Christmas in the Rink (6 page)

“Me.” She hadn't ridiculed him for being an auto mechanic, so he trusted that she wouldn't beat him up over this.

“Really?” Admiration lit up her face, along with something else. Pride? “So not only are you an excellent mechanic and extremely talented skater, but you also create music like that? Wow!”

“Woman, you keep talking like that, it'll go to my head. You won't be able to stand to be around me,” he teased.

She dipped her head to her chest and mumbled, “Like that'll ever happen.”

Had he heard her correctly? Uncertainty crept in. Best to let that go. It was late, and he needed all his faculties around her. He scooped up his guitar and headed towards the door.

Her stocking-clad feet padded across the hardwood behind him. “Conner?”

He stopped in the dim light of the foyer, hiding in the shadows. He didn't want Chaney to see the longing reflected from his eyes. The ache for a home full of joy and laughter, of love and life, of children and making memories, the ache that was literally painful. “Yeah?” His voice came out gruffer than he'd intended.

“I've been meaning to ask you something.”

Ask him something? Dread pitted in his gut. He scrubbed the whiskers lining his jaw, waiting.

“You don't have to say yes, but please promise you'll think about it.”

He'd do anything to make her happy, even attending church if she asked him again. He could handle the questions. It was her reaction that he worried about. “Just spill it, Chaney.”

“My students have a recital on Christmas Eve. We're not nearly as prepared as we should be right now. I could really use your help.” Her head tilted up towards him. Hope glazed her expression.

“You want my help?” Didn't she realize he'd just now gotten back on the ice after more than a decade? He was unworthy of her confidence, but God help him, her kind words pumped up his chest. “I'm still rusty, Chaney. I'm sure there's someone—”

She shook her head, her lips curving sweetly as her fingers landed on his arm, as soft as a butterfly's touch. “No. I want you.”

He gulped. She already had him. His heart, anyway. From the very day coach had paired them, and she'd stared up at him, those huge jade eyes full of trust and glittering with excitement, as they waited for the music to cue their first routine together.

“You can count on me.” This time he meant it. She'd forgiven him for stripping her dreams of a medal. The least he could do was give her until Christmas.

 

****

 

“OK, everyone. Looks good, but we're not quite there, yet. Let's try that one more time, but first—” Chaney's gaze skimmed the skaters on the ice and landed on Conner. Perfect! “Conner and I will demonstrate.”

His brows lifted, but he complied and skated over to her, moving into position.

She led Annabelle to one of the older skaters, who communicated with a nod that she'd keep track of her niece. Not that Chaney worried too much about someone taking her niece in the empty rink. She was more concerned for Annabelle's safety. Chaney flicked a button and the music started again.

They performed a flawless execution of the routine, and when the last note faded, the rink was silent, except for their heavy breathing. Suddenly, hearty applause broke out from their audience.

Conner held her hand and they bowed.

A moan of pleasure bubbled up from her belly. Didn't he realize he was created for this? That they were meant to be together?

In the few weeks since he'd been back in Evergreen Peak, his spirit and mood had lightened, transforming from the burly, rough dude who'd rescued her from the ditch back into her sweet Conner. What could she do to make him see her as a woman? That she wasn't the same young skate partner he'd left behind.

“That was awesome.” He pressed a chaste kiss to her head, and then his hands loosened their grip from around her arms.

She nodded, not trusting her voice, but he'd already skated back to the cluster of kids he'd been working with.

It was just a friendly kiss, but it was a start. She'd take it.

“One more time, then it's a wrap.” The quiver in her voice echoed through the rink.

Five more days until the recital. She had five days to make him see that they made a great team both on the ice and off.

 

****

 

Conner switched on the lights in the dark house and dropped his keys on the counter. He slipped out of his work boots, leaving them by the back door, and flicked through the mail on his way into the kitchen. Nothing of importance. He tossed the envelopes on the counter and opened the pantry, hunger pangs eating away at his stomach since he'd skipped lunch to make up for the time he'd lingered at the rink.

A couple boxes of cereal. A can of spaghetti. A jar of peanut butter and one of pizza sauce. Loaf of bread.

Nothing caught his interest. He really needed to go to the store again.

He scanned the contents of the fridge. A ball of dough caught his eye. He'd never been able to stomach frozen pizza, preferring fresh. He scrubbed his hands, and started layering the ingredients.

The early mornings spent with Chaney and Annabelle were sweet torture. And every afternoon, the pull of the rink had been so fierce, the joy of witnessing ten or twelve kids so enthusiastic about learning, and the thrill of being back on the ice, especially with Chaney, so intense yet so soothing. Skipping lunch on the days he was scheduled to work at the shop was a no-brainer. But all that excitement, all that stimulation, made coming home to a silent house just about unbearable.

He finished layering and switched the oven to preheat, catching sight of the boxes lined up along the back door to take to the local charity. He folded his arms and nudged a hip against the counter, scanning the nearly bare family room, sparse except for a threadbare couch, the antique nativity scene, and that crazy silver tree.

He didn't have much sorting and packing left before the realtor would list the house. The recital was only two days away, and then Chaney wouldn't need him anymore.

Then what? Could he really consider staying in Evergreen Peak again? Did he even want to? Could he face the stares and pointed fingers, the hushed incriminations about the Olympic hopeful who'd deserted his partner and the entire town? His brain said no, but his heart was singing an entirely different tune.

Being back on the ice, feeling the breeze caress his cheeks, Chaney's scent wrapping around him as comfortably as she fit in his arms, he hadn't felt this free, this light-hearted, or experienced this sense of peace and rightness, in…forever.

The preheat indicator dinged. Humming the strains of the song he'd played for Chaney the other night, he slid the pizza in. He closed the oven, and the doorbell chimed.

Who could that be? He'd managed to keep a low profile so far. He hadn't had any visitors except Chaney, but she hadn't mentioned stopping by. Grabbing the dishtowel, he wiped his hands on the way to the door. A blast of frosty air whirled inside, and he caught his breath. Not from the frigid gust, but from the person standing on his porch.

“Chaney?”

She looked adorable in that cherry red beret and matching scarf. She brushed loose strands of hair away from rosy cheeks and held out a rubber container, her voice coming out hesitant. Were her teeth chattering? “Mom and I baked cookies. I—”

“Say no more.” With one hand, he accepted the container while the other pulled her inside. He pushed the door closed.

She shrugged her arms out of her coat, tugged off the beret and scarf, and hung them up on the rack by the door. “I hope you don't mind me just barging in like this.”

He leaned into her scent that drifted into the family room and settled, as if it belonged. As if she belonged here. “Mind? I'm thrilled. I don't get too many visitors, and I especially appreciate the ones bearing goodies.” He brandished the container towards the kitchen. “Come on in. I was just getting—”

“I smell pizza.” Her button nose scrunched, and dismay crossed her face. “Did I interrupt your dinner?”

“Nope. You're right on time.” He hesitated.

The old Chaney never ate pizza, claiming that she had to stay trim and fit for the camera, as if she wasn't beautiful just the way she was.

“That is, if you'd like to join me. For pizza.” He managed to get the words out.

“Sure. Pizza sounds great.”

It did? Pleasure that she'd thought of him and the thrill of her company raced through his veins, adding a little spark to his steps. He hadn't been looking forward to a long, lonely evening. He set the container on the kitchen counter and lifted the lid. “Wow! I've never seen so many colorful cookies. Annabelle must have helped you decorate.” He snatched a sugar cookie lathered in red and white frosting. “Santa Claus?” He took a bite.

She chuckled. “How could you tell?”

He grinned. “Where's your little sidekick?”

“Mom took her to see Santa.”

“Really? I'm honored.”

“Why?” She tilted her head, a quizzical expression on her face.

“That you chose to visit me over Santa.”

She gave him a playful swat on the arm, smiling, and then nibbled on what he thought was a reindeer.

“You didn't want to go?” He shoved the last of the Santa into his mouth and brushed the crumbs off his hands. “These are delicious.”

“I would have, but mom said she wanted…” her voice trailed off as her brows narrowed. She tapped an index finger to her lips.

What had Carole said that gave Chaney pause?

He waited for her to continue.

She gave her lips one last tap, and then planted her elbows on the counter. “She wanted some bonding time with her granddaughter.”

“As if she doesn't get enough bonding time living in the same house?”

“Yeah. Strange.” Chaney's brows lifted. “But then, our situation is a little unusual.”

The oven timer blared. He grabbed a couple hot pads and pulled the pie out. Steam poured out of the oven, and he breathed in the combined smell of dough, pepperoni and melted cheese that filled the kitchen.

“Yum. Smells delicious,” Chaney said, pivoting to open a cabinet.

“Plates and cups are in the one next to the sink.” He flicked his head in the general direction. Not that she could see him.

She closed the cabinet and swiveled to see where he'd indicated. “Gotcha.” She moved over to the right one and pulled down the plates and cups. When she set them on the counter, her brows arched. “That looks like a real pizza.”

“And you're surprised?”

“A little.”

So she'd mistaken him for a frozen pizza kind of guy? He liked that he'd surprised her. “Yeah, well, I would have starved if I had to live on frozen pizza.” He scowled, sprinkling parmesan over the top. He dug the pizza cutter out of the drawer and sliced the pie into wedges.

She filled the glasses with iced tea while he loaded the plates.

“Couch or bar?” he asked.

Her gaze flitted to the family room. “It isn't often I get to eat on the couch anymore. Not with a little one around.”

“A treat, eh?” He scooped up some napkins along with the plates and led her to the couch. “Glad to oblige.”

They sat on opposite ends.

Chaney crossed her legs under her rump, facing him. She took a bite, moaned. “Oh wow.”

“Like it?” Not that pizza making was a big deal, but—OK, it was a big deal. He didn't have much to offer her anymore. Not like before, when their dreams of winning a medal hovered in front of them like a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

“I love it. You can invite me over for pizza anytime.”

“You never used to eat it.” He studied her expression.

She nodded, thoughtful, then said, “A lot has changed since then.”

“Don't I know. From Olympic hopeful to auto mechanic.” The pizza dough felt like cardboard in his mouth.

“Why do you say it like that?” Her face tilted, twin vertical lines creasing her forehead.

He sighed. “Chaney, I'm sorry for stealing your dreams, for altering the course of your life, all for—”

She set her empty plate down and pressed a hand to his arm. “Hey.” Her voice was soft, husky.

He didn't trust himself to speak, knowing in his gut that they were at a crossroads.

“Stop it right there.” Dark lashes fluttered over creamy cheeks, and then back up, revealing gorgeous, expressive eyes. “Your leaving crushed me, and I won't deny that it took years to get past my disappointment. But, Conner, I wouldn't change a thing about the path I'm on. I'm raising my adorable niece. I'm helping kids reach their potential and putting them in a position to achieve their dreams. Without the constant pressure of competing and medals dangling on the horizon, I'm free to be me, exactly who God intended for me to be, and exactly where He wants me to be. Can't you say the same?” Her question pinned him to the sofa.

A glob of emotion crawled down his throat. “I-I'm not sure.”

“Really? What would you do different?”

“Skate. Write more music.” Marry her. Raise more Annabelles. No question. Those were the things he should have said, but he didn't.

“You're making progress, then.”

“Yeah.” His head whipped around to make sure he hadn't said that last bit aloud. He scrounged up the courage to explain why he'd abandoned them. “Chaney, if I had stayed, my dad was going to force me to give up skating.” And, by default, her.

“From what you've said, it sounds like you did that, anyway.”

Yeah. He did. He breathed deep, regret welling up. He stared at the hand that still rested on his arm. Was God giving them a second chance? “After Mom died, I lost it, Chaney. Lost the will to keep bucking my dad.”