by Addison Fox
“You in for more setup tomorrow morning?”
Mick let out a snort. “Like my grandmother would let me get away with anything less.”
“I’ll see you then.”
“Later.”
Jack sat there for a long time after Mick left, nursing his coffee and thinking. The holidays always put Molly in the forefront of his mind, so it was surprising to realize that Jessica McFarland was edging out his late wife for the honor.
Had he really done that same thing to her?
Let her see his regret?
With a resigned sigh, he had to admit that he had.
“More coffee, Jack?”
“Only if you still have some of that amaretto to add to it.”
“Sure thing.”
“Nancy. Wait.”
When the waitress turned back around, he nodded in Jessica’s direction. “Send one over to Jess as well.”
He saw the speculative light in Nancy’s eyes—and knew his actions would be spread around town before he even got to the square in the morning—but oddly enough, he couldn’t say he cared.
He sat and watched her, the crowd she’d been sitting with thinning out as people headed home for the evening. Even Skate had given up when he’d obviously realized his endless parade of jokes wasn’t going to get him laid this evening.
Nancy returned with a tray and set down his cup, then moved on toward Jess’s table. He saw the moment the gesture registered. The quick look of surprise that marred her features with confusion, followed by a subtle flush of pink high on her cheeks.
God, she was beautiful.
A long sweep of hair framed her face and her large, brown doe eyes shone in the florescent lights of the restaurant.
He stood and walked toward the table, his legs giving a subtle shake as he crossed the length of the room.
“Mind if I sit down?”
Those beautiful eyes widened before a small smile hinted along the edges of her mouth. “Of course not.”
He nodded to Avery and Grier, who were already standing to grab their coats. Avery nodded at him as she stood. “Jack. Good evening. I’m so sorry to rush off, but Susan just IMed me and she’s having fits at the hotel.”
“And I figured I’d pitch in and help,” Grier added on a rush.
He saw through the lies, but didn’t have any interest in the polite niceties of keeping the other women there.
He had to make up for lost time.
Chapter Seventeen
Bright swoops and swirls lit up the sky as the northern lights put on a show. Sloan sat watching from a lawn chair in Walker’s backyard. Vivid color flashed in bright sweeping arcs, one more vibrant than the next, and each time streaks of red exploded before her eyes Sloan grew more and more awed.
She’d read about the aurora borealis, of course. No proper tourist guide book on Alaska would be complete without mentioning it. But to actually be fortunate enough to see it was another thing entirely.
Even the videos she’d watched online couldn’t come remotely close to sitting outside in the crisp night air, taking in the real thing.
“Are you sure you’re not cold?”
“Hardly.” Sloan turned toward Walker, tearing her gaze away from the brightly lit sky. Despite his signals he’d rather be anywhere than staring at the lights, the concern in his voice was clear. It was that thoughtfulness—so freely given and, sadly, so rare—that had her stomach doing a quick squeeze. “This is the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen. And the likelihood I’ll see it again is slim to none. I don’t want to miss a moment.”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wished she could bite them back.
Stop the reality of what she hadn’t said out loud.
She was leaving Alaska.
When this trip was over, she was going back to New York. Back to her life.
If Walker had a reaction to the mention of her eventual departure, he kept it to himself. “At least tell me you don’t think they’re a sign that aliens really exist.”
She laughed at that and offered him an exaggerated eye roll. “What do you take me for, Walker Montgomery? I’ll have you know this city girl can spot a scam from a mile away. Anything that has the word ‘alien’ tied to it is a scam and a half, no doubt about it.”
He shrugged and offered her a small smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes. “It was worth a shot.”
Her gaze drifted back to the startling display of nature in the nighttime sky and she kept her voice casual as she asked, “You don’t like the northern lights much, do you?”
“I like them just fine.” She could see from the corner of her eye that he shrugged along with the simple statement, but she wasn’t buying the casual nature of his response.
It was too casual.
Too calculated.
“Could have fooled me.”
“Look, Sloan. You wanted to come out here and freeze your ass off. I’m obliging. What the hell else do you want me to say?”
“I guess I don’t want you to say anything.”
“Good. Because I don’t have anything to say.”
“Fine.”
She let it go. The NO TRESPASSING sign was up, clear as day, and she had no right pushing.
It was curious, though. He’d been full of lighthearted fun all day until she’d caught sight of the lights. And with their appearance, his attitude had taken a nosedive. Even the promise of sex—one she’d given freely—hadn’t taken the strain out of his voice.
“They’re like the Empire State Building.” His voice rang clearly in the crisp winter night.
“I’m sorry?”
“The lights. They’re no big deal when you live here. Sort of like the Empire State Building is for you.”
“Really? That’s interesting. I actually like looking at the Empire State Building. I’ve even been known to go up on it from time to time. It’s still one of the best places in the entire city to see the views.”
“Then you’re a rarity.”
And that’s when she heard it, loud and clear in the all the things he wasn’t saying. “Oh?”
“Most people don’t see what’s in front of their faces. They’re jaded. And they lack interest in the things that grow stale.”
“That’s a choice, Walker. Not everyone believes the things around them should be taken for granted.”
“Maybe so. It doesn’t make it any less true.”
“I believe it does.”
“Then you’re as rare as you seem.”
She stood and reached for the back of the lawn chair to fold it up.
“What are you doing?”
“It’s cold. And it’s time to get inside.”
“We don’t have to go in.”
A wave of sadness filled her as she looked at his face. The stubborn set of his chin and the rich, bold red of his lips as hot puffs of air escaped with his breath were limbed in defiant lines of hurt and pain.
A pain, if she wasn’t mistaken, that went as deep as they come.
He looked miserable.
“Come on.” She held out her hand. “Let’s go inside.”
Walker took her outstretched hand, surprised at the lack of pique in her. He knew she wanted to sit and stare at the lights—and he knew he was acting like a total asshole—but here she was, her hand out to his in open invitation.
Could she really be so worldly, yet unjaded? So free of any of the usual games men and women seemed to play with each other with excruciating regularity.
She truly was extraordinary.
Sloan McKinley was an incredible mystery, and every facet he managed to uncover only intrigued him more.
They moved back into his house, the bright lights and warmth of his kitchen welcoming them in. He wasn’t big on decorating—everyone from his grandmother to Avery to Jessica had teased him about the lack of décor in his very beige kitchen—but the image of Sloan standing in the middle of it made him finally understand.
She was light and color,
brightness and warmth.
And he’d been living a life in beige and neutral tones that, while safe, wasn’t all that interesting.
He’d chalked it up to a satisfying bachelor lifestyle, but was it?
Was he satisfied?
“I’ve hated the northern lights since the night my father told me he was cheating on my mother while we looked up at them.”
She was midway through unwrapping her scarf when she froze, her bright blue eyes going round as she laid a hand on his forearm. “Oh, Walker. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“Thanks. But if I’m going to do this, you can’t play the sympathy card on me.”
She nodded, understanding filling her gaze and he thought yet again what a revelation she was.
Most women of his acquaintance would have been hurt by his words—miffed at his harshness—but she understood.
She could see he needed space and she was secure enough to give it to him.
On a sigh, he shrugged out of his coat and gloves and took a seat at the table opposite her.
“When did it happen?”
“About fifteen years ago. I was in my early twenties, home from my senior year of college on winter break. I don’t know if he thought I was old enough to hear the truth or if he was just sick of keeping the lies to himself, but he told me.”
He could still picture that evening in his mind, the images so crisp and clear they could have happened the day before.
His father’s jovial voice and hard slap to the back, telling him how it was no big deal. How a man needed his space. Needed some time away from the things that had grown old and tired.
“My mother didn’t know. It took another three years for that to happen. When she did find out she was so embarrassed she didn’t tell a soul. She refused to admit there was anything going on. Or anything wrong with their marriage.”
He got up and crossed the room, the urge to move overwhelming. He hit the fringe and hunted around for a beer. “Do you want one?”
“Sure.”
With quick, efficient movements, he popped two caps and walked back to the table, handing her a bottle as he sat. On a long drag, he thought about those long, endless awkward moments when he had first come home from law school. Wondering if his mother knew. If his father’s secrets were finally apparent to the woman who shared his life.
“So he kept it from her. He played the good and devoted husband. And then one day it finally all came out. I still don’t know how. Maybe he was just sick of keeping secrets or she finally got wise to all his overnight trips and late-night phone calls.”
“People get divorced all the time. It’s sad, but it’s not uncommon. You mentioned earlier that no one here knows. What do they think your parents are doing, with two separate addresses?”
“As far as anyone knows, the Montgomerys live in Seattle and are enjoying their empty nest. No marital problems and no separate addresses. My mother sends out Christmas cards like clockwork, each and every year, signed with love from both of them. And they make their annual pilgrimage once a year together to visit family. It was the one and only thing she required of him when she found out about the cheating.”
“It seems like such a waste. For her especially.”
“There’s nothing I can say to change her mind. Nothing I can do to convince her she’d be better off divorced. I finally stopped trying.”
“So this is why you’re not so crazy about the annual games. Or why your grandmother’s insistent view of love is such an irritant.”
He took another swallow off the longneck. “She raised a man who represents the antithesis of love, commitment and devotion, yet she believes in it to the depths of her toes. It’s all a game. And when the game’s over, there’s always a loser.”
“It doesn’t have to be that way, you know. Even my parents—for as crazy as my mother is—love each other. Understand each other. Are devoted to each other. It’s not the same for everyone. There are people who spend their lives together. Willingly. And happily.”
“And there are just as many people who live a lie.”
He heard the frustration tinge her words as she continued to argue her point of view. “It’s not all a lie. Our lives are not lies. And the feelings we have as part of the human experience aren’t lies. Don’t tell me you don’t realize that.”
“I think we create stories to suit ourselves at a given point in time. Just like you’re doing, Sloan.”
Her voice was quiet when she spoke, yet the words slammed into him with the force of an oncoming Mack truck. “I really am sorry you feel that way. Sorry you feel there’s nothing true in this world. That you feel the only thing between two people is a game to be lost.”
“Oh come on, Sloan. You’re leaving here in less than a week. You said so yourself. Don’t tell me you’ve suddenly developed a love for the wilderness. You’ve got a very nice doorman building awaiting your return, sweetheart. If you want a quick fling up here in the wilds I’m your man, but somehow I don’t see you as the type to handle the decided lack of commitment that comes with a one-night stand.”
“Well, then.” Sloan stood, laying her full beer bottle on the table before her. “I should probably get going.”
“You probably should. Come on. I’ll walk you back to the Indigo.”
She rebundled herself, Tasty’s hat scrunched in her hands as she kneaded the fabric with her fingers. “I’m not expecting love, Walker. Or a heap of false words. But I am expecting someone whose feelings are pure enough to acknowledge something that’s real. I don’t think you’re in that place. I don’t think you’re even capable of it.”
“I’ll walk you back.”
“Actually, I think taking in the fresh air—alone—will do me good. It’s suddenly become rather oppressive here.”
“You’re not crossing the town by yourself.”
“I live in a city of eight million people and I get along just fine. I think I can handle three blocks where I’ll be lucky if I see a soul. Good night.”
He wanted to go after her, but he knew she was right. Besides, he could watch her walk all the way to the center of town. The bright lights would illuminate each and every step she took.
Cold air wrapped around him as he stood in his doorway while the heat pressed at him from behind. He watched her take every one of those steps to the hotel. And with each footfall that took her farther away, he cursed himself every type the fool.
“Stubborn, ignorant, arrogant asshole.” The words had become her litany and she repeated them over and over on her walk back to the Indigo.
It was for the best, she tried to convince herself. For the best that she didn’t take this any further. She already knew having sex with Walker was going to leave a mark. She’d developed feelings for him, and taking that to more than a physical level was only going to make it harder to leave.
And leave she would.
She didn’t belong here. She had a life back home. A life she enjoyed. Most of the time.
Didn’t she?
And that’s when it hit her like a ton of bricks. If she hadn’t known Walker was still watching her from his front door, she’d have plopped down on one of the benches in the town square.
“Oh, McKinley, you are such a fucking idiot. Really and truly. Why the hell did you go and fall in love with him? Of all people, why him?”
Suddenly, Grier’s tears that morning over breakfast made a hell of a lot of sense, especially as tears of her own threatened via the fist-sized lump in her throat.
She was three thousand miles from home, developing a completely inconvenient, idiotic, emotional, attachment for a man.
A man, she added to herself, who not only didn’t believe in love, but who actively avoided anything that even remotely smacked of commitment.
Or did he?
After all, he lived in town, where the eyes of Indigo recorded his every move. All that bullshit about Mayberry and being a small-town lawyer sure smacked of commitment, didn’t it?
&n
bsp; And taking care of his grandmother and looking out for her. Oh, he played the long-suffering grandson, but he did what was right. He stood by her and helped her and looked out for her.
And if that wasn’t commitment, what was it?
If she asked him, he’d probably say it was duty.
But it wasn’t.
It was a choice. Walker Montgomery was clearly capable of choosing commitment.
He just wasn’t capable of making it with her.
Jessica glanced around her small living room and wondered what had happened since the time she’d left this morning and this very moment.
The room looked the same. The bright red overstuffed couch with the accent pillows in vivid, vibrant primary colors still sat askew from where she’d left them last night after watching TV. The throw blanket she’d wrapped herself in was still in a heap on the floor. And the latest paperback thriller she’d been reading while the commercials were on lay facedown on the coffee table.
There was one noticeable difference, though.
Jack Rafferty sat on the middle of her couch.
She fiddled with the tassel on a throw pillow. “You helping the guys finish up in the square tomorrow?”
“Sure am.” Jack stared down at the can of Coke she’d nervously heaped on him when they’d walked in.
A good hostess never lets her guests go thirsty.
Her mother’s words rang in her ears and she nearly broke out in a laugh at the remembered lessons on etiquette, poise and entertaining her mother had regularly doled out. Somehow, those lessons never included what to do when one wanted to jump the visitor sitting on the opposite side of the room.
Nor did they include lessons on what to do when one had already jumped said visitor and had been given the proverbial cold shoulder ever since.
At the remembered slight—and the overly polite niceties they’d shared over the past eighteen months—some of the warm glow she’d been feeling evaporated.
She’d spent all these long months letting Jack know she was open to getting to know him better and he’d kept her at arm’s length.
Worse, he’d left her feeling like the weekend they’d shared had been some cheap thing he’d like to forget.