by Fox, Addison
Grier shrugged. “It’s not so bad. And that’s all because of you, by the way.”
Sloan reached out and laid a hand over Grier’s. “It’s all because of you. And who you are. I simply provided the liquor to drop natural inhibitions for a few brief moments so everyone could get to know the real you.”
“That you did.” Grier squeezed back before reaching for another creamer. “And while the people part has definitely improved, I wouldn’t say much else has improved. Walker called me yesterday. Kate’s still not backing down on the house.”
“Do you want it that badly?”
“I don’t know. Honestly, there’s a huge part of me that wants to just give it to her and be done.”
“So why don’t you?”
“It’s like he wanted me to have it, you know.” Grier fiddled with the empty plastic creamer. “And I don’t have a problem giving it up. Hell, a month ago I didn’t even know it existed. But I can’t quite shake the fact that he wanted me to see what it’s like up here. Try it for a while. But no matter what I think, all I look like is the greedy interloper.”
“And you think you’re wrong for that?”
“I don’t think it makes me very sympathetic to anyone.”
“Why does anyone else matter?”
Grier’s gaze tripped around the room before settling back on Sloan. “He lived here. Made a life here. I’d like to think these people he called his friends thought well of me.”
Before Sloan could say anything, Grier added, “After the year I’ve had, I can’t figure out if it’s the universe kicking my ass some more or if it’s a second chance. But, whatever the answer, I’m just not quite ready to give it up.”
“Then you shouldn’t.”
Two heaping plates of pancakes were laid out before them. As the warm scent of bacon wafted toward her, Sloan couldn’t help but wonder how it was that she and her best friend—two New Yorkers to the core—had ended up having a cozy breakfast for two in the middle of Alaska.
The thought didn’t have much time to take root as their twosome rapidly expanded.
“Mind if we pull our table up?” Sloan glanced up at another tree-sized man with several days’ worth of growth on his cheeks. His equally massive friend hung back slightly. “You two look like you could use some company.”
“Be our guest.” Grier waved a hand.
After quick introductions, Sloan couldn’t hold back a smile. “Tom and George. Those are your real names. No nicknames we need to be aware of?”
“No, no nicknames here.”
“That must make you unique in this town.”
“That it does,” Tom, the quieter of the two, agreed.
As their conversation spun out, Sloan had to acknowledge that not only were Tom and George enjoyable breakfast companions, but they could provide some great material for the backstory in her article. “Do you both mind if I interview you a bit?”
“Interview us? For the story you’re writing?” George sat forward, an eager smile across his face. “We’re in.”
The conversation Sloan thought was between the four of them was quickly interrupted by a series of shouts.
“Can we get in?”
“Hey! I want to be interviewed!”
“What about us?”
Grier’s attempt at a discreet giggle missed horribly as her laughter carried across the table. “There really is no such thing as privacy in this town.”
“If you want privacy, don’t go out,” Tom pointed out reasonably.
Sloan reached for the steno pad she kept in her purse, amusement at the sage advice lightening the mantle of melancholy she hadn’t even realized hung around her shoulders. “You’re all sure? You really want to be interviewed?”
A chorus of yesses came back at her.
“Let me put this another way. Who here doesn’t want to be interviewed?”
When no one uttered a sound or raised their hands, Sloan shrugged. “Okay. You’re my witness, Grier.” She rummaged in her bag for another pad of paper and a pen, shoving both across the table. “Please take notes on who’s who.”
Grier picked up the pen. “Got it.”
Turning back toward the crowd, Sloan jumped in with the question she’d been wondering about from the start. “What’s wrong with the women right here in Indigo?”
At the blank stares, she elaborated. “That you have to look outside the town for women.”
When more blank stares greeted her, Sloan wondered if there was some unspoken code she’d missed. What she didn’t expect was the raised hand at the back of the room. “Yes?”
A small man stood up. He wasn’t unattractive, but he didn’t have the rugged presence of the others. Not just in physical size, but in demeanor as well. “There aren’t enough of them.”
“I’m sorry?”
“The women. There aren’t enough of them. The men outnumber the women almost two to one.”
“Oh.”
“And then, when you factor in that there are some men who all the women seem to go for, well, it’s an honor that bachelorettes come up here wanting to meet us.”
An unfamiliar tightness coalesced in her chest as she watched the man standing there, his words honest and not even remotely tinged with bitterness.
Instead, he stood and spoke fact.
And in that moment, Sloan had the startling realization that loneliness could touch you anywhere, whether you were in the middle of eight million people or seven hundred and twelve.
Chapter Eleven
Walker found her at the café, surrounded by men, after he and Jack got done hammering up the bleachers.
“She’s quite a looker,” Jack leaned toward him and murmured. “And it sure looks like the town’s taken to her.”
Walker figured the man was entitled to a few jabs, especially after his own prodding and poking about Jess, but damn, if the sight didn’t irritate him. “She’s trouble.”
“More like trouble follows her, I’d guess.” Jack slapped him on the back before following their waitress to a table.
Shouts and laughter rang out through the room and Sloan was clearly the ringleader among the ruckus.
Trouble was right.
“So what happens after the auction and dinner dance?”
George Tapper admonished her. “If you need to ask that, you’re not a very good reporter, Ms. McKinley. Nor do you have a very good imagination.”
A round of guffaws went up and Sloan’s fair complexion turned a rosy shade of dark pink. Despite her obvious embarrassment, she maintained her composure. “I meant after-after. Not right after. When the women go home.”
A man in the back—Boone Fellows, Walker thought—hollered back. “Some don’t go home.”
“Oh?” Those bright blue eyes lit up like the Fourth of July. “What do you mean?”
George nodded sagely. “Lots of the bachelorettes have stayed up here. Margaret and Tanya stayed a few years back.”
“Don’t forget Marcy!” one man hollered.
Maria, their waitress, added to the list as she floated around refilling coffees. “Darla and Melissa about seven or eight years ago. And remember Wade? Up and moving off to Arizona three years ago to go with that girl from Phoenix.”
“That’s quite a few love matches.” Sloan scribbled on a notepad in her lap. “Is that what you’re all hoping for?”
Walker’s gut tightened at the question.
Was that what they were all hoping for?
A wife to come home to? Someone to tie themselves to for the rest of their lives?
Commitment. The promise of forever.
There wasn’t any such thing. His father had proven that one, even if no one else knew it but him.
And in keeping that secret, he’d managed to carve off his own little piece of misery. Caught between his grandmother’s memories of her perfect son and the cold reality of truth.
Nope. He liked his commitment-free life just fine. No commitment meant no hurt feelings when someone
moved on. No long, endless years marking time with someone you didn’t really care about. And most of all, it meant there wasn’t any deception.
Based on the round of resounding “yesses,” “sures” and “absolutelys,” Walker figured he was the only man in town who felt that way.
Roman didn’t count now that he didn’t live there any longer. And Mick’s sudden and marked interest in Grier had him wondering if his friend’s bachelorhood wasn’t something he’d abandon if given half the chance.
With a glance at Jack’s face as he ordered his breakfast, Walker added the man to his mental tally of confirmed bachelors.
At least there were two of them who felt the same way.
“He can’t keep his eyes off of you.”
“Grier. You’re bordering on the way Susan treats Avery with the whole she-knows-better crap. Enough with this.”
“But he likes you, Sloan. I know it.”
Sloan resolutely avoided glancing across the diner. The men had proven incredibly helpful, but all had reluctantly said their good-byes as they were called off to their various jobs. And now she and Grier sat alone in the dining room along with Walker and a man she hadn’t met yet.
“If he liked me, Princess Dry Spell would be sitting proudly in the brand-new castle of Princess Got Me Some. Instead, I’m nursing a serious case of postorgasm embarrassment because he ran out on me.”
“You don’t know why he ran off. Avery said she interrupted you guys. Maybe he was embarrassed.”
“You seriously expect me to believe a few moments of inconvenient awkwardness will keep a man from closing the deal with a willing woman?” Sloan stopped just short of dropping her head in her hands and let out a light groan instead. “A very willing woman.”
“There has to be a reason.”
“Yes, and you’re looking at her.”
“No way. And if you think that then your mother’s bullshit has affected you far worse than I suspected.”
Sloan glanced up from her coffee. “What does any of this have to do with my mother?”
“You tell me? You’ve been weird for the last week and I think it’s tied to what happened at Thanksgiving. Actually, for what’s been happening a lot longer than that.”
The eagle eyes of friendship bored into her psyche as a sharp pain hit her gut. “You know the holidays aren’t easy.”
“A lot of people struggle at the holidays. It’s a time of joy and it’s disheartening when you don’t feel any.”
Leaning forward, Sloan lowered her voice to a whisper, unwilling to broadcast her personal embarrassment through the diner. “I’m just so sick of it. The constant focus on being single. It gets so old, this relentless focus on something I can’t control. The holidays only shine a spotlight on it.”
“You don’t think you can control it?”
“Do you?” Sloan wouldn’t have been more surprised if Grier had asked her when she was taking her next trip to the moon.
“It’s not outside the realm of possibility.”
“You really think you can control who you fall in love with.”
“I’m talking about marriage, Sloan. If you wanted to be married, you could be.”
“But I’m not in love with anyone.”
Grier sat back with a satisfied smile on her face. “Then what are you so gloomy about?”
And just like that, Grier turned the entire discussion on its ear.
Sloan did want to find the right man to marry, not someone who fit some preconceived notion created out of her mother’s relentless need to interfere.
“Oh fine, sit there all smug. Next time I get fixed up by the Winnie McKinley matchmaking service, I’m dragging you along.”
“Lucky me. Your mother picks out such charming specimens.”
Sloan couldn’t stop the bark of laughter at that one, and quickly focused on what was left of her now cold pancakes before the entire room tuned in to their conversation.
“And now, on to phase two of my devious plan,” Grier whispered under her breath before lifting her voice several notches, putting them clearly in eavesdropping range of Walker. “Fine. Then let’s talk about the bachelors. Some of them were awfully cute.”
Sloan wanted to sink through the floor. Absolutely, positively sink through the floor. “Look, why don’t we get out of here?”
“Not yet. I want more food.”
“More?”
“Yep. George and Tom raved about the omelets.”
“Then have one tomorrow.”
“I want one now.” Grier waved their waitress over and put in her order for gruyere, mushrooms and spinach.
Sloan shook her head as she dived into about her fifth cup of freshened coffee. “I have absolutely no idea how you eat like that.”
“It’s a rare gift.”
“It’s annoying.”
“Which you’ve told me on several occasions.” Grier’s wide-eyed stare held not one hint of remorse.
“You’re tiny and petite. That should be good enough. But then add in the fact you can eat like a truck driver on a three-day bender and it adds insult to injury.”
“And you’re long, lithe and gorgeous. Ask me if I feel any sympathy.”
“Looks like you two were busy making friends.” Sloan glanced up to see Walker, coffee cup in hand, standing next to them. “Mind if I sit down?”
“Weren’t you here with someone?”
“Jack had to get back to the airstrip and get to his runs.”
“He’s the one who flies with Mick, right?” Grier’s tone was nonchalant, but Sloan wanted to do a fist pump in victory. If Grier wasn’t interested in Mick, Sloan would eat one of the pylons being set up on Main Street.
“He’s the one.”
At Sloan’s pointed stare, Grier offered a small shrug. “It’s starting to come together. Who’s who in town, I mean.”
“Looks like more than that was coming together. You two had quite a crowd.”
“The men were very helpful.” Sloan felt the ice in her words clear down to her ramrod-straight spine. Unwilling to show him how he’d gotten to her, she pushed as much sweetness into her tone as she could. “It’s great background for my article and their enthusiasm was contagious.”
“Ah yes. Your article. Was that all it was?”
“I’m sorry?” She saw the speculative look in his eyes as his shoulders stiffened to match her physical indifference.
“Oh, come on. You mean to tell me you’re not sizing up the bachelors in advance? The rest of the bachelorettes haven’t descended yet, so you’re getting a leg up.”
“I was focused on my story. Nothing more. And I’ve seen a few people arrive in advance.”
“A few. But most wait until next weekend. I have a theory on that.” He leaned forward in his chair, as if waiting for them to bite on the clue. “If, you know, you want to put it in your article.”
“Well, don’t keep us in suspense.” Grier smiled up at their waitress as she laid down the omelet.
“I think it’s because no one wants to ask for that much time off work.”
Sloan watched him, not sure she’d followed his logic. “You think what?”
“I think the women who come up here to compete in the grandmothers’ little game are afraid to tell their bosses they’re traveling to Alaska to meet a man. So they don’t take the extra time off and don’t come in early. Most are on puddle jumpers or the train back to Anchorage first thing Sunday morning.”
“And what about the ones who came early?”
Walker shrugged and took a sip of his coffee. “They’re the rarities.”
“Or maybe they don’t come early because it’s minus fifteen degrees and they’re smart enough to stay home.”
“I’m just suggesting it could be a good angle for your story.”
Sloan wasn’t sure why his theory bothered her. After all, he’d lived through this for several decades, from the sound of it. He knew far more than she did.
Even so, it disturbed
her that was what he thought. “It doesn’t make any sense. Why would someone come up here if they were embarrassed about it?”
“Sloan’s right,” Grier chimed in. “Why bother coming all this way if you’re worried about what someone thinks?”
“The entire world’s scared of being single and alone. Women especially. So they come up here but don’t tell anyone.”
A small tic started around the edge of her eye, but Sloan held back her thoughts, instead catching Grier’s gaze. The quick wink she got in return confirmed what Sloan already thought—that they’d both let him dig his own grave before throwing on several shovels full of dirt.
“And you don’t spend any time thinking about being alone. No one to share your life with? Have a family with?”
“I haven’t spent all that much time worrying about it.”
Could this really be the same man she’d spent those long glorious minutes with last night in the conference room? And was it possible that she was angry because his callous words flew in the face of what she hoped about him?
“Start asking around. You’ll see what I mean.”
Sloan finished writing the words “embarrassed to take part,” followed by a large question mark, then circled the entire passage.
It was something to look into; something to ask.
As she circled the phrase one more time, she glanced up at Walker. A hard edge tinged his features, his mouth a grim line as he laid his coffee cup down.
Was she reading something that wasn’t there?
Or was he hiding something? A pain he held back, behind cynical words and lackluster theories.
Or maybe his comments stung because he wasn’t falling neatly into some box she’d painted him into in her mind.
Either way, the eager shovels full of dirt she was anxious to throw on him suddenly felt far too heavy.
“I’ll take that under consideration.” Shifting gears, Sloan laid her pen down. “Speaking of Mick and Jack, I assume it’s not all that hard to book a flight to Anchorage. I want to include some sights in my article.”
“I think I’ve seen signs at the hotel,” Grier said. “Avery can arrange it for you.”
“Great.”
Sloan shoved the notebook and pen back in her bag, the next several days shaping up in her mind. She’d planned to spend ten days here and could easily extend it if she needed to. Maybe she’d have Avery book her a trip out to Denali as well.
