Mistletoe Bay Page 4

  The front door opened and the sound of a lighthearted argument could be heard.

  “Come on, Felicity, you can’t leave me like this,” proclaimed a male’s voice.

  “Sure, I can. Why don’t you go ask Brittany to change you into a prince.” Felicity Wright entered the kitchen like a queen. To be more accurate, like a princess. She stopped and smiled. “Hi, who are you?”

  Coop could see why Dorothy Wright was still a very attractive woman just by looking at her seventeen-year-old daughter. If girls had looked like that back when he had been in Hancock County High School he never would have headed for the sun and surf of California. Dressing up like a fairy tale princess instead of the wicked witch helped matters. “I’m Cooper Armstrong. I’m the UPS delivery guy and today I noticed the porch post out front was dry-rotted. I just stopped by to brace it up.”

  Felicity grinned at Jenni. “Did you now? How interesting.”

  He could see that his stopping by might not have been the smartest thing to do. His Good Samaritan number was about to get him matched up with a single mother of three. If that wasn’t enough to make him run screaming from the house, nothing was. “Your mother is paying me in goodies.” He held up the baked goods to prove his point.

  A six-foot-one-inch frog entered the kitchen.

  Green rubber flippers smacked the wooden floors. “Come on, babe, one kiss, and I betcha I turn into your Prince Charming,” teased Sam Fischer as he made kissy noises toward Felicity.

  Sam stopped in midpucker. “Wow, you’re Cooper Armstrong.” The frog held out a flipper.

  “Guilty, and you’re a frog.” He laughed at the green-faced teenager. This must be Sam Fischer, the smitten boyfriend. Only a teenage boy on the brink of love would be caught wearing a green rubber suit. “Have we met?” He vaguely remembered Eli Fischer, the boy’s father, from twelve years ago. Sam had been barely starting kindergarten.

  “I’m Sam Fischer, and I just might be the one to break your record.”

  “What record?” asked Jenni.

  “Most yards per pass in a season,” replied Sam. “In 1993 he ran for an average of twenty-three yards per catch. That record still stands.”

  He couldn’t believe that no one had shattered that record yet. Back in ’93 he could move like the wind and catch just about anything thrown his way. It had been a golden year. “So I take it you’re a wide receiver?”

  “Number 80, same number you wore.”

  “Sam, is he the guy from the pictures in the showcase you showed me?” Felicity popped a cookie into her mouth and stared at him thoughtfully.

  “Yep, that’s how I recognized him.” Sam seemed very impressed. “Got any advice?”

  “Don’t drop the ball and run like hel”—he glanced at Chase, who was listening attentively to their every word—“heck.”

  Sam laughed and Felicity rolled her eyes.

  “How’s your quarterback?” A wide receiver was only as good as the quarterback would let him be. He had been lucky back in high school to have a great quarterback who could throw a long ball.

  “Decent, real decent. He can hit who he’s throwing for as long as he’s not rushed.”

  “How good is your line?”

  “Getting better with each game, and they are all juniors, like me. Not too many seniors on the team, so next year we are figuring to shatter a few of those records.” Sam had that certain gleam in his eyes, the gleam that said he lived and breathed football.

  He remembered that gleam. He had seen it in his own mirror when he had been eighteen. “Maybe I’ll come by the next home game.”

  “Friday night at seven.” Sam nearly hopped with excitement. “Can I tell Coach Fellman you’ll be there?”

  “I guess, but I’ll only be in the stands.” Why would the coach care one way or the other?

  “Stop by the bench before the game starts. Coach Fellman would love to see you.”

  “How do you know?”

  “He talks about you sometimes. He saw you play when he was a kid.”

  “Fellman? I don’t remember a Fellman back in school.”

  “Bob Fellman—he was about six years behind you.”

  “Little Bobby?” He vaguely remembered a little kid who used to follow him around all the time. The kid was skinny as a post and barely broke the five-foot mark. “Who would have thought he’d become a coach.” He shook his head in amazement. “Tell him I’ll stop by.”

  “We’ll be there too.” Felicity grinned at Jenni. “The boys would love to see Sam play.”

  “Can we, Mom?” Chase joined the conversation.

  Jenni looked at her son. “Sure.”

  “I got to get going,” he said. He didn’t like the way this was going. He’d rather be double teamed than to face a bunch of matchmakers. It didn’t matter how nicely Jenni filled out a pair of jeans. “I need to unplug my extension cord from an outlet in the dining room.”

  “I’ll show you the way.” Jenni walked into the darkened dining room and flipped on the light.

  “Thanks again, Dorothy.” He felt like an eight hundred–pound gorilla in the room. “I’ll see you Friday night, Sam.” He quickly followed Jenni.

  An aged, ugly, and large light hung above the fancy table. The beautiful antique mahogany dining room set was totally out of place in the room. This was definitely the room that no one had spent a dime on. The faded, peeling wallpaper had to be at least fifty years old. The hardwood floor needed to be refinished, and he wouldn’t have trusted the light above the table. The thing looked ready to come crashing down.

  A silver tea set sat on the buffet, and two silver candelabras were on the table with a fall-themed centerpiece. Fine antique china and crystal filled the china closet. It obviously was a room the boys were kept out of. He would hate to think what Tucker would do to his grandmother’s china.

  The furniture looked like something Dorothy would treasure. She probably had inherited it from her own mother or grandmother.

  He walked to the front windows, where his orange extension cord was snaked under the screen and plugged into the wall socket. He pulled the plug and pushed the cord back outside onto the porch. “I would tell Dorothy not to be too concerned about Sam. He seems like a nice kid, and he’s obviously head over heels for Felicity.” The wooden window was a real pain to get closed. He muttered a couple of curses under his breath as he finally got it to lock tight.

  “How can you tell?”

  “He’s dressed like a frog. That says it all.” He took one last glance around the room. On the far wall there was a large, strange shape, of missing wallpaper and shattered plaster. It looked like someone had used a screwdriver or a crowbar on the paper and plaster. It was a horrible, ugly, and deep scar. It was going to take a professional to fix the mess. “What happened there?” And why was the shape hauntingly familiar?

  “Remember I told you about Tucker, a caulking tube of Liquid Nails, and Felicity’s cat, Dumb?”

  Coop stared at the wall in dawning horror. He now knew why the shape was so familiar. It was the shape of a cat. Tucker had glued the cat right to the wall!

  He muttered, “Mother of God,” as he slid down the wall, laughing hysterically.

  Chapter Three

  For a November night in Maine, the weather wasn’t too bad. Jenni had brought along plenty of blankets for herself and the boys. She hadn’t been to a football game since college. Ken hadn’t been a sports nut, but the boys seemed to be enjoying themselves, especially since their current idol, Sam, would be playing.

  So far she had had to warn the boys only three times not to be running up and down the bleachers. They already had consumed hot dogs, chips, and sodas, and the game was just about to start. She figured by halftime she would have to remortgage the house for another trip to the snack stand. Her business had better be a huge success if she wanted to continue to feed the boys during their teenage years.

  Cheerleaders, dressed in tight white, fuzzy sweaters, short blue skirts, and fles
h-colored tights, were high-kicking, screaming their lungs out, and shaking their pom-poms. They also had to be freezing their butts off. The temperature hadn’t been above forty degrees all day. Since the sun had set, the thermometer had been falling.

  Felicity, who had come with her, was sitting with a bunch of girls on the far side of the bleachers. They all seemed to be normal teenage girls, eyeing every boy in the stadium. Except her sister-in-law, who seemed to have eyes only for Sam. Dorothy thought her daughter’s infatuation with Sam was only a phase. Jenni wasn’t too sure on that one.

  Dorothy was the warm, lucky one tonight. She was at home by herself having a relaxing, quiet evening. Jenni’s mother-in-law deserved a break from the boys and the cooking. She didn’t know how she would manage without Dorothy. Raising the boys by herself would be challenging enough, but doing it while starting her own business would be nearly impossible. Dorothy was staring at the big 5-0 and should be slowing down in life.

  There were reasons women that age went through menopause, and usually those reasons had names.

  Jenni had seen signs that Dorothy might be starting the “change,” but so far her mother-in-law denied the symptoms or the possibility. There was always some other reason as to why she was opening windows and fanning herself in October. The other day she’d caught Dorothy crying over a cell phone commercial.

  Dorothy had better be starting the change, because she didn’t know what she would do if her mother-in-law was going nuts. It had been hard enough to hold herself together when Ken had been killed in the fire that had destroyed half the chemical company where he had been working. Five people had died that afternoon, including a firefighter who had been trying to rescue the workers.

  “Hey, Mom,” said Chase, “there’s Mr. Armstrong.” Chase stood up and pointed down to the players’ bench.

  She glanced down. Coop Armstrong was shaking hands with one of the football coaches. Sam was standing right beside him, beaming. Coop really had been a football player for the local high school. She had heard all about Coop and his impressive records from Sam on Halloween night. She hadn’t been too surprised. Coop certainly seemed built for the role, even if it had been over a decade ago. Coop had kept in impressive shape.

  She wasn’t blind. Nor was she stupid. She had seen that look of speculation in Felicity’s gaze the other night and the blatant attempt to set them up as a couple. Felicity knew darn well she rarely refused Chase anything, and it had been he who had asked to be taken to tonight’s game.

  It had been the first time Chase had shown any interest in sports. Usually his nose was buried in a book, or he was in front of the computer in her office. Chase was just like his father, a bookworm, and one who questioned everything. Her oldest son was one of those kids who just had to take everything apart to see how it worked.

  “Can we go down and see him?” asked Tucker, who was standing on the bench to see where Chase had been pointing. Corey, not wanting to miss out on anything, was standing beside him.

  “No, I’m sure he’s busy.” She reached up and held the back of Corey’s jacket so he wouldn’t fall. “Let’s sit down, before one of you takes a header and gets hurt.”

  “How come when Tucker took a header off the front porch, he hurt his arm and not his head?” asked Chase.

  She was tempted to tell them that Tucker’s head was as hard as a brick, but knowing her son, that would be an open invitation for him to put those words to the test. “He landed on his arm, not his head.” Thankfully Doc Sydney said it had been sprained and not broken. “Besides, the bushes broke his fall. There aren’t any bushes under these bleachers, just gravel.”

  “So he took an armer off the porch?”

  “Something like that.” Jenni tugged on Corey’s jacket until he sat.

  “Hey, Mr. Brown!” shouted Tucker, waving his arms. “We’re up here!” Tucker’s voice caused half the stadium, the entire football team, and Cooper Armstrong to glance their way.

  She felt like crawling into a hole, or at least sliding through the bleachers to the ground below. Tucker, when he wanted to, could shatter eardrums. Corey jumped back up on his seat and started waving and shouting too. Chase just grinned and waved.

  Since they were only on the third row of seating, it didn’t take Coop long to spot them. Coop and Sam both waved back. Even half the players waved back, causing quite a few people sitting around them to chuckle. She hoped the cold weather was concealing the blush sweeping up her face.

  If they had been on the very top row, where the boys had wanted to sit, maybe Coop and the football team wouldn’t have heard Tucker. But there was no way she was allowing the boys to sit way up there. Her heart couldn’t handle the stress. They would break their necks if they fell through the bleachers. Here on the third row they just might sprain an ankle. She had learned the hard way when dealing with Tucker, always err on the side of caution.

  “He’s coming! He’s coming!” shouted Tucker.

  “Shhhhh . . . Tucker, you don’t have to shout. I’m sitting right here.” She also had noticed that Coop was heading their way. Now she felt like a complete idiot. She didn’t want Coop to feel obliged to sit with them. She was quite capable of handling the boys at a sporting event, even though what she knew about football could be written on a three-by-five index card. The front side.

  Now, baseball and bowling, she understood.

  Coop chatted with a few of the locals as he made his way up to the third row of seating to Jenni Wright and the boys. He couldn’t very well ignore them, especially when Tucker was shouting louder than the perky little cheerleaders with their megaphones.

  “Hey, Mr. Brown, sit with us,” Tucker said.

  “His name is Armstrong, not Brown.” Chase rolled his eyes.

  “Boys, that’s enough. Mr. Armstrong is free to sit wherever he wants.” Jenni tugged Corey’s hat over his ears. “It’s a free country.” She smiled at him, as if to soften her words. “Sorry about this. I’m sure you already have a place to sit.”

  “As it turns out, I don’t.” Coop winked at Chase and ruffled Tucker’s hair. “Would you mind if I joined you?” He knew a lot of the locals, and the last thing he wanted to do was spend the night going over past glories and a whole list of might-have-beens.

  “Not at all.” The players from both teams were running onto the field. “But be warned, the boys will drive you crazy with questions about the game.”

  “No problem—football’s my game.” Coop sat down next to Chase on the end closest to the aisle. “How many games have you boys been to?”

  “None,” Chase said.

  Tucker tried climbing over his brother to get closer to Coop. Jenni grabbed the back of his jacket. “Whoa . . . you sit next to me.” There was no way she was allowing Tucker out of arm’s length. “Where’s your hat?”

  “In my pocket.” Tucker pouted.

  “Put it on. Your ears are pink.” All the boys had the same style beanie, but in different colors. She never dressed the boys alike; it got too confusing to keep them straight.

  “Mr. Brown doesn’t have a beanie on.”

  “His name is Mr. Armstrong, and he’s old enough to dress himself.” Coop was wearing a brown leather jacket and a New England Patriots ball cap.

  “I dress myself.” Tucker tugged on the hat and crossed his arms in protest.

  “You can’t tie your own shoes.” Chase had accomplished that feat when he had been only three and a half. “Mom still gives you a bath.”

  “Boys, stop arguing and watch the game. It just started.” She couldn’t believe Chase was bragging. Chase never tooted his own horn or ridiculed his brothers for not being able to do stuff he could. What was with him tonight? He wasn’t acting like himself.

  “How come Sam’s not out on the field?” Chase pointed to Felicity’s boyfriend, who was on the sidelines.

  “He is sharing the ball, hon. Not everyone can play at the same time.”

  Coop gave her a funny look before explaining t
o her son, “Sam’s offense, Chase. He’s the one who tries to get a touchdown. Right now the other team is trying to get the touchdown, so our defensive players are out on the field trying to stop them.”

  “Sam can stop them.” Tucker frowned at the players on the field. “Sam’s strong and fast.”

  Coop gave Jenni a smile of understanding. “I’m sure he is, Tucker. But he’s a wide receiver. That means he’s really fast, and he can catch a football. We need him to make touchdowns for us.”

  “Oh, okay.” Tucker seemed satisfied with Coop’s answer. “Mr. Brown?”

  “Yeah?” Coop didn’t seem adverse to the name.

  “What’s a touchdown?” asked Tucker.

  She covered up her laugh by coughing into her furry pink mittens. They were hideous mittens, but Corey had given them to her last month for her birthday. He had also made her a macaroni necklace strung on pretty yellow ribbon. Bojangles had eaten the necklace but left the ribbon unchewed, and it still was on top of her dresser.

  “Mom,” moaned Corey, “I have to go potty.”

  She tried not to groan. She had just taken them to the bathrooms behind the snack stand fifteen minutes ago. “Okay, boys, you heard him.” With the Wright boys, going to the bathroom was a family affair. All of them were too young to be left on their own.

  “Aw, Mom,” groaned Tucker, “I don’t have to go.”

  “We were just there,” said Chase.

  She stood up and held onto Corey’s hand. “You both know the rules.”

  “How about I watch them while you handle Corey?” Coop seemed innocent to the fact he would be left alone with Chase and Tucker sitting a good six feet above ground level.

  “I don’t know. Tucker’s awfully quick.” She didn’t want to embarrass her son, but Coop needed a warning.

  “I was Hancock High’s star wide receiver, Jenni. I think I can handle a four-year-old.” Coop looked offended.

  It wasn’t the fact that she didn’t trust Coop with her sons—it was that experience had taught her not to trust Tucker.