by Regina Kyle
“I’ll be too busy working.” Ivy checked her lipstick in the mirror, rubbing a smudge of coral off her teeth. “Besides, you’re a big boy. You can stand up for yourself. Or are you scared of a bunch of senior citizens?”
“They may be old, but they’re feisty. And they travel in packs. Like wolves.” He double-knotted his shoelaces and shuddered. “Really horny wolves.”
She turned from the mirror and smoothed down the front of her dress. “My money’s on you. Ready to go?”
He tightened his brace under the leg of his tuxedo pants and stood. “As I’ll ever be.”
They grabbed her gear and loaded it in the used Honda Element she’d picked up when she’d gotten tired of pulling up to gigs in her father’s ancient pickup with the Grower’s Paradise logo emblazoned on the side. Cade dealt with the bulky tripod and light stands and Ivy handled the bag with the more delicate cameras and lenses. It was a routine that had become familiar in the two weeks since he’d first accompanied her to the carnival.
She still spent mornings at the nursery, waking up at 5:00 a.m. to make sure everything was stocked, tagged, trimmed and watered. Then they opened for business at nine and her mother took over. Cade had offered to help out there, too, but she’d flatly refused, saying it was bad enough he’d gotten sucked into indentured servitude as her photographer’s assistant. They’d done a number of portraits and parties together—sometimes two gigs a day—and he’d become pretty damn good at it. Like a top-notch golf caddy, he’d learned to anticipate his boss’s needs, handing Ivy the right flash before she could ask for it, or a memory card just as the one she was using filled up.
He hadn’t minded helping out. He figured the work would bring them closer together. Instead, it seemed to drive an emotional wedge between them—a wedge at least partly of his own making. The more he watched Ivy work, the more one simple, inescapable thought took hold in his brain and wouldn’t let go.
Ivy was right. She didn’t belong in Stockton. She was meant for bigger, better things. And he’d be a selfish bastard if he asked her to stay.
So he’d started pulling back, preparing himself for the time in the not so distant future when she’d pack her bags and hit the road. He’d begun stopping by the station every other day for an hour or two and hanging out with the guys a couple of nights a week. He would move back to his own apartment, just as soon as his doctor gave him the thumbs-up on climbing the stairs.
Not that he’d shared that last part of the plan with Ivy. Yet.
“Where to?” he asked when they were in the car and she’d started to back down the driveway.
“The first stop is just down the street.”
“First stop?”
“Yep. The waterfall at the other end of Leffert’s Pond.”
“Isn’t that the place where everyone went for pictures before the prom?”
“I wouldn’t know.” She looked both ways, her eyes somehow managing to skip right over him in the passenger seat, and eased the car out onto the road. “I didn’t go to prom. No one asked me.”
Way to go, Hardesty. Remind her how miserable she was here. That’ll make her run away even faster.
He shrugged and stared at the scenery rushing by outside the car window, doing his best to downplay his case of foot-in-mouth syndrome. “You didn’t miss much.”
“That’s not what I heard.” She flashed him an I-know-something-you-don’t-know grin before turning her attention back to the road. “I heard a certain quarterback and a certain cheerleader were caught with their pants down, so to speak, in the stairwell.”
“Those rumors were greatly exaggerated.” He smiled back at her. “We were only making out. And we were fully clothed at all times.”
“There’s a lot you can do with your clothes on.” The tips of her ears flushed an adorable bright pink. “So I’m told.”
“Telling is good. Showing is better.” His gaze traveled south from her face, stopping at her legs. Cade was mesmerized by the play of the muscles in her nylon-clad thigh as her foot moved from the gas pedal to the brake. He shifted in his seat to relieve the growing pressure against his zipper.
“Are you offering?” she asked playfully, still concentrating on her driving and blissfully unaware of his condition.
He didn’t have a chance to answer before she pulled into the parking lot beside a small waterfall. The smallest natural falls in the country, if you believed the hype from the Stockton parks and recreation department. The town even honored the darned thing with a festival every fall.
A wooden footbridge spanned the top of the waterfall, and a picnic area, with several tables and a barbecue pit, was situated at the base. The bride, easily identifiable in her white gown, hovered near one of the tables, surrounded by a group of formally dressed men and women Cade presumed made up the wedding party. Why else would seven women be wearing the same ugly-ass orange dress?
“You must be Ivy.” A woman in a crisp, light gray pantsuit broke free from the crowd and approached them almost before they could get out of the car. “I’m the mother of the bride. There’s a few things I’d like to discuss with you before we get started.”
She took Ivy by the elbow and spirited her off, leaving Cade to grapple with the equipment.
“So it’s true.” A familiar singsongy voice made him jump, and he almost banged his head on the open hatchback.
“Sasha.” He withdrew from the car, a tripod in one hand and Ivy’s camera bag in the other. He slammed the hatch shut, hitched the bag over his shoulder and faced her.
“It’s true,” she repeated, shaking her head. “You’re her lackey.”
“I’m helping a friend.”
“Friend?” She took a step toward him, her perfectly plucked eyebrows arched. “My sources say you two are shacking up.”
Her sources? Who did she think she was, Katie freaking Couric? He tucked the tripod under his arm and studied her. Even an in-your-face sexpot like Sasha couldn’t make that hideous dress look good. “What if we are?”
“You can do better, you know.” She put a hand on his forearm.
He shook it off. “If by better you mean you, I’ll pass.”
Cade looked around for Ivy. He found her above him on the footbridge with Momzilla, who was gesturing wildly. She was pointing at something or someone down below, and Ivy’s head turned in the same direction. He could tell by the way she stiffened the moment her eyes landed on him and Sasha.
“Duty calls.” He tightened his grip on the strap of the camera bag, backed away from his ex and eyed the steep, wooden stairway that wound up the side of the falls. Doctor be damned, he was going up there. He had to reach Ivy before the wrong impression was cemented firmly in her mind.
“Have a nice time at the wedding,” he said over his shoulder as he navigated around the picnic tables toward the steps. “Good luck catching the bouquet.”
If she did, one thing was for sure. He was staying the hell away from the garter.
* * *
“PERFECT.” IVY CROUCHED down to get a better angle of the wedding party lined up on the footbridge. “One more for good luck and we’re all done here.”
And not a moment too soon. The higher the sun got, the more the bride was starting to spritz, and a sweaty bride did not for good photos make.
Then there was the added bonus of putting as much distance as possible between herself and Sasha. Once the posed prewedding photos were done, all that was left were the candids at the church and reception. It would be easier to avoid the evil eye Cade’s ex was shooting her in a crowd.
If she was still his ex. Ivy shrugged off the surge of what she knew was irrational jealousy. So he’d been talking to Sasha. So what? What was he supposed to do, ignore her when she came right up to him? Take her down with a karate chop to the back of the head? Anyway, it was Ivy’s house he was living in, Ivy’s bed he was sleeping in at night. Well, technically her sister’s house and her sister’s bed. But it was Ivy he was sharing them with.
&
nbsp; “That’s a wrap.” She snapped the lens cap on her camera and stood slowly, thanks to her short skirt. “Thanks, everyone. I’ll see you all over at the church.”
She moved to one side, letting the members of the wedding party pass her on the narrow path from the bridge to the stairs. Only one—Sasha, natch—seemed to find it impossible to get by without elbowing her in the ribs, almost making her drop her Nikon.
“Sorry about that,” Cade said as he came up beside her, camera bag over one arm and tripod in the other.
“Why?” Ivy handed him the camera, which he stowed carefully in the bag. “You didn’t do anything.”
“I should never have agreed to the whole fake date thing in the first place. Then Sasha wouldn’t have it in for you.”
Yeah. And they would never have wound up sleeping together. Was he regretting that, too?
Ivy pushed aside that pesky thought and took the camera bag from Cade. “I don’t know. I’m pretty sure she’d find some other reason to hate me.”
Girls like her usually did.
With a sigh so low not even whales could hear it, Ivy started down the path toward the stairway.
“Do you need a hand?” she asked, suddenly wondering how he’d gotten up there in the first place. She’d been so occupied with the controlling mother of the bride she hadn’t even thought about how he’d gotten to her side. “I can take the tripod...”
“Nah.” He waved her off. “I’m right behind you.”
When she reached the bottom, she turned. Right behind was apparently a relative term, as Cade was still making his way down, moving slowly, his free hand clutching the rail with every step, but managing pretty well despite the extra encumbrances of his cast and the tripod.
Ivy’s heart did a nosedive to her stomach. If he could climb up and down the precarious staircase at the falls, he could certainly manage the one at his apartment, and that meant he could go home. Something that had probably occurred to him, too.
“Let’s roll,” he said when he reached her, putting a hand at the small of her back like she was the walking wounded and not the other way around. “We don’t want to be late for the ceremony.”
Just as Ivy predicted, avoiding Sasha’s stink eye was easier at the church and even simpler at the reception, with everyone busy dining and dancing. As a photographer, Ivy’s favorite part of any wedding was the reception. Sure, the ceremony was beautiful. And there was nothing quite like the expression on a groom’s face when he saw his bride walk down the aisle.
But what she liked capturing best were the unscripted, unexpected moments. The groom’s head thrown back in laughter at some questionable joke in the best man’s toast. The tear running down the father of the bride’s face when he danced with his daughter. The subtle, longing glances between the bride and groom when no one else was paying attention.
Would anyone ever look at her like that? Would Cade?
“You’ve got plenty of pictures.” The man at the center of her thoughts took the camera from her hand and set it down on a nearby table. “Dance with me.”
He held out a palm. She looked from it to her expensive camera and back again.
“My Nikon...”
“Will be fine.” He pulled out his wallet, extracted a five-dollar bill and waved it in front of a floppy-haired boy of about thirteen who was sitting at the table, engrossed in a video game on his phone. “Keep an eye on this for me, okay? There’s five more in it for you when we come back.”
The boy blew his bangs off his forehead and looked up from the game. “Make it ten up front and ten more on the flip side, and you’ve got a deal.”
Cade pulled out another five and plunked it on the table. “Fine.”
Without waiting for any sort of acknowledgment from Ivy, he took her by the hand and led her onto the dance floor.
“You got robbed,” she said.
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
The band chose that moment to slow things down, launching into Chris de Burgh’s “The Lady in Red.” Ivy’s heart fluttered as Cade drew her flush against him. The heat from his body surrounded her and the scent of his skin, mossy and heady from his cologne, mingled with the sweet smell of the flowers in the elaborate table centerpieces.
“It bought me a dance with you,” he continued as if she wasn’t about to dissolve into a puddle of love right there on the dance floor. “That’s money well spent in my book.”
She tore her gaze from the strong, tanned column of his throat and locked eyes with the mother of the bride, who pursed her lips and whispered something in her husband’s ear. “I’m on the clock. I really shouldn’t be...”
“Shh.” Cade shushed her with a finger on her lips. “Relax. Enjoy yourself. One dance, then you can go back to being Margaret Bourke-White.”
Ivy tipped her head to stare up at him incredulously. The female photographer, known for her war correspondence and Life magazine covers, wasn’t exactly a household name. “You know Margaret Bourke-White?”
“Not personally.” His smile was broad but forced, and it didn’t come close to reaching his eyes. She couldn’t see that special light they got when his pleasure was genuine. “But I’m familiar with her work. I might not be a Rhodes Scholar like my parents, but I’m not living under a rock. And I do read.”
“I didn’t mean to imply that you’re stupid.” She reached up to caress his cheek and realized that they’d stopped moving. “I don’t believe that. I never have. And I never will.”
“I know. Hell, you’re the one who encouraged me to take the lieutenant exam.” He turned his head to kiss her palm. “Just a sore spot, I guess. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” She slid her hand along his stubbled jaw, down his neck to his shoulder. “Now are you going to dance with me or just stand there? From the look on Momzilla’s face, I’d say we’ve got three minutes max before she storms over here, rips us apart and reads me the riot act for ruining her precious baby’s special day.”
“Then by all means, let’s dance.”
His arms tightened around her, and they swayed together in silence for the rest of the song. As they danced, every inch of her body became more and more aware of every inch of his. Especially the rock-hard inches pressing against her thigh.
When the song ended, the lead singer swung his guitar around to his back and gripped the microphone. “Okay, folks, we’re gonna take a little break while the staff gets everything set up for the cake. Be back in fifteen.”
Reluctantly, Ivy stepped out of Cade’s arms and clapped politely along with the rest of the crowd. “I need to use the little girls’ room before they cut the cake. Can you rescue my camera from the teenage extortionist you entrusted it to?”
“Sure.”
She started to kiss his cheek but froze midpucker when she saw the mother of the bride bearing down on them. Instead, she settled for a quick squeeze of his manly forearm, bare now that he’d shed his tux jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves. Who knew forearms could be so sexy? Corded and sprinkled with just the right amount of soft, fair hair. Biceps had nothing on them. “Gotta run. Meet me over by the cake table, okay? And bring the camera bag. I want to swap lenses.”
She hurried to the restroom before the festivities started up again. She was washing her hands, remembering the feel of Cade’s sculpted back muscles under her palms as they swayed in time with the music, when the door swung open and Sasha tottered in, more than a little unsteady on her four-inch heels and reeking of cheap beer.
“Hiding out in the bathroom?” Sasha stumbled to the sink next to Ivy, leaning heavily on it for balance. “Shouldn’t you be working?”
Ivy dried her hands on a paper towel and tossed it into the wastebasket. “I was just on my way out.”
“It won’t last, you know.” Sasha fumbled through her clutch, finally pulling out a lipstick.
Ivy stared at her. “Excuse me?”
“This thing you’ve got going with Cade. I give it two months, tops.” Sasha unca
pped the lipstick and rolled it up to reveal a shade of do-me red. No surprise there. “And if my math’s right, it’s close to that now.”
“I don’t see how it’s any of your business.”
“What he needs is someone like me.” Sasha leaned in to the mirror for a closer look and ran the cherry-red gloss over her lips, smacking them together when she was done. She was amazingly proficient for someone who’d clearly had a few too many. Probably due to years of experience applying makeup while shitfaced.
“Someone pretty and put-together, who’ll be happy staying with him here in Stockton,” she rambled on, not even bothering to spare a glance at Ivy. “Not a fat, frumpy photographer who’s made no secret of how much she hates this place.”
It’s not the place I hate. It’s people like you. Ivy clutched the edge of the sink basin in front of her to prevent herself from committing any number of crimes involving serious bodily injury that her brother, Mr. Law-and-Order, would be first in line to prosecute her for. She could pretend all she wanted, but even after twelve years, six continents and countless lectures from her mentor-turned-business-partner Andre, fat shaming still stung.
“I think that’s for Cade to decide, not you. Maybe he prefers a woman with curves to a stick figure.”
“Oh, please.” Sasha capped the lipstick and stowed it back in her purse. “He’s a man. What does he know? What do any of them know? It’s up to us to show them what’s good for them.”
“Sexist, much?” Ivy asked, rolling her eyes.
“It’s not sexist if it’s true.” Sasha stepped back, surveyed the results in the mirror and smiled. “There. That ought to do it.”
She turned her critical gaze on Ivy, scrutinizing her from head to toe, her eyes narrowing as they traveled over the lumps and bumps Ivy’s dress did nothing to conceal. “You should really consider liposuction. Or that surgery where they staple your stomach shut. I’ve heard it works wonders.”