Quick Trick (Rough Riders Hockey 1)

“Perfect. I’ll corral the boys. Plan on something tomorrow afternoon. Say around two?”

“I’ll be there.”

With a beaming grin, Dwayne shook Grant’s hand and used the other to slap his bicep. “This is gonna be real special for the kids.”

“My pleasure. See you tomorrow.”

Dwayne turned toward the sidewalk, and Grant pushed off the car.

“And thanks for agreeing to judge the ice sculptures this year. The posters are getting printed right now. The team will be slapping them up all over the county.”

As he rounded the front of his car, Grant’s attention swung back to Dwayne. “What? What about ice sculptures?”

“You haven’t been gone that long,” Dwayne said, a smile in his voice. “You remember, the biggest draw of the Winter Wonderland Festival? But once word got out that you were judging, the entries poured in. That money helps with the hockey team’s travel and uniform expenses. But it’s looking like we’ll have enough to put together a training camp over the Christmas break next year too. Could maybe even pay someone to come and give clinics.”

Grant was definitely missing something. “This is the first I’ve heard of judging…”

Dwayne’s expression clicked from happy to deer in the headlights. “Your mama told me she got the okay from you about being a judge last week.”

Which would have been about the time Grant had finally given in to his mother’s nagging to come home for Christmas.

Anger started to simmer beneath his skin. “My mama.”

“This is one of her biggest fundraisers for the Art League. A portion of the proceeds from the ice carving goes to her charity.”

“Yeah, that I remember.” That fucking charity. It wasn’t the charity that Grant disliked as much as it was his mother’s obsession with running it. He took a deep breath and let it out in a billow of condensation. “Don’t you love life’s little ironies, Dwayne?”

Dwayne hesitated. “Hey, Grant, if it’s a problem—”

“No, Dwayne. It’s not a problem. My mama’s the problem. I’ll do whatever you need me to do to support you and the kids. You know that.”

“It means a lot to me, kid.” Dwayne smiled, but the enthusiasm was gone, and Grant knew the older man was pulling up memories from the past over the sore subject of his family and their refusal to support Grant’s love of hockey.

Dwayne’s gaze traveled to Grant’s SUV. “Quite a ride you got there. That a Range Rover? What did that set you back, a hundred grand?”

A hundred and a half, but Dwayne didn’t care. This was just an attempt to shift gears and get away from the troubling topic of family. “Something like that.”

“Quite a tree you picked out. A ten footer?”

“Twelve.” Grant glanced at the monster atop his vehicle, wishing he’d told his mother no to the holidays and chosen another charitable way to spend his time to get the Rough Riders’ owner off his back. But Grant had thought he’d be killing two birds with one stone by doing both here. He was also four hundred miles away from those tempting Rider Girls, who were always sweeping him into the kind of distraction the team owner was tired of hearing about through the media or friends. It was probably the only drawback to signing with the team—the owner’s conservative view of how players should run their

life off the ice. Grant didn’t mind doing what he was told when it involved his game or even his career. He did take issue with being told where to develop his morals.

But the guy was paying Grant a fucking mint, so… Here he was.

“Glad you bought it from Faith. She’s had a real hard year.” Dwayne’s gaze turned on the hardware store, his brow pulled in concern.

“Oh yeah?” Grant looked up to see if Faith was still watching, but he couldn’t tell with the light out. A hard year would explain why she was living in a tiny apartment above the store. “How’s that?”

“Since her daddy passed, she’s been handling everything herself.”

Grant’s attention snapped back to Dwayne, and shock chilled his gut. “Her daddy? When?”

“’Bout six months ago. It was a blessing in a lot of ways. He’d been battling the cancer for so long. Made a real good run of it. There was a year or two he and Faith thought he was going to beat it, but then it came back meaner than ever.”

The shock transitioned into dread, and Grant’s stomach dropped. “Ah, damn.”

“It wasn’t a surprise. He was ready to go. Faith, well, she never would have been ready. But it was long past time she got on with her own life. It ate at her daddy how much she gave up for him.”