Sneak Peak Saturday: A Hero's Spark!

Good morning!

So, I've got this new book out...maybe you've heard?  Anyway, I thought I'd share a tiny bit more of Collier and Mira's story.   Remember, you can purchase any or all of my work on Amazon in print or digital by by clicking HERE! Enjoy!

What woke him, Collier didn’t know, but even in the haze of deep sleep, he knew he wasn’t alone in the loft. Someone latched the door quietly and stepped closer to the bed before turning on the overhead light.

            “Who’s there?” he called out as the light flashed on, momentarily blinding him. A woman’s scream pierced through the shock of light and he squinted in her general direction. He recognized the black hair immediately. Surprise mingled with confusion.“What are you doing here?”

            “I could ask you the same thing.” She held her bulky shoulder bag in front of her like a shield. “Who are you?”

            Collier shifted to sit up. She froze. “Don’t move. I’ve got mace in here.”

            “Calm down. I’m not going to move, since I’m pretty much naked here.” Collier grinned. “But you and I both know you don’t have mace.”

            The angry light in her eyes quavered, giving way to uncertainty. “How would you know what I have in my bag?”

            “Well,” he kept his voice calm, sensing she was more afraid than dangerous, “because if you had mace in there, you would have started spraying it the minute you realized there was a man in the room. That’s what I hear from most women, anyway.”

            She blinked away the uncertainty, her face settled into a mask of defensiveness. “Oh, and you know most women, do you?”

            “No, Miss, I don’t. But I’m pretty sure most women wouldn’t ask any questions before mentioning they have mace. So relax, put the bag down and tell me what you’re doing here.”

            “I’ve stayed here before.  I’ve worked with Shara.”

            “You’re trying to be mysterious. Why do I feel like you’re lying to me?”

            “Okay, well, I’ve lived here almost my whole life, and you’re a stranger. That’s enough mystery for me to call the cops. Give me one reason why I shouldn’t.”

            “My uncle said I could stay here and Molly Hunter brought me here.”

            She seemed less likely to want to kill him, but her countenance remained stony. “Who’s your uncle?”

            “Archibald James.”

            “The lawyer?”

            “You know him?”

            “Everyone knows about Archibald James.” She relaxed. “Okay, maybe you’re not a mass rapist.” She sat in the rocker. “But still, you can’t stay here.”

            “Why not?”

            “Because, I’m staying here.”

Collier chuckled. “I was here first. And, I’m not wearing pants.”

            “I’ll close my eyes. Get dressed, and get out.” Her tone was clipped, cold. Collier again sensed she was covering fear.

            “Why should I get out? I got here first. I was sound asleep, and you woke me up.” He gave her a small smile, hoping to soften the deep furrows in her brow.

            She shrugged. “Not my problem. You can’t stay here.”

            “It is your problem. I’m not leaving.” He grinned. “We could both stay here. It’s a big enough bed.” He patted the spot next to him.

            She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Of course that’s what you want.” Her eyes flashed hot and angry.

            “It’s not what I want, Ma’am. I want to go to sleep. But if you have other ideas, well, I am from the South. We believe in accommodating women whenever we can.”

            She stared at him, and Collier doubted his humor was warming her attitude. Clearly, some sort of battle waged behind her emerald eyes.

Her face slacked into exhaustion. “I need to stay here.”

            Collier’s curiosity made him push the point further. “Well, I’m from out of town and have no place else to go. From what I hear, Miranda Pierce, you live in Rock Harbor which means you do have someplace else to go.”

            “Don’t call me that.”

            “Isn’t it your name?”

“Call me Mira.” A shadow crossed her face. “I’m not going to that house tonight. You can’t make me.” her voice held the echoes of a willful child. “And how do you know my name…oh, wait…”

            “Molly Hunter.”

            Mira nodded. “She knows everyone and everything in this town. Steer clear of her if you want to keep anything private.”

            “She didn’t strike me as a person who spread gossip.”

            “She doesn’t. She just knows everything. The potential is always there.”

            An interesting read on the lovely Miss Molly. “So the two of you aren’t grand friends then?”

            She leaned back in the rocker. “I try not to make attachments. It’s easier to leave if there aren’t any attachments.”

            “Sounds like someone who wants to run away.”

            “I’ve always wanted to run away. I feel like I’m running away from something every day of my life.”

            Collier wanted to be annoyed by her cryptic statement, but watching her face, he sensed it was probably the one completely truthful thing she’d said. Collier tried to assess her age. “You’re what, thirty? You’re old enough to go out on your own. What’s stopping you?”

            “I’m twenty-eight, thank you.”

            “Oh, that’s a huge difference.” Collier nearly laughed aloud at the wounded expression on Mira’s face.

            “I can’t leave because it’s complicated. But I can’t go home tonight.”

            The glimmer of true fear returned in her eyes. Collier relented. “Fine. Just go…go in the bathroom for a minute, let me get my crap together and I’ll go sleep on the hay downstairs.”

            “You want a blanket or something?”

            Her friendly tone annoyed him. “What, now that you’ve won the bed, you’re worried about me?”

            The softness melted from her face and her jaw line hardened. “Not really. I couldn’t care less about you having a blanket, so long as you’re not in here.”

            “Suits me fine. I’d rather sleep with horses than up here with you. Less shit to deal with.”

            “Oh, very nice. They teach you that language in the South where men are supposed to be so mannerly?” She glared at him as she stomped into the small bathroom and slammed the door.

            “No!” Collier yelled as he pulled on his jeans. “I learned manners just fine, because where I come from the women aren’t complete bitches!” He stuffed a few things into his duffle bag and slammed the door behind him, startling the horses in the stalls below.

            There was a blanket hung from a hook near a stack of hay bales. Collier spread the blanket over the bales and stretched out on the hay, thankful his years on the road in the Renaissance Faire circuit had toughened him. Staring at the ceiling, he watched the light that glowed from between small cracks in the loft floor. When the light switched off, he closed his eyes. Still, she is pretty.

            Pretty bitchy.

Sneak Peak Saturday: Elsie W.: Unsafe at Any Speed

Good afternoon!

As many of you know, I released the second Elsie W book a little more than a week ago, so now it's time for a little bit of a sneak peak for you to see what you should be buying for yourself and your friends!

To purchase for any e-reader or to read on your phone or computer: 
CLICK HERE!

To purchase for the Kindle or in print form:
CLICK HERE!

enjoy!

Elsie W. and I were the only two women in the office at Stuff, Installed, a fact that never ceased to annoy me. The sales guys called her my “partner in crime.”  I think they did that just to get me riled up. See, there were a few things about Elsie that…well, made me want to distance myself from her as much as humanly possible.

          Elsie W. was a non stop eating machine and a complete disaster mess of a human. She worked an odd shift, Monday through Thursday eleven to eight, and then Saturdays she worked eight to five. Maybe her odd work hours were a contributing factor to her social and hygienic quirks, or maybe she worked those odd hours because she was socially and hygienically off kilter. When I worked with her during the week, she spent the bulk of her time gathering, preparing, eating, and relieving herself of food. She got hired at Stuff, Installed about six weeks before I did, back in the summer of 2011. She told me by the fall she’d gained eighteen pounds. Three months, 18 pounds. Given the amount of food she shoved down her gullet in that time, I was surprised it wasn’t a bigger number. I’ve battled weight my whole life, so I’m to the point I don’t eat that much during the day. Just watching her pack it away made me gain weight.

          I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me see if I can start closer to the beginning of things so you don’t think I’m a horrible person telling stories about a poor little old lady.

            Shortly after I began working at Stuff, Installed, the company moved to a new location. It was a beautiful office, with a wide open showroom. Everything was shiny, new, and clean.

          And then Elsie moved in.

          When I say she was a non-stop eating machine what I mean is that from the time she walked through the door with her rolling cooler and four purses, most of which contained food,  she started eating and she didn’t stop eating, as far as I know, until she drove home at night. Then again, I’ve seen the front seat of her car. There’s a very real chance she didn’t stop eating even then.

          When you work in an office, most of you know, snacking typically consists of a small bag of something that isn’t sticky, doesn’t melt, and won’t interfere with your work, especially if you need to be on the phone. A snack is something you can eat quickly, you can eat it walking, and you don’t run the risk of spilling it on a surface that needs to stay clean.

          Elsie had no such snacking guidelines. A typical morning for her involved arriving at 11:07  (Her start time was 11, but she was never, ever on time.), making one phone call, (to prove to NBM, our boss, just what a dedicated employee she was) and then heading to the galley kitchen to make the first “snack” of the day. This snack usually had three parts:  salad, wilting under a layer of heavy dressing; a protein, chicken legs, pork chops, meatloaf; and a hearty helping of mashed potatoes.

          Just to contrast, back then I got to work at 7:30. My breakfast prior to arriving is usually a bowl of cereal or a bagel eaten quickly over the kitchen sink while yelling to my youngest child that I was LEAVING IN FIVE MINUTES and if she wanted a ride to school she’d better turn off the Fall Out boy CD and get a move on. I ate lunch, usually some sandwich and fruit I packed for myself, at 1:30. Between those two times, I consume two cups of coffee. Can someone explain why I continue to have a weight problem?

          I digress.

          So it took Elsie roughly half an hour to prepare this snack and eat it at her desk. She then shoved the mostly empty plastic container back into the fridge where she also stored, just in case she gets peckish around noon, a six pack of yogurt, a head of lettuce, four bottle of salad dressing, a loaf of bread, a large jar of peanut butter (She never had any jelly. She’d steal NBM’s home- made jam. He never figured out why he couldn’t remember eating so much of it.) and a pan of brownies.

          That’s just the fridge. In her desk she kept two family sized bags of snack chips and a complete series of two liter bottles of soda pop.

          Do not misunderstand. Elsie W was not what most would think of as obese. She was heavy, sure. But she was heavy in a sort of cute old lady way (she was in her early sixties, not at all old) She was just a complete, total non stop eating machine. Like sharks, you know, if they stop moving they die. Elsie, I think, if she stopped eating, she’d die. At the very least, she wasn’t taking a chance.

          That Elsie treated the office as her own home was a source of constant irritation for NBM, our boss. He was a very tidy fellow, and he expected those who work for him to be tidy as well. Our shop, where the guys who install the stuff we sell store their stuff, is clean. How clean? The fire inspector told me recently it was the cleanest place he’d been to that month.

          No one can say the same for any space Elsie occupied.  You knew immediately that you were in her presence, or at least on her trail, by the marks she’d leave, and the clouds of fruit flies hovering nearby.

          I wasn’t aware of this when I first started working with her, however. At first I thought she was just an odd, lonely woman who liked her snack food. As a new employee, I wanted to make a good impression on those around me, so I kept a candy dish on my desk and filled it with those little chocolate kisses. Everyone was a fan of that candy. Especially Elsie.

          Elsie thought of the candy dish as her own personal snack machine. Our desks were about six feet apart and she found a reason multiple times a day to roll her chair over to my desk and scoop up a red press on nail claw full of kisses and then roll back to her desk.

          Elsie’s job at Stuff, Installed was that of ISP, Inside Sales Person. She was to make at least one hundred outgoing calls per day, mostly following up on customers who had had an estimate done by one of the sales guys, but hadn’t purchased. These calls were calls Rebounds, and if she managed to get one of these people to agree to take another look at their estimate, and if they did buy the stuff we install, she would get a bonus. In short, not only was she paid a nice hourly wage to make one hundred phone calls, she got a bonus when one of those phone calls goes well.

          To make one hundred phone calls in an eight hour day is not that hard, especially when that’s all that is required of you. My job at Stuff, Installed was CSA, Customer Service Assistant. This was a broad brush of a job description that encompassed basic office work, filing, scheduling both sales and service appointments, helping the PM with the scheduling of installations, filling building permit applications forms, scheduling building inspections, and yes, making outgoing sales calls. As I got better at my job I sort of became the office mom, helping the sales guys find the correct address for a sales call when they were lost because Elsie had typed in the wrong address. Some days the install guys would have me help them placate a grumpy customer. I have a great phone voice and, apparently, a lot of patience. NBM liked to push small administrative things to me, since he was very busy watching the weather or baseball on his cell phone. By the time I’d worked at Stuff, Installed a year, there wasn’t a piece of paper in the building that didn’t cross my desk at least once.

          Oh yeah, and I still was supposed to make as close to one hundred outgoing sales calls a day as I could.

          But this isn’t about me. This is about Elsie, and how her job, her ONLY job was to make one hundred sales calls a day.

          To do that, one would expect she’d be at her desk most of the day. Not so. She spent quality time in the bathroom, typically making personal phone calls. Or she’d be in the galley kitchen, making food. Or she’d be wandering through the shop to the neighbor’s office where she took advantage of their very cheap soda pop machine prices.

          The good news was that we always knew how to find her. We simply followed the trail of bread crumbs, food stains, coffee spills, or, thanks to my chocolate kisses, those little paper flags. And it didn’t matter where the stain, crumb trail, spills, or kisses flags started, you always knew exactly where the trail would end:  at Elsie’s desk.

          Looking back, I like to think Elsie left the trails so she wouldn’t get lost in the office. When I’m feeling charitable, I like to think of her as a confused lady who liked her snack food.

          And then I think about things like how she loved to microwave trout for her lunch, making the entire office smell like a fish hatchery, and I remember why a book like this had to be written.

Sneak Peak Saturday: SPARK OF A HERO

Good evening!

It's been a couple weeks since I touched base here, since it's NANOWRIMO and I'm working like crazy to finish the first draft of my newest Novel, Spark of a Hero.

I'm excited about this novel because in it I'm doing something I've never done before:  I'm taking characters from previous novels and putting them in a whole new story.  In this case, I'm taking Collier James, who was my "best friend" from Fresh Ice and putting him into Rock Harbor, the world I created in Lies In Chance.  It's been fun going back and giving my old characters new life and creating new characters along the way.

So tonight, since it's my birthday, I thought I'd share something with you all:  A chapter from the new novel.  This is an early scene where Collier, our hero, has his first real contact with Mel, our heroine.  The scene, for those of you familiar with "Lies in Chance" takes place in the loft Bryan built for Shara.

Enjoy!

          Collier followed Molly’s car closely on the shiny, rain slick roads.  They drove through what felt like endless miles of dark farmland until Molly turned up a narrow drive.  Collier pulled the Mercedes into the round yard next to her car.  On one side of him was a small cabin.  In front of him was a garage and to his left was a small barn where, he surmised, would be the loft.  He got out of his car and tried to avoid the muddy puddles as he followed Molly to the barn.

          She slid open the barn door.  The soft whicker of horses greeted them.  “Shhh, Pepper, Shhh girls.”  Molly patted the horses in each of the four stalls.  “You’ll be up those stairs in the loft.  It’s really more of a small apartment.  There’s a bathroom.  It’s not glamorous, but it’ll suit I’m sure.  Light switch for the barn is at the top of the stairs.  I’ll close this door.”

          “Thank you, Miz Hunter.”

          Molly waved a dismissive hand.  “I know you’re southern, but plain old Molly is good enough for me. “

          “Okay, Molly it is.  So when will the Jacobs’ be home?”

          “Oh they’ll be back later tonight.  They’re just over at the Shepaski house for dinner. I think Shara said something about a Scrabble game .”

          Collier raised an eyebrow.  “Not exactly big recording mogul stuff.”

          “No, But Shara isn’t a typical big recording mogul.  She and Bryan could have both been big shots with huge fortunes.  They both turned it down, and it’s a good thing, too.”

          “How would turning down a fortune be a good thing?”

          Molly smiled and leaned against a stall door.  “They would never have met each other if either of them had stayed in their family’s business.”

          “My uncle said they had a romance for the ages.”

          “He wasn’t wrong.  And they have two precious children to show for it.  You’ll meet them soon enough”

          “I’m not sure I’m up for a happy romantic couple,” Collier kicked a bit of sawdust. 

          “Sounds like you’ve got secrets of your own.”

          “Not secrets.  Just stuff I don’t want to talk about.”

          “Well good luck trying to keep anything quiet around here,” Molly stepped out of the barn and pushed the rolling door halfway.  “You’ll find most folks have some sort of secret they want to keep hidden, but everyone knows it because,” she smiled, “you can’t keep a secret in a town this small. The winters are long and cable TV service is uneven at best.  We’ve got nothing else to do.”

          She closed the rolling barn door and Collier headed up the stairs.  He snapped  off the barn light and turned on the loft light.  The room was small, yet about as cozy as any he’d ever seen.  He set his duffle bag next to the bentwood rocker and flopped onto the firm mattress that took up most of the floor space.   He opened the double hung window and gazed down at the cabin.  In the distance he made out the shape of another building, a farmhouse.  Recalling the conversation with Uncle Archibald, Collier surmised that was the recording studio, formerly a burned out shell of a farmhouse Bryan had converted to a studio as a wedding gift.

          Another perfect romance, another perfect hero for his woman, and I’m stuck in the middle of it all again. 

          Collier closed his eyes and tried not to picture Izzy.

          What woke him, Collier didn’t know, but even still in the haze of deep sleep, he knew he wasn’t alone in the loft.  Someone latched the door quietly and stepped closer to the bed before turning on the overhead light.

          “Who’s there?” he called out as the light flashed on, momentarily blinding him.  A woman’s scream pierced through the shock of light and he squinted in her general direction.  He recognized her instantly.  “What are you doing here?”

          “I could ask you the same thing.”  She held her bulky shoulder bag in front of her. “Who are you ?”

          Collier shifted to sit up.  She froze.  “Don’t move, I’ve got mace in here.”

          “I’m not going to move, since I’m pretty much naked here.” Collier grinned at her.  “But you don’t have mace in there.”

          “How would you know what I have in my bag?”

          “Well, because if you had mace in there, you would have started spraying it the minute you realized there was a man in the room.  That, at least, is what I hear from most women.”

          “Oh, and you know most women, do you?”

          “No, but I’m pretty sure most women wouldn’t ask any questions before mentioning they have mace.  So relax, put the bag down and tell me what you’re doing here.”

          “Shara lets me stay here sometimes, when I need to.”

          “Sound mysterious…and shady.”

          “Yeah, well, you’re a stranger around here, and that’s enough mysterious for me to call the cops.  Give me one reason why I shouldn’t.”

          “My uncle said I could stay here and Molly Hunter brought me here.”

          This visibly calmed the woman, although her countenance remained stoney.  “Who’s your uncle?”

          “Archibald James.”

          “The lawyer?”

          “The same.”

          She relaxed further.  “Fine. “  She sat in the rocker.  “But still, you can’t stay here.”

          “Why not?”

          “Because I’m staying here.”

          Collier chuckled.  “I was here first.  And, I’m not wearing pants.”

          “I’ll close my eyes, you get dressed, and get out.”

          “Why should I get out?  I got here first.  I was sound asleep, and you woke me up.”

          She shrugged.  “Not my problem. You can’t stay here.”

          “It is your problem, I’m not leaving.”  He grinned.  “We could both stay here.  It’s a big enough bed.”  He patted the spot next to him.

          She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.  “Typical man.  Look.  I need to stay here.  Alone.”

          “Well, I’m from out of town and have no place else to go.  From what I hear, Pamela Prier, you live in Rock Harbor which means you have a perfectly good someplace else to go.”

“Call me Mel.” A shadow crossed her face.  “I can’t go there tonight.  You can’t make me. And how do you know my name…oh, wait…”

          “Molly Hunter.”

          “Of course.” Mel nodded.  “She knows everyone and everything thing in this town.  Steer clear of her if you want to keep anything private.”

          “You don’t like Molly?”

          “Everyone likes Molly, and Molly likes everyone.”

          “And that’s a problem?”

          Pamela shrugged.  “Obviously not for her.”

          “We’re not talking about her.”

          She shrugged.  “I really don’t care.  I try not to make attachments.  It’s easier to leave if there aren’t any attachments.”

          “And you want to leave Rock Harbor?”

          “I want to leave Wisconsin.  Every single day of my life.”

          It was probably the one completely truthful thing she’d said.  Collier studied her, trying to assess her age.  “You’re what, thirty?  You’re old enough to go out on your own.  What’s stopping you?”

          “I’m twenty-seven thank you.”

          Collier nearly laughed out loud at the wounded expression on Mel’s face. 

          “And I can’t leave because it’s complicated.  But I can’t go home tonight.”

          There was a glimmer of true fear in her soft green eyes.  Collier relented.  “Fine.  Just go…go in the bathroom for a minute, let me get my crap together and I’ll go sleep on the hay downstairs.”

          “You sure you’re okay?”

          “Oh now that you’ve won the bed, you want to know what my opinion is?”

          The softness melted from her face and her jaw line hardened.  “Not really.  I couldn’t care less where you sleep tonight, so long as it’s not in here.”

          “Suits me fine.  I’d rather sleep with horses than up here with you.  Less shit to deal with.”

          “Oh very nice.  They teach you that language in the south where men are supposed to be so mannerly?”  She glared at him as she stomped into the small bathroom and slammed the door.

          “No!”  Collier yelled as he pulled on his jeans.  “I learned manners just fine, because where I come from the women aren’t complete bitches!”  He stuffed a few things into his duffle bag and slammed the door behind him, startling the horses in the stalls below.

          There was a blanket hanging from a hook near a stack of hay bales.  Collier spread the blanket over the bales and stretched out, thankful his years on the road in the Renaissance faire circuit had toughened him.  Staring at the ceiling, he watched the light that glowed from between small cracks in the loft floor.  When the light switched off, he closed his eyes.  Still, she is pretty…pretty bitchy.

Sneak Peak Saturday! "Fresh Ice"

Good afternoon!

My inspiration muse seems to be taking the weekend off, which is really annoying because in the last two days I've chosen taking a nap and cleaning the bathrooms over writing.  While taking a nap is generally the thing I like to do best, cleaning the bathrooms...really?

But, I having gotten back into "Spark of a Hero" which is the novel I'm determined to wright by the end of November and get released by the time you're all opening your shiny new Kindles and Nooks under the tree.

To that end, I had to delve into Lies in Chance and Fresh Ice since ""Spark" draws characters and storylines from both those books and is actually built around Collier James, who many of you might remember was Izzy Marks' best friend, and was deep in love with Izzy.  Well, Collier is getting his own novel with "Spark" and I thought I'd wet your whistle for him with this election from "Fresh Ice."  Enjoy!

Izzy found the rink without much trouble. What troubled her was how dilapidated it looked. She eased the car up the rutted drive to the ratty, cracked parking lot. There were few cars parked around the building.

“This is where you trained?”

Izzy shared Jenna’s doubt. “Yes, this is the place. I guess when Coach died, Collier sold it or something. Coach would hate how it looks.”

They got out of the car and walked into the cavernous building. Once inside, memories, good memories, flooded Izzy. The feeling was as powerful as the emptiness at her childhood home had been. Now I’m home.

On the ice, a few children, possibly stragglers from a recently ended birthday party, slid around on wobbly legs. Izzy led Jenna to the boards where they both leaned against the worn wood and stared at the children.

“So that’s how you started?”

Izzy shook her head. “No, I started out much younger. There were no parties here then, nothing like that. My parents put me into training on the ice and ballet classes off it. Every day, six days a week.”

“That sounds horrible.”

A tear welled in Izzy’s eye as she glanced toward the door that led to Coach’s office. She wiped her eyes and smiled at Jenna. “I loved it. I loved being here. This is where I belonged and I rarely felt I was missing out on a real life.”

“How could you not hate it?”

Izzy turned and leaned her back against the boards. “Well, let me put this into terms you can understand. Do you hate volleyball? All the hours of practice, the traveling, the aches and pains, do you hate any of that?”

“No.”

“Well, that’s how I was with skating.”

“But Mom, I still have a normal life. I hang out with friends, I go to school.”

Izzy nodded. “When you were young, we knew you were going to be an athlete. We agreed you’d have as normal a life as possible. It was one of the few things we agreed on.”

Jenna’s eyes darkened. “You two really had no business getting married, did you?”

Izzy shrugged. “After a few years we fell into a routine and I didn’t question it often. I wouldn’t let myself think about it. I had you, and you filled my life plenty.” She squinted up past the rows of bleaches to the top of the seats. “Is that Collier?”

Jenna followed Izzy’s line of sight. “Looks like it. What’s he doing here?”

“Guess I’ll go find out.” Izzy climbed the steps and met Collier halfway.

“I figured I’d find you here.” Collier spoke in a low voice.

“You knew. About Jason and the money, and how everything would have been okay if only I was an obedient child?”

Collier nodded. “I’m sorry, there’s no way I could just tell you that. You needed to hear it from them.”

“As far as I’m concerned, Coach was the only parent I needed anyway.”

“How’s Jenna handling it?”

Izzy glanced at her daughter, who’d returned her attention to the children on the ice. “She’s taking it like she takes everything, calmly, and in stride. We’ll be okay.”

Collier wrapped his arms around her. “You know I’m always here for you.”

Izzy melted into his comfortable embrace, her tension easing. “I know,” she murmured against his beating heart. Unbidden, the image of Quinn’s face after their kiss flashed through her mind. She stiffened.

“You okay?”

Izzy broke from his arms and nodded. “Yeah, I’m okay.” She looked around the arena. “So what’s the deal here, Col? What happened to the old place?”

Collier shrugged. “After Pop died, I couldn’t keep it up. I sold part ownership to a group who wanted to open the place to the public. You know, skating lessons, high school hockey games, birthday parties,” he nodded to the small group assembled at the concession stand. “I haven’t paid much attention. Obviously, it’s a bit worse for wear.”

“I’ll say.”

“Still, the ice is in good shape. Care to put on a bit of a show?” Collier’s eyes twinkled.

“Tempting. Very tempting.” The memory of Quinn’s hands on her waist warmed her, emboldened her. “But I don’t have any skates.”

“Skate rental is right there. Come on. I’d love to see you skate again.” He led her to the counter.

“Are you joining me?” She arched an eyebrow.

Collier laughed. “Not a chance. I haven’t put on skates since the day I quit.” He walked behind the counter and stared at the rows of skates. “Size seven, right?”

“Better make it six. I’m not wearing thick socks.”

Collier handed her the skates. She sat on a bench and started unlacing them. “Col, I think there’s something I should tell you.”

He sat next to her. “What’s that?”

“I agreed to do something the other day. I agreed to skate at a charity thing in the spring. The one you’re playing at.”

Collier nodded, his eyes narrowing. “I’m guessing your hockey player had something to do with this?”

“Apparently,” she focused her attention on the ratty laces of the old skates, “he knew who I was all along.”

“Not surprising. He doesn’t strike me as a guy who wouldn’t know the identity of every attractive woman in Nashville.”

“You’re upset.” She finished lacing the skates and looked at him. “Be honest.”

He helped her stand on the carpet and smiled. “I’m not surprised, and I’m definitely not excited at the prospect of my best girl spending quality time working up a routine for the guy, but I’m not upset.”

“Not for, the guy. With, the guy. I’m skating with Quinn at the event.”

Collier’s expression darkened. “You’re skating with him?”

Izzy stepped on the ice and waved at Jenna. “Yes. I am. Turns out, he’s a good skater, and he can throw decently.”

“So it’s decided.” There was a sense of defeat in Collier’s voice. “You’ve already started working with him.”

Izzy nodded. “I gave my word, so yeah, it’s decided. You should give him a chance, Col. You might like him.”

Collier shook his head, but said nothing for a beat. “Well, we should see what we’re working with, shouldn’t we? I think your old music is in Pop’s office. Want me to go find it?”

I guess I didn’t expect him to love the idea of Quinn skating with me. “That would be great.”

Collier disappeared into the dark hall beyond the ice. A few moments later, “I Won’t Hold you Back,” floated through the speakers high above the ice. Izzy closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and started to skate. The years melted away, and with it, the shabbiness of her surroundings, until all that was left was smooth, fresh ice, and a black sky broken only by a silver spotlight on her. She had no conscious thought, she never did when she skated. She just moved as if her body was the link between the ice and the music, and her movements created the light between both.

Too soon, the music was over. Thin applause from Jenna, and the few people behind the concession counter barely reached her.

Izzy leaned against the boards, out of breath and waited for Collier’s commentary. “So, what do you think?”

“I think you’re insane. You’ve been out of this for almost twenty years. You think you can do a four minute routine with a hockey player and not be laughed off the ice?”

Izzy looked at Collier. “So what am I doing wrong?”

“You? You’re perfect. Every element you do out there it’s like you’ve been skating every minute of every day.”

“Really? You’re not just saying that?”

Collier shook his head. “You want my opinion? Dump the hockey player and skate a single.”

The old argument. “Col, we’re not going there.”

“Well it’s past time someone did. Pop always said you were better without a partner.”

“And my parents disagreed. Vehemently.”

“They paid my father to coach you and never listened to a word he said.” Collier’s face tightened. “Iz, think about this, because I know I have a million times over the years: If your parents had listened to my father, you and I might be living a very beautiful happily ever after.”

Izzy laughed, mostly because the earnest look on Collier’s face seemed comical. Then she realized he was serious, and she laughed harder, because the idea seemed even more comical. “How do you figure that?”

“I don’t want to go dredging up bad memories.”

Izzy waved a dismissive hand. “After what I heard today, why stop now?”

“Well since you asked; if you skated as a single, you wouldn’t have a partner. You wouldn’t have needed Jason. Jason wouldn’t have convinced you to sleep with him. You might have left skating at some point, but you wouldn’t have left Nashville. We would have stayed together long enough for me to prove to you that I’m an amazing romantic hero in spite of the fact that I don’t live on the ice.”

“I wouldn’t have Jenna.”

“Maybe you would. Maybe you’d have Jenna, only with lighter hair and my nose instead of Jason’s. The point I’m making, is that if you had a crumb of self confidence, you’d be practicing on wide open ice during the day, getting ready for an exhibition that would be aired on network television instead of trying to teach a muscle head how to throw you without doing any permanent damage.”

Izzy studied her friend. “You’ve been thinking about this a while, haven’t you?”

Collier nodded. “You came back, and I’m so thankful for that. And you’re skating again, which is awesome. But now I have to picture you skating with him.”

“He has a name.”

“Whatever. You have too much talent to waste trying to teach the unteachable.”

Izzy closed her eyes, recalling the strength of Quinn’s hands on her waist. “You haven’t a clue what you’re talking about, Col.”

“Maybe not. But I’ll bet he doesn’t disagree with me.” Collier nodded to the upper ring of seats.

Izzy looked over her shoulder. There, in the shadows, was Quinn. She blinked, and he was gone. An overwhelming sense of panic gripped her, and she started racing off the ice and up the stairs.

“Mom, what are you doing?” Jenna called from the other side of the ice.

“Izzy, you can’t run in those crappy skates. You’ll break something.”

“Watch me!” Izzy ran up the stairs and out the main door. From where she stood, she could see the entire parking lot, but saw nothing of Quinn or his car. Just a few scattered cars, the last of the birthday partiers inside. “Quinn!” She shouted through the cold air.

“What?” He emerged from the door behind her.

“Quinn!” She threw herself into his arms, careful to keep her feet on the wood planks beneath them.

“Wow…if I thought I’d get this reaction, I wouldn’t have stopped at the concession stand for a candy bar.”

His arms were warm around her, secure. “I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry? For what?”

She eased an inch away from his chest. “Well, for what Collier said.”

“Collier? Oh, wait, Singer Guy? He said something about me?”

Izzy studied Quinn’s face. “You know he’s a singer?”

Quinn smiled. “I know a lot of things, Miss Izzy.”

“How did you know I would be here?”

Quinn looked the tiniest bit guilty. “I stopped and talked to Cat who said you were off to see your parents. I figured that wouldn’t end well, and that you’d come someplace where you really felt good about yourself. So I thought I’d try your old training facility. I didn’t expect to see you in skates, but then I also didn’t expect a full snack bar either. So it’s a win for me.” He bit into the candy bar.

“Well I am glad you’re here. It’s about time you and Collier met.”

“I don’t think I need to do that.”

Izzy took his hand. “Quinn, if you and I are going to skate together, we are going to need some outside help. And that is going to include some coaching. And since my coach is no longer with us, Collier is the next best thing…he’s Coach’s son and he knows a lot about skating.”

“And about you.”

Izzy turned on him. “You two are going to get along, right?”

Quinn took another bite and chewed slowly. “I can’t promise anything.”

“Quinn!”

“Fine. Fine. I promise to get along.”

Izzy led him to the rink where Collier and Jenna were deep in conversation.

“Collier, there’s someone here I’d like you to meet.”

Collier looked over his shoulder at Quinn. “Hello, Hockey Head.”

“Hello, Singer Guy.”

“Guys!”

Quinn’s hand tightened around hers. “Come on Izzy, you can’t expect us to play nicely right out of the box. Give us a few minutes.”

“You know, like dogs,” Jenna added with a grin.

Izzy wanted to turn the hose on both of them. “Fine whatever. Look, Quinn, we need a coach, and Collier can give us a lot of pointers. So go get some skates.”

“Do you need some cash, Quinn? I know you retired guys don’t always have a lot of cash on you.”

Jenna burst out laughing, but Izzy was horrified. Quinn went to get some skates, and Izzy glowered at her old friend. “Can’t you just be nice, for me?”

“Izzy, it’s too easy. Anyone else in the world, and you know I’d be nice. But Quinn Murray? Come on! There’s just too much material.”

“Well, wait until you see him skate.”

Collier’s grin widened. “You’re right. This could be fun. So much so, I think I’ll offer you my rink as a place to practice.”

Izzy beamed. “Do you mean it, Col?”

“They don’t have hockey skates in my size.” Quinn looked uncertain. “As for practicing here, I’m not sure.”

“Granted, it’s not NHL ice, but it was good enough to train a whole series of Olympic caliber skaters.” Collier glared at Quinn. “What, you’ll only skate at the Bridgestone Center?”

“No, nothing like that.” Quinn looked surprised. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend. I meant I didn’t know if it would conflict with your other, clearly thriving business ventures for the place.”

Collier followed Quinn’s line of sight to the now abandoned concession stand. He chuckled. “You got me there. Look, it would be perfect. It’s pretty much this dead all the time, except on Saturdays.”

“Oh it would be great to practice here!” Izzy couldn’t keep the smile off her face. “Collier, you’re the best.” She threw her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. She didn’t miss the wicked grin Collier fired at Quinn. Whatever, you two.

“Mom! Mom I was just sort of looking around this place and I saw the most amazing thing…” Jenna ran up to them, breathless and beaming.

“What’s that?”

“There are pictures of you all over the place. It’s so cool! You look so young!”

“Oh thank you. Yes, now that I’m ancient, it’s nice to see what I looked like in the Dark Ages.” She turned to Collier. “You never took down the pictures?”

Collier shrugged again. “I’m gone all the time. Clearly my business partners don’t give two craps about much besides the concession stand and the rental skates.”

“Well, whatever. Quinn, do you have your skates in the car?”

“Of course, but you know they’re hockey skates.”

Izzy waved her hand. “Go get them and let’s practice!”

Quinn studied the ice. “How about a pass or two with the Zamboni first?”

“No way Studs McHockey.” Collier held up his hand. “First show me what you’ve got. Then we’ll decide if you deserve fresh ice or not.”