by Erin Quinn
But still, thoughts of those sparkling dark eyes and quick smile had kept him awake all night. That and the deluge of memories that always came with sleeping in his old room in his mother’s house. Hell, he couldn’t go out the front door without thinking of Madison.
And chocolate donuts. To this day, the smell of them could twist his gut.
His mom was in the kitchen when he came downstairs, putting something into jars that was bright yellow and smelled sweet and delicious.
“Apricots?” he guessed.
“Mango. It’s a new one.” Without asking, she pulled a biscuit from a tray sitting on top of the counter and slathered a thick layer of the gooey stuff on top, waiting patiently for him to take a bite.
Her biscuits were legendary and the mango preserves? “God, Mom. That’s good.”
She beamed. “I thought so, too. Maybe my best.”
He was too busy cramming the rest of the biscuit into his mouth to agree. JT had always had a sweet tooth and he’d been his mother’s taste tester for as long as he could remember. Not all her concoctions turned out as good as this one, but she had a gift at canning and preserving. That gift had supported them after JT’s dad hit the road and never came back.
Gramps had helped them financially, but Catherine Winchester was a proud woman. Determination—and a bit of desperation—had forced her into an unexplored niche which she’d been smart enough to capitalize. Now she had a nationally syndicated cooking show called Canning With Catherine and an avid audience that tuned in regularly to learn how to preserve anything they could fit in a jar. His deadbeat dad had tried to cash in on her success—something JT would not forgive—but as far as he knew, Jeff Winchester had never managed to get a dime.
“Speaking of things you like,” Mom said with enough nonchalance to set off DEFCON Five alarms in his head, “I heard Madison Lane is going to be at the dedication for Scout this afternoon.”
“The whole town is going to be there.”
“Aren’t you even curious to see her again?”
“I haven’t spoken to Madison in years, Mom. I doubt Scout being crowned Ice Rink King is going to make her suddenly give a damn how I’m doing.”
Scout was his younger brother, the one in the middle between JT and Hamilton. His real name was William, but to JT’s knowledge no one had ever called him that. Just like no one called JT, Jefferson Tate. No one who liked having all their teeth, that is.
Years ago, Scout’s love of hockey—and danger—had compelled Gramps to open Winchester Ice Rink, an indoor skating facility that Scout could use without his family having to worry about thin ice. Today the town planned to honor JT’s little brother with a dedication, making the Winchester Ice Rink the Scout Winchester Ice Rink. That and the decision about the cabin was what had brought JT and his brothers home at the same time.
But for JT, those reasons took a backseat to the deep and abiding need he’d been feeling to return to Plymouth Rock. To be home, with his family. To face the part of himself he’d run away from so long ago.
And, just maybe, figure out what to do about Madison Lane.
“She seeing anyone?” he asked casually.
His mom glanced at him, not even pretending to misunderstand who he meant.
“I only ever see her with Christopher.”
“Who?”
“Christopher Kuchar. He moved here about the time you left for college. You don’t know him?”
JT shook his head.
“He’s Madison’s business partner now. Those two are thick as thieves.”
“Are they a couple?”
She shrugged. “I’m at the studio so much, I miss all the good gossip.” With a deep breath, she faced him. “But I told the station that I wanted to slow down some. I miss my boys. Sometimes I feel like we’re all scattered to the wind.”
“Your boys are grown men, Mom. Scattering’s what we do. We always come home when something good is cooking, though,” he teased and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Right?”
She smiled. “Well, don’t make me wait so long for the next time.”
Chapter Three
JT didn’t bother to drive to Winchester Ice Rink. It was a short walk and with most of the town turning out for the dedication—or the free hotdogs and cake courtesy of Artie’s Market and Bella’s Bakery—parking would be scarce.
A cold wind blew down from the peaks above and flurries danced in the air around him as he made his way. Between the black cap pulled down to keep his ears warm and the matching scarf covering the lower half of his face, he managed to make it a couple of blocks without anyone recognizing him.
Then a cranberry colored scarf caught his eye and JT knew his luck had run out. Either that, or he’d just hit the jackpot. Madison stood on the corner across the street from the rink, looking somehow alone in the crowd of milling people. Vibrant, against the backdrop of winter.
JT’s steps slowed as he drank in the sight of Madison standing so still in her gray pea coat and bright hat and scarf. Matching mittens covered her hands and her long brown hair whipped in the wind like a glossy mink. She stole his breath and with it, every thought in his head.
Jesus, she was beautiful.
Maturity had added an elegance that her teenaged self had only hinted at. It was there in the fine arch of her brow and the graceful line of her jaw. She had her shoulders hunched against the cold and her coat hid her figure, but it didn’t obscure the long, lean legs in dark leggings and knee high boots. She had her knees pressed together and bounced a little to keep warm.
She hadn’t seen him yet, and for a moment, he simply stared, letting his memories tumble over one another as they took him back into his past and all the dumbass mistakes he’d made. Cautiously, he crossed the street.
As he drew closer, she turned suddenly and saw him.
“JT,” she said, surprised. Then clamped her lips tight, as if she’d resented their speaking his name.
He couldn’t really blame her.
“Madison Lane,” he said, grinning at her like he didn’t notice her scowl. “Long time no see. Don’t I get a hug?”
That wiped the scowl off and replaced it with shock. Her sparkly eyes had a dangerous glint that JT ignored. What could she do? Banish him?
Been there.
“I’d heard you were coming home for the dedication,” she said in a cool tone that got under his skin. Cool had never existed between the two of them before. Just the opposite. She was like gunpowder to the slow burn of his flame. Always had been and the years had done nothing to douse her effect.
“I thought you saw me yesterday,” he said, stepping up close. She hadn’t said no to the hug, so he put his arms around her and pulled her in. He did it quick, before she could think. Her hands came up against his ribs as his slid over her back. The coat was too bulky to get a sense of her, but her scent . . . a hot rush of memories came as he breathed her in.
Madison Lane. She’d stolen his heart, his self control, and his mind.
He held her for a moment longer than was polite, but he’d felt her turn her face, her cold nose a whisper against his warm throat. She’d been breathing him in, too.
With an impatient sound, she stepped away. But her cold cheeks had a bright flush and her eyes fairly glowed.
“You look good, Madison,” JT said. His voice came out with a husky tone that he knew she heard.
I love it when your voice gets so deep and husky . . . .
The memory of her whispering in his ear was so strong, so poignant, that it closed his throat for a moment.
“How long are you in town for?” she asked.
“A few days. Through Thanksgiving.”
She nodded and he snared her gaze, again. And held it.
It’s time. Talk to her. Ask her to dinner . . . . For once, he didn’t shy away.
“I was thinking . . . . How about the two of us go—”
“Son of GUN!” a familiar voice shouted loud enough to make JT startle. “JT Freakin’
Winchester. I heard you were back.”
Reluctantly, JT looked away from Madison’s wary eyes and faced Cody McDonald. He and Cody had played football together and been best friends since they were kids. JT had been looking forward to reconnecting with his old buddy again, but dammit, not this very minute. Cody stood right behind him, beaming like a summer sun, arms spread and an expectant look on his face.
“I’m not back,” JT answered, letting the other man pull him in a bear hug.
“The hell you ain’t,” Cody shouted, lifting JT off his feet and squeezing him.
Cody had sixty pounds and three inches on JT and still looked like the linebacker he’d been when they played for Plymouth Rock High School.
“When did you get back?” Cody demanded, finally letting JT’s feet return to the ground.
“I’m not back,” JT repeated, laughing. Because it was hard not to when Cody had you in his grip. He finally wedged his arms under the bigger man’s and managed to gain some leverage.
Once he broke free, he looked over his shoulder to find that Madison was gone. Cursing under his breath, he let Cody hug him again.
“We’re going to do some drinking,” Cody said, grabbing JT’s shoulder with one meaty hand, a serious look in his eye. “We’re going to drink a lot.”
“It’s ten o’clock in the morning.”
“Who gives a shit?”
A cute woman appeared at Cody’s side holding hands with a carrot-topped boy about eight years old. JT recognized the woman right off. There’d only been one girl in their school with hair that color and Cody had married her right after graduation. She’d been pregnant then, and the adolescent girl trailing them had to be the result.
“Kelly, good to see you,” JT said.
She gave JT a strained smile, and turned a warning eye on Cody. “No drinking until I pick up the kids,” she said. “It’s your day to watch them.”
“I don’t need to be watched,” the adolescent—what was her name? Debbie?—protested. Neither mother nor father heard her, though.
“I don’t need a lecture, Kelly. I never drink around the kids and I don’t appreciate you saying otherwise.” The two gave each other hostile looks. Cody broke off first. “Besides, we’re going to have fun. Ain’t that right, Jesse?”
He picked up his son and swung him in the air. Jesse laughed, but Debbie looked vastly inconvenienced by the prospect of fun with her father.
Kelly gave them all a stern look. “Mind your father and I’ll see you at six,” she demanded, before leaving without another word.
“She didn’t look very happy with you, stud,” JT remarked.
“Hasn’t been happy with me in years.” He set his son on his feet, fished a ten out of his pocket, and told the kids to get them hotdogs and drinks. When they’d left, he said, “Me and Kelly are getting divorced.”
JT hadn’t expected that. He’d always thought them the perfect pair. “Man, I’m sorry to hear that.”
“It was a longtime coming. I don’t blame her. I’m a pretty crappy husband. Always have been.”
“That can’t be right.” Cody was one of the most generous men he’d ever met.
“It’s done,” Cody said, to both of them it seemed. “We’re happier now. She moved into the Tucker’s old place—remember it? Out on the edge of town?”
JT remembered stealing some of his grandpa’s bourbon and getting drunk with Cody beside their barn. “What happened to the Tuckers?”
“You didn’t hear? Rich uncle kicked the bucket and left them a ton of real estate in California. They’ve moved on, man.”
“What about you? Ever thinking of leaving Plymouth Rock?”
Cody looked serious for a minute. It was a new expression for him and JT had a hard time reconciling his happy-go-lucky friend with such a somber look.
“Sometimes,” Cody said. “Sometimes I wonder what it would feel like to live your life without nine hundred and ninety-nine pairs of eyes watching you.”
Nine hundred and ninety-nine? Population of Plymouth Rock was one thousand, last time he checked. Had someone died or was Cody removing his pair of eyes from the equation?
“Shit,” Cody grumbled before JT could ask. “I wish I didn’t have to work tonight, but I got a bartender on vacay and a waitress out with the flu. Come on down to Codiacs, anyway, and I’ll be done by eight, nine tops. That work? Or you already got plans tonight?”
JT scanned the crowd, looking for a bright cranberry hat. Madison was nowhere to be seen.
“Looks like I’m free,” he said.
“Yes,” Cody responded, fake punching his arm. “We are going to drink. A lot.”
Laughing, surrendering to his fate, JT followed Cody to the front door of the rink. Every street in Plymouth Rock was picturesque, but when Gramps had the ice rink built, he’d wanted it to be beautiful as well as functional. Gramps generally got what he wanted and the rink was no exception.
He hadn’t seen his brothers yet, but as they approached the entrance, he caught sight of Scout surrounded by kids.
Carefully, JT made his way up to Scout’s side and gave his middle brother a hug. Scout looked surprised to see him, but the usually exuberant greeting he’d come to expect from his brother was lacking. JT didn’t know why, but now was not the time to question it.
“I didn’t think you’d make it, bro,” Scout said.
“And miss you getting crowned Ice Rink Queen? Are you nuts?”
Scout flipped him off with a laugh. “You staying at Mom’s?”
JT nodded. “And the cabin off and on. Ran into Cody,” he said, hooking a thumb over his shoulder to where Cody had joined his kids in the hotdog line. “Evidently we’re going to be drinking tonight. Want to join?”
“Got plans of my own already.” He wagged his brows. “With Ciara St. James. We’ll catch up at the cabin, okay?”
JT nodded and said goodbye before easing into the crowd to watch his brother charm the masses, and look for Madison Lane . . . the girl who got away.
Chapter Four
Later, after the dedication of the Scout Winchester Ice Rink had concluded, JT was still thinking of Madison, when he should have been concentrating on the hairpin turns of Avalanche Road or falling rocks through Look Up Canyon. He arrived in one piece at the gravel drive to Win Creek Cabin by sheer luck.
Planted atop a summit and surrounded by pines, Win Creek Cabin looked too vivid and picturesque to be real—a postcard image that must have been touched up along the way. Built by a prime craftsman with love in every joint and panel, the cabin stood proud among the beautiful scenery, a part of nature in all its raw beauty. It stole JT’s breath and made his heart hurt as the drive curved to give him the full view.
He couldn’t believe his brothers wanted to sell. Well, Hamilton did. JT didn’t know how Scout felt about it.
As he stepped out of the SUV, a faint whiff of wood smoke from a distant fireplace laced the piney cold and ushered in the thick damp scent of snow from high up. Win Creek Cabin smelled of his childhood.
He supposed it always would.
In the distance, he could hear the babble and rush of Win Creek as it barreled down the mountain, trying to prove it was as cunning as the river that fed it. The water would be fast and so cold it would freeze the balls of any boy foolish enough to jump in.
He’d been that dumb once. Fortunately, both balls had survived—but only because Grandpa Win had reached in with one of his ham sized paws and hauled JT out before he turned blue.
Sighing, JT climbed the steps to the wide front porch, smiling at the carved squirrels and owls that perched on the railing. Gramps had loved to whittle and could imbue life into wood with the help of a pen knife and a bottle of bourbon. He’d enjoyed both, equally.
JT’s key still fit the lock—which for some reason surprised him. He’d been away so long, it felt alien. He felt alien. But the cabin welcomed him as it always had. He swallowed the lump in his throat and walked through the door.
&nbs
p; Inside, he found gleaming wood and windows stretching from rafters to rugs, giving a bird’s eye view of towering ponderosas, barren oaks and snowy peaks in the distance. His mother and a gaggle of Plymouth Rock Historical Society friends had been out to open the house up, put away the furniture covers and air out the years of disuse, making it shine like a bright penny. He moved closer to the window, looking down into the backyard of Plymouth Rock proper. It was like looking into another world—one that never progressed past 1950. He could see the roof of the gazebo in the town’s center from here and the edge of the ice rink.
He’d been so proud of his brother today. So heartsick over the distance that had come between them. He was the oldest and he shouldn’t have let that happen. JT thought he’d glimpsed Hamilton in the crowd before the ceremony, but he couldn’t be sure. He hoped Hamilton hadn’t missed it, though. The Winchester boys needed some wins like today.
He puffed his cheeks and let out a deep breath at his morose and nostalgic thoughts. When he’d been younger, he couldn’t wait to leave this place behind. And that’s what he’d done—said goodbye and never looked back.
Except at this moment right now, it seemed like that’s all he’d ever done . . . look back.
“You’re a fucking mess, JT,” he muttered to himself.
“Ain’t that the truth,” a familiar voice answered him.
JT spun, searching the sparkling silence while every hair on his body stood on end. That voice . . . .
He’d imagine it. He had to have imagined it.
Which really wasn’t much comfort. Hearing imaginary voices wasn’t any better than hearing ghosts.
Methodically, JT went through the cabin, checking each of the five bedrooms and their closets, convinced Scout or Hamilton would be lying in wait, ready to pounce and scare the shit out of him. No sign of them. Or anyone else.
Disturbed, he went back to his SUV, unloaded his suitcase, slung his computer bag over his shoulder and grabbed the sack from Artie’s with his free hand. He’d closed the front door behind him on the way out, but as he approached, it swung silently open. A helpful welcome for a visitor with full hands.
