Summer nods. “That’s exactly what you are. You’re a very valuable asset to the Titans organization, and they need you pieced back together. If you’re serious about your career and want to get back on the ice, this is your chance, so why not let me help you?”
I inhale sharply but don’t say anything else. My struggles are no one’s business but mine, and I want to keep it that way.
We reach the cabin in silence, and I pull open its door and test the lights. Everything looks normal. She might have roomed with a raccoon before, but I doubt she’d want to tonight.
I set her bag on the porch and give her a nod. “See you at dinner. Don’t be late.”
Then I turn and head back toward the house, developing a new plan with each step I take.
I’ll just have to set my attraction to her aside. She can’t stay here. And I’m going to see to that.
4
* * *
SUMMER
After spending a chilly night alone in the cabin, I dig through my duffel bag, looking for something warm to wear. A dusting of snow has fallen overnight and I’m sure the temperature has dropped. I settle on a warm fleece sweater and jeans, and then pull my hair into a low ponytail.
Last evening, I went up to the house at six and had dinner with Jillian, Grandpa Al, and Logan’s oldest brother, Graham. Logan wasn’t there, and no one said a word about him.
Jillian tried to be accommodating by bringing me into the conversation and making me feel welcome, but I still felt awkward about the entire thing. After dinner, I helped by loading the dishwasher, not wanting to eat and run, but then I got the heck out of there and disappeared into the cabin.
Les called, but I let it go to voice mail, too chicken to answer. I didn’t want him to know that I was hiding out in some remote cabin alone all night long because Logan refused to speak to me. I don’t do well with failure, but there was little I could do if Logan flat-out refused and disappeared into thin air.
I spent the rest of the evening bundled up in the cabin’s double bed, reading over the files Les had sent me. Unfortunately, they weren’t much help.
Logan was an active and reliable member of the team last season. This past summer, his father died unexpectedly, and Logan went home for a few weeks to attend the funeral and be with his family. He returned to Boston in time for training camp and performed well, so it was a shock to the team, its owner, and the coaches that he’d struggle going into the season. Those struggles led to his current and very serious suspension.
Deciding that I’m in desperate need of coffee to help warm up, I put on my jacket and head up to the house. I figure if I’m going to gain Logan’s trust, a little family recon might be necessary.
Graham only said about three words the entire evening, but Jillian and Grandpa Al are both fairly chatty. I learned that the Tate clan is bigger than I realized. After Graham came Austen, Matt, and then Logan. Apparently all three older brothers live on the property. Logan was the only one who moved away—to pursue his dream of playing hockey—but now I wonder if he feels guilty about that. With his dad gone and the rest of his family left here to run things… It’s something I’ll try to get to the bottom of while I’m here.
When I reach the house and let myself inside, I’m immediately struck by the volume of noise coming from the kitchen. It’s so different from the almost eerily silent evening I spent alone in my cabin. The sound of arguing, of loud male laughter, and someone shouting about whoever took the last cup of coffee, echoes through the house.
I pause by the door and almost consider fleeing. But that’s not me. I don’t run from challenging situations. I can do this. So I stand up taller and remove my jacket, hanging it with my scarf on a hook in the foyer.
The first thing I notice is how much smaller the kitchen seems today. It’s filled with bodies. Large male bodies. Jillian shoos someone away from the counter with a kitchen towel.
“Oh, Summer, there you are. I was worried we’d have to send a search party out into the woods.”
“Good morning,” I say, noticing that Logan is seated in the formal dining room with his grandfather.
I’m introduced to Austen—who seems quiet and observant, and Matt—who looks most similar to Logan, though he offers me a warm smile. Graham quietly focuses on his breakfast, a big plate of fried eggs and several strips of bacon.
Graham is even more stoic than he was last night. He’s taller than the others by maybe an inch or so. But all four of the Tate brothers share a lot of the same features. They’re broad and muscular with dark hair and darker stubble. Bright blue eyes framed by thick eyelashes and big, rugged hands.
“I’m making another pot of coffee. Give me two minutes,” Jillian says, dumping coffee beans into a countertop grinder.
I nod. “Anything I can do?”
Jillian presses the button on the grinder, and it whirs to life. She shakes her head in response to my offer for help.
My gaze roams the kitchen. The breakfast table has been turned into a pastry station. It’s covered in flour, and a large lump of dough and a rolling pin are sitting there waiting for Jillian’s return.
I make myself useful and begin drying dishes so that I don’t do something incredibly stupid like ogle all four brothers. It’s already embarrassing enough how much Logan’s presence seems to affect me. My stomach tingles with nerves, and my hands feel clammy every time I’m around him.
In the adjoining dining room, the breakfast conversation is loud.
With wide eyes, I take in the scene before me. There’s arguing, and laughing, and bacon being stolen from a plate, and one brother slapping another upside the head . . . it’s a lot different from what I’m used to as an only child. My life is quiet, and so to be thrust into the middle of this is a little disorienting.
“Austen, grab the lady a chair, would you,” Grandpa Al says from the other end of the table.
Austen hops up, momentarily abandoning his own plate of eggs to fetch me a chair from the breakfast table, and carries it over to the larger dining table. He sets it down next to Logan, who still hasn’t acknowledged my presence. Okay, that’s awkward.
Standing uncomfortably in the doorway, I’m not sure how to feel, but I shoot Grandpa Al a grateful look. He stabs a sausage link with his fork and goes right back to his breakfast.
Jillian steers me by the shoulders toward the breakfast table. “Sit. Eat something.” She places a mug of coffee in front of me.
I open my mouth to protest, but she shakes her head with a firm look. “You’ve done enough already. Besides, we can’t spoil these boys too much, or they’ll never leave my house and go off and find themselves wives.”
At this, Matt, who’s seated beside me, chuckles. “I’m not in the market for a wife, Mom.”
“And how could you be when they all leave your bed after one night?” Austen says with an eye roll.
Matt grins and lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “Plenty of satisfied customers, though.”
“For goodness’ sake, behave, boys,” Jillian says, handing me a clean plate.
I fill it with two strips of bacon and a blueberry scone.
“A truly satisfied customer would be a repeat customer,” Grandpa Al says from one end of the table.