Her Surprise Engagement

by Cari Lynn Webb

  “And the Harrington brothers will take my call because...” Chase took the paper from Dan. Chase was a pro football player and well-known athlete, yet that wasn’t always enough to grant him carte blanche to anyone he wanted to meet.

  “Besides them both being huge Pioneers’ fans—” Dan clicked the pen closed as if everything was settled “—they’re also part of your family now. Brad married Ella’s mom, Sophie. She runs the pet store where Brooke and Nichole work with the fosters and rescues.”

  “Then we’ll have a place to bring the kittens.” Chase sounded less than indifferent and almost disappointed. But they’d only brought home the kittens several hours earlier. He couldn’t be attached that quickly. He wasn’t one to get attached.

  Dan nodded. “Nichole’s landlords changed to a no pet policy at the beginning of the year. So those kittens aren’t going home with her and Wesley. What about your house?”

  “Uh...” Could Chase even have animals at his place? He’d never inquired about the owner’s pet policy at his rental house. Never considered adding more things to take care of in his house other than his herb plants.

  “We already have two dogs and two cats.” Dan’s affectionate tone matched his bemused expression. “And we’re about to get three more fosters later this week.”

  “I can’t take kittens to my house.” Beyond the animal policy Chase didn’t know of, he had absolutely no idea how to care for baby kittens.

  “Don’t worry. They’ll be safe there until you can get them to Sophie’s shop.” Dan’s hand landed on Chase’s shoulder, solid and reassuring. “Brooke will teach you everything you need to know about proper kitten care. And in case you do keep them, Sophie will set you up with every kitten item you could possibly ever need.”

  “But...”

  “You rescued them,” Dan said. “You can’t abandon them now.”

  Chase followed Dan into the family room. The kittens weren’t the only ones he was considering inviting into his home and not abandoning.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “YOU’RE BONDING.” AND so am I. Nichole stood in the bathroom doorway of the master bedroom and glowered at Chase.

  He’d cooked her favorite chicken in a delicate parmesan white wine sauce for dinner, added chocolate chip cannoli—another one of her weaknesses—for dessert. And blended the evening together with consideration and the attentive skill of a seasoned, executive chef. During the meal, he’d looked after Wesley, refilled her glass before it emptied, delivered second helpings as if on cue. He cleared plates, shared stories and fit in among everyone as if he’d always cooked for them. Always cared for them.

  “I’m not trying to bond.” Chase rebuilt the pillow wall, fluffing and restacking each pillow. “Wesley is a great kid. I can’t just ignore him.”

  “Maybe you could be more like you’re supposed to be.” Nichole waved her toothbrush at the newspaper on the end table. If he’d act like she expected, she wouldn’t be standing in the bathroom, searching for all the reasons that opposites were not supposed to attract.

  Chase released a pillow and glanced at Nichole. “What does that mean?”

  “You could be like the Chase Jacobs who makes headlines.” She pointed at the newspaper, her arm stiff, the toothbrush aimed like an arrow. Panic shuddered through her, weakening her resolve.

  “I am him,” Chase argued.

  “No.” Nichole tossed her toothbrush on the counter, charged into the bedroom and crashed through their self-imposed distance. She’d make him understand and force her own heart to stand down. “That Chase Jacobs wouldn’t rescue kittens. He wouldn’t leave his gloves as markers and risk frostbite, then make plans to continue searching for the kitten’s mother the following day.”

  “Media Chase” would’ve ordered takeout, signed Pioneers’ gear and entertained his guests with football facts and stats. That Chase would’ve been bored, searching for an excuse to leave and discover a nighttime thrill on a closed ski slope. He definitely would not share mishaps from his childhood, inquire about Wesley’s likes and dislikes or agree to play cards using colored marshmallows for bets.

  Chase scratched his chin and considered her. The slow motion of his fingers curving around his cheek drew her gaze like a misguided moth to a flame. The curious interest in his eyes collided with awareness. She remained silent and tried to wrangle her own mixed-up feelings.

  “Actually, he would.” Chase leaned forward, his gaze locked onto her face. “Don’t you remember my junior year when I made you quiz me while I searched the woods for the injured squirrel I’d seen?”

  “We walked miles that afternoon while I went through my stack of note cards. And you carried water and a hand-tossed salad you made out of a squirrel’s favorite foods.” The memory warmed Nichole better than a fleece blanket. She slashed a hand through the air as if cutting the memory in half. “That’s not the same. That was high school.”

  “I can give you something more current.” Chase walked to the fireplace and poked at the logs.

  Currently Nichole watched Chase too closely, every movement, every expression. She’d never paid attention in high school, never tracked his swagger down the crowded hallways. Now she feared she could locate him in a sold-out stadium. She focused on him so completely. Totally. Not. Good. Really not good. She blamed the fireplace. Who installed a storybook fireplace in their bedroom? The fireplace created an illusion and made her believe in happily-ever-afters.

  “The reason we got caught on the snowmobile race last winter was because I made the guys reroute the course.” Chase added a log to the fire and turned toward her. “I made them change the route because of the snowy owls.”

  “Snowy owls. Never mind.” Nichole shook her head as if unplugging her sudden interest. “I don’t want to know.”

  “Snowy owls are ground nesters and hunt during the day, not at night like most owls.” Chase stretched out on the bed, crossed his legs at the ankles and looked entirely too comfortable. He stacked his hand behind his head as if content to recite owl facts into the night.

  Nichole was entirely too ready to curl into his side, content to listen to him all night. She turned off the bathroom light, cutting her connection to Chase. But her gaze latched on to him as if she’d developed enhanced night vision.

  “I saw the snowy owls and knew we had to change the course. The snowmobiles would’ve disturbed and stressed them too much.” Chase’s voice stretched through the room, tugging her toward him. “If we’d raced on the original trail, the park rangers would not have caught us.”

  “That’s not true.” Nichole sat on the bed and tucked her feet under the blankets.

  “Scouts’ honor.” Chase shifted, rolling on his good shoulder to face her.

  “You were never a Boy Scout.”

  “I should’ve been.” Chase reached across the pillow wall, grabbed her hand and flattened their palms and fingers together. He stared at their joined hands. A rasp scored his voice, etching the temptation deeper in his tone. “I clearly missed my calling.”

  The glow of the fire fell across the bed like an invitation. She laced her fingers between his. His other hand reached out, curved around her cheek. His thumb brushed across her bottom lip. Just one slow caress. Nichole held her breath. Even the heat from the fire stalled as if the room itself remembered their most recent kiss.

  But that was all there could be. No more kisses. No more memory-making moments. She turned slightly, pressed her lips against his palm. Too brief. Too fleeting. But all she could offer.

  Tomorrow they left Tahoe. The ski-moon ended, along with the fantasy her heart wanted to believe in. Tomorrow, she’d return to the city and plant her feet firmly back on the cement.

  Tonight, she fell asleep, her hand tucked firmly in Chase’s.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “HERE’S YOUR MICROPHONE.” A woman handed a wireless mic to Chase. H
er gray-tinged brown hair poked out around her headset as if she’d stuck her finger, not the headpiece into an electrical outlet. Her frazzled voice matched her erratic hand motions. “The teleprompter is there.”

  Chase clasped his hands behind his back and eyed the wireless microphone like a writhing snake. Beside him, Wesley gaped at the harried woman. Wesley and Chase had only just arrived at the Pioneers’ weeklong Spring Break Camp for Kids. They’d returned late from Tahoe, but not late enough to miss Travis’s reminder that Chase had committed to helping at the camp. Nichole had scheduled vendor meetings that morning, and conveniently Wesley declared he wasn’t allowed to remain home alone. Chase had offered to bring Wesley with him, grateful for the company. Nichole hadn’t been as pleased, but she’d finally agreed.

  Chase kept his expression contained, not wanting to rattle the headset-wearing woman any further. “I think you have the wrong person.”

  “You are Chase Jacobs, correct?” The woman rapped a metal clipboard against her leg.

  Chase nodded, his chin dipping by gradual degrees.

  The same hesitation never seized Wesley. The boy planted his hands on his hips and even widened his stance as if he’d suddenly signed on as Chase’s bodyguard. “Of course, he’s Chase Jacobs and my new dad.”

  Dad. Chase stuttered, lost his focus. There it was again. That one word that shuffled his insides and rearranged his equilibrium.

  “Then he’s the emcee for the morning sessions all week.” The woman clutched her clipboard under her arm and thrust the microphone at Chase’s chest. “Travis Shaw volunteered you.”

  This was not the kind of help Chase had planned to offer. He gripped the microphone but missed the tackle on his sudden panic. “When do we start?”

  “Fifteen minutes we go live for the welcome.” The woman already moved on to the next item on her clipboard. “Then you head to the field to cover the day’s activities.”

  “Any chance I could share the duties with Wesley?” Chase set his hand on Wesley’s shoulder. He slowed his words into calm and collected to cover his unease. “It’s a kids’ event. So, getting a kid’s perspective on the morning might be entertaining.”

  “We need waivers and release forms signed by a parent or guardian then approval from legal.” She gave Wesley an absent glance. “I can get those forms to you. We could possibly work your son in for a short guest spot late this week.”

  His son. Those two words slammed everything into another level. Dad and son. He’d always wanted that bond. Wesley was so much more than just a kid. They’d built zombie snowmen, rescued kittens, discovered an easy rapport. Laughed and bonded like a team. Dad and son. Chase coughed. A guest spot for Wesley did nothing for Chase now. Nothing. Chase’s sweaty palm captured the microphone.

  “But can I stay with my dad?” Wesley asked. “I promise I won’t go on camera.”

  “Sure.” The woman stilled long enough to touch Wesley’s shoulder and motioned to someone behind them. “I’ll get you a headset and you can watch on the camera and listen in.”

  “Cool.” Wesley grinned as if delighted with his role on the team.

  “Wait here.” The woman rushed across the makeshift studio that had been built near the visitors’ end zone.

  Chase wanted to run into the locker room. Wesley couldn’t help Chase read the teleprompter. Or read the teleprompter for him. He faced a disaster. He should’ve worn glasses off the field for the past few seasons. Added glasses to every press appearance. Then he could’ve claimed he’d forgotten his glasses and couldn’t possibly emcee. Chase touched his forehead.

  “You okay?” Wesley’s hand dropped on Chase’s arm. “You look sweaty and weird.”

  Chase walked into an empty corner and leaned toward Wesley. His voice hushed. “I don’t like speaking on microphones.”

  “But you do it all the time after games.” Wesley’s gaze narrowed on Chase’s forehead. “Are you sick? My head gets wet when I get sick too.”

  Could he claim a sudden attack of food poisoning? Clutch his stomach and rush to the restroom. Tempting, but cowardly. Nonna and his mother hadn’t taught him to retreat like a quitter. He refused to teach the same lesson to Wesley. “I’m not sick. But remember when I said your mom tutored me?”

  Wesley nodded and edged closer as if he understood the gravity of the situation from Chase’s subdued manner alone.

  “Well, your mom helped me read,” Chase confessed. Tossing his weakness into the space between them like a coach’s challenge flag. Except Wesley never picked up the flag. Never paused to demand a replay. Chase added, “I mix up the letters and get words wrong a lot.”

  Wesley brushed his bangs off his forehead and looked at Chase. Understanding shifted across his face. “Ella uses braille to read because her eyes don’t work like mine. Mom is like your braille.”

  Nichole was more like his best half. If he wanted another half. Needed another half. Teleprompter panic had jumbled more than his focus.

  Wesley stuffed his hands in his front sweatshirt pocket. Worry pinched his face. “How are you going to read that screen now without Mom?”

  He appreciated smart kids; even more, he adored Wesley in this moment. Though he knew the boy would eventually think less of him for his weakness. How could he not—Chase’s own father had. Chase shrugged. “I have no idea. Got any good ones?”

  Wesley straightened his shoulders as if pleased he could assist Chase. “I can read for you.”

  Great minds. Chase had already tried that option. “Except you can’t go on camera.”

  Wesley’s concentration was clear. “We could put one of those little microphones in your ear. I could sit over here and read the lines to you. Like the spies do in the movies.”

  If only he had an earpiece, Chase would channel every spy-action hero he’d ever watched on the big screen. “We don’t have the right equipment.”

  Wesley nodded and stepped right into Chase’s side. He tugged Chase down to whisper into his ear. “Then you have to distract them.”

  Chase leaned back and eyed Wesley. “What do you mean?”

  “Mom always says I’m distracting her when I get in trouble.” Wesley ground his shoe into the turf.

  Chase understood distractions. Nichole was one all by herself.

  “One time I broke a window on the porch.” Wesley’s hands dropped out of his pockets as he stepped into his story. “So, I made Mom coffee and her favorite sandwich. It’s pickles and peanut butter by the way.” He made a gagging motion before continuing. “I did all that before she got home. Then I hugged her and hugged her and hugged her when she came inside the house. Then kept on hugging her when she finally saw the window.”

  “And...” Chase pressed. He’d gotten stuck on the image of hugging Nichole. How much he liked being in her embrace. How much he would’ve liked her here now with them.

  “And she was really mad.” Wesley clutched both Chase’s shoulders, moved their faces together until their noses almost touched and grinned. “But she wasn’t really really mad because I distracted her first. Get it?”

  Chase nodded.

  No. No, you don’t want to do this. Nichole’s insistent voice slipped through Chase as if she stood right beside them. How many times had she tried to dissuade him from some idea or another? How many times had he disregarded her advice?

  Wesley squeezed Chase’s shoulders as if he were pumping him up before a game. “You just need one super good distraction. Then they’ll forget you were supposed to read the monitor. It really works.”

  Chase scanned the studio, searching for a distraction. His gaze landed on the teleprompter. “Can you tell me what it says on that screen?”

  Wesley rose up onto the balls of his feet and read the opening message out loud. Chase closed his eyes, asked Wesley to repeat the same paragraph. Wesley reread the message a half-dozen times. Then Chase repeate
d back the welcome.

  Wesley scratched his cheek. “You missed the middle and last lines.”

  “But it’s close,” Chase said.

  “Definitely.” Wesley lifted his eyebrows. His voice an urgent murmur. “Now you need the really good distraction.”

  “Still working on that.” Still working on ignoring Nichole’s voice inside his head. Chase waved to the headset woman, calming the producer’s frantic search. Her shoulders dropped and she rushed toward him. She handed Wesley a headset, pointed at a chair, then grabbed Chase, guiding him to his marker in front of the camera.

  Chase rolled his shoulder and stretched his neck. He could do this. Movement at the entrance of the tent caught his attention. A familiar player, his curly hair and smile in place, stepped inside the tent. Confidence erased Chase’s distress. He muted Nichole’s voice and locked on to his distraction. Surely, she’d understand once he explained.

  Chase finished his welcome remarks, stepped closer to the camera and spoke as if imparting a very good secret. “I’m going off script, but I think you’ll really enjoy this part of the program.”

  He motioned for the cameraman to follow him, turned his back on the teleprompter and the foreboding sensation twisting around his spine. He worked his way toward Beau Bradford—the cornerstone of his distraction. A firm handshake brought Beau in front of the camera. A quick question about the best part of the obstacle course outside granted Beau a reason to stay. And revealed unexpected information, including Beau’s involvement in designing the individual obstacles.

  “If you designed the obstacles, you must have tried each one already.” Chase’s smile widened. Now he’d maneuver them both into the perfect distraction. And his reading disability would remain hidden like always. “Which one is the hardest?”