Читать книгу Northern Fires - JENNIFER LABRECQUE - Страница 7

“HEY, HOTTIE, wait up, I’ve been looking for you.”

Sven Sorenson, heading down the only real street in Good Riddance, Alaska, stopped.

He’d recognize that voice anywhere. Grinning, he turned. “How’s my favorite girl?”

Alberta Reynolds, her bright red hair sticking out sporadically from a yellow-and-purple scarf rather like a hedgehog, returned his grin, minus a few teeth here and there. Her bottom lip bulged with the dip of smokeless tobacco she kept tucked there.

Alberta was something of a living legend in these parts. She claimed descent from European Gypsy stock, psychic powers and unparalleled matchmaking abilities. Sven had always been a skeptic when it came to that psychic stuff and he figured people either clicked or they didn’t, but Alberta had a reputation for putting together lasting hookups. Well, except for when it came to herself. Already married five times, rumor had it Alberta was on the lookout for Husband Number Six.

She’d shown up yesterday, her beat-up Datsun pickup—the hood held on with baling wire—pulling a one-room travel trailer that appeared damn near as old as Alberta herself, and that was pretty old. A couple of years ago she’d adopted a three-legged cat she’d named Lord Byron.

Sven and Alberta had crossed paths numerous times in the past ten years in the small towns scattered across Alaska’s vast wilderness. Sven in his capacity as a professional builder, Alberta in her capacity as a Gypsy queen. She was a hoot for sure and had a good heart.

“I heard you were here,” she said.

He gave her a quick hug. “Are you following me again?” he said with a smile as he released her.

It was a running joke between them. Sven was almost as much of a rolling stone as Alberta. He’d followed work all over the state for years, preferring the smaller towns to Anchorage’s sprawl.

“You know it. Heard you’ve been here nearly ten months. That’s some kind of record for you.”

He shrugged. “I was lucky enough to win the contract to build the new day spa, then it burned. I had remodel work in the winter and then rebuilding the spa, and Skye and Dalton’s place. Now I’m knee-deep in a new build and a remodel project. I like it here, so it’s all good.”

For the first time he’d had an odd reluctance to leave a place. Well, actually, this place. He’d done a couple of jobs over the years in Good Riddance. Packing up and changing locations had never been a problem before. And it wasn’t that it was a exactly a problem now, he’d just been glad to stay put for a while.

He pushed aside the thought and picked back up on the banter. “You’ve got to quit chasing me this way, Alberta. People are going to talk.”

“Always.” She winked at him. “I know a good catch when I see one.”

Which was questionable considering her five matrimonial forays. Sven supposed the flip side of that was five times she’d snagged what had seemed a good catch at the time.

Sven nodded in the direction of her travel trailer. “I was going to stop by yesterday, but your truck was gone. I waved at Lord Byron though.” The big orange-and-yellow tomcat had been sitting in the window, basking in the sun.

She nodded. “I had a house call to make.”

Alberta’s matchmaking service involved house calls, where she’d actually show up at the cabins of some of the more remote bachelors in these parts.

“Who are you hooking up this time?”

“Dwight Simmons.”

“Dwight?” Not much surprised Sven, but that caught his attention.

Dwight was eighty if he was a day. For years he and Jeb Taylor had been near-permanent fixtures in the Good Riddance airstrip office where they argued and played a slow-moving game of chess. Jeb had died last summer and now Dwight mostly sat there lost.

“You’re never too old for love … and he’s lonely.” She slanted him an arch glance from beneath her painted-on eyebrows. “I’d say you’re ready for love, too. I think you’re lonely, Sven.”

She was smiling, but there was a glint in her eyes, a knowing, as if she really could see somewhere deep inside him. It was a little freaky. Damn. Goose bumps popped up on him that had nothing to do with the weather. Actually it was a lot freaky.

In all their years of crossing paths, Alberta had never tried her hocus-pocus on Sven. And now she was as wrong as the day was long in July.

“Do I look lonely?”

A beat-to-hell-and-back Suburban drove by. Petey, the prospector who doubled as the resident taxi service, honked and waved. Alberta and Sven waved back.

Alberta focused on Sven, eyeing him consideringly. Despite his prickle of discomfort at her eye-balling him, he crossed his arms over his chest and laughed. Alberta was a trip.

“You look ready.”

“Ready for …” This was getting better and better. He was amused and curious as to what she was going to come up with next.

“You’re ready for a meaningful relationship, a commitment.”

Okay, so maybe he had thought now and again that it would be nice to have someone to come home to at night and maybe have a couple of kids, but he’d never admit it to Alberta.

Grinning, he shook his head. “Alberta, you are way off the mark.”

Her wide smile called him a liar. “No way, hottie. I’m never wrong about these things. You’re ready to find a woman to come home to and snuggle up with every night. Weren’t you just thinking at your father’s birthday celebration that you want what your brother has?”

Her words zapped a shiver of acknowledgment down his spine and wiped the grin off his face. How the hell could she know …? A month ago he’d gone back to Wasilla for his pop’s sixtieth birthday. Sven’s brother, Eric, Eric’s wife and their five-month-old daughter had been there, as well. Watching them interact had given him the funniest feeling inside, and yes, he had thought exactly that—he wanted what they had.

An image of darkly sexy Juliette Miller, one of Good Riddance’s bush pilots, had popped into his mind. He’d quickly dismissed Juliette and the notion.

He zeroed in on the one detail Alberta had gotten wrong. “I’m not a snuggler.”

Her expression was nothing short of smug. “You will be.”

Another shiver chased from his neck down his back. “I’m not one of your matchmaking candidates.”

“Oh, but you are. The problem is sometimes you men don’t know your own mind.” Damn if that wasn’t the same thing his mother and his sister-in-law said sometimes. Women.

“My mind and I communicate just fine.” Sven laughed. “There’s no business to be had on my end.” He so did not need a matchmaker. He did just fine with chicks on his own.

“For you, my services are free.” A sly smile lit her eyes and curled her lips. “And here comes the one for you.”

Sven turned. The small hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention. Across the street Juliette, her short dark hair hugging her head, a pair of aviator glasses hiding her eyes, was striding down the sidewalk. As usual, purposeful intent marked her every step. She was standoffish as hell. They’d managed to give each other a wide berth, which was kind of strange considering they were singles of the opposite sex. However, when a woman steadfastly ignored you, ignoring her in return became something of a game. It’d require a brave man or a fool to take on Juliette. He was neither.

He turned back around and faced Alberta. “I’ve got some sad news for you, Alberta. You’ve got this one wrong. I like my women uncomplicated and easy.”

Eyes gleaming, Alberta shot him a pitying look. “And look at where it’s gotten you.” She patted his arm. “You’ll see.”

Right. More like Alberta would see, because not just no, but hell no. Juliette Miller required way too much work.

“IT’S BROKEN.” DR. SKYE Shanahan pointed to the X-ray film up on the backlit screen that afforded a clear view of Bull’s left arm.

“Well, dammit, if that’s not inconvenient,” Bull grumbled from where he sat on the exam table.

“Inconvenient’s a whole lot better than dead,” said Good Riddance’s founder, town mayor, but most important, Bull’s wife, Merrilee Danville Weather-spoon Swenson. She was glad he wasn’t dead—and now she just might kill him for taking such a stupid risk. Climbing up on top of the roof to string Christmas lights in May….

“Now I’ve got to turn the set building over to someone else,” Bull said.

Merrilee simply shook her head. Honest to goodness, forget the pain of a broken bone, the man was upset because ever since they’d started the annual spring dinner theater six years ago, Bull had handled the set design. That was one of the things that had set her head over heels in love with him when she first met him twenty-five years ago: he was one interesting mix of a man. Tough as nails, he uncompromisingly adhered to a fitness schedule, bore a plethora of physical and emotional scars compliments of a stint at the Hanoi Hilton during the Vietnam War, wore his long gray hair pulled back in a ponytail, and had the talent and soul of an artist even though he ran a hardware store. At this moment, disappointment etched his face.

Granted, the dinner theater production was a big deal. It was one of those things that involved everyone. If people didn’t want to be part of the production, they could just sit in the audience. They’d all chosen to live in an area where entertainment was scarce, but forming a dinner theater had built on their strong sense of community and brought a creative outlet to lots of folks who didn’t have one otherwise.

“Sven,” Merrilee said. The tall blond builder wasn’t exactly a Good Riddance resident—yet—but he was the logical choice to take over for Bull. Plus, there was the Juliette issue.

“Well, he knows how to build,” Bull admitted, “but it takes some artistry, as well.”

“I’m sure he won’t be as good as you, but he does have something of an artistic bent, as well,” Merrilee said, understating Sven’s capabilities so as not to trample all over her husband’s already-bruised ego.

“You don’t say.”

From the khaki-green walls of the exam room, a giant yellow smiley face painted on the opposite wall beamed at them, in stark contrast to Bull’s hangdog expression.

Merrilee rubbed her hand over his flannel-clad arm—the unbroken one. “Just for this season, sweetie.”

“All right then. I guess you better go look into it before everyone’s freaking out that I won’t be handling it. You don’t need to stay while Dr. Skye puts on the cast. You know, Sven might not be able to handle all that comes with the job, if you know what I mean. Juliette has definite ideas about what she does and doesn’t want.”

It had taken some prodding and more than a little wheedling for Merrilee to rope Juliette into working on the set design with Bull this year. Juliette was pleasant enough, but she totally kept to herself. However, once Merrilee had dropped by the cabin outside of town Juliette rented and had seen all the wind chimes Juliette created, she knew the theater production was the perfect way to involve Juliette in the community. Juliette, still reserved for the most part, had taken to it like a fish to water.

“Juliette is doing a great job, isn’t she?”

Merrilee loved being right. Thank goodness she was most of the time, because when she was wrong … well, she did wrong in a big way. Plus, she’d thought for the longest time that Juliette might be just what Sven needed, but she’d had enough God-given sense to keep her mouth shut on that one. It was going to be ding-dang hard for Sven and Juliette to steadfastly ignore one another the way they had for the past ten months if they were working together on the set. Hmm. Merrilee wasn’t glad Bull had broken his arm, but most of the time things happened for a reason.

“Who knows? He might not even want to. If he doesn’t, we’ll figure something out.”

Merrilee didn’t want to further agitate her normally unflappable husband, so she held her own counsel. But she was ninety-nine percent sure Sven would be thrilled to be part of the production.

PROPPING AGAINST THE DOOR frame of the Good Riddance Community Center, her clipboard tucked under one arm, Juliette worried her lower lip with her teeth. She’d heard from half a dozen people as they’d filtered in that Bull had broken his arm—news traveled at warp speed in a town of less than a thousand. He was going to be fine, but now they were in a pickle with the set. She’d better come up with an alternative and fast.

The air hummed with excitement as a group practiced their lines onstage. Off to the right, Ellie Light-foot worked on altering a costume. In just a couple of months she would become Ellie Sisnukett when she and Nelson married. They were both quiet, but the town would miss them when they left for Nelson to go to med school.

From the lighting area, Tessa Sisnukett, the director, tested the spots and backlighting since the lighting guy, her husband, Clint, was on a guide trip. The sharp squeals of a group of kids playing a game of tag in the back of the room added to the mix.

Alberta, the Gypsy queen, had shown up two days ago and appointed herself the play’s special consultant, as they were performing a romantic comedy and Alberta specialized in affairs of the heart. Juliette hadn’t had any direct dealings with her, but she was slightly in awe of Alberta, whose reputation preceded her. Juliette had thought for one crazy minute about maybe asking for a “reading,” but had dismissed the idea just as quickly. Her life was finally on something of an even keel. If her future held a big nosedive, it was probably best to not know.

Alberta was plopped in a folding chair opposite Norris Watts who’d started up a monthly newspaper for Good Riddance and the surrounding area. Norris had approached Juliette about doing a feature article on her as a female bush pilot. Juliette had been nice, but firm, in turning her down. She didn’t want to think about her past, her ex-husbands or her parents, and inevitably a feature article would mean that kind of digging.

She’d finally learned to live in the moment and that’s exactly where she wanted to stay and what she wanted to focus on.

Even though it was pushing seven in the evening, daylight still filtered through the windows, turning Alberta’s red hair into a torch atop her head. Juliette wasn’t sure if she’d ever get used to the 2:00 a.m. sunrise and 10:00 p.m. sunsets that came with the territory. However, she wasn’t complaining. Spring and summer’s long days of sunlight were a welcome change from winter’s cold dark. Growing up in North Carolina, Juliette had always welcomed the change of seasons but never as much as now that she lived in Alaska.

And daylight or not, what was she going to do about finishing up the backdrop for the second scene?

The door opened and Merrilee slipped into the room, a coffee cup in her hand.

“Just the woman I wanted to see,” Merrilee said, closing the door behind her. “I’m sure you heard about Bull.”

Juliette nodded. “He’s okay?”

“He’ll be fine, just bummed that he can’t finish the set. But I wanted to let you know I’ve talked to Sven and he’s more than willing to pitch in.”

“Sven Sorenson?” Juliette tensed, her stomach feeling all wonky. She felt wonky every time she caught sight of Sven.

Merrilee laughed. “As far as I know he’s the only Sven in town.”

“But …” Juliette trailed off because there really wasn’t any rational reason why Sven couldn’t take over building the set design.

Merrilee peered at her over the rim of her raised cup, her blue eyes gleaming in amusement. Merrilee ran the Good Riddance B & B and the airstrip that had become Juliette’s base station. Of course, as founder and mayor, Merrilee also ran the town. Merrilee’s still-prominent Southern accent and her way of taking charge without being abrasive so reminded Juliette of the good bits and pieces, few as there were, of her childhood in North Carolina.

Even though she kept a distance, Juliette identified with Merrilee. Merrilee, caught up in a situation not to her liking in her first marriage, had loaded up a camper and drove until she’d found a place that brought her peace and a measure of solace—a reprieve from the life she no longer found acceptable. She’d parked her motor home and founded the town of Good Riddance.

It wasn’t exactly Juliette’s story, but Juliette could relate to being in a bad situation where she’d been the only one who could save herself. She, too, had found refuge and some measure of peace in Alaska and the skies above this vast land. She’d wanted a fresh start and when she’d heard about the bush pilot position in Good Riddance and then the town slogan, “Welcome to Good Riddance, where you leave behind what ails you,” it seemed the perfect place for her. And it seemed she had indeed left behind a legacy of two alcoholic parents and then her own history with alcohol. She’d been here two years and mercifully, chaos had not followed her. While her aloneness was occasionally lonely, it was also peaceful, and there was a whole lot to be said for that.

And not much—as in nothing—escaped Merrilee’s shrewd assessment, just as now when Juliette was hemming and hawing and hedging.

“But what? Bull can’t handle the set design with his broken arm, and with Sven being right here and artistic, to boot, it just makes sense. To tell you the truth, I think Sven wanted to work on it but didn’t want to step on Bull’s toes, since Bull has always handled the job. What is it that you don’t like about Sven?”

“It’s not that I don’t like him …”

Merrilee leveled another all-seeing glance Juliette’s way. Juliette shifted from one foot to another. “It’s not that I dislike him, he just makes me, well, I guess a little uncomfortable.”

“How’s that?”

If she said that there was something faintly dangerous about him—not sinister, but dangerous—she’d sound like a nut. And she didn’t find him physically dangerous—it was more that she intuitively knew that he could be dangerous to her emotionally. She found him unsettling. “He’s too …” Once again she stumbled, not sure what she wanted to say.

“Good-looking? Funny? Charming? Outgoing? Flirtatious?”

Yes, yes and yes. She was altogether too aware of how conscious she was of him on all levels whenever he was in proximity. Therefore, she had pointedly avoided said proximity as the safest route. “Well, there is all of that.”

“He’s a nice guy, Juliette. He knows his way around power tools. He’s a craftsman and an artist—”

“He’s an artist?” She’d always thought of artists as kind of dark and brooding … or gay. Sven was none of the above.

“After a fashion. There’s definitely artistry in his work and he does some sketching as a hobby.”

“Sketching?” Despite herself, she was intrigued. “I had no idea.”

Merrilee smiled. “It’s not something he’s likely to talk about over a brew at Gus’s. Likewise, he probably has no idea you make wind chimes.”

It wasn’t something she went around blabbing about. She’d always loved how expressive wind chimes were. The ones Juliette made weren’t always harmonious, but then again, they reflected life as she knew it.

Alberta and Norris, their business apparently concluded, wandered over. “How’s Bull?” Norris asked.

“Grumpy. He’s a terrible patient.”

“Show me a man who isn’t,” Alberta said. “And I should know. Although come to think of it, my fourth husband wasn’t that much of a whiner when he was sick, but Lester, number five, that man would moan over a hangnail.”

Now, there was a woman not afraid to give matrimony a chance—over and over again. Five husbands. Wow. Two had been plenty for Juliette … and then some. Both of them had been big mistakes and she’d learned her lesson. In her book, three strikes meant you were out and she had no intention of going back to bat in that particular game.

They all laughed in the way of women amused over the foibles of men. “Well, at least Bull’s not a whiner,” Merrilee said. “I’ll take gruff over whineage any day, but I can only take so much. He’s not much of a patient and I’m not much of a nurse.” Merrilee shared a conspiratorial smile. “Why do you think I’m here instead of there?”

Norris snorted.

“Actually, I was just telling Juliette that Sven’s going to take over the set work.”

Alberta nodded. “Good choice.”

“Easy on the eyes, too,” Norris said in her smoke-graveled voice.

“We were just discussing that,” Merrilee said.

Good God almighty, the last thing Juliette wanted was for Norris and Alberta to think she was losing her mind over Sven’s blond good looks. So, maybe she did avoid him because there was this sort of tingle that started whenever he was around. Maybe he was drop-dead gorgeous in a rugged kind of way. Maybe she had once had a dream where he was a Viking marauder and she’d been willingly plundered. Maybe all that was true, but she didn’t plan to breathe a word of that to anyone because it simply didn’t matter. “We were discussing that he’s a good choice, not the easy-on-the-eyes part.”

“I thought we covered the easy-on-the-eyes part, too,” Merrilee said, obviously teasing.

Alberta looked at Juliette. “Sven and I go back a long way. He’s good people. I think you’ll like what he can do with his hands and his imagination.”

Juliette had plenty of her own imagination and it zoomed from zero to sixty as to just what those hands would feel like trailing against her skin, sifting through her hair, stroking against parts that hadn’t been stroked by anyone other than her in a long time. Juliette redirected her wayward thoughts. Plywood. Fabric. Paint. That’s what Alberta meant.

This was what made Sven Sorenson dangerous. The man wasn’t even in the room and simply the thought of him set her pulse racing. How on earth was she going to work with him?

“He has to check on some things over at the spa, but he said he’ll drop by afterward so you can bring him up to speed. Does that work for you?”

There was nothing left to say, no protest to mount without looking like a total idiot. “Sure. No problem.”

She could focus and tingle all at the same time, couldn’t she?