Cheers and groans interrupted their conversation. The vests had the ball again. Good-natured insults flew back and forth.
She turned to check on her daughter. Her heart hitched in her chest. Emily wasn’t there.
A moment later, she heard Jake yell, “Whoa, Emily! Wait there until we finish this play.”
The blur of yellow racing toward the melee of bodies halted.
Maggie’s nails bit into her palm as memories of another time, another game flashed in her brain. A frisson of fear skittered through her as she recalled a furious glare filled with the promise of retribution. She moved toward the steps, toward her vulnerable daughter. Then stopped dead as Jake turned.
His expression was concerned, rather than angry. His querying look asked her permission. Relieved, she nodded.
Jake grinned and returned to the game.
When the play stopped, he waved Emily over. “Hey, Short Stuff. You want to help me beat these bozos?”
Emily nodded. “But you’re supposed to call me Princess.”
“Sorry.” He ruffled her hair. “Take it easy, guys. There’s royalty on the field.”
Jake explained the rules and showed her where to stand. The teams lined up against each other. Someone yelled “Hup,” then threw the ball. Bodies scrambled.
Maggie winced as several thudded to the ground in crunching tackles.
Jake caught the ball, then dodged his opponent and handed it to Emily. She charged toward the goal line, spiking the ball triumphantly as she scored.
Jake swung Emily up onto his shoulders. The shirtless team cheered, then they all high-fived her grinning daughter.
“Yay, Emily!” Maggie clapped.
Tracy leaned against the railing. “Looks like Bad Boy has a soft spot for your daughter, as well.” She scowled. “What’s he doing here?”
Maggie followed her sister’s gaze. Ike Jelinek was walking along the path from the cute little carriage house behind the trees, carrying a drinks cooler.
“His mum is friends with Jake’s parents. That’s her place. Is there a problem?”
“Not really.” Her sister’s tone suggested otherwise.
“Didn’t you do some work for him?”
“Yes. Last summer.”
“And?”
“And nothing. He’s a very old-fashioned guy.”
Maggie quirked an eyebrow. “In what way?”
“He believes in traditional roles for women.” Tracy’s lip curled. “Men drive, men pay, men are gods whom we should worship and serve.”
Uh-oh. “Like Dad.”
“Totally. Ike doesn’t understand the concept of a modern, independent woman. He expects us to be like Mum—subservient and submissive.” Tracy flicked her hair. “I’m not going through that again. I had my fill with my marriage.”
Before Maggie could delve further, Jake’s mum and Aunt Karina appeared, bearing bowls laden with food.
“Can we help?” she offered.
“Thank you.” Tina Badoletti handed her two bowls of potato salad and pointed to the picnic tables, covered in red-checked tablecloths. “Put them over there. We have more in the kitchen.”
“Gio, we’re ready,” she called to Jake’s father, who was manning the enormous barbecue on the brick patio beside the deck.
The older, shorter version of Jake grinned, blew his wife a kiss then tossed steaks, burgers and hot dogs onto the grill. The sizzle of the meat hitting the hot grate made Maggie’s stomach growl.
By the time she and Tracy had finished bringing out the food, the game was over, the guys had cleaned up and everyone was gathered round the barbecue.
Jake was helping Emily fill her plate. Her carefree giggle tugged at Maggie’s heart.
Maggie was glad they’d come today. Though, outwardly, her reason for accepting was to help Tracy’s business, she’d wanted Emily to experience the warm, welcoming sense of family she felt at the Badoletti’s. Something her daughter hadn’t got from either set of grandparents.
When they joined the crowd, Tracy linked arms with a tall, blond man with gray eyes. “Maggie, this is Juergen Ingemar. He’s moved here from Gothenburg.”
The Swede gave her a strange look. “Have we met?”
Maggie shook her head. “I doubt it. I’m not a hockey fan.”
“You play hockey in England, no?”
“I think so, but it’s not as popular as other sports.”
He inclined his head. “Football and rugby, sure.”
“Also, that strange game, cricket,” a gruff, accented voice added. “Tracy, you’re as lovely as ever.”
Her sister grinned up at the burly man with the scarred face. “This is Vladimir Ralinkov, aka the Russian Rocket. He joined the Ice Cats last season.”