Hope Falls: Heart of Hope (Kindle Worlds)

by Lucy Score

  “Hey, ladies,” Lissa Graber, the wife of Bristol’s ex-husband, greeted them. Lissa was easily the coolest person Bristol knew, even if she was an accountant. She had a short cap of thick, black hair, heavy-lidded brown eyes, and flawless mocha skin tone. Her wardrobe was impeccable, her nails always painted, and her organizational skills were second to none.

  She was the kind of woman who wore a matching bra and underwear set every day of her life, Bristol thought.

  Nolan was a lucky man.

  “Hey, Lissa. We lost,” Violet said morosely as Bristol helped her into the backseat next to her half-sister, Lyric, in her car seat.

  “I’m sorry I missed it, kiddo. Lyric’s doctor appointment ran long. But I’ll make it up to you and make spaghetti for dinner.”

  Violet pumped her purple mitten in the air. “Yes!”

  Bristol walked around to the other side of the vehicle to tickle Lyric’s round little cheeks. She had dark, curling hair like her mom, but her gray eyes were all Nolan. Lyric giggled.

  “You’re welcome to join us,” Lissa offered to Bristol. “You know we love when Auntie Bristol stops by.”

  “Thanks, but I’ve got to track down a new hockey coach,” Bristol said wryly. “I’ll explain later. Vi, be awesome and call if you can’t find your math book at Dad’s, okay?”

  “Okay. Bye, Mom,” Violet said, brightening with the news of dinner.

  Bristol watched Lissa pull away and wished something as simple as spaghetti could pull her from her own sadness.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Bristol squinted up at the ghostly halos around the rink lights. Her breath rose in a frosty cloud. She was flat on her back on the ice. Again.

  She’d spent the afternoon and early evening dialing every responsible adult in Hope Falls looking for a hockey coach. And after she’d struck out—or whatever the corresponding hockey analogy was—for the hundredth time, she started looking for a semi-responsible teenager.

  But the answers all echoed each other as if each parent had been provided a standard excuse list. No one had the time, schedule freedom, or desire to take over while Coach Tubs recovered.

  And that was how Bristol Quinn had become the Polar Bears’ new coach. Now, all she had to do was learn to skate and coach. It was peewee hockey. How hard could it be?

  She flopped over and pressed up onto her hands and knees. Old Man King had kindly agreed to leave the pond lights on for her so she could practice without humiliating herself in front of the entire town. That was pretty much a direct quote.

  He’d shown her where the switch for the floodlights was and how to lock up the gate before shuffling off to Sue Ann’s Café for his dinner. Bristol had spent the majority of the next thirty minutes flailing and falling and feeling increasingly stupid.

  “Why couldn’t she like basketball?” she groaned to the night sky.

  “Because hockey is a much better sport,” a very deep, very male voice announced from somewhere beyond her field of vision.

  She froze. She’d heard that voice only once before, but it had certainly made an impression as did the man it came from. Bristol turned toward the voice, and her worst fears were confirmed. The gorgeous stranger from this afternoon was standing on the ice watching her with amusement.

  She swore quietly when his well-worn skates glided into her line of sight. Strong hands gripped her under the arms, and she was suddenly standing again. It lasted nearly a full second before her traitorous blades slid out from under her. Bristol face-planted against the man’s very broad chest, but his gloved hands held her upright.

  She looked up and realized her mistake too late. He was looking down at her, his lips still holding that amused smirk. But his eyes held something deeper, darker. His beard was full yet neatly trimmed, and Bristol could see flecks of red mixed in with the brown. His face was a study of the modern warrior. Below his snug wool cap, she could just make out the edge of a scar that split his eyebrow. He had another smaller scar beneath his left eye. His nose had the slightest curve as if it had been broken. But rather than taking away from his attractiveness, it only gave him a more dangerous appeal.

  He’d looked tall this afternoon, but it was hard to gauge the height difference, first from a distance and then from crouched positions over Freddy. But now, standing toe-to-toe, he had several inches on her five-foot-seven frame.

  “Hi,” Bristol said a bit breathlessly.

  “Hi,” he returned, and his eyes warmed a bit.

  “I’m Bristol,” she offered.

  “Beau.” He grinned then. “I’d shake your hand, Bristol, but I’m afraid if I let go of you, you’ll fall again.”

  Bristol gave an embarrassed laugh. “A very astute observation. What brings you to Hope Falls, Beau?”

  “What makes you so sure I’m new here?” he asked.

  “If you’d been here longer than a day, you’d know why. And the ‘why’s’ name is Sue Ann Perkins. She’s slacking if she hasn’t introduced herself and weaseled all of your life’s secrets out of you.”

  A shadow passed through those green eyes. “I haven’t had the pleasure yet. Have you lived here long?”

  “All my life. My whole family is here.” Minus one, she reminded herself. She looked down, afraid he’d see her sadness with those canny eyes.

  “I’m just here on business,” he said finally.

  She looked up again, curious what kind of business a man built like Beau would be in. “At Mountain Ridge? The convention?” she asked.

  “Uh. Yeah. Yes, the convention,” he said.

  “You’re a yoga instructor?” she asked, incredulously.

  “What?”

  “The California State Yoga Association. It’s their annual corporate retreat at the convention center. There’s like two hundred of you in town.”

  “Of course it is,” he murmured almost to himself. “Uh, yeah. I love yoga.”

  “I may be being incredibly judgmental right now, but you don’t look like a yoga instructor,” Bristol told him.

  Beau smiled, and she felt goose bumps that had nothing to do with the cold crop up on her skin. “Would I be just as judgmental if I said you didn’t look like an ice skater?” he asked.

  “Hockey coach,” she corrected. “And rather than judgmental, I’d label you quite astute.”

  “You’re coaching hockey?” Beau was laughing now, a booming sound that carried over the ice and into the dark.

  “I’m glad you find the plight of a perfect stranger so humorous,” Bristol sniffed, wriggling out of his arms.

  “We saved a life together today. I don’t think we can label ourselves strangers.”

  Bristol’s feet tried to fly out from under her again, and with a squeak, she grabbed onto Beau’s forearms to steady herself. His wide palms closed around her waist. “Perfect acquaintances then. Either way, unless you’re here to give me skating lessons, I’d appreciate it if you left me alone.”

  “I leave you alone, and someone will find you tomorrow morning with your very pretty, concussed head frozen to the pond.”

  “I’m not that bad,” she frowned at him.

  “My mistake. Please, don’t let me stop your practice.” Beau let go of her waist and effortlessly pushed himself backwards.

  “Show off,” Bristol muttered and made a slow, sloppy turn away from him. No need to give him a front row seat to her humiliation. She nearly lost her balance when she tried to shoot a dirty look over her shoulder but regained her footing.

  His laugh, much softer this time, warmed her cheeks.

  Bristol bit her lip. “I can feel you judging me!”

  “Sorry,” Beau laughed. And then all she heard was the clean slicing of his blades on the ice. She didn’t have to turn around to know that he was showing off by skating well.

  Maybe she should call it a night? Maybe tomorrow after Early Bird closed she could watch some YouTube tutorials on learning to skate? She had until Monday before the next practice. She had to get better before then,
or she’d be coaching from a lawn chair on the ice.

  As her thoughts moved away from her feet and toward tomorrow, she didn’t feel her balance fleeing until she was falling. She braced for impact, but her butt never hit the ice.

  Beau had glided up behind her to play the hero and catch her under the arms as she fell.

  “Ugh. How did you get so good at this?” she demanded. “There’s nothing natural about a human on ice skates.”

  “Lots of practice. Why do you want to be a hockey coach? Why not find something that you’re…”

  “Less horrible at?” Bristol huffed as he righted her.

  “I was going to go with ‘more comfortable with.’”

  “I would love to. I would be thrilled to help coach basketball or chess or cheerleading. But no, my daughter wants hockey, and if their team doesn’t field a coach, they’re done for the rest of the season.”

  He opened his mouth, but she plowed on. “And, yes, I have asked every other able-bodied adult in Hope Falls to coach, and not a damn one of them was available or willing. So it falls on me, and this is the only thing Violet has showed any interest in since Hope died, so I’m going to make it happen if I have to duct tape a pillow to my ass and give up sleep to research how to coach hockey.”

  She stopped and clapped her gloved hands over her mouth, looking horrified. “I am so sorry. I don’t know where that came from.”

  “Sounds like it had to get out.” He was looking at her with interest instead of the pity she expected.

  She covered her face with her hands, and her feet immediately slipped. Beau held her upright by the waist. “It’s been a rough year. My sister died, and we’re all still… coping. And I haven’t been pushing Violet, but I was so happy to see her so excited over something. I thought I could give her this, and she… A few months ago, she’d asked to start spending more time with her dad during the week, and that was a whole different kind of devastation. I feel like I’m losing my family piece by—”

  The words came faster and faster until they shut off abruptly like a faucet valve being turned. She felt herself turning a violent shade of hot pink. “And here I am having verbal diarrhea all over a stranger.”

  “Acquaintance,” he corrected again. “I can teach you.”

  “Teach me what?”

  He lifted a shoulder, still maintaining his grip on her waist. “Skating, for one, and I could throw in the basics of hockey, too.”

  “You know hockey?”

  “Who doesn’t? Present company excluded, of course.”

  “And you’re just willing to teach me?”

  “I have the knowledge. You have the need.”

  “And just what would these private skating slash hockey lessons cost me?” Bristol asked warily.

  “How about breakfast?” he asked.

  Her blue eyes turned to icy fire. “Listen buddy, I’m not the kind of girl who meets a guy and has a one night stand. I have a daughter. I’m sure you can find someone else who’s interested in a temporary bed warmer—”

  “When I said breakfast, I meant only breakfast,” Beau cut in. “At Early Bird?”

  “How do you know that’s my place?” she asked with suspicion.

  Beau shrugged. “I’m staying at Mountain Meadow B&B. Shelby told me that ‘Bristol’s Early Bird makes the best omelets in town.’ I assumed there weren’t too many Bristols in Hope Falls.”

  There was something a little off in his explanation. But it wouldn’t be the first time that Shelby and Levi Dorsey graciously threw business her way. Besides, Bristol was desperate enough that she was willing to overlook that nagging doubt. She needed help, and she needed it fast.

  “My apologies. I’m not used to very attractive acquaintances asking me for breakfast. So you can teach me to skate, but do you know anything about hockey?” she crossed her arms, her gloved fingers drumming away on her upper arms.

  “I can teach you everything about hockey. Unless you mean field hockey, in which case you’re out of luck.” His green eyes sparkled with humor.

  “How do I know you’re not some homicidal maniac looking for your next victim?”

  “You’re from small town America. You probably don’t even lock your front door. Besides, I’m too charming to be a homicidal maniac.”

  “Tell that to Ted Bundy’s victims,” Bristol reminded him.

  He grinned. “If only your in-depth knowledge of serial killers somehow translated into skating skills. Looks like you’re going to have to take a leap of faith.”

  Bristol took a deep breath and let it out in a silvery cloud. “Come in tomorrow for breakfast. On the house,” she said finally.

  ––—

  Beau climbed the front steps of the Mountain Meadow B&B following the glow of the porch lights to the front doors. He wasn’t sure what he felt at this point. He’d met his objective for his first day in Hope Falls: Make contact with Bristol Quinn. She was different than what he’d expected. Scrappier, funnier, and sadder. There was a pain that lurked just beneath the surface of her gorgeous face.

  She seemed real, honest. The pain he’d seen from her didn’t feel like some kind of show she was putting on for his benefit. This was the raw Bristol Quinn, and he liked her.

  For a man who dated mostly from the stereotypical girl-next-door pool—blue-eyed blondes—Bristol’s exotic face was a gut-punch of a surprise. Her high cheekbones said Native American, and the sexy tilt of her wide eyes said something exotic. Her hair was long and straight, a chocolaty brown that framed the ocean blue depths of her eyes. When those full lips smiled, a dimple winked into existence in her right cheek. He couldn’t stop staring at her.

  But he wasn’t here to find Bristol Quinn attractive, Beau reminded himself. He was here to find out who she was and what she wanted.

  He’d liked her. A lot. But he’d been lied to and taken advantage of before. People had used him to get what they wanted. He had to be absolutely sure who she was before he’d even consider moving forward.

  “Hey there. Beau, right?” Levi Dorsey called from behind the front desk. Well over six feet tall with sleeve tattoos and messy hair, he didn’t look like the typical B&B owner, but Levi’s wife, Shelby, fit the bill with her friendly smile and easy manner.

  “Yeah, hi,” Beau returned the greeting. “You must be Mr. Shelby.”

  Levi grinned, taking more pride than offense. “I am.”

  Beau offered his hand, and Levi accepted with a strong grip.

  “You finding everything around town okay so far?” he asked.

  “Easier than Chicago. And the traffic’s better, too,” Beau quipped.

  Levi grinned as he shut down the computer. “Good. There’s a bunch of menus and restaurant suggestions in your room if you need dinner. I’m heading out for the night, but if you need anything just give us a ring, okay?”

  “Will do,” Beau said, turning toward the stairs. But he paused. “Hey, do you know Bristol Quinn?” he asked, skimming his hand over the back of his head.

  Levi looked up from the screen. “Yeah, sure. Tall, built, mile-long dark hair?”

  “That’s her.”

  “Her daughter’s on my little brother’s hockey team. She owns Early Bird across from the fire station. Makes a hell of a breakfast, and that’s coming from a B&B owner.”

  Beau had held off on asking Shelby about Bristol when he’d checked in earlier in the day. He’d been a lifelong Chicago native, but it didn’t take more than thirty seconds of Shelby’s “where are you from, and what brings you to town” interrogation to realize that small towns had few secrets. It would be better if no one knew why he was really here. But Levi here looked like he knew when and how to keep his mouth shut.

  “That’s high praise then. I, uh, met her this afternoon. She seemed… nice.”

  “She’s single. If that’s what you’re wondering,” Levi offered with a conspiratorial smile.

  And that was a miscalculation. Small town gossiping wasn’t limited to just those wit
h estrogen, Beau realized.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Sunday brunch at Early Bird meant stuffed French toast, an out-of-this-world eggs Benedict special, fluffy quiches and crepes, and piles and piles of bacon. It also meant large, hungry crowds. It was all hands on deck behind the counter and in the kitchen. Bristol liked to help out with the later morning crowd, but knowing that the mysterious Beau would be making an appearance had her showing her face as the open sign was flipped on.

  “What are you doing here so early?” Margo demanded in lieu of a greeting.

  Bristol nervously brushed her hair back from her face. “What? I thought I’d come in a little early today.”

  “You’re wearing makeup.” Edwin Ruiz was seventy-two years old and had worn bifocals for thirty of those years, but the weekend grill cook could see that she’d swiped on a coat of mascara. Okay, and maybe some subtle eye shadow. And foundation. And a sweep of lip gloss… over the lip liner.

  “Hey, those are cute earrings,” Maya Ruiz, Edwin’s granddaughter and Bristol’s part-time barista, chirped as she breezed past, coffee pots in hand.

  “So what’s the special today?” Bristol asked, changing the subject. She made a personal note to actually attempt an effort when it came to her appearance from now on so people wouldn’t read into a tinted ChapStick in the future.

  “Hang on to your hats,” Margo announced cheerfully. “It’s tater tot casserole with maple candied bacon and gruyere cheese.”

  “It sounds like a heart attack on a plate,” Bristol said.

  “Speaking of heart attacks, when were you going to mention that you and some insanely hot stranger saved Tubs’ life?” Margo shot back.

  “Heard you gave him mouth to mouth,” Edwin called, poking his head around the wall of the kitchen, his bushy white eyebrows wiggling like caterpillars. “Most action he’s had in a decade.”

  “Very funny. Any of you gossip mongers hear how he’s doing today?” Bristol asked, helping herself to a cup of coffee.

  They filled her in on the latest, including Freddy’s current vital signs that were so detailed Bristol was sure a HIPAA violation had taken place. “He’s on the mend,” Margo said with the confidence of a medical professional. “So who was your hunky sidekick?”