On Thin Ice (18 page)

Everything was going to be okay. She had to believe everything would work itself out, or she too would begin to fear something awful could happen to Christopher during the hockey game.

Christopher sent another puck flying up the ice only to have it bounce off the post. He threw his stick down the ice and sent with it a string of curses.

Harvey stood at the end of the rink, his arms folded, and watched. “Been a long time since you could make that shot.”

“I can make it.” Christopher picked up his stick and tried the shot again. The result was the same.

“You’ll do fine. This is all in fun.”

Fun. He’d have to remind himself that from time to time.

Harvey opened the door and stepped cautiously out onto the ice. “News van just pulled up. They want to talk to you about the game.”

Christopher pursed his lips and squeezed his eyes closed. Harvey placed a sturdy hand on his shoulder.

“What’s gnawing at you?”

There was no good in telling Harvey a lie, he’d see right through it. “I can’t play like I did. I’m not as fast. Certainly not as skilled.”

“And you think these other yahoos are? C’mon, you only have four that are still in the game. The rest are retired. Heck, that one guy is what, sixty? You think he’s sitting at home fretting over it? No, because he’s coming to help a friend and save a landmark.”

Christopher shook his head. Harvey was right; it was a rare occasion when he wasn’t.

“There’s something else. It’s about Wil.”

“You and Wil got some trouble?” Harvey crossed his arms over his chest and widened his stance.

“No.” He wanted to laugh, but shook it down inside of him. “No, we’re doing really good. I was thinking that at the end of the game . . .” He rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. “Well I was thinking . . .”

“Out with it. You’re making me nervous.”

“I thought I’d ask her again to marry me in front of God and everyone. I think she’d be more open to it now.”

Harvey nodded thoughtfully. “Not afraid she’d shoot you down in front of a thousand people?”

“Kinda my plan, actually. If everyone is watching, she won’t say no.”

“Maybe you should have tried that last time.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Christopher twisted the end of his skate into the ice and felt Harvey’s stare on him. He stopped and looked at the man who had been his best friend and had stepped into the role as his father so many years ago. He knew what it was to love Wil and want the best for her. Christopher was certain that was him, but he felt the need to make sure Harvey understood. “I love her. I want to make her happy forever.”

“I love her too, and I’d like to see you do just that.” He put his hand on Christopher’s shoulders again. “I’ve always thought of you as a son. I was pretty pissed when you messed things up between you and Wil, and she made you pay for it.”

Christopher nodded. He couldn’t deny that Malory had made her point clear, and so had Harvey. When he thought back to it, he realized Harvey had given him extra shifts to work; he’d gone a month without having the opportunity to resurface the ice, and now Christopher wondered if perhaps it was Harvey who’d left the lunch bag in the abandoned locker he’d made him clean out. He’d never smelled anything so foul.

Harvey gave him a thoughtful nod. “But I can’t think of anyone else I’d like to see her with.”

He might lose the game. He might lose the respect of hockey fans around the world if he played so poorly, but he’d get the girl. There was no chance she’d turn him down this time.

Or was there? This was Wil after all. As much as she respected him, she was likely to kick him while he was down too. Especially if she had an audience.

He’d just have to hope she didn’t feel the need for revenge.

As Harvey stepped off the ice, Christopher skated around the net and guided a puck on his stick around the edge of the rink to the other end. He drove it up the center, the puck balanced back and forth on his stick until he had a clear shot. He hit the puck and it flew into the net.

He caught sight of Harvey, who smiled as he turned away. Yeah, everything was going to be okay.

Malory set out plates on the small table in Christopher’s kitchen. They’d spent the better part of the week at her place, so it was his turn to play host.

She heard his truck pull up in front and she scanned the room. Plates were set, candles and fire lit, soft music playing. The blinds on the patio door were open to the view of the lake below them and the Christmas tree that twinkled in the middle. She’d dug out a slinky black dress, more suited for summer, but she was warm enough. There was seducing to be done, a man’s mind to put at rest, and that called for a slinky back dress.

Christopher plowed through the garage door, and she heard the clank of rubber on metal and visualized him kicking his boots into the corner next to his washer.

She’d left her hair down and hoped it fell over her shoulders seductively enough. She’d painted her lips just the right shade of pink to have them look soft.

Christopher came in from the hallway, looked around the room, and stopped. “What is this?”

Her shoulders stiffened and her lips tightened. “What do you mean, what is this?” She threw her arms into the air. “Dinner. A nice one too.”

“I didn’t know you were going to be here.”

He certainly didn’t understand the whole relationship thing, she thought. It was made up of little things like sexy dresses and dinners after a long day. Darn him for being so snide.

“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t clear it with you.” She spun back into the kitchen as the oven timer went off. “I thought you could use a nice surprise and a quiet night at home.”

She yanked open the oven door and shoved her hand into the oven mitt.

“It’s been a long day, Wil.” She heard his ragged breath, but found no sympathy for him.

“Don’t I know it. I went to work at four, remember.” She reached in for the baking dish and hit her forearm on the hot rack. She pulled back with a cry and then a curse.

Christopher ran to her and pulled the mitt from her hand.

“You burned yourself.”

“No kidding.” She pulled her arm from his grasp and walked to the sink. She turned on the water and stuck her stinging burn under it. “That hurts.”

“I’ll go find you some cream.” He tossed down the mitt on the counter.

“Don’t bother. I have some at home.”

“You are home, Wil.” She heard him from the bathroom shoving aside bottle and tins in the medicine cabinet.

“If this is what home feels like, I don’t feel too welcome in it.”

He walked back toward the kitchen, a tube of cream in his hand. “Here, let me put this on.”

Malory snatched it from his fingers. “I can do it. Get the chicken out of the oven before it burns.”

She went about rubbing the cream on her burn; the stinging dulled. Christopher set the baking dish on the stove and dipped his head.

“Malory, I’m sorry.”

She shot her head up, forgetting all about the pain of the burn. “What did you say?”

“I said I’m sorry.” He turned away, his long, dark hair shielding his face.

“No. No. You called me Malory.” She couldn’t hide the hint of humor in her voice.

“You asked me to.”

“And you told me no.” She walked to him, lifting her hands to his face and brushing back the curls that made him so sexy. “I didn’t know you knew my name.”

“Of course I know it.” He pushed her hands away and paced the floor. “I’ve done a lot to disrespect you over the years. I need to fix that.”

“Well, not snapping at me when we talk would be a start.” She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the counter. If this were a cartoon, smoke would be steaming from his ears as his mind went a million different directions. He was in a mood, but she could see he was fighting himself to right it.

“I’m sorry.” His shoulders dropped and his eyes softened.

“Okay, and you can forget that Malory stuff too. It sounds funny when you say it.”

He let out a laugh. “Feels funny to say it too.”

“So, are you going to let me finish the dinner I have slaved over?”

“Did you slave over it in that pretty dress?”

Malory smiled. Well, at least he was still alive. He’d noticed the dress. “As a matter of fact I did.”

“Well then, I guess I’d better help serve. Especially since you injured yourself making me dinner.”

Perhaps the dress wouldn’t be a waste, but now more than getting him in bed she wanted to get him to talk.

He pulled out the chair for her and dished out the salad as she poured them each a glass of wine. As they ate she told him about the many different orders she had coming into the bakery.

He listened and she appreciated that, but in his eyes, she could see he was still thinking too much.

Christopher reached across the table and laid a gentle hand on hers. “How’s your arm?”

“I’ll survive.”

“Sorry I was in a bad mood. I’ll be glad when this tournament is over and we’ve saved the rink. For a few years at least.”

“I don’t think you should play.” Malory stood to clear the table.

“What?”

She picked the plates up from the table and walked to the sink with them. “I’m worried about you. That’s all.”

Christopher followed her to the kitchen with the glasses. “Why would you be worried?”

She’d wished she hadn’t said anything. She ran water in the sink and slid the plates into it. “It’s just that I know you’ve been injured and maybe you shouldn’t risk it.”

Christopher grabbed her arm and spun her toward him. “Risk what?”

“It’s nothing.”

“You’ve been talking to my mom.” He threw his head back. “What did she tell you?”

“She just mentioned that you’d been hurt often and maybe you were worried about getting hurt again.”

“I’m a grown man, a professional. I know the risks and I choose to take them.”

Malory wiped her hands on the towel that hung by the sink. “She’s concerned about you. I’m concerned about you. Isn’t that enough?”

“Why are you concerned? I’ve played hockey my whole life.”

“And if you get hurt one more time, it could kill you.”

He shook his head. “That would be my mother over exaggerating.”

Malory lifted her eyebrow. She wasn’t convinced it was that simple. “You’re not worried?”

“No. And you shouldn’t be either.” He pulled her into his arms. “The only person who should be worried is Quincy LeBlanc.”

Malory raised her arms and laced them around his neck. “Do you suppose that girl at the rink ran back to LeBlanc completely confused? I loved her expression when I jumped on you. I mean, if she came to shake things up, it didn’t work.”

“Maybe he’ll get word that he didn’t ruin anything.”

Hours after dinner had been cleaned away Malory lay in his arms in the moonlit bedroom, his breath on her neck, his words repeating in her head. He wasn’t worried. Or so he’d said. But she didn’t believe him. From the moment Quincy LeBlanc had signed on for the tournament, Christopher had had his back up. He might not be worried about it, but she was worried enough for both of them.

Christopher held tight to Wil all night. Her hair brushed his face. Her scent filled his senses. And his nerves made him made him tense and moody. He didn’t like it. No, he didn’t like it one bit.

His mother had every right to worry about him, and if Wil cared about him, she had a right to worry too. Though he wasn’t about to let on that it worried him, the truth was, he was scared to death.

There was no way he was going to back down. He had a fight to fight, and he was going down swinging. Harvey Wilson wasn’t going to lose that ice rink. It was built on hope, dreams, and love. Christopher owed everything he’d become to the man who believed in him, and to his mother, who loved him. He’d risk his life to secure that the rink, and Harvey Wilson would have the opportunity to change the life of at least one more young boy who just needed someone to believe in him.

Hearing her breath steady, he let go of her and rolled on his back, resting his hands behind his head. It was a charity event. There was no chance he was going to get hurt. Even Quincy LeBlanc would have a mind about him.

CHAPTER TWELVE

The bakery filled with the scents of brownies and cakes. With the Christmas pageant and the hockey tournament just around the corner and of course Christmas only a few days later, orders were pouring in from everywhere. Malory would have called in Maggie to help her, but with the population of Aspen Creek nearly doubled on a daily basis, Maggie wouldn’t be able to leave the diner.

Harvey offered to make her deliveries, but not during Maggie’s rushes as he was busing tables at that time.

Malory opened the oven doors and pulled out a tray of brownies, setting them in the cooling rack as she put another tray in. She took an already-cooled tray from the rack, set it on the table, and gave it a dusting of powdered sugar across the top. Then she reached for her ruler and began making marks in the brownies with her knife.

The temperature change when the door opened caught her attention before the sound of the bell registered in her mind. Malory walked to the front, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Morning.”

“Good morning.”

“It’s cold out there. How about a cup of coffee?”

“Maybe.” The man closed the door behind him and slid his sunglasses from his eyes. His short, spiky blond hair was expensively frosted and his eyes glittered a midnight blue.

He walked toward her with a confidence Malory wished she had, and in response to it she found she had leaned against the counter casually. His long leather trench swished at his feet, and he winked as he neared her.

“Smells like heaven.”

She laughed easily. “It does, doesn’t it?”

The man rested his arm against the counter. “I hear you have a cranberry muffin to die for.”

His French accent added to sexy mystique of the stranger who’d walked through her door.

Malory nodded. “If I do say so myself, they are wonderful.”

“You would to have a dozen, eh?”

“I’ll box them up for you.”