C01 Take a Chance on Me

by Susan May Warren

  A redhead won the bachelor on stage and ran up to claim her purchase. Ivy escaped to the ladies’ room.

  What if she did bid on Owen? Truly, the last thing she needed in her life was a real bachelor. Someone she might fall for, someone who could so easily break her heart.

  Maybe she could ask said bachelor to show her around Deep Haven. Teach her about hockey. Certainly it might give her a little social clout to be seen with the town celebrity.

  She could faintly hear the announcer stirring up the fervor for the next contestant, then a trickle of applause for the main attraction as he took the stage. She walked out, standing by the bar to survey this hometown hero.

  They grew them big up here in the north woods. Indeed, he looked like a hockey champion, with those wide shoulders, muscular arms stretching the sleeves of his deep-green shirt that read Evergreen Resort—memories that live forever. He stood at ease like one might do in the military, wearing jeans that hugged his legs all the way down to the work boots on his feet. The man looked like an impenetrable fortress, not a hint of marketing in his face. So much for winning the audience.

  In fact, to use the only hockey term she knew, he looked like he’d just been checked hard into the boards and come up with some sort of permanent scowl, none too happy to be standing in the middle of the stage of the local VFW as the main attraction.

  “C’mon, everyone, who will start the bidding for our Deep Haven bachelor tonight?”

  Ivy looked around the room. It had hushed to a pin-drop silence, something not quite right simmering in the air. She glanced over to where Jensen Atwood had been sitting and found his seat vacant.

  On stage, the man swallowed. Shifted. Pursed his lips. Oh, poor Owen. Her heart knocked her hard in the chest. She knew exactly what it felt like not to be wanted.

  “One hundred dollars? Who has it tonight for our local hero?”

  She scanned the room, saw patrons looking away as if embarrassed. Even Eli and Noelle had taken a sudden interest in their dinner.

  Owen sighed and shook his head.

  And right then, the pain of the moment squeezed the words from Ivy’s chest. “Five hundred dollars!”

  Every eye turned toward her, and for a moment, she had the crazy but horribly predictable urge to flee. But the words were out, so she took a step forward, toward the stage. “I bid five hundred dollars,” she said again, fighting the wobble in her voice.

  Ivy shot a look at Noelle, expecting approval. But Noelle wore an expression of what she could only pinpoint as panic. Wasn’t she the one who’d suggested Ivy buy the man?

  And then from the stage, she heard, “Well, that’s good enough for me! Sold, to the pretty lady in the white jacket. Miss, come up to the stage and claim your prize.”

  Still, no one said a word—not a cheer, not a gasp, nothing. Ivy swallowed and met the eyes of the man on stage. “I’ll meet him by the bar,” she said, her voice small.

  Owen looked as relieved as she was that they didn’t have to create some public spectacle. He moved off the stage and the auctioneer mercifully introduced the band. The men in back resumed their pool playing.

  Ivy couldn’t help it. She edged over to Noelle. “What’s the matter? I know he looks a little rough around the edges, but—”

  “That’s not Owen,” Noelle said, wiping her fingers with a napkin. She shot a glance past Ivy, possibly at the stranger she’d just purchased.

  “What?”

  “Owen couldn’t make it. That’s Darek Christiansen. His big brother.”

  Ivy turned now, found her man weaving his way through the crowd. He didn’t stop to glad-hand anyone or even slap friends on the back.

  In fact, it seemed she’d purchased the pariah of Deep Haven.

  Noelle confirmed it. “Brace yourself, honey. You’ve just purchased the most ineligible eligible bachelor in town.”

  Everything inside Darek told him to keep going, right on out of the VFW until he hit his Jeep, and then punch the gas toward the hills.

  And hide.

  He would murder Owen next time he saw him, which wouldn’t be anytime soon, given the kid’s celebrity demands. Sorry, Bro. I can’t make it up today—I have a photo shoot. Owen couldn’t have thought ahead to that, maybe rearranged his oh-so-packed schedule? But Owen didn’t think beyond practice, improving his shot, and updating his Facebook status. Last time Darek checked, his twenty-year-old kid brother had 32,876 fans.

  Darek had maybe thirty-eight friends on his own page. Not that he was counting, but it seemed like some sort of commentary on his life.

  The minute Darek had hung up with Owen, he should have made himself scarce—loaded Tiger into the Jeep, attached the boat, and headed for some pristine lake. Except losing his head and forgetting his responsibilities was how he got here in the first place.

  Instead he’d experienced a streak of clearly misplaced hope that the stigma, the gossip, might have finally died and he might once again be an eligible bachelor. Someone who just wanted to start over, for himself and his son.

  The near silence in the room when they’d called his name, when he’d stepped up to take Owen’s place, confirmed that no, nothing had been forgotten.

  Darek stalked past the bar, where, of course, his high school buddies gave him tight smiles.

  He hadn’t seen any of the former Deep Haven Huskies getting up to sell their . . . well, it wasn’t exactly his body, and she certainly didn’t expect a real date, right? So he wasn’t sure what he was selling up there.

  Darek glanced at his father, John, sitting at the end, nursing a Sprite. A linebacker-size man—bigger than any of his boys—he’d played fullback for the Minnesota Gophers back in the day. That he’d ended up with hockey players could only be blamed on the skating rink he’d cleared on the lake every January.

  “Great job, Son,” his father said, catching his arm.

  “This was a bad idea,” Darek groused, slowing his exit.

  “Five hundred dollars doesn’t sound like such a bad idea. You were the most expensive bachelor here. That will make the news.”

  “Yippee,” Darek said. But his father was right—he’d created a bit of buzz, and hopefully it would someday turn into goodwill for their lakeside vacation spot, Evergreen Lodge Outfitter and Cabin Rentals, which most people shortened to Evergreen Resort.

  “Do you know the woman who bid on you?”

  Darek scanned the room to locate her. He couldn’t see her well from the stage with the lights in his face, but he thought he’d glimpsed a redhead wearing a white jean jacket, her hair in a messy ponytail. She wasn’t tall, maybe five foot four, and a little on the curvy side.

  Now he found her, sitting next to Noelle Hueston and staring at him like she’d purchased . . . well, the devil.

  Darek turned away, his lips a grim line. “No, I don’t know her.”

  His father wisely said nothing, took a sip of his Sprite. Then, “She looks pretty.”

  “Next time you want to sell your flesh and blood, pick a different son.”

  He caught his father’s smirk as he turned to leave, and it only darkened his mood.

  No one from Deep Haven, not a soul, had bid on him. What was so different about him from, say, the two previous bachelors?

  Okay, maybe that wasn’t a fair question. Neither of them walked around with the stigma of being the youngest widower in town, pity and probably the tsk of tongues following in their wake.

  He glanced over to the chair where Jensen Atwood had sat, smug, rich, wearing a fancy leather jacket, his hair cut short and slicked back, contempt in his eyes. Yes, he’d seen the man sitting near the back, next to the jukebox, like no one would notice. He had a lot of nerve showing up here, and Darek had just about launched off the stage toward him. That might be a show the locals would bid on—a go-round between Jensen and Darek. Finally.

  Instead he’d dark-eyed the guy into fleeing. It fed the heat inside him, gave Darek the strength to stand there like an idiot while the town shift
ed uncomfortably in their seats.

  Until, of course, Moneybags piped up.

  Five hundred dollars.

  Wow, did she waste her money on him.

  And what kind of woman paid five hundred dollars for a man she didn’t know? Hopefully she didn’t want a real date. He wasn’t a real-date kind of guy.

  In fact, he was a never-date kind of guy.

  Darek shook his head and headed out the door.

  He paused on the sidewalk for a moment, drawing in the clean air, shaking off the reek of old cigarettes, whiskey, and town gossip that coated him like grime. The moon had risen, hovering above the town, milky light washing over the trading post, the Blue Moose Café, pooling in the harbor, icing the waves of the lake.

  He could feel his heartbeat thundering in his chest and hated how easily his guilt took hold of him, turned him surly. At the least, he should swallow his pride—what was left of it—and meet the woman who had forked out good money for him. For charity.

  Instead he moved away from the door and dug out his cell phone, about to call home.

  “Hey, where are you going?”

  He turned, pressing End. His “owner” had followed him out of the VFW. A fireball with green eyes and freckles, wearing the jean jacket he remembered over a T-shirt and a green scarf. She stood about to his shoulder but had no problem slamming her hands to her hips and toeing up to him.

  “I thought we had a date.”

  “Is that what you want? A date?” He didn’t mean for it to emerge so sharp, even angry, and didn’t blame her for the way she opened her mouth as if she’d been slapped.

  “No, I, uh—”

  “Then why did you buy me? And why on earth would you pay five hundred dollars? Sheesh, lady, you must be desperate or something.”

  Wow. He must have lost control of everything decent inside him. But he didn’t like the feeling of being humiliated.

  Or owned.

  In fact, the entire thing made him feel trapped and small, and he’d had enough of that, thank you.

  Her mouth closed. Pinched. “I’m not desperate. If you want to know the truth, I felt sorry for you.”

  He probably deserved that, despite the way it sideswiped him. He didn’t let on, however, preferring to stare at her, something icy he’d learned from his years in the rink. “Okay, then, let’s just get this over with. What do you want?”

  “I—”

  “You should know that I’m not like the other guys in there. If you’re looking for some kind of fling, I’m not your man. I can probably hook you up with one of my buddies—”

  “Wow. Stay away from me.” She whirled around, heading down the sidewalk, and he knew he was a first-class jerk.

  “Wait!”

  She held up a hand. “Forget it! You’re right; this was a bad idea.”

  He ran after her—boy, she had a fast walk for such a short woman. “Listen, I’m sorry. Really. It’s just that you don’t want a date with me. If you ask, I’ll bet you can get your money back.”

  “I don’t want it back.”

  She didn’t stop and he was walking fast to keep up.

  “Then what do you want? Why did you buy me?”

  She stopped, breathing hard. Pressed her fingers to her eyes. Oh no, she wasn’t crying, was she?

  He swallowed, his throat on fire, hearing his words and wishing he wasn’t the kind of guy who ran full speed into hurting others.

  You are so selfish. Felicity, in his head. Always in his head.

  “I’m sorry,” he said softly, shoving his hands into his pockets. The wind took his words, flung them toward the lake. “It’s just that I’m the last person you want to be seen in town with.”

  She sighed, turning her face away from him. “Well, I don’t have anyone else.” Her voice emerged small and wheedled in past the anger, the annoyance.

  It settled inside, in a place he reserved for Tiger, and he tempered his tone. “Are you here for the weekend?”

  “No. I live here.” She said it with a layer of determination, as if convincing herself.

  Really? “I know nearly everyone in this town—”

  “I moved here yesterday. I’m the new assistant county attorney.”

  Uh-oh. He’d heard that the current assistant CA had resigned to stay home with her newborn child. He’d miss the way she tolerated his monthly phone calls. But someone had to keep tabs on Jensen, right? He looked at this angry sprite and grimaced, imagining her reaction next time Jensen threatened a restraining order.

  Darek might be the one doing years of community service.

  “Sorry,” he said again.

  Her shoulder jerked in a halfhearted shrug.

  “Maybe . . . maybe I could help you carry furniture or chop wood or mow your grass or something.”

  She had folded her hands across her chest. “Wow, I must be a real catch for you to offer to mow my lawn instead of being seen in public with me.”

  “No, I—”

  “Like I said, you’re off the hook.”

  “I don’t want to be off the hook. You bought me fair and square.”

  She pursed her lips.

  “I have an idea. C’mon.”

  She frowned at him, and frankly he was done begging, not sure how he’d gotten to this point in the first place. So he turned and headed for the Jeep, parked just down the street.

  He didn’t look behind him but heard her steps. When he reached the car, he held her door open like a gentleman, although he knew he might be a little late to resurrect any sort of real gallantry.

  She looked up at him before getting in, her eyes big and shiny in the moonlight. They caught his and for the first time, he noticed how pretty they were, with golden flecks at the edges.

  “I’m safe, even if I’m a jerk.”

  “I have friends who will hunt you down and kill you if I go missing.”

  “I have no doubt.” He took a long breath and stuck out his hand. “Darek Christiansen, Deep Haven tour guide, at your service, milady.”

  She regarded his hand for a moment, and he sensed something shifting inside her. “Ivy Madison.” Then she slid one of her petite hands into his and smiled.

  The full force of it reached out and poured into him, hot and bold and shaking him through. He dropped her grip, swallowed. Stepped back.

  She climbed into the Jeep and reached for the seat belt, her eyes on his as he closed the door.

  Oh, boy.

  Maybe he should have run when he had the chance.

  Jensen sat outside the VFW in the Pine Acres work truck—the one he took to town when he wanted to hide—and watched Darek get the girl. Again.

  And why not? Darek Christiansen always won.

  Tonight, he’d stared Jensen down until he’d had no choice but to slink out. The last thing Jensen wanted was a fight. Especially with only six weeks left on his sentence. He didn’t need a judge deciding he wasn’t repentant enough and upgrading his community service to a stint behind bars.

  Jensen should simply concede that Darek would always win. His streak began in fourth grade, when they’d both started playing hockey, and continued long after Jensen moved away, returning every summer as they vied for Felicity’s attention.

  Sure, Jensen had a few glimmering moments. Like the summer Darek escaped to Montana to fight the fire in Glacier National Park with the Jude County Hotshots, after Jensen had given up his own firefighting dreams. Jensen and Felicity had nearly become something that stuck then—probably would have if Darek hadn’t returned home tan and triumphant.

  And of course, there was the simple fact that in the end Darek had married Felicity. Jensen hadn’t quite seen that one coming. But then again, he doubted Darek had either.

  He watched as Darek and the redhead headed out of town in his Jeep Wrangler. For a moment, he debated going back inside to listen to the Blue Monkeys. After all, that’s why he’d braved the auction—Jensen normally slunk in late for the band’s events, sitting in the shadows so no one saw
him. But today he’d misjudged the time, the auction ran over, and, well, creeping back in now felt too much like tucking his tail between his legs.

  He had at least a smidgen of pride left.

  Jensen put the truck into gear and pulled out.

  One hundred hours and he’d be free; he could leave Deep Haven and never look back. Maybe keep driving all the way to California or Mexico, where he could change his name and leave his past in the dust.

  On top of the hill over the town, Jensen resisted the urge to glance out the passenger window at the scattering of lights that made up Deep Haven. Eyes, watching him, blinking, accusing.

  He kept his gaze on the road, slowing as he took the truck around a curve carved through the granite, where the shoulder disappeared. His hands slickened and he caught himself holding his breath.

  He couldn’t wait to leave. But to do that, he’d have to find a few more places where he could go, hat in hand, begging for hours. Deep Haven seemed determined to keep him from fulfilling his community service, especially lately. Volunteer jobs had fizzled to ten hours a week and some places, like the after-school tutoring program, had turned him away.

  Apparently the fact that he had graduated from college and managed two years of law school didn’t matter to the English teachers struggling to teach their sixth graders to read.

  No, if the citizens of Deep Haven had their way, he would have been their first public stoning.

  He turned south where the road split around Evergreen Lake and took the paved road to the end, pulling in to the gated community of Pine Acres. The electronic gate and pass card could probably be considered overkill, but his father had promoted safety for the vacation homes when he jumped into the world of property development and created the luxury vacation community, and he kept his word. At least to the residents of the community.

  As Jensen drove through the gates, he noticed that deer had snacked on the currant bushes by the entrance. He’d have to reshape them, maybe spray. A bulb was out on the automatic entry lights, and he spotted a tree down along one of the wooded drives. He’d come by tomorrow on the four-wheeler and clean it up.