Baby It's Cold Outside Read online

  “What do the bachelorettes compete for?” Sloan wondered aloud as she tried to be discreet in her observations.

  “The competition’s actually in two parts. The day is a test of skill for the women. You shoot fake skeet birds, carry pails of water down Main Street. There’s even a mini-Iditarod. It’s presumably to see if you could survive in Alaska.”

  “You shoot a lot of birds, Avery?” Sloan couldn’t resist teasing.

  “Don’t you know it. Anyway, then in the evening, things switch to the guys. There’s a bachelor auction and dance for the women to bid on the men.”

  “What do you do with them?” Grier’s eyes widened and Sloan couldn’t help but giggle.

  “It’s not a bordello, Grier.”

  Avery laughed at that one. “No, far from it; although, what happens at the auction stays at the auction, if you know what I mean. But no, the proceeds go toward a town fund for needed items. They’ve given scholarships out of it, helped out a family who had a fire. Lots of different things. It’s for the good of the community.”

  “That’s rather nice,” Sloan added, impressed the grandmothers had found a way to make their little hobby useful.

  Before she could ask any more questions, Sophie Montgomery approached and asked for a moment of Grier’s time. As Sloan watched her friend move to the end of the bar with the mayor, a shot of pride filled her that her plan was working out so well.

  Pleased Grier’s community inroads were moving along, she turned her attention back toward the two men. With a glance toward Avery, she said, “The grandmothers can’t get those two married off?”

  Avery leaned over the bar and refilled Sloan’s wineglass. “I think it’s a matter of neither of them wanting to, despite their grandmothers’ best efforts.”

  “Who’s the third one?”

  “He doesn’t live here anymore.”

  The tightening of Avery’s voice put Sloan on high alert and she deftly ignored the two men who seemed to have taken over the hotel lobby with their very presence. “Where does he live?”

  “Your neck of the woods, actually. His name’s Roman Forsyth.”

  Sloan had followed the New York Metros a few years back when she wrote a series on rink bunnies and she still remembered the names of most of the team members. “You mean Roman Forsyth is the third grandson?”

  “Yep.”

  “The NHL MVP two years ago?”

  “That would be the one,” Avery whispered as she suddenly took an intense interest in polishing a spot on the bar where she’d spilled a few drops of wine.

  Sloan wanted to question her further, but saw the bleak, ice-cold heartbreak in the young woman’s gaze. “Roman?”

  Avery gave a quick nod before heading back toward the opposite end of the bar. Sloan didn’t need any more information—the reaction, coupled with the odd remark earlier—told her all she needed to know.

  Avery Marks was nursing one hell of a broken heart.

  Walker nodded around his longneck, feigning interest in whatever it was his law partner, Jessica McFarland, was saying.

  “It’s getting uglier by the day, Walker. Isn’t there something we can do? Kate’s been here a lot longer. She’s entitled to stay in her father’s home.”

  “She’s got a home and she can stay there until we get this figured out. Until then, the house is under an injunction and neither of them can live there.” He turned his gaze on Jess. “You damn well know that, so why the argument?”

  “It hardly seems fair.”

  “We’re not tasked to judge what’s fair; we’re tasked to do our jobs.”

  “But she just came waltzing up there and thinks she has a right to Jonas’s things.”

  “She is Jonas’s daughter, Grier.” The small burn of annoyance that had dogged him since the start of the case—that Jonas had ignored said daughter for her entire life—shifted into a simmering fire. “And, Jess. If you can’t separate your personal feelings from this one, maybe you need to extricate yourself from it.”

  She held up a hand, her cocktail sloshing dangerously close to the rim of her glass. “You think I can’t handle it?”

  “I think you need to stop thinking like Kate Winston’s friend.”

  “Easy for you to say.”

  “It wasn’t a suggestion, Counselor.” Frustrated that someone he respected as much Jess couldn’t separate the small-town life from her job dogged him as he headed for the bar, intent on getting a refill for his beer.

  When he had Avery’s attention, he pointed to his beer. “I’ll have another longneck and snag me one for Mick while you’re at it.”

  He allowed himself to casually look around the large lobby, now packed to the brim with Indigo’s finest. Before he could stop himself, his eyes alighted on the woman at the center of this evening’s little tête-à-tête.

  “You sure can’t seem to stop looking at her, Walker Montgomery.” Avery’s whisper floated over his left shoulder. He turned, careful to keep his manner casual, even as he questioned how she had noticed.

  “I’m just taking in the view. And there’s a lot to take in this evening, seeing as how we’ve suddenly got a few party girls in our midst.”

  “I’d hardly call them party girls. Grier Thompson’s been given the bum’s rush by this town and her friend just wants to help her break the ice.” Avery shot a dark glance across the room at a gaggle of women wrapped in a circle around Kate.

  “Kate’ll thaw out.”

  “She’s not acting like she’ll thaw out.” Avery reached under the bar and pulled out a bottle of wine, pouring herself a glass. “In fact, she’s getting colder and meaner by the day.”

  “She’s still here drinking the free liquor.”

  Avery nodded toward a short line of glasses at the bar—two to be exact—holding credit cards wrapped in receipts. “Oh no. She’s got her own tab going. Made sure several people saw her do it, too.”

  Walker shook his head at the small-town politics. Truth be told, they weren’t all that different from large-town politics, but it was a lot easier to show your hand up here.

  Kate and her friends sashayed to the bar and ordered another round.

  Or to show off your hand, Walker thought as the women made another production of ordering on their tab. Loudly.

  He moved away from the bar, his interest in getting caught up in conversation about the same as getting cornered by a grizzly on his way home. Instead, he moved determinedly in the direction of Grier Thompson and her friend.

  Sloan.

  Why couldn’t he stop thinking about her? It was a name to be whispered in the wash of moonlight coming into his bedroom as his mouth did dark things to her body. A name that matched a woman who fired his interest and drew his attention like a magnet.

  Setting a determined path, Walker made his way across the room.

  “You’re really writing an article?”

  Sloan had decided to take the bull by the horns and had inserted herself into Grier’s conversation with the mayor. It hadn’t taken her long to weave in a small mention of her profession and after that, she could have scripted the discussion, it moved so smoothly to her benefit. “Well, I still have to pitch it, but I think this is exactly what the editor is looking for.” Sloan watched the rapturous expression spread across Sophie Montgomery’s face and mentally tallied a point in the outsiders’ column. It might not be as hard to charm the town of Indigo as Grier had feared.

  “What do you mean ‘pitch it,’ dear?”

  “I’m a freelance journalist, Mrs. Montgomery. Although all writers have to pitch their stories, my process is a bit more complex.”

  “I’m sure it will sell, dear.” Sophie patted her arm. “People are awfully interested in what happens up here. I was this close”—the woman squeezed two fingers together, leaving minimal space between them—“to getting one of the morning programs to cover our competition. There’s interest. Mark my words.”

  Sloan certainly hoped so. With an ear to the conver
sations around her, she allowed the article to take shape in her mind. The people she’d met, even after only three hours, had defied her expectations and she was already excited to do the piece. “That’s what I’m planning on, Mrs. Montgomery.”

  Although the idea for the drink invitation had been pure impulse, Sloan had quickly realized the benefits of the plan.

  And it wasn’t a bribe, damn it.

  Not in the least.

  Clearly, she needed to get on the good side of the town if she had any intention of writing a story about them. And it was the perfect excuse to introduce both herself and Grier to everyone, helping to drum up some sympathy on the part of her friend.

  While she admired the town’s insistence in taking care of one of their own, Grier was one of theirs, too. Jonas Winston had seen to that when he decided to live here. Too bad if Kate had gotten here first. She might have home-court advantage, but Grier was entitled to a shot at the game.

  Pasting on a broad smile, Sloan turned her attention to the two women who had moved up next to Sophie to join in the conversation.

  The first woman extended a withered hand. Despite her age, the handshake was firm. Solid. And a clear indication that the women who chose to live in Alaska had a hearty bent to them. “I’m Mary O’Shaughnessy. It’s lovely to meet you.”

  “You as well.”

  Sloan was then introduced to the third member of their triumvirate, Julia Forsyth. “I met your daughter-in-law earlier when I checked in. I understand your grandson’s a hockey player.”

  “Yes, that’s my Roman.”

  “I did an article on the team a few years back. He was having quite the season.” Sloan elected not to mention that Roman Forsyth was one of the hockey world’s hottest commodities that season, sought after by women from New York to Los Angeles.

  “That was you.” Julia’s eyes lit up. “I thought I recognized your name. And thank you for bringing to light the disgusting habits of those rink bunnies. Goodness, you’d think young women would know how to be more subtle than all that.”

  Sloan nearly choked on her mouthful of wine. Did the woman honestly think the rink bunnies were the only ones to blame? While she’d never had a problem acknowledging the healthy appetites of red-blooded American males, what was with these women? Were they truly so besotted with the image of great-grandbabies that they couldn’t honestly assess the somewhat improper behavior of the men they loved so well?

  “So the three of you are behind the annual competition?”

  Three nodding heads and broad smiles greeted her inquiry.

  “When did it start?”

  “Oh goodness, we married our sons off with a version of the competition, going on almost forty years ago. But the current competition is about fifteen years old.”

  Sloan’s eyebrows rose at that one. “Wow. That’s some longevity.”

  “Well, it’s grown over time,” Julia added. “When our kids were young we just sort of added on to an existing town dance we hold every winter. But when our grandsons proved to be so reluctant to settle down, we decided it needed resurrecting.”

  “Our grandsons are particularly stubborn,” Sophie added with a wry glance across the room.

  Sloan followed the woman’s gaze, not surprised when she locked eyes once again with the large guy from the town-hall meeting. With a slight nod of her head, Sloan added, “I take it that’s your grandson.”

  “My bull-headed grandson, Walker.”

  “Walker.” As his name left her lips, recognition hit. “Grier’s lawyer?”

  “Yes, dear.”

  Like a deflating balloon, Sloan couldn’t stop the rush of disappointment as it burst the tentative interest she’d had in the man. As far as she was concerned, Grier’s lawyer was a good portion of the reason her friend was in this mess. The man had advised Jonas Winston for years and he couldn’t be bothered to encourage the man to reach out to his daughter?

  What the hell kind of legal advice was that?

  “Oh.”

  If she heard the distinct chill that had frosted Sloan’s words, Sophie paid no attention as she waved her grandson over. With a wry grin, he accepted his grandmother’s invitation, crossing the room in confident strides.

  Sloan submitted to yet another round of introductions, but instead of the anticipation that had flowed through her earlier like warm honey at the prospect of meeting this man, all she could manage was the dull facade she’d honed for over a decade and a half in polite society.

  It also didn’t escape her notice that the grandmothers had found excuses to slip away before the introductions were complete.

  “Grier didn’t mention a friend was joining her. How are you finding Indigo?”

  Sloan couldn’t pinpoint why she was so disappointed; all she knew was that she couldn’t quite keep the righteous anger from seeping out. “Maybe if you spent more time with your client you’d have known I was coming up here.”

  His eyes clouded in confusion. “I do spend time with my client. She simply hasn’t mentioned your visit.”

  “Are you representing her sister, too?”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but no, I don’t. It would be a considerable conflict.”

  “So why have you allowed the entire town to side with the sister?”

  Walker tried to reconcile the virago in front of him with the sloe-eyed beauty from the town-hall meeting and found himself coming up short. “Is there a problem?”

  “I think you’ve been shortchanging Grier.”

  “I’m sure you and Grier share a lot. And if that’s how she feels, then you should suggest to her she take it up with me.”

  “I’m taking it up with you.”

  “It’s really none of your business.”

  A small line furrowed her brow and Walker saw a mixture of sympathy and anger in the blue depths of Sloan’s eyes. “She needs someone to stick up for her.”

  “I think she does just fine by herself. And I’m following the letter of the law in the execution of her father’s will. I’m sorry if you feel that’s somehow shortchanging her.”

  “And this”—Sloan spread an expansive hand out to the room at large—“these people don’t seem all that happy to have her here.”

  Walker turned to the spot in the room he’d noticed Grier had drifted to earlier. Truth be told, the woman had drifted among different groups of people all evening. “She seems to be doing just fine, mama bear. Your little experiment here is working wonders.”

  “Experiment?”

  “Sure. Butter up the locals. Flash a bit of cash and a few smiles. Great tactic, I’ll give you that. Most folks around here don’t get treated to whatever they want at the Indigo Blue. Although—” He broke off, nodding in the direction of the bar. “You’d better keep an eye on Hooch. He’s been drinking their single-malt Scotch like it’s water.”

  Walker couldn’t suppress the smile at her wide eyes and dropped mouth when she zeroed in on Hooch and his wife, Chooch, laughing merrily at the bar. “What?”

  “They don’t call him Hooch for nothing, after all.”

  He was impressed when she didn’t move to give an early end to the old couple’s evening, instead turning her attention back to him. “I’m not flashing cash, as you so rudely put it. And even if I were, it doesn’t change the fact these people hadn’t given her the time of day until someone poured a bit of liquor in them.”

  “So you’re going to play the avenging angel and make it all better?”

  “No.”

  “Then what are you doing here?”

  “I’m lending some support.”

  “Let me give you a hint, Princess.” He leaned forward, not quite sure why he had gotten engaged in this idiotic battle of wills in the first place. “Your friend’s a lot tougher than you give her credit for. Why don’t you just try being her friend?”

  Sloan knew she should be feeling profound joy that her idea had taken off, but all she felt was a sensation of dark melancholy working its
way through her. Her little ploy had worked. They’d been in the hotel for only an hour and already Grier was the center of attention, the townspeople anxious to meet her, introducing themselves in groups as they sought to get acquainted.

  She should feel joyous and happy for her friend and all she felt was the one-two punch of bitchy and manipulative.

  And where in the hell had that come from?

  Grier was an awesome person and these people had judged her without benefit of a fair trial or even a friendly conversation. All she’d done was facilitate a few meet-and-greets, letting everyone get a chance to hear Grier’s side of the story.

  A father she’d never met. A sudden inheritance that necessitated a trip as geographically far away as she could get from home and still stay in the United States. And a new family member who’d decided she was no more interesting—or welcome—than a pile of moose droppings.

  So why were Walker’s comments so upsetting?

  Why don’t you just try being her friend?

  Damn it, that was what she was doing. Grier deserved better treatment than she’d been receiving from the townspeople of Indigo.

  And if the sense of anger and annoyance she felt for her best friend matched the disappointment Sloan felt at being an outcast in her own hometown . . .

  Well.

  She just wasn’t going to go there.

  And as for the disillusionment she felt in finding out the hot man with the broad shoulders and warm brown eyes was Grier’s useless, good-for-nothing lawyer, well, she just wasn’t going there, either.

  On a whispered shit, she discreetly dragged her coat out of a pile in the far corner of the lobby and headed for a side exit of the hotel. A few minutes of fresh air would clear her head and kick whatever glum ache had settled itself in her heart to the curb.

  A few minutes to gather herself.

  A few minutes before she had to get back to being the gracious hostess with the burning platinum card.

  “That really is quite the party you’ve got going on in there. Although, you’ll be pleased to note Hooch and Chooch just bundled themselves up for the walk home.”