Come Fly With Me (7 page)

“For what?” Even as she asked the words, Grier cursed the innate curiosity that had the words spilling out.

“We’re prepping decorations for the upcoming Valentine’s dance,” Julia piped in proudly.

The damn curiosity—the curse of her life—kept pressing. “But February fourteenth is still several weeks away.”

Mary patted her arm. “Oh, dear, we cut out more
than ten thousand hearts. It’s never too early to get started on that.”

“Ten thousand?” Her voice sounded strangled, even to her. “How many have you done?”

“About three. Hundred.”

“Which means we’d love another few pairs of hands,” Sophie jumped in quickly. “Avery’s already coming and has volunteered to bring the wine.”

“Hearts and wine sound perfect. How can we say no?” Sloan smiled sweetly.

Sophie took a large bite of pancake, her grin decidedly calculating. “You can’t.”

“Michael Patrick!”

Mick’s grandmother’s voice came loud and clear through his headphones as he flew over the south face of Denali. Why they let her take charge over at the airstrip he’d never know, especially since Maggie was fiercely protective of her radio waves, but somehow Mary O’Shaughnessy knew how to get around any obstacle that stood in her way.

He rubbed the back of his neck and let out a small sigh before flipping on his microphone. “What did I do?”

“You didn’t do anything,” Mary’s voice came back, tart as a ripe lemon.

“So, what’s with the Michael Patrick routine?”

“I need you to pick up some things for me on your run to Anchorage.”

“Of course. I’m always happy to do that.”

“I’ve got an order in at the art store. They’re messengering it to the airport. You just need to get it for me.”

“I thought I just picked up a load last week. As I recall, there was about a ton of red construction paper.”

“We needed more.”

He didn’t miss the prim voice or the slight quaver underneath that was the only tell he’d ever known her to have.

Was she lying?

“And I need you to bring it straight over to the town hall when you get back.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“There’s no need to be cheeky.”

“I thought I was being polite.”

“And there you go again. Cheeky.”

He couldn’t hold back the smile. “I’ll see you later.”

“Bring the supplies straight over.”

“All right, already. I promise.”

“See that you do.”

As his grandmother’s voice winked off his earphones, he could only shake his head at the strange set of orders. He knew she was up to something, but for the life of him, he had no idea what it was.

Thirty-five years of his grandmother’s quirks ensured he’d learn what she was up to soon enough, so he shifted his thoughts to the mountain. He’d nearly cleared the face as he headed south toward Anchorage, Denali’s bright peaks gleaming in the morning sunlight, but it was a different flight that filled his mind’s eye.

The injured researchers he’d pulled off the mountain in early December hadn’t been far from his thoughts in the ensuing weeks. Although he knew it was natural
for an experience as sharp as that one to linger for a while, he hadn’t expected the restless nights or the unpleasant memories the trip had churned up.

Doc Cloud had prescribed a few tranquilizers for the really bad nights, but he’d yet to take one. Something about the medicine didn’t sit well with him and he couldn’t bring himself to sleep the problem off.

Unfortunately, he had to face the root of the problem—his past—head-on.

Even if there wasn’t any way to fix it.

Jason Shriver woke with a start, his neck screaming painfully where he’d slouched asleep for the night in a leather chair in his father’s study. An empty glass still smelling of the scotch he’d drunk the night before sat on the small table next to him, curling his stomach with its pungent odor.

It had been a shitty new year and clearly day three of it was starting with a bang. He glanced again at the glass, its empty contents mocking him as his father’s harsh words pounded through his brain as if on a loop.

“What the hell were you thinking, Jason? You don’t fuck around before the wedding. It’s not only poor taste, but it gives the woman far too much time to think.”

The words had changed slightly over the past two months, pending on the point his father was trying to emphasize, but the root of it remained the same. He’d screwed everything up by messing around in the office six weeks before his wedding and it reflected poorly on all of them.

“A real man knows how to be discreet, for Christ’s sake. The office, in the middle of the afternoon?”

What had surprised him more than the lectures was the side of his father he’d never really acknowledged before. Did the old man think like that? Did he actually see the world in such antiquated ways?

Jason had known for years Thomas Shriver, distinguished lion of Wall Street, didn’t know how to keep it in his pants. Oh, his father was discreet, but no one could go after that much ass and not get caught every now and again.

But he’d always thought the old man at least had some sense of responsibility for his actions. Instead, every word out of his father’s mouth was like some business truism he needed in order to prove he was a success.

Twenty percent profit margin? Check.

Summerhouse in the Hamptons? Check.

Mistress? Check.

The problem was, Jason reflected as he reached for the glass of water one of the maids must have been kind enough to leave next to him, he’d never fully understood the impact of his father’s actions on his mother.

How had she felt, all these years? Had his father hurt her? Or had she simply ignored it, thinking it was her duty to keep her mouth shut and smile?

Images of his mother’s smooth smile and shielded gaze shifted to a new image.

Grier.

His small pixie with the quick smile and bright gray eyes.
He’d been attracted to her from the start, seeking her out after the first meeting they’d sat in together. He’d been in the firm’s LA office for the first fifteen years of his career, only to come back to New York to begin the grooming process to take the old man’s place.

His father had made it known that a wife was the natural next step in the progression to senior partner and ultimate head of the firm and he’d better get serious about it once he got back home.

He’d just never expected it to happen so fast.

Grier Thompson had made it incredibly easy to do his duty. She knew his world, both professionally and socially, and they had fallen into a relationship that was simple and uncomplicated.

So why had he screwed it up so badly?

He’d never considered himself a cheater. In fact, he’d never understood the guys who couldn’t stay monogamous in a relationship. If you wanted to play it fast and loose, stay that way. Don’t drag another person into it.

So what had happened?

Leaning forward, he scrubbed his hands over his cheeks, the weight of his actions like a boulder on his back. No matter how many times he asked himself, he couldn’t come up with any other answer save one.

Simple and uncomplicated scared the almighty shit out of him.

S
ince her evening summons to town hall meant she still had roughly ten hours to fill, Grier bundled up after breakfast with Sloan and decided to explore town. Although she’d been to most of the places on Main Street at some point since arriving in Indigo, she hadn’t really spent any length of time anywhere beyond the diner and the hotel.

It was time to change that.

Her gaze settled on the Jitters, but any more coffee this morning and she’d actually have a nervous disorder, so she kept up her trek down the sidewalk. She passed Betsy’s clothing shop and almost stopped in for a little retail therapy, but even that didn’t quite suit her mood, so she kept on.

As she glanced across the street, Tasty’s Bait and Tackle caught her attention. Tasty had been kind enough to give her, Sloan and Avery free hats the month before during an impromptu snowball fight on the square and she had a soft spot for the grizzled old proprietor. Since rumor had it he spent much of the winter ice fishing, she was surprised to see his bearded face peeking back at her through his shop window as he waved.

Grier waved back and knew where she’d stop next.

The nonexistent traffic on Main meant she didn’t have to cross at the light and within moments she was stamping snow off her boots in the front of his store.

“Well, if it isn’t Miz Grier.” Tasty smiled at her from behind the counter. “You looked lost out there. I’m glad you came to pay me a visit.”

She stopped midstomp as she worked to kick the last bit of snow off her boots. “Lost?”

“Lost in thought.”

“I’ll give you that.”

“Speaking of giving, where’s the hat I gave you?”

Since gray winter beanie caps were about as fashionable as a pair of granny panties, Grier had left the cap at the very bottom of her suitcase, but from the look on his eager face, she could hardly tell him that. “It’s in my laundry basket.”

“No worries.” Tasty shook a hand. “I’ve got another one you can have.”

Her lightly whispered “Thanks” was lost as he moved behind the long wooden counter that ran along the front half of his store. As he puttered off, her gaze alighted on a book that lay in front of his seat, its pastel-colored spine cracked. Curious, she moved closer, surprised to see it was a Regency romance by an author she had on auto-buy.

Tasty was back all too soon with the cap, his smile proud as he handed the gray monstrosity to her.

“You’re a big reader?”

“Oh yeah. I love those Regencies. Ballrooms get me every time.”

She took the cap he extended toward her with a smile. “That’s romantic of you.”

“I carry ’em in the bookstore I keep in the back. Fat lot of good it’s done me, though.”

“What do you mean?”

“I didn’t get bid on again.” At the puzzled look she gave him, he added in a forlorn tone, “At the auction.”

“Oh.”

Grier had heard about the bachelor auction that was part of the grandmothers’ annual shenanigans to get their grandsons married off, but she’d missed the actual event as she’d tried to break in to her father’s house while the festivities were going on. Her first and only attempt at breaking and entering had been a dismal failure, but it had put her smack-dab in Mick’s arms once more.

Until she ran away like a frightened mouse who didn’t know her head from her ass.

Tasty’s words pulled her from the slightly embarrassing memory.

“Chooch says I need to stop looking so scary.”

Although the woman had a point, Grier thought there might be a slightly less abrasive way to tell him. “Have you thought about shaving the beard?”

The look of horror that filled the man’s eyes had her leaning forward. “I’m sorry. That didn’t come out as I meant it. You need to be you, but maybe you could trim it a bit?”

“It is a little full.”

“Exactly. Let the ladies see a bit more of your face.”

“Hmmm.” He ran a hand over his cheeks, the motion
so deliberate and thoughtful, Grier had the strangest urge to hug him. “You know, that Mick O’Shaughnessy is one lucky man.”

“Mick doesn’t have a beard.”

“Hee hee.” Tasty slapped his hand on the counter. “I was talking about you.”

“Me?”

“You’re a sweet girl, Grier. And you’re a good person, sitting here shooting the shit with me. He’s one lucky man.”

“I’m not dating Mick.”

“Sure you are.”

“No, really, I’m not.”

The smile fell from his face as her protests finally registered. “Well, why the hell not?”

The outburst wasn’t what she’d expected—especially not after their bonding moment over personal grooming. “I’m sorry, Tasty, but I’m only here for a bit and then I’m headed home. Once I get things figured out with my father’s estate.”

“That’s not right. You’re one of us, now. You need to settle down right here just like your daddy always wanted.”

“If that’s what he wanted, he had an awfully funny way of showing it.”

“I won’t argue with you there. I told Jonas more than once he needed to get off his ass and call you. And then the cancer spread on ’em and he didn’t do what was right.” Tasty leaned forward. “Please don’t hold it against him.”

Something hard settled in the pit of her stomach and
she was caught off guard. Grier wanted to offer some mild-mannered, lovely retort—more than thirty years of having manners drilled into her almost had her offering up some nice platitude—but something held her back at the last minute.

She would have liked to have known her father. Would have liked to have known that she had a home somewhere in the world where someone wanted her.

But Jonas Winston hadn’t been able to give that to her.

“Even if you do have a right to be madder than a rattler at him.”

Tasty’s words penetrated the dour moment and she smiled in spite of the roiling emotions she couldn’t quite get under control. “They have rattlesnakes in Alaska?”

“Nah, it’s too cold here for reptiles to survive. But I haven’t spent my whole life in Alaska. I’m originally from Arizona.”

“How’d you end up here?”

He shrugged. “Pipeline, same as so many others. Place sort of grew on me, so I stayed.”

“I see.”

He eyed the winter hat she’d rolled up into a tight ball in her hands. “You sure you want that?”

“What? Oh—” Grier looked down at her hands. “Of course I do.”

Tasty’s expression was a mixture of relief and dawning horror. “I just gotta figure out how to put that freebie into my accounting of my inventory.”

“It’s not too hard. Just count it as an expense against the business.”

“That’s usually where I get messed up.” He pointed at an old computer sitting on a small desk behind him. “I’m not great with the numbers.”

“Would you like some help?”

Whatever tense moments the two might have shared over her lack of commitment to Mick or Jonas’s lackluster parenting skills evaporated as he extended a hand to unlock the small half-wall that separated his area from the customers. “Would you?”