by Anna Burke
“I’m a doctor. I have to have standards.”
The memory of cutting green eyes and the Cornell ropes course still chafed. She could picture Ivy’s smirk if she bumped into her around town in her lounge clothes. “Didn‘t realize you had a waistline.”
Angie, whose favorite attire was yoga pants and a sports bra, shrugged. “Suit yourself. I’m wearing this.”
Currently, “this” consisted of leggings and a slouchy sweater, which looked suspiciously like Morgan’s. Where Morgan was known to steal cheese from her housemates, Angie had light fingers in the laundry room. Lillian shook her head and went in search of a pair of jeans.
Stormy’s pub and coffee shop, Storm’s-a-Brewin’, was quiet compared to the summer months. Only a few end-of-the-season leaf peepers occupied the tables beside Stormy’s regulars. Lillian and Angie sat at the bar where they could talk to Stormy as she served drinks and lattes indiscriminately. Stormy’s wild, curly hair hung loose today, and tight ringlets sprang from her head in all directions. Red lipstick highlighted her generous mouth, and she wore a sweater dress beneath her apron that accented her curvy figure. Lillian smiled as she watched her work. Stormy’s vibrancy filled any room she entered. The energy in her café sparkled with potential.
“Hey angels,” she said when she saw them.
“You look gorgeous as always,” said Angie. “What’s new?”
“It’s slowing down.” Stormy leaned against the bar and glanced around the room. “And honestly, I’m glad. I’ve got a line on some coffee beans I want to try small batches of this winter, and my brewer’s been experimenting with some new IPAs I’ll have to test on you.”
“Poor us,” said Angie as she straddled a bar stool. Lillian sat beside her with a little more dignity.
“What’s up with my favorite animal saviors?”
“Lillian’s arch-nemesis has returned to torment her.”
“She’s not my arch—”
“She is totally your arch-nemesis. Actually, she’d make a great villain.”
“Why’s that?” asked Stormy.
“She’s got that blond ice princess thing going on,” said Angie.
“Add her to one of your comics.”
Angie brightened at Stormy’s suggestion.
Lillian considered the way Ivy would look rendered in ink: the sharp line of her jaw and the juxtaposition of her narrowed eyes and soft mouth. She suppressed a shiver. “You have to call her Poison Ivy.”
“That is perfect. Stormy, get me a pencil and a napkin.”
Stormy obliged, and Angie pulled up Ivy’s photo from the clinic website on her phone and began to sketch.
“Anyway,” said Lillian, “everything’s fine.”
“Heard from Brian?”
Her stomach clenched. “No. And I don’t think I will.”
“Asshat.” Stormy brought her dark brows together in a fearsome scowl.
“It’s okay. Really.”
“So okay that you’re feeling single and ready to mingle?”
For all that she’d briefly entertained the idea, hearing it from Stormy’s lips poured ice into her daydreams. The chill spread through her body, and the thought of another disappointment sobered her. For Stormy’s sake, however, she decided to shrug her reluctance off with a joke. “Dating seems like a lot of work.”
“But you’ll get to experience the thrill of getting ghosted.”
“Oh no. Did it happen again?” She searched Stormy’s face for signs of pain. Her friend had terrible luck when it came to romance—even worse than her.
“I’m getting used to it. I didn’t even like the last one that much. They were too into themselves.”
“Go to Portland,” Angie said without looking up from her drawing.
“So that I can get ghosted by hipsters and run into people I used to know? Nah. Portland’s good for clubs and food, but I’m not touching the dating scene.”
“I don’t think I even remember how to flirt,” said Lillian.
“Sure you do.” Stormy pushed a drink toward her. “Try this first. Then hit on me.”
Lillian took a sip of the drink. The pale IPA exploded with bitter citrus, and her eyes widened. “This is amazing.”
“I thought you would like that one. Drink up.”
“I want to savor it.”
“You can savor the next one.” She poured a dark, frothy beer for Angie. “And this is the coffee stout I was telling you about.”
“You are a goddess,” Angie said in between sips. “I could live off this.”
“That’s what I like to hear. Okay, Lil. Turn that charm on.”
“How about . . . no.”
“Get it, girl,” said Angie.
“Please? Do you know how often I have scumbags trying to pick me up? Show me that classy Lee magic.”
“Classy Lee magic?” Lillian raised an eyebrow.
“I know you like classical music and shit.”
“Why?” Lillian lowered her voice and gave Stormy her best approximation of a seductive smile. “Does that turn you on?”
Stormy stared at her, then turned to Angie.
“Zero out of ten, no points for effort,” said Angie.
“Hey, I was trying!” She laughed despite her protest as Angie’s comically skeptical expression eclipsed the earlier mention of Brian.
“Whatever you need to tell yourself. Check this out.”
She held the napkin up. Lillian took it and felt the buzz of the alcohol dull the noise around her. Angie’s drawing captured Ivy’s hauteur, but it also captured the strength of her jaw and the feline tilt of her eyelids. Vines coiled around her, tipped with the familiar leaves of three that signified poison ivy. Her hand tightened on the napkin and her fingers left indentations when she forced herself to relax. Ivy looked different rendered in pencil. Not softer, exactly, but dangerous in a way that promised rather than threatened.
“This is really good.”
“Keep it.”
She stared at the sketch in her hand and wished she had the strength of will to look away from Ivy’s graphite eyes.
“Ooh, draw Lillian next.” Stormy provided another napkin. “What’s her superhero name?”
“That’s easy. Tiger Lily.”
“You need to do a series. Poison Ivy and Tiger Lily.”
“Alternatively, you could not,” said Lillian.
“On a planet far, far away, where plants are sentient, Poison Ivy seeks to take over the peaceful nation of . . . uh . . .”
“Trillium.”
“Trillium?”
“It’s that pretty white flower that grows in the woods. Here.” Stormy pulled it up on her phone. “We’re naming that IPA Lil just tried after it, actually.”
“Perfect.” Angie sketched a few lines on the napkin. “The nation of Trillium, which is protected by a squadron of elite warriors, led by, of course, Tiger Lily. Or maybe she’s the princess.” She squinted at the napkin. “I’ll have to think on it.”
“Look what you’ve done,” Lillian said to Stormy.
“Inspired art?”
“Get me another Trillium, please.” She pushed her empty mug back for Stormy to refill. The drawing remained clutched in her hand.
• • •
Ivy ran the curry comb over Freddie’s withers. His blood bay summer coat was darkening as his winter hair grew in, and she stroked the soft brown fuzz with her empty hand.
The stable where she had decided to board him was decent. It wasn’t one of the high-end eventing stables where he’d spent most of his life, but he didn’t seem to mind. The pasture turnout was large, his stall was roomy, and, most importantly, the indoor arena was heated. She paused her grooming when she noticed the chunk missing from his shoulder.
“You getting along with the other ponies?”
He continued munching the leftover wisps of hay in the rack. He’d been middle of the hierarchy in his turnout group at his old stable. She hoped the horses here let him into their ranks withou
t too much abuse. The bite would scar.
Several more wounds revealed themselves as she removed the protective layer of mud from his coat. She’d talk to the barn manager about turning him out with a quieter group. At eighteen, Freddie was still in great shape, but he wasn’t six anymore. He deserved peace and quiet.
After she’d dabbed his wounds with the ointment she kept in his tack box, she saddled him up and led him to the outdoor arena. Wind blew leaves across the packed sand. Freddie pricked his ears at the blustery weather, and Ivy felt a thrumming excitement pass through his body into hers. He hadn’t been hacked in a few days and she was looking forward to burning off his energy—as well as her own. Fields bordered the arena, flanked by woods. The barn grew some of their own hay, and green still clung to the shorn fields despite the recent frosts. She mounted and gathered her reins in stiff fingers, eyeing the woods for signs of deer. Freddie arched his neck and waited for her command.
She moved him out at a brisk walk. He covered ground easily, and she loved his smooth gaits. They’d been together for sixteen years. He’d been her first high-quality horse, and she’d promised him he’d die in her care, instead of getting shuffled around and sold as happened to so many horses. So far, she’d kept her word. She was grateful for that sentimentality now that her body was betraying her. When her hands refused to react with the dexterity she’d depended on, he responded to her legs and seat. She hardly used the reins at all these days.
He broke into an eager trot when she asked. They wove serpentines and circles around the ring, alternating between a working trot and a canter until he’d warmed up, and then she put him through his dressage paces. Her mind wandered as their bodies loosened and melded through the leather of the saddle. The crisp, cool air reminded her of Colorado. Homesickness, however, was preferable to the emotions lingering beneath it: guilt, shame, relief. She let the wind strip them from her cheeks as Freddie cantered in a tightening circle. He gathered beneath her, his energy contained, and the brown of his coat beneath her fingers reminded her of Lillian’s eyes.
A figure leaned on the rail when she finished. Ivy looked down, startled to see Morgan.
“Hi,” she said as she dismounted. “What are you doing here?”
“Checking on a horse. Is this your boy?” Morgan had eyes only for Freddie, who pricked his ears. He knew an admirer when he saw one.
“This is Freddie.”
“German warmblood?”
“Yeah.”
“He’s gorgeous.”
“He knows it.” She led Freddie over to where Morgan waited. Morgan held out her hand and he whuffled it with his lips. “Do you ride?”
“Nope.”
“Really?” Most of the large animal vets she knew rode, even the ones more passionate about cows than horses.
“I love horses,” said Morgan, speaking more to Freddie than Ivy, “and I can ride, but I prefer hanging out with them on the ground. Stevie’s the horse girl.”
“Stevie? Your tech?”
“Yep. She’s doing mounted archery, now. Crazy shit.”
Ivy had a vivid image of Stevie thundering toward a target with a bow in her hands and laughed. “I’d like to see that.”
“Ask her. I’m sure she’d show you.”
Ivy’s laughter faded. “Lil would just love that.”
Morgan fixed her blue-gray eyes on Ivy. “Why did you take the job?”
The bluntness of the question took her breath away. Did Morgan know the extent of everything that had happened between her and Lillian?
“I wanted to be closer to family. My parents have property on an island off the coast.”
“There are other hospitals.”
She couldn’t gauge the tone of Morgan’s voice. She didn’t seem aggressive, but the quiet interrogation had its own heat. The muscles in Morgan’s arms and shoulders strained against the fabric of her shirt as she stroked Freddie’s neck. Not that Morgan’s physicality was a threat. She’d never seen Morgan Donovan lose her cool, and there was no violence in the lines of her body. Still, she was acutely conscious of how unpredictable her own musculature had become, and the comparison irritated her. Her decisions were not Morgan’s business.
“Seal Cove was hiring.”
“But you knew Lillian worked here.”
Ivy stayed silent.
“Look.” Morgan rubbed the back of her neck. “To be honest, I never understood your and Lil’s thing. Just . . . don’t fuck with her, okay?”
Ivy flushed. “I have no intention of fucking with her.”
Cool eyes held hers. “Good.”
“Morgan,” she said as Morgan turned to leave. The urge to explain, to justify, surprised her. That was a long time ago, she wanted to say. I’m a different person, now. She opened her mouth to defend herself, then thought better of it. Morgan seemed the type who preferred evidence over words. Instead, she asked, “How . . . how upset is she I’m here?”
Morgan tapped her fingers on the fence rail. “Lil’s fine,” she said, but they both knew she was lying.
“I’m glad to hear that. Please let her know my decision had nothing to do with her.”
“I’ll let you tell her. The last time I tried to arbitrate between you two I nearly got a scalpel in my eye.” Morgan grinned, and Ivy’s stomach muscles relaxed fractionally at the friendly overture.
“Spay lab?”
“Spay lab,” Morgan confirmed.
“Well, Lil did threaten to stab me with a dirty needle.”
“Good times,” said Morgan with a shake of her head. “Sorry to interrupt your ride. For what it’s worth, I’m glad to have you at the practice.”
Unspoken were the words: as long as you don’t hurt Lillian.
And what if Lillian hurts me?
Chapter Four
October blew itself into November with a nor’easter that knocked power out from the region for a day and required both Ivy and Morgan be on call. A month had passed since she’d arrived, she reflected as she navigated the debris-strewn roads. At least Shawna, her technician, had turned out to be a good fit. The shorter woman was a few years older than Ivy and had muscles that rivaled those of the stallion they were examining. The stud, a handsome thoroughbred, did not enjoy being tied. Ivy hated horse owners who let their animals get away with this kind of flighty behavior, but Shawna kept him under control while Ivy performed her examination.
She pulled out a vacutainer needle and several vials to draw blood for routine lab tests. As she placed the needle, her fingers twitched, and the vacutainer tumbled to the barn floor. The owner picked it up and handed it back. She thanked him and opened a new needle to hide her panic. If she couldn’t keep a grip on a syringe, how was she supposed to draw blood?
Pain sparked along her hands. Ignoring it, she wiped the stallion’s neck with alcohol and placed the needle. It took her longer than it should have. Shawna held the horse still as she placed the vacutainer and filled the sample tubes, and she allowed herself a small exhale of relief.
“I’ve got some hand warmers if your hands get stiff in the cold,” Shawna said as they packed up. Rain still spit out of the pewter sky, though the wind had died down, and Ivy knew the rawness of the weather probably wasn’t helping her condition. Had Maine really been the best choice?
“It’s nothing.”
Shawna side-eyed her as she shut the back of the truck. Her short black hair peeked out from beneath her red beanie, and the damp chill had reddened her cheeks, making her look like one of the ubiquitous garden gnomes Ivy passed on her rounds—though no garden gnome had ever mastered the “I smell bullshit” face quite the way Shawna had.
Ivy averted her gaze.
“Hell of a day, anyway.” Shawna stretched before hopping into the cab. Ivy cringed at the sound of her spine cracking.
“Yeah.”
She climbed into the passenger seat in silence, feeling queasy. The stiffness in her hands remained, and shocks traveled up her arms into her shoulders as she began
the paperwork. Thank god this is the last appointment of the day, she thought as Shawna swerved to avoid a large tree limb in the road.
“Got plans for the weekend?” Shawna asked.
“We’re on call on Sunday.”
“But not Saturday. My kid’s got a hockey game.”
Ivy listened to Shawna talk about her son while trying not to think about what she might have been doing on a Saturday back in Colorado. Skiing, if the slopes had snow, or having a drink with Kara and a few of their other friends. She hadn’t fully realized how completely immersed she’d been in her old clinic. Here, where she knew nobody during the winter season, she was alone—a feeling she couldn’t remember ever experiencing before. It wasn’t that making friends was difficult for her, but Lillian complicated things. She couldn’t exactly suggest grabbing a drink with her coworkers.
So, apologize.
But that was out of the question. She doubted her lips could even form the words, assuming, of course, she could think of any words to encompass their tangled history.
Back at the clinic Shawna checked the supplies in the truck while Ivy headed to the computer. Darwin trotted at her heels. Georgia, the head tech, greeted him with a cookie and Ivy with a pitying grimace.
“You look soaked through.”
Ivy glanced down at her clothes. She did feel damp, and the short walk from the truck had plastered her hair to the back of her neck.
“It’s gross out there.”
“Georgia, when you get a minute—” Lillian broke off as she rounded the corner and saw Ivy. “Sorry to interrupt.”
She didn’t look sorry. She looked pissed. Ivy slid into a computer chair and turned her attention to the screen. “You weren’t interrupting. Just talking about the weather.”
“Oh. Well. Georgia, can you get a blood pressure on Benji for me?”
“Sure thing.”
Lillian stood for an awkward minute before settling into the computer farthest from Ivy. The clicking of the keyboard beneath her fingers reminded her of the way Lillian used to chew the end of her pen when Ivy really pissed her off. The urge to probe the old wound rose like an itch.
“Surprised to see you here still.”
