The Parent Playbook (Love on Thin Ice)

8. Scotty

CHAPTER 8

SCOTTY

H er phone is still talking from her pocket when she absent-mindedly takes it back out. She flips it around and finally disconnects the call.

Who does that?

Who scams a children’s charity that is working to make children’s lives better? While one of my hands is curling into a fist, the other takes the phone from Angel’s hand.

She’s shaking.

My fist uncurls. The poor thing, for all her boldness and confidence … she’s struggling.

“This can’t be happening.” She puts her head in her hands and shakes it gently back and forth, and I’m torn between wanting to take her in my arms and wanting to hunt down this scum-of-the-earth contractor and teach them a lesson. The afternoon at Happy Horizons Ranch is winding down, the shadows lengthening as a few groups of kids bustle onto buses, but this drama has only just begun.

She sighs. “I have to make a call.”

I hand her the phone but feel like I have to watch over her. She’s fragile, and with the pressure she’s under, I want to be here. I have the sense she needs it .

Angel paces back and forth near the barn, her frustration obvious as she ends another call. I catch bits and pieces—enough to piece together that the financial mess is bad.

“Perfect timing with the hockey players and billionaire benefactor,” she mutters, her fingers drumming against her thigh. She looks at me, so much innocence in her eyes that my heart breaks. “Why would they do this?”

I lean against the wooden fence, as she shakes out her arms and rubs her face. “They probably thought with the big names involved, you’d be flush with cash.”

She scoffs, a sharp, bitter sound. “Flush with problems, more like. Before it was just the Charities Program, but now I don’t know how I can be ready in time for the visit from Zach Hart and the journalists.”

“How can I help?” It’s a relief to think I can do something more than only be a listening ear. “What needs doing around here to keep things rolling?”

She stops her pacing and pulls out a neatly printed list from her folder, holding it like a shield. “I had this ready for the contractors. I can tackle it myself tonight,” she adds quickly, her voice steady but her eyes betraying her stress.

I take the list from her, scanning the detailed items—everything from fence repairs to plumbing fixes. “Let me help with this, Angel. I can’t swing a hammer like these contractors, but I can make sure you have what you need to get started.”

She hesitates, and I can see her pride battling with practicality. “I appreciate it, Scotty, but I can handle?—”

“Come on,” I interrupt gently. “Let me run to the hardware store. It’ll save you some time, and I’m pretty good at shopping. I happen to know the difference between a flathead and a Phillips-head screwdriver. Can you believe it?”

Her lips twitch into a reluctant smile. “All right, Scotty. Thanks.”

We walk together toward the main house, the gravel crunching under our boots. “So, what’s first on this hit parade of ranch disasters?”

She points at the top of the list. “Fences are up first. Goats think they’re escape artists.”

“Got it. And after that?” I ask, pen ready to jot down notes.

“The plumbing in the guest cottages. The water pressure is less of a waterfall and barely a trickle,” she explains, a hint of humor finally breaking through.

As we reach her office, she turns to me, her eyes wide. “Really, Scotty, I don’t know what to say. With everything else going on, and being let down by thieves, the fact that you—a stranger—would lend a hand …”

She chokes up, blinking her eyes even as she lifts her chin high.

“No problem, Angel,” I assure her, feeling a swell of protectiveness. “And hey, if those goats give you any trouble, let me know. I’ve been known to wrangle a few hockey players in my day. How different can it be?”

She laughs, the sound genuine and lighter than before. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

As I head to my truck, I glance back to see her watching me, a thoughtful look on her face.

Heading to the hardware store from Happy Horizons Ranch, I get wrapped up in the cozy, small-town feel of Maple Falls. The roads twist and turn in no hurry at all, lined with maple trees showing off their fall colors. I roll down the truck window to let in the cool air, and it brings with it the smell of leaves that have just hit the ground and a hint of wood smoke from someone’s stove heating up for the night.

As I pull into the hardware store parking lot, the gravel crunches under my tires, a sound that’s quickly becoming as comforting as the crack of a puck hitting the back of the net. I hop out, and the bell above the door jingles cheerily as I step inside, instantly hit by the smell of sawdust and paint—a hardware store’s perfume .

I’m browsing the aisles, ticking items off Angel’s list, when I hear a voice that’s as sharp as a fresh skate blade.

“Well, if it isn’t one of our new hockey folks!”

I turn around to see a woman of a certain age, petite and feisty, measuring me with her eyes.

“Scotty MacFarland,” I say, extending my hand. She shakes it firmly, tilting her head to the side as her short gray hair bounces.

“Call me Mrs. McCluskey. Because that’s my name and everyone in this town knows it. Strange to see a sportsman in the store doing such ordinary things … What would bring a star to our little hardware store?”

Pretty sure I’ve just met the mayor of rumor city.

“Picking up some essentials to help out Happy Horizons Ranch,” I say, keeping my tone light, my answers vague. “You know, the glamorous life of hockey extends beyond the rink—fixing fences, battling leaky pipes. Might trade my stick for a wrench at this rate.”

Her eyes narrow over her glasses. I don’t think she’s buying my story. “That’s quite a shopping list for simply some basic repairs. Something big going on we should know about?”

“Nah, all the excitement is on the ice,” I reply, steering a cart filled with everything from lumber to plumbing supplies. I have a feeling I should be very careful with everything I say to this lady.

Mrs. McCluskey nods, though it’s clear she’s cataloging every piece of information for future use. “Well, we’re all very curious about your team and the excitement you’re bringing to Maple Falls. Happy Horizons is lucky to have you all.”

Ah, small towns.

Everyone knows everyone, and news travels faster than a slapshot. It’s cozy, familiar, but I can see how it weighs on someone like Angel, who’s fiercely guarding her privacy while juggling the pressures of keeping Happy Horizons afloat. In a town where everyone’s watching and whispering, she’s standing on her own. It inspires me even more to give her a hand, not just because it’s the neighborly thing to do, but because she deserves a team behind her.

Now more than ever, Maple Falls feels like more than a stopover.

Dusk is settling in by the time I roll back into Happy Horizons Ranch, my truck’s bed a jigsaw of building supplies. I kill the engine and step out into the quiet of the night. The only light comes from the barn.

The crunch of gravel underfoot feels loud in the silence as I approach, drawn by the faint sounds of activity inside the barn. The rhythmic thud of a hammer punctuates the stillness, mingled with what could be quiet sobs.

My stomach drops.

Peering into the barn, I’m momentarily taken aback. Angel, clad in a practical ensemble of denim and flannel, is completely absorbed in her task. She drills into a wooden beam, her focus absolute, and it’s clear she has no idea I’m here. Stray wisps of hair escape a loosely tied bun, framing her face in a wild halo that glows under the single bulb’s soft light.

Her concentration, the set of her shoulders, the way she wipes away a stray tear with the back of her hand—I am transfixed.

I clear my throat, and she nearly jumps out of her skin, the drill clattering to the ground.

“Scotty! You scared me,” she gasps, a forced laugh that doesn’t quite hide how she was feeling a moment ago.

“Sorry about that. Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.” I step fully into the barn. The smell of sawdust and oil fills the air, grounding and real.

Out of nowhere, four hoofed feet come charging at me and I have to take cover.

“Edgar!” Angel shouts with an outstretched finger. “Calm down!” She rushes over and grabs the goat—who is remarkably nimble for such a big goat—and pulls him back seconds before he was going to … to do what? I don’t know what goats do when they attack. “Sorry, he’s protective.”

“And he’s right.” The barn looks like a bigger mess than it was before. “Looks like, um, you’re making some headway here?”

She sniffs subtly, swiping at her eyes with the heel of her hand as if I might not notice. “Yeah, it’s a disaster. But it can only get better, right?”

“Right, sure.” That did not sound right nor sure. “I’ve got the stuff in the truck but … mind if I help?” Lily is with Doug and his family for the night, and a quick text would make sure she’s covered until morning if necessary. “Two heads are better than one, especially if one of them knows a hammer from a screwdriver.”

She sniggers, the sound more genuine this time, though she’s quick to retort. “As long as you don’t ask for my banking details, we should be fine.”

I pick up the drill she dropped, checking it for damage before I continue. “Actually, I was thinking of starting on that leaky roof section over there. That way, you won’t have to swim to feed the horses after the next storm.”

Her smile flickers. “That’s very knightly of you, Sir Scotty. Just don’t expect a damsel in distress to swoon at your feet.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

She’s a spitfire, this woman. And I love it.