Final score, p.18
Final Score, page 18
They cheered themselves hoarse. Of course, only Claire remotely understood the game. Cassie and Serena simply cheered to be supportive. Sometimes they asked Claire what was going on, but mostly they simply watched their men.
The teams seemed evenly matched. There was lots of back-and-forth: Adam scored once; some huge guy from the Paters scored. Dylan scooped the puck from another player and shot from a ridiculous distance to score the second goal. It was tied up after an eye-straining number of passes leading to a brilliant shot by the Paters. At least, that’s what Claire said. The score was tied two–all toward the end of the third period.
Cassie wanted them to win almost as much as she’d wanted the whale to find its way home.
“Oh, nice pass,” Claire said, leaning forward. In the blur of motion, Cassie could see that Max had passed the puck to Dylan. He seemed to look at the opposing team’s net, size up his opportunity.
“Don’t do it,” Claire muttered—she who’d been drafted to the Olympic women’s hockey team. “Pass it to Adam.”
It was weird—as though Dylan might have heard her—because in another blur of motion, Cassie saw the puck fly, Adam skated hard and boom.
The puck slid past a stumbling goalie and into the net.
And it was all over. With five minutes still on the clock, all the Hurricanes had to do was play defense. And they played defense for all they were worth until the horn sounded.
The women were on their feet, screaming. “Come on,” Claire said, and grabbed Cassie’s hand. Cassie grabbed Serena’s hand and they all ran down to the edge of the rink.
The Hurricanes were jumping at each other, hugging and banging fists. They gathered themselves for the traditional skate past where they saluted the other team.
Then the three guys skated over to where the women waited. And they all high-fived through the Plexiglas.
* * *
THE AFTER-PARTY WAS in a local bar. Everybody turned up: both teams, a bunch of the fans and a few women who didn’t really even understand the rules of the game but happened to be in love with a player.
The six of them sat together enjoying hamburgers and a pitcher of beer. They talked over the game, the best moves, the near misses. At one point, Claire said, “I wasn’t sure you were going to make that last pass, Dylan.”
He glanced up at her, then to Serena, and finally let his gaze rest on Cassie. “I had a moment. But I’m learning that rash action isn’t always the smart choice. I could have tried to be a hero and we’d have lost the game.”
“By passing, you were a hero,” Claire pointed out.
That was way too much serious talk for Dylan and he immediately made a joke and then the boys were back at their teasing and insults.
Cassie figured they deserved to act like fools once in a while.
Suddenly, she could see the three as they must have been as little boys. The laughing and pushing and yet the deep bond they had with each other was evident. She’d heard that Adam’s mother had some home movies of the three of them. She’d have to see if she could view those movies sometime.
Then, looking exactly like a pair of grade-school pranksters, Adam and Max suddenly got up and said, “Don’t move. Be right back.”
They went to a duffel bag that Max had carried in, and with their backs to the table, fished something out, then returned.
Adam stood in front of Max, shielding whatever he was currently carrying. “Dylan,” he said, in a deep, mock-serious voice. “Badges on Ice isn’t the only competition we three have battled for in the past year.”
“No, indeed,” Max intoned from behind him.
“We challenged each other at my birthday party back in February to see who would be the Last Bachelor Standing. Congratulations, Dylan. The trophy goes to you.”
The Badges on Ice trophy was already sitting in the middle of their table. They’d have to give it back to have the winning team’s name engraved, but for this evening, they could revel in their success. Beside the grandiose silver goblet, the trophy that was revealed when Dylan stepped aside and Max came forward was, well, on a different scale.
It looked as though they’d taken an old gold fishing trophy—with some peeled patches where the gold had rubbed off—hacked out the fish the guy in the trophy had been holding over his head and filled his two empty hands with a martini glass and a little black book. In a touch of true subtlety, they’d scribbled “Little Black Book” in gold pen on the cover of the book. They’d pasted silver duct tape over the original plaque. Now it said, “Dylan Cross. Winner. Last Bachelor Standing.”
As the table erupted in applause. Dylan threw back his head and laughed. It was impossible not to join in.
Serena leaned over and said to Cassie, “I told Adam that was a terrible idea, but he didn’t listen.”
“It’s okay.”
And it was. Dylan had outlasted both his old buddies. But if she had her way, the last bachelor wouldn’t be standing for long.
After the trophy had been passed around and admired by all, Dylan rose, holding the trophy aloft as though he’d won something really special.
He said, “I love a challenge. And I would love to accept this wonderful honor. But I can’t.”
He put the trophy down on the table, beside the much classier silver cup, and from his jacket pocket retrieved a ring box.
Cassie heard a gasp and then realized it came from her mouth. The jewelry box wasn’t a new one. Cassie could see right away that the blue velvet was faded and rubbed off in patches. The laughter at their table died. They were an island of silence in the noisy bar. “Right here, in front of all of you, I want to tell you that I am in love with Cassie Price.”
He flipped open the ring box before Cassie had managed to take in what was happening.
“Cassie,” he said, grinning at her in the special way he had, the smile that wasn’t for every woman who could afford a calendar, but that was just for her. “Will you marry me?”
Somehow, she found her voice. “Yes.”
He slipped the diamond ring onto her finger. It was a tiny bit loose, but she loved the antique setting and the three diamonds in a row. It was the sort of ring that spoke of tradition and family and generations.
“It was my grandmother’s ring,” he told her, which she’d suspected. “I dropped by my mother’s house yesterday and asked her for it.” He laughed. “She’s waiting by the phone right now to find out if you said yes.”
Among the hugs and congratulations and maybe a few tears, she thought her future was as bright as the diamonds winking on her finger.
A couple of the younger players whom she recognized from the other team sauntered by. One of them, a young, cocky-looking guy who could have been Dylan ten years earlier, chanted, “And another one bites the dust.”
Dylan wasn’t at all offended. He jumped up. Clapped the younger man on the shoulder. “Hey, dude?” he said. “This is for you.”
And with a swagger he presented the foolish trophy.
The young guy glanced at him and at the trophy and tucked it under his arm. “Yeah. Whatever.”
“That trophy is wasted on that kid,” Adam said.
“You watch,” Dylan said.
Sure enough, the young buck stopped at a table of young women. Cassie couldn’t see what he said, but he was obviously showing them the trophy and spinning some kind of story. Next thing she knew, he and his buddy were sitting with the table of girls.
Dylan glanced at Adam. “Not bad. One day, with practice, he’ll be as smooth as me.”
“Hate to break it to you, dude, but your smooth days are over.”
“No,” he said, taking Cassie’s hand and kissing it. “They are only beginning.”
Max filled their beer glasses from a fresh pitcher. “Everyone, raise your glasses in a toast.” Everyone complied. “To Dylan and Cassie.”
Naturally, some fool started banging his glass with a knife as though they were at a wedding reception, and then everyone joined in. The noise didn’t stop until Dylan and Cassie leaned in and kissed each other.
“I can’t believe you proposed on our first date,” she said.
His trademark grin was tinged with something warm and sweet. “Wait till you see what I have planned for our second date.”
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from RIDING HIGH by Vicki Lewis Thompson.
Ten years ago one devastating night changed everything for Austin, Hunter and Alex. Now they must each play their part in the revenge against the one man who ruined it all.
Austin Treffen has the plan… Hunter has the money… Alex has the power!
Read each of their stories in the captivating Fifth Avenue trilogy,
only from Harlequin Presents:
Avenge Me by Maisey Yates (June 2014)
Scandalize Me by Caitlin Crews (July 2014)
Expose Me by Kate Hewitt (August 2014)
And don’t miss the Fifth Avenue prequel that started it all, Take Me, by Maisey Yates!
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Prologue
June 10, 1990, Last Chance Ranch, from the diary of Eleanor Chance
THANKS TO MY grandson Nicholas, we have another orphaned puppy ensconced in the boys’ room upstairs. Nicky calls him Hercules, and he’s supposed to stay in his box because he’s not housetrained yet. The whining has stopped, so it’s a safe bet the little bugger’s in Nicky’s bed. Mark my words, we’ll be washing sheets in the morning.
I know it’s foolish to imagine what profession a child will take up as an adult, but I’m convinced that Nicky is going to be a vet. Yes, I realize he’s only eight and boys his age change their minds on a regular basis. One day they want to be a firefighter, and the next they’d rather drive an eighteen-wheeler, or maybe fly a jet.
Nicky’s different. He brings home enough strays to start a shelter if we were so inclined. But that’s not why I figure he’ll end up running a veterinarian clinic when he grows up. Half the time the animals he rescues have some injury or other. This puppy has a torn ear and a limp, and instinctively, Nicky knows what to do. It’s remarkable for a boy so young.
Henry Applegate, our large-animal vet from Jackson, makes regular visits to the Last Chance, and Nicky follows him around like a rock-star groupie. He watches every move that man makes and asks so many questions it’s a wonder Henry doesn’t complain. I guess he’s flattered that Nicky idolizes him so.
Fortunately Jonathan and Sarah are encouraging this interest. Jonathan agrees that his middle son has a gift, and Jonathan’s already hoping that Nicky will one day take over the medical care of the Last Chance horses. Personally, I’m glad there’s at least one steady boy in the batch.
Jack, the oldest, has a wild streak and is guaranteed to turn his father’s hair prematurely gray. Gabe, the youngest, is the most competitive kid I’ve ever known. Jonathan plans to enter him in cutting-horse competitions when he’s old enough. Now that school’s out for the summer, Gabe’s driving us all crazy setting up contests of every kind. Yesterday it was rope climbing. Today it was an obstacle course. Thank God he doesn’t expect me to participate! I could probably climb that rope and navigate the obstacle course, but I’d rather not find out I couldn’t. Now that I’m almost eighty, I prefer to maintain my illusions.
Whoops, gotta go. Nicky’s calling for us. He says Hercules peed in his bed. Now there’s a shocker.
1
Present day. Shoshone, Wyoming
DEAR GOD IN HEAVEN. Regan O’Connelli, DVM, parked his truck outside the large double gate of Peaceful Kingdom Horse Sanctuary, nudged his Stetson back with his thumb and leaned his forearms against the steering wheel while he contemplated the sight before him. If his hippie parents ever ran an animal rescue operation, it would look like this.
Nick Chance, his brother-in-law and business partner, had mentioned that Lily King was slightly...different. Judging from the psychedelic colors she’d painted the ranch house, the barn and the outbuildings, different was an understatement. Even though he was wearing his Ray-Ban sunglasses, the neon green, pink, orange and turquoise hurt his eyes.
She had to be the one who’d chosen the color scheme. She’d taken over from an elderly couple two months ago, and prior to that, it had been too cold to paint. Maybe if she’d stuck with one color per building, the effect wouldn’t have been so startling. But a pink barn with turquoise doors and trim was wrong on so many levels. It was a wonder the horses agreed to go inside.
Or maybe they’d refused. He counted at least twenty of them milling around the property, which was a dozen more than Nick had told him to expect. There was a corral—he could see it from here—but the gate was open—accidentally or on purpose? He had a feeling she’d meant to keep it open so the horses wouldn’t feel constrained by any artificial boundaries. His parents would have done that sort of thing, too.
Regan wished Nick had given him a little more information before sending him off on this mission of mercy. All he knew was that Lily’s parents were two of Nick’s favorite high school teachers and their daughter had an extremely high IQ, although she’d never stuck with one major long enough to earn a degree when she attended Berkeley. She had, however, invented a video game that continued to pay royalties, and she’d wanted to do something charitable with the money.
Maybe Nick had been vague about Lily’s free-spirited persona because he knew Regan’s history. Regan and his seven siblings had lived a vagabond existence with their parents, traveling the country in a van painted the same colors Lily seemed to favor. Nick wouldn’t want to make fun of Lily’s setup and insult Regan’s folks in the process.
Everybody at the Last Chance Ranch had come to love his unconventional parents, Bianca Spinelli and Seamus O’Connor. Regan loved them, too, even if they had saddled their kids with the surname of O’Connelli to avoid hyphenating O’Connor and Spinelli. They’d also given each child a gender-neutral first name to prevent stereotyping. Grade school had been hell, especially because the family had moved constantly and the name thing had to be explained every time they’d enrolled somewhere new.
Regan had forgiven his well-meaning parents long ago, but Lily’s paint job brought up memories he’d rather forget. He had a job to do, though, and the color of the buildings had no bearing on that. Nick, who’d invited Regan into his vet practice six months ago, had volunteered out here for several years when the Turners had run the place. Nick had said he was grateful Lily had come along. Without her sudden decision to buy it, the sanctuary would have closed.
Regan agreed that Lily was performing a valuable service, so he was prepared to do his part. As he climbed out of his truck and closed the door, a second truck pulled up. He didn’t recognize the middle-aged couple inside, but he instantly identified the crated animal in the back of the truck.
When the man left the driver’s seat and started toward the tailgate, Regan walked over to find out what was going on. “Looks like you have a potbellied pig there.”
“Yes, sir, I do.” The man adjusted the fit of his ball cap. “If you wouldn’t mind, I could use a hand carrying the crate. My wife helped me get Harley up there, but I think she did something to her back in the process. Harley’s put on a lot of weight since we got him.”
“They tend to do that.” Regan made no move to help with the crate.
“We didn’t figure on him getting this big. When he was little, we’d let him in the house, but now he’s even too big for the patio. We like to barbecue outside in the summer, and with Harley’s mud hole expanding by the day, it’s impossible.”
Regan’s jaw tightened, although he knew this kind of thing happened all the time. People saw a cuddly baby animal and took it home while conveniently forgetting that baby animals grow into adults. “Where are you taking him?”
The man looked at Regan as if doubting his intelligence. “Isn’t that obvious?”
“Not to me. This is a horse sanctuary, and what you have there is a pig.”
“True, but I know for a fact the lady running the place accepted a pig last week from a guy I work with. So if she took one pig, I imagine she can take another. I’ll make a donation to the cause. If you’d grab one end of the crate, I’d be much obliged.”
“Before we do that, let’s make sure she’ll take him.” Regan didn’t know a lot about animal rescue, but asking first seemed like common courtesy.
“She’ll take him. My buddy said she’s a softie.”
Regan held on to his temper with difficulty. “She may be, but if there’s a potbellied-pig rescue organization in the area, that would be a better place for Harley.”
“Look, mister.” The man’s eyes narrowed. “This is the day I set aside for handling this problem. My wife and I managed to get the pig into the crate and into the truck, which wasn’t easy. If you’re not gonna help me with the crate, step aside and I’ll do it myself, although God knows what that’ll do to my back.”
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