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  “Sorry.” A laugh bubbled up and escaped before Cat could stop it.

  Luc laughed too. “Don’t be. She’s a great kid. I’m looking forward to seeing her on the ice. Even playing road hockey, she was impressive.” He shifted on the bench, and his legs were long and lean in black athletic pants. “You did great, too.”

  “Not great, but I did okay because you helped me.” Cat’s mouth went dry and she pulled her gaze away from Luc’s muscular thighs. “You even distracted the goalie to let me score that goal.” She picked up her tea to steady her hands. “I had fun, though, and sports are never fun for me. I was the kid who read a book in the outfield when we played baseball in elementary school. I always hoped some superjock like you wouldn’t hit the ball my way.”

  He looked at her in disbelief. “I see I have to take you in hand.”

  Cat gulped a mouthful of hot tea and choked. It had been too long since she’d talked with a man about anything but work. That was the only reason why a perfectly innocent comment made her heart bang against her ribs so loud she was sure he could hear it. Luc meant he could help her as a friend, not that he wanted to put his hands on her, literally.

  “Hey.” Luc thumped her back. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes.” The word came out between a sputter and a cough.

  “Here, you don’t want to burn yourself.” He took her mug and set it back on the arm of the bench. “You never had a chance to be good at sports. I’m not judging you.”

  “I know.” Her voice was husky and she coughed again.

  She’d judged herself, and maybe she’d overcompensated with academics because school was the only thing she was good at. Unlike Nick, who hadn’t seemed to try but still sailed through school and was good at sports, too. Or Georgia, who’d barely scraped through school, but who’d excelled at gymnastics and dance and never cared what anyone thought of her.

  And unlike her dad, who’d been the high school football hero and whose name was undoubtedly still on all those shields in the glass case outside the principal’s office. Not only football, but he’d played baseball and hockey, and he’d been a daredevil on downhill skis. Back then, if there was an athletic trophy in Firefly Lake to be won, her dad had won it. He’d been a winner in everything, except when it came to his family. Her throat got scratchy, and she curled her hands inside her wooly mittens until her fingernails dug into her palms.

  “Hey.” Luc patted her shoulder. His touch lingered, and despite the barrier of his gloves and her parka, her body tingled. “Even if you don’t get hurt like I did, most professional athletes have a pretty short career. Then you have to figure out what you want to do with the rest of your life.” His voice got flat and he stared into the distance.

  That was why Cat wanted something different for Amy. Something safe, secure, and ordinary. “You have a college degree, and you had a job waiting for you at the creamery to fall back on.”

  Amy might not be able to make it through high school, let alone college. And the only family business for her to fall back on was a small-town law office. Although Nick had turned McGuire and Pelletier around, it wasn’t on the scale of Simard’s Creamery, which had customers all across New England.

  “I’m one of the lucky ones. My folks insisted I finish college before I played in the NHL, and they also built a thriving business.” There was a smile in his voice. “As they never cease to remind me, in case pro hockey made me soft and I forget to appreciate the value of doing a day’s hard work in the real world.” He stopped and reached between their feet to scoop up a handful of snow. He packed the snow into a ball, then handed it to her. “Here.”

  “What?” She held the snowball gingerly in the palm of one mitten.

  “No time like the present.” He got to his feet and moved away from her to the edge of what, in summer, was a flagstone terrace. “Throw it to me.”

  “You want to have a snowball fight?” She stood and her stomach flipped. It was like fourth grade all over again.

  “No, I want to teach you how to throw a snowball and try a whole bunch of sports so you never have to feel like sports aren’t for you. Come on. It’ll be fun.” His blue eyes were soft in the moonlight, like they’d been all those years ago when he’d picked up her scattered books, zipped them into her pink Care Bear backpack, found the hat the snowball-wielding bullies had grabbed off her head, walked behind her all the way to Harbor House, and then waited until she was safely on the porch.

  Her eyes burned. “Nick taught me how to throw a ball.” Her big brother had played with her every day for months the year after their dad left. To try to help her fit in, to make her feel special and loved, and to help her forget what she’d lost.

  Luc’s firm lips tilted into a lopsided grin. “When you threw that birdseed at Nick and Mia when they came out of the church yesterday, you hit the minister right on his bald spot.”

  “Well…” Her cheeks heated and she sucked in a breath of frosty air mixed with musky male.

  Luc had paid attention to her, even though he’d caught her in a klutzy moment.

  “You need a refresher course in ball throwing for beginners.” Luc’s tone teased her. “Besides, it was only thanks to you I passed chemistry our senior year. I missed you once I got to college. Let me return the favor.”

  Cat’s heart pinched. She’d missed Luc, too, but not in the way he’d missed her. To him, she was a lab partner and family friend. Whereas to her, he’d been friend, protector, and first crush rolled into one.

  She tossed the snowball toward him, but it went low and hit a patch of ice to shatter on the terrace between them. “See? I’m a hopeless case.” She tried to laugh, but the sound was tinny.

  “Of course you’re not. What would you say if one of your students said something like that?” Luc jogged over to her, another snowball already in hand.

  “That’s different.” She took a step back and bumped into the bench.

  “Different how?” Luc tucked the packed snow into her right mitten and held it tight. “In sports or school, you won’t succeed unless you keep trying and learning from your mistakes. When it comes to snowball throwing, uplift also helps.” His hand guided hers and, like magic, the ball of snow hurtled through the air and came to rest, still intact, on top of a hedge.

  “How did you…” Cat flexed her hand in his, then pulled it away.

  “I didn’t.” Luc’s smile made her smile back. “We did. Now you try by yourself. The snow’s perfect tonight. Wet, but not too wet, and with exactly the right amount of crispness.”

  There were different types of snow? How had she grown up here and not known that? Cat scooped up another snowy handful and shaped it into a ball. Maybe it was a silly game, but it was also surprisingly fun. After her dad left, she’d had to grow up fast. Then, between raising Amy and school, she hadn’t had time to be carefree. “Like this?” She held the snowball out for his inspection.

  “Perfect, an A plus.” His voice teased her. “Since you’re such a competitive type.” His eyes gleamed bright blue.

  “I’m not.” Her heartbeat sped up.

  His laugh warmed her. “You have to be competitive to get into Harvard, let alone earn a doctorate. That perfect GPA in our little academic pond was only the start. You should be proud.” He jogged toward the hedge, then turned to face her again.

  “Yes, well…”

  He had a point, but it was only when she got to Harvard that she’d had anybody to compete with.

  “Come on. I want to see you throw that snowball.”

  She tensed before she let the ball of snow fly in a high arc, glittering white in the moonlight. “I did it. See, I…” She clapped a hand over her mouth.

  The snowball missed its mark and hit the top of Luc’s head, to send a snow shower over his face.

  “I’m sorry.” She darted to his side. What if she’d broken his nose? Or a tooth? She’d packed that snow pretty hard. It wasn’t like hitting kindly Reverend Arthur with a handful of bird seed. She’d
hit an Olympian, an NHL all-star, and Firefly Lake’s hometown hero. While her research grant had merited a half page inside the Kincaid Examiner, Luc Simard was front-page news. His name was even on the “Welcome to Firefly Lake” sign outside town. He was as good as a tourist attraction.

  His shoulders heaved and he grunted.

  She grabbed his arm and held on to what felt like a solid tree trunk. People didn’t always pass out after a blow to the head, did they? “Come and sit down. I’ll—”

  “No.” Luc’s shoulders shook harder and what she’d thought was a grunt turned into a laugh so deep and sexy her legs shook.

  “You might have a head injury.” She clutched his arm tighter.

  “From that little tap?” He brushed the last of the snow off his face and his eyes twinkled at her. “Even if you’d put some weight into the throw, you don’t have much weight to throw around.”

  Cat yanked her arm away. “I did so put weight into it. I’m stronger than I look.”

  “I know you are.” His laughter stopped like a candle flame that had been snuffed out. “You’re a strong woman, and I’m not talking about physical strength.”

  “You aren’t?” She stared at him, mesmerized by how the moonlight sculpted the blunt angles of his jaw and deep-set eyes.

  He shook his head, and when he spoke again, his voice was gruff. “Life has thrown a lot more at you than a few snowballs.” He reached out and brushed snowflakes off her coat, his hand lingering near her shoulder before it moved upward to cup her chin. “You never gave up, and I think there’s more to you being here than that research grant.”

  “How…” His fleece glove was soft against her chin, and her skin heated.

  “Why else would a high-flyer like you move back to Firefly Lake?” He bent toward her. “Sure, you won that grant, but if you’d really wanted to, you could have stayed in Boston and made a few research trips.” His warm breath ruffled the tendrils of hair beneath her hat. “But instead, you uprooted your whole life to live in an apartment on Main Street and help Michael out in the gallery.”

  “I need time to finish my book.” It was her stock answer that most people didn’t probe further.

  “And?” His thumb traced the line of her jaw in a light but sensual caress.

  “Amy was having a tough time at school. Firefly Lake Elementary is smaller, and she’ll get more individual attention.” Cat’s mouth went dry as his hand continued its gentle exploration. “As for my mom, she was so sick. We could have lost her, but we didn’t. I want to be there for her more than I have been.” Her mom’s illness had made Cat realize how fragile life was and what her family meant to her.

  Luc’s hand fell away from her face and he took a step back. She flinched and smoothed the downy front of her parka. “You’re a good mom.” A shadow flitted across his face, and, for an instant, his expression was troubled. “A good daughter, too.” He cleared his throat. “And a good friend. You’ve always been a good friend to me. Maybe I’ve never told you that before, but I should have.”

  “I…” She drew in a sharp breath.

  “Thanks for being my friend and making the wedding and everything easier.” He stared at her for several endless seconds before he turned away and slipped through the squeaky gate in the hedge into the darkness beyond.

  Cat stumbled back to the bench, her legs like jelly. Below Harbor House, Firefly Lake was white and mysterious in the moonlight. Far above, the stars glittered in the inky sky as timeless and unreachable as wishes. “If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.” The words of the old nursery rhyme came back to her with the sharpness of a taunt.

  She’d been wrong. She hadn’t banished the ghosts of her past after all. They were still there as large as life. She’d be foolish to let herself think about what might have happened if Luc hadn’t turned away. Or let herself wish for something—and someone—she couldn’t have.

  Chapter Five

  Luc cradled a travel mug of coffee between his hands and leaned against the weathered boards that encircled the ice at Firefly Lake’s arena. The place didn’t generate the same excitement it had when he was a kid, when the game that had become his life had only been about having fun with his friends, but it was still special. And on this January Saturday morning, like it was back then, hockey practice was still a community event.

  He scanned the parka-clad people who packed the battered bleachers and the hum of conversation hushed. He was the coach all right. Although he might be an assistant coach in name, he was here to fill Jim MacPherson’s shoes. And although his hometown crowd was friendly, they still had big expectations and were looking to him to deliver. Luc stuffed his hands into the pockets of his sweats as a group of little kids exited the ice beside him in a wobbly line, their skates stiff with newness.

  “Takes you back, doesn’t it?” Scott Callaghan, the other assistant coach, stood at Luc’s shoulder. His hazel eyes twinkled behind rimless glasses and, with the helmet that hid how his sandy hair had thinned on top, he looked a lot like the kid Luc remembered from all the childhood hockey practices they’d shared. He still had that same eager, puppy-dog attitude to life, too.

  “It sure does.” On the other side of the boards, Scott’s wife reached out to steady a tiny girl in a purple snowsuit who’d spent most of her first learn-to-skate lesson on her butt. With his and Maggie’s genes, their kid would likely have taken to skating like a natural, but that was another one of those things he’d never know.

  “I’m glad you’re here to cover my ass.” Luc turned away from the little kids and shoved the fragments of what might have been away. “MacPherson’s coached for at least twenty years. He’s a pro.”

  “Like you aren’t.” Scott swatted his arm. “It’s not as if you didn’t cover my ass back in the day. Who helped me with my wrist shot when my dad and everyone else thought I’d be stuck on the bench for half a season?”

  “There was only one of you.” Luc swatted back. “Coaching a team is a whole new gig.” And Luc was well aware of his limitations.

  “Don’t sweat it.” Scott’s tone was warm. “You’ve taken the coaching training and you’re registered with USA Hockey. Although MacPherson’s more experienced as a coach, he only played college hockey, not the Olympics or the NHL. The kids look up to you for that alone. I teach sixth and seventh grade. I’ll handle anybody who gets out of line.” He raised his eyebrows and gave Luc a knowing look. “Your halo is pretty shiny around here. You wouldn’t want it to get tarnished, now would you?”

  “Cut the crap.” Luc let out a breath in an icy cloud. “Most of these guys aren’t even thirteen yet.”

  Scott snorted. “Exactly, bro. I knew you were a fast learner.” He grabbed a clipboard from the top of the boards and made a note. “Even though the parents want their kids to win games, minor hockey’s about having fun and skill development. There aren’t any bench warmers on this team.”

  “Is that your way of telling me to stay humble?”

  “Maybe, but unlike some guys, you never believed your own PR.” Scott chuckled. “What about that new girl, Amy McGuire? I hear she’s hockey crazy.”

  “She’s Cat’s daughter.” Luc hesitated. Even though he’d been tempted to kiss Cat, she was a friend. It must have been a temporary bout of insanity brought on by too much of her aunt Josette’s lethal eggnog. Yet, despite having his back to the bleachers, Luc was aware of Cat nearby. It was in the little prickle of the hairs on the back of his neck and how his fingers tingled inside his gloves. “Amy played on one of the top girls’ teams in her age group in Boston. Her mom’s worried about her playing with the boys here. From the little I’ve seen of her off the ice, she’s a feisty kid, so she should cope fine, but can you help me keep an eye on her?”

  “Sure. You need eyes in the back of your head with this group.” Scott glanced at the players, who milled about on the ice. “Amy’s number five, right?”

  “Yep.” Luc didn’t have eyes in the back of his head, and he might be way out
of his depth. Maybe this hockey program wasn’t in chaos. Maybe chaos was its normal state, and Jim MacPherson was the only guy standing between order and complete anarchy. He scanned the bleachers again and nodded at his first coach, who sat two rows back from center ice. The guy was well into his eighties, but he still came out to every game and most of the practices and wasn’t backward in offering advice.

  “Here goes nothing.” He drained his coffee and set the mug on top of the boards. Then he sucked in a breath of frigid air and brought the coach’s whistle to his lips.

  “Here goes everything.” Laughter lurked in Scott’s voice. “Behind that pretty-boy face, you were always a lot smarter than you looked.”

  With a bunch of kids and their folks in earshot, Luc couldn’t tell his friend where to shove it. “Let’s warm up,” he said instead and clapped his hands. “Forward skating in groups of three.”

  “No pushing or talking.” Scott gave Luc a sideways smile before he turned to the kids in their green and white hockey jerseys.

  “Now let’s see you skate backward, also in groups of three.” Luc glanced at Scott, who made more notes on the clipboard. When he nodded, Luc demonstrated. “Show us some speed and then stop.”

  Scott encouraged and corrected in turn. Steel skate blades whooshed against the ice, and the sound echoed up into the dark rafters, where several championship pennants fluttered, their once bright blue faded to a tired gray.

  “You’re the pro, Callaghan, not me.” Luc grinned. “If we didn’t go way back, your coaching skills would seriously piss me off.”

  “Watch and learn, hotshot.” Scott grinned back. “You think you didn’t piss me off back then?” His expression sobered. “You’re the spark this hockey program needs. Despite the summer tourists, the past few years since the feed plant closed have been tough around here for a bunch of folks. If MacPherson hadn’t gotten local businesses to chip in, some of these kids wouldn’t be able to play. Having someone like you coaching their team gives these kids hope. From what I see in my classroom, hope’s something a lot of them don’t have much of right now.”