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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?
2
SVEN DROPPED IN THE last hinge pin on the supply door. He glanced over his shoulder when he heard Jenna behind him.
“Oh, yeah, that looks better,” she said. “Thanks so much.” She threw arms wide as if encompassing her entire space, her smile as big as her embrace. Neither was, however, as big as her very pregnant belly. Sven made a concerted effort to keep his mouth from gaping open. Jenna’s tummy was bigger than her chest these days and that was saying something … actually, that was saying a lot. He hadn’t spent much time around pregnant women. He’d kind of wondered if his sister-in-law might explode before her due date. Jenna was in the same boat. “Aren’t you just loving it?” she said.
He nodded. “It’s awesome.” Sven had built Jenna Rathburne Jeffries’s new day-spa facility and her living quarters upstairs. Actually, he’d built it twice. The first time around it had burned down when there was a fluke problem with a junction box. They’d had to wait on the spring thaw to rebuild it.
It was Jenna’s first home and it had turned out great. The spa on the ground floor and the living space above imparted a sense of tranquility, with large windows offering views of the evergreens, distant mountains and the sky. A built-in waterfall in the reception area lent the sound of running water throughout the ground floor. Speakers piped the original recordings of a Native musician throughout the rooms. It was soothing and elegant without being pretentious. He was just knocking out the final punch list while his crew worked on their new primary project, a huge house a couple of miles out of town for a mysterious new owner. All the plans had been via an attorney, fax and secondary email.
Jenna’s cat, Tama, bumped against Sven’s legs. Sven leaned down and ran his hand over the cat’s thick fur. “Hey, big guy.”
Jenna had been a dream to work with. Actually, Jenna was pretty much a man’s dream in and of herself—blonde, curvy in all the right places, fun, easygoing and outgoing. Just about every man within a five-hundred-mile radius had been despondent when she’d married Logan Jeffries. Sven, however, hadn’t been despondent. He’d been more along the lines of confounded with himself. Jenna was exactly the kind of woman he’d always been attracted to. He and she had even sort of given it a try. Early on they’d kissed. While he liked her and she liked him, there’d been absolutely nothing close to a spark.
No, instead, he had to be plagued with some crazy-ass attraction to Juliette Miller, which he’d done his damnedest to deny, considering she had complicated written all over her and had never given him the time of day.
“So, you’re taking over the set design for the play?”
Sven wasn’t remotely surprised Jenna already knew. He didn’t even question how. News spread faster in Good Riddance than the clap in a low-rent whorehouse.
“Yeah. I’m heading over to meet with Juliette as soon as I finish up here.”
“You’ll love her.”
What the hell? First Alberta with her off-the-wall prognostications and now Jenna. “I’m just going to finish up the set and it’s not as if I don’t know her from around town.”
Jenna peered at him as if he’d lost his mind. “I know. I did the hair and makeup last year and I’m doing it again this year.” She patted her enormous belly. “Well, maybe. Some people can’t tell you what they want, but Juliette can. She and I were talking the other day about the play, which makes it so much easier. That’s what I mean—you’ll love working with her.” Comprehension dawned. “Oh … you thought I meant you’d love her. Well, you could be onto something there.” She tilted her head to one side, nodding. “You’re right. The two of you would make a cute couple.”
“I’m not onto anything and I didn’t say we’d make a cute couple.”
“But you would.”
“She’s not my type.”
“Well, what’s your type?”
“You.” Although he suspected Jenna’s waters ran a little deeper than he’d first thought, he liked his women like a clear mountain stream, and Juliette was more like a dark, still lake and who knew what was going to be beneath that surface.
Jenna laughed unselfconsciously. “Yeah, well, we see where that got both of us.” She rubbed her tummy again. He wished she’d quit doing that—he had nothing to do with her present state of impending motherhood, but Jenna was known for switching more than just a few train tracks in a conversation. “You might’ve thought I was your type, but I wasn’t really your type. So, it’s this mistaken notion of what your type is that’s got you still single now.”
Did all women study the same sound track to throw back at men?
“I like being single.” Not the whole-truth-and-nothing-but-the-truth, but he was feeling cornered by crazy female talk.
“Then why are you talking about falling in love with Juliette?”
The mere notion gave him a funny feeling in the pit of his gut. But then again, it would probably affect any guy that way. God help him. If it was anyone other than Jenna, who he knew tended to talk in circles…. “I’m not. You are.”
“You are too because you’re talking to me and that’s what we’re talking about.”
He gave up. “I’m just going to work on the set. Nothing more. Nothing less. I don’t even know her.”
“Do any of us really know one another until we’ve put in a little effort? And tell me you’re not curious about her. But then again, I doubt you’re her type.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Well, I think Juliette’s pretty particular, because in the year and a half I’ve lived here I’ve never known her to date anyone. For that matter, I’ve never seen her at any of the karaoke nights or the exercise classes at the community center. She’s nice and she’s not unfriendly, but she keeps to herself.”
“Okay. But how does that mean I’m not her type?”
Jenna shrugged. “I dunno. She just strikes me as kind of serious—”
That struck a nerve. Just because he was easygoing it didn’t necessarily mean he was a lightweight. “I can be serious.”
“Wow, okay. I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m sure you can.”
“But what? There’s a but there.”
“Well, don’t take this the wrong way—” that never boded good things to come “—but she really hasn’t shown the slightest bit of interest in you that I’ve ever noticed, so, you know …”
He wasn’t an egomaniac but damn, a man was entitled to a little pride and Jenna had just crushed his beneath her heel by pointing out the obvious. Juliette had never given him the proverbial time of day.
“Thanks, Jenna.”
“Oh, Sven, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I guess I just didn’t realize you felt that way about Juliette.”
“I don’t feel any way about her.” Which wasn’t exactly true, but this wasn’t a soul-baring session with a shrink, either, was it? He had to admit his masculine pride had been pricked from the get-go because Juliette had taken one look at him and dismissed him. WTF was up with that? He’d decided then and there she’d be too complicated and too much trouble.
“Well, maybe you should test the waters, the way you and I did, so you’ll know. It’s impossible for a good-looking single guy to be ambivalent about a pretty woman of similar age in a town this size. You do think she’s pretty, don’t you? And she has a nice figure.”
“Of course she’s pretty.” There was something arresting about her short dark hair, brown eyes and delicately sculpted face. “And yes, she has a nice figure.” Yes, he had noticed her soft curves on more than one occasion—well, the truth of the matter was, every time he saw her. “And as you so graciously pointed out, darling, she’s never given me the time of day.”
“Maybe she’s as scared of you as you are of her.”
“Wait a minute. I didn’t say I was scared of her.”
“You didn’t have to. You think she’s a babe, but you’ve never asked her out so that can only mean one thing. You’re scared.” She patted him on the back. “Don’t be. What’s the worst she can say? No.”
“I am not scared.”
“Good. Let me know what she says.”
“About what?”
“When you ask her out.”
JULIETTE MADE A COUPLE of notes, but her concentration was seriously compromised waiting on Sven to show up. She was ridiculously nervous. He was going to go over the set design with her. Big deal. She’d seen him around town any number of times in the past ten months. Therefore, it was totally silly and uncalled for that she’d popped into the ladies’ room twice now to check her hair and make sure she didn’t have any mascara smudges beneath her eyes.
She heard the pull of a diesel truck passing outside, but it didn’t stop. She moved to the center front, looking at the now-empty stage. The rest of the cast and crew had vaporized as if they’d been caught up in a Vulcan mind meld. Instead, it had simply been the allure of Thursday-night karaoke over at Gus’s. Good Riddance citizens took their karaoke seriously.
While Juliette stopped in at Gus’s for meals, she didn’t make a habit of hanging out there. Most days she felt good and strong, but spending a lot of extra time in a bar didn’t seem the wisest course of action. Once an alcoholic always an alcoholic. A recovered drunk was only one drink away from being back at it … And she never wanted to be back at it again.
She was a big girl. She could handle being alone with Sven Sorenson. She was alone with men all the time, flying them in and out of Good Riddance and to various and sundry spots in remote Alaska. He was just another man. Granted, he had a larger-than-life quality about him that wasn’t just because of his height. As Merrilee had pointed out earlier, Sven was just too … too everything—handsome, charming, sexy, she could throw in another sexy just to keep it real and accurate—for a woman’s peace of mind. And since Juliette was all about preserving the peace—primarily her own—she’d gone out of her way to keep her distance from Sven Sorenson.
She smiled ruefully to herself. The community center was far larger than the confines of her airplane. Distance shouldn’t be a problem.
Despite her newfound perspective, her heart began to thud in her chest at the unmistakable sound of a diesel truck pulling into the parking lot outside. The engine died, followed by the slam of a door and the crunch of boots on gravel.
She pasted on her most professional smile—friendly, yet distant—as boots thudded on the wood stairs and hesitated at the door. The door opened and Sven stood there for a moment. Perhaps she was simply in dramatic mode, courtesy of rehearsal, but it was like some frame in a movie where the gorgeous hero pauses so all the females in the audience can indulge in a swoonfest.
She was an audience of one, but certainly not immune to the visual picture he presented. His booted feet planted apart, strong, long legs in worn denim, narrow hips, a broad chest and still-broader shoulders. The spring sunlight served as a backlight, burnishing his hair to molten gold. He was a cross between a Viking marauder and a Norse god.
All the spit dried right out of her mouth and seemed to head south to congregate between her thighs in a totally unexpected, unwelcome flood of physical attraction.
