The Irishman's Christmas Gamble
Page 9

“I never wanted to cause you pain, a stór. Never.”
That little hitch vibrated in her chest, scaring her, but she refused to flinch. “You didn’t hurt me. Our grim, stingy life did. Because I cared about you I had to let you go. We didn’t deserve to be that poor. No one does.”
His embrace tightened and she let him shelter her, from the bitter river wind, from the chattering teenagers, from the feelings threatening to drown her. It had been a long time since she’d felt protected by another human being.
“Liam Keller? Aren’t you Liam Keller, the new coach for the New York Challenge?” An excited but refined male voice shattered the moment of stillness.
Liam’s hold loosened but he didn’t release her. Instead he turned and tucked her against his side as he faced a dark-haired man wearing a ski jacket and red scarf, and holding a microphone. Behind the reporter a scruffy cameraman carried a video cam marked “WNYN News”.
The reporter held out his hand, “I’m Mark Singh with WNYN. I’m doing a local color piece on New Yorkers enjoying the snowfall, and I’d love to include you in it. Would you give me a couple of minutes of your time?”
Liam shook his hand and gave Frankie a rueful smile. “Sure thing, Mark.”
“Great! So tell us what brings you here?”
She could feel Liam gather himself before he flashed his famous smile and said, “I’m enjoying one of the simple pleasures of my new home city.” A mild obscenity sounded from the hill behind them, making Liam chuckle. “And learning some American colloquialisms.”
“You know this is called ‘Suicide Hill’? Have you been down it yet?” Mark asked.
“That we have, and a fine, fast ride it was.” Frankie nearly laughed as Liam struck the perfect balance between his Irish accent and being understood by an American audience. “We dodged all the trees and thanked God for the hay bales at the bottom.”
“And you, ma’am, what did you think of the hill?” Mark thrust the mic at Frankie.
Liam’s grip on her waist tightened, but Frankie had faced plenty of television cameras in her day. “I was glad I had an elite level athlete with great reflexes at the helm. There are no traffic rules on that slope.”
“Sounds like you’re from Ireland too,” Mark said.
“Liam and I are friends from way back,” she said with a nod.
Mark turned to the camera. “And that was Liam Keller, newly hired coach of the New York Challenge. Now we know how he spends his time when he’s not on the soccer pitch.”
The red recording light on the camera winked out, and Mark said, “I’m a soccer fan myself. Good luck with your new team.”
Liam dug into his jeans pocket for his wallet, pulling a business card out of it. “Drop me an email, and I’ll make sure you get good seats.”
“That’s a deal,” Mark said, tucking the card in his coat’s inner pocket. “Don’t break anything. New Yorkers go a little crazy in the snow.”
The reporter wandered off, trailing his cameraman. Liam stood watching, his smile still in place, until Mark was out of sight.
“Jaysus, you can’t escape the media anywhere,” he muttered.
“That’s why the Bellwether Club exists.”
“But you can’t go sledding there.” He shrugged off his irritation and nudged the sled with his foot. “Ready for another run?”
“It’s my turn to steer.”
“I thought you were happy to have an elite athlete driving for you.”
“The first time down.”
“All right then.” He grinned. “But I don’t think you want me to be lying on top of you, so we’ll do it sitting, with you in the front in full control.”
He was wrong about her not wanting him on top of her, but it was a thought she shouldn’t be having.
He pulled the sled to the lip of the slope and held it while Frankie seated herself with her feet braced against the steering bar. He sat behind her, bringing his long legs up on either side of her and bending them so his knees nearly reached her shoulders. It was like having a railing made of denim-covered muscle.
“I’m going to give us a shove so brace yourself,” he said, his voice coming from beside her right ear so the warmth of his breath feathered over her skin.
The sled slid back a few inches before jerking forward with a powerful lurch and hurtling down the slope. Liam leaned into her, so his chest was solid against her back and his arms were wrapped around her waist. But she had no time to enjoy the feel of him enveloping her, as the wind brought tears to her eyes and scoured her cheeks with cold.
The tree trunks and fellow sledders came up fast so she had to focus on weaving among them, the tree trunks more easily than the sledders because they didn’t suddenly veer in unexpected directions. But the speed! The speed was delicious, and the risk made her blood fizz with exhilaration.
The hay bales came at them, and Liam threw himself sideways, taking her with him. For a moment, she lay on top of him, laughing. “Again!” she cried.
“As often as you want.”
While they slogged up the hill with the sled, Frankie felt something in her open up, like a door allowing a sliver of light into a dark room. She reached for Liam’s gloved hand. “Thank you for bringing me.”
His fingers curled around hers as though he held a precious artifact. “You’re the reason I came.”
Half a dozen downward plunges later, Liam was lying under her and steering along the edge of the slope when a pair of teenaged boys, who were headed back up the hill, stepped out in front of them. Liam cursed a blue streak as he tried to wrench the sled away from the kids. Suddenly, the boys separated and lifted their sled up over their heads, making an arch for Liam and Frankie to pass under. As their sled whooshed through the opening, Liam gave them a piece of his mind in Gaelic. The boys cheered and Frankie laughed.
When they toppled off the sled at the bottom of the slope, Liam was still muttering about stupid, feckless teenagers.
“Come on, those kids gave us the perfect finish,” Frankie said. “A triumphal arch.” She looked up the hill but couldn’t find the daring pair in the crowd.
“Are you saying you’re done?”
“It seems the right note to end on. That and the fact that my fingers are going numb.”