Page 38 of A Rancher's Love
Tucker kept an absolutely straight face. “I’m comfortable.”
Emma’s feet slipped from under her and she landed on the ice with aplop. Caleb reached for her, glancing over his shoulder. “Carry on with your day. I’ve got people to skate with.”
Back on the other side of the ice, Tucker wondered if the blades of his skates were actually touching the ground. That was the simplest job interview he’d ever had in his life. Damn, did he ever appreciate a straightforward man like Caleb. Tomorrow he’d get things straightened away with his work at the stables.
Today was time to play.
A loud whistle sounded from the far side of the open rink. All the hockey players meandered over, standing in a loose semicircle around the silver-haired black man who looked them over with amused satisfaction.
“I’m Malachi Fields. I’m the man who’ll decide whether a goal is legal or not—”
“Seriously? Pond hockey with a referee?” This from one of the volunteer firefighters.
“You’ve obviously never played with us before,” Luke drawled. “Consider this only half a notch below the Stanley Cup.”
“We take our hockey seriously,” Dustin said.
“I hope you skate better than you dance,” another man shouted.
Dustin had just taken part in a community fundraiser, and now he twirled on the ice then threw his arms out in a good-natured gesture. “Enough jabbering. Pick the teams.”
Luke and one of the lead hands, Alex Thorne, were named captains. Tucker tried to store away the names being called out, but it went fast and furious. In the end, he was on the same team as Luke, Dustin and Dustin’s friend, Shim.
Somehow, Ginny ended up on the opposing team.
Action was fast from the first moment, the puck flying down the ice and only occasionally disappearing out of bounds past the snowdrifts piled up as a boundary of the cleared ice.
Tucker got a breakaway and sprinted down the rink, ready to flick the puck at the man in the net when something the size of a Mack truck barreled into him from the side.
Tucker slid all the way across the cleared ice and into the hardpacked snow on the edge.
Bradley Ford, the fire chief he’d been warned about, skated over and held out a hand. “Sorry about that.”
Tucker grinned as he grabbed the other man’s wrist and used it to get vertical. “No problem. Keep your stick on the ice.”
Yeah. One step below the Stanley Cup? Nowhere near as technically fine, but their enthusiasm and determination were definitely up there. The puck moved so rapidly at times, it seemed there might be more than one on the ice.
“Hey. Who threw the extra pucks on the ice?” Dustin roared, which made Tucker laugh for all the wrong reasons.
Especially when Ginny went zipping past, stealing the puck from under her brother’s stick and heading straight for the net. Only Shim got in her way, and the two of them went down in a heap.
She laughed as she got to her feet, but Shim definitely lingered in her area a little too long for Tucker’s liking.
The next time the puck started moving and Dustin and Shim made a pincher move on Ginny, Tucker decided it was time to change tactics. Ignoring the net completely, he skated after his own teammates, casually elbowing Dustin toward the rough bit of ice at the very edge of the rink.
“Hey. We’re on the same team,” Dustin complained, frantically working to keep vertical.
Tucker turned and skated backwards, raising his hands in mock apology. “Sorry.”
He glanced over his shoulder, planning his trajectory.
Ginny slapped her stick against Shim’s. “Don’t make me get mean,” she warned.
“Give me your best shot,” the kid said with far too much innuendo. “I can take it.”
The puck headed straight toward the three of them, Luke shouting Tucker’s name.
With a breezy air of competence, Tucker shifted his stick at the last second so that the puck slid off, straight to Ginny. In the next instant, he plowed into Shim, mass and momentum sending them both flying until they toppled into the snow at the side of the rink.
