Christmas in the Rink (2 page)

That broke her heart more than Annabelle letting loose with those pathetic crocodile tears. She couldn't reconcile the loneliness that seeped from his eyes with the way his dazzling blue eyes had always glimmered with excitement, with hopes and dreams. Or the dejected slant of his shoulders now with his majestic posture in the rink. What had happened to him in the years he'd been away?

His fingers latched onto the door handle of her car, and he twisted back to look at her. “You might want to move behind the truck. Safer that way, just in case this little gal doesn't cooperate.” He flicked his head towards the tow truck, and then disappeared inside the car.

She followed his directions, moving gingerly across the icy mixture, and parked herself behind the truck. Her phone vibrated in her pocket. She tugged it out.

I have Annabelle. We're home. No worries. Be safe!

Thank God, her mother had gotten her message. She typed out a response.
OK. May be a while yet. Car stuck. Tow truck working to get it out.
She would tell Carole about Conner later, and now she could put her worry over Annabelle to rest. She tucked the phone back in her pocket and took a deep, cleansing breath.

The engine cranked to life, the sound breaking through the wind's awful howl, dragging snowy white crystals off the ground to swirl around her legs. She tucked some flyaway hair behind an ear and wrapped her coat tighter, shivering as she peered around the edge of the giant tow truck.

Could he dislodge her car or would he have to hook it up? If he hooked it up to the tow truck, she'd have to ride with him all the way back to town. She'd get her answers then. She wasn't sure what to pray for, that he'd—

Tires crunched through the snow as he eased the car forward, back, and then drove the car right out of its stronghold as if doing so didn't require any special effort on his part.

Just like his skating. He'd always been a natural on the ice, and together they'd skated in perfect precision. She'd never been able to achieve that poetic elegance on ice with any other partner. Conner was responsible for offering her a fleeting glimpse of what they could accomplish, and then the stabbing pain as she watched the Olympics on television instead of from the sidelines; the hopes and dreams slipping from her grasp quicker than she'd slid into this mess.

She blew out a sigh. So much for getting answers. He'd probably vanish from her life as quickly as he'd reappeared.

He left the engine running and stepped over to her, his heavy brows and stubble flaked with snow. “Looks like you're good to go.”

Her fingers itched to brush off the flakes, but instead she clapped, the sound muffled by her gloves. “My hero.” Again. Not that she'd ever divulged that pathetic childhood crush to him, and she surely didn't plan to share it now. But, if the ache in her chest and the frantic flutter of her heart was any indication, maybe it hadn't been so childish.

A lump bobbed along his throat. “Where you headed?”

“Home.”

“Still the same address?”

“Yeah.” Everything was still the same, including how she felt about him. But yet…she was different. She made her living off the ice now, instead of making dreams, and precious little Annabelle depended on her. She didn't have time or energy for much else.

“How about if I lead the way? You can follow in my tracks.”

He was doing it again. Cradling her heart in his tender palms.

“OK.” God help her, but she would follow him anywhere.

Didn't he know that?

 

 

 

 

2

 

Conner slid the key into the lock of the skating rink and pushed the heavy door open, a dusty bag holding his gear slung over his shoulder. He still couldn't believe he was here, or that he was actually considering getting out on the ice again. A sharp sensation stabbed at him, almost as if a knife plunged into his chest, and he stopped just inside the door to catch his breath.

As if finding his old skates tucked all the way in the back of his closet hadn't been sign enough, Mr. Long, er, Pete, the same owner of the rink, had offered him free skating whenever. Pete had brought his truck in for service and mentioned the idea, zest lighting the old guy's face, but Conner had just shrugged it off, claiming he was only in town temporarily. But then when the old guy came back in to pick up his truck, he'd dangled the rink's key in front of Conner's face. How could Conner resist such a generous offer? The only negative? Sharing the ice with a teacher and the students she worked with before and after school.

Pete had only chuckled, dismissing it with a wave of his hand and a mischievous glint shining from faded eyes.

No sweat. Just so long as they didn't laugh at him when he slipped and fell on his sorry behind. He forced his rebellious legs to move farther into the rink, and slowed when voices echoed and blades slashed through ice. The cool air settled over him and he closed his eyes, breathing in the oddly comfortable scents of sweat, musty locker rooms, and leftover concession stand goodies.

One voice registered. His lids bolted up, and his heart stuttered. No. It couldn't be, could it? Was Chaney the teacher that Pete had warned him about? No wonder the old guy had chuckled.

Conner peered out onto the ice.

Yeah. There was no mistaking Chaney. One long leg stretched straight up in the air, her arms and torso achieving a perfectly balanced posture, as she glided across the rink with unmatchable grace, demonstrating a routine to her students, one of whom couldn't be more than a couple of years old.

Wow! Even now, after all these years, watching her on the ice dredged up powerful feelings probably best left buried. His chest lifted with a sigh.
God, is this Your doing again? You can stop throwing us together anytime now. I'm just here to clear out the junk from Dad's house then I'll be moving on. Remember? That was our deal. With all the memories, it's too painful to stay here.

He dragged his gaze away from Chaney and tamped down the dreams that threatened to eat him alive. Steering clear of the parents hanging out in the same section of seats where his mother had always waited, he plopped down on a vacant bench and dropped his bag to the floor with a huff. He was here now. Might as well get on with it. He couldn't exactly hand back the key to Mr., er, Pete, and tell the old guy he hadn't used it, could he?

He laced his skates and made his way to the entry point onto the ice. A startled gasp caught his attention. He gave a half-hearted wave in Chaney's direction and skated through the opening, sticking to the fringe, away from the class.

“Let's try that routine once more, and then we'll wrap up today's session,” Chaney instructed her students, her voice a little shaky.

Had he rattled her with his presence? He stole a glance her way. She was bent over, stretching the little one's miniature arms out in the proper position and helping her maintain a precarious balance. Even so, he couldn't escape the feeling that Chaney's watchful gaze followed him all the way around the rink as he warmed up.

“You're doing great, Melanie.” Chaney's voice floated to him. “Awesome, Mark.”

He rounded the angle, shuttering his lids. He didn't need his eyes open to navigate the curves. Not when the distance from one end of the rink to the other came as natural as tinkering inside the engine of a car now. He picked up speed, savoring the cool breeze kissing his cheeks, the memories of skating with Chaney nestled against his side bubbling up to tantalize him, as real as if she actually skated next to him. His arms reached out, heavy with the weight of a decade's worth of dreams and pent-up longing, but his fingertips landed on…nothing.

How many times did he circle the rink before she called an end to her class? Two? Three? Long enough that regret over his too-impulsive decision years ago kept stabbing him in the chest. Where would they be now had he stayed? Would they have achieved their aspirations, on the ice and off? Had her dreams of a lifelong partner ever included him?

He'd loved her from the minute he took her in his arms for the first time, when she'd gazed up at him, her face flush with excitement and vulnerable with trust. But she'd been so young, and he'd been so…messed up.

When he finally lifted his lids, most of the students had disappeared. Only one remained on the ice. The adorable tyke with long, nutmeg-colored hair pulled back into a ponytail, one hand gripping Chaney's in a tight latch, her round eyes, as big as the biscuits he'd devoured for breakfast, staring at him.

Was Chaney waiting for him? He glided over to them, careful to stop a few feet away, still not sure that he wouldn't make a fool of himself on the paper-thin blades. “Pete told me I'd be sharing the rink with a class, but he didn't mention that you were the teacher,” he said.

“I didn't expect an audience,” she said, her gaze dropping to the little girl at her side.

“I'm sorry. I hope I didn't disrupt your class.” His gaze skittered from Chaney to the girl, and then back to Chaney.

Chaney shook her head. “No. It's OK. I was just surprised. That's all.”

In the blaring light of the rink, Chaney was even prettier than he remembered, yet the same with her high, ivory-pure cheekbones, beautifully arched brows, and bow-shaped lips. In a similar band as the little girl's, Chaney's nutmeg colored hair was pulled back in a ponytail.

He used to rest his cheek against her head just to feel those silky strands tickle his jaw, to breathe in her soothing scent—vanilla mingled with spicy citrus and flowers. That hadn't been part of the routine, but their coach never complained because they got so many compliments about their chemistry on the ice. Maybe because his mind had always drifted to a different time and place, away from a father who dogged him about his skating, and into a glorious future with Chaney, where after they won the gold, they did exactly what she was doing now.

Foolish dreams. That's what his father had called his skating, and as much as Conner hated to admit it, his father had been right. Dreams didn't pay the bills, and—he glanced down at the grease staining his fingernails—it was foolish to think he could have a future with this beautiful, classy woman. He gave his head a little shake, dislodging the memories.

“Pete must have given you the key.”

“Yeah. He said I could use it whenever, but early morning fits in best with my work schedule.” He didn't really need to point out that his dreams had been reduced to working part time at an automotive shop with his head buried under hoods instead of arching to the glimmering lights. Word got around quickly in a town this size, so she'd find that out soon enough.

“Oh.” Her gaze flitted to the girl again. Was that disappointment she was trying to hide?

“I guess we'll be seeing more of each other then,” her voice came out barely above a whisper.

He met her gaze head on, trying hard to control that frizzle of excitement and anticipation that zinged through his veins at the thought of seeing her every morning, but not succeeding. “Looks that way.” He stole a lightning-quick glance at Chaney's hand. No rings. He could do nothing to stop the rush of adrenaline that surged, almost painful in its intensity.

She reached down and scooped up the little girl, who wrapped her tights-covered legs around Chaney's hips and stared at him with curious eyes.

The image in front of him couldn't have been more beautiful, more exquisite, if heaven floated down to earth. So precious, he wanted to hang onto it forever.
God, You're killing me here. Skating, Chaney, now this…You're making it impossible for me to think about leaving.

“This is my niece, Annabelle.”

“Ah. That's why she looks so much like you. Hailey's daughter?”

“Yeah. But I'm raising her since Hailey…” her voice trailed off.

What had happened with her sister? He waited, but she didn't complete the sentence. “I bet you're an awesome surrogate mother.” Was that the right term?

“Thank you. I try. I was so worried about getting to her last night.”

Realization smacked him across the face. “Wow. I'm sorry. I probably should have just hooked you up to the truck first and not wasted—”

Her hand reached out to land on his forearm, her touch feather light. “It's OK. My mom was able to get to her. When I got home, Annabelle was already fed and in her jammies. And if it hadn't been for you coming out in that storm, I might have had to spend all night in my car.”

At the mere mention of such a horrible scenario, his gut plunged to his skates.

But, obviously, she hadn't needed him in all these years. She'd managed to take care of herself just fine without him.

“School, An Chaney?” Annabelle's hands reached up and framed Chaney's cheeks, forcing Chaney's face and her attention back to the little one.

He chuckled.

Chaney's hand left his forearm to cover Annabelle's tiny hand. “Are you ready to go to school, sweetheart?”

Annabelle wagged her head, her eyes bright with excitement.

“Well, let's go, then.” Her glance landed back on him as a dark shade of pink crept up her neck. “I guess we'll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah. I'll be here.” Not much would stop him.

She nodded and set the little princess back on the ice. Grasping her hand, they skated to the sidelines, their similar ponytails swaying against their backs. Chaney shortened her strides to match Annabelle's.

When Chaney assisted Annabelle off the ice, he exhaled. Imagine that. Chaney. Annabelle. Living in Evergreen Peak didn't seem near as bad right now.

 

 

 

 

3

 

Conner twisted the jumbo garbage bag closed and hauled it to the back door, setting it next to the five others already stuffed and lined up against the wall. He had never realized how much junk was in this house. Had it been his dad or his mother who'd been a packrat?