“WHAT’S WRONG WITH ME?” Tracy muttered as she spooned food into two cat bowls.
Moppet, the more sociable of her black cats, replied with a meow.
Poppet licked a white-tipped paw and washed one of her pricked ears.
“It’s crazy,” Tracy continued. “I can handle any other man, except Ike bloody Jelinek. Whenever I’m near him, he winds me up and I do something stupid.”
With impeccable timing, Moppet hacked up a hairball.
Tracy laughed as she cleaned up the mess. “Maybe tossing coffee on him was a tiny overreaction.” She held up her thumb and forefinger to show a small gap. “But it annoys me that there’s one rule for his career and one for mine.”
Despite Tracy’s determination to marry someone completely different from her father, she’d ended up with his twin—only with a more polished veneer. She’d left home at eighteen and headed to Manchester, where she’d waitressed by day and studied business by night. Hank Turner, a visiting academic from New Jersey, had been one of her lecturers. She’d fallen hard for the charming American, marrying him within weeks. It had taken much longer to realize her mistake.
At first, Tracy had overlooked the warning signs, attributing them to the difficulties of adjusting to life in New Jersey. It had taken Hank’s affair to rip the blinkers from her eyes. To Tracy’s chagrin, she realized she’d become exactly the kind of acquiescent wife she despised.
Poppet head-butted Tracy’s ankle, reminding her to hurry up with her food.
Tracy put the bowls down and the two felines dived right in. “Why do I still let Ike get to me? Why can’t I ignore him?”
Because he was a hard man to ignore. His presence, even when he wasn’t speaking to her, sent that delicious hum through her. The problem was he always did something to turn that hum into a jarring buzz.
When they’d first met, his charm had swept her off her feet. His gentlemanly manners and serious nature were rare in a business full of inflated egos. And their physical connection had sizzled. A touch, a look, a smile and they’d been all over each other like sex-starved teenagers. Ike had treated her as if she were special, both in bed and out. It was only later that his courtliness had begun to feel controlling. Caring suggestions had become polite demands. Compliments about her work had sounded more like criticism.
When Ike had asked her to give up her house and move in with him, she’d panicked. First her house, then her business, then her self-respect. Terrified that history would repeat itself, she’d refused. That final argument had been brutal; the bitter words they’d each said were still a thorn in her heart.
Trying to escape the memories, Tracy went upstairs to her office on the middle floor of her Victorian and sought refuge in work. But as she waited for her computer to power up, her mind went back to Ike.
That he still couldn’t understand that her company was more than just an income for her had confirmed that she’d made the right decision. Making Your Move might not keep her warm at night, but it enabled her to sleep soundly—secure in the knowledge that the only person who controlled her life was her. Good or bad, success or failure, she made the decisions. When Making Your Move was number one, she’d have proved to everyone who’d doubted her that she was strong and capable on her own.
Speaking of which, the sooner she got the paperwork to Glen, the quicker he’d sign. Tracy pulled up the Bridgers’ proposal document and began to make the changes she and Glen had discussed.
She’d just emailed him the revised copy when she looked at the clock and saw that it was already after eleven. Surprised it was so late, Tracy suddenly remembered her mother.
Damn it. Tracy had been so wrapped up in work, she’d forgotten to call her. She grabbed the phone.
Doris Hayden answered after a dozen rings. “Do you know what time it is?”
Tracy puffed out a frustrated breath. “I’m sorry, Mum. But...”
“You know I don’t like calls after ten.”
Actually, that had been one of Tracy’s father’s edicts. Despite his death eighteen months ago, her mother still clung resolutely to every blasted one. Ordinarily, Tracy would have challenged this, but she wasn’t in the mood for a row that would only rehash ground they’d covered many times before.
Especially as she’d already had one of those tonight.
“Congratulations,” she said with determined brightness. “You’re a grandma again.”
“Maggie had her baby, then?”
“A gorgeous boy.” She filled her mother in on the details. “Jake took loads of pictures and he said he’ll email them to everyone in the morning.” Before her mother could complain that she didn’t know how to use the computer—Dominic Hayden hadn’t seen the point in his wife learning—Tracy added, “I’ll print them off for you and pop them in the post.”
“I won’t get them for a week.” Her mother sniffed. “I don’t know why you girls have to live so far away.”
No. She never had.
Tracy tried to head off the waterworks she knew were coming next. “Both Jake and I offered to pay for you to come over here. I can still book you a flight.”
“I don’t like to fly by myself. Can’t you come over and get me?”
Tracy gritted her teeth at the pathetic tone. “I’m sorry, but I can’t get away right now. We can organize a car to pick you up at home and someone to help you through the airport. Then we’ll meet you when you land.”
“I couldn’t. It’s too much on my own. And Maggie and Jake won’t be able to fly to England until the summer. I’ll miss out on seeing Emily and Joe for so long.”
That’s when the tears started, her mother’s usual ploy for getting her own way.
Tracy held firm, even when Doris Hayden hit all the guilt-trip hot buttons. Tracy was emotionally wrung out by the time her mother gave up and hung up on her.
Unfortunately, she was also too wired to sleep. Tracy had a glass of wine, hoping that would help her relax, then went to bed. She tossed and turned for several hours. Finally, she admitted defeat and rose. After making a large cup of tea, she went back to her office and focused on the one thing she knew would settle her mind—work.
* * *
IKE WASN’T AS superstitious as most goaltenders, but he knew it was a bad sign to fall flat on his ass in the pre-game warm-up before he’d even made it to his crease.
He jumped up and made a show of poking at a nick in the ice, then called for a water bottle from the bench.
Kenny brought one for him, laughing. “I was expecting a freaking crater the way you wiped out, bro.”
Ike let his brother’s comment slide. He knew Kenny was excited to be back in the lineup after having been a healthy scratch again for the past week’s games. Kenny had only played once—the night after baby Joe’s birth—before Coach had benched him again. The rationale had been that they’d needed one of the tougher fourth-line guys in Kenny’s place for the harder, more physical games, against those opponents. Facing a younger, faster team tonight, Kenny had earned his place back.
“Do you need salt to throw over your shoulder?” Jean-Baptiste Larocque added as he joined them. “We don’t want to start the game with bad mojo.”
Ike flicked the bird at the star forward, then poured water into the divot. “Nah. No bad luck involved. I must have caught it funny.”
Jake skated