“You’re serious about this? It’s a real competition?”
“Serious as a heart attack. They’ve got something like thirty women signed up for it.”
“Wow.” What did that say about being single? Were women really so desperate to find love they’d travel to the middle of the wilderness for men? Amend that, Sloan thought as they moved through the open door toward the snow-covered parking lot. The
frozen
wilderness.
And then a quick image of Trent and his groping hands flashed in her mind’s eye and Sloan had to grudgingly admit the idea had merit.
Although, as she followed Grier out toward a waiting truck, painted with the logo from the Indigo Blue Inn and Suites, Sloan had to acknowledge that some of the hopeful spirit that had gripped her on the train had fled on lead feet.
Like some huge conspiracy designed to keep the ever-present fact she was single in the forefront of her mind, it looked like Indigo would offer no escape.
It took all of a five-minute ride in the battered truck to get to the Indigo Blue. Sloan shook her head as another preconceived notion was shot to dust as they pulled up in front. The hotel’s method of transportation might look as if it belonged in a junkyard, but the hotel was like something out of a movie. The large, lodgelike structure rose several stories into the night sky and was about as wide as a New York City block.
“They use this place as a community space, in addition to as a hotel.” Grier added color commentary as they collected Sloan’s things.
“There’s no town hall?” Sloan had pictured the dedicated denizens of Indigo meeting regularly to discuss everything from spring plantings to waste removal.
“There’s one of those, too, but this seems to be a major entertainment destination in town.”
Sloan followed Grier into the lobby, stamping her feet on the large mats set up just inside the front hall to capture the elements. “It’s beautiful.” With a quick glance down at the leather of her boots, she offered a moment of silence at the realization she’d be tossing them before she headed back to New York. And damn it, they were cute boots, too.
At Grier’s poke in the arm, Sloan looked away from the ruined leather of her boots and straight toward the large glass sculptures that covered one wall of the oversized, rustic hotel lobby.
“Oh my God,” Sloan breathed reverently. “Is that Chihuly glass?”
“Yes,” Grier confirmed. “Wait till you get a load of this place.”
Drawn to the sculptures like a compass to true north, Sloan left her bags and walked toward the glass. Large swooping swirls in bright, vibrant hues of reds and greens, oranges and yellows, blues and purples met her gaze.
Sloan turned to find Grier and another woman right behind her. “Were these commissioned?”
“Sort of.” The woman’s bright eyes, along with a broad smile, held a distinct note of pride. “They’re a gift from my son.” With another welcoming smile, the woman stuck out her hand. “I’m Susan Forsyth. I own the hotel.”
Sloan offered her hand and a quick introduction in return before turning her attention back to the glass sculptures. “That’s a pretty incredible gift.”
“He’s a pretty incredible young man.” With that, Susan gave a warm wave to suggest they come along and headed toward a sullen-looking girl at the counter.
Grier rolled her eyes in the direction of the check-in desk as they followed behind Susan. With a small whisper—
sotto voce
—Grier intoned, “She’s been pretty nice to me so far, but she’s totally been giving us the evil eye since we walked over toward the glass.”
Shifting so she could look at the piece from another angle, Sloan darted her gaze toward Susan’s retreating back, giving the woman a few extra steps to get her out of earshot. “The girl at the counter?”
“Yep.”
“What could she possibly be upset about? It’s not like we can steal it or anything.”
“I’d say it’s the fact that
I’m
here, which seems to be a total burr in everyone’s ass, but she’s been friendly. I don’t know. Maybe it’s the annual competition.”
“Why would she be upset about the competition?” Sloan focused her attention on the earthy-yet-pretty athletic blonde at the counter, then turned her full attention back to Grier. “You’d think they would want to stay as far away from the competition as possible.”
“Look at it from her position. I mean, if I were them, I wouldn’t be too jazzed to have women from all over coming in here to steal the guys from me.”
“True.”
Grier’s expression turned thoughtful. “Even if they haven’t rolled out the welcome mat, I can see how this chafes. It’s like they’re not good enough so the men have to look outside town. Heck, outside the entire state.”
Sloan rolled that one around in her mind, considering it as a story angle. “It
is
sort of insulting.”
Grier gave her a speculative look. “I know that tone, Sloan McKinley.”
With a big hug, Sloan side-armed her dearest friend and pulled her close. “Yep. You’ve just given me a brand-new story angle. Let’s make friends with her. I want to hear about this event from her point of view. There’s an editor who’s looking for a story and I think I just found it.”
Grier tossed a wry glance back toward the front desk. “I’m not sure that’s going to be an easy task.” As they stood there, watching the exchange between Susan and the young woman, Grier added, “She doesn’t look all that interested in making friends.”
“Well, then, let’s put on our New York City charm and fix that.” Sloan tugged on Grier’s arm. “Come on.”
Susan gestured to the front desk as they got nearer. “Sloan. Grier. I’d like to introduce you to Avery Marks.”
“Welcome to the Indigo Blue.” Frost edged Avery’s words in the same snotty tone perfected by Saturday-night restaurant hostesses the world over.
“Thank you, Avery.” Sloan made a great show of looking around. “It’s a beautiful hotel.”
“Susan has worked very hard to make it so. And we’re all pretty fond of its rustic charm.” Her enthusiasm ran around the same level as junior high school kids’ for gym.
Sloan kept her smile friendly but didn’t try to hide her interest as she sized Avery up. Something else was going on here, and it went way beyond a bit of annoyance at Indigo’s annual tourism infusion.
Sloan also didn’t think it was bitterness over money, because Avery didn’t even blink as she swiped Sloan’s platinum American Express for the room.
So what did have the resentment blooming all over Avery’s face?
“Thanks for everything, Susan,” Grier added. “Sloan and I will just get settled in and freshened up before the town hall.”
Susan shot a pointed look at Avery that wasn’t quite annoyance, yet held a distinct note of dissatisfaction. “It’s our pleasure, dear. I’m actually going to head over to the town hall myself. My mother-in-law asked if I’d help her get ready.”
As soon as Susan was out of earshot, Sloan went in for the kill. For reasons she couldn’t quite explain, even to herself, she felt a kinship with the sullen woman. Sort of like the odd kinship she felt for Denali.
Both were unforgiving.
And, oddly enough, Sloan found she liked it.
Leaning over the desk, she shot Avery a friendly, sisterly smile. A smile that promised bonding over ice-cream sundaes. A smile that said, we’re all in this together. A smile that said I’m hell-bent on making you a friend, whether you want one or not.
“Give it to me straight, Avery. You’ve given us the evil eye since we walked into this place. So who lit the fuse on your tampon and what’s it going to take to prove neither of us is the enemy?”
“You sure you want me to open another bottle?” Avery asked, her brown eyes narrowed in question. “The town hall starts in fifteen minutes.”
“Definitely.” Sloan and Grier’s voices rang out in unison.
“I work in magazine publishing,” Sloan added. “I
know
how to hold my liquor. Besides, what we don’t finish now we can pick up when we get back.”
Avery shrugged, then got up and crossed to the lobby bar, a big laugh racking her shoulders. “I still can’t believe you said that.”
Grier raised her half-full glass and added a merry chortle to Avery’s. “Me, too. Seriously, Sloan. That’s a real classy way to get to know someone.”
Sloan felt a small blush creep up her neck. “Well, I wanted to make an impression.”
Avery uncorked a new bottle of cabernet and walked back toward them, fresh glasses in hand. “You managed that.”
“You just looked all stuffy. And I figured I’d either insult you or make you laugh. I’m glad it’s the latter. And, for what it’s worth, I meant what I said. Neither of us is the enemy.”
“I’m glad, too.” Avery smiled as she poured, sincerity riding high in the depths of her eyes. “And I can tell.”
As Avery finished the pours, Grier started peppering her with questions. “Tell us about this competition. I’ve been seeing signs for the past month, but since I’m persona non grata around here, there haven’t been a lot of people to ask.”
Avery winced at that. “Kate’s been making it pretty hard for you.”
Grier downed the last of her existing glass and reached for the new one. “You could say that again. That woman is a wicked iceberg with sharp edges.”
“I’d like to tell you she’ll come around, but . . .” The word hung there between the three of them as Avery reached for her own glass. “Kate Winston came into this world a prickly bitch and not much changes her direction when she’s decided she doesn’t like someone. Seeing as how you’re directly in line to take something she wants, that makes you public enemy number one.”
“Fabulous. Just freaking fabulous. I can’t go home and I’m not welcome here.”
Sloan patted Grier’s arm, surprised her friend had even hinted at the incident that had her fleeing New York and heading for the Alaska wilds.
Not sure if it was the liquor causing her friend’s tongue to loosen or a month of loneliness and rejection, Sloan decided a change in topic might keep Grier from saying anything else she might regret later. “So this bachelorette thing. What’s it about?”
“It’s all cooked up by the town grandmothers.”
“Is this one of the women Susan just mentioned helping out at the town hall?”
“Yep.” Avery nodded. “Exactly. Julia Forsyth, who is Susan’s mother-in-law. Then there’s Mary O’Shaughnessy and Sophie Montgomery. Three more determined women you will never meet.”
Any number of images filled her mind’s eye, but Sloan just couldn’t understand why a bunch of old women would be interested in such a thing. “What could these women possibly care about a bachelorette competition? It sounds like something cooked up by a beer distributor for Friday-night wet T-shirt contests.”
“They care because they have three grandsons.” Avery leaned forward and reached for her wineglass, a dark mask descending across her gaze. “Three very
eligible
grandsons.”
“This is all an exercise to get their grandsons married?” Grier’s eye widened. “This big thing they keep talking about that’s so great for tourism is all about getting these guys married off?”
“Pretty much,” Avery agreed. “And from what I’ve heard, all three ladies are spitting mad it hasn’t paid dividends yet.”
“Does it bother you?” Sloan swirled the rich red wine around in her glass and watched as the long legs coating the bowl reflected the light from the lobby’s oversized fireplace.
Avery’s eyes narrowed. “Does what bother me?”
“This whole thing. That women come from around the country to snatch up eligible bachelors from
your
town.”
Avery’s eyebrows told Sloan all she needed to know, even before her pointed words. “Is this the magazine writer talking? Or my newfound friend?”
Sloan leaned forward and laid a hand on Avery’s forearm. “I’m a friend first. And the whole ‘come up here to find a bachelor thing’ sort of has me a bit freaked out, even as I’m intrigued. So yeah, this conversation is off the record. And when I do want something on the record, I’ll make sure to tell you.”
Avery breathed a soft sigh as her shoulders relaxed. “All right. To tell you the truth, it doesn’t bother us nearly as much as we’d like people to think. The local girls, we all subscribe to the code and act like it’s a serious affront so everyone goes out of their way to treat us well. But truly—we women of Indigo—we’re a hearty bunch. Most of us aren’t afraid to go after the men we want.”
“Most?” Grier added.
Avery’s smile was tinged with sadness. “Most.”
Grier just nodded. “Believe me. Sometimes you’re better off not chasing. Or forgiving, come to think of it. I’ve come to the educated conclusion it lets a man get off way too easily.”
“No doubt.” Sloan waved her glass at her best friend. If Grier was going to spill the deets on that one, it wasn’t her place to stop her.
At Avery’s questioning glance, Sloan added, with a nod in Grier’s direction, “I believe she means ‘get off’ in the literal sense.”