A Match Made in Texas- By Arlene James Page 0,64
larger than the one in your suite.”
Sighing inwardly, Stephen put on a smile and nodded.
A mixture of modern furnishings and antiques gave the windowless family room a comfortably casual feel. A pair of overstuffed sofas upholstered in a floral pattern and a trio of comfortable chairs made the space feel homey if a bit crowded. The television was, as promised, a larger version of the one in his suite. At least fifty inches in size, the flat screen hung on the wall adjacent to the obviously well-used fireplace. Under other circumstances, Stephen would have been delighted to watch the game in such surroundings. Unfortunately, watching hockey with the elderly Chatams was every bit as bad as Stephen had feared it would be.
The sisters asked more questions than a roomful of cheeky third-graders, and their brother harrumphed over every answer and explanation. The tactics of the other team didn’t improve Stephen’s mood any, either. By midway through the second period of play, Stephen was so aggravated that he forgot himself and shouted at the television.
“Come on, ref! How many times are you going to let them interfere with my goalie?”
“Your goalie?” Hubner Chatam scoffed. “Why do sports fans always claim a form of ownership? It’s not as if you have some actual financial interest in the team, is it?”
Stephen required a moment to fully ingest that seemingly foolish assertion. “Other than the fact that they pay my salary, no, but it’s my team, so he’s my goalie.”
“You work for the Blades?” Hubner asked pointedly, his dark eyes going wide behind the lenses of his glasses.
Stephen spread a glance among the women. The sisters seemed as confused as he. Kaylie, however, looked stricken, her cheeks blotched with pink.
“I—I don’t guess I ever mentioned that Stephen is the starting goalie for the Blades,” she said to her father.
“Was,” Stephen corrected, “until I landed here.” He smacked the arm of his chair with his palm. Glancing at the TV, he added softly, determinedly, “Won’t be in this chair for much longer, though, boys.”
Hubner Chatam suddenly catapulted himself to his feet with much more speed and agility than Stephen would have judged the old fellow capable of. “You’re a professional hockey player!”
It sounded oddly like an accusation.
“Yeah,” Stephen admitted, his patience beginning to fray. “What’s wrong with that?”
The feisty right-winger of the Blades chose that moment to take exception to a cheap shot by an opposition defense-man and dropped his gloves.
“Why’d he do that?” Magnolia asked, pointing to the TV as the two skaters warily circled each other. Abruptly, the players erupted into roundhouse punches.
“Fighting with the gloves on will get you fined,” Stephen muttered. “They’re hard to protect the hands from flying pucks, so they do too much damage in a scuffle.”
“It’s all right to fight like this?” Hubner demanded.
“They’ll both be penalized,” Stephen said offhandedly, “but sometimes it’s necessary.”
“Necessary!”
“The refs can’t be everywhere, see everything. Sometimes the only way to stop something is to let the other team know you’re not going to take it anymore.”
“It’s pointless, barbaric violence!” Hub pronounced. “I’ve seen enough.”
Every head in the room turned to watch him stomp away. He was well out of sight when he bellowed, “Kaylie!”
Moaning, she closed her eyes, but then she rose and hurried after him. At the door, she paused to stammer thanks for the dinner. Then her troubled gaze met Stephen’s and she mouthed the words, “I’m sorry.”
He could only shake his head. She disappeared, and Stephen reluctantly turned back to the aunts.
Hypatia sighed and lifted her chin. “I apologize, Stephen dear. My brother’s viewpoint has become increasingly narrow in the last few years.”
Odelia shrugged and said rather sheepishly, “It is a bit shocking to old ghosts like us, this fighting. Exciting, though.”
Magnolia just wanted to know, “Did we win?”
Stephen glanced at the screen. The other team’s guy was bloody and headed for the locker room, while the Blades’ skater sat in the glass-walled penalty box, grinning.
“Yeah,” Stephen said. “Looks like it.”
“Good.” She nodded decisively.
Less than a minute later, the Blades scored the first goal of the game, and all three aunts cheered with Stephen, though Hypatia was quick to clear her throat, lift her chin and lapse into silent dignity. Too distracted to fully enjoy the moment, Stephen kept one eye on the game and another on the door.
There wasn’t much to see in either case. No one scored in the third period, so the game ended with the Blades winning one-zip, and still Kaylie had not returned. The sports