A Match Made in Texas- By Arlene James Page 0,61
sure which. He still remembered that pretty blonde’s eagerness and the secret heartache and tawdry disappointment he’d felt when she’d casually moved on to the next guy. He’d kept it light ever since. Concentrating on hockey had seemed the saner course for a lot of reasons. He found nothing light or casual about his feelings for Kaylie Chatam, though—and the two of them were so far from dating that it was sadly laughable.
He looked at himself in the bathroom mirror, critically taking his own measure. Teeth clenched, he smiled and turned his head to check the false teeth filling the upper and lower gaps in the side of his mouth to be sure that they looked natural. Getting one’s teeth knocked out was a given in hockey. Cosmetic dentistry loved the sport.
Having managed to shave himself from his chair earlier, with the hand mirror propped against a stack of books, Stephen now tackled his hair with a damp comb and the minimal use of his left hand.
The hair was a problem. He simply had too much of the stuff. It was so thick that he had long ago developed the habit of shaving his head at the beginning of every season and then at the end of it visiting the barber for a good styling, which he kept neat until the beginning of the next season. That way, he didn’t have to make time for visits to the barber during the season itself. Several other players used the same system, including a few on his own team. This year, however, the entire Blades lineup had decided, as a gesture of unity, to hit the ice for game one as bald as chicken eggs and not to cut their hair again until the season ended. Like him, they were all looking pretty shaggy about now. He solved his problem by combing the whole mess straight back from his brow and allowing the ends to curl at his nape. That, he decided, tweaking his open collar, would have to do.
Aaron had obligingly driven down that morning with a change of clothing for him, the result being softly pleated, slate-gray trousers and a loose, pearl-gray silk dress shirt that perfectly matched his eyes. With the cuffs left open and rolled back, the sleeves of the shirt were loose enough to accommodate the cast on his arm, but the outside seam of the right leg of his slacks had been carefully split to the knee by Dora. He wore these with dark gray socks and a matching leather belt.
Hobbling back to his chair, a task made surprisingly easier by the absence of the jacket sling, he wondered if anyone would appreciate all the trouble he had gone to in an effort to make himself presentable. Chester said not a word one way or the other as he pushed Stephen to the head of the stairs. Leaving the chair there, they managed the descent, Chester under Stephen’s left arm and Stephen supporting himself with his right hand on the stair rail.
He sat in the massive front parlor with the Chatam triplets, flirting shamelessly with all three of them when Kaylie and her father arrived. His heart pounded with ridiculous fervor at the sound of the opening door in the foyer. Two voices called out.
“Sisters?”
“Everyone?”
“In here,” Odelia trilled, fluttering her hanky as if they might spy it through the wall. She was dressed this evening all in ruffles, from the creamy pale pink of her soft blouse and skirt to the garish hot-pink of her shoes and earrings. Where she got such outlandish earrings he didn’t know, but these resembled quarter-sized leather buttons, each surrounded by a stiff leather ruffle, the whole being the size of a silver dollar.
Kaylie led the way, her step brisk as she entered the room. Her hair, Stephen noted immediately, hung down her back in a straight, silken fall. Only belatedly did he realize that she wore saddle-brown leggings with a sleeveless turquoise-blue tunic, the neckline cut straight across the shoulders. Neat drop earrings, each composed of a single turquoise stone the size of a thumbnail, and simple turquoise-colored flip-flops completed the ensemble, the most fetching, in Stephen’s opinion, that he’d seen her wear. He barely had time to take it all in when her father stepped into the room, paused as if to get his bearings and blatantly zoned in on Stephen.
This Chatam was a slender, gangly, pot-bellied older man of medium height with absurdly white, bushy eyebrows and thinning,