Any Man Of Mine (7 page)

“So, you’re okay?” She suspected that Sam and Vince hated each other so intensely because they were alike in some ways. They were both handsome and arrogant and total horn dogs. The difference between them was that Vince put his family above all else.

There’d been a time when Conner had been younger when she’d relied a lot on her brother, but she was stronger now. As much as she loved and still needed Vince, there were times when she wished he’d find a nice girl, get married, and have his own family. He’d make a great dad, but of course, that whole horn dog thing always got in the way of a serious relationship. “You didn’t need to tear over here.”

“I wanted to come anyway.”

Right. Autumn opened the door, and Vince followed her inside. “I’m a big girl now. I can handle Sam.” They moved upstairs to Conner’s room. He stood by his bed, pulling his dirty pajamas out of his backpack.

“Hey, Nugget,” Vince said, using Conner’s nickname as he crouched by his side and ruffled his hair.

“Hey, Uncle Vince.” Conner pulled out his little undies. “I played pinball with my dad.”

“Oh, yeah? That sounds like fun.”

He nodded. “I ate a hot dog.” He turned to his mom. “Can I have a new quilt?”

“What’s wrong with your Barney quilt?”

“Barney sucks.”

She gasped, and her mouth fell open. “But—but—You love Barney. He’s your purple friend.”

He shook his head and sniffed. “Barney is for babies.”

“Since when?”

He shrugged. “Since I’m in the kindergarten now. I’m big.”

He’d just torn a chunk of her heart. They’d picked out the material and made the quilt together. The pillow, too. “You don’t want your Barney pillow?” He loved his Barney pillow.

“Nope.”

Autumn gasped and grabbed the T-shirt above her heart. This was Sam’s doing. She couldn’t prove it without quizzing Conner, but she was sure Sam was responsible for Conner’s sudden Barney defection.

Vince rose and turned to face her. “The kid’s got a point,” he said, totally going to the dark side with Conner. “Barney sucks hairy dinosaur balls.”

“Language!”

Conner laughed, but Autumn was not amused.

W
hile you’re off playing hero to thousands of other little boys, your own son cries himself to sleep like his heart is breaking
.

Sam stood on the balcony and looked out at Seattle and Elliott Bay beyond. The 2:05 ferry slid through the water, loaded with cars and passengers and headed for Bainbridge Island. Below him, the sound of traffic drifted upward to the tenth floor, and a brisk breeze brushed his face, carrying the scent of car fumes and the Puget Sound.

While you’re off playing hero…

Sam moved away from the rail and sat in a padded patio chair. He reached for the Beck’s sitting on the table next to him. He’d always assuaged his guilt by telling himself that when Conner was older, he’d make it up to him. He’d spend more time with him. Doing father-and-son stuff. Not that he knew anything about father-and-son
stuff.

He raised the beer to his lips and tipped his head back. He was an even worse dad than his own. He would never have thought that was even possible, but he’d outshittied Samuel LeClaire Sr. in the father department. Because he knew better. He knew he never wanted to be the guy who treated strangers better than his own family. He never wanted to be the guy whom everyone else in town thought was great. One hell of a guy. A hero, but a hero who had nothing left for his family by the time he got home and took off his uniform.

Sam knew all too well how that felt. Sam was thirty-five. His old man had been dead for twenty years, but he could still remember waiting for his dad to come home and falling asleep before he arrived. He remembered throwing himself into hockey. Excelling. Standing out. Being a star, thinking that maybe, just maybe if he was good enough, his dad would come and see him play.

He doesn’t know you’re just a selfish prick unworthy of him, but he’ll figure it out someday
. He remembered the night he’d stopped waiting up, stopped caring if his dad came to one of his games. He’d been about ten when he’d realized his dad was never going to do the things he saw other dads do with their sons. His dad was never going to shoot the puck with him or come to one of his games. He was never going to look up and see his dad in the stands, sitting next to his mother and sister.

He ran his thumb up the cool bottle, collecting dewy droplets that slid to the crease and dripped over his knuckle. It was true that his work schedule was tough. During the season, he spent half his time on the road, but it was equally true that he’d left the responsibility of raising his son to Autumn. Breezing into town, spending some quality time with Conner before breezing back out. Autumn was more responsible than he was. So much so that it was sometimes hard to square her with the girl he’d met in Vegas.

A cool damp breeze brushed his face and the side of his hot neck. He’d always told himself that quality was more important than quantity. Wasn’t that true? He was pretty sure he’d heard some child psychologist say that on a news program once, and this past summer, he’d had more obligations than usual. Because of the Cup win, he’d been expected at more fan and press events.

He raised the beer to his mouth and took a long drink. The weekends in Vegas and the blowout parties with his buddies hadn’t been obligations. And yeah, a few times he’d canceled on Conner to party with his friends. And maybe it was more than a few times, but he’d never thought Conner was affected by his absence. Never dreamed his son cried himself to sleep.

He lowered the bottle and balanced it on the arm of the chair. Out of all the men on the planet, he should have known better. Out of all the men on the planet, he did know better. He also knew that sometimes shit happened, and, when it did, it was too late.

He remembered the night two Mounties knocked on the front door and told his mother that her husband had been killed during a raid on a farm in Moose Jaw. Constable LeClaire had been the first through the door and the first out of four others to die. He remembered looking at his dad’s casket, one in the line of three others. He remembered seeing him in the red uniform he loved and had chosen over his family. He remembered hearing the cries of all the other kids who’d lost their fathers. He remembered holding his sister, Ella’s hand while she cried and listening to his mother’s quiet sobs. He remembered feeling ashamed. Ashamed because he felt very little for the man everyone else loved and thought was a hero.

He’d been fourteen when he’d had to step into his father’s shoes. Just a month shy of his fifteenth birthday when he’d assumed the responsibility of man of the house. When it came to his ten-year-old sister, he’d taken the job seriously. He’d always looked out for her, and she’d followed him like a shadow. A shadow with a bouncy blond ponytail. In Ella’s big blue eyes, he’d replaced their father. He was a damn hero.

Sam grabbed the neck of the bottle and turned it slowly on the wooden arm of the chair. He’d never wanted to be anyone’s hero. God knew what a piss-poor job he’d done for Ella, but he did want his kid to sleep at night knowing his daddy loved him.

Which brought his thoughts around to Conner’s mama. So, maybe he should have called Autumn and told her they were going to be late. Honestly, he hadn’t given it a thought, and it hadn’t occurred to him until he’d seen how many times she’d called his cell. By then he figured the damage was done. He hadn’t needed to see her flying down those steps toward him to know he was in trouble. Hell, he’d known it before he’d turned onto her street. What he hadn’t counted on was her looking so wild and hot. All that red-and-gold hair flying about her head and her green eyes on fire. If she hadn’t opened her mouth and started bitching, he might have found himself in the uncomfortable situation of remembering the last time she’d looked like that. All crazy and wanting to do damage. Only that time she hadn’t been angry. She’d torn at his clothes until he was naked, and her mouth was all over him, doing her worst, leaving him gasping, spent, and wanting more.

The first time he’d seen her, she’d been dancing by herself, one hand over her head, the other on her stomach, and moving her hips slow and seductive. He’d been on his feet walking toward her before he’d had a coherent thought in his head. He’d moved up behind her and put his hands on her waist. The second he’d touched her, he’d felt something. A spark of some little something hit him in the belly.

She’d thrown a sharp little elbow into his stomach, right about where he’d felt that little spark of something, then she turned to face him. Her eyes had rounded with fear, and she looked like she was thinking about running. He hadn’t blamed her, but he hadn’t been about to let that happen either.

Autumn hadn’t fallen into bed with him that first night, but once he got her there, they hadn’t left. Seeing her fly at him today, brought back memories of her naked against him. Of her white skin and firm white breasts in his hands and mouth. Autumn might not have his perfect body type, but her body was perfect. And for those few days in Vegas, when nothing had been real, she’d seemed perfect, too.

Sam raised the bottle and took a long drink. Then he’d woken up, hungover and wrung out and wondering what the fuck he’d done. He’d married a girl he had just met and didn’t know. Hell, he hadn’t even known where she lived.

The month before that disaster in Vegas, he’d signed a five-million-dollar, three-year, contract with the Chinooks. With one reckless act, he’d put it at all risk. With one reckless act, he’d changed his life forever. Autumn’s, too.

He had never been sure what had pissed Autumn off more—him leaving her alone in Caesars without so much as a good-bye, the way he’d handled the divorce, or his insistence on a paternity test. Out of those three things, the only one he would change if he could was the way he’d left. He’d man up and say good-bye. It would have been the hard thing, but it would have been the right thing to do.

Sam placed the heels of his palms on the arms of the chair and rose. He wasn’t as bad a dad as Autumn portrayed him, but he wasn’t as good as he needed to be either. All that had to change. He had to do the right thing. He had to go as hard at seeing his son as he did at playing hockey. He looked at his watch and took one last pull from his beer. Some of the guys were getting together at Daniel’s for poker night. Sam was down three thousand and would love the opportunity to win it back.

Getting more serious about his personal life didn’t mean he had to give up everything else. Didn’t mean he had to give up poker night.

Likes a Good Buffet

“I
want a renaissance faire wedding. With a castle and moat and magicians.”

Autumn looked down at the tip of her ballpoint pen and forced herself to write renaissance faire in the theme heading. It was a little after six on a Saturday night, and she was in her office planning the Henson/Franklin wedding. Renaissance, apparently. In the office next door, she could hear Shiloh clicking on the computer and talking on the phone. “You have to keep in mind that the venue you’ve chosen is fairly small.” She rose from behind her desk and straightened the red-and-black floral dress she’d bought at a vintage store in downtown Santa Cruz the last time she and Conner had gone on vacation to California. The soles of her red leather flats barely made a sound as she closed the door. Shiloh was a great assistant, but she tended to dial up the volume when she was excited. “I don’t know if we have room for a moat.” This was her first face-to-face meeting with the couple, but she’d had several phone conversations with the bride.

“Oh. Well how about snake charmers and jesters?”

She retook her seat and looked up at the young woman across from her. Carmen the bride appeared so normal with her clear blue eyes and straight black hair. She wore a sweater set and little brooch, but the ear tapers sticking out of her lobes like black spikes were a tip-off that some kind of freakiness lay beneath that demure sweater set. “I’m not sure we can get the permits for exotic animals at your venue.”

“Bummer.” Carmen snapped her fingers. “Juggling dwarfs. We saw that at a faire in Portland.”

Autumn hoped the bride was talking about little people who juggled as opposed to little people who
were
juggled. It was probably the former, but she’d heard of stranger things. “We might have better luck getting jugglers if we didn’t put height restrictions on them,” she suggested.

Carmen turned to her groom, Jerry. “What about pirates?”

“Pirates can be fun but totally unpredictable,” the groom answered as if they were talking about real pirates. “Grandma Dotti and Aunt Wanda are uptight and might have a problem with the pirates.”

Thank God for an uptight aunt and grandma. Autumn wanted all brides and grooms to have the weddings of their dreams. She wanted them to have everything
they
wanted, but she knew from experience that simple was always better. “If you have too much going on, it takes the focus off the bride and the groom. It’s your day, and the two of you need to be the center of attention.”

Carmen smiled. “That’s true. I’ve dreamed of my wedding day all of my life.” Traditional or alternative, all little girls had that in common.

“We want the servers in fools hats and masks,” Jerry added.

“And wearing our wedding colors.”

Which were blue and gold. She tilted her head as if she were giving the suggestion serious thought. While she wanted to give the bride and groom what they wanted, it was her job to keep it within their budget, too. “Well, those sorts of costume would have to be especially made for the reception. As opposed to rented, and your budget is…” She flipped a page like she’d forgotten and needed a reminder. “Twenty thousand. Twenty thousand is barely going to cover your catering, flowers, photography, and venue.” Twenty thousand was a lot of money unless you were talking about planning a wedding. “If you want the servers to have specially made costumes, we can always cut back on the food. Perhaps serve chicken as opposed to a roasted pig.”