Last Play: Book 1 The Last Play Series (3 page)

T
he next morning
Roman woke to the sound of clicking. He jerked awake, rudely brought back to the reality that he lay huddled in a sleeping bag, in yesterday’s clothes, with a cold nose. Last night he’d fallen asleep ticked at the red-haired crazy woman, and he’d woken just as ticked. How dare she tell him he should have come to funeral? She knew nothing about him and his life. He hadn’t even known about the funeral. Who was she to act all superior and judge him? He tried to pull the zipper back, but it had been cold last night, and he’d zipped the mummy bag as tightly as he could. He struggled for a few seconds. Then he heard the clicking again. “Hey!” he yelled. It wasn’t a problem to roll to his front and maneuver himself to his feet in one core-tightening move.

Click, click, click.

He jumped toward the kitchen and the sound. “Helloo!” All he needed was another unwelcome guest. What had the crazy red head called the people she had to keep at bay last night? Riffraff? He wouldn’t think this small town would have much riffraff.

Before he could get to the swiveling kitchen door, it slammed open, banging him right in the head.

He fell back, turning into a face plant as he fell. He caught himself before he hit too hard.

“Oh land sakes, what’s this?” a loud voice called out.

Roman squiggled his way to his side, not knowing what to expect, and found himself staring up into the face of an older lady that looked faintly familiar.

She held a frying pan in her hand with something in it. She already had a rolling laugh coming out of her. She wore jeans and tall black boots. She had her hair pulled back into a bun at the top of her head and wire-rimmed glasses on her face. She peered down. “I heard you were here, but I didn’t realize Katie had locked you up in a mummy bag.” She lifted the pan. “Made you some pancakes.”

The playful, yet stern look on her face didn’t put Roman completely at ease. “Oh.” It was all he could think of to say at the moment. “My zipper’s stuck.”

At this, she slapped her leg and cackled out a laugh, making a strand of hair fall out of the flimsy bun. “Well, if I had a nickel for every time I’ve heard a man say that.” She took two steps to the table and put the pan down on a worn hot pad. “Well let’s see if we can fix you up, Mr. Roman.”

Mr. Roman. He flashed to being eleven and being teased about how many pancakes he could eat. “Mrs. K?” He couldn’t believe he remembered that.

She bent over him, smelling of talcum powder and eggs. She pulled back and grinned, fiddling with the zipper. “That’s right. That’s a good boy.” She winked. “Boys always remember old ladies that feed them.”

While she fiddled and finally won with the zipper, he wondered exactly how old she must be. He sat up and stepped out of the sleeping bag, emerging like a snake from a skin. “You have no idea how much better that feels. Thank you.”

Mrs. K only paused for a second and studied him. “Well, you’ve grown up, Roman.” Her eyes looked him up and down, not like a woman checking him out, but more like a grandmother appraising him. It was the same way his own mother used to look at him. Then she folded him into her arms.

For a second, he didn’t react, but when she didn’t let go, he hugged her back. He didn’t know what to say. “Er, thanks?”

With a slight crook to her walk, she moved to the table and retrieved the pancakes. “Come on, honey, let’s go sit at the table and talk.”

Even though he had a dietitian that watched everything he ate to ensure he got the right amounts of protein, carbs, and fat, he would definitely take her up on her pancakes. If he remembered right, Mrs. K’s pancakes were something of an experience. His stomach grumbled. “I’ll be right in, I just have one call to make real quick.”

He retrieved his phone from the charger against the wall and pressed the attorney’s number.

“Hello.”

“It’s Roman Young. I’m in Wolfe Creek, I need you to meet me over here sometime today and get the paperwork signed."

“Oh, dear …”

“Mr. Burcher, I need to get this done today.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Young. The roads up the canyon have closed. It looks like it’ll be a couple of days.”

“Days?”

He sighed. “These storms take on a mind of their own. But I promise you as soon as the roads open, I’ll be there.”

T
he kitchen looked
different in the daylight. The mahogany cupboards were not as polished as he remembered. They looked worn. The large table matched the cupboards and Roman vividly remembered how much he loved this kitchen. He took in the faded apple décor, from the little curtains over the sink window to the wallpaper. But, it was still clean and tidy. Mrs. K put the pancakes down next to a steaming plate of eggs and motioned for him to sit. “It’s been almost a year since I’ve cooked for anyone except your uncle in this kitchen.” Her face turned sad. “For a long time he wanted to keep having groups of people come because he enjoyed that, you know. He enjoyed the company. He enjoyed seeing other people appreciate the amenities that Wolfe Creek has to offer: the lakes, the skiing. But this place got so run down it couldn’t compete with those new developments up the hill, ya know.” She heaped a pile of eggs and two pancakes onto his plate without asking him what he wanted. Syrup was dumped on the top before he could do it himself. She folded her arms. “Will you say grace, Roman?”

It hit him that it’d been roughly three years since he’d said grace. Three years since he’d been married and three years since he’d bowed his head. But, as the saying goes, ‘it’s like riding a bike.’ The words tumbled off of his lips with the rapidity of his eleven year old self that had been hungry and wanting to take a bite of the homemade pancakes.

She sat and motioned to the papers on the table. “I see Katie gave you a list?”

Roman nodded and shoved in a bite of pancake. The taste of sugar-filled maple syrup and fluffiness melted in his mouth. “Hmm.”

His phone buzzed in his pant pocket, and he reached for it, momentarily forgetting Katie’s list. It was his agent, asking when he was coming back. He put his phone back and worried about the meeting with the owners. But he had three days. Surely the storm would clear by then. Resigned to the fact that he’d be stuck here for a while, he nodded to Mrs. K, thinking that there were worse places to be stuck. He remembered how the team had gotten stuck in Minnesota the last time they had played there. Granted, they had been in a nice hotel. They’d ordered up plate after plate of food, but the food hadn’t been this good.

Mrs. K grinned. “Pancakes are my specialty.”

“They’re delicious.” He grinned back and took another bite.

When Katie came in, he was looking over the list and eating his breakfast.

She ignored him and made coffee. “Hey, Mrs. K, how are you today?”

“Doing good, Katie girl, doing good.” She pulled her into a half hug. “How’s your guy?”

It served as a stark reminder to Roman that she was married. Trying to sneak a good look at her, without being obvious, he glanced up from his list. Her red hair lay in soft curls down to the middle of her back. She wore a puffy, black coat, but began to unzip it. As she finally turned to face him, she caught him looking.

For whatever reason, the fact she’d caught him glancing at her made him nervous. He reached for his coffee and ended up knocking it over, spilling it across the supply list. “Crap.” He tried to stand too fast and knocked his thighs hard against the table, making the table jerk and the fresh syrup topple over, too.

“My heavens!” Mrs. K reached for a kitchen towel.

In a flash, Katie picked up the syrup, preventing more oozing from mixing with the coffee. She tugged the list away, and a line of coffee dripped from the table to the counter sink. “Think you can get out of the chores if you ruin the list?”

“Chores?” The way he said it made him sound like a teenager after his mother had demanded he mow the lawn. He didn’t know why he reacted this way to this woman. He cleared his throat and used his hand to slick the coffee and syrup onto his plate. Then he used his napkin to mop up the remaining mess. “I mean, I thought that list was for supplies.” He maneuvered over to the sink.

Katie waved the list over the sink. The look on her face told him that she found him amusing. “I figured you’d want to help get things done today.”

He caught a glint of her ring. On her left hand. Definitely married.

“I mean,” she hesitated, looking out the window, “there’s nowhere to go. Even the ski resorts need to get ahold of their avalanche control precautions.” She paused, licking her lips. “Are you here to ski?”

He knew that she wasn’t licking her lips for any other reason than because they were probably chapped, but instantly he noticed how close they stood together. The dishes dropped into the sink. The cup he’d used for coffee broke. He jerked back.

“Land sakes!” Mrs. K exclaimed, bustling in between them and reaching in for the broken pieces. She scowled at him. “Katie, get this boy out of my kitchen, now!”

Hating himself at this moment, it wasn’t like him at all to be a complete klutz, Roman got out of Mrs. K’s way.

Katie covered her face and let out a small laugh. She motioned to the door. “I’d say you better get your boots and come with me!”

“Where can we go with all this snow?” At this point he wasn’t sure he wanted to go anywhere with this woman. She made him slightly nervous. It had been a long time since Roman had been so on edge.

Shaking her head, Katie lifted an eyebrow. “What? Are you afraid of little old me?”

The way she said it was slightly seductive. At least, he took it as seductive, and he wasn’t one to back away from a challenge. He backed out of the living room, remembering that any kind of gear was stored in the large front closet by the front door. “Getting boots.”

After the door creaked open, he found an assortment of things and pulled out what looked like serious mountaineering boots. Most likely they had belonged to his uncle. He found a Carhartt coat and a Dallas Destroyers beanie cap on a hook. Emotion tugged at him as he pulled on a matching pair of gloves. He’d given these to his uncle the first year he’d signed with the team.

Trudging through the kitchen, he didn’t say a word as he went for the door. He could see Katie already sitting on a snowmobile, a trailer attached to the back.

“Best behavior, young man.”

Roman grinned at Mrs. K, who was washing dishes. “Ah, thank you for breakfast.”

She winked at him. “Have fun.”

When Roman got down the steps to Katie, she tossed her head back and grinned. “Get on the back, Quarterback.”

For a second, he paused. “You knew?” The night before he was sure anyone who treated him so rudely must not know exactly who he was.

A pink pom pom beanie was on her head, complete with knitted strings that were braided down the sides over her ears. The side of her lip tugged up. “You think your uncle let anyone in this town NOT know about the great Roman Young?”

Tentatively, he got on behind her, totally bewildered and confused by the fact that—since she knew who he was—she was still treating him this way. He lightly put his hands on her hips. She had a tiny waste and he wondered, if he tightened his hold, if he could touch his fingers together.

She laughed and jolted as she took off.

He held on tighter.

She laughed again. “Sheesh, for goodness sake you won’t break me, just put your arms around my waist.”

They flew across the powdered-driveway. “Man, there’s a lot of snow, this resembled a driveway last night.”

Katie scoffed. “Wolfe Creek got about seventeen inches just last night and you know it’s not supposed to let up for a while.”

He frowned, thinking of Mr. Burcher. “I heard.”

Leaning forward and hunching down, he was able to get a better hold. The smell of lemon assaulted him. He ducked behind her, wishing he’d worn sunglasses to block the spray of snow. He popped his head out and saw that they were on what appeared to be a main road, speeding toward a small cluster of stores that, despite the weather, had customers coming and going.

Other snowmobilers passed by. Katie waved at each of them, sometimes shouting hello. Roman was mystified that this town continued to operate as if the snow didn’t matter.

They pulled into Henry’s Hardware and parked next to, Roman counted, five other snowmobiles with attached trailers.

Katie cut the engine and waited for him to get off. Her eyes held a mischievous glint as she casually picked up a handful of snow and tossed it at him when she walked past. “Come on, Quarterback, haven’t you ever seen a winter storm before?”

Part of the snow fell lightly against his cheek, and he felt even more confused as he followed Katie into the hardware store. Was she flirting with him? He was used to the more direct approach—like scantily clad women draping themselves along his body and sticking like plastic wrap on a glass dish. He felt off kilter with Katie.

Katie pulled off her cap and nodded towards a cart. “Do you mind pushing it? We can get supplies,” she paused and pulled her phone out of a zipper pocket in the front of her own Carhartt jacket. “I figure we can finish getting carpet ripped out in the upstairs before I have to go pick up my son.”

The idea that she thought he was going to rip carpet out was quickly overshadowed by the fact she’d mentioned a son. He blinked.
She’s married. She’s married
. He needed to quit thinking that she had some kind of attraction to him or something.

With that reminder, he grabbed a cart and jogged two steps to catch up to her.

She already had a box of nails and tossed them inside the cart. She scanned the shelves. “We also need to secure the stairs. I’m thinking we rip up the carpet and pound in the nails, see which ones are loose. Your uncle, God rest his soul, loved the place, but let’s face it—he left a heck of a lot of work to be done to get it up to par.” She glanced at him. “And getting it in shape before the spring crowd hits is going to be tough.”

It did occur to Roman that he should probably tell her that he was just here to sign paperwork and get the place sold, but, he reasoned, with the storm he wouldn’t be leaving for a day or two, and any improvements couldn’t hurt the sale. Not to mention that Katie looked so happy to be planning away. Maybe he would try to get it in the contract that she could stay the caretaker, or whatever she was.