Page 15 of Enemies in Paradise

Hot fury surges through my veins, but I stay calm. Seething inside, but calm outside. Instead of taking the target, I slowly tuck the hair that’s escaped my ponytail behind my ear.

I’m about to tell him to set it back up—I’m just that stubborn—when Molly takes off barking, running full speed toward the auto shop. Seconds later, the reason for her excitement appears. Kids in hockey helmets and pads, with skates and sticks slung over their shoulders, spill out the back door of the shop, trudging the hundred feet toward the frozen pond.

So… he’s trying to protect a bunch of kids from any errant golf balls. Not a gang of frat boys.

And now I feel silly.

I open my mouth to apologize but close it when he raises an eyebrow and points to my Dodge Charger parked on the side of the road.

“You need help? Or are you better at carrying a target than hitting it?” He thrusts the stand at me, and I swallow my apology.

I can respect his overabundance of caution around kids, but not enough to justify his treating me like a little girl he can order around and dismiss with a metaphorical pat on the head the same way Captain Markham had.

“I’ll be back in ninety minutes.” I grab the target, letting out an involuntary huff that sounds way too close to a little kid’s.

“Might want to bring a light,” he says to my back. “Sun is going down, and you had a hard enough time hitting your target in broad daylight.”

I stop, gripping my stand, and turn around to say something. I don’t know what; I only know this boy needs to be put in his place.

But Bear is already jogging across the field, waving as the kids call “Coach Bear!”

And I know I should look away, but I take full advantage of the view before I do. I may never want to see Bear’s face again, but the memory of his backside is going to stay with me for a while.

Chapter 4

Bear

Am I curious howlong it will take Cassie to walk across the field with those long legs of hers, carrying her target, bucket of balls, and golf club in her arms?

A little.

Do I give into that curiosity and watch her until she drives away?

A little.

But only for strictly mathematical reasons. So I allow myself one good look to calculate how long her steps are, how wide the field is, and how many steps she’ll need to cross it.

Because I cannot calculate how to keep her from buying Grandpa’s auto shop.

I tried to be polite to her—at least more polite than yesterday. She’s just so infuriating. Maybe if she weren’t, my joke abouther not hitting the target would have landed better. I wouldn’t haven’t sounded so irritated when I said it.

Or maybe not. The woman has no sense of humor. Or sympathy.

Cassie doesn’t care that if she buys the shop, the team I’ve fostered and grown from four girls to over a dozen won’t have a place to practice anymore. That fact should tug at Cassie’s heartstrings—if she had any. She doesn’t.

“Coach Bear!” Aspen calls in a voice that’s both demanding and pleading. “Can you help me with my skates, pleeeease?”

Brighton, Aspen’s twin, quickly follows with, “Me too!”

Then half a dozen other girls join in.

“Girls… girls…” My words get lost in Molly’s barks and the girls’ loud complaints about how hard it is to tie their skates, and questions about why there’s no closer place than the shop for them to put all their gear on.

“GIRLS!” I put my fingers to my lips and whistle.

Everything goes still and suddenly half a dozen pairs of frightened eyes—including Molly’s—are glued to me. Heat creeps up my neck. I clear my throat while searching for what to say next.

My sister, Britta, is always reminding me that my voice can be scary. I don’t mean it to be. I just say what’s on my mind, and sometimes it comes out kind of loud.

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