“It’s not maudlin to tell the truth.”
“It most certainly is on a day you should be celebrating your role as mayor and town troublemaker with equal parts success.”
She swatted at his arm, a bit of the feisty soul he knew and loved showing itself. “Well, now, that’s not playing fair. You’re going to make an old woman cry.”
“Would you stop with the old?”
“I am, Walker. I really am.”
“What in the world has prompted this?”
Those fiery sparks evaporated as his grandmother rubbed her hands together again and a few seeds of worry settled themselves in his gut. What
was
wrong with her?
And what had kicked off the sudden case of the blues, especially in the middle of her greatest triumph?
“Oh, never mind.” Whatever had dogged her for a moment evaporated as she pressed on his shoulder. “Get on over there; they’re about to start the sled races. You have a bachelorette to cheer on.”
“You sure you’re okay?”
“Of course I’m sure.”
Before he could stop her, his grandmother caught someone’s eye and began waving, effectively ending their conversation.
As he headed to stand with the crowd watching the next event, he couldn’t quite shake the feeling his grandmother’s comments hid some deeper meaning.
Sloan buried her face in the heavy fur of the husky as she waited to participate in the mini-Iditarod race around the town square. Despite her multilayered outfit for the day, she couldn’t ignore the seeping cold that worked its way into her bones as dusk crept forward to cut short their afternoon.
“Careful, Sloan. Baby him too much and he won’t pull you on your sled,” Chooch warned as she puttered around the bachelorettes, keeping the dogs occupied before it was their turn to take the sled.
“He’s beautiful. What’s his name?”
“That one’s J.R.”
Sloan hugged him again, rubbing her face over his head as she whispered in his ear, “You’ll do right by me, won’t you, baby?”
Avery sidled up after Chooch waved her over, thrusting a leash in her hands. “Take Bobby for me, would you? I need to get Sue Ellen off that sled before she knocks it over.”
J.R., Bobby, Sue Ellen?
No way
.
“Did they really name the dogs after bad eighties TV?”
Avery held tight to Bobby’s leash as a broad grin stole over her features. “Absolutely. This would be the
Dallas
litter.”
“You’re kidding?”
“Oh no. Lucy, Cliff and Miss Ellie round out the bunch, but poor Cliff is usually shorthanded as Shithead.”
“I’m not sure why I’m surprised. Nothing in this town is what I expected and this is yet another example. For the record, why
Dallas
?”
“Hooch’s favorite TV show. He still contends who shot J.R. was the best mystery ever put forth to the American public.”
“Ah yes. Great TV at its finest.” Another thought hit Sloan as she babied J.R. “You said this litter. What was the last litter called?”
“That was the
Brady Bunch
.”
“Of course it was.”
“Marsha was the mother of this litter, actually.”
Sloan started to chuckle as she and Avery hit the same singsong voice with a resounding chorus of “Marsha, Marsha, Marsha!”
Avery’s shared laughter faded out and Sloan didn’t need to turn around to know why.
Roman Forsyth’s movie-star good looks and athlete’s body towered over both she and Avery as he moved in next to them before dropping to his knees in a squat. “You telling tales about Marsha’s proclivities around town, Ave? That dog got into more trouble. Remember that time we found her getting into it with my grandmother’s pug, Basil?”
“Can’t say that I do.”
If Sloan wasn’t mistaken, the brief smile that crossed Avery’s face meant she remembered exactly what fate had befallen Basil. And the denial meant she wasn’t interested in jaunting down memory lane.
Sloan kept her smile firmly planted on her face but held her tongue. There was enough baggage between these two to keep a 747 grounded, and she figured Avery could do just fine without any interference.
“Chooch and Hooch never could keep that animal chained up.”
She didn’t miss the soft, faraway look in Roman’s eyes, nor the fact his gaze was firmly lasered onto Avery. For a brief moment, a stab of envy lanced through her so hard she was glad she was holding on to the dog or she might have stumbled.
What would it be like to know someone that well? To have a bank of shared experiences that went back to the days you were still discovering who you were.
And who you were going to be.
Despite Avery’s chilly reception, Sloan knew it was an act of protection. And even though it masked the hurt, it couldn’t mask the history that lived between the two of them.
Shared experiences. Shared stories. Shared memories.
Pasting on her very best Scarsdale manners, Sloan dove into some small talk. “I presume Basil lived to tell the tale, no doubt.”
Roman pulled his gaze from Avery, the broad, killer grin that was his hallmark firmly back in place. “Oh yes, he was quite the stud about town. Our dear, sweet Basil was one able-bodied pug.”
“Who impregnated half the town before someone finally wised up and got him to the vet for some fixing,” Avery added dryly. “Some dogs never learn, do they?”
Sloan knew as well as Roman the conversation had veered firmly off of Basil the pug, but she tried diligently to keep the banter light and affable. “I’m surprised you’re here, Roman. I didn’t realize the Metros have off this week?”
“It’s only two days, but enough time for me to sneak home for a quick visit. We’re on the road. Anaheim followed by Seattle, so it was easy to get up here.”
“Sneak is a fitting term, I’d say.”
With a dark glance at Avery, Sloan fought for the composure drilled into her from an early age. “I’m sure your mother and grandmother are thrilled to see you.”
“I’d call it a combination of thrilled and enterprising. Grandma’s already talked me into taking part in the evening’s festivities.”
“Why, of course she has,” Avery added. “She’s seeing dollar signs at the auction tonight. What single, eligible woman wouldn’t want to bid on the big, bad, professional hockey player?”
“Damn straight. And I told her I’d double the bid and add it to the auction proceeds.”
“Ah yes, another example of buying your way into your family’s good graces.”
Sloan prayed for mercy as sparks flew through the air along with the verbal barbs. Belatedly, she heard her name in the distance, calling her to the starting line, and wondered if it was safe to leave these two alone. She was about to gesture Grier over to stand guard when Dr. Cloud came to the rescue, his voice carrying over her shoulder from behind them.
“Roman. What a surprise this is. Your grandmother’s been looking for you.”
Just as she’d been a few days earlier at the airport, Sloan was again awed by the doctor’s calm demeanor and even presence. As the discussion shifted immediately to the upcoming hockey schedule, Sloan grabbed Avery by the hand.
“Come on, I need help getting J.R. over there to the starting line. Chooch was right and he’s gone all limp and useless on me.”
As soon as they were out of earshot, Sloan whispered around gritted teeth and a broad smile as she dragged her fluffy lump of fur toward the starting line, “What the hell was that about?”
“I can’t stand being around him.”
“I get that, but he was only making small talk and being nice.” More than nice, Sloan wanted to add as she heaved the dog another few feet. Roman had sought them out, unprompted by an accidental meeting or forced social situation.
Which had to count for something.
“Small talk full of innuendo. I have no desire to traipse down memory lane with him. Besides, he started it.”
“With what? The man was making conversation, Avery.” Although it did nothing to her friend, the exasperation in her voice must have gotten through to J.R. The dog snapped to attention at her side and began moving on his own.
“Like hell he was. That little story about Basil had a few details he left out. Like how he and I found Marsha and Basil after doing a bit of rolling around of our own out past the edge of town. We were sneaking back to my house when we caught the dogs.”
Unable to come up with another reprimand at that bit of news, Sloan opted to finish out her thought. “Well, if you keep ignoring him, memory lane’s the only place he has to go with the conversation.”
Avery came to an abrupt stop, hauling Bobby up short with her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you two have known each other forever and it’s the only thing he has to talk to you about. So either make a few new memories or figure out a way to tolerate the old ones.”
“I never thought about it that way.”
“Besides, didn’t anyone ever tell you living well was the best revenge?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you need to dress up for the auction tonight. Let that man know he might be the big, bad professional hockey player but you’re the girl he was dumb enough to leave behind. Come on, Avery. It’s fuck-up-your-ex 101.”
Avery’s eyes narrowed and Sloan read the suspicion from a mile away. “Oh yeah, because I’m such a tempting treat. The local girl running his mother’s hotel and living in this postage stamp of a town in the middle of nowhere.”
As they came within earshot of the event coordinators, Sloan lowered her voice and leaned in to Avery. “If I’m not mistaken, you’ve got the best legs this side of the Rockies and an ass J.Lo would die for. Why don’t you get your head out of it and put both to good use?”
She didn’t turn around to acknowledge what she knew was a dropped mouth to match Avery’s heavy gasp, and she didn’t need to.
A few minutes later, she rounded her second lap of the town square with J.R. lagging yards behind the other three competitors in her heat. When her sled trotted by Avery’s still-angry face and folded arms, Sloan congratulated herself on a far sweeter victory.
If she wasn’t mistaken, Cinderella was now bound and determined to head home and fix herself up for the ball. And Sloan was almost a big enough person to pity the big, bad hockey player.
Almost.
Chapter Twenty-one
“A
nd in first place ...” Sophie’s voice seemed to hang in the cold, late-afternoon air as she announced the winner of the bachelorette competition. “Amanda Truesdale.”
Sloan clapped for the woman as Amanda stepped up to the podium, next to a woman from Anchorage who took second place and a newbie from Atlanta who took third. She’d already set up interviews with them for tomorrow and was satisfied at how the article was coming to life in her mind.
She also didn’t miss Skate’s broad smile for Amanda from where he stood in the front row and wondered if she’d be pitching part two of her article—what comes
after
the bachelorette competition—at some point in the future.
“So clearly we’re not cut out for wilderness life,” Grier whispered in her ear as Sloan felt a hand wind itself around her waist.
“Oh, I don’t know. I like to think we kicked ass when it counted.”
“When was that?”
“The snowball fight, silly.”
“Ah, yes. The winter bacchanalia wherein I nursed my broken heart.”
Maybe it was Amanda’s hopeful attitude or watching Avery’s anger-filled exchange with Roman, but Sloan found herself suddenly unwilling to coddle Grier’s feelings. “It doesn’t have to be broken. You know that.”
The arm around her waist tightened and Sloan felt the tension radiating off Grier’s petite frame as the two of them huddled in the cold. “He didn’t even come out today. For any of this.” After a moment of silence, Grier added, “I thought he might.”
“I saw him this morning, but then he probably had to work. The airfield doesn’t close down just because most of the town’s engaged in this.”
“Yeah, but since most of the town’s engaged here, who’s he ferrying anywhere?”
A long rumble hit her low in the gut and her unwillingness to coddle shifted into the full-on desire to make waves. Sloan felt for both Grier and Avery, but she couldn’t quite shake Amanda’s words from earlier. Or the woman’s determination to make a change.
What did they have to lose?
What did any of them have to lose? You put your heart on the line, but the rewards were great. And despite everything Grier had overcome in the last six months, her friend was still scared shitless to put herself on the line.
“You and Avery really are a pair, I swear.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”