going on?”
She gave Mark’s hand a squeeze. “It has to be something else. I just hope we figure it out before it’s too late.”
With a conspiratorial smile at Maggie, Scott carried another armful of hot dog buns into the concession stand on Saturday night. She wiped a latex-gloved hand over her brow. “Thanks,” she said.
“That’s the last of ‘em. I checked with the other stands. They’re almost out, too.”
“When we sell out, we sell out.” She fitted a hot dog into a bun and dropped it down into its cardboard container. She handed it to Tom Webb. “There you go, Tom. Enjoy.”
“Great event, huh, Mag?”
“Yeah, great.”
Scott dumped what remained of the frozen hot dogs into the steamer. The father/son hockey game had indeed been a smashing success. They were late into the third period, with a capacity crowd and a tie game on their hands.
Scott started filling cups with soda. To say the afternoon had been hectic was the understatement of the year. He and Maggie had traveled to six different food wholesalers trying to scrounge together five thousand hot dogs, five thousand buns, fifty gross of cased potato chips, and enough soda to satisfy the enormous crowd. The event had been sold out by two o’clock that afternoon.
Chuck had been shuttling players from Boston all day. When the kids had heard that Carson Lipter and the other five starting members of the Boston Bruins were coming in to play, they’d gone nuts. Scott and Chuck had started crunching numbers over dinner, and, including Wedgins’s check, they figured they were going to raise about seventy thousand dollars.
Maggie grabbed two of the cups. “Are we out of Sprite?”
He nodded. “Yeah.”
She plunked the two cups down on the table. “Give me root beer then.”
Within twenty minutes, Maggie had finished selling what remained of the hot dogs. She waved the remaining customers toward other concession windows, then jerked down the metal door. She sagged back against the counter. “Whew.”
Scott pressed a cup full of soda into her hand. “No kidding.”
“I’m exhausted.”
“Yeah. It’s a good exhausted though.”
“I wish we had been able to see the game.”
Scott glanced at the clock. “There should be about seven minutes left in the period. Let’s go watch.”
Maggie followed him into the bleachers. He was glad to see that Ryan was on the ice. “Look,” he pointed to the ice. “There he is.”
Maggie found their seats next to Lily and Tom Webb. “How’s he
doing, Lil?”
“He’s doing great. He scored a goal.”
Maggie glanced at the opposing team’s goalie. “Who’s in goal?”
“George Framly. Oscar’s dad,” Lily said.
“That explains that,” Maggie said.
Tom pointed at the kids’ goal. “Yeah, but look who’s in our goal.”
Maggie recognized Ray Phillipi, first-string goalie for the Boston Bruins, by the number on his jersey. “That explains why the score is tied, and the kids aren’t getting creamed.”
“They’re doing pretty well,” Lily said. “Look, Ryan’s got the puck.”
Ryan was skating down the ice. One of the Bruins took a rather unconvincing fall, and Ryan broke free. Only Carson Lipter and George Framly stood between him and another goal. Despite the all-in-fun tone of the game, Maggie felt herself grow tense. “Come on, Ry,” she yelled.
Ryan dodged left. Carson countered. Ryan faked right. Carson didn’t budge. The crowd was on its feet. Maggie handed her cup to Scott as she jumped up. He had to juggle it a minute to keep from spilling it, but he finally got it settled on the floor. He stood next to Maggie. Everyone was glued to the drama unfolding on the ice. Even using a short stick, Carson Lipter was intimidating. Ryan concentrated on the puck. He eased left, then right again. Carson cast a quick glance at the goal.
Scott thought George Framly was starting to look panicky. Carson tried to wrest the puck away from Ryan, but Ryan countered by flipping it out of reach. Carson shot his stick forward. Then Ryan, with a finesse that had the crowd holding its breath, knocked the puck between Carson’s legs. He grabbed Carson’s thigh with one hand and swung around him like a fireman on a pole. The crowd roared. Ryan landed safely on the other side, skated forward, and flipped the puck right over George Framly’s glove, straight into the goal.
The goal siren went off. Maggie threw her hands up with a whoop. The crowd started yelling. Scott was laughing so hard his stomach hurt. Even Carson Lipter looked impressed. He skated over to Ryan and lifted him off the ice. With Ryan squirming on his shoulder, Carson flipped the puck up to him. Ryan waved it at the crowd. Nobody even thought about playing the remaining minute and a half of the game. There wasn’t a soul in the arena who wasn’t content to let the kids have the win.
George Framly, at least, looked relieved. Ryan spotted Maggie in the crowd. He held the puck up for her inspection. Maggie grabbed Scott’s hand, then waved back at Ryan.
And in that moment, Scott knew they could make it as a family. He just had to convince Maggie.
By the time the hollering was over, and they were all in the Bronco headed for Maggie’s house, it was after eleven o’clock. Ryan was asleep in the backseat. He was still holding the puck and the jersey Carson Lipter had autographed for him.
Maggie leaned back in the passenger seat with a heavy sigh. “I’m bone-tired.”
Scott shot her a wry look. “I’ll bet. I’ve never known anyone who cooked five thousand hot dogs in one day.”
“You helped,” she said, smiling at him. “I don’t think I had a chance to say thank you for everything you did.”
“Just don’t try and sucker me into this next year.”
She laughed at that. “If there is a next year, Chuck’s going to have to find more than one person to organize his concessions.”
Scott liked the way Maggie had slipped so easily into his reference about the future. He reached for her hand. “It felt good, Maggie. It felt good to do this with you. It felt good to watch Ryan shoot that goal and know I was a part of it.”
Her fingers tightened on his. “It did, didn’t it?”
Scott looked at her in surprise. “Do I detect a slight warming trend to my way of thinking?”
She closed her eyes. “You detect a lady too tired to discuss this right now.”
Scott rubbed his thumb against her palm. “I love you, Maggie.”
She yawned. And if he hadn’t known better, he’d have sworn she did it to hide the fact that she said, “I love you, too.”
Maggie drove Scott to the airport, early the next morning, for his last trip to Dallas before the holidays. “Are you sure,” she said, pulling into the airport parking lot, “that you want to come back to Cape Hope for Christmas?”
“Maggie,” he gave her an exasperated look, “I’m sure.”
“But your family—”
“My family is spread out all over the country. Mom and Dad don’t expect everyone to be there.”
“Still, I think they’d want you home. I mean, why would you want to spend Christmas with me and Ryan when you could be with your family?”
“Because I love you. Because Christmas is going to be as hard for me this year as it’s going to be for you, and I think we ought to get through it together.”
She switched off the ignition. “I just don’t see that—”
Scott kissed her. It was a warm, generous kiss that made .her skin tingle. He dropped a brief kiss on the tip of her nose before lifting his head. “Give up, Maggie. You’re stuck with me.”
“It’s not that I don’t want you to spend the holiday with us, it’s just that I’m sure your family would want you at home. Annie’s death was hard on them in their own way.”
“My family wants me to be happy. You,” he said, “make me happy.”
Maggie studied him for several long seconds. “When will you be back?”
He smiled at her. “Wednesday. Pick me up at the airport?”
Maggie mentally calculated the date. Wednesday was the twenty-second, the day after Annie’s death. She wondered if he was deliberately delaying his arrival, but didn’t feel like she could ask. She nodded instead. “I’ll be here.”
Eighteen
Irene Fussman drummed her fingers on Pete Sherban’s desk. “What do you mean he hasn’t made a decision yet?”
Pete shrugged. “It’s like I said. Max is temperamental. He says he needs a few more days.”
Irene pushed aside a flash of irritation. She slipped from her chair to walk around Pete’s desk. She saw his skin flush. He pulled at his tie. “But you do have everything under control?” she asked, sitting on the edge of his desk.
Pete nodded. “Sure, sure. I told you, Babe, I’ve got Wedgins eating out of my hand.”
Irene put her hands on his shoulders. “I wanted to be back in New York with a contract by now.”
“I know.” His gaze was riveted on her breasts. Irene arched forward. Pete cleared his throat. “I don’t want to push him.” He started to unbutton her blouse. “Besides, is it so bad spending a few more days here with me?”
She hastened to reassure him. “It’s not that, lover,” she said. “You know it’s not. I just don’t want that nasty business between us anymore.”
Pete thrust his hand inside her blouse and roughly palmed her breast. Irene moaned for his benefit.
“What do you want between us?” he asked.
Irene stifled a groan. She reached for his tie. “Nothing.
Pete shoved her skirt up, then buried his face between her thighs. Irene squirmed against him. She barely stifled a relieved sigh when his intercom buzzed. “Pete,” she said.
He nipped the inside of her thigh. “Ignore it.”
She pulled on his thinning hair. “Pete, I think you should get that.” He licked her panties. Irene pushed at his shoulders. “Baby, your secretary knows we’re in here.”
“Shit,” he said, and raised his head. He stood up, then reached for the receiver. “What is it, Connie? I’m in a meeting.”
Irene straightened her skirt. She could hear Connie talking in agitated tones, but couldn’t understand what she was saying.
“Tonight?” Pete said, sounding outraged. “What the hell does he want to meet tonight for?”
Irene’s interest peaked. Intuition told her that Pete was talking about Max Wedgins. “Fine,” Pete said. “What line?”
He covered the receiver. “Wedgins wants to meet tonight,” he told Irene.
&nbs
p; She felt a tingle of excitement. “When?”
“Eight.”
“I want to be there.”
Pete shook his head. “No way. I told you, the guy’s a recluse. He won’t see anyone but me.”
Irene laid her hand against the straining fabric of his fly. “You’d better take his call, lover.”
Pete groaned, then punched the button. “Max, hi.”
Irene opened Pete’s fly. He tried to push her hand away. She could hear Max Wedgins talking on the other end of the phone. He told Pete he wanted to see him and Carl at eight o’clock.
“Does it have to be tonight?” Pete asked.
Irene slid off the desk and knelt in front of him.
“Shit,” Pete said. He took a hasty step back. “What, oh, nothing, Max. Yeah. Eight o’clock. I got it.” He tried to take another step back, but backed into his chair. He tumbled into it. Irene pushed his knees apart. “Did you—” Pete’s breath came out on a hiss. “Did you tell Carl? Fine. Good. OK.” Pete leaned his head back against his chair. “Bye, Max.”
He dropped the receiver as he reached for the back of Irene’s head.
Mark looked from one to the other in disgust. He willed himself back to Maggie. Pete’s conversation with Irene, coupled with the odd phone call, had confirmed his worst suspicions about Max Wedgins. He was playing some kind of game.
Mark found himself in the Bronco, studying Maggie’s profile as she drove back to Cape Hope from Logan Airport. Christmas carols were playing on the radio. Maggie was wiping the tears from her face. He wondered why he’d never noticed before what a determined face it was.
He’d always thought of Maggie as being a little on the fragile side. When he’d first met her, he’d been attracted to the fact that she made him feel so powerful. He’d wanted Maggie to need him. At the time, she had. But the woman she was today was a different person. She might not realize it yet, but as a mother, as a woman, Maggie had become so much more than she’d ever thought she would.
He felt a rush of love so intense, it made his eyes sting. He stared at her. “Maggie,” he said, “I know you can’t hear me.”
‘Jingle Bell Rock” was on the radio. Maggie turned it up. Mark ran his hand over the outline of her face. “I love you, Maggie. I will always love you, but I can’t hold on to you anymore.” He closed his eyes on a shuddering sigh. “It’s time for you to fly on your own.”