Blindsided. Leslie LaFoy
might be.”
“Anywhere would be better than here.” He looked up to meet her gaze as he added, “Selling the franchise now would be an even better idea.”
“Maybe down the road,” she half promised as a movement on her left sent her heart into sudden overdrive again. “But not right now.” Right now, Matt Hyerstrom’s about to ruin everything. She reached for her tea and wished she’d ordered a margarita instead.
“Hi, Mizz Talbott.”
“Hi, Matt. I’d’ve thought you’d be too worn out from the game to even think about going out on the town.”
The young man’s grin was as sheepish as his shrug. “There’s more than one way to work out the aches, ma’am, and…well…” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. His gaze slid to the other side of the table as he squared his shoulders, stuck out his hand, and said, “Mr. Dupree, my name is Matt Hyerstrom. I’m left wing, third line.”
Logan took the offered hand and gave it what looked—to Cat, anyway—like a solid, sincere shake. “Nice to meet you, Matt.”
“I can’t…” Matt looked over his shoulder toward the bar and then back. “All of us can’t tell you how great it is to know that we’ve got a real coach now. To be honest, we thought Mizz Talbott was nuts for firin’ Carl tonight, but now… We’ll do anything you ask us to. Anything.”
She’d never known that brown eyes could look icy and sharp; icicles had nothing on Logan Dupree in that moment. Jesus. Amiable and pleasant to ugly and lethal in a second flat. And without giving her a chance to explain. She reached out, touched the young man’s arm and brought his attention to her. “I’m afraid that there’s been a misunderstanding, Matt. Mr. Dupree is here strictly as a consultant. I don’t have a replacement for Carl yet.”
“Oh.” His shoulders slumped and he gave both her and Logan a weak smile as he edged backward and his face turned a bright red. “Well, it was a nice idea while it lasted. Sorry I broke into your dinner.”
“It’s all right, Matt. Really. I’ll find someone else you’ll be just as pleased with.” His nod was weak, but it would have to do. She turned back to Logan. “I’m sor—” The rest of the apology died on her tongue. Ice had gone to fire. Raging, barely controlled fire. What did he have to be mad about? She’d nipped it. Beautifully. Smoothly.
“Hyerstrom!” he barked, his gaze locked with hers.
“Yes, sir?”
Cat heard hope in the young voice, could see him frozen at the edge of her vision. She held Logan’s gaze and silently promised him Holy Salad Throwing Hell if he crushed the kid.
“The team needs to have new laces tomorrow morning,” he said calmly, crisply. “Pass the word.”
“Yes, sir!”
Cat frowned, repeated the words over in her mind, and considered them along with the pulsing jaw of the man glaring at her. The conclusion seemed reasonable. And impossible, too. “Did you just agree to coach my boys?”
He tore his gaze from hers and practically attacked his steak. “Only until you can find a decent replacement. When were you planning to tell me that you’d fired Carl Spady?”
An honest, direct question. Which required the same kid of answer. “Never. I figured that if I did, you’d see it as a form of blackmail.”
“You figured right.”
God, it was hard to breathe. And something was wrong with the heater in Hero’s; the place was like an oven. She was dizzy. Queasy, too. And a little voice in the back of her head whined to go home. Another little voice suggested that she tell him to pack up his suspicions and go to hell. She opted for middle ground. “Then don’t sign on. No one’s twisting your arm. I can handle it perfectly well without you.”
He looked up just long enough to growl, “Yeah, right.”
Cat laid her fork down, her appetite gone. “I don’t want you coaching my boys thinking that you’ve been boxed into doing it,” she said while she tucked her napkin under the rim of the salad bowl. “They deserve a coach who’s taking them on for the right reasons. They deserve someone who believes their dreams are worth something. If you don’t, then you’re not the right man for the job.”
“What time is practice and where?”
Did he believe in them or had he not heard a word she’d said? Or had he heard and just not given a damn? Did it matter which right this minute? She was past tired; she was flat wrung out. If she had to go at it all again… No, not tonight. Tomorrow. She’d be sharper tomorrow, after she’d had some sleep. “Practice is at the rink, 6:00 a.m.”
“What rink? The Coliseum?”
Yeah, like she could afford arena ice for practice. In his dreams. “The city ice rink,” she answered. A bit more testily than she’d intended.
His hands stopped and his gaze came up from his plate. He studied her for a long moment. The edge of his anger seemed to dull a bit. “They didn’t have one the last time I was here. Where is it?”
“Just west of McLean on Maple. Across the street from the baseball stadium.”
“How long is practice?”
“An hour and a half.”
He cocked a brow. “Get us double that until I tell you otherwise.”
Who’s paying for the extra time? she silently demanded. You want me to rob a bank on my way home?
“Who unlocks?”
“I do,” she answered tightly. “At five.”
“It’s going to be a short night,” he announced as he laid down his silverware. He glanced over at her barely eaten salad, at her napkin beside it, and apparently came to the conclusion that she was as done as he was. He rose to his feet, saying, “I’ll walk you to your car.”
It crossed her mind to tell him that she was perfectly capable of finding it on her own, but she bit the words back as he stepped to her chair and put his hand under her elbow to help her rise. Damn him and his timing. She slung her purse over her shoulder as he tossed two twenties on the table. Just when she had a really zingy comeback, he got chivalrous. It took all the righteousness out of the being snarky.
“Pack it in, gentlemen,” she heard him say from behind her as she headed toward the door. “Tomorrow’s going to be a long, hard day.”
Yes, it was, Cat admitted to herself as they moved toward their cars. Her agenda had been full before she’d fired Carl, before Logan Dupree had shown up out of the blue. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to wait until daylight to make sure things were set straight. Sleeping on problems never helped; they just made the bed lumpy. She fished the car keys out of her purse and tried to think of what to say, of what questions she needed to ask, what answers she needed to collect. And if they were the wrong answers… Geez Louise, how did you fire someone you hadn’t really hired? How did you question motives and tell someone they weren’t as perfect as you’d thought?
She stopped at the back of the Jeep, took a deep breath to steady herself and looked up at him. “Look, Logan. I—”
He shook his head, took the car keys out her hand and walked up the side of the Jeep. She watched him, her jaw dropped. No one had ever unlocked a car door for her. Not ever. Good God. He really was a gentleman. She’d always thought of them as being right up there in the Real Department with the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny. But against all the odds, one had—
She started and winced as he opened the driver’s side door. The sprung door whose front edge popped the front quarter panel every time it swung open or closed. And not quietly, either. The sound made climbing in and out an acutely public declaration of poverty. On good days she could smile about it and tell herself that a car wasn’t anything more than a way to get from one