that his smile was too pleasant for a man with such intense hazel eyes. He was too big, too handsome, and his neck was too thick. She didn’t like him.
“I’m so glad you were able to join us today,” Georgeanne said as she let go of Hugh’s hand, then she introduced the two men to Mae.
John and Hugh said hello at the same time. Mae, who wasn’t as good at hiding her feelings as Georgeanne, managed a smile, sort of. It was really more of a lip twitch.
“This is Mr. Miner, and you remember Mr. Kowalsky, don’t you, Lexie?” Georgeanne inquired, continuing with the introductions.
“Yes. Hello.”
“Hi, Lexie. How have you been?” John asked.
“Well,” Lexie began on a dramatic sigh, “yesterday I stubbed my toe on the front porch at our house, and I hit my elbow really hard on the table, but I’m better now.”
John shoved his hands up to his knuckles into the front pockets of his jeans. He looked down at Lexie and wondered what fathers said to little girls who stubbed their toes and hit their elbows. “I’m glad to hear you’re better,” was all he could come up with. He couldn’t think of anything else, and so he just stared. He indulged himself and watched her as he’d wanted to since he’d first realized she was his child. He looked into her face, without layers of lipstick and eye shadow, really seeing her for the first time. He saw tiny brown freckles dusting her small, straight nose. Her skin looked as smooth as cream, and her plump cheeks were pink as if she’d been running. Her lips were pouty like Georgeanne’s, but her eyes were his, from the color to the lashes he’d inherited from his mother.
“I have a kite,” she told him.
Her dark brown hair fell in curls from beneath a denim hat with a big sunflower sewn on it. “Oh? That’s good,” he uttered, wondering what in the hell was the matter with him. He signed trading cards for kids all the time. Some of his team members brought their children to practices, and he’d never had any trouble talking to them. But for some reason, he couldn’t think of anything to say to his own child.
“Well, it’s a lovely day for a picnic,” Georgeanne said, and Lexie turned away. “We’ve put together a little lunch. I hope you gentlemen are hungry.”
“I’m starved,” Hugh confessed.
“What about you, John?”
As Lexie walked toward her mother, John noticed grass stains on the back of her denim dress. “What about me?” he asked, and looked up.
Georgeanne walk around to the opposite side of the table and looked over at him. “Are you hungry?”
“No.”
“Would you like a glass of iced tea?”
“No. No tea.”
“Fine,” Georgeanne said, her smile faltering. “Lexie, will you hand Mae and Hugh a plate while I pour the tea?”
His answer obviously irritated Georgeanne, but he didn’t particularly care. He felt the same as when he had pregame jitters. Lexie scared the holy shit right out of him and he didn’t know why.
In his life, he’d faced some of the toughest enforcers the NHL had thrown at him. He’d had his wrist and ankle broken, his clavicle snapped like a twig twice, and he’d had five stitches in his left eyebrow, six on the right side of his head, and fourteen to the inside of his mouth. And those were just the injuries he could recall at the moment. After recovering from each incident, he’d grabbed his stick and had skated back out onto the ice, unafraid.
“Mr. Wall, would you like a juice box?” Lexie asked as she climbed onto the bench.
He looked at the backs of her skinny legs and knees, and he felt as if someone had elbowed him in the gut. “What kind of juice?”
“Blueberry or strawberry.”
“Blueberry,” he answered. Lexie jumped down and ran around the table to a cooler.
“Hey, Wall, you should try these salmon asparagus things,” Hugh advised, stuffing his face as he moved to stand across from John and next to Georgeanne.
“I’m so glad you like them.” Georgeanne turned toward Hugh and smiled, and not the phony smile she’d given John either. “I wasn’t sure I’d sliced the salmon thin enough. Oh, and be sure that you try the baby back ribs. The plum barbecue sauce is just to die for.” She glanced at her friend who stood by her other side. “Don’t you think so, Mae?”
The short blonde with the bad attitude shrugged. “Yeah, sure.”
Georgeanne’s eyes widened as she stared at her friend. Then she turned back to Hugh. “Why don’t you try the pate while I carve you some chicken?” She didn’t wait for an answer before she grabbed a large knife. “While I do this, why don’t y’all look around the table. If you look real close, you will see a variety of little animals in their picnic attire.”
John folded his arms across his chest and stared at a Chia Pig wearing sunglasses and a scarf. A funny tingle started at the base of his skull.
“Lexie and I thought today would be a perfect opportunity for her to unveil her summer collection of animal couture.”
“Oh, I get it now,” Mae said as she reached for a crab cake.
“Animal couture?” Hugh sounded as incredulous as John felt.
“Yes. Lexie likes to make clothes for all the little glass and porcelain animals in our house. I know it may sound strange,” Georgeanne continued as she sliced, “but she comes by it honestly. Her great-grandmother Chandler, that’s on my grandfather’s side of the family, used to design clothes for pullets. Being northerners, you may not know this, but a pullet is a young hen. Young because they don’t get to be very old before…” She paused and raised the knife about five inches from her throat and made choking sounds. “Well, you know.” She shrugged and lowered the knife once more. “And hens because it goes without saying that it would be a colossal waste of time and talent to make clothing for roosters, being that they are predisposed to nasty temperaments. Anyway, Great-grandmother used to make little capes with matching hoods for the family’s pullets. Lexie has inherited her great-grandmother’s eye for fashion and is carrying on a time-honored family tradition.”
“Are you serious?” Hugh asked as Georgeanne slid slices of chicken onto his plate.
She raised her right hand. “My lips to God’s ears.”
The tingle in John’s skull shot to his brain as deja vu enveloped him. “Oh, God.”
Georgeanne glanced across the table at him, and he saw her as she’d been seven years ago, a beautiful young woman who had rambled on about Jell-O and foot-washing Baptists. He saw her killer green eyes and sexy mouth. He saw her come-to-papa body all wrapped up in his black silk robe. She’d driven him crazy with her teasing glances and honey-coated voice. And as much as he hated to admit it, he wasn’t immune to her.
“Mr. Wall.”
John felt a tug on the belt loop of his pants, and he looked down at Lexie.
“Here’s your juice box, Mr. Wall.”
“Thank you,” he said, and took the little blue carton from her.
“I put the straw in it already.”
“Yes, I see.” He raised the box to his mouth and sucked the blue juice through the straw.
“Good, huh?”
“Mmm,” he said, trying not to grimace.
“I brung you this, too.”
She shoved a paper napkin at him, and he grabbed it with his free hand. It was folded into a shape he didn’t readily recognize.
“It’s a rabbit.”
“Yes. I see that,” he lied.
“I have a kite.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, but it won’t fly. My mommy wears a real big bra, but she still can’t run.” She shook her head sadly. “And Mae can’t run either ‘cause she doesn’t wear a bra at all.”
Silence fell on the picnic like a curtain of doom. John raised his gaze to the two women on the other side of the
