Any Man of Mine

by Rachel Gibson

  He turned to face her. “What?”

  She ran her gaze up his legs, past his waist, over the arm pinned to his chest, to his face. “That rug is a whole cowhide.”

  “Yeah?”

  She shook her head. “Aren’t you disturbed by it?”

  “No more disturbed by it than by your leather sneakers.”

  To her, it wasn’t really the same. Her shoes served a worthy purpose, and she thought animal skins used for nothing more than decorations were creepy. Like skulls and heads and antlers. Yuck. Her feelings didn’t have to make sense to anyone but her. She moved around behind him and reached for the buckle just above his right shoulder blade. “Has Conner seen it?”

  “Yeah.”

  Her knuckles brushed the warm cotton of his T-shirt. “Did he cry?”

  “No, but he doesn’t like to walk on it.”

  That was her boy. “He has a kind heart. He doesn’t like to hurt people or animals.” Which brought her to a subject she’d wanted to talk to him about. “Last night, he totally lost it when he saw you.” She rose onto the balls of her feet and tried to touch him as little as possible. She lightly put one palm in the center of his back for support as she pushed a strap over his shoulder. “It really upset him.”

  “I know, but getting hurt is a risk that I take every time I step on the ice.” She moved around him as he slowly lowered his arm. “Last night was a freak accident.”

  She carefully pulled the beige sling from his arm, sliding it past his elbow. She wanted Conner to take a break from hockey games, but she supposed the subject was moot for a while. At least until Sam returned to the ice. “From where I sat, it looked on purpose to me.” She glanced up into the grimace bracketing the corners of his mouth. She was so close, she could pick out every whisker on his stubbly chin.

  “Oh, the hit was on purpose.” He sucked in a breath and looked down into her eyes. “The injury was a freak accident. I slammed into the wall at a bad angle.”

  She set the sling on the black granite vanity top, then moved behind him once more. She ripped the Velcro on the figure-eight bandage and lightly slid her fingers beneath it.

  “Shit.”

  “You okay?”

  “I’ve been worse.”

  She slipped the bandage from his shoulders and set it next to the sling.

  “Conner will learn that getting hit is just a part of hockey. He’ll be okay.”

  She doubted it and once again moved to stand in front of him. “He’s a pacifist.”

  “He’s a LeClaire.”

  He was also a Haven. Nonviolent. Well, except for Vince. “Conner’s a lover, not a fighter.”

  Sam gathered the hem of his T-shirt with his good hand and pulled it free. “You say that like he has to be one or the other. He’s a LeClaire.” He glanced up, and a slow smile curved his lips. “We’re gifted in both areas.”

  She shook her head. “Even after all these years, I’m still amazed by your gigantic conceit.”

  “It’s not conceit.” He motioned for her to help him out with the T-shirt. “Not if it’s true. I just don’t suffer from false modesty.”

  Or any sort of modesty at all. She took a step closer and grabbed the edge of the soft cotton. She undressed Conner all the time. This was no different. It was mechanical. No big deal. She lifted his shirt past his waist and up his chest. See. No big deal. No biggie. No—Holy mother of God! She’d forgotten what corrugated muscles and six-packs and happy trails looked like up close. Her mouth went dry, and she swallowed hard. “Can you pull your arm out?” She didn’t like him. She didn’t hate him. Emotionally, she felt nothing. No pitter-patter of her heart, but physically… Physically, she felt like she’d been hit in the stomach with a flaming ball of lust. Reminding her for the first time in a very long time that she was more than just Conner’s mother. She was a thirty-year-old woman who hadn’t had sex in over five years.

  He grabbed her hand and pressed her palm against his chest. His warm, hard, bare chest. Once upon a time, she’d licked that chest. Run her mouth up and down that flat belly like he was an all-you-can-eat buffet. “Did I hurt you?” When he didn’t answer, she looked up. Up past his hand over hers. Past his thick throat, and parted lips, and into his blue eyes.

  “The first time I saw you,” he said, “I thought you had the prettiest hair I’d ever seen.”

  What? While she’d been thinking about his hard belly, he’d been thinking about her hair. “Are you high?”

  He grinned. “Very.”

  He was goofy from pain medication and helpless from his injury. She didn’t have an excuse for her mental wanderings.

  “I still think your hair is pretty.”

  That was obviously the drugs talking. “Now, don’t say anything you’ll be embarrassed about tomorrow.”

  He brushed his thumb across the backs of her knuckles. “Why would I be embarrassed?”

  “Because you don’t like me.”

  “I like you.”

  He lifted his good hand and slid his big warm palm across her shoulder to the side of her neck. Suddenly, he seemed neither goofy nor helpless. “Sam.”

  “You smell good. Like cupcakes.” He lowered his face and pressed his forehead into hers. “I like cupcakes.”

  She gave a little laugh, and her fingers curled into his T-shirt. “You’ve never had my cupcakes.”

  “Honey, I’ve had your cupcakes.” His fingers plowed through her hair, and he held the back of her head in his hand.

  Her voice sounded kind of breathy and strained when she said, “I didn’t mean that.”

  By contrast, he didn’t sound breathy at all. “I did.”

  “Dad?”

  At the sound of Conner’s voice, Sam lifted his head, and Autumn jumped back. Her hand fell to her side.

  “Yeah, buddy?” Sam ran his gaze over Autumn’s face and hair before his own hand dropped to his side.

  “The doorbell rang.”

  “It’s probably Howie. Go ahead and let him in.”

  “What are you doing?” asked the little voice from the doorway.

  “Chatting.” Autumn moved from behind Sam. “And I’m just helping your dad out of his splint so he can take a shower.”

  “Oh.” He looked from one parent to the other. “Okay.” Then he turned on the heels of his little sneakers and disappeared.

  “Who is Howie?” Autumn asked in an effort not to think. About abs and cupcakes and her son walking in and seeing… what? His mom and dad chatting? Yeah, chatting about cupcakes.

  “One of the Chinooks’ trainers. He’s coming by today to check up on me and help with the sling.”

  She looked up and across her shoulder at him. His shirt had slid back down his chest, but the marks of her finger still wrinkled the cotton above his right pec. “So you didn’t even need me?”

  “Sure I did. I knew he was coming, just not when. And I stink.”

  He didn’t. She wished he did, though. Wished he stank so badly that she’d thought of bars of soap instead of licking his abs. “Well, I’m sure he knows what he’s doing and can help you with your shirt better than I can.”

  “Probably, but he doesn’t have your pretty hair.” He grinned. “And he doesn’t smell like cupcakes.”

  “Sam?”

  Autumn’s gaze shot to the doorway, and the stunning woman standing there like she’d just stepped out of a fashion magazine. Autumn recognized her immediately.

  Slowly, Sam turned. “Veronica? What are you doing here?”

  “I came as soon as I heard that you were hurt.”

  “You should have called.”

  “I tried.” Her dark brown gaze lowered from Sam’s face to Autumn. Within the blink of an eye, the supermodel assessed and dismissed Autumn as any sort of threat. Autumn was more amused than insulted. Seriously, she didn’t care until Veronica asked, “Are you one of the assistants?”

  Autumn got hot and cold at the same time, and she forced a smile. “Time for me to go. You have lots
of help now.” She moved across the bathroom and slipped by the tall skinny woman in the doorway. She didn’t know designers made women’s jeans in little-girl-size 6X. “Excuse me.”

  “Autumn,” Sam called out to her but she kept on going. She had an overwhelming urge to be anywhere but there, and she grabbed Conner’s hand as she passed him in the hall. “Your dad has company, and we have to get going.”

  “Can we go to McDonald’s on the way home. I’m hungry.”

  “Didn’t you just eat your dad’s cupcake?” She grabbed their jackets and her purse off the kitchen barstool.

  “Yeah, but there’s a dinosaur in the Happy Meal.”

  “You have dinosaurs.” She could feel her cheeks flush. She wasn’t angry. There was nothing to be angry about. She was embarrassed.

  “Hold on.” Sam caught up with them at the door and held out his good arm. “Give me a hug good-bye,” he told Conner. He carefully gathered Conner to his side, then looked up at Autumn. “Why are you so mad?”

  “I’m not.”

  “You’re tearing out of here like you are.”

  She shoved her arms into her jacket. “I just don’t appreciate one of your many girlfriends mistaking me for another one of your many girlfriends.”

  “Natalie isn’t my girlfriend.” He lowered his voice. “Neither is Veronica. She’s just—”

  “Sam, I don’t care,” she interrupted, and held her hand up to stop him.

  “You look like you care.”

  “I don’t. This is your home. You can certainly entertain any woman you like here. Just as I can entertain whomever I like in my house.” She hung her inexpensive purse on her shoulder. “I just don’t like being confused for one of your women. I like to think I look smarter than that. That I am smarter than that.” She was smarter, too.

  Well, except for just a few moments ago when she’d stood in his bathroom touching his pecs, thinking about his abs, and talking about her cupcakes. Falling for his b.s. She knew better, too. She knew from painful experience that nothing good would ever come from falling under, over, or on top of Sam LeClaire’s bullshit.

  Chapter Eleven

  Any Man of Mine:

  Likes Muffins

  What had just happened? Sam stood in the empty entrance of his loft, staring at the front door. Sure, he was fairly doped up and in pain, but that really didn’t explain his confusion over what had just taken place.

  It was Autumn. She blew hot and cold. One minute she had her hand on his chest, all warm and cozy, and the next she was shoving his son out the door, all pissed off because Veronica had mistaken her for Natalie.

  I just don’t like being confused for one of your women. I like to think I look smarter than that. That I am smarter than that. What had she meant? None of the women he dated were stupid-looking, and they really couldn’t help it if they weren’t the brightest crayons in the box. Some people accused him of only dating a certain type of woman, and that was true. He liked women as deep as puddles who moved on quickly to the next athlete or actor or rock star after the relationship ended. He didn’t ever want to see the kind of pain in a woman’s eyes that he’d once seen in Autumn’s.

  “Is there anything I can get you?”

  Sam closed his eyes. He hated surprise drop-ins. Was a courtesy call, that he could then ignore, too much to ask? “No.” He turned and headed into the living room to wait for Howie. His shoulder suddenly hurt like a son of a bitch. Taking off the figure-eight splint had been a mistake, but he’d thought he’d just take a quick shower and put it right back on.

  He grabbed the bag of frozen peas from the coffee table and put it on his shoulder as he carefully sat on the couch. He gritted his teeth against the pain and leaned back. “I’m not going to be great company, V.”

  “That’s okay. Do you want something to eat or drink?”

  He looked up at Veronica, at her beautiful face and killer body. She had thick brown hair and puffy red lips, and he just wanted her gone. “No.”

  “Was that your little boy?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He’s handsome.”

  “Thank you.”

  She sat on the couch next to him. “So, was that his nanny?”

  “His mother.”

  One perfect brow rose up her flawless forehead. “I never would have guessed that.”

  The pain throbbed along his shoulder and down his arm. He leaned his head back and shifted the bag of peas a little to the right. “Why?”

  “She’s…” She shrugged as she struggled for the right words. “Ordinary, I guess.”

  Ordinary? Autumn? With her red hair and deep green eyes and sassy pink mouth. Autumn wasn’t ordinary, but he supposed he’d thought that, too, on more than one occasion. But there were those other occasions. Those times when he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Didn’t want to take his eyes off her. Like just a few minutes ago, standing in his bathroom beneath the chandelier shining in her hair. Those rare occasions when she didn’t blow hot and cold. When she was hot and hotter.

  “Where’d you meet her?”

  He didn’t want to talk about Autumn. He didn’t even want to think about her. Thinking about her brought up memories of “conceiving” with her. For some reason, Conner’s questions had triggered memories of sex with Autumn. Hot sex in a hotel room, against a wall, in a shower, and speeding through Vegas in a limo.

  “Did you meet her when you moved to Seattle?”

  “Not now, V.” He was in pain, drugged up, and his thoughts about Autumn, about the past and present, about sex and her mercurial moods were as muddled and confusing as ever.

  Veronica opened her mouth to argue, but the doorbell rang and saved him from the model’s grilling. It was probably Howie. At least he hoped to God it was Howie and not some former girlfriend. He’d had enough drama for one day. “Would you get that for me, V?”

  She gave him a look that said she wasn’t through, but she did raise her skinny butt off the couch and answer the door. When she returned, Howie trailed after her, and Sam could have kissed the assistant trainer on his bald head.

  “Why aren’t you wearing your figure-of-eight splint?”

  Sam pressed the peas into his shoulder and stood. “I was going to take a shower.”

  Howie looked at Veronica and frowned. “What part of ‘no physical activity’ didn’t you understand?”

  Sam chuckled. Howie had the wrong idea and blamed the wrong female. “I thought I could handle it.”

  “All you hockey players think you’re Superman.”

  Which was somewhat true. They spent their lives battling it out night after night, and it wasn’t until they ended up on the injured list that they realized that they were, in reality, flesh and bone. That they weren’t invincible. A fact that Sam was made aware of more frequently the older he got.

  He spent the next four days at home alone, resting, recuperating, and going batshit crazy while the Chinooks hit the road for a six-game, two-week grind. That following Monday, he walked to the Key Arena and had Howie help him strap on his skates. He participated in a light skate with some of the other guys left behind when the team hit the road. Since he shot right, he was able to dangle a few pucks one-handed. He didn’t have to wear the arm sling, but still wore the figure-eight splint. He’d learned his lesson about taking it off for too long a period of time.

  Sam hated staying behind. He’d stayed behind before, of course. There were eighty-two games in the regular season, and most players didn’t play every game for various reasons, but he hated languishing on the injured list.

  After a week, his shoulder didn’t hurt as much, but he was still a month from returning to the game. He picked up Conner from kindergarten, and his son introduced him to his teacher and some of his little buddies. Parading him around as if to say, “See, I have a dad.”

  Sam took him to the rink, and they had the ice to themselves. His son didn’t show a ton of aptitude on his skates. He couldn’t seem to stay on his feet, but when he d
id manage, he wasn’t a bad shot, for a five-year-old. Wednesday, Sam worked his legs and core muscles in the weight room at the arena, and Thursday, he asked Autumn to bring Conner to the Key. He told her Natalie was in school and couldn’t bring him. Which was kind of a lie. Natalie was in school, just not on Thursdays. He wasn’t sure why he lied other than he was somewhat curious to see if she’d actually show. After that day he’d been all doped up and wanted to talk about her cupcakes, he wasn’t sure if things were back to somewhat normal. Or what served as somewhat normal for him and Autumn.

  He arranged for someone from the office to meet her and Conner and bring them to the lower level. He was half-shocked when she actually showed up around noon. Dressed in her peacoat over one of the Mrs. Cleaver dresses she wore sometimes. He wouldn’t have put it past her to show up in Crosby’s jersey.

  Conner sat on the team bench, and she took off her coat before crouching in front of him to lace up his skates. Her red hair fell across her shoulder and cheek, and she brushed it behind one ear. The hem of her blue-and-white polka-dot dress slid up her bare thighs toward her waist. He liked it when women didn’t wear nylons. Unless, of course, they were attached to a red garter belt.

  “Knock knock, Dad.”

  Sam groaned inwardly and raised his gaze from Autumn’s thighs. “Who’s there?”

  He grinned and answered, “Sam.”

  “Sam who?”

  “Sam person who knocked last night.”

  Sam laughed. “That was a good one.”

  “I know.”

  Autumn chuckled and glanced up, her green eyes catching his for a brief moment before her gaze returned to Conner’s skate. “How are you feeling?”

  “Okay if I don’t overdo.” He sat on the bench and helped Conner strap on his elbow pads.

  Autumn tied the last lace in a double knot and looked up at Sam, his blond head bent over Conner’s as he worked with one hand. She’d picked up Conner and come straight from work. Earlier, she and Shiloh had met with Shiloh’s friends, Lisa and Jen, to plan their commitment ceremony. It wasn’t the first time they’d planned a same-sex commitment ceremony, but it was the first time they’d done it for friends, and they wanted their day to be perfect.