Page 11 of An Alaskan Wedding (Alaskan Grooms 1)

Cameron focused his gaze on Boone. Something unspoken flared between them.

“Perhaps you should be making your way back to the sheriff’s office so Grace can get back to work.” With a shake of his head, Cameron walked out of the room.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Grace said. “It’s not worth Cameron being upset with you.” She wasn’t used to men swooping in to protect her. It made her feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

Boone shrugged. “It’s no big deal. These days, we seem to be at odds with each other most of the time anyway.”

Even though Boone was shrugging it off, she detected a hint of sorrow underneath the bravado. She’d been estranged from her own family for quite some time, and she knew how painful it was to deal with family issues.

“So,” Grace said, forcing herself to focus on the matter at hand. “Any idea how this thing works?”

He nodded, causing a warm, comfortable feeling to settle over her. Boone moved closer toward her, quickly swallowing up the distance between them. “First, you have to make sure the top is tightly in place, like this. Sometimes if it doesn’t latch on you’re going to get a face full of goop.” Boone placed his hand over hers on the blender. The feel of his warm, strong hand on top of her own was comforting. For a woman who’d been doing everything for herself for most of her adult life, it felt nice to have someone else take charge. It felt reassuring.

She looked up at him, sucking in a sharp breath at his close proximity. “I’m impressed that you know how to w

ork this.”

He shrugged, causing the fabric of his shirt to tighten against his muscular chest. She had to force herself to look away and focus on the machine.

“I’ve seen Cameron do it a few hundred times, give or take,” he explained. “I’m good with gadgets.”

For what felt like the hundredth time this morning, she shifted from one foot to the other. Standing on her feet all day was going to be a challenge in these heels. She was used to sitting at a desk for most of the day.

Boone looked down at her feet, his expression turning stern.

“How are your feet doing?”

“They’re great,” she said.

She looked down at her nude-colored shoes. They’d been killing her for the past hour straight, but she wasn’t going to admit it. She let out a little sigh. It was such a shame. Shoes were her thing, especially these ones. Tagaros. The little wings on the soles were the signature of the designer. She’d scrimped and saved for weeks in order to buy them at full price. There were only four hundred of them in the world. But they were not the type of shoes a person could wear for a job that entailed standing on one’s feet for most of the day.

“Actually, not so good,” she admitted. The words slipped out of her mouth before she could rein them back in. She didn’t feel like hearing an I-told-you-so from Boone.

Boone studied her face. His expression softened. “Talk to Hazel about her boots. She’ll make sure you have a pair to work in and walk around town in.”

Hazel’s boots? She didn’t need to borrow any boots from Hazel. She’d brought a few pairs with her, although she hadn’t envisioned wearing them all day at work. Most of them had heels. With a woeful smile and a wave, Boone was gone. Although she should have been happy to get back to conquering the blender without an audience, she keenly felt the sheriff’s absence. Much like warmth from the sun, he’d brightened up the small area with his rugged presence, leaving it in shadow once he departed.

* * *

Ever since Grace had admitted she wasn’t a skilled barista, Boone’s warning signs had been on high alert. There was something about Grace Corbett that just didn’t compute. It had nagged at him ever since she’d stepped off the seaplane. Every instinct he’d honed during his tenure as town sheriff reinforced it. Not even those big sooty eyelashes of hers could distract him from his suspicions.

She’d lied on her application. If she was a barista, he was a ballerina. He wasn’t a man who tolerated lies or the folks who told them. Why should he make an exception for her? And yet he’d agreed not to tell Cameron about her fudged résumé. Had that been a mistake?

Once bitten, twice shy. He’d learned his lesson years ago about women who couldn’t tell the truth. Diana had taught him well. But he considered himself a fair man, and he knew it would be wrong to judge Grace based on another woman’s actions.

Boone drained the last of his green tea from his mug and pushed himself away from the table. A quick glance at his watch confirmed that he needed to get back to the sheriff’s office. For some reason he couldn’t get the sight of Grace out of his mind. Her wide, blue eyes. The slushy coffee that had blanketed her hair and face... Those pink, kissable lips. All he wanted to do was grin from ear to ear.

“Mind telling me what you think you’re doing?” Cameron stood in front of him with his arms folded across his chest. He was rocking back on his heels. His eyes flashed a warning sign.

“What? I’m a paying customer just like everyone else in here.” Boone held up his receipt.

Cameron raised an eyebrow. “I don’t recall you ever coming in here with such frequency, nor do I recall seeing you in the kitchen helping out my employees. If I remember correctly, you didn’t think I should even open this place.”

Boone gritted his teeth. “Hey, don’t make me the bad guy here, Cam. I’ve been supportive in my own way.”

Cameron scoffed. “How can you be the bad guy when I’ve already filled that role?”

“Gimme a break. I’ve never rubbed it in your face. I’ve spent the past year and a half defending you to everyone in town who accused you of leading with your heart instead of your head. I went above and beyond to help you out of the mess you made of the cannery deal.”

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