A Perfect Catch

by Anna Sugden

  “At least someone is being sensible,” she huffed.

  “It’ll all be covered. Trust me. There’s no need for you to postpone your trip.”

  He’d make damn sure; he wouldn’t ruin his mom’s first vacation in years. “So, have you got some new outfits to take to Ireland?”

  His mom gave him a look that said she’d allow him to distract her. The rest of the visit was spent talking about the upcoming trip.

  All too soon, it was time for his mom and Rory to go to the arena to watch the game. Kenny was in the lineup again and they wanted to support him.

  Ike shoved down his envy. “Have a good time.”

  “It won’t be the same without you in net,” Rory said, understanding in his eyes.

  “Tell everyone to give the Blueshirts hell and tell Kenny to have a good game.”

  His mom hugged him. “I expect to hear what you’ve ‘figured out’ tomorrow.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He picked up the list the occupational therapist had left him. “See, working on it now.”

  Ike waited until his mom and Rory had gone before reading the papers. There was a crap-load of stuff to arrange and not much time to do it. His frustration grew—he couldn’t use his freaking arm, but the list made him sound like an invalid.

  Still, if he wanted out of here, he had to get it sorted. Starting now. It wasn’t as if he had anything better to do.

  Ike went down the checklist to see what he could cross off easily. The cleaning service. They might do extra chores for him, like laundry. He reached for his cell and dialed their number. Unfortunately, no one answered, so he left a message and continued down the list. But he only got halfway through the page before tossing it aside in frustration. He couldn’t check anything off without a crazy amount of internet research to find out which companies were reputable. Then he’d have to check references and get quotes. How the hell was he supposed to manage all of that from here?

  The simple answer was he couldn’t. But he knew someone who could.

  Ike reached for the Helping Hands brochure Tracy had left him. It was the perfect solution. She’d do the legwork and present him with options and prices. All he’d have to do was say which ones he wanted and write a check.

  Unfortunately, the chances of Tracy working for him were probably close to zero after the way he’d treated her. Bad enough that he’d been an ass when she’d visited, but he’d attacked the very thing he needed—her business. She wouldn’t spit on him if he was on fire.

  Ike hadn’t had the chance to apologize because she hadn’t been back to see him. He’d planned to fix things once he was out of the hospital. Clearly, he couldn’t wait that long.

  The problem now was that she’d think the only reason he wanted to apologize was that he needed her help.

  Ike swore. Just like every other damn thing to do with his injury, he had no choice. He did need her help. And fast.

  Perhaps she’d soften toward him if he showed he respected her business. He might not like that work always came first, but he admired what she’d achieved with Making Your Move. He could offer to spread the word about Helping Hands. Not just within the Ice Cats’ organization, but other NHL teams, too.

  He should also grovel. Yeah. Probably do the groveling first.

  Before he could change his mind, Ike grabbed his cell and dialed.

  * * *

  HELL HAD FROZEN over and Satan was skating on his personal hockey rink.

  Why else would Ike’s name be on her caller ID?

  What did he want? She rolled her eyes. The easiest way to find out was to answer. She was tempted to let his call go to voice mail and see what message he left. But returning his call would put her on the back foot. Making him drive the conversation put her in control.

  She took a calming breath and answered. “Making Your Move, Tracy Hayden speaking.”

  “Yeah. Hi.” He sounded startled, as though he hadn’t expected her to answer. “It’s Ike.”

  She kept her tone civil but cool. “Hello.”

  Silence. Tracy could hear him breathing. He was probably waiting for her to say something, but she was determined not to speak first.

  “So,” he said finally. “I...uh...owe you an apology.”

  “You do.”

  More silence.

  He sighed heavily. “I was a jackass.”

  Tracy blinked, surprised. “You were.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She bit her lip, not prepared to let him off that easily. “I see.”

  “I could blame the drugs—damn pills make me dopey as hell. Truth is I’ve been feeling sorry for myself and I took it out on you. Your offer touched a nerve and I reacted badly.”

  His honesty took her aback. “Next time I’ll remember not to be helpful.”

  “I hope this is the last time I’ll be in this situation. Anyway, I said some things I didn’t mean and I’m really sorry.”

  From his stilted delivery and his clear discomfort, Tracy believed his regret was sincere. Still, she got the feeling there was more to his call than an apology. “Okay.”

  “Am I forgiven?”

  “Your apology is accepted,” she said politely.

  “Good. Great. Thanks. So, are you going to the game tonight?” he asked.

  “I’d hoped to, but I have too much work.” She hadn’t meant her answer to be a test, but she was interested to hear his response.

  “That’s a shame. Should be a good tilt.” He didn’t sound chastising or snide. Full marks for effort.

  She continued cautiously. “I wouldn’t normally miss a game against the Rangers, but I have a lot to do before Mme. Chabal arrives this weekend. She wants everything I proposed and the Bridgers have agreed to fund it all.”

  “Congratulations. That’ll be a nice boost for Helping Hands.”

  Ike was batting a thousand. Not only had he remembered the name of her new service, he actually sounded pleased for her. Yet she couldn’t help waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  “Thanks. The team are considering extending this service to other players, so I’m pleased. Hopefully, from there, we can expand to our other clients. Even so, I’ll be sorry to miss the game. I take it you’ll be watching on TV?”

  “Probably not. It’s hard enough when you’re sitting on the bench as backup. At least then there’s the chance of being called on to help out if things go south. It’s hell knowing that if the Cats are losing I can’t do anything about it. I hate feeling useless.”

  “I can understand that.”

  “The flipside is it’ll be a long evening, stuck here in this bed. Watching the game will help the time pass more quickly.”

  Tracy felt sorry for him. He sounded miserable. “You’re still not allowed up?”

  “Nope. Maybe tomorrow. I just have to get through tonight.” He paused, then said, “If you get your work done early, it would be good to have some company.”

  That was the last thing she’d expected from him. His deliberately casual request, with just a hint of hopefulness, made her heart clench. She wanted to say she’d be there, but something made her cautious. “I don’t know. I’ll see how it goes.”

  “For sure. No problem either way.”

  His tone was so like her mum’s—the pathetic one that said it did matter—yet Tracy didn’t feel the irritation she should have. Ike wasn’t into manipulative guilt trips. He had no problem calling a spade a bloody shovel. He was trying to be polite.

  Which made her feel even sorrier for him. For someone who needed to be in control, his situation must be terrible. What harm could there be in a short visit?

  “Actually, I have to pick up some documents from a client near the hospital later. I could stop by to see you after that.” It wasn’t strictly true—she didn’t h
ave to pick them up tonight—but he didn’t need to know that. She didn’t want him to think she was rushing in to see him just because he’d asked. Even if that was exactly what she was doing.

  “Great. I’ll look forward to it.”

  Tracy sat staring at the phone for a few moments once she’d hung up.

  She couldn’t shake the feeling that Ike had a hidden agenda, but she couldn’t figure out what it would be. Perhaps when they were face-to-face it would be easier to see. Until then, she’d give him the benefit of the doubt. She didn’t acknowledge the hope sparking within her that Ike’s apology and desire to see her were just what they seemed.

  For the next hour, Tracy worked solidly to finish the comprehensive information package she’d been compiling for Lise Chabal. Tracy was proud of how well it had turned out.

  Tracy would’ve loved to have had something similar when she’d first arrived in the States. Even though she spoke the language, unlike Lise, everything had been so different and Tracy had floundered. With the benefit of hindsight, she knew that was when her reliance on Hank had started. His guidance had smoothed the way for her and it had been easy to slip into the habit of doing whatever he said.

  There was a certain smug satisfaction in knowing that Hank’s lump-sum divorce settlement had helped her start Making Your Move. And in knowing that she’d proved him—and her father—wrong when they’d said she couldn’t make it work. She’d not only survived, but if Helping Hands was the success she thought it could be, she’d be sitting pretty at the top of that market.

  On that cheery note, she should get to the hospital. Tracy switched off her computer and grabbed her coat and purse.

  When she got to Ike’s floor, Tracy nipped into the visitors’ bathroom to put on some lipstick. Just to tidy up. She pulled a face at the mirror. Who was she kidding?

  As she signed in on the ward, the nurse in charge greeted her cheerfully. “Watch out. Ike’s in a grumpy mood. Something about his team already losing.”

  “Not just losing, but down 2–0 after only five minutes.” Tracy smiled. “Sorry, you probably don’t care about the details.”

  “Not really.” The nurse grinned. “But when it affects your patient, you have to be ‘interested’ in all kinds of things. Hockey’s better than fly-fishing or ultimate cage fighting.”

  “That’s true.” Tracy laughed. “Hopefully a visitor will cheer him up. Though even that won’t work if the Cats get blown out.”

  “I’ll keep my fingers crossed for a turnaround, then.”

  Tracy had just reached Ike’s room when she heard him roar.

  “I don’t need a freaking straw in my drink and I don’t want you to cut up my food.”

  A young blonde volunteer in a striped uniform rushed past Tracy, her face flushed. “Perhaps you’ll have better luck with him.”

  Tracy smiled sympathetically, then strode into the room. “Someone’s in a foul mood.”

  “You’d be miserable, too, if you weren’t even allowed to use a freaking knife and fork,” he growled, crossing his arms awkwardly over his broad chest. The bandages that covered his arm from fingers to shoulder hampered his movement.

  The flowery pastel-blue gown should have looked silly on such an obviously masculine body. Instead, it emphasized his honed chest and arms, making him look more manly, rather than less. But Ike didn’t need to know that.

  Nor that he’d made her pulse skip. “Good job I’m here to give the staff a break from your charming personality.”

  He narrowed his gaze. “Do not push me.”

  “Seriously?” Tracy rolled her eyes. “That might work on a sweet young thing like that candy striper, but I’m immune.”

  Ike’s green eyes turned fiery, challenging her to take him on.

  She tamped down her body’s instant heated response. Besides, she shouldn’t tease a wounded man. Especially one whose pride probably hurt as much as his arm.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked brightly as she sat in the chair beside his bed. “Are you at least being sensible about taking painkillers?”

  “I’ve been better,” he admitted grudgingly. “And yes, I’m taking the pain meds. My arm aches and throbs like a son of a bitch if I don’t. But it’s improving, so I won’t be on them much longer.”

  “Has the specialist said when you can go home?” She grinned. “I bet the nursing staff are pushing for tomorrow.”

  “If only. I’ll be out of here by the weekend.”

  “So soon? I thought you’d be in here for a few more weeks. Maybe even a month.”

  “Not a chance. No way am I sticking around here for the next four weeks.”

  “Four to six weeks.” The nurse she’d spoken to earlier bustled into the room and cleared away his dinner tray. “And you’re lucky you’re young and healthy or it would be a darn sight longer than that.”

  Ike shrugged. “My season’s pretty much done either way.”

  “That’s no way to look at it.” The nurse tutted. “And this behavior is unacceptable. If you can’t treat my staff with respect, I’ll come in here and stick a feeding tube down your throat. Got it?”

  Tracy’s lips twitched. She could tell Ike wanted to dare the nurse to try it, but wisely bit his tongue.

  “Yeah,” he huffed. “Tell the girl I’m sorry. It burned my butt to have a kid treating me like I was some old dude in a wheelchair.”

  “It’s your own fault. How exactly had you planned to eat steak by yourself?”

  “I didn’t think of that. I was sick of soup—I’ll float away if I eat any more—so I ordered something I could get my teeth into. Next time, I’ll order a sandwich or something I can eat one-handed.” He made it sound like cyanide with a side order of arsenic.

  “How will you cope once you get home?” the nurse asked. “You won’t be able to cook anything.”

  “My mom will fill my freezer with meals I can nuke. And there’s always delivery. It only takes one finger to dial.” He smiled cockily.

  “Fast food will do wonders for your figure when you can’t exercise,” Tracy said helpfully. “You need to be careful you don’t turn into the Michelin Man.”

  The nurse laughed as she walked to the door. “I know I’m leaving you in good hands.”

  He glared at her. “You’re all heart. I thought you were supposed to be concerned for my health and well-being.”

  “I am. To show I don’t hold grudges, I’ll order a couple of sandwiches for you.”

  “Thanks.” Once she’d gone, Ike muttered, “Man, I’ll be glad to be out of here so I can get back to normal, without people watching my every move.”

  That whole exchange had reinforced how much Ike wouldn’t be able to do for himself with his injured arm. Tracy also knew that he wouldn’t be above ignoring instructions if he got frustrated. “At the risk of being accused of touting for business, how are you going to manage when you go home?”

  His gaze flicked away briefly, then returned. “Actually, that’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

  The earlier feeling about Ike’s hidden agenda returned. “Oh?”

  He hesitated, then blew out a breath. “I need your help. Please.”

  “To do...what exactly?” Tracy frowned.

  Ike’s expression became earnest. “I’m not dumb. I accept that I’ll need support when I go home. Finding the right services will be tough when I’m stuck in here. But I need everything in place for when I get out. Helping Hands is the answer.”

  Tracy should have been pleased, but she couldn’t help feeling disappointed. It really stung that his apology had been driven by his need for her professional services, rather than a genuine desire to repair their relationship. “I see.”

  He smiled charmingly. “I’ll pay your going rate and give you a great reference. I’ll even
promote Helping Hands with the rest of the guys.”

  So now her business was okay...when he needed her help. How bloody convenient. Still, she was damned if she’d be anything but professional about this.

  “Has the occupational therapist given you a list of what you’ll need?”

  His smile faded at her cool tone. “In the drawer.” He pointed at the bedside table.

  She made no move to get the list. “I’m guessing your orthopedic surgeon is playing hardball and threatening not to sign your release until you have that support system in place.”

  “Yeah.” Ike’s green gaze dipped and he looked uncomfortable. “The Cats are behind him one hundred percent.”

  That explained Ike’s sudden change of heart. She’d been a fool to believe that he was genuinely sorry. And to hope they could finally stop being at war with each other. “Naturally. You’re a valuable asset. They won’t want anything to jeopardize your recovery, least of all you.”

  “I want my arm to heal as quickly as possible, too. I sure as hell wouldn’t do anything that might delay my return to the ice.”

  Yes—he’d made it pretty clear how much that return mattered.

  “So, what do you think?” he asked expectantly.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “I JUST WANT to be clear about one thing.”

  Something in Tracy’s tone made Ike wary. “What’s that?”

  “Your apology was a ploy, wasn’t it? To make me feel sorry for you and forget how you’ve sniped about my work, so I’d help you get out of here quickly.”

  Damn it! “It wasn’t like that.”

  “Really.” Angry amber sparks flashed in her eyes. “How was it, then?” She crossed her arms over her chest.

  Frustration bubbled inside him, like lava in a wakening volcano. Why did she always think the worst of him? Why did every conversation have to become an argument? Was it so hard to believe that he wanted them to stop rubbing each other the wrong way and actually get along?

  It didn’t help that his body had reacted the moment she’d walked into the room. His pulse had kicked up when she’d sat beside his bed. Her scent had floated around him like morning mist rising from an outdoor rink, clouding his mind.