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Frank Talbot muttered to no one in particular, “oh Lordy,” and then said a small prayer.
Chapter Two
“So did Logan Forest ever marry?”
Billie scooped a generous helping of broccoli onto her plate and passed the bowl to her sister, Bobbi. She avoided Bobbi’s narrowed gaze and instead, topped up her wine glass before raising it in mock toast to her Grandfather.
Herschel Barker, still dressed in white coveralls and barely cleaned up from working outside, raised his glass in return and chugged his merlot like it was a mug of beer. Billie’s grin widened as she set her glass down on the table. The Barker’s would never be a classy bunch—her gaze swung back to her sister—no matter how hard Bobbi tried. And considering the three girls had been blessed with the monikers, Bobbi-Jo, Betty-Jo and yours truly, Billie-Jo, well…they’d started out behind the eight ball so to speak.
Her sister picked at the smoked salmon on her plate and turned to Billie, perfectly cut bob swishing around her chin as she slowly chewed her food, in a nice, precise, manner. Billie had no idea when this transformation from bad girl to stick in the mud had occurred, but she sure as heck didn’t like it. Bobbi-Jo had been a lot more fun the last time she’d been home.
[i]And[i], her sister was now dating Gerald Dooley, the most boring, anal man on the planet. Sure he was good looking and had boatloads of money, but ugh…he was all wrong for Bobbi. His wardrobe was as boring as he was and his back was so stiff and proper, Billie was sure something long and hard was shoved up his—
“Logan Forest?” Bobbi said slowly, as if the name on her lips was distasteful. “I thought Betty was the one who had a thing for him.”
Billie didn’t say anything, though the mention of their sister was enough to make her gut clench.
Bobbi’s expertly waxed eyebrows arched, just so, and her gaze moved to Gerald who regarded Billie like she was a visitor from another planet.
“Logan Forest will never get married. Guys like him never do. They like their freedom way too much.” Bobbi paused, her eyes narrowing so much the hazel green disappeared altogether. “But why talk about him when we can discuss this harebrained idea you have about playing hockey in the men’s league?”
Billie pushed her plate away, aware that even her Grandfather was paying attention. Herschel shoved his ball cap back on his forehead, grabbed the bottle of wine and settled in to watch the fireworks. Nothing like a good dustup at the Barker residence and when more than one triplet was in residence, there was always friction.
Except, her head hurt a little and she didn’t feel like getting into it with her sister. At least, not with Gerald Dooley staring at her like she was an idiot.
“It’s not a big deal, Bobbi. It’s hockey.”
Her sister snorted—[i]actually snorted[i]—and took a sip of wine as she tossed a ‘can-you-believe-her’ look at her [i]boyfriend[i].
“I beg to differ.” Bobbi shook her head. “I was in the salon today and it’s all anyone is talking about. Why, I had to chastise the shampoo girl, [i]twice[i], because she was so busy gabbing about you that she got shampoo in my eye.”
“I find that hard to believe,” Billie retorted.
“Well, believe it. You walked into Talbot Sports at nine o’clock this morning and by noon half of New Waterford was in an uproar.” Her sister leaned forward. “You’re not fifteen anymore, Billie. Women don’t play men’s beer league hockey. It’s just…oh God, it’s just wrong and stupid.”
Her sister’s attitude stung. She’d at least thought Bobbi would understand her need for the game. Her need to do something that mattered—something that made her feel alive. She’d been drifting without an anchor since she’d been cut from the team and sent home.
Damaged goods is what she was. Unusable. Washed up.
“She’s got a point.” Gerald inserted. “Besides, where would you shower?”
They both turned to Gerald and gave him ‘the look’, which in turn, had him clearing his throat and offering a weak grin. “It was a joke. Of course she wouldn’t shower with the men…that would be inappropriate.”
“Are you for real?” Billie snapped. This guy was
a lawyer?
“Seems to me,” Gerald Dooley tried once more, “you might utilize your time better by finding a job.” He looked at her pointedly. “I could work something out at the law firm, there might be a position coming up.”
“Seems to me…[i]Gerry[i],” Billie said sweetly, “my job situation, actually, my life situation isn’t any of your business.”
Besides, she had money set aside. Sure it wouldn’t last forever, but her agent had worked damn hard to score her a number of endorsements and she had enough to tide her over until she decided what she wanted to do with her life.
She had a lot of options, just none that appealed to her at the moment.
“Billie, you don’t have to be so rude.” Bobbi was pissed. She tossed her thick curtain of hair and the expertly straightened pieces fell like dominos across her creamy white skin. Scarlet tipped fingers gripped the stem of her wine glass so tightly her knuckles were white.
Good. Billie liked this pissed off version of her sister a lot more than the wimped out Stepford Wife she’d come home to. And the woman wasn’t even married—she glared at Gerald—[i]yet[i].
