Second-Chance Reunion

Ballet dancer Posy Sutton is only back in her hometown of Aurora, Alaska, until her injury heals. It’s a decision that’d be easier to stick to if she didn’t keep bumping into her charming ex-boyfriend, Liam Blake. After six years, she should be over him—but instead all she can see is the mistake she made when she left him. She’s not sure she can handle choosing between Liam and ballet a second time…if Liam is even willing to risk his heart again. When her time in Alaska is up, will she and Liam be part of the sweetest dance of all?

“I suppose you’re the appointment I’m expecting?” Liam said flatly.

Clearly he wasn’t any more pleased with this surprise turn of events than she was.

She nodded. “Yes. The senior pastor hired me over the phone. I’m the new ballet teacher.”

Ballet teacher. The words tasted like sand in her mouth.

“Temporary ballet teacher,” she added for clarification. She wanted to make sure that was clear from the very beginning. “I’m only in town for six weeks.”

How things had changed over the course of five short days. She was back here in Alaska, where the snow was real, where bears took naps and where her new boss was her old love. She could still hear the echo of that horrifying crack in her foot.

Once her foot healed, she was going back to San Francisco. Gabriel had promised not to make a final decision about who would be promoted to principal until the parts in Firebird had been cast. She still had one last chance.

A small one, to be sure, but she wasn’t giving up without a fight.

TERI WILSON grew up as an only child and could often be found with her head in a book, lost in a world of heroes, heroines and exotic places. As an adult, her love of books has led her to her dream career—writing. Teri’s other passions include dance and travel. She lives in Texas, and loves to hear from readers. Teri can be contacted via her website, teriwilson.net.

Alaskan Homecoming

Teri Wilson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

A time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance.

—Ecclesiastes 3:4

For Crystal, my favorite ballerina

Acknowledgments

Many thanks to Crystal Serrano for her expert ballet knowledge and for making my legs shake in barre class; Elizabeth Winick Rubinstein and everyone at McIntosh & Otis; Rachel Burkot, Melissa Endlich and the wonderful staff at Mills & Boon Books; my critique partner, Meg Benjamin; and my family and friends for their unwavering support.

And as always, I thank God for making my dreams come true and allowing me to write for a living.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Chapter One

Chapter Two

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

Copyright

Chapter One

Be still. Do not move a muscle. And whatever you do, don’t scream.

Posy Sutton bit her lip to prevent the forbidden scream from slipping out. She wanted very much to yell for help at the top of her lungs. Who wouldn’t, standing there with an awkward plaster cast on her foot and looking at what was a mere ten feet in front of her?

A bear.

From the looks of its wooly brown backside, a brown bear. Or possibly a grizzly, which, as bears went, was the very worst sort to bump into. Not that a brown bear would be a picnic.

Don’t do it. Don’t scream.

Posy might have been back in her hometown of Aurora, Alaska, for only a matter of hours, but she was no cheechako—Alaska’s common nickname for newcomers. She’d grown up here. Six years in San Francisco couldn’t erase the lessons she’d had drilled into her as a child. She knew how to behave around bears in the wilderness—avoid eye contact, do not scream or yell. If the bear doesn’t see you, walk away very slowly. If the bear does see you, play dead.

The problem was that she wasn’t exactly in the wilderness at the moment. In fact, she wasn’t outdoors at all. She was standing in the fellowship hall of Aurora Community Church. All alone. There wasn’t another soul in sight.

Unless the bear whose tail end was currently sticking out of the overturned trash can in the corner was to be counted. Bears had souls, didn’t they?

Posy rolled her eyes. Now wasn’t exactly the time to contemplate the eternal salvation of Smokey, Paddington and the like.

The bear grunted, its rumbling voice echoing from within the metal trash can. It sounded so...so...sinister. And hungry. Very hungry. Like every growling stomach in the universe all rolled into one. Posy’s heart thumped so hard, she thought it might beat right out of her chest. She’d never been so terrified in her life. Not even the first time she’d danced the role of Clara in The Nutcracker as a ten-year-old. Nor opening night of her debut as a soloist with the West Coast Arts Ballet Company, plucked from the corps de ballet and thrust directly into the spotlight.

She was standing in an enclosed space with a grizzly. And she was on crutches. Could it get any worse?

One sound, one telltale movement and the bear would realize she was there. And she’d be taken down like a weak zebra on the National Geographic Channel.

She tightened her grip on her crutches and took a deep, calming breath, much like the one she always took in the final seconds before the red velvet curtains parted on performance nights. Only this breath wasn’t all that calming. Her chest grew tighter. She thought she might be hyperventilating. She prayed for a paper bag. Or better yet, a can of bear repellent.

Bear repellent.

Posy hadn’t seen a can of bear spray in years. San Francisco wasn’t without its dangers, but bears didn’t exactly make the short list. Or the long list. Or any variation of the list whatsoever. Bear repellent was obviously no longer a staple in her handbag. But hair spray certainly was. Ballerina buns didn’t stay put on their own.

Without taking her eyes off the bear’s broad, furry hindquarters, she anchored her right crutch firmly under her arm and reached into her purse for the can of Aqua Net that she never went anywhere without. Okay, so it wasn’t exactly Mace for wild animals, but maybe it would do in a pinch. As carefully and quietly as she could manage, she pried off the lid. But her hands were shaking so badly that it fell to the ground before she could catch it.

To Posy’s ears, it sounded louder than a gunshot when it hit the tile floor and bounced what had to be at least a dozen times. The world came to an abrupt standstill. Save for the lid to the Aqua Net clattering around like a pinball, nothing moved. Not Posy. Not the dust in the air. Not even the bear. All rummaging had ceased. Not a muscle moved in that furry back end, until the bear slowly began walking backward, extricating itself from the trash can.

Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no.

Posy took an instinctive step backward with her left foot. The injured one. Pain shot through her plaster cast, and she stumbled. One crutch clattered to the ground. She seized on to the other with both desperate hands and teetered sideways. The crutch wobbled. And the tile floor suddenly seemed to be rising up to meet her. Just as she realized she was going down, the bear shot the rest of the way out of the trash can in a fuzzy brown blur.

Posy screamed. She no longer cared about the rules. If she was about to become bear chow, someone somewhere was going to hear about it. Her scream echoed off the walls of the fellowship hall as she tumbled to the ground.

Then, before her body made contact with the hard tile, she was lifted into the air from behind by a powerful force. Her terror grew tenfold. And her first thought was that she was being tag teamed. By bears.

Well, she wasn’t going down without a fight. She had only one weapon left at her disposal, and she didn’t hesitate to use it. She pressed down on the Aqua Net nozzle as hard as she could and aimed the can over her shoulder, screaming all the while.

“Ouch! What the...”

The talking bear—talking bear?—released its hold on her and she toppled to the floor, landing squarely on her backside, which was good. She didn’t mind a bruised behind as long as she didn’t reinjure her foot. Assuming she wasn’t about to be eaten, she needed that foot to heal in time for the spring production of Firebird.

“What was that for?”

Posy glanced up at the figure towering over her.

A man. Not another bear.

A man.

A man pressing the heels of his hands into his puffy red eyes and groaning as though he’d been doused with pepper spray or something.

Posy glanced at the can of Aqua Net still clutched in her hand. Great. Just great. Someone had actually come to her aid, and she’d maced him.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to spray you. I meant to spray him.” She pointed toward the bear, which had extricated itself from the trash can and was now spinning happy circles chasing its tail.

Posy stared at it. That didn’t seem like normal bear behavior. And now that she got a good look at the creature, it looked less like a bear and more like a...

“My dog?” the man barked. “You wanted to spray my dog with hair spray?”

“Yes.” She scrambled rather inelegantly to her feet, gathering up her crutches along the way. “I mean, no.”

“Which is it? Yes or no? Me or the dog?” He sounded angry. Angrier than a mama bear defending her cub.

Not that Posy could blame him. She’d had an eyeful of Aqua Net on more than one occasion, particularly in her early years with the dance company when she’d shared a cramped dressing room with every one of the other thirteen members of the corps. It wasn’t pleasant.

She forced herself to tear her gaze away from the dog. Not such an easy task. It was an enormous, hulking beast. Very bearlike in appearance, other than the lolling tongue and great swinging tail. She kept doing double takes to make sure it was, in fact, a dog. It let out a woof, and she finally felt safe enough to take her eyes off it.

“Again, I’m sorry. Very sorry.” Her cheeks flared with heat. “I thought your dog was a bear.”

He removed his hands from his face and looked down at her with incredulous eyes. Red, puffy, incredulous eyes.

Posy lost her balance for a moment, then righted herself. She found it difficult to breathe all of a sudden.

She stared at the man, sure she was hallucinating. A name—the name—from her past echoed in her ears, along with the pounding of her suddenly out-of-control pulse.

Liam.

No. It couldn’t be. It looked like him—same charmingly rumpled dark hair, same broad shoulders, same chiseled jaw. Except now those shoulders seemed even broader, the jaw more finely sculpted and covered with a dark shadow of masculine stubble. Six years was a long time. Long enough to change a boy into a man, apparently.

“Posy?” he said, the shock she felt down to her core mirrored in his expression.

And for the briefest of moments she was eighteen again, living in a snow-globe world of young love, cozy Alaskan winters and wild-heartbeat romance. Laughter. Long walks among snow-laden evergreens. The thrill of her frosty first kiss while swirling snowflakes gathered in her hair.

She swallowed. “Liam.”

His name felt somehow both familiar and foreign on her tongue. Like a favorite thick, cozy cardigan sweater that looked the same as it always had, but no longer seemed to fit once you slipped it on.

“Posy,” he said again, a coldness creeping into his voice.

She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but then Liam’s gaze dropped lower. To her foot. And the ugly anchor attached to it—her plaster cast.

Breathe. Just breathe.

Without even realizing what she was doing, she closed her eyes. Only five days had passed since her injury, but that was long enough for Posy to grow more than weary of the looks of pity that the chunk of plaster elicited from people who knew she was a ballerina. It was like walking around with your biggest inadequacy on display for all the world to see.

If Liam looked at her with even the smallest amount of pity in his gaze, the brave front she’d been putting on for the past five days just might crumble to pieces. Dancing had taught her a lot of things—determination, discipline, how to tolerate pain. But it hadn’t prepared her for this: coming face-to-face with her past.

With Liam Blake. The last person in Alaska she wanted to see.

Truth be told, she much preferred the idea of a run-in with a grizzly.

* * *

Posy Sutton.

Liam blinked. His eyes burned like a wildfire, and his vision was still a bit fuzzy, but even through the fog of hair spray he could see that familiar swan neck, those long, graceful limbs, those huge, haunted eyes.

Posy Sutton.

With a cast on her foot.

She was injured. Of course. Why else would she have come back? She’d danced away from Alaska as quickly as she could. He should have known there was a reason she’d returned. A reason that had nothing whatsoever to do with the past. With him.

Get over yourself. It was six years ago. She’s moved on. You’ve moved on.

He ground his teeth. He might have moved on, but that didn’t mean he had to ask about her foot. Or how it was affecting her dancing. If he so much as uttered the word ballet, he might sound like a jealous lover. Posy may have been his first love, but dance had been hers.

Her first love. Her only love. She’d sacrificed everything for it.

He’d never stood a chance.

He forced his gaze away from the cast. He’d seen a cast on the very same foot before. That first cast had been what started it all. The beginning of the end. He’d felt sorry for her then, which was how he’d let things get so out of hand. In the end, he’d done the right thing, and she’d never forgiven him. In a single bittersweet moment, he’d saved her and lost her at the same time.

If she expected sympathy from him now, she was in for a big disappointment. He’d been down that road before and had no intention of traveling that way again. He jammed his hands on his hips and paid no attention to the cast or the crutches she seemed to be struggling to keep from sliding out from under her.

The injury must be recent.

He chastised himself for wondering about it, pretended not to notice the foot and refocused on her face. Her eyes were closed for some strange reason. He pretended not to notice that, as well. “You thought my dog was a bear?”

“I did.” Her lashes fluttered open, and she met his gaze. Full-on eye contact.

Those eyes. Those luminous eyes, the exact color of a stormy winter sea. Misty gray. He’d never forgotten those eyes, no matter how hard he’d tried.

He cleared his throat. “Well, he’s not. He’s a dog.”

As if on cue, Sundog abandoned chasing his tail and bounded over to the two of them. Posy’s eyes grew wide, and she teetered backward on her crutches. By the look on her face, anyone would have thought the dog was about to rise up on its hind legs, grizzly-style, and tear her limb from limb.

Liam reached out to keep her from falling. Again. “Careful there.”

“I’m fine.” She wiggled out of his reach. “Thank you, but I’m fine.”

Fine.

She was fine. He was fine. They were all fine.

Except not really. This whole encounter was as awkward as it could be, and it somehow seemed to be getting worse by the minute.

“What kind of dog is he, anyway? He’s as big as a...”

“Bear?” Liam asked, grinning despite himself.

She offered him a hesitant smile in return. “I was going to say ‘house,’ but ‘bear’ works. Obviously.”

“He’s a Newfoundland.” He watched Posy reach out a tentative hand and stroke Sundog’s head.

Never in his wildest dreams did he imagine he’d one day be standing in church while a very adult Posy Sutton petted his dog. It didn’t seem real. He almost felt as if he was watching a movie about someone else’s life.

And what if it had been someone else? What would Liam say to the man standing there with puffy eyes? The man who suddenly had the beginnings of a smile on his face?

Don’t be an idiot. What’s past is past.

That was precisely what he would say.

He cleared his throat. “It’s the dead of winter. Bears are hibernating.”

“What?” Posy’s hand paused over Sundog’s massive head.

“You thought you saw a bear.” Liam shrugged. “Not possible. They’re all tucked in for winter.”

Her brow furrowed. “Oh, that’s right. I guess I forgot.”

After a prolonged beat of silence, Liam crossed his arms. “I’m sure there are a great number of things you’ve forgotten. You’ve been gone a long time.”

She flinched a little. Her stormy eyes narrowed. “Six years. Not that long.”

He lifted a brow. “Long enough to forget that bears hibernate.” What self-respecting Alaskan didn’t know that?

But that was precisely the point, wasn’t it? Posy hadn’t been an Alaskan for quite a while. In truth, Liam envied her. Not because she’d left, but because she’d forgotten. There were plenty of things he’d like to forget.

Her cheeks flushed pink. “The bears are sleeping. Duly noted.” Her tone had gone colder than a glacier.

She was angry. Good. So was he. Why exactly, he wasn’t quite sure. But he had a feeling it had less to do with his stinging eyes than it did Posy’s sudden reappearance in their hometown.

His hometown. He was the one who loved it here. He was the one who’d stayed.

“So when did you get back?” If forced to guess, he would have said a day. Two, tops. Any longer than that, and he would have heard about it. Someone would have seen her and run to him with the news. Over half a decade had passed since they’d been high school sweethearts, but small towns like Aurora had long memories.

At the change of subject, her expression softened. Just a bit. “I came in with Bill Warren this afternoon on his mail run from Anchorage.”

“I see.”

He didn’t see. Not really. As one of only a handful of small-aircraft pilots in Aurora, Bill made a daily jaunt to Anchorage on behalf of the postal service. He never flew up there until after lunch, to be sure the mail was ready. Everyone in Aurora knew the drill.

Liam glanced at his watch. Three o’clock, which meant Posy had been back in town less than an hour. And her first stop was church? That seemed odd.

He started to ask her if he could point her in the direction of the prayer room or the senior pastor’s office, in case she was lost. If she thought there were bears in the trash cans, it wasn’t such a big leap to think she might have forgotten her way around, even though they’d spent a fair amount of time in this place as teenagers. In this very room, now that he thought about it.

“Listen.” He cleared his throat. “I’ve got some things to do around here. Can I help you find someone?”

He still had an hour or so before the kids showed up after school. But he had an appointment on his calendar with an actual grown-up, a rarity since he spent most of his time with teenagers. A grown-up who he hoped would be the answer to his prayers—a long-awaited assistant for the after-school program.

“Oh. Well, thank you for the rescue, and I apologize again for macing you. I’m sure you have someplace you need to be.” She just stood there on her crutches, as if waiting for him to leave.

“Actually, right here is where I need to be.” He tucked his hands into his pockets, unease snaking its way up his spine.

He’d been so thrown by seeing her that he hadn’t thought to wonder why she was there in the first place. No. No, it can’t be. It just can’t.

Posy grew very still, as if contemplating the same uncomfortable possibility that was running through his head. “You followed your big unruly dog in here, right? That’s the only reason you’re here.”

She stated it as fact, as if any other possibility was a thought too horrifying to consider.

He gave his head a slow shake.

She swallowed. Liam’s eyes traced the movement up and down the slender column of her throat. She was elegance personified. She always had been. Those willowy limbs. Her every movement so fluid that she gave the impression she was made of liquid instead of flesh and bone. She didn’t just look like a swan. She was a swan.

“My dog might be big, but he’s not unruly,” he said.

Posy rolled her eyes. “He knocked over a trash can and ate half its contents.”

“He’s on a diet. It’s a recent thing.” Why were they making what amounted to small talk and avoiding the issue at hand?

Because I know what’s going on here, and I don’t like it. Not one bit.

“Why are you here, Posy?” he asked.

He knew the answer before she even opened her mouth.

“I work here,” she said warily.

A pain sprang into existence somewhere in Liam’s head. “You work here?”

He’d been asking the senior pastor to hire an assistant for the after-school program for months. There was a new city grant up for grabs, and with a little help, the youth program at the church might prove a worthy recipient. It would mean winter coats for those kids he’d noticed who were still wearing last year’s threadbare hand-me-downs. It would mean computers and internet for the teens who couldn’t afford such luxuries at home. How it meant that he would be working alongside Posy was a mystery.

What was happening?

He lifted his gaze briefly to the ceiling. Really, Lord?

“Yes. I’m looking for my new boss. The youth pastor. You don’t know where he is, do you?” She looked around as if waiting for someone else, anyone else, to materialize out of thin air.

Oh, how Liam wished someone would. “I’m afraid you’re looking at him.”

She shook her head, clearly unwilling or unable to believe him.

I’m not any happier about this than you are, darling.

“Liam, if this is your idea of a joke, it’s really not funny,” she said. Her voice shook a little. Nerves? Anger?

He wasn’t sure. It came as somewhat of a shock that he no longer knew what was going on in her head simply by reading her pretty face. It shouldn’t have. But it did.

He swallowed. “Do I look like I’m laughing?”

Chapter Two

There had to be some mistake.

“You’re the youth pastor?” she asked, praying she’d somehow misunderstood. Of all the people in Alaska, Liam couldn’t be her new boss. He just couldn’t.

Her mother was the one who’d told her about the job. Her mother. And she hadn’t thought to mention that Liam was the youth pastor?

“Yep. I’m the youth pastor.” He folded his arms and nodded. “Did you think I still worked at the pond?”

The pond. Aurora’s skating rink. It was like something out of a Snoopy cartoon—a small, oblong-shaped patch of ice surrounded by thick snowbanks, evergreens and a collection of spindly trees, their bare branches piled with snow. Back when she was in high school, you could rent skates for a dollar a day. Paper cups of hot chocolate with marshmallows had cost even less. Music was played on an old jam box turned up as high as it could go. All during eleventh and twelfth grade Liam had worked there, zipping around the rink on his black skates, making sure everyone followed the rules and no one got hurt. A referee of sorts.

“Did I think you still worked at the pond? Don’t be silly. No, of course not.” Never in a million years would she admit that when she thought of him, he still zipped through her imagination on those skates. Never in a million years would she admit that she still thought about him period. Because that was just pathetic.

She wasn’t a starry-eyed teenager anymore. She was a twenty-four-year-old woman with a real career who lived in one of the most exciting cities in the country. In the world, even. Opportunity had been spread at her feet like a blanket of untouched wildflowers. Since she’d left Aurora, life had been hers for the taking. The most significant romance of her life shouldn’t still be the boy who’d asked her to the high school prom.

Then why was it?

Being a ballet dancer didn’t leave much time for dating. It didn’t leave much time for a life. The few men she’d actually gone out with hadn’t stuck around for long. Probably because she canceled or postponed more dates than she actually went on. Somehow heading out for a night on the town after an entire day of dance classes and rehearsals sounded more exhausting than fun. And when performance season was under way, forget it. The only things she looked forward to at the end of those nights were ice baths.

But she was happy. She was living the life she’d always wanted.

Her foot throbbed in the plaster cast. She stared at it as if it belonged to another person. Her foot didn’t belong in there. It belonged in a pointe shoe of shiny pink satin. Her foot didn’t belong there, and she didn’t belong here. In the church of her childhood. The church where Liam was currently the youth pastor.

It’s only temporary. Just until the foot heals.

But if Liam was the youth pastor, that meant he was her temporary boss.

She needed a minute—or a century—for that to sink in. Posy had known things in Aurora would be different now. She wasn’t delusional. Time hadn’t stood still while she’d been away. And Liam’s father had been a clergyman—a circuit preacher who traveled to the most remote parts of Alaska to tend to his flock. As far as Posy knew, he was still a traveling preacher. So it shouldn’t have come as a total surprise that Liam had followed a similar path.

Although he’d never been that crazy about his dad’s calling when they’d been teenagers. In fact, he’d had a pretty large chip on his shoulder about it.

No matter where Liam worked, she’d assumed she’d be in town for at least a day or two before she’d come face-to-face with him. While she was debating whether or not to come home, she’d even managed to convince herself that she might not run into him at all. Aurora was a small town, but she’d come back to teach ballet. And if there was one thing Liam hated, it was ballet.

“Is there another youth pastor, maybe?” She prayed there was. But even as she was silently pleading with God for a second youth pastor to materialize out of thin air, Liam’s head was shaking.

“No. Just me, the one and only.”

The one and only. Posy took a slow, measured breath. Seriously, God? Is this Your idea of a joke?

What had she possibly done to deserve this? First she’d broken her foot on opening night. Not just any opening night, but the most important opening night of her dance career. She’d been cast as the Winter Fairy in Cinderella, one of the most coveted roles in the entire production. The principal ballerina had been dancing the role of Cinderella, naturally. The leading parts were always danced by the principals, which was why Posy wanted nothing more than to be a principal herself. It was what every dancer in every ballet company wanted. Members of the corps de ballet dreamed of it. Soloists dreamed of it. Every ballerina did.

Every ballerina did, but only the tiniest percentage of ballerinas saw those dreams come to fruition. Only the best of the best. The charmed few. And Posy’s dance career was looking awfully charmed.

Or it had been, anyway.

The principal dancer cast as Cinderella was retiring. It would be her final role, which meant the company would need a new lead ballerina. The obvious choice would be for Gabriel, the director of the company, to promote either of the two soloists. Posy was one of those soloists, which meant she had a fifty-fifty shot. All she had to do was really nail her performance as the Winter Fairy in all twelve performances of Cinderella and she was sure she’d be the one chosen. She’d wanted this for her entire life, since she’d slipped on her first pair of pale pink, buttery-leather ballet slippers. She was ready. It was her turn.

And then right as she’d lifted herself up for her first arabesque exactly as she’d done so many times before in rehearsal, she heard a crack. It was so loud she could hear it above the strains of the orchestra playing Prokofiev’s dramatic score. At first she thought a part of the set must have collapsed. Maybe something had fallen from one of the rafters backstage. But deep down, she knew it wasn’t that sort of sound. This sound was unique to the human body, a body that was breaking down. Her body. It was the sound of a bone cracking in two. She knew it even before her ankle gave way and she went tumbling to the floor.

Opening night. Her big chance. And it had ended in the first ten seconds. She should have been dancing her way to a promotion, but instead she was lying in a heap onstage, snowflakes falling softly on her from the rafters. Not real snow, of course. Theatrical snow.

And now she was here. In Alaska, where the snow was real, where bears took naps and where her new boss was her old love. How things had changed over the course of five short days. She could swear she still heard the echo of that horrifying crack in her foot.

“I suppose you’re the appointment I’m expecting?” Liam said flatly. Clearly he wasn’t any more pleased with this surprise turn of events than she was.

She nodded. “Yes. The senior pastor hired me over the phone. I’m the new ballet teacher.”

Ballet teacher. The words tasted like sand in her mouth.

“Temporary ballet teacher,” she added for clarification. She wanted to make sure that was clear from the very beginning. “I’m only in town for six weeks.”

Once her foot healed, she was going back to San Francisco. Gabriel had promised not to make a final decision about who would be promoted to principal until the parts in Firebird had been cast. She still had one last chance. A small one, to be sure, but she wasn’t giving up without a fight.

“No,” Liam said flatly.

“What do you mean no? Lou already hired me. I flew all the way out here from California.” She couldn’t stay there. She just couldn’t. It would have meant watching another ballerina dance her role in Cinderella. It would have meant watching Sasha, the other soloist, get better and better while her foot rotted in a cast.

At least here she’d be doing something worthwhile. Something still related to ballet. She needed this, regardless of the fact that Liam was her boss.

“No.” This time the protest was so loud that it roused Liam’s massive dog from sleep. He flattened his ears and cocked his giant head. “I never said I needed a ballet teacher. I said I needed help with the girls’ after-school program.”

Maybe Liam didn’t work at the pond anymore, but it was clear that some things around here hadn’t changed in the slightest. He was about as far from being a ballet enthusiast as Alaska was from San Francisco.

“Exactly. That’s why I’m here.” She waited for him to say something. He didn’t. He just stared blankly at her. “You mean Lou didn’t tell you?”

Liam jammed his hands on his hips. “Tell me what, exactly?”

Good grief. Lou hadn’t told him anything? Was she really the one who had to break it to him? Somehow she had the feeling the news would have been better coming from someone else. Anyone else.

Super. Just super.

She pasted on a smile. “The new girls’ after-school program is ballet.”

* * *

Liam stared at his reflection, warped and tiny, looking back at him in the shiny gold nameplate on Lou McNeil’s desk. It was a perfect representation of how he felt at the moment—warped and tiny. As if he were living in some sort of alternate universe.

Posy was back. And according to her, she worked for him now. Teaching ballet. And how was it that she was calling the senior pastor by his first name? Lou. The single syllable had rolled off her tongue as if they were old friends. Liam had worked for the man day in, day out for four years, and he still called him Pastor McNeil.

He was even faintly nervous sitting here in the pastor’s office. He told himself he felt like a teenager appearing before the principal only because Posy was sitting beside him. They’d been inseparable back in their school days. For a while, anyway.

He wondered if he should have left Sundog back in the fellowship hall to continue foraging through the garbage. Presently, he was sprawled on the floor with his head resting on Liam’s foot. Liam had never thought twice about bringing the dog to work. Half the reason he’d adopted the beast was to give the kids a dog to play with. Funny how none of them had mistaken him for a bear.

“Lou.” There it was again. Lou. Seated in the chair beside him, Posy aimed a smile across the desk toward Pastor McNeil. “It seems there’s been some sort of misunderstanding.”

The understatement of the century.

Liam leaned forward in his chair. “Posy says she’s here to teach ballet.”

“Posy?” Pastor McNeil’s face went blank for a moment. “Oh, you mean Miss Sutton. Josephine.”

“Josephine?” Liam blinked. Had he gone mad and forgotten everyone’s name all of a sudden? Pastor McNeil was now Lou, and Posy had morphed into someone named Josephine?

“That’s me.” Posy smiled innocently, as if up and changing one’s name was an everyday occurrence.

Liam stared at her. “Since when?”

“Since I left Alaska. I guess you could say it’s my stage name, and it just sort of stuck.” She shrugged, but the implied nonchalance of the gesture was belied by a barely discernible tremor in her hands, knotted in her lap. Nerves. She’d always been good at hiding them.

And Liam had always been good at seeing the parts of her that others missed. Apparently some things, unlike names, never changed.

Did she really expect him to call her Josephine now? He wasn’t sure he could do that. It would probably be better for everyone involved if Josephine, whoever she was, danced back to San Francisco.

He directed his attention back to his boss. “Josephine says she’s here to teach ballet.”

The senior pastor’s gaze flitted back and forth between the two of them before landing on Liam. “That’s right.”

Liam shook his head. Maybe if he shook it hard enough, he could undo whatever was happening. “I don’t understand.”

“You indicated you needed help with the after-school program, did you not?” Pastor McNeil eyed him over the top of his glasses.

“Yes, I did.” But I said absolutely nothing about ballet.

Liam’s boss shrugged. “You’ve got the boys busy with the competitive snowballing team, right?”

At the mention of the word snowball, Sundog lifted his head, ears pricked forward at attention.

“Competitive snowballing?” Posy slid her gaze toward Liam. “Seriously? That’s a thing?”

He lifted a brow. “Yes, it’s a thing. An Alaskan thing.”

“It’s like dodgeball, only with snowballs,” Pastor McNeil said.

Sundog let out an excited woof. Posy nearly jumped out of her chair.

Likening competitive snowballing to dodgeball was a rather oversimplified explanation, but it would give her a good enough idea. And Liam didn’t feel like elaborating at the moment. They weren’t here to discuss his snowball project with the boys. They were here to discuss ballet at the church. Or, if Liam had anything to do with it, the absence of ballet.

He attempted to guide the conversation back to the matter at hand. “I’m confused. How did this come about? Posy hasn’t set foot in Alaska in seven years.”

“Six years. Not seven. Six.” At least she hadn’t insisted he keep calling her Josephine.

Liam’s jaw tensed. He didn’t need her to remind him how long it had been. He knew, down to the day—the day they’d graduated. It had been six years and seven months, which was closer to seven years than six.

Pastor McNeil, who’d been quietly observing their bickering, spoke up. “As it seems you two know one another, Liam, I’m sure you’re familiar with the fact that Miss Sutton’s mother is a member of our congregation. She read about the job opening in the church bulletin and recommended her daughter for the position.”

Posy sat up a little straighter. “It’s only temporary. For six weeks. My mother told you that, right?”

Temporary.

Of course it was. Now things were making more sense. She couldn’t dance while her foot was in a cast, and she needed something to do. Once her injury was healed, she’d be on the first plane out of here.

But could Liam work with her every day for six weeks? If she’d been healthy, probably. The fact that she was injured complicated things. In a major way. He wasn’t sure he could go through that again. And he knew for a fact he couldn’t watch her go through it. Not if the past repeated itself.

“Yes, I understand.” Pastor McNeil nodded at Posy. “But a temporary program is better than no program at all.”

Liam decided to cut to the chase. They were talking in circles. “I’m just not sure ballet is the answer.”

In fact, he was sure it was not the answer. So sure that he’d just about decided to form two competitive snowball teams. The girls could pelt one another with snowballs just as easily as the boys could.

Except the girls had made it pretty clear they weren’t interested in snowballing. If only Ronnie Goodwin hadn’t hit Melody Tucker in the head with a particularly wet snowball on the first day of practice. Maybe Liam could get the girls helmets.

Right. As if the church could afford such luxuries. There was a reason he’d chosen snowballing as a team sport for the boys. If there was one thing Alaska had in abundance, it was snow. Free for the taking.

What he needed to do most of all was get a handle on the apparent feud between Ronnie and Melody. The two teens couldn’t stand one another. Lately, their disagreements had begun to spill over and affect the rest of the kids in youth group. And that was a problem—a problem he could deal with, however, unlike ballet. Ballet was an enemy he no longer had the will to fight. He’d been on the losing end of that battle too many times before.

“There’s nothing wrong with ballet,” Posy said quietly. But she didn’t meet his gaze.

There was plenty wrong with ballet. Was she really going to make him rehash everything, right here in front of his boss?

No. He couldn’t go there. Something about it felt wrong. “Forgive me for pointing out the obvious, but you’re on crutches. How are you going to teach dance?”

If his words wounded her, she gave no indication. She smiled sweetly at Lou and ignored Liam altogether. “My foot won’t be a problem. The girls are beginners, right? Demonstrating the most basic steps won’t be a strain. Besides, I’ll be off the crutches and in a soft walking cast in no time.”

Pastor McNeil—Lou—smiled, as if a dance teacher with a five-pound weight attached to her foot and a pair of wobbly crutches was the most ordinary thing in the world. Were they that desperate for help in the youth department?

Yes. Yes, they were. The job posting had been circulating for months. Posy was the only remotely qualified applicant in all that time.

“That sounds promising, Miss Sutton. Certainly promising enough to give it a try.” Lou aimed a pointed glance at Liam. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

Liam didn’t agree. Not at all. But he was running out of objections he was willing to discuss. And Lou was already looking at him as if he were borderline nuts.

“Liam, you’ll work with the boys. Miss Sutton will work with the girls. I fail to see how this is a problem. Unless there’s something you’re not telling me?”

Now was the time to speak up. But what could he possibly say that wouldn’t make him sound like a lovesick teenager?

I loved her. But she loved ballet more, even though it took everything from her.

He glanced at Posy for the briefest of moments, and in her eyes he saw all the words he couldn’t bring himself to say. She’d walked away from him so easily back then that he’d sometimes wondered if she ever fully understood what had happened. Did she not see how badly she’d hurt herself, and in doing so, how badly she’d hurt him? He would have walked through fire for the girl she’d been. What they’d ended up walking through together had been far worse.

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

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.

Half a dozen years had passed, and her friends could still read her like a book. “It’s not like that. I’m happy to be back. If I can’t dance, there’s no place I’d rather be.”

She wiggled her toes in her cast just the slightest bit. Pain shot from her foot all the way up her shin.

Please, God. Please let me be able to dance again.

“Then what’s wrong? Because you seem less than thrilled.” Anya covered Posy’s hand with her own. “Are you worried about your foot? It’s the same one, isn’t it?”

Yes, it was the same one. And yes, she was worried. But Posy didn’t think that was what Anya really wanted to know. “I’m taking care of it. I promise.”

“You’re not still dancing, are you?” Zoey asked.

“No.” She laughed and motioned toward the cast. “It’s a little difficult with this ball and chain.”

Unlike last time, there was no hiding the fact that she was injured. The cast guaranteed that much, as had her spectacular fall in the middle of Cinderella. She was walking around with her heart visible for the entire world to see.

The other time had been different. The break hadn’t occurred with the drama of a sickening crack, but over time. A stress fracture. At first, Posy had thought she’d just been overdoing it. It was audition season. High school graduation was right around the corner. She’d been traveling on weekends, trying out for spots in various dance companies up and down the West Coast. Of course, her dream was to dance in Seattle or even Anchorage. Somewhere close to home. Close to Liam.

She’d felt so torn between the two of them—Liam and ballet. She’d loved dance for as long as she could remember. Her parents told stories of how she’d bounced to the beat of push-button toys in the church nursery when she was only two years old.

Somewhere deep down she possessed an unquenchable need to move in the presence of music. She didn’t just hear music. She felt it, down to her core. And her ability to move to it, to dance, was God-given. She’d known that since before she could fully articulate it.

Then Liam had come along. And for the first time, she’d felt the same way about a person that she’d felt about ballet. It was bewildering. It was exhilarating. It was love. But they were young. And why should she have to choose? Being a dancer didn’t mean she couldn’t be in love.

After two weeks of icing her throbbing foot at night under the covers of her bed so her parents wouldn’t see, Posy had known something was seriously wrong. She couldn’t walk without limping. And when she danced, she had to bite the inside of her lip to keep from crying out in pain. She should have told someone then. She didn’t. She didn’t breathe a word about it to anyone, not even Liam.

She should have said something. She should have gone straight to the doctor instead of doing her best to wish it away as she danced on, from one audition to the next, for fear of missing out on her big chance at becoming a professional ballerina.

She should have done a lot of things differently.

“I’m not taking any pills, if that’s what you’re wondering. Not even Advil,” Posy said.

It was humiliating to have to give these kinds of assurances. Humiliating, but necessary. She might as well get used to it. Anya and Zoey had both been wondering. She could see it on their faces, just as she’d seen it in Liam’s eyes as they’d sat next to one another in the pastor’s office.

“Good.” Anya gave her hand a squeeze before letting go.

“Seriously. It’s not the foot that’s bothering me so much as something else.” Or someone else.

Zoey frowned. “What’s wrong, then?”

Posy looked up, and her gazed fixed on the stuffed grizzly bear that stood in the corner behind the coffee bar. Like she needed an enormous furry reminder of the stellar afternoon she’d had. “Liam Blake. That’s what’s wrong. Liam and his gigantic dog.”

Anya’s eyebrows rose. “You’ve already seen Liam?”

“Not only have I seen him, but I’m apparently working for him. He’s my boss.” Posy stared into her empty coffee cup, willing it to refill itself. She was going to need more caffeine to process the specifics of her new life, however temporary. Massive amounts of caffeine.

Anya asked the barista for refills all around.

Zoey shook her head. “Wait. Are you working at the church now, or...?”

“The church, yes.” Posy sighed. It was difficult to fathom that only two hours ago, she’d been so excited about the prospect of teaching ballet that she’d headed straight to the church once her plane had landed. The fact that the route from the airport to church allowed her to avoid Aurora’s town square and the big evergreen tree that stood at its center was merely convenient. “I’m teaching ballet in the after-school program.”

Anya choked on her coffee. “Ballet? At the church? Does Liam know?”

Posy nodded. “He does now. And needless to say, he’s less than thrilled.”

Even after she’d gotten over the initial shock of realizing that Liam was the youth pastor, she’d thought that maybe, just maybe, his feelings about ballet had changed. A lot of time had passed. She’d hoped it would have been enough time for him to realize it wasn’t ballet that had hurt her. Dancing might have been the cause of her stress fracture, but dancing hadn’t made her hide her injury. Ballet hadn’t shoved those pills down her throat. She’d done those things herself.

She’d been afraid. Afraid of losing her chance at becoming a ballerina. Afraid to find out just what was wrong with her body. God had created her to be a ballet dancer. If she could no longer dance, she no longer knew who she was.

And that had been the irony of the whole ordeal, hadn’t it? She’d never questioned the fact that God had given her the ability to dance, but once the pain came, she’d lost her faith. It had left her so swiftly, she’d never realized it was gone.

The mess had been one of her own making.

“I didn’t even know Liam worked there.” Posy added another dash of sugar to her fresh cup of coffee. “How long has he been the youth pastor, anyway?”

Anya and Zoey grew very quiet. Finally, Anya answered the question.

“A long time. Four years,” she said.

Four years? Liam had been a pastor for four years, and she hadn’t heard a thing about it? How was that possible? “You’re kidding.”

Anya shook her head. “No, I’m not kidding. I’m dead serious. Lou McNeil came to Aurora from Anchorage to take over as the head pastor, and he hired Liam straightaway. It seems Pastor McNeil knows Liam’s dad.”

“So Liam’s dad is still preaching?” Posy asked.

“Yes, although I have no idea where.” Anya reached for the half-and-half and added a dollop to her coffee. “No one can keep up with Liam’s parents. Once they sold their house here, they stopped coming back to Aurora altogether. Not that they ever spent much time here to begin with.”

So the house had sold.

Posy’s last memory of Liam’s childhood home had been the day his dad had driven the post of the for-sale sign into the nearly frozen yard. A stake through Liam’s heart.

“You mean your mom never told you that Liam is a pastor now?” Zoey asked.

“No. She didn’t.” Posy set down her coffee cup. Suddenly, she was no longer thirsty.

Surely her mom didn’t want her to work at the church so Liam could keep an eye on her. That couldn’t be possible. Her parents couldn’t actually expect her old boyfriend to make sure she handled her injury better than she had last time. Because that would be mortifying beyond words. And wrong. Just plain wrong.

“You know, all of this awkwardness could have been avoided if you’d come back to visit. Even once,” Zoey said, her tone not at all judgmental, but wistful.

Anya nodded, her gaze flitting ever so briefly to the sparkling diamond on her ring finger. She was married now. As was Zoey. And Posy hadn’t even met their husbands.

“You know I have my pilot’s license now, right? And my own plane?” Zoey’s face lit up the way Posy’s always did when she slipped on a pristine pair of pointe shoes.

“Now, that I did know.” Her mother had filled her in on that much. Funny how she’d remembered to mention Zoey’s plane, but not the fact that Posy would be working with Liam. She and her mom were going to have a chat about that. Soon. Very soon. “Actually, I wanted to ask you if you could fly me to Anchorage a few times a week for my physical-therapy appointments for my foot.”

Zoey grinned. “Of course. I’d love that. We can fly over the ranch, and you can see the reindeer. They look so pretty from the sky.”

Posy had almost forgotten. Zoey and her husband lived on a reindeer farm.

She’d missed so much.

Liam was a man of God now, Zoey was both a pilot and a reindeer farmer, and Posy wasn’t the only one with a different name. Anya and Zoey both had new last names. Her mother had told her all about their weddings, of course, but seeing the shiny rings on their fingers made it seem much more real than it had from far away.

They were her closest friends. Granted, she hadn’t seen them in a while, and she definitely could have been better about keeping in touch. But they still knew more about her than any of her San Francisco friends. They cared. They genuinely cared. And they were married to men Posy had never laid eyes on. Perfect strangers.

“Don’t worry.” Anya gave her a friendly nudge. “We’ll get you all caught up on everything you’ve missed. Before long, you’ll know more than you ever wanted to know about the fair citizens of Aurora. Right, Zoey?”

“Oh, sure. Where to start... Let’s see. Did you know that Anya’s husband sometimes dresses up as a bear?”

Just what Posy needed. Another bear scare. “What?”

Anya rolled her eyes. “It’s not as silly as it sounds. Trust me.”

The two of them launched into a laughter-filled discussion about everyone in Aurora—people Posy knew and others she’d never heard of before. She managed to keep up with the conversation, making mental notes every now and then of new names. There were new babies, new marriages, new stores, new streets. Even new dogs, Liam’s shaggy beast included.

But as Posy sat with her two oldest friends, drinking coffee and chatting like old times, she was beginning to get the feeling that the only stranger in town was one named Josephine.

* * *

“Stay here.” Liam aimed a stern look toward the passenger sitting beside him in the front seat of his Jeep. “And try to resist the urge to eat anything. The headrest, for instance.”

Oblivious, Sundog panted, his tongue hanging sideways out of his mouth.

Liam issued one final warning before exiting the vehicle. “I’m being serious. Stay. Behave. Or whatever the proper command is for this situation.”

He was probably going to have to do something about the plundering problem. And the chewing. Posy hadn’t been altogether wrong when she’d called the dog unruly. But Liam liked to give him the benefit of the doubt. He was a rescue. He’d lived on the streets. It was only normal for him to worry about where the next meal was coming from. Liam just wished it wasn’t the stuffing of the Jeep’s passenger seat, as it had been last time. Or the center of the bedroom mattress back at his house.

Yep. He probably needed to take a training class or something, but with the sudden reappearance of Posy, Sundog had shifted to a lower position on the priority list. Oh, how he longed for the time when chewed-up pillows were his biggest problem.

Was it only this morning that she’d shown up at the church?

He felt as though he’d lived a lifetime since then, and it wasn’t even dark outside yet.

He glanced at his watch. Half an hour until school got out. He needed to make this quick so he could get back to the church in time. He never left the premises this late in the day, but he’d heard Posy telling Lou that she was getting together with Anya and Zoey at the Northern Lights Inn this afternoon. Now might be his only chance. He would already be working with her day in and day out. He definitely didn’t want her finding him standing in the living room of her childhood home.

He rang the doorbell and waited, shooting a final glance at Sundog, who already appeared to be gnawing on the dashboard.

The door swung open, and Posy’s mother stood on the other side of the threshold. Just like old times. Really old times. “Liam. What a surprise.”

“Mrs. Sutton.” He nodded. “May I come in?”

“Of course, of course. Please do.” She held the door open wide, and Liam stepped into the past.

Everything was the same, at least everything within Liam’s field of vision. Same gold-framed mirror hanging in the entryway—the one where Posy had always checked her reflection right before she breezed out the door for school, ballet class or a day at the pond. Same brown leather sofa where he’d sat on more than one occasion with a boxed corsage in his hands, waiting for her to come downstairs so he could take her to the school dance. He resisted the urge to look at those stairs now, half-afraid that same tingle-tangle of anticipation would stir in his gut. As though she were about to descend that staircase wearing a pretty tulle dress and a smile just for him.

He cleared his throat and tried to shake the memories, breathing a sigh of relief when he spotted the new big-screen television hanging above the fireplace mantel, a shiny, hi-def reminder that he hadn’t, in fact, stepped inside a time warp.

“Can I get you anything, Liam?” Mrs. Sutton gestured toward the kitchen, where Liam knew a pitcher of Alaskan blackberry tea rested on the top shelf of the refrigerator and a ceramic cookie jar shaped like a black bear cub sat atop the butcher-block counter.

This was just a little too surreal for his taste. Better to get in and out. Besides, the kids would be arriving at the church soon. “No, thank you.”

“Have a seat, then. Make yourself at home.” She gestured toward the sofa.

Make yourself at home.

Liam purposefully sank into one of the upholstered armchairs with his back to the staircase. “I’m sorry to drop by unannounced like this.”

“It’s no trouble at all, Liam. You’re always welcome here.” She offered him a motherly smile.

Mrs. Sutton had always been fond of him, even before that night he’d shown up at this very house, rain-soaked, heart torn in two as he spilled each and every one of Posy’s secrets. Afterward, Posy’s parents had put him on a virtual pedestal. So high up he was out of Posy’s reach.

He swallowed. He didn’t like to think about that night. And he hadn’t. For the better part of six and a half years, he’d managed to successfully put it out of his head. But along with Posy, all those memories had come rushing back this afternoon.

“How are your parents, Liam?”

“Great, I suppose.” He hadn’t actually spoken to them in weeks. A month maybe. But their latest postcard had arrived the other day. From Kivalina, 125 miles north of the Arctic Circle, which made it one of Alaska’s most remote villages.

“Do they have any plans to visit soon?” Mrs. Sutton smiled warmly. She’d never really understood his parents.

Liam wasn’t altogether sure he understood them himself. As overinvolved as the Suttons could be in their daughter’s life, his parents swung in the opposite direction. They were more interested in seeing every square inch of frozen tundra this side of the North Pole than they were in the particulars of Liam’s life. They didn’t know about the dog. Or the new lights he’d strung across the skating pond. Or that he’d stopped dating Sara, and that breakup had occurred over four months ago. Not that he thought of it as an actual breakup. They’d gone out once or twice a week for a few months, but that special spark had never been there. It had been casual. All of Liam’s relationships had been casual since Posy.

He cleared his throat. “My folks don’t have any plans to visit, so far as I know. Getting planes in and out of the Arctic Circle can be complicated.”

“I’m sure it is. Give them our regards the next time you talk to them, okay?”

Liam nodded, not wanting to make any outright promises. Conversations full of static from his dad’s satellite phone didn’t leave much room for small talk. Besides, he wasn’t here to talk about his parents.

“Posy’s back,” he said, his voice sounding altogether too raw and vulnerable for his liking.

“Yes, she is.” Mrs. Sutton nodded. “We haven’t seen her yet, but she should be home in time for dinner.”

“She’s staying here?” he asked. A dumb question. Where else would she be staying? Why was his brain suddenly on vacation?

“Yes.”

“Good.” His smile felt strained. He was just going to have to bite the bullet and say what he’d come here to say before he ran out of time. Or lost his nerve. “Look, I know you told her about the job at the church.”

Mrs. Sutton’s gaze suddenly shifted to the floor.

“I also know that you didn’t tell her I worked there,” he said quietly.

“I wasn’t sure she’d take the job if she knew, and it’s the perfect place for her to be while she gets better.”

They were getting to the crux of the matter. Finally. “Why is that?”

Nervous laughter spilled from Mrs. Sutton’s mouth. “Working at the church will be good for her. She’ll be surrounded by the love of God and the girls...”

Liam leveled his gaze at her. “And me.”

Her only response was a quiet sigh, followed by uncomfortable silence.

“I can’t do it, Mrs. Sutton. I just can’t.” His throat burned all of a sudden. Seared with memories of words that he would not, could not, utter again. “I can’t be the one to keep an eye on her. That’s what you want, isn’t it? That’s why you sent her to the church, and that’s why you didn’t tell her I’d be there.”

He waited for her to admit it, not that he really needed confirmation of his suspicions. Everything about Posy’s return was a little too coincidental to be believable.

“You’re right.” Posy’s mother gave a slow, reluctant nod. “I’m sorry. I should have spoken to you about it first. I’m worried about her, Liam. So is her father. Did she tell you about her injury?”

Guilt hovered around the edges of Liam’s consciousness. Posy hadn’t told him a thing because he hadn’t asked. “No.”

“It’s a fracture.” Mrs. Sutton gulped. Her eyes grew shiny with the threat of unshed tears. “Her fifth metatarsal.”

Fifth metatarsal.

Despite the fact that Posy’s health was no longer any of his concern, Liam felt those two words like a blow to his chest. In medical circles, a fracture of the fifth metatarsal was sometimes called the Dancer’s Fracture. Liam didn’t run in medical circles, but he knew plenty about such an injury.

“So it’s the same injury as last time,” he said.

“Worse, I’m afraid. She broke it all at once, in the middle of a performance.”

Morbid images of Posy falling to the ground in an agonizing twisted cloud of tulle and sequins flooded Liam’s imagination. He squeezed his eyes closed until they faded. “She told Pastor McNeil her foot would heal in six weeks, then she was returning to the ballet company.”

“That’s what she says. She’s up for a promotion, and if she can’t dance in six weeks she’ll lose her chance.” Mrs. Sutton had begun wringing her hands.

Liam’s headache made a swift return. So Posy’s body had a deadline hanging over it? Six weeks to heal or else? Perfect. Just perfect.

He dropped his head in his hands.

Why, God? I don’t want this. I don’t.

Posy’s mom spoke again, dragging him back to the present. “I’m not asking you to save her from herself. I know that would be expecting too much, especially after all this time. But you’ve always known Posy better than anyone else does. You see her. She can’t hide from you like she can from the rest of us. She never could. Can’t you just watch her? Simply be there and let us know if something seems wrong?”

She made it sound so easy, so simple. No more complicated than making sure a child stayed out of harm’s way. Don’t play in the street. Don’t talk to strangers. Don’t run with scissors.

But Posy wasn’t a child. She was a grown woman. A grown woman with a new name and a new life. A new life that didn’t include Liam. How could he sit here across from Posy’s mother and tell her that what she was asking was impossible? Even if he wanted to take on such a role—which he most definitely did not—it would have been utterly impossible.

He might have known her once upon a time. But things were different. She wasn’t his girl anymore. He wasn’t sure she ever had been.

Chapter Four

A few hours after leaving Posy’s house, Liam stood at the edge of the pond—his pond, a concept he still sometimes found difficult to believe—and watched Ronnie walk gingerly across the frozen surface carrying a bucket of warm water. Sundog sat at Liam’s feet, tail wagging, ears alert, and on Liam’s other side, his friend Alec Wynne stood shaking his head.

“That kid is going to fall on his backside,” Alec said.

Liam frowned. “Not if he’s careful.”

He didn’t want Ronnie to get hurt. Of course he didn’t, even though the boy had been driving him a little nuts lately.

“Now what do I do?” Ronnie asked, staring down at the ice at his feet.

“Look for the chipped spots and pour some water over them.” Liam pointed to the far right end of the pond where Melody did most of her jumps when she came by to practice, which was becoming a more and more frequent occurrence. “They tend to accumulate over there, mostly.”

“Got it, Pastor.” Ronnie tightened his grip on the bucket and started slipping and sliding in that direction.

Alec shook his head again. “Are you paying him, or is this slave labor?”

“I’m paying him. A little.” Liam picked up the hose and filled another bucket. Sundog bit at the stream of water, as if he could catch it in his massive jaws. “It’s also a penance of sorts.”

Alec laughed. “For?”

“For intentionally throwing a snowball at Melody Tucker’s face.”

“Ouch.” Alec winced.

“Yeah. This thing between him and Melody is becoming a problem.” Thus far, Liam’s only strategy for solving the problem involved chores. Fortunately, there was no shortage of chores that needed to be done at the pond.

Alec crossed his arms. “Let me guess. Young love?”

Liam forgot what he was doing for a moment, and water sloshed over the edge of his last bucket. He threw the hose down and turned off the spigot. “Young love? I sure hope not.” He hoped not with every fiber of his being.

Alec’s eyebrows rose. “Constant bickering? Unmerciful teasing? One minute he’s nice to her, and the next minute he’s throwing snow in her face?”

That sounded uncomfortably accurate. “Pretty much, yeah.”

“It’s love. Trust me.”

Great. The last item Liam needed on his substantial to-do list was dealing with two lovesick teenagers. Especially now.

“Speaking of young love...” Alec gave him a sideways glance.

Liam held up a hand and sighed. “Don’t start. Please.”

He’d thought, hoped, he could avoid talking about Posy. At least with Alec. Alec was a transplant. He’d been in Aurora for only six months or so. But he was also married to one of Posy’s best friends, so the notion that he’d have no idea about Liam and Posy’s tumultuous history had undoubtedly been a pipe dream from the start.

“So long as you’re handling it well. And clearly you are.” Alec shot him a wry smile.

Liam handed him a bucket. “Here. And yes, you are most definitely slave labor.”

Alec laughed, and crunched through the tightly packed snow and onto the surface of the pond. The fine layer of ice atop the snow was due to the unseasonably cold drop in temperature the night before, as were the chips on the surface of the ice. In severely cold weather, ice grew brittle. Brittle ice chipped.

Liam knew that much now. His learning curve since he’d purchased the skating pond had been a big one. He’d taken the plunge as simply a moneymaking venture. Youth pastors weren’t exactly overpaid, and the pond was a key component in Aurora’s nightlife. Its only component, for all practical purposes. When the for-sale sign had gone up, Liam had cashed in the college fund he’d never used and become a skating-rink owner.

But it had quickly become a labor of love. He’d always had an attachment to the pond, like most everything about Aurora. About Aurora itself.

When he’d landed here as a teen, he’d had enough of the nomadic lifestyle that came with being a circuit preacher’s kid. Enough of moving from one village to the next, each one somehow seemingly more and more remote. Enough of being a guest in other people’s homes instead of sleeping in a bed of his own.

And enough of planes. Planes, planes and more planes. The smell of airplane fuel still made him feel a little sick inside.

He’d wanted a home. A town. A place that was his.

He’d told his parents as much the day they’d unpacked their bags in Aurora. He was staying put. He wanted to make friends, go to a regular school, try out for the baseball team...do all the things normal kids did. He’d seen virtually nothing of the town yet. Just the tree...that fateful tree. Stretching its beautiful blue, snow-laden boughs over everything. Welcoming arms.

His mom and dad had prayed about his announcement, discussed it for days on end. Finally, they’d agreed to buy a house and stay put for three years. Just until he graduated from high school. His dad would come and go as his job required, but Liam, his mother and his brother would stay right there in Aurora.

Liam had been elated. He’d thrown himself into life in Aurora. He’d loved that town. And it had loved him right back. And in time, Aurora—its people, its icicle air, its permafrost ground—had become home.

And now he owned a piece of that town. A piece of its heart. At times, he couldn’t believe it. Then something would happen. The temperature would drop suddenly, and the surface of the ice would crack. Or they’d get an unexpected heavy rain, a layer of shale ice would cover the pond, and he’d have to scrape the entire surface. Undoubtedly, Liam would be reminded that he was indeed the owner and operator of an outdoor skating rink.

“No more chips. Everything looks good.” Alec stepped off the ice and tossed the empty bucket into the snow.

Liam wound the hose and turned the water faucet until it was just shy of the off position. A fraction of an inch could make the difference between being stuck with frozen pipes and maintaining his sanity. “Thanks, man. I appreciate the help. There’s never a shortage of things to do around here.”

“No problem.” Alec grinned in Ronnie’s direction. “With any luck, your boy over there will keep getting in trouble, and you’ll have so much help you won’t know what to do with all of your free time.”

Sundog flopped on his back and shimmied in the snow, sending a wave of powder flying ten feet. In two seconds flat, Liam was buried up to his shins. “Bored? Doubtful.”

“Pastor? Pastor!” Ronnie called from midway across the ice. He skidded toward the edge while juggling his empty red bucket.

“Don’t look now, but that trouble I mentioned is about to rear its ugly head,” Alec muttered under his breath.

The crunch of tires on snow caused Liam to turn around, and when he saw the familiar silver truck, he knew at once why Ronnie was in such a hurry to get off the ice.

He turned back around, and sure enough, Ronnie stood before him, red-faced from exertion, scowling at Melody’s truck. “What’s she doing here?”

Liam inhaled calmly. “Melody practices here sometimes before the pond opens up for the night. You know that.”

Ronnie rolled his eyes. “She thinks she’s going to be a real skater one day. Please.”

“She already is a real skater.” Graceful. Almost balletic. Sometimes it was like watching a memory glide over the frosted mirror surface of the ice. “Why don’t you stick around while she skates? I think you’ll be impressed.”

Ronnie looked at Liam in abject horror. “No. Way.”

Behind his back, Alec stifled a grin.

“Ronnie.” Liam lifted a brow. A warning.

“I mean no, thanks.” Ronnie shoved his hands in his pockets and looked everywhere except in the direction of the truck, where Melody was climbing down from the passenger seat, her skates slung over her shoulder by their laces. “I’ve got homework.”

Sure he did.

“All right. I’ll see you tomorrow after school, then,” Liam said.

“See you, Pastor.” Ronnie trudged toward his rust bucket of a car.

Liam called after him, “Thanks for the help fixing the ice.”

Ronnie waved, steadfastly avoiding Melody’s gaze as she walked past him. Once he’d just about reached his car, he turned slightly. He ventured a glance at Melody right as she looked at him over her shoulder. She smiled. He smiled in return, then seemed to realize what he was doing. He scowled. She scowled back and stomped toward a bench to sit and put on her skates.

“What did I tell you?” Alec muttered. “Young love. It’s a classic case.”

Liam’s gut tightened. Alec was right. How had he not seen it before? The two of them were about as subtle as a moose in striped pajamas.

Then again, what had Liam ever known about love?

* * *

Posy had never felt so exhausted and yet so awake at the same time. Three hours and four cups of coffee after arriving at the Northern Lights Inn, she finally left and headed to her parents’ house.

Her house. At least she still thought of it as her house, even though she hadn’t darkened its door in seven years.

Six. Not seven.

She wanted to strangle Liam. She kept thinking about him sitting beside her, across from Lou, making his case for why she shouldn’t be teaching ballet at the church.

I’m just not sure ballet is the answer. Posy hasn’t set foot in Alaska in seven years.

It wasn’t a crime. People were allowed to leave home. It was normal. Natural. Liam just felt differently about it because of the way he’d been brought up, always moving from place to place. Home was a sacred concept to Liam. Aurora was sacred.

The town was sacred to her, too. Didn’t he understand that?

How could he possibly when you left and never looked back?

She slid her key into the lock on the front door, but it was unnecessary. The knob turned and the door fell open, just as it always had. There were no such things as locked doors in Aurora. Just one of the many differences between a tiny Alaskan town and a big city like San Francisco.

She pocketed her key ring and stepped over the threshold. The interior of the house was dark, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She’d intentionally stayed out later than originally planned. After everything that had transpired at the church, she just wasn’t up to seeing her parents. Not yet.

“Posy?” a voice called from the darkened living room. “Is that you?”

So much for avoidance.

“Yes, it’s me, Mom.” She limped into the living room, dragging her rolling suitcase behind her. The television, a huge flat-screen Posy had never seen before, flickered quietly in the dark. “What are you doing awake this time of night?”

Her parents went to bed after the ten o’clock news every night. They watched the weather report, kept up with what was happening in Anchorage and headed to bed right after her dad’s favorite feature—the daily moose-sighting report, wherein viewers submitted photos of moose out and about town. Her dad held the record in Aurora for the most moose photos ever shown on the local news. Posy had sent him a new smartphone with a good-quality camera feature to replace his ancient flip phone for his birthday after she’d had her first three months’ pay as a professional dancer under her belt. He’d been ecstatic.

“What am I doing awake?” Her mother crossed the living room and gave her a tight hug. For some reason, it felt less comforting than the embraces of her girlfriends. More suffocating. “Waiting for you, of course. Your father headed to bed a little before ten, though. He has an early day tomorrow.”

“How early? He went to bed before the moose report?”

“Oh, honey. They don’t do the moose report anymore. They haven’t for a few years now.” Her mother released her. She smiled, and even in the dim light of the silent television, Posy could see lines around her eyes that hadn’t been there before.

“Oh. Wow. I had no idea.” The demise of the moose report struck her as profoundly sad, which was silly, really.

She probably just needed sleep. She’d had an early-morning four-hour flight to Anchorage, followed by her commuter flight to Aurora. Then the church, followed by the coffee date. It was a tribute to the power of Alaska’s finest caffeine that she could still hold her head up.

“People were getting carried away. They decided it was dangerous when Ed Candy from the dry cleaners got trampled and broke his foot while he was chasing a moose into the hospital with a camera.”

The hospital? Trampled?

First Liam’s crazy dog, now the moose. The animals had gone crazy since she’d been away. Although she could sympathize with poor Ed Candy’s broken foot.

Posy’s foot throbbed with pain. She’d probably been up and about too much today. She needed to lie down and get it elevated. She needed an ice pack. She needed an Advil. Desperately.

Don’t go there.

As if she were reading her mind, Posy’s mother asked, “Can I get you anything?”

“Mom, you don’t have to wait on me. This is my home, too.” Posy forced herself to smile, even though she suddenly felt like crying.

She would not cry. Not now. She shouldn’t feel sad. She should feel mad.

She pretended she was onstage and rearranged her features in a mask of neutrality. “I need to talk to you about something.”

“Oh?” Her mom’s gaze flitted about the room, which told Posy she knew perfectly well what was coming. “It’s awfully late. You said so yourself. We can talk in the morning.” She extended a hand toward Posy’s suitcase.

Posy wheeled it out of reach. “No. I want to talk about it now.”

“Okay. Sit down, sit down.” Her mom patted the sofa cushions and then took a seat opposite in the chair where her dad used to sit when he watched the moose report. Who knew where he sat these days?

Posy obediently sat sideways on the sofa and propped her foot up on a throw pillow. She wondered how long it was going to take before one of them finally mentioned her injury. “Mom, I appreciate your talking to Lou and getting things in order for me to work at the church, but...”

Tears stung the backs of her eyes again. Why was this so hard to say? She had every right to be upset. But sitting across from her mother, looking at her face—at the new lines around her eyes and the worry in her gaze—her indignation began to slip away.

She should have visited more. She hadn’t even come home for Christmas. Not that she ever would have been able to take leave of the ballet company during the holidays. The weeks that stretched from the end of October to New Year’s Day made up Nutcracker season. Everyone knew as much.

“I wish you would have told me that Liam was the youth pastor,” she finally said.

Her mom sighed. “I’m sorry. I just thought...”

“You thought you could have him spy on me. To make sure I’m not taking any pills. Right?” Her throat burned. It hurt to say the words aloud, but someone had to.

“Posy.” The lines around her mother’s face deepened.

“Mom, admit it. Please.”

Her mom took a deep breath, and she seemed to wilt a little on the exhalation. “That’s part of it, yes. But try to understand. Other than the handful of times we’ve been to California to watch you dance, your father and I haven’t seen you in seven years.”

“Six,” Posy began to whisper, but the word died on her tongue.

“After what happened last time, we wanted you here. At home, where you belong.”

Is this where I belong, God?

She didn’t bother waiting for an answer.

This was her home, but no, it wasn’t where she belonged. Not really. She was just here because she was hurt. She belonged onstage. Her foot belonged in a ballet shoe, not the ugly plaster where it currently resided.

“It’s not like the last time, Mom. I promise.”

Her mother nodded. She didn’t believe her. She might want to, but she didn’t. That much was obvious. And Posy wasn’t altogether sure she blamed her.

God, why is this all so hard?

Posy glanced up at the ceiling. But instead of finding God, all she could imagine were the snow-laden boughs of the giant blue evergreen spread over the town like angels’ wings.

Chapter Five

The next afternoon at the church, Posy scrolled through the playlists on her iPod, checking one last time to make sure she had the music she needed for barre work. Classical, of course.

For as long as she could remember, her barre exercises had been performed to classical piano. Sharp, staccato notes, perfect for the seemingly endless repetition of pliés, elevés, tendus and battements.

When she’d been a little girl in Madame Sylvie’s ballet school, the one and only in Aurora, the music had drifted from an ancient turntable—blue, the kind that could be closed like a suitcase. On it spun scratchy vinyl record albums with cardboard covers on the verge of deterioration that had been used by generations of dancers.

Posy turned the iPod over in her hand, wondering what had become of that turntable and those albums. Madame Sylvie had suffered a sudden heart attack only three months after Posy had moved to San Francisco. In a single, tragic episode, both the ballet teacher and the school itself ceased to exist.

Posy had missed the funeral. She’d been dancing in her first real performance with the corps. Swan Lake, notorious for being the toughest ballet for corps dancers. It was the marathon of ballets. So while the woman who’d first taught her how to point her feet had been laid to rest, Posy had been fluttering across the stage in white feathers for three solid hours. By the end of the matinee that Saturday, her feet had hurt nearly as much as her heart.

Of all the things she’d missed in Aurora, Madame Sylvie’s funeral was the one Posy had been the most conflicted about. Ultimately, she’d stayed in California because it was what her teacher would have wanted. Dancing that afternoon was the best way to honor Madame Sylvie’s memory.

Posy had stitched a tiny black satin ribbon on the inside of her right pointe shoe in remembrance. And she’d danced until she no longer felt like crying.

A bittersweet smile came to Posy’s lips as she clicked the iPod in place in the docking station. She hadn’t thought about Madame Sylvie in a long time. Years maybe. This town was so full of memories, she was beginning to wonder if her heart had room for all of them.

And of course, just as she was feeling particularly wistful, the biggest memory of them all walked into the room.

“How’s it going in here? Do you need any help?” Liam stood with his hands on his hips and looked around at the metal folding chairs lined up in neat rows up and down the length of the fellowship hall. “What are all the chairs for? I thought the girls were going to be dancing.”

“The chairs are makeshift barres, for balance.” Posy would have loved some full-length mirrors, like every actual ballet school had. But this wasn’t a ballet school. It was a church. And anyway, this situation was temporary.

“Oh,” Liam said, crossing his arms and scowling, clearly disappointed. As if she’d given up on teaching the girls ballet before they’d even started. “Well, do you need anything else?”

He glanced at the iPod in her hand, at the dance bag overflowing with tattered pointe shoes sitting at her feet and then at the chairs again. Was it Posy’s imagination, or was he looking everywhere but at her injured foot?

It was the big, plaster-clad elephant in the room. She should have been relieved not to have to talk about it. But instead it irritated her that he was so painstakingly avoiding the topic. Then the fact that it irritated her just irritated her further.

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