Upstairs Downstairs Temptation (The Men 0f Stone River Book 2)

by Janice Maynard

  “Here,” she said. “Let me take her.”

  In the handoff, Farrell’s hand brushed the side of her chest. It wasn’t deliberate. Even so, feeling the soft weight of her breast made him suck in a shocked breath.

  Maybe he’d been attracted to her since that first day. Was it because she needed saving, and he liked being a hero? Or was the pull something more visceral?

  They ate mostly in silence, except for Dolly, who jabbered constantly. The baby was a convenient third party, a place to center his attention. Ivy followed his example.

  Why had he told Ivy he wanted to kiss her? Now that he’d said it, kissing her was all he could think about.

  She was wearing her old clothes—soft faded jeans and a fleecy pullover in cinnamon. The color flattered her, made her skin glow. “Have another piece of pizza,” he said. Ivy had eaten three to his six.

  “No, thanks. I’m stuffed.”

  He combined the remaining slices into one box and put them in the fridge. Then he returned to the table, sat down and stared at her. “May I ask you something?”

  Alarm flashed across her face. “Yes.”

  “Will you put the baby to sleep here? In the study? You and I didn’t finish our conversation earlier. I’d like to hear the rest of your story.”

  “It’s not important,” she muttered. Her face had gone pale, her hazel-eyed gaze momentarily haunted.

  If that had been the truth, perhaps he would have let it go. But he suspected Ivy needed to get the poison out of her system. Deprive her memories of their power.

  He knew something about that process. Years ago, when he was finally able to let himself think of Sasha and not exert all his energy pretending those memories didn’t exist, the healing had begun.

  Ivy had suffered. She was still suffering. Maybe it wasn’t his place to help her. But he was the only one around.

  “Please,” he said.

  The silent standoff lasted for a minute or more as Ivy looked anywhere but at him. With a sigh, she stood and nodded. “I’ll have to grab her pajamas and a couple other things.”

  “No problem. This little lady and I will entertain ourselves until you get back.”

  When Ivy left the kitchen, Farrell scooped the baby out of her high chair and carried her into his bedroom. “How would you like to play with a brand-new toothbrush?”

  * * *

  Ivy scurried around in the cabin, picking up everything she would need for Dolly’s bedtime routine. Farrell didn’t have a rocking chair, but Ivy could walk the floor and sing to her. That always worked.

  She was only gone twenty-five minutes. When she returned, Farrell’s kitchen was empty. She followed the sound of his voice and found her boss and her daughter on Farrell’s giant king-size bed. Dolly was playing with a...toothbrush?

  “Not to worry,” Farrell said quickly. “It’s fresh out of the wrapper.”

  The scene should have looked domestic. But it didn’t, not entirely. Farrell wasn’t the baby’s daddy enjoying time at the end of the day with his offspring. Instead, he resembled a dangerous, lazy jungle cat sprawled on his side. A lock of hair tumbled across his forehead. Dolly had probably pulled on it. Hair torture was one of her favorite games.

  Ivy stopped several paces from the bed. It was a huge four-poster. But not traditional. The wood was light, the design probably Amish or Shaker. The solid navy bedspread looked wildly expensive. She didn’t get out much, but she had perused a lot of catalogs over the years. The only difference was, Farrell’s bed didn’t have a dozen fancy pillows. He wasn’t the type to go for that kind of stuff.

  Even without an allotment of extra shams and bolsters, everything in this master suite screamed wealth and sophistication. When she cleaned his bathroom each week, she was struck by the fact that it offered every possible luxurious amenity. From heated floors and heated towel racks to the hedonistic shower, this was a rich man’s world.

  She cleared her throat. “I’ll take her now.”

  Farrell smiled. “If you must. She has a lot of personality for such a little person.”

  Ivy managed to snag Dolly without getting too close to the jungle cat. “She really does. Some days I wish she wouldn’t grow up so fast.”

  “Why don’t you meet me in the living room when you’re done?”

  It was phrased politely, but he had asked her to finish her life story, and Ivy had agreed. Why had she said yes?

  As she changed Dolly into her pajamas and sang to her, Ivy found herself unsettled. This familiar nighttime routine was as much for mother as daughter. Tonight, there was no calm to be had.

  When Dolly was asleep, Ivy tiptoed out of the study and stopped by the hall bathroom to freshen up. She could have changed into one of her new outfits, but those were for the house party. And besides, she didn’t want Farrell to think she was primping for him.

  She still didn’t believe he wanted to kiss her. He’d probably said that to bolster her self-esteem. It was kind of him, but not very believable. She would bet a lot of money that he was still in love with his dead wife.

  When she finally made her way into the living room, it was completely dark outside. A front had moved through in the last hour, bringing a drizzling rain and dropping temps into the low sixties. Farrell had built a fire that crackled and popped with warmth and cheer.

  The overhead lights were off, but several lamps burned around the room. He had pulled two armchairs in front of the blaze. A bottle of wine and two glasses sat on the small table in between.

  Farrell looked up when she entered the room. “Is she asleep?”

  “Completely. I know how lucky I am that she’s an easy baby.”

  “True. We have employees at Stone River Outdoors who come back from maternity leave or family leave looking haggard. No sleep for nights on end. It must be rough.”

  Ivy sat down in one of the plush, comfy armchairs and sighed. She kicked off her shoes and curled her legs beneath her. “I know. Particularly if you’re the kind of person who needs a full eight hours.”

  Farrell laughed and joined her by the fire. “I’d say we all need it, but very few people I know manage to make it happen.”

  “May I ask you a personal question?” she said.

  Something flickered across his face, but he nodded. “Sure.”

  “Why did you build such a big house for just you? I know you entertain, but was that the only reason?”

  Farrell stared at the fire, his jaw carved in stone. She saw his shoulders lift and fall, and he scooted deeper into his chair. “Sasha wanted it,” he said, the words barely audible. “We planned to have lots of kids. She was a good amateur artist. One day when she was sick, she drew this exact house. Then made a joke. Said if she didn’t make it, I should build the house anyway.”

  “She wasn’t serious?”

  “No. It was only a way for her to entertain herself when days were bad. But it was always only the outside of the house she drew. She said a view of the ocean like this one deserved a worthy house on the cliff. After she died, I built it. Closure, I guess.” He shrugged. “I like to think she knows.”

  Ivy’s throat tightened, and tears stung her eyes. She couldn’t imagine being loved like that. “I’m sorry if my question made you sad,” she croaked. “I was curious.”

  “I’m fine. It was a long time ago.”

  Nine

  The silence between them now was awkward. Farrell blamed himself. Why did he have to bring Sasha into the conversation? Ivy never would have known the difference. All Farrell had to say was that he wanted a large space for entertaining.

  Maybe he was summoning Sasha’s ghost to prevent himself from doing something stupid.

  “Would you like wine?” He blurted it out, feeling alarmingly off-balance. With the chilly weather and the cozy setup he had created, this suddenly looked like more than it was.

&
nbsp; “Yes,” Ivy said.

  He uncorked the bottle of Syrah and poured two glasses. “Cheers,” he said, as he handed Ivy her drink.

  With her nose scrunched up, she tasted it cautiously. “I’m not much of a red wine aficionado,” she admitted. “Tell me about it. I’m guessing this one’s expensive?”

  “It comes from the Rhône Valley in France. I’ve seen certain bottles go for upwards of four thousand dollars, but the vintage we’re drinking is far more modest. What word would you use to describe it? Your first reaction...”

  Ivy took another sip. “It’s bold,” she said. “Full-bodied. And I think I taste blueberries. Am I right?”

  He lifted his glass. “Spot-on. But don’t feel like you have to finish the glass. I won’t be offended.”

  “It’s very good,” she said. “I seldom drink, though. I’ll sip it, if you don’t mind.”

  “Whatever you want. When our international guests are here, we’ll have a wide variety of wines available. You can try them to your heart’s content.”

  After that, the awkward silence came back.

  Farrell drained his wine and poured himself another glass. “When Dolly woke up from her morning nap, you left me hanging,” he said, keeping his tone light. “You wanted to leave your husband, but you found out you were pregnant. What happened next?”

  Ivy shot him a sideways glance that could have meant anything. She set her half-empty glass on the table and rested her arms on the chair. But he noticed that her fingers clenched the upholstery.

  “I know he did it on purpose,” she said. “He thought if he got me pregnant, I wouldn’t leave.”

  “Why would he believe that?”

  “Because he knew how important family was to me. I missed my parents desperately after their deaths. Richard thought I would want my child to know his or her father.”

  “And did you?”

  “Perhaps. But only for a moment. I became convinced that he would control our baby’s life as he had mine, and that’s when I knew I had to follow through with my original plan.”

  “So what did you do?”

  Ivy stood abruptly and took a position in front of the fire, warming her hands. When she turned back to face him, her expression was tight with remembered struggle. “I hadn’t counted on morning sickness. Brutal. Unrelenting. I lost eighteen pounds before I began to gain anything. I was so scared I would lose the baby. I threw up several times a day, and when I wasn’t throwing up, I was so miserable all I could do was curl up in bed and sleep.”

  “And your husband?”

  Her laugh was bleak. “He started traveling again. Two and three nights at a time. I barely had enough strength to force myself to eat. He knew there was no way I could summon enough energy to pack up and leave him. Unfortunately, he was right. And with every hour I stayed, I felt more like a failure. My daughter hadn’t even been born yet, and already I was placing her in danger.”

  “You’re too hard on yourself,” he said. “You made it day to day. That’s a lot.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Was childbirth as bad as the pregnancy?”

  “Thankfully, no. Apparently I have good childbearing hips.” She chuckled quietly. “I was happy in the hospital. Everyone was so kind. And I had Dolly. She was this perfect little miracle. I prayed every day that Richard’s DNA wouldn’t harm her.”

  “Or worse. How did he respond to becoming a father?”

  “It was very odd. Almost as if he didn’t care. I was the one he wanted to control. Dolly was a peripheral in his life. He ignored her mostly.”

  Farrell wanted to stop right there. Ivy was fine. The baby was fine. And the husband was uninterested. It was a good place to end the story. But that didn’t explain how Ivy ended up back in Portland, broke and alone.

  He could almost see the toll it was taking on her to tell this story. Had she ever shared it with anyone? Unlike Farrell, Ivy’s dark days were relatively recent. Was he helping her or hurting her by asking for the whole sordid tale? He honestly didn’t know.

  “Was your husband at the house when you came home from the hospital?” Farrell asked. “Or did he pick you up?”

  Ivy shook her head slowly. “Neither. He’d left an envelope in my hospital room with just enough taxi fare for me to get home. That was typical. He didn’t let me have a job, and he never gave me more than what was needed for a particular purchase. He often checked the grocery receipts.”

  “Wait a minute,” Farrell said. “Even I know that hospitals won’t let you go home unless a car seat has already been installed.”

  “That was another indignity. They made me meet with a social worker. She asked all kinds of awkward questions. In retrospect, I might have been able to enlist her help in leaving Richard, but I had just given birth. I was exhausted and weak, and struggling to breastfeed. The timing wasn’t right. Or at least that’s what I told myself. I lied to the woman. Told her a friend was picking me up. With a car seat.”

  “But you actually went home in a taxi.”

  “Yes. I was lucky in one way. Over the years, I had been getting to know my neighbors on the sly. Because of that, some of them brought me meals and baby presents, including small amounts of cash. I was so touched. Richard did his best, always, to isolate me. But because he traveled, I had managed to make a few friends. Acquaintances really, but good people. I had to hide the gifts, of course. Richard came home when Dolly was one week old.”

  “Surely he bonded with her then. His own flesh and blood?”

  “No. He complained if she cried. He insisted that I prepare his meals and do the usual chores. And then, I think, he realized that I was getting better every day. Recovering. Learning to handle the baby on my own.”

  “He felt threatened...”

  “I think so. He must have sensed that my plans to leave—the ones he had destroyed almost a year before by getting me pregnant—were about to be resurrected. The atmosphere in the house was tense. I tried not to let Dolly know. When I was with her, I concentrated on being calm, focused.”

  Farrell held his breath. Ivy’s story had slowed. It was as if every word had to be forced from her throat. He stood to join her by the fire. “You don’t have to say anything else, Ivy. I never meant to cause you pain. I was arrogant enough to think you should bare your soul to me. Because it would help. But instead, it’s tearing you apart. I can see it on your face.”

  Her small smile was curiously sweet. “Your instincts were good, Farrell. And I appreciate the fact that you understand grief and loss. This thing that happened to me is part of who I am. I can’t forget it. Telling you is no worse than what I dream about at night.” She paused. “I’m not the woman I was before I left him. I’ve learned to trust my instincts. Fear doesn’t control my life anymore. Being here in Maine with you has brought me peace and healing. This is more than a job for me. It’s a new beginning.”

  He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand, barely a touch at all. “I’m in awe of your resiliency. You actually walked away. With a brand-new baby.”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Oh?”

  Her bottom lip trembled. “New mothers aren’t supposed to have intimate relations until their six-week postpartum checkup. Richard forced himself on me. After that, I developed a terrible infection. Had to be hospitalized. My milk dried up, because I was too ill to pump.”

  Farrell couldn’t bear it. He pulled her into his arms and held her. That was all. Simply held her. His body registered the fact that a desirable woman was pressed up against him. But he was in control.

  “My God, Ivy. It’s a miracle you’re even standing here with me.”

  She rested her cheek against his chest. He felt the shudder that racked her. “I know. They told me I could have died. Dolly was the reason I pulled through and went home.”

  He stroked her hair, sifting his
fingers through the short, fluffy strands. “Who cared for Dolly while you were in the hospital?”

  “I don’t know.” Her voice cracked. “He wouldn’t tell me. I have no idea if she was happy or sad or hungry or inconsolable. I left her with him, because I had no other choice. Knowing that has eaten away at me.”

  “Look at her, Ivy. She’s perfect. Whatever happened or didn’t happen hasn’t had a lasting effect. I’ve never seen a happier baby.”

  She sniffed, swiping her wet cheeks with one hand. “Thank you for saying that.”

  He pulled the hem of his shirt from his pants and dabbed her face. “So when you were well, you left him.”

  Ivy pulled back and looked up at him. Her long eyelashes were wet and spiky, but her color had returned. “You keep trying,” she said, with a tiny grin. “But you haven’t gotten it right yet.”

  “What? What happened?”

  She played with a button on his shirt. “Ten days after I got out of the hospital, Richard had a massive heart attack. The one they call the widow-maker. The EMTs said he was dead before he hit the ground.”

  “Jesus, Ivy...” He was incredulous and horrified. “So that was what? Five? Six months ago?” He’d done some quick math with the baby’s age.

  “Five and a half. I used the credit cards I found in his wallet. Paid for a private funeral. I had no idea who to notify, so it was just me and Dolly. When it was all over, I felt guilty, but overwhelmingly relieved. He couldn’t do anything to hurt me ever again.”

  “Thank God.”

  “I began cleaning out the house so I could sell it. Nothing but bad memories lingered in that place. I didn’t want to raise my baby there.”

  “How was the market?”

  “The sale went through quickly. Dolly and I moved to a nice apartment near the university. I bought a stroller. We began going for walks in the afternoon. I knew I would have to get a job, but I wanted just a little more time with my baby first.”

  “Was there life insurance?”

  “Yes, but not for me. As it turned out, Richard hadn’t been traveling for work at all. Richard had been living under an assumed name in a town fifty miles away. He had another wife and two older children.”