by Jane Porter
“It’s the same old news from this morning,” his mom answered, carefully drawing a chair out and even more carefully sitting down. “Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on whether you’re a news anchor.”
He smiled faintly. He liked his mom. She’d been through a lot and she was still here, ruling the roost. “I’m not sure what you know, or what Tommy has told you, but she’s working in town, bartending.”
“At the Wolf Den.”
So Tommy had said a lot.
Sam suppressed a wave of irritation. “Yeah.”
“That’s got to worry you. It’s not an Ivy kind of place.”
His mom had met Ivy over the years, and while Sam wouldn’t say Ivy and his mom were close, they’d gotten along well. His mom had even met Ivy’s mom, Shelby Lynn, when he and Ivy were serious, when he thought maybe, just maybe, he’d propose. “She’s a big girl. She knows what she’s doing.”
“What brought her to Crawford County?”
“She got an offer to work on the Kruse Ranch here. But the job didn’t pan out.”
“What about her horses? Where are they?”
Trust his mom to remember the thing most important to Ivy. Ivy loved her mares. They were everything to her. “I’m sure she’s found a place for them. They might even be up on the Kruse Ranch still. It would make sense to board them there.”
“You didn’t ask?”
“Didn’t cross my mind.”
Summer eyed him steadily. No judgment in her expression, just an awareness that made Sam uneasy. He and his mom might not talk all that much, but she understood him pretty well, recognizing he might keep things close to his chest, but he felt deeply and was loyal to a fault. “Had to be a shock seeing her, though. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
“I think the last time I saw her was in Calgary, last July at the Stampede.”
“Was her boyfriend up there? That Wesley guy?”
Sam fought the urge to smile. His mom knew more than he’d imagined. “Yeah, Wes was around. I’m not a big fan of him, so I steered clear.”
“Why don’t you like him?”
“He’s an ass. But I’m not the one dating him, so it doesn’t matter what I think.”
“Is Ivy still dating him?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
“What happened?”
Sam gave her an incredulous look. “Mom.”
Her eyes widened, managing to make her look both innocent and indignant at the same time. “I thought you talked to her today. Sorry, my bad.” She slowly pushed up from the kitchen table and reached for her cane. “You’ve got dishes to do. I better let you get them done.” And then she walked out.
But after his mom left, Sam felt worse.
He could hear his brothers in the family room talking and joking, could hear Sophie’s laugh, and Sam could picture Joe’s smile. Joe was amused by his wife, and admired her for holding her own with his rambunctious younger brothers.
And just like that, Sam thought of Ivy, remembering how close she’d been with Tommy and Billy. The four of them traveled a lot together, Ivy and Sam in his rig, with Tommy and Billy in theirs, but almost every morning they had coffee together, and almost every night they had dinner somewhere. They were their own family on the road, and Ivy had been—
Sam stopped himself there, teeth gritted, chest tight.
He didn’t want to keep thinking about her. He didn’t want to feel this hot tangled emotion. She wasn’t his anymore. She hadn’t been his for two and a half years.
After Ivy broke up with him, Sam didn’t date anyone for a year. He hadn’t been interested in seeing anyone, or even getting physical, but then Tommy asked Sam to play wingman, telling him he was needed, that he couldn’t ignore his brother. Tommy did just fine on his own, and could have easily handled a date with two women, but Sam had agreed and showered and shaved and put on clean jeans and an ironed shirt and had gone out.
The date had taken place in Sioux City, and the girl had been a sweet young Midwestern thing, with long golden curls, big blue eyes, deep dimples. Sam didn’t know if she was innocent, silly, or both, but she laughed at every single thing Sam said. It hadn’t been the worst date he’d ever been on, but after giving her a kiss good night, he knew he would never see her again. There was no need to see her again. She wasn’t his type and he most definitely had a type. He liked slim, fine-boned girls with long brown hair, hazel-green eyes, girls that could ride a horse better than a man.
Ivy had been his type. Ivy had been his girl. But she’d wanted something else, something more, and he did what he had to do—set her free.
*
Ivy woke up to the sound of Joan, her landlady, talking loudly on the phone in the hallway outside her bedroom door, her conversation peppered with colorful curses.
Ivy glanced at the bedside clock. It wasn’t even seven yet and she’d gone to bed well past midnight. She pulled her pillow over her head, trying to block out Joan’s voice. But sleep didn’t come, not even after Joan’s voice finally, thankfully faded. After another fifteen minutes of silently grumbling, Ivy threw back the covers, slid a heavy robe over her pajamas and headed to the kitchen for coffee.
But the coffeepot was off, cold and empty, and when Ivy checked the big red coffee canister, that was empty as well. She’d just bought ground coffee a few days ago. How could it be gone already? But she knew the answer. Chain-smoking Joan, alternated her cigarettes with endless cups of coffee. From now on, Ivy would have to keep some emergency coffee hidden somewhere.
Back in her room, Ivy dressed quickly, sliding her feet into socks and then her fleece-lined snow boots to make the walk to Java Café on Main Street. Joan was on the front porch, when Ivy stepped outside, smoking a cigarette even as she shouted another four-letter swear word into the phone.
Joan nodded grimly at her. Ivy lifted a hand in return and made her way down the icy walkway to the street. There was no sidewalk at this end of Chance Avenue, and she walked along the asphalt, following the railroad tracks, the cold, fresh winter air clearing her head, while the brisk wind made her eyes water and cheeks sting.
She walked, lost in thought, until she crossed the tracks, passed the handsome depot, and a block later, reached the Graff Hotel. Ivy paused a moment to admire the old hotel. The four-story red brick Graff looked festive with its greenery and wreaths on the front door. A smart-looking bell captain stood on the hotel’s front steps, ready to help any guests coming or going. She’d never been inside but it was on her to-do list. She’d heard they had an enormous Christmas tree in the lobby and gingerbread houses on display.
She felt a pang as she thought of Christmas. It was true she wasn’t looking forward to the holiday this year, but it hadn’t always been the case. Growing up, she and her mom had their own traditions. They bought and delivered dozens of dinners for the less fortunate in Custer—hams and turkeys, stuffing, potatoes, gravy, rolls and pies—and made roll-out sugar cookies and Mom’s amazing pumpkin bread. Because it was just the two of them, Christmas wasn’t fancy, but it was heartfelt. Christmas morning meant Ivy’s stocking and homemade waffles, then church, hymns and carols, and once back home, opening the few gifts under the tree and dinner.
Mom didn’t have a great voice, but oh, how she loved to sing. And she’d practically belt out her favorite carols like “Joy to the World,” as she cooked or washed or folded laundry.
Ivy tugged on her mittens, somewhat wistful, very nostalgic, and continued on to Java Café. Often she just got a coffee to go. This morning, she ordered coffee and a breakfast burrito and sat at one of the small tables in the corner and scrolled through the news on her phone while waiting for her breakfast to be prepared. The news always left her feeling so flattened she wasn’t sure why she bothered.
It was a relief when her name was called and she collected her burrito from the counter and was on her way back to her table when she spotted a man that looked familiar. It took her a moment to place him, then realized it was Ian
Wallace, the man who’d bought Belle for his daughter. Her heart swooshed so hard she felt almost sick. Pulse racing, she stopped at his table to say hello.
He glanced up, puzzled, and then his expression cleared. “Ivy Wyckoff.”
She had to force a smile and remind herself he wasn’t the enemy. It had been her choice to sell the mare. He hadn’t kidnapped Belle. Ivy had willingly sold her horse to help Ashley. “How’s Belle?”
“She’s doing okay.”
She frowned. “Problems?”
“It’s been a bumpier start than we thought, but of course, there is always an adjustment when a horse has a new jockey.”
Ivy’s insides lurched again. Belle was as steady as they came. “Is your daughter having a hard time?”
“You didn’t tell me the mare is a little headstrong, but I suppose she’ll settle in once she realizes she’s stuck with us, and we’re her home now.”
Ivy hated his answer. She exhaled hard, finding it difficult to speak. “If there’s something I can do… Happy to work with your daughter and Belle—”
“That’s not necessary. Let’s not confuse the horse. You’re out of the picture now. Lizzie’s in charge. The horse will learn that soon enough. Head of the herd, right?”
Ivy managed the briefest of nods before moving on. She understood Belle wasn’t hers anymore, but it crushed her to know that Belle wasn’t adjusting well to her new home.
Ivy stuffed the hot breakfast burrito into her pocket and asked for a to-go cup for her coffee and headed outside, needing to put distance between her and Ian Wallace.
Ian had paid top dollar for Belle and Ivy was sure the mare wouldn’t be treated badly, but still, Ivy felt terrible. She wished she hadn’t bumped into Ian Wallace at all.
Ivy walked down a block and leaned against the old bank, which was now a popular upscale steakhouse but only opened for dinner, and ate her burrito there, letting the sun warm her and melt some of the ice around her heart.
It had been hard handing Belle over. Four months had passed since she’d driven Belle to the Wallace property and backed her out of the trailer. Lizzie Wallace was an eleven-year-old tomboy, skinny, freckled face and very blonde. She was also unbelievably excited to have a horse like Belle as her own. Lizzie had begun to compete, and although she was still pretty new at it, she had a fearlessness that boded well for the sport.
It had been easy leaving Belle, believing Belle would be in great hands.
Now Ivy worried Belle’s new home wasn’t a good fit, and that was tough, because Belle was like family to her.
Belle had a heart of gold. She loved to win, but even more than that, she lived to make Ivy happy. Together, they’d won a lot of titles, and some really big money. Together they had been one of the best teams in barrel racing.
Ivy crumpled the remaining burrito in the foil wrapped and tossed it away.
She had to remember why she’d sold Belle, that there had been a reason for the transaction. Selling Belle had allowed Ivy to do something huge. Something life changing. There were more important things than being a nationally ranked barrel racer, and more important things than making the WPRA’s World Finals Rodeo in November, or the PRCA’s National Finals Rodeo in December.
There was going to school.
There were dances, dates, and falling in love.
There was independence.
Ashley deserved a shot at a normal life, and if selling Belle meant that Ashley could get the right physical and occupational therapy at one of the best rehab programs in the country for spinal cord injured adolescents, then Ivy had made the right decision.
Even if it had been a little impulsive.
Thank goodness her mom wasn’t around to know. Her mom was the complete opposite—grounded, focused, practical, tenacious. She’d had a plan for everything, and she stuck to her plans, never changing them just because she got a new idea. Whims were ignored. Emotion was managed. And impulse firmly reined in.
Ivy sighed inwardly. No, she was most definitely not like her mom.
On her way back to the house, she stopped by the garage to see if her truck was still there. It was. She let the mechanic know she should have the rest of the money soon to get the transmission fixed. “Hopefully before Christmas. Maybe in the next few days?” she said.
He assured her that he had the part and was ready to go and Ivy thanked him, before walking back to the house. She pulled out her hatbox where she was stashing her cash and counted it up again. Two thousand six hundred. Two more good nights and she should have what she needed for the repair. Another month and she might have enough to put a couple thousand down on a place, not to buy, of course, but to lease, and when she did that, she’d get Scotch from Kruse ranch, and she’d be able to ride again, and train again, and maybe even compete again. That was the piece she hadn’t yet figured out. Once, she’d loved barrel racing, but with Mom gone, and Wes interfering so much in her career, she’d lost the fire. Ivy couldn’t even imagine entering any events next month—and to be honest, she wouldn’t do well, not without Belle. Scotch showed promise, but he was still young, and he didn’t have Belle’s heart.
Eyes burning, throat aching, Ivy exhaled and lay back on her bed, covering her face with her forearm. Her eyes burned and a lump filled her throat. She didn’t know if it was seeing Sam yesterday, or bumping into Ian Wallace at the Java Café, but Ivy suddenly missed her old life. Her mom. Belle. The ranch she’d been raised on in Custer. It had been a good life, but she’d been too young, too blind, and too ambitious, to know it.
Where had it all gone wrong? It started with the breakup with Sam, and then she’d failed by not being with Mom while she was dying, and then rebounding with Wes, who wasn’t a prince but a wolf in cowboy boots and a hat. The moment Ivy realized Wes was bad news, she should have kicked him out of her life. Instead, the wolf took over her business affairs, her calendar, her decisions, until little by little he stole even the oxygen she breathed.
It took a hard fall in August to face the fact that she was miserable, and weeks later, when Ivy heard about Ashley, Ivy knew what she had to do. Start over. Be brave. Do something good for someone else. And so she did. She quit barrel racing, sold Belle, and got a job far from the competitive world she’d known.
The changes had been scary and overwhelming, but also liberating. Wes didn’t know where she was. She felt free for the first time in a year. She was determined to live differently in the future. No regrets. No going back. No self-pity, either.
No self-pity, she reminded herself, sitting up and putting the hatbox filled with cash away. Head to the shared bathroom down the hall where she showered and washed her hair, before blowing it dry.
Back in her room, she dressed for work in fresh jeans and a fitted T-shirt. Wolf Den owner, George, liked her to keep things tight and so she did. The customers liked it, and they liked it even better when she was friendly, so she kept them happy and was rewarded with very generous tips.
Arriving at work, Ivy winced as she entered the bar, music blaring from the overhead speakers. She didn’t mind rock music, but every now and then, the heavy-metal cocktail waitress, Lucy, preferred put Ivy’s teeth on edge. And today, the Christmas decorations at the Wolf Den looked even more pathetic than usual, lending a sad, tawdry nostalgia to the bar.
Tattered silver garland hung above the bar itself while another silver garland swag was taped beneath the counter. A couple cheap plastic wreaths dotted the interior, wreaths that were boxed up and pulled out every year. A white plastic banner reading Ho Ho Ho was thumbtacked above one door, and a three-foot-tall illuminated Santa had been squeezed in between all the liquor bottles.
Ivy patted the plastic Santa’s belly and then turned the music down a notch. She’d just stepped away from the stereo, when she heard a stool scrape the floor of the bar.
Turning, Ivy spotted a woman about her age standing on the other side of the counter, the woman’s straight hair, black, or nearly black, fell to her butt.
“Yes, please. A Diet Coke with a twist of lime if you have lime; otherwise just Diet Coke is fine.”
Ivy slowly reached for a glass, keeping her gaze fixed on the stranger. “You a cop?” she asked bluntly.
The woman laughed. “No, do I look like a cop?”
“FBI?”
The woman laughed again. “No. But you kind of make me want to be. Sounds interesting.” The woman held out her hand. “I’m Sophie Wyatt. Married to Joe Wyatt. I thought I’d stop by and introduce myself. Figured it might be nice to know a girl around here.”
Ivy’s lips slowly curved. “So you’re Joe’s wife. Congratulations. You got one of the good ones.”
Sophie grinned, her expression mischievous. “Are there bad Wyatt’s?”
Now it was Ivy’s turn to laugh. “No, not talking about the Wyatt’s, although that’s funny. I just meant Joe is solid. He’s… honest. True.”
Sophie’s smile faded. “Sounds like you and Sam ended on bad terms.”
“Relationships end because they’re not working. Ours stopped working. Not a victim and he’s not a victim. It just… ended. I have nothing bad to say about him, and hopefully he has nothing bad to say about me.”
“I’ve only heard great things about you. Maybe that’s why I’m here; just felt like maybe you could use the phone number of someone that wasn’t a Wyatt brother. Just in case you ever needed it. But you probably have a lot of friends here—”
“No. No, I don’t have a lot of friends here. Working at the Wolf Den doesn’t exactly build your circle of friendship, but I’ve become friendly with some of the waitresses. Pia. Lucy. They’re nice, and they look out for me.”