The Buchanan's Baby(2)

“You have to find out if it’s true or not,” she said adamantly. “How old is this child?”

“The note didn’t say, just that I’ll find the mother working for the San Jose Juggernaut, a minor league hockey team, as a sports trainer.”

“Well, that settles it; we’re going on a road trip.” She turned and started to waddle away, presumably to pack and Nolan groaned and caught her arm gently. “What?” she asked, frowning. “I can travel,” she insisted.

“I’m sure you can but I’d rather handle this on my own,” he said, hoping he didn’t hurt her feelings. Please don’t cry, he prayed. Since her pregnancy, Penny had burst into tears at the oddest moments. One time he found her sobbing over the toaster oven because her toast was too dark on one side. Dillon had responded by throwing out the toaster and immediately buying her a new one, desperate to stem the tears in anyway possible. It might’ve seemed extreme but Nolan would’ve done the same. Penny was precious to them and now she was carrying the next generation of Buchanan.

His knees trembled again. Was there another Buchanan out there? Was it a boy or a girl? He scrubbed his hands over his face, focusing. “I need to handle this privately, love. Besides, didn’t Dillon promise you a quick getaway to Napa for a spa pampering day?”

She brightened. “Oh! That’s right! He did,” she agreed, remembering. “Sorry, Nolan. I need that spa day. My back is screaming. You think you can handle this on your own?”

He nodded. “I do. It’s probably nothing. I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Okay. Let me know how it turns out.” She smiled and waddled away, her mind likely already focused on full-body massages and chocolate-dipped strawberries, which was fine by Nolan. A distracted Penny at this stage in her pregnancy was a good thing.

“You dodged a bullet there,” Vince said, chuckling.

“Don’t I know it. I love her but…”

“Say no more. So, do you want my company or would you rather go solo?” he asked.

“Actually, I think I’ll handle this on my own. Besides, aren’t you supposed to be at the club tonight? Something about a new sub to introduce to the dungeon?”

Vince grinned broadly. “Yeah, I can hardly wait.”

Yeah, he’d rather spend time in pursuing something pleasurable as well but he knew he couldn’t rest until he put to bed this ridiculous claim. He forced a grin for his brother’s sake and perhaps for his own. “It’s nothing. And when I find out who thought pulling this ruse was a good idea, I’m going to give them a taste of Buchanan justice.”

Vince nodded in support. “Go get ‘em, bro.”

Feeling far more confident than he did a moment ago, Nolan strode from the room to make the arrangements. Perhaps with some luck, he’d be back within a day or two and he could catch a little entertainment with his brother.

Bolstered by that cheery thought, a true smile more fitting for his easy-going nature found his lips and he started to whistle, his mind already forming all the appropriately cruel ways to ruin this misguided fool who’d dared to threaten a Buchanan.





“Ow! You’re killing me!”

Shannon Garrity ignored the outraged bellow of the hulking beast of a man, affectionately known on the ice as “Killer” and continued to carefully rotate the man’s leg to see how badly damaged it was. Judging by the reaction of her player, it was pretty bad. She sighed and gave Killer a look that conveyed the unfortunate news she was about to share and the man started to plead ‘I can still play!’ but she shook her head sadly. “Sorry, but that leg’s going to have to heal if you want to have any chance of playing next year. You’re benched effective as of today. I’m sorry, Carl.” She placed a hand on his shoulder with compassion. “Next stop for you is the doctor for an MRI — not the bar, okay?”

Carl, six-foot four-inches of solid muscle but not a lot of brain, nodded like a child who’d been caught before he’d even put his plan into motion and hopped from her table to grab his crutches. She watched as Carl made his way out of the small room she used for examining team injuries and CeCe, her intern, walked in holding Aubrey, Shannon’s nearly three-year-old daughter. “There she is,” Shannon cooed, accepting the toddler from CeCe’s arms. “Thanks for going to pick her up. I got swamped and wasn’t able to break away to get her,” she said.

“No problem,” CeCe said, smiling. “She’s such a cutie.”

“Yes, she is,” Shannon agreed, rubbing her nose with her daughter’s and causing her to giggle. Her laughter lit up the days that were a challenge, such as today. She hated this time of year — draft cuts. She tried not to get too attached but some of the guys she worked with were like oversized kids and she adored them all. Many had dreams of moving onto the NHL but some just weren’t cut out for the next level. She always winced when she saw the empty lockers after the cut players received their notice.