Mel was pushing her feet gingerly into the figure skates Kevin had given her, so Dan knelt at her feet and began to help her lace up.
“I could probably do this myself,” she said. He imagined she was trying to grumble, but her voice came out kind of whispery, and she was looking at him with wide eyes.
So he finished lacing her up, never looking away from her gaze. “Could you?” He tightened the laces, clipped them into the stays, and then tied them off. “Stand up, Ms. ‘I Can Tie My Skates.’”
She looked anything but certain as she slowly lurched to her feet, and then she wobbled, grabbing on to his arm. “I don’t like this.”
“Yeah, that’s kind of fun to see. Something you can’t handle.”
“I can handle it just fine.”
“Then let go of my arm.”
She straightened her shoulders, steadying herself, and let go of his arm, chin in the air. Until he gestured to the door to the ice and said, “After you.”
Then she wrinkled her nose and looked at her feet, but this woman was not ever going to let him think he’d won or had the upper hand, even when he did.
She wobbled and oh so carefully edged her way all the way to the door to the ice, clutching on to it like a life preserver.
“It’d be easier if you let me help.”
Something changed in her posture. He wasn’t sure if it was a slump or a straighten or what. It just all kind of changed, and he wondered what was going on in that head of hers. Some fear of anyone offering help?
“I’ll be all right.”
“Of that I have no doubt.” She’d find a way to be all right. There was a little pain right at the center of his chest, and he wasn’t sure why. Wasn’t sure he wanted to know why.
She hobbled all the way to the opening to the ice, and then looked uncertainly back at him. “You go first.”
He inhaled, the cold air in his nose, the smell of ice, wet and crisp. Everything he loved in one smell. Everything he loved in the give of the ice under his blade, the way it cut through. He took a few strides, slowly gaining speed as he rounded the curve of the rink.
Everything inside him lightened, floated away. All his problems, all his worries, everything. That whisper he always felt, always remembered. Dad putting him on the ice after Mom had handed him off, needing a “break.”
Your troubles don’t matter here.
And they hadn’t, for nearly thirty years. On the ice, his troubles melted. He gave himself a second in the straightaway to close his eyes, breathe deep, and when he opened them…
Mel was standing there in the opening, holding on to the plexiglass, watching with those wide, serious eyes. He didn’t feel like serious, not in his peace. So he came to a sharp stop in front of her, spraying her with ice.
She scowled. “Not cool. I thought you were going to run into me!”
“Not going to run into you.” Instead, he grabbed her by the waist and plopped her onto the ice. She bobbled and held on to him for dear life.
Which was possibly a little bit of what he was going for.
“I can’t…”
“Did Mel Shaw, the famous hard-ass rancher, just say she can’t?”
“Don’t third person me, Sharpe.”
“Don’t Sharpe me, Shaw.” He took her by the hands, possibly getting a little entertainment out of the grave concern on her face. Once an asshole, always an asshole. He placed them on his hips. “Hold on,” he instructed, turning around so he could pull her. “Just keep your feet under you and stay balanced. And whatever you do, don’t lean too far forward on the blade.”
“Why not?”
He started to skate slowly, pulling her behind him. “Toe pick.”
She snorted. “Oh my God, you even did it in her voice. Why do you know lines from The Cutting Edge? Were you a teenage girl in the nineties?”
“No, I was a hockey player in the nineties, thank you very much.”
“Did you secretly want to be a figure skater?”
“I’m going to let you go to fall flat on your ass, or that pretty face of yours.”
Her hands gripped his hips tighter. “I’m not going to fall.” But she said it through gritted teeth, all determination, no bravado.
“Hold on now, I’m going to turn around.”
“But—”
He didn’t let her argue, just turned around carefully so she always had a hand on him for balance, and he could see and critique her form. He skated backwards, giving her a few pointers until she was able to take some slow but steady strides of her own.
She was so focused, brows drawn together. Slow as hell as he all but skated laps around her, but it was amazing. Fun. Peaceful.
“How do I stop?” she asked as he was about to pass her again. He swiveled so he was skating parallel to her, but backwards.
“Show-off,” she muttered. “How do I stop though?”
She’d built herself up to a steady pace, but every time she didn’t stride, she started to wobble.
“You just stop.”
“That is not an instruction!”