Baby It's Cold Outside (13 page)

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Authors: Addison Fox

BOOK: Baby It's Cold Outside
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“No, but based on the timing it had to be Grier. Kate wasn’t even born yet.” Jessica waited a moment before adding, “So what do you hope to do with this?”
“It’s further evidence he cared for her. Further evidence Kate can’t stand in the way of Grier’s half of the inheritance. And further evidence they have to split the house.”
“I’m sure Kate’s lawyer will see it differently. Especially since she practically moved in there during Jonas’s convalescence.” Jessica’s defense of her childhood friend hadn’t completely vanished, but it had far less fire than the evening before.
Walker ran a hand through his hair, grabbing at the strands with clenched fingers. “Let him. It’s all gotten too carried away, anyway. Kate shouldn’t be contesting the will, but because she is, it’s screwing both out of them out of grieving and putting this behind them.”
“They’re both shell-shocked, Walker. It makes it difficult to think straight.”
“That’s why we’re here, Jess. To do the thinking and keep it straight.”
“Of course.”
Walker eyed his partner, the dark circles under her eyes catching his attention. “You doing okay?”
“Of course.”
“You sure?”
“It’s just . . .” She broke off as a frown marred the smooth lines of her face.
“It’s just what?”
“I don’t know. Petty, and at the same time, understandable. And it’s not my job to judge petty, I know.”
“But it’s hard to watch a friend suffer.”
“It’s hard to watch anyone suffer.”
The misery stamped on her face tipped him off, but it was her words that finally had him cluing in to the fact there was something else going on. “Why does my Spidey-sense tell me we’re not talking about Grier and Kate anymore?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you do. And that faraway look in your eyes tells me you’re thinking about one person.”
“Damn it, Walker. I’m entitled to my own thoughts.”
“Didn’t say you weren’t.”
“So what the hell do you want?”
“I want to know why you don’t just bite the fucking bullet and ask Jack Rafferty over to your home for dinner. If something consenting happens afterward, even better.”
The dark circles only highlighted the light sheen that filled her eyes. “He’s not interested.”
“I think he might surprise you.”
Jess looked him straight in the eye, whatever momentary grief she’d felt sparking over to anger. “I don’t believe in surprises.”
Walker’s mind filled with an image of Sloan McKinley wrapped in his arms the night before outside the Indigo Blue. The heat of her mouth and the immediate, desperate longing that had filled him without warning slammed into him again at the force of the memory.
“Well, that’s the funny thing. Just when you’re convinced they don’t exist any longer, one comes right on up and bites you in the ass.”
 
“You’re really going to do it?” Grier’s smile was infectious as she poured the first glass of wine. “I can’t believe it.”
“Believe it.” Sloan reached for her wine, holding it until Grier had finished pouring for all of them.
“It’s all anyone’s been able to talk about today,” Avery added as she picked up her own glass. “You are a hot commodity here in Indigo, Sloan McKinley. The whole town’s talking about you.”
“Which is a refreshing change from them talking about
me
.” Grier held up her glass to toast. “To the town’s new point of interest.”
Sloan reveled in the merry clinking and thought about the call she’d had a few hours before with the travel editor. She’d bought the piece, just as Sloan had expected. What she hadn’t expected was that the woman would fall so in love with the pitch—“Getaways with Girlfriends”—that they’d spend nearly an hour on the phone.
Before the call was over, she’d committed to an ongoing series, to be done over six months’ time with unexpected travel destinations for single women.
“So what’s the really big news?” Avery gestured with a pretzel she’d lifted from a small bowl on the cocktail table between them.
“How’d you guess?”
“You practically danced into the lobby. I just don’t think the prospect of dragging pails of water down Main Street can put that sort of swing in your step.”
Unable to keep the grin from her face, Sloan let it all out in a giddy rush. “I just sold a series of articles.”
Grier’s mouth dropped before she settled her glass on the table and leaped out of her chair. “Sloan! Oh wow! Wow, wow, wow!” Sloan felt herself being pulled forward and just barely got her wine out of the way before Grier upended it on both of them.
Avery took the glass with one, smooth, practiced move as Sloan moved into Grier’s arms for a hug. “Thanks.”
“I am so proud of you.” Grier gave her one final hug before dropping back into her own seat. “Come on. We want deets.”
Sloan ran through the conversation again, still in shock the idea had been so well received.
“Where else are you going to go?”
“We talked about that, too. We actually agreed that one of the columns should be on New York—more of an insider’s guide. And she’s also going to let me use the trip Grier and I took to Bora-Bora last year as one of the stories. But I’ve got to think of the other three.”
“Australia,” Grier supplied. “Or New Zealand?”
“France?” Avery added.
“Oooh. No. Spain. All women need to go to Spain and find a Spanish lover for the weekend. Armand. Yes,” Grier snapped her fingers. “That’s it. Armand.”
Sloan laughed. “I’ve been to Spain and didn’t meet anyone named Armand. In fact, I didn’t meet anyone at all.”
A light touch covered her forearm as Grier reached for her. “You were still in your awkward stage. Besides. Sixteen-year-olds don’t need to be hunting up Latin lovers while touring Europe.”
“Awkward stage?” Avery’s eyes were wide with curiosity. “No way.”
“Oh God, yes. I was the ultimate ugly duckling. From head to toe.” Sloan was surprised by how easy the words came. How far away it all seemed, even though it always felt like yesterday when she was at home.
“I know that look.”
“What look?”
Grier sighed. “The one that says you’re thinking very deep thoughts.”
“Then I must have worn it all day. I can’t stop thinking about how different I feel up here.”
“Different how?” Avery reached for another pretzel.
“I can’t quite explain it.” How did she put into words what she was only slowly figuring out herself? “But I feel more grounded here. More, I don’t know,
real
, somehow.”
As the words came out, Sloan realized they weren’t quite right. “No. No, I’m not explaining it the way I mean it. It’s less about being real or fake, and more about looking at things a little differently.”
“Such as?” Grier munched on a pretzel.
“It’s like all these ideas I’ve held in my head forever—even the things I didn’t know I was holding on to—are changing. My expectations are blown but that’s a good thing.”
“Unsettling, too,” Avery added as she reached for more wine.
“It’s like I said to Walker this morning: I’ve been walking around with this set of expectations I didn’t even know I had and it’s humbling to—”
She broke off at the twin looks of wonderment that stared back at her.
“What?”
“As you were saying. To
Walker
?”
Grier’s emphasis on his name jarred Sloan back to reality. “Yeah. He was kind enough to give me a tour of town this morning.”
“My lawyer hit on you and it took you a half hour to tell me? When did this happen?”
“This morning.”
“Sloan! Scratch that.” Grier waved a hand. “It took you all damn day.”
“I was busy, Grier.”
“You should never be too busy to spill details about a man.”
“I’ll remember that from the
Best Friend Handbook
and file it away for next time.”
“There’s going to be a next time?” Avery’s provocative tone dragged them both from their faux argument.
“I meant it figuratively.”
“Well, I mean it literally.”
“No.” Even as the words were out of her mouth, Sloan realized they weren’t entirely true. “Yes. I guess. He’s taking part in the bachelor auction.”
It was Avery’s turn to look stunned. “You promised blow jobs, didn’t you?”
“I did not!” Even as she pretended indignation, Sloan couldn’t stop the warmth that flooded her belly. The man did . . .
something
to her. Something she hadn’t felt in an incredibly long time.
If ever.
And the prospect of getting very intimate with him had crossed her mind more than once in the last twenty-four hours.
“Walker Montgomery has been a stubborn holdout, along with his partners in crime. Well, partner. Singular. The other one hides out for as much of the year as he can get away with, and he sure as hell doesn’t come to town during bachelorette season.”
“He mentioned he doesn’t participate in the auction.”
“Nope. He, Mick and Roman humored them the first few years, but have stubbornly refused to take part in quite a long time. Their own little rebellion.”
“If the grandmothers’ whole purpose is getting them married, doesn’t that sort of defeat the point if they don’t show up?”
Avery turned toward Grier. “It’s a valid question, and they do technically show up, but they refuse to participate. At this point the whole thing’s sort of taken on a life of its own. And neither side is willing to concede. Until now, it seems.”
Grier nodded sagely. “I knew he liked her.”
“He does not.” Even as she said the words, Sloan knew he didn’t
not
like her. The kiss they’d shared the evening before hadn’t held the mark of disinterest. Nor did his dismissal of Bear that morning in the diner.
“I wouldn’t be so sure. Especially since he practically sucked your brains right out of your head last night.”
“Avery!” Sloan turned on her new friend, only to see the woman’s eyes twinkling with merriment.
Unaffected by the death glare Sloan was trying her hardest to deliver, the twinkle spread across her entire face. “I even saved the security tape.”
“I want to see it.” Grier was already up and out of her chair, striding for the front desk, her gaze focused over her shoulder. “All the gory det—”
Grier’s comment—and forward movement—was stopped by the solid wall of Mick O’Shaughnessy’s chest.
“Well, would you look at that?” Avery whispered the words in a hushed breath as she leaned toward Sloan. “Is it just me or is the lobby suddenly on fire?”
Sloan watched with interest as Mick’s large, rangy frame collided with her friend’s tiny, petite one. The bush pilot—she’d found out his occupation the evening before—wore a day’s growth of beard along with a tattered leather jacket, faded jeans and work boots. His long-fingered hands rested on Grier’s shoulders a few extra moments as he held her away from his body, concern etched across his features.
The air practically crackled between them as Mick dropped his hands and shuffled from foot to foot while Grier pushed her hair behind her ears in an endearingly nervous gesture Sloan had seen more than once over the years.
“On fire and I think the roof just collapsed,” Sloan collaborated, curious to see how Grier played it. She knew what hell Grier had lived with for the last three months and also knew the damage it had done on an emotional level. Mick O’Shaughnessy was definitely not Grier Thompson’s type.
And as she watched her friend take a few nervous steps backward, Sloan realized he might be exactly what she needed.
Avery stood with a light sigh. “Much as I hate to interrupt, I need to get on bar duty. Make sure you save some of the juicy stuff for me.”
Before Sloan could ask her what she was after, she walked straight up to the two of them. “O’Shaughnessy. A beer?” When he nodded, she added, “Take my seat. It looks like we’re about to get a repeat crowd.”
Grier shot Avery a look that indicated dire retribution, but Avery ignored her, moving behind the bar with practiced ease and a keen eye as she welcomed a few people who sat along the length of the bar.
As Sloan watched her, she couldn’t stop the thought that Roman Forsyth must really be an inconsiderate asshole to have let this one get away.
Chapter Eight
 
T
he cold December air swirled around Walker as he headed toward the Indigo Blue. Although it wasn’t even six, the sky had long since darkened and now a blanket of stars twinkled overhead.
He said hello to fellow townsfolk, even stopped for a quick catch-up with Rose and Mark Paxton, who wanted to see if he’d be willing do their wills now that they were expecting their first child.

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