Blindsided Page 8

  Lakisha appeared in the doorway and flung her braids back over her shoulder. “I’m not following that, but I probably don’t want to.”

  God, she was getting the rabbit look again. “What’s the problem now? Did the housekeeper cancel?”

  “The Coliseum called. Something about damages in the locker room. They want you to call them back.”

  “What they want is for me to write a fricking check,” she groused as she snatched up the phone. “Don’t they have insurance for this kind of stuff?”

  Lakisha, who obviously recognized a rhetorical question when she heard one, shrugged and left her to deal with it on her own. Cat closed her eyes while she waited for someone to answer. The longer she owned the team, the more she wondered why Tom had gone through this day after day. Dreams were nice, but the Warriors really qualified as more of a never-ending nightmare.

  Logan stood in the doorway and looked around the locker room with decidedly mixed feelings. It was good that they were too damned tired to move; it meant that they’d put something into practice. But the fact that it had worn them out told him that it had been a long, long time since anyone had pushed them. Which meant that the road ahead was going to be killer.

  “Same time tomorrow, gentlemen,” he announced. He lifted Cat’s clipboard and added, “Spend this afternoon getting your volunteer commitments set. You won’t have time tomorrow. You’ll be working in the weight room.”

  They groaned in response. Logan smiled and left them to their misery, knowing that as soon as the door swung closed they’d start calling him every name in the book. He’d been in their place before. More than once. And although he’d die before he admitted it to them, he was more than a little sore from the workout himself. And it wasn’t entirely from wearing borrowed skates. Self-pity and too much money weren’t good for a man. The boys weren’t the only ones who were going to find the next few weeks a challenge. He really needed to call his stockbroker and make sure he had some money in BenGay stock. And aspirin futures, he added as he pulled open the Warriors office door and his shoulder twinged.

  It was a strange office. More like a ghost town than a business. Lots of empty desks. Only the one front and center was in use. And by a woman who looked like she’d just fallen out of the pages of Ebony magazine. The party time edition.

  “Hi,” he said as she gave him the once over. “I’m Logan Dupree, the new coach.”

  “Lakisha Leonard,” she replied, sticking out a hand that glittered at the tips and jangled at the wrist. “The only secretary. I don’t cook. I don’t dust or wash windows. Anything else, we can negotiate.”

  He grinned, said, “Nice to meet you, Lakisha,” and gave her hand a sincere shake.

  She motioned with her head toward the back of the office, then picked up a manila folder and handed it to him. “The boss is waiting for you. Be a dream and take this file to her while you’re going, will ya?”

  It really wasn’t a request. But as orders went, it was put nicely enough. He took the folder, gave her a salute with it and then headed to Tom’s old office certain of two things: Lakisha was a power to be reckoned with, and that between the hair beads and the bracelets, she wasn’t ever going to sneak up on him.

  Cat was a different matter, Logan decided as he stopped in the doorway. She was sitting in Tom’s chair, the phone to her ear and looking just as he’d imagined she would—small and innocent and really out of place. And yet there was also something about her that had a way of catching him off balance. Every time he met up with her, his breath caught for a second. He couldn’t even begin to guess why.

  He’d just leaned his shoulder against the doorjamb and decided that it probably wasn’t her hair when she hung up the phone. Her eyes were definitely a possibility, though. They were so blue. And such an open window on what she was thinking. At the moment, she was feeling pretty beat-up and hoping like hell that he wasn’t expecting her to go a round with him.

  “Your list and the file from Lakisha,” he said, handing her the stuff across the desk. He didn’t wait for an invitation to stay or to sit. He parked himself in the chair and settled in even as she was thanking him.

  “There’s nothing on it,” she said, flipping through the blank forms on the clipboard.

  “That’s because they’re young and their idea of a charitable cause is supporting the dancers at the local strip club. You didn’t push them to do anything when they first came to town, so they blew it off. They’ve been served notice and have until Monday to come up with something for you.”

  She gave him a smile that seemed on the tired side. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. And now that we’ve finished that bit of business, we have some things we need to get square.”

  “Such as?”

  Okay, maybe he’d been wrong about her not wanting to tangle with him. There had been a definite edge in that short little question. “First, practices are closed. To everyone, including you.” Her lips parted and he could see a shadow of hurt in those eyes. “You’re a first-class distraction,” he clarified. “Every single one of them watched you come through the doors. Both sets of them. I need their heads on the ice, not over in the box, thinking about…other things. If there’s something you want from me or them, leave a message on my cell and I’ll make sure it’s done.” He pointed to the clipboard on her desk. “The number’s on the top there.”

  She looked down and nodded. Then asked, “Would you like to have my number?”

  “Sure. Why not.” As she wrote on a pink sticky note, he mentally kicked himself. Sure. Why not? Geez. Talk about blow-offs. He needed to get his brain to wake up and work.

  “Are we square now?” she asked as she handed him the note.

  God, if only they could be. The longer he talked the greater the odds that he’d stick his whole leg in his mouth. “Not quite. Did you notice anyone missing during your visit?”

  “No,” she drawled. Cautiously.

  “Then your assistant coach must not make much of an impression even when he does show up. Got his number handy?”

  Her back stiffened. She glanced at the Rolodex on her desk, but didn’t reach for it. “Just exactly what are you planning to say to him?”

  “Get your butt in here in the next thirty minutes or you’re fired.”

  “It’s so unlike Jimmy to miss and not call. Maybe one of the kids is sick.”

  “And his wife can’t handle it?” Logan countered.

  She winced and shook her head. “The story is that his wife took off last fall with one of the players Tom traded to Amarillo. She left Jimmy the kids. All four of them. The oldest is only eight. He needs this job, Logan.”

  Oh, man. Four kids and a long-gone wife. Poor bastard. “How does he handle the traveling?”

  “He gets babysitters. Usually it’s Lakisha and her sisters and cousins. There’s a total of about twelve of them and they just pass the kids around and take shifts.”

  It was like being back in Des Moines! Everyone was connected. One person moved, everyone did. Amazing. He’d thought that sort of life had fallen by the wayside. He sure hadn’t seen it anywhere he’d been lately. Wichita, middle of nowhere and caught in time. Logan thought back, trying to remember how things had been done when he was a kid. “I’ll listen to his story,” he offered, “but it had better be a good one.”

  “He’s a really nice guy.”

  “Nice isn’t what counts, Cat,” he said as gently as he could. “I need an assistant on the ice. I assume he’s a defensive coach?”

  She shrugged and gave him a smile that said she had no idea what Jimmy did. Then she picked up the folder Lakisha had sent in and asked, “Is that it for now?”

  “I wish it were,” he admitted. “There’s going to be some personnel changes in the next few weeks. As we get closer, I’ll let you know who’s going to be released and what I need to bring in. In the meantime, I need Tom’s scouting reports so I can figure out which teams are open to trades and what Triple A teams
have players who might be ready for a shot.”

  “I’ll have to look for them. I don’t know where—”

  “I do,” he assured her. He got up and went to the credenza, pulled open the file drawer and pulled out the thick, hanging file labeled Wishes. “Tom was a creature of habit,” he explained as he sat back down, the folder in his lap.

  She put her own folder back on the desk. “Who are you thinking about letting go?”

  She was trying to sound businesslike, but he could hear the Mother Hen under it. “Look, Cat, this is a business, not the Waltons. You want to make money, then you have to win. And to win, you need the right combination of skills and talents. Right now, you’ve got some glaring deficits. The players either step up and fill them or they have to go. They know it. You have to accept it, too.”

  “They have feelings, you know.”

  Ah, geez. “Yep. And I’m not going to crush them in the process. I’ve been traded. I know how it feels to be told you’re not Mr. Perfect. But when the time comes for the reality talk, I’m going to handle it and you’re not going to be anywhere around. Understood?”

  “It’s my team.”

  Why couldn’t Tom have had a brother? He didn’t have any choice except to lay down the law. Nicely, of course. But firmly and clearly. “Granted. But you have your responsibilities and I have mine. There are clear lines between them, Cat. I handle the players on and off the ice. You handle the office and the paperwork and all the PR stuff. If you need anything from the boys, you go through me to get it. They need anything from you, they go through me for it.”

  She looked at him for a long moment and her eyes turned a kind of steely color. “Am I allowed to attend the games? Or am I supposed to just read about them in the paper?”

  God, he didn’t want her pissed, just out of his way. “I didn’t suggest any such thing,” he countered. “If I ruffled your feathers, I didn’t mean to. Of course you should go to the games. And the boys would really miss your parking lot cheerleading if you gave it up. All I’m saying is that the day-to-day stuff with them is my responsibility and that I’d appreciate it if you’d trust me do it.”

  She closed her eyes and expelled a long breath. “Sorry if I got snarky,” she offered. “It’s the lack of sleep and the mountain of problems.”

  He breathed his own sigh, but his was one of pure, unadulterated relief. “I know the feeling,” he confessed. And, since they had a truce of sorts, he added, “Are any of the problems things I can help you with?”

  Cat opened her eyes. Handsome, hunky, and—apparently with just a little effort—capable of being not only apologetic, but accommodating. She’d take it and run with it as far as she could. “Yeah, I’m going to hand you a couple of them here in a minute. First things first, though. I talked to Liz Smith this morning. Rink managers blow through here like the wind, but Liz is local and rooted. Officially, she runs the pro shop. Unofficially, she’s the one who makes this place work. She says there’s no problem with the extra ice time. And she thinks paying for it can ride until Canada sends us another manager du jour. ”

  “Okay.”

  “Make the time count, please,” she asked. “At seven hundred and fifty a practice session, every minute is golden.”

  “Two hundred and fifty dollars an hour?”

  Gee, he actually looked a little pale. Good. She got queasy whenever she thought about it. “When you’re the only ice in town, you can charge whatever you want.”

  “That’s robbery.”

  “That’s reality. Which is why I’ve come up with some fund-raising ideas.”

  He cocked a brow. His smile looked a little nervous. “You’re not going to ask them to sell magazine subscriptions door-to-door, are you?”

  “No, of course not,” she assured him brightly. “The big money’s in candy bars.” His jaw dropped and she couldn’t help it—she laughed out loud. “You should see your face.”

  His wonderfully chiseled cheeks flushed with color. His eyes twinkled. Obviously struggling to contain a grin, he asked, “Enjoying yourself?”

  “Immensely.”

  “You need a life.”

  “Oh, tell me something I don’t already know.” She sagged back in her chair, swiped her fingertips over the corners of her eyes, and filed The Candy Bar Look in her memory bank for future amusement. After a calming breath, she began again. “Seriously, I’m planning a gala-type auction. Millie was telling me about it last night. Well, actually, it was early, early this morning, but that doesn’t matter. We’ll have a fancy dinner at the Petroleum Club and—”

  “High bidder gets a date with a player,” Logan finished in a voice that reminded her of Eeyore.

  There was a story to be told. A good one. “You were here the last time Tom did it?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “Was it a negative experience?”

  He cleared his throat. “Not completely. The food was good.”

  “And your date with the winning bidder? How was it?”

  The color flooded back into his cheeks. The twinkle came back to his eyes in the same instant that his smile went wide. “It was a notch above strolling South Broadway. But just barely.”

  She so wanted to ask him if there had been a No Tell Motel involved, but restrained herself. “We’ll impose some strict rules and make sure it’s classy this time. I don’t want any of the players arrested for prostitution.” While he snorted, she again picked up the folder he’d brought from Lakisha. “Which brings me to the next item on the agenda. Miscellaneous expenses. Or, more to the point, controlling them.”

  Settling back in his chair, he asked, “What kind of expenses are we talking about?”

  “Well, let’s see,” she drawled as she sifted through the bills and made a selection. “Here’s a good one. Two weeks ago, Tiny was in the emergency room in Tulsa. It seems that he has a tendency to spread and crack his toes and it drives his roommates nuts when they’re on the road. So, while he was sleeping, they superglued them together.”

  He burst out laughing, then apparently thought better of it and scrubbed his hand over his lower face until he could get himself under control. “Sorry,” he finally offered with a grin, “but that’s good. That’s really good. So creative.”

  She hadn’t thought so at the time, but now… “It cost three hundred sixty-five dollars to have them separated,” she pointed out, determined to hold the high ground. She selected another one from the pile. “Here’s a bill from a local crane company for five hundred and twenty-three. Apparently that’s the going rate for getting a Mini Cooper off the roof of a Hooters.”

  He lost the battle again. “Someone must have really frosted their flakes.”

  His laughter was so infectious. Under other circumstances, she could actually enjoy it. But not now. Not really. Someone had to be the grown-up. “I’m not amused, Logan. I’m broke. I need this sort of stuff to stop. I can’t afford it.”

  Sobering, he nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “And while you’re at it, I want the fighting to stop, too.”

  The smile left his face in an instant. “Who’s been brawling in bars?”

  “No one that I’ve heard about.” She closed and tossed the folder aside. “I mean out on the ice. I hate it. And it’s embarrassing to have people think of your team as nothing but a bunch of thugs. I’d much prefer that the team have a reputation for playing a good game of hockey.”

  “Fighting’s a part of the game, Cat.”

  “As I’ve been led to understand. But it’s not the whole game, is it? It’s not the major reason they go out there.”

  He hesitated and then, with obvious reluctance, replied, “No, it’s not.”

  “It makes it really difficult to get community support. Businesses and organizations don’t want to be associated with gratuitous violence. I went to the Boy Scout office last week to see if they wanted to do a group thing and you should have seen their faces. They were appalled. And they didn’t mince any
words about how Warrior hockey isn’t in line with the goals of an organization dedicated to instilling high moral values and good civic conduct.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Yeah, ouch. The Girl Scouts and the Junior League aren’t even in the realm of possibility. I need to fill the seats, Logan. I can’t do that unless I have a wholesome entertainment package to offer the general, non-ambulance chasing public. The fighting has to stop.”

  He sighed and shook his head. “They can’t be patsies.”

  And she couldn’t afford to let them go on as they had been. “I want a higher standard. All the way around. On ice and off. They’re supposed to be professionals, and it’s time they acted like it. I don’t think it’s too much to ask. Do you?”

  He was just opening his mouth to reply when Lakisha stepped through the doorway, announced, “Crisis has arrived and he’s eyeing my stapler. If you don’t get in here, I’m gonna hurt him,” and then took off.

  Great. Just what she needed. The roller coaster of her life was off and running again. Cat grabbed the edge of her desk with both hands and pried herself to her feet. “I’m afraid that visiting hours are over.”

  Man, she looked like there might be a firing squad out there. Logan stood, too. “Who’s the crisis?”

  “Carl Spady,” she answered as she came around the desk. “And I’d really appreciate it if you’d do a disappearing act. He thinks I dumped him because I have the hots for you and I don’t have the energy to deal with another round of that right now.”

  The hots? God, he hadn’t heard that expression in years. “Don’t you? Have the hots for me?”

  She stopped dead in her tracks. If she’d been on blades, he’d be covered with ice shavings. “No!”

  Big eyes. Red cheeks. A chain just begging to be pulled. “Liar, liar, pants on fire.”

  She blinked, gasped. Then took off for the outer office, saying as she sailed past him, “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not a puck rabbit.”

  A puck rabbit? Oh, Lord. Sometimes she was just too damn adorably cute for her own good. He trailed after her, trying not to choke on his laughter. Puck rabbit.