It Started with a Cowboy

by Jennie Marts

  He grabbed his duffel bag and led her over to the row of carpeted benches. She sat down and pulled off her boots.

  Kneeling in front of her, he held up one skate. “With your skates, you want to get a good, tight fit. Start by loosening the laces all the way to the toe. Your heel should fit snugly, and your toes should barely touch the end of the skate.” He took hold of her ankle and guided her foot into the skate.

  Chloe’s mouth had gone dry when he’d said, “You want a good, tight fit,” and she tried to breathe and focus on the fit of the skate instead of the feel of his big hand around her shin.

  “Start tightening the laces from the end by your toes.” He methodically moved up the skate, tightening the laces with each step. “You want your laces to be super tight around your ankles. That’s what gives you the most support and keeps your ankles from rocking in. So, when you think your laces are tight enough, tighten them again.” He repeated the same steps with her other skate. “You’re going to want to help Maddie with this. I’ll get you a lace puller to help you tighten her laces. It’s a little metal tool that helps you pull on the laces.”

  Colt took her hands and helped her stand. “When you stand up and bend your knees, your toes shouldn’t touch the end, and your skates should be snug but not painful. How do they feel?”

  She bent her knees and wiggled her toes. “Good. I think.”

  “Okay, now before we go on the ice, I want you to walk around a little on the carpet. You can practice while I get my skates on. Just walk up and down here. Get a feel for the skates. Make sure you feel comfortable and balanced.”

  “I feel comfortable out here,” she said, which wasn’t entirely true. She felt mostly like a dork who had forgotten how her feet were supposed to work. “But the carpeted floor isn’t a slick sheet of ice.”

  He stood and took her hand as he steered her to the door of the ice rink. “You ready?”

  “No. I think I need another dose of that liquid courage.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t think so. After that tingly cupcake comment, I’d say you seem courageous enough.” He winked and stepped out on the ice in front of her. “Besides, you’re going to want some coordination and balance.”

  “Well, that’s just craptastic. I don’t have coordination and balance even when I haven’t been drinking.”

  Colt chuckled. “Take it easy. Step out onto the ice—hold my hand and use the boards to hold on to. When you take your first step, always make it a small one, not like you’re walking. Otherwise, your foot will slip out from under you. Hold on to the boards, but don’t lean too far into them, or your feet will slide out from under you on the other side.”

  “Got it.” Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the barrier wall around the ice. “Small steps. Hold on to the boards, but not too tight, and don’t lean into them. How about if I just stay here all night. Can’t I coach from here?”

  “’Fraid not.”

  She peered out over the glistening sheet of ice. “Why don’t you take a practice lap around? Show me how it’s done.”

  “You didn’t come here to watch me skate.” Her legs were shaking, but he was totally at ease as he circled around so he was facing her.

  “But I want to. Come on. One quick lap.” Or twelve slow ones. Anything to delay her having to get out there with him. “Show me how fast you can go.”

  Colt narrowed his eyes as he glided a few feet away, but a grin tugged at the corners of his lips. “I’m pretty fast.”

  Her heartbeat quickened at the idea that he might want to show off for her. “Prove it.”

  He laughed, a hearty laugh that rang out in the empty arena. “You’re on.” He kept his eyes locked on hers as he drifted backward. The sharp scrape of his blades on the ice sounded as he turned and took off. His body doubled over, and his feet seemed to be running over the ice as his arms swung from side to side, pumping the air as he picked up speed. He rounded the corner, sprays of ice spitting up from his blades as he crossed one foot over the other to make the turn, then he was sprinting again down the long side of the rink.

  His movements were fluid as he glided across the ice like a speeding train. Chloe lifted one hand from the boards to press it to her chest. Her heart hammered against her hand, the sight of Colt flying across the ice both terrifying and exhilarating.

  He let out a whoop as he rounded the far corners, his feet crossing over each other again and again as he sped around the turns. Then he was barreling toward her, a joy-filled smile creasing his face. Just before he reached her, he suddenly turned his body, bringing his feet together and shooting them out to the side, spraying a plume of ice crystals in the air as he came to a stop.

  Tiny bits of ice sparkled in the air around her like it was snowing, and she clapped her hands together and blinked back tears. She’d always been sentimental, and watching him skate—like he was one with the ice, so comfortable, as if he were born to do it—pulled at something in her heart.

  “That was amazing,” she said, letting out her breath. She felt like she’d been skating with him, even though she hadn’t taken a single step.

  He offered her a humble shrug, but pride sparkled in his eyes. “Now it’s your turn.”

  Chloe let out a laugh. “My turn to fall on my face.”

  “I’ve got you.” He took her hands and glided around so he was facing her. He skated backward as he pulled her slowly forward on the ice. “When you’re on your own, stick your arms out. It’ll help with your balance. For now, hold on to me, bend your knees, and move your feet like you’re marching.”

  Clutching his hands, Chloe took a couple of tentative march steps.

  “Good job. Now once you’re feeling comfortable and balanced, turn your toes out a little and start taking baby steps forward. Make sure your feet are underneath you and your shoulders are straight. Don’t let your knees knock together. Keep your legs apart and your knees straight over your feet.”

  Her knees were already knocking together, but it didn’t have anything to do with the skating. It had to do with the cute cowboy whose hands held hers as he said things like “Keep your legs apart.”

  “You’re doing great. Now gently push one foot forward while you push off with the other so you glide along the ice. Keep your weight on your back foot when you push off, then transfer your weight to your front foot when you glide. Always push your weight onto the foot you’re pushing forward. Then bring your feet back together and switch. Push off with your other foot, and glide forward. And just keep going. Push and glide, push and glide. As you get comfortable, you push a little bit harder, and glide a little bit longer.”

  “This sounds complicated.”

  “It’s not as difficult as it sounds. You’ll get the hang of it, and I won’t let you go until you’re comfortable.”

  She swallowed, knowing what he meant but still wishing he was talking about something else when he promised not to let her go. She followed his instructions, focusing on her feet and where she was putting her weight and trying to freaking glide. She blew her bangs off her forehead. “You make this look so easy.”

  “It is easy for me. But I’ve been on skates since I was four years old, and I started playing hockey with my brothers when I was younger than Max.”

  “Do you miss it? Playing hockey?”

  His gaze flicked to the scoreboard above the ice. “Yeah, some days.”

  “I once heard Rock say that you were better than him when you were in high school—that you had a chance to go pro.”

  Colt shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I was pretty good. I had scouts coming to my games and offers to play for a couple of colleges.”

  “That sounds like you were better than just good. What happened?”

  “The Colton Curse,” he muttered.

  “The what?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing. I got in a car acc
ident. It was my own stupid fault. Dumb kid, too full of himself, driving way too fast, didn’t make the turn and skidded off the side of the road. Rolled my car four times, and when it finally stopped, my leg was shattered and pinned under the dash.”

  “Oh no. How awful.”

  “Thank God I didn’t hurt anyone else.” He looked away, into the bleachers, but she had a feeling he was gazing into the past. “I don’t remember a lot of it. I woke up in the hospital, and my whole life had changed. In that one stupid moment, in an accident that happened in less than thirty seconds, I lost everything. Up until then, I thought I had it all—colleges throwing money at me, the perfect girlfriend, a chance at a career in professional hockey. After the accident, it all disappeared—hockey, the girl, the scholarships.” He let go of her hand and tapped the side of his leg. “But I did get a super-sexy scar and this nifty titanium rod in my leg that still aches when it rains, so that’s something.”

  Chloe didn’t know what to say. There was nothing she could say—nothing that could change the outcome or make any of it better. “I’m sorry.”

  He shrugged. “It was a long time ago. And nothing is going to change it.” He narrowed his eyes. “Are you trying to distract me so I won’t notice you haven’t tried to skate yet?”

  “Is it working?”

  “No.” He pulled her to the center of the ice and walked her through the steps again. He was a patient teacher and encouraged her as she cautiously practiced the moves. Push and glide. Push and glide.

  She kept her gaze on her feet. “How do I stop?”

  “Just push your knees apart while kind of pushing your toes together. Try to scrape the top layer of the ice with your skate as you slide one foot out diagonally, kind of like a snowplow, until you come to a stop.”

  “Shall I remind you that I don’t have a lot of luck when it comes to snowplows? I tend to crash into them.”

  Colt chuckled. “You won’t crash with this one.”

  She took a few glides forward, then turned the front of her skates in toward each other and shuddered to a clumsy stop.

  “You did it.”

  “That’s not how it looks when you stop.”

  He shrugged. “Yeah, well, we can work on the hockey stop later when I’m teaching the kids. Tonight, let’s stick with the basics and just get you comfortable on the ice.”

  She gripped his hands, afraid to let him go as she glanced up at him. His body was relaxed, completely comfortable on the ice. He’d taken off his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his flannel shirt to reveal muscled forearms. The blue stripes in the fabric brought out the bright-blue color of his eyes, and looking into them made it hard for her to breathe. “What if I fall?” she whispered.

  “It’s okay to fall.” He gazed down at her, his expression sincere, and it felt like he was talking about something else, something deeper. “If you think you’re going to fall, just go with it. Relax your body, and take the fall.” He pulled her along the ice, keeping his gaze fixed on hers. “Besides, falling isn’t so bad.”

  “Falling is how you get hurt.”

  He gave her a slow wink followed by one of his charm-filled grins. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you. I won’t let you fall.”

  Too late.

  Chloe swallowed, her heart racing as her stomach swirled with nerves and the thrill of being alone in the ice arena holding Colt’s hands. Time to pull it together and figure out this skating thing so she could spend more time hanging out with him as his assistant coach.

  Dropping her gaze to her feet, she focused on pushing and gliding, shifting her weight, and trying to relax into the movements.

  After another twenty minutes of practicing, she was easily gliding across the ice and actually skating without Colt’s help. She hated to let go of his hands, but she liked the freedom of being able to skate on her own. He stayed in front of her, skating backward as he encouraged her to keep going.

  “You got it,” he said. “Now, try going a little faster, smooth it out.” He skated further away until he reached the end of the rink and backed up against the boards.

  “I’m doing it. I’m really doing it.” Her feet picked up speed as she skated toward him. Right toward him. Faster than she’d skated before. “I forgot how to stop,” she cried, pinwheeling her arms out at her sides.

  “Go into the snowplow,” Colt instructed, laughing as he held his arms out toward her. “I’ve got you.”

  She tried to turn her toes inward and slowed a bit before she crashed full-on into him. His strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her against him as she planted her palms on his chest and gripped the front of his shirt.

  He gazed down at her, the laughter still curving his lips into a smile. “See, I told you I wouldn’t let you fall.”

  She couldn’t take her eyes off his mouth. Tearing her gaze away, she sucked her bottom lip under her teeth as she looked up into his eyes.

  He glanced at her lips, and the laughter in his eyes changed to something darker—intense with desire.

  Or at least in her strawberry wine-induced mind, she thought it was desire. That would be the only rationalization she could offer later for why she decided to let down her perfectly constructed defenses and stretch up to press a kiss against his beautiful mouth.

  Chapter 7

  Chloe didn’t just press her lips to his. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her whole self against his muscled chest.

  The ice rink was cold, but his lips were warm and soft, and he tasted like spearmint gum. She tangled her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck and melted into him. Her body came alive at the touch of his lips, her breasts tightening. If she’d thought the engine of the Zamboni had given her cupcake a tingle, it was now a full-on cake explosion of heat and desire. Every cell, every nerve bursting with want and need and desire.

  In the stacks of romance novels she frequently devoured, the first kiss was always her favorite part to read. She loved the last kiss as well, the one where they overcame all the conflict and knew their love was worth it. But there was something special about that first kiss, that very first moment when the hero and heroine connected. Not with their eyes or their personalities or their sparkling wit—but with their lips, their bodies.

  The first kiss held a certain kind of magic. Chloe hadn’t had a lot of first kisses, only four to be exact. And the first one didn’t really count because she’d been a kid on the playground, and it had been a dare.

  Kiss number two had been in high school, and she was fairly certain it had been a dare as well. She’d been visiting her cousin in Nebraska, who had given her a makeover, then dragged her to one of those parties out in a field where everyone was drinking and pretending to have the time of their lives around a keg and a tiny firepit. Even though she didn’t understand the depths of his disease, Chloe had known her father was an alcoholic, and she didn’t often drink. But that night she’d had two beers and had let some friend of her cousin kiss her and clumsily feel her up. She didn’t remember his name, never saw him again after that night, and the things she remembered the most about the kiss were the hoppy flavor of beer and the faint coppery taste of blood where his braces had cut her lip.

  Kisses three and four had been in college, one from an awkward and horrible first date and the other from a boy she’d actually ended up dating for several months, but in the end, it hadn’t worked out. So far, none of her first kisses had held up to the hype and fantasy of the ones she’d read about.

  Until now—this moment—with this man. And this holy-buckets-of-hotness kiss.

  It was glorious. For about ten seconds.

  In those ten seconds, his arms wrapped around her waist, and he pulled her tightly to him and kissed her back. With tongue even.

  Which was what made the whole thing ten times more embarrassing when he suddenly pulled back and dropped his hands from around her a
s if her skin burned his.

  She saw his Adam’s apple bob in his throat as he swallowed before she turned away, unable to look at him as heat flared in her cheeks. What the heck had she been thinking? Throwing herself at him like that?

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.” She pushed herself away and haltingly skated toward the door of the arena. Forget the smooth push and glide. She just wanted off this ice and out of these skates so she could go home to pull the covers over her head.

  She marched across the carpet, dropped onto the bench, and yanked at the laces. Why had Colt tied them so dang tight? Oh yeah, to protect her ankles. Right about now, she couldn’t give a fig about her ankles. It was her pride that was wounded, damaged, hauled out, and tromped on. She tore at the laces as if the skates were burning her feet and she couldn’t get them off fast enough.

  Colt had followed her, stopping to close and secure the door to the ice. “Chloe…” He said her name, but that was as far as he got.

  She kept her head down but held up her hand, stopping him from saying anything else, from saying some stupid, pitying words that would make a worse fool of her. “I think I’d like to go home now.”

  “Yeah, sure,” he muttered, sinking onto the carpeted bench next to her. Not close enough to touch her, but she was acutely aware of him anyway.

  Her feet were finally free of the skates, and she tugged on her boots. She stood up—apparently way too fast for a woman unaccustomed to strawberry wine, and her knees threatened to give way. That and the unfamiliar feel of regular shoes instead of thin blades of metal had her swaying to the side.

  Colt was up in a second, and he reached for her arm to steady her. She pulled it away, punching herself in the other shoulder as she did. It didn’t matter. The ache in her shoulder was nothing compared to the pain in her heart and the sting of humiliation.

  “I’m fine.” Had she slurred a little? Maybe she should have slurred more, just to make sure he knew she was inebriated and the wine was to blame for the kiss, not her.