Northern Fires
Northern Fires
JENNIFER LABRECQUE
For construction foreman Sven Sorenson, Alaska is close to heaven.Unfortunately, there’s one thing missing – women! Finding the right girl is impossible. Especially since he can’t keep his mind – or his hands – off the wrong one! High-flying bush pilot Juliette Miller’s not interested in commitment. She’s tried that twice. But her attraction to Sven is sizzling and maybe third time really is lucky.
Alaska—the last frontier.
The nights are long. The days are cold.
And the men are really, really hot!
Can you think of a better excuse for a trip up north?
Come on back to the unorthodox and
unforgettable town of Good Riddance and
experience some…
Alaskan Heat!
Let’s face it, can you really think of anything better
to do during those long, long nights…
About the Author
After a varied career path that included barbecue-joint waitress, corporate numbers cruncher and bug-business maven, JENNIFER LABRECQUE has found her true calling writing contemporary romance. Named 2001 Notable New Author of the Year and 2002 winner of the prestigious Maggie Award for Excellence, she is also a two-time RITA
Award finalist. Jennifer lives in suburban Atlanta with a Chihuahua who runs the whole show.
Dear Reader,
Welcome back, yet again, to Good Riddance, Alaska, where the citizens and visitors get to “leave behind what ails them.” But sometimes life isn’t so much about leaving things behind as it is dealing with those things you’ve avoided the most. And that’s precisely the situation facing my hero and heroine—the handsome, footloose and fancy-free Sven Sorenson and Good Riddance’s quietly intense bush pilot, Juliette Miller.
Both Sven and Juliette have to dig deep to find out exactly what they’re made of before they can figure out that they’re made for each other. People come with a myriad of problems, some of which some run deeper than others. And while we’re not responsible for another human being, we can offer love and support and acceptance. Sometimes, as Sven and Juliette discover, love enables us to see the best in someone. And that insight buoys them up to be the person we know they can be.
I hope you enjoy watching Sven and Juliette discover a lot about themselves … and each other.
If you did, please let me know. I love to hear from my readers. Visit me at www.jenniferlabrecque.com.
And as always … happy reading!
Jen
Northern Fires
Jennifer LaBrecque
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Susan Grigsby-Floyd and Lucius Williams, IV.
Thank you.
1
“HEY, HOTTIE, wait up, I’ve been looking for you.”
Sven Sorenson, heading down the only real street in Good Riddance, Alaska, stopped.
He’d recognize that voice anywhere. Grinning, he turned. “How’s my favorite girl?”
Alberta Reynolds, her bright red hair sticking out sporadically from a yellow-and-purple scarf rather like a hedgehog, returned his grin, minus a few teeth here and there. Her bottom lip bulged with the dip of smokeless tobacco she kept tucked there.
Alberta was something of a living legend in these parts. She claimed descent from European Gypsy stock, psychic powers and unparalleled matchmaking abilities. Sven had always been a skeptic when it came to that psychic stuff and he figured people either clicked or they didn’t, but Alberta had a reputation for putting together lasting hookups. Well, except for when it came to herself. Already married five times, rumor had it Alberta was on the lookout for Husband Number Six.
She’d shown up yesterday, her beat-up Datsun pickup—the hood held on with baling wire—pulling a one-room travel trailer that appeared damn near as old as Alberta herself, and that was pretty old. A couple of years ago she’d adopted a three-legged cat she’d named Lord Byron.
Sven and Alberta had crossed paths numerous times in the past ten years in the small towns scattered across Alaska’s vast wilderness. Sven in his capacity as a professional builder, Alberta in her capacity as a Gypsy queen. She was a hoot for sure and had a good heart.
“I heard you were here,” she said.
He gave her a quick hug. “Are you following me again?” he said with a smile as he released her.
It was a running joke between them. Sven was almost as much of a rolling stone as Alberta. He’d followed work all over the state for years, preferring the smaller towns to Anchorage’s sprawl.
“You know it. Heard you’ve been here nearly ten months. That’s some kind of record for you.”
He shrugged. “I was lucky enough to win the contract to build the new day spa, then it burned. I had remodel work in the winter and then rebuilding the spa, and Skye and Dalton’s place. Now I’m knee-deep in a new build and a remodel project. I like it here, so it’s all good.”
For the first time he’d had an odd reluctance to leave a place. Well, actually, this place. He’d done a couple of jobs over the years in Good Riddance. Packing up and changing locations had never been a problem before. And it wasn’t that it was a exactly a problem now, he’d just been glad to stay put for a while.
He pushed aside the thought and picked back up on the banter. “You’ve got to quit chasing me this way, Alberta. People are going to talk.”
“Always.” She winked at him. “I know a good catch when I see one.”
Which was questionable considering her five matrimonial forays. Sven supposed the flip side of that was five times she’d snagged what had seemed a good catch at the time.
Sven nodded in the direction of her travel trailer. “I was going to stop by yesterday, but your truck was gone. I waved at Lord Byron though.” The big orange-and-yellow tomcat had been sitting in the window, basking in the sun.
She nodded. “I had a house call to make.”
Alberta’s matchmaking service involved house calls, where she’d actually show up at the cabins of some of the more remote bachelors in these parts.
“Who are you hooking up this time?”
“Dwight Simmons.”
“Dwight?” Not much surprised Sven, but that caught his attention.
Dwight was eighty if he was a day. For years he and Jeb Taylor had been near-permanent fixtures in the Good Riddance airstrip office where they argued and played a slow-moving game of chess. Jeb had died last summer and now Dwight mostly sat there lost.
“You’re never too old for love … and he’s lonely.” She slanted him an arch glance from beneath her painted-on eyebrows. “I’d say you’re ready for love, too. I think you’re lonely, Sven.”
She was smiling, but there was a glint in her eyes, a knowing, as if she really could see somewhere deep inside him. It was a little freaky. Damn. Goose bumps popped up on him that had nothing to do with the weather. Actually it was a lot freaky.
In all their years of crossing paths, Alberta had never tried her hocus-pocus on Sven. And now she was as wrong as the day was long in July.
“Do I look lonely?”
A beat-to-hell-and-back Suburban drove by. Petey, the prospector who doubled as the resident taxi service, honked and waved. Alberta and Sven waved back.
Alberta focused on Sven, eyeing him consideringly. Despite his prickle of discomfort at her eye-balling him, he crossed his arms over his chest and laughed. Alberta was a trip.
“You look ready.”
“Ready for …” This was getting better and better. He was amused and curious as to what she was going to come up with next.
“You’re ready for a meaningful relationship, a commitment.”
Okay, so maybe he had thought now and again that it would be nice to have someone to come home to at night and maybe have a couple of kids, but he’d never admit it to Alberta.
Grinning, he shook his head. “Alberta, you are way off the mark.”
Her wide smile called him a liar. “No way, hottie. I’m never wrong about these things. You’re ready to find a woman to come home to and snuggle up with every night. Weren’t you just thinking at your father’s birthday celebration that you want what your brother has?”
Her words zapped a shiver of acknowledgment down his spine and wiped the grin off his face. How the hell could she know …? A month ago he’d gone back to Wasilla for his pop’s sixtieth birthday. Sven’s brother, Eric, Eric’s wife and their five-month-old daughter had been there, as well. Watching them interact had given him the funniest feeling inside, and yes, he had thought exactly that—he wanted what they had.
An image of darkly sexy Juliette Miller, one of Good Riddance’s bush pilots, had popped into his mind. He’d quickly dismissed Juliette and the notion.
He zeroed in on the one detail Alberta had gotten wrong. “I’m not a snuggler.”
Her expression was nothing short of smug. “You will be.”
Another shiver chased from his neck down his back. “I’m not one of your matchmaking candidates.”
“Oh, but you are. The problem is sometimes you men don’t know your own mind.” Damn if that wasn’t the same thing his mother and his sister-in-law said sometimes. Women.
“My mind and I communicate just fine.” Sven laughed. “There’s no business to be had on my end.” He so did not need a matchmaker. He did just fine with chicks on his own.
“For you, my services are free.” A sly smile lit her eyes and curled her lips. “And here comes the one for you.”
Sven turned. The small hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention. Across the street Juliette, her short dark hair hugging her head, a pair of aviator glasses hiding her eyes, was striding down the sidewalk. As usual, purposeful intent marked her every step. She was standoffish as hell. They’d managed to give each other a wide berth, which was kind of strange considering they were singles of the opposite sex. However, when a woman steadfastly ignored you, ignoring her in return became something of a game. It’d require a brave man or a fool to take on Juliette. He was neither.
He turned back around and faced Alberta. “I’ve got some sad news for you, Alberta. You’ve got this one wrong. I like my women uncomplicated and easy.”
Eyes gleaming, Alberta shot him a pitying look. “And look at where it’s gotten you.” She patted his arm. “You’ll see.”
Right. More like Alberta would see, because not just no, but hell no. Juliette Miller required way too much work.
“IT’S BROKEN.” DR. SKYE Shanahan pointed to the X-ray film up on the backlit screen that afforded a clear view of Bull’s left arm.
“Well, dammit, if that’s not inconvenient,” Bull grumbled from where he sat on the exam table.
“Inconvenient’s a whole lot better than dead,” said Good Riddance’s founder, town mayor, but most important, Bull’s wife, Merrilee Danville Weather-spoon Swenson. She was glad he wasn’t dead—and now she just might kill him for taking such a stupid risk. Climbing up on top of the roof to string Christmas lights in May….
“Now I’ve got to turn the set building over to someone else,” Bull said.
Merrilee simply shook her head. Honest to goodness, forget the pain of a broken bone, the man was upset because ever since they’d started the annual spring dinner theater six years ago, Bull had handled the set design. That was one of the things that had set her head over heels in love with him when she first met him twenty-five years ago: he was one interesting mix of a man. Tough as nails, he uncompromisingly adhered to a fitness schedule, bore a plethora of physical and emotional scars compliments of a stint at the Hanoi Hilton during the Vietnam War, wore his long gray hair pulled back in a ponytail, and had the talent and soul of an artist even though he ran a hardware store. At this moment, disappointment etched his face.
Granted, the dinner theater production was a big deal. It was one of those things that involved everyone. If people didn’t want to be part of the production, they could just sit in the audience. They’d all chosen to live in an area where entertainment was scarce, but forming a dinner theater had built on their strong sense of community and brought a creative outlet to lots of folks who didn’t have one otherwise.
“Sven,” Merrilee said. The tall blond builder wasn’t exactly a Good Riddance resident—yet—but he was the logical choice to take over for Bull. Plus, there was the Juliette issue.
“Well, he knows how to build,” Bull admitted, “but it takes some artistry, as well.”
“I’m sure he won’t be as good as you, but he does have something of an artistic bent, as well,” Merrilee said, understating Sven’s capabilities so as not to trample all over her husband’s already-bruised ego.
“You don’t say.”
From the khaki-green walls of the exam room, a giant yellow smiley face painted on the opposite wall beamed at them, in stark contrast to Bull’s hangdog expression.
Merrilee rubbed her hand over his flannel-clad arm—the unbroken one. “Just for this season, sweetie.”
“All right then. I guess you better go look into it before everyone’s freaking out that I won’t be handling it. You don’t need to stay while Dr. Skye puts on the cast. You know, Sven might not be able to handle all that comes with the job, if you know what I mean. Juliette has definite ideas about what she does and doesn’t want.”
It had taken some prodding and more than a little wheedling for Merrilee to rope Juliette into working on the set design with Bull this year. Juliette was pleasant enough, but she totally kept to herself. However, once Merrilee had dropped by the cabin outside of town Juliette rented and had seen all the wind chimes Juliette created, she knew the theater production was the perfect way to involve Juliette in the community. Juliette, still reserved for the most part, had taken to it like a fish to water.
“Juliette is doing a great job, isn’t she?”
Merrilee loved being right. Thank goodness she was most of the time, because when she was wrong … well, she did wrong in a big way. Plus, she’d thought for the longest time that Juliette might be just what Sven needed, but she’d had enough God-given sense to keep her mouth shut on that one. It was going to be ding-dang hard for Sven and Juliette to steadfastly ignore one another the way they had for the past ten months if they were working together on the set. Hmm. Merrilee wasn’t glad Bull had broken his arm, but most of the time things happened for a reason.
“Who knows? He might not even want to. If he doesn’t, we’ll figure something out.”
Merrilee didn’t want to further agitate her normally unflappable husband, so she held her own counsel. But she was ninety-nine percent sure Sven would be thrilled to be part of the production.
PROPPING AGAINST THE DOOR frame of the Good Riddance Community Center, her clipboard tucked under one arm, Juliette worried her lower lip with her teeth. She’d heard from half a dozen people as they’d filtered in that Bull had broken his arm—news traveled at warp speed in a town of less than a thousand. He was going to be fine, but now they were in a pickle with the set. She’d better come up with an alternative and fast.
The air hummed with excitement as a group practiced their lines onstage. Off to the right, Ellie Light-foot worked on altering a costume. In just a couple of months she would become Ellie Sisnukett when she and Nelson married. They were both quiet, but the town would miss them when they left for Nelson to go to med school.
From the lighting area, Tessa Sisnukett, the director, tested the spots and backlighting since the lighting guy, her husband, Clint, was on a guide trip. The sharp squeals of a group of kids playing a game of tag in the back of the room added to the mix.
Alberta, the Gypsy queen, had shown up two days ago and appointed herself the play’s special consultant, as they were performing a romantic comedy and Alberta specialized in affairs of the heart. Juliette hadn’t had any direct dealings with her, but she was slightly in awe of Alberta, whose reputation preceded her. Juliette had thought for one crazy minute about maybe asking for a “reading,” but had dismissed the idea just as quickly. Her life was finally on something of an even keel. If her future held a big nosedive, it was probably best to not know.
Alberta was plopped in a folding chair opposite Norris Watts who’d started up a monthly newspaper for Good Riddance and the surrounding area. Norris had approached Juliette about doing a feature article on her as a female bush pilot. Juliette had been nice, but firm, in turning her down. She didn’t want to think about her past, her ex-husbands or her parents, and inevitably a feature article would mean that kind of digging.
She’d finally learned to live in the moment and that’s exactly where she wanted to stay and what she wanted to focus on.
Even though it was pushing seven in the evening, daylight still filtered through the windows, turning Alberta’s red hair into a torch atop her head. Juliette wasn’t sure if she’d ever get used to the 2:00 a.m. sunrise and 10:00 p.m. sunsets that came with the territory. However, she wasn’t complaining. Spring and summer’s long days of sunlight were a welcome change from winter’s cold dark. Growing up in North Carolina, Juliette had always welcomed the change of seasons but never as much as now that she lived in Alaska.
And daylight or not, what was she going to do about finishing up the backdrop for the second scene?
The door opened and Merrilee slipped into the room, a coffee cup in her hand.
“Just the woman I wanted to see,” Merrilee said, closing the door behind her. “I’m sure you heard about Bull.”
Juliette nodded. “He’s okay?”
“He’ll be fine, just bummed that he can’t finish the set. But I wanted to let you know I’ve talked to Sven and he’s more than willing to pitch in.”
“Sven Sorenson?” Juliette tensed, her stomach feeling all wonky. She felt wonky every time she caught sight of Sven.
Merrilee laughed. “As far as I know he’s the only Sven in town.”
“But …” Juliette trailed off because there really wasn’t any rational reason why Sven couldn’t take over building the set design.
Merrilee peered at her over the rim of her raised cup, her blue eyes gleaming in amusement. Merrilee ran the Good Riddance B & B and the airstrip that had become Juliette’s base station. Of course, as founder and mayor, Merrilee also ran the town. Merrilee’s still-prominent Southern accent and her way of taking charge without being abrasive so reminded Juliette of the good bits and pieces, few as there were, of her childhood in North Carolina.
Even though she kept a distance, Juliette identified with Merrilee. Merrilee, caught up in a situation not to her liking in her first marriage, had loaded up a camper and drove until she’d found a place that brought her peace and a measure of solace—a reprieve from the life she no longer found acceptable. She’d parked her motor home and founded the town of Good Riddance.
It wasn’t exactly Juliette’s story, but Juliette could relate to being in a bad situation where she’d been the only one who could save herself. She, too, had found refuge and some measure of peace in Alaska and the skies above this vast land. She’d wanted a fresh start and when she’d heard about the bush pilot position in Good Riddance and then the town slogan, “Welcome to Good Riddance, where you leave behind what ails you,” it seemed the perfect place for her. And it seemed she had indeed left behind a legacy of two alcoholic parents and then her own history with alcohol. She’d been here two years and mercifully, chaos had not followed her. While her aloneness was occasionally lonely, it was also peaceful, and there was a whole lot to be said for that.
And not much—as in nothing—escaped Merrilee’s shrewd assessment, just as now when Juliette was hemming and hawing and hedging.
“But what? Bull can’t handle the set design with his broken arm, and with Sven being right here and artistic, to boot, it just makes sense. To tell you the truth, I think Sven wanted to work on it but didn’t want to step on Bull’s toes, since Bull has always handled the job. What is it that you don’t like about Sven?”
“It’s not that I don’t like him …”
Merrilee leveled another all-seeing glance Juliette’s way. Juliette shifted from one foot to another. “It’s not that I dislike him, he just makes me, well, I guess a little uncomfortable.”
“How’s that?”
If she said that there was something faintly dangerous about him—not sinister, but dangerous—she’d sound like a nut. And she didn’t find him physically dangerous—it was more that she intuitively knew that he could be dangerous to her emotionally. She found him unsettling. “He’s too …” Once again she stumbled, not sure what she wanted to say.
“Good-looking? Funny? Charming? Outgoing? Flirtatious?”
Yes, yes and yes. She was altogether too aware of how conscious she was of him on all levels whenever he was in proximity. Therefore, she had pointedly avoided said proximity as the safest route. “Well, there is all of that.”
“He’s a nice guy, Juliette. He knows his way around power tools. He’s a craftsman and an artist—”
“He’s an artist?” She’d always thought of artists as kind of dark and brooding … or gay. Sven was none of the above.
“After a fashion. There’s definitely artistry in his work and he does some sketching as a hobby.”
“Sketching?” Despite herself, she was intrigued. “I had no idea.”
Merrilee smiled. “It’s not something he’s likely to talk about over a brew at Gus’s. Likewise, he probably has no idea you make wind chimes.”
It wasn’t something she went around blabbing about. She’d always loved how expressive wind chimes were. The ones Juliette made weren’t always harmonious, but then again, they reflected life as she knew it.
Alberta and Norris, their business apparently concluded, wandered over. “How’s Bull?” Norris asked.
“Grumpy. He’s a terrible patient.”
“Show me a man who isn’t,” Alberta said. “And I should know. Although come to think of it, my fourth husband wasn’t that much of a whiner when he was sick, but Lester, number five, that man would moan over a hangnail.”
Now, there was a woman not afraid to give matrimony a chance—over and over again. Five husbands. Wow. Two had been plenty for Juliette … and then some. Both of them had been big mistakes and she’d learned her lesson. In her book, three strikes meant you were out and she had no intention of going back to bat in that particular game.
They all laughed in the way of women amused over the foibles of men. “Well, at least Bull’s not a whiner,” Merrilee said. “I’ll take gruff over whineage any day, but I can only take so much. He’s not much of a patient and I’m not much of a nurse.” Merrilee shared a conspiratorial smile. “Why do you think I’m here instead of there?”
Norris snorted.
“Actually, I was just telling Juliette that Sven’s going to take over the set work.”
Alberta nodded. “Good choice.”
“Easy on the eyes, too,” Norris said in her smoke-graveled voice.
“We were just discussing that,” Merrilee said.
Good God almighty, the last thing Juliette wanted was for Norris and Alberta to think she was losing her mind over Sven’s blond good looks. So, maybe she did avoid him because there was this sort of tingle that started whenever he was around. Maybe he was drop-dead gorgeous in a rugged kind of way. Maybe she had once had a dream where he was a Viking marauder and she’d been willingly plundered. Maybe all that was true, but she didn’t plan to breathe a word of that to anyone because it simply didn’t matter. “We were discussing that he’s a good choice, not the easy-on-the-eyes part.”
“I thought we covered the easy-on-the-eyes part, too,” Merrilee said, obviously teasing.
Alberta looked at Juliette. “Sven and I go back a long way. He’s good people. I think you’ll like what he can do with his hands and his imagination.”
Juliette had plenty of her own imagination and it zoomed from zero to sixty as to just what those hands would feel like trailing against her skin, sifting through her hair, stroking against parts that hadn’t been stroked by anyone other than her in a long time. Juliette redirected her wayward thoughts. Plywood. Fabric. Paint. That’s what Alberta meant.
This was what made Sven Sorenson dangerous. The man wasn’t even in the room and simply the thought of him set her pulse racing. How on earth was she going to work with him?
“He has to check on some things over at the spa, but he said he’ll drop by afterward so you can bring him up to speed. Does that work for you?”
There was nothing left to say, no protest to mount without looking like a total idiot. “Sure. No problem.”
She could focus and tingle all at the same time, couldn’t she?
2
SVEN DROPPED IN THE last hinge pin on the supply door. He glanced over his shoulder when he heard Jenna behind him.
“Oh, yeah, that looks better,” she said. “Thanks so much.” She threw arms wide as if encompassing her entire space, her smile as big as her embrace. Neither was, however, as big as her very pregnant belly. Sven made a concerted effort to keep his mouth from gaping open. Jenna’s tummy was bigger than her chest these days and that was saying something … actually, that was saying a lot. He hadn’t spent much time around pregnant women. He’d kind of wondered if his sister-in-law might explode before her due date. Jenna was in the same boat. “Aren’t you just loving it?” she said.
He nodded. “It’s awesome.” Sven had built Jenna Rathburne Jeffries’s new day-spa facility and her living quarters upstairs. Actually, he’d built it twice. The first time around it had burned down when there was a fluke problem with a junction box. They’d had to wait on the spring thaw to rebuild it.
It was Jenna’s first home and it had turned out great. The spa on the ground floor and the living space above imparted a sense of tranquility, with large windows offering views of the evergreens, distant mountains and the sky. A built-in waterfall in the reception area lent the sound of running water throughout the ground floor. Speakers piped the original recordings of a Native musician throughout the rooms. It was soothing and elegant without being pretentious. He was just knocking out the final punch list while his crew worked on their new primary project, a huge house a couple of miles out of town for a mysterious new owner. All the plans had been via an attorney, fax and secondary email.
Jenna’s cat, Tama, bumped against Sven’s legs. Sven leaned down and ran his hand over the cat’s thick fur. “Hey, big guy.”
Jenna had been a dream to work with. Actually, Jenna was pretty much a man’s dream in and of herself—blonde, curvy in all the right places, fun, easygoing and outgoing. Just about every man within a five-hundred-mile radius had been despondent when she’d married Logan Jeffries. Sven, however, hadn’t been despondent. He’d been more along the lines of confounded with himself. Jenna was exactly the kind of woman he’d always been attracted to. He and she had even sort of given it a try. Early on they’d kissed. While he liked her and she liked him, there’d been absolutely nothing close to a spark.
No, instead, he had to be plagued with some crazy-ass attraction to Juliette Miller, which he’d done his damnedest to deny, considering she had complicated written all over her and had never given him the time of day.
“So, you’re taking over the set design for the play?”
Sven wasn’t remotely surprised Jenna already knew. He didn’t even question how. News spread faster in Good Riddance than the clap in a low-rent whorehouse.
“Yeah. I’m heading over to meet with Juliette as soon as I finish up here.”
“You’ll love her.”
What the hell? First Alberta with her off-the-wall prognostications and now Jenna. “I’m just going to finish up the set and it’s not as if I don’t know her from around town.”
Jenna peered at him as if he’d lost his mind. “I know. I did the hair and makeup last year and I’m doing it again this year.” She patted her enormous belly. “Well, maybe. Some people can’t tell you what they want, but Juliette can. She and I were talking the other day about the play, which makes it so much easier. That’s what I mean—you’ll love working with her.” Comprehension dawned. “Oh … you thought I meant you’d love her. Well, you could be onto something there.” She tilted her head to one side, nodding. “You’re right. The two of you would make a cute couple.”
“I’m not onto anything and I didn’t say we’d make a cute couple.”
“But you would.”
“She’s not my type.”
“Well, what’s your type?”
“You.” Although he suspected Jenna’s waters ran a little deeper than he’d first thought, he liked his women like a clear mountain stream, and Juliette was more like a dark, still lake and who knew what was going to be beneath that surface.
Jenna laughed unselfconsciously. “Yeah, well, we see where that got both of us.” She rubbed her tummy again. He wished she’d quit doing that—he had nothing to do with her present state of impending motherhood, but Jenna was known for switching more than just a few train tracks in a conversation. “You might’ve thought I was your type, but I wasn’t really your type. So, it’s this mistaken notion of what your type is that’s got you still single now.”
Did all women study the same sound track to throw back at men?
“I like being single.” Not the whole-truth-and-nothing-but-the-truth, but he was feeling cornered by crazy female talk.
“Then why are you talking about falling in love with Juliette?”
The mere notion gave him a funny feeling in the pit of his gut. But then again, it would probably affect any guy that way. God help him. If it was anyone other than Jenna, who he knew tended to talk in circles…. “I’m not. You are.”
“You are too because you’re talking to me and that’s what we’re talking about.”
He gave up. “I’m just going to work on the set. Nothing more. Nothing less. I don’t even know her.”
“Do any of us really know one another until we’ve put in a little effort? And tell me you’re not curious about her. But then again, I doubt you’re her type.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Well, I think Juliette’s pretty particular, because in the year and a half I’ve lived here I’ve never known her to date anyone. For that matter, I’ve never seen her at any of the karaoke nights or the exercise classes at the community center. She’s nice and she’s not unfriendly, but she keeps to herself.”
“Okay. But how does that mean I’m not her type?”
Jenna shrugged. “I dunno. She just strikes me as kind of serious—”
That struck a nerve. Just because he was easygoing it didn’t necessarily mean he was a lightweight. “I can be serious.”
“Wow, okay. I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m sure you can.”
“But what? There’s a but there.”
“Well, don’t take this the wrong way—” that never boded good things to come “—but she really hasn’t shown the slightest bit of interest in you that I’ve ever noticed, so, you know …”
He wasn’t an egomaniac but damn, a man was entitled to a little pride and Jenna had just crushed his beneath her heel by pointing out the obvious. Juliette had never given him the proverbial time of day.
“Thanks, Jenna.”
“Oh, Sven, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I guess I just didn’t realize you felt that way about Juliette.”
“I don’t feel any way about her.” Which wasn’t exactly true, but this wasn’t a soul-baring session with a shrink, either, was it? He had to admit his masculine pride had been pricked from the get-go because Juliette had taken one look at him and dismissed him. WTF was up with that? He’d decided then and there she’d be too complicated and too much trouble.
“Well, maybe you should test the waters, the way you and I did, so you’ll know. It’s impossible for a good-looking single guy to be ambivalent about a pretty woman of similar age in a town this size. You do think she’s pretty, don’t you? And she has a nice figure.”
“Of course she’s pretty.” There was something arresting about her short dark hair, brown eyes and delicately sculpted face. “And yes, she has a nice figure.” Yes, he had noticed her soft curves on more than one occasion—well, the truth of the matter was, every time he saw her. “And as you so graciously pointed out, darling, she’s never given me the time of day.”
“Maybe she’s as scared of you as you are of her.”
“Wait a minute. I didn’t say I was scared of her.”
“You didn’t have to. You think she’s a babe, but you’ve never asked her out so that can only mean one thing. You’re scared.” She patted him on the back. “Don’t be. What’s the worst she can say? No.”
“I am not scared.”
“Good. Let me know what she says.”
“About what?”
“When you ask her out.”
JULIETTE MADE A COUPLE of notes, but her concentration was seriously compromised waiting on Sven to show up. She was ridiculously nervous. He was going to go over the set design with her. Big deal. She’d seen him around town any number of times in the past ten months. Therefore, it was totally silly and uncalled for that she’d popped into the ladies’ room twice now to check her hair and make sure she didn’t have any mascara smudges beneath her eyes.
She heard the pull of a diesel truck passing outside, but it didn’t stop. She moved to the center front, looking at the now-empty stage. The rest of the cast and crew had vaporized as if they’d been caught up in a Vulcan mind meld. Instead, it had simply been the allure of Thursday-night karaoke over at Gus’s. Good Riddance citizens took their karaoke seriously.
While Juliette stopped in at Gus’s for meals, she didn’t make a habit of hanging out there. Most days she felt good and strong, but spending a lot of extra time in a bar didn’t seem the wisest course of action. Once an alcoholic always an alcoholic. A recovered drunk was only one drink away from being back at it … And she never wanted to be back at it again.
She was a big girl. She could handle being alone with Sven Sorenson. She was alone with men all the time, flying them in and out of Good Riddance and to various and sundry spots in remote Alaska. He was just another man. Granted, he had a larger-than-life quality about him that wasn’t just because of his height. As Merrilee had pointed out earlier, Sven was just too … too everything—handsome, charming, sexy, she could throw in another sexy just to keep it real and accurate—for a woman’s peace of mind. And since Juliette was all about preserving the peace—primarily her own—she’d gone out of her way to keep her distance from Sven Sorenson.
She smiled ruefully to herself. The community center was far larger than the confines of her airplane. Distance shouldn’t be a problem.
Despite her newfound perspective, her heart began to thud in her chest at the unmistakable sound of a diesel truck pulling into the parking lot outside. The engine died, followed by the slam of a door and the crunch of boots on gravel.
She pasted on her most professional smile—friendly, yet distant—as boots thudded on the wood stairs and hesitated at the door. The door opened and Sven stood there for a moment. Perhaps she was simply in dramatic mode, courtesy of rehearsal, but it was like some frame in a movie where the gorgeous hero pauses so all the females in the audience can indulge in a swoonfest.
She was an audience of one, but certainly not immune to the visual picture he presented. His booted feet planted apart, strong, long legs in worn denim, narrow hips, a broad chest and still-broader shoulders. The spring sunlight served as a backlight, burnishing his hair to molten gold. He was a cross between a Viking marauder and a Norse god.
All the spit dried right out of her mouth and seemed to head south to congregate between her thighs in a totally unexpected, unwelcome flood of physical attraction.
It was like being struck by a bolt of lightning—not that she ever had been but this must be what it felt like. Of course, she’d noticed him before. He was an extremely good-looking man. A woman would have to be dead not to notice a tall, broad-shouldered, muscled man with a well-chiseled face, blond hair, dark blue eyes that sometimes took on a hint of moss green, a ready smile and an outgoing personality. So she had been aware of him, but never, ever like this. This total rush of energy, attraction, awareness—whatever label she wanted to throw on it—was exhilarating … and terrifying.
She realized while she was in some kind of freakish sexual stupor, he was simply allowing his eyes to adjust to the room. “Juliette?”
She’d been gawking and he hadn’t even seen her, thank goodness. She gathered her wits, along with her notes, and stepped forward. “Right here. Hi.”
He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. “Hi.” He smiled and Juliette curled her fingers tighter around her clipboard. “I hear you’ve got some set-design work that needs finishing up,” he said. “I’m your man … I … uh … if you want me.” He shifted. “Well, you know what I mean … for the play.”
Juliette was flummoxed … and she didn’t flummox easily. “I … uh … sure. I hate that Bull can’t do it, but I appreciate you offering to help.”
“Sure thing.” From the first time she’d heard him speak, his voice had always reminded her of her aunt Mae’s apple pie, which had always been her favorite dessert—crisp notes with an underlying hint of honey and spice. “You want to bring me up to speed with where you are and what you need?”
Where she was and what she needed … well, she could write a short story on both of those with a footnote on what she might actually want on a temporary basis. However, Sven hadn’t meant it in the personal sense, which she would’ve never shared with him anyway.
“Let me give you a quick rundown on the play and then I’ll show you what we have so far.”
He straddled a chair and turned those midnight-blue eyes on her. She sat in a chair a few feet away, her pulse still not quite back in the at-ease range she usually aimed to maintain.
She gave him the CliffsNotes version of the storyline. Interestingly, she could almost see the wheels turning in his head, fitting in the backdrop and set design to the plot and its various segments. Juliette wrapped it up and said as she stood, “And this is what we have so far.”
He rose to his feet, as well. She was very much aware of his height and the impressive breadth of his chest and shoulders. And yeah, that was all good and fine, but what could he do with the set?
Silently she turned on her heel and he followed as she led him to the back right corner behind the curtained stage where Bull had set up his work area. Sven’s boots echoed across the stage floor as he walked with her. Shadows shrouded Bull’s section behind the drop of the heavy curtain. An element of awareness threaded the silence between them.
In the dim light, Juliette inhaled Sven’s scent—a combination of man, fresh-cut lumber, soap, leather and the outdoors. Her heart raced as he leaned in and reached toward her—her thoughts racing nearly as fast as her heart.
It had been so long since she’d been kissed or touched by a man … well, by anyone for that matter. Did she want to feel his palm against her skin? Did she want the sensation of his breath mingling with hers? Did she want to know the taste of his lips and tongue against her own?
She wasn’t sure.
She stood as if frozen and everything seemed to move in extreme slow motion as he drew even with her. His arm brushed against her shoulder, setting off a series of tremors inside her.
There was a sudden movement, a click and light flooded the area. He dropped his arm to his side.
“That sheds a little light on it, doesn’t it?” he said.
Oh, God, she was losing her mind. She’d thought he was going to kiss her and all he was doing was turning on the freaking light. And the worst of it was, she was disappointed. What was wrong with her?
“Thanks,” she said, taking a step away from him. “That definitely makes it easier to see.”
Sven crossed his big arms over his chest and tucked his chin down, studying the pieces before them. Finally he nodded. “It works.”
She was relieved. She and Bull had always been in sync. She hadn’t been too sure that Sven would get what she wanted, but apparently he did. “I think it does. I do think this is a little off, but I can’t put my finger on the exact problem.”
He cocked his head to one side, assessing the plywood cutout. Finally he looked from the piece to her. “If we smooth out this line a bit—” he traced the line with his finger in the air “—and make that one sharper …”
She could see it in her mind’s eye. Juliette nodded. “Perfect, that would take care of the problem.” She found it somewhat surprising that they seemed to be on the same wavelength.
“I have a couple of other ideas that might work, too.” He paused. “Have you had dinner yet?”
She often didn’t eat until late in the evening at this time of year. She found she followed a different rhythm with the longer days of sunlight. “No. I had a busy flight schedule today and then rehearsal.” She liked sitting in on the rehearsal and seeing if what they had on the set side was working or not.
He grinned, and she found breathing a bit more difficult. “And then you had to wait on me to come by. Sorry to hold you up. Jenna had a couple of kinks that needed smoothing out over at the spa.”
“No problem. I just appreciate your help with the set, and so does everyone else involved with the production.” She tacked on that last bit just to make sure he knew she wasn’t being personal when she thanked him and that he didn’t think she had any kind of agenda. Because she didn’t. Nope. None.
“I’d say let’s drop by Gus’s but it’s karaoke night. It’d be pretty difficult to talk there.”
She smiled. “Impossible is more like it.”
“I left a roast going in the Crock-Pot. Definitely nothing fancy, but it usually turns out good enough. Want to come over and have a bite to eat and we can knock around some ideas?”
Juliette made it a practice to keep to herself. It just seemed easier that way. So, normally she would’ve thanked him politely and declined. However, normal seemed to have checked out on vacation, because instead of declining she found herself saying, “I could do that.”
“You know, I’m out at Shadow Lake.”
Juliette smiled. “Right.”
Shadow Lake was beyond lovely. The large tract of property wasn’t too far out of town. At the heart sat a lake that got its name from the mountains surrounding it—at almost any time of day different parts of the lake were shadowed by one mountain or another.
It had belonged to two sisters who had retired to Good Riddance to raise sled dogs and enjoy the Alaskan lifestyle. Irene and Erlene Marbut had become part of Good Riddance’s lore. While the sisters didn’t want to live together, neither had they wanted to live too far apart, so they’d built cabins within spitting distance on the edge of Shadow Lake.
The two women, now deceased, had willed their property to Dalton Saunders, Juliette’s fellow bush pilot. Last year Dalton had married Skye Shanahan, who had taken over as the local doctor following her stint as a relief doc. The couple had contracted Sven to build them a new home that was a bit more private and offered room for them to start a family.
Juliette had heard Sven was staying in one of the original cabins while he renovated the other, and then he’d switch until they were both done. The two side-by-side cabins would be for visiting family members. Skye’s snooty family had actually fallen in love with both Alaska and their outspoken, slightly outrageous son-in-law.
“Well, of course you know, since you fly with Dalton. Plus, there doesn’t seem to be much that people in Good Riddance don’t know about each other.”
“True enough.” Although there was plenty about Juliette that wasn’t known—and she planned to keep it that way. Some things were better left unsaid and in the past.
3
SVEN GLANCED IN HIS REARVIEW mirror to confirm Juliette was behind him as he hung a right onto the unpaved road to the cabins. The road, spread with a fresh load of crusher-run gravel, cut through the stately spruce trees. He looked back to the driveway just in time to brake and stop.
Juliette halted behind him. He stuck his head out the window and yelled back to her, “Beaver crossing the road.”
She flashed a smile and nodded, giving him the thumbs-up. Her smile sent heat through him.
Bucky, as Sven had dubbed the beaver, stopped midcrossing and looked at him. Sven waited. Unperturbed he’d interrupted traffic, Bucky once again continued his journey. Sven had sighted a couple of beavers on the southeast end of the lake, but Bucky was the only one who ventured this far. Sven had spotted the bristly fellow crossing the road several times.
Bucky finally reached the other side and Sven moved on, Juliette following once again.
He hadn’t planned to invite her to dinner. It had just sort of worked out that way. It was logical they’d sit down and discuss the set. He had dinner waiting in a pot. No big deal. The only reason he wouldn’t have invited her was if he allowed himself to be freaked out by Alberta and Jenna. He’d be damned if he’d have Jenna, or anyone else, thinking he was afraid of Juliette.
The tall evergreens gave way to a clearing, the lake to the right, cabins to the left. He parked in the graveled space, big enough to accommodate two vehicles, next to the two side-by-side cabins. Juliette pulled into the empty spot beside him. For sure, she drove a sweet ride—a classic Series IIA Land Rover. It was cool as well as functional—a veritable workhorse that could be repaired on the spot in remote locations. There was something to be said for a woman who knew her way around an engine, which she obviously did. Flying a plane into remote areas required she know engine repair. There was something kind of sexy about a woman who could handle those things.
Juliette climbed out of her truck, looking around. A slight breeze ruffled her short, dark hair and carried her scent to him. “It sure is nice out here,” she said.
“Yeah, it is. There are some awesome places in Alaska, but Shadow Lake is one of the prettiest I’ve ever seen.” He’d fallen in love with the location the first time he saw it. It was quiet and private without the absolute isolation he’d seen in some parts of the state and even in the surrounding area.
He enjoyed staying in the cabin overlooking the tranquil lake ringed by towering spruce, snowcapped mountains visible in the distance. “Have you been out here before?”
Without discussing it, of one accord, they both walked toward the lake.
“Once for dinner,” Juliette said as they skirted a thatch of fireweed in the clearing between the cabins and the water, the purple-pink spires standing thigh high. “It was after Dalton and Skye moved into the new house, which, by the way, is lovely. Your work is quite nice.”
They stopped at the lake’s edge, the gentle lapping of water against the shore soothing and rhythmic. Dalton and Skye’s new home was situated farther down the shore. After dark, the lights would glimmer among the trees.
“Thanks. It was great working on it. Dalton and Skye dig functional, clean design that works with the surroundings.” They turned, heading back to the cabins.
“It feels spacious and cozy at the same time.”
Her comments pleased him. It felt good to have his work appreciated. “That’s exactly what we were aiming for.” They walked up onto the porch. “Want to come in or we can sit out here?” He’d opt for the outside any time.
“Out here is nice,” she said.
“Take the chair.” He motioned to the only seat on the porch. “I’ll hold up the railing.” He propped on the railing, resting his back against the post. Juliette settled on the kitchen chair he kept on the porch. “Skye didn’t cook when you came over, did she?” he asked.
It was common knowledge Skye, while she was a helluva doctor, was a lousy cook. Actually, it was something of an ongoing debate throughout town as to who was worse in the kitchen, Skye or Jenna.
Juliette laughed and Sven realized that in the months he’d known her it was the first time he’d heard her laugh. Her amusement had a musical quality. “No, Dalton cooked. I understand it’s best that way. Skye’s the first to say she’d starve left to her own devices and no takeout.”
He was curious about Juliette. In a town where everyone knew everyone else’s business, all he knew of her was that she flew a bush plane and kept to herself. He knew she had short, wavy hair that made his fingers itch to run through it and a mouth that directed his thoughts to long, slow kisses on an Alaskan spring evening. Other than that, she was a mystery. “What about you? Do you cook?”
She shrugged and offered another one of her quiet smiles. “Nothing gourmet, but I manage.” She sniffed. Even with the cabin door closed, the faint aroma of roasted meat and vegetables mingled with the scent of evergreen and fresh air. “You obviously know your way around a kitchen … or at least a Crock-Pot.”
Ah, a dry sense of humor lurked beneath that serious, faintly mysterious exterior. “The Crock-Pot is a beautiful thing. My parents were adamant my brother and I know how to take care of ourselves.”
“There’s a lot to be said for self-sufficiency.” A hint of melancholy tinged her smile and shadowed her eyes, and it was as if she retreated a bit into her shell. What had he said wrong?
It was just as he’d known from the get-go—the woman would be a boatload of trouble to figure out, and who needed that?
“Yeah, there is. What do you say we eat out here? I do most evenings. Even if I eat at Gus’s I usually wind up out here at some point before I go to bed. Of course, that’s since it’s warmed up.”
“The porch would be fine. I like being outdoors and it’s a nice view of the lake and the sky.”
“I’ll grab dinner.”
“Need any help?” She shifted forward as if to get up.
“Nope. I’ve got it covered.” He stopped at the door. “What can I get you to drink? Beer? Milk? Water? I’m not a wine drinker.”
“Water sounds good. Are you sure you don’t need any help?”
The place was kind of a mess. He wasn’t the neatest guy and he almost never had guests. “No. I think I can manage two plates and drinks. Mind if I have a beer?”
“Of course not.” There was a hint of searching in her regard, as if she was looking for some deeper meaning.
“I’ll be right back then.” Sven stepped into the cabin, closing the door behind him. He picked up yesterday’s shirt and jeans and tossed them into the bedroom just in case she decided to come in. He did a quick bathroom reconnaissance. Not too bad.
The cabin was essentially one big room with a separate bedroom and bathroom. From the kitchen, where he filled two plates with roast, potatoes and carrots, he could see Juliette through the front window. Even though she looked peaceful enough on the porch, there was a tension in the line of her shoulders.
A loon, with its distinct cry, called from the lake. Dalton had told him the pair returned year after year to spend the summer. Interesting creatures those loons—they mated for life.
He left the plates on the table and carried another chair outside, Juliette’s water glass in his other hand. “Dinner’s coming right up.”
She took the glass, her fingers brushing his, sending a jolt through him. “Thanks.”
He went back in, picked up the plates and utensils and brought them out to the porch. She took her plate and he settled in the empty kitchen chair.
“Hope you enjoy it,” Sven said as he automatically tipped his chair back until it rested against the cabin wall.
“It smells delicious,” she said, fork in hand.
“Dig in.” He loaded his fork with a piece of meat and a potato chunk, suddenly ravenous.
She took a bite and a slow smile lit her brown eyes. “Delicious,” she said when she finished chewing and swallowing. “You do know your way around a Crock-Pot.”
Inordinately pleased with her compliment, he found he was glad he’d been the one to put that smile on her face. “Glad you like it.”
She gestured with her fork, at the vista before them. “I understand why you sit out here most evenings.”
The sun slanted onto the covered porch. Sven always thought of this as “the golden hour.” Now he stared at Juliette, transfixed by her radiance as the light burnished her hair and skin. Something inside him shifted and fell into place, like when he was notching logs and got the fit just right.
She glanced at him. “Sven?”
He shook his head. What the hell was wrong with him? It had to be that crazy conversation with Jenna. “Uh, yeah. It is a pretty awesome view, isn’t it?”
For what could’ve been one second or minutes, their gazes locked, ensnared. Gold flecked her smoky-brown eyes. His gut tightened and he had the most incredible urge to bridge the space between them and test the smoothness of her skin with his fingertips. Her eyes darkened as if she’d read his desire and wanted the same. Juliette finally looked away.
“So,” she prompted, a husky note flavoring her voice that held a Southern undertone. “You had some ideas about the set?” She speared a carrot with her fork, looking at her plate as if the contents fascinated her.
Sven shifted on the hard chair and checked out his own plate rather than the wash of light over her. Meat and potatoes would curb at least one appetite.
Over the meal, he outlined his suggestions and was pleased with her thoughtful comments and questions. Before he knew it, their plates were clean and they’d finished discussing the set.
Juliette stood, her empty plate in hand, “Well, thanks so much for dinner. It was delicious.”
The idea that he didn’t want her to go flashed through him and instinctively he said, “There’s a nice trail down by the lake that leads to a rise with an even better view if you’re up for an after-dinner walk.”
Surprise registered on her face and she hesitated. Finally she nodded. “That’d be nice.”
THE BREEZE BLEW ACROSS the water, cooling Juliette’s heated skin and teasing her hair against her neck and temple. She’d been torn. Did she want to soak up more of the tranquillity of Shadow Lake, and the rush of heat and awareness brought on by Sven—feelings she hadn’t known in a long time, possibly ever? Or did she want to safely retreat to her own cabin in the woods? She wasn’t sure it was the smartest move on her part, but she’d opted to stay.
The path skirted the shore, worn and obviously used by both man and wildlife. She focused on the nuances of the setting rather than the energy radiating from the man beside her—the soothing lapping of water against the shore, the sigh of the wind through the spruce boughs, the muted rhythm of their booted feet against the dirt trail. Mosquitoes, jokingly referred to as Alaska’s national bird, buzzed past, and a bald eagle’s distant chirping carried on the evening air.
The mosquitoes always reminded her of childhood summers when she’d spent as much time as possible outside. Bug bites had been a small price to pay for a reprieve from the chaos inevitably found indoors.
“So,” Sven said, breaking the silence and pulling her back from her brief foray into the past, “how’d you wind up flying a bush plane in Alaska?”
Surely he knew the story. It was a standard question that came with her profession and she’d been asked numerous times. She gave him the same abbreviated, sanitized version everyone else got.
“I’ve always loved flying, being up in the air.”
She was eight years old and once again Mama and Daddy were shouting and throwing things. Juliette darted out the back door when they were distracted. Outside was better than inside, but they could always still find her. She dashed across the field to old man Haddricks’s place and scrambled into the cockpit of his crop-duster plane. Her folks never thought to look for her there and she liked to pretend she was flying up in the sky. They couldn’t get to her up in the sky.
“All right, little missy,” old man Haddricks said, nearly startling the pee out of her. “I been watching you sit in my plane going on near a month. I’m about to dust the Oglesby soybean fields.” He hooked his thumbs in the straps of his overalls. His gray, bristling eyebrows nearly met one another over his nose and he never smiled, but his eyes were kind. You could see meanness in a person and it wasn’t in him. “You wanna tag along?”
She nodded mutely. Her heart nearly thumping out of her chest, she climbed over into the secondseat and buckled in. The next thing she knew, they were off the ground. And for the first time in her life she actually felt safe. It was just like she’d dreamed it would be. No one could find her and no one could harm her when she was in the sky.
She shrugged. “I became a flight attendant, fell in love with Alaska on a long layover and decided to get my pilot’s license.”
Her life sounded so nice and neat and compartmentalized when in fact it had been one big mess and even that CliffsNotes version dredged it all up for her again. Marrying Boyd Feldman, her high school boyfriend, when she was seventeen just to get out of her parents’ house. Foolishly believing Boyd would stand between her and her parents. Realizing she’d jumped from the frying pan into the fire. Divorced by nineteen. Lucking into the flight attendant job. Falling into a second marriage where once again she thought he’d have her back, only to discover the only thing they had in common was burying their respective troubles in a bottle. A second divorce. Waking up in a hotel room one morning after a flight and an evening spent in the hotel bar, not remembering where she was or how she’d gotten there, knowing if she didn’t make some changes she’d surely ruin her life and die young. Alcoholism was suicide by installment plan.
She’d climbed out of bed, bleary-eyed, hungover and generally mad at the world and gone online and found an AA meeting. She wasn’t sure what had been harder, showing up or admitting she was, in fact, the very thing she’d always despised about her parents. An alcoholic.
With sobriety had come the acknowledgment that while being a flight attendant put her in the sky, what she really longed to do was fly a plane.
She’d had a small nest egg set aside, but she’d still busted her butt waiting tables in an all-night diner in Anchorage. It had taken her twice as long to save up the money for flight school because her tips were easily half of what they would’ve been in a bar. But getting sober and staying sober had been as important as earning her wings.
She certainly didn’t lay all that out on the table for Sven, who probably couldn’t handle it even if she wanted to tell him … and she didn’t. Instead, she simply smiled and said, “And the rest, as they say, is history.”
A twig snapped underfoot, underscoring her story.
Sven looked at her as if he could see through all she’d said to the pieces she’d left out, which was unexpected and caught her off guard. And there was something in his look that said he’d ask. “So, you’ve been flying how long?”
She breathed a sigh of relief, but sooner or later he’d probe. She sensed his curiosity. Most of the time her wall of reserve kept people at bay, but with him …
“Two years now.”
Three years and forty-four days of sobriety, and she never, ever took it for granted. She looked up at the ribbons of orange and pink streaking the sky as the sun began its nightly journey toward the horizon. A sense of contentment wove through her.
“I’m never as happy as when I’m up there.” The moment those words slipped past her lips she caught herself. Sven was easy to be around in a way she hadn’t experienced with anyone before.
“What is it about being up there that you like so much?”
Once again she lowered her guard as if lulled by the place and the man and the moment. “It’s freedom and open space and safety.”
They climbed the last of a small rise where a stone outcropping formed a natural bench at the top. Without stopping to discuss it, they settled on the sun-warmed rock overlooking the vista of lake, mountain and sinking sun. Fireweed, her favorite Alaskan wildflower, filled a meadow on the far side of the lake. In the distance Dalton and Skye’s house sat in the clearing at the edge of the spruce forest. It was all singularly spectacular. She liked the solidness of the stone beneath her.
The wind shifted and Sven’s scent wafted around her. He radiated energy, but it wasn’t the frenetic mix some people gave off. There was simply a heat and power to him that drew her.
“Open space and safety,” he echoed her words. “That’s a different take.” Sven grinned and pushed his blond hair behind one ear. Juliette noticed a small hole in his earlobe, as if once upon a time he’d sported an earring. Somehow it seemed to fit. He struck her as free-spirited and a little unconventional with his long hair and outgoing personality. She was finding, however, that one-on-one he was quieter than she’d expected.
“Lots of people would find being up in a small plane in a small cockpit in the air confining and somewhat dangerous,” he continued.
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JENNIFER LABRECQUE
For construction foreman Sven Sorenson, Alaska is close to heaven.Unfortunately, there’s one thing missing – women! Finding the right girl is impossible. Especially since he can’t keep his mind – or his hands – off the wrong one! High-flying bush pilot Juliette Miller’s not interested in commitment. She’s tried that twice. But her attraction to Sven is sizzling and maybe third time really is lucky.
Alaska—the last frontier.
The nights are long. The days are cold.
And the men are really, really hot!
Can you think of a better excuse for a trip up north?
Come on back to the unorthodox and
unforgettable town of Good Riddance and
experience some…
Alaskan Heat!
Let’s face it, can you really think of anything better
to do during those long, long nights…
About the Author
After a varied career path that included barbecue-joint waitress, corporate numbers cruncher and bug-business maven, JENNIFER LABRECQUE has found her true calling writing contemporary romance. Named 2001 Notable New Author of the Year and 2002 winner of the prestigious Maggie Award for Excellence, she is also a two-time RITA
Award finalist. Jennifer lives in suburban Atlanta with a Chihuahua who runs the whole show.
Dear Reader,
Welcome back, yet again, to Good Riddance, Alaska, where the citizens and visitors get to “leave behind what ails them.” But sometimes life isn’t so much about leaving things behind as it is dealing with those things you’ve avoided the most. And that’s precisely the situation facing my hero and heroine—the handsome, footloose and fancy-free Sven Sorenson and Good Riddance’s quietly intense bush pilot, Juliette Miller.
Both Sven and Juliette have to dig deep to find out exactly what they’re made of before they can figure out that they’re made for each other. People come with a myriad of problems, some of which some run deeper than others. And while we’re not responsible for another human being, we can offer love and support and acceptance. Sometimes, as Sven and Juliette discover, love enables us to see the best in someone. And that insight buoys them up to be the person we know they can be.
I hope you enjoy watching Sven and Juliette discover a lot about themselves … and each other.
If you did, please let me know. I love to hear from my readers. Visit me at www.jenniferlabrecque.com.
And as always … happy reading!
Jen
Northern Fires
Jennifer LaBrecque
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Susan Grigsby-Floyd and Lucius Williams, IV.
Thank you.
1
“HEY, HOTTIE, wait up, I’ve been looking for you.”
Sven Sorenson, heading down the only real street in Good Riddance, Alaska, stopped.
He’d recognize that voice anywhere. Grinning, he turned. “How’s my favorite girl?”
Alberta Reynolds, her bright red hair sticking out sporadically from a yellow-and-purple scarf rather like a hedgehog, returned his grin, minus a few teeth here and there. Her bottom lip bulged with the dip of smokeless tobacco she kept tucked there.
Alberta was something of a living legend in these parts. She claimed descent from European Gypsy stock, psychic powers and unparalleled matchmaking abilities. Sven had always been a skeptic when it came to that psychic stuff and he figured people either clicked or they didn’t, but Alberta had a reputation for putting together lasting hookups. Well, except for when it came to herself. Already married five times, rumor had it Alberta was on the lookout for Husband Number Six.
She’d shown up yesterday, her beat-up Datsun pickup—the hood held on with baling wire—pulling a one-room travel trailer that appeared damn near as old as Alberta herself, and that was pretty old. A couple of years ago she’d adopted a three-legged cat she’d named Lord Byron.
Sven and Alberta had crossed paths numerous times in the past ten years in the small towns scattered across Alaska’s vast wilderness. Sven in his capacity as a professional builder, Alberta in her capacity as a Gypsy queen. She was a hoot for sure and had a good heart.
“I heard you were here,” she said.
He gave her a quick hug. “Are you following me again?” he said with a smile as he released her.
It was a running joke between them. Sven was almost as much of a rolling stone as Alberta. He’d followed work all over the state for years, preferring the smaller towns to Anchorage’s sprawl.
“You know it. Heard you’ve been here nearly ten months. That’s some kind of record for you.”
He shrugged. “I was lucky enough to win the contract to build the new day spa, then it burned. I had remodel work in the winter and then rebuilding the spa, and Skye and Dalton’s place. Now I’m knee-deep in a new build and a remodel project. I like it here, so it’s all good.”
For the first time he’d had an odd reluctance to leave a place. Well, actually, this place. He’d done a couple of jobs over the years in Good Riddance. Packing up and changing locations had never been a problem before. And it wasn’t that it was a exactly a problem now, he’d just been glad to stay put for a while.
He pushed aside the thought and picked back up on the banter. “You’ve got to quit chasing me this way, Alberta. People are going to talk.”
“Always.” She winked at him. “I know a good catch when I see one.”
Which was questionable considering her five matrimonial forays. Sven supposed the flip side of that was five times she’d snagged what had seemed a good catch at the time.
Sven nodded in the direction of her travel trailer. “I was going to stop by yesterday, but your truck was gone. I waved at Lord Byron though.” The big orange-and-yellow tomcat had been sitting in the window, basking in the sun.
She nodded. “I had a house call to make.”
Alberta’s matchmaking service involved house calls, where she’d actually show up at the cabins of some of the more remote bachelors in these parts.
“Who are you hooking up this time?”
“Dwight Simmons.”
“Dwight?” Not much surprised Sven, but that caught his attention.
Dwight was eighty if he was a day. For years he and Jeb Taylor had been near-permanent fixtures in the Good Riddance airstrip office where they argued and played a slow-moving game of chess. Jeb had died last summer and now Dwight mostly sat there lost.
“You’re never too old for love … and he’s lonely.” She slanted him an arch glance from beneath her painted-on eyebrows. “I’d say you’re ready for love, too. I think you’re lonely, Sven.”
She was smiling, but there was a glint in her eyes, a knowing, as if she really could see somewhere deep inside him. It was a little freaky. Damn. Goose bumps popped up on him that had nothing to do with the weather. Actually it was a lot freaky.
In all their years of crossing paths, Alberta had never tried her hocus-pocus on Sven. And now she was as wrong as the day was long in July.
“Do I look lonely?”
A beat-to-hell-and-back Suburban drove by. Petey, the prospector who doubled as the resident taxi service, honked and waved. Alberta and Sven waved back.
Alberta focused on Sven, eyeing him consideringly. Despite his prickle of discomfort at her eye-balling him, he crossed his arms over his chest and laughed. Alberta was a trip.
“You look ready.”
“Ready for …” This was getting better and better. He was amused and curious as to what she was going to come up with next.
“You’re ready for a meaningful relationship, a commitment.”
Okay, so maybe he had thought now and again that it would be nice to have someone to come home to at night and maybe have a couple of kids, but he’d never admit it to Alberta.
Grinning, he shook his head. “Alberta, you are way off the mark.”
Her wide smile called him a liar. “No way, hottie. I’m never wrong about these things. You’re ready to find a woman to come home to and snuggle up with every night. Weren’t you just thinking at your father’s birthday celebration that you want what your brother has?”
Her words zapped a shiver of acknowledgment down his spine and wiped the grin off his face. How the hell could she know …? A month ago he’d gone back to Wasilla for his pop’s sixtieth birthday. Sven’s brother, Eric, Eric’s wife and their five-month-old daughter had been there, as well. Watching them interact had given him the funniest feeling inside, and yes, he had thought exactly that—he wanted what they had.
An image of darkly sexy Juliette Miller, one of Good Riddance’s bush pilots, had popped into his mind. He’d quickly dismissed Juliette and the notion.
He zeroed in on the one detail Alberta had gotten wrong. “I’m not a snuggler.”
Her expression was nothing short of smug. “You will be.”
Another shiver chased from his neck down his back. “I’m not one of your matchmaking candidates.”
“Oh, but you are. The problem is sometimes you men don’t know your own mind.” Damn if that wasn’t the same thing his mother and his sister-in-law said sometimes. Women.
“My mind and I communicate just fine.” Sven laughed. “There’s no business to be had on my end.” He so did not need a matchmaker. He did just fine with chicks on his own.
“For you, my services are free.” A sly smile lit her eyes and curled her lips. “And here comes the one for you.”
Sven turned. The small hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention. Across the street Juliette, her short dark hair hugging her head, a pair of aviator glasses hiding her eyes, was striding down the sidewalk. As usual, purposeful intent marked her every step. She was standoffish as hell. They’d managed to give each other a wide berth, which was kind of strange considering they were singles of the opposite sex. However, when a woman steadfastly ignored you, ignoring her in return became something of a game. It’d require a brave man or a fool to take on Juliette. He was neither.
He turned back around and faced Alberta. “I’ve got some sad news for you, Alberta. You’ve got this one wrong. I like my women uncomplicated and easy.”
Eyes gleaming, Alberta shot him a pitying look. “And look at where it’s gotten you.” She patted his arm. “You’ll see.”
Right. More like Alberta would see, because not just no, but hell no. Juliette Miller required way too much work.
“IT’S BROKEN.” DR. SKYE Shanahan pointed to the X-ray film up on the backlit screen that afforded a clear view of Bull’s left arm.
“Well, dammit, if that’s not inconvenient,” Bull grumbled from where he sat on the exam table.
“Inconvenient’s a whole lot better than dead,” said Good Riddance’s founder, town mayor, but most important, Bull’s wife, Merrilee Danville Weather-spoon Swenson. She was glad he wasn’t dead—and now she just might kill him for taking such a stupid risk. Climbing up on top of the roof to string Christmas lights in May….
“Now I’ve got to turn the set building over to someone else,” Bull said.
Merrilee simply shook her head. Honest to goodness, forget the pain of a broken bone, the man was upset because ever since they’d started the annual spring dinner theater six years ago, Bull had handled the set design. That was one of the things that had set her head over heels in love with him when she first met him twenty-five years ago: he was one interesting mix of a man. Tough as nails, he uncompromisingly adhered to a fitness schedule, bore a plethora of physical and emotional scars compliments of a stint at the Hanoi Hilton during the Vietnam War, wore his long gray hair pulled back in a ponytail, and had the talent and soul of an artist even though he ran a hardware store. At this moment, disappointment etched his face.
Granted, the dinner theater production was a big deal. It was one of those things that involved everyone. If people didn’t want to be part of the production, they could just sit in the audience. They’d all chosen to live in an area where entertainment was scarce, but forming a dinner theater had built on their strong sense of community and brought a creative outlet to lots of folks who didn’t have one otherwise.
“Sven,” Merrilee said. The tall blond builder wasn’t exactly a Good Riddance resident—yet—but he was the logical choice to take over for Bull. Plus, there was the Juliette issue.
“Well, he knows how to build,” Bull admitted, “but it takes some artistry, as well.”
“I’m sure he won’t be as good as you, but he does have something of an artistic bent, as well,” Merrilee said, understating Sven’s capabilities so as not to trample all over her husband’s already-bruised ego.
“You don’t say.”
From the khaki-green walls of the exam room, a giant yellow smiley face painted on the opposite wall beamed at them, in stark contrast to Bull’s hangdog expression.
Merrilee rubbed her hand over his flannel-clad arm—the unbroken one. “Just for this season, sweetie.”
“All right then. I guess you better go look into it before everyone’s freaking out that I won’t be handling it. You don’t need to stay while Dr. Skye puts on the cast. You know, Sven might not be able to handle all that comes with the job, if you know what I mean. Juliette has definite ideas about what she does and doesn’t want.”
It had taken some prodding and more than a little wheedling for Merrilee to rope Juliette into working on the set design with Bull this year. Juliette was pleasant enough, but she totally kept to herself. However, once Merrilee had dropped by the cabin outside of town Juliette rented and had seen all the wind chimes Juliette created, she knew the theater production was the perfect way to involve Juliette in the community. Juliette, still reserved for the most part, had taken to it like a fish to water.
“Juliette is doing a great job, isn’t she?”
Merrilee loved being right. Thank goodness she was most of the time, because when she was wrong … well, she did wrong in a big way. Plus, she’d thought for the longest time that Juliette might be just what Sven needed, but she’d had enough God-given sense to keep her mouth shut on that one. It was going to be ding-dang hard for Sven and Juliette to steadfastly ignore one another the way they had for the past ten months if they were working together on the set. Hmm. Merrilee wasn’t glad Bull had broken his arm, but most of the time things happened for a reason.
“Who knows? He might not even want to. If he doesn’t, we’ll figure something out.”
Merrilee didn’t want to further agitate her normally unflappable husband, so she held her own counsel. But she was ninety-nine percent sure Sven would be thrilled to be part of the production.
PROPPING AGAINST THE DOOR frame of the Good Riddance Community Center, her clipboard tucked under one arm, Juliette worried her lower lip with her teeth. She’d heard from half a dozen people as they’d filtered in that Bull had broken his arm—news traveled at warp speed in a town of less than a thousand. He was going to be fine, but now they were in a pickle with the set. She’d better come up with an alternative and fast.
The air hummed with excitement as a group practiced their lines onstage. Off to the right, Ellie Light-foot worked on altering a costume. In just a couple of months she would become Ellie Sisnukett when she and Nelson married. They were both quiet, but the town would miss them when they left for Nelson to go to med school.
From the lighting area, Tessa Sisnukett, the director, tested the spots and backlighting since the lighting guy, her husband, Clint, was on a guide trip. The sharp squeals of a group of kids playing a game of tag in the back of the room added to the mix.
Alberta, the Gypsy queen, had shown up two days ago and appointed herself the play’s special consultant, as they were performing a romantic comedy and Alberta specialized in affairs of the heart. Juliette hadn’t had any direct dealings with her, but she was slightly in awe of Alberta, whose reputation preceded her. Juliette had thought for one crazy minute about maybe asking for a “reading,” but had dismissed the idea just as quickly. Her life was finally on something of an even keel. If her future held a big nosedive, it was probably best to not know.
Alberta was plopped in a folding chair opposite Norris Watts who’d started up a monthly newspaper for Good Riddance and the surrounding area. Norris had approached Juliette about doing a feature article on her as a female bush pilot. Juliette had been nice, but firm, in turning her down. She didn’t want to think about her past, her ex-husbands or her parents, and inevitably a feature article would mean that kind of digging.
She’d finally learned to live in the moment and that’s exactly where she wanted to stay and what she wanted to focus on.
Even though it was pushing seven in the evening, daylight still filtered through the windows, turning Alberta’s red hair into a torch atop her head. Juliette wasn’t sure if she’d ever get used to the 2:00 a.m. sunrise and 10:00 p.m. sunsets that came with the territory. However, she wasn’t complaining. Spring and summer’s long days of sunlight were a welcome change from winter’s cold dark. Growing up in North Carolina, Juliette had always welcomed the change of seasons but never as much as now that she lived in Alaska.
And daylight or not, what was she going to do about finishing up the backdrop for the second scene?
The door opened and Merrilee slipped into the room, a coffee cup in her hand.
“Just the woman I wanted to see,” Merrilee said, closing the door behind her. “I’m sure you heard about Bull.”
Juliette nodded. “He’s okay?”
“He’ll be fine, just bummed that he can’t finish the set. But I wanted to let you know I’ve talked to Sven and he’s more than willing to pitch in.”
“Sven Sorenson?” Juliette tensed, her stomach feeling all wonky. She felt wonky every time she caught sight of Sven.
Merrilee laughed. “As far as I know he’s the only Sven in town.”
“But …” Juliette trailed off because there really wasn’t any rational reason why Sven couldn’t take over building the set design.
Merrilee peered at her over the rim of her raised cup, her blue eyes gleaming in amusement. Merrilee ran the Good Riddance B & B and the airstrip that had become Juliette’s base station. Of course, as founder and mayor, Merrilee also ran the town. Merrilee’s still-prominent Southern accent and her way of taking charge without being abrasive so reminded Juliette of the good bits and pieces, few as there were, of her childhood in North Carolina.
Even though she kept a distance, Juliette identified with Merrilee. Merrilee, caught up in a situation not to her liking in her first marriage, had loaded up a camper and drove until she’d found a place that brought her peace and a measure of solace—a reprieve from the life she no longer found acceptable. She’d parked her motor home and founded the town of Good Riddance.
It wasn’t exactly Juliette’s story, but Juliette could relate to being in a bad situation where she’d been the only one who could save herself. She, too, had found refuge and some measure of peace in Alaska and the skies above this vast land. She’d wanted a fresh start and when she’d heard about the bush pilot position in Good Riddance and then the town slogan, “Welcome to Good Riddance, where you leave behind what ails you,” it seemed the perfect place for her. And it seemed she had indeed left behind a legacy of two alcoholic parents and then her own history with alcohol. She’d been here two years and mercifully, chaos had not followed her. While her aloneness was occasionally lonely, it was also peaceful, and there was a whole lot to be said for that.
And not much—as in nothing—escaped Merrilee’s shrewd assessment, just as now when Juliette was hemming and hawing and hedging.
“But what? Bull can’t handle the set design with his broken arm, and with Sven being right here and artistic, to boot, it just makes sense. To tell you the truth, I think Sven wanted to work on it but didn’t want to step on Bull’s toes, since Bull has always handled the job. What is it that you don’t like about Sven?”
“It’s not that I don’t like him …”
Merrilee leveled another all-seeing glance Juliette’s way. Juliette shifted from one foot to another. “It’s not that I dislike him, he just makes me, well, I guess a little uncomfortable.”
“How’s that?”
If she said that there was something faintly dangerous about him—not sinister, but dangerous—she’d sound like a nut. And she didn’t find him physically dangerous—it was more that she intuitively knew that he could be dangerous to her emotionally. She found him unsettling. “He’s too …” Once again she stumbled, not sure what she wanted to say.
“Good-looking? Funny? Charming? Outgoing? Flirtatious?”
Yes, yes and yes. She was altogether too aware of how conscious she was of him on all levels whenever he was in proximity. Therefore, she had pointedly avoided said proximity as the safest route. “Well, there is all of that.”
“He’s a nice guy, Juliette. He knows his way around power tools. He’s a craftsman and an artist—”
“He’s an artist?” She’d always thought of artists as kind of dark and brooding … or gay. Sven was none of the above.
“After a fashion. There’s definitely artistry in his work and he does some sketching as a hobby.”
“Sketching?” Despite herself, she was intrigued. “I had no idea.”
Merrilee smiled. “It’s not something he’s likely to talk about over a brew at Gus’s. Likewise, he probably has no idea you make wind chimes.”
It wasn’t something she went around blabbing about. She’d always loved how expressive wind chimes were. The ones Juliette made weren’t always harmonious, but then again, they reflected life as she knew it.
Alberta and Norris, their business apparently concluded, wandered over. “How’s Bull?” Norris asked.
“Grumpy. He’s a terrible patient.”
“Show me a man who isn’t,” Alberta said. “And I should know. Although come to think of it, my fourth husband wasn’t that much of a whiner when he was sick, but Lester, number five, that man would moan over a hangnail.”
Now, there was a woman not afraid to give matrimony a chance—over and over again. Five husbands. Wow. Two had been plenty for Juliette … and then some. Both of them had been big mistakes and she’d learned her lesson. In her book, three strikes meant you were out and she had no intention of going back to bat in that particular game.
They all laughed in the way of women amused over the foibles of men. “Well, at least Bull’s not a whiner,” Merrilee said. “I’ll take gruff over whineage any day, but I can only take so much. He’s not much of a patient and I’m not much of a nurse.” Merrilee shared a conspiratorial smile. “Why do you think I’m here instead of there?”
Norris snorted.
“Actually, I was just telling Juliette that Sven’s going to take over the set work.”
Alberta nodded. “Good choice.”
“Easy on the eyes, too,” Norris said in her smoke-graveled voice.
“We were just discussing that,” Merrilee said.
Good God almighty, the last thing Juliette wanted was for Norris and Alberta to think she was losing her mind over Sven’s blond good looks. So, maybe she did avoid him because there was this sort of tingle that started whenever he was around. Maybe he was drop-dead gorgeous in a rugged kind of way. Maybe she had once had a dream where he was a Viking marauder and she’d been willingly plundered. Maybe all that was true, but she didn’t plan to breathe a word of that to anyone because it simply didn’t matter. “We were discussing that he’s a good choice, not the easy-on-the-eyes part.”
“I thought we covered the easy-on-the-eyes part, too,” Merrilee said, obviously teasing.
Alberta looked at Juliette. “Sven and I go back a long way. He’s good people. I think you’ll like what he can do with his hands and his imagination.”
Juliette had plenty of her own imagination and it zoomed from zero to sixty as to just what those hands would feel like trailing against her skin, sifting through her hair, stroking against parts that hadn’t been stroked by anyone other than her in a long time. Juliette redirected her wayward thoughts. Plywood. Fabric. Paint. That’s what Alberta meant.
This was what made Sven Sorenson dangerous. The man wasn’t even in the room and simply the thought of him set her pulse racing. How on earth was she going to work with him?
“He has to check on some things over at the spa, but he said he’ll drop by afterward so you can bring him up to speed. Does that work for you?”
There was nothing left to say, no protest to mount without looking like a total idiot. “Sure. No problem.”
She could focus and tingle all at the same time, couldn’t she?
2
SVEN DROPPED IN THE last hinge pin on the supply door. He glanced over his shoulder when he heard Jenna behind him.
“Oh, yeah, that looks better,” she said. “Thanks so much.” She threw arms wide as if encompassing her entire space, her smile as big as her embrace. Neither was, however, as big as her very pregnant belly. Sven made a concerted effort to keep his mouth from gaping open. Jenna’s tummy was bigger than her chest these days and that was saying something … actually, that was saying a lot. He hadn’t spent much time around pregnant women. He’d kind of wondered if his sister-in-law might explode before her due date. Jenna was in the same boat. “Aren’t you just loving it?” she said.
He nodded. “It’s awesome.” Sven had built Jenna Rathburne Jeffries’s new day-spa facility and her living quarters upstairs. Actually, he’d built it twice. The first time around it had burned down when there was a fluke problem with a junction box. They’d had to wait on the spring thaw to rebuild it.
It was Jenna’s first home and it had turned out great. The spa on the ground floor and the living space above imparted a sense of tranquility, with large windows offering views of the evergreens, distant mountains and the sky. A built-in waterfall in the reception area lent the sound of running water throughout the ground floor. Speakers piped the original recordings of a Native musician throughout the rooms. It was soothing and elegant without being pretentious. He was just knocking out the final punch list while his crew worked on their new primary project, a huge house a couple of miles out of town for a mysterious new owner. All the plans had been via an attorney, fax and secondary email.
Jenna’s cat, Tama, bumped against Sven’s legs. Sven leaned down and ran his hand over the cat’s thick fur. “Hey, big guy.”
Jenna had been a dream to work with. Actually, Jenna was pretty much a man’s dream in and of herself—blonde, curvy in all the right places, fun, easygoing and outgoing. Just about every man within a five-hundred-mile radius had been despondent when she’d married Logan Jeffries. Sven, however, hadn’t been despondent. He’d been more along the lines of confounded with himself. Jenna was exactly the kind of woman he’d always been attracted to. He and she had even sort of given it a try. Early on they’d kissed. While he liked her and she liked him, there’d been absolutely nothing close to a spark.
No, instead, he had to be plagued with some crazy-ass attraction to Juliette Miller, which he’d done his damnedest to deny, considering she had complicated written all over her and had never given him the time of day.
“So, you’re taking over the set design for the play?”
Sven wasn’t remotely surprised Jenna already knew. He didn’t even question how. News spread faster in Good Riddance than the clap in a low-rent whorehouse.
“Yeah. I’m heading over to meet with Juliette as soon as I finish up here.”
“You’ll love her.”
What the hell? First Alberta with her off-the-wall prognostications and now Jenna. “I’m just going to finish up the set and it’s not as if I don’t know her from around town.”
Jenna peered at him as if he’d lost his mind. “I know. I did the hair and makeup last year and I’m doing it again this year.” She patted her enormous belly. “Well, maybe. Some people can’t tell you what they want, but Juliette can. She and I were talking the other day about the play, which makes it so much easier. That’s what I mean—you’ll love working with her.” Comprehension dawned. “Oh … you thought I meant you’d love her. Well, you could be onto something there.” She tilted her head to one side, nodding. “You’re right. The two of you would make a cute couple.”
“I’m not onto anything and I didn’t say we’d make a cute couple.”
“But you would.”
“She’s not my type.”
“Well, what’s your type?”
“You.” Although he suspected Jenna’s waters ran a little deeper than he’d first thought, he liked his women like a clear mountain stream, and Juliette was more like a dark, still lake and who knew what was going to be beneath that surface.
Jenna laughed unselfconsciously. “Yeah, well, we see where that got both of us.” She rubbed her tummy again. He wished she’d quit doing that—he had nothing to do with her present state of impending motherhood, but Jenna was known for switching more than just a few train tracks in a conversation. “You might’ve thought I was your type, but I wasn’t really your type. So, it’s this mistaken notion of what your type is that’s got you still single now.”
Did all women study the same sound track to throw back at men?
“I like being single.” Not the whole-truth-and-nothing-but-the-truth, but he was feeling cornered by crazy female talk.
“Then why are you talking about falling in love with Juliette?”
The mere notion gave him a funny feeling in the pit of his gut. But then again, it would probably affect any guy that way. God help him. If it was anyone other than Jenna, who he knew tended to talk in circles…. “I’m not. You are.”
“You are too because you’re talking to me and that’s what we’re talking about.”
He gave up. “I’m just going to work on the set. Nothing more. Nothing less. I don’t even know her.”
“Do any of us really know one another until we’ve put in a little effort? And tell me you’re not curious about her. But then again, I doubt you’re her type.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Well, I think Juliette’s pretty particular, because in the year and a half I’ve lived here I’ve never known her to date anyone. For that matter, I’ve never seen her at any of the karaoke nights or the exercise classes at the community center. She’s nice and she’s not unfriendly, but she keeps to herself.”
“Okay. But how does that mean I’m not her type?”
Jenna shrugged. “I dunno. She just strikes me as kind of serious—”
That struck a nerve. Just because he was easygoing it didn’t necessarily mean he was a lightweight. “I can be serious.”
“Wow, okay. I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m sure you can.”
“But what? There’s a but there.”
“Well, don’t take this the wrong way—” that never boded good things to come “—but she really hasn’t shown the slightest bit of interest in you that I’ve ever noticed, so, you know …”
He wasn’t an egomaniac but damn, a man was entitled to a little pride and Jenna had just crushed his beneath her heel by pointing out the obvious. Juliette had never given him the proverbial time of day.
“Thanks, Jenna.”
“Oh, Sven, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I guess I just didn’t realize you felt that way about Juliette.”
“I don’t feel any way about her.” Which wasn’t exactly true, but this wasn’t a soul-baring session with a shrink, either, was it? He had to admit his masculine pride had been pricked from the get-go because Juliette had taken one look at him and dismissed him. WTF was up with that? He’d decided then and there she’d be too complicated and too much trouble.
“Well, maybe you should test the waters, the way you and I did, so you’ll know. It’s impossible for a good-looking single guy to be ambivalent about a pretty woman of similar age in a town this size. You do think she’s pretty, don’t you? And she has a nice figure.”
“Of course she’s pretty.” There was something arresting about her short dark hair, brown eyes and delicately sculpted face. “And yes, she has a nice figure.” Yes, he had noticed her soft curves on more than one occasion—well, the truth of the matter was, every time he saw her. “And as you so graciously pointed out, darling, she’s never given me the time of day.”
“Maybe she’s as scared of you as you are of her.”
“Wait a minute. I didn’t say I was scared of her.”
“You didn’t have to. You think she’s a babe, but you’ve never asked her out so that can only mean one thing. You’re scared.” She patted him on the back. “Don’t be. What’s the worst she can say? No.”
“I am not scared.”
“Good. Let me know what she says.”
“About what?”
“When you ask her out.”
JULIETTE MADE A COUPLE of notes, but her concentration was seriously compromised waiting on Sven to show up. She was ridiculously nervous. He was going to go over the set design with her. Big deal. She’d seen him around town any number of times in the past ten months. Therefore, it was totally silly and uncalled for that she’d popped into the ladies’ room twice now to check her hair and make sure she didn’t have any mascara smudges beneath her eyes.
She heard the pull of a diesel truck passing outside, but it didn’t stop. She moved to the center front, looking at the now-empty stage. The rest of the cast and crew had vaporized as if they’d been caught up in a Vulcan mind meld. Instead, it had simply been the allure of Thursday-night karaoke over at Gus’s. Good Riddance citizens took their karaoke seriously.
While Juliette stopped in at Gus’s for meals, she didn’t make a habit of hanging out there. Most days she felt good and strong, but spending a lot of extra time in a bar didn’t seem the wisest course of action. Once an alcoholic always an alcoholic. A recovered drunk was only one drink away from being back at it … And she never wanted to be back at it again.
She was a big girl. She could handle being alone with Sven Sorenson. She was alone with men all the time, flying them in and out of Good Riddance and to various and sundry spots in remote Alaska. He was just another man. Granted, he had a larger-than-life quality about him that wasn’t just because of his height. As Merrilee had pointed out earlier, Sven was just too … too everything—handsome, charming, sexy, she could throw in another sexy just to keep it real and accurate—for a woman’s peace of mind. And since Juliette was all about preserving the peace—primarily her own—she’d gone out of her way to keep her distance from Sven Sorenson.
She smiled ruefully to herself. The community center was far larger than the confines of her airplane. Distance shouldn’t be a problem.
Despite her newfound perspective, her heart began to thud in her chest at the unmistakable sound of a diesel truck pulling into the parking lot outside. The engine died, followed by the slam of a door and the crunch of boots on gravel.
She pasted on her most professional smile—friendly, yet distant—as boots thudded on the wood stairs and hesitated at the door. The door opened and Sven stood there for a moment. Perhaps she was simply in dramatic mode, courtesy of rehearsal, but it was like some frame in a movie where the gorgeous hero pauses so all the females in the audience can indulge in a swoonfest.
She was an audience of one, but certainly not immune to the visual picture he presented. His booted feet planted apart, strong, long legs in worn denim, narrow hips, a broad chest and still-broader shoulders. The spring sunlight served as a backlight, burnishing his hair to molten gold. He was a cross between a Viking marauder and a Norse god.
All the spit dried right out of her mouth and seemed to head south to congregate between her thighs in a totally unexpected, unwelcome flood of physical attraction.
It was like being struck by a bolt of lightning—not that she ever had been but this must be what it felt like. Of course, she’d noticed him before. He was an extremely good-looking man. A woman would have to be dead not to notice a tall, broad-shouldered, muscled man with a well-chiseled face, blond hair, dark blue eyes that sometimes took on a hint of moss green, a ready smile and an outgoing personality. So she had been aware of him, but never, ever like this. This total rush of energy, attraction, awareness—whatever label she wanted to throw on it—was exhilarating … and terrifying.
She realized while she was in some kind of freakish sexual stupor, he was simply allowing his eyes to adjust to the room. “Juliette?”
She’d been gawking and he hadn’t even seen her, thank goodness. She gathered her wits, along with her notes, and stepped forward. “Right here. Hi.”
He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. “Hi.” He smiled and Juliette curled her fingers tighter around her clipboard. “I hear you’ve got some set-design work that needs finishing up,” he said. “I’m your man … I … uh … if you want me.” He shifted. “Well, you know what I mean … for the play.”
Juliette was flummoxed … and she didn’t flummox easily. “I … uh … sure. I hate that Bull can’t do it, but I appreciate you offering to help.”
“Sure thing.” From the first time she’d heard him speak, his voice had always reminded her of her aunt Mae’s apple pie, which had always been her favorite dessert—crisp notes with an underlying hint of honey and spice. “You want to bring me up to speed with where you are and what you need?”
Where she was and what she needed … well, she could write a short story on both of those with a footnote on what she might actually want on a temporary basis. However, Sven hadn’t meant it in the personal sense, which she would’ve never shared with him anyway.
“Let me give you a quick rundown on the play and then I’ll show you what we have so far.”
He straddled a chair and turned those midnight-blue eyes on her. She sat in a chair a few feet away, her pulse still not quite back in the at-ease range she usually aimed to maintain.
She gave him the CliffsNotes version of the storyline. Interestingly, she could almost see the wheels turning in his head, fitting in the backdrop and set design to the plot and its various segments. Juliette wrapped it up and said as she stood, “And this is what we have so far.”
He rose to his feet, as well. She was very much aware of his height and the impressive breadth of his chest and shoulders. And yeah, that was all good and fine, but what could he do with the set?
Silently she turned on her heel and he followed as she led him to the back right corner behind the curtained stage where Bull had set up his work area. Sven’s boots echoed across the stage floor as he walked with her. Shadows shrouded Bull’s section behind the drop of the heavy curtain. An element of awareness threaded the silence between them.
In the dim light, Juliette inhaled Sven’s scent—a combination of man, fresh-cut lumber, soap, leather and the outdoors. Her heart raced as he leaned in and reached toward her—her thoughts racing nearly as fast as her heart.
It had been so long since she’d been kissed or touched by a man … well, by anyone for that matter. Did she want to feel his palm against her skin? Did she want the sensation of his breath mingling with hers? Did she want to know the taste of his lips and tongue against her own?
She wasn’t sure.
She stood as if frozen and everything seemed to move in extreme slow motion as he drew even with her. His arm brushed against her shoulder, setting off a series of tremors inside her.
There was a sudden movement, a click and light flooded the area. He dropped his arm to his side.
“That sheds a little light on it, doesn’t it?” he said.
Oh, God, she was losing her mind. She’d thought he was going to kiss her and all he was doing was turning on the freaking light. And the worst of it was, she was disappointed. What was wrong with her?
“Thanks,” she said, taking a step away from him. “That definitely makes it easier to see.”
Sven crossed his big arms over his chest and tucked his chin down, studying the pieces before them. Finally he nodded. “It works.”
She was relieved. She and Bull had always been in sync. She hadn’t been too sure that Sven would get what she wanted, but apparently he did. “I think it does. I do think this is a little off, but I can’t put my finger on the exact problem.”
He cocked his head to one side, assessing the plywood cutout. Finally he looked from the piece to her. “If we smooth out this line a bit—” he traced the line with his finger in the air “—and make that one sharper …”
She could see it in her mind’s eye. Juliette nodded. “Perfect, that would take care of the problem.” She found it somewhat surprising that they seemed to be on the same wavelength.
“I have a couple of other ideas that might work, too.” He paused. “Have you had dinner yet?”
She often didn’t eat until late in the evening at this time of year. She found she followed a different rhythm with the longer days of sunlight. “No. I had a busy flight schedule today and then rehearsal.” She liked sitting in on the rehearsal and seeing if what they had on the set side was working or not.
He grinned, and she found breathing a bit more difficult. “And then you had to wait on me to come by. Sorry to hold you up. Jenna had a couple of kinks that needed smoothing out over at the spa.”
“No problem. I just appreciate your help with the set, and so does everyone else involved with the production.” She tacked on that last bit just to make sure he knew she wasn’t being personal when she thanked him and that he didn’t think she had any kind of agenda. Because she didn’t. Nope. None.
“I’d say let’s drop by Gus’s but it’s karaoke night. It’d be pretty difficult to talk there.”
She smiled. “Impossible is more like it.”
“I left a roast going in the Crock-Pot. Definitely nothing fancy, but it usually turns out good enough. Want to come over and have a bite to eat and we can knock around some ideas?”
Juliette made it a practice to keep to herself. It just seemed easier that way. So, normally she would’ve thanked him politely and declined. However, normal seemed to have checked out on vacation, because instead of declining she found herself saying, “I could do that.”
“You know, I’m out at Shadow Lake.”
Juliette smiled. “Right.”
Shadow Lake was beyond lovely. The large tract of property wasn’t too far out of town. At the heart sat a lake that got its name from the mountains surrounding it—at almost any time of day different parts of the lake were shadowed by one mountain or another.
It had belonged to two sisters who had retired to Good Riddance to raise sled dogs and enjoy the Alaskan lifestyle. Irene and Erlene Marbut had become part of Good Riddance’s lore. While the sisters didn’t want to live together, neither had they wanted to live too far apart, so they’d built cabins within spitting distance on the edge of Shadow Lake.
The two women, now deceased, had willed their property to Dalton Saunders, Juliette’s fellow bush pilot. Last year Dalton had married Skye Shanahan, who had taken over as the local doctor following her stint as a relief doc. The couple had contracted Sven to build them a new home that was a bit more private and offered room for them to start a family.
Juliette had heard Sven was staying in one of the original cabins while he renovated the other, and then he’d switch until they were both done. The two side-by-side cabins would be for visiting family members. Skye’s snooty family had actually fallen in love with both Alaska and their outspoken, slightly outrageous son-in-law.
“Well, of course you know, since you fly with Dalton. Plus, there doesn’t seem to be much that people in Good Riddance don’t know about each other.”
“True enough.” Although there was plenty about Juliette that wasn’t known—and she planned to keep it that way. Some things were better left unsaid and in the past.
3
SVEN GLANCED IN HIS REARVIEW mirror to confirm Juliette was behind him as he hung a right onto the unpaved road to the cabins. The road, spread with a fresh load of crusher-run gravel, cut through the stately spruce trees. He looked back to the driveway just in time to brake and stop.
Juliette halted behind him. He stuck his head out the window and yelled back to her, “Beaver crossing the road.”
She flashed a smile and nodded, giving him the thumbs-up. Her smile sent heat through him.
Bucky, as Sven had dubbed the beaver, stopped midcrossing and looked at him. Sven waited. Unperturbed he’d interrupted traffic, Bucky once again continued his journey. Sven had sighted a couple of beavers on the southeast end of the lake, but Bucky was the only one who ventured this far. Sven had spotted the bristly fellow crossing the road several times.
Bucky finally reached the other side and Sven moved on, Juliette following once again.
He hadn’t planned to invite her to dinner. It had just sort of worked out that way. It was logical they’d sit down and discuss the set. He had dinner waiting in a pot. No big deal. The only reason he wouldn’t have invited her was if he allowed himself to be freaked out by Alberta and Jenna. He’d be damned if he’d have Jenna, or anyone else, thinking he was afraid of Juliette.
The tall evergreens gave way to a clearing, the lake to the right, cabins to the left. He parked in the graveled space, big enough to accommodate two vehicles, next to the two side-by-side cabins. Juliette pulled into the empty spot beside him. For sure, she drove a sweet ride—a classic Series IIA Land Rover. It was cool as well as functional—a veritable workhorse that could be repaired on the spot in remote locations. There was something to be said for a woman who knew her way around an engine, which she obviously did. Flying a plane into remote areas required she know engine repair. There was something kind of sexy about a woman who could handle those things.
Juliette climbed out of her truck, looking around. A slight breeze ruffled her short, dark hair and carried her scent to him. “It sure is nice out here,” she said.
“Yeah, it is. There are some awesome places in Alaska, but Shadow Lake is one of the prettiest I’ve ever seen.” He’d fallen in love with the location the first time he saw it. It was quiet and private without the absolute isolation he’d seen in some parts of the state and even in the surrounding area.
He enjoyed staying in the cabin overlooking the tranquil lake ringed by towering spruce, snowcapped mountains visible in the distance. “Have you been out here before?”
Without discussing it, of one accord, they both walked toward the lake.
“Once for dinner,” Juliette said as they skirted a thatch of fireweed in the clearing between the cabins and the water, the purple-pink spires standing thigh high. “It was after Dalton and Skye moved into the new house, which, by the way, is lovely. Your work is quite nice.”
They stopped at the lake’s edge, the gentle lapping of water against the shore soothing and rhythmic. Dalton and Skye’s new home was situated farther down the shore. After dark, the lights would glimmer among the trees.
“Thanks. It was great working on it. Dalton and Skye dig functional, clean design that works with the surroundings.” They turned, heading back to the cabins.
“It feels spacious and cozy at the same time.”
Her comments pleased him. It felt good to have his work appreciated. “That’s exactly what we were aiming for.” They walked up onto the porch. “Want to come in or we can sit out here?” He’d opt for the outside any time.
“Out here is nice,” she said.
“Take the chair.” He motioned to the only seat on the porch. “I’ll hold up the railing.” He propped on the railing, resting his back against the post. Juliette settled on the kitchen chair he kept on the porch. “Skye didn’t cook when you came over, did she?” he asked.
It was common knowledge Skye, while she was a helluva doctor, was a lousy cook. Actually, it was something of an ongoing debate throughout town as to who was worse in the kitchen, Skye or Jenna.
Juliette laughed and Sven realized that in the months he’d known her it was the first time he’d heard her laugh. Her amusement had a musical quality. “No, Dalton cooked. I understand it’s best that way. Skye’s the first to say she’d starve left to her own devices and no takeout.”
He was curious about Juliette. In a town where everyone knew everyone else’s business, all he knew of her was that she flew a bush plane and kept to herself. He knew she had short, wavy hair that made his fingers itch to run through it and a mouth that directed his thoughts to long, slow kisses on an Alaskan spring evening. Other than that, she was a mystery. “What about you? Do you cook?”
She shrugged and offered another one of her quiet smiles. “Nothing gourmet, but I manage.” She sniffed. Even with the cabin door closed, the faint aroma of roasted meat and vegetables mingled with the scent of evergreen and fresh air. “You obviously know your way around a kitchen … or at least a Crock-Pot.”
Ah, a dry sense of humor lurked beneath that serious, faintly mysterious exterior. “The Crock-Pot is a beautiful thing. My parents were adamant my brother and I know how to take care of ourselves.”
“There’s a lot to be said for self-sufficiency.” A hint of melancholy tinged her smile and shadowed her eyes, and it was as if she retreated a bit into her shell. What had he said wrong?
It was just as he’d known from the get-go—the woman would be a boatload of trouble to figure out, and who needed that?
“Yeah, there is. What do you say we eat out here? I do most evenings. Even if I eat at Gus’s I usually wind up out here at some point before I go to bed. Of course, that’s since it’s warmed up.”
“The porch would be fine. I like being outdoors and it’s a nice view of the lake and the sky.”
“I’ll grab dinner.”
“Need any help?” She shifted forward as if to get up.
“Nope. I’ve got it covered.” He stopped at the door. “What can I get you to drink? Beer? Milk? Water? I’m not a wine drinker.”
“Water sounds good. Are you sure you don’t need any help?”
The place was kind of a mess. He wasn’t the neatest guy and he almost never had guests. “No. I think I can manage two plates and drinks. Mind if I have a beer?”
“Of course not.” There was a hint of searching in her regard, as if she was looking for some deeper meaning.
“I’ll be right back then.” Sven stepped into the cabin, closing the door behind him. He picked up yesterday’s shirt and jeans and tossed them into the bedroom just in case she decided to come in. He did a quick bathroom reconnaissance. Not too bad.
The cabin was essentially one big room with a separate bedroom and bathroom. From the kitchen, where he filled two plates with roast, potatoes and carrots, he could see Juliette through the front window. Even though she looked peaceful enough on the porch, there was a tension in the line of her shoulders.
A loon, with its distinct cry, called from the lake. Dalton had told him the pair returned year after year to spend the summer. Interesting creatures those loons—they mated for life.
He left the plates on the table and carried another chair outside, Juliette’s water glass in his other hand. “Dinner’s coming right up.”
She took the glass, her fingers brushing his, sending a jolt through him. “Thanks.”
He went back in, picked up the plates and utensils and brought them out to the porch. She took her plate and he settled in the empty kitchen chair.
“Hope you enjoy it,” Sven said as he automatically tipped his chair back until it rested against the cabin wall.
“It smells delicious,” she said, fork in hand.
“Dig in.” He loaded his fork with a piece of meat and a potato chunk, suddenly ravenous.
She took a bite and a slow smile lit her brown eyes. “Delicious,” she said when she finished chewing and swallowing. “You do know your way around a Crock-Pot.”
Inordinately pleased with her compliment, he found he was glad he’d been the one to put that smile on her face. “Glad you like it.”
She gestured with her fork, at the vista before them. “I understand why you sit out here most evenings.”
The sun slanted onto the covered porch. Sven always thought of this as “the golden hour.” Now he stared at Juliette, transfixed by her radiance as the light burnished her hair and skin. Something inside him shifted and fell into place, like when he was notching logs and got the fit just right.
She glanced at him. “Sven?”
He shook his head. What the hell was wrong with him? It had to be that crazy conversation with Jenna. “Uh, yeah. It is a pretty awesome view, isn’t it?”
For what could’ve been one second or minutes, their gazes locked, ensnared. Gold flecked her smoky-brown eyes. His gut tightened and he had the most incredible urge to bridge the space between them and test the smoothness of her skin with his fingertips. Her eyes darkened as if she’d read his desire and wanted the same. Juliette finally looked away.
“So,” she prompted, a husky note flavoring her voice that held a Southern undertone. “You had some ideas about the set?” She speared a carrot with her fork, looking at her plate as if the contents fascinated her.
Sven shifted on the hard chair and checked out his own plate rather than the wash of light over her. Meat and potatoes would curb at least one appetite.
Over the meal, he outlined his suggestions and was pleased with her thoughtful comments and questions. Before he knew it, their plates were clean and they’d finished discussing the set.
Juliette stood, her empty plate in hand, “Well, thanks so much for dinner. It was delicious.”
The idea that he didn’t want her to go flashed through him and instinctively he said, “There’s a nice trail down by the lake that leads to a rise with an even better view if you’re up for an after-dinner walk.”
Surprise registered on her face and she hesitated. Finally she nodded. “That’d be nice.”
THE BREEZE BLEW ACROSS the water, cooling Juliette’s heated skin and teasing her hair against her neck and temple. She’d been torn. Did she want to soak up more of the tranquillity of Shadow Lake, and the rush of heat and awareness brought on by Sven—feelings she hadn’t known in a long time, possibly ever? Or did she want to safely retreat to her own cabin in the woods? She wasn’t sure it was the smartest move on her part, but she’d opted to stay.
The path skirted the shore, worn and obviously used by both man and wildlife. She focused on the nuances of the setting rather than the energy radiating from the man beside her—the soothing lapping of water against the shore, the sigh of the wind through the spruce boughs, the muted rhythm of their booted feet against the dirt trail. Mosquitoes, jokingly referred to as Alaska’s national bird, buzzed past, and a bald eagle’s distant chirping carried on the evening air.
The mosquitoes always reminded her of childhood summers when she’d spent as much time as possible outside. Bug bites had been a small price to pay for a reprieve from the chaos inevitably found indoors.
“So,” Sven said, breaking the silence and pulling her back from her brief foray into the past, “how’d you wind up flying a bush plane in Alaska?”
Surely he knew the story. It was a standard question that came with her profession and she’d been asked numerous times. She gave him the same abbreviated, sanitized version everyone else got.
“I’ve always loved flying, being up in the air.”
She was eight years old and once again Mama and Daddy were shouting and throwing things. Juliette darted out the back door when they were distracted. Outside was better than inside, but they could always still find her. She dashed across the field to old man Haddricks’s place and scrambled into the cockpit of his crop-duster plane. Her folks never thought to look for her there and she liked to pretend she was flying up in the sky. They couldn’t get to her up in the sky.
“All right, little missy,” old man Haddricks said, nearly startling the pee out of her. “I been watching you sit in my plane going on near a month. I’m about to dust the Oglesby soybean fields.” He hooked his thumbs in the straps of his overalls. His gray, bristling eyebrows nearly met one another over his nose and he never smiled, but his eyes were kind. You could see meanness in a person and it wasn’t in him. “You wanna tag along?”
She nodded mutely. Her heart nearly thumping out of her chest, she climbed over into the secondseat and buckled in. The next thing she knew, they were off the ground. And for the first time in her life she actually felt safe. It was just like she’d dreamed it would be. No one could find her and no one could harm her when she was in the sky.
She shrugged. “I became a flight attendant, fell in love with Alaska on a long layover and decided to get my pilot’s license.”
Her life sounded so nice and neat and compartmentalized when in fact it had been one big mess and even that CliffsNotes version dredged it all up for her again. Marrying Boyd Feldman, her high school boyfriend, when she was seventeen just to get out of her parents’ house. Foolishly believing Boyd would stand between her and her parents. Realizing she’d jumped from the frying pan into the fire. Divorced by nineteen. Lucking into the flight attendant job. Falling into a second marriage where once again she thought he’d have her back, only to discover the only thing they had in common was burying their respective troubles in a bottle. A second divorce. Waking up in a hotel room one morning after a flight and an evening spent in the hotel bar, not remembering where she was or how she’d gotten there, knowing if she didn’t make some changes she’d surely ruin her life and die young. Alcoholism was suicide by installment plan.
She’d climbed out of bed, bleary-eyed, hungover and generally mad at the world and gone online and found an AA meeting. She wasn’t sure what had been harder, showing up or admitting she was, in fact, the very thing she’d always despised about her parents. An alcoholic.
With sobriety had come the acknowledgment that while being a flight attendant put her in the sky, what she really longed to do was fly a plane.
She’d had a small nest egg set aside, but she’d still busted her butt waiting tables in an all-night diner in Anchorage. It had taken her twice as long to save up the money for flight school because her tips were easily half of what they would’ve been in a bar. But getting sober and staying sober had been as important as earning her wings.
She certainly didn’t lay all that out on the table for Sven, who probably couldn’t handle it even if she wanted to tell him … and she didn’t. Instead, she simply smiled and said, “And the rest, as they say, is history.”
A twig snapped underfoot, underscoring her story.
Sven looked at her as if he could see through all she’d said to the pieces she’d left out, which was unexpected and caught her off guard. And there was something in his look that said he’d ask. “So, you’ve been flying how long?”
She breathed a sigh of relief, but sooner or later he’d probe. She sensed his curiosity. Most of the time her wall of reserve kept people at bay, but with him …
“Two years now.”
Three years and forty-four days of sobriety, and she never, ever took it for granted. She looked up at the ribbons of orange and pink streaking the sky as the sun began its nightly journey toward the horizon. A sense of contentment wove through her.
“I’m never as happy as when I’m up there.” The moment those words slipped past her lips she caught herself. Sven was easy to be around in a way she hadn’t experienced with anyone before.
“What is it about being up there that you like so much?”
Once again she lowered her guard as if lulled by the place and the man and the moment. “It’s freedom and open space and safety.”
They climbed the last of a small rise where a stone outcropping formed a natural bench at the top. Without stopping to discuss it, they settled on the sun-warmed rock overlooking the vista of lake, mountain and sinking sun. Fireweed, her favorite Alaskan wildflower, filled a meadow on the far side of the lake. In the distance Dalton and Skye’s house sat in the clearing at the edge of the spruce forest. It was all singularly spectacular. She liked the solidness of the stone beneath her.
The wind shifted and Sven’s scent wafted around her. He radiated energy, but it wasn’t the frenetic mix some people gave off. There was simply a heat and power to him that drew her.
“Open space and safety,” he echoed her words. “That’s a different take.” Sven grinned and pushed his blond hair behind one ear. Juliette noticed a small hole in his earlobe, as if once upon a time he’d sported an earring. Somehow it seemed to fit. He struck her as free-spirited and a little unconventional with his long hair and outgoing personality. She was finding, however, that one-on-one he was quieter than she’d expected.
“Lots of people would find being up in a small plane in a small cockpit in the air confining and somewhat dangerous,” he continued.
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JENNIFER LABRECQUE
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: For construction foreman Sven Sorenson, Alaska is close to heaven.Unfortunately, there’s one thing missing – women! Finding the right girl is impossible. Especially since he can’t keep his mind – or his hands – off the wrong one! High-flying bush pilot Juliette Miller’s not interested in commitment. She’s tried that twice. But her attraction to Sven is sizzling and maybe third time really is lucky.