Quick Trick (A Rough Riders Hockey Novel Book 1)

by Skye Jordan

  “It’s all over the fliers we sent out. They’re posted in your windows, Faith. The reason we have so many entrants is because Grant is judging this year.”

  Embarrassment washed in and joined her anger. How could she have missed something so important? “I don’t have time to read every line of the marketing campaigns others hang in my window. And the fact that you didn’t come to me directly but waited until the posters were printed, and told me at the last minute is pure cowardice.”

  “Think what you like, Faith, but the fact is that things change. I’m really sorry about your daddy. But his vision for this festival has always been about turning the pockets of the people around here inside out and getting those coins flowing into the streets of Holly. Grant is a golden ticket to that end, and creating a unified front between the biggest guest sponsor and the charity’s CEO is key to securing large donations from the deepest pockets. Corporate pockets.”

  Faith instantly connected the dots of this twisted manipulation right back to Grant’s mother, Hazel.

  “Now, I don’t expect you to understand that with your one year of college and all,” Natalie said, “but corporations look for certain marketing elements when they’re considering large donations. Strong, cohesive marketing strategies in a business—or charity in this case—run by savvy executives. I’m sure you can see how showing those potential donors the dovetailed presentation of charity, sponsor, and celebrity will be the key to securing big money for Holly.”

  Natalie slapped on that dry, condescending smile. “And isn’t that what this festival is all about? Isn’t that what your daddy would have wanted?”

  Livid. Faith was livid. In some distant part of her mind, she recognized that her anger was out of proportion to the situation. But in the scope of her life’s downward spiral, her emotions were far, far stronger than her rationale.

  She took one giant, menacing step toward Natalie and reaped far too much satisfaction from the way the other woman’s bright blue eyes widened.

  “What you and Grant do is up to you,” she told Natalie, “but my dad started this damn festival, and it’s still running and bringing money into this community because my dad kept it going every fucking year. A decade before you even existed. So don’t you dare act like you know more about the business of fundraising, because he raised money for this town to pay for your education.” Faith stabbed Natalie’s chest with one rigid finger. “And your summer camps”—stab—“and your after-school care”—stab—“because your parents”—stab—“were too fucking busy to raise a decent human being, and my father still cared.”

  When Faith stopped to draw a breath, she realized she’d pushed Natalie several feet across the sales floor toward the exit. And the other woman was looking at Faith like she’d gone insane.

  She might have snapped a nerve, but she wasn’t insane. She was tired of pretending everything was okay. She was tired of giving, giving, giving and not getting anything back. She was tired of not standing up for herself, for ignoring her own needs and putting others first.

  Grant had taught her that. Grant had taught her a lot of things.

  “You’re clearly not thinking straight,” Natalie said, turning toward the door. “We’ll talk about this—”

  Faith grabbed Natalie’s arm. She collected herself and kept her voice low and level but made sure her steel tone was crystal clear. “We’ll finish this right now. You’re not taking this away from me, because I’m not letting go. So if you want light, power, water, tables, and chairs at that festival, Natalie, you’ll step out of the judging lineup.”

  When the woman’s mouth thinned into a stubborn line, Faith added, “If you want a fight, you’ll get one. And I promise you won’t only lose, but you will never live it down.”

  Natalie jerked from Faith’s grasp with a disgusted huff and stalked to the door, flinging it open. Her dramatic exit was foiled when the anti-slam hinges Faith had installed kept the door from hitting the wall. Little did Faith realize she wasn’t installing them as much for the children of Holly as she was for the adults who acted worse than children.

  But long after Natalie disappeared into the night, Faith was left with Natalie’s words eating away at her. She turned to get back to work so she could forget that she had no say in what Grant did or who he did it with. To ignore the hurt of knowing she was no more special to him than any other woman. And to work off the anger of getting extra mad at herself for placing her self-worth on a man’s view of her.

  Only, she realized, depending on Natalie’s decision, she might not be delivering all these supplies to the festival. Which meant she’d just placed the success of the festival and the influx of money for Holly and all the good people here on the shoulders of an immature, self-centered, spoiled little bitch.

  And that was when the repercussions of her anger registered. And her shame sank in.

  Her father would be so disappointed in her.

  Faith’s heart dropped clear to her feet. She leaned back against the sales counter, covered her face with both hands, and started bawling.

  10

  Grant virtually bounced up the steps to the hardware store after his time with Patrick. His brother had developed into a remarkable businessman, and once he’d gotten Faith’s story out of Grant, they’d talked in depth about the possibilities for her future. And he couldn’t wait to share them with her.

  But when he reached the top step, he realized the store was dark and the closed sign was up on the door. Disappointment snuck in, but when he tried the door, it opened. He stepped in and listened, but heard silence. “Faith?”

  No answer. Grant looked at the door leading to her apartment but didn’t start that direction. She’d probably crashed early. And after what he’d put her through last night, he really should let her get some rest.

  When he turned toward the front of the store again, his gaze passed over the sales center, where a piece of paper taped to a register caught his eye.

  It read:

  Grant, I’m upstairs. Please lock the front door before you come up.

  He relaxed and smiled. His body flipped from off to on. From dark to light. From depressed to exhilarated.

  Oh, hell, yeah. This was definitely different.

  He turned and locked the front door, then pulled the note off the register and tossed it into the trash on his way to the apartment door, but paused when he caught sight of the back room. It was packed, floor to ceiling, wall to wall with equipment. One look and Grant knew it had taken her all night to collect, haul, and stack everything into that space. He also knew she hadn’t had any help. Her employees would have been taking care of the store, and Grant would bet his brand-new Rover that she’d sent them all home on time.

  He looked at the door to her apartment, then dropped his gaze to his hand on the knob. But what he saw was all in his head—and it was Faith’s world in the big picture. He saw who she was, where she’d been, and the mountains she still faced in her future. He saw her stresses, her fears, and all the commitments she honored out of loyalty or love.

  A profound sense of humility came over him. He’d been away from his roots too long. He’d been living that fast life with no outside perspective. He’d forgotten just how hard the average American worked every day to stretch those monthly ends until they meet. That took sacrifice and dedication and perseverance. It took hard work and even a certain amount of skill. All the elements Grant had always believed set him apart and made him one of the greatest hockey players in the NHL.

  But the truth was, there were a hell of a lot of people who had the same qualities. They just didn’t have thousands of eyes on them nearly every night, eight months out of the year.

  Like Faith.

  The band around his heart, one he’d only become aware of last night, tightened just a little more, spilling fear into his body. And fear was an awkward, unfamiliar, painful emotion Grant would rather not experience. It was the reason he’d pushed his fucked-up family away. It was the reason h
e didn’t get serious with women.

  He looked up at the door again and realized… “It’s too fuckin’ late for that.”

  He was serious about wanting Faith Nicholas.

  The concrete revelation took an edge off his thrill of getting upstairs with the hope of finding Faith lying naked in bed, waiting for him. But he pulled the door open and noted the silence. She was probably passed out. And that was okay. He liked the idea of just sliding into bed next to her and watching her sleep awhile. Maybe he’d take a nap himself, then wake her in the night…

  That put the smile back on his face and helped his feet move up the stairs a little easier.

  Halfway up, his ear caught a voice—but not Faith’s. At the top of the stairs, he found the living room empty and dark and turned toward her bedroom. He stopped in the doorway and found her lying on her bed, curled on her side, with her back toward the door. Her head was propped on her hand and she was watching a video on Grant’s laptop. He’d left it here that morning, along with the video editing software. She wore pale pink sink pajama bottoms that rode low on her hips and a matching tank with spaghetti straps.

  Just the sight of her closed a gap in Grant’s life and set everything right. He leaned his shoulder against the doorframe and exhaled, smiling.

  She sniffled and glanced over her shoulder. “Oh, hey.” She turned back to the screen. “I was just watching some videos to see if I could learn anything about the software you bought.”

  Something was wrong. Like majorly wrong. Even if Grant hadn’t heard it in her voice, he could feel it in the room.

  “It’s pretty good.” Sniffle. A clandestine wipe of her eyes. “Have you used this software before? Are they all pretty much the same? How long do you think it would take me to edit a film like the one you took today once I got the hang of it?”

  He inched toward the bed, worried and—sonofabitch—scared. He was scared. He was never scared.

  Beside the bed, he reached down and stroked his hand up her arm. She was warm and soft. Even from where he stood, he could smell her sweet fresh-from-the-shower scent. And man, did that stir his hunger. But Grant banked that need. “Baby, what happened?”

  “Nothing.” She cleared her throat. “How’s your brother doing?”

  “Really good.” He put a knee on the bed beside her and leaned over to close the lid on his laptop.

  “Hey, buddy,” she tried to joke, “I was watching that.”

  He smiled down at her, but the first look at her face punched him in the gut, and his humor faded. Her eyes were red and swollen, still glistening with tears. The sight felt like a knife in his gut. “What’s wrong?”

  She rested back against his leg and offered a weak smile. “God, it’s good to see you.”

  Christ. If he hadn’t already tipped over the edge for her, this moment would have pushed him.

  He ran his hand over her silky hair, and kissed her. She opened to him immediately, her mouth warm and hungry. Her tongue stroked over his lip, then slipped into his mouth and found his.

  And just like that, Grant couldn’t remember what they were talking about. The feel of her making that first move, of openly wanting him, blew all his other thoughts out of his mind. He cupped her face and kissed her hard and deep. The satisfied, wanton sound she made in her throat drove Grant to search for more. Her mouth was so fucking perfect. He wanted to rip off her clothes, bury himself inside her, and stay there until they called him back to the ice.

  The ice.

  Fuck. He’d had to go and think about that.

  He broke the kiss and lifted his head. “Baby…” he said, breathless, “let’s talk a minute.”

  “I don’t want to talk.” She twisted to reach for the button on his jeans. “I want to use my mouth in other ways.”

  He grabbed her hand and held on. Hard. If she got her mouth anywhere near his cock, they wouldn’t be talking about anything substantial for hours. “I want that too, but I need to know what’s going on in that head of yours.”

  The spark of excitement in her eyes went out. She pulled her hand from his, then rolled to her side again and patted the bed near the laptop. “Come over here and show me how smart you are. I really want to see what you can do with this software.”

  He stood there, at a loss, while she opened the laptop again. He’d never known a woman who didn’t want to talk when she was upset. It was hard to fathom his need to actually elicit the kind of conversation he’d spent his life avoiding, but he cared about Faith. He cared about her life. He cared about what was upsetting her. And he definitely cared if it involved him.

  He sat on the edge of the bed and stretched over her, pressing a hand to the mattress. With his fingers, he pushed the laptop out of reach, threaded his fingers with hers, and brought her palm to his lips.

  “Are you mad about me going out with Patrick?”

  She cut a look at him. “No. Of course not.”

  Phew. One down. “Did I do something else that made you mad?”

  She hesitated. “It’s not your fault.”

  But she broke his gaze and tried to pull her hand back.

  Bingo.

  “Tell me what it is so we can talk about it.” Good Lord, he couldn’t believe those words were coming out of his mouth.

  “It’s nothing. It’s petty, stupid, small-town bullshit. And it certainly won’t matter to you.” She lifted her gaze to his again and dragged her hand from his to thread her fingers into his hair and pull him toward her. “I really just want you to make love to me so I can forget all about it.”

  Make love?

  That phrase hit him sideways. He’d never thought about sex in that context. But he didn’t get a chance to think more about it before she opened to him with that hungry kiss again. And the way she used that delicious mouth of hers made Grant forget everything else. Sweet, sensual, sexual, she’d become one white-hot, luscious erotic masterpiece at the speed of lightning.

  When she released his hair to pull at his shirt, Grant put the brakes on. He straightened, breaking her grasp. “Talk first. If it’s important enough to upset you, then it’s important to me. I don’t care if it has to do with Aunt Pearl using chicken wire to fence her pigs, talk to me.”

  She didn’t even twitch a smile at his chicken-wire joke, and unease fluttered in his gut.

  Sighing, she brushed her hand across the bedspread, picking at invisible fuzz while Grant stroked her forearm. “It’s about the Winter Wonderland Festival. I don’t know if you remember much about it when you were a kid, but my dad started it about forty years ago, and he’s run it ever since. Even when he was sick, he got out there…”

  She trailed off and blinked back tears. Then shook her head. “Anyway, I was all set with the supplies downstairs, and then Natalie came into the store after I’d closed.”

  Grant listened to Faith’s carefully worded, politically correct account of what transpired with Natalie while he’d been enjoying root beer with his brother a block away. But no one knew how to read between the lines like Grant. And he saw Natalie’s visit for exactly what it was—an attempt to wedge her way between him and Faith. A way to make Faith feel inferior. A way to bully her way into a judging position beside Grant. And his teeth were grinding by the time Faith finished the factual details.

  “You don’t have any obligation to me,” she said, now tracing the pattern sewn into the solid comforter with darker thread. “We went into this knowing it was temporary. Neither of us was—I mean is—looking for anything long term. So, you know, if you want to date Natalie, that’s up to you.”

  “Baby, I don’t—”

  “I know it probably seems ridiculously small-town minded to you,” she said, cutting him off with a shake of her head, indicating she didn’t want to talk about his relationship—or lack thereof—with Natalie, “but this is my first Christmas without my dad, and this was his favorite h-holiday.”

  Her voice cracked, and a surge of tears glistened in her eyes again.

  Gran
t’s throat grew thick. His gut ached. He couldn’t stand to see her hurting.

  “I know the town is dressed up for Christmas all year, but Dad truly spent all three hundred sixty-four days preparing for both the festival and the ice-carving contest. The way most kids think about Christmas morning, I think of judging that contest with my dad.”

  The tears finally slipped over her lashes and slid down her cheeks. Faith sniffled and wiped at one cheek, but Grant rubbed at the other with his thumb before she could get it.

  Grant bent over her, collecting her into his arms and cradling her as she cried. With nothing adequate to say, he pressed kisses to her hair instead.

  “I’m just not ready to let him go yet,” she said, her voice flooded with tears.

  “You don’t have to,” he said quietly, his own throat thick with emotion. “You don’t ever have to let him go, baby. You two shared more love in a year than I’ve had with either of my parents in our entire relationship. Some people just aren’t cut out to love the way you and your father could. Letting go of that, of all those amazing memories, of who you’ve become because of that love, it would be just…tragic.”

  For the very first time in his entire life, Grant thought he might have the capacity to love like that too. If he connected with the right woman. And he was pretty damn sure that woman was curled in his arms.

  After several long moments, her tears ebbed and her breathing eased into a normal rhythm again.

  “Thank you,” she said softly. “I haven’t been able to talk to anyone but Taylor. And she’s so busy. Managing this place by myself…” She exhaled. “It’s been so hard. So many people don’t know how to deal with grief or death. I didn’t want to show any kind of weakness or emotion that would make them uncomfortable and keep them from coming into the store. I’m already struggling to stay open.”

  Grant pulled back and looked directly into Faith’s eyes. “You can always talk to me. And I’ve found a number of ways to help you stay open. I want to talk to you about them. Later, when you’re ready.”