by Karen Booth
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 She was equally withdrawn.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.
Farrell felt a piece hit his ankle, but he was more worried about Ivy. She was glassy-eyed with shock. And she avoided his gaze.
Without speaking another word, he scooped up the monitor and carried Ivy across the hall into his bedroom. It was the closest place that had a sofa. The master suite was huge and included a seating area. He set her down and crouched in front of her. “Ivy,” he said, the next words stuck in his throat. He was still trying to process them. “Did you think I was going to hit you?”
She was pale as milk, big-eyed, tragic. “Yes,” she whispered.
If she had struck him, the shock would have been less. He sat back on his ass, horrified. Aghast. Suddenly, so many things made sense.
His mouth was dry. His brain spun in a million directions.
Those hazel eyes filled with tears. Eventually, drops spilled over and ran down her cheeks. The fact that Ivy’s distress was completely silent made it worse somehow.
Though he was afraid of upsetting her further, he couldn’t bear to see her like this. Carefully, he stood and joined her on the sofa, putting his arm around her shoulders and trying to convey his compassion and concern.
If she had evaded his touch or seemed uncomfortable in any way, he would have released her immediately. But Ivy turned into his embrace and buried her face against his shoulder. The quiet tears turned into sobs that shook her small frame.
One of her hands gripped his shirt as if she were trying to latch on to something in the midst of a storm. Her fingers clenched the cloth right over his heart.
He held her loosely, his throat painful with emotions he didn’t try to analyze. It was clear to him now how very badly he wanted her. Her feminine curves made him ache. The sexual hunger was something he couldn’t control. But he didn’t have to let her know. And he sure as hell didn’t have to let himself get sucked into this relationship that was bound to tear him apart.
It already was, though he had tried to keep his distance.
Eventually, the tears ran out. He suspected they had been building for a very long time. He suddenly realized that he was stroking her hair. That had to stop.
Ivy exhaled on a shuddering breath. “I’m sorry,” she muttered. When she tried to stand up, he released her immediately. “I should check on the baby,” she said.
Farrell pointed to the tiny screen on the monitor. “She hasn’t stirred. Talk to me, Ivy. Or if not me, someone. Katie, maybe?”
Ivy wiped the tears from her face with her hands and then wrapped her arms around her waist. She chewed her bottom lip. “It’s not exactly what you think.”
“So your husband didn’t physically abuse you?” He heard the angry indignation in his voice. Ivy did also.
When she spoke again, there was almost no emotion on her face. “This is a long story,” she warned.
Farrell realized in that instant that he had a choice. He could make an excuse and go back to the lab. Ivy would let him leave without protest. Maybe she might even be glad. The two of them would continue in a guarded employer/employee relationship.
His other option was to try helping her. And thus open himself up to a deeper relationship. One that on his side, at least, had the potential to develop into something more.
He had run from intimacy for seven years. His life was on an even keel now. No devastating lows. But no exhilarating highs either.
Did he really want to let Ivy into his heart? She had already carved out a tiny niche in his life. Could he handle anything more?
He cleared his throat. “I’m listening, Ivy. And I’m not going anywhere.”
For a moment, tears threatened again. He watched as she blinked them back. Twisted her hands. Composed herself.
“Richard was ten years older than me,” she said quietly. “A professor at my college. In the business department. I didn’t have any classes with him, but we had met a time or two. When my parents were killed in a boating accident during the final semester of my senior year, it was Richard who kept tabs on my assignments and made sure I graduated.”
“Why would
he do that?”
She shrugged. “I thought at the time he was simply a nice person. I was drowning in grief. As an only child, I was utterly bereft. Richard made himself indispensable.”
“And then what happened?”
“I’ve had some counseling in recent years,” she said. “And read some books on the subject. I understand now that he used my vulnerability to groom me. It was all very gradual and unremarkable. I didn’t even realize that he was carefully separating me from the few relatives who could have provided a link to my parents. It was the same with my classmates. If I thought about it, I concluded that my girlfriends and I had all drifted apart after graduation. Soon, Richard was the only constant in my world.”
“He was a predator,” Farrell said flatly, trying to keep his anger under control. Ivy didn’t need that from him.
Her bottom lip trembled, but she didn’t agree or disagree with him. “There were dinners and long conversations in his office,” she said. “One day he kissed me. Four months after graduation, we were married.”
“And then he started hitting you?” Farrell was incensed on her behalf, but Ivy actually smiled. It was a heartbreaking smile, but it was a smile. “Richard’s thing was control. He was obsessive about everything in his environment. Forget arguing about which way the toilet paper should unroll from the dispenser. Richard wanted the cabinets and the refrigerator organized daily. He expected me to accommodate his every whim. And I did,” she said simply. “Because he had done so much for me.”
“When did you first know something was wrong?”
“Two years after my parents died, their loss finally became manageable. It was like coming out of a fog for me. People say that grief is different for everyone, and that’s true. When I started thinking about the future, I realized I was healing. I knew it was time to get a job.”
“What was your major?”
“Early childhood education. I filled out applications and began interviewing with principals for positions in the fall. I didn’t tell Richard, because I wanted to surprise him.”
“Did you get hired?”
“I had callbacks for some follow-up interviews, but before that could happen, Richard found out. He was furious. Not simply irritated that I had initiated this step without consulting him, but completely berserk with rage. At first, I was confused. But when I had the temerity to defend myself, he backhanded me so hard I slammed into the wall.”
“My God, Ivy.” Farrell didn’t know what to say. He felt ill.
“It only happened that one time. He apologized instantly. But he insisted that our family life would run more smoothly if I stayed at home. He said he made plenty of money for the two of us to live comfortably.”
“As a college professor?”
“He had a second job. In fact, he traveled often for two and three days at a time. I wondered how his class load worked with his schedule, but I didn’t ask. I learned early on that he didn’t like explaining himself.”
Farrell frowned. “So you didn’t teach?”
“No. I convinced myself that I was overreacting. Of course he was hurt that I would hunt for a job without telling him. And I knew that some men were supermacho and liked supporting their wives. It wasn’t the life I had planned for myself, but I told myself that all couples compromise.”
“Only Richard wasn’t compromising,” Farrell said, wishing the guy was alive so he could beat the hell out of him.
Ivy sat suddenly in the chair opposite the sofa, as if her legs would no longer support her. She stared down at her hands for long seconds. Farrell knew better than to offer his analysis. This might be the only time Ivy would open up to him. If he inserted himself too much into her story, she would stop talking.
She seemed so small and fragile to him. He could only imagine what she had endured. A woman had to be very strong to come out of that situation and still be able to function.
“I’ve been so ashamed and embarrassed,” she said, the words little more than a whisper.
He leaned forward, staring at her intently. “Why, Ivy? You’re not to blame for anything.”
Now she faced him bravely, her heart-shaped face, pointed chin and short haircut making her seem younger than her thirty-two years. “I didn’t leave him,” she said, her voice breaking. “I let three years go by. Then five, then six. He tracked my phone. He doled out my allowance. Because I wasn’t allowed to get a job, I sneaked around and baked cakes and pies for the neighbors and squirreled away that money in a secret spot in the house.”
“Because you knew you were going to leave eventually?”
“Maybe. Subconsciously. But first, I used it to see a counselor. With her help, I finally understood that the gratitude I felt he deserved for saving me after my parents died was a false equivalency. His original kindness was a means of subjugating me, so I didn’t owe him anything.”
“That must have been a bitter pill to swallow.”
She nodded, her expression revealing relief. “I wasn’t sure you would be able to understand. I felt so stupid and clueless. I’d let a borderline psychopath take over my life. During a year and a half of therapy I gradually saw the truth of what had happened to me. Harder still was learning to forgive myself.”
“And then?”
“I told the therapist I wanted to leave him. She was concerned about my physical safety. I told her he had only hit me that one time. Still, he was clearly capable of violence.”
Farrell knew there was worse to come. His stomach recoiled, but he kept his expression calm. “So did you leave or not?”
“He must have suspected. I did everything I could to act normal. But one night when he came home from a trip, he…” She stopped, swallowed hard and gave Farrell a look that hurt him to his core. “You don’t need the details. But he sabotaged my birth control.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Ivy…”
Farrell’s look of compassion made her determined to show him she had survived. And thrived. “It was bad, but it convinced me the marriage was over.”
“And then you left him?”
She shook her head, remembering the anguish she had felt. “I found out I was pregnant.”
Before Farrell could respond to that, she glanced at the monitor in relief. “Dolly is awake,” she said. “I should go get her.”
She fled. There was no other word for it. In the study, she scooped up her perfect daughter and hugged her so tightly the baby protested.
“Sorry, love,” Ivy said. Tears threatened, but no. She. Would. Not. Cry. Not now. The worst was over. Telling Farrell her story, or at least most of it, left her feeling like that awful dream where you’re standing outside naked and you can’t find your way home.
She was raw and exhausted but oddly calm.
Though it was cowardly, she sneaked out the side door of the house and made a beeline for the safety of her cabin. Her cabin. Already, it seemed like home. How long would Farrell want to work up here near the Canadian border? Two months? Three? What would Ivy do when he no longer needed her?
The baby’s routine normalized the afternoon. Dolly had been crawling for some time now, but today, she was brave enough to reach for the edge of the sofa and pull up onto one knee.
“Careful, little munchkin. Don’t get ahead of yourself.” Would Dolly be walking by Christmas?
Thinking of the holidays was a mistake. Surely Farrell would go back to Portland for Christmas. Would he allow his housekeeper and her daughter to stay behind?
Ivy desperately wanted permanence for her child. Traditions. Continuity. The thought of staying here in the Maine woods during the winter was delightful. But without Farrell, everything would seem flat. Ivy had come to depend on his gentle good humor, his deep laugh, the sexy way his eyes crinkled when he smiled.
She cared about him.
While Dolly took her afternoon nap, Ivy ma
de a batch of chocolate-chip cookies. She would take them to Farrell as a peace offering. Or a thank-you. Not many people wanted to hear what Ivy’s life had been like. Fewer still offered to listen.
Farrell’s presence as a quiet, compassionate sounding board had been cathartic. Though Ivy was desperately attracted to him, she wondered if the feeling was one-sided. There were moments when she thought something hovered between them. But that might be her overactive imagination.
It was mortifying to remember how she had shrunk away from him when he tried to keep her from falling. Some atavistic instinct for survival had brought back old coping mechanisms.
She hadn’t told Farrell the whole truth. Perhaps it wasn’t important now.
Suddenly, she remembered the broken platter in the kitchen. She should have cleaned up that mess already. And now it was time to begin dinner.
After packaging the still-warm cookies, Ivy collected the baby and set out for the big house. When she entered the kitchen, it was spotless. Not a sign of broken pottery anywhere. The remaining platters sat out on the counter. Ivy paused long enough to text Katie the required information.
Then she set the cookies on the island and went in search of her boss. She wasn’t a coward. She hadn’t done anything wrong.
She found Farrell on the front porch replacing a section of the railing. He looked up when she stepped out of the house. Something pulsed between them. Awareness. Awkwardness. “I brought fresh cookies,” she said, adjusting Dolly on her hip. “If you’re hungry.”
He stood and stretched. Ivy watched him, unable to look away. He was perfect. Tall. Strong. Intelligent. The muscles in his arms and shoulders were visible through his gray knit shirt.
The bottom fell out of her stomach, and her knees went shaky. She was more than attracted to him. She wanted him. The knowledge troubled her. Farrell Stone was the last man on earth she should set her sights on.