Puck Love Page 4

  “Um . . . okay.” I make a face and then shoot him an apologetic smile. “Well, sorry.”

  “Not yet, but you might be.” Van slowly looks me over, in much the same way that I look at chocolate. “I haven’t decided how you’re going to make it up to me yet.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “The playoff beard is not to be trifled with.”

  Emmett chuckles. “It’s not a playoff beard if you’re not at the playoffs, dumbass.”

  “Emmett, shut the fuck up. You know it takes me all season to grow the beard in.”

  I give him a smirk of my own. “It’s because of your baby face, isn’t it?”

  “You know you’re really ungrateful for someone whose life I saved.”

  I give a scoffing laugh. “Oh my god, you’re serious?”

  “Hell yes, I’m serious. Have you seen outside? You’d be a popsicle right now if I hadn’t pulled you from your vehicle to warm you up.”

  “Well, thank you for saving my life.” I use air quotes around the last three words of the sentence because I’m almost one hundred percent sure he’s exaggerating. “But I should probably be going.”

  “But it’s Pancake Sunday.”

  “Pancake Sunday?”

  “Yeah, every Sunday lunch is Pancake Sunday. Right, Emmett?”

  “Right.” Emmett has returned to his seat and shovels more of the breakfast food in his mouth.

  “What? Americans don’t do pancakes for lunch on Sundays?”

  I shake my head. “Not usually. We mostly eat lunch foods for lunch.”

  Van covers the plate in his hand with the spatula. “Shhh, don’t worry, baby. She doesn’t know you like I do.”

  I can’t help but laugh, and this earns me a wink. He shoves the plate at me, so I have no choice but to take it. “Go sit your ass down, Hart. You can’t go anywhere without soaking up some of that alcohol from your bloodstream.”

  I give him a tight smile.

  “You hear that, Emmett? The girl whose picture you jack it to every night is gonna be your lunch date.”

  I blanch and stare at Van in disbelief.

  “Shut up, fucker! God, Van you’re such a child.” Emmett grabs an apple from the bowl on the table and throws it at his brother. Van plucks it from midair and takes a huge bite, grinning like a fool. I’m not sure what kind of crazy I just walked in on, and I don’t know whether to laugh or go running for the hills. “Such a dick.”

  “Love you too, brother.” He points his spatula at me. “Syrup’s on the table, babe.”

  “Er . . . thanks.”

  Emmett slides the syrup towards me. It’s then that I notice there are three bottles of the stuff. One half gone in front of Emmett, another at the place setting opposite him and one right by me. Okay. I knew Canadians liked their syrup but this is . . . different. “That’s your bottle,” Emmett says, as if I’m lacking common sense.

  “Do I need my own bottle?”

  Emmett and Van just stare at me, and then Emmett shakes his head and Van goes back to flipping pancakes. Okay then. Guess that answers that.

  Van comes and sits opposite Emmett and dumps a quarter of the bottle of his syrup on the plate before cutting up the pancake and shoveling it in his mouth. He chews a couple times but doesn’t bother finishing his food before he says, “So, Stella Hart.”

  “Van . . .” I pause. “It’s Ross, right?”

  “The one and only.” He shoves more pancake onto his fork, and I go back to studying my plate to avoid seeing his half-masticated breakfast as it rolls around inside his mouth. “What brings you to Banff?”

  I’m not sure if he just sneezed or not so I say, “Bless you,” anyway.

  “Emmett, you didn’t tell me she was one of those Hillsong types.”

  “Hey, I ain’t a Hillsong anything. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”

  “Right, except for the fact that you can’t have sex before marriage.”

  Guess he has me there, but judging by the smirk he throws my way and the barbed comments in his bedroom, I’m betting he already knew about my seriously lacking sex life. Why wouldn’t he? I’ve made a habit of letting the entire world know about my virgin status. I even have a club. Which was certainly not my idea, but something my earliest label had pushed on me because I’d been a seventeen-year-old girl when I’d hit it big. The longer I had schoolgirls, college students, and even parents contacting me to say that they appreciated the positive message I was putting out, the harder it became to move away from that. And so, I became the official poster child for never giving it up before marriage. I’m not opposed to it exactly, but I sure wish the tag line of ‘virgin’ didn’t follow me everywhere. There is more to me than the squeaky-clean image my label puts out, but no one wants to know about that Stella. That Stella Hart isn’t someone who ran out on a stadium full of fans.

  “She’s blushing.” Emmett laughs. It’s true. I am blushing. Heat scolds my cheeks and I close my eyes because the butterflies are filling up my insides again, their wingbeats fan the flames of that familiar burn in my chest. They cram together, vying for room, smothering my lungs, stealing my breath.

  “Em, ease up.” Van grasps my hand on the table top. His is sticky, but warm. “You okay?”

  “Uh-huh.” I retract my hand from beneath his and fold it in my lap. I can’t breathe. I tug at the shirt collar as a cold sweat breaks out across my forehead and my cheeks turn to flame.

  “Is it hot in here?” I glance at the fire and then at the glass bi-fold door on the other side of the room leading out to a deck. “I need air.”

  I shoot back from my chair and stand. My head swims. I really can’t breathe. Van takes hold of my arm and guides me over to the door. I yank on the handle but it doesn’t come free. “How do you get this fucking thing open?”

  “Hey, it’s okay. Give me a second.”

  “I can’t breathe.”

  He unbolts the top and bottom of the door, and it slides back with a blast of icy mountain air. It hits my cheeks, but it isn’t enough so I continue onto the deck. There’s actual ice on the boards, and I slip. I might have gone down in a heap, but Van is there to catch me. I look up into his blue eyes and whisper, “Why can’t I breathe?”

  “I don’t know. You’re okay though. Just big, deep breaths. That’s it, country.” As I breathe deeply of this clean mountain air, I notice three things. First, Van’s arm is wrapped around my waist. His hands have somehow found their way under the hem of my shirt and are pressed firmly to the flesh of my lower back and abdomen. Two, my feet are so cold it’s painful. And three, I’m not panicking anymore, but staring up into that pretty, pretty face.

  “There she is,” he murmurs, as if he isn’t talking to me at all.

  I exhale, and my breath actually fogs. “I think I’m okay now.”

  “Sure?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Well, clearly you don’t need any caffeine, but you want a water or something?”

  “Why are you being so nice to me?”

  “Because it’s what we Canadians do—be nice.” I frown and shoot him a look of disbelief. “What? You thought you southerners were the only ones who held that title? Oh, Canadians will have you beat at every turn. And not just with niceties. We kick your ass in hockey, too.”

  I roll my eyes and follow him inside where I sit by Emmett again. He glances at me, and I feel a twinge of embarrassment when he says, “Does it get loud in your head, too?”

  “Loud?”

  “All the noise.”

  “Kind of, yeah.”

  “Me too. Van’s good at making the loud go away.”

  “Yeah. I can see that about him.” I nod and glance at the man in question. He’s smiling as he runs the faucet and fills my glass. His eyes meet mine, as if he can sense my gaze on him, and they narrow as if he’s trying to figure out what I’m thinking.

  Oh, if he only knew.

  How is a guy like this still single? He’s gorgeous, apparently a g
ood Samaritan, successful—if those pucks lining the mantel and the size of this house are anything to go by—and it’s obvious he loves his brother.

  So why is Mr. Perfect all alone here in this mountain home? I bet he has a girlfriend—a perfect perky-boobed great-assed girlfriend who just about slays him in the sack.

  It would figure that I would run away, find a man who comes pretty damn close to being Mr. Right, and everything would be oh, so wrong.

  After lunch, I hand Stella a jacket that’s miles too big, and she dons a pair of my brother’s gumboots as we venture outside. Emmett and I show Stella around the property. There isn’t much to see this time of year but white powder dusting the ground and trees, but I think she likes the air anyway because I catch her shutting her eyes and gulping in deep breaths. When her lips are turning blue, we head back inside. She stands by the fire in my den, and I make her a hot tea. It’s that herbal shit my mother drinks, but she doesn’t seem to mind.

  “Stella, you want to play air hockey?” Emmett waggles his brows at her.

  That sly bastard. I shake my head, marveling. My brother has a way of getting the ladies to do whatever he wants in a way that I just can’t. Unless, of course, it involves getting a woman naked and on a first name basis with my cock.

  “Oh, I don’t really play . . .” she peters off, glancing at me as if I’ll step in and give her an out. Sorry sweetheart, but I’m not crushing my baby brother’s hopes and dreams of hustling his favorite super star. She gives me a pointed look. Which, of course, I ignore. “Besides, I need to get going.”

  “Why don’t you play while I call for a tow truck?”

  It’s a Sunday—Tim’s Towing isn’t open today. Emmett knows this, but Tim’s a friend, and Sunday or not, he’d make an exception for me. As I meet my brother’s gaze, I fully expect him to blow my cover, but he just grins and insists that she hurry up.

  “Okay, just a quick match,” Stella says, following him to the game room.

  They wind up playing the best of six, and Stella loses all but one game. I’m sure the first two she gave to him, but once she realized she was being hustled she actually tried to beat Em. I probably should have warned her, but I guess my hesitance comes from wanting Emmett to beat the low expectations that people set for him because of his disability. My brother is just as competitive as I am, and many women have been fooled by his appearance. I love that he constantly shocks everyone around him. He constantly shocks me. And I live with the guy.

  “So, did you call?” Stella asks.

  “Call who?” I glance up absently from my phone.

  “The towing place.”

  “Oh, right, yeah. They’re not open.” Again, I tense, waiting for my brother to put his foot in it, but he just chuckles and lines up the puck on another game.

  “What do you mean they’re not open?”

  “It’s Sunday. Nothing’s open on Sunday.”

  “But . . . I have to get back.”

  “Roads are closed.”

  “What?”

  “Apparently there’s some damage after the storm.”

  “I don’t understand. Didn’t you get through just this morning?”

  “Yeah, but there’s been a shitload more snow fall since then,” I say, as if this is a given. “Looks like you’re stuck in the country, country.”

  “I can’t stay here.”

  “Where exactly do you plan to go?”

  “I was trying to find the Fairmont . . . something.” She furrows her brow and snags her bottom lip with her teeth.

  “The Fairmont Banff Springs. You’re fresh out of luck, babe. It’s on the other side of the mountain, and in this weather, the only way to get there is to climb over it and down the other side, which should take her what, Emmett? Like two days?”

  “Yeah, ’bout that.”

  “Say, I know this is crazy, but why don’t you stay here for a bit?”

  “What?”

  “Well, you did crash into my mountain, and shaved off part of my beard, and I did make you pancakes. The least you could do is be polite enough to stay for dinner.”

  “And breakfast,” Emmett chimes in.

  “I just met you.”

  “And you’ve spent a record ten hours here without either one of us attempting to murder you. Come on, Stella. It’s not like you have many options, other than to freeze to death out there on your own.”

  “Okay, fine, but I’m not sleeping in your bed again.”

  “For the record, I put you in my bed so I’d keep you from losing your limbs to frostbite. I may have fallen asleep afterward, but it’s only because you’re such a great cuddler.”

  She folds her arms in front of her sweet rack. “I thought you said you put your clothes back on, and didn’t peek once?”

  “Busted,” Emmett says.

  “I meant this morning.” I grin, and I can tell by her exasperated expression that I’m losing her. “Come on, country. We’ll even put you up in the east wing.”

  “We have an east wing?” Emmett says, looking confused.

  “The guest rooms at the other end of the house, Em.”

  “But that’s not where you make the puck bunnies sleep when you have parties. Eli told me.”

  “Okay, let’s play that game where we zip our lips and stop airing all our big brother’s dirty laundry in front of pretty strangers.” I smile tightly. Jesus, way to throw off my game, Emmett.

  “I’m just being honest,” Emmett deadpans. Sometimes I forget how literally my brother takes everything.

  “I barely ever have parties.”

  “Right.” Stella smiles, but it isn’t friendly, and I swear to god, my dick is hard in three seconds flat and seeking her out like a missile. Locked and loaded. When I found this woman by the side of the road, it wasn’t my intention to keep her, but damn if I’m going to let her go without having a taste.

  “Well, I guess if I have nowhere else to go you should show me to your room.” Her eyes widen, and she shakes her head. “My room. Not your room, because that’s where you sleep.”

  “I don’t mind snuggling again, especially if it’s naked snuggle time.”

  “Knock it off, Van,” Emmett says, and I shrug. Can’t blame a guy for trying.

  “Come on,” I say to Stella. “I’ll show you to your room. It’s right down the hall from mine in case you decide you can’t sleep without your snuggle buddy.”

  Her responding glare threatens to burn a hole right through me, but I know she wants me. Even if she hasn’t yet figured that out. She will, and I have every intention of making that little songbird sing.

  I stare around the dark room. It’s too quiet here. I’m so used to the sound of a tour bus and the rocking as I doze off that it takes me a while to get used to the whole stationary-sleeping thing. I can’t get used to the quiet, or the cold, for that matter. Van offered to light the fireplace in my room, but I didn’t think I’d need it with the mountain of blankets he gave me. Turns out, I know nothing about Canada. Or how to keep warm. Though I guess that’s not quite true. I could always heat things up by climbing into bed with the scorching-hot NHL player down the hall, but I’m not sure that would send the right impression.

  I have to do something, though, because I am freezing. My teeth chatter so loudly I’m surprised the noise hasn’t woken everyone up.

  I throw back the covers and discover it’s far too cold to go without them, so I wrap the blanket around me and open my door. Van’s bedroom sits at the opposite end of the hall, and it’s as if I can feel the body heat radiating off him through the closed door. I take a few steps toward his room, but I can’t do that. I can’t go and climb into a complete stranger’s bed just to keep from freezing. Instead, I head toward the den. The light from the fire draws me like a moth to a flame. I scurry down the stairs and plonk myself right in front. Slowly, the flames begin to thaw me from head to toe.

  Moments later, I’m beginning to drift off, sitting upright. I pull the blanket tightly around my
body and lie on the floor. A clamor from outside jolts me awake and I shoot up, preparing to run, terrified someone’s going to break in. There’s a scratching noise, followed by a guttural growl. A large shadow covers the window. I take a step toward it, thinking it must be a fallen tree branch but it turns around and stares me straight in the eyes. A huge muzzle opens, the beast unleashes another roar, and the window rattles. A hand slips over my mouth so I can’t scream, and I stumble back into a wall of muscle.

  “Shh. You’ll scare Smokey. He probably hasn’t even seen you yet, but he can hear you, and he can likely smell you,” Van whispers.

  “You have a pet grizzly bear?” I say once the monster with the enormous claws steps off the porch with a huff.

  He chuckles. “No, he just comes by every season to see what he can scavenge. I’ve never seen him this late in the year, but bear sightings are more frequent when we have an unseasonably warm fall. Emmett sometimes leaves food out deliberately. I don’t think he understands that Old Smokey there could break down our door and tear us both to shreds in our sleep. I haven’t had to put a bullet in him yet, though, thankfully.”

  “Who? Your brother or the bear?”

  He chuckles. “The bear. Come on, I’ll switch on some outside lights and he’ll head off.”

  “Oh my god, why did I have to pick Canada to get lost in?”

  “You want something to drink?” he says, as he moves through the house. I keep my eyes firmly glued to the naked chest as he walks on ahead of me so I don’t stumble on anything.

  “Do you have hot cocoa?”

  He laughs. “Ah, country. You’re like a breath of fresh air.”

  “What?”

  “I meant something alcoholic.”

  I shake my head. “Hell no. I am not touching another drop of hard liquor ever again.”

  “It’d warm your insides and put hair on your chest.”

  “I’m not sure a hairy chest is really the type of look I’m going for.”

  “No, I don’t suppose it would be. Besides, it’d be a shame to cover those up.”

  “Excuse me?” I say incredulously and hide my boobs by crossing my arms over the goods.