Skater's Waltz

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Skater's Waltz Page 8

by Peggy Jaeger


  “I didn’t need them. When I got out of bed, I was able to walk without any pain. There’s no swelling at all anymore.” A dry grin spread across her face amid the tears. “I guess all your nagging about elevation and ice worked.”

  She was holding to her word, forgetting everything that had happened between them the night before. Here was his stubborn, queenly girl. Sighing with relief, he walked into the graveyard. “I’m glad it did some good. Here, I brought these for Addie.”

  He pulled a small, handpicked bouquet of wild flowers from behind his back.

  “Her favorites.”

  “‘If you pay for flowers, young man, it’s not from the heart.’ I remember that one well.”

  She took the bouquet from him and placed it down onto the marble stone. “The last time she was in the hospital.”

  “At death’s door and she still scolded me for bringing store-bought flowers.”

  A small sob choked from her. Cole squatted next to her and was quick to throw an arm around her shoulders. With a gentle squeeze, he said, “I miss her too, Brat. A lot. She was the best example of a loving grandmother anyone could ever have. I liked thinking she was mine.”

  “She’d love that,” Tiffany said, raising her tear-smeared face to his.

  For a brief second Cole forgot about their pact. Drowning in her gorgeous eyes, his head started to move toward hers. Just one kiss to get it out of his system. That’s all he needed; all he wanted.

  Just one taste of her again, to settle him down.

  Surprisingly, it was Tiffany who pulled back. Eyes clear and level, she said, “I smell bananas.”

  His laughter had a nervous bite to it. Taking the pack off his back, he swung it around and opened it. “Banana nut to be precise, courtesy of Alaina. She said you didn’t have anything before going off.”

  “I never eat breakfast. You know that.”

  “Yes, and it’s always bothered me. Here, let’s sit down. I could use some more coffee.”

  They sat together on the stone bench under one of the weeping willows that lined the small cemetery. Tiffany took an offered muffin and savored it.

  “How can you eat that so slowly?” he asked, already on his third.

  “Because it’s a treat I don’t usually get to have, and I want to make it last.”

  “There’s plenty more. Alaina made a dozen.”

  She shook her head, her curly tresses dancing about her face and shoulders in the morning breeze. “Can’t. I’ve got to fit into costumes next week, and since I haven’t been able to work out these past few days, I’m not sure I’ll be able to.”

  “Lord, Brat, you don’t weigh enough as it is.”

  She scrunched her nose at him. “You’re not the one who has to get up and parade around in front of thousands of criticizing eyes. One extra pound shows, especially in the costumes Sean’s picked out for a few numbers.”

  “One muffin won’t kill you,” he said, offering her another.

  Tiffany shook her head again.

  “Your control is incredible,” he said, and polished it off with a swig from the thermos.

  “You never told me how your meeting with Stepman went yesterday.”

  Cole shrugged and put the thermos back in the pack. “Okay. I told him I had some concerns, laid them all out. He said he’d look into them, discuss them with the network honchos, and get back to me.”

  “Mom told me Mike wants to retire by Easter at the latest.”

  “Yeah. That doesn’t give Stepman much time to find an heir apparent with Q appeal, sponsor approval, and in the right age range.”

  “All of which,” she said with a grin, “you either have or are.”

  Cole reached out and tugged on a loose tendril. “Don’t be snide, Brat.”

  “I’m not. It’s true and you know it. So what were some of your concerns?”

  “That I’d still get to travel. Not for long periods like in the past, but for major story lines and events. And I’m not going to be a network party animal, showing my face at every high-powered dinner and event. Political ones are okay, because something newsworthy always happens at them. But I hate making the rounds of the must-be-seen-at stuff.”

  “Speaking of, the network dinner honoring Mike is on Monday night. I don’t know if he told you, but he ordered a ticket for you to go with us. We weren’t sure you’d be back, but we all hoped you’d want to come along if you were.”

  Cole leaned back and winked an eye toward the sunny horizon. “Just the kind of thing I was talking about. But since it’s for him, I’ll go with a smile on my face.”

  “Such a favor to grace us with your presence,” Tiff said wryly.

  He glared at her.

  “Okay, truce. But it’ll mean a lot to him if you go. Mom and I already have our gowns.”

  “Gowns? Don’t tell me this is black tie?”

  “Of course it is, you Neanderthal. Don’t worry, I had your tux cleaned and pressed last week. It’s in your closet.”

  “I can’t even plead inappropriate apparel to get out of it,” he said with feigned disgust. “Thanks a lot, Brat. Don’t do me any more favors.”

  Tiffany smiled serenely, closed her eyes, and turned her face toward the sun.

  Cole stared at her a few moments, marveling at how perfect her profile was, the line of her small jaw straight and smooth, the hollow behind her ear begging to be nuzzled—

  Stop it. Just stop it right now. Forbidden fruit, remember that.

  “Want to go riding with me?” she asked. “Jason told me Killer needs the exercise. Moira’s been too busy at school and with piano practice to come over on a regular basis.”

  Cole looked up at the crystal clear sky. It was a beautiful day for a ride, and it was a pleasure, like he’d told Alaina, that he hadn’t had in quite a while. Plus, he reasoned, some fresh, clear air might get his mind back on track and away from unsettling thoughts about a certain redhead.

  “Sounds good to me.”

  “I want to stop off and visit Uncle Seamus at the clinic. Do you mind?”

  “Not at all. It’ll be good to see him.”

  Tiffany grinned. “He’s missed you. He was complaining a few weeks ago that he hasn’t had anyone of his size and caliber to play football with since you left. Padric and Dennis are still too small, although Paddy does pretend well at being a halfback. Seamus wants to play with someone he can pound into the ground and who knows how to take a beating.”

  “It’s nice to know I’m so appreciated,” he replied.

  Tiffany’s laugh echoed through the trees.

  “Come on, then. Killer’s waiting.” With a click of her tongue, the steed came galloping toward her.

  With no effort at all, Tiffany grabbed the saddle horn and pulled up into the seat.

  Cole shook his head and laughed. “It always amazes me to see you leg-up. You’re such a peanut. You don’t look like you have the strength or capability to do it so effortlessly. God, Brat, you look like a good wind could blow you away. And Killer’s what? Fourteen hands?”

  “Fifteen. Please, don’t insult him. He can understand every word.” She patted the horse’s forelock affectionately.

  “Excuse me, Your Highness. I meant no disrespect,” Cole told the horse.

  “See that it doesn’t happen again.”

  When Cole was in the saddle, he said, “You lead the way. I’ll follow.”

  They rode around the vast property for over two hours, stopping to allow the horses to graze once while they skimmed stones into the family lake. As usual, Tiffany beat him, five to three, a defeat he never minded.

  At a little before noon they sauntered over to the veterinary clinic.

  Seamus “Jim” Cleary and his partner, David Stapleton, had converted an old barn on the outskirts of Carvan into a veterinary clinic years ago when their practice began expanding at an enormous rate. Both their wives had been simultaneously pregnant and each vet was looking for respite from hormonal mood swings and crying jag
s. The practice was always a thriving one, and the location of the clinic made it easily accessible to the farmers in the surrounding three counties.

  Tiffany and Cole secured the horses to the porch railing and entered through the front clinic door.

  The spacious waiting room was packed with all sizes and breeds of animals. A small girl held on tightly to a birdcage, a yellow finch nestled onto a perch, chirping. An older gentleman held a Persian cat, stroking the animal’s fur with a loving touch. Cole counted two turtles, three dogs, and six cats among the waiting patients.

  “Well, look who’s here,” a voice boomed from the check-in desk. Rising and crossing to the duo, Kate Johnson, the practice’s long-time clerk engulfed Tiffany in a hug.

  “You look wonderful,” the older woman said, peering at her through her bifocals. “Jim was telling me you two were in town and having dinner at their place tonight. I’m invited too. He took pity on an old grandma all alone on a Saturday night.”

  “Carvan’s bachelor population’s loss is our gain.” Cole gave the woman a peck on the cheek.

  “Oh, go on,” she said as a rosy blush crawled up her face.

  “Is Uncle Seamus here?” Tiffany asked. “We want to say hello.”

  “Actually, they’re both here, David too. Saturdays have been real busy lately, and both of them have been scheduling office hours. They even have a veterinary intern this year, and he’s been a huge help. If you want to see Jim go on back to his office. I think he’s just finishing up with his last patient.”

  “It’s so cute the way she calls them patients,” Tiffany said while they made their way down the corridor to the office. They passed a rotund elderly man who cradled an equally rotund bulldog. The man was mumbling, “There, there, Precious. The doctor said you’d be fine by tomorrow.”

  When he was out of earshot, Tiffany fell into a fit of giggles.

  “Get a grip, Brat. Precious won’t appreciate the laughter.”

  When they rounded the corner, they ran headlong into Jim Cleary, Serena’s husband. The doctor was caught in mid-sentence, saying to the young man with him, “It’s just a simple carbolic mixture, but it works wonders.”

  “Uncle Seamus.”

  “What are you two doing here?” he asked. He enveloped Tiffany into his broad arms, and reached out to shake Cole’s hand.

  “Welcome back, Cole. I’ll bet it feels good to be home.”

  “You’ve got that right.”

  “We were out riding and wanted to say hello.” Tiffany was all smiles as she spoke to her uncle. “You’re awfully busy. The waiting room is packed.”

  “This is the norm nowadays,” he said, with a chuckle. “David and I have the only practice in the area since old Doc Weidermyer retired last spring. We took on about ninety-five percent of his client load, in addition to what we already had.”

  “Kate said you’ve been so busy you’ve recruited help,” Cole said, eyeing the young man with the vet.

  “Yes, and where are my manners?” He turned to the tall, brown-eyed, sandy-haired man with him. Cole guessed he was about two or three years younger than himself. “This is Jonathan King. He’s finishing up his last year in vet school and doing an elective with us.”

  Cole put out his hand and gaged the way the younger man was gaping at Tiffany.

  “This is my nephew, Cole, and my niece, Tiffany.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to introduce her,” Jonathan said, smiling warmly at Tiffany. He reached out to shake her hand, ignoring Cole. “I saw you skate at nationals in Dallas a few years ago when I was home on winter vacation. My sister Darla is a big fan of yours, has your posters all over her bedroom walls. Her biggest goal in life is to skate in the Olympics and bring home a gold medal just like you.”

  “A worthy goal,” Tiffany said, returning the smile.

  “Tiffany actually has two gold medals,” Cole said. For some reason, the intern’s simpering and ogling irritated him to his core.

  “I know. And both richly deserved.”

  “Would you two like a tour of the new horse wing?” Jim asked. “We just finished it a month ago. It’s made life a lot easier when we have to board the horses. David designed the building himself, and he didn’t do half bad a job.”

  “Sure,” Tiffany replied.

  Cole was quick to notice Jonathan King practically fastened himself onto Tiffany. While Jim explained all the new monitoring functions the clinic had placed into the horse wing, Cole realized he alone was listening. Tiffany’s attention had been securely captured by the veterinary intern. He was rambling on about something Cole couldn’t quite catch.

  “It’s a great addition,” Jim said with pride. “The twins and Quentin spend much of their free time here helping out on the weekends. I’m afraid Moira hasn’t been over to Alaina’s in a while to exercise the horses.”

  “Grandma told me Moira had been busy with school. Cole and I went riding to give Killer and Battle a good run.”

  “Well.” Jim glanced down at his watch. “I’ve got a few more to see before I make farm visits. You two are coming over tonight, right? Serena’s outdoing herself. Invited half the town, I think. You’re coming, right Jon?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it for anything.” His eyes looked meaningfully at Tiffany.

  When they said their goodbyes, Cole thought King’s hand lingered an exceptionally long time in Tiffany’s.

  “You made quite an impression on Jim’s intern,” he said as the horses trotted them home.

  “What?”

  “Earth to Tiff.”

  Green eyes glowered at him across their mounts. “Don’t be rude. I was just thinking about something.”

  Or someone, Cole wanted to ask, but kept this tongue. She was unusually quiet the rest of the way back to the farm, and Cole longed to know what was going on in her head.

  “I think I’ll go lie down for a while,” she said, after handing the reins over to Jason. “I’m tired,” she added, stifling a yawn.

  They walked into the house together. “What time do we have to be at Aunt Rene’s?” she asked as she made her way up the staircase.

  “Cocktails at five.”

  “’Kay.”

  This sudden lethargy disturbed him. He’d never known Tiffany to be anything but energetic. Even as a child she’d always refused to lie down and take a nap. But since hurting her ankle she was hit with fatigue more easily, and Cole worried at the true cause.

  He went into the den, shut the door, and placed a call to New York. Sean’s cell phone went immediately to message, so Cole dialed the Garden directly. When he connected he asked for Sean, and endured three minutes of rap Musak while waiting for the coach.

  “Anything new on the skate?” Cole asked when the director finally came on the line.

  “Nothing. And things have been quiet around here. No other accidents, or problems, almost picture perfect rehearsals. Everyone’s been asking after Tiffany, when is she coming back, how is she, stuff like that.”

  “What’d you tell them?”

  “Well, knowing her, she’d be back on the ice in no time. Remind her she needs to come in on Monday morning for the publicity photos for the programs. Nothing too taxing, just some shots of her on the ice. How is she doing?”

  “Better. No crutches today. She’s walking fine and denies any pain.”

  “Why do I hear a ‘but’ in that sentence?”

  Cole sighed. “I don’t know, Sean. This whole skate thing is just weird, and now you say nothing else has happened. Gives credence, I think, to someone deliberately hurting Tiffany and not trying to sabotage the show itself.”

  “Same ending. If Tiffany’s unable to perform, it affects the show. The financial backers went along with this whole idea because she’s the star. If she can’t skate, they won’t get any return on their money and just might close the show to avoid further losses.”

  “That really stinks.”

  “Aye. If I had the money m’self, I’d put it up. But unfortunately
, old bladers aren’t paid top dollar. Just see she takes care of the ankle. No taxing it. She hasn’t skated yet, has she?”

  “No.”

  “Good. See that she stays away from the rink her grandma built for another day or so.”

  “I’d forgotten about the ice house.” Cole glanced out the bay window to the back of the property and the old barn.

  “Well you can bet the lass hasn’t. Knowing her as well as we do, you know she’s itching to get back on skates. Do whatever you have to and make sure she rests her ankle.”

  Cole assured him he would.

  After ending the call, he went upstairs, knocked gently at Tiffany’s door and opened it. She was huddled up under a quilt, lying on her side, peacefully asleep.

  With an afternoon of nothingness stretching before him, Cole made a quick lunch, seeing the note Alaina had taped to the refrigerator telling them she’d run into town on some errands, and then pulled out his laptop.

  He wanted to begin transcribing the notes he’d made in his journal. The peaceful house proved a warm companion as he typed away.

  Chapter Ten

  Tiffany found him two hours later, seated at the desk in the den, typing.

  She stopped at the threshold, her heart filled with a longing she’d hoped to quench. He was so rakishly handsome with that shock of black hair falling in front of his eyes as he worked. Her fingers pulsed to run through the thick mane, to pull his head down to hers, and ravish his mouth until he begged to come up for air.

  When he sat back, flexed his shoulders and rolled his neck, Tiffany made her presence known.

  “Working?” she asked, coming over to him.

  “Trying to.”

  He moaned when her fingers kneaded the muscles in his neck and shoulders. Her stomach flipped at the deeply erotic, totally male sound.

  “God, that feels good,” he said. “What time is it?”

  “A little before four. Have you been typing all this time?”

  “Yeah. Oh, that feels great. You’ve got magic fingers, Brat.”

  “No, Sean has magic fingers. He’s massaged enough of my sore muscles over the years. I couldn’t help but pick up some of his tricks.”

  “Whatever. It feels great. Thanks.”

 

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