by Addison Fox
“Not only are they doing it,” Mick added, “but they’ve got a record number of entrants this year.”
“Wow.” Roman shook his head. “It’s hard to believe.”
The three of them worked in silence as they finished setting up the three-tiered winner’s platform. The grandmothers awarded gold, silver, and bronze, just as they did in the Olympics.
Roman sat back on his heels after finishing up his section. “Do the winners still get served at dinner?”
“Oh yes,” Mick nodded as he stood up from where he’d finished hammering the last nail in his side of the platform. “First-, second- and third-place winners all get their dinner served by their favorite bachelor before the auction starts.”
“Mick’s served five years running now,” Walker couldn’t help pointing out. “Even though he refuses to enter the actual auction.”
“A perennial favorite, then.”
Mick tossed off a muttered, “Shut up, assholes,” before bending to pick up his tools.
“So what you’re really telling me is that not much has changed around here.”
Walker wasn’t sure why Roman’s assessment chafed so much, but it did, lodging under his skin like a splinter. Glancing up from where he kneeled to finish up his last few nails, he couldn’t keep the edge from his voice. “I guess that all depends on your perspective.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just what I said, it all depends on your perspective. And from mine, I’d say life in our town is full and exciting. Donny Sanderson’s boy went off to Harvard this past fall. And Theresa McBain got a publishing deal last spring with the book coming out in a few more months.”
Roman’s broad grin fell a few notches, but he pressed his point anyway. “Come on, Walker, you know what I mean. Nothing really changes. The same old things just keep on happening. Life plods along.”
The splinter began to throb and Walker found he wasn’t at all interested in Roman’s city attitude. “And it doesn’t in New York?”
“There’s always something going on in New York. You know that.”
“Really, Roman? Because your life hasn’t changed all that much in a decade and a half, has it? You’re still obsessed with a game nine months out of the year. When you’re not playing, you’re hanging out with hordes of women who could give a shit about you and only care about what you do for a living. And each year you trade in one luxury car for the next. Have I missed anything?”
“What the hell’s wrong with you?” Breath steamed out of Roman’s mouth in heavy puffs and Walker didn’t miss Mick’s widened gaze from where he stood behind their friend.
Regaining his feet, Walker moved closer to Roman. He knew he was picking a fight, but he still couldn’t stop the words. “Nothing’s wrong with me. I just think you might want to stick around and pay attention to people for more than five minutes before you start passing judgment on your friends and neighbors.”
Before Roman could say anything else, Walker turned and left. With a quick holler over his shoulder, he pointed toward the diner. “I need to go lend a hand over there.”
Walker still couldn’t shake the anger an hour later as he filled up on breakfast at the diner. It was extraquiet with so many out on the square or over at the hotel prepping for the event and it suited his mood.
Roman’s words had crawled under his skin and the more he thought about the careless insult, the more he wondered what had happened to his friend.
“Mind if I join you?”
Speak of the devil. “No.”
Roman took a seat in the opposite booth and smiled up at their waitress. After ordering steak and eggs, he began dumping creamer into the coffee their waitress had left behind.
Walker continued eating his breakfast, not overly inclined to make conversation.
“I saw Avery this morning.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. I got in late last night and headed down to breakfast this morning to find her with those two women everyone’s talking about. The New Yorkers.”
“Sloan and Grier.”
“Yep.”
“So if you ate breakfast, what are you doing sitting here ordering another one?”
“I only ended up having coffee.”
“Why?”
Walker glanced up when Roman didn’t say anything, but it didn’t take a decades-old friendship to recognize the anguish stamped on his friend’s face. Deep lines crossed his forehead and his mouth was set in a grim slash.
“Roman?”
“She walked out of the room like I was the last person on earth she wanted to see.”
Walker debated briefly before settling on the truth. “Well, that’s basically because you are.”
“It was a long time ago, Walker.”
“The way you treat her makes it seem like it happened yesterday.”
“I’ve been gone for thirteen years.”
“Yeah. And you’re still as guilty as the day you walked out of this town.”
“It’s not guilt.”
Their waitress laid down Roman’s breakfast, then refilled both of their coffee cups before heading off to welcome a few late stragglers for breakfast.
“So what is it?”
“It’s—” Roman broke off as he sawed into his steak. “It’s not guilt.”
“Okay.”
“Damn it, Walker.”
“What do you want from me? You lay into Mick and me this morning, insulting everyone around here, and now you’re lying to yourself about your own actions. I’m done making excuses for you.”
“You make excuses for me? What the hell for?”
“Sure I make excuses. And so does Mick and so do your mother and grandmother. Everyone makes excuses for the great Roman Forsyth, hockey god and local legend.”
“I had a chance to live my dream.”
“And no one begrudged you that.”
Roman slammed his napkin down on the table. “Then what the fuck is this all about?”
“It’s about the way you did it, Roman. Face it—you ran away. And the expensive gifts just look like a payoff.”
Roman’s hand tightened on his mug, but the anger didn’t make it to his voice. “I didn’t run away. And the gifts are just that. Gifts.”
“Look. I’m not the one you need to take this up with. Not really.”
“I’m not taking it up with Avery.”
“Then don’t expect her to pull out the red carpet when you come to town. You can’t have it both ways. Why can’t you just leave her alone?”
“I don’t know. Damn it, I really don’t know.”
As they both ate their breakfast, his own advice rumbled through his mind on a loop.
You can’t have it both ways.
If he was honest with himself . . . wasn’t that what he was looking for with Sloan? Nice and easy, with no strings attached, yet he had no fucking idea how he was going to let her go in a few days.
“She’s really gotten to you?”
Walker glanced up from his eggs. “What?”
“Sloan.” Before he could say anything, Roman added, “My mother is the fount of all things gossip-related; you know that.”
“You just got here last night.”
“She chewed my ear off until one this morning.”
“We’ve been seeing each other.” Walker shrugged in an effort to come off casual, even as the words lay flat on his tongue.
“She’s a beautiful woman. I met her once before, you know.”
An itch settled between his shoulder blades, but Walker ignored it. “Really?”
“Yep. She interviewed me a few years ago for an article on the Metros. She’s awfully easy on the eyes.”
The itch he’d managed to tamp down spread into a raging fire under his skin. “She is.”
“She’s got the kind of body that could make a man forget himself.”
More embers flared to life, fanned by Roman’s words, but he fought not to let it show. “She’s as sm
art as she is beautiful.”
“She sure is. She’s the whole package. I do remember her.”
Walker reached for his coffee and dragged it to his lips, the liquid shaking all the way to his mouth.
“Looks like I just got my answer.”
He glanced up into that devil-may-care green gaze he’d known since he was in grade school. “What answer?”
“Seeing as how you’re about to knock me out, I’d say she’s gotten to you in spades.”
“Fuck you.”
A wry grin covered Roman’s face. “Yeah. That’s a popular sentiment around here when it comes to me.”
“She hasn’t gotten to me.”
“Right.”
“Damn straight I’m right.”
“You know, Walker. The mighty really do fall.”
“Well, I’m not one of them.”
Chapter Twenty
Cold wind raced through Indigo’s town square, creating a balmy two degrees for the start of the Great Bachelor Competition. Sloan took in the sight of the transformed town and could only marvel—once again—at the intrepid spirit of the residents of Indigo, Alaska.
The events were strategically placed all around the square, with bleacher seating set up at varying intervals so the majority of the town could get seats to watch. All the shops in town were open, offering places to warm up when the frosty air became too much, but from what she could tell, it was a matter of pride to avoid a warm up until after lunch.
The first event was off to an auspicious start, with twenty-nine of the thirty-two entered bachelorettes hitting their skeet target.
What was apparently a new addition this year was the entertainment during intermission.
“I’m not sure this is what people meant when they complained to the town council that they wanted something to relieve the boredom between events.” Grier huddled against Sloan as they waited for round two of the skeet competition to begin. Two of the men drafted to help for the day were reloading the machines now.
“I do not believe that man has no pants on.” Sloan hugged her sides while a wave of laughter bubbled up as Bear did a sort of strip tease with his coat that, oddly enough, resembled a jig.
A rather dirty jig, but a jig all the same.
“He’s quite agile,” Grier said in a thoughtful voice. As Bear reached under himself and dragged his pants through his legs, she added, “Surprisingly agile.”
Another woman laughed nearby and Sloan turned toward her. “I was so not expecting this.”
“Me either.”
“You’re Amanda, right?”
“Yep. Sloan, right? You’re writing the article?”
“Yes. We haven’t had a chance to meet yet. I’d like to talk to you when you have a few minutes.”
“I’d love to.”
The three of them stood there for a few more minutes, laughing at Bear’s efforts to keep the town entertained between rounds of the competition.
Amanda shook her head. “He’s got to be freezing.”
“Somehow, with all this laughter and attention, I don’t think he feels it.”
Sophie called Grier’s name from the judging podium and Grier slipped away to compete in round two.
A good-natured smile greeted Sloan as Amanda shifted her attention away from Bear’s antics. “Did you come up here for the article?”
“Not really. It was sort of a lucky accident.” Sloan quickly explained how she’d ended up in town and the article she’d pitched to the travel editor.
“It’s going to be a great piece. I’m actually surprised this competition hasn’t gotten more attention. This is just the sort of thing I’d imagine the morning programs would eat up.”
“Have you been here before?”
“Last year was my first year, and I swore I’d come back if my bachelorette status didn’t change. Since it didn’t”—Amanda lifted her hands—“here I am. Although, the striptease is a new one this year. I know I’d have remembered seeing that before.”
Sloan admired the woman’s tall, slender form and beautiful blue eyes. “You don’t have a boyfriend?”
“Not for lack of trying. But no, I don’t.”
“I’d say coming up to Alaska in the middle of winter is an awful lot of try.”
A merry twinkle lit Amanda’s eyes before her gaze roamed around the crowd. “Coming up here makes it seem less lonely, somehow. Seeing other women. Makes me realize I’m not the only one. Plus, it’s a lot of fun.”
“Do you have your eye on any of them?” Sloan thought she might have seen Amanda talking with Skate earlier and wondered if the impression she had of the two of them was accurate.
“There are some cute ones, but I don’t have any high expectations. This is the middle of Alaska.”
“Where are you from?”
“Missouri. Not exactly next door.”
Sloan couldn’t keep her thoughts from straying to Walker and the unexpected moments she’d found up here with him. She hadn’t had any expectations either and look where it had gotten her. “You never know, though. I did see you talking with Skate earlier.”
A light flush crept up the woman’s neck. “He’s cute.”
“You should bid on him.”
The flush crept higher and was soon accompanied by a broad smile. “I’m planning on it.”
“How did you find out about the competition?”
“It was a few years ago. I’d just survived the four holidays of the apocalypse and was feeling down. And then I read this little blurb in a magazine, got interested and checked out the Web site link that was highlighted.”
“The four holidays of the apocalypse?”
Amanda laughed. “Sorry. That’s what I’ve dubbed Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year’s and Valentine’s Day. Not that they aren’t wonderful at times, but each has its moments, you know.”
Mary Jo’s words in her mother’s kitchen whispered across Sloan’s memory. “What kind of moments?”
“Those ones where being single is not only a challenge, but a semipublic flogging to boot.”
Sloan took a moment to revel in her own laughter and the growing kinship she felt for Amanda. The woman’s sense of humor at dealing with a difficult subject was inspiring, and Sloan couldn’t help but wonder if Thanksgiving wouldn’t have been so bad if she had known Amanda’s description for it. “I’ve never heard the holidays called that, but yeah, that has a surprising ring of truth to it. Just out of curiosity, which do you think is the worst?”
“New Year’s. Definitely New Year’s.”
“Really? Not Valentine’s Day?”
“Not by a long shot.”
Amanda grew quiet and shifted her attention toward a loud shout that went up over near the skeet launcher. After the sound died down, she turned back. “Speaking of shots, sorry. Here I am running my mouth off and there’s a competition going on.”
With dawning realization, Sloan laid a hand on the woman’s arm. “I won’t put it in my article, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Amanda took a deep breath, then shook her head. “It’s sort of dumb, but if you really want to know.”
“I do.”
“I began to hate New Year’s Eve the year I realized I was the lone horn blower.”
Sloan sensed there was something there she should understand, but she just couldn’t piece it together. “What’s that?”
“You know those horns everyone gets at a New Year’s party? The cardboard ones with the plastic blowers?”
“Yes.”
“It was a few years ago. I was at this party and the clock hit midnight and we’re all yelling and everyone’s screaming ‘Happy New Year’ and blowing their horns. And then all of a sudden, I realize that I’m the only one left blowing my horn.”
“Why?”
“Because everyone else is kissing.” A broad smile spread across Amanda’s face, but it didn’t quite reach the bright blue of her eyes. “That’s the moment I decided to make a change. And th
en a few months later I saw the article and well”—she flung up a hand—“here I am. And you know what? I’m enjoying myself. A lot. And if I bid high enough on a certain bachelor, I may enjoy myself even more.”
Sophie’s voice rang out over the loudspeaker, calling Amanda up as the next contestant. “I’d better get over there.”
“Good luck,” Sloan called after her, with Amanda’s words ringing in her ears.
She did know what Amanda was talking about. Moments that struck without warning—those sharp barbs of reality—that rose up and swamped you. She’d had one on Thanksgiving, but it was hardly the first.
If she were even more honest with herself, it was those moments in her mother’s kitchen that had helped sway her to Grier’s plea to come to the wilds of Alaska. Admittedly, she’d likely have come to help her friend anyway, but the opportunity to escape for a while had certainly been a factor.
One single moment.
It was sometimes enough to force you out of your comfort zone and could change your life.
Or force you into something you never wanted or expected.
Wasn’t that what Walker had talked about when he explained his situation with his father? In mere moments, his father had altered what Walker thought of the very foundation of his life.
“You must be planning your attack strategy?”
Walker’s voice rumbled in her ear, the warmth of his breath sending delightful shivers down her spine and dragging her out of her thoughts. Shifting her attention to the man who had appeared at her side, Sloan realized right here—at this exact point in time—were a few moments she could take all for herself.
So she decided to take Amanda’s advice and enjoy herself. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
A heavy gloved hand settled at the base of her spine and, despite the layers that separated them, she could feel the heat of his body. “I promise I won’t tell.”
She turned, shifted so that his arm came around her. “How can I be sure you can be trusted?”
His eyebrows shot up as a wicked grin lit his face. With one gloved hand, he ran a finger down her cheek. “You can spank me if I tell.”
“And exactly who’s getting punished, Counselor?”
“I guess we’ll find out.”
