Northern Fires. JENNIFER LABRECQUE
added to the mix.
Alberta, the Gypsy queen, had shown up two days ago and appointed herself the play’s special consultant, as they were performing a romantic comedy and Alberta specialized in affairs of the heart. Juliette hadn’t had any direct dealings with her, but she was slightly in awe of Alberta, whose reputation preceded her. Juliette had thought for one crazy minute about maybe asking for a “reading,” but had dismissed the idea just as quickly. Her life was finally on something of an even keel. If her future held a big nosedive, it was probably best to not know.
Alberta was plopped in a folding chair opposite Norris Watts who’d started up a monthly newspaper for Good Riddance and the surrounding area. Norris had approached Juliette about doing a feature article on her as a female bush pilot. Juliette had been nice, but firm, in turning her down. She didn’t want to think about her past, her ex-husbands or her parents, and inevitably a feature article would mean that kind of digging.
She’d finally learned to live in the moment and that’s exactly where she wanted to stay and what she wanted to focus on.
Even though it was pushing seven in the evening, daylight still filtered through the windows, turning Alberta’s red hair into a torch atop her head. Juliette wasn’t sure if she’d ever get used to the 2:00 a.m. sunrise and 10:00 p.m. sunsets that came with the territory. However, she wasn’t complaining. Spring and summer’s long days of sunlight were a welcome change from winter’s cold dark. Growing up in North Carolina, Juliette had always welcomed the change of seasons but never as much as now that she lived in Alaska.
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