Just In Time: An Alaskan Nights Novel (2 page)

“So that’s what has you so torqued up.” Walker took the seat next to Roman, who stood to pace. It was bad enough he’d already let the cat out of the bag about Avery; he’d be damned if he’d share every fucking thing going on in his life right now.

“He lives in Ireland. What the hell is he getting her hopes up for?”

Mick’s words stopped him midpace. “So that’s why you’re pissed? You’re afraid she’ll get hurt?”

“Damn straight. The man lives like a billion miles away. What is he expecting, calling her every damn day flirting with her?”

Mick shook his head. “That’s how it works, man. I realize you’ve been living in the rarefied air of a celebrity athlete, where women throw themselves at you with wild abandon, but the rest of us have to work at it.”

“Some call it a courtship ritual,” Walker added. “Maybe you’ve heard of it.”

“What the hell is he courting her for?”

Shitty peripheral vision or not, Roman didn’t miss the glances and raised eyebrows Walker and Mick exchanged across the room. It was Mick who spoke first. “He likes her, Roman. Is that so hard to believe?”

“No. Of course not. She’s spectacular.”

But it was Walker who put the proverbial nail in the coffin. “I hope you’d at least agree she deserves it.”

•   •   •

Avery watched Sloan walk down the aisle of the small, A-frame nondenominational church that dominated the end of Main Street and thought she’d never seen a more radiant bride. But it was Walker’s incandescent smile as their gazes met that would put any woman into sighs of ecstasy.

Grier reached over and squeezed her hand, a bright smile shining through her tears. Avery squeezed back, the sappy feelings that had swamped her earlier winging back through her chest in a heady rush.

So why the hell—in the middle of a moment of sweet, glorious perfection—did she clamp eyes on her ex-boyfriend across the aisle?

Roman stared back at her, that green gaze as compelling as it was when she was sixteen. Add in the fact that all six-foot-four feet of him was decked out in a tuxedo that had to be custom-made and her traitorous body gave a leap of appreciation that wasn’t quite appropriate for church.

One dark eyebrow lifted in silent challenge and Avery fought the urge to stick out her tongue.

Damn the man. He’d make a stripper blush with those bedroom eyes and thick, luscious hair that begged to be mussed.

And wasn’t that the problem?

Everything was way too easy for Roman and it always had been.

It had just taken her too long to understand that fact.

Dragging her gaze away, Avery focused on the bride. Grier took Sloan’s flowers as she took her place beside Walker, and Avery did a quick refluffing of the train so it lay evenly on the aisle.

Jobs completed, she and Grier met Mick and Roman where they escorted them the few brief steps to their front pew seats. Roman took her arm, and it took everything inside her to keep her gaze straight and her smile firmly fixed as the entire town of Indigo looked on with interest.

“You look beautiful.”

Avery swallowed hard at the warm breath in her ear, those inconvenient feelings rising once more in a hard clutch of her belly.

“Thank you.”

She took her seat, the words playing over and over in her mind.

So many images stood out in her memories of the two of them, but the one that held the top of the list was the year they began to notice each other as more than friends. Roman had whispered in her ear in the middle of a soccer match on the town square. He’d told her where to line up a shot and she’d nearly melted into a puddle as his words skittered down her spine, light as a feather and as powerful as an avalanche.

The sensation—a mixture of inexperience and the sudden change in a relationship she’d had since grade school—had taken her so off guard that she’d pushed him away with a smart-ass retort. But she’d thought about his words long into the night, wrapped up in her tiny bed in the back room of her mother’s house.

Clearly not much had changed in eighteen years.

“You ready?”

Avery felt Grier’s quick poke to her thigh and realized she’d nearly missed her cue along with most of the ceremony. She and Grier returned to the altar to help Sloan with her dress, then moved to the side as Mick and Roman stepped forward to flank Walker.

Mick produced two shining platinum bands from his vest pocket and laid them on the reverend’s open Bible.

Avery watched with rapt fascination as Walker slid the band effortlessly on Sloan’s finger and moments later when her friend returned the gesture. And when the couple kissed for the first time as husband and wife, the entire church let up a cheer.

Walker and Sloan began their walk back down the aisle, and Mick and Grier followed. It was only when Roman took her arm once more to begin their procession through the church that a thin layer of panic seized her.

Broad smiles greeted them as they moved down the aisle, making slow progress as many guests stopped Walker and Sloan with hugs. Hooch MacGilvray even threw her a big wink, which his wife, Chooch, responded to with an oversized elbow to the stomach.

Roman seemed oblivious as they walked, his arm locked steadily with hers. She snuck a glance at his chiseled profile and—miracles of miracles—it looked as if he’d missed Chooch and Hooch’s antics. As if sensing her attention, he turned with a smile.

“I haven’t felt this on display since I did a calendar shoot for charity.”

Avery sucked in an involuntary breath. She’d seen that calendar when someone had brought a copy for Roman’s mother, Susan. She’d even given herself permission to go look at it late one night when she was manning the front desk by herself.

Long ropes of muscles defined his arms from shoulder to wrist, and thick ridges sculpted his abdomen. He’d always been well built, but the man that stared back at her from the photograph, wearing nothing but a strategically placed towel, had taken her breath away.

He was magnificent.

A warrior.

And he had been as foreign to her as if a stranger stared back from the page.

Pulling herself back from the heated memory, Avery just shrugged as those inconvenient flutters once again filled her stomach. “Small towns.”

A slight smile grooved his cheeks as he leaned in once more. “So why don’t we really give them something to talk about?”

R
oman shifted his feet to bring Avery’s face more clearly into view.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Her hiss was low enough not to be heard by anyone else, but no one in the remaining pews between them and the door would miss the fury in her eyes.

“If you’re so worried about what everyone thinks, let’s make it worth our while. Have a little fun.”

“I’m not worried about what people think.”

Fresh air greeted them as they finally made their way through the doors of the church and Avery pulled her hand from his arm.

“Could have fooled me.”

Avery flung a hand in the direction of the church, even as she stomped across the small front lawn to give them some privacy. “Did you not miss how we were on display in there? The oversized winks and broad grins, everyone so delighted we were walking down that aisle together?”

Roman couldn’t resist poking at her a bit more. “Cupids in their eyes and all that shit.”

“Exactly!”

“Which was all I was really pointing out.” He kept his tone reasonable, but no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t hold back a grin.

“You were talking about sex and that’s something else entirely.”

“You’ve got a dirty mind.”

“And you weren’t talking about sex, Mr. Big Shot Hockey Player?”

“While I never turn down sex with a beautiful woman, no, that’s not what I was talking about.” He’d turned down plenty of sex, but Roman decided he didn’t quite need to share that tidbit now. Instead, he moved closer to Avery, intrigued when she held her ground. “I was actually talking about a little slow dancing. A few whispers in dark corners. Maybe even a well-placed kiss or two. You know, all the things people expect from the single members of the wedding party.”

“This dress is not a neon sign for sex, despite what conventional wisdom—and
Cosmopolitan
magazine—suggests.”

“And there you go, right back into the gutter again.”

As if suddenly realizing how close they stood, she moved back, but he didn’t miss the light flush that suffused her chest and cheeks.

“We’re going to behave like civilized adults. Just because we have a past the entire town knows about doesn’t mean we have a present. We can be nice and cordial to each other.”

“I agree.”

“You do?”

“Sure.” He shrugged, deliberately casual, even as a flash of something very much like a flaming sword to his guts ripped through him. “You’ve got a new boyfriend you’re all excited about. I’m big enough to wish you well and want what’s best for you.”

Whatever smart-ass remark was about to come out of her mouth—and he knew Avery Marks well enough to know there was going to be one—floated away on a light stammer. “You do?”

“Of course.”

The urge to rip something apart—preferably the Irishman he pictured in his mind—gripped him, but Roman refused to show it. He’d spent far too long in the spotlight, hiding what he really thought about things in favor of doing what was politically expedient. He’d be damned if he didn’t put the skill to good use now.

“Well, good.”

Her wide-eyed stare didn’t waver, and Roman saw the effort she was making to shift gears, but he kept the stupid, fucking,
understanding
smile pasted on his face.

A loud shout from the direction of the receiving line broke the moment, and Avery turned back toward the church. “I’d better go see if Sloan needs anything.”

“You do that.”

“I’ll see you at the reception.”

“Count on it.”

Roman watched her go, her long, lean frame filling out the dark-red silk dress to perfection.

And only then did he let his smile drop.

•   •   •

“Are you okay?” Concern lit up Grier’s dark gray eyes as Avery took her place in the receiving line.

“I’m fine,” Avery said through gritted teeth.

“And I’m Mother Teresa.”

“That’s a bit hard, seeing as how you’re not only not dead, but you’re no saint if the rumors about you and Mick out in the airplane hangar last weekend are true.”

Grier’s mouth dropped in a surprised O, but she recovered quickly, her voice prim and proper when she spoke. “We went out to the see the meteor shower.”

Avery hip-bumped her, desperate to keep the conversation off her and Roman. “I’ve also heard he’s got a nice set of etchings out in that hangar as well.”

“Hey, don’t point the finger at me. I’d have been a married woman by now if I could have convinced my fiancé to elope to Vegas.”

“Every man’s fantasy.”

Grier shook her head, her bewilderment evident in the gesture. “He refused to bite.”

“Are you surprised? That man oozes chivalry.”

“It’s one of his best traits.”

“Amen.” Avery smiled, both because she loved Mick O’Shaughnessy with the sort of lifelong affection that made family out of friends and because his sense of honor really was one of his most lovely qualities.

She was halfway through congratulating herself on shifting the subject when Walker’s secretary, Myrtle Driver, and her husband, Mort, hit her stretch of the receiving line.

“Nice ceremony.” Myrtle’s voice was a mixture of gravel and vinegar.

“It was lovely.” Avery nodded.

“They’re stupid in love, but I think they’ve got what it takes to make it. They’re crazy about each other in and out of bed. It’s worked like a dream for me and Mort.”

Avery tried not to choke as she nodded solemnly.

“Saw you eyeing Roman. You two had the whole good thing in and out, too. Shame you were both too young and stupid to understand it.”

Whatever polite manners her mother had managed to scatter into her through the years fled. “He’s the one who left, Myrtle, for a big contract in New York.”

“Well, he’s back now. Pick up where you left off.”

“He’s not back. The season’s done.”

“So go back with him. You’ve been content to roam the world the last few months. Go have yourself another adventure.”

“It’s hardly that easy.” The crucifix she’d mentioned to Grier earlier flashed through her memory and Avery was suddenly sorry she’d left it in her room.

“Life’s as hard as you make it. Remember that.”

With those ominous words, Myrtle marched off, the silent Mort following in her wake.

“She’s scary,” Grier whispered low enough so the next person in line couldn’t hear.

“Demonic is more like it.”

The receiving line finished up quickly, Indigo’s denizens eager to get to the reception. As soon as everyone was out of earshot, Grier returned to their conversation. “Myrtle did have a good point before.”

Avery whirled on her friend. “Do not tell me you’re in on it, too?”

“In on what?”

“The cupids that have magically started flying around everyone’s head where Roman and I are concerned.”

“I’m not in on anything and I don’t think you should just fall back in his arms like almost fourteen years haven’t passed. I just think she’s got a point, that’s all.”

“It’s been nearly proven on several occasions that Myrtle Driver is the spawn of Satan. Do you really want to side with her?”

“I happen to have it on good authority Satan wouldn’t wear that shade of lipstick.”

Try as she might, Avery had no response.

Grier reached for her hand, the squeeze quick and light. “All I said was she had a point. Do me a favor and think about it.”

Avery was still thinking about it an hour later as she floated around the transformed town hall. If “the grandmothers”—Sophie, Mary and Julia—made the hall a wonderland each and every December for their annual bachelor competition, a wedding had given them an excuse to bring a fairy tale to life.

She’d been here fifteen minutes and still hadn’t seen every inch of the bedecked space. Everywhere she looked was absolutely enchanting, and Avery eagerly took in the acres of roses, tulle, twinkle lights, ice sculptures and even a handcrafted bower that looked like something Martha Stewart might aspire to.

“What do you think, dear?” Julia, Roman’s grandmother and Avery’s own fiercest champion, sidled up to her.

“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.”