A Family Christmas

He might have asked that outright, except there was a hint of vulnerability in her expression that made him want to treat her gently.

Rose flung back her head. Storm-cloud-blue eyes glared beneath the swoop of dark hair she impatiently pushed aside. “Yeah, I’m Rose Robbin. So what?”

Evan squinted. Being of fair mind, he’d tried to overlook what townspeople said about her. But there was no denying she was one of the hardscrabble Robbin family—supposed tough nuts and bad characters, all of them. She could handle herself. Perhaps he’d imagined the vulnerability out of a penchant for helping others—wounded females especially.

“You’re interested in athletics?” he said.

Her mouth pulled into a sour pucker. “Not much.”

“Oh. I’ve been counting you as one of our biggest fans.”

She shook her head. “Don’t think so.”

“You went to all the home games last year.”

After a hesitation, she shrugged. “Not much else to do in Alouette, is there?”

Evan scratched behind his ear. He’d been living in the small northern town on the shore of Lake Superior for nearly three years and had never been bothered by the remote location and lack of city-style amenities. The unspoiled countryside offered a wealth of activity—hunting, fishing, biking, hiking, skiing, swimming. “I seem to think of plenty to do.”

“Bravo for you.”

The stonewalling didn’t exasperate Evan. Even though Rose must be in her early thirties, she wasn’t so different from a sulky adolescent who had to show how little she cared before she could allow herself to soften. In his years as a teacher and coach, he’d had plenty of practice at probing beneath the veneer of stubborn independence. With teenagers, the trick was not to come on too strong—at first.

But this was an adult woman and he only needed answers, not involvement.

He cleared his throat. “Then it’s coincidence that you’re here at our first team practice of the season?”

Rose held the sketchbook to her chest beneath crossed arms. “Yeah,” she snapped, still belligerent even though her quick indrawn breath told him there was more to her being there.

Not what he wanted to discover.

“It’s a free country,” she added.

He held up his palms. “Sure.”

She glowered.

“You’re an artist?”

Her arms tightened on the sketchpad. “No.”

He said nothing, but raised an eyebrow. That usually worked.

She tossed her hair again. “I’m a clerk at the Buck Stop, as if you didn’t know.” Alouette was small—most faces were familiar, even if there’d been no formal introduction.

“Of course.” The Buck Stop was a run-down convenience store a couple miles outside of town. Evan had stopped there now and then for gas, but it wasn’t a particularly welcoming place. Not unlike Rose. “That wouldn’t stop you from being an artist.”

She gave a grudging hitch of one shoulder. “I draw a little.”

“Can I see?”

She shook her head.

“Why not?” He wondered what she drew. Figures, perhaps. She might be using his team as unknowing models. That was all right, he supposed. If potentially creepy.

“My drawings are none of your business.”

“As long as you don’t bother my team.”

Her eyes darkened. Color stained her cheeks. “Are you accusing me?”

“No. Warning you, maybe.”

“I haven’t done anything wrong!”

“I realize that. I didn’t mean to insinuate—” He made a conciliatory gesture, stepping toward her.

She backed away one step. “Yes, you did mean to insinuate.”

Caught. He moved forward again. “Maybe so. But I’m sorry if that seemed insulting—”

“It was.” Another step back.

If his arms had been around her, they’d have been dancing.

He tried again. “Look, all I wanted was to be sure that your interest in my team wasn’t—uhh—”

Her eyes shot sparks. “Wasn’t what?”

“Improper.”

She snorted. “Obviously you have no idea who I am. Do I look like a proper lady?” She glanced down to indicate her flannel shirt, bleached, frayed jeans and chunky sandals with worn-down soles.

Her toenails weren’t painted. But they were clean. Small enough to appear delicate. Almost…provocative.

What she was, Evan thought as he quickly returned his gaze to her hard face, was a curious character. He knew very little about her, but she appeared to be a solitary soul who existed on the fringes of Alouette society. If she had friends—or boyfriends—it wasn’t in public. In private might be another matter. Some men smirked at the mention of her name. Evan wouldn’t normally jump to conclusions based on town gossip, but with her surly, unapproachable personality she gave no other evidence to go on.

“You know what I mean,” he said.

Her chin lifted. “Uh-huh. Well, you have nothing to worry about. I’ve never spoken to any of your players unless they’ve come into the Buck Stop to try and cadge a beer.” Her gaze darted over the ragged clutch of boys jogging around the track. “I couldn’t care less about them.”

“Then why are you here?” And why did she come to every basketball game and sit at the top of the bleachers, tucked into a little knot with her arms hugging her knees and her eyes fixed on the court, rarely speaking to the other fans, never letting out a cheer that he’d noticed?

“No reason,” she said.

“Fine.”

“Then stay off my back.” She frowned. “And I’ll…” The edge in her voice softened as she moved farther away. “I’ll cause no trouble.”