Northern Fires

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.