Page 20 of A Tiny House Christmas

A flare of anger and frustration blew through her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Kar…”

“No. No!” She smacked the side of the truck. “You don’t get to say that kind of crap to me.” She climbed back into the truckeven though he’d put it back into gear. “I have loved you since I was a kid. Since I was akid, Joey! You are not some easy shield I’m using to protect myself from the truth—the fact that I didn’t pay enough attention and screwed things up with Thomas.” She jumped out again, slamming the door, wishing she’d given him a searing kiss to seal her words and how she truly felt into his stupid, useless sense of honor-loving cowboy brain.

Karlene sat on a cold bleacher overlooking the ice rink while the Dragons performed their early morning practice before their afternoon home game. She sipped her cup of coffee despite it having gone cold over half an hour ago.

She watched the players, her mind replaying the awkward hug between her and her parents when she’d left their place, keys, purse and phone in hand, just minutes after arriving. The hug was something at least, something that made her eyes well whenever she thought about it. They were hurt, confused and embarrassed, but trying to see her side of it all.

“How’s Landon looking?” Miranda Fairchild asked, sliding into the seat beside her. The team’s owner hunched her shoulders, burrowing deeper into her wool coat.

“Hm?” Karlene sniffed back her emotions and her gaze drifted automatically to the goalie she’d rehabbed earlier in the year. “Oh, his ankle is strong.”

“How about Dylan?”

“Solid.” The center had broken his foot during training camp, another rehab case. “I expect him back on the ice for games within a month, month and a half, tops.”

“Good. I hate having these guys sitting on the bench the whole season. Thank goodness they’re insured, or I’d be broke.”Miranda smiled, looking more refreshed than Karlene might have predicted, given that the players and most of their support team had enjoyed only three days off over Christmas. Miranda, as a female sports team owner, had been getting a lot of attention in the press, not all of it good, and some days she looked simply worn out by it all.

Miranda brushed a lock of hair off her high cheekbone and Karlene gasped before her heart plummeted.

Miranda turned to her in question.

“You’re engaged?” Karlene whispered.

She hadn’t even heard the woman was dating. Then again, Karlene had been a bit busy with her own engagement leading up to last Tuesday when she’d spontaneously shredded it all.

“Dak.” Miranda’s entire being lit up in a way that awed Karlene.

She’d never felt that instant light-up feeling with Thomas. Not like that.

Shouldn’t she have? Or was it because their love had been so gradual, so expected in its progression toward marriage that there hadn’t been that element of he-chose-me-he-really-chose-me-and-loves-me! excitement some women got to feel.

“Who’s Dak?” The name wasn’t ringing any bells.

Miranda laughed, leaning her shoulder against Karlene’s. Then she stood, embracing a tall, dark man who’d joined them. “This is Dak Morisette. Dak, this is Karlene Spragg. I mean, McNaughton.” Miranda tipped her head to the side. “Did you change your last name?”

Karlene shook her head. “Still Spragg.” She shook Dak’s hand, trying to maintain a smile, hoping Miranda assumed that her remaining maiden name was about her being progressive and not the hook into a story she wanted to hear more about.

“Karlene’s the magic behind my healing injured players.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Dak said with a kind smile.

Then the two were whisked away by staff, wrapped in their own cloud of happiness, where they barely seemed to see anything beyond each other.

As it should be.

And how Karlene felt when she was with Joey.

Joey, who seemed to think she was using him.

Joey, who had kissed her.

Joey, who’d acted almost as though he was truly and deeply in love with her…

Karlene stood in her almost-empty apartment a few blocks from the rink and sighed.

“Now what?” she muttered, dropping a pair of sneakers into a cardboard box and wondering where she was going to live next. Her landlord expected her out on Monday at noon as promised, her apartment already leased to someone new. She had less than forty-eight hours to sort herself out.

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