Teri Wilson - Alaskan Homecoming

Looking at her now, he could see those moments shining back at him in her eyes. She hadn’t forgotten after all.

He aimed his gaze back at his boss. “No, nothing.”

“All right, then.” Pastor McNeil stood, a sure sign the discussion was over. “Tomorrow afternoon, the fellowship hall will become Miss Sutton’s ballet studio.”

A ballet studio. Liam’s head was on the verge of exploding.

What have I done?

Chapter Three Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Dear Reader Extract Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес. Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом. Copyright Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес. Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.

Whoever invented circular revolving doors had obviously never been on crutches.

Posy felt like a newborn moose wobbling around on unfamiliar, gangly legs as she spun her way inside the Northern Lights Inn. Then, just as the instrument of torture spilled her out, the tip of her left crutch got stuck between one of the glass panels of the door and its frame. She jerked on the crutch as hard as she could, but it didn’t budge. The revolving door ceased revolving altogether, trapping two men wearing fur-trimmed parkas and unhappy scowls inside.

Pilots, in all likelihood. The Northern Lights Inn overlooked a lake that remained frozen for at least nine months out of the year and served as the local municipal airport. Snow planes took off and landed on skis, making regular runs into Anchorage for supplies, or out into the Bush—the parts of Alaska inaccessible by roads, which was the overwhelming majority of the state. At all hours of the day and night, the hotel’s coffee bar was a gathering place for local charter pilots, along with the severely under-caffeinated looking for relief.

Now that Posy got a better look at the two men she’d trapped in the revolving door, she suspected they fell into the latter category. They looked as though they could each use a cup of coffee. Or three.

Sorry she mouthed at them from the other side of the glass, yanking again on the crutch. All at once it came dislodged, and Posy nearly fell on her backside for the second time in less than an hour. So much for balletic grace and poise.

One of the two men helped her get resituated on her crutches before making a beeline for the coffee bar.

Posy paused for a second before heading that direction herself. She hated this. Absolutely hated not having perfect control over her movements. Ballet was all about control. When she lifted her leg in an attitude position, her knee raised at the exact same angle every time. That was what all those hours of barre work and practice were for—making sure every pointed toe, every classically arched arm and every graceful step were absolutely perfect. She felt out of sorts, as if she were walking around in a strange body.

She looked around the dark wood-paneled walls of the Northern Lights Inn and the sweeping views of the Chugach Mountain Range afforded by the coffee bar’s big picture window, expecting at least a tiny wave of nostalgia to wash over her. It didn’t. Being back in Alaska was even stranger than she’d expected. It no longer felt like home.

Strange body. Strange town.

Somewhere in her head she heard Liam’s voice again.

You’ve been gone a long time.

Her throat grew tight for some odd reason, and she suddenly felt like crying. Which was patently ridiculous. So she had a broken bone in her foot. It would heal. In a matter of six weeks it would heal, and she’d be back in San Francisco doing what she loved most: dancing. Her foot would repair itself, good as new. Just as it had before.

It had to.

Everything was going to be fine. She was rattled, that was all. It might be home, but Alaska was the polar opposite of San Francisco. A sea change. And she’d had her feet on the snowy ground for only two hours. Anyone would be disoriented. What she needed right now was coffee. And her girlfriends.

“Posy! You’re really here. I can’t believe it.” Zoey Wynne, her oldest childhood friend, hopped off one of the bar stools at the coffee bar and wrapped her in a tight embrace.

“I’m here, all right.” Posy kept a grip on her wayward crutches and let herself be hugged.

The moment Zoey let her go, Posy found herself in the arms of Anya Parker, another close friend from the days of skating at the pond and trekking through the woods on snowshoes after school. It was nice being hugged. Dancers hugged one another all the time on performance nights—good-luck hugs in the dressing rooms, congratulatory hugs in the wings. But it had been a while since she’d been embraced like this.

Like it mattered.

Posy’s soul breathed a relieved sigh. For the first time since she’d been back, Aurora, Alaska, actually felt like home.

“Come sit down.” Anya glanced briefly at the cast on Posy’s foot, but if she was shocked to see it, she didn’t let it show.

News traveled fast. For once, Posy was grateful for small-town gossip. She’d spent enough time dwelling on her injury without having to explain it again and again.

She slid onto one of the bar stools and ordered a cup of coffee. Black, with the smallest possible amount of sugar.

“Gosh, this is good.” She closed her eyes, savoring the first sip. “I’d forgotten how great the coffee is here.”

Anya snickered. “Don’t they have coffee in San Francisco?”

“Theater coffee.” Posy shook her head, thinking about the food truck perpetually parked at the curb by the back door of the theater where her company rehearsed six days a week. She shuddered to think about how many to-go cups of coffee she’d consumed from that truck over the course of the past six years. “Not the same thing at all.”

“It’s all part of our plan.” Zoey winked at Anya and then aimed her gaze back at Posy. “We’ve got you here, finally. Now we’re going to convince you to stay by pouring Alaska’s finest java down your throat.”

Posy gave her an uneasy smile. She had no intention of staying once her foot was healed. What in the world would she do in Aurora? Work for Liam the rest of her life?

Anya frowned. “What was that look for?”

“What look?” Posy shrugged and drained the remainder of her coffee.

“That look on your face just now. The one that indicated staying here would be a fate worse than death.” Zoey’s eyebrows lifted.