Northern Fires (6 page)

Bull bristled on Juliette’s behalf. That’s why Merrilee was still so hopelessly in love with him after twenty-five years. “She’s not that kind of woman.”

“Oh, she wouldn’t break his heart on purpose. In fact, if she thought he was offering his heart, it’d probably scare her to death. Marge is worried about Juliette’s previous marriages. I have a feeling she knows about Juliette’s alcoholism as well, but I could hardly betray Juliette’s confidence by asking, and if Marge does know she would’ve been told in confidence. So, I think she knows, but I couldn’t bring it up and if she does know she couldn’t bring it up, so it wasn’t brought up. Regardless, I think the real issue is whether Juliette will allow herself to care about someone. And I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone more in need of being loved than that girl.”

“Gus?”

“Even more than Gus. Gus had good years with her mother before she lost her. And the situation with Troy was terrible and frightening, but she knew her mother’s love.” Her goddaughter, Gus, had sought sanctuary in Good Riddance from an abusive, stalking fiancé a couple of years earlier. Gus had been traumatized, but she at least had a solid foundation under her that Merrilee didn’t think Juliette had ever known. “It’s more of what Juliette doesn’t say than what she does that leads me to believe she had a fairly dismal childhood.”

“Honey, you can’t fix everyone’s problems.”

“I know. But I can’t seem to stop trying.”

“Then you’re about to be as happy as a pig in a mud pit. I walked over to tell you I got an email from my sister.”

Bull was so removed from his sister, most of the time Merrilee forgot he had one. “Janie?”

“I only have the one.” He never said what had happened between them and she never asked. If and when he wanted to tell, he’d tell. “My nephew Liam is heading this way.”

They hadn’t seen Janie or her boys, twins Liam and Lars and the baby, Jack, in years. They only knew what was going on with them through occasional updates from Bull’s brother.

“Oh, my goodness. When is he expected to arrive?”

“No idea. I just know he’s on his way. He got on his motorcycle and rolled out yesterday.”

Merrilee could do flexible. It helped to have time to prepare for visiting family, even if it was family they hadn’t seen in—she did a quick mental calculation—sixteen or so years. Liam had been fifteen or sixteen when they’d come out one summer. “He’s home on leave?” The last they’d heard he was in the army. “How long is he going to stay?”

“He’s out of the military.”

“Out?”

Bull nodded. “Done. And he’s not just visiting. Janie says he’s moving here.”

Merrilee wasn’t sure what to say. There was certainly more going on here than met the eye. “He’s just bringing himself and his motorcycle and he’s staying? I’ll hand it to him that he’s traveling light.”

Bull nodded. “You know how Janie likes to be cryptic, but apparently he left the service on a medical discharge. Another lost lamb for your fold.”

Despite his comment, Merrilee knew Bull was concerned about his nephew. Bull just wasn’t going to wear his feelings on his sleeve the way Merrilee did…nor did she want him to. That was her job in their relationship.

* * *

A
LBERTA
FELL
INTO
STEP
beside Sven as he walked toward the community center.

“What’s shaking, Sven?”

He smiled. “Not a whole lot. What’s shaking on your end?”

“The usual.” She winked at him as if they shared a great secret. “How’re things going with amore? How was dinner last night?”

“You’ll have to use your psychic powers of divination, Alberta.”

She shot him a gap-toothed grin and swatted at him with a tattered-lace folding fan. “Don’t get all sassy-mouthed with me. I detect a note of frustration and that’s not psychic divination, that’s deduction.” Her look was part sly triumph and part sympathy. “She’s not an easy one, is she?”

“I told you she wasn’t my type.”

“How late did you stay up researching addictions and addictive behaviors last night?”

That stopped him in his tracks. Both parts of it—that she knew Juliette’s secret and that she knew he had been reading online until the wee hours of the morning about the disease.

She patted his arm. “I know you thought I was a phony, but I’ve got the gift…actually, my third husband thought it was a curse. You were up pretty late, weren’t you?”

“Yeah.” He’d hung up the phone with his mom and found he simply couldn’t leave it alone. He’d wanted to know more about what it was Juliette dealt with. He wasn’t quite sure why and he didn’t particularly feel the need to examine the why too carefully. He shrugged. “Information is knowledge and knowledge is power.” He still wasn’t sure he believed in psychic abilities, but Alberta seemed to have some hellaciously deductive reasoning skills. “Okay, any sage words of advice?”

“Slow and steady wins the race…and that’s what she’s going to require.”

And on the off chance she did have some psychic abilities… “I guess I’m looking more for a psychic cheat sheet as to what’s going on in her head.”

“Ah, once again you’re looking for the easy route and she’s not going to be easy, Sven. But you knew that, didn’t you?”

That was precisely why he’d stayed away for so long. And as to why he wasn’t running like hell in the other direction now…well, he wasn’t altogether sure.

“My mother is—”

“Worried,” she finished for him. “I know. She loves you and quite frankly everything’s always come fairly easy to you, hasn’t it? You’ve led a pretty charmed life. Perhaps your mother’s not as afraid of Juliette as she is of what might happen when your mettle is actually tested. And Juliette will test your mettle.”

For about two seconds he considered taking offense, but the truth of the matter was he
had
led a somewhat charmed life. And was it his fault that things had come easy to him or for him?

“No, it’s not your fault.” God, it was just freaky and invasive when she answered the questions tumbling around in his head. “Are you up to the task?”

Sven didn’t automatically answer. Was he? While he’d like to say yes, he really wasn’t sure. Did he want to be? Or did he just want to walk away? Crazy as it seemed, even to him, walking away wasn’t an option. Sorenson family legend held that they’d descended from Vikings—as if there was a Swedish family around who didn’t want to claim a piece of that lore. But when you got past all the romantic claptrap, Vikings hadn’t been particularly nice guys. They were ruthless invaders, men of steel who lived by the sword. Was that in him?

It was as if, standing in the middle of the sidewalk in Good Riddance with the May sun warming his shoulders, he could almost feel the forging of steel down his spine, through him, a resolve he’d never quite known before.

He held his head a tad higher and straighter. “I believe I am up to the task.”

She looked pleased. “You know it’s not just Juliette. Your parents may not support you.”

He’d gotten a smidge of that last night on the phone with his mom. “Storming walls, scaling defenses, a relentless assault—sure, I’ve got it all in me.”

Did he? Saying and doing were two different things. The truth was he’d sort of floated through life, no real responsibility. Sure, he had a job and he worked pretty steadily, but he liked not having to step up to any particular plate. Eric had always been the overachiever, whereas Sven had just drifted.

Something zinged into his mind that he’d totally forgotten about. He’d been two years behind Eric, who had set a very high bar. It was third grade parent-teacher conferences. He had Mrs. Marberry, the same third-grade teacher who’d taught Eric. Sven had been out on the playground but run back in to the bathroom. He’d overheard Mrs. Marberry telling his parents that they shouldn’t expect as much out of Sven. She’d said he was a sweet boy and bright enough, but he didn’t have Eric’s potential. She’d suggested they not push him too hard, past his capabilities. Damn, he hadn’t thought about that in years.

But now that he thought about it, he’d sort of taken that and run with it, sitting back and gliding through life. And Mom and Pops hadn’t expected too much. Hell, he realized in a moment of insight, he hadn’t expected too much from himself.

Why try hard if no one expected anything from you? Wasn’t that why he’d avoided Juliette from the beginning, because she was too much trouble? Maybe it wasn’t the trouble aspect at all but more that he might fail. That she would be a challenge had been apparent from the get-go. But there was something about her, something that made him want to dig deep, to not just walk away.

Alberta tapped her head with her fan. “You do, you know.”

He hoped like hell so. “Well, let’s get a move on. I’ve got my work cut out for me.”

“That you do, my boy, that you do. But I have faith in you.”

He and Alberta—an army of two.

He hoped it was enough.

6

“O
KAY
,
THAT
’
S
A
WRAP
,” Tessa said, ending the rehearsal.

Juliette’s attention had only been half on the task at hand, much as it had been all day.

“Enjoy the weekend and I’ll see everyone on Monday,” Tessa added. Rehearsals were limited to Monday through Friday evenings.

Tucking her notes and clipboard beneath her arm, Juliette didn’t let any grass grow under her feet. She beelined for the exit. All evening she’d made sure there was someone else around as she and Sven worked on the set. She’d felt him looking at her, watching her—not in some creepy way. It had been kind of nice except it was distracting.

Once their eyes had met and held across the stage. Heat had stolen through her as if his fingers were actually sliding over her skin in a gossamer caress. Her breath had quickened, her pulse pounded, heart raced…and her brain had issued a loud, resounding
no
. Fight or flight? She wasn’t sure how much fight she had in her to combat the attraction she felt for him, so flight was the only viable option. Plus, she specialized in flight.

She hurried down the stairs, welcoming the slight breeze against her heated cheeks. She’d almost reached her truck when boots sounded on the stairs behind her and the wind carried Sven’s scent.

“Wait up, boss,” he called out.

In spite of her need to escape, his “boss” foolishness coaxed a smile out of her. Her hand on the side panel of the truck, she paused, turning to him. “Yes?”

He sauntered over, his tool belt hanging low on his hips. Okay, she was losing it because she found it incredibly sexy. A tool belt. She’d definitely taken leave of good sense.

He stopped, once again, backlit by the sun, looking like some tool-belted, larger-than-life Norse hero. “I was hoping you could help me out.”

She doubted it. “What do you need?”

The husky rasp of her voice gave it an altogether different meaning. For a moment she glimpsed something slightly wicked and hot in his blue eyes.

The air between them seemed to sizzle. She looked away first. Over his shoulder, Ellie waved goodbye. Juliette absently returned the wave.

Sven shifted, as if determined to catch and hold her attention. “I ordered dinner to go from Gus’s.”

She didn’t see what this had to do with her at all. A part of her brain registered that he was, quite possibly, the most handsome man she’d ever met. And once again, that had nothing to do with the matter at hand, even though she didn’t know exactly what the matter at hand was. “Okay…”

“They gave me two dinners.”

“I see.” Well, she didn’t really, but he’d paused, so she had to say something. She trusted that momentarily his meaning would be as clear as the blue in his eyes.

“And then I had to drop my truck off at Donna’s and it won’t be ready until tomorrow afternoon, so I don’t have a ride home.” He looked at her expectantly.

“What about Skye and Dalton?” She didn’t care if she sounded slightly desperate. She was. It was too nice, too comfortable, too cozy at Shadow Lake with Sven.

“It didn’t work out. So, what do you say? Could you give me a lift?” She supposed she could drop him at the road. “And help me out with the extra meal?” So much for dropping him at the road.

She hesitated, wanting to say yes, not wanting to say yes. God, the man turned her into a mess.

“Just for the record, this is not a date. Not remotely a date.” Why was she smiling? Why was her resolve to stay away from him crumbling second by second? “See, if it was a date I would be showered—” she would not think about him naked in the shower “—and would’ve changed clothes, so it’s not a date. This is a favor. You’d definitely be doing me a favor, helping me out.”

He was fun and somewhere along the way she’d forgotten how to have fun. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever actually known how.

She grasped at one last straw. “Petey?” Petey lived out past Shadow Lake.

Sven shook his head, his hair brushing against his shoulders. “I tried. He’s got a date with Donna tonight. He’s going to help her with an engine—mine. See, that’s a date. Look, don’t take this the wrong way or anything, but you’re my last resort. I really hated to ask you because I was afraid of this very thing, that you might misconstrue my intentions, and I know how you feel about the date thing. I suppose if you’ve got something else going on I can walk.”

She couldn’t help laughing at his foolishness.

He grinned. “It’s only about six…maybe seven miles. It won’t get dark for another couple of hours or so.”

It was all so ridiculously over the top, how could she not say yes? And how was it that she seemed totally susceptible to this particular man’s charm? The more pertinent question would be who could possibly be immune to his foolishness?

She shook her head in resignation and exasperation. And somewhere inside her, no small measure of excitement and anticipation blossomed unbidden, like a rainbow appearing at the end of a storm. “Just get in.”

He rounded the front of the truck to the passenger side. “Thanks. And for the record, if we were on a date…” He trailed off as he opened the door and climbed in.

She settled in the driver’s seat. “I’m going to regret asking, but what? Finish it.” She fit the key in the ignition, turning it over.

“I like my women in dresses.”

Really? He was totally incorrigible…and irresistible. “Then today is your lucky day that we don’t have a date, because not only am I not one of your women—” the very notion tightened her entire body “—I don’t own a dress.” She headed north.

“For real? You really don’t own a dress?” Ha. She’d got him. “Wait…yes, you do. You had on a dress one evening at Gus’s. I saw you.”

Actually, she had a closet full. She loved wearing dresses at home and she occasionally wore them into town. She liked soft loose flowing materials that were both feminine and comfortable. Some women liked frilly underwear, she liked dresses.

And she was sad and pathetic because the fact that he’d noticed made her want to smile all over…or run screaming in the other direction. And she’d never felt more alive and such a ridiculous sense of joy at teasing like this with him. She laughed. Again. “I had you going for a minute.”

“Only a minute. Hey, don’t forget to swing by Gus’s.” He waved her over.

“Why do I need to stop by Gus’s?” Nonetheless, she pulled over.

“Dinner.”

“You said they gave you two orders by mistake. How can that be if you hadn’t picked them up yet? Riddle me that, Joker.” And come to think of it, where were his take-out boxes? He had her so befuddled she couldn’t think clearly half the time.

“Alberta.” He didn’t miss a beat. “She’s psycho, you know.”

“Psychic.”

“Same difference. Anyway, she told me on the way to rehearsal Lucky was going to screw up and give me an extra meal. Who am I to argue with Alberta?”

Her earlier conversation with Logan came to mind. Yes, Logan was incredibly fortunate Sven hadn’t been interested in Jenna because Jenna wouldn’t have stood a chance and Logan would’ve been so knocked out of the running. In her book, other men paled in comparison to Sven.

* * *

S
VEN
WATCHED
J
ULIETTE
as she finished the last of her dinner from the plastic box on her lap. Once again they were on the front porch, enjoying the remnants of sunlight across the lake’s surface. Her profile was etched in relief—her straight nose, the ridge of her cheekbones, the pout of her lips, the curve of her eyelashes.

“You have an interesting face,” he said.

Rain began to fall, pinging against the roof. “How’s that?”

“It’s the angles and curves.” As if someone had opened a water faucet, the random drops became a downpour. The curtain of water veiled them in privacy, further isolating them from the rest of the world. There was a feeling of rightness to it.

“Guess it’s just as well that you didn’t leave me to walk home,” Sven said, eyeing the onslaught.

“What? Do you think you’d have melted?”

She was actually teasing him. He liked it.

“There’s one way to know.” He stepped off the porch into the downpour, spreading his arms and facing the sky. Within seconds he was soaked. Despite being heavy and steady, it wasn’t a driving, stinging rain.

“Sven!”

“You’re right.” He grinned at her through the downpour. “I’m not melting.”

She walked to the edge of the porch, laughing. He loved making her laugh—it made him feel good all the way through.

“You’re crazy.” There was amusement, wonderment and maybe a tinge of wistfulness in her tone.

“Well, I am wet, maybe a little crazy, but definitely not melting.” He took a step toward the porch. “Wonder if you’d pass the test?”

Her eyes widened. “Don’t even—”

He advanced. “What? Scared of a little rain?”

She retreated. “You wouldn’t—”

“Dare?” He kept coming. She had no idea how much he was willing to dare. “Oh, Ms. Miller, yes, I would.”

She was still laughing and protesting and shaking her head when he gained the porch. “No.”

He scooped her up and paused. She was warm and dry and oh so right against him. Then he carried her down the stairs out into the deluge.

“Sven!” She was laughing, delight and outrage and something indefinable dancing across her face. He stood, holding her, her hip pressed against his groin, her head at his shoulder, as the water washed over both of them.

He set her on her feet, the water plastering her hair against her head, molding her clothes to her curves. He didn’t, couldn’t release her. She felt too right in his arms. Mascara streaked her cheeks. “I’ll be damned,” he said. “You
are
melting.”

He reached down and swiped the dark streak from her pale skin. In that instant, the laughter died between them. He was certain he’d never seen a woman more hauntingly, achingly beautiful than the one standing before him with her once again too-serious brown eyes and bedraggled hair.

His finger against her skin, he cupped her cheek in his palm. “You are so beautiful.”

“You’re crazy.” But this time the words were spoken softly, as if he couldn’t possibly think her beautiful standing in the pouring rain.

“You do seem to have that impact on me,” he said.

He wrapped his other arm around her and kissed her. It was a melding of skin and water and warmth in the spring rain. She wound her arms about his neck. The last vestige of sanity deserted him with the stroke of her tongue against his and the press of her breasts against his chest. Her nipples stabbed against him through their clothes. Desire thickened his cock.

He wanted to strip her naked and feel the slide of her bare skin against his. He wanted to take her turgid points into his mouth, fill his hands with her bare bottom and ease into her slick channel as the rain fell over them.

It was as if he couldn’t get enough of her. He was no longer content with just knowing the taste of her lips and the feel of her tongue. He kissed the side of her jaw and moved to the tender wet flesh of her neck. Her sigh seemed to float above the ping of the rain against the roof. He licked the rivulet of water along her collarbone.

He molded his hands against the curve of her back, feeling the dip of her spine against his fingertips as if she were pliable clay taking form beneath his touch.

He captured her nipple in his mouth, suckling her through the cloth and she curled her fingers into his shoulders. And then she pushed ever so slightly away with her palms and he immediately released her.

She stumbled to the porch and up the stairs, wrapping her hands around the post, as if seeking its support. He joined her.

The water molded her hair to her scalp and her clothes to her curves. Her nipples were outlined against her wet shirt. Much as he longed to scoop her up again and carry her inside to peel away her wet garments and lay her naked on his sheets, he felt her wariness.

The steady rain, punctuated by their uneven breathing, filled the space around them. Water puddled beneath them. He could at least dry her off.

“I’ll be right back,” Sven said, moving toward the door.

“I need to leave.”

“Hold on.”

He hurried into the cabin and grabbed the other clean towel from the bathroom—he only had two since it was just him—and returned to the porch.

As if carved in stone, Juliette hadn’t moved. She reached for the towel. Ignoring her outstretched hand, he plied the cotton over her hair. She stood stock-still, her eyes wary, her expression guarded as he dried her face and neck.

He wasn’t sure what surprised him more—his compulsion to do this or that she allowed it. He moved behind her, blotting the back of her neck. Finally, he draped the bath sheet about her shoulders.

He wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her to rest against his chest and hips. He pressed a kiss to the side of her neck. For a second she leaned back into him.

“Juliette,” he spoke impulsively, from the heart. “I don’t want you to go tonight. Stay, please.”