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Cross’s sister wasn’t much like him. Rusty could see a little facial resemblance around the cheekbones and nose, but she was a green-eyed redhead instead of a gray-eyed brunet, and a couple of willowy inches taller than her brother. She was also far more outgoing and talkative.

She’d arrived shortly before the end of warmups. Rusty had been eyeing the empty seat and wondering if maybe he’d dodged the bullet but no, she was just late. Well, on time if you had no interest in watching the guys warm up.

She smiled at him as she lowered herself gracefully into the seat, tucking her skirt around her legs and crossing her ankles in low-heeled strappy shoes. “Hi, you must be RJ’s friend. He said look for the hockey player and I’m pretty sure that’s you.”

The seats around them held a typical assortment of hockey fans but no one else who looked athletic and in their twenties, so that didn’t make her a mind reader. “Yes. Rusty.” He shook her hand when she held it out.

“I’m Marie. RJ’s sister. How do you two know each other?”

“From this summer. Scott Edison’s ranch. I was working there when Cross stayed for a few weeks.”

“Oh! I was shocked when RJ told us what happened. I’m glad everyone was all right.”

Mike wasn’t all right. His brother’s loss stabbed Rusty in the gut, a pang so unexpected he almost doubled over. But Marie had never known Mike, even Cross hadn’t. It wasn’t her fault those words hurt. “It was a rough time.”

“And now you’re here? And you play hockey? Not for the Rafters though?”

“God, no. Not even for the Tornados. I’m in the ECHL down in Eugene.”

“ECHL? That’s, like, a lower league, right?”

“Yep.” He grinned to show he was fine with that.

“But I’m a big Rafters fan and it’s cool of Cross to let me use a seat tonight.

This is only like the second NHL game I’ve ever been to.

” Scott had given Rusty a ticket and insisted he come to opening night this season when the cheers and rainbow banners for Scott had out-thundered the applause for their captain.

That had been an experience he would never forget.

But there was something cool about just being here on an ordinary no-pressure game day.

“I’ve been to quite a few. I try to see RJ play at least three or four times a year, and he’s been in the league a long time now.”

Rusty shifted in his seat uncomfortably. Way to rub it in. But she didn’t know. “He’s got a lot of years left to play. You’ll probably end up in the hundreds before he’s done.”

“Maybe. Although he has a job waiting for him with the family firm whenever decides to retire.”

“He loves hockey,” Rusty pointed out. “I can’t see that happening any time soon.”

Marie tilted her head, her gaze on him sharpening. “That’s true. All too true. You’re a hockey player. Do you have hobbies? Other interests? What do you do in your spare time?”

He had the feeling she wanted to be negative about Cross’s intense hockey focus, so he said, truthfully, “Not much. I’m working really hard on skills and fitness, trying to improve enough to get called up. There’s not much time in my life for anything but hockey right now.”

“Huh.” Marie frowned. “There’s more to life than a game.”

“Sure. But at this level, it’s not just a game, right? It’s my job and an intense one. Plus, I’m pretty much dead broke, so unless the hobby is free, it ain’t happening.” He tried for a charming smile.

“RJ doesn’t have that excuse. Maybe he needs to hang out with people who aren’t other hockey players—” She broke off and chuckled. “Sorry, wow, that was a bit rude. I’m sure you’re a great guy and totally not a bad influence.”

“I try,” Rusty said, enjoying the fact that she wouldn’t figure out if he meant he was or wasn’t.

Down on the ice, the Zamboni lumbered back into its cave and the lights dimmed throughout the arena. Bright spotlights began swooping across the surface of the rink, and the music swelled louder. Rusty turned his attention to the players stepping out to their introductions and applause.

The first period was heavy on defense for the Rafters, low in shots on goal.

The coach was giving the younger players more ice time, testing them out in this low-stakes game.

Rusty winced as a young defenseman coughed up the puck for the third time in one shift.

“Back to the AHL for you, dude.” Not that Rusty would likely do better but hey, openings up the chain for a left defenseman?

He was all over that. He laughed at his own optimism, then groaned as the same dude, seeming flustered by a three-on-two, left Fargo’s center uncovered in front of the net.

“Jeez, go fucking warm the bench.” Luckily Zykov handled the shot, and the whistle blew for a faceoff.

Number ninety-one made his head-hanging way off the ice.

Marie asked, “What did he do wrong?”

“Out of position.” Rusty tried to be charitable. “He was hustling, but watching the wrong guy.”

“I guess you know a lot about hockey.”

Rusty laughed. “Well, I should, right? Plus Cross has been giving me tips, and he’s the best.”

“Of course.” She kept watching Rusty as play resumed.

He turned his attention to the ice, aware of her gaze in his peripheral vision.

The likely last shift of the period was underway when a Fargo winger totally fanned on a shot and Cross poked the puck free.

Suddenly, he and Vicksberg had a two-on-one, charging at the Fargo net.

Cross passed to Vicksberg who faked a shot then dropped the puck neatly for Cross.

Cross’s wrister found the top corner of the net above the overcommitted goalie’s blocker.

Rusty leaped to his feet cheering, one loud voice in a suddenly happy crowd. Marie didn’t stand but she did clap wildly, then put her fingers in her mouth and whistled.

As the goal was announced while the teams lined up for what was likely the final face-off of the first period, Marie said, “That’ll be nice for RJ. He doesn’t always score goals.” They watched Cross swoop behind the Rafters’ net and clear the puck to center ice.

“He’s a defenseman. Scoring’s not his main job.”

“Oh, I know…” Marie paused to applaud with the rest as the period ended with the Rafters up 1-0 on Cross’s goal.

“But he likes to show off in front of me, and he knows half the time I can’t tell when he makes great defense moves.

” She settled back in her seat and eyed Rusty.

“Sibling stuff. Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“A few, back in Kansas.” And one in the ground. The last thing he wanted was to talk about his family. He pushed to his feet. “Do you want a beer or a hot dog or something? Cheesy fries?” She looked classy and expensive, but who didn’t like cheesy fries, right? And he could afford that.

She smiled. “Sure. Plain fries, though. I don’t want to get cheese on this suit. It’s hard to find something comfortable and classic.”

“Got it.” Rusty made his way up the aisle, letting enough people cut in front of him on the stairs that the guy behind muttered in frustration.

Then he chose the longest line to stand in.

While waiting, he texted to Cross, ~Sick poke check.

Great goal. Cross wouldn’t see the text till after the game, but Rusty recognized an odd kind of warmth inside him, listening to the folks around him in line discussing that goal and knowing he was the one who got to actually tell Cross how awesome he was.

Despite the slow-moving lines, there were five minutes left in the first intermission when he sat back down and passed Marie her fries. “And I got you water. I forgot to ask what you wanted to drink, but I figured everyone drinks water.”

She took her food and the bottle. “That’s fine. Put my number in your phone. Then next time you can message me. Text so I’ll know who you are.”

“Uh.” Rusty had just got done thinking how cool it was he had Cross’s carefully private contacts.

He didn’t figure Marie filthy-rich LaCroix handed hers out to random seatmates.

Did Cross say something to her? He couldn’t imagine what.

It wasn’t like he and Cross were anything official, anything settled yet.

But he didn’t know how to say no to Marie, so he juggled his cheapest-thing-on-the-menu nachos, entered her number in his phone, and texted ~This is Rusty .

Slumping in his seat, he stuffed his mouth full to keep from having to make conversation, and although Marie turned his way a few times, the second period began in mutual silence.

Fargo came out hitting hard to open the second. Cross took a bone-rattling check from a defenseman up against the boards that made Marie gasp and flinch, although he skated off like nothing hurt. He’d no doubt have a bruise later, of course.

“I don’t understand why he likes this,” Marie muttered.

“He has all the money he’ll ever need. He could play for fun, some rec league thing, if he wanted.

Why does he spend, like, eighty games a year getting beat up by guys fifty pounds heavier, worn down every spring, losing weight and wrecking his body? ”

Rusty didn’t want to speak for Cross. He figured, knowing siblings, Cross and Marie had probably had this argument a hundred times.

But he had to say, “He won the Norris trophy for best defenseman in the league three years ago. If there was something you could do that you were top in the whole world at, wouldn’t you do it? ”

Marie opened her mouth, then closed it again.