Christmas in the Rink (7 page)

“He didn't like you skating, did he?”

“No. He abhorred it. Constantly ridiculed me while Mom was alive, but afterward…” He shook his head, the memory of their last fight swirling around his brain in slow motion. “Afterward, he absolutely forbade it. His criticism and our constant fighting over it took all the joy out of skating.”

“I'm sorry he died before you had a chance to reconcile, Conner. Maybe you both could have found a certain measure of peace together.”

“Yeah. Me, too.” He hadn't thought so when he'd first rolled into town, but truly, he was now.

“So let's just say you hadn't left Evergreen Peak.” Chaney's gaze flitted to the silver tree, and then back to him, as if she were considering her words. “That doesn't mean that things still would have gone according to our plans.”

“What do you mean?”

“God determines our steps, Conner. Maybe you needed a season away from the rink.” Dark brows arched high on her smooth forehead, and her lips curved in a smile, but more from sorrow than humor. “Who knows? Maybe you needed time away from me.”

“Ha!” He scoffed and stretched out his arm to tug her closer until she snuggled against his side. He settled his chin on her head, the silky and sweet smelling strands of hair tickling his cheek and soothing his agitation. “Not a chance. Thinking of you during all those deployments overseas was the only way I kept my sanity.”

It was her turn to scoff.

With his other hand, he dug out his wallet and flicked it open, revealing a worn-out, faded picture of them from their last competition, Chaney's hand pressed against his heart, her head angled up towards him. Adoring, her face alive with joy and hope and laughter.

He'd stolen it all from her.

“Oh.” Chaney's hand covered her mouth. “I remember this one. It's the last one your mother took.”

“Yeah.” He flipped the wallet closed and slid it back in his pocket. “The memories of you and me, of us, kept me out of some pretty dark places.” Places and spaces some of his friends had crawled into, and never managed to come out of.

She gulped and leaned back into his side, hiding her expression from his view. Her palm reached up to cover his heart, just like in the picture. Could she feel his pulse thundering under her gentle touch?

“I'm just saying, Conner, if your father didn't instigate you leaving, something else would have, I'm quite sure. But if the smile lighting your face when you're on the ice helping my students with recital practice is any indication, it looks like you might have rediscovered your joy.” Her voice was muffled against his shirt.

Conner sucked in a breath. He had reclaimed his joy, hadn't he? All because of Chaney. Being with her again. On the ice, off the ice, it didn't make any difference. He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm.

She pulled back slightly, only as far as his arm allowed, silky strands of her hair sticking to the stubble on his jaw. Enough that he glimpsed the questions in her darkened irises, the rounding of her bow-shaped mouth, and the rapid pulsing along her smooth, creamy throat. “Conner?”

 

 

 

 

7

 

Conner's face drifted just inches from hers, his expression earnest, seeking, as he slid some of her hair back behind an ear. “Do you believe in second chances, Chaney?” His voice rumbled near, tickling the bare skin on her neck.

Was he referring to them? Or to his skating career? The air compressed from her lungs, but somehow she managed to squeeze out a raspy, “Yeah.”

His gaze never left her face, but his fingers moved to toy with the ends of her hair. Sliding the strands through his fingertips, a tic tightened his jaw and his lips firmed into a straight line.

Of its own accord, her palm reached up to cover his cheek, his whiskers scratchy against her skin. It wouldn't ease the pain or regret over his past choices, but perhaps she could offer small comfort now.

“Do you think we might have a second chance?” His lashes dipped to hide his expression from her. She almost missed the naked vulnerability, the loneliness.

“A second chance at…” She held her breath, waiting, hoping he wasn't referring to their Olympic dreams.

“Us.” His lips covered hers, gentle and tentative, soft and tender. When her hand curled around his neck and dragged him closer, he deepened the kiss and slid one arm around her waist while the other cupped her cheek.

Oh, dear God in heaven, I love this man. What will I do if he leaves again?

 

****

 

“Like this, Conner?” Annabelle's palm displayed the tiny clump.

They'd just finished skate practice, and all the students had disappeared, quickly shuttled away to school. Conner had convinced Chaney to allow Annabelle a few minutes playing in the snow before Chaney took her to daycare.

“That's it. Just like that, Annabelle.” Conner knelt next to the little girl, smiling at her awkward efforts as her mittened hands patted a snowball tight. More flakes fluttered to the ground than stayed on the ball.

She was so cute, all dressed up in tights and boots and a winter coat.

He stole a sideways glance at Chaney. Her arms wrapped around her waist, humor lit her face, and cloudlike white puffs came from her smile. The early morning sunbeams spotlighted her frame, casting her in an almost ethereal glow. His pulse rocketed. Cute didn't even begin to describe her. More like angelic.

“I'm done, Conner.” Annabelle's voice snagged his attention. That, and an impatient tap on his forearm.

“Good. Now, put it on the snow very carefully.” He waited.

The snowball plopped onto the snow and broke in half. He covered it with his hands and quickly patted it back into shape. “Great job. Next, you roll it like this.” He demonstrated, and then stepped back to allow her the pleasure of creating the bottom third of the snowman. “Keep rolling until I tell you.” He stood next to Chaney.

“You're so good with her, Conner. Did anybody ever tell you that you'll make a great daddy one day?” Chaney asked, her tone more statement than question.

“Can't say that they have. You're the first.” He grinned. “I hope to make a good husband, too.” He tried that on for size, carefully gauging her reaction.

Red crept up her neck, and she dipped her head to her chest.

His arm snaked around her back. He tugged her against his side and pressed a kiss to her beret-covered head, breathing in her spicy vanilla scent, which was becoming as familiar and alluring as the pine scent drifting in with the cool mountain breeze.

“Done, Conner.” Annabelle stretched to her full three feet and dusted off her mittens, the snowball still only palm-sized.

Grinning sideways at Chaney, his arm dropped to tug her hand into the action. “Come on, Aunt Chaney. Don't think you can avoid getting your hands dirty. Time for some fun.”

“All right. All right. If you insist.” She chuckled, following him.

“You roll out the middle one, and I'll make the bottom. Then we'll be ready to put this all together.”

“Bossy, aren't we?” She picked up a wad of snow, a mischievous glint in her eyes,

“Coming from the woman who arm twisted me into helping her students prepare for their skate recital. Hmmm.” He narrowed his brows, but couldn't stop the grin from sliding across his face.

“Arm twisted?” she sputtered.

Grinning, he sank to his knees in the snow next to Annabelle. “I need your help, sweetheart.” Together, they focused on making a giant sphere, his hands covering her smaller ones as they rolled the glob through the snow, her oohing and ahhing the bigger it got. OK, so maybe he wanted to show off his snowman making skills. But it was also the most fun he'd had in years. “There. I think that's—”

Something smacked his cheek. Something cold and wet. He swiped at his face, his hand coming away…white.

A snowball.

He flicked the snow off his hand and his head whipped around towards Chaney. She was doubled over, her arms clutching her waist, convulsing with laughter, the hearty sound making his heart somersault. He scooped up a glob of snow and pelted it at her, aiming for her lowered head. It hit the mark.

“Oh!” Chaney's gloved hand rubbed the spot on her hat. When she glanced up, he fired another round. “Oh!” Her boots did a tiny dance in place, and then she dived behind the nearest shrub. “You're going to get it now, Weddington!” she squealed, her voice quivering with laughter.

He scooped up a fistful of snow and packed it tight, then handed it to Annabelle. “When Aunt Chaney pokes her head away from the bush, fire away, Annabelle!” He ordered and turned to leave.

“OK,” Annabelle agreed.

He put a finger up to his lips, indicating not to give away his plan of attack.

“Give it all you got, Mitchum! Let's see what you're made of.” He hollered, then hunched over, tiptoeing through the snow as quietly as a six-foot man could, taking care that his boots didn't crunch too much.

Chaney's laughter tinkled out, cutting through the stillness of the morning and the sounds of far off traffic. Her head popped up over the shrub and her eyes widened.

“Throw it, Annabelle!” he ordered.

Annabelle's sweet giggles coincided with a plop, her snowball landing a few inches from him. He turned around and glared at the culprit. “You're supposed to aim for your Aunt Chaney. Not me.”

Annabelle's tiny face crackled, and more giggles erupted. She twirled around, clapping, and then reached down to scoop up more snow.

He'd get her later. First, another Mitchum was calling his name. He turned back around, and—

Splat. This one landed on his cheek.

“You are so going to get it now!” He gave up all pretense of sneaking and charged the bush.

Like a bunny, she darted out from behind the bush and raced across the yard next to the skating rink, her boots sinking deep into the snow. Three huge steps, and he managed to snag her waist, slowing her progress.

That's all he'd intended to do, but she twisted in his arms, laughing and swatting at him, trying to untangle herself from his grasp. His boots lost their traction, and he lurched forward. Somehow, he managed to regain his balance, but in the process, he tightened his grip on Chaney, and she plowed into his chest, snuggling right next his heart, the top of her fuzzy hat tickling his chin.

“Oh!” Her laughter stopped abruptly, and she arched her back to peer up at him, her eyes wide and gorgeous, so full of life and…joy. Her mouth rounded, and her eyes transformed, suddenly glittering with an emotion infinitely more dangerous. Something that matched his own?

Church bells chimed in the distance, but the pulse pounding through his head stamped out all other sounds. Her arms wound around his neck, and time stopped. And his lungs.

When her lids fluttered over those creamy cheeks and she lifted her face, he leaned down, counting the milliseconds until he tasted the sweetness—

Something slammed into his legs, throwing him off kilter. He tightened his grip on Chaney. His head whipped around and down to—

“Hug,” a sweet little voice said. One of Annabelle's miniature arms latched around his leg; the other wrapped around Chaney's.

Just like those little arms, gratitude latched around his heart. Thankfulness for a part-time job that allowed him the opportunity to help Chaney's students with their recital practice, that granted him special moments like this. Nothing he'd ever experienced felt more precious, more…right.

 

 

 

 

8

 

“And God, please take care of my mommy, wherever she is. Amen.”

Chaney echoed Annabelle's amen and slid Hailey's picture back on the nightstand next to the lamp.

“An Chaney, I had fun today.” Only Annabelle's cute pixie face poked out from beneath the covers. That, and tiny knuckles that gripped the blanket.

Annabelle stated what Chaney had been afraid to admit in her own heart. “Did you, darling?”

“Yeah. I like Conner.” From the mouths of babes. Conner stole Annabelle's heart as quickly as he'd reclaimed hers.

“He's sweet, isn't he?” And funny. Add kind and gentle to the list, and great with kids. And knock down gorgeous, but she wasn't going there with Annabelle.

Annabelle's dark head bobbed up and down against the colorful pillowcase. “Can he be my daddy?”

Chaney sputtered, hiding it behind a cough and closed hand. Where did that come from? “Darling, you can't just ask somebody to be your daddy.”

A frown marred Annabelle's ivory forehead. “Why?”

“Because a mommy and a daddy have to fall in love first.” At least, that's how she hoped it would work for her. She pointed to the frame next to the bed. “And your mommy probably doesn't even remember Conner.” Chaney doubted those words even as they left her mouth. How could anyone forget Conner?

Annabelle's head turned sideways against the pillow to stare at the picture, a frown replacing the happy face from moments ago. “But my mommy isn't here. I want you to be my mommy, An Chaney.”

Chaney was Annabelle's mother in every way except one, and sometimes, like tonight, she was tempted to accept the role officially. But she couldn't do that without first talking with Hailey, and so far, God hadn't opened that door.

“If I could pick any daughter from the whole world, it would be you.” Chaney tapped Annabelle's nose, and then leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead. “Goodnight. Sweet dreams, darling.” She rearranged the covers and flicked off the light, one hand on the doorknob. “Love you.”

“Love you.” Annabelle echoed their nightly routine.

Chaney closed the bedroom door and made her way to the kitchen.

“The princess all tucked in?” her mother asked. Carole was sitting at their small table, a cup of coffee and a stack of mail in front of her.