The thought of Gordon Davis’s nuclear meltdown brought a reluctant smile to Isabelle’s lips. “Please give him my best,” she said sweetly, “next time you see him.”
“I will. Although I doubt that will be anytime soon.” Should he have cracked the lid on this particular surprise so early? The news would get back to Bridget practically the moment the words left his mouth.
Now Bridget’s future sister-in-law looked confused. “Is he no longer representing Ellison Enterprises?”
“I’m sure he is, but I’m not. EE wants to concentrate on the core shipping business. We’re spinning Skyline Air off as a wholly independent operation. I built it, so when the ink dries on the paperwork, it’s mine. I’m moving the headquarters out of EE’s corporate offices since most of Skyline’s properties are elsewhere. Hence, no more Gordon.”
“Oh.” She blinked, clearly filtering that disclosure through her legal mind. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks. It’s something I’ve been working toward for several years.”
She frowned, which told him she’d moved on to filtering the information through her sister-in-law mind. “You’re not going to be based in Los Angeles anymore?”
Screw it. He’d already blown his strategically planned slow approach tonight by letting his eagerness to make contact override everything. Keeping his cards close to his vest seemed pointless. In a town this size Bridget would find out soon enough how he’d spent the biggest portion of his twenty hours in Captivity, and she’d put two and two together. “Most of our airfields, employees, and aircraft are in the Pacific Northwest. Our corporate headquarters will be in Anchorage, but I’m planning on establishing my personal headquarters right here in Captivity.”
A head-turner with long, light brown hair and soft, moss green eyes came over to stand beside Isabelle. “For how long?” she asked.
He smiled at the trepidation in her expression and sent his answer to the room at large. “For good.”
She exhaled something in the local native dialect, and although he wasn’t nearly as fluent in Tlinget as he was in Bridget, he felt pretty certain it translated to, “Oh, shit.”
Chapter Three
When someone touched her shoulder, Bridget jumped like a startled cat and nearly spilled her full flute of champagne all over her accoster.
“Whoa,” Mad Dog joked, rescuing her champagne as she spun his way. “The ceremony’s over. ‘I do’s’ said, cake served, speeches given. It’s all good.”
“Yeah, yeah—all good.” Except for the severe case of nerves she’d developed over the last three weeks, thanks to Archer popping up out of nowhere like a ghost from her past, then disappearing just as quickly, but only after divulging plans to relocate to Captivity.
She knew through the grapevine that he’d bought the Haines House—a cedar-and-glass architectural feast perched on the hillside almost directly across Captivity Cove from the Shanahan homestead. She knew he had a Cutwater power cruiser with twin outboards in a slip at the small boat marina. What she didn’t know was when the hell he’d turn up again. Living with the uncertainty added a layer of stress to her life that she truly did not need. Especially now. Especially right now, on her brother’s wedding day.
So stop wasting brain cells on him. He’s not likely to crash the end of Trace and Izzy’s reception.
Right. She looked around the Inn’s low-lit banquet room, where the reception was winding down. Under a rainbow shower of colored lights, her parents held each other up on the dance floor, swaying to the live band’s version of Bowie’s “Let’s Dance.” Izzy’s parents, in much the same condition, joined them. Old Jorg danced with Rose, who kept moving his roving hands firmly back to her waist.
The happy couple had already retired to the honeymoon suite upstairs. Tomorrow they would leave on a two-week land-and-sea tour of the Inner Passage with both sets of parents in sort of a “hey, now that we’re all family, let’s get to know each other” endeavor dreamed up and funded by the moms, and, after that, Trace and Izzy planned to spend another two weeks on their own—finally—at a lakeside vacation rental in the Canadian Rockies, away from family, an entire town’s worth of meddling Captives, and, basically, the world.
Bridget loved her parents, and Izzy’s seemed great, but she’d breathe a sigh of relief when they all boarded their plane. Holding down the fort at Captivity Air for the next four weeks seemed like the better end of the deal. She needed some space. Maybe she was sick of answering questions about her own love life. Weddings were like parent-crack, as far as she could tell. Hers weren’t even finished with Trace’s yet, and they were already squarely focused on marrying her off. Pronto.
No, thank you.
“Sorry I startled you,” Mad said.
“Not your fault. I was deep in my own damn head, I guess.”
“Yeah.” He looked at her and smiled. “You’ve been there a lot lately. Bet it’s freakin’ scary in there.”
Oh, he had no idea.
“Come on.” He took her arm and steered them toward the door to the lobby. “Let the old folks shut this down. Everyone else is headed to The Goose to continue the party.”
More party? She’d already had her fair share of champagne, and tomorrow kicked off her stint supervising the airfield. Granted, the Sunday morning schedule consisted of Trace and Izzy’s flight out with the ’rents, Izzy’s man of honor Danny’s flight to Anchorage, a couple lessons, and a few inbound private planes, but did she really want to stay out ’till all hours and start her tenure as boss behind dark sunglasses so nobody saw her hangover? That was so old Bridget.
Mad quirked a brow at her. “Or do you plan to go home and spend the rest of the night in your own damn head?”
Point to Mad. There were worse things than starting a day behind dark glasses. Friends and loved ones were beyond ready to celebrate something good happening for the Shanahan family, and they expected her to be part of it. “I just need to grab my purse and visit the ladies’ room. I’ll meet you over there.”
“Atta girl,” Mad said. He strode through the Inn’s comfortable, lodge-style lobby toward the interior entrance to the bar and grill, grabbing Lilah along the way.
Watching him walk away, his light hair extra blond against his dark groomsman’s suit, poked at something in her brain. Something she couldn’t quite reach to pull out into plain sight. Shrugging it off, she stopped at the reception desk to get her purse from the night clerk and then pushed through the door of the ladies’ restroom.
Alone in the small lounge, she placed her evening bag on the marble counter and took stock of herself in one of the two oval mirrors framed by interlocking antlers. Not too shabby, she decided, for a woman whose patience level and lifestyle rarely resulted in her wearing anything more cosmetic than sunscreen and lip balm.