by Addison Fox
No, there wasn’t.
“I’ve spent my life in an environment that’s all about expectations. And I guess I never realized how many of them I had myself. It’s sort of an irritating discovery, truth be told.”
“Irritating?”
“Deeply.” She sighed and kneeled down as her gaze landed on the edge of a carving etched in the marble base of the monument. With her gloved hand, she brushed away the snow caked there to reveal words.
The rush of emotion caught her—blindsided her, actually—square in the throat. On a whispered breath, she read the engraving. “‘For those we aren’t allowed to keep.’ ”
Silence descended between them and in the still quiet, Sloan heard the distant honk of a car horn, the light punctuation of shouted conversations farther down Main Street.
“You should probably stand up. Your jeans aren’t made for kneeling in the snow.” As Walker extended his hand to her, helping her rise, Sloan couldn’t quite keep the unexpected sentimental tears from spilling over.
With a peculiar clarity, she couldn’t help but compare these tears to the ones she’d shed only a few nights prior, after her encounter with Trent. Where that had left her empty and sad, this left a different sort of mark.
Something quieter. Deeper. And oddly, more hopeful.
True love did exist.
It lived and breathed, floating on the air and dancing a merry tune between those lucky enough to find it.
“Thank you for bringing me here.”
Walker removed one of his gloves and ran a finger from her chin to her jaw, then over her cheek to catch a tear on the tip. Her stomach tightened at the tender ministration, the barely-there touch registering with the force of a hurricane.
A lock of dark hair blew against his forehead in the light breeze that swirled around them as he reached toward her other cheek. With the same tenderness, he brushed away another tear as she fought the urge to lean in to him. Caught in the moment, need rose up to replace the nerves in her belly with a growing, greedy desire for more of his touch.
She wanted to take, but something held her back. Nerves? Fear?
With one last glance toward the monument, she stepped back, turning herself in the direction of downtown.
“We should get back.”
He gave a short nod and a simple, husky, “Yes.” But as she walked next to him down the frozen sidewalks of Main Street, Sloan felt the heat of desire that burned the air hot between them.
The words blurring before his eyes had Walker reaching for the pair of wire frames that lay next to his coffee mug. With the reluctant grace of someone who knew he was losing the battle, he shoved the glasses onto his nose and stared down at the brief that awaited his attention.
“You wearing those to poker night, Mr. Professor?”
Walker glanced up to see Mick O’Shaughnessy standing in his doorway, a leather jacket slung over one shoulder and a steaming mug in the other hand. “Who the hell let you in?”
“The ever-delightful Myrtle.”
Far too many manners had been drilled into him—and the door stood way too open—for Walker to laugh at Mick’s description. However, Walker suspected the word “delightful” had never made it into the same sentence as the name Myrtle Driver in all the woman’s sixty-plus years.
“She got you coffee, too?” Walker gave a dry stare at his own now cold mug, acknowledging the fact that in the decade he’d employed Myrtle, the woman had never so much as brought him a glass of tap water.
“What can I say?” A broad, cocky grin spread across Mick’s face. “It’s damn good coffee, too.”
“Nothing. You can say nothing.” Walker crossed the room to the small sink in the corner of his office, dumping the cold coffee and then pouring a fresh cup from the perpetually full pot he kept on the small counter next to the sink.
After dumping in a liberal amount of sugar, he grabbed the seat next to Mick, stretched out his legs and balanced the mug on his knee. “What’s up?”
“I finished up my runs early today. Thought I’d see if you wanted to grab a beer.”
“I could be persuaded.” Walker thought about the work he’d drowned himself in since his morning walk with Sloan and nodded. The legal brief on his desk was his last chore of the day and it would keep. “In fact, it’s inspired. You, however, may not want to go with me once you find out I’m a traitor to the cause.”
Mick took a sip of his coffee, his gaze speculative over the rim. “Because you’re entering the auction?”
“Fuck.” Walker scrubbed a hand over his jaw, the day’s stubble making a satisfying scratch. “There really are no secrets in this town. How’d you find out?”
“The note I got in study hall pretty much tipped me off.”
“Smart-ass.”
“It’s all anyone out at the airstrip could talk about.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Hell no. I barely had the damn plane on the ground before Maggie was chattering in my headset. She claims she heard it from Renee who heard it herself at the diner this morning.”
Of course. Even he wasn’t dumb enough to think he and Sloan had any privacy during breakfast. “At least she let you land.”
“True,” Mick added drily. “She’s actually quite smart and pragmatic under that mile-long streak of gossip she’s always spouting. She’s already working on me. And then she got Darlene in on it; she harangued me some more while signing off on my paperwork.”
“Work? There couldn’t have been much of that going on today.”
“Other than my paperwork, I don’t think she did a lick of it. Instead, she spent the day making a list of the women who are landing in a few days’ time so she can pass out a checklist. Apparently she’s created some bachelorette scoring system and everything.”
“Does TSA know she’s copying their names for a distribution list?”
Mick raised an eyebrow. “What do you think?”
“Shit.” Walker did another scrub with his fingers, this time over his suddenly aching temples. “What the hell have our grandmothers wrought?”
“The apocalypse.”
“You competing?”
“I think I’m rearranging my sock drawer that day,” Mick drawled.
“Now that Sloan’s in, Grier may not be far behind.”
Mick shrugged as he lifted his coffee cup to his lips for another sip, but Walker didn’t miss the stiffening shoulders or the slightly too-casual tone. “Doesn’t mean I should give my grandmother the satisfaction of actually entering the auction.”
“Suit yourself.”
Mick stood and grabbed his jacket. “Come on. Let’s go.”
A quick knock on the doorframe stopped them. “Walker. I need two minutes.”
With a glance at Jessica, he nodded. “Sure. What’s up?”
“More affidavits from the men on Jonas’s crew. All of them claim he talked about a daughter.” Walker took the papers from her, eyeing Mick before scanning the information quickly.
“I’ll give you two some privacy. Walker, come meet me at the Indigo Blue when you’re done.”
Walker didn’t miss the smirk on his friend’s face but refused the bait.
If Mick wanted to spend the evening in the company of some New York bachelorettes—which he had no doubt the man did—who was he to argue? With an eye to the affidavits, he glanced up at Jessica. “They don’t say which.”
“No, but based on the timing it had to be Grier. Kate wasn’t even born yet.” Jessica waited a moment before adding, “So what do you hope to do with this?”
“It’s further evidence he cared for her. Further evidence Kate can’t stand in the way of Grier’s half of the inheritance. And further evidence they have to split the house.”
“I’m sure Kate’s lawyer will see it differently. Especially since she practically moved in there during Jonas’s convalescence.” Jessica’s defense of her childhood friend hadn’t completely vanished, but it had far less fire than the evening bef
ore.
Walker ran a hand through his hair, grabbing at the strands with clenched fingers. “Let him. It’s all gotten too carried away, anyway. Kate shouldn’t be contesting the will, but because she is, it’s screwing both out of them out of grieving and putting this behind them.”
“They’re both shell-shocked, Walker. It makes it difficult to think straight.”
“That’s why we’re here, Jess. To do the thinking and keep it straight.”
“Of course.”
Walker eyed his partner, the dark circles under her eyes catching his attention. “You doing okay?”
“Of course.”
“You sure?”
“It’s just . . .” She broke off as a frown marred the smooth lines of her face.
“It’s just what?”
“I don’t know. Petty, and at the same time, understandable. And it’s not my job to judge petty, I know.”
“But it’s hard to watch a friend suffer.”
“It’s hard to watch anyone suffer.”
The misery stamped on her face tipped him off, but it was her words that finally had him cluing in to the fact there was something else going on. “Why does my Spidey-sense tell me we’re not talking about Grier and Kate anymore?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you do. And that faraway look in your eyes tells me you’re thinking about one person.”
“Damn it, Walker. I’m entitled to my own thoughts.”
“Didn’t say you weren’t.”
“So what the hell do you want?”
“I want to know why you don’t just bite the fucking bullet and ask Jack Rafferty over to your home for dinner. If something consenting happens afterward, even better.”
The dark circles only highlighted the light sheen that filled her eyes. “He’s not interested.”
“I think he might surprise you.”
Jess looked him straight in the eye, whatever momentary grief she’d felt sparking over to anger. “I don’t believe in surprises.”
Walker’s mind filled with an image of Sloan McKinley wrapped in his arms the night before outside the Indigo Blue. The heat of her mouth and the immediate, desperate longing that had filled him without warning slammed into him again at the force of the memory.
“Well, that’s the funny thing. Just when you’re convinced they don’t exist any longer, one comes right on up and bites you in the ass.”
“You’re really going to do it?” Grier’s smile was infectious as she poured the first glass of wine. “I can’t believe it.”
“Believe it.” Sloan reached for her wine, holding it until Grier had finished pouring for all of them.
“It’s all anyone’s been able to talk about today,” Avery added as she picked up her own glass. “You are a hot commodity here in Indigo, Sloan McKinley. The whole town’s talking about you.”
“Which is a refreshing change from them talking about me.” Grier held up her glass to toast. “To the town’s new point of interest.”
Sloan reveled in the merry clinking and thought about the call she’d had a few hours before with the travel editor. She’d bought the piece, just as Sloan had expected. What she hadn’t expected was that the woman would fall so in love with the pitch—“Getaways with Girlfriends”—that they’d spend nearly an hour on the phone.
Before the call was over, she’d committed to an ongoing series, to be done over six months’ time with unexpected travel destinations for single women.
“So what’s the really big news?” Avery gestured with a pretzel she’d lifted from a small bowl on the cocktail table between them.
“How’d you guess?”
“You practically danced into the lobby. I just don’t think the prospect of dragging pails of water down Main Street can put that sort of swing in your step.”
Unable to keep the grin from her face, Sloan let it all out in a giddy rush. “I just sold a series of articles.”
Grier’s mouth dropped before she settled her glass on the table and leaped out of her chair. “Sloan! Oh wow! Wow, wow, wow!” Sloan felt herself being pulled forward and just barely got her wine out of the way before Grier upended it on both of them.
Avery took the glass with one, smooth, practiced move as Sloan moved into Grier’s arms for a hug. “Thanks.”
“I am so proud of you.” Grier gave her one final hug before dropping back into her own seat. “Come on. We want deets.”
Sloan ran through the conversation again, still in shock the idea had been so well received.
“Where else are you going to go?”
“We talked about that, too. We actually agreed that one of the columns should be on New York—more of an insider’s guide. And she’s also going to let me use the trip Grier and I took to Bora-Bora last year as one of the stories. But I’ve got to think of the other three.”
“Australia,” Grier supplied. “Or New Zealand?”
“France?” Avery added.
“Oooh. No. Spain. All women need to go to Spain and find a Spanish lover for the weekend. Armand. Yes,” Grier snapped her fingers. “That’s it. Armand.”
Sloan laughed. “I’ve been to Spain and didn’t meet anyone named Armand. In fact, I didn’t meet anyone at all.”
A light touch covered her forearm as Grier reached for her. “You were still in your awkward stage. Besides. Sixteen-year-olds don’t need to be hunting up Latin lovers while touring Europe.”
“Awkward stage?” Avery’s eyes were wide with curiosity. “No way.”
“Oh God, yes. I was the ultimate ugly duckling. From head to toe.” Sloan was surprised by how easy the words came. How far away it all seemed, even though it always felt like yesterday when she was at home.
“I know that look.”
“What look?”
Grier sighed. “The one that says you’re thinking very deep thoughts.”
“Then I must have worn it all day. I can’t stop thinking about how different I feel up here.”
“Different how?” Avery reached for another pretzel.
“I can’t quite explain it.” How did she put into words what she was only slowly figuring out herself? “But I feel more grounded here. More, I don’t know, real, somehow.”
As the words came out, Sloan realized they weren’t quite right. “No. No, I’m not explaining it the way I mean it. It’s less about being real or fake, and more about looking at things a little differently.”
“Such as?” Grier munched on a pretzel.
“It’s like all these ideas I’ve held in my head forever—even the things I didn’t know I was holding on to—are changing. My expectations are blown but that’s a good thing.”
“Unsettling, too,” Avery added as she reached for more wine.
“It’s like I said to Walker this morning: I’ve been walking around with this set of expectations I didn’t even know I had and it’s humbling to—”
She broke off at the twin looks of wonderment that stared back at her.
“What?”
“As you were saying. To Walker?”
Grier’s emphasis on his name jarred Sloan back to reality. “Yeah. He was kind enough to give me a tour of town this morning.”
“My lawyer hit on you and it took you a half hour to tell me? When did this happen?”
“This morning.”
“Sloan! Scratch that.” Grier waved a hand. “It took you all damn day.”
“I was busy, Grier.”
“You should never be too busy to spill details about a man.”
“I’ll remember that from the Best Friend Handbook and file it away for next time.”
“There’s going to be a next time?” Avery’s provocative tone dragged them both from their faux argument.
“I meant it figuratively.”
“Well, I mean it literally.”
“No.” Even as the words were out of her mouth, Sloan realized they weren’t entirely true. “Yes. I guess. He’s taking part in th
e bachelor auction.”
It was Avery’s turn to look stunned. “You promised blow jobs, didn’t you?”
“I did not!” Even as she pretended indignation, Sloan couldn’t stop the warmth that flooded her belly. The man did . . . something to her. Something she hadn’t felt in an incredibly long time.
If ever.
And the prospect of getting very intimate with him had crossed her mind more than once in the last twenty-four hours.
“Walker Montgomery has been a stubborn holdout, along with his partners in crime. Well, partner. Singular. The other one hides out for as much of the year as he can get away with, and he sure as hell doesn’t come to town during bachelorette season.”
“He mentioned he doesn’t participate in the auction.”
“Nope. He, Mick and Roman humored them the first few years, but have stubbornly refused to take part in quite a long time. Their own little rebellion.”
“If the grandmothers’ whole purpose is getting them married, doesn’t that sort of defeat the point if they don’t show up?”
Avery turned toward Grier. “It’s a valid question, and they do technically show up, but they refuse to participate. At this point the whole thing’s sort of taken on a life of its own. And neither side is willing to concede. Until now, it seems.”
Grier nodded sagely. “I knew he liked her.”
“He does not.” Even as she said the words, Sloan knew he didn’t not like her. The kiss they’d shared the evening before hadn’t held the mark of disinterest. Nor did his dismissal of Bear that morning in the diner.
“I wouldn’t be so sure. Especially since he practically sucked your brains right out of your head last night.”
“Avery!” Sloan turned on her new friend, only to see the woman’s eyes twinkling with merriment.
Unaffected by the death glare Sloan was trying her hardest to deliver, the twinkle spread across her entire face. “I even saved the security tape.”
“I want to see it.” Grier was already up and out of her chair, striding for the front desk, her gaze focused over her shoulder. “All the gory det—”
Grier’s comment—and forward movement—was stopped by the solid wall of Mick O’Shaughnessy’s chest.
