Just In Time: An Alaskan Nights Novel Read online

  “It’s incredible. How did you do all this?”

  Avery would have to be deaf to miss the slight sniff underlying Julia’s tone. “Sloan’s mother helped. She’s been in here like a drill sergeant all week.”

  Although Julia and her two cohorts were pretty good at the drill-sergeant routine, Avery opted for a good old-fashioned dose of diplomacy. “I can see you, Mary and Sophie stamped all over it.” She gave Julia a quick hug. “The very best parts.”

  “You are too sweet by half.”

  “Nah, I’m just half as sweet as I should be.”

  “A woman needs a bit of an edge. Keeps people on their toes. Speaking of which”—Julia’s green eyes narrowed—“I saw Myrtle spent a while with you and Grier in the receiving line. Mary commented on it, too, and you know Mick’s grandmother isn’t known for missing tricks.”

  “She’s relatively harmless—you know that. And somewhere down deep inside, I actually think she means well.”

  The stubborn frown didn’t quite fade from Julia’s normally serene face. “Doesn’t mean her delivery doesn’t need work.”

  “I’ll give you that.” At the expectant look, Avery added, “She was seeing stars in her eyes as Roman and I walked down the aisle. Thought she needed to give me a quick bit of advice.”

  “She won’t be the only one. Are you all right with that?”

  “Of course.”

  “Oh, don’t pull that with me.” Julia lifted two glasses of champagne from a circulating waiter and handed one over, her smile bright, as if the two of them were discussing nothing more than the joys of the day. “I may love my grandson to distraction, but I’m not as besotted as the rest of this town. You can’t erase years of bad behavior and just expect things to go back the way they were.”

  “No, you can’t.”

  “You also can’t live your life for other people’s expectations and that’s the bigger reason I wish people knew when to keep their mouths shut.”

  “Julia. It’s okay. Really. He’s only here for three weeks. I’m not going to break.”

  One delicate, aged hand settled on Avery’s arm. “No, darling, you’re not going to break. And I never thought for a minute you would. But you’ve had to do a lot of bending, and I, for one, am glad it’s your time to stand tall.”

  Julia raised her glass for a quick toast. “To the future.”

  “Now, that’s worth drinking to.”

  • • •

  Roman pasted a smile on his face as he heard his name ring out. The lovely Myrtle, her long-suffering husband in tow, had her sights set straight on him. The reception had dragged slower than the day before a play-off game, and all he wanted to do was escape.

  Yet every time he turned around, one of Indigo’s denizens wanted to have a word with him. When you added on Sloan’s bewildered family from Scarsdale—an entire school of fish out of water—he’d spent most of his time running interference to keep them comfortable and entertained as they peppered him with questions about the upcoming season.

  A fucking season he had no idea whether or not he’d be a part of.

  “Roman!”

  Myrtle finally caught up to him, Mort shuffling in her wake. Both had full glasses of what appeared to be strawberry margaritas, and Roman abstractly noted Myrtle’s tongue appeared to be about the same shade as her lipstick when she licked a bit of sugar off the rim of her glass.

  And then he tamped down on the shudder that he’d actually noticed Myrtle Driver’s tongue.

  “Damn, but you are a difficult man to catch up with.”

  “It’s a lovely party, don’t you think?” Roman slugged down the glass of club soda he’d switched to at the start of the reception. While the blessed oblivion of scotch continued to beckon, he’d resolved to stay on his toes.

  “Good food and good booze. It’s my kind of party. Now, Mort’s got something he needs to talk to you about.”

  Roman had known Mort and Myrtle Driver for all of his thirty-four years and he could probably count on one hand how many times he’d heard Mort speak. The man lived his life content to let his wife do the talking, so his deep baritone and cultured voice was something of a shock.

  “Our grandsons are hockey players and they’re in desperate need of a coach. The town’s been looking for a replacement but we don’t have one as of yet. Would you be willing to do a clinic with the kids? Help them out and keep their skills sharp over the summer? Maybe even show the team some drills so they can keep it going after you leave?”

  Interest welled up like an oil strike, even as the sudden urge to drag at his bow tie tickled his fingertips. He loved talking about hockey—gloried in the moment his skates took the ice—but he was hardly qualified to coach.

  Hang out with the kids and goof off, maybe shoot a few pucks, yeah. He always enjoyed that.

  But to actually teach them something . . .

  “You want me to coach the kids?”

  “Work with them and help them. It won’t take up too much of your time, but they’re a good bunch and they love the game. We just can’t seem to keep a coach in place.”

  “No one in Indigo’s qualified enough and everyone we brought in leaves as fast as their skates’ll carry them,” Myrtle commiserated. “What’s so bad about living here? It’s good enough for all of us.”

  Mort patted her arm, his affection for his prickly pear more than evident. “Don’t get upset about it, baby. We just haven’t found the right one yet.”

  One rather indelicate sniff later, Myrtle turned her attention back to Roman. “So what do you say?”

  “I’d love to help out. I’ve got a few commitments scheduled over the next month so I’ll be in and out but I’m sure we can work around it. Is there anything booked at the rink besides the kids?”

  “No.” Mort shook his head. “The rink’s in a bit of disrepair. We wanted to get it fixed but other things around town have needed more urgent attention, so we make do. It’s just frozen water, after all.”

  As if inspired by the frozen water reference, Myrtle looked into her large—and empty—margarita glass. “Let’s go before he changes his mind.”

  A spear of annoyance lanced through him; it was as if Myrtle thought he were some mouse she was trying to catch in a trap. “I’m not going to change my mind, Myrtle. When I say I’ll do something, I will.”

  Through what could only amount to years of quick saves, Mort placed one hand on his wife’s arm while offering up a wide smile. “Why don’t we meet for breakfast? I’ll take you over to the rink after and we can work out a schedule.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Roman’s ire faded along with Myrtle’s slightly tipsy totter on her three-inch red heels. He needed to get a grip on this pervasive streak of annoyance that lay just under his skin now that he was back home. While he enjoyed the relative anonymity of living in New York, he’d been missing Indigo for some time. Coming home with the temperament of a wild boar wasn’t going to get him very far.

  So why couldn’t he shake the sense that these people he’d known since he was a child really didn’t know him at all?

  “You look like you want to punch something.” Mick sidled up to him, his distracted gaze roving the room until it alighted on Grier. Just like that, his shoulders relaxed and he shifted his focus 100 percent to their conversation.

  “Myrtle.”

  “Since Walker utters that single word a minimum of eight times a day, you’re going to need to give me some context.”

  Roman glanced down into his glass and shook the ice. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

  “You sure?”

  “I’m not an asshole, am I?”

  “You’re fairly likable most of the time.” Mick took a casual sip of his beer before adding, “What prompted what I can only assume was a rhetorical question?”

  “Nothing, it’s stupid.” Roman scrubbed a hand over his cheeks, sorry he’d even brought it up.

  “No, it’s not. What happened?”

  �
�It was just something Myrtle said. She’s half lit on margaritas. It’s nothing.”

  “But it was something.”

  “Mort asked me to help out with the kids’ hockey team. Running drills and teaching a few days a week since the kids’ coach left town. And I said I’d do it and then Myrtle made a stupid crack about getting away while I was still saying yes.”

  “People don’t have much sense when they drink. Case in point: Sloan’s uncle laid a hand on Grier’s ass, which I’m still trying to calm down about.”

  “Is that who you were giving shit to over at the bar?”

  “It was a quietly worded suggestion as I got him a Coke to sober up.”

  “Suggestion?”

  “I told him if he didn’t keep his hands to himself I knew a cold, remote place on Denali I could drop him so no one would be any wiser.”

  “I can’t imagine Grier was too happy about that?”

  “Since he’s still babying his instep from where her heel accidentally slipped on it, I’d say he got the message.”

  “I love a woman who’s not afraid to use her stiletto.”

  “And seeing as how I love that particular woman and her best friend, I figured a quietly worded statement would be much preferred over a physical battle.” Mick shook his head as the uncle with dubious morals zeroed in on one of the town’s divorcees of a more appropriate age. “So summing up my original point, people make bad choices when they drink.”

  “The problem is, I think Myrtle would have said the same thing stone-cold sober.”

  “And you’re taking her word as gospel?”

  It was dumb to bring it up—even dumber to give it more than a passing thought—so Roman held off on saying anything further. He knew Mick was only trying to lighten the mood, but it wasn’t helping. And try as he might to ignore it, the truth was more than evident.

  No one in Indigo had any sense of who he was anymore.

  But they would.

  Chapter Three

  Avery fought the urge to order another glass of wine and made the game-time decision to switch to a ginger ale instead. As she turned to look at the room, midway through another eighties dance hit, she had to give credit to Sloan and Walker. Despite some initial concerns that the two families wouldn’t have anything in common, four hours later the bride and groom could consider the day a wild success.

  Sloan and Walker had originally planned to spring the wedding on Sloan’s mother to avoid her involvement with the planning, but Winnie had steamrolled straight through their surprise attack. To avoid the embarrassment of canceling the lavish wedding her mother was intent on setting up at the Plaza, Sloan had come clean and told her what they were planning and how they really wanted to celebrate their day.

  The fact that the change had then necessitated transporting roughly sixty guests up to Indigo from New York had kept them all hopping over the past six months. Avery had even gotten into the act from Ireland, helping to coordinate transportation.

  “The ‘Y.M.C.A.’ does it every damn time.” Grier moved up next to her at one of the makeshift bars and reached for her soda before Avery could even take a sip.

  “What?”

  “The ‘Y.M.C.A.’ It’s like a wedding drug. Start playing that and everyone’s on their feet and dancing. Whether they’re from Scarsdale or Indigo, it’s like they’ve known each other for a lifetime.”

  “I’m sure the open bar and the wine served with dinner didn’t hurt.”

  Grier shook her head and guzzled another sip of the ginger ale. “Nope. It’s the sweet, magical voices of the Village People. The DJ played that first and now look at everyone a mere three hours later. Dancing like it’s their job.”

  “How much wine have you had?”

  “Enough that I did the Macarena with Chooch.”

  “I saw that.”

  “And, I’ll have you know, I was sharp enough to keep Mick from kicking Sloan’s uncle’s ass.”

  “Nice.”

  “Which is why I deserve another glass of that delicious Cabernet.” Grier gestured at the line of bottles at the back of the bar with the now-empty ginger ale.

  “But you will like yourself far better tomorrow morning if you have another soda and get me one in the process.”

  Grier nodded, a small moue pursing her lips. “You’re a spoilsport, but you’re absolutely right.”

  “Why do you think I ordered myself a soda?”

  “So you won’t lose your head and put that bridesmaid dress to good use with Roman?”

  “I’m not putting anything to good use with Roman.”

  “Shame.” Grier sniffed as she caught the bartender’s attention and ordered two more sodas.

  Avery refused to let Grier’s words ruffle her. The knowing glances she and Roman had both received all day had grown tedious, but she refused to give in. It would only give everyone’s not so subtle winks and exaggerated eye raises credence.

  “No, it’s not a shame. In fact, like these sodas we’re selecting, it’s damn smart.”

  Grier lifted one of the glasses the bartender set down and handed the other to Avery. “I still say it’s a shame.”

  “Do not tell me you’re as gaga as the rest of them.”

  “Nah, I just want my dear, bestest friend to have some good lovin’.” Grier’s expression had a distinct, philosophical—overlaid with alcohol—bent to it as she scanned the room. “And if you’re going to ignore the very insightful suggestion of cuddling up with Roman, perhaps you’ll finally put Ronnie out of his misery and jump the poor man. His eyes follow you around like a pound puppy.”

  “I am so not going down that path with you again. I used to babysit him.” When Grier just continued to stare at her—a careless shrug added for good measure—Avery enunciated further. “I changed him into his pj’s. It’s just creepy.”

  “You can’t deny he’s completely hot and adorable.”

  Avery refused to look across the room, well-aware of the googly-eyed stare from their town bartender she’d get in return. “Of course not. And he needs someone who is completely hot, adorable and age appropriate for him.”

  “Your loss.”

  “No, someone else’s gain.”

  “You’re no fun.”

  “I’m plenty of fun. I’m just not cheap and easy. There is a difference.”

  Unwilling to discuss it any longer, Avery waved a hand to the room at large. “You really don’t want this sort of thing for your wedding?”

  “Nope. This isn’t me.” Grier took a sip of her new soda before moving them toward a small table at the edge of the room. “I really would have been happy with Vegas, but I know Mick wants to get married in front of his family.”

  They both took seats, and Avery didn’t miss the dreamy look that suffused Grier’s face. “And funny enough, once I heard him talk about standing up in front of his grandmother in church, I realized I like what he sees in his head. I like the idea of something small and personal, but still public. And I like the idea of doing it in my new hometown.”

  Avery knew Grier had had a rough go of it at first. Indigo’s residents were less than enthusiastic about her arrival the previous November. How glad she was that everyone had come around and seen exactly what she’d seen.

  A bright, warm woman with love to give and an easy way about her that invited people in.

  Even if she’d suddenly turned into the love police, bound and determined to make everyone around her as happy as she was.

  Mick, spotted them and crossed the room. “Mind if I join you?”

  “Of course not.” Avery gestured to one of the open chairs. “We were just talking about you, as a matter of fact.”

  “Should I be scared? Or blushing?” he added as an afterthought.

  “Neither. Grier just mentioned what an inspired idea you had to get married in a quiet, intimate ceremony here in town.”

  Mick laid his hand over Grier’s. The gesture was small, but the intimacy struck Avery as incredibly sweet.
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  His blue eyes darkened as he looked at Grier. “The guys think I’m nuts to skip Vegas.”

  Avery took a sip of her soda. “Well, I think it’s romantic.”

  “I believe that’s their underlying point. I seem to be ruining an opportunity to live every man’s dream wedding and instead, feeding the female wedding beast.”

  A quick glance across the room to where Walker and Sloan danced in each other’s arms had her smiling. “I hardly think Walker’s complaining.”

  Mick’s gaze followed hers. “I don’t think so.”

  Strains of Etta James streamed from the speakers as Avery pointed toward the floor. “You two should go dance. This is a good one.”

  Grier took another sip of her soda. “We’re talking.”

  “Well you should be dancing.” Avery waved toward the dance floor. “Go on.” Within moments, the two were in each other’s arms, moving to the thick, sensual strains of the music.

  The fleeting thought that she should be jealous hummed somewhere in the back of her mind, but no matter how many ways she looked at it, she couldn’t muster up the emotion.

  Would she like to have a relationship, too? Yes, no doubt. Would she begrudge her friends for having it?

  No way.

  “Care to dance?”

  The deep voice pulled her up short, along with the realization she’d stopped paying attention to her immediate surroundings.

  “Um, I can’t.”

  Roman looked down at her, his half-quirked smile rapidly fading as he pulled his hand back. “Since when don’t you like Etta James?”

  “I love Etta. We just don’t need to put ourselves on display by dancing like this. And especially not to a song with a title as full of innuendo as ‘At Last.’”

  “Right. Because all these people need a specific, innuendo-fueled reason to stare at us?” Roman took Mick’s recently vacated chair. “Ignore them.”

  “You’ve had a lot of practice ignoring people staring at you. I can’t say the same.”

  “It’s easy, Ave. Just look somewhere around the top of their heads, your smile firmly intact.”