Weathering the Storm. Morgan Q O'Reilly

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СКАЧАТЬ last time he’d attended a dinner dance, there’d been people in tuxes and gowns, chowing on lamb ribs while sucking down champagne and fine California wine.

      Aiden tipped a plastic party cup of cold brew to his lips and watched the colorfully arrayed people swirl around him. While the double wedding of the twins had been fun in its own hoity toity way, this was more his style by a long shot.

      Although the people of Talkeetna reminded him of pictures he’d seen of hippies from the sixties, they were as varied as the flowers beginning to bud around town.

      Mid May, and the weather was fine. Mighty fine. Rumor had it that by June said flowers would be spilling from their planters in a dizzying array of color. As it was, the birch trees had new spring leaves unfurling so fast he could practically see it happening. The almost-midnight sun was shining brightly, bringing green things to life as quickly as possible, possibly to make up for the long icy winter. With the tourist season officially opening the next day, celebration filled the air around the casual street dance getting underway.

      Smoke from a couple of large grills tickled his nostrils. Hamburgers, hot dogs, salmon, and reindeer sausage, a hodge podge brought by the attendees according to their tastes. Bill, the guy who’d hired him for the summer to build an addition onto his B and B, promised him there’d be a moose burger or two for him on the grill. Just as soon as the vultures had snapped up the regular fare. After a day of hauling material and setting up the tools he’d bought from Cayden’s new wife, Candy, the smell of sizzling meat teased his stomach.

      The microbrew in his cup, made right here in town, went down smooth and easy. He’d developed a taste for the craft beers the two months he’d been in state so far. First Cay and Candy’s new house in Anchorage had kept him busy for a few weeks, then he’d done some modifications for his brother Brenn on the house he was renting from Candy. The place worked well for him and his busy photography business.

      While working in Anchorage, Aiden had met a few other guys at the specialty woods shop and started his own networking that had led to meeting Bill Scarlotti. A weekend in Talkeetna discussing plans had led to a job that would fill his summer–building an addition to Bill’s B and B that would complement the log structure already in place and almost double the miniature inn’s square footage. Bill’s was just one of several inns in the small town soon to be overrun by tourists, mountain climbers waiting their turn at scaling Denali, and locals who wanted to fish the Susitna River.

      The crowd gathered tonight consisted mainly of the young people who blew into town to run tours, or work gift shops, taverns, hotels and restaurants for the season. Transients. Like him. Pilots and climbing guides mixed with shop girls and waitresses. Fishing guides swapped tall stories with mechanics, cooks and maids. Ages ranged from twenties to a few grizzled elders, but all had a relaxed demeanor. Long hair and beards looked natural beside dreadlocks, goth black, colorful tattoos and multiple piercings. On both genders. Well, the women didn’t sport beards, but several had thick braids that brushed their hips. North Face fleece mixed with gauze from India and locally made quilted vests. Birkenstocks, Teva sandals–worn with wool socks and without–running shoes and climbing boots stomped to music that varied from rock to reggae. Hell, he even caught of whiff of wacky tabacky. New age hippies, for sure.

      He sipped his beer and listened to the gentle rise and fall of laughter, conversation, music and singing, letting the ambiance wash over and around him. He felt good. Comfortable. Almost as if he’d come home. Which was odd, because he belonged in Michigan. Maybe it was the woods filling in spaces between buildings and surrounding town, or the shush of the river at the end of the road, but Talkeetna had a woodsy feel to it, the same feel he loved about the small towns back home. Only, here it was near eight at night and the sun had several hours to go before setting. Funny how the long hours of daylight had crept up on him since early March when he’d arrived in Alaska.

      All he really needed to complete the picture was a warm, willing woman. One who wasn’t concentrating on a hard-core career track. Those women tended to want him on one too.

      Fast cars and fast women were fine, but since two of his six younger siblings had married, he’d been feeling the need for a little comfort of his own. A woman to center her world around him. Raise the kids, keep the house orderly, the laundry clean and folded in the dresser where he could find it, and of course, she had to be able to cook. Nothing too fancy–he preferred a meat and potatoes menu for the most part, but he didn’t like doing the cooking. Of course, he expected her to be beautiful, and as hot in the bedroom as she was in the kitchen. A laid back, easy, loving woman, who loved kids, baking cookies and leading the PTA.

      If she had red hair, fine, but he wasn’t looking for a miniature Maureen O’Hara like his sister or new sister-in-law. He loved the two of them, but he’d have to strangle them after a week of living with them. Too strident, too bossy, they could make a man twice their size feel like a five-year-old in ten seconds flat.

      As he sipped his beer, entertaining a vision of his perfect woman, one shaped like Jessica Rabbit with the bedroom talent of Jenna Jameson, the bodies in the street undulated, weaving and swaying to the music. For a moment the crowd parted, and he saw her, a woman of willowy, ethereal beauty, dancing with the sensual beat of the music, her eyes closed, hands moving with sinuous grace, almost as if she wove the music with her long-fingered slender hands. Men and women alike danced with her, swirling around, but keeping a careful distance all the same. A small smile curved her pink lips, and dark lashes lay like miniature fans on her rose-flushed cheeks. She had a pale, fragile look about her, yet joy flowed from her like delicate mist.

      “Ah, heard she was coming back.”

      Aiden cut his eyes to the right in time to see Bill hold out a fresh cup of beer. “Who’s that?” With the full cup in one hand, he drained the last of his original cup and stacked the new inside the empty.

      Bill nodded at the brunette with a colorful gauzy scarf wrapped around her head. Wisps of dark hair curled about the edges of the lime fabric.

      “Who is she?”

      A multicolored skirt that should have clashed with her head covering wrapped around her calves, giving a teasing hint of the subtle curves beneath. The faded tank top she wore under a gray zippered hoodie might have been pale yellow at one point and was loose enough it didn’t give much hint about the build beneath. She was certainly not overblown in the chest area, if she had any cleavage at all. Clunky leather sandals protected her feet and showcased tiny ankles that sported braided bracelets between socks and leggings equally as colorful as the ones on her wrists. She looked like the kind who’d have a toe ring or two.

      “Cousin of a local. Karl, over at the Smashed Boulder. Was born here, folks moved out when she reached high school. After that she spent a few summers up here before heading off to college on a full-ride scholarship to one of those big schools in Colorado. Her mom spent a few seasons helping with the inn while her dad did flight-seeing and mountain guiding. They retired a few years ago to take care of her after she had an accident of some kind.”

      A quick glance at Bill’s face led Aiden to believe the man was being vague on purpose. He’d lived in this burg some thirty-plus years. If anyone knew the full story, Bill would be the one Aiden would place his money on.

      “Looks like she recovered okay. Any idea what’s she doing back here?”

      “Might be a bit of vacation. Don’t think she’s visited Karl in ten years or so, except for a night or two when his folks died a few years back.” Bill jerked his chin in the direction opposite his own establishment. “Good people, that Karl. We send each other our overflow from time to time.”

      A tall man with black hair and clean-shaven face shouldered his way СКАЧАТЬ