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Chapter One
Frank Talbot was minding his own business, tending the store that had been in his family for three generations when he realized, that in fact, the world as he knew it was about to end.
The moment had started innocently enough, with the tinkling of the bell above the door. He’d pushed back his small round glasses, set his morning newspaper aside, and smoothed the salt-and-pepper hair that curled crazily around his ears. A quick glance at the clock beside his till told him it was five minutes past nine.
A man steeped in tradition, Frank narrowed his eyes upon his first customer of the day and smiled. It was the first Saturday in October, hockey season was getting underway and it was going to be a good day for Talbot Sports. He could feel it. The wife would be happy. His till would ring. And every man knew that a happy wife was a good thing.
Of course, that was before Billie-Jo Barker waltzed into his store and stirred up one heck of a hornets’ nest.
Billie walked into Talbot Sports with no agenda other than looking after the blown inside edge on her favorite pair of skates. What she hadn’t expected was to turn New Waterford on its head. But, being one third of the Barker triplets counted for something, and Lord knows one of them was always in the thick of it. With her sister Betty-Jo off in the Islands doing God knows what with God knows who, and her other sister Bobbi-Jo knee-deep in respectability these days, she supposed it was fitting that the mantle of troublemaker should fall to her shoulders.
Billie nodded to Mr. Talbot and placed the skates in front of him. The old man was a legend in town and had pretty much outfitted every single kid who’d ever played hockey, soccer, or baseball. A hockey player himself back in the day, he’d nearly made it to the pros until a bad car accident had taken not only his dream, but his right leg.
“Billie! I heard you were back from Europe.” His blue eyes crinkled in the corners and his mouth settled into a gentle curve. The man never aged and had looked to be in his late fifties for as long as Billie could remember.
She saw the kindness there, the warmth…and something else that softened his features even more—a certain kinship for another soul whose dream was shattered way too soon.
“I got back a few days ago.” Billie tucked a strand of inky black hair behind her ear and shoved her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. She didn’t like to talk about Europe, Sweden in particular, or the concussion that had ended everything.
The old man stared at her as if expecting something more.
“I, ah…I’ve been lying low.”
“Oh,” Mr. Talbot looked startled. “Of course.” He grabbed the skates and cleared his throat. “How’s your Dad doing?”
“He seems fine.” Which was a total lie.
Mr. Talbot glanced at her sharply, over the rims of his glasses. “Uh huh…and your grandfather? I’ve not seen Herschel in a few weeks.”
Billie smiled. “He’s good. Busy with his beehives and well,” she shrugged. [i]Babysitting[i].
“I see.” His gaze lingered and Billie thought that maybe Frank Talbot saw all too well.
She glanced around. “Wow, the place hasn’t changed at all.” Rows of hockey gear hung down the center of the store, while the wall on her left was filled with sticks in various lengths and colors. Skates and helmets were to her right, while the offseason stuff—baseball, lacrosse, and soccer—were tucked away in the back.
Mr. Talbot chuckled. “Yes, I’m not much for change, or at least that’s what Mrs. Talbot claims.” He ran his finger down the blades. “These need sharpening.”
Billie nodded. “The left one in particular. I blew the inside edge the last time I was,” her voice caught and she cleared her throat. “The last time I was on the ice.”
“All right then.” Talbot grabbed the pair and headed toward the back of the store where he kept his sharpening machine. “I won’t be more than a few minutes.”
Billie watched him go and sighed, her gaze shifting to the wall behind the till. Her chest tightened and her heart sped up so quickly she felt her cheeks flush hot. Framed pictures and articles covered the entire area, many of them starring none other than herself. She was—or rather had been—New Waterford’s golden girl, though she supposed that crown was something she’d never wear again.
From the time her father had first put a pair of skates on her feet, she’d excelled. She’d never wanted to figure skate like a lot of the other girls, or play ringette either. Hockey had been her thing right from the beginning. It was common consensus among most, that if she’d been born with a set of balls, she’d be playing pro in the National Hockey League. As it was she’d signed a contract to play on a professional men’s team in Sweden, one of four women allowed to play in the league. The hockey wasn’t as aggressive as North America, but the skill level was impressive.
[i]Hockey Phenom[i].
That’s what they had called her.
What an ironic twist that in fact her hockey career had ended because a six foot tall Swede with the same lack of balls between her legs, had taken Billie out in the corners—a bad hit from behind—and the subsequent concussion had pretty much ended Billie’s hockey career.
She’d represented her country in the Olympics twice, played competitive hockey in College before leaving for Europe and yet here she was. Back home in New Waterford.
A has-been at twenty-four.
Billie moved away from the till and walked over to the sticks. She stood there and stared at the colourful display until they blurred into a mishmash of color. Until the bell tinkling above the door grabbed her attention and she immediately tensed. She was sick of running into people and seeing their looks of pity. Just the day before Joanne Fenmore had clucked over her like a damn mother hen when she’d ran into the Mini-Mart to pay for gas.
[i]“Oh dear, you look pale. Sure you don’t want to sit for a bit?”
“No. I’m good Mrs. Fenmore.”
“But you don’t look well, dear. I don’t mind. I’ve a Lazy Boy in back and Wheel of Fortune just started.”
“Honestly, I’m good. I was up until four this morning watching The Walking Dead marathon. I look like crap because I’m tired…not because I’m brain damaged.”[i]
Billi
e winced at the memory and reached for one of the sticks nearest her, the red one with black flames down the side.
“Barker? I heard you were back in town.”
She froze and made a face. She knew that voice. Knew that nasally rasp that made her skin crawl. She sighed and swore under her breath. [i]Really?[i] She had to deal with Seth Longwood this early on a Saturday morning? Why did it [i]not [i]surprise her Longwood was still in New Waterford…and still living with his parents no doubt.
[i]Not that I’m any better off[i].
“Hey Seth.” She didn’t turn around but glanced toward the back of the store hoping like hell Longwood would just leave her alone. He’d been a thorn in her side through most of her teenage years. A year older than her, he was a local who’d had a lot of talent on the ice—just not nearly as much as Billie had—and he’d resented the hell out of it.
He was a grade A asshole then, and she doubted he’d changed.
The buzzing of the blade against stone told her that Mr. Talbot wasn’t done with her Bauers.
Billie’s hand fell back to her side and she sighed. Shit. She may as well get this over with.
She turned around and froze when she spied not only Seth, but a second man.
Seth looked just as she remembered. His pimples were long gone, though they’d left some deep pockmarks on his cheeks. But the wide nose, broken more than once, big brown eyes, bushy eyebrows and thin sandy hair that hung across them were the same. At a few inches under six feet he was shorter than the man beside him, but built like a brick wall. He was a modern day Neanderthal.
It was the other man who stood a few feet away that had her standing like a damn mannequin, with nothing to say and a scared as shit expression on her face.
Logan Forest.
[i]Tall, dark, handsome as sin, Logan Forest.[i]
Like fine wine, he’d only improved with age.
