Nome-o Seeks Juliet (An Odds-Are-Good Standalone Romance, #2)

by Katy Regnery

  “Sorta split your time between her place and yours, eh?” asks Rita.

  I shrug. “I’d miss the Iditarod this year.”

  “True,” says Jonas. “But you’d get the girl.”

  I look up at him, wishing he was my father, grateful that even though he isn’t, he and his wife are my friends, willing to guide and council me.

  “What would you do? If you were me?”

  “I can’t answer that,” says Jonas, taking Rita’s hand. “I can only tell you what I did.” He looks over at his wife, who grins at him with a knowing nod, and continues. “I met Rita thirty years ago in the 1980s. I was up here for a few months looking for gold. Racism between whites and natives was worse then than it is now. Her parents weren’t thrilled when we fell in love, but mine threatened to disown me—said if I married an ‘ice injun,’ I’d be dead to them.” His eyes skate to Rita again, and she winks at him. “It occurred to me to let her go—I’m ashamed to say that now—because man, it was scary to take that leap, to know that I’d be all alone in the world except for her. But in the end, I knew that nothing could be good if I didn’t have her standing next to me. I’d rather have the rest of my life to work out the rest, than have the rest of my life without her.”

  “And what a bargain he got!” crows Rita, squeezing his hand with a good-natured chuckle. “He got Mitchy. He got a run-down old bar in Nome, Alaska. Aaaaand, he got me!”

  “I got you, babe,” Jonas says, grinning at his wife for a long, intimate moment before looking back at me. “Here’s what I’m trying to say: Maybe Juliet isn’t the thing you need to find down the road. Maybe everything else is.”

  I stare at Jonas in wonder as something inside of me rejoices, explodes, comes-to-Jesus, because the words he’s just arranged for me, are the exact words I needed so desperately to hear.

  “I could do the Iditarod next year,” I whisper.

  “Or the year after that,” says Rita, offering me the whole plate of cookies, which I take on my lap and start eating.

  “Or never,” I say, stuffing another cookie in my mouth.

  “Oh, you should do it,” says Jonas. “It’s a good dream. But it doesn’t have a time limit, son. Just because you decided it was your reason for living don’t mean it can’t be shoved to the side when a better reason come along.”

  “Would you watch my place?” I ask. “From March to September? Just stop by once or twice a week and make sure no one’s messing with it?”

  “You bet I would,” says Jonas with a grin, leaning forward to take a cookie before they’re all gone.

  Epilogue #1

  Six weeks later

  Juliet

  I’ve attended Race for the Sky every year since I was a little girl, but nothing compares to the excitement before the Iditarod, and I am here in Anchorage, on the first Saturday in March, to see it and feel it.

  Fourth Avenue is mobbed, four people deep behind barriers. Sponsors are making speeches, but honestly, you can barely hear what they’re saying over the whining, howling, and yapping of the teams. The dogs are ready to go, and their energy is contagious.

  Quit talking! We want to run!

  Suddenly, I focus my attention on the booming voice of the emcee, who starts counting down the start, “Five...four...three...two...ONE!”

  My eyes track to the left, and I see the first of seventy-three teams competing shoot down Fourth Avenue, dogs wagging their tails, their red booties a blur as they fly by.

  I turn slightly to look over my shoulder at Cody, who’s standing behind me.

  “You okay?” I ask.

  He puts his arms around me and draws me back against his body. Lowering his head, he whispers by my ear. “I’m great.”

  “Wish you were out there too?”

  “My day will come.”

  When he called me with his plan: to use the money he was planning to spend on entering the Iditarod to fly himself and his dogs to Anchorage, buy a truck and dog box, and then make the six-day drive to Missoula to stay with me for the spring and summer, my heart burst with happiness.

  I quickly came to my senses, however, and told him not to.

  While the idea of spending the next six months with him in Montana was heaven, I told him I couldn’t bear being the reason that he was putting his Iditarod dreams on hold.

  His answer to that?

  “You’re my dream, Juliet. You’re the only dream that matters. If all the rest came true, and I didn’t have you, none of it would mean a thing.”

  “But the Iditarod...”

  “I’d rather put it on hold than you. I’ll race it next year. Or the year after. Or the year after that. It’ll still be there. I’ve got the rest of my life to enter it, and if you’re waiting for me at the finish line, darlin’, I’ll win it someday. I promise.”

  We watch five or six more teams, including Jacques Favreau, head out of the chute and run down the road toward Wasilla, wishing every dog and musher the kind of mostly good luck we had in the Qimmiq. Unfortunately, we can’t stay the three hours it’ll take to watch all the teams get started. We have a long drive ahead and eighteen dogs are waiting on us to get going.

  The truck and mobile kennel are parked in a garage on Sixth Avenue, and we walk back toward it, hand in hand, through Town Square Park.

  “Think I’ll like summer in Montana?” asks Cody as we stroll through the snow-covered paths.

  “I hope so,” I say. “Honestly, I don’t think Montana is so different from Alaska in basics. Both have great hiking, fishing, camping. But there’s more to see in Montana, more places to go. The road doesn’t end after fifty miles. You can drive wherever you want.”

  “Think the dogs’ll like it?”

  “The dogs will be happy wherever you are,” I tell him, letting go of his hand to walk up some snowy stairs.

  “And I’ll be happy wherever you are,” he says from behind me. “But your mom and dad...”

  He’s not beside me anymore, so I turn to find him at the foot of the stairs, kneeling in the snow, a small velvet box perched in the palm of his gloved right hand.

  “Cody!” I say, stepping down to stand right in front of him. “What are—Oh, my God, are you—”

  “Proposing? Yes, I am, darlin’, for a couple of reasons,” he says. “Two big ones, in fact.”

  I suck in a deep breath and hold it as I wait for him to continue.

  “First, but not foremost: I like your family, Juliet. A lot. So much, in fact, that I am excited to be their son-in-law one day soon. And I just don’t think your mom and dad are going to feel comfortable with us shacking up at the cabin unless promises have been made,” he says, using the same words my mom used in the upstairs hallway at Christmastime when she separated us into different bedrooms.

  I giggle through tears, watching as he stands up and opens the box to reveal a beautiful diamond ring.

  “Second, and more important than anything else in the world: I love you so much, Juliet—so much more than I ever dreamed I could love another human being. You’re my best friend, my partner, my teammate, and my lover. If I’m not with you, what’s the point of anything? Honestly, what’s the point of a life if the person you love most in the world isn’t a part of it? So I promise you right now that not distance, nor injury, nor weather, nor money, nor... anything else, will keep us apart. Not ever. Not if I have anything to say about it. The only life I want is the one I spend with you.” He blinks his eyes furiously. “Juliet, darlin’...will you marry me?”

  “Yes!” I manage to whisper through tears, tearing off my glove and placing the beautiful ring on the fourth finger of my left hand.

  It sparkles in the bright sun, and a feeling of so much tenderness, so much gratitude overwhelms me, making my knees weak. So I throw my arms around him, knocking him off-balance, and we fall backward into the snow, laughing and kissing as folks coming and going to the Iditarod pause in surprise to see a young couple making out in the snow.

  We’re red-cheeked and
snowy when we finally stand up.

  “She’s going to marry me,” Cody murmurs, clasping my cheeks with his gloved hands and kissing me again.

  “The sooner the better,” I say, putting my gloves back on, careful not to snag the diamond setting. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too,” he says, leading me back onto the path that leads to the parking garage.

  We open the dog box for a second, just to say hello to the dogs and tell them our news before we get started. We’ll stop halfway in Glenallen for a pee and run break, and finish our drive in Tok, Alaska. I found a bed-and-breakfast where the owner didn’t mind having eighteen dogs running around her backyard for an evening.

  As I sit down in the cab next to Cody, he leans over and kisses me tenderly.

  “You ready for this, Juliet?”

  I kiss him back. “With you? My Nome-o? I’m ready for anything.”

  He turns the key and off we go, ready for the adventure of a lifetime, and a lifetime of adventures...together.

  Epilogue #2

  Three Years Later

  THE END

  (Excerpt from A FAIRBANKS AFFAIR, an Odds-Are-Good Stand-Alone Romance by Katy Regnery. All rights reserved.)

  Chapter 1

  Faye

  A FAIRBANKS AFFAIR

  Tall, dark and single. 31

  Clean, safe and solvent.

  Seeking a discreet holiday companion

  for an intimate New Year’s weekend.

  Three nights. Two of us. One hotel room.

  Zero chance of love.

  All expenses paid for the chosen candidate.

  Please include photo with reply.

  It’s not that I look at the ad intentionally.

  No, no.

  Absolutely not.

  I am not the type of woman who skims the personals.

  Here is what happens:

  When I sit down in the waiting area of Dr. Lafferty’s office, a magazine is open on the loveseat beside me, and the word “Fairbanks” catches my eye. And only then, I’m sure, because my company is trying buy North Star Spirits, the premiere distillery of northern Alaska, which is located in Fairbanks.

  When I realize that I’m looking at a personal ad, I snap my eyes up and forward, focusing on a poster about Invisalign.

  But while the minutes drag on, I find my eyes drawn back down to the words A FAIRBANKS AFFAIR, and eventually curiosity gets the better of me.

  Tall, dark, single. 31.

  Of course he is.

  I purse my lips and roll my eyes, though I must admit I appreciate it that he swaps the usual “handsome” for “single.” I certainly hope he’s single, seeing as how this is a personal ad, but I would think it presumptuous if he declared himself handsome. Also noteworthy? At thirty-one, he’s just a year older than me, which means I’m not the only person on the face of the planet about to spend the holidays alone.

  Clean, safe and solvent.

  Interesting choice of words and information.

  By clean and safe, I assume he means to share that he’s free of disease and won’t physically harm the applicants, which is always a good thing when seeking a love interest.

  And solvent means, well...that he has money. Enough of it to be comfortable. Good for you, I think, giving him extra points for the correct use of an unusual word.

  Seeking a discreet holiday companion...

  Discreet.

  Why? I wonder.

  If he’s single, why does he require secrecy? Or maybe he means that he’s seeking someone mature and tactful? Or maybe—my imagination is running away with me a little now!—he’s famous and doesn’t want to draw unwanted attention? It’s a mystery.

  My eyes slip back to the text...

  ... for an intimate New Year’s Weekend.

  Intimate. I blink at the word. Oh, my. It’s just so...bold. So brash and confident and yes, a little cheeky, too. He’s placed this personal ad to find someone—a stranger—willing to be intimate with him for a weekend. He’s essentially seeking an anonymous sex partner, right? My skin prickles. Why wouldn’t he pay for such services if he requires them? Wouldn’t that be easier? But maybe, I think, my inner voice breathless, not as much fun.

  Three nights. Two of us. One hotel room.

  Well, if the previous line didn’t spell out his intentions, this one certainly does.

  My cheeks flare with heat and I clear my throat, glancing around the dentist office waiting room like I’ve been caught doing something naughty, which is a laugh, because I haven’t done something naughty in...in...Lord, I can’t actually remember the last time I threw caution to the wind! And certainly I can’t remember a time I’ve ever spent three nights in a hotel room with a strange, single man. Likely, because you’ve never found yourself in a situation even remotely similar, Faye. The simple fact is this: I’ve never spent a night with any man, any where, at any time.

  Zero chance of love.

  “But, why?”

  The whispered words escape my lips in a rush, without permission.

  “Excuse me?” I look up to find the receptionist eyeing me, one eyebrow raised. “Did you say something?”

  “Oh!” I say, with a soft, self-conscious chuckle. “I’m just...no, nothing. I was just...reading.”

  She smiles back. “It’ll only be another minute or two, Ms. Findley. Sorry for the wait.”

  “No worries.”

  I wait until she’s concentrating on her computer screen again, then slide my eyes back to the ad, staring at the words: Zero chance of love, for a long moment, fascinated that he’s so forthcoming and so final. How can he know there’s a zero chance of love? Because he doesn’t want it? Or because he’s immune to it? Maybe he thinks he’s not worthy of it? Or perhaps he’s just monumentally busy and doesn’t have time—at this point in his life—to nurture attraction into love?

  For reasons I cannot begin to explain, it makes me terribly sad.

  I certainly haven’t had much luck with love over my three decades on earth, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want it. I’d like to think there’s still a chance for me to find love, even if it isn’t an epic, heart-pounding, life-changing love. At this point, I think I could be happy with someone kind and understanding, who wanted to build a partnership together. Someone who could be happy with gender roles reversed; I would happily make the money, if he would do the shopping and make dinner, take care of our home and plan social events. Doesn’t someone like that exist? He’s got to be out there—someone bright and sweet: a good man, who isn’t intimidated by a successful woman.

  “Ms. Findley? Dr. Lafferty will see you now,” announces the receptionist. “Exam room four, please.”

  “Oh!” I chirp, startled out of my runaway thoughts. “Yes. Thank you.”

  I stand up, then freeze, glancing back down at the ad and feeling a connection to it, however surprising and unlikely. It’s not for me to answer it, of course, but I can’t help but wonder if Mr. Fairbanks will find a discreet woman to be his New Year’s companion, and how she will comply with his ultimatum about love.

  “Ms. Findley? They’re ready.”

  “Yes! Sorry.”

  I start walking toward the door that leads back to Dr. Lafferty’s exam rooms, then turn around and hurry back to the loveseat. Without thinking, I snatch up the magazine and jam it into the murky depths of my enormous purse, then continue on to exam room four.

  “Good morning, Ms. Findley,” greets a chipper dental hygienist.

  “Hello,” I say, holding my purse close, like I’ve shoved a rare Ming vase into it and don’t want to be caught red-handed.

  “You can put your bag on the chair,” she says. “Dr. Lafferty will be in in a moment to numb things up and then we’ll get started.”

  “How long will this take?” I ask, zipping the top of my purse closed before taking a seat in the dental chair.

  “Looks like we have...two cavities? Hmm. Well, ten to fifteen minutes for the Novocain. Thirty minutes for each
filling. Then, a little filing. Maybe ninety minutes all together?”

  “I have an important meeting at one,” I tell her as she clips a bib around my neck.

  “That shouldn’t be a problem,” she tells me.

  Cheerful Christmas music is piped into the room and “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” starts as Dr. Lafferty enters the room.

  “Faye! Good to see you!”

  Is it me or do dentists try too hard to be cheerful? I really don’t want to be here and we both know it. Cut it out with the holly jolly hello and let’s get on with the stabbing and drilling.

  “Happy holidays, Dr. Lafferty.”

  “And to you!” He opens a file. “Two cavities today, eh?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Let’s see what’s going on here.” As I lean back and open wide, he rubs a Q-tip on my gums. “We’ll give that a second. It’s a topical anesthetic.” He smiles at me. “So...what’s new? Any big holiday plans?”

  “Not really,” I say.

  “Harry’s coming home, right?”

  He’s referring to my younger sister, Harriet, who is ten years my junior and also his patient. Harry’s a junior at Cornell University in upstate New York, about six-hour drive from where I live in Newton, Massachusetts, a suburb of Boston. Not that it really matters where she goes to school or where I live, because she won’t be in either place for Christmas or New Years.

  “Um. No,” I say. “Actually, Harry was invited to Vail with a friend for winter break. So she’ll be heading out to Colorado on Friday.”

  “But surely...” he begins, then closes his mouth and gives me a sad smile. “I guess I just assumed you ladies would spend the holidays together.”

  “Not this year,” I say softly.

  My feelings were a little hurt when Harry chose friends over me for Christmas and New Year’s, but I can’t blame her. The reality is that she’ll have a much better time with her friends. As she pointed out, last Christmas, we slept in, opened presents and had lunch at my country club, after which I went up to my study to work while she hung out alone in the TV room watching Christmas movies. I’m sorry it ended up that way, but one of our major suppliers, Moet & Chandon, had a transportation issue that may have precluded them getting a massive shipment to California in time for New Years. I needed to iron it out or risk the reputation of my family’s company. I just wish Harry could have tried harder to understand.