Baby It's Cold Outside (39 page)

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Authors: Addison Fox

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Getting drunk in her room?

“What is the matter with you?”

He rolled onto his back. “About four glasses of whiskey, I think.”

She snapped on a light and saw him wince from the sudden brightness. “Why?”

“I was trying to forget. But fuck it all, it didn’t work. Maybe I should have more, but it’s like each glass makes it easier to think. Easier to feel.”

He still wore his heavy parka and she tugged on his arm to pull him to a sitting position. Slipping off the heavy coat, she managed to get him out of one arm before he flopped back against the pillows.

She was right about the tux, at least. Underneath the heavy winter coat, he was dressed head to toe in black and white and the jacket tangled around his back and shoulder. Dragging on the lapel, she tried to pull up the material to fit to his frame.

“Come on. Help me here, would you?”

Recognizing a losing battle with the sleeve, she pushed at him, trying to force him to roll to the side she’d already removed from the coat when his hand snaked out and wrapped around her stomach. A loud ripping noise rent the air as the force of his movement stretched the ill-fitted tuxedo coat. “Hey, baby.”

“Don’t hey, baby me. You’re drunk and semi–passed out and I want to know why. You didn’t even come out for the auction, which you promised your grandmother you’d do.”

“I did, too.”

“So how’d you end up here?” With another push she managed to dislodge him so that he rolled enough to let her grab the other sleeve and pull the coat free.

He sighed loudly and pulled up the now shredded sleeve. “That’s good. It’s hot in here.”

“I’d imagine so based on the layers of clothing you’re wearing.” She tossed the parka over one of the chairs in the sitting area and reached for a bottle of water, unscrewing the cap. “Here. Drink this.”

He struggled up again and gulped down half the bottle. The bowtie was untied at his throat and damn, if the hanging ends of the tie didn’t look like a fantasy straight out of a men’s magazine.

Forcing her hormones in line, she switched her gaze on the depleting water bottle. She kept watch on him as he drank and didn’t miss the unfocused gaze or the slight swaying of his shoulders as he gulped down the water. “That’s good.”

“Finish it up and I’ll get you another one.”

She headed for the small dressing area outside the bathroom where the maid service restocked everything and grabbed another water. His eyes were less glazed as she handed him the second bottle and she was pleased to see he looked steadier.

“Now. You want to tell me why you’re up here in my room getting drunk instead of down at the auction and dance with the rest of the town?”

“You can thank my grandmother for that.”

“Walker. Come on and cut the riddles. What happened?”

“According to my grandmother, I’m in love. But I’m too fuckwit stupid to do anything about it because of my father. Or he’s the fuckwit.” Walker rubbed his forehead. “I’m a bit fuzzy on that. But it’s all because of him that I can’t seem to close the deal on love, and my grandmother’s known all along and she’s sad and miserable and she lied to me.”

Sloan wasn’t sure what to make of his impassioned speech and she couldn’t quite bring herself to ask him if he was actually in love with her so she focused on the last part.

“What do you mean she lied to you?”

“She’s known about my father. All along, basically. She’s known the truth.”

“Maybe she was trying to protect you.”

“Or him. Or, hell, I don’t know.”

“Does it really matter?” Her voice was quiet as she tried to puzzle through what he must be feeling. Tried to justify his drunken behavior by reminding herself he’d received a large emotional blow. He was struggling to come to grips with it even as her own heart was breaking as they casually discussed what was between them.

Or not between them.

His dark eyebrows narrowed over his slightly unfocused brown gaze. “Does what matter?”

“Your father. Your grandmother. Any of what’s come before?”

“Of course it matters.” The angry notes of his voice floated over her, but they were noticeably less slurred than when she’d first walked in.

“But why? Can you explain that to me? Because honestly, I really don’t see how it affects you. Or what’s between us.”

“There’s nothing between us.”

She leaped off the bed at that, whirling on him and his callous words. “You can honestly sit there, look me in the eye and tell me you believe that?”

With a wave of his hand, he gestured her back to the bed. “I didn’t mean it the way it came out.”

“Okay. So explain it to me.”

“I meant . . .” His voice faltered as he stopped and gathered himself. “Aww, Sloan. Come on. Don’t look at me like that. What I meant is that you and I have had a wonderful time, but you don’t live here.”

“If this is you digging out of a hole, you need to find another shovel.”

“What? It’s not like you’d consider staying, right?”

The tables turned so swiftly she had to stop herself from the reply that sprang to her lips, unbidden.

Yes. Always and forever. As long as you want me
.

“I’m not playing this game with you. And you haven’t answered my question. I want to know why you think your father’s infidelity has anything to do with you.”

“It doesn’t have anything to do with me. Not directly. But at the same time it’s all about me. About how I was raised and what he passed on to me.”

Sloan threw up her hands, not sure if she was dealing with the residual effects of the whiskey or the residual effects of almost two decades of hurt.

Or both.

“That’s bullshit, Walker. It’s all about what you choose to make of your life.”

“And what if I hurt you? Like he hurt my mother.”

“You wouldn’t do that.”

“I never thought he would, either. But he did. And does. Every day he lives a lie.”

She had no idea how to handle his resistance. No clue how to make him see reason. So she did the only thing she
did
know how to do.

“I can’t speak for you, Walker. I don’t know what drives you or what experiences you’ve lived through that have brought you to today. I can guess and I can piece things together, but I really don’t know. All I know is what’s inside of me.”

And in that moment, she saw
it
. It flared to life in the depths of his gaze as he leaned forward slightly and reached for her hand. It was a tiny spark, but it gave her the smallest moment of hope there may actually be something real between them. It was buried deep and he was fighting it, but it was there.

She’d bet her future on it.

He pressed his lips to the back of her hand. “There’s so much inside of you. So much good. So much that’s wonderful.”

“Then why are you fighting it?”

“Because I can’t change who I am. And what if all the love in the world can’t fix that?”

“Oh, Walker.” She tugged her hand from his grip and stood to cross the room. “Do you want to know about change? When I came up here I was a different person. I saw the world in a different way and I had expectations about people that I no longer have.”

Sloan paused for a moment and knew if she was ever going to go for broke, this was the moment.

“I had expectations about myself I no longer have.”

When he didn’t say anything, she pressed on. “I’ve been here less than two weeks and I can feel the changes. The change in me and the changes I’ve chosen to make. Or would make if you weren’t such a—” she broke off, looking for his word.

“—a fuckwit,” he supplied helpfully.

“Yes. A fuckwit.”

“I’m not worth it.”

The sad part was that Walker Montgomery was the most worth it man she’d ever met. He was beyond worth it to her. Flaws and all.

“I can’t fix that for you. You have to find it yourself. But suffice it to say, I don’t agree with you.”

She reached for her discarded purse and coat where she’d dropped them on the way in.

“Where are you going?”

“You can sleep off your drunken stupor here. I’ll go sleep in Avery’s room.”

“Sloan—” He broke off and didn’t say anything more.

She moved across the room and the longing in his voice caught her at the knees when he spoke next. “What do you want?”

Unbidden, she remembered her first impression of Amanda earlier that day. The bright, vibrant woman with the ready smile and an ocean of hope in her heart.

She used to be that way and somewhere along the journey she’d lost it. Now she could admit she had lost the hope and the belief that went with it that somewhere there was someone special out there for her.

It was time to get it back.

“I want love, Walker. I want someone who puts me first and who I can do the same for. I want someone who wants to be with me for a lifetime, sharing all its ups and downs. I want someone who will take the risk to be with me.”

“It’s not that simple, Sloan.”

“Actually it is. I want to stop blowing my horn on New Year’s Eve.”

At his thoroughly puzzled expression, she stepped forward, reached up and laid her lips against his. He lifted his hands to pull her close, but she backed away before he could wrap his arms around her.

“I want to start each year with a kiss and I want to spend each and every day of each and every one of those years kissing the man I love. I’m sorry that man won’t be you.”

It was long moments later, after Avery had opened her door and gestured her toward the spare room.

After Sloan had dressed in an old pair of thermal pajamas and snuggled down in Avery’s spare room bed.

After the lights were off and each passing minute took her farther and farther away from Walker that Sloan finally allowed the tears to fall.

Walker abstractly heard one of the studs from his tuxedo hit the hardwood floor, but couldn’t muster up enough interest to look for it.

How could he have been so stupid?

Struggling to sit up on his couch, he took stock of the previous evening. A quick catalog of his raging headache and increasingly uncomfortable feet where they were still poured into dress shoes offered a few clues.

But it was the knowledge that he’d let Sloan walk out that confirmed what an ass he’d been.

Toeing off the shoes, he padded in his socks to the kitchen to start coffee and figure out a game plan. He might have spent half of his thirty-six years acting like a noncommittal jerk when it came to women, but it didn’t take a two-by-four to the head—or a wicked hangover—to convince him of the truth.

In all his adult life, he’d never met a woman like Sloan.

As the smell of coffee reached him, offering the promise of relief, he started to hatch a plan.

He might not deserve Sloan McKinley, but he’d be damned if he’d let that fact stand in his way.

Sloan focused on making all the arrangements to leave Indigo ahead of schedule. She had phone numbers for everyone she’d met and could finish up whatever interviews weren’t yet complete. But it was time to go home.

In exactly one hour, Jack Rafferty would be waiting for her in the lobby of the Indigo Blue to fly her to Anchorage.

Grier and Avery had understood her decision fully as they spent all day Sunday commiserating and lying around Avery’s room watching bad TV. Beyond the two of them, no one else needed to know of her change in plans.

She’d send fruit baskets to Mary, Julia and Sophie with a nice apology as to how she needed to get home. And if they read between the lines and recognized her actions for what they were—escape—well, so be it.

The town was quiet as she trudged down Main Street, the day gloomy and dreary and full of the winter doldrums.

An exact match for her mood.

The lights of the diner beckoned, a warm beacon in that unique twilight that was late morning in Alaska. She briefly contemplated pancakes, but ultimately passed on the idea when she realized there were enough people in the diner that she’d be forced to make conversation. So she trudged on, walking determinedly toward her destination.

As she got closer to it, Sloan tried to consider the love monument at the edge of town with some degree of objectivity.

It was a large statue—nothing more, nothing less.

And yet it
was
more.

It was a symbol. A symbol for a belief and for a way of life. A symbol that said there were some things in life that simply meant more.

Were worth more.

That there were some things that were worth fighting for.