Quick Trick (Rough Riders Hockey 1)

“What do you mean?”

“He got the news her first year in college. She came home that summer and never went back. That boy she went with all through high school… Well, let’s just say he didn’t let no grass grow under his feet. He brought the new girlfriend home with him from college the following Christmas break.”

Grant took another hit to the gut. “Ouch.”

Dwayne made a sympathetic sound in his throat. “She was at her daddy’s side every day since she came home. They had more than a few arguments over her putting her life on hold to nurse him, but she always won.” Dwayne chuckled. “A fighter, that one. Once she sets her mind to something, ain’t no one gonna change it. Reminds me a lot of you that way.” He patted Grant’s arm. “I’m gonna let you go before we both turn into icicles.”

“Sure, sure.” Grant started around the front of his SUV far more subdued than when he’d first spotted Dwayne. “Hey, Dwayne? You need a ride home?”

“No, thanks, kid. These nightly walks are my quiet time with MaryAnn.”

Grant nodded. “Breakfast tomorrow, then? Seven a.m.? Shelly’s? I’m buyin’.”

Dwayne grinned. “I’ll be there.”

Grant slid into the driver’s seat, his mind swamped with the new information. A lot of people thought Dwayne rambled. But if they took the time to listen, they’d figure out the man said a hell of a lot in a short amount of time.

Grant turned the engine over, backed out, and started home. Facing his parents pushed his turbulent feelings about Faith and her father to the background, because Grant didn’t know how to feel or what to think about everything he’d just learned. Right now, all he could focus on was what he could understand—his mother and her manipulation.

He shouldn’t be surprised. Shouldn’t give a damn. But by the time he pulled into his parents’ driveway again, he was damn good and ready to bail on the festival and leave a check in Dwayne’s mailbox instead.

He pulled the tree onto his shoulder, pushed through the front door, and turned into the living room. Then immediately dropped the tree, spreading ice and pine needles across his mother’s perfectly manicured carpet.

Dual gasps touched his ears before he looked up.

“Grant Saber,” his mother scolded. “What on earth is wrong with you?”

“You” was what he wanted to say, but he saw someone else in the room. A young woman sitting on the next cushion. Even after being away for years, Grant immediately knew who she was and why she was here.

Which only angered him more.

“What’s going on?” Grant’s father came in from the next room. “What in the hell happened here?” Martin Saber spread his hands, indicating the mess of the tree, but didn’t wait for an answer before his glare turned on Grant. “Clean up that mess right now.”

“I’ll clean up my mess if you clean up yours.”

“Grant.” His mother’s cutting, shape-up-right-this-second tone hauled Grant back to his childhood. “You remember Natalie.”

Natalie Duboix, the oldest daughter of Dad’s business partner. Grant remembered her because the two families had been trying to set them up for years, all with the hope of pulling Grant away from hockey and back into the family fold.

“She’s organizing Winter Wonderland this year,” Hazel said when he didn’t answer, “and we were just talking about the possibility of you presenting the keynote speech at the banquet that always wraps up the festival.”

“The answer to that would be no. Just like the answer to me judging the ice-sculpting contest would have been no had I been asked. In fact, if I’d known I was going to be manipulated while I was here, I wouldn’t have come at all.”

Natalie cast a dry smile at Hazel and patted her hand. “I’ll just give you all some family time.”

She stood and walked toward Grant. Or rather sashayed. Her tight fitted skirt made it impossible for her to do anything else. Her heels were spiked, her blouse see-through with something lace beneath. She’d always been pretty, but Natalie had become truly beautiful with age. In a word-association game, her image would elicit a response of Stepford wife—perfectly proportioned features, creamy skin, every deep brown strand of her hair curled just so.

For a second—just a split second—he wondered what she’d look like throwing Christmas trees. And his admiration for Faith’s perseverance and tenacity sparked again.

Just when Grant thought Natalie would walk past without comment, she stopped beside him. Slipping her arm around his, she hugged his bicep against her breasts and surrounded him in a bubble of powdery perfume. Grant looked down into her crystal-blue eyes and realized that if he didn’t know her, if they’d met somewhere else, like at a party in DC, he’d be all over the idea of getting her back to his place. She was gorgeous and refined. She reeked of money and connections and easy sex. And reminded Grant of the kind of women he’d dated when he’d taken breaks from playing with the anything-goes Rider Girls.

“You look better than ever.” Her voice was soft and alluring. “I see you on the news doing all sorts of great things for charity. Your generosity is one of the things I adore most about you. And you’ll be doing a lot of good right here in your hometown if you participate.” Her grin grew, and her perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth gleamed. “You can bet I’ll be here to keep you company.”

She squeezed his arm and continued through the living room toward the foyer, escorted by Grant’s father.

As soon as the door closed behind Natalie, Hazel turned an icy glare on Grant. “What in God’s name has gotten into you?”

“Eight years,” he said, forcing his voice down so Natalie wouldn’t hear through the many windows that looked out over the property. “You’ve been nagging me to come home for the holidays for eight years. And when I finally do, I find out the only reason you wanted me here was so you could use my name to rake in money for your charity. That’s what’s gotten into me.”