Run to You (3 page)

Brandon smiled. “I guess this isn’t the time and place to talk about rings.”

He looked so good, standing right in front of her. She didn’t pay attention to his looks when he came to the store; he was just another customer. But she sure paid attention now.

Yes, he was a good-looking guy. His features were handsome but not perfect; his nose was a bit crooked, and there were traces of stitches on his chin. His long dark hair curled on the back of his neck. His eyes were blue as a clear Canadian sky, fringed by long lashes. His body, his arms and legs, were strong and muscular, from years of working out.

He was something to look at, to stare at, even if he was in regular clothes and not a NHL jersey with a gold Olympic medal.

Greta couldn’t stop looking at him. He didn’t look that good in the store, but that was different. He was upset about losing his ring. Now he was mingling with fans and patients, in a good mood. He had an easy smile, which the female fans loved.

“Are those your real teeth?” A young patient piped up, and everybody laughed.

“They sure are, pal,” Brandon said, picking him up in his big arms. “I paid for them.”

The patient, a little boy about five, looked straight into his eyes. “You play for the Ice Bandits.”

“Yes, I do.”

“I saw you check that fool from New York. Pow! You clobbered him!” He waved his tiny fist.

Brandon blinked at the young fan. Greta had to laugh.

“You are one tough customer,” Brandon told the young patient. “Do you play hockey?”

“I used to, before I got sick.”

The boy told Brandon his story, and he listened, as if he were listening to his coach. He seemed interested, nodding and smiling.

“Okay, sport. I have some other patients to see. Hope to see you again sometime.” He gave the boy to his mother.

“Thank you for being so nice,” she told Brandon.

“It’s all right…”

“He has more surgery coming. I have no idea when he’ll get out of here. But I appreciate your coming here, and being so kind.”

Brandon looked sober. He continued to visit young patients, stopping at each room, making sure everyone who wanted an autograph got one, and answering as many questions as he could. More than one female employee asked Brandon if he was married. He just said, “No.”

Greta all but forgot lunch with April as she watched the hockey player mingle with staff, patients and their parents; many were Ice Bandits fans. Both patients and parents faced long, hard days in the hospital, and the visit by an Ice Bandit meant the world to these people. Brandon realized this, as he continued to mingle with the kids.

He looked different as he spoke to the children. His face looked soft, and he smiled at everyone, not just the youngsters. He didn’t look anything like the angry customer who marched into the store, stepped into the sticky gum, and demanded his gold ring back.

Greta walked with the nurse manager, without thinking, following him. She was never that much of a sports fan—she thought athletes were dumb and overpaid, and too full of themselves—but this Brandon Taylor was a decent guy. She listened to him answer questions, fan questions. She didn’t understand much of it, but she found it interesting, and wanted to learn more about this game.

Especially from a player like Brandon Taylor.

“I’m not that big a fan,” said Karen, “but my husband is. I had to meet this guy. How about you?” She turned and looked directly at Greta, forgetting she had come to eat lunch with April. “I’m sorry, I don’t recognize you. Are you Brandon’s wife, or his girlfriend?”

Greta thought, she wouldn’t mind that at all.

“Oh, I bet you came with the PR crew to help out,” Karen answered her own question. You gotta have staff here too. What’s it like to work for a big sports team like the Ice Bandits? It’s a challenge being a nurse manager, let me tell you.”

“Hey, let’s go to lunch before the cafeteria closes.” April rescued her. “Aren’t you hungry?”

Greta would just as soon skip lunch and keep watching Brandon, but she couldn’t blow off her friend. “Yes, I am. What’s for lunch?”

Brandon was making his way back to the station, with a group of kids and parents. “I hate to leave, but I have practice, and a game tonight. We have to make a speech, too.”

“More players are here,” one of the youngsters spoke up. “Zach Lambert and Vyto Snarskis.”

“The best goalie! Snarskis!” A little boy said, repeating the Lithuanian name.

Zach and Vyto came to pick up their teammate, who stopped at a water fountain.

Greta saw her chance, and ran up to him.

“Brandon? Brandon. I’m sorry about that day at the store.”

He wiped his mouth. “I am too. I was so upset about the ring.”

Greta watched him wipe his mouth, lick his lips.

She wondered what it would be like to kiss him.

“What’s your name?” He looked down at her with those clear blue eyes.

“Greta. Greta Patton.”

“Hey, Sparky!” Zach punched Brandon’s shoulder. “Let’s get moving! Duty calls.”

Brandon liked what he saw. He didn’t want to look away from the blonde with the pretty smile. “Well…see you around.” He left with his teammates.

Greta didn’t know when or where she could ever see him again, and she didn’t like that thought. Where would she ever run into a pro hockey player? She knew he’d never return to her store, looking for that ring.

“For lunch today,” April recited, “we have a choice of spaghetti with meatballs, a grilled chicken sandwich, or the Chef’s Surprise.”

“Surprise me,” said Greta.

“Probably what they served last Friday. Whatever’s left over. But sometimes it’s good, and that’s a real surprise.”

Greta was surprised enough that day. She found herself attracted to this hockey player, rich and successful, good-looking to a fault, and kind to children. But she tried to put Brandon Taylor out of her mind. She’d never see him again, and besides, she was never a hockey fan to begin with.

“Now I want this pizza well done. Sausage needs to be cooked, and I mean cooked. I don’t want to get sick. Sausage should be a nice dark brown color.”

Greta rolled her eyes, listening to her mother order a pizza. She was at her mother’s condo, helping her to move her couch so she could vacuum behind it. Mother said she’d buy lunch.

“And make sure the crust is well done too. I want it crispy, and not light brown. And cut it all the way through.”

Mother paused, listening to the phone girl read back her order.

“No, I didn’t say pie cut. Did I say that? I said cut all the way through. What do you mean, you don’t know what I mean? What word don’t you understand? Cut…all…the…way…through!”

Greta would have hung up on that customer, mother or no.

“Last name is Patton. No, Pat-ton, not Patterson. I said delivery, not pick up. How much is the total? Geez Louise, that’s a lot for a small pizza. Okay, thank you. And please be on time. We’re hungry.” Mother hung up. “What a dumb broad.”

“Ma. She’s trying to help.”

“She didn’t know what I meant by cut all the way through.” Mother opened her purse, taking out her wallet.

“I can pay for it, Ma.”

Mother sat on a kitchen chair. “Let me, honey. I know you work hard. Do you eat lunch? Some people work through lunch. I hope you don’t do that.”

Greta slapped her hips and rear. “Look, Ma. I gained five pounds. I eat too much.”

“Go on, you’re a healthy young lady. You don’t want to be like those skinny models. They look like skeletons.”

No arguing with Mother.

“Say, how’s your girlfriend April? Is she doing all right?”

“She’s fine. We had lunch the other day. I met her at work. A couple of Ice Bandits players were there, too. One was kind of cute.”

“Ice Bandits? The basketball team?”

“No, Ma. Ice. Hockey.” Greta opened a cabinet and took out two paper plates.

Mother reached for a pile of napkins. “Hockey players. They’re rough. Always fighting, getting beat up, having their teeth knocked out. I can’t see you with one of them, Greta.”

“Don’t tempt me, Ma.” Greta had to smile at the thought of being with a guy like Brandon, big and strong. God, was he built. And his dark hair, curling on the back of his neck. Deep blue eyes.

But then again, she knew she’d never see Brandon, except maybe at a game. And when did she ever attend a sporting event?

The phone rang. Mother jumped ten feet. “Why the hell is your phone so loud?”

Greta thought it was the pizza delivery guy. “Yes?”

“Hey, Greta. April. You didn’t answer your phone, so I guessed you were at your mother’s.”

“Ma was just asking about you.”

“Do you want to go to a White Sox game? Next Friday night. A bunch of us from work got half price tickets. It’s hospital night. I thought you might want to go with. Even if you don’t like baseball, it’s a night out. We could people watch. And eat. And drink.”

“Sounds good to me. I need a night out. Hey, I can’t stay on the line. Ma ordered a pizza, and she has a landline phone.”

April and Greta said their goodbyes, and Greta hoped Mother wouldn’t question her to death about her night out. Mother always nagged her to find a guy, but she was a tad overprotective too.

Brandon climbed on the exercise bike and got to work.

He always did this, cycling for a half hour or so after a game. The trainer said it was to get the lactic acid out of his system. He didn’t care what it was, but he knew the other guys did it, and it was part of being a hockey player. And all the guys had to work that much harder, after losing to Milwaukee, one of the two expansion teams.

“Yeah, Sparky. Get going. Get those legs working.” Zach took the bike next to his buddy.

Brandon closed his eyes. “Lousy game. I don’t want to know my stats.”

“Olympic hangover,” said Zach. “Me, too. If Boston wins, they tie us for first.”

The teammates kept cycling, not saying a word. Brandon tried to concentrate on his game, his exercise plan. Tomorrow there was another workout, before flying down south for a road trip. Florida in March didn’t sound too bad. Chicago weather was weird in March. Sunny and springlike one day, a snowstorm the next.

He tried to think about anything but seeing Terri in the big bed, with that Swedish forward.

Brandon made up his mind never to trust another woman. And it was too bad. Some of those girls he met at autograph signing, at team events, or out on the town looked nice.

So did that girl from the hospital, Greta. Greta…what? He didn’t get her last name. But she was tall and pretty and not overdone. She didn’t wear too much makeup, like a lot of the dollies he met, or some of the Ice Bandits wives. Dale Wallace’s wife had been a model, and she still wore so much makeup, Brandon thought her face would crack.

Greta, with her blonde hair and bright green eyes, and how she looked directly in his face when she talked to him. She worked in the jewelry store where he went looking for his ring. He remembered where the store was, and the name, South Side Precious Metals, so if he wanted, he could go back in and ask…

No. No way. Concentrate on your game, Brandon, he told himself. Hockey is good to you. You make a good buck, fans cheer for you, and you play in the National Hockey League. The NHL. They signed you to a good contract, and they gave you every opportunity to make it big. And here you are, on an Ice Bandits team fighting for the Stanley Cup.

Be good to the game, Brandon, not to some babe who could do you wrong.

Mr. Blakely didn’t call too many staff meetings, so Greta knew something was up when he asked everyone to gather early, half an hour before South Side Precious Metals opened for business.

He played with his fingers, and rustled a pile of papers. His face looked drawn, as if he had been up most of the night worrying.

“This is not good news,” he began. “Regardless of the price of gold, we are not doing that well. Money is tight.”

Greta prayed, please don’t lay off anyone. Especially her. She needed her job.

“No raises this year. No bonuses. And I’m sorry to say this, but if business doesn’t pick up pretty soon, we may have to close operations entirely.”

Close down the entire business? Greta didn’t think she heard right.

“Mr. Blakely, we had lines to the door all day Friday. We saw how many people? And I’m behind on my projects.”

“Greta, I’m sorry, but that’s the way it is. The accounting department finished the books for last year. Numbers don’t lie, and we just don’t have the numbers. Things are tough all over. Look at all the vacant shops in this mall alone.”

This news was as welcome as a yeast infection.

“Okay, that’s it. Back to work.” Mr. Blakely looked down at the floor, then slowly walked back to his office, a small cubbyhole in the back.

No one said a word. They were all thinking about what Mr. Blakely told them.

Greta made up her mind to concentrate on her work, her current projects. She would learn new styles and new ways of doing things to make herself indispensable. Isn’t that what they said to do, in those job hunting books? She would be so good at her job that Mr. Blakely couldn’t get rid of her. She would take on some big jewelry project that no one wanted to do, and she would do it so well that she would get noticed.

“Hey, Greta. Cheer up. We all still have our jobs.” Steve, the coin expert, stood at her desk.

“I guess so. For now, anyway.”

“Maybe someone will walk in the door with a rare coin. Then we’d be OK. We’d refer the seller to that coin firm downtown, and they’d sell it at a big auction, and we’d get a good finder’s fee.”

“You’re a dreamer, Steve.”

“Before I forget, your mother called.” He grinned. “She said when you call her back, let the phone ring for a long time. She might be sitting on the toilet.”

Greta had to laugh, even after that meeting. Her mother.

When times were bad, when worries popped up, Greta would lose herself in her work. No matter what, there was always another project, another bracelet or ring order to do, with new materials and new ways of producing something beautiful.

This was one day when Greta concentrated on her job and got a lot done. Her co-workers didn’t chat much on this day, after that meeting, so she wasn’t distracted. She worked slowly, taking her time, making sure the engraving was just right. Everything had to work together for the complete project. Working in this way produced great results. Quiet and slow.