“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Bradley,” she said, her voice no more than a whisper.
“I just had some questions of where I was allowed to photograph. Are there any places that are off-limits?” Memphis asked, bringing Bradley’s attention back to him.
“You are free to go where you please, Memphis. Although, I would ask that you give the employees their privacy upstairs. It’s their home away from home.”
“Of course. I do have some other questions, but Kennedy and I were just on our way to breakfast before heading out to catch the sunrise.”
“Oh, Memphis, if you’re looking for some spectacular pictures of that you need to be by the lake. It’s a breathtaking view.”
“And the lake is . . . ?”
“A few miles behind the resort. You can take one of our snowmobiles out there. But it’s a good fifteen-minute ride,” he added. “Best wait until tomorrow when you know you have the time.”
“We might just do that,” Memphis said, glancing down at Kennedy. “Well, if you’re around after breakfast I would like a chance to talk with you.”
“Of course. Anything you need.” He flashed them a smile before backing away and allowing them to continue on their way.
“Sunrise by a lake in Alaska,” Kennedy said out of earshot of Mr. Bradley . “How very romantic of my husband.”
“It is, isn’t it?” He winked at her as she slipped out of her jacket and draped it over the back of the chair.
“What’s up with that?” she asked.
Memphis ignored her and she followed him to the buffet, taking the plate he offered her and watched as he filled his own with a heaping pile of scrambled eggs, home fries and bacon. Kennedy opted for her usual breakfast, snatching a bagel and a small packet of cream cheese from a basket.
“That’s all you’re having?” Memphis glanced at her plate on the way back to the table.
“Not all of us can eat like a horse.” She always teased him about how much he ate; it had been a long-running joke between them since he had won a corndog-eating contest.
It was at a carnival ten years earlier, and she had entered his name when he bragged he could out eat the previous winner’s record of thirty-one corndogs. Memphis had sat at the concession booth with four other contestants, beaming from ear to ear when they placed the huge platter in front of him, gave her wink, and then dove in. With one corndog more than the year before, Memphis was declared the winner and spent the next two days in bed with stomach pains, swearing he was never going to eat again.
The vow only lasted as long as the stomach pains.
Memphis grunted and dug into his plateful of food. Kennedy peeked at him while she spread cream cheese on her untoasted bagel.
“Why did you tell him I was your . . . wife?” she asked, barely able to get the last word out without sending her heart rate into overdrive.
Memphis paused with a forkful of egg halfway to his mouth and looked at her, silent until she met his piercing eyes.
“Why wouldn’t you shower while I was still in the bathroom this morning? You’ve never cared before if I happened to come into the bathroom while you were in the shower.”
Kennedy dropped her eyes back to her plate and fidgeted with her silverware.
“Things are . . . different now.”
“Because of Brooks,” Memphis concluded.
Kennedy blinked, keeping her eyes down. Brooks. Of course he would think it was because of Brooks. It had nothing at all to do with a kiss that had spun her world upside down.
Memphis stared at her, waiting for her to confirm his suspicion. Kennedy frowned, opened her mouth to explain, closed it, and nodded her head.
“Right. Because of Brooks.” She was annoyed that Memphis brought him up. Ashamed even more that she could so easily push him out of her mind.
Memphis snorted, making Kennedy look at him questioningly
“It’s not like I would try anything with you, Kennedy.”
Kennedy had to quickly blink back the tears that threatened to spill. She knew he meant it as reassurance that he would never take advantage of her, but all she heard was that she wasn’t worthy enough. He didn’t find her at all attractive in any way other than as a friend.
Kennedy pushed her plate away, her appetite disappearing along with any hope that Memphis would think about her the way she thought about him.
Hope? Since when did she hope Memphis wanted her? She had spent years hoping he didn’t want her, that he wouldn’t try anything with her and ruin their friendship. But none of that seemed important anymore. All she wanted was for Memphis to look at her and see her as desirable as all the other women who had hung on his arms over the years.
“Kennedy?”
Her eyes darted to his face. So what if they would never share a bed? Didn’t she have something better with him as friends than she would have if they caved and gave into one night of lust?
You’re here for more than one night, that devilish voice hissed inside her head.
Kennedy shook the thought away.
“Kennedy?” Memphis repeated, reaching out to touch her hand.
On impulse she jerked her hand from under his, and she saw the hurt and confusion in his eyes. She had never rejected his touch before.
“Sorry. What did you say?”
Memphis slowly pulled his hand back and slouched against the chair.
“I said since we’re going to wait to shoot the sunrise I think I’ll just putter around here and get some pictures. Get this area out of the way, you know,” he added.
Kennedy nodded.
“Sure.”
“You can come with me,” he said.
“As your wife or your assistant?” The words slipped from between her lips before she could stop them. Memphis furrowed his brow and opened his mouth to reply but she held up her hand, cutting him off. “As much as I love to watch you work, I think I’ll wait back at the cabin until you’re done here.”
Memphis scowled.
“Kennedy, I brought you here to see Alaska, not stay cooped up in our cabin all day.”
“I know, but you’re busy.” She shrugged. “I knew coming here was a work thing for you. It’s fine.”
“Why don’t you take the truck and go into town? I’m sure there are some shops to check out or tourist things that you’d find interesting.”
“I have no idea where I’m going.”
“It’s not hard,” Memphis assured her. “You take a right turn out of here and just follow the highway until you hit town.”
Kennedy nervously bit her lip and muttered, “I’ve never driven in the snow before.”
Memphis laughed, and she rolled her eyes at how childish she must sound.
“Maybe Bradley can arrange for you to have a driver,” Memphis said, turning around in his seat to scan the dining room for the man in question.
“No, Memphis. I’m not some princess who needs to be carted around,” Kennedy said stubbornly. “I’m sure I can manage.”
Memphis faced her again.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” Maybe.
He dug in his jacket pocket for the truck keys and slid them across the table to her.
“I’ll be a couple of hours here so don’t worry about rushing back.”
Kennedy plucked the keys off the table and dug them into her palm.
“Okay.”
Memphis’s smile was broad.
“C’mon. Don’t look so uncertain. Touring the town has to be better than waiting around here for me.”
“I don’t mind waiting for you,” she told him.
The words were only meant as a reassurance that she didn’t mind him being busy with work. But locking eyes with him, watching as he pressed his lips together and narrowed his eyes at her with unspoken questions and curiosity, she knew the simple statement meant so much more to her than he would ever realize.
Memphis cleared his throat and glanced away. Kennedy shifted her eyes to the decoration in the mi
ddle of the table, feigning great interest in the design.
“You’ll be okay?” Memphis asked softly, as if he was rethinking sending her out on her own.
Kennedy nodded, not taking her eyes off the wreath. It was only snow, for crying out loud. How hard could it be?
Chapter 8
It was so much harder than she could have imagined.
First she had accelerated too fast and spun out while leaving the parking lot, drawing curious looks and—she was positive—eye rolls from the natives. Then she had waited until she had almost reached the end of the resort’s entrance to press the brake. A very big mistake. No one told her she should have slowed down and inched the truck to a stop. No—she had pressed the brake with a little too much enthusiasm and ended up not stopping at all, but locking the tires and skidding.
Panic set in as the truck slid, threatening to veer off the driveway and into the trees. Kennedy cranked the wheel to the left and pressed the brake harder. When her feeble attempts to stop the vehicle failed, she did the only thing she could do—she closed her eyes and waited for the impact.
It took her a full minute to realize she was no longer moving. When Kennedy opened her eyes, she saw the nose of the truck peeking out onto the highway, having stopped just in time. She let out a shaky breath, thankful that she hadn’t skidded directly onto the road and caused an accident.
That should have been her hint to turn around, stay safely inside her little cabin, and wait for Memphis. Clearly winter driving conditions were too much for her to handle. But—being either stupid or stubborn—she waited for her pounding heart to slow, checked to make sure the coast was clear, pulled the massive vehicle onto the highway, and continued on her way.
Kennedy crept toward the city, making sure to stay at least ten miles per hour below the speed limit, much to the annoyance of the other occupants on the road. If she chanced to peek at them when they passed, she was sure she would receive a murderous glare or two. But she kept her eyes straight ahead, never once leaving the road in front of her.
Almost an hour later, she finally saw the sign welcoming her to Fairbanks, and she was relieved that she had made it in one piece. Kennedy’s stomach finally unknotted when she found a parking spot. She cut the engine and looked out her window. The spot was close enough to all the shops that she could walk from place to place and not have to risk damage to the truck, or other lives, while navigating her way through the snow-covered streets.
She looked around, trying to find a place to duck inside to shield her cheeks from the nipping wind. A modestly decorated storefront caught her attention and she smiled when she read the business name. It was fate. Quickly, she crossed the street and pulled open the door to the art gallery.
The young woman behind the front desk lifted her head and greeted Kennedy.
“Good morning.” Her voice was bright and warm, and instantly made Kennedy feel welcome.
“Morning.” Kennedy smiled and glanced around before slowly touring the store.
There was only one other person besides herself and the employee. The man stood at the counter, his back facing Kennedy as he continued his low murmured conversation with the sales woman.
Kennedy ignored the pair, pausing at this item or that. She gently traced her finger over a handcrafted bowl, taking in the delicate design and detail of the art.
“That’s by one of our local artists,” the woman said from behind the counter.
Kennedy looked up, surprised the woman was paying her any attention when she had a customer right in front of her. Her eyes drifted over the man who was still turned away from her.
“It’s beautiful.”
“Most of what you see in here is created by locals.”
Kennedy nodded and moved onto the paintings. She was instantly drawn to one of a vast land covered in a blanket of white snow with mountains in the background. The artist had concentrated on a set of boot prints, large images at first only to be drawn smaller and smaller as they descended off the page. Kennedy took a step closer to the painting and squinted at the mountains, suddenly seeing the soft face of a young woman etched into them. On closer inspection, what she thought were patches of snow were actually tears.
She looked at the boot prints again. At a quick glance her first impression was they were walking toward the mountains, but when she looked closer, she saw the print was the wrong way and instead of facing north, they were moving south, away from the haunted mountains.
Kennedy felt sad for the woman who was perhaps watching a loved one walk away from her. She wanted to reach out and touch the sad eyes, trace her finger over the snowy tears and tell her everything would be all right.
It was devastatingly beautiful and touching, and Kennedy knew she had to have it.
“How much for this print?”
The woman behind the counter named a price and returned to her work. Kennedy swooned at the amount. She had figured local paintings would be slightly cheaper. She gave the picture a longing look while figuring out how she could fit it into her budget. It wasn’t overly expensive, but definitely a few hundred dollars more than she expected.
“And what has drawn you to this painting in particular?”
Kennedy looked over her shoulder at the deep but gentle voice, not surprised to find the mystery man from the counter staring back at her.
His long brown hair was tied away from his face in low ponytail and his brown eyes peered at her through the black-rimmed glasses he wore. The man’s face was hidden beneath a short, well-kept beard, making it hard for Kennedy to pin his age.
He folded his arms over his black jacket and waited for her response, his lips turned up in an amused smirk.
Kennedy moved her eyes away from him and back to the picture.
“It’s moving,” she finally answered. “The artist plays with your emotions. It makes you feel sad yet hopeful at the same time. I’m curious why her lover is leaving her, how he could walk away from such beauty.”
He took a step closer to her and looked at the painting as well.
“How do you know it’s her lover walking away?”
“Her tears,” Kennedy said. “The sad, lost look in her eyes.”
She felt his eyes on her.
“Are you an artist?”
Kennedy nodded.
“Professional or hobby?”
“Both,” she said. She looked at him and saw her answer didn’t satisfy him. “My paintings are in a gallery in Vancouver, but I also create art for pure pleasure. Some of my pieces are never shown to anyone.”
“Interesting.” He held out his hand to her. “Alec Bell.”
“Kennedy Monroe.” She took his hand.
“Do you live in Vancouver as well?”
She smiled. “Yes.”
“What brings you here?”
“I’m here with a friend. He’s the photographer for the new resort that just opened.”
Alec frowned. “Tanner Bradley’s place?”
“Um, yes?” Kennedy’s voice rose, sounding as if she was asking a question rather than answering his. “I know the guy’s last name is Bradley.” Alec’s frown deepened, and she got the sense there was bad blood between the two. “Is something wrong?”
“Tanner Bradley can be a very conniving business partner.” The warning was clear but he dropped the subject and turned his attention back to the picture. “Are you serious about buying the piece?”
Kennedy’s smile was sad as she looked at the picture that enamored her.
“I’d love nothing more than to own it. Unfortunately, it’s a little further out of my price range than I originally thought. I’ll have to think about it.”
“While you’re pondering if the art is worth the price, would you care to join me for a drink? There’s a charming restaurant that has wine tastings.”
“Oh.” Kennedy glanced at her watch and was surprised to see it was noon. “I don’t know if I should. I drove here myself and . . .”
Alec laughed.
>
“I’m not asking you to get plastered with me, Kennedy. A little wine, maybe some lunch. No harm done.”
Kennedy chewed the inside of her cheek while she pondered Alec’s invitation.
“Okay.”
He smiled at her.
“Fantastic.”
“Just for the record,” Kennedy said as they made their way to the door. “I never said I had to wonder if the art was worth the price—it definitely is. I’m just not sure my bank account would agree.”
“If you bought it, would you go without food? Shelter? Water? Heat?” They fell into step alongside each other.
“Well . . . no.”
“Then it’s worth it.”
~*~
Wine tasting turned into lunch, and lunch turned into several hours of conversation and more wine.
Kennedy had never felt so at ease with a total stranger like she did with Alec. It was almost as if they were old friends catching up with each other after being separated for years.
“So how does the boyfriend feel about you being on a romantic getaway with your friend?” The wine had loosened Kennedy’s tongue, and she spilled her guts about everything in her life.
Kennedy scowled and traced her finger around the rim of her wineglass.
“We’re not on a romantic getaway.”
“Not happy, then?” Alec looked amused.
She shook her head.
“He doesn’t exactly know where I am, only that I’m here with Memphis while he works.”
“But if you two are only friends, why should that be a problem?” After a couple of hours with Alec, Kennedy soon found that he knew how to ask the right questions.
Kennedy shifted in her seat.
“Brooks can be very insecure.”
“And that’s the only reason?”
“I’ve never given him any reason to doubt me,” she said, looking around the restaurant.
The quiet atmosphere of the afternoon had disappeared as people wandered in for dinner or drinks after work. Kennedy glanced at her watch and was shocked to see it was getting so late.
“We’ve been here for hours,” she said.
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