Skater's Waltz

by Peggy Jaeger

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Kudos for Peggy Jaeger

  Skater’s Waltz

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  A word about the author...

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  To recover his balance, Cole leaned back into the couch, grabbed what he hoped were her upper arms, and shoved. In a heartbeat, she was lying backward along the length of the couch with him spread out on top of her.

  Both were laughing and wriggling, each trying to get the upper hand.

  Tiffany squealed, trying to twist her hips out from beneath him. “Let me go!”

  “Not a chance. I know how your devious little mind works, and I taught you how to do this. The minute I loosen up, you’ll hip check me over the back of the couch. No, thanks.”

  Tiffany burst out laughing. “You rat. That was exactly what I was going to do.”

  “You know retreat and surrender are inevitable, Tiff. I outweigh you, and I’ve got the distinct advantage of your injury in my favor. Give?”

  “Okay, you win.” She went limp beneath him.

  The corners of his eyes narrowed as he smiled down at her. “You must be maturing,” he said. “You never used to give up so easily.”

  When he removed one hand from her arm, she reached up to trace the outline of one of his eyes. Her finger moved from the outer canthus to his cheek, smoothing the skin she touched. “You didn’t have these little lines when you left.”

  Cole stared down at her face.

  Her finger roamed down to the corners of his mouth, outlining them, then on to the small dent in the middle of his chin. An impish grin fanned across her face.

  Kudos for Peggy Jaeger

  SKATER’S WALTZ came in First Place

  in the Short/Long Series Contemporary Category

  of the 8th Annual Dixie Kane Memorial Contest

  in October 2013.

  Skater’s Waltz

  by

  Peggy Jaeger

  The MacQuire Women Series

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Skater’s Waltz

  COPYRIGHT © 2015 by Margaret-Mary Jaeger

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com

  Cover Art by Rae Monet, Inc. Design

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Champagne Rose Edition, 2015

  Print ISBN 978-1-62830-807-5

  Digital ISBN 978-1-62830-808-2

  The MacQuire Women Series

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  For Larry and Erin.

  You are both half of my heart.

  Together, you make it, and me, whole.

  Chapter One

  Madison Square Garden, NYC

  Cole Greer jogged down the arena steps, eyes focused on the ice and the skater gliding across it. The music blasted a sixties tune about a secret agent and the beat was as fast as the speed of the lone skater.

  Not used to the frigid air, he balled his hands in his jacket pockets. His gaze followed the skater from one corner of the ice to the other while a voice from below him barked out orders and commands.

  The voice was a familiar one, and hearing it, Cole grinned. He walked down the steps to the rink entrance and stood silent, waiting. When the music ended, the skater glided from center ice to the man leaning against the rink railing.

  “You missed the last spin. Your timing’s off.”

  The skater, head held regally high, halted in front of the barricade, shards of ice shooting up from her blades at the quickness of the stop. In a frosty pitch that could cut glass she said, “My timing’s perfect. The routine’s off, not me. You need to fix the last part. It doesn’t blend well with the music.”

  “Fix the last…why you! That routine’s as perfect as it’s ever going to get. I spent three months on it to make sure. Don’t be telling me it needs anything other than a skater who knows the difference between a downbeat and a pause.”

  The skater lifted her perfect nose, sniffed the air, and sliced the man with a murderous, eye-slitting glare. “If I recall correctly, I’m the one who studied music and dance for ten years, while you were flitting around in cheesy ice shows.”

  “Insolent whelp.”

  “Has-been.”

  The two stood facing one another, green eyes glowering into crystal blue, youth defying age.

  Cole let out a hearty laugh that echoed up to the Garden’s rafters. “It’s nice to know some things never change.”

  Both sparring partners turned, scowls replaced in an instant with warm and welcome smiles.

  “Cole!” Tiffany rushed through the barricade opening, and leaped into his outstretched arms.

  He spun her around and pulled her in for a hug. “Hey, Brat. I missed you.”

  “I missed you too.” She sighed against him, her arms around his neck. “When did you get back?”

  With care, Cole lowered her back down to the floorboards. “About ten minutes ago. My luggage is downstairs at the security desk.”

  “So this time maybe you’ll stay a little longer than a second and a half?” Sean O’Brien asked.

  “Hopefully,” Cole replied. “It’s good to see you, Sean.”

  “Aye, and you’re a sight for weary eyes, m’boy. Been too long, I’m thinking.”

  “I agree,” Tiffany said. She wrapped an arm around Cole’s and slid one of her gloved hands into his.

  “Well, now, alert the militia. Her Highness agrees with something I’ve said. I may have to go to the emergency room, me heart’s beating s’fast.”

  “Be still, you old fool,” Tiffany told him.

  Cole knew these two combatants well enough to ignore the barbs.

  “How long are you back for?” Her eyes searched his face.

  He shrugged. “It depends.”

  “On what?”

  He stared down at her, his lips twitching at the familiar look on her face. Wide, almond-shaped green eyes were open, expectant, and intent.

  “Well, for one thing,” he said, “I need a place to crash. I gave up my sublease when I left, since I didn’t know how long I’d be on assignment with the News Corps.”

  “Twenty-three months, two weeks, three days,” Tiffany said.

  Cole’s eyebrows rose. Her pale skin reddened, the freckles across her nose darkening.

  “I on
ly remember because you left right after the European competition,” she said. “And you’re staying at the apartment. No arguments. Your room’s just as it always was.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “What else?” she asked.

  “Well, for another, if your cooking has improved since the last time I was home.”

  “Don’t count on it,” Sean mumbled.

  “Don’t pay any attention to him,” she said with an annoyed flick of her hand. “He’s been having memory lapses lately, and we’re afraid he needs to go into a home.”

  “At least in a home I’d get some palatable meals,” the Irishman tossed out.

  “My cooking’s just fine. Aunt Serena has been helping me. I can do a wicked breakfast, and I’m great at steak.”

  “Well then, I just may stay a little longer than usual.” Cole squeezed her arm affectionately.

  A tall blond man garbed in black sweats and matching skates glided to them from across the ice, and stopped at the barrier. “Ready for rehearsal, Tiffany?” he asked.

  “In a sec. Cole, you remember Bryan Timms. He’s in the show too. We have a couple of numbers together.”

  “Canadian silver medalist, right?”

  “You got it,” Bryan replied. “I’m ready whenever you two are,” he said to Tiffany and Sean.

  “As soon as Her Highness here is finished holding court, we’ll start.”

  “We open in two weeks, so we have to keep on schedule,” she told Cole. “Why don’t you stick around and watch us rehearse?”

  “As much as I’d like to, I can’t. I have an appointment with Mike and Carson Stepman at twelve.”

  “About what?”

  Cole smiled again and tweaked her nose. “You haven’t changed a bit, Brat. You’re still as nosy as ever.”

  “Aye, and bossy too,” Sean added. “Stop badgering the man, lass. We have a lot to go over and very little time to do it. You can pester him all you want later. After rehearsal.”

  “What time are you done?” Cole still held her hand, not wanting to let it go.

  “Well, if my illustrious director here has his way, we’ll be done next Tuesday. But I guess we should end about four.”

  “Fine. I’ll be back by then.” While Sean moved to Bryan, Cole and Tiffany stood where they were, hands still entwined, staring at one another.

  “It’s good to have you home,” Tiffany said.

  “It’s good to be home.”

  “I…”

  “What?”

  She shook her head. “Nothing. It’s just good to see you. I missed you so much.”

  Without thought, one hand came up to her cheek and gently caressed the smooth, soft skin. “I missed you too, Brat.”

  She smiled at the childhood nickname.

  After a few quiet moments he let go of her hand. “You’d better go. They’re waiting.”

  “See you later.”

  Tiffany walked carefully across the wooden floorboards and back onto the ice. She threw him one last smile over her shoulder, and then glided smoothly to the center where her skating partner and coach stood.

  With a sigh, Cole shoved his ungloved hands back into his jacket. “It’s very good to be home.”

  Chapter Two

  The dressing room looked like a cyclone had blown through it. A small love seat was unrecognizable, the cushions layered with discarded clothes and skating costumes. Various colored ice skates and numerous fashion magazines littered the floor. A makeup mirror covered one wall and was surrounded by bright bare bulbs. Makeup, brushes, creams, and a hair dryer cluttered the table underneath it.

  Tiffany sat, facing the mirror, a woebegone expression reflected back at her.

  Would he ever see her as an adult? Would she ever be anything other than a little girl in his eyes?

  From the age of six she’d loved Cole. At fourteen he’d barely grown into the body of a young man, all gangly arms and nervous manners. They’d gone to a flea market with their families, and Tiffany had at once attached herself to the handsome six-foot-tall teen. Patient and kind, not bothered at all by her attention, he’d purchased an artificial sapphire ring she’d admired, given it to her, and playfully announced to one and all, “We’re engaged.”

  The ring now hung from a chain around her neck. It hadn’t fit her finger in years but had never left her body for one moment since he’d given it to her. She wore it for every competition, every event she skated in. Her good luck charm, she’d once told an interviewer when questioned about the bauble. But it was much more.

  She’d worn it the night she’d won her first gold medal at the tender age of fourteen, and then four years later for her second. The Olympic medallions, when placed around her neck at the awards ceremonies were nice, two awards for which she’d worked arduously. But it was the small blue ring that hung from a gold chain she treasured above all else. It gave her a sense she always had a little piece of Cole with her.

  Tiffany stared at her reflection while she played with the ring, rubbing it, drawing it back and forth on its chain.

  She needed to find a way to make Cole see her, really see her, as the grown woman she’d become, and no longer as a child.

  How to do it was the problem.

  He’d always regarded her as a little girl. True, the eight-year age difference between them added to the dilemma, but now at twenty-three, Tiffany was confident she could make Cole see her with a man’s eyes.

  The clock above the mirror told her it was almost five. She stepped behind the dressing screen, shrugged out of her leotard, and began changing into her street clothes.

  A knock on the door halted her.

  “Come in.”

  “Hey, Brat, ready to go?” Cole entered the room. “Still as neat as ever, I see.”

  “Don’t be mean. I know where everything is.” She looked up at him over the top of the tapestry screen.

  He quickly turned away from her. “Sorry, Tiff. I didn’t know you were changing.”

  The flush that traveled up the sides of his neck charmed her.

  “I’m almost ready.”

  “I would have waited outside.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and kept his back to her.

  “Why? It’s not like you haven’t seen me half-dressed before. I distinctly remember the time you and some of your hoodlum frat brothers spent a long weekend at Carvan.”

  “What were you? Ten?”

  The squeak in his voice thrilled her. “Yeah, so?”

  “It’s a little different seeing you at ten without your top on than seeing you at twenty-one.”

  “Twenty-three.” She came around the screen, tucking her shirt into her pants. “You missed my last two birthdays.”

  When he turned to face her something flickered in his eyes, something that made her heart stop. In a whisper it passed, and his blue eyes returned to their normal state.

  “Now that you mention it, I did. I guess I owe you belated birthday greetings.”

  Tiffany laughed and said, “Thanks,” while leaning into the mirror. She reached a hand up and pulled at the two combs securing her hair to the top of her head. In one swift motion, it tumbled down around her, settling about her waist.

  Cole’s breath hitched. She glanced over her shoulder at him and made sure her face gave away none of the emotions raging inside of her. “Something wrong?”

  “I’d just forgotten...what...never mind. Are you ready?”

  With a secret smile she turned back to the mirror.

  “How’d your meeting go?” she asked when they walked from the room.

  “Okay. Mike says hi.”

  Tiffany’s smile came fast. Her love for her stepfather went deep. When he’d come into her and her mother’s lives seventeen years ago, it was as if she’d special ordered him from God. He was everything she’d wanted in a father: calm, kind, loving, accepting, always willing to make time for her, to rearrange his busy schedule whenever she needed support during a competition or a shoulder to cry on. Tiffa
ny thanked heaven daily for bringing Mike into their lives.

  Of course, she was doubly thankful because through Mike, she’d gotten Cole.

  “So are you going to tell me what the big powwow was about?” She linked her arm in his when they came out onto the street.

  It was a beautiful fall day in New York. The air was crisp, the sky a bright, cloudless blue. Tiffany pulled the collar of her jacket up to block the chilly breeze. While they walked along the busy midtown street, the warm, salty aroma of sidewalk pretzels and chestnuts tickled her nose.

  She stared up at his profile, seeing for the first time the small lines beginning to etch themselves into the corners of his eyes.

  He looked so tired.

  She tightened her grip on his upper arm. When he glanced down at her, his shrug rippled through his jacket.

  “My next assignment, actually.”

  Tiffany stiffened. Keeping her voice controlled and even, she said, “Going off again so soon? I’d hoped you might hang around at least through the weekend.”

  “So, apparently, did Stepman.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Mike’s thinking of resigning his anchor position. He wants to retire.”

  Tiffany shook her head. “I didn’t know that.”

  “Neither did I until a few hours ago. He recommended me for his spot. Stepman is considering it.”

  “Oh, my God!” Tiffany stopped short and flung her arms around him. “That means we’ll see you all the time instead of whenever you’re between countries. Oh, Cole, this is such wonderful news.”

  She smiled up at him, her arms tight around his neck. His face didn’t register the pleasure she wanted to see. Instead, his blue eyes had turned a smoky gray, serious and pensive. His hands had come around to circle her waist, and she could feel his long, strong fingers through the fabric of her jacket. For a moment all motion around them stopped, as if they were alone on the bustling street.

  Tiffany forgot how to breathe. She could hear the blood drubbing in her temples, feel it coursing, inch by inch, through her system. Cole’s hands gripped her firmly, making movement impossible.

  He pulled her in closer, his head inching down to hers, his lips just parting. A car horn blared, and all at once his face changed. His mouth flattened and hardened into a thin line; he blinked several times and drew back from her.