The Man Upstairs. Pamela Bauer

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      “Quinn Sterling,” her brother repeated in amazement. “Who would have expected him to be living in a boardinghouse with a bunch of women.”

      “It isn’t a bunch. There are only three of us and we each have our own apartment,” Dena reminded him.

      Ryan shrugged. “I guess the guy has to live somewhere…and it probably helps him keep a low profile.”

      “So what’s he like? Is he nice?” Lisa asked, turning her attention to the stove.

      Ryan chuckled sarcastically. “Defensemen usually aren’t described as ‘nice.’”

      Dena wrinkled her face. “He isn’t one of those guys who’s always fighting, is he?”

      “I’m sure he’s spent his share of time in the penalty box. He has a reputation for being bad…which is one of the reasons the fans love him.”

      “Then he’s popular?”

      “In Minnesota he is. He’s a good hockey player,” her brother stated matter-of-factly. Luke was at his side, arms outstretched, waiting for his father to lift him onto his lap. Ryan scooped him up and propped him on one knee.

      “Would you say he’s like the Michael Jordan of hockey?” Dena wanted to know.

      Ryan gave her an indulgent look. “Basketball and hockey are two different sports, and no one’s like Michael Jordan. Quinn’s made a name for himself, although I don’t think he’s ever made the All-Star team.”

      “But would a hockey stick signed by him bring in big bucks at a charity auction?”

      “Probably anything signed by Quinn would do that.” Lisa had set three mugs of hot chocolate and one small cup for Luke on the table. Ryan reached for the small cup and helped his son take a sip.

      Dena thought again of how different he was from their father. So patient, so protective. So interested in his son.

      “Quinn Sterling was born and raised in St. Paul,” her brother continued. “That’s one of the reasons he’s so popular in this area. Hockey fans around here were very happy when the Cougars got him on a trade.”

      “Sounds like the right guy to ask for a donation, Dena,” Lisa stated.

      “Yes, but how am I ever going to get it?” Dena pondered aloud. “I can’t just walk up the stairs, knock on his door and say, ‘Hi, I’m your new neighbor, give me a stick.’”

      “Why not?” Lisa asked, taking the chair next to Ryan’s.

      Dena’s eyes met Ryan’s and he chuckled. “Lisa would do it.” His eyes were full of affection as he smiled at his wife.

      It was obvious to Dena from the glances they exchanged they were just as much in love now as they’d been as teenagers. Ryan had proved his father wrong. How many times had he warned Ryan that if he were to marry Lisa, he’d end up in the same predicament his father was in? Dena was relieved to see her brother and his wife so happy.

      She pushed a loose strand of hair back from her face and sighed. “I wish I didn’t have to do this. This is so not me.”

      “Even if you work up the courage to ask for the stick, you might have a problem getting to the guy,” Ryan warned her. “Professional athletes know how to avoid the public.”

      “She’s not the public, she’s his neighbor,” Lisa pointed out.

      “A neighbor he’s never met,” Dena reminded her sister-in-law.

      “And I think he’s one of the hockey players who keeps a low profile,” Ryan added.

      That didn’t come as a surprise to Dena. She hadn’t seen anyone going in or out of his place, but then she hadn’t had any guests since she’d moved in, either. The day Leonie had shown her the vacant room on the second floor she’d explained the rules of the house. Guests were welcome as long as they didn’t impose on anyone’s privacy.

      So far the only resident who took advantage of that rule was Krystal Graham, the hairstylist who occupied the other half of the second floor. She had a steady stream of visitors, and Dena could understand why. Krystal was a people person. From what her brother was saying, the man upstairs probably wasn’t.

      “You might want to think of another item for the charity auction,” Ryan said, reaching for a napkin to dab at hot chocolate that had dribbled down Luke’s chin. “We don’t know this guy. For all we know, his persona off ice could be the same as it is on ice.”

      “He’s not going to be mean to his neighbor,” Lisa insisted. “Stop trying to discourage her.”

      “You don’t think I can get the stick, do you?” Dena said to her brother.

      “It’s going to be difficult,” he warned her.

      “Yeah, so what else is new?” she retorted.

      “So you’re going to go for it?” Lisa wanted to know.

      “Yes. I want my donation to the auction to stand out from the others. I just have to figure out a way to get the stick.”

      “The Cougars have a game at the Excel Center tomorrow, which means Quinn Sterling is in town,” Ryan announced.

      “Now’s your chance,” Lisa encouraged her. “If you don’t want to knock on his door, you could always bump into him on the stairs.”

      An equally unsettling thought for Dena, who knew that she was right. It was now or never. The auction was only a little over a week away. If she didn’t get to him this weekend, there was a good chance he’d be on the road and she wouldn’t have another opportunity.

      “You’re right. I’m going to do it. Wish me luck.”

      BEFORE DENA COULD DO SOMETHING so bold as to introduce herself to a professional hockey player and ask for an autographed stick, she needed to be prepared. That’s why she made sure to leave her brother’s house early enough so that she had time to stop at the library on her way home.

      Later, armed with a stack of periodicals and a couple of videotapes, she climbed the stairs to the second floor at 14 Valentine Place. Once she was in her room, she slipped a tape cassette into the VCR and pressed Play.

      As scenes of hockey players flashed across the screen, a voice announced the featured segments of the weekly sports program. If she watched the entire thirty minutes she could get an analysis of the games played the previous week, hear an interview with the head coach of the Minnesota Cougars hockey team and watch a demonstration of stickhandling at its best. Since she’d checked out the tape for one reason only—to see the player profile feature—she pressed the fast-forward button until she found that particular segment.

      Images of bodies being pushed into the boards and sliding across the ice as skaters battled for the small black puck flashed on the screen. “Every team has one…a big, mean skater who patrols the blue line using his physical presence as a weapon,” the narrator said as a player rammed another against the boards. “He’s as tough as nails, adding СКАЧАТЬ