Blindsided Page 7

  Cat sat slightly forward in the overstuffed chair and squinted at the haze trapped between the two panes of glass on the family room’s sliding glass door. The hermetic seal was obviously gone and the resulting cloud of condensate was—just as obviously—not in the shape of Elvis. Or Matt Damon. Or Madonna. Not the one from New Jersey or the one from Judea. So much for the hope—faint though it had been—of using admission money to pay for ice time. Which was probably just as well; people who charged for that sort of stuff were even more pathetic than the people who came to look at it. Like that man, years ago, who had had the potato shaped like the head of Richard Nixon. Of course it had gotten him on TV with Jay Leno. Or had it been Letterman? Didn’t matter who, actually. It had been the exposure that mattered. She could use some of that right about now. How to get it, though. How to get people to buy the tickets so she could pay the bills?

  The grandfather clock in the front foyer chimed 2:00 a.m. Cat read the news scrolling along the bottom of the TV screen, noting that it was the same as it had been for pretty much the last hour and a half—there was a wildfire in California, a hurricane headed toward Florida, unemployment was up, housing starts were down, someone was going to out-source two thousand jobs, the stock market was flat, and everyone had an opinion on what the Fed ought to do at its next meeting.

  In the big scheme of things, her problems weren’t even a blip on the radar. Well, the national radar, anyway. On her personal scope, things were about to go down in flames. And it wouldn’t take any FAA caliber agency to figure out what had gone wrong, either; she’d reached big and gotten what she’d hoped for. If only she’d anticipated the potential down side of convincing Logan Dupree to sign on.

  A flutter off to her right. She turned her head and smiled as her sister-in-law emerged from the hallway and advanced into the family room. How the almost seventy-year-old woman could look so good, so unmussed, after four hours in bed… God, not a single silver strand of hair was out of place.

  “You’re up late,” Millie said, as she smoothed her robe and sat in the companion chair.

  Cat nodded. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

  “Oh, heavens, no. I hardly sleep anymore. One of the…” She pursed her lips for a moment and then looked at Cat with an arched brow. “Following things?”

  “Consequences?” Cat guessed.

  “Yes. Of getting old.” She glanced at the television. “Is anything interesting happening in the world?”

  “Just the usual stuff,” Cat supplied. “Wind, fire, rain, plagues of locusts.”

  Millie’s attention came back to her. “Which one of them has you worried?”

  It showed? Since there was no lying to Millie and Cat knew it, she started at the top. “I fired Carl Spady this evening.”

  “Good for you,” Millie replied. “Tom was planning to do that. He’s pleased, I’m sure.”

  Well, that was good news. It would have been better if Tom had actually done it, but what the hell. “The trip to Tampa paid off,” Cat went on. “Logan Dupree showed up at tonight’s game and, over dinner, agreed to coach the team.”

  Millie blinked at her. “And that’s upsetting?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “I can understand that. You certainly aren’t the first woman sent into a whirl by Logan. I assume he’s still as handsome as ever?”

  Millie thought she was sleepless over some man? Not since junior high. Well, okay, she’d had some long nights over Ben, but only after the rat bastard had taken off and taken all her money with him. “Some men wear the years well,” Cat offered diplomatically. “Logan’s one of them.”

  “Has he ever married?”

  Oh, God. Millie was thinking of playing matchmaker? This needed to be nipped in the bud. “Not that I know of. But I’m not interested in him that way, Millie. He’s out of my league for one thing. And, more importantly, my life is com plicated enough at the moment. I don’t have the time or the energy for a man.”

  Millie nodded and looked back to the television. “Maybe you should make time and find the energy.”

  Cat reminded herself that her sister-in-law was from the generation where being attached to a man was a woman’s sole source of identity and security. There was no changing Millie’s perspective and so no point in trying. “If I’m going to make anything,” Cat countered, “it’s got to be money.”

  Again Millie looked back at her. “Do you need me to cash in some…broker things?”

  “Stocks,” Cat supplied. At Millie’s nod, she smiled and shook her head. “Thank you for offering, Millie. I really appreciate it, but the team has to make it on its own. If it can’t, it’s time to fold it up and pack it away. Stuffing money down a rat hole is stupid.”

  “Tom did it for years.”

  Oh, jeez. “I didn’t mean to—”

  “I know,” Millie interrupted sweetly. “But to Tom the team was about more than profit. Or loss, as the case may be.”

  “For him it was the care and feeding of dreams.” She winced at the cynical edge to her voice and wished that she could call the words back.

  “Dreams are important, Catherine,” Millie gently chided. “They should never be given up or allowed to wither. Without them, there’s no reason to go from one day to the next.”

  Yeah, Cat silently countered, but it’s a helluva lot easier—and a lot more fun—to dream when money is no object.

  “You’re not believing me, are you?”

  Cat managed a weary smile. “Oh, I believe you, Millie. It’s the paying for the dreams that has me depressed at the moment. I asked Logan to coach without thinking about how he might change things and how I was going to pay for it all.”

  “Such as?”

  “He wants to double practice time. Which is a logical and no doubt necessary thing to do given how awful the team is at this point. But I’m barely managing to pay for the hours we’ve already got slated. Times two…” She sighed and massaged her forehead with her fingertips. “Any ideas?”

  “Tom auctioned off the players one time.”

  Auctioned? Was that really the right word? Cat slid a look at the older woman. “Come again?”

  “It was a long time ago,” Millie explained. “As I recall, it was very successful. There was a dinner affair at the Petroleum Club with tickets sold for admission. Expensive enough to make it only for the upper crust, of course. The Petroleum Club doesn’t allow riffraff. The boys wore tuxes and did a fashion runway presentation and the women bid on an evening out with a player. With decorum, of course. The team paid for their dinner and the movie out of the proceeds. And, as I remember, the boys were rather flattered by all the attention.”

  Cat could see it. And so many other possibilities. “The team as a charity,” she muttered, glad to have her brain back. And in working order, too!

  “Is it that bad, Catherine? Are we really a charity case?”

  “Not yet,” she assured her. “I have lots of ideas. I know how to do charity fund-raisers. Why I didn’t think of approaching it from this direction, I don’t know. Thank you!”

  “You’re just tired,” Millie assured her. “You simply can’t think well when you’ve met yourself coming and going for months.”

  “It has been a little intense.”

  “You really ought to slow down a bit, you know. Sleep does wonders for a person.”

  Cat absently hummed agreement. The auction would be even more profitable if she did some smaller events first. Get the boys’ faces out there so there was something of a drool factor to drive ticket sales.

  “And I’m sure Logan will be more than happy to assist any way he can,” Millie added. “He was always such a nice young man. Very polite and…” She frowned and Cat waited, unsure of what word she wanted, but couldn’t find. “He said thank you often. And meant it.”

  Ah, appreciative. And gallant, too, she admitted, remembering all the little courtesies of the evening. “He’s still a gentleman.”

  Millie sighed softly. “The
re are so few of them in the world these days. Have you noticed that?”

  “Yes. Yes, I have.”

  “An intelligent young woman wouldn’t let one get away simply because he didn’t appear at just the right moment in her life.”

  Bless Millie and the strength of her convictions. “I’ll bear that in mind.”

  “You should invite Logan to dinner. You’re a wonderful cook and I’m sure it’s been ages since he’s had a home-cooked meal. Logan always liked good food.”

  The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach? How pathetic and desperate would she have to be to use that old ploy? “Okay, I’ll extend an invitation,” she promised. Sometime. Like for Thanksgiving or Christmas. Next year.

  “This week would be fine, Catherine,” Millie went on. “I’d love to see him again. He was always such a nice young man. And so good-looking, too. I had a serious girlfriends only rule, you know.”

  Serious rule? Or serious girlfriend? Big difference there. “No, I didn’t.”

  Millie sat up a bit straighter. “I did indeed. And made no apologies for it, either. They could bring their girlfriends over for a team dinner only if they were thinking of marry ing them. Nothing can ruin a genteel gathering more quickly or easily than an overreaching puck…rabbit. Not that some of them didn’t marry such girls, you understand. And most of them quickly regretted it. Of course, to be fair, there were a few of the girls who reformed and made themselves into decent wives and mothers. But they were most definitely the exception.”

  Puck rabbits, huh? Kyle called them hoochies. In her day they’d been called groupies. Amazing how the terms changed to describe timeless behavior. But all of that aside… “Why are you telling me this?”

  Millie frowned for a few seconds and then shrugged. “I’m sure there was a reason, but it escapes me now. The mind, Catherine,” she added as she smiled and rose from her chair, “is a terrible thing to have wander away. I think I’ll take what’s left of mine back to bed now.”

  “Good night. Sweet dreams.”

  “Good night, Catherine.” As she headed toward the hallway, she added, “Give Logan a little kiss for me when you see him.”

  Not on a bet.

  “Oh, now I remember,” Millie said, turning back, her smile broad. “I thought you should know that Logan never brought a young lady to the house. Just lovely bottles of Merlot. Have I mentioned that he was very polite?”

  “Yes, you have.”

  “So few men understand the concept of a hostess gift,” Millie observed, again walking away. “Good night, Catherine.”

  Well, it had been about as subtle as Millie ever got. And the message was clear: Logan Dupree was a prize, and if she had a brain in her head, she’d go for him. Cat laughed softly. Her brain was going to be too otherwise engaged for the next few months to even think about adding a husband hunt to her schedule. Mom, sister-in-law-slash-caretaker, team owner and now head fund-raiser. Yep, the plate was full. There was no room for Logan. Too bad. So sad.

  Cat checked the time and then turned off the television. The world was on its own for the time being. It would have to muddle through without her. She had a fund-raising strategy to develop, a team to let into the rink, a kid to get up, fed and off to school, a coach to bring on board with the grand plan, a—

  Damn. Carl was going to be in this morning to clean out his desk. Okay, she could handle that bit of certain ugliness. She was woman, she could roar with the best of them.

  After that… Oh, yeah, and a housekeeper to hire. That was on the agenda, too. The agency was sending possibles over today. The first was supposed to come into the office for an interview at nine. If there was a God, the first one would be perfect. And if God were really nice, it would never occur to Millie that most live-in housekeepers didn’t have degrees in gerontology.

  Success went to those who had coffee running in their veins, Cat assured herself as she got up and headed for the kitchen. Sleep was for wimps. And Logan was for… Man, she could make a mint auctioning him off.

  Other than that, though, Logan Dupree was for anyone but her. She couldn’t fit him into her life if she used a shoehorn. Millie would just have to get over it.

  Chapter Five

  C at lined up the stacks of paper on her desk, took a deep breath, slowly let it out and then picked up her clipboard and a pen. “Lakisha,” she said as she moved through the outer office, “I’m heading over to the ice. If the housekeeper prospect shows up early, hand her a cup of coffee and put her somewhere. If Carl waltzes in, don’t let him out of your sight and call me on my cell.”

  “What if the president calls?”

  “Tell him he’s on his own.”

  It was a beautiful morning, the air crisp and cool, the skies clear and a lovely, clean shade of blue. The wind was swirling leaves around in the almost empty parking lot. She smiled and tipped her face up to the sun as she went down the walk and toward the back of the building. Autumn in the air. A definite change in season was one of the nicest things about having moved north. And fall had always been her favorite. Pumpkins and frost and bare-limbed trees made her happy. It was as though the world was giving everyone permission to slow down for a while.

  And slowing down was something she so desperately needed to do. Maybe this weekend she and Kyle could rake leaves. And if it was cool enough, have hot cider. Light a fire in the fireplace and have homemade stew for dinner. God, Millie made the very best stew. It was good that dementia didn’t take old memories. Millie would remember the recipe. All she needed was a little supervision so that she didn’t wander off halfway through making it. And if Millie wanted to invite Logan over for dinner, stew was probably a good choice. Hearty and simple and all that. A real manly man kind of meal. And once he’d eaten and burped, Millie would be happy. Just as importantly, the social obligations would be done.

  Cat pulled open the glass door and slipped inside. Through the viewing windows on her left she could see the team, dressed in what looked like ragbag rejects, gathered together in a semicircle in the middle of the ice. Logan—in a spiffy red wind suit—stood in front of them, talking, a stick in his hands and his back to the dressing room side of the rink. The boys were nodding. In a weak, exhausted sort of way, she decided as she let herself into the rink proper.

  A blast of frigid air hit her. So did the smell. It was awful. Part of it was the gear, she knew. Kyle’s could make the whole car reek and have her eyes watering by the time they got home. Airing out in the garage helped, but not nearly enough. The other part of the hideous odor was simply male sweat. Thankfully Kyle hadn’t reached that point in his development yet. If there was a God, he’d be old enough to drive himself to and from the rink by the time he did.

  She stepped into the nearest box and gave Matt Hyerstrom a little wave when he looked over at her. He looked genuinely glad to see her. Logan, on the other hand, didn’t. He glared at her over his shoulder for a second, turned back to the players for another and then whirled around and skated toward her. Fast. Really fast. She held her breath, wondering if he intended to stop or come through the boards and mow her down. At the last moment, he turned sideways and leaned hard toward the ice. A shower of frost shot up. Some of it fell back onto the ice. Some of it landed on the dasher board in front of her. Some of it fell on the tops of her shoes and instantly melted. Cat stamped her feet to get rid of it and then looked up into hard, dark eyes. Really up. On any day he was a good head taller than she was. On skates, he towered over her.

  “Eh,” he said.

  Not hello. Not how are you. Just the shortest possible acknowledgment of a person’s presence. Not exactly rude, but darn close to it. She clutched the clipboard to her chest and gave him a smile. “Sorry about tossing the keys at you this morning and taking off. Mom duties were calling. How has practice gone?”

  “No one’s died.”

  “Well, that’s good to hear,” she said, cheerful despite his obvious bad mood. “Did Matt have everyone ready like you asked?”


  “Those that wanted to be ready, were. And practice isn’t over yet, so if we can make this quick… Whaddya need?”

  Oh, to hell with trying to be pleasant. If he wanted to be grumpy, far be it for her to interfere. “I was reading the boys’ contract this morning and there’s a community service clause.”

  “There always has been.”

  “Good. I need to know what they’re doing. You know, what organization they’ve signed on with, what they do and when they’re there and all that. I’ve got a publicity idea and I thought that after they came off the ice, they could each visit with me about it.”

  He considered her, but didn’t say anything. She showed him the clipboard. “I thought we could do it after practice. Either as they were heading into the showers or after they came out.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” he said, taking the clipboard from her.

  “But—”

  “No buts.” He laid the board on the wet dasher and either didn’t see her wince or ignored it. “You going to be in your office in the next hour?”

  She blinked. “Yes, but—”

  “I’ll bring you your list.”

  And then he skated off, back to center ice and the team. She’d been dismissed. Summarily and coolly. Matt threw a quick look her way that brimmed with obvious pity. And then his gaze was riveted on Logan. Cat considered her options. She could stay just to defy him. But it smelled awful and it was cold and she had other things to do. All in all… She stood where she was for just a few seconds, though. Just so her leaving would look more like an escape from boredom than the retreat it was.

  “Men,” she informed Lakisha as she passed the secretary’s desk, “think the universe revolves around them.”

  “Until they want something,” the other woman called after her. “And then they’re all lovey-dovey and kissy face.”

  “Well,” Cat declared, dropping down in her chair, “he can just be as charming as he wants. He’s not getting any stew.”