“Don’t feel s’bad,” called Toby Myers, one of the old sourdoughs who always hung around the restaurant. “I’ll marry up with ya.”
Hannah lifted the coffeepot and walked to his table. “I don’t know about that. You know what they say about getting married in Alaska…the odds are good, but the goods are odd.”
He chuckled as she poured another cup of coffee. It wasn’t the strong stuff he really wanted—Toby’s doctor had ordered absolutely no caffeine, so she was secretly substituting decaf. So far, he hadn’t noticed the difference.
The bell over the door jangled and Hannah glanced up, surprised. She didn’t expect the guests to arrive for another few minutes; when the bride and groom were ninety-two and ninety-five respectively, it took a while to get places.
“Hi, Hannah. Remember me?” a man asked, shifting the child he held in his arms.
Hannah stepped closer so the newcomer wasn’t silhouetted against the late-afternoon light. Her eyes opened wider.
It was Ross McCoy, but not the lanky teenager who’d left Quicksilver nearly seventeen years ago. This Ross was six foot two, with broad shoulders and a trim, powerful body that oozed masculine sensuality. Potent. Small lines fanned the corners of his deep blue eyes, topped by black hair with a few glints of silver.
Shocked by the feminine awareness running through her body, she stared at the child he carried, then at Ross again. They had the same hair and eyes, the same strong chin and direct way of looking at you. They looked so much alike there was no doubt they were father and son.
“Have I changed that much?” Ross murmured.
“Ross?” Hannah whispered.
“Yup.” He grinned his slow, warm grin. “Well, Honeycomb? Where’s that hug you always used to give me?”
The familiar nickname and smile made Hannah’s eyes swim with unaccustomed tears. “I…uh….” She shrugged and sniffed in embarrassment.
Ross put his son down on a chair and closed the distance between them. He lifted his hand and stroked a damp track on her cheek. “Hey, what’s all this? You don’t cry.”
“Nothing. I’m just glad to see you.”
“Same here, Honeycomb.”
He gave her a quick, tight hug and Hannah drew an unsteady breath. Some things might have changed, but she was still “Honeycomb” to Ross, the nickname he’d given her when they’d gleefully found an old tree filled with bees and honey, only to be chased away by a territorial bear.
It was just like him to show up when she was a little lost and at odds with herself during this wedding excitement. Despite the years she’d spent riding herd on six younger brothers, she still dreamed of becoming a mother. Of course, that required a husband, and men didn’t seem to find her particularly desirable.
Jeez, that was depressing—even more depressing than never having a family of her own. Most of the time Hannah tried not to think about the lack of romance in her life, but the fuss over Ten Penny finally getting married was a constant reminder.
“Think I’ll be headin’ out,” said Toby.
Hannah blinked and motioned to the pink streamers adorning the room. “Aren’t you staying for the party, Toby? There’s lots of food.”
“Nope…gotta get going. I’m organizin’ the chivaree for Joe and Ten Penny, so I need to get ever’thing fixed up for it.” The door closed behind him, leaving an overwhelming silence.
Ross lifted his eyebrows. “A chivaree?”
Hannah tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear and shrugged again. Ordinarily she didn’t pay much attention to her appearance, yet this was one day she wished she could have worn something besides her usual jeans and shirt. The last time Ross had seen her, she’d been a flat-chested fifteen-year-old, trying to make her youngest brother eat green peas without spitting them in her hair. Maybe she didn’t have any illusions about being beautiful, but it would have been nice to look her best.
“You probably don’t remember,” she murmured. “It’s an old custom. The men ‘serenade’ the bride and groom on their wedding night, making noise and keeping them from…er, getting amorous.”
“I remember, but Joe and Ten Penny are pretty old for that sort of thing.”
“It’s all in fun, and Ten Penny has been hankering after a chivaree for a long time,” Hannah said, remembering how excited the elder woman had been about her impending nuptials.
“Hmm…I didn’t think she was the romantic type.”
Every woman is the romantic type, you dope, Hannah thought, unaccountably annoyed. Yet it really wasn’t Ross’s fault. Everyone in town had teased her about being the last spinster in Quicksilver, thinking she was too practical, too sensible to mind the good-natured ribbing. Sometimes it felt like Sensible Hannah was tattooed across her forehead.
Sensible. Hah.
Pressing her lips together, she hurried to Toby’s table to clean it up before the wedding guests arrived, mostly to give herself something to do. She wanted to ask about the little boy Ross had brought with him, but figured Ross would explain in his own good time.
Crouching to retrieve a dropped spoon, she caught the child’s eye and smiled. The youngster regarded her gravely, then scooted off his chair to tug on his father’s pant leg. The ache around Hannah’s heart deepened. Everyone had moved on with their lives, and here she was, in the same old place she’d always been.
“Up, Papa.”
“All right, Jamie.”
Ross bent and lifted his son into his arms again. He’d fought so hard to get custody of Jamie, sometimes he was afraid to let go.
Jamie put his thumb in his mouth and stared at Hannah. Ross didn’t blame him, he could hardly keep from staring himself. She’d changed…a lot. He remembered a girl with a flyaway blond hair and a gamin face, but that girl had turned into a woman with expressive silver-green eyes and a shapely body.
Very shapely.
Get a grip, Ross ordered, trying to quell a flash of heat in his groin. That wasn’t why he’d returned to Quicksilver. He’d returned because Hannah was a good friend and he needed her help. When it came right down to it, she was the only woman he really trusted.
Woman. He grinned at the thought.
Hannah hadn’t quite been a woman when he’d left Quicksilver, but it didn’t matter; they’d gotten into too much trouble together to ever be strangers. Hours of writing “I’ll never build a snowman on the teacher’s chair again” were a guarantee of lifelong friendship.
“What are you smirking about?” Hannah asked.
“Our infamous snowman. How many times did we have to write that sentence?”
“A thousand times each. My hand developed a permanent crimp, and it was all your idea to do it.”
Ross shook his head. “Not quite. You were the one who suggested we dye the snow green and use a witch’s cap. That was the part Mrs. Haggerty hated the worst.”
“All right, we were both responsible.” Hannah laughed, her cheeks turning pink. He loved it; she was probably the only woman left on the planet unspoiled enough to blush.
After his disastrous marriage he’d vowed never to be trapped again, but getting Jamie had changed everything. He needed a wife to strengthen his legal position in case of another custody battle, and his son needed a mother. Hannah was the solution to both problems.