“That it is.” He turned back to her, studying her face for a moment. “Night, Grace. Get some rest.”
She moved toward the doorway of her cabin, unable to resist turning back one last time to wave at Boone as he revved his engine and disappeared down the lane.
As she settled in for the night a feeling of discomfort trickled through her. Boone had been so nice to come to her rescue this evening. Even though he’d been a bit prickly at first, he seemed like a good guy. It didn’t feel great to make him believe she was in town as a participant in Operation Love. It felt like a lie. She shut her eyes tight and pressed her head against the pillow, determined to get a restful sleep.
One thought rattled around her brain as she drifted off to slumber. No one and nothing was going to get in her way of achieving her professional goals, not even a too-handsome-for-his-own-good sheriff who made her weak in the knees just by glancing in her direction.
Chapter Four
Grace woke up to a clanging sound resounding in her ears. For a moment a sense of disorientation hung over her like a heavy fog until she remembered—she was in Alaska! Bleary-eyed, she jammed her feet into her rabbit slippers, shuffled over to the front door and pulled it wide open. A gust of cold air blasted her in the face. A brilliant blue sky beckoned. Church bells were ringing!
When she crossed the threshold of her cabin, a slight rustling sound caught her attention. At her feet sat a pretty blue envelope, the color of a robin’s egg. Her name jumped out at her in big bold letters. Grace picked up the envelope and brushed off the snow that had settled on top of it. Using her nail, she slit it open and took out the cream-colored card inside.
Grace,
If you’re still interested in a tour of Love, I can pick you up at the Moose Café after your shift ends at two o’clock. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll assume you’re game to explore...and hear about a legend or two.
Fondly,
Jasper Prescott
Yes! Score! She put the letter up to her lips and kissed it. A tour of Love would allow her to get an overview of the town she would be writing about. Although she’d done a little research prior to coming to town, there was nothing more invigorating than going out in the field and experiencing it for herself. Since Jasper Prescott was the one who’d coined the phrase Operation Love and written the original article about this lovelorn town, she considered it serendipity that he would be the one to show her around. It would be an added bonus if he told her about the legend. That would certainly give her something to write about!
Standing out on the porch in her robe and pj’s felt surreal. Shivering, she looked around her, half expecting to see Primrose scampering through the brush. It was an incredibly beautiful vista. Huge mountains dominated the horizon. It almost felt as if she could reach out and touch them. She breathed in the fresh, pristine air, noticing for the first time that she had a partial view of the bay. The clouds sat in the sky like fluffy cotton balls. Everything felt so crisp and clean.
Grace threw back her head and extended her arms in the air. “Hello, world,” she cried out, half expecting to hear an echo bounce back at her. It was the oddest feeling to be standing on her porch in Love, Alaska, communing with nature. Odd, yet refreshing at the same time. She hadn’t expected to feel this rush of excitement thrumming through her veins. Truthfully, she hadn’t been all that intrigued by Alaska, although she’d jumped at the opportunity to be entrusted with this series. It was quite a professional coup. Nevertheless, the forty-ninth state had never been on her list of places to visit, nor had she been aware of all its charm and raw beauty.
She always felt a burst of adrenaline whenever she began laying the groundwork for a story. Being here in Love, Alaska—a world far removed from what she was used to—heightened the thrill of it all. It made the normal challenges of her profession that much more difficult. And that much more exciting.
Grace’s love of journalism had been sparked at the age of nine by her grandfather. Fred Corbett had been a businessman with a seat on the New York Stock Exchange. While he was ruthless in the boardroom, he was a teddy bear with his only granddaughter. Every time Grace visited his penthouse apartment on the Upper East Side, he’d asked her to bring him the newspaper from the foyer table. Dutifully, each and every time, Grace had brought him the furled copy of the New York Tribune.
“Read me the headlines, Gracie. Tell me what’s going on in the world today,” he’d instructed her in his signature booming voice. He’d sat back in his velvet-cushioned chair, closed his eyes and waited for her to begin.
Grace had read her grandfather the Tribune’s headlines and, in the process, fallen in love with the written word and the stories that made the world go round. Some of the stories made her want to cry, while others educated her about politics and global issues.
Wonderful job, Gracie. Knowing about the world around you is a powerful thing. Thanks for bringing the world to my doorstep today.
Her grandfather’s praise had felt as warm as summer sunshine on her face. He’d made her feel like the most important person in the world, if only for those few minutes she’d held the newspaper in her hands and read aloud to him. It had been the first time in her life anyone had made her feel important. From that point forward she’d devoured the daily newspaper the way some kids gobbled down candy. The stories she uncovered between the pages of the newspaper served as fuel for her dreams. And she’d never forgotten the feeling of having the world at her fingertips. Moving hearts and minds with the power of her words never failed to amaze her.
At the sound of a door being opened, Grace turned toward Sophie’s cabin. “Morning, Grace. It’s our official first day of work. I’m so tickled. I could barely sleep last night.” Sophie crossed her hands prayerfully, the same way Grace had done on Christmas morning when she was a child.
Bless her. Perhaps Sophie’s enthusiasm about working at the Moose Café would rub off on her.
She waved at her new friend. “Hey, Sophie. Isn’t the view beautiful?”
Sophie vigorously nodded her head. “It’s almost as pretty as the bluebirds back in Saskell.” Grace smiled. It was surprising Sophie had left Saskell in the first place. Every time she mentioned her hometown, Sophie lit up like the Fourth of July. What had made her come all the way to Alaska? She was the most lovable woman in the world. And beautiful. Surely she could have found love in Saskell, Georgia?
Not for the first time, Grace wondered why Sophie looked so familiar to her. As a journalist, she had a great memory for faces. This feeling of recognition wouldn’t go away. It had been nagging at her since the flight over from Anchorage.
“Sophie, have we met before? Perhaps back in New York?”
Sophie’s eyes widened. “N-no, ma’am. I don’t think so. I didn’t live in New York for long.”
“Not a fan of big cities?” she asked. She was having a hard time picturing Sophie living in New York. She seemed like a country girl at heart. A real Georgia peach.
“I enjoyed visiting the Big Apple, but my heart never found a home there,” Sophie said, her voice sounding wistful.
Hmm. Grace supposed she had her answer right there. Sophie’s heart was looking for a home, and she’d come to Love in pursuit of it. Not surprisingly, Sophie’s motives were way more noble than her own. She brushed that thought aside. There was no way she was going to let that knowledge eat at her.
After joining Hazel for blueberry pancakes and scrambled eggs at the Lodge, they headed to work at the Moose Café, with Hazel again at the wheel. It had snowed overnight, and as Grace looked around at her surroundings, she felt as if she was living in a true winter wonderland.
They’d barely stepped through the café’s door before Cameron was handing out schedules and giving them each an additional uniform. Grace raised an eyebrow at the image of two moose kissing surrounded by a big red heart. She didn’
t know what vibe Cameron was aiming for, but this T-shirt resembled something a teenager might wear.
Cameron rubbed his hands together. He looked as if he was about to jump out of his skin. “Okay. Let’s hit the ground running today.” He looked back and forth between them. “Sophie, why don’t you take the orders and act as hostess while Grace makes the drinks? Some customers just come in for regular coffee and pastries, so be ready to fill up cups, Sophie. Grace, we already have a customer looking for a mochaccino. I’ll head back to the kitchen with Hazel and prepare the food.”
“Yes, indeed. Sounds like a plan,” Grace said, trying to make her voice sound as upbeat as Sophie’s. Fake it till you make it. That was her motto.
“Here, Grace.” Cameron handed her two slips of paper. “Hank comes in early for drinks to bring over to the firehouse. Extra whip on ’em, okay?”
“Got it!” Grace said, looking down at the slips for confirmation of the orders. One mochaccino. Four iced caramel macchiatos. Extra whipped cream.
She let out a sigh. It could have been much worse. At least it was the same drink times four. All she had to do was make two batches of caramel macchiato and serve ’em up in to-go cups. Then one batch of the mocha. There was a cheat sheet on the counter detailing all the ingredients in the most popular drinks. Thank You, God.
Everything stilled around her for a moment. It had been a long time since she’d thanked God for something. Matter of fact, before arriving in Love, she hadn’t thought about God at all for a very long time. They were at a stalemate. In her darkest hours He hadn’t answered her prayers, so she’d decided to ignore Him in return.
“You can do this, Grace,” she said out loud, deciding on positive affirmations to get her through this situation.
One by one she assembled the items and placed them in the blender. Grace stared at the contents she’d placed inside. Okay, this wasn’t so bad after all. It had never been her strong suit, but it wasn’t rocket science. She might be a little slow putting all the ingredients together, but this was looking good. Chewing her lip, she considered all the buttons on the blender, finally deciding to push the biggest one. Nothing. She waited a few beats and pressed again. Why wasn’t this thing working?
She bit her lip as she studied the machine. It wasn’t that different from the ones she’d used at Java Giant. Maybe a few more bells and whistles, but it had been four years since she’d worked for them. No doubt technology had advanced since then.
“Everything okay back here?”
The sound of Boone’s husky voice swept over her like a strong gust of wind. She wanted to let out a loud groan. Of course! It would have to be Boone of all people to discover her in a state of utter confusion. What was he doing here anyway? The crime rate must be pretty low in this town if he could hang out so regularly at his brother’s establishment.
“Just figuring things out,” she said in an upbeat voice. She turned her head to look at him, her insides fluttering at the sight of Boone in his crisp uniform. If she ever got arrested, it just might take the sting out of it if the arresting officer looked half as good as Boone did.
She turned back toward the machine and pressed the black button. Nothing. Again she pressed it, tapping her foot with impatience when nothing happened. A hint of embarrassment trickled through her. She didn’t want Boone to think she didn’t know what she was doing. Gulp. Even if it was the truth.
Boone leaned in so that he was peering over her shoulder. The scent of sandalwood rose to her nostrils. His shoulder grazed against her arm, causing her equilibrium to shatter.
“Um, Grace. You might want to plug it in first.”
Duh. She hadn’t even plugged it in.
Way to make yourself look like a novice, Grace.
With a sheepish look in Boone’s direction, she mumbled a thank-you and plugged the machine into the wall socket. A grinding noise rent the air as liquid began flying all over the place. She cried out as sprays of frosty macchiato blasted her in the face. Long arms reached in front of her and pressed the off button. Through the haze of slush on her eyelashes she watched as Boone grabbed a towel and began blotting her face with it.
“This is some first day of work,” she said in a flippant voice. Hopefully, she’d hidden her mortification from Boone.
Boone drew his eyebrows together and frowned at her. “Something tells me you’re no barista. Is this your first time?” His voice had a gruff edge.
“No,” she said in a small voice. “I’ve done this dozens of times. I just never got the hang of it before I quit.”
Boone raised an eyebrow. “Does Cameron know that?”
She bit down on her lip. Judging by the expression on Boone’s face, there was no other choice but to fess up. “Not really. When I applied for this job I might have slightly exaggerated my skills.” She sent him a pleading look. “And please don’t tell him. I need this position.”
His eyes narrowed. “You really want to be here, don’t you?” The corners of his mouth relaxed into the hint of a smile.
“Yes. I need to be here.” She was telling the truth. Being here in Love was paramount to digging up the information she needed for her series. Otherwise, it would be a puff piece. She didn’t do puff pieces!
Boone shifted from one foot to the other. “I don’t like keeping information from my brother. It’s not my way of doing things. But I also realize how difficult it must be to start a new life in a place where everything is a world apart from what you’re used to.” He narrowed his eyes and studied her. “I won’t say anything.”
“Thank you,” she gushed, feeling as if a huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders.
“I give you a lot of credit for uprooting your life in New York and coming here.”
Their gazes locked and held. It felt as if the ground was moving underneath her feet. Instinctively, she reached for the wooden counter to steady herself.
“What happened back here?” Suddenly, Cameron was standing in the doorway, a deep frown marring his features.
Grace took a step away from Boone. The last thing she wanted her boss to think was that she was getting overly familiar with his brother. “I didn’t mean to make a—” She began.
“It was my fault,” Boone interrupted. His voice sounded matter of fact and smooth as butter. “I leaned in too close and got clumsy.”
Cameron focused his gaze on Boone. Something unspoken flared between them.
“Perhaps you should be making your way back to the sheriff’s office so Grace can get back to work.” With a shake of his head, Cameron walked out of the room.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Grace said. “It’s not worth Cameron being upset with you.” She wasn’t used to men swooping in to protect her. It made her feel all warm and fuzzy inside.
Boone shrugged. “It’s no big deal. These days, we seem to be at odds with each other most of the time anyway.”
Even though Boone was shrugging it off, she detected a hint of sorrow underneath the bravado. She’d been estranged from her own family for quite some time, and she knew how painful it was to deal with family issues.
“So,” Grace said, forcing herself to focus on the matter at hand. “Any idea how this thing works?”
He nodded, causing a warm, comfortable feeling to settle over her. Boone moved closer toward her, quickly swallowing up the distance between them. “First, you have to make sure the top is tightly in place, like this. Sometimes if it doesn’t latch on you’re going to get a face full of goop.” Boone placed his hand over hers on the blender. The feel of his warm, strong hand on top of her own was comforting. For a woman who’d been doing everything for herself for most of her adult life, it felt nice to have someone else take charge. It felt reassuring.
She looked up at him, sucking in a sharp breath at his close proximity. “I’m impressed that you know how to w
ork this.”
He shrugged, causing the fabric of his shirt to tighten against his muscular chest. She had to force herself to look away and focus on the machine.
“I’ve seen Cameron do it a few hundred times, give or take,” he explained. “I’m good with gadgets.”
For what felt like the hundredth time this morning, she shifted from one foot to the other. Standing on her feet all day was going to be a challenge in these heels. She was used to sitting at a desk for most of the day.
Boone looked down at her feet, his expression turning stern.
“How are your feet doing?”
“They’re great,” she said.
She looked down at her nude-colored shoes. They’d been killing her for the past hour straight, but she wasn’t going to admit it. She let out a little sigh. It was such a shame. Shoes were her thing, especially these ones. Tagaros. The little wings on the soles were the signature of the designer. She’d scrimped and saved for weeks in order to buy them at full price. There were only four hundred of them in the world. But they were not the type of shoes a person could wear for a job that entailed standing on one’s feet for most of the day.
“Actually, not so good,” she admitted. The words slipped out of her mouth before she could rein them back in. She didn’t feel like hearing an I-told-you-so from Boone.
Boone studied her face. His expression softened. “Talk to Hazel about her boots. She’ll make sure you have a pair to work in and walk around town in.”
Hazel’s boots? She didn’t need to borrow any boots from Hazel. She’d brought a few pairs with her, although she hadn’t envisioned wearing them all day at work. Most of them had heels. With a woeful smile and a wave, Boone was gone. Although she should have been happy to get back to conquering the blender without an audience, she keenly felt the sheriff’s absence. Much like warmth from the sun, he’d brightened up the small area with his rugged presence, leaving it in shadow once he departed.
An Alaskan Wedding Page 5
