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“Slut.” With a flick of her finger in the air, Avery mimed touting up a scoreboard. “I can call ’em.”
“I’ll say the first lines of subtext were delivered while she was wearing a wedding ring.”
“Slut! What does she look like? Tell me everything.”
“I don’t know, exactly. Blond.”
“Bleached.”
He let his gaze roam over her messy, clipped-back hair. “I’m forced to point out you have no grounds to disdain anyone for changing hair colors.”
“You have a point. Still. Is she pretty?”
“I guess. Not my type,” he repeated. “She’s . . . obvious, is maybe the best word. She’s good at her job, as far as I’m concerned. That’s all I am—was—still am—interested in. When did the kick-out go down?”
“The day after Christmas. Karyn found out the week before, but let him stay so the kids would get one more family Christmas in. Why?”
“I had to drop in the agency a couple days ago, sign some stuff. She didn’t seem upset. And, ah, there was additional subtext.”
Those bright blue eyes darkened. “Slut—slutty slut with no conscience. She helps destroy a marriage, and now she’s moving on, looking for the next sucker. That’s what my mother did.”
He said nothing, just laid a hand over hers.
“That’s probably why I have zero tolerance for sluts and cheats.” With a shrug, Avery rose to take both their mugs back to the coffeemaker. “In addition to the Karyn/Jim implosion, did you know Beth and Garrett are getting married?”
“Yeah, she was flashing the ring around last night. They both look happy.”
“They are—and Beth’s got an extra glow, seeing as she’s about eight weeks pregnant.”
“What? How did I miss this stuff?”
“By spending too much time hanging out with men who have no gossip to share. They’re happy about the baby. They’ve been together almost two years now, and it looks like baby makes three boosted them to make it legal. I was talking to Beth about the idea of them getting married at the inn.”
“At the inn.”
“Clare and Beckett are getting married there next spring. This could be a kind of dry run. They want something small, and soon. They were even thinking about just doing the courthouse thing, but that made both their mothers cry,” she added as she came back from getting fresh coffee for both of them. “When I suggested the inn, Beth got pretty excited. She didn’t know it was an option.”
“Neither did I.”
“It’s up to you guys, of course, but Hope’s good with it. I could do the catering, no problem. Mountainside could do the flowers. They’re only talking about tight friends and immediate family. Maybe twenty-five, thirty people. You’ve already got bookings for Valentine’s Day, but the weekend after, you’re clear so far.”
“Next month?” He had to gulp down coffee. “That’s pretty damn quick.”
“As I said last night, one spontaneous—semi—party doesn’t make you Mr. Spontaneity. Relax. You wouldn’t have to do anything. Beth wants to get into a nice dress before she starts showing, so they don’t want to wait. They’d already talked about staying there for their wedding night, and this would be like one-stop shopping.”
“How much do we charge as a wedding venue?”
She smiled at him. “You and Hope will figure it out. I’d probably give them a discount, due to it’s the first one and all that. Play your cards right, wedding guests will book every room the night before and the night of.”
Good business, he thought. Avery knew good business. “I’ll talk to Hope tomorrow. You’ve got a busy brain, Avery.”
“I know. Right now it’s thinking we should finish this coffee. You go out and plow the lanes while I straighten up from the party. Then to pay me back for my services, you can take me to bed.”
“I can’t lose.”
“To my busy brain, it’s more like win-win.”
* * *
MAYBE HE LIKED to plow, but as soon as he’d done his own lane—perhaps not with the usual finesse—Owen headed straight to Ryder’s. Paths for D.A. already cleared, he noted. Good.
He parked the jeep, jumped off. He stomped his boots, then walked into the house.
“Hey, Ry.”
“Down here.”
“I’m covered with snow, man. You come up here.”
D.A. padded upstairs, tail wagging. He licked snow off Owen’s boots. Ryder followed moments later. He wore sweatpants hacked off at the knees and a sweaty T-shirt.
“What’s up? I’m trying to get a damn workout in, after which my plans were to fat-ass before game time. Now it’s sledding and snow wars at Mom’s.”
“When?”
“You forget your phone? Has the world ended?”
“I’ve got my phone.” He dug it out. “No messages.”
“Maybe you’re not invited. She likes me better.”
“She pretends to like you better so you don’t whine like a baby. She must’ve called the house. Anyway, this works. I’m taking your truck. You need to finish the plowing. Get Beck’s, then Mom’s. We can switch back over there.”
“You’re Mr. Plow.”
“Have you got a woman in here?”
On a windy sigh, Ryder dipped his hands in his baggy pockets. “Sadly no.”
“I’ve got one. I’m taking your truck.”
“So you can go turn on the Little Red Machine. That’s said with respect and affection. For her.”
“I’m taking your truck, then I’m going to have sex while you’re not. You’re Mr. Substitute Plow.”
“Then no bitching when I don’t do it your way.”
“Just don’t screw it up.” He grabbed Ryder’s truck keys off the table by the door. “What time at Mom’s?”
“I don’t know. We’re not punching a time clock. Two or three. Whenever.”
“Then I’ll see you when I see you.”
As Owen strode out, Ryder looked down at his dog. “One of us has to get a woman. I fucking hate plowing.”
* * *
OWEN WALKED IN to the smell of soup simmering, and when he stripped out of his gear, into a clean kitchen. Though he considered it a waste of breath over the blasting music, he called Avery’s name as he walked through the house.
He heard her, singing in the shower, when he reached the bedroom. She could barely carry a tune, but she made up for it with strong enthusiasm and volume.
Unable to resist, and really the only downside was a glass shower door rather than a curtain, he yanked the door open and made the high-pitched Psycho sounds.
Her answering scream was brilliant.
Plastered against the shower wall, eyes as big as blue moons, she gaped at him. “What’s wrong with you?”
He had to suck in the breat
h laughter stole from him. “I think I broke a rib laughing, otherwise, I’m good.”
“Jesus, Owen.”
“I couldn’t help it. It had to be done.”
“Yeah? Well, so does this!” She grabbed the handheld sprayer, twisted the controls, and soaked him where he stood. “Now we’re both twelve.” Smug, she fit the sprayer back in its bracket.
“I guess I might as well come in there.”
“Hmm,” was her answer.
“A hot shower, a hot woman after cold work,” he said as he stripped off his dripping shirt.
“I thought you’d be another hour at least.”
“I switched with Ry.” He yanked off his boots. “Soup smells good.”
“Once I finished down there I decided to take advantage of your shower. Your bathroom rivals the inn’s, and I’ve been getting spoiled. And your mother called.”
“Sledding and snow wars, late afternoon.”
“I said I’d bring the soup.” She sent him a questioning look.
“Good idea.”
“Clare can stop by my place, get my boots and gear.”
“That’ll work.” He peeled off his soaked pants, tossed a couple towels on the floor to soak up the wet.
“She didn’t seem surprised when I answered the phone.”
“Mom has a way of knowing what she needs to know.” He stepped in, closed the shower door behind him. “You know if you switch the TV to digital radio, it pipes in through those.”
He gestured to the speakers in the ceiling.
“Oh.”
“Just FYI.” Then he just smiled at her.
