by Karen Booth
Ivy bristled. “I can handle it.”
“No.” Farrell’s brows drew together in a frown. “That’s my decision. Not yours.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but he stared her down. “Fine,” she muttered. “Waste your money if you want to.”
Farrell was an imposing male. His size and visible strength might have unnerved her if she hadn’t been so aware of him in a shivery, fascinated way. Besides, he seemed to downplay the fact that he could probably bench-press three hundred pounds.
He topped six feet by several inches. Katie, standing near him, was tall for a woman. Five-eight, maybe. Beside Farrell, she looked positively petite.
Farrell’s hair was an intriguing mix. Dark brown like Ivy’s, but his was streaked with caramel and gold, a color many women would pay high dollar to achieve. He wore it long enough to be casual, but short enough to fit in with his role as one of the bosses.
His eyes were an odd shade of green, and like his hair—streaked with gold. They were eyes that held a wealth of life knowledge. He seemed a serious man. Grounded. Not prone to whimsy.
That was fine with Ivy. She didn’t want any surprises.
Katie glanced at her watch. “I’ve gotta run,” she said. “Have to be back in Portland by six.”
The two women hugged. Katie kissed Dolly’s forehead. Ivy felt a stab of panic that her benefactor was leaving. “Thank you for all your help, Katie. I appreciate it more than you know.”
“Not a problem. I love it up here. Quin and I may head this way sometime soon. I’ll see you then.”
Farrell left the kitchen to follow his sister-in-law out to her car…like a good host. Or maybe he was simply unloading the boxes of files Katie had mentioned. Ivy lingered behind, pondering the dinner options. This first meal might be tricky. Learning to work in someone else’s kitchen was always a challenge. Everyone organized cabinets and drawers differently. She opened the pantry again, and then peeked in the freezer.
Moments later, Farrell returned, his hair tousled from the breeze. “Why don’t you and Dolly spend the rest of the afternoon getting to know your new home? I’ll throw something together for dinner tonight.”
Ivy’s eyes widened. It was her turn to stand her ground. “No,” she said. “No, Farrell. You hired me to do a job. I appreciate your hospitable nature, but I’ll be the one cooking. Is six okay?”
He folded his arms across his chest, his expression telegraphing his displeasure. “I sense that you and I may have the occasional run-in. Do you agree?”
“I don’t need your charity. I want to work for my living.”
“And yet your résumé had not a single scrap of job experience listed in the previous ten years. Would you care to explain?”
She sucked in a sharp breath, not expecting him to go on the attack. Her jaw trembled despite her best efforts to steady it. “No,” she said quietly. “I wouldn’t.” She gnawed her lip, trying not to slide into despair. Fight, Ivy. Fight for yourself and Dolly. “Have you changed your mind about me?” she asked, her throat dry and tight.
His gaze was puzzled. Concerned. Frustrated. “The job is yours,” he said bluntly. “I don’t go back on my word. But I also expect my employees to follow my direction.”
“Don’t you mean your orders?” she snapped, horrified the moment the words left her mouth. She closed her eyes briefly and grimaced. “I’m sorry. I know I’m not making the best first impression.” She hesitated, for the first time feeling the tsunami of exhaustion that always follows substantive change. “I appreciate your consideration. Dolly will be wanting a nap, and I could use one, too. Please let me know when to return for dinner.”
* * *
Farrell leaned over the sink and watched his newest employee make her way to the cabin that stood twenty-five yards from the house. His new working quarters were housed in a similar structure, just beyond the cabin and to the right.
He had a few hours’ grace before he needed to start dinner. But for some reason, he was too unsettled to head out to the lab. It was a perfect spot. The building included a nice office in addition to the lab itself. Today, though, he was off his game. Perhaps it would take time to adjust.
Instead, he went to the porch and carried in the two boxes Katie had brought up from Portland. After dropping them one at a time onto the island in the kitchen, he began to extract files and separate them into the appropriate piles. As he worked, he wondered for the hundredth time how someone had accessed his research and designs.
Was it a cybercrime? Or something as simple as breaking into the building and photographing pieces of paper? Farrell usually did his initial sketches on yellow legal pads. When he was happy with the general idea, he moved everything to an actual design program. He changed his password frequently. Zachary was the only person who knew those passwords, and he memorized them rather than writing them down.
As far as Farrell could tell, Stone River Outdoors was taking normal, prudent precautions in protecting their proprietary intellectual property. Yet somehow, Farrell’s last two innovative products had surfaced on the market before he was finished perfecting them. The impostors were substandard. And poorly reviewed online.
But that didn’t help the fact that Farrell had labored for months with nothing to show for it. Later, perhaps, in a year or so, he could push his own version of the designs to market. But they wouldn’t have the excitement and freshness of a completely new launch.
Carefully, he loaded organized piles back into the boxes. Tomorrow, he would carry them to the lab. In the meantime, he needed to come to terms with Ivy being in his life. Her loss was a painful reminder of his own.
Could he see her day in and day out and not continually think about Sasha? He’d told himself that he was done grieving.
But the heart had its own timetable.
CHAPTER THREE
Dolly went to sleep in her new bed as if she had been napping there her whole life. Ivy was desperately glad the baby was so adaptable. Her daughter’s short existence had been turbulent at best. Would a tiny child internalize and remember those experiences at a deep level?
Was her psyche permanently damaged?
Was Ivy’s?
She shoved aside the dark thoughts. It was a mental exercise she had perfected. Instead of thinking about the past, she took the baby monitor into the second bedroom and set it on the dresser.
Suddenly, she couldn’t resist the tempting bed. Exhaustion—mental and physical—was a constant cloak she wore now. Everyone knew that caring for an infant was demanding work. But many new mothers had help. Husbands. Other family members. And not all new mothers dealt with guilt and regret.
Ivy took off her jeans and light cotton sweater and climbed between the covers. She had never slept on anything so soft. The perfect mattress, high-thread-count sheets and heavy, luxurious down-filled comforter were the stuff of dreams.
The Stone family was accustomed to only the best. This “cabin” Farrell had built in the woods was more like a miniature palace. Luxury was imprinted on every item that he, or someone, had selected.
Handmade furniture. Expensive woods. One-of-a-kind paintings on the walls. The cabin might be thematically rustic, but in reality, everything about this little home-away-from-home was exquisite and delightful.
Ivy closed her eyes, thinking about Farrell Stone…
When she awoke an hour and a half later, her heart raced with sudden panic. Dolly. She stumbled to her feet and then sagged against the bed when she saw the image on the monitor. Dolly had clearly just roused from her nap. She was happily playing with her toes and cooing softly. The sweet baby sounds had awakened her mother.
Ivy exhaled slowly, her heart rate slowing to a manageable pace. Everything was okay. She and her baby were safe. It was going to take some time to believe that. She dressed rapidly and prepared a bottle before Dolly went into full temper-tantrum
mode. Apparently, the empty-stomach phenomenon was one her daughter embraced.
Sure enough, as Ivy opened the door to the other bedroom, Dolly let out a wail. Ivy scooped her up and smiled. “Don’t be such a diva, my love. Mommy is here to feed you.” She settled into the gorgeous rocking chair and tucked Dolly against her breast. It was far too soon for the baby to hold her own bottle, but little hands reached out anyway.
Ivy would never get tired of the way Dolly looked up at her with that earnest, wide-eyed expression. “I love you, my sweet girl,” she whispered softly. “I think we’re going to be happy here.” Though financial security and a cozy place to live were the main reasons she could give her daughter that assurance, a little voice inside Ivy’s head said that getting reacquainted with the handsome, all-grown-up Farrell would be a bonus.
* * *
At a quarter before six, Ivy checked the contents of the diaper bag and then surveyed her own appearance one last time. She hadn’t changed clothes. Same faded jeans. Same pink cotton sweater. Farrell had been dressed casually when she met him. He didn’t strike her as the kind of man who dressed for dinner when he was in residence at his secluded retreat.
As she gazed in the mirror, she cataloged the evidence of her ordeal. She was too thin. That was something she could work on now that she was settled. Her once shoulder-length waves now barely reached her chin. But that was a good change. Without all the heavy hair, she felt freer. And it was certainly an easier style to care for with an infant demanding her attention.
After finger combing her straight, wispy bangs, and smoothing her lips with cherry-tinted gloss, she gathered up her daughter and the diaper bag and headed toward the big house. It occurred to her that on rainy or snowy days, this trek might be problematic with a baby in tow. She would cross that bridge later.
The stroll was an easy one.
Farrell hadn’t given her keys, but the door was unlocked. Presumably, he lived too far in the boonies to worry about anyone stealing his ideas here.
She entered via a tidy mudroom filled with boots, coats and fishing gear and proceeded down the hall past a laundry room, a small guest room and then on to the kitchen. It wasn’t hard to find. She had only to follow her nose. The smells wafting down the hall were amazing. She realized suddenly that she was starving. She and Katie had stopped for a fast-food lunch en route, but that was hours ago.
Farrell looked up when she entered. “Hey, there you are. I was about to come check on you two ladies.”
“We’re here. We’re good. The naps helped.” Farrell’s broad, uncomplicated smile made Ivy’s heart kick in her chest. It had been so long since she had felt anything as pleasurable as sexual arousal, the momentary jolt of attraction shocked her.
It was normal, she told herself, trying not to overreact. Farrell Stone was a gorgeous, appealing man. When he returned his gaze to the thick slices of bread he was smearing with butter, she studied him.
She’d been right not to change clothes. He was still wearing jeans, too. His moss green pullover stretched to accommodate broad shoulders. His sleeves were rolled up. Tanned, long-fingered hands were large and capable, working smoothly.
“It’s almost ready,” he said, popping the tray of bread in the oven. He paused and grimaced. “I ordered a high chair this afternoon. It will be here tomorrow. I apologize for not thinking of it sooner. In my defense, I’m seldom around babies.”
Ivy shook her head. “You didn’t have to do that. High chairs are expensive. But I’ll pay you back out of my first check.”
His cool stare chastised her silently. “No,” he said. “You won’t. Whatever items you and Dolly need while you’re here are simply the cost of doing business. Like a printer or a computer. It’s my job to make sure you’re comfortable. I’ve taken you away from civilization. The least I can do is make your stay here as pleasant as possible.”
After that, there wasn’t much to say. Ivy entertained Dolly. She would have offered to help, but the table in the breakfast nook was already set.
Soon, they were sitting down to steaming plates of angel-hair pasta smothered in meat sauce. The freshly grated Parmesan cheese was a nice touch. And the perfectly browned garlic bread.
Ivy juggled Dolly on one knee and took a bite. “I’m impressed,” she said. “This is delicious.”
“Don’t be.” He chuckled. “Mrs. Peterson made the sauce and left it in the fridge. All I did was heat it and throw some pasta in boiling water. Any doofus can do that.”
“Mrs. Peterson?”
“Quin’s housekeeper. She offered to stock my kitchen and the cabin when she heard I would be working here. In fact, if you ever have any questions, and I’m buried in work, she said for you to feel free to call her.”
For a few minutes, they ate without speaking, but the silence made Ivy nervous. “Tell me about your brothers,” she said. “I think they’re younger than you… Am I remembering that right?”
Farrell stood and topped off their wineglasses with a zinfandel that was smooth and deceptively mild. “Yes. We were stair-steps. Two years apart. You and I are the same age, of course. Then Zachary, then Quin.”
“And Quin is the Olympian?”
Farrell nodded. “He was a world-class skier until the accident that claimed our father’s life.”
“I did know about the wreck. I subscribe to the Portland newspaper online—you know, just to keep up with my old friends. I saw the article and your father’s obituary.”
“Quin was in the car also. His leg was crushed. He’s had multiple surgeries and rehab. He can walk normally now, but competitive skiing is not an option anymore.”
“That’s awful. He must have been devastated.”
“You could say that. We all have moments that change our lives. Fortunately for Quin, Katie came along and helped him pick up the pieces. My baby brother is a new man. A better man, really. Skiing consumed him. He’s more balanced now. More at peace with the world.”
“And Zachary?”
“Zachary plays the field. I doubt any woman will ever tame him.”
Ivy wanted to ask about Farrell’s dead wife. She knew he was a widower…nothing more. But if she skated into personal territory with him, she would open herself up to questions about her own past. That was not an option, so she ate her spaghetti and kept her curiosity to herself.
Even so, her new boss probed gently. “I know you moved away from Portland a long time ago. What took your family to South Carolina?”
She breathed an inward sigh of relief. This, she could handle. “My dad was a lobster fisherman. But he had aunts and uncles down south. Through one of those connections, he got offered a job as a charter boat captain—taking tourists out for half-day and full-day fishing expeditions. Mom was ready to leave the cold winters, so we packed up and moved. I was twelve, and I wasn’t a fan of leaving my friends behind. But it turned out okay.”
Ivy could tell he was poised for more questions, so she changed the subject awkwardly. “Will you be coming to the house for your meals, or shall I bring them out to you at the lab? I don’t mind. I know you said you can be single-minded when you’re working.”
He shook his head. “That’s far too much trouble. Why don’t we compromise? I have a mini fridge in my new office. If you’ll make me a sandwich for lunch every morning, I’ll take it with me. Then I’ll make a point of being back here for dinner at six thirty. Does that work for you?”
Ivy debated rapidly. She normally put Dolly to bed at seven. But she could always nap her a little later and keep her awake until eight. That should be enough time to get the kitchen cleaned up. Especially if she tidied things as she went along. Farrell Stone was being very generous and amenable. She would do her best to fit his schedule and not the other way around.
“Of course,” she said. “And please let me know if I prepare foods that are not your favorites. I want you to be sa
tisfied.”
He blinked and stood up suddenly.
When she realized how her words had sounded, she was mortified. Though her face must have been bright red, she pretended nothing was wrong for the fifteen minutes it took Farrell to get a carton of ice cream out of the freezer and dish up dessert.
By the time he sat down again, the moment had passed. She hoped.
She ate her ice cream quickly. “Thank you for dinner. If you don’t mind, Dolly and I will have an early night. I’ll have your breakfast ready at eight tomorrow morning unless you text me otherwise.”
Farrell stared at her, his expression impassive. “Relax, Ivy. This isn’t a factory job where you’ll be punching a clock.”
“I know that. But you’re paying for a service.” Again, unwittingly, she had cast her comment with an ambiguous word choice. She pushed her chair back from the table, feeling jittery and unsure of herself. “Do you mind if we go on back to the cabin?”
“Of course not. Rest well. I never lock the doors here at the house unless I’m gone. We’re perfectly safe. But I’ll give you a set of keys for the cabin just in case. It’s always hard to sleep in a strange place at first. Having everything secured before you go to bed will make you feel better, I’m sure.”
He set the two empty ice-cream bowls in the sink and reached in a drawer. “Here,” he said. “These are yours.”
Ivy took the keys, gripped them in her palm, felt the sharp press of metal and recognized that she had crossed an enormous hurdle. The past was the past. She wouldn’t let herself be defined by what had happened to her.
Holding her small daughter, who was all she had left in the world, she smiled up at Farrell Stone, trying not to get emotional. At least not until she could fall apart in private.
“Thank you,” she said huskily, her throat tight.
He cocked his head, his emerald-and-amber gaze assessing her. Making assumptions. Trying to dissect her reticence. “You’re very welcome, Ivy.”
