Northern Fires

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.