“So how did you meet?” she asked, when they resumed their seats. The fire burned merrily. The room was warm. She saw the giant inhalation and exhalation that lifted his chest and let it fall.
Perhaps to him, the tragedy didn’t seem so long ago after all.
“High school,” Farrell said simply. “Once we realized it was more than puppy love, we knew it was forever. But my father intervened. Sasha’s background wasn’t as privileged as mine. He sent me to school on the West Coast, and he manipulated Sasha’s emotions.”
“What did you do?”
“We waited for each other,” he said simply. “I graduated. We were both twenty-one by then. There was nothing more for my father to destroy. Eventually, she won him over. We had three wonderful years. I look back sometimes and ask myself if they were really as good as I remember.”
“But they were.”
He nodded slowly, his gaze focused on something far away. “They were incredible. Right up until the day she was diagnosed with a rare, aggressive form of breast cancer. She made it eleven months and died holding my hand.”
“I’m so sorry, Farrell.” The idea that he had found such a beautiful love and lost it broke her heart.
He shook his head as if to remove the threads that bound him to the past. “You understand what it’s like. I don’t know if your husband’s death was unexpected or if, like me, you had time to say goodbye. Either way, death sucks. That door slams shut, and no matter how much you try to pry it open, the person on the other side is gone.”
Ivy found herself in a quandary. She could let his assumptions ride. But he was being so wonderfully decent and open and amazingly kind, her lies by omission choked her.
“I do understand. In a way. But my experience was not like yours.”
He grimaced. “Death never is...”
“You lost the great love of your life.”
“Yes. I did.”
She stared down at her lap, unable to face him. “I didn’t,” she whispered. “I’m not grieving like you have all these years.”
* * *
Farrell tried to conceal his shock. What was she saying? Talking about Sasha had not been as painful as he’d expected. Particularly with someone who had been through a similar experience. Since Ivy was recently widowed, he’d wanted to encourage her to open up about her loss. Apparently, he was way off base. Now he was speechless.
Though as he sifted through what he knew of Ivy, hadn’t he guessed there might have been something amiss?
He cleared his throat. “I see.”
“No,” she said. “You don’t. And I can’t explain. But I’m so glad you had someone like Sasha in your life. No matter what happens down the road, no one can take that away from you.”
“I would never betray your confidence,” he said slowly. “It’s not healthy to keep things bottled up inside.”
Her smile was gently mocking. “Psychology 101?”
He thought about it for a moment. “No. Actually, personal experience. I had to see a counselor after Sasha died. I couldn’t deal with the emotions. I’d been brought up to believe that men don’t whine and they sure as hell don’t cry. But I was on the verge of a breakdown, I think. It was Zachary who finally made me go. I owe him a lot. He and Quin, both.”
Suddenly, Dolly’s plaintive cries came through on the monitor. Farrell lurched to his feet, wildly relieved to have an escape route. What in the hell had he started? “She’s awake,” he said. “I should get back to the lab. I’ll let myself out.”
For the remainder of the afternoon, he worked on his project with half of his brain. But the gray matter that was unoccupied kept poking at the Ivy situation.
She isn’t grieving? He knew a bit about denial. All the stages of grief, in fact, were familiar to him. He’d experienced every one of them in varying degrees.
Was Ivy still in shock? Was that it? She’d said in her interview that her husband had died a few months ago. That could mean three or six or nine. When Farrell had asked if the baby’s dad had time to know his daughter, Ivy had shut down that conversation quickly.
Fortunately, Katie and Quin were coming over for dinner tonight. If not, Farrell would have been hard-pressed to know what to say to Ivy when he saw her again.
As it was, the evening unfolded naturally. Ivy prepared an incredible meal of beef Stroganoff, spinach salad and homemade bread. Dolly played happily with metal spoons in her high chair while the adults chatted.
Quin seemed particularly taken with the baby. “She’s really sweet and smart,” he said.
Ivy laughed. “And now you’re my new best friend. Praising a woman’s child is a sure way to win points.”
“But it’s true,” Quin protested. “Has she started walking yet?”
“No. It’s not quite time. Possibly in eight or ten weeks. Or later—who knows? I’ve heard everything from eight months to fifteen months.”
Katie helped Ivy dish up the apple pie and ice cream for dessert. “Quin was always ahead of the curve physically. Or so I’ve heard.”
Farrell snorted. “Did he tell you that? I’d take my baby brother’s boasts with a grain of salt. He once broke his wrist falling out of bed. Quin wasn’t exactly a child prodigy when it came to athletics.”
While Quin and Katie squabbled good-naturedly about his childhood exploits, Farrell glanced over at Ivy and caught her watching the other two with a smile on her face.
He was stunned. Why had he ever thought she was not conventionally beautiful? Her face lit up with humor and amusement. The smile altered her serious expression, gave life and energy to her delicate features.
The unexpected transformation left him breathless. He was drawn to her...to Ivy, this complex woman with the prickly exterior. Telling her about Sasha had fulfilled a need he didn’t know he had. Other people always wanted to “make it better.” Ivy simply listened.
As Katie and Quin continued their pretend argument, Ivy joined in, her sharp wit and dry remarks egging them on. Farrell understood suddenly that he was seeing the real woman behind the careful mask.
That very first day in his Portland office, he’d met a fragile female beaten down by life. A person who had hit bottom. A new mother, lost and afraid.
Katie must have seen it, too, and Katie being Katie, she had decided Ivy needed to be Farrell’s new hire. Not for Farrell’s sake, but for Ivy’s.
Who or what had turned Ivy Danby from the glowing, confident girl he suspected she once had been into a frightened shadow of herself?
He had a suspicion or two. Both of which made him sick to his stomach. But before he jumped to any conclusions, he would have to get Ivy to trust him. She was growing more comfortable day by day. There was time.
But what was he going to do about the other? The reluctant attraction? He suspected it went both ways, but he couldn’t be sure. And even if he was sure, Ivy was too vulnerable right now.
Eventually, the others noticed that he wasn’t joining in the fun.
Quin gestured theatrically. “Jeez, even my own brother isn’t jumping in to defend me. Tell her, Farrell. Tell Ivy how good I was at everything in junior high and high school.”
“Well,” Farrell drawled. “There was that D+ you made in chemistry. And the C-in calculus. Is that what you mean?”
Ivy and Katie giggled when Quin glared. “Sports,” he said between clenched teeth. “Tell her how good I was at sports.”
“Oh.” Farrell smiled at Ivy. “My brother was good at sports.”
The smile she gave him was utterly sweet and uncomplicated. It packed a powerful punch. “So I’ve heard,” she said.
Perhaps kindly, she changed the subject. “What about Zachary?” she asked. “The two of you are the first and the last. How does Zachary fit into your family dynamics?”
There was a split second of silence while Quin looked at Farr
ell and vice versa. Quin rubbed his chin, grinning. “Zachary is what one might call a ladies’ man.”
Katie shook her head. “Oh, please. Don’t be ridiculous. Zachary is wonderful, Ivy,” she said. “Don’t let them lead you astray. Zachary is a perfect gentleman. It’s true that he dates a lot, but that’s not a crime.”
Quin stood up to pour more wine. “The phrase girl in every port comes to mind.”
Ivy accepted the refill with a smile. “And will he have a lady friend in tow when he arrives?”
“Not this time,” Katie said. “Next weekend is going to be an important business function. Most of my brother-in-law’s girlfriends can’t even spell business.”
Farrell chuckled. “Now who’s being catty?”
Katie looked guilty. “I shouldn’t have said that. You’ll like him, Ivy. He’s a sweetheart.”
Quin nodded. “Who knows—maybe he’ll take a shine to Ivy. It would do him good to meet a woman of substance.”
Farrell tensed. Incredibly, jealousy curled in his gut. “Ivy is recently widowed. This conversation is in poor taste.”
The room fell silent. Ivy was visibly mortified. She glared at him. “They were just having a bit of fun.” She turned to the other two. “I enjoyed dinner. If you’ll excuse me, I need to take Dolly to the cabin and get her ready for bed.”
Katie protested. “Oh, don’t go yet. Can’t you put her down in the port-a-crib? And carry her to the cabin later? I’ll help.”
Ivy hesitated.
Quin gave her a hangdog expression. “Sorry, Miss Ivy. I won’t do it again, I swear.”
Farrell had reached his limit in a lot of ways. “I’m sure Ivy is tired. It’s been a long day.” Only after the words left his mouth did he realize how he sounded. As if he was glad to be rid of her.
Ivy’s face turned red. Katie shot him a bewildered glance. She patted Ivy’s arm. “I’ll come with you to the cabin for some girl talk. You don’t mind, do you?” She scooped Dolly out of her high chair. “Besides, I can’t get enough of this sweetie pie.”
When the women walked out of the house, Quin stared at Farrell. “What the hell is wrong with you, man?”
Farrell rubbed his temples where a headache was beginning to pound. “I don’t know. Nothing, really. Let’s forget about it.”
“You acted like a jackass. Embarrassed Ivy on the one hand, and then practically shoved her out of the house. That kind of wacko behavior is bad for employee retention, you know.”
“Enough, Quin,” he snapped. “Just because you’re nauseatingly happy doesn’t mean the rest of us are.”
His brother’s eyes widened, then filled with sympathy. “Damn, Farrell. It’s been so long since you were interested in a woman, I didn’t see the signs. That’s it. Am I right? You’ve got the hots for sweet little Ivy Danby, and it’s making you crazy.” Quin shook his head slowly. “As someone who only recently was on the precipice of romantic disaster myself, I feel your pain.”
“I’m not interested in Ivy Danby,” Farrell protested. But the words lacked heat.
Quin sobered. “Maybe you shouldn’t go there, bro. You, of all people, know how long it takes to deal with grief. The timing is off. You’ll only hurt yourself. Or maybe her.”
“Do you think I don’t know that?” Farrell muttered.
“I’ve never known you to do something rash. You’re our rock-steady big brother. I can’t handle a ripple in the force.”
Farrell grinned weakly. “You are so full of it. I guess that must be what regular sex does for a guy.”
Quin leaned his chair back on two legs and laced his hands across his flat belly. “Marriage is the best institution in the world. I can’t believe I waited so long to try it.”
Seven
Ivy was humiliated and hurt by Farrell’s behavior during the impromptu Friday night dinner party. She couldn’t decide if she was happy or sad that Katie and Quin headed back to Portland Saturday morning.
Their presence meant that Ivy didn’t have to speak directly to Farrell. But with them gone, it was easier to simply avoid her boss.
When he had talked to her about Sasha, she felt a moment of something. A simple connection born of shared experiences? But if there had been a fleeting second of kinship, it was gone.
Perhaps he regretted being so honest with Ivy. Men didn’t usually spill their guts with ease. He had said there was no expectation of reciprocity, but deep down she suspected that wasn’t true.
Farrell was curious about Ivy. About her past.
She liked him. A lot. But not enough to dredge up the worst of her secrets. Farrell’s tale about a man and a woman who were high school sweethearts—and then one of them died—was a tender, innocent story of loss.
Ivy couldn’t begin to compete.
For the remainder of the weekend and the days that followed, she worked hard getting Farrell’s house in order. It wasn’t a huge chore. Everything had been pretty much shipshape when she arrived. But there was always the occasional dust bunny to corral and rugs to be vacuumed.
She had his breakfast waiting every morning. His lunch prepared. And a decent dinner in the evenings. What she did not do was eat with him anymore. She offered up excuses, and he accepted them at face value.
Whenever he returned to the main house, his handsome face was sculpted in planes and angles. No emerald-eyed smiles. No teasing remarks. They had somehow ended up on opposite sides of an enormous chasm.
Dolly, thank goodness, was happy almost all the time. She was such an easy baby. Ivy knew how lucky she was. This job would be much more difficult with a cranky infant to juggle.
As promised by Katie, several boxes landed on Farrell’s doorstep, all of them addressed to Ivy. During naptime for the next few days, Ivy tried on her new wardrobe.
Katie might have grown up in a modest household, but her instincts for fashion were spot-on. As much as Ivy had dreaded this Pygmalion-like makeover, it turned out to be not so bad. None of her new clothes made her feel self-conscious. In fact, they boosted her self-esteem considerably.
It had been years since she’d had anything new to wear. Now the pile of dresses and pants and shoes and jewelry—and even underwear—on the guest bed made her dizzy with anticipation.
Despite their current differences, she wanted to make Farrell proud. He had invested a great deal of time and money in this upcoming house party. She would do her part.
Tuesday morning, Ivy received a text from Katie. The chef was bringing everything with her, but she had asked if there were several large platters available. Ivy promised to check.
As was her custom now, Ivy put Dolly down around ten in the port-a-crib in Farrell’s beautiful study. The walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Several of the paintings looked wildly expensive, though Ivy was no art critic. She closed the heavy velvet drapes and turned on a tiny fan that would provide enough white noise for Dolly to sleep peacefully.
With the baby monitor in hand, Ivy tiptoed out of the room and closed the door. She remembered seeing serving pieces in one of the cabinets. Once she located them, she would text Katie what was available.
Farrell’s home had ten-foot ceilings, which made the kitchen beautiful and roomy. But it also meant that the highest of the cabinet shelves were far above Ivy’s reach. As a “vertically challenged” adult, she had spent her life on her tiptoes or asking for help.
But Farrell was tucked away in the lab, and she didn’t want to bother him, certainly not after what had happened Friday. They had barely exchanged a dozen words in the interim. He was gruff and monotone. She was equally withdrawn. They had achieved an uneasy détente.
In the pantry, she found a small two-step stool. It wasn’t much, but it might work. She moved around the room, examining each cabinet. Finally, she found what she had remembered spotting on an earlier scouting mission.
Stacked one on top of each other were three stoneware platters, clearly handmade. The graduated sizes would probably work for whatever the chef had in mind. The free-form swirls of gray and navy and green were elegant and well suited to the ambience in Farrell’s beautiful home.
Ivy could only touch the edge of the bottom tray. And pottery was notoriously heavy. The last thing she needed was to break them.
With her hands on her hips, she debated her options. A return to the pantry produced no answers until she spotted an old phone book on a bottom shelf. She made a mental note to recycle it, but in the meantime, the thick paper publication might be just the thing.
Carefully, she adjusted the stool. Then she rested the phone book in the exact center. Holding on to two cabinet handles to steady herself, she stepped up onto her new perch. Bingo. Now she could get her hands on the top piece of pottery. If she slid it off the pile carefully, she could step down, set it aside and go back for the other two.
* * *
Farrell was restless. And his coffee had run dry. The project was going well despite the turmoil in his gut. He’d managed to separate the two portions of his life for a few hours, but now the prospect that he might run into Ivy drew him back to the main house.
When he entered quietly and rounded the corner into the kitchen, his chest squeezed. Tiny, five-foot-three Ivy Danby was perched precariously on what looked like a damn phone book, about to break her neck.
He roared at her, his heart in his throat. “What in the hell are you doing? Are you crazy?” He lunged across the room at her, desperate to break her fall. And she was surely going to fall. The heavy platter above her head already teetered.
When he jumped in front of her and reached for the stoneware, Ivy flinched backward and threw her hands in front of her face.
He was so shocked, he barely caught her before she lost her balance. If he had left well enough alone, she might have managed her balancing act, but it was too late. The platter eluded both of them and shattered on the floor.
Upstairs Downstairs Temptation (The Men 0f Stone River Book 2) Page 6