A Winning Season
Page 22
She shook her head. “Skiing.”
He blinked at her in puzzlement and adjusted the cuffs of his dress shirt. “Say what, now? Wouldn’t that be for gym class?”
“No, Dad. The physics of it. Racing. Did you know Olympians ski between 75 and 95 miles an hour?”
He did. He also knew that avalanches moved at about the same speed, and ever since his older brother, Caleb, had been caught in one, racing down a slope had lost its shine. But then, without that avalanche, Caleb would still be in Denver, lonely and hurting. The charming Montana ski town—and the wonderful woman Caleb had fallen in love with—had provided a safe space to heal. Asher was hoping Sutter Creek would be the same for Ruth and him. The uncertainty of moving was a thousand times better than watching Ruth stare at the wall of her bedroom in the basement in his parents’ Brooklyn brownstone with tears on her apple-round cheeks.
“I get bonus marks if I can test my hypothesis,” she said.
“Hypothesis, huh? You sound like Papa.” Alex had been a high school science teacher. Damn good one, too. Ruth had been spouting four-syllable words since preschool.
Her smile wobbled. “Can I take ski lessons? Harper and Fallon said there’s a team. With competitions and everything.”
“Bit early in the season for that, honey.” He mentally added the cost of equipment rentals, passes and lessons to the ongoing tally of future orthodontia and college. Ouch. Even with his raise, going from two incomes down to one meant a strained budget. “The mountain doesn’t open for a couple of months.”
Her toes collided with the desk again, and an animal whine sounded from over near the magazines. Weren’t assistance dogs supposed to be silent unless they were alerting to something? The cute blonde owner seemed to have her hands full.
As did he, with almost five feet of precocious ten-year-old.
“I know,” Ruth insisted. “But my teacher says I can hand in that part later.”
Maybe his brother’s fiancée, who patrolled for the mountain, would be able to apply her employee discount to Ruth’s costs. Learning to ski might be affordable, but joining a racing team would be astronomical. “We’ll see, okay?”
Ruth narrowed her hazel eyes. “That means no.”
No, that meant moving across the country had dug way too far into what remained of Alex’s life insurance after paying funeral home and hospital co-pay bills. But Asher wasn’t going to lay that on his daughter’s shoulders. He knew how to stretch his salary. He also needed to make sure he wasn’t quashing her attempts to make friends, and she’d dropped the names Harper and Fallon a few times this week.
“Skiing is a big commitment, Ruthie. Why don’t we go to the community center this weekend, see if there’s an activity a little less involved? Dance, or floor hockey.”
She slid off the counter and crossed her arms over her teal fleece jacket. “You don’t feel like you’re flying when you do ballet, Dad.”
“You might. Grand jetés are pretty impressive.”
She rolled her eyes. “A ballerina would go max—” she stared into space for a second, lips moving silently “—4 miles an hour. That’s at least 70 miles slower. Not fast enough.”
He shook his head. The kid had never met a fact she didn’t love, and her inner calculator was mind-boggling at times. But the speed demon desire was new. “We’ll see.”
“Whatever.” She snatched her backpack off the ground and stomped around the desk toward the staff office behind him. “I have homework.”
She slammed the door.
The Dane howled, a mournful peal.
“Easy, Jacks.” The woman emerged from behind a shelf with the dog on a short lead, tail between his legs. Her eyes sparked with irritation.
“I’m sorry about the noise,” Asher mumbled. “I—”
But before he could finish his apology, the woman froze in her tracks. The dog nudged her ankle with his nose, and a click sounded. She took one step forward, then cried out and crumpled to the floor.
* * *
Maggie Reid lay on the floor for a few seconds, mimicking the periodic collapses of a person with Parkinson’s. The Dane was nearing the end of his training, but for his itty-bitty issue with sudden noises. Good gravy. If being at a library startled the gentle giant, she had no hope of acclimatizing him to street noise.
She sighed and rose on her elbows. At least in standing still at her side, waiting for her to use his harness to help her get off the floor, Jackson was following protocol—
“Can I help you?” A rich baritone, rent with concern, interrupted her attempt to train her charge. “I don’t want to interfere if you have everything under control, but you went down pretty hard, and—”
“I’m pretending,” she cut in.
The librarian came to a halt a few feet away from her. His almost-black brows drew together, making his glasses slide down a bit. He shoved up the thick-rimmed, navy-colored frames and rubbed his fingers along his bearded cheek. From her semiprone position, he towered over her like a freaking pine tree. Wowza. Her friend Garnet had not lied when she’d described her brother-in-law-to-be as an academic mountain man.
“Pretending?” he repeated, a faint New York accent bending the syllables. He crouched beside her. His dark jeans stretched across muscular thighs, cuffed once, showing off some really pretty brown Chelsea boots. A hint of sage drifted to her nose.
She held in an appreciative sigh. “I’m training Jackson here to be a service dog.”
The wrinkles of concern relaxed around his brown eyes. “Ah. I didn’t realize.”
She winced. “Of course, you didn’t. I’ve been training dogs for years, and most everyone in town is used to me affecting various physical needs during sessions. I should have warned you. I’m sorry.”
She grabbed the dog’s harness and mimicked the deliberate motions of a person with neurodegenerative symptoms. Once on her feet, she used the clicker to let the dog know he’d correctly completed his task, then lavished him with whispers of “good boy” and ear scratches. After nuzzling the sweet beast once more for good measure, she stuck out her hand to the librarian, who had stood while she praised the dog. “Maggie Reid.”
“Asher Matsuda,” he said, holding the books she’d dropped when she’d hit the ground. “But knowing Sutter Creek, that’s probably old information.” He took her hand in his large, warm grip. She shivered. A woman could find uses for hands like those.
“I did know your name, but because of Garnet, not town gossip,” she said. Well, because of Asher’s almost-sister-in-law and town gossip, to be specific.
“You know Garnet?”
“Yep. I’m on the search and rescue crew with her.”
“Dogs, veterinary medicine, search and rescue and—” he glanced at the instruction manuals in his hand “—cabinetry and flooring. You’re a woman of many talents.”
And a busy one. The hour she’d cleared out of her appointment schedule to work with Jackson on running errands was almost up. She glanced at the clock over the circulation desk where, a few minutes ago, she’d been trying not to stare at Asher as he’d joked around with his daughter. Up until the slamming door, that was. But that was preteens for you. “My brother’s building a dog training facility onto the back of my clinic, and we’re trying to do some of the interior finishing ourselves.”
His slow-spreading smile sent tingles skittering through her limbs. “If you have any questions, ask. I used to work construction back when I was young and naive and playing guitar didn’t pay the bills.”
Maggie bit her lip. Strap a tool belt around his waist and dirty up those jeans a bit, and yeah, she could see him wielding a hammer. She could picture him with an electric guitar slung around his broad shoulders, too. His stacked leather-and-metal bracelets would clink against the body of the instrument, cradled below his flat abs... Mmm. No. That full, groomed beard and wavy h
air had to belong to an acoustic player. Ballads in a coffee shop for this guy.
Mouth suddenly dry, she swallowed. “The glamor of library science won out?”
He laughed. “That, and parenting.”
Oof, those glasses were sexy. As was a man who embraced his responsibility.
Had her dad ever talked about being a father in such an affectionate manner?
Don’t even go there, Maggie. Dating anyone, let alone a single parent, was a big no-no in her books—why start something up that would inevitably end and scar a poor kid in the process? But had she been looking for something serious, Asher Matsuda would have been an interesting candidate.
Provided he was interested in women, too. Garnet had mentioned he’d lost his husband last year.
“I should, uh, run those books through the self-checkout,” she said. “Jacks and I have to get back to work.”
He put a hand to the placket of his button-down. Her brain so wanted to read that as a hey, Maggie, look at my pecs signal. She flicked her gaze upward before she could properly evaluate the state of his chest. Wasn’t fair to check someone out who didn’t necessarily welcome the attention.
“You’ll put me out of a job,” he teased, turning on a boot heel and taking her books behind the circulation desk. He raised a brow as Jackson ambled up beside her, nose reaching the top of the counter. “Your buddy there could probably even bowl me over.”
She shook her head. “He’s well trained.”
“Minus the yelping?”
With a humph, she narrowed her eyes. “He’s just easily startled.”
Doubt crossed his face. “I—”
She slapped her library card down on the counter. The dog whimpered.
Jitters spread in Maggie’s stomach. Yeah, two-thirds of dogs failed their service training. But of the six dogs she had trained to date for an organization in Missoula, she had a perfect record. There wasn’t any official licensing process, but between Maggie and Lachlan, they had a spotless reputation, Lachlan with search and rescue dogs, Maggie with service animals. And once her brother’s expansion was up and running, he’d hire more staff and have a larger capacity.
“Seems you have your hands full with that guy,” Asher finished quietly, passing over the checked-out instruction manuals. Their hands brushed, sending a shimmer of warmth up her arm. Her breath caught and she glanced at his face to make sure he hadn’t picked up on the reaction.
His brown eyes were a little wide behind those sexy nerd glasses. Agh, he had noticed, and was no doubt trying to figure out how to let her down gently. He probably had to fend off admirers on an hourly basis. He had no way of knowing she would never count herself among them.
“Uh, Dad?” A small voice with an East Coast inflection equal to Asher’s came from over his shoulder. “I need help with—Ooh, that dog is so pretty. He’s blue.”
The girl had the awkward look of a kid who’d grown a whole lot in a short period of time. She was almost as tall as Maggie, not that five feet one was a height to aspire to. The girl rushed to her dad’s side. When her gaze fell on Jackson’s vest, her smile faded. “Oh. He’s working.”
Maggie nodded. “Thanks for noticing. It’s important not to pet him.”
“I know. One of my friends at my old Hebrew school had a dog to help him with his autism.” She bit her lip before adding hopefully, “But sometimes, I would visit his apartment and the dog got to take off his vest so I could pet him...”
“Ruthie,” Asher warned quietly.
“It’s okay,” Maggie said, unable to resist the hope in his daughter’s expression. “Maybe after Jackson finishes his training.”
If Jackson finishes his training.
The faint chime of the Episcopalian church bell marking the hour filtered through the closed front door. She grimaced. “Crud, I’m late. See you around.”
“I look forward to it.” A hint of pleasure tilted one corner of Asher’s mouth up. Good, she hadn’t crossed any lines too badly... It spread to a full-on curious smile as he continued with, “Books are due in two weeks.”
So was Jackson—in two weeks, Maggie’s brother would formally assess the Dane for suitability as a service dog.
Could she get this done in time while managing her clinic and following through on her promises to help her brother with his construction work? Anxious pressure built in her chest. Muttering her thanks and returning Asher’s casual wave, she led the dog out of the library, groaning as he cowered at the thud, thud, thud of approaching skateboard wheels on the wooden, raised sidewalk.
She raised her palm to bring him to attention. Come on, big guy. You gotta figure this out.
For his own sake, and hers.
The only thing Maggie disliked more than relationships was failure.
Copyright © 2020 by Lindsay Macgowan
Love Harlequin romance?
DISCOVER.
Be the first to find out about promotions, news and exclusive content!
Facebook.com/HarlequinBooks
Twitter.com/HarlequinBooks
Instagram.com/HarlequinBooks
Pinterest.com/HarlequinBooks
ReaderService.com
EXPLORE.
Sign up for the Harlequin e-newsletter and download a free book from any series at
TryHarlequin.com
CONNECT.
Join our Harlequin community to share your thoughts and connect with other romance readers!
Facebook.com/groups/HarlequinConnection
ISBN-13: 9781488070044
A Winning Season
Copyright © 2020 by Rochelle Alers
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
For questions and comments about the quality of this book, please contact us at CustomerService@Harlequin.com.
Harlequin Enterprises ULC
22 Adelaide St. West, 40th Floor
Toronto, Ontario M5H 4E3, Canada
www.Harlequin.com