Page 30 of The Hockey Grump Saves Christmas

While I would never advise calling a child an “idiot,” the overall sentiment is sound.

“Come on,” he says and reaches down to grab the hoods of each of their parkas. And in one swift movement he picks them up and lands them upright—much like he did with me when I was struggling to stand up in my bunny suit.

Their feet slip a little, but they regain their balance.

Gabe offers each of them an elbow and orders them to hold on. Aside from making faces and scowling, the two combatants show no sign of moving so Gabe delivers the ultimate threat. “If you don’t hold onto my arms, I’ll hold your hands.”

Both kids immediately grab an arm.

And my ovaries ache like a pair of throbbing, starving beasts who haven’t had a good meal in way, way too long.

Towering above the kids, Gabe leads them to the safety of solid ground and doesn’t let go until they each have two feet off the ice. Then he bends down and talks to them, more quietly this time so we can’t hear what he’s saying.

And that ache in my lower belly rises to my chest, where it turns into a flutter that radiates to warm my chilly fingers.

“Are you listening, Miss Bourne?” A tug on my coat sleeve brings me back to reality. It’s Abigail, her angelic face as earnest as ever. “I said that was a nice thing for Mr. Woods to do.”

“It was, Abi.” I put my arm around her shoulder, and we stand and stare at the man who appeared out of nowhere two nights ago and took up residence on Fool’s Hill.

“Well, there’s a smile I haven’t seen in a while,” says a familiar voice behind me.

I turn to see Mrs. Bentley and her walker making their way up the cleared path across the lawn toward us, Aunt Lou at her side.

“What are you two doing here?” I ask them.

“I have to get out for a walk every day to keep all the parts moving,” Mrs. B. parks her walker beside me and maneuvers herself to sit in it.

“And I thought I’d come and keep her company,” Aunt Lou says. “Make sure she didn’t get her wheels stuck in the snow.”

Yeah, sure, highly likely. “And you just happened to decide tocome to the pond?”

“Well, it is one of the prettiest places to walk,” Mrs. B. says.

“Visit the scene of the crime often, do you?” I ask her.

It was on this pond three years ago that Mrs. B. fell while attempting a pirouette far too adventurous for whatever her age was then and broke her hip. I’m not sure if something didn’t heal right, but she’s had to use the walker ever since.

“My, oh my, the scenery is extra pretty today.” Mrs. B. gives me an exaggerated wink and nods her sparkly pink-hatted head toward Gabe, who’s heading our way flanked by the two young ice-wrestlers.

I do my best to give Aunt Lou one of her own glares. She looks away, tightening her scarf. “You mentioned you might be here with the kids, so we thought we’d stop by to see how the new plans are going.”

“And we ended up catching you smiling at Mr. Muscles over there,” Mrs. B. says.

If my face was cold before, it certainly isn’t now. “I wasn’t smiling.”

“Totally were,” Aunt Lou says.

“And in a trance,” Abigail chips in.

“Where did you learn about trances?” I ask her.

“Definitely very trancelike,” Mrs. B. says before Abigail can answer.

“Like you’d gone to your happy place,” Aunt Lou adds, incredibly unhelpfully.

“Look.” I turn my back to Abigail and lower my voice. “Gabe Woods is not my happy place. He’s my incredibly irritating place. But I need him because there’s no one else to help me salvage the play.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll help save the play like an incrediblyhandsome phoenix rising from the ashes of the theater fire,” Mrs. B. says.

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