Authors: Addison Fox

Baby It's Cold Outside (15 page)

BOOK: Baby It's Cold Outside

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“Sure. Busy season is coming. Sounds like for both of us.”

“You and Mick have a lot of trips coming in?”

“We do. Lots of corporate stuff again this year, which is good. We’ve missed that the last few years.”

“I’ll bet.”

Small talk.

That’s all this was and they both damn well knew it. Seeing as how they’d covered jobs, all they needed to do was to discuss the weather next.

“Storm’s scheduled for early next week. I hope that doesn’t put a dent in things, making it hard for folks to arrive.”

And there it was, the proverbial conversation time waster.

On a rush, she decided to get it over with, possible humiliation preferable to a discussion on rising storm fronts and weather systems.

“So, Jack. I was wondering. If you’re not too busy. I’d like to have you over for dinner.” And then for some other things.
Consenting
things, as Walker had dubbed it. And oh, I don’t know, for the rest of my life sounds pretty fabulous, too.

“Thanks, Jess. Thanks. But. Well.”

She heard the fumbling, the flat tones of his voice, and knew what was coming.

Knew there would be no dinner.

“Look, if you can’t, I understand.”

“You do, don’t you?”

“Sure I do.”

“It’s not a good time right now.”

“Got it. No problem. Look. Know that the invitation’s always open. That’s what friends do, you know.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“Well, it sounds like you’ve got a busy week and I’ve got about another hour of it here before I close up for the night. I’ll catch you around town.”

“You, too.”

She would not cry.

She would
not
.

To her great relief, she didn’t. But as she replaced the expensive phone in its high-tech cradle, Jessica fought the urge to throw it across the room.

The hotel was in full swing for the second night in a row, the lobby almost bursting with the denizens of Indigo. Sloan again found herself mingling, saying hello to some familiar faces from the evening before and meeting those who hadn’t made it or whom she simply hadn’t met yet.

All the conversations were filled with warmth.

And welcome.

And a whole lot of speculation.

The triple crown of that very friendly nosiness small towns were known for.

Why was it that since she hadn’t grown up with these people their interest felt almost charming somehow? If she’d been at home, she knew it would have made her feel oppressed and rather annoyed.

A quick glance at Walker—and the hard lines that still marked his face—suggested he fell very squarely in the oppressed and annoyed camp this evening.

And it had all started when his grandmother came in.

With a gentle tap on her elbow, Sloan turned to see a very refined man with jet-black hair streaked liberally with silver and dark skin the color of a perpetual tan. “I wanted to introduce myself. I’m Ken Cloud.”

Sloan put together various stories she’d heard over the past two evenings. “Dr. Cloud?”

“Yes.”

“It’s lovely to meet you.”

“You, as well.”

“How are you getting on? With the inquisition, I mean?” A smile played the corners of his lips as he eyed the seats Mary, Julia and Sophie still occupied, holding court with the town.

“I’m doing all right. Still puzzled by all the fuss, but no complaints. Everyone has been so warm and welcoming.”

“The grandmothers. They like you. And your friend Grier.”

“They seem to like everyone.”

“Don’t let those sweet faces fool you.” Ken’s gaze roamed over the group of women, his eyes stopping on Julia. “Underneath there’s pure steel. Pure,
stubborn
steel.”

“You sound like you speak from experience.”

On a nod and a last look, he added, “Perhaps.”

“Dr. Cloud, I hope I don’t seem rude, but maybe you’d answer a few questions for me.”

He shifted his focus and Sloan felt the power of his direct gaze. Quiet and solemn, his dark eyes bespoke a knowledge and awareness and, if she wasn’t mistaken, a secret or two. This was clearly a man who kept his own counsel and liked it that way.

“If you don’t mind.”

“No, not at all.”

“Well, it seems like there’s all this stuff going on underneath the surface. And I can’t figure out if the contest brings it out or if it’s there all the time and the contest simply heightens everyone’s longing.”

“Everyone yearns, Sloan.”

“Do you think so?”

Again, those mysterious eyes stared back. “Don’t you?”

“Yearn? For what?” The idea itself was silly. Yearning suggested unfulfilled desires and an unhappy life.

She was happy. And, well, she would admit to having a few unfulfilled desires—regular sex for starters.

But
yearning
?

“For whatever we most want in the world.”

She turned over his words. “Is that what you think the contest is about?”

“On some level. The women who come yearn to find love; the men who enter the auction are looking for the same. The grandmothers yearn for great-grandchildren.” With a small smile, he added, “The town yearns to send them all home again. Again, everyone wants something.”

“But if that’s true, then what happens when someone gets what they most want?”

He shrugged. “They want something else.”

“Are we really as bad as all that?”

“I’ve spent my life studying people; it’s the mark of the physician. I see them at their very best and, often, at their very worst. Trust me, my dear. Everyone’s searching for something.”

Mischief sparked somewhere inside of her as she allowed his words to sink in. Maybe she was looking for something. Something she hadn’t found yet in the insular world she’d built back home. The narrow world she’d been raised in.

But she was here now and all the rules had changed. That glorious sense of freedom she’d felt earlier came back in a sudden rush.

She could be anyone here. Could do anything. Or she could just be herself.

The best version of herself.

With a nod in the direction of the women, Sloan reached for his arm. “Let’s go have a chat with the grandmothers. I’d like to get a sense of what’s going to happen over the coming days. Brace myself for all that yearning.”

Chapter Nine

A
very slammed the glasses into the dishwasher, barely taking care not to break anything. It would feel good to break something.

Good to finally let it out.

In a week, he’d be here.

Roman
.

The raging asshole who’d broken her heart and who continued to do so with an alarming degree of regularity.

Every present that arrived at the hotel was like a slap in the face. Even on the few occasions she’d managed to date—had managed to enjoy the company of another man—his name had inexorably come up.

Roman Forsyth. Hockey god and local legend.

All it took was for her to mention she worked at the Indigo Blue and the questions fired in.

Yes, isn’t his record amazing?

Of course he’s destined for the hall of fame.

No, I don’t think New York’s going to trade him this year.

Damn it, even a few orgasms at the hands of another man couldn’t purge him from her mind.

Or her soul.

And didn’t that just suck.

Sloan wandered down the hall, the dull light from underneath the kitchen door catching her attention. The lobby was finally quieting down and she needed a few minutes to herself.

Her conversation with Dr. Cloud had been interesting, but it was the chatter afterward—once they sat down with the grandmothers—that truly grabbed her attention.

The entire town might be lovesick at the moment, but Sloan would bet her fifty-dollar entry fee a hundred times over that Dr. Cloud’s interest in Julia went way beyond the temporary.

It was sweet. And just a little more of the unexpected.

A loud clatter had her moving into high gear, pushing through the swinging door into the kitchen. And straight into the middle of a full-on cry fest.

“Avery!” Sloan rushed over, grabbing Avery’s hand before she stepped into a pool of shattered glass. “Stop. Just stop a minute.”

Gently pulling her backward, then around the glass, Sloan led her to a small alcove and a kitchen table. “Here. Sit down. I’ll take care of it. Just tell me where the broom and dustpan are.”

“Pa-pa-pantry cl-closet.” Sloan didn’t miss the heavy hiccup that ended the mumbled words, indicating she hadn’t come in on the beginning of this.

“You want to tell me what’s wrong?”

“Like you can’t figure it out.”

Sloan shot her another glance as she turned back from the pantry door, broom and pan in hand. “Why don’t you tell me instead of me making an assumption? Which I’m finding I do rather often—and I don’t like it.”

“Not all assumptions are bad. Especially when you’re right.”

“Or self-righteous, which is the usual angle. So tell me what’s going on.”

“Roman’s coming back. Next week. Oh fuck.” Another round of tears bubbled up. “He’s coming
here.
And I have to paint on a smile and act like I don’t have a care in the world.”

The urge to move closer and offer comfort filled her, but Sloan stayed focused on her task. Unfortunately, this was one road that Avery walked alone, no matter how much Sloan wanted to fix the situation for her. “So it bothers you that he’s coming back?”

“No.” A loud sniff. “Yes.” Another loud sniff. “Hell, yes. It bothers me a lot. And it bothers me how everyone feels they have to tiptoe around me all the time about it. He’s been gone for thirteen fucking years. I’ve had time to get used to the idea.”

Sloan kept sweeping, chasing the shards of glass that were scattered far and wide on the floor. “If you’ve gotten used to the idea, why are you still here?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

At the indignation, Sloan smiled to herself. Good. This was good. “Well, I just mean that you could go somewhere else. Do something else instead of sit in his backyard. I assume he stays here when he’s in town to visit Susan?”

“Yes.”

“So why do you stay?”

“Because I have nowhere else to go.”

Sloan bent down with the dustpan to sweep up the small pile. “Surely that can’t be true. There’s a big world out there. Heck, there’s a big state out there. Anchorage has to have something. Juneau, maybe, too? If, you know, you didn’t want to leave Alaska.”

“I mean I can’t leave. Or couldn’t leave up until about a year ago.”

With a heavy sound, Sloan slammed the dustpan against the lip of the wastebasket. “Why?”

“My mother.”

And now they were getting somewhere.

After a quick wash of her hands, Sloan left the broom propped against the counter and took a seat opposite Avery at the table. “Why don’t you tell me about it?”

“What? My clichéd life? How my mother’s alcoholism fucked up her life and mine. How she’s been in need of almost constant care for the last decade. How relieved I was when she finally died last spring. What the hell does that make me, Sloan? Bitter? Ungrateful? Or worst of all, a horrible child who couldn’t honor my parent.”

“If you stayed, it seems like you honored her plenty.”

“Yeah, well, that’s for me to figure out. But it’s why I stayed. And it’s why I’m now stuck here.”

BOOK: Baby It's Cold Outside

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