Baby It's Cold Outside Page 10

  Sloan watched with interest as Mick’s large, rangy frame collided with her friend’s tiny, petite one. The bush pilot—she’d found out his occupation the evening before—wore a day’s growth of beard along with a tattered leather jacket, faded jeans and work boots. His long-fingered hands rested on Grier’s shoulders a few extra moments as he held her away from his body, concern etched across his features.

  The air practically crackled between them as Mick dropped his hands and shuffled from foot to foot while Grier pushed her hair behind her ears in an endearingly nervous gesture Sloan had seen more than once over the years.

  “On fire and I think the roof just collapsed,” Sloan collaborated, curious to see how Grier played it. She knew what hell Grier had lived with for the last three months and also knew the damage it had done on an emotional level. Mick O’Shaughnessy was definitely not Grier Thompson’s type.

  And as she watched her friend take a few nervous steps backward, Sloan realized he might be exactly what she needed.

  Avery stood with a light sigh. “Much as I hate to interrupt, I need to get on bar duty. Make sure you save some of the juicy stuff for me.”

  Before Sloan could ask her what she was after, she walked straight up to the two of them. “O’Shaughnessy. A beer?” When he nodded, she added, “Take my seat. It looks like we’re about to get a repeat crowd.”

  Grier shot Avery a look that indicated dire retribution, but Avery ignored her, moving behind the bar with practiced ease and a keen eye as she welcomed a few people who sat along the length of the bar.

  As Sloan watched her, she couldn’t stop the thought that Roman Forsyth must really be an inconsiderate asshole to have let this one get away.

  Chapter Eight

  The cold December air swirled around Walker as he headed toward the Indigo Blue. Although it wasn’t even six, the sky had long since darkened and now a blanket of stars twinkled overhead.

  He said hello to fellow townsfolk, even stopped for a quick catch-up with Rose and Mark Paxton, who wanted to see if he’d be willing do their wills now that they were expecting their first child.

  As he walked away from them, he couldn’t keep the same unease from washing over him again. Damn it, why was he so turned around? It was just a kiss last night and a walk down Main Street this morning. Nothing more, nothing less.

  A few shared moments that didn’t add up to anything significant. All that consenting stuff he’d just lectured Jess on.

  So why could he still picture her shining eyes? That liquid blue, covered with tears as she stared up at the love monument that seemed to define the town.

  Fuck.

  The lights of the Indigo Blue washed over him as he walked up to the hotel. The lobby glowed with an indefinable cheer, Christmas decorations adding bright splashes of color where Susan and Avery had put up a tree and several wreaths.

  And then the wash of color faded away so that all he saw was her.

  Sloan.

  A bright smile lit up her face, her head tilted back in laughter. His stomach tightened painfully when he realized she was laughing with Mick, but he quickly tamped it down when he saw Mick’s gaze shift. Darken. And stay firmly and fully on Grier.

  The same thought that had struck him earlier—that his friend had the hots for Grier Thompson—went from a vague thought to a dead-on conclusion as he watched the way Mick looked at her. Devoured her, really.

  Oh yeah, he had it bad.

  Stepping through the door, he caught Avery’s eye from across the room and she held up a beer she’d just opened for another patron in a very clear signal to ask if he’d like the same. His affirmative nod ensured she handed him a cold one as he approached the bar.

  “Looks like you guys need to brace for another crowd tonight.”

  “And there’s one person we can place our thanks to for that.” Avery nodded in the direction of Sloan and Grier. “Bachelorette week’s starting earlier than usual.”

  Walker eyed her speculatively, but he couldn’t detect any notes of sarcasm. “You’re not wearing your usual annoyance on that subject.”

  On a light shrug, Avery drank a sip from a bottled water she kept under the bar. “I like Grier and Sloan.”

  “That’s a change of pace. I thought I distinctly remembered you telling me the annual influx of visitors were pond-scum-sucking interlopers.”

  “These ones aren’t interlopers. They’re friends.”

  Not entirely sure why he felt honor bound to let her know, he nevertheless found himself adding, “Speaking of friends, Roman’s coming in next weekend.”

  “Oh?”

  “It’s his one long weekend off this season and he decided to make the most of it.”

  “How nice for him.”

  “Susan hasn’t mentioned it to you?”

  “No, she hasn’t.” A few hand waves from the opposite end of the bar caught her attention and she excused herself.

  And with that confirmation, he was glad he said something. Roman was one of his best friends, but he’d always thought the man had acted like a perfect asshole when it came to Avery. And, in true matchmaking form, Roman’s mother couldn’t see it and opted to blindside Avery each and every time Roman decided to drop in to town.

  So yeah.

  He was glad he said something.

  Good deed done for the day, he walked over to grab the empty seat next to Sloan. “I can only assume he’s told you so many tall tales by now you’re ready for some real stories.”

  “Ah.” Mick sat back and cracked his knuckles. “Are you about to regale us with some deeply fascinating legal stories, Abe Lincoln?”

  “Let me guess. You’ve heard about the bear at the base of Denali who decided to use part of his plane as a scratching post. And then you probably heard the one about the salmon he caught too large to fit in the back of his plane. And I bet he’s also told you the one about the moose who decided to head butt one of his propellers on the runway last spring.”

  Mick reached for his beer, taking a long drag before adding, “All true stories.”

  “So there was this case I was trying down in Anchorage,” Walker started.

  “Here he goes.” Mick groaned.

  Sloan’s laughter interrupted them both. “So how long have you two been doing this routine?”

  “Off and on since puberty.”

  “Routine’s the same; the script has changed a bit,” Mick added.

  “It figures.”

  Walker’s gaze jumped from Sloan to Grier and back to Sloan again. “How long have you two known each other?”

  “Since the first day of college.”

  “We were roommates,” Grier added.

  “That’s amazing. Most people hate their first college roommate.”

  “Not us,” Grier said firmly. “We were a match from the start.”

  Even their physical appearances made them a pair, their differences lending an odd sort of symmetry. Grier, petite, with dark chestnut hair and smoky gray eyes. Sloan an all-American blonde with piercing blue.

  As if uncomfortable with the scrutiny, Sloan’s gaze turned speculative as she deftly changed the subject. “So, Walker of the legal tales. Have you ever gone head-to-head with a moose?”

  “It’s an ugly story.”

  “That only makes it all the more important you tell it.”

  Walker tossed her a speculative look of his own. “You can’t be interested in something that happened when I was a young buck, convinced of my invincibility.”

  “You’d be surprised.” Sloan leaned forward slightly, her eyebrow going up in a seductive challenge.

  Before he could answer, a loud throng of voices assaulted him, breaking him out of the moment.

  Slamming him out of it, actually, with the force of an oncoming freight train.

  Mick groaned under his breath, the sound not carrying farther than the four of them as the men’s grandmothers walked toward them.

  “Good evening, everyone.” Walker didn’t miss tha
t his grandmother spoke first.

  “Grandmother.” Walker nodded as he stood to kiss her cheek and take her hand to lead her to his seat.

  Grier and Sloan started to stand to give their seats before Mick leaped up, landed a quick kiss on Mary’s cheek, then muttered something about “grabbing more chairs.”

  The small conversation circle quickly expanded to include the three women and Walker couldn’t help but think of his earlier description to Avery.

  Interlopers.

  He’d always felt an edge of annoyance at his grandmother’s matchmaking efforts, but for all his complaints, he’d never felt intruded upon.

  Until now.

  Sloan saw the change in Walker immediately. Although she’d enjoyed teasing him about his grandmother’s interfering ways, she hadn’t really sensed he minded all that much. But the dark look that rode his face went way beyond a slight irritation.

  If she wasn’t mistaken, he was mad.

  The only question in her mind was whether he was mad over the arrival of the grandmothers, or if it was something else.

  She’d seen his face when he’d strode into the lobby of the Indigo Blue a short time ago. There was a hardness in the set of his shoulders that spoke of frustration. And then those few moments at the bar with Avery, when her carefree expression turned decidedly troubled. She hadn’t missed the dark look that crossed Walker’s face once Avery turned away to help some patrons at the end of the bar.

  It had captured her interest, even though it really wasn’t any of her business to wonder about him.

  So why was she still thinking about it?

  Silence descended among the group. Grier shot her a look that Sloan immediately interpreted to mean What the hell do we do now?

  Before she could think of anything, Grier took over, her smile bright with excitement. “I think you’ll be excited by Sloan’s news.”

  Sophie turned toward her, just as Walker returned with drinks for the three women. “What news, dear?”

  “I’m writing an article about the town. The event that’s coming up. It was just accepted today by a travel editor.”

  “On our town?” Mary interjected, her gaze pulled from its laser focus on her grandson and Grier. “In a magazine?”

  Sloan brought them all up to speed, pleased when their excitement and enthusiasm seemed to lift the collective focus off of matchmaking and firmly on what it all meant for Indigo.

  “You’ll be nice to us, won’t you, dear? With what you write.” Julia’s smile was soft, but Sloan didn’t miss her firm resolve.

  “Yes, Mrs. Forsyth. I’m writing a piece that will encourage visitors, not keep them away.”

  The answer seemed to satisfy as the woman sat back and took a sip of her drink. Sloan watched her as the discussion swirled around them, remembering her conversation with Walker that morning. Julia Forsyth was the first widow.

  At thirty-six.

  Sloan just couldn’t imagine it. She was only three years away from that age and the couple part of her life hadn’t even started.

  And she still felt like she had so much time.

  Didn’t everyone feel that way?

  She watched Julia a few more moments. There was a way about her. Not sad, really, but quiet. Like she was marking time instead of living it.

  Sloan was pulled out of her reverie by the arrival of Susan, who planted herself on the arm of her mother-in-law’s chair, leaned down and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “I can see the troublemakers have arrived.”

  Julia glanced up at her daughter-in-law and the quiet shifted, brightened. “I thought it was your night off?”

  “Nope. I couldn’t leave Avery by herself with the uptick in business.” Susan’s gaze flicked briefly toward Avery before turning back to Julia. “Besides, Roman’s in next weekend and I want to take a bit of time to visit with him.”

  Sloan shot Grier a look at that and suddenly the exchange at the bar made a bit more sense. Although they didn’t know Avery well, Sloan had to believe the woman would have mentioned if the one who got away was coming back for a visit.

  Which made her think that Walker was the one who had imparted the information.

  The hard set of his shoulders confirmed it.

  The conversation spun out, changing topics as Grier kept things moving, peppering the grandmothers with questions about the competition itself.

  “Mick and Walker and a few others are helping set the course tomorrow,” Mary interjected. “You two should come watch.”

  “Won’t that give me an unfair advantage?” Sloan couldn’t resist teasing. “I mean, if I know the course, won’t it be easier to carry my pail of water?”

  “Pails. Plural,” Walker corrected her with a dry tone.

  Sloan shook her head, once again boggled she’d agreed to this. She was a professional, for heaven’s sake. And she knew damn well there would be a ton of pictures taken for the event.

  Pictures that would, no doubt, end up showcased on some Web site somewhere.

  Good Lord, what had she gotten herself into?

  And then she caught sight of Julia’s face again.

  With a disturbing flash of insight, the answer to why she was competing was crystal clear.

  Mark time or get in the game?

  Jessica stared at the phone, studying it with deep concentration. They’d upgraded to office phones a few years ago at Walker’s insistence and it had taken Myrtle six months to even learn how to use the damn thing.

  Now you’d have thought it had been her idea, since the woman knew how to use each and every feature. Voice mail. Conference calls. Even the horrific paging system, which she used with frightening regularity.

  A particularly pointless exercise, since their offices were basically three large rooms.

  It really was a beauty of a phone, though. Six lines, with buttons for each one. And then a whole panel of buttons to do everything from transfer calls to launch a guided missile.

  And she was stalling.

  With a deep breath, she lifted and dialed, the number flying from her fingertips with the taunting clarity of memory.

  “Hello.”

  “Jack?”

  “Yep.”

  “It’s Jessica. McFarland.”

  A light laugh rumbled through the line. “I know who you are.”

  “Oh. Well. That’s good.”

  Silence hummed for a moment and every thought she’d ever had about him—every moment of need and longing and desire—seemed to stick in her chest as she waited to see if he’d say anything.

  “Where are you? I don’t recognize the number.”

  “I’m calling from the office.”

  “It’s awfully late.” It wouldn’t have been if she hadn’t sat there for almost two hours trying to get up her nerve.

  “Yeah, well, we’ve been working on a few things. I’m trying to get ahead before the holidays and all.”

  “Sure. Busy season is coming. Sounds like for both of us.”

  “You and Mick have a lot of trips coming in?”

  “We do. Lots of corporate stuff again this year, which is good. We’ve missed that the last few years.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  Small talk.

  That’s all this was and they both damn well knew it. Seeing as how they’d covered jobs, all they needed to do was to discuss the weather next.

  “Storm’s scheduled for early next week. I hope that doesn’t put a dent in things, making it hard for folks to arrive.”

  And there it was, the proverbial conversation time waster.

  On a rush, she decided to get it over with, possible humiliation preferable to a discussion on rising storm fronts and weather systems.

  “So, Jack. I was wondering. If you’re not too busy. I’d like to have you over for dinner.” And then for some other things. Consenting things, as Walker had dubbed it. And oh, I don’t know, for the rest of my life sounds pretty fabulous, too.

  “Thanks, Jess. Thanks. But. Well.”
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  She heard the fumbling, the flat tones of his voice, and knew what was coming.

  Knew there would be no dinner.

  “Look, if you can’t, I understand.”

  “You do, don’t you?”

  “Sure I do.”

  “It’s not a good time right now.”

  “Got it. No problem. Look. Know that the invitation’s always open. That’s what friends do, you know.”

  “Yeah. I know.”

  “Well, it sounds like you’ve got a busy week and I’ve got about another hour of it here before I close up for the night. I’ll catch you around town.”

  “You, too.”

  She would not cry.

  She would not.

  To her great relief, she didn’t. But as she replaced the expensive phone in its high-tech cradle, Jessica fought the urge to throw it across the room.

  The hotel was in full swing for the second night in a row, the lobby almost bursting with the denizens of Indigo. Sloan again found herself mingling, saying hello to some familiar faces from the evening before and meeting those who hadn’t made it or whom she simply hadn’t met yet.

  All the conversations were filled with warmth.

  And welcome.

  And a whole lot of speculation.

  The triple crown of that very friendly nosiness small towns were known for.

  Why was it that since she hadn’t grown up with these people their interest felt almost charming somehow? If she’d been at home, she knew it would have made her feel oppressed and rather annoyed.

  A quick glance at Walker—and the hard lines that still marked his face—suggested he fell very squarely in the oppressed and annoyed camp this evening.

  And it had all started when his grandmother came in.

  With a gentle tap on her elbow, Sloan turned to see a very refined man with jet-black hair streaked liberally with silver and dark skin the color of a perpetual tan. “I wanted to introduce myself. I’m Ken Cloud.”

  Sloan put together various stories she’d heard over the past two evenings. “Dr. Cloud?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s lovely to meet you.”