You're the One That I Want (22 page)

“Smart girl, if she thinks you don’t have a future.”

Aggravating girl. “Except I could have sworn today that she . . .”

“She what?”

“I don’t know. She seems to think she’s not the marrying type. Her mom died when she was born. And she calls her father
Red
. They had a pretty rough life
 
—lived in a cabin in the woods, except when he was fishing. On the boat she acts like one of the guys, so maybe she’s right
 
—I don’t exactly see her in the kitchen baking cookies.”

“Fresh-baked cookies do not make a successful marriage, Owen. It’s knowing each other, valuing the same things, being what the other person can’t be, making each other better people.”

“She does make me want to be a better person; I know that. And it’s not like I’m Billy Graham or anything, but when we were on the raft, I told her to have a little faith, and she did. She prayed for us. Which is a miracle. She’s spent so much time alone, she has a hard time believing that God cares about her.”

“You can’t know how God is going to work in someone, Owen. But maybe you need to slow down, wait and see what He does.”

Shoot, that’s not what he wanted to hear.

“Scotty isn’t the reason why I can’t marry Raina. I’m sure I could love her eventually, and of course I want to be a father. But I know the truth, Dad.
Casper
is Layla’s father. He loves her, and I don’t even know her. Raina’s right; I just showed up for . . . that
part. But Casper’s been there for the rest, and isn’t that what being a dad is all about? Besides, there’s no guarantee I wouldn’t screw up the father thing too.”

“That’s about enough of that.”

Owen frowned, turned.

His father had put down the roller and was wiping his hands. He looked up with solemn eyes. “So you made some bad choices. Some of God’s best players were His imperfect, broken prodigals. In fact, iffy players are God’s best picks. He specializes in short-tempered, reckless, flawed people to accomplish His plans. Consider Moses, the murderer; Rahab, the prostitute; Samson, the playboy; Paul, the terrorist; and Peter . . . the impulsive. God is constantly using broken, messy people to restore the world and bring glory to Himself. To touch other people, like you did with Scotty in the raft. And I’d bet they each thought God couldn’t use them before His grace tracked them down, brought them back to His purposes. You can never outsin God’s love, Owen. Or limit what He can do with you if you let Him. You’re dripping paint onto the plastic.”

Owen’s chest tightened and he turned back to the wall, finished the final section. Swallowing hard.

His father’s hand landed on his shoulder. Warm. Solid. “Son. You haven’t outrun God’s love. Or our love. I’m glad you’re home.”

That turned him. They just stood there a moment, Owen even more shaken by the tears in his father’s eyes.

On impulse, like an old reflex, Owen leaned in and touched his forehead to his father’s shoulder. “Me too, Dad. Me too.”

In that moment, he wanted to be sixteen again and rewrite his life, starting with the day he left. The day he thought he didn’t need home anymore.

“Hey, what’s this slacking? I thought you were supposed to be painting.” Darek stood in the doorway, grinning.

“We’re done,” John said, stepping away. Owen blinked away the glaze in his eyes and gave the wall a final swipe.

John left to clean his roller, and Owen moved to follow, but Darek stopped him at the door. “What he said about outsinning God’s love and limiting Him . . . You asked how I got here? I dropped to my knees and begged God for a fresh start. Apparently He’s into that sort of thing.”

Owen said nothing as he pushed past Darek.

But he wanted the words to be true. All of them
 
—Scotty’s and his mother’s, Darek’s and his dad’s.

Maybe he could step beyond the name of prodigal into something else.

Outside, he grabbed the hose, used it to clean his roller, then carried the trays and rollers to the garage, washed his hands, and headed inside the lodge.

John had already entered, his work coat hanging on a peg. And next to that, two more
 
—the royal-blue team coats of the St. Paul Blue Ox.

Owen braced himself as he realized his brothers-in-law had arrived. Former enforcer Jace Jacobsen sat on the sofa, arm stretched across the back, watching as right wing Max Sharpe sat with his adoptive daughter, who unpacked her backpack, showing him her daily work.

The two men looked up as Owen came in the room. Jace leaned forward, started to get up. Max stiffened.

And in a second, Owen tasted the brisk air, heard the shouts of drunk men brawling, felt the dark adrenaline course through him as he threw a punch, connected.

Then the blinding, skull-cracking shot to his eye. Pain shattering him, buckling his knees.

On the other end of that hockey stick that destroyed his eye, his career, had been Max.

It all showed in Max’s expression, too, even as he got up, held out his hand. “Owen. Hey. So glad to see you.” Wary. Worried.

Jace had risen behind him, huge, and Owen didn’t exactly know whose side he might be on.

But he didn’t want sides. Not anymore. Owen stepped forward, met Max’s hand. “Hey, Max. I heard congratulations are in order
 
—on two accounts.”

Max dropped a hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “Thanks. I’m blessed; there’s no doubt.”

“How’s the season going?” Owen said, trying to keep it light. No need to make everyone dodge the elephant in the room.

“We just played the Blades back-to-back,” Jace said, holding out his hand. “We won both.”

Owen shook his hand. “I saw one of those games. Max was in the penalty box, and they scored on a backdoor pass.”

“We have a rookie who could use your go-to.”

Nice of Jace to say that.

“Owen!” Eden came down the stairs.

Whoa, Eden looked about six months pregnant. “Wow, when
 
—?”

“I’m due in February, but this
is
Jace’s child. He’ll probably be fifteen pounds.” She reached the landing and pulled him into a hug, arms around his neck. “I missed you.”

Out of all his siblings, Eden best knew the guy he’d been and could have been. She’d been his guardian through those stressful years in the juniors, even pulled him out of a couple bar fights
when the money, the fame, went to his stupid head. And for that, he’d shown her annoyance, even rudeness.

He held her away from him, cataloging the changes. Her blonde hair was longer, her face fuller, and she looked . . . happy. “You still writing for the paper?”

“Chief editor of obituaries. And I have a book coming out this spring, reflections from working in the obits.”

“Wow, you’ll be a published author. I always knew you had a book in you.”

She held his face in her hands. “I hear you have a few stories yourself. Like a high-seas rescue?”

“How
 
—?”

“Scotty.” She pointed beyond him to the kitchen, and he turned.

Words slicked right out of him at the sight of Scotty in . . . an apron? Holding a wooden spoon and grinning at him.

“What are you doing?”

Her smile fell.

“Owen!” This from Grace, who put a batch of cookies on the counter. “She’s making cookies; what does it look like?”

“Yeah,” Scotty said. “I’m making cookies.” But her grin was wobbly, and shoot, he had the weirdest sense that he’d hurt her.

But . . . making . . . cookies? He scrambled to find the right response. “No complaints here. I do get the spoon, right?”

She handed it over, chagrin on her face. “I don’t know what I’m doing anyway.” Then she wiped her hands on the apron and reached for a hot cookie.

Driving him crazy, that’s what she was doing.

“S
PILL THE BEANS,
S
COTTY.
Do you or do you not have the hots for my brother?” Eden sat cross-legged on a twin bed in the alcove of her old room, dressed in pajama pants and one of Jace’s oversize T-shirts. “Has he kissed you yet?”

“Eden, leave her alone. That’s none of our business.” Grace had just created a bed for her daughter, Yulia, on the floor. Scotty had tried to protest kicking Yulia out of the third bed, but Grace wouldn’t hear it.

“What’s perfectly unjust is the fact that Jace and Max have to sleep in the boys’ room when there’s a pullout in the den. I haven’t seen Max in nearly two weeks,” Grace said as she pulled the quilt over Yulia. “If only we weren’t full, I’d talk Darek into renting us a cabin.”

“Jace isn’t thrilled either, Grace. They just got back from three days on the road. But Mom seems to think that this is more fair
 
—and with the entire family here, she’s probably right that there will be some late-night game viewing in the den on the agenda.”

Grace rolled her eyes. “I can’t wait until we close on the house. I’m sure you’ll be glad to get Max off the sofa in your living room.”

“I
am
a little tired of going to bed alone, listening to them yell at the screen.”

And as if on cue, a whoop ascended from the den downstairs, where the guys clustered around a Minnesota Wild game.

“Owen seems to be okay with having Max here,” Eden said to Grace, then glanced at Scotty. “Max was the one who caused Owen’s injury.”

“It wasn’t on purpose!” Grace said, shooting Eden a dark look before coming to sit next to Scotty on the bed. “They were in a fight and
 
—”

“Owen told me,” Scotty said. “And he’s made peace with it.” Well, after today on the ice, maybe she couldn’t be sure of that, but none of his breakdown had included blaming Max. “He’s just trying to figure out what the rest of his life looks like.”

“Did he really dive into the ocean to save you?” Eden asked.

“Yep. And then, in the raft, he kept me alive by trying to get me to hope. Which is why he proposed. Your brother is a little
 
—”

“Crazy?” Eden said.

“Passionate?” Grace suggested.

“Charming,” Scotty said, feeling her face redden. “And no, he didn’t kiss me on the raft.”

“Oh, my inner investigative reporter is kicking in,” Eden said. “You
di
d
kiss him. Just not on the raft.”

More laughter from below, and Scotty thought she heard Owen
hooting as the Wild scored or perhaps simply stole the puck and made one of those breathtaking shots she’d seen from him.

Which only conjured up this afternoon and being caught in his arms. And wishing . . .

“Oh, you’ve got it bad,” Grace said.

“Why not? Owen is a charmer,” Eden said. “There’s a reason
Hockey Today
named him one of the most eligible rookies.”

“Wasn’t Jace also listed as one of the most eligible bachelors?”

“Not anymore,” Eden said. “But Owen
 
—he has this way of getting under your skin. You can’t stay angry at him, at least not usually. I can admit we had a pretty good run there over the past year. But now that he’s back, I’m just so glad he’s okay.” Her eyes warmed. “Grace tells me we have you to thank for that. You gave him CPR? Kept him alive?”

Scotty nodded, dismissing the memory of her panic, the way she’d so completely crumbled and started begging heaven for help.

Apparently that’s what Owen did
 
—made her break her own rules.

“So that’s when he proposed?” Grace said. “As he was dying?”

“I don’t think we should take that too seriously. We both agreed that it was impulsive. I am not the marrying kind of girl.” There, she said it, and maybe it would shut down the way these two were grinning at her.

“I didn’t think Jace was the marrying kind, but he is an amazing husband.”

“And Max said he never wanted to be a father, but he is putty around Yulia.”

“Love changes things, Scotty,” Eden said. “It’s changed Owen. I see the way he looks at you. Like when he came in tonight and you were making cookies.”

“He looked like he’d just walked onto the ice in his underwear in front of a hundred thousand fans. Totally flummoxed,” Grace said.

Scotty had to grin at that. Yeah, the poor man had stared at her as if he didn’t recognize her. For a while there, she hadn’t recognized herself. Cooking with Grace, with Ingrid, who simply handed her hot pads and a spatula like she knew exactly what to do in a kitchen.

“I’ve never made cookies in my life.”

“Really? You and your mother didn’t do holiday baking together?” Grace picked up a bottle of nail polish, shaking it. She put her foot on the bed.

“My mother died. In childbirth.”

Silence. See, that was why she didn’t go around making that announcement. “But it’s no big deal. My dad raised me. Red was . . . Well, I have to give him credit for trying. He didn’t exactly know what to do with a girl.”

She watched as Grace applied the polish, one red toe at a time. “Red is a fishing boat captain. Salty. Briny. He isn’t much for emotions and girlie things. And we had to survive. So he taught me how to clean and fry fish, how to make a fire, how to tend wounds, and how to stay alive in the wilderness. When he would go out fishing, he’d leave me with his best friend, my uncle Gil, and his wife. They had two sons who thought it might be fun to teach me how to hunt and throw a punch, and mostly I grew up as a boy. If it weren’t for my aunt Rosemary, I would have completely freaked out when I became a teenager and started looking like
 
—and becoming
 
—a woman. Even then, I thought like a guy. I started fishing with Red when I was nine, hanging out in the wheelhouse. I joined the crew, started working the deck
when I was thirteen, although not the long shifts. By the time I was eighteen, I could captain a boat, throw line, reel in pots, sort crab
 
—he made me his first mate.”

Grace had finished one foot and moved on to the other. “You really know how to sail one of those big boats?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“But I thought Owen said you were a cop.” This from Eden.

“That was because of Red too. He had a heart attack a few years ago and I had to take the boat back to port during a winter gale. It knocked him out good, and he missed two seasons. I wanted to get a job on another boat, but he sort of reminded me that the captain being my father protected me from . . . Let’s just say that it’s not a great idea to be the only girl on a boat full of young, hardworking men.”

“I’ll bet,” Eden said.

“Uncle Gil is the Homer police chief, so Red talked him into hiring me. I attended officer training and started working for the Homer Police Department. Made detective last winter. By that time, the boat was in hock for his medical bills and Red was trying to regroup. He went out for the opie season
 
—and that’s when he hired Owen on. I took a sabbatical from the force this fall to help him put in a final catch but . . .” She found herself looking out the window as the night fell through the trees. “Red is selling the boat. He was already thinking of selling, and although he won’t say it, I think it completely freaked him out when Owen and I went overboard.” She shook her head. “I keep telling him I can take over
 
—that I
should
take over, but he won’t listen. I don’t have the money, really, to buy the boat, but he won’t even consider it.”

“Almost losing someone you love can undo you,” Eden said quietly.

“Which also accounts for why Owen went after you.” Grace closed the nail polish, waved her hands over her toes.

“I don’t think . . . I mean, Owen doesn’t . . .”

“Love you? Huh.”

“Here’s a tip about guys, Scotty,” Eden said, reaching for the bottle. “You gotta read between the words to the action. Diving into an icy sea? Yeah, that’s true love.” She unscrewed the top and began touching up her already-lacquered toenails.

“If that were true, he would have kissed me today when he had the chance.”

In the silence that followed, Scotty glanced at Grace, who had stopped waving her hands. “He had a chance to kiss you and didn’t?”

“Well, it wasn’t . . . He was . . .” She stopped there, not wanting to betray Owen and the way life had suddenly seemed to manhandle him. “We have these rules.”

“Rules?” Eden switched feet. “What kind of rules?”

“No kissing. Or holding my hand or impulsive overtures designed to make me fall for him.”

“And Owen is
abiding
by those rules?”

“I guess so.” She didn’t mean for it to sound . . . appalling. “Which is good. The last thing I need is to get confused about why I’m here.”

“Which is
 
—”

“To clear your brother.”

Eden handed the bottle back to Grace. “Listen. Casper is going to be fine. Max and Jace brought up a lawyer, and he’s got this handled. According to Bryce, the evidence is circumstantial.”

“I heard the evidence. Yeah, it’s circumstantial, but with Casper’s history with Monte Riggs . . .”

“Like Owen said to Mom. Have a little faith,” Grace said. She handed the bottle to Scotty. “Your turn.”

“Huh?”

“Get some polish on those naked toes.” Grace pointed to Scotty’s feet.

Scotty just held the bottle. “Um . . .”

“What?”

“I’ve never . . . I don’t wear nail polish. Or makeup or . . .”

Grace’s hand touched her shoulder. “Give me your toes.”

Scotty frowned but put a foot up on the bed. Grace rolled up the cuffs of Scotty’s jeans, glancing at Eden. “Get my makeup bag.”

“What are you doing?”

“I get your rules, really. I mean, Owen has had some issues with self-control, but I think . . . well, I think you need to break your rules,” Grace said, opening the bottle. She looked up, wrinkled her nose. “Sorry. But you do. You like my brother. He likes you. And enough of you thinking you’re a boy. You’re a woman, a gorgeous one, and you’ll just have to convince Owen that you’re worth breaking the rules for.”

“How am I going to do that?” But she put her other foot on the bed, rolled the other cuff.

Grace grinned as she began to apply the polish. “We’re Christiansens. We know what our brothers like.”

Eden sat down beside them and began fishing through Grace’s bag. “Where do I start?”

“Maybe just a little mascara. We don’t want him to lose his ability to speak.”

Eden stood, poised above Scotty with a mascara brush. “Look sultry.”

“Look how?”

Grace laughed. “Look down your nose at me. And don’t flinch.”

With Eden tugging at her lashes, it seemed an impossible request.

“Your eyes just got ten times bigger.” Eden stepped back to survey her work. “Wow, I’m good.”

Grace had started on the other foot. “Lips. Just a little gloss, I think.”

Eden fumbled through the bag again, and Scotty just stared at them. True Christiansens, they had decided to dive in and rescue her from herself. Whether she needed, or wanted, rescue.

Although, when Eden pulled out her iPod and scrolled to a song, it felt suddenly like one of those weird, girlie slumber parties she remembered from
Grease
.

And she was Sandy, getting dolled up for Danny Zuko.

Except she’d willingly submitted. Maybe even enjoyed it.

“‘For all those times you stood by me. For all the truth that you made me see.’” Eden grabbed a hairbrush.

“Sing it, Celine!” Grace said, turning up the volume. Across the room, Yulia had sat up, grinning as her new mom joined in with Eden.

“‘You’re the one who held me up, never let me fall . . .’” Eden held out her hand. “C’mon, Scotty, let’s hear it
 
—”

“I don’t know
 
—”

“‘You were my strength when I was weak . . .’” Grace pulled her from the bed.

Wait, maybe . . . yes, she knew this. Scotty found her voice and joined in. “‘I’m everything I am because you loved me.’”

“That’s right!” Grace said and gestured to Yulia, who bounced out of bed, catching her hand. Eden pumped up the music as she and Grace harmonized on the next verse, their voices rising to fill the room.

“Hit the high note, Grace!” Eden said.

Scotty laughed when Grace hit a wobbly “‘I was blessed because I was loved by yooooou!’”

She caught onto the last chorus, and Eden launched into background embellishments, belting as if she were on a Vegas stage. “‘Because you loved meeeeeee.’”

The music faded out and Yulia clapped her hands, laughing.

“Okay, it’s back to bed for you, little miss,” Grace said.

Eden dug into the makeup bag as another song came on. “Stick out that pouty lip,” she said to Scotty.

Scotty obeyed, and Eden doctored her lips.

“So?” Scotty said, batting her eyes, a smile finding roost.

“Let’s put your hair up. Turn around.”

Eden pulled Scotty’s long hair into a messy bun. She finger-curled a few errant strands around her face. Then she took Scotty’s hand and led her over to the full-length mirror that stood in the corner. “You rule breaker, you.”