These days, he no longer felt the need to fil the void with booze and random women. The void was stil there. Nothing could ever replace a sister. She would always be the missing part of his family, but he was no longer so self-destructive. The women in his life weren’t random. No more rink bunnies and hockey groupies, but neither were they long-term. He always kept that part of his life separate from his life with his son. At least he thought he had until Conner mentioned that photograph of him pouring beer on bikini models. Conner was old enough to be affected by Sam’s life. Old enough to know his dad had time for other people but not for him.
He’d always felt Conner was safer with Autumn. That she would do a lot better job of taking care of him than Sam would. That was probably stil true, but Conner needed him, too. Not some guy he saw in sports clips and on occasional weekends. His son needed him to step up. The jet engines slowed as it prepared to descend into Seattle. It was about 3:00 A.M. Saturday morning, and Sam looked out at the lights below. He planned to sleep for about the next ten hours, then some of the guys were going to meet downtown to judge a Hal oween contest. When he’d talked to Conner earlier, he’d learned that his son had decided to dress up as a hockey player. A Chinook hockey player like his dad. He wouldn’t mind seeing Conner wearing a sweater with Sam’s number on it, but Hal oween wasn’t his holiday, and Autumn was a real stickler about holiday visitation. Normal y, he might just risk showing up and incurring the wrath of Autumn, but after the night he’d dropped Conner off home after the game, they’d been getting along. Although getting along might be a bit of an overstatement. The few times he’d dropped Conner off instead of relying on Nat to do it for him, they were civil, and he hadn’t felt the urge to cover his nuts. He figured that as long as he didn’t bring Conner home late without cal ing, or try and muscle her out of her holiday, he was probably safe from her foot in his crotch.
He’d see Conner the day after Hal oween. Maybe take him to that arcade he liked so much. Spending more time with his son was important to him, but getting more serious about his son’s life didn’t mean he had to give up other things on his free nights. Things like hanging out in a bar fil ed with slutty Snow Whites and naughty nurses.
“Vince?”
“Yeah?”
Through the dark Hal oween night, Autumn watched Conner run between the flickering lights of jack-o’-lanterns and knock on the door of a neighbor a few blocks from their house. A candy bag in one hand, a Chinooks’ jersey over his coat. “Do you think I’m man-repel ent?”
“What?” Vince looked down at her. “What’s that?”
“A few weeks ago, Shiloh said I act like I’ve sprayed myself with man repel ant?”
Conner ran toward them, the black eye she’d drawn on him a little smeared, but his red scar stil stuck to his cheek. “I got some Nerds.”
Goody. Straight sugar. They moved to the next house, and Vince said, “Don’t pay attention to Shiloh. She’s one of those girls who isn’t real y serious about anything. She’s not like you.”
“What does that mean?” Conner ran up toward another door decorated with a spider.
“It means you’re a mother and a businesswoman. You have a lot going on and a lot going for you.”
“Yes, but I’d like to think men find me attractive. That I’m more than a mother and a businesswoman.”
He hooked his arm round her neck. “You’re a beautiful woman, and if you wanted a man in your life, you’d have one.”
She and Vince had always been close, even when he’d been away, but he was also her brother and would lie to spare her feelings. “You real y think so?”
“Yeah, but don’t hang out in bars to meet men. That didn’t work out so wel the last time you tried it.”
Autumn laughed. “True.” They rounded a corner and, from half a block away, she saw a red trunk parked next to Vince’s Harley in her driveway
“Dad came.” Conner switched his candy bag from one hand to the other.
“Yeah.” Vince dropped his arm to his side.
It wasn’t Sam’s day. Why was he there? “Don’t run,” she cal ed out, as Conner took off down the sidewalk. He ran beneath a pool of light from the streetlamp, then cut across the yard fil ed with happy scarecrows and smiling jack-o’-lanterns. Beside her, Vince muttered something she couldn’t quite hear. Which was probably for the best, then he asked, “What does that idiot want?”
“I don’t know. I thought he was out of town.” Within the shadows of her house, Sam rose from the bottom step of her porch, and Conner disappeared into his dark wool coat. So typical of him just to assume he could show up without cal ing.
“Has he suddenly decided to be father of the year?”
“Something like that, but it won’t last.” She shook her head, and her ponytail brushed the shoulders of her navy peacoat. The sound of Vince’s bootheels was heavy and ominous as the two of them closed the distance to Sam. “Promise me you won’t start anything.”
A stitch on his leather bomber’s jacket popped as if he was flexing his muscles like the Incredible Hulk. Vince was a kind, loving brother and a good uncle. He was protective, but he had a few anger issues. He could also hold a grudge longer than anyone she knew. Even her. While Autumn had moved on from her bitter feelings for Sam, Vince had not and probably never would. Even though their mother had been very religious, “Forgive and forget” was a foreign concept for the Haven kids. Especial y for Vince, and while Autumn had moved on, she couldn’t say she’d forgiven Sam. Not that Sam had ever asked for her forgiveness. Never said he was sorry, and she’d never forget. That was impossible. Too much to ask. It was more like she’d just let go of it al and didn’t care.
As she and Vince walked up the driveway, the tension between Sam and her brother pinched the back of her bare neck, and her ponytail felt too tight. “Behave,” she said under her breath. She stopped in front of Sam and looked up into his face, light from the house spil ed across his forehead, the slight crook in his nose and across half his lips. “I didn’t know you were in town.”
“I am.”
Obviously. “I didn’t know you were coming over.”
“I didn’t either until about half an hour ago.” His chin jerked up a little. “Vince.”
“Sam.”
“I need to talk to you a minute,” Sam said as he stared down Vince.
“Me?”
“No. Your brother.”
She was afraid of that. She grabbed Vince’s arm. “Don’t hit him.”
Vince pried her fingers from his jacket. “I won’t hit him first.”
Sam chuckled. “You wouldn’t get the chance to hit me second, frogman.” He walked past them to the end of the driveway and stopped beneath the deep inky shadow of an old oak.
Vince laughed, too, but it wasn’t funny. Vince had been trained to kil , but Autumn had seen Sam knock people out. People bigger than Vince.
“Promise?”
He headed across the driveway, his “No,” trailed after him.
“What’s a frogman?”
She glanced down at Conner’s shiny blond head. She should probably take him into the house, but she didn’t think either man would throw a punch in front of Conner. While they hated each other, they loved Conner more. At least she hoped so. “I think it’s a Navy SEAL.”
“Oh. Is Dad going to hit Uncle Vince?”
“Of course not.” At least she hoped not. “They were just joking around.”
“What are they talking about?”
She strained to hear what they were saying, even leaning forward a little, but only a low murmuring timbre reached her ears. “Man stuff.”
“What’s ‘man stuff’?”
Like she knew? “Cars.”
“Uncle Vince doesn’t have a car. He has a motorcycle and a truck. But his truck isn’t as big as Dad’s.”
From the little she could see, it looked like Sam’s hands were on his hips, and Vince stil had his arms crossed. Again she heard Sam chuckle, then he w
alked from the inky darkness and across the driveway toward her. “You got a Reese’s in that candy bag?”
he asked Conner.
“Maybe ten or twenty!”
“Good. You can give your old dad one.”
“I got lots of candy. Come in and see.”
Sam looked over at Autumn. “Do you mind?”
Like it mattered. She shook her head and watched Vince move from the shadow toward her. “Give your uncle a hug good-bye,” she told Conner.
“Okay.” Already hopped up on Hal oween candy, Conner ran to Vince and wrapped his arms around his waist. “Bye, Uncle Vince.”
“See ya, Nugget. Give me knuckles.”
Conner held up his clinched fist, then quickly pul ed it back. “Too slow, Joe.” He ran back to Sam, took his hand, and pul ed him up the steps. Autumn waited until they disappeared inside before she asked, “What was that al about?”
“We came to an understanding.”
“What understanding? What did he say?”
Vince swung a leg over the Harley and righted the bike. “Never mind.”
“Vince! What understanding?”
He sighed. “He told me he was going to be around more, so I better get used to seeing him.”
“And?”
“Nothing.” The motorcycle rumbled to life, fil ing the night with dual exhaust and putting an end to the conversation. He backed out of the drive and took off, leaving Autumn to stare after him. There was more to it than “nothing.” She knew Vince too wel to believe him. She let out a breath and headed up the steps to the front door, decorated with a friendly ghost. She was tired from trick-or-treating for the past three hours and hoped that Sam didn’t plan on staying long. She was meeting two prospective brides in the morning and needed to be sharp. She opened the door and headed up the steps as Conner told his latest knock-knock joke. Sam laughed like it was the height of hilarity. It wasn’t.
Conner sat next to Sam on the mint green couch, his coat thrown on the table. Father and son’s blond heads were close together as they hovered over the bag of candy sitting between them. The big number sixteen on Conner’s youth jersey was not only Sam’s number; apparently it had also belonged to someone named Bobby Clarke. “Bobby had a hard shot,” Conner had informed her a few weeks ago. “But Dad’s is harder. He won three times for the hardest shot.”
“Nice shiner,” Sam complimented Conner’s black eye.
“It’s like yours. Last season.”
“I don’t have a scar on my cheek.”
“I know. You probably wil , though.”
Autumn shrugged out of her coat and moved into the dining room. “Don’t make yourself sick on al that candy.”
Conner pretended not to hear her. “You can have a Kit-Kat, Dad.”
“I like Dots. I used to stick al the different colors on my teeth and chase El a around.”
“Who’s El a?”
“My sister. I told you about her.”
“Oh yeah. She died.”
Autumn hung her coat on a chair and moved back into the living room. She was used to having a man in the house. Vince was over al the time, but Sam brought a different energy with him. It wasn’t as aggressive or defensive as in the past, but it wasn’t altogether comfortable either. It was too much. Too much rugged testosterone radiating from her sofa and fil ing the room.
“You better let me have those Dots so your teeth don’t rot,” he said, poking around in the bag. “Maybe some of those M&M’s, too. There might be some green ones in there, and I know how much you hate anything that reminds you of veggies.”
The last thing Sam LeClaire needed was green M&Ms.
“You can have them al .”
Sam glanced at Autumn, then returned his eyes to the bag. “Thanks, but I—” His head whipped up, and he stared at her as if she’d suddenly turned into an alien. His brows shot up his forehead, and the corners of his blue eyes pinched. An evil alien. She looked behind her, saw nothing, then returned her gaze to his. “What?”
He pointed at her white Jersey. “What the hel are you wearing?”
“A hockey jersey.” She looked down and pointed at the penguin on the front. “Hockey is our Hal oween theme this year.”
His voice was quiet. Deadly. “It’s Pittsburgh.”
“I like it. The penguin has little skates on his feet.” She looked back up. “It’s cute.”
“It’s gay.”
“Sam. Language.”
“Jerseys aren’t supposed to be cute.” He frowned and pointed an accusing finger at her. “You’re wearing Crosby’s number.”
She looked at the 87 on her sleeve. “Who?”
“Jesus. The bastard just scored on me with a hinky puck. He should have been embarrassed instead of skating around like a prom queen.”
Whatever that meant. She pointed at Conner, who was hanging on Sam’s every word. “Language, please.”
Conner shook his head. “I told her, Dad.”
Autumn gasped. “Told me what?”
“To wear Dad’s number, like me.”
Yeah. Like that would happen. “I like this jersey.”
Sam sat back against the couch and folded his arms across his thin beige sweater. “Penguins don’t wear skates.”
She pointed to Conner’s jersey. “Fish don’t swat pucks with their tails, either.”
Sam opened a box of Dots and popped a few into his mouth. He watched her as he chewed, then said, “Crosby’s a whiny little bit—girl.”
She shrugged. “He’s cute.”
“Are you serious?”
She actual y didn’t real y know what Crosby looked like, but Sam looked annoyed. Which, she admitted, amused her. “Yes. I don’t want my guy to be ugly.”
“Your guy? You pick a guy’s number because you think he’s cute?”
No. “Yeah.” Just like women picked Sam’s number because he was hot, but she’d never tel him that. Not that he didn’t know it already. “Why else?”
“Why else?” He stood and dropped the empty box on the coffee table. “How about points? How about number of years in the NHL? How about taking a hit like a man. How about not crying like a girl? How about the mother of my child showing a little support and not wearing a Pittsburgh sweater?”
He looked serious, and she started to laugh.
He put his hands on his hips. “What’s so funny?”
She slid a palm over her stomach. “You.” She continued to laugh. She couldn’t help it. “You’re ridiculous.” Conner gasped as if she’d committed blasphemy.
He motioned with his hand. “Take it off.”
“Right.” Like he could come into her house and order her around. Not going to happen. Sam moved around the coffee table toward her. “Are you going to take it off?”
She shook her head and took a step back. “No.”
“Then you leave me no choice here.” He stalked her into the dining room, towering over her. “I’m going to have to take it off you.” The corners of his lips twitched like he was joking, but his eyes were al about getting his way.
“You can’t.”
“Yeah, I can. I take off women’s shirts al the time.”
“That’s not something to brag about.”
“Not bragging. I’m just gifted.” He held up three fingers, then lowered them one at a time.
“You’re gifted al right.” She didn’t wait for the final finger before she turned on her heels and ran. His hand on the back of her jersey stopped her and slammed her back against the hard wal of his chest. “Sam!”
“Come help me, Conner,” he cal ed out, and wrapped one big arm around her ribs just beneath her breasts.
“No, Conner!”
The little traitor ran into the kitchen and looked up at his dad. “What do you want me to do?”
“Hold her undershirt down so it doesn’t come off with the jersey.”
“Stop,” she protested through a laugh. “Conner, go to bed! I mean it.”
“No way.” H
e reached his little hands beneath the jersey and grabbed the bottom of the long-sleeved thermal shirt creeping up her stomach.
“I’m your mom. You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“We can do this easy,” Sam said into the top of her head. “Or we can go hard. You choose.”
She tried to squirm out of his arms, but it was useless. “I’m keeping my Pittsburgh jersey. It cost me over two hundred bucks.” Outmuscled and outmanned, the jersey was whipped over her head. For a brief second, it caught on her ponytail, then she found herself in a tug-of-war with her son. “Let go.”
“Hold—her—Dad,” Conner managed between peals of wild laughter and grunts of raw effort.
With both arms around her, Sam held her even tighter. “Take it and hide it somewhere,” he told Conner.
“You’re in big trouble,” she warned her son. “No more cartoons for you.”
In response, he tugged so hard his face turned red. She rose onto the bal s of her feet and used her foot in his little tummy for leverage, but he ripped the jersey from her fingers. He tumbled across the kitchen floor, then took off. “Don’t let her go til I hide it, Dad.”
“She’s not going anywhere.” His arms tightened even more, and she suddenly became very aware of him pressed against her back and behind. Suddenly became aware of being surrounded by a heavy man blanket, throwing off waves of heat. She stil ed as the heat of him seeped through her pores. Two of his fingers brushed her bare waist where her shirt had risen.
Other than the males in her own family or the occasional handshake, the last man who had touched her was the man touching her now. Yes, she felt the heat and pure male grit of Sam. Just like al those years ago in Vegas. What she didn’t feel this time was the jump in her pulse.
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