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

by Janice Maynard

Three hours later, she was no closer to understanding what had happened. Her body felt awful, every bruise making itself known. But that was nothing compared to the ache in her chest. Her silly, foolish heart was beginning to crack into a million pieces.

  As promised, she texted Farrell every thirty minutes to let him know she wasn’t dead. The dark humor suited her mood.

  Last night, Farrell had made love to her as if he would never let her go. Today, he could barely look at her. His on-again, off-again mood swings made her furious. And they hurt, too, but she concentrated on the anger. She loved the infuriating man—quite desperately, in fact. If she found the courage to tell him so, and the feelings were one-sided, she would have to leave.

  * * *

  Farrell didn’t even try to sleep. He paced the confines of his small lab and searched for a way out. He didn’t love Ivy. He didn’t. The sick fear he experienced when he saw her tumble down his stairs was nothing more than concern for a friend, an employee.

  The prospect that he might let himself get too involved galvanized him. He couldn’t lose someone he loved again. He wouldn’t allow it. If there was any possibility he might fall in love with Ivy, he had to step away from the madness now.

  Even in the midst of his panicked rationalizations, he knew he was lying to himself. And he was ashamed of his cowardice. With every day that passed, Ivy had become more and more dear to him. Of course he loved her. How could he not?

  He’d done a damn good job of denying it, though.

  Seeing her fall down the stairs had revealed the depth of his love and also the impossibility of telling her how he felt.

  He wanted her delectable body. That much was true. But it wasn’t too late to stop himself from making a terrible mistake.

  Every moment he’d spent in Ivy’s bed and vice versa had been exquisitely pleasurable. Still, he had lived without physical release before. Months on end, in fact. He could deny himself. He had no other choice.

  He had to let her go...

  * * *

  Ivy slept fitfully. Monday morning dawned gray and cold and blustery. It was as if the weather had stayed perfect for their out-of-town guests, and now that the party was over, Mother Nature was having a hissy fit.

  Delanna had done a wonderful job caring for Dolly, but the cabin was a bit of a mess. Ignoring the aches and pains from her accident, Ivy did two loads of laundry while cleaning the place from top to bottom, thankful that Dolly was happily occupied with her pots and pans on the floor.

  At ten thirty, Ivy decided to go to Farrell’s house and make a plan for dinner. She had no idea what food was left. But she would throw something together that was better than reheating leftovers.

  “Come on, lovey,” she said to Dolly. “Let’s take a walk.” It wasn’t actually raining at the moment, but she and Dolly bundled up for the short trek.

  It seemed odd to find the big house empty and quiet after all the commotion of the weekend. But having the serene space was peaceful, too. Plenty of time to think.

  With Dolly on her hip, she wandered into the kitchen. There on the counter, propped up with a banana, was an envelope with her name on it. She recognized Farrell’s bold handwriting.

  Something told her she wasn’t going to like the contents. Why hadn’t Farrell simply sent a text if he wanted something special? Or maybe he needed her to clean all the guest rooms, because he hadn’t found anyone else to tackle the task.

  After tucking Dolly in her high chair and giving her a handful of dry cereal, Ivy opened the note with shaking hands.

  Ivy:

  Now that the house party is over and my project is wrapping up, I think it’s best if you return to Portland. Because this change is somewhat sooner than you expected, I am including a severance check, as well as a letter of reference.

  I plan to be at the house by two this afternoon. I’ll help you pack up. We’ll drive my SUV back to Portland, so the high chair and port-a-crib will fit. Feel free to text Katie if you need her to do anything on the other end.

  F.

  Ivy stared at the piece of paper, trying to decipher the words. Sooner than you expected. Severance.

  And not even his whole name. Just “F.”

  She felt sick. Betrayed. Stunned. He had told her from the beginning that he wouldn’t allow his feelings to be involved. It wasn’t Farrell’s fault that she hadn’t believed him.

  Anger would have helped. She tried to be angry. She wanted to be angry like she had been before. But her body was literally battered and bruised, and now her spirit was in equal pain.

  Had Farrell somehow decided she was going to cling or make demands? Had he thought it best to end their short-lived affair before things got messy?

  Tears stung her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall.

  Every paycheck she had earned sat in her purse down at the cabin. The severance amount in her hand was humiliating, but she didn’t have the luxury of shredding it and leaving the pieces on the counter.

  So she did what every survivor has always done. She picked up her child, and she walked out.

  * * *

  Farrell paced the confines of his Portland office, wanting to smash things. Both of his brothers and Katie sat nearby, watching him with sympathy in their eyes. That compassion ate at him, because those were the same expressions he had received from everyone when Sasha died.

  He had hated it then, and he hated it now. Those looks meant that his life was screwed. Destroyed. Over.

  For five solid weeks he had searched for Ivy and Dolly. But they had vanished from the face of the earth. Finally, in despair, he realized he needed help. So he had summoned his family and told them everything.

  “When she had the accident on the stairs,” he croaked, remembering that terrible day, “it was like having everything click into sharp focus. I understood that I was falling in love with her, and I was terrified.”

  Quin sighed. “So you decided to get rid of her.”

  Farrell winced. “I couldn’t go through that again. Losing someone. Ivy could have died on those steps.”

  “But she didn’t,” Zachary said. “And now you’ve lost her anyway.”

  Farrell sucked in a breath, his chest heaving. Zachary was right. Farrell had made a terrible mistake, and he had to fix it. “You have to help me find her,” Farrell said. “Please. She didn’t even take all the baby’s things.”

  Katie stood and went to the window, her face drawn with worry. “As a female, I can only imagine what she’s going through. A woman like Ivy wouldn’t offer her body easily. She must have cared for you, Farrell. But knowing Ivy, she would have kept those feelings to herself, because she believes you still love Sasha.”

  “Why would she think that?” he bellowed, half-frantic with panic.

  Quin put an arm around his shoulders. “Because we all thought that, Farrell. Until Ivy, you’ve not looked at a woman seriously in seven years. Ivy would have no way of knowing that you cared. Not without the words, especially since you sent her away.”

  Zachary’s jaw firmed. “We’ll find her, I swear. What ground have you covered so far?”

  “I started in the Charleston area. Two weeks with a private investigator. All we managed to prove was that she hadn’t been back since she came north and moved in with Delanna. So I returned here to Portland. I’ve combed every apartment complex in the city. Twice. I even had a buddy of mine at the DMV try to trace the registry on that car you gave her.” He glared at Quin and Katie, though he knew who was really to blame for Ivy’s flight.

  Katie turned and gave all three men a look of disgust. “Think it through. Ivy would rather risk getting a ticket than having Farrell find her. She probably didn’t register the car.”

  The truth of that struck Farrell like a death blow to the gut. What had he done? Good God, what had he done?

  “So what next?” he groaned. “It’
s a big damn country.”

  “Bar Harbor,” Katie said, her face beginning to reflect hope. “When I first drove Ivy and Dolly up to your house, we passed the turnoff for Bar Harbor. Ivy mentioned that she had always wanted to spend some time there. Her family visited Acadia briefly when she was a kid, and she was fascinated by the park.”

  Quin nodded. “It’s no better or worse than any other idea.”

  Zachary drummed his fingers on the desk, his serious expression far from the carefree facade he typically showed to the world. He sat in Farrell’s chair making notes. “It’s tricky, but I could get someone to trace her Social Security number.”

  “Won’t work,” Katie said. “If a woman wants to hide, she’ll get a job that pays cash.”

  Farrell straightened his spine. “Then Bar Harbor it is. If necessary, I’ll sell part of my shares in SRO to both of you to finance this search.”

  Quin rolled his eyes. “Don’t be an asshole, big brother. And don’t insult us. If Ivy is important to you, we’re in on this. One hundred percent.”

  Eighteen

  Ten days of searching the Bar Harbor area, and Farrell was so tired he was weaving on his feet. He’d barely managed three or four hours of sleep a night for weeks. Shame and regret and dread ate away at the lining of his stomach. It was torture to imagine Ivy laboring all alone to support herself and her child.

  He loved that stubborn, precious woman, and he’d never told her. He’d let his fear drive her away. Among all the other reasons that kept him searching was the need to apologize. To tell her how he felt. And regardless of the outcome, to beg her forgiveness.

  When she disappeared, she had left the baby bed. The high chair. Every last item of couture wardrobe Katie had helped pick out.

  The woman who fled an abusive marriage and came north to Maine for a new start had left Farrell’s home with little more than the clothes on her back.

  Because he had hurt her. Badly.

  Now, at last, he was about to confront his mistakes. At least he hoped so. True to their word, Zachary and Quin and Katie had committed all their time and effort to locating a woman who didn’t want to be found.

  Even in a relatively small community like Bar Harbor, those searches had taken time.

  Now it was up to Farrell. He stared at the tiny, run-down motel from the anonymity of a rental car. The rental was to keep Ivy from spotting him and running again.

  The Summer’s Beauty Inn was anything but. Beautiful, that was. It was the kind of place that might have been a popular tourist haunt in the 1950s. Now it existed far off the beaten path, slowly decaying into the surrounding hillside.

  Katie’s familiar sedan, now Ivy’s, sat in front of the unit marked 7E. The car was backed into the spot, so there was no way to tell if it had a license tag.

  Farrell only knew that his quest was just beginning.

  He wasn’t a praying man, not particularly, but he muttered a few words of supplication in hopes that a benevolent deity might take pity on him. Or maybe Sasha might intervene on his behalf. Farrell would take any help he could get at this point.

  When he glanced at his watch, he marked the hour. Six fifteen. Early enough that Dolly wouldn’t be asleep. Late enough that the two females who held his heart might have eaten.

  Farrell’s appetite had been nonexistent for weeks.

  He gathered his phone and his keys and climbed out of the car. The twenty steps toward the door with the peeling green paint felt like a marathon. What could he say to make things right?

  Even worse, what if those words didn’t exist?

  * * *

  Ivy flinched when someone knocked at her door. Old habit. She’d had a few drunken losers try to get in the wrong room since she had been here.

  When she looked out the peephole, she moaned and put her back to the door, clutching Dolly to her chest. No. No. No.

  She stayed perfectly still, heart pounding, mouth dry.

  Farrell’s deep voice accompanied a second round of knocking. “I know you’re in there, Ivy. Open up.”

  He couldn’t possibly know for sure. Of course, her car was out front. Katie’s car, actually. Ivy was going to pay for it, just not yet. Living expenses were eating through her stash of money at an alarming rate.

  Dolly, unaware that she was supposed to be quiet, started babbling. The little girl was becoming more vocal every day. Ivy was proud of her daughter, but now was not the time. “Ssh, sweetheart.”

  Silence reigned for one minute. Then two. Then three. Maybe Farrell had given up.

  The fact that Ivy’s first response to that possibility was disappointment meant she was in deep doo-doo.

  If she peered out the peephole again, would he be able to see her eyeball? She’d never considered what it looked like from the other side of the door. But she was desperate to know if he was still there.

  Sliding the drapes aside wasn’t an option. The Farrell she knew would jump on that immediately.

  If he hadn’t walked away.

  Before she could make up her mind, a small white business card slid under the door. It was Farrell’s, of course. All of his various Stone River Outdoors info was on one side. But when she flipped the card over, there were only two words—I’m sorry...

  Her eyes stung. It didn’t really matter, did it? Not in the big scheme of things. But if he wasn’t going to leave, she had to deal with him.

  All she had to do was hold it together for fifteen or twenty minutes. He would salve his conscience. She would absolve him. Then they would go their separate ways.

  Could she bear it? She had missed him so badly, only sheer exhaustion allowed her to sleep. She dreamed about him. Every night.

  She’d walked out of his cabin almost seven weeks ago and into the current, temporary arrangement. She was working toward a bigger plan. Once she had a decent nest egg for first and last months’ rent and utility deposits, she hoped to rent a nice apartment in Portland. Jobs would be more plentiful there and not dependent on the vagaries of the tourist season.

  She wasn’t alone in the world. She had made friends with Katie and Delanna. Eventually, one or both of them could be the beginning of her new community, her circle of emotional support. But she hadn’t contacted either of them yet. She hadn’t wanted to chance having word of her whereabouts get back to Farrell. He couldn’t have been too upset, though, if it had taken him this long to show up. Why was he here?

  In her heart, she knew why. He was a decent man, and he knew he had hurt her feelings. That was all she would admit to... No reason for him to know how she really felt. No reason at all.

  “I need you to be a cute distraction,” she whispered to Dolly. The little girl slobbered and blew a bubble and tooted. Great. So much for backup.

  The next knock sounded fiercer. “Open the door, Ivy.”

  Dear God, please don’t let me make a fool of myself.

  She looked down at her faded jeans and her long-sleeved navy Henley top. The casual clothes were a far cry from the beautiful wardrobe she had worn for the weekend retreat. Not to mention that she had a smear of mashed banana on her sleeve and a tiny hole at her elbow.

  Cinderella was definitely back with the mice.

  Before she could lose her nerve, she smoothed her hair with one hand and jerked open the door. “Hello, Farrell. What brings you here?”

  * * *

  Farrell had almost given up. If Ivy didn’t want to see him, did he have to leave, or could he try to make amends? While he was still wrestling with that thorny question, there she was.

  “Ivy...” His words dried up.

  She stepped back. “Come in.”

  The motel room was dismal. That was the nicest description he could come up with. Ivy herself was everything he remembered and more. The hazel eyes with the wary gaze. Pointed chin. Unpainted pink lips that had kissed him and offered him joy
again. He wanted to grab her and hold her and never let her go.

  But even a blind man could sense the great chasm between them.

  He cleared his throat. “I couldn’t find you.”

  She frowned. “I’m only an hour from your house...give or take.”

  “Don’t be coy. You hid in plain sight. I’ve been to Charleston for two weeks. And all over Portland. You didn’t register the car, damn it.” He was losing it, and Ivy’s expression closed up.

  She pursed her lips. “I’m sorry you’ve been inconvenienced, Farrell. But I’m not sure what that has to do with me.”

  He glanced behind him at the two beds. Both were covered with bilious green satin bedspreads that matched the door. “May we please sit down?”

  She shrugged. “If you like.”

  Dolly was giving him the stink eye. Didn’t the kid remember how many times he had played with her? Sung to her? Rubbed her back as she fell asleep?

  An awkward silence fell. Where to start...

  Ivy glanced at her watch.

  Farrell decided to cut to the chase. “I’m not in love with Sasha anymore, I swear. She was my first love. And I will always honor her memory, but she’s my past.”

  Ivy blinked. “Okay.”

  The stubborn woman wasn’t going to make this easy on him.

  He didn’t really blame her. So he took a breath and kept going.

  “I’m sorry I threw you out,” he said. “That was cowardly. And wrong.”

  Another blink. “Got it. No worries.”

  “Please come back with me,” he begged.

  This time her eyes flashed fire, a fire he hadn’t fully understood until this moment. “No, thank you,” she said, her tone excruciatingly polite. “Dolly and I are fine.”

  “Do you even have a job?” he asked in desperation. “We tried tracing your Social Security number, but nothing pinged.”

  “We?” Her facade cracked. “Who’s we?”

  “Zachary and Katie and Quin, of course. I needed help finding you. So I told them everything.”