by Lucy Score
Savannah sighed heavily. “Fine. Send me some proofs of life tonight so I can make sure you’re not dead. Unless you’re having sex. Don’t send me any of those selfies.”
––—
The only acknowledgement of her sister’s advice was the pretty bra Bristol hooked on under her sweater. She went with a black ribbed turtleneck and gray and black striped fleece leggings that made her butt look pretty damn great. She finished the look with a wool cap and a warm down-filled vest, both in fire engine red.
She’d touched up the morning’s makeup and added a thick layer of lip-gloss to ward off the winter wind.
Her phone sounded an alert, and she saw a text from Beau.
I’m downstairs. Want me to come up?
She thought about her sister’s suggestion for alternative evening plans, grabbed her bag, and sprinted for the stairs.
On my way down.
She’d never brought a man into the apartment she shared with her daughter. It seemed… weird. The men she had dated since her divorce had remained neatly compartmentalized in the tiny sliver of life she dedicated to her own free time. It was safer that way, less messy.
She pushed through the glass door next to Early Bird’s entrance. Beau was leaning against a dark blue SUV, his hands shoved in the pockets of his heavy jacket. He was studying her with an unreadable look that had her slowing her approach.
“What?” She glanced down at her outfit, fearing that she’d forgotten to put on the pants she’d picked out.
“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head. “Just… hi.”
“Am I dressed okay?” she asked.
“You look great,” he said. “I mean you look warm.”
“Are you nervous?” she demanded, cocking her head to one side.
He scratched the back of his head with a gloved hand. “Of course not. What’s to be nervous about?”
“Spending time alone with me in the dark. Maybe you’re a vampire, and you won’t be able to control your thirst for human blood?”
“So I’m now an undead murderer?”
At least he was smiling.
“The evening is young,” Bristol shrugged. “I guess we’ll find out.”
He opened the passenger door for her and leaned in close when she slid onto the seat. “Good thing you wore a turtleneck,” he winked, flashing her his teeth.
Bristol was pleasantly surprised to find that her seat warmer was already on. Funny, sexy, and thoughtful? Maybe Savannah had the right idea after all. But as a respectable adult, Bristol had a responsibility to learn a few things about Mr. Beau French before she even considered taking his pants off.
CHAPTER SIX
He spent the short drive to King’s Pond skillfully evading Bristol’s questions about his day at the yoga convention.
“Do you teach those hot power insane yoga classes? You know, the ones where they crank the heat up to like two hundred degrees?” she asked as he pulled into the gravel lot at the pond.
“Bikram?” he’d done some frantic internet searches the night before so he could at least drop some yoga vocabulary every once in a while to build up his cover story. “Have you ever taken one of those classes?” he asked, turning the tables on her.
Bristol shook her head, and the pom-pom on top of her hat swayed. “I like to think being on my feet next to heat lamps five hours a day is the equivalent.”
“You’re probably not wrong,” he said, turning off the engine.
Bristol stared out her window at the rink. “I really wish Vi would have been into some other sport,” she sighed morosely.
“Hockey is not that bad,” Beau laughed.
“Ugh. I know. It’s just she’s really into it, and I want to support that. I haven’t seen her show any interest in anything since…” Her words trailed off, and she shook her head. “Anyway, I just wish she could have chosen something that I at least remotely understood.”
“It’s not that complicated. I’ll help you with the basics, and we’ll go from there, okay?”
“Why are you helping me?” Bristol asked.
And just like that, the suspicion was back. He almost laughed.
“You’re a nice girl doing a nice thing for her daughter. Plus, that breakfast this morning was amazing, and hockey is kind of my hobby.”
“So it all works out?”
“If you do what I say, it will. But if you’re stubborn and resist my genius teaching techniques, it’ll be a disaster.”
“I’m not stubborn!”
Beau grinned at her gasp of outrage. “I think you’re used to doing things your way. But you’re just going to have to trust me here.”
They got out of the car with Bristol grumbling under her breath. He unloaded his skates and a box from the back of the SUV. When she started toward the rink’s office he stopped her.
“Where are you going? The ice is this way.”
“Mr. King lets me use the rental skates. I don’t have my own,” she explained.
Beau shook his head. “Those crappy rentals were probably half the reason you were falling down last night.”
“What do you want me to do? Shuffle around in my boots?”
He guided her over to a bench next to the pond and gave her a little push to make her sit. “I want you to wear these.” He pushed the box at her.
She raised a skeptical eyebrow but lifted the lid of the box as fast as a sugared up kid on Christmas. “Holy crap!”
“Do you like them?” He’d had to drive to Tahoe to a specialty shop to find the right ones. “I think half the reason you were falling all over yourself yesterday was the toe pick on the rental skates. These are hockey skates.” He plucked one out of the box and held it up. “See? No toe pick.”
“Beau,” she looked up at him with those blue eyes warm and wide. “That was really sweet of you.”
He shuffled his feet, feeling a little embarrassed and a lot guilty. “It’s no problem. You’ll have an easier time with these.”
“What do I owe you?”
He was already shaking his head. “Nothing. They’re a gift.”
“That’s not part of our deal,” she reminded him. “I can’t accept these. It’s too much.”
“Just try them out tonight, and if you’re still being stupid and stubborn later, I’ll take them back,” he suggested, pulling her foot into his lap and yanking off her boot. He slid her socked foot into the skate and expertly laced it. His fingers seemed to have a mind of their own when they wrapped around her slim calf.
“They’re warm,” she exclaimed. “And they fit!”
“Thermal lining and I guessed,” he told her, making quick work of her other foot before lowering her feet to the ice. “There.”
Bristol sat admiring the grey and pink skates while he quickly laced his up. He rose and offered her his hands. “Ready?”
She took a deep breath and put her gloved hands in his. Biting her lip, she let him pull her to her feet. “Oh!” she said in surprise.
Beau grinned down at her. “More stable, aren’t they?”
She looked up at him. “I don’t feel like my ankles are going to shatter.”
“Good. Okay, I’m going to pull you so you can get a feel for them. Ready?”
She nodded, and he smoothly skated backwards, towing her along with him. Her posture was tense, her grip on his hands tight.
“How do they feel?”
“Really good,” she admitted.
“Good enough to keep?”
She started to make what Beau could only assume was a smart comment when her foot slipped. She yelped and gripped his hands harder.
“Good recovery,” he told her. “Ready to try pushing off?”
“Don’t let go!”
“I’m not letting go of you,” he promised. “Here we go. Just shift your weight into one skate while you push off with the other. Careful—”
She didn’t give herself a gentle nudge as he thought she would. No, Bristol shoved off and sent herself sprawling into
his chest. He caught her with a laugh. “I take it patience isn’t your strong suit?”
She wrinkled her nose. “I hate not being good at things.”
“No one is good at skating right away.”
“You’re really good at it,” she argued.
“Gorgeous, I’ve been skating since I was six years old. That’s twenty-three years of experience.”
“You’re twenty-nine?” she asked with obvious pleasure. “Thank God. I was worried you might be younger than…” She trailed off and her cheeks burned pink.
“Thirty in a month. But what does that matter?” he teased. There was only one reason he could think of that a woman would care about his age. And he hated to admit it, but he liked that her mind was working in that direction.
“Well, I… uh… you know…” She was floundering like a fish out of water.
“Do I know?” he asked.
“Oh, shut up,” Bristol muttered. “I haven’t had a conversation with a man alone in I don’t know how long.”
“Is this a date?” Beau asked, suddenly fascinated by her embarrassment.
“No! Of course not!”
“Because if it was,” he said, lowering his voice. “I’d make any excuse in the book to get closer to you.” He reeled her in by the forearms. Eyes that had been glued to her feet met his gaze. She wet her lips, and he felt his breath catch in his throat.
Beau could dive into and drown in those blue depths if he wasn’t careful. And that wasn’t why he was here. But damn if he could pull away from her. She was beautiful, smart, and damned hilarious. He was attracted to her more than he’d been to any other woman in recent memory… hell, in any memory. When she smiled, his mouth curved up on the sides in an involuntary reaction. When she laughed, he felt a heat slide through him more potent than any skimpy outfit or bedroom-eyed puck bunny.
It wasn’t just her looks because, hell, she was beautiful. Breathtaking, punchin-the-gut gorgeous. It was what bloomed beneath that flawless skin and those sexy sweet eyes. She had attitude, strength, and a driving desire to do right by others. It was a potent combination, and Beau was afraid that he wouldn’t recover from it if he got too close. He shouldn’t be doing this.
“Bristol?” he said her name softly.
“Yeah?” She was breathless, looking up at him with those big eyes, her rosy lips parted.
“You’re skating.”
It took a second for the words to process. But when they did, he had the pleasure of watching her eyes light up.
“Oh my, God! Beau, I’m skating!”
He was still holding on to her arms, but Bristol was gliding on her own, one foot at a time.
“Want me to let go?” he offered.
“No! I mean… not yet.”
––—
“You’re a great coach,” Bristol said for the third time as Beau slid into the driver seat.
“You’re an excellent student,” he told her.
Bristol preened a bit. She had kicked ass on the ice tonight. It was a complete one-eighty from her experience the night before. Sure, she’d fallen a few times, but under Beau’s patient tutelage, she’d progressed to slowly skating the length of the rink under her own power several times.
He’d given her tips and guided her into a more natural stance. And it had worked. Now if she could just learn all the finer points of the sport, she’d be set for Wednesday’s game.
“What are you doing out here in the dark teaching a stranger to skate?” Bristol asked, studying him in the dome light.
“I’m just getting to know you,” he said.
“But why? Why me?”
“Why not you? You’re smart, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and you serve up a hell of an omelet. What’s not to find intriguing?”
“Intriguing? I’ve never heard that word applied to me before.” Reliable, yes. Consistent, of course. But intriguing?
“Is that one of the hazards of growing up in a small town? When everyone’s known you since you were three so no one actually sees you.”
“That’s an oddly astute observation,” Bristol admitted. “We’ve all known each other for a hundred years, so it’s practically impossible to take a step back and see someone with fresh eyes.”
Beau guided the SUV toward the road leading back to town. “What about your family? What do they see when they look at you?”
Bristol shook her head. “I honestly don’t know. We’ve gone through a rough time this year. I know I blurted it out last night, but my younger sister, Hope, died in March.” The words still stuck in her throat as if saying them somehow made it more real.
He squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry, Bristol.”
She looked out the window at the winter woods as it blurred by but didn’t slip her hand out of his. “Thanks. It’s been tough. And this crazy hockey thing is the first thing that’s put a smile on my daughter’s face since then. So I need to figure out a way to turn myself into a great coach.”
“How are you doing?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” she said automatically.
“That sounded convincing.”
Bristol shrugged. “I’m lost and empty and sad and damn tired of feeling all those things. The missing her just sneaks up on me and hits me in the backs of the knees sometimes, you know? And the rest of the time I’m numb. It’s like life lost its color when she died.”
“And you’re frustrated that you’re still hurting,” he guessed.
“I hate feeling empty, but I hate feeling helpless even more. I can’t make my mom stop sneaking off to cry in the kitchen when we’re all over for dinner because there’s an empty chair. I can’t make Savannah stop hurting because Hope won’t be standing up there next to us at her wedding. And I can’t stop worrying that, eventually, everyone’s going to forget that she ever existed. Everyone except us.”
“That’s not going to happen.” He said it with a certainty that she longed to feel.
“How can you be so sure?” Bristol hated the catch in her voice. But at least hate was better to feel than nothing.
“You said your sister saved lives.”
“She was an EMT. She was going to be a doctor.”
“Every single person she saved or helped or made a difference to will remember her for the rest of their lives. Same as you.”
“Same as me how?”
“Oh how quickly you forget.” His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. “Bristol, you saved that coach’s life yesterday. Do you think he’s going to ever forget that?”
“That was just right time, right place. There’s nothing heroic about—”
“There is nothing that you or anyone else in this world can do that’s more important than giving life. Whether it’s parenthood or CPR or brain surgery, you have no idea the lives you touch.”
There was something in his tone that she tuned into, a raw pain or passion. She wasn’t sure which.
“I hope you’re right. It would do us all some good to know that she mattered to more than just our family. Our neighbors have been amazing, and I’m so grateful for everything they’ve done. It’s just hard to see the world move on while you’re still leveled.”
Beau brought her gloved hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles, and despite the pain that bloomed cold and bright inside her whenever she spoke of Hope, she felt a thrill race through her. “I promise you, your sister will be remembered.”
Bristol found his words oddly comforting.
“Thanks, Beau.”
He lowered their joined hands but didn’t let go.
She was holding hands with a man who had stepped up for her in more ways than she could count in the last twenty-four hours. And she felt… something. The numbness had made room for something warm, something bright.
Bristol cleared her throat. “So how about your family?”
She caught the grimace out of the corner of her eye. “My family is… weird. We’re not close. My parents haven’t really been in my life
since I was twenty.”
“Divorce?”
He shook his head. “No, nothing like that. They’re actually pretty incredible people. They started a foreign aid nonprofit and left the country years ago. They move around from country to country, drawing attention to human aid crises and fundraising for special projects. They’re very passionate about what they do, but they weren’t as passionate about maintaining a relationship with their kids.”
“You have siblings?” Bristol asked.
“A sister. She’s a lot younger than me. Eleven years younger, and she came to live with me when my parents left.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah, talk about an adjustment period for us both. But we made it work.”
“That’s amazing that you were able to step in and be a parent like that.”
He shot her an amused look. “I might point out that that’s incredibly sexist of you. How old were you when you had your daughter?”
Bristol opened her mouth to protest and then closed it again. “Twenty.”
“Hmm, what a coincidence.”
“I could argue that getting knocked up biologically forces you to mentally prepare for impending motherhood. You, on the other hand, were dumped into it with less preparation.”
“I’ll grudgingly give you half a point on that. But don’t think that makes up for your gross assumption that I’m so much more amazing for becoming a legal guardian for my sister at the same age you became a parent. My sister was potty trained and could make her own lunch.”
Bristol laughed, and it felt damn good. “You’re an interesting man, Beau French.”
His smile faded, and she thought she saw a shadow cross his face. But he didn’t let go of her hand.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Beau swiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand and then unscrewed the cap on his bottle of water. He guzzled several swallows before revisiting his quest to catch his breath.
“That was like walking through hell in bare feet, man,” he gasped.
Lucky Dorsey, MMA champion and sadistic trainer, flopped down on the floor next to him. They were only two of the dozen bodies currently littering the floor of the gym across the street from Early Bird.