Thin Ice (9 page)

"You just did,” he pointed out softly.

Her eyes darkened to jade, her tiny pink tongue darted out to wet her lips. Eric nearly groaned. Feeling his jeans grow tight, he moved back a few inches, putting some cool air between them. “Emily..."

"I don't think so, Eric,” she said, turning to face him. “I couldn't keep up with al those people."

When she said his name like that, he wanted to tel her she could do anything she wanted to. Anytime. Anyplace.

Robbie was more objective. “Sure you can, Mom. It's easy. I'l even go with you."

A troubled look crossed her face, one Eric no longer had any problem recognizing. Emily Jordan had a hard time saying no to her son. “Tel you what, Sport. We'l al take a few turns around the son. “Tel you what, Sport. We'l al take a few turns around the rink. One of us on either side of your mom, okay?"

Emily vetoed that idea, reminding Eric she had no problem saying no to him, then nearly floored him with, “Would you mind skating in the middle instead? Robbie's been sticking pretty close to the edges and I'd feel better if I knew he was hanging on to you instead of me."

Eric smiled, feeling his whole being expand. “Not at al."

They skated for another half hour before Emily confessed her ankles felt rubbery and caled for a time out. As Eric led them to the exit from the ice, she insisted he and Robbie continue skating. She stopped at a pop machine and bought herself a drink, then settled in the stands, unlaced her skates, and sat back with a satisfied sigh to enjoy her soda. The can halfway to her lips, she froze.

Hands in his parka pockets, Eric sped across the ice like a zephyr, weaving through the crowd in a flawless exhibition of masculine grace. With an ease that stole her breath he circled the rink three times in the amount of time it would have taken her to make half a lap. No flourishes, no figure skater's flamboyance, just a clean, fluid style that sent her pulse rate up a good ten points.

After his tenth lap he rejoined Robbie. The two of them made the next few laps together, Eric skating backward in front of Robbie, his expression serious. When she noticed him ticking off points on his fingers, she realized his impressive display of speed and skil hadn't been for her benefit, but her son's.

hadn't been for her benefit, but her son's.

Within minutes she saw a marked improvement in Robbie's skating.

No surprises there. His teacher earned his living on skates.

The thought brought Emily up short. How could she have forgotten who Eric was? What he did for a living?

A split second later, she had her answer. Eric noticed her watching him and flashed her a dazzling smile, pointed to Robbie and sent her an A-okay sign.

Emily smiled right back. Hockey player or no, Eric Cameron was one appealing man.

* * * *

"What size are those, anyway?"

Eric grinned. “Thirteen. Probably twice as big as yours."

Emily laughed. “They are. Exactly."

"So how about it? Up for some ice cream?"

Emily smiled. “Thank you. I appreciate your asking me while Emily smiled. “Thank you. I appreciate your asking me while Robbie isn't around."

Eric chuckled. “I'm learning."

Emily looked out over the ice to break the intimacy of the moment.

She wasn't sure how she felt about the idea of Eric Cameron starting to figure her out. “I don't know. We've got some shopping to do this afternoon. Robbie needs—” she looked back at Eric,

“Did he tel you he's going to be playing hockey?"

Eric smiled and set his skates aside. “Of course. That's why he caled. But before you get the wrong idea, I want you to know I made sure he understood it was your decision to sign him up and I had nothing to do with it."

"Wrong,” she said dryly.

His smiled dimmed. “I never meant to come between you and your son, Emily. I'm sorry if that's the way it seemed."

"I know,” she said. “It's just that there's been only the two of us for so long that..."

"It hurts to think someone might be trying to horn in on your relationship."

"You sound as if you've been there."

A shadow crossed his face, the faint scars on his nose giving it added character. His stubbly beard hid the scars on his cheeks and added character. His stubbly beard hid the scars on his cheeks and chin, but she knew they were there. She felt oddly special, knowing something about him no one else around them did. He noticed her gaze had strayed to his stubble and said, “I'm sorry I didn't shave."

"I understand. You've managed to keep a low profile today."

"So far so good, anyway. It's mostly kids here today.” He bent to tie his Reeboks.

"Do you have any children, Eric?” He paused in tying his shoes, his jaw tightening with suppressed emotion. Emily had seen patients do much the same when they denied their physical pain. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry."

He finished with his shoes, looked her in the eye and smiled. “My ex-wife didn't want children."

He was so good at pretending it didn't matter that Emily's heart cracked. Suddenly her attempts to keep Eric and Robbie apart seemed cruely selfish. The hockey season was almost over. When it ended Eric would leave. What could it hurt to let them enjoy a temporary friendship? Robbie adored the man, and she had to admit Eric had a lot to offer a boy Robbie's age. A boy or young man of any age. Patience, wisdom, understanding ... the benefit of experience...

Suddenly she brightened. “Why don't you come shopping with us?"

Eric looked lost, as if she'd asked him to accompany her on an Eric looked lost, as if she'd asked him to accompany her on an ambulance cal. “Shopping?"

She laughed at his confusion. “I'm sorry. I just had a thought.

Robbie needs some hockey equipment by Friday, and I have no idea where to begin."

Eric's grin dazzled her al over again. “I know right where to go."

Thirty minutes later, Emily turned the Suburban into a smal industrial park tucked away in a part of town she suspected the city's road maintenance department had forgotten existed. Even with her tank of a car she was having trouble navigating al the potholes during the half-mile drive between the main road and the four long rows of squat, flat-topped buildings that made up the park.

She wended her way around as many potholes as she could, but wasn't able to avoid al of them. She wondered if Eric was at al worried about his Porsche dropping into one of them, never to be seen again, but somehow he managed to stay between the craters.

Folowing his hand signals, she puled up in front of a door with a sign on it proclaiming it Sam's Wholesale Sports Supply.

While Eric and Robbie—who'd leapt at the chance to ride with Eric

—parked on the far side of the salt-coated pickup she'd puled up

—parked on the far side of the salt-coated pickup she'd puled up next to, Emily took a moment to find some lipstick and freshen her perfume from a sampler bottle she carried in her purse. She capped her lipstick, then blindly dropped both lipstick and perfume back into her purse as she opened the driver's door ... and slid out of the Suburban on legs that suddenly felt like lead weights.

"Whoa.” She blinked in surprise. Apparently skating had awakened a few muscles she hadn't thought much about since med school.

"Emily? You al right?” Eric asked from where he stood near her front left fender.

"Sure.” She smiled, hoping her smile wasn't as wobbly as she felt.

She stepped back and shut the Suburban's door. “Just feeling a little

... rubbery at the moment."

Eric smiled back. “That happens a lot, especialy if you're not used to skating."

Suddenly Emily appreciated the strength and stamina it took for him to take to the ice night after night. Her gaze dropped to his snug, wel-worn jeans. The man was in fantastic shape, no doubt about it.

Hubba hubba. She looked up to find Eric grinning at her like a cat with a mainline to the cream. Flushing at having been caught ogling him, Emily pointed to the Sorry, We're Closed sign in the lower left corner of the dusty picture window beside the door. “I think they're closed."

Eric just smiled and rapped on the door. The “I'm al yours” look in Eric just smiled and rapped on the door. The “I'm al yours” look in his eyes made her palms sweat. “Sam's here. I caled him on the way over."

The door opened and a wiry black man in a blue plaid flannel shirt and jeans stepped back to admit them. “Eric, good to see you,” he said. “Your stuff came in Friday afternoon."

"Glad to hear it, but that's not why I caled. Sam, I'd like you to meet Emily Jordan and her son, Robbie."

Sam smiled in welcome. “Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Jordan.

Robbie. I was just making some coffee.” He turned and checked the pot. “It's almost done. Anyone care for a cup?"

Emily declined, but Eric accepted. After a brief pow-wow with Eric about the Saints’ chances for making the playoffs while the coffee finished brewing, Sam turned to Emily with a warm smile. “What can we do for you today, Ms. Jordan, besides bore you with a lot of meaningless statistics?"

"Meaningless?” From the sound of it they'd been discussing the team's chances as intently as she'd consult with Augustus about a criticaly il patient.

"Absolutely. Because no matter what the sports gurus say, the Saints are going al the way ... and this guy right here is the one who's going to take them.” He clapped Eric on the back, nearly sloshing the coffee Eric was staring into al over his front. “Yes ma'am, you've hooked up with a real champion here. Captain ma'am, you've hooked up with a real champion here. Captain Cameron to the rescue."

The light in the storefront was dim, but Emily would have sworn she saw Eric's ears redden. “Emily doesn't realy folow the sport, Sam,” he said quietly.

Sam looked at her in startled surprise, then back at Eric. “She doesn't?” As if such a thing was inconceivable.

"No, but Robbie does, and he's joining the Mites League. I'd like you to set him up with the works."

"Sure. No problem. Got everything he needs right here. Top of the line."

Within minutes Robbie looked like a miniature gladiator. Emily felt a sharp pinch in her purse as the two men outfitted her son with layer upon layer of padding, the three of them conversing in a sports jargon she couldn't begin to comprehend. Secure in the knowledge her son was in the hands of experts, she changed her mind about Sam's offer of coffee and poured herself some.

She cradled the styrofoam cup in her hands and stroled over to the window. Peering through the dusty horizontal blinds, she studied the Suburban. Five years old already when she'd bought it last year, it desperately needed a tune-up and new tires. That might have to wait again, now with Robbie's newest expenses. Between paying off her school loans, Robbie's tuition and helping out her family, she was pushing her financial limits to the wal. And with the cost of gas was pushing her financial limits to the wal. And with the cost of gas these days...

She sighed. There were times when she wished she didn't have to drive such a big vehicle, but that was one phobia she couldn't seem to get rid of.

She turned away from the window and found Sam gone and Eric crouched before Robbie, testing the fit of his equipment. She sipped her coffee and felt the sting of tears as Robbie solemnly answered Eric's quiet questions. What she wouldn't give to have her family see Robbie right now. But home wasn't somewhere she could ever go again. Not as long as her father was alive. She wondered how her mother was doing, if her health was holding up. It was times like this, when she felt closest to Robbie, that she missed her own mother the most.

Sam reappeared with a fistful of hockey sticks, a pair of black leather skates and a huge white jersey. As her son stood there in a pair of black padded pants that looked five sizes too big but apparently fit perfectly, Eric slid the suspenders up over Robbie's shoulder pads, then dropped the huge jersey over his head. He asked Robbie to sit, then laced his skates. Only her son's face and hands resembled anything close to an eight year old's, and even that changed once Eric settled a hard red plastic helmet with a grid mask on Robbie's head.

Eric adjusted the chinstrap, while Sam handed Robbie a huge pair of padded black gloves to try on.

of padded black gloves to try on.

"So, what do you think, Ms. Jordan?” Sam asked, grinning.

Eric and Robbie looked her way, Robbie more stil than Emily could remember him being while awake.

"I think you look wonderful,” she told her son, her voice catching. “I can't wait to see you in action."

Robbie let out a whoop of joy. Emily lifted her eyes to Eric's, not caring that he saw the emotion in them. “Thank you,” she mouthed, as Robbie waddled over to Sam to select a stick.

Eric's answering smile touched her mother's heart. “If that doesn't keep him safe, nothing wil."

While Eric instructed Robbie on how to best extricate himself from his layers of armor, Emily approached Sam, checkbook in hand.

“What do I owe you?"

"Not a thing,” he answered easily. “I'l just put it on Eric's tab, like I do the others."

"Others?"

"Yeah, the man's always picking up strays and ... begging your pardon, ma'am, I didn't mean to imply—"

"That's quite al right,” Emily interrupted, cool but polite. “But we're not any of Mr. Cameron's strays. I asked him to help me shop for not any of Mr. Cameron's strays. I asked him to help me shop for hockey gear since I'm unfamiliar with the sport, and he brought us to you."