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It also made him hot.
Not that he could do anything about that right now. Instantly, his brain filled with images of how they could take advantage of the bed without jarring his arm. It would require a little athleticism on Tracy’s part. If she climbed up and positioned herself...
Stop! What was wrong with him?
He shifted, hoping she wouldn’t notice his distraction. “I’ll be fine once I can get out of this bed. Even better once they let me go home. At least I don’t have to wait on Physio to sign my discharge papers.”
“Can I do anything to help?”
His mind zipped back to the fantasy he’d had only moments ago. Crap. That wasn’t what he needed to be thinking about. Embarrassed by his one-track mind, he replied more harshly than he intended. “What do you mean, ‘help’?”
“I don’t know. Anything you need doing for you at home? Whatever will make life easier while you’re not able to do much for yourself.”
“You’re kidding,” he snapped. Her offer scraped his already sore ego. He hated feeling helpless. Useless. That’s all he needed—Miss Freaking Superwoman feeling sorry for him and treating him like an invalid. “I’ve been in hospital less than twenty-four hours and you’re already touting for business.”
Tracy reared back as if he’d hit her. “That wasn’t what I meant at all.”
“Yeah, right. I know you—Making Your Move is all you think about. Well, I’m not going to be a guinea pig for your new services. You’ll have to find some other way to get the Ice Cats interested.”
“Where the hell did that come from? I never mentioned my company or my services.” Tracy pushed the chair back and stood. Hurt darkened her eyes. “I was trying to be friendly. I should have known better.”
Ike knew he’d made a big mistake, but couldn’t bring himself to back down. “Come on, you’re not telling me you wouldn’t have offered me a special discount?”
“Actually, I’d have helped you for free.” Her tone was icy. “I’d have done whatever you needed out of the goodness of my heart.”
Way to go, numb-nuts. What’s your next trick?
He opened his mouth to apologize, but she held up her hand to stop him.
Tracy stalked to the door. She reached for the knob, but instead of turning it, she marched back to the bed. She then took a glossy brochure out of her purse and slapped it down on the bedside table. “I might as well get hung for a sheep as a lamb. Should you require any assistance during your recovery, this is a list of the services Helping Hands provides. Feel free to call and make an appointment and I’ll see if I can fit you in.” Her lips twisted. “Assuming I’d even accept you as a client. One of the perks of being the boss is that I get to choose who I work for.”
It was a good thing hospital doors didn’t slam, though Tracy closed it with enough force to show that she was pissed—as if Ike hadn’t already got that message. Even injured, he couldn’t do anything right with Tracy. Made him wonder why he kept trying.
* * *
WORK DIDN’T PROVIDE its usual distraction. Tracy finally had admitted it to herself after reading the same document three times and not taking in a word. She tossed down her pen and headed downstairs to the kitchen.
She’d been a fool to visit Ike this morning. Why hadn’t she listened to her inner voice when it had yelled that she was making a huge mistake the moment she’d walked into his hospital room? Or when it had kept yelling, as her heart had softened at the sight of him asleep, his body so still, his arm heavily bandaged and immobilized from shoulder to fingertip. The beeping monitors and IV drip had made him seem vulnerable. What harm could sitting with him for a few minutes do?
She grimaced as she stuck her mug of stone-cold tea in the microwave to reheat. Those few minutes had stretched to half an hour. She’d kept telling herself she’d leave as soon as he awoke. But when he’d finally begun to surface, he’d been so restless that Tracy had been worried he might hurt himself. Though she was relieved that she’d been able to soothe him, she’d felt awkward and a little foolish once he was fully conscious. Especially as he’d been more or less his normal self—if a little grouchy.
His horrible accusation had shocked Tracy because she’d always thought that despite their differences, he’d at least respected her. How could he believe that turning his injury into a business opportunity would ever cross her mind? Knowing that he thought her capable of such heartless behavior had really hurt.
When had things between them deteriorated so badly?
Could it be fixed? She may not want to marry Ike, but would like them to be able to have a conversation where they weren’t ripping each other apart.
As Tracy was contemplating whether a truce was possible, Carla walked into the kitchen.
“Is there a reason you’re not answering your phone?”
Tracy frowned, confused. “No. Why?”
“Callum Hardshaw’s assistant called me when she couldn’t get ahold of you.”
Reaching into her pocket for her mobile, Tracy remembered that she’d turned the phone off when she’d visited Ike. She turned on the phone to see several missed calls from clients, including the Ice Cats.
“Bloody hell. Is there a problem?”
“No. She just wanted to know if you’d stop by and see Mr. Hardshaw when you go to the Cats’ offices later.”
“I wonder why now. Maggie and I have been trying to get an appointment with him since his appointment over the summer, but he always fobs us off with one of his underlings.”
Carla shrugged. “His assistant didn’t say there was an issue. Maybe he wants to congratulate you on doing a great job.”
“Hmm. Somehow I don’t think so. He isn’t one to waste time with praise for doing what you’re supposed to.”
A little unnerved by the GM’s request, Tracy headed back up to her office and did a quick review of the current Ice Cats projects, even though she knew there weren’t any issues. Everything was running on or ahead of schedule. Making Your Move had even come in below budget on several recent projects.
Oh, well. She’d find out what this was about soon enough.
It felt weird to walk into the Ice Cats’ headquarters that afternoon. Tracy’s eyes were drawn to the team photographs that covered the walls of the reception area. It was as though Ike’s face was highlighted in each one, from the posed annual pictures to the familiar celebratory photo from a few years back of the team sprawled on the ice around the Stanley Cup.
It was stranger still to be part of a meeting as Cats’ management discussed the measures they’d be putting in place for Ike’s absence. Her role was to ensure that the goaltender they wanted to bring up from their AHL affiliate was where he had to be on time and had a place to stay. She also had to make sure the contingency plans could be put into action smoothly and quickly, as required. Tracy couldn’t help feeling guilty. As if somehow she were being disloyal to Ike.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she muttered to herself as she walked down the long corridor toward the offices. “It’s all part of the job.”
About that, at least, Ike would be pragmatic.
Tracy was shown into the GM’s office straight away. She didn’t pick up a bad vibe about the meeting, but she was still on her guard.
Callum Hardshaw rose to greet her, smiling. He was a smartly dressed, big man, with graying hair and a broad face. The scar that bisected his jaw was the only visible sign that he’d been a player himself, though only in the minor leagues.
“Good to finally meet you.” He shook her hand. “My staff has told me positive things about your company.”
“Thank you. That’s always nice to hear.” Tracy took the seat he indicated.
“I appreciate your making time to see me today. I’m taking the opportunity, now the season’s fully underway, to meet all our suppliers. While I’m not a hands-on manager, I like to have a clear understanding of how things operate in my organization.”
“Of course,” Tracy said politely. Hardshaw’s tone and body language were genial, but she still didn’t relax. “What would you like to know?”
“Tell me about your company and how you came to be working for the Cats.”
As Tracy explained what Making Your Move did, she sensed she was being evaluated more closely than the casual conversation might suggest. Hardshaw seemed particularly interested in her other clients and the kinds of projects she did for them. Naturally, she didn’t reveal specifics, but gave him a general picture. He made a point of his approval that she didn’t work for rival teams in any sport, in order to avoid any conflict of interest.
“I understand your sister is married to Jake Badoletti.”
“That’s correct.” She deliberately didn’t say anything further, waiting to see if the GM would make an issue of it.
He didn’t, moving on to the projects she was currently working on. Yet Tracy filed away the fact that he’d raised it for future reference.
“I understand you’d like us to consider your new service, Helping Hands.” Hardshaw pointed to the brochure on his desk. “How do you think it could benefit our organization?”
Pleased by the opportunity to pitch directly to the GM, Tracy sat forward and told him about the kinds of things they could offer: from employing and managing household services, to grocery shopping. She used the Chabals as an example and offered Glen as a reference.
“I see.” Hardshaw steepled his fingers and tapped them against his chin. “Given how much business we do with you, isn’t this a service that should be included for free?”
Now the negotiation started. Tracy smiled. “Naturally, we value your business highly, which is why the Ice Cats already get a number of extras thrown in. In the case of Helping Hands, we feel the returns far outweigh the investment.” She went on to explain not only the benefits to the players, but also how Helping Hands could be used to offset player bonuses.
The interest he showed in that particular argument made her wonder if there were financial issues she wasn’t aware of. Professional hockey was an expensive business.
The meeting ended shortly after. As she walked back to her car, Tracy couldn’t shake the feeling that there was another, less pleasant reason behind Hardshaw’s questions. She wasn’t naive; relocation was a competitive market and there were a number of good companies who could provide the same services she did. That was why she and Maggie worked hard to ensure Making Your Move provided added value with every project. And why it was vital that Helping Hands was successful.
Losing the Cats’ business would be a major setback. Not just financially, but for her longer-term goals. Without the turnover from the Cats, she’d drop way down the market rankings. She wouldn’t let that happen. Not when she was so close to cracking the top three, at last.
Even though she’d had no specific indication that the contract was under threat, it never hurt to be prepared. That, after all, was how she’d made her company a success. Time for a contingency plan of her own.
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_020f8c9a-c4cc-55d4-97c5-5fd4ecf0cef1)
GAME DAY. THE RANGERS. In our barn. Bring it on.
For a few seconds, when Ike awoke, his heart pumped fast as adrenaline shot through his body. Then reality sank in. He wouldn’t be strapping on his pads or lacing up his skates. He was stuck in this freaking bed, just as he had been for the past couple of days, unable to do anything—not even take a piss—without supervision and assistance. Hell, the only thing similar to a normal game day was that he’d taken a nap this afternoon.
This sucked. It didn’t help that the wall clock was opposite his bed, so he couldn’t avoid seeing the time. Four o’clock. His teammates would be arriving at the arena for their pre-game preparations. He could visualize the locker room: equipment laid out in each player’s stall; crisp, clean sweaters hanging on pegs. He could practically hear the grinding of skate blades being sharpened and smell the acrid aroma of heated sticks.
Ike’s chest squeezed as he imagined Kenny and JB cracking terrible jokes, Mad Dog and Blake arguing over what music to play to pump up the team, and Jake and Scotty swapping stories about their kids. Coach Macarty would be scrawling key points for the game on the large whiteboard at the front of the room, while Patrick “Beefy” DuBoeuf, the goaltending coach, would be going through last-minute notes with the Cats’ number-two net-minder—Chaz “Monty” Montgomery.
Ike had to restrain himself from reaching for his phone to call and add his own advice. Not that Beefy would forget anything, but this was an important game and Ike had more experience than anyone at facing their cross-river rivals. He hadn’t missed a game against the Rangers in more than a decade and his record against them was strong.
Monty could handle it—he was a solid goaltender—but he didn’t know the opposition as well as Ike. Although they trained together, reviewed video and discussed players and tactics, being theoretically well versed wasn’t the same as having hands-on experience.
Truth was, the only person Ike wanted between the pipes for the Cats was himself.
Get over yourself! The guys would cope without him.
Doesn’t matter if they can’t. They have no choice.
Just as Ike had no choice.
Like it or not—and he sure as hell didn’t—he wouldn’t be minding the net for months.
He tried to cross his arms across his chest, but only succeeded in bashing himself with his cast. Pain shot through his arm, setting his teeth on edge.
Why hadn’t he listened to the trainer’s advice about his protector? Ellis had warned that Ike was taking a big risk every time he went out onto the ice. The padding was wearing thin, so Ike had felt every puck that bounced off the snow leopard’s head on his sweater. With the speed that some of those guys fired shots these days, it had stung. More often than not he’d had the bruises to prove it.
But Ike had kept putting off replacing his protector. Finding new gear, then wearing it in was a pain in the ass. Plus he felt uncomfortable changing something that worked for him. Not because of superstition, really, but to be practical. He’d figured one more season wouldn’t hurt. How’s that working out for you, dumbass?
“A positive mental attitude is half the battle when it comes to healing.” Dr. Gibson strode into the room. “I’m not seeing much of that in here.”
Ike’s smile felt like a grimace. “Yeah, yeah. Happy, happy. When can I get out of here?”
“The answer won’t change just because you keep asking me.” The doc examined Ike’s arm, pressing gently in various places. “When I’m sure you’ve healed enough for you to be able to move around without doing any damage. A couple more days. Enjoy the rest and the great food.”
Dr. Gibson’s cheery tone bugged the hell out of Ike. “Can I at least get out of bed?”
The surgeon made some notes on Ike’s chart. “Assuming you don’t develop any problems, you can get up tomorrow. But I want you to take it very easy.”
As if he were going to start a street hockey game in the hallway. “About time. I’m sick of staring at these damn four walls.”
“From what the nurses tell me, you’ve had plenty of visitors.”
Ike knew he was lucky so many people had stopped by—his family, his teammates, the back-room staff. The problem was that after asking him how he was, nobody knew what to say. The guys hovered uncertainly, looking guilty every time they mentioned hockey. “I hate lying here doing nothing.”
“I know it’s frustrating but it’ll be worth it. The more care we take at this stage of the process, the quicker you’ll be able to get back to normal activity.”
“So you keep telling me.”
“Then maybe today you’ll listen.” Dr. Gibson clicked his pen and shoved it into his shirt pocket. “Have you figured out what you’re going to do when you go home? You know you won’t be allowed to drive or do anything with that arm for at least a month. No lifting, no carrying, no holding, no exercise—nothing that might risk reinjuring your arm.”
Ike shrugged. “I’ll work something out.”
“You can’t take this lightly. I’ll want to be sure you can cope before I discharge you, so I’ll expect to see what arrangements you have in place. I don’t want to have to get the Ice Cats management involved, but I will if I think you’re not taking me seriously.”
“I won’t do anything to jeopardize my recovery, Doc. Trust me. The occupational therapist has already been to see me and I have a list a mile long of what I need to do before I go home.”
“That’s what I like to hear. Nothing warms my heart like a model patient.”
Once the surgeon had gone, Ike puffed out a frustrated breath. Now what did he do? There was nothing worth watching on TV and he was tired of reading and playing games on his iPad. A few more days of this and he’d be certifiable. The evening stretched out ahead of him like a desert. There wouldn’t be any visitors tonight since everyone would be at the arena. He hadn’t made up his mind whether or not to watch the game. He wanted to support the guys, but it might be too painful.
“You’re looking better today.” Ike’s mom bustled into the room, followed by Rory.
She rushed forward, then halted abruptly by his bed, as if unsure how to hug him without doing any damage. Ike sighed inwardly. She’d done the same thing each time she’d visited.
“I won’t break, Ma,” he said gently.
Karina looked anxiously at her husband, waiting for his encouraging nod before wrapping Ike in her arms. Her familiar scent—a combination of sugar and spice from baking and apple from her perfume—warmed his heart.
“Your mother made your favorite.” Rory set a bag on top of the bedside cabinet. “Enough baklava to feed the entire floor.”
“That’s great. Thanks.” Ike hugged his mom with his good arm.
She kissed his forehead, as if he were still a small boy. “Food is the best medicine. Make sure you don’t eat it all. Let your nurses have some, too.”
“But there won’t be any left if I let them near it.”
“They deserve a reward for putting up with you, boyo.” Rory patted Ike’s right shoulder.
“I’m sure he’s been as nice as gold,” his mom said earnestly, though there was a twinkle in her green eyes.
