After she’d picked up Conner from school, she’d driven to the Key Arena and parked in the garage. The two had been met by someone within the Chinooks’ organization and moved through the concrete maze within the belly of the arena. At the end, Sam had been standing on rubber mats near the entrance to the tunnel, waiting for them. He wore black sweats with a fish logo and looked huge in his skates. He wasn’t wearing any pads or the sling on his arm. He looked hot and sweaty. His hair was finger-combed like he’d been working out. Alone or with one of his supermodels. Unfortunately, she knew about Sam’s workouts. Knew that he had the stamina and determination of an elite athlete.
A frown creased her brow. Best not to think about Sam’s thoroughness. “This isn’t overdoing?”
“No. Not unless Conner hip checks me and slams my face into the Plexiglas. ”
Conner laughed. “I won’t put the big hurt on you, Dad.”
Autumn reached for a fitted kneepad on the bench and strapped it on.
“I don’t need those.”
“You don’t want them, but you need them.”
“You’ll get used to wearing your gear. Your helmet, too. It’s part of the game,” Sam said as he handed her the left kneepad. “My mom used to help me with my gear.”
“And your dad, too?”
Sam shook his head. “He wasn’t interested in my hockey.”
Not interested in his own son? Autumn paused in the act of securing the Velcro behind Conner’s knee. He had to be joking.
He looked at her without lifting his face, and said as if he’d read her mind, “He was a police officer. A very good police officer. He just wasn’t a very good dad.”
Like him. He lowered his gaze, but not before Autumn saw the thought clearly expressed in his eyes. She had to give Sam some credit. Lately, he’d been paying a lot more attention to Conner. He was trying hard and keeping his word to his son. If she were a betting woman, she would have bet against him. She’d have bet that he would have gone back to his old ways already. Then again, it had only been a month and a half since the arrival of the new and improved Sam.
She finished the last strap and rose. With his good hand, he put Conner’s helmet on his head, then helped him to his feet.
“The ice is snowier today. You probably won’t fall as much,” Sam assured Conner.
“Good.” Conner sounded relieved as the two stepped onto the ice, and he moved in front of Sam and stood beneath Sam’s much bigger feet. “I don’t like to fall all the time. It hurts my bum-bum.”
“Didn’t we talk about bum-bum?”
“Yeah.”
They moved their skates at the same time, inching forward. Looking a lot like—dare she even think it—penguins.
“What did we decide?”
“That just because Mom’s a girl, she’s not as smart as boys.”
Autumn lifted her gaze as Sam whipped his head around to look at her.
“Uhhh… I don’t remember saying that.” Guilt worked its way across his face.
She lifted a brow and tried not to laugh. “You’re a bad liar.”
Sam chuckled, as the two slowly skated across the ice. He left Conner halfway between the center line and goal, then he lined up pucks in front of him. Even in his pads and helmet, Conner looked so small next to his dad.
“Could you bring me those sticks?” Sam asked, and pointed to the bench behind her. She shucked out of her bulky peacoat and set it on the bench. She pulled down the sleeves of her navy blue cardigan and adjusted the wide red belt around her waist before she picked up the two Reebok hockey sticks. One long and the other short. Both had cloth tape wrapped tightly down the handles and around the curve of the blades. Sam’s number sixteen had been written in black Sharpie on the knobs of both handles.
As carefully as possible, she stepped from the matting and onto the ice. She stood still for a few short seconds, testing the surface to make sure she didn’t fall on her behind. The bottoms of her red ballet flats didn’t shoot out from beneath her, and she carefully moved toward Conner. Chilled air crept up her bare legs, and flakes of snowy ice slid inside her shoes. The rink looked bigger on this side of the Plexiglas. Longer from end to end.
She handed Sam and Conner their sticks, felt her shoes slide, and stuck her arms out to her sides for balance. “Whoa.”
Sam dropped his stick and grabbed her arm with his good hand. “Now I know where Conner gets his balance.”
“I can balance.” She looked up. Way up into Sam’s blue eyes. The skates gave him an extra three inches, which made him about six-foot-five or more. “Just not on ice.” She turned to take a few steps, but his grasped tightened.
“Put your arm through mine.”
“I don’t want to pull you down if I fall.”
He let go of her with his hand and stuck his right arm out from his side. “You’re not big enough to pull me down.”
Careful to touch him as little as possible, she threaded her hand under his arm and grabbed onto his hard biceps. Heat rolled off him and warmed up the tips of her fingers and palm. Hot, sweaty testosterone seeped into her skin, and an unbidden memory of his hot, sweaty skin pressed against hers doubled her pulse. The memory was purely physical and spread warmth up her arm and across her chest. “Jeez, you’re really hot,” she blurted.
He chuckled. “Thank you. You look hot in that dress, and I have no idea why. It’s kind of frumpy.”
She looked down at herself. “It’s vintage.”
“Vintage just means old.”
“Some things get better with age. Like wine and cheese.”
“And whiskey and sex.”
She was not going to take that bait. “When I said you were hot, I was talking about temperature.”
“Yeah. I know.”
She glanced up past the hard edge of his perfect jaw and into his blue eyes. “It’s freezing out here.”
“It’s not that cold,” said the contrary man who threw off heat like a bed of hot coals.
They stepped onto the rubber mats, and she dropped her arm, curling her hand against the warmth in her palm.
“Do you want to go into the lounge, where it’s warmer?”
She looked past him to where Conner stood pushing pucks around. Then for no apparent reason at all, he fell on his behind. “I’ll watch you and Conner.” She sat on the bench and wrapped her coat around her bare legs.
“Sit tight.” He headed down the tunnel, and she watched Conner rise to his knees. “Are you okay?” she called out.
He nodded, his helmet shifting about on his head as he got his skate beneath him and stood. In hindsight, she should have changed before she’d brought Conner to the rink. Changed into some ski pants and fuzzy boots, but her head was filled with all the last-minute things she had to do before the Kramer’s fiftieth wedding anniversary the next day.
Fifty years. She folded her arms across her chest and hunched her shoulders against the cold. Her parents hadn’t lasted fifteen years, let alone fifty. Her grandmother had died before their fifty-year wedding mark, and Autumn’s own wedding… Well, that one didn’t even count as a real wedding, and if she hadn’t gotten pregnant, she never would have seen Sam again. The fact that there were people out there celebrating fifty years made her think that it was possible, despite her more cynical side.
“Stand up.” Sam’s black sweats and fish logo blocked her vision of Conner. Beneath his good arm, he held a deep blue and green blanket.
She stood, and he wrapped the blanket around her shoulders. Her coat fell and covered her feet as he pulled the blanket under her chin. “Are you sure you’re going to be warm enough?”
She nodded, and the backs of his knuckles bumped her chin. “You’re moving your arm.”
“I can move my arm,” he said as he looked into her eye. “Just not my shoulder.”
“I’m ready, Dad,” Conner called out to him.
“I’ll be right there, buddy.” His thumb brushed across her jaw. “Do you remember the other d
ay when we were in my bathroom talking about your muffin?”
“You mean my cupcakes?”
He grinned. “I thought we talked about your muffin.”
“You were doped up.” She tried not to laugh. “It was cupcakes.”
“I like muffins.”
Yeah. Everyone on the planet pretty much knew that about Sam. “What’s your point?”
“Just that I might have been out of line talking about your muffin, but since we were just talking about your cupcakes, then I’m—”
“Sam, what are you doing to that poor woman?” a male voice interrupted. Autumn turned to look at the man walking from the tunnel. Surprise stopped Ty Savage in his tracks. “Why are you harassing Autumn, the wedding planner?”
“Hello,” she said. “How are you?”
“Okay.” He looked from one to the other. “Evidently you know Sam.”
Sam dropped his hands to his sides. “Autumn is my ex-wife.”
Ex-wife? He usually introduced her as “Conner’s mother.”
Ty’s dark brows shot up his forehead. “Oh.”
Autumn was used to Ty’s reaction. She clearly was not Sam’s type of woman.
“What are you up to?” Sam asked his former teammate.
“Just viewing prospect tapes.”
“Anyone look promising?” Sam asked, all nonchalant, as if he hadn’t just been talking about muffins and cupcakes.
“A kid from Russia and a sophomore from Syracuse with a wicked wrist shot.”
“You looking at rookies?”
“Yeah. We’re loaded with prima donna vets like you.”
“Dad!”
Sam turned to Conner. “I’m coming.”
“It was nice to see you again, Autumn.” Ty turned, and said over his shoulder, “If you see Jules around, tell him I’m looking for him.” Then he was gone, the sound of his shoes silenced by the rubber matting.
“You think you’re going to be warm enough now?”
Autumn nodded, and as Sam stepped onto the ice, she leaned forward and picked up her coat. Sam skated next to Conner and picked up his stick. The two passed the puck back and forth, and she watched the way Sam paused to touch his son’s head and back and patiently helped him when he fell. The two skated side by side. Sam made it look easy, smooth, while Conner struggled, teetering and almost falling every inch of the way. Sam said something, his low voice mixing with Conner’s childish tones. The two laughed, and her heart lifted a little in her chest.
The blanket fell from Autumn’s shoulders and pooled at her waist as she reached into her coat pocket. She pulled out her BlackBerry before her heart pinched, too. Before she got all weepy at the sight. She read her e-mails, sent text messages to Shiloh, and brought up the calendar on her phone. The Friday after Thanksgiving she and Conner were leaving on a minivacation. They needed to leave early Friday morning, but Thanksgiving was Sam’s holiday this year, which was annoying since Sam was Canadian and didn’t celebrate Thanksgiving on the third Thursday in November. Usually, if it was Sam’s holiday, and if he was going to be in town, which was rare, he kept Conner overnight. She needed to talk to him about that and hoped like heck he’d let Conner come home that night so they could head out at daybreak. It was the first Thanksgiving in a long time that she wouldn’t be making a big meal for her brother and Conner. Conner would be with Sam, Vince at work, and she’d have the whole day to herself.
“Are you waiting for someone?”
She looked up past black-and-brown plaid pants, black shirt, and paisley tie, beneath a peach-colored argyle sweater. Muscles bulged the arms of his shirt and the collar around his neck. He had dark skin, black spiky hair, and deep green eyes.
“I’m waiting for my son.” She pointed to the ice where Conner once again stood between Sam’s skates.
“You’re Conner’s mother?”
“Yep.”
“I’m Julian.” He sat next to her. “And I believe you’re planning my wedding.”
“Oh.” She took in his pastel sweater, and said, “You’re Bo Ross’s fiancé.” She stuck out her hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”
He took her hand in his. “I’m glad you talked Chelsea and Bo out of a double ceremony. Sometimes they finish each other’s sentences, and I was afraid I might end up marrying the wrong sister.”
Autumn smiled. She’d only met with the twins for a short time, but she thought Julian’s concern was justified. She also thought, given Julian’s fashion risks, it was probably a good thing Bo loved black and white.
“Nice day dress.”
Her brows shot up her forehead, and she let go of his hand. He knew what a day dress was? “Thanks. I got it at Le Frock. A little vintage store on Pine.”
“I know where it is. Last summer I got a sharkskin suit there.”
“Blue?”
“Yeah.”
“I remember it. I bet you look great.”
“I’m the only one who likes it.” He shrugged. “I met Conner a few weeks ago after the Stars game.” His gaze skimmed her face. “You’re different than I would have imagined an ex-wife of Sam’s.”
“Not a long-legged, big-lipped supermodel?”
“No. You’re prettier than his supermodels.”
Autumn laughed. “Right.”
“Seriously. Until now, I thought Sam had horrible taste in women, but you’re a surprise. A gorgeous redhead.”
It was such an outrageous lie, she laughed even harder. She put her hand on his shoulder and gave him a little shove like he was Vince. He was built like Vince.
She glanced up as she heard the shh shh shh of skates on ice. Sam stopped a few feet away within a shower of glittering snow, his blue gaze icy as he looked at Julian.
“Savage is looking for you, jagbag.”
Sam grabbed frozen peas from his freezer and shut the door. He shoved the bag beneath his sweatshirt and held it against his shoulder. He wandered into the living room toward the huge windows and looked out at the city and the bay beyond. When he’d seen Autumn laughing with Julian, touching him, relaxed and easy, something inside him had snapped. Snapped right in two, and he’d called Julian a jagbag. Not that he had any qualms about insulting another man. Not even men he liked. And he liked Julian, but he usually knew why he was insulting another guy.
You can certainly entertain any woman you like here, Autumn had told him the other day. Just as I can entertain whomever I like in my house. Until that day, he’d never really thought about her entertaining anyone. In her house or anywhere else. Probably because Conner had never mentioned any other man but Vince. So, Sam had always just assumed that there had never been anyone in her life. He’d never wondered if she had a boyfriend, a friend with benefits, or just the occasional hookup.
He wondered about it now, and he wondered why he was uncomfortable with the thought of her with anyone. He’d like to tell himself that it was because he didn’t want his son exposed to random boyfriends. That Vince was already one too many men in his son’s life.
There was more to it. Maybe he just didn’t like the thought of someone sleeping in her bed, pressed tight against her smooth skin, in a house that he’d technically bought.
No, there was more to it than that. He didn’t care about the money he gave her to support Conner. He couldn’t say the same about someone pressed against her skin, though. But of all the men on the planet, he had the least right to have an issue with whomever she pressed against. He knew that, but that didn’t stop him from thinking about her lately.
A lot. Autumn and that weekend in Vegas kept slipping into his memory like a dream that he couldn’t shake. Like a hot, hazy dream filled with reckless desire and consuming need.
Maybe it was because he was spending more time with Conner and seeing her more often. Maybe because he was usually on the road, and these past few days he’d had too much time on his hands and had been thinking about putting his hands on her. Maybe because he hadn’t put his hands on anyone for a while.
M
aybe he was just bored.
Whatever it was, maybe it was time to figure it out.
Chapter Twelve
Any Man of Mine:
Does Dishes
Autumn sat at the head of her dining-room table, her head bowed. She held Vince’s hand in her left and Sam’s in her right. Conner sat beside Sam with his eyes closed. “Bless us Oh Lord for Thy gifts we are about to receive,” she prayed as Vince and Sam glared at each other over the stuffed turkey in the middle of the table on her mother’s lace cloth. “May our bodies be nourished and our hearts grateful.” She squeezed her brother’s hand, and added, “And can we all just get along. Amen.”
Sam let go of her hand and smiled. “Amen. Great prayer.”
“Especially that part where you channeled Rodney King,” Vince added.
“Knock knock.”
“Who’s there?” all three asked at once
“Pass the mash potatoes.”
“Pass the mash potatoes who?”
Conner shrugged. “Pass the mash potatoes to me. I’m starving.”
Sam shook his head as he spooned potatoes onto Conner’s plate. “You’re going to seriously have to work on your jokes.” He spooned some for himself, then handed the bowl to Autumn. The tips of her fingers touched his before she pulled back.
Usually on holidays, Autumn dressed for comfort, but today wasn’t a usual holiday, and she’d dressed in a fitted white blouse and a black pencil skirt that hugged her body and made her look like a fifties pinup model. She’d had mixed feeling about dressing up because Sam was coming to dinner. On the one hand, she didn’t want him to think she’d squeezed into her skirt because of him. On the other hand, she didn’t want him to see her in old sweats. Once she opened the door and seen Sam, she was glad she’d made the effort. He looked cool and hot at the same time in black wool pants and gray V-neck sweater with a white T-shirt beneath. Not like the last time when she’d seen him, all sweaty and scruffy radiating body heat.
“Aren’t you Canadian?” Vince forked sliced turkey on his plate.
Any Man of Mine Page 15
