Happy Ever After in Christmas

by Debbie Mason

  Ethan didn’t respond because he was busy pumping up the team. “Clock’s ticking down, boys. Time to bring the cup home,” he said as he skated onto the ice with his line.

  Sawyer also skated toward center ice. He hadn’t played professional hockey in more than seven years. A dirty hit and a severe concussion had ended his career. But he still had the speed and the long, easy strides that had made him a star. The only reason they were able to hold him off was their goalie—a lawyer who worked for Ethan and a former professional hockey player, too. At six four, the guy was built like a tank and filled the net.

  “You’re something else, you know,” Brad said from beside her.

  Jill drew her gaze from Sawyer as he faced off against Ethan. “How’s that?” she asked, lifting her water bottle to her mouth.

  “You’re amazing. I’ve never met another woman like you. There’s nothing you can’t do.”

  Jill choked on the water while searching his face for a sign he was teasing. She kind of hoped he was, because if he wasn’t, that meant he was interested in her. And she didn’t want him to be interested. She didn’t want to reject him if he asked her out. Rejection sucked on any level. And he was a nice guy, even if they did end up competing for Gage’s job. Plus they worked together. “I can’t cook. Well, I guess I could if I had to, but I don’t like to. And I can be a bitch, just ask Suze.”

  He laughed. He had a nice laugh. “You forget I work with you, too. But hey, we all have bad days, and you’ve been putting in a lot of overtime.”

  Totally nice guy, dammit. She prayed for a fight to break out on the ice, just not one involving Sawyer. He couldn’t risk another concussion. But no, he was tearing up the ice on a breakaway. It was a beautiful sight. She could watch him skate all day. The crowd roared as he showed off his legendary stick-handling abilities. With a flash of a smile and his perfect white teeth, his passion and love of the game lit up his gorgeous face. Then he drew back his stick and took a powerful shot. She held her breath. Disappointment echoed off the building’s rafters when the goalie deflected the puck.

  She’d been so caught up in the play that she hadn’t realized Brad was speaking to her. “Sorry. What did you say?”

  “I was wondering if you’d like to get a drink with me sometime?”

  She groaned inwardly, wishing she’d either ignored him or said something about the game to distract him. Now she had to figure out a way not to hurt his feelings. “I’d really like to, Brad. But…Gage has a no-fraternization policy.” She caught a hint of disappointment in his blue eyes. “I wish he didn’t. You’re a great guy.”

  “I feel the same about you. But you’re right, I wouldn’t want to jeopardize my job.”

  Before Jill could ask his thoughts about his future with Christmas’s sheriff’s department, Ethan opened the door to the players’ bench. As he and his line filed back in, he said, “Get out there, you two, and do us proud.”

  “But we’re on the third line, not the second,” Jill protested even as she stood up. Brad was already over the boards.

  “You two are on a winning streak. Now go out there and show them up,” he said, pushing her out the door without warning. Her skates went out from under her and she landed on her butt.

  Her brother laughed. “You wanna play with the big boys, Shortstop. You gotta get rid of the girlie skates.”

  “Ouch, looks like that hurt. You might want to sit this one out, Shortstop,” Sawyer said, leaning on his stick as he watched her struggling to get up. His mouth twitched with amusement.

  “Don’t let them intimidate you, Jill. I’ve got your back,” Brad said, slapping at her brother’s stick with his.

  “Thanks,” she murmured and took her place across from Sawyer. Standing six three without skates, he towered over her with them on. He grinned down at her. She scowled up at him. “You won’t be smiling once we—”

  Five blondes wearing short skirts and white T-shirts with Sawyer’s face covering their boobs drowned Jill out as they shook their pom-poms and yelled, “Go, Sawyer. Go, Sawyer. Go, Sawyer.”

  Jill rolled her eyes. “They’re a little underdressed, don’t you think?”

  He glanced at them and lifted a padded shoulder. “It’s May. Arena’s warm.”

  Seeing him look their way, the women cheered louder and shook their pom-poms harder. Sawyer gave them a sexy smile and waved.

  On top of Jack’s and Sawyer’s teasing, the women and his flirty response set off Jill’s temper. She was going to beat them, and she was going to beat them bad. “Ref, you should be calling him for delay of game,” she said to the kid with the puck in his hand. It was Trent Dawson. One of Sawyer’s star players and his manager’s son.

  Sawyer laughed. “Good try, Shortstop,” he said, slapping at her stick with his.

  Jill ignored him and got in position, casting a sidelong glance at Trent. Just as he was about to drop the puck, she said, “I don’t flipping believe it. They’re flashing their boobs!”

  Sawyer lifted his head to look at the same time Trent released the puck. Jill got the drop on Sawyer, shooting the puck to Brad.

  “You always did play dirty,” Sawyer said, laughing as he whizzed past her.

  Within seconds he’d wrested the puck from Brad and was heading back into their end with breathtaking speed.

  “The only way to win this game is take Anderson out,” Brad said with a determined look on his face as he skated past her.

  Wait? What? “No, Brad, you…” She started to call after him, but he was already heading for Sawyer. No matter how much she wanted to win—not only to make a point to her brother and Sawyer, but to get in Gage’s good graces—she had to stop Brad. Another concussion could cause Sawyer irreparable damage. She skated as if his life depended on it. Sawyer was at the hash mark, Brad a foot behind him. She launched herself at Brad, putting an arm behind him to protect his head as they fell. She let out a whoosh of breath as she landed hard on her teammate, releasing a pained groan when her chin hit the ice.

  The crowd roared. Sawyer had scored the winning goal.

  * * *

  Sawyer waited on the sidewalk outside the Penalty Box for Jill. “Why didn’t you stick around for the cup presentation?” he teased, holding up the trophy as she approached wearing a white shirt, jeans, and white sneakers.

  Her dark, shiny hair swung across her shoulders as she gave her head an annoyed shake. Her full pink lips flattened when she reached his side. “You may not have noticed, but my team wasn’t exactly impressed that I lost the game for us.”

  “Come on, you guys didn’t stand a chance. We win every year. But just for curiosity’s sake, why did you take out Brad? Did he tick you off?” As Sawyer well knew, it didn’t take much to tick her off. She had her brother’s temper. Only Jack’s twelve-year stint in the military had taught him to control his.

  She shoved her sunglasses on top of her head. “No, he didn’t tick me off. He wanted to win, and he was going to take you out to do it.”

  “Wait a sec, are you telling me that you blew the game to protect me?”

  Color stained her blade-sharp cheekbones. “What was I supposed to do? Do you want to suffer a permanent brain injury? Because that’s what could happen if you take another blow to your fat head.” She crossed her arms and looked away.

  Sawyer would have laughed if not for the pressure building in his chest. It was rare for Jill to let her guard down. Half the time she was either scowling or growling at him. But every once in a while, like now, she’d show him how much she cared. “I appreciate you trying to protect me, Shortstop. But I can take a hit, you know? It would take someone a lot bigger and badder than Brad to take me down.”

  She lifted her chin. “All it takes is one time. You shouldn’t be playing hockey, even if it is recreational.”

  “Appreciate the concern, but we have a no-body-contact rule.” He frowned, noticing a scrape on her chin and raised it with his knuckle. “You have a bruise. Did you hit the ice when you fell
on top of Brad?”

  She batted his hand a way. “I’m fine. It’s not a big deal.”

  He slid his hand from her chin to the nape of her neck, then gently massaged the tight muscles. He caught her wince. “You gave yourself whiplash, didn’t you?”

  She shrugged. “I’ve had worse.”

  “Yeah, I know you have.” And she never complained. Feeling oddly touched and protective, he lightly squeezed the back of her neck and leaned down to press his lips to her forehead. “Come on, I’ll get you some ice and…” He trailed off as he spotted Jack coming down the sidewalk with Grace. His best friend’s narrowed gaze moved from Sawyer to Jill.

  Sawyer lowered his hand and stepped back from her. “Hey, guys.”

  Jill turned to greet both her brother and sister-in-law. “Not one word about the game or you don’t get your birthday present,” she warned Jack.

  His serious expression vanished, and he grinned. “You get me another truck?”

  Sawyer’d forgotten about that. Jill had bought Jack a truck as a welcome home present. For a woman who was as tightfisted as Jill, it was further evidence of how much she adored her big brother. How much she was willing to sacrifice for him. “Yeah, right, I figure I’m covered for the next five birthdays and Christmases.”

  “You are,” Grace said, moving to Jill’s side. “Jack was just telling me how well you played today. I wish I could have been there.”

  “You probably wouldn’t have gotten a seat. Sawyer’s fan club was there,” Jill said, slanting him a look.

  Music filtered out onto the sidewalk as Jack opened the door. “I want to talk to Sawyer for a minute. We’ll meet you inside.”

  Jill frowned, looking from Sawyer to Jack. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing, nosy. Now get in there and save me a seat,” Jack said, giving his sister a gentle shove. As soon as the door shut behind the two women, he turned on Sawyer. “What the hell were you doing kissing Jill?”

  “Oh come on, you can’t seriously believe I was making a move on her? Jesus, she’s like a little sister to me.” He told Jack about her hit on Brad and her subsequent injury. Even though he was kind of shocked that he had to explain himself.

  “Sorry, guess I should have known better. But buddy, you don’t have the best reputation in town. You’re the last person I’d want dating my sister.”

  “Ouch. Thanks a lot, pal,” he said as he opened the door, following Jack inside. Sawyer stopped short as he looked around the rustic bar with memorabilia from his hockey days hanging on the exposed log walls. A sea of yellow balloons decorated the space, hanging from the rafters and tied to the penalty box and the chairs surrounding the round tables.

  Everywhere he looked was a reminder of the night they’d learned Jack had been found alive. The night Sawyer gave up on having the family he wanted. While Jack had been missing, he’d fallen in love with his best friend’s wife. He’d stepped aside as soon as Jack came home, giving up on Grace and his dream. But it was a small town, and Jack soon discovered Sawyer’s secret. He’d nearly lost his best friend. It had taken weeks to repair their friendship. Sawyer vowed then and there never to put their friendship at risk again. Jack was family. The brother he never had.

  “Happy birthday, Jack!” the crowd in the bar yelled.

  Jack turned to him. “You did this?”

  “Had some help,” Sawyer said. “Since the end-of-the-season party fell on your birthday, we decided to kill two birds with one stone.” At the time it had seemed like a great idea. Now, not so much because it brought back memories of the last time they’d celebrated Jack’s birthday here.

  “Talk about feeling like a dickhead,” Jack said, grabbing Sawyer and pulling him in for a hug. “I really am sorry for what I said. I love you, bro.”

  “Love you, too, you sap. Now get over there and celebrate. I’ve got some Heroes to make,” he said, referring to the drink he’d named in honor of his best friend. “Here, take the trophy with you.”

  As Jack walked to the table occupied by Jill and Grace, Sawyer took his place behind the bar. He welcomed the distraction of the leggy blonde swiveling on the stool at the far end. She’d organized the cheerleaders for the game. Through the wood rails on the second level, he could see her friends playing a raucous game of air hockey. “What can I get you to drink, Tiffany?”

  “One of those looks good,” she said, pointing to the Hero he’d made for Jack.

  “Sure thing.” He set the drink on the tray. “Hang on,” he said to the server who was dressed in her uniform of a black-and-white striped shirt and a short black skirt. He went to the bar fridge and took out some ice. Grabbing a baggie, he filled it with ice, then wrapped it in a clean, damp towel. “Give this to Jill,” he said, handing the ice pack to the server.

  “Sure thing, boss,” she said, heading for the man of the hour’s table.

  Tiffany twirled her blond hair around her finger, batting her fake eyelashes at him. “You were amazing out there today. I just loved watching the way you handled the ball.”

  He scratched his cheek. “Uh, it’s a puck.”

  She giggled. “Oh right, I knew that,” she said and went on to reveal how depressingly little she knew about the game.

  Her voice droned on as he mixed drinks. He handed her one, hoping she’d stay quiet for at least a few minutes while she drank it. Instead she took the cherry out of the glass and grinned. “I bet you’ve never met anyone who can do this,” she said, working the stem in her mouth.

  Only a couple every weekend. He rubbed his jaw, suddenly tired of the meaningless conversations and hookups. He looked across the bar and caught Jill’s eye. She held up the ice pack and mouthed thanks. He smiled. Now there’s a woman he could have a meaningful conversation with. As soon as the thought entered his mind, he shot a panicked look at his best friend. Afraid Jack had suddenly become a mind reader.

  But Jack only had eyes for his wife, who was lighting the candles on a sugar plum cake. She’d made one for Jack’s birthday two years earlier. It was her signature cake and had turned the Sugar Plum Bakery’s fortunes around. A chocolate sugar plum was hidden in each cake. Sometimes it held a wish or an engagement ring. Two years earlier it held Jack’s wedding ring and a good-bye note from Grace to her husband. Jill had been the one who’d gotten the sugar plum that night.

  He put the memory of her face—the look of hurt and betrayal—out of his mind and turned off the lights as they once again sang “Happy Birthday” to Jack, only this time he was here. When they finished singing, Sawyer turned the lights back on and lifted a drink. “To our hero,” he said, and meant it.

  “You’re my hero,” Tiffany said. At least that’s what he thought she said. It was a little tough to make out since she was still trying to tie the stem in a knot.

  “Thanks,” he said, looking up at the sound of laughter. Jill had gotten the sugar plum again.

  She opened it and took out a thin strip of paper, then glanced at him. She chewed on her bottom lip, a nervous habit she’d had since she was a little girl. And there was something about the way she was looking at him that made him nervous. Could she be thinking back to that night, too?

  Tiffany pulled his attention from Jill. “I did it,” she said, triumphantly holding up the knotted stem. She gave him a suggestive smile. “Any chance you’ll be off soon? I’ll show you what else I can do with my tongue.”

  Aw hell, he thought when Jill started to walk toward him with her brother looking on. “Why don’t you show me now?” he said, and leaned across the bar to kiss her.

  Chapter Three

  After her previous experience with a sugar plum wish, Jill should have known better than to open one last night. She should have lobbed it at Sawyer’s head. But instead she’d taken the damn wish as a sign. Dreams don’t come true without action, it said, so that’s what she’d planned to do. She’d headed to the bar to ask Sawyer out and…he kissed the blonde.

  “It might be helpful to know more about the vict
im, dear,” Mrs. Lynn, of the tight salt-and-pepper curls and freakishly pale eyes, said.

  The residents of Mountainview Nursing Home were searching the grounds for the weapon Jill had hidden as part of a murder mystery game. “She’s a twenty-something blue-eyed blonde who was found murdered outside a bar.”

  “Now, if she was attractive, it was probably a crime of passion. Was she beautiful?” Mrs. Sharp asked.

  Jill shrugged. “Some people might think so.” Sawyer obviously did.

  “Aha, so the motive was jealousy. Which would mean a personal attack. We’re looking for a knife, everyone,” Mrs. Lynn announced.

  She got the murder weapon right, but… “Just because she was beautiful doesn’t mean the motive was jealousy. She might—”

  “You are beautiful. Marry me. I will make you happy.”

  Jill turned to the elderly man hunched over his walker, smiling up at her. He’d forgotten his dentures again. But Mr. Gorski was determined, she’d give him that. This was her second marriage proposal in a week. If he was five decades younger, Jill might consider his offer. Her chances of checking a proposal off her life-goal list by the time she hit thirty were bleak. She’d be lucky if she was in a relationship by then.

  Mr. Gorski’s walker wobbled as he went down on bended knee. Afraid he’d fall and break a hip, Jill reached for him. “Stop. Now,” she ordered in her cop’s voice. Noting several white heads turn her way, she winced. That probably wouldn’t qualify as the kinder, gentler approach Gage was hoping for.

  She gave Mr. Gorski a kindly smile and wrapped her hands around his thin arms to keep him upright. He grimaced. Crap. Brittle bones. She loosened her grip and said in a sweet voice, one she heard her sister-in-law Grace use, “We don’t want to break anything, now do we?”

  Her smile faltered. Was that a shimmer of tears behind his dark glasses? Wonderful, just flipping wonderful. She didn’t have to worry about his bones; she’d broken his heart. “I’m flattered, Mr. Gorski. I really am. You’re a great catch. Really, really great.”