The Bachelor’s Christmas Bride

by Victoria Pade

  As dusk fell they could have gone home but Dag had a better idea—a dinner of pizza and beer to get them off their feet for a little while, then some ice skating in the town square where Shannon had first seen him.

  “I’ll call home and tell them to eat without us,” he said, and like his other suggestions, it had too much appeal for her to reject.

  So pizza and beer it was, sitting at the front window of the local pizzeria.

  “Look at that,” Dag said as he peered out at the beauty of Main Street while they ate.

  Shannon was looking at something, but it wasn’t out the window. She was looking at him, dressed in jeans and a plaid flannel shirt over a Henley T-shirt—all outdoorsy and wintery, his heavy five o’clock shadow making him look very rugged and handsome.

  “It’s like a postcard out there,” Dag added, forcing Shannon to amend her gaze to take in what he was marveling at.

  He was right, but it was his awe-filled admiration of his hometown that made Shannon smile. Well, that and just how much she liked the way his face was lined with pleasure.

  “You really love it here,” she said.

  “There’s nowhere else I want to be.”

  “I don’t really know much about your background,” she said then, when his appreciation for Northbridge struck her as somewhat curious. “I know you grew up here, but it seems like you’ve moved around as an adult. And since you just bought Gramma’s house, I guess I assumed you’ve lived somewhere else until now, that you’re just moving back. If you love Northbridge so much, why haven’t you always lived here?”

  “It was the hockey—no team in Northbridge,” he said simply. And as if she should know what he was talking about.

  “I’ve figured out that you like hockey,” she said, confused. “But you wouldn’t live here just because there isn’t a team?”

  Something seemed to strike him suddenly and he smiled a wide smile. “I played hockey. I played hockey to get me through college and then I played it professionally in Detroit.”

  It took a moment for that to sink in, for Shannon to put two and two together. In all the mentions of Dag and hockey, there had never been anything about him playing professionally. She’d thought that it was a passion of his, that he’d probably played in school, that maybe he played recreationally, the way Wes golfed. It had never occurred to her that hockey had been Dag’s career.

  “Seriously?” she said. “You were a professional hockey player?”

  “Past tense. I suppose I thought you knew because everyone around here does. Everyone who knows me knows. And…well, a lot of people know—it’s the kind of thing that’s…well…known….”

  “You’re a celebrity and I completely missed it?” Shannon exclaimed with a laugh.

  Dag grimaced. “Not really a celebrity. But making a living at a professional sport is kind of a public occupation. And my career ended with a splash, so most of the time, people know I played hockey for a living without my telling them.”

  “I didn’t,” Shannon confessed. “I’ve never been interested in any sport. Or who plays. I completely stop paying attention to anything that comes up that has to do with sports. I’m sorry.”

  “Nothing to be sorry about.”

  “When did you stop playing?”

  “About this time two years ago.” But rather than go on with that, he returned to the original topic. “So, no, I haven’t lived in Northbridge since I left for college—”

  “Where you also played hockey—”

  “On a full scholarship to the University of North Dakota—go Fighting Sioux!” he said in a joking cheer. “Then the Red Wings signed me so I moved to Michigan. I came back to Northbridge for extended visits whenever I could during the off-season, but that’s all it’s been—visits.”

  “And you missed it?”

  “Oh, yeah! Not only is Northbridge home, but there’s just something about it that you don’t find in other places. It’s like this secret safe haven from the rest of the world.”

  “Bad things never happen here?” Shannon teased him because he was so over-the-top about this place.

  “Sure, bad things happen everywhere. But when they happen here, you’re never alone with it. Everyone jumps in and does whatever they can to help. You’re a prime example of that—when your folks were killed in that car wreck, the cops brought you to Meg’s grandfather, the reverend. He let word out that there were kids who needed homes and slam-bam-thank-you-ma’am, you got homes.”

  “Chase didn’t.”

  “No, Chase sort of fell through the cracks on that score. But he did grow up here and even though his foster father was a jerk, Chase still came away from Northbridge liking it enough to move back.”

  There was no disputing that.

  “Northbridge is…” Dag shrugged as if it was difficult to sum up. “It’s the kind of place where I know when I first start to farm, to ranch this spring, every other farmer, every other rancher around here will be willing to lend me a hand if I need it, to share his or her secrets—well, most of them anyway. Butch Butler will never tell anybody what he’s feeding that prize pig of his. But you get the picture. Plus there’s this—”

  He motioned toward the window.

  “Every city and town decorates for Christmas,” Shannon pointed out.

  “It isn’t the decorations, it’s everything that goes with it—the spirit of things, the way everyone gets into this holiday and all the rest. The way a wedding or a new baby is happy, important news no matter whose family it is. The way people around here just care. I like that.”

  “Family, team sports, this town—I think there’s a theme with you,” Shannon said.

  Dag laughed. “I hadn’t thought about it like that, but you’re right—I am not a loner. I like being a part of a close-knit group that’s working and playing together.”

  Once they’d finished eating, their waitress appeared tableside to ask if they’d like anything else. When they said no, she set down the bill and two complimentary cookies that looked like small frosted knots.

  “The owner’s aunt makes these cookies at Christmas—they’re Italian anise knots. I love them, they taste like licorice,” Dag explained as he paid the bill.

  They ate the cookies as they moved on to the town square where the gazebo was completely lit by tiny white lights. All the fir trees were decorated and lit up, too. More Victorian-style streetlights lined the outer perimeter of the square and had strings of the bough-and-ribbon-wrapped lights draped between them to illuminate the entire area.

  Before dinner they had stopped at Dag’s truck to leave their day’s purchases and to get his ice skates. Now Shannon rented a pair for herself from a stand by the rink.

  “It doesn’t matter—because I can teach you—but do you ice skate?” Dag asked as they sat on the benches that lined the ice just inside the decorated railing.

  “I used to,” Shannon said. “I haven’t since I was a teenager, and even then I preferred wheels to blades.”

  “You’ll have to come back in the summer, then—when the ice melts, there’s roller skating and skateboarding here.”

  Shannon was perplexed by why that should have any appeal at all, but it did. She didn’t respond, though, and once their skates were in place, Dag got up onto his first. Then he spun around to face her and hold out his hands to help her get to her feet.

  “You’re just assuming I’m going to be a klutz?” she joked.

  His only answer was an engaging grin while his hands remained outstretched to her, waiting to be taken.

  They both had on gloves so she thought it was safe enough to accept his help. But even through two layers of knitted wool just the meeting of their hands sent a warmth all through her.

  But it only lasted a moment because she had to concentrate on maintaining her precarious balance.

  “It’s been a very long time since I was on skates,” she said, stating the obvious.

  “Yeah, you’re a little wobbly, but you’ll get the f
eel for it again,” Dag said as he steadied her and began to skate backward to tow her out onto the ice at a snail’s pace.

  He was right, it didn’t take Shannon long to regain the knack of ice skating. But once that happened, even when Dag let go of her and turned to skate at her side, she was no match for him. He glided so effortlessly across the ice that there were times as they circled the rink with the rest of the skaters that Shannon glanced down to make sure he wasn’t just floating.

  But she didn’t mind that he was better than she was. There was Christmas music playing over a speaker system, there were lots of people laughing and enjoying themselves—despite a few spills on the ice here and there—and there were kids galore.

  And if Shannon hadn’t just found out over dinner that Dag had played professional hockey, she would have discovered it then because many of those kids—as well as a few of the adults—seemed awestruck to be seeing Dag on the ice. They mentioned games and plays in which he’d apparently dazzled them.

  But in spite of the friendliness and the adulation, Dag was all hers. He answered whatever greeting or question or comment was aimed at him, he introduced her whenever the opportunity arose, but nothing and no one ever took him from her side or kept his primary focus from her.

  They skated for about an hour before the cold seeped through Shannon’s wool coat and earmuffs, through the crewneck sweater she was wearing, through the turtleneck that was underneath the sweater, even through her jeans.

  Dag didn’t appear as affected as she was, but before she had found the words to tell him that she was freezing, he said, “Home?” as if he’d read her mind. And Shannon jumped at the suggestion.

  Shannon was grateful when they finally reached it that Dag’s truck was already running again—thanks to his remote starter—so he could instantly push the heat to full blast. Then he left her there to warm up while he ran into the Groceries and Sundries without telling her why.

  “The fixings for my famous hot chocolate!” he announced when he returned to the truck and got in, holding a bag in the air as if it were a prize of war. “I’ll build you a fire, fix you a cup of that and you’ll forget all about being frozen.”

  “Who says I’m frozen?” Shannon said defensively.

  “Not who, what—those two bright red cheeks and that even brighter red nose.” He flipped down the visor on the passenger side and pointed to the mirror there. “See for yourself, Rudolph,” he teased as he put the truck into gear and pulled away from the curb. “There I was, skating along, looking at where we were going instead of at you, and then I catch a glimpse of your face and you’re all lit up!”

  Shannon didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the way she looked, but she was a sight—her nose and cheeks were beet-red.

  Before she’d reacted in any way, Dag said, “Why didn’t you tell me that you were cold?”

  “And let you think I’m a sissy?” she challenged. “Besides, I shouldn’t have been any colder than you.”

  “Ice hockey, remember? I’m used to it. Apparently they heat kindergarten rooms, huh?” he added with a wry glance in her direction.

  Shannon just laughed, glad that they’d reached the garage apartment.

  While Dag built a fire, Shannon went to do some damage control. First—following his orders—she removed the socks she had on and replaced them with two pairs of dry, heavier ones she’d snatched from a drawer and brought into the studio apartment’s bathroom with her. After that she focused on what she was most concerned with and went to the mirror above the sink.

  She was glad to discover that her nose was no longer bright red and that her cheeks had calmed to merely a rosy glow. The knit cap she’d worn and now removed had mussed her hair, so she put a brush through it and then applied a little lip gloss.

  Despite the calming of her coloring, she was still feeling chilled when she left the bathroom, so she made a beeline for the fireplace.

  “Fire is definitely more my speed than ice,” she said with one last shiver. “You are a sissy,” he teased, bringing two steaming cups with him when he joined her.

  Shannon took one of the mugs he offered, first encircling it with both hands to warm them and then tasting the rich, frothy brew that it held. “Oh, wow, you and chocolate must be a match made in heaven—this is not everyday stuff.”

  “It’s my special blend,” he said, not offering exactly what that special blend was.

  But all Shannon cared about was chasing away the chill and enjoying her hot chocolate, and to that end she sat on the hearth and sipped.

  Dag sat beside her, leaving a few inches between them. Not too many inches, but enough so that there was no touching—except in Shannon’s mind where she was imagining his thigh running the length of her thigh, and his upper body close enough for her to snuggle against….

  Trying to ignore that image, she glanced sideways at his oh-so-handsome, slightly beard-shadowed face with its rugged appeal, and said, “Professional hockey, huh?”

  “Guilty.”

  “Playing professional sports of any kind is the dream of a lot of little boys.”

  “Playing pro-hockey was mine, that’s for sure. It was already something I was fantasizing about and acting out with my friends when I asked for my first pair of skates.”

  “Which was when?” Shannon probed to learn more about him.

  “I was four. There was a pond near our house that froze solid every winter. All the kids skated there and the bigger guys played hockey. I was itching to get in on the action. So I asked for the skates for Christmas and the minute I put them on they just felt right. I knew I was going to be able to fly in them—”

  “That seems so young,” Shannon marveled.

  Dag laughed. “I know guys who think if their kid can walk, he can skate, to get a head start in the game.”

  “And you were a natural?”

  “Let’s just say I was a quick learner. But I was right about the skates—once I learned how to get around on them, I could move as if my feet had wings.”

  “And because of the older guys playing hockey, rather than figure skating, you went in that direction?” Shannon asked after another sip of her hot chocolate.

  “I didn’t even know what figure skating was as a kid. But hockey was everywhere around here. I played in the amateur league, I spent two summers in Canada at hockey camp, and I played one season of midget before I finally started high school and could play there—”

  “And then through college,” she contributed, recalling that he’d said he’d had a scholarship, “before you went pro.”

  “Right,” he confirmed, drinking his own hot chocolate quicker than she was.

  “You must have been really good.”

  “Good enough,” he said.

  But this evening someone had marveled at Dag being twice-named MVP, so she knew he was being humble.

  “Was it all you’d hoped it would be?” she asked, wondering why he wasn’t still doing it.

  “Oh, God, yes,” he answered heartily. “Making a living doing something you love? Being treated like a king by fans? By women—”

  Shannon laughed at that. “Groupies?”

  “Some…” he said the same way he’d refrained from bragging about his skills. But rather than elaborating on that, he went on talking about how hockey had been everything he’d hoped it would be.

  “But it doesn’t make for a long career?” she said to encourage him to tell her why he wasn’t still playing.

  Dag shrugged. “Some guys make it into their forties. One guy played until he was fifty-two.”

  “But you…”

  “I’m definitely not forty or fifty-two,” he said wryly.

  “But you’re not still playing the game you love,” she persisted.

  “Nope, now I’m a land-and homeowner,” he said.

  Shannon sensed that his positive attitude about this change was some sort of spin, that he wasn’t actually happy to have stopped playing hockey.

  And her fee
ling grew stronger when he abruptly changed the subject. “So, your face is back to its normal color. How about your hands and feet—any pain? Can you feel all of your fingers and toes?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “I can stop worrying about frostbite and hypothermia?”

  Shannon smiled. “Were you worrying about me having frostbite and hypothermia?”

  “A little,” he admitted.

  She knew it shouldn’t matter, but it felt good that he’d been concerned, that he cared. Not that it meant anything, she told herself in order to keep from reading more into it than she should.

  She did, however, sorely regret it when Dag stood then and said, “I should probably get going.”

  She wanted to say, Do you have to?

  But she didn’t. She just stood, too, and walked him to the door.

  “I can’t thank you enough for today…and tonight—”

  “Don’t thank me at all,” he said as they reached the door and he was shrugging into his coat. “I got my own Christmas shopping finished, too.”

  But once his coat was in place, he turned to face her and added in a quieter tone, “Besides, I had a great time. Getting into town, having pizza, an hour on the ice, hot chocolate in front of a fire—all of it with you—there’s no chore in any of that.” Then he smiled a slow, sexy smile. “Actually, now that I think about it, maybe I should be thanking you.”

  Even knowing nothing about hockey or its players, Shannon connected the sport with bruisers, not with charmers. But as she smiled up at Dag, it was his charm that was getting to her.

  And his dark eyes.

  And his chiseled features.

  And everything else about him…

  And it all suddenly bowled her over and left her unable to recall another time, another man, she’d ever wanted to have kiss her quite as much as she wanted that man to kiss her at that moment.

  It was so potent tonight that it seemed impossible to hide what was on her mind and she felt her chin tip upward with a will of its own, silently sending a message.

  Dag smiled a small, knowing smile and grasped her upper arm, sliding down to catch her hand, to enclose it in his and hold it tight.