by Jen Gilroy
Despite his fame and the money that went with it, Luc was all too familiar with losing hope. And how it meant you could also stop dreaming and believing in yourself. He swallowed the sudden rawness in his throat. The past was dead and buried, ditto his happy ending. He’d resolved to not think about what might have been.
“You’re still a stand-up guy, Callaghan. MacPherson is, too.” And Luc was determined he wouldn’t let either them or these kids down. “Most of these guys can skate okay, but their passing and puck handling need work. Are you ready to take them through the drills we talked about?” He rubbed his right shoulder and winced.
Scott’s gaze zeroed in on Luc’s shoulder. “Okay, but…” He hesitated for several endless seconds.
“I’m fine.” Luc bent to tighten an already-tight skate lace—and avoid the compassion in his friend’s eyes.
“Your shoulder’s fine, sure, at least for this kind of workout.” Scott dug in his jacket pocket for a puck and sent it spinning down the ice. “And the rest of you will get there.” He cleared his throat and when he spoke again, his voice was gruff. “Maggie would be real proud of how you’re doing. You’re moving on with your life. With this coaching, you’re giving back like she did.”
Luc gave a jerky nod and sprinted after the puck, his leg muscles pumping in the rhythm he’d spent most of his life perfecting. How could he think about moving on in anything but the most superficial way? He caught the rubber disc near one of the goal creases and swiveled to a light smattering of applause. That prickle of awareness was back and, when he lifted his head, Cat stared at him. Perched on one end of a bleacher, she wore the same angelic white parka as when they’d played road hockey on New Year’s Day. The pink blanket that covered her legs matched the pink in her cheeks and, even at twenty feet, he couldn’t miss the gentle curve of her Cupid’s-bow mouth.
She held his gaze a fraction longer than necessary, then dropped her head and turned a page in the book that rested on her knees.
Luc fired the puck back to Scott. He couldn’t blame whatever this feeling was on Josette’s eggnog, a moonlit garden, or temporary insanity. But even if he’d wanted to, he couldn’t start anything with the mother of a child he was coaching.
“Okay, let’s do a passing drill.” He skidded to a stop at center ice and faced the boys and Amy. “We need to work on your accuracy and speed.”
Fifty minutes later, Luc rounded the ice one last time and glanced at the clock in the end zone. The practice had flown by, and he’d even earned several approving nods from his old coach.
“Well?” Scott balanced a stack of pucks on top of the boards, where white paint had peeled away to expose raw lumber beneath.
“Thanks.” He clapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder.
“For what?” Scott arched a sandy eyebrow.
“When MacPherson was here, and I was only helping out, these guys went easy on me.” Or maybe, and despite his newly minted coaching certification, he had no coaching skills and he should stick with his day job at the creamery. Either way, he had a new respect for teachers everywhere, starting with the man in front of him.
Scott laughed. “Don’t you remember puberty? All those hormones bouncing around sure make life interesting.”
Although those awkward adolescent years were thankfully now a hazy memory, if this practice had shown Luc anything, it was that coaching minor hockey wasn’t for the faint of heart. Between the antics of the kids on the ice—including breaking up several fights between guys who’d hated each other’s guts before they’d ever laced up their skates—and dealing with parents in the stands, who didn’t hesitate to add their two cents’ worth, he wasn’t sure how much real coaching he’d actually done. However, he was as drenched in sweat as if he’d played a league game that had gone into double overtime.
“Tell me we weren’t like these kids at that age.” Luc gathered up some scattered sticks and waved a few straggling players toward the locker room.
“No can do.” Scott’s grin was rueful. “And you were worse because you were competitive as hell and skated circles around the rest of us. Growing up with you, it’s a wonder I wasn’t scarred for life.”
“Yeah, right.” Luc laughed because Scott was the most balanced guy he knew. Easygoing, but able to kick ass when he needed to, as well as a devoted husband and dad.
“Amy McGuire reminds me a lot of you. Heaps of natural athletic ability, as well as that sixth sense you always seemed to have on the ice, like you knew where the puck was even when you couldn’t see it.” Scott bounced a puck toward him and Luc caught it one-handed. “She’ll be bored with this team. You should give her extra coaching.”
“I doubt Cat would go for that.” He glanced toward the stands, but Cat’s spot in the bleachers was empty. “She’s focused on getting Amy settled at school.”
And although Cat hadn’t said so, Luc suspected she wasn’t as keen on hockey as Amy, or as ambitious as most hockey parents were. Amy had enough ambition of her own, though, and when it came to hockey, she was as driven and focused as Cat had been with academics.
“You should still sound her out. Imagine if Amy turned out to be the next big one in US women’s hockey. You could play a hand in developing her career.” Scott’s voice softened. “Think about it. Wouldn’t any parent jump at the chance to have you give their kid one-on-one attention?”
Except, as much as Luc wanted to think of her that way, Cat wasn’t any parent. She’d sat in the stands with her head in a book for most of the practice. Although she’d looked up occasionally, she’d trusted her daughter and the coaching team to get on with their jobs. But Scott was right. Amy had a special spark a kid either had or didn’t, and no amount of work could develop.
Luc had thought about Cat way too much lately. Instead, he should be thinking about her daughter. How he could nurture Amy’s talent and maybe make a big difference in her life—the kind of difference Maggie had made with the girls she’d coached; a difference she’d have wanted him to make, too. Two days later, Cat smoothed one end of the quilt that hung on the rear wall of the Firefly Lake Craft Gallery. From the small town nestled between the green hills, to a covered bridge and a moose family at the edge of a snow-covered lake, the colorful and intricately sewn pieces of fabric captured the Vermont where Cat had grown up. The place that had pulled her back.
She moved behind the vintage teacher’s desk, sat in the swivel chair, and powered up her laptop. Although a craft gallery in name, the spacious, light-filled store displayed a range of art too, as well as pottery, handmade furniture, textiles, jewelry, and glass. Outside, snow drifted in lazy flakes from a muted gray sky, and across Main Street, cozy yellow light shone out between the ruffled café curtains at the North Woods Diner. The soothing notes of a flute concerto came from Michael’s CD player on the old kitchen dresser by the desk.
“Have you settled in okay?” Michael’s deep voice resonated behind her.
Cat spun around to face her boss, who stood in the doorway of the small stockroom at the rear of the gallery. “Fine. The apartment’s comfortable and has everything Amy and I need. You should be charging me a lot more.”
“Why?” Michael moved across the gallery toward her and gave her a quizzical smile. “It’s not like I need the money or am saving what I do have to pass it on to anyone.” His thick hair was pure white, but even in his mid-sixties, he still stood tall and straight. “My wife died before we were blessed with kids, and I don’t have any other close family.” He stacked several art magazines and avoided Cat’s gaze.
“I’m sorry.” Cat twisted her hands together. Life often wasn’t fair, but this sweet man deserved better.
Michael stared at the neat pile of magazines like he didn’t see it. “It is what it is. My wife and I wanted to go to Australia something bad. We had this idea we’d backpack there after college, but we never did.” His shoulders drooped. “Then we said we’d do it when we retired, but she got sick and…” He stopped and swallowed. “I’m t
oo old to backpack now, but even if I weren’t, I don’t have the heart to go alone. Even the animals in the ark went two by two. I’d feel like the odd one out.” His voice was thick with sadness.
“Hey.” Cat’s heart pinched as she got to her feet. “There’s no way you’re too old. Maybe you could travel with a friend. There must be senior backpackers.” She patted his sweater-covered arm. “Why don’t you go over to the diner? Amy went there after school to make gingerbread with Liz. I’ll look after things here.”
“Gingerbread, huh?” Michael raised his bushy, white eyebrows. “Liz’s Vermont gingerbread is like my grandmother used to make.”
“Go on.” Cat grabbed Michael’s coat from a hook on the wall near the desk and held it out.
“You’re not trying to get rid of me, are you?” He shrugged into the coat and wrapped a scarf around his neck and ears.
“Of course not.” But with Amy occupied in baking, and if Michael was where he only needed an excuse to be, she could work on her book in between the few customers who ventured out into the cold and snowy afternoon.
Michael pulled a pair of gloves out of his coat pockets. “You’re like your mother, you are. She always fancied herself a matchmaker, and the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. It was you who sent Liz over to dance with me at Nick and Mia’s wedding, wasn’t it?”
Cat laughed. “You both like to dance, don’t you? So really, I did you a favor.”
“You’re half Irish and half French, and that’s a dangerous combination.” Michael winked, then gave her a mock glare before he opened the door and disappeared into a flurry of snow.
An hour later, Cat’s phone rang and she hit Answer, one eye on the laptop screen. “Hey, Mom. Are you and Ward still on for supper with us tonight? Amy’s making dessert and—
“Is Amy with you?” Her mom’s tone was sharp with anxiety.
“No.” Cat gripped the desk. “Amy’s at the diner with Liz.”
“She was, but now she’s not.” Her mom’s voice shook. “I stopped in here for a few minutes to pick up a pie, and Amy was at a table near the door. I asked Liz about taking a cutting from one of her ferns. We only turned around for a minute, but when we turned back again, Amy was gone.”
“Gone?” Cat’s mouth went dry. “Where would she go? Did you check the bathroom?”
Cat had talked to Amy about stranger danger from the time her daughter was old enough to understand. She’d never have gone off with someone she didn’t know or gotten into a stranger’s car. Icy tentacles of fear curled up from Cat’s stomach to catch in the back of her throat and mingle with the sickly smell of the berry-scented candle that only five minutes before had seemed homey.
“We checked both bathrooms, as well as the little office off the kitchen. We’ve looked everywhere.” Her mom’s voice caught. “Liz is calling the police, and Michael will check along Main Street. If I hadn’t distracted Liz, Amy wouldn’t have—”
“It’s not your fault.” Cat shoved the chair away from the desk and grabbed her keys and purse. “I’ll check the apartment. Maybe Amy came home and went up the outside stairs instead of coming into the gallery first. If she’s not there, I’ll be right over.”
Her heart thudded against her ribs and it took two tries to blow out the candle. Where could Amy have gone? And why?
Cat locked the gallery door and stumbled up the side staircase to the dark apartment. Empty. She tasted bile and pressed a hand to her stomach. She’d moved to Firefly Lake because she was desperate to help Amy, the person she loved more than life herself. But had the move only made things worse?
Chapter Six
After leaving the creamery, Luc turned off Main Street onto Lake Road and slowed his pickup truck to a crawl behind a lumbering yellow snow plow. It was snowing too hard for there have been much progress for him to see on his new house today, so maybe an hour at the gym would get the kinks out of his shoulder and Cat out of his thoughts. Even the drawings for the plant expansion and details of the new equipment he was financing hadn’t captured his attention like they should have.
He glanced at the window of Firefly Lake Flowers. A woman he recognized from high school waved at him over a bouquet of red roses. Did Cat like red roses? Luc braked hard as the snow plow bumped to a stop. What am I doing? It didn’t matter what flowers Cat liked because he wouldn’t be giving her any, especially not from there. Unless it was for his mom or one of his sisters, the details of any order he placed would be all over town in less than an hour.
He pulled out around the plow and, through the swirling snow, spotted the gym ahead to his right, with the arena on the corner. He signaled, then caught a flash of blue in the windswept, almost empty arena parking lot. Judging by the flowered backpack slung over one shoulder, it was a girl, and she was young. He didn’t know much about kids, but he did know they didn’t wander around by themselves, especially in a snowstorm when dark was drawing in. He flipped off the signal and headed to the arena instead, keeping her in sight.
As soon as the slight figure reached the arena’s double doors and pushed back her parka hood, Luc recognized Cat’s daughter. Although it was a darker blond, almost brown, Amy had the same silky, straight hair as her mom. The same walk, too. A brisk and determined stride that told the world the woman, and the girl, were going places. After Amy disappeared inside the arena, Luc parked beside a snowbank, grabbed his phone and his skate bag, and followed her. He didn’t have Cat’s number, but, once inside the deserted lobby after Amy disappeared through the door that led to the ice, he texted Gabrielle. Then he slipped into the rink, eased the door closed behind him, and ducked behind the bank of bleachers to lace up his skates. Through a gap in the seats, he kept one eye on Amy. She sat on the home team’s bench and pulled a pair of skates out of her backpack.
Stephanie came out of the restroom and her usually sharp expression softened. “I didn’t expect to see you here today.”
Luc pressed a finger to his lips. “Here.” He pulled out his wallet and handed her a couple of bills. “For the ice time.”
She glanced at the ice as Amy glided toward the center with her arms outstretched. “What’s she doing here?”
“I don’t know, but while I find out, can you get Cat’s number from Amy’s registration form and call her? I already texted Gabrielle.”
“Sure thing.” Stephanie disappeared back into the reception area. She still had that sway to her hips and the same tight jeans she’d been known for back in high school. Then, a lot of guys found her sexy, but Luc never had. He still didn’t.
He turned back to the ice and his breath caught at the joy on Amy’s face. When had he last experienced that kind of joy, let alone showed it? After Amy cruised past center ice for a third time, he stepped from behind the bleachers and swung his legs over the boards.
“Coach.” She skidded to a stop, then fell over in front of him. Ignoring his outstretched hand, she scrambled to her feet, her face as red as the sweatshirt beneath her coat. “I was only… what I… well…” She crossed her arms over her chest.
“Skating?” Luc smiled at her.
The expression on her face was defensive, scared, and so vulnerable it would’ve broken his heart if he’d had one left to break.
“Sort of.” Amy’s lower lip wobbled. “It’s hard to explain.”
“Try me. We can skate while we talk.” He kept his voice gentle so she didn’t think he was mad.
Amy’s pointed chin jerked. “My mom doesn’t know I’m here.” She raised her head and the pain in her still childlike blue eyes sliced through him.
“Why not?” Luc pushed into a glide and Amy followed.
“I was at the diner with Mrs. Liz and my grandma came to talk to her. They turned their backs and before I knew it, I left and was halfway here. I was thinking about school and…” Her voice wobbled along with her lip.
“You happened to have your skates with you?” Luc’s breathing eased as his blades caught the smooth ice.
“
I take them everywhere with me.” Amy sniffed and wiped the back of her hand across her face. “I’m really dumb at school, pretty much in life, really, but when I skate, it’s like I’m the person I’m meant to be. Hockey’s the only thing I’m good at. Since we moved, it’s the only thing that’s sort of the same. And these skates are new, so they’re really special. Having them nearby helps, you know?” Her voice rasped.
Even though he was almost twenty-five years older than Amy, Luc got that need to skate. Like her, he pretty much took his skates everywhere, too. But unlike her, he’d been good at lots of things besides hockey. He’d also grown up in a family with two parents who loved him, and, until he left for college, he’d never had to move.
“I don’t think you’re dumb at all.” His phone buzzed to signal an incoming text and he pulled it out of his jacket pocket. “You’re a card shark for a start. Anybody who’s as good at cards as you must be pretty smart.”
“Nobody played cards at my old school.” Amy’s tone was glum.
“That doesn’t mean somebody here won’t. You can always ask.” He read the text from Gabrielle and put his phone away. “When I saw you come in here, I texted your grandma. She just texted me back to say your mom is on her way.”
“Mom’s sure going to be mad.” Amy’s eyes got shiny, and Luc’s heart ached. He wished he could tell her everything would be okay, except he couldn’t. If he hadn’t been able to make things okay for Maggie and their baby, how could he promise they’d be okay for this girl he barely knew?
“When Mom finds out I snuck in here…” Amy’s voice roughened. “And I ran off. I’ve never done anything like that before.”
“Don’t you think your mom must have been pretty worried? Your grandma and Liz, too. I bet half the town has been out looking for you.” He kept his voice soft because she was already beating herself up for what she’d done. He didn’t need to make her feel any worse. This wasn’t about being her coach. It was about being her friend.