Her Aunt Faye—who he'd always referred to as Fairy Frost for her diminutive size and the way she seemed to flit about—had begged for a karaoke machine. But Trixie had been adamant about not having one. Just live bands that played on the weekends, special occasions, and holidays. Now not only was there a karaoke machine but a jukebox with flashing lights as well.
If she'd relaxed about those things, maybe there was hope for him.
It was a Thursday night, early though the sun had already set it being this far north. The darkness was another drawback he'd have to get used to again. According to the times posted outside, the bar had opened an hour ago. He'd wanted to catch Trixie when she wasn't too busy, and he hadn't had the guts to face her without people present. She might kill him if he were alone. At least this way there would be witnesses.
"Well, well, well," Trixie drawled. She tossed down a rag she'd been wiping the luminous top with and planted her hands on her hips. Hips that were just as curvy as he remembered. Her breasts seemed a little fuller, though. "Took you long enough. Heard you moved back three days ago."
Damn, small towns.
"Hey, Trix. You're looking good." She did. His mouth watered and his heart thundered at the sight of her again. If he didn't know any better, he'd think she wasn't old enough to drink let alone run a bar. Her thick golden hair with whiskey-colored lowlights was restrained in a no-nonsense ponytail, making her large blue-green eyes that much more prominent. Her soft lips were currently pressed into a stern line, but they could flash with an endearing and contagious smile that revealed a pair of dimples. He wished she was smiling now, but he guessed that was way too much to hope for.
"I'm actually surprised you had the balls to show," she said.
"I needed to see you." Been dying to since the moment he'd hit town.
"Well, now you have." She turned away, grabbed a glass, added ice, and topped it off with dark amber liquid.
"We need to talk, Trix." He moseyed closer to the bar. A few heads turned to watch and he wouldn't be surprised if their exchange made the "candy cane chain" by morning if not sooner.
"Seems to me that's what you're doing." Trixie went about her work not paying him any mind.
What’d he think? That she'd make it easy for him? Not his Trix. Everything about her had always been challenging. And he had to be honest, it was one of the reasons he'd left like he had. She was a woman who demanded everything from a man. He knew the reward would be high, but he hadn't been willing to pay the price as a stupid kid. Now, he was older and wiser.
"I'm sorry," he said. "For everything."
"Good. You should be. But it’s a little too late for apologies. You know what you need to do."
He bit his tongue before saying there were some things she needed to be sorry for too. Neither one of them were blameless in what had happened in the past, though he did shoulder the worst of it.
Since Trixie hadn't thrown anything at him yet, Logan took a chance and sat down at the bar and shouldered off his coat.
"You can't sit there unless you order something. This is a place of business and I'm working." She filled another drink and set it on a tray. A young, blonde waitress flicked him a glance before picking up the tray and heading to a table in the corner.
"I'll take a ginger ale," he said.
Trixie raised a brow.
"Early day tomorrow," he lied. Besides he'd better keep his wits about him. The Trixie he remembered was sharp as a knife and she didn't look as though she'd dulled any in the dozen years since he'd seen her last.
"How have you been?" he started, feeling his way around her mood. He hadn't expected this to be easy, but he hadn't counted on her being so cold. When she was younger, her temper ran more to heat than ice.
"Really?" She raised a dark brow." You want to play catch up?"
"Yes." He wanted to know everything that had happened to her in the last eight years. He knew a bit, more than she'd like him knowing, as he'd kept tabs on her. His mother was good at relaying information about the goings on with the townspeople, but she couldn't tell him everything. Like if Trixie still held a grudge.
Maybe he already knew the answer to that one.
"Listen, Logan, I'm fine. You didn't break me. Believe it or not, I got over you without much trouble at all."
"To tell you the truth, Trixie, I've missed you."
She set down his ginger ale with a crack against the sleek bar top. The ice rattled and his ginger ale fizzed. He was surprised the glass didn't break.
"Well, I haven't missed you."
Liar, he wanted to say, but figured he'd have more time to talk with her if he didn't piss her off too fast.
"What do you want, Logan?"
Small talk was over. That was another thing he appreciated about Trixie, she always got right down to business. There was never any doubt where you stood with her, which was refreshing yet sometimes brutal. After dealing with women who were coy and calculating, Trixie was a breath of fresh, albeit frigid air.
"What I want might be better talked about when we're alone," he said, not wanting to bring up the papers she'd sent him months ago.
"That isn't going to happen, so you might as well tell me what you're after."
"All right." She wanted it straight from the chest? He wasn't going to disappoint her by pussyfooting around the subject. "I want you, Trix. I'm no longer content to live without you as my wife."
Chapter Two
Trixie stared at Logan, her hand tightening around the frosty bottle of vodka she'd picked up to mix a white Russian.
Did he just say what she thought he'd said?
The bastard.
How dare he walk back into her bar looking like a cool drink to a woman who'd been thirsty for a long time? Taller and broader than he had been when he'd left, he looked like he had zero body fat with all that chiseling going on. And had he just returned from the tropics? There was no way he'd gotten that tan here. His dark hair was cropped close to his head in a severe military cut that did more to highlight his sharp features than she'd like. She almost hadn't recognized him when he'd walked into the bar, but some part of her had taken a double look. The part that had always had a weakness for him. She'd hoped she'd killed that inner vixen. The bitch had always gotten her into trouble.
The last time she'd seen Logan Slade his hair had been flirting with his shoulders. He'd always had varying lengths of stubble on his face depending on his mood. Never clean-shaven like he currently was. Her fingers itched to trail over his smooth skin and trace the outline of his lips. Had they always been that full and soft looking? How would he be to kiss without the facial hair?
Criminy, she had to get those thoughts out of her head right now, and if the pounding of her heart didn't settle, she'd have to sit down a spell.
Get it together, Trix. It wasn't like you didn't know this was going to happen.
For the last three days, she'd told herself she didn't care that he was back in town. It was only a matter of time before he cut and ran again. She'd just have to wait him out. It had taken a lot of mental pep talks and a few vent sessions where she'd cleaned the crap out of everything until she'd felt like she had it together. Guess she didn't after all with her knees knocking the way they were.
It had been eight years since she'd seen him. Eight years. She did not care about him anymore.
Did. Not. Care.
He was nothing to her but bits of her past. A collection of bittersweet memories, regrets, and what-might-have-been. That was all.
Now he was back and had the balls—after all these years without a word—to walk into her bar and say he wanted her as his wife?
The man must have a death wish.
"You had your chance," Trixie said, her voice iced-over. "It will be a cold day in hell before I give you another. Now, get out."
"Trix—"
She pointed to the "right to refuse service" sign over her shoulder. "Read it. Follow it." Shaking and trying to hide the tremors, she turned away
and started filling the orders that had piled up in a vain attempt to ignore him. Which was like trying to ignore that there was a polar bear loose in the room.
"Oh, my stars, is that you, Logan?" her Aunt Faye squealed, having appeared from the backroom.
"Hey, Fairy Frost. You're a sight for sore eyes," Logan greeted, his smile wide as she stood and opened his arms wide.
She rushed into them and squealed again. "Heavens to Betsy that is you."
He swept her up and spun her around to her utter delight. Faye disappeared in Logan's hold. The strip of purple in her swept up bleached-blond hair and nose piercing had people thinking she was closer to Trixie's age than actually double at fifty-three. At barely five foot, with bird-like bones, and a ninety pound frame when soaking wet, Faye's lust for life and personal strength belied her physical fragility. Logan still handled her like she was glass though.
Trixie squashed the sudden wish that she'd been able to greet him like that. A huge part of her wanted to be swung around in his protective arms, nestled against his chest, his heart pounding under her ear like it used to whenever he'd held her as if she was the most important person in his life.
No, no, no. She did not want that. She wasn't eighteen and ruled by her hormones anymore. She'd grown up, damn it. Had a level-head on her shoulders now.
Still, she had to look away as he kissed Faye's cheek after carefully setting her back on her feet. A knot formed in Trixie's stomach, and she shot back the gin and tonic she'd finished mixing and had to start the drink order over again.
"It's so good to see you," Faye gushed. "Tell me everything you've been up to. The good, the bad, and the ugly. Good Lord, I've missed you." She hiked onto the barstool next to Logan not even caring how his return might be affecting Trixie.
How do you like that? Sacrifice everything for someone and they leave you out to dry the minute a good looking man enters the room.
"He was just leaving," Trixie said.
"Oh, no! Please Don't." Faye laid her hand on Logan's arm. "Spend a little time with me."
"I'd love to." Logan sent Trixie a triumphant smile over Faye's head and retook his stool.
Well, crap. Trixie moved down the bar and let them catch up while she filled drink orders that were coming in fast as the hour lengthened. See, she didn't need distractions like this while she worked, or any other time for that matter.
It irked her that her ears strained to listen to their conversation. Damn it, she didn't want to hear. She didn't want to know what Logan had been up to. She really didn't. And no matter how much she kept telling herself that, she still drank in every word.
"I heard from your mom that you just returned from Argentina," Faye said. "Is it really as colorful and beautiful as they say?"
"Not the part I was in. The only color I saw was jungle green."
"Can you tell me what you were doing there or is it top secret?" Faye whispered top secret as if spies were close by. She was a James Bond fanatic. But the only spies were their very own townsmen, and they were listening as hard as Trixie was to catch the juicy tidbits.
"Sorry," Logan answered. "Classified."
"I knew it! What about Morocco and Egypt? Someday, I'd love to see that part of the world. Did you really save all those people in Pakistan?" Faye rushed on with her questions and while Logan was vague in his answering, it all grated on Trixie's nerves.
He'd been everywhere. Local bad boy, turned soldier, and then a highly decorated Delta Force officer, parachuting in to war-torn countries, saving people, and fighting for freedom. So many times she'd had to hear the reports of Slade's latest amazing adventure as he was a favorite topic in the bar among the men. His mother loved to share details too. Trixie knew the version Logan had told his mother was watered down considerably from the truth. They would probably never know the risks or lengths he'd taken with his life.
He'd always been a thrill junkie growing up, and since she'd had a touch of that herself, she understood the need to live on the edge. She shouldn't feel jealous of the opportunities he'd had and the things he'd done and seen. Some of what he'd witnessed probably haunted him and would give her nightmares.
Damn it, she didn't want to know what he'd been through. Didn't want to care.
Furiously she mixed drinks, bottles flipping up and slapping down as happy hour got into full swing.
She loved working in the bar, the socialness of interacting with people, celebrating life's achievements or just the joy of joining with others to share their day. Yes, there were the few customers who tested her when they'd overindulged and she had to cut them off, but she ran a safe and friendly business and had a more upscale clientele than some of the other bars in the area. No bouncer needed here, not with her shotgun under the counter. She'd only had to bring that out twice in the years since she'd taken over running of the bar.
"So who's the new hunk?" Pamela asked.
Pamela was a new waitress that Trixie hired a few months ago after she'd come in fresh off the ALCAN Highway from Utah looking to experience more than what her family farm could offer. She'd scored high on Trixie's want list for an employee. Friendly, fast, and flirty. Her tips were big and she knew how to keep the customers drinks wet. Cute and bubbly, with her bright blond ponytail, big breasts and little body she was a favorite among the men and a few of the women. Trixie was afraid she wouldn't have Pamela for long as she was saving up money, and North Pole was just one stop in her need to see and experience all of Alaska.
"His name is Logan Slade," Trixie supplied, taking the pile of drink orders from Pamela's hand.
"Ahh." She bobbled her head.
"What do you mean, 'ahh?'"
"Just heard a lot of history in the way you said his name. So, what's the story? You two have a thing?"
Was she so transparent? She didn't want to air out her history with Logan to Pamela, but it wouldn't take long for her to uncover it all. "Classic story of young, stupid love, and then he dumped her for the military."
"Hmm...that doesn't sound so classic. Sure there wasn't more to it than that?"
Lots more. "Not worth mentioning."
"So we hate him then, right?"
"Pretty much."
"Got it." Pamela loaded her tray with drinks and headed back into the crowd.
"Hi-ya, Trixie," Miles Strangefellow said, leaning over the bar and giving her a quick kiss on the lips.
The noise in the room dimmed and then quickly picked up louder than before.
Oh no, Miles.
With Logan showing up, she'd forgotten all about him. Miles didn't seem to notice anything out of the ordinary as he took a seat at the bar, his arms casually resting on the surface. He was a few years older than her and had become a regular when he was in town from working on the slope. A good looking man, Miles was ginger in color with a full beard trimmed nicely around his square jaw. He had a fondness for flannel and cigars and had a smoky voice that rivaled Neil Diamond's, making him a huge draw on Karaoke night.
"Is that the guy you had a thing for?" Miles nodded his head toward Logan, who hadn't taken his eyes off Trixie since Miles kissed her. "Plan to introduce me?"
Did she have to?
Life had just gotten way too complicated.
Miles was a bit of a romantic and had already been married three times. Staying married while working on a drilling platform in Prudhoe Bay with a two weeks on and two weeks off schedule was hell on a relationship. Most marriages couldn't weather the strain. Didn't keep Miles from trying, though, and that she had to respect. If she were into marriage, he'd be the kind of man she might consider.
"So, what's the story?" he asked parroting Pamela.
"What am I? The town crier?" As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted her tone. She didn't need to be bitchy just because the man who'd broken her heart was sitting not ten feet away from her, watching her with the man she was currently considering sleeping with. "Sorry, Miles."
"Nothing to be sorry for. I understand what happ
ens when a relationship goes sour. You doing okay? I can punch him for you if you like."
She choked out a laugh. "Thanks, but if I want him punched, I'll do it myself."
"And probably plant one better than most."
She served him his usual, a scotch and soda that he'd nurse for a few hours. Just the one drink, he never had more than that as he'd sit and chat with her while she worked. Normally she looked forward to his visits.
Not tonight.
She reached over the bar and squeezed his hand. "You are a hell of a man, Miles. Wish I'd fallen for you all those years ago."
"There are still years to come where you could fall all over me. I'm not going anywhere." Miles's amber eyes slid from hers to Logan's. He picked up his drink and saluted. Logan's eyes narrowed. "You want to tell him or should I?"
Chapter Three
Last call took forever.
All evening, Logan refused to vacate. He was staying until Trixie talked to him. Until that happened, he caught up with old friends, while watching Trixie work, and tried not to be intimidated by the big man squatting near her as though laying claim.
No one could lay claim to what was his.
Trixie made bartending look easy. She poured drinks while she socialized with her customers, laughed, and inquired how they were doing. Everyone loved her, and he'd received a few narrowed looks which clearly asked, "How dare he come back after all these years and torment her?"
Except she didn't look tormented at all. She'd given him the cold shoulder, and everyone in the room had felt the chill. Bets were even being placed on how long he'd last in town before she drove him out. He shouldn't be surprised by that as he'd hotfooted it out of town eight years ago while she was the hometown girl who'd never left. Of course, their loyalties would lie with her as well they should.
After he'd blurted out that he wanted her as his wife, she'd basically ignored him. That had been a calculated move on his part. He wanted her as his wife. Wanted to make things right. His intel said she hadn't really dated anyone in all these years they'd been apart.
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