“Clean, I hope,” he joked as he led me toward the ice.

Was it? Leave it to Brett to ask the hard-hitting questions, but I’m pretty sure I washed everything before I left New York, just to be safe.

His team of teens stared at me as I got closer. None of them moved except for the goalie who was slowly joining the rest of the group. Their jaws hung loosely below their helmets as I leaned against the boards surrounding the rink.

“So, I’m assuming you all know who Colton Crawford is. He’s come to watch you guys skate and offer any advice or pointers. Alright?”

The group didn’t respond but continued to stare at me. I felt like I was in a fish tank and one of those kids was about to tap on the glass.

Brett repeated, “Alright? Come on guys, don’t make it weird or he won’t come back.”

“Yes, Coach,” they said collectively, then skated off to continue their drills.

“They’re good kids. You can join them or just watch. I think a couple has what it takes to go pro or play in college, which is my recommendation to them.”

“I agree. A degree always gives them something to fall back on. Any of them play for juniors?”

“Naw,” he said as he turned to face me. “It’s expensive and most of these kids work their farms with their parents. It’s hard enough to get them here to play at the high school level. I’ve watched most of them in our rec teams since they were little, but it was never certain who would be showing up during harvest times.”

What the hell was harvest time?

“You’ll. . .ugh. . .have to tell me more about this harvest stuff later. I met the guy my house is next to and he was talking about the harvest.”

“Oh, you met Nash Easterly?”

“Yeah,” I said as I sat on the bench and tugged my skates free from the duffle bag, followed by some thicker socks. “What do you know about him and his family?” I worded the question in a way that wasn’t suspect because I really wanted to know more about one particular daughter.

Brett let out a deep-bellied laugh as he tossed his head back. “Man, in small towns, you only know what people want you to know. They used to tell me that everyone knew everything, but that’s not always the case. The Easterlys are as much a mystery as they are a staple in the town. But from what I know, the Easterly name has been part of that land since before the town existed. The majority of the land belonged to them at one point. Apparently, one of the relatives was a gambler and liked to toss around acreage like they were pennies.

“It’s probably why they were at the auction today, or so I’ve heard. The house you bought used to belong to them.”

“Yeah, Nash said as much.”

Brett nodded as he called out one of the kids’ names and told him to watch his footwork. “As for the wife and the kids, not much to say there. Marisol was married before, lost her husband in Desert Storm. Andrew, the oldest Easterly, is from her first marriage, but Nash has raised that boy like his own son. The girls came a few years later from what I remember.

“When we moved here, Nash and Marisol were some of the first people to visit and welcome us to the town. They’re good people.”

I stared at the man, trying to figure out a way to broach the topic of the daughters as I finished tying my skates blindly.

“And those girls are like the town treasure. So don’t poke around,” he said sternly.

“Poke?” I joked as I stood and towered over him. I was tall on a good day, but with the blades, I was inching toward seven feet.

“Yeah. Poke. And you’re too old for them anyway. But I’m certain some of these boys’ moms will be more than happy to take their place. A few are divorced if I recall.”

“You and I both know that it wouldn’t matter to them if they weren’t.”

“True.”

I skated around the rink in giant circles as I watched Brett work with his team. He was always a great coach and those kids were going to learn from the best. He still never gave me any information about the Easterly sisters and there was no way I would ask him. He was right, though; the girls were young. Early twenties at best. But the one Nash called Autumn was stuck in my mind and I couldn’t shake her free, even while skating. She suited her name with her dark blonde hair and tanned skin. I wasn’t sure if it was residual from the summer or if her skin was olive-toned year-round. Nash had darker skin, but he worked outside regularly while her mother and sisters were more fair-skinned.

It didn’t matter though. I was thirty-five. At least a decade older than I presumed Autumn to be.

My cock didn’t seem to care, though. He definitely wanted to poke her.

Chapter Eight – Autumn

It had been a week since I’d embarrassed myself again in front of the mystery man. The man who was named Colton Crawford and he was a forward and captain of the New York Renegades. Or he was. Dad told us that he’d recently announced his retirement after his ex-girlfriend tore his reputation to shreds. That was all after sustaining an injury two years prior.

The man had been at the forefront of my mind all week. His name suited him. So did his occupation. We’d also learned that he was the one here visiting Coach Chisolm. That explained why he was here in Ashfield but not why he’d bought fifty acres of land with a dilapidated house on the top of a hill.

Alex argued that maybe he was bored and was looking for something to invest in. I kept countering that he could invest in a school program or a charity.

Unfortunately, though, Dad seemed to like him and had spilled the beans about my desire to take the home back to its historical roots. I had a sneaking suspicion that my dad was hoping to get me to help our new neighbor. Well, he had another thing coming. My eyes were now set on the venue space and the time I needed to turn it into something.

Sitting at the dining table with my laptop in front of me, I stared over the screen into the backyard. It was peaceful outside with the leaves changing colors. Fall had always been my favorite season. I supposed the naming gods had smiled down on me at birth.

“Whatcha doing?” Aspen asked as she slid into the seat beside me, a strudel in her hand. I quickly pressed the enter key on the laptop’s keyboard before slamming the screen shut.

“Sending out my resume,” I told her, shame blossoming in my chest.

Aspen licked some of the gooey icing that dripped down her fingers. “Thought you promised Dad you were going to stay for a month.”

“I did. And I plan to. I just want to make sure that I have some applications floating around, just in case.”

Aspen’s elfish features hardened as she turned her attention away from the pastry and onto me. “So, you’ve been here a full week, and you’ve already decided that you’re going to up and run away again when the time is up? Have you even tried to give the town a chance?”

“I. . .I. . .Aspen it’s not like that,” I tried to explain, but I couldn’t get the words out.

“It’s exactly like that. What’s so terrible about this place that you won’t give it a fair shot? What did any of us do to you but beg you to stay?” Aspen stood rapidly, the feet of the chair scratching against the hardwood floors. “Instead of pretending like you care and want to be here, why don’t you just leave again?”

She retreated quickly, and I stared at her disappearing back before turning my attention to the pile of crumbs she left scattered on the table. My heart felt like those crumbs after listening to what Aspen had just said. I never wanted anyone to think that I hated living here or growing up here. It was the opposite. I just thought I needed more.

An image of Aspen as a young girl clinging to my waist as I packed my car to head off to college popped into my mind and I couldn’t shake it free. Did she feel like I had abandoned her? Did my entire family feel that way?

I scooped the crumbs she left behind into my hand and carried them over to the trash can, where I dumped them into the stainless steel can that still squeaked whenever the lid opened.

There had to be a way to make her see, to make everyone see, that I had dreams bigger than Ashfield could handle. The more I considered the barn on the west field, the more I questioned the decision to turn it into something more. The venue was large, but how much use would it actually get? Locals may inquire, possibly a few couples from surrounding counties, but there was no way it would be marketed the way it needed to be successful. Aspen had been right about one thing; I was just wasting my parents’ money.

Walking down the hall, I popped my head into the small office my mother had converted into a personal library. She sat in her leather chaise reading a book I was certain she had read a dozen times already.

“Hey, Mom. I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Not sparing me a glance, she turned the page of her book while saying, “Is this about the venue and your leaving?”

“What? How did you know?” I asked, perplexed. With all the confusing conversations going on today, the lines between my eyebrows were going to form permanent creases.

Finally drawing her eyes over to me, she delicately marked her spot by lying the book face-down on her lap. “Did you forget how everything echoes in this house?”