Staying The Course (The Men of Endurance Book 3)

by Siera London

  Before he took her in his arms and tested her limits, Owen raised his hand in farewell. Maybe, the drive would cool his jets.

  As if an afterthought, Ivy called out, “Don’t go through my things.”

  He didn’t reply. He strode out the back door, grass and gravel crunching under his work boots. Cai climbed into the Wrangler’s back seat, and he buckled him in, checking the harness’s security.

  “Owen Tate,” he heard Ivy’s soprano above the distinctive rumble of the V-8 engine. “I’m serious.”

  He chuckled. “Nothing’s off limits in my house, my bar, or on my employee. I have the right to search, sweetheart,” he called back.

  Backing out of the yard, he paused when he saw her standing on the porch, hands on those hips. The woman sure could fill out a pair of jeans. The breeze pinned that tie-dye shirt to her curves. Owen’s grip tightened on the wheel. Heaven help him, Ivy tempted him beyond reason.

  “Not everything around here belongs to you,” she laughed.

  Ain’t that the truth of it. Owen hoped he remembered that he had dominion over everything that happened in his bar. He had no rights to Ivy. Nope, he belonged with his son and the memory of his wife. Now if he could just convince his body that Ivy Summers was just a temporary infatuation, the lonely yearning of a single man.

  “Forget about your pack. Take a look at the menu. Get breakfast started, Ivy. Luke and Hank will be here in a minute.”

  She had to assume he would snoop through her pack. In reality, Owen hadn’t made a decision one way or the other. He just didn’t want her to leave while he was gone, that’s all. Having to have the last word, Ivy yelled as he rounded the corner onto Miller Road.

  “Don’t go tucking my unmentionables in your pocket for later.”

  Instead of responding, Owen popped the truck in gear. Head hanging out the window, he said. “Open up the bar. Customers will want a hot breakfast and plenty of coffee. My number is on the fridge.”

  It was unfair, but he smiled at the thought of her being home when he returned.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Ivy released a shuddered breath when Owen and his tough guy truck disappeared from sight. Wow, one hundred dollars plus the forty hidden in her bra would buy her a bus ticket far away from this town, and especially the owner of No Limit. The man had entirely too much sexy for one ‘Y’ chromosome. When she’d entered the kitchen and saw him taking care of his son, making breakfast, the sight had been a balm to a very old, very deep sore spot in her heart. What would it have felt like to have had a father like that when she was growing up? Her mother had barely kept a roof over their heads and food on the table.

  The veritable parade of men Ivy had been forced to call uncles took more from Crystal Summers than they gave. Ivy closed her eyes against the painful memories: the hunger, the fights, and the bruises her mother bore. As soon as she’d turned eighteen, she’d left home with the first man who’d claimed to love her.

  Dean had cared for her in his own way. Problem was, he adored his casino visits a lot more. It had taken about six weeks for Ivy to discover her prince charming had a healthy gambling habit that ate up the money they earned at an all-night diner on the Biloxi coast.

  Shortly thereafter, Dean’s undying love morphed into scathing criticism. He never hit her, not with his fist, anyway. His berating rants were painful enough. One morning he’d stumbled in drunk and broke, having gambled away his earnings at one of the many casinos. Ivy left him in the rundown motel on the outskirts to Biloxi, Mississippi hours later.

  After Dean, she’d tied herself to Trevor, a drummer in a Rhythm & Blues band headed for Louisiana in a VW camper. Endless booze, easy women, and Ecstasy gave her a short shelf-life with Trevor, since she engaged in none of the above. Johnny and his bike came along when money was short and her options shorter.

  A few times she’d considered using the precious minutes on her prepaid phone to call the Second Chance House hotline. She’d gotten close to one of the volunteers there, Lina James. Lina worked as a psych nurse at Shell Cove Medical Center. After a few weeks of steady visits, the caregiver had grown on Ivy. Funny, right? She was the one in the women’s shelter, yet she didn’t accept help readily. But, Ivy trusted Lina enough to accept her personal cell number. If ever in trouble, she made Ivy promise to call her.

  More than once, Ivy had dialed the number, but decided a successful woman with a career and all that education didn’t really want someone like her hanging around.

  Bang. Bang.

  She jerked at the thump on the countertop. Owen had been right. By the time she ran upstairs, changed her clothes, and hot-footed it back to the kitchen, Hank Stewart and Luke Cole were chomping at the bit for a hot meal. Both men had shared their personal dossiers as if she were an old friend coming home after a long absence. She enjoyed the camaraderie. The conversation, jovial and light, earned both men a spot on Ivy’s friend roster.

  “Hey, pretty woman. I need my breakfast.”

  Seemed Owen’s customers shared the owner’s personality. It seemed bossy and demanding men chose to eat their breakfast in bars. Seriously, who came to a bar and grille for breakfast? Other single dads like Owen, she surmised.

  “I’m coming,” she said grabbing two plated meals of scrambled eggs, sausage, and toast, “hold your mule, Hank.”

  Yeah, she was quick with names. Hank and Luke worked at the University of California Endurance Facilities plant about twenty miles north of town. She learned the guys were single dads, too. Hank had a ten-year-old son named Elliot who loved to fish. And, Luke’s daughter, Shiloh, would start kindergarten in the fall.

  Leaning over the bar, Ivy sat hot plates with steam still rising from the eggs in front of both men. She smiled as they ate with gusto. According to the gossip, Owen had the cheapest prices in all of Placer County.

  “Hmm,” Hank said, sniffing his food. “You a darn good cook, pretty woman,” he winked. “You and Owen dating, yet?

  The compliment warmed Ivy’s heart, the insinuation did not. Ivy laughed off the inquiry. “I got here last night.”

  With a good-natured laugh, Hank gave her a wink. “Endurance is a small town, Ivy. Not many women in these parts,” he grinned. “Especially none as pretty as you. Just thought with you spending the night and cooking this morning, that Owen had tagged you before the other fellas could.”

  Owen had tagged her all right, but it wasn’t his cooking that she was hungry for. Growing up in a single-parent household, she learned to cook for herself before she could read. Well, that wasn’t a fair assessment. With her Dyslexia, she still struggled with more complex books. Daily practice helped. During their frequent stays at the women’s shelters, she committed as many books, magazines, and newspapers as she could to her mental library. Even though she didn’t have much education, she valued lifelong learning.

  “Thank you and the name’s Ivy Summers, not pretty woman, cowboy.”

  Luke grinned up at her, his boyish smile dazzling in the bright rays pouring in through the windows.

  “Pretty name for a pretty lady.” He tipped his ball cap on his head causing a few dark brown strands to peak up. “You want to go out with me tonight?”

  Ivy was used to men flirting with her. With her life on the road, she used whatever she could to an advantage. A soft smile and a listening ear went a long way for a girl without much education, transportation, or money.

  “Sorry,” she shrugged, “gotta work.”

  Ivy new the game. Always let a man think he had a chance, and he’d keep in pursuit.

  “What about Fri-,”

  The bell over the door clattered.

  “Duty calls,” she said blowing Hank a kiss.

  When Owen left with Cai, Ivy had changed into more appropriate work attire. A cut off tie-dye tank top and a mini skirt...and never the two shall meet. A little midriff and her favorite black combat boots completed the look. For the hair, she’d undid her two-strand twists and pulled her natural curls into a messy p
onytail. For whatever reason, men seemed to like the untamed schoolgirl look. Just like the two at the counter, the three new guys entering No Limit wore plaid shirts, faded denim jeans, and college-football caps with bills that hid their eyes.

  “Excuse me, fellas,” she said to Hank and Luke. “Let me get the new guys settled at a table.

  One the new guys, the older of the three drawled. “No need, little lady. We’ll come to you.”

  Ivy smiled. “Well, aren’t you generous, this morning.”

  When all three smiled back, Ivy could see her tip meter inching in a very lucrative direction.

  “Name’s Fenley Willis. These here,” he pointed to the two younger men, “are my boys, Kent and Nolan. Raised them myself, right here in Endurance, after breast cancer claimed my wife. Both of them is marrying age...if you’re interested.” He grinned. “So am I, if you don’t mind a little gray in your coffee.”

  Ivy laughed, and the bar erupted in laughter right along with her. This new job might just work out.

  “Well now, I’ll have to put on you the list behind Luke.”

  Hank refusing to be left out added, “Don’t forget about me, Ivy. I met you first.”

  She looked down the bar into dark brown eyes, light with neighborly fun. “I think Owen holds that title,” she challenged.

  “Yeah,” he called back, “but, O’s a grump since our high school days.” So, Hank and Owen were the same age. An idea came to her. She was more than capable of doing a little snooping, too.

  Taking the bar towel from her shoulder, she mimicked a pop to his fanny. “Hey, you’re too old to be name calling. Besides, that grump signs my check.”

  “Twenty-nine is not old,” he frowned, “unless you’re into that type of thing.”

  He wiggled his brows and all five men released a cacophony of uproarious laughs. The ribbing done, Ivy turned her attention back to Fenley.

  “So, what can I get you three handsome bachelors for breakfast?” Familiar with the menu, the group ordered the breakfast. Thanks to Owen’s hurried instruction, she’d cooked enough sausage and bacon for several customers. The eggs and toast, she’d made to order.

  Ting-a-ling. Ting-a-ling. Once again, the door opened.

  A fourth man walked in. While the other men wore denim and boots, this dark-haired man with a matching beard wore a dress shirt and slacks. He had a quiet intelligence about him, but he smiled and Ivy returned the greeting.

  “That’s Rui Conners,” Fenley whispered, without her asking. These men were virtual wellsprings of information.

  One of the Fenley’s sons waved. It was Nolan the taller of the two. “He’s a professor at the university.”

  Luke chimed in, changing the subject. “Ivy, you didn’t call me handsome.”

  Turning in his direction, she pushed her lips into a subtle pout. “That’s because it goes without saying, cutie.”

  Hank chucked him in the arm. “Stop fishing for compliments.”

  While the men carried on in a playful banter, she disappeared to the kitchen to fill their orders.

  With The Willis’ eating, and the others pulling a Hoover vacuum maneuver over the last crumbs, Ivy focused on the professor pretending to peruse the one sheet menu. He was looking for someone. Who, she wondered. Maybe, the professor and Delaney were an item?

  Ivy approached the man, deciding he would be the best person to talk with about free online classes. She’d taken a couple through the years. While at the Second Chance House, the counselors had advocated higher education. The online format removed the pitying looks and judgment that haunted a lot of the women and girls they provided services for.

  “I’m Ivy,” she said by way of introduction. “Heard you were a teacher at the college.” She slid into the booth across from him. A stricken expression crossed his face as his eyes darted around the room.

  “Yes, yes...I am,” he stammered.

  High color, varying shades of red, had infused his cheeks. Handsome, but the shy type. Not a quality the men in Ivy’s life possessed. Johnny had been charismatic and funny, with a Brad Pitt smile. His brother, Poe, ... well Poe had been the polar opposite.

  “Can we talk later, about some possible free online adult education classes offered by your college?”

  Professor Conners looked ready to bolt. He dropped his eyes to her cleavage and frowned. Men didn’t frown at her tatas. If fact, when the bell chimed a new arrival, he scrambled to his feet.

  “There’s an enrollment process. I’ll give you the number of someone who can help you.”

  The man disappeared faster than a genie in a bottle. Looking down at her exposed flesh, Ivy thought to maybe turn it down a notch. This crowd seemed to be happy with friendly conversation and a smile. Yes, she’d change as soon as—

  “What the Sam Adams are you wearing?”

  Ivy jumped at Owen’s now familiar bellow. Wiggling out of the booth to stand to her feet, she faced off her new boss. His jaw, though chiseled, appeared to be cut from marble. His blue eyes were hard, piercing, and fixed on her.

  “Now, Owen just calm-” a male voice interjected.

  “Shut up, Luke,” he growled.

  Straightening her spine, Ivy refused to cower. “You’re back,” she smiled, walking toward him. “I was just about to close out Luke and Hank’s orders,” she said pointing to the men peering at the interaction between her and a very pissed off male. “Now, you can do it,” she snapped.

  “In the back, Ivy.” When she didn’t move. He roared. “Now.”

  Luke rose to his feet, leaving the bar stool, spinning on its base. Ivy raised a hand to stop him.

  “Don’t,” she ordered. “I can handle Owen.” That seemed to bring a bright smile to his handsome face.

  “I believe you can, Ivy.”

  Owen gave Luke an incredulous look before storming off. His boots pounding the floor like a stampede of wild mustangs.

  When Ivy entered the kitchens, Owen had his back to her, gazing out the window.

  “You wanted to see me, boss?”

  Like a predator in wait, he spun and stalked toward her.

  “I see too much of you,” he ground out through tight lips. That fire from last night was back in his eyes and she wondered what really had lit his fuse.

  “You outraged on behalf of your customer’s moral fiber?”

  He met her eyes, but not before glancing down at her body.

  “Something like that.”

  “They’re all big boys, Owen.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Bigger after seeing you dressed like that.”

  “Jealous?”

  “Let’s just say I don’t like other men looking at you.”

  “Looking isn’t touching, Owen.” Why was she digging a rabbit hole? She felt the pull of attraction between them. Drawing attention to that fact would only work against her. Ivy didn’t need or want any attachments.

  He closed the space between them. “Looking leads to touching.”

  Don’t take the bait, Ivy. Stop talking.

  “You like looking at me, Owen Tate,” she whispered, totally swallowing the worm, the hook, and probably a good bit of the line.

  “I do,” he admitted. “I’ll love touching you more.”

  Oh, the promise in those words. Is this what she’d been pushing for? A small part of Ivy wanted Owen to say the words. He wanted her.

  She should have changed back into her jeans before he returned home. Wait. Why was she considering changing for him? No way would she make that mistake again. Hadn’t she and her mother performed for the endless men’s parade...the hair, the makeup, and the dresses. Nausea rolled at the image of her in a dress. She hadn’t worn one since that day.

  “Hey, you okay?”

  Owen stood in front her now, concern having banked the fire in his eyes. But, his body heat stoked her from the top of her head down to her pinky toes. Wow, he confused her. Cold one second, raging inferno the next.

  “Of course,” she said, shaking off
the effect of his soothing tone. Ivy realized she had to appear to bend to get what she needed in life. However, she would not transform herself for him. Not for anyone. She was her only meal ticket. She could only depend on herself. Owen Tate and this job was a means to an end. Focus, Ivy.

  “There’s a dress code?”

  His eye flashed with irritation. Hey, why let him hold her to a standard he failed to establish?

  “You know there isn’t.”

  “So, what’s the problem, boss?”

  He growled. “Problem. The problem, sweetheart, is your tight little body is going to cause a riot.”

  She gave him a smirk. Though, the fact that he found her body appealing meant she was sexy, right?

  “Has it happened in the past?”

  Faster than she could process it, he had her in his arms, his hard body pressed into her softening curves.

  “Ivy,” he growled. The hunger in the way he said her name had her knees buckling. If he didn’t have her anchored to him, she would have surely melted onto the floor. He pressed his lips to her forehead. His breathing was choppy and seemed as if she could hear the pounding of his heartbeat in her head. “Go upstairs and change.”

  Her breath came in rapid exhalations and an ache started to build low and deep inside. What was happening to her? She couldn’t let him gain the upper hand. A man like Owen Tate took charge. Ivy knew the wrong man could easily ensnare an unsuspecting woman. And, regardless of how gentle and caring Owen Tate was with his son, he was the wrong kind of man for her.

  “No,” she said in a breathy reply.

  He pulled her in closer, his warm breath caressing the curve of her ear. Liking the feel of him, she angled her head wanting him closer. Then she felt him. Not just his generous muscles, but the hard length of him. She gasped.

  “Yeah,” he grunted.

  He dropped his head to her neck, inhaling. “Go change, Ivy. If one of them touches you...” he trailed off. “Trust these words, sweetheart. I will riot.”

  He would what? She jerked back.

  “But—,” How could this be? He didn’t know her and now he wanted to pull this barbarian routine?