by Carter Ashby
Myra’s eyes narrowed.
“Hell, maybe Ivy ain’t even actually human. Maybe she’s an alien bodysnatcher come to seduce unsuspecting cowboys into impregnating her so she can populate the earth with human-alien-cowboy hybrids and end the human race as we know it.”
Myra leaned back and pursed her lips. “You have a terrible attitude, young man. I wonder how your mother would feel about you behaving so rudely.”
“I’m sure I’ll find out tonight after she watches your newest video.”
Myra clucked her tongue and slipped her phone into her purse. “Be a stubborn mule if you want. I’ll get to the bottom of this mystery.”
Jake had been the subject of Myra’s gossip blog off and on for as long as he could remember. All of his brothers had. As well as most of the people in town. It really didn’t bother anyone. Myra’s words didn’t typically make much of a splash. But he couldn’t help being offended on Ivy’s behalf. “You know, she doesn’t deserve this.” He frowned, surprised that he’d said that out loud.
Myra looked up, interested once again. “Doesn’t deserve what, dear?”
“Having her name slandered. She’s a good person. A hard worker. A devoted daughter. And I promise you she didn’t do anything unethical with any of my brothers. So…can’t you ease back? Find some fresh meat?”
“It sounds to me like you care for Ivy.”
“I don’t know what you mean by that, but I do respect her. And her father. They’re good people, both of them.”
“Is Jared Turner trying to buy your ranch?”
“That’s old news, Myra. Jared Turner has been trying to buy our ranch for over ten years, now.”
“Why won’t your father consider selling?”
Jake pressed his lips together. Myra had just stepped foot onto family business. She was the biggest mouth in the state of Oklahoma. But then, maybe if he gave her something else to chew on, she’d leave poor Ivy alone. He knew the answer to her question. Gideon didn’t want to sell because he loved their small-time ranch and wanted to pass something down to his sons, simple as that. But Myra didn’t have to know that.
So instead of the truth, Jake asked a question. He frowned as though deep in thought and said, “You know, I’m not sure. Turner’s offer is good. I just wonder if maybe there’s something else going on…some kind of old rivalry or something. You know?” He leaned back, frowned a little longer, then let out a laugh. “But that’s silly. I’m sure I’m overthinking it. Anyway, it don’t matter. We ain’t selling. And you can just get off poor Ivy’s back, because as much as she and her father want our property, they’d neither one of them use a mercenary marriage to get it done.”
Myra had clearly stopped listening to him after the part about an “old rivalry.” As he’d said the words, her eyes had gone wide and her gaze distant. She was already drumming up the possibilities.
After she left, Jake smiled to himself. It felt good, doing something nice for that cold-hearted man-eater whom he just could not stop daydreaming about. He didn’t think much past that. If Myra stirred up things between Jared and Gideon, it couldn’t be as bad as what she’d done to Ivy.
And once the heat was off Ivy, maybe she would give him a chance to beat his less-than-stellar record of two and a half minutes.
Part 2: A Busy Sunday
Myra’s Blog
It’s been a week abundant in delicious gossip. As we go into this Lord’s day, I want us all to reflect on ourselves as a community. Some criticize me and my blog as being petty or harmful, but I disagree. Gossip brings us together. It forges friendships. It solidifies values. It’s part of the fabric of community.
Through gossip, we learn who needs help and who needs prayers. We feel connected with our fellow citizens. It’s ingrained in each of us to want to be a part of each other’s lives. To feel important in the greater story of our community.
So with that in mind, stay tuned, because I have some juicy news coming up this week. Hint: what’s the most common reason for two old men to spend forty years feuding?
See you all tomorrow!
“And Adam said, This is now bone of my bones, and flesh of my flesh: she shall be called Woman, because she was taken out of Man. Therefore shall a man leave his father and his mother, and shall cleave unto his wife: and they shall be one flesh.” Pastor Allen’s voice boomed from the pulpit as he read from the book of Genesis.
In Fair Grove there were only two churches of any significant size. On the south side of town, there was The Path. They had a rock band with a stage and lights and fog machines. You could go there in your jeans and t-shirt and drink coffee during service. In spite of that, most of the cowboys and their families still chose to attend Fair Grove Community Church on the north side of town. Ivy never could figure it out. Her only theory was that the cowboys would rather dress up and sit in uncomfortable, hard-backed pews than find themselves sitting next to hipsters and college students.
Of course, Ivy couldn’t criticize. She’d tried to attend The Path just on principal. As much as she was and always would be a country girl, she considered herself a progressive country girl. If she was being honest, she might even admit to feeling slightly superior to the other ranching families in the area. After all, she’d left home, gone to the city, gotten a degree, and experienced life around more diverse people than anyone else in Fair Grove had. But even with all that experience, The Path was just too different…too far removed from the traditions she’d grown up with.
“We call this the first marriage,” Pastor Allen continued. “The entire foundation of our Christian teachings on sex and marriage is based in these verses. What do we glean from these verses? First, we see that woman was created from man. That she was made equal to man, but for the purpose of supporting him.”
Ivy sank into herself a little. It was so conflicting, hearing those words, because she disagreed with them. And yet, wasn’t that what she did? She came home to take her mother’s place in support of her father.
She looked up at Jared, sitting next to her, his eyes trained on the pastor. Her father was a good man. Even if he did agree that women were created solely to support men, he never made her feel that way. He’d paid for college. Encouraged her to pursue anything she wanted. Never made her feel that she needed to find a husband and produce babies in order to be of any worth.
Ivy’s eyes wandered across the aisle and up a few rows. The Deathridges occupied the same pew every Sunday. Gideon sat in the aisle seat, with Clara next to him. Clara—definitely a subservient woman. Ivy knew her to have devoted her whole existence to supporting her husband and boys. Next to her were Boone, Dallas, Cody, and Jake, lined up youngest to oldest. All with their hair washed and combed, no hat rings today.
Jake. What kind of man was Jake? Did he want a wife who would cook and clean and bear children and rub his feet at the end of the day? If so, then surely he knew Ivy wasn’t the woman for him. Hell, he’d probably figured that out as soon as she’d jumped him. An old-fashioned guy like Jake probably wouldn’t even consider marrying the kind of woman who expressed her sexual independence by having fast, hard anger sex in an open field in the middle of the day. Been thinking about asking you out, he’d said. Asking her out for a date? Or asking her out for a booty call?
“Second, we learn that marriage is meant to be between one man and one woman. Not one man and many women. Not one woman and many men. From this we derive our beliefs on fidelity and fornication.”
On the front pew, like a good little preacher’s wife, sat Molly Allen. Her straw hat cocked demurely to the side, hiding her face from Ivy. It didn’t matter. Ivy knew what was on her face. Nothing. No guilt. No self-recrimination. Molly was missing something in her soul. Whatever that thing was that made a person willing to sacrifice her own desires for the good of another person, the same thing that had Ivy keeping secrets for other people even when those secrets hurt her—Molly didn’t have it.
Neither did Boone, apparently. Ivy could see just
enough of his face to make out a smirk, his eyes aimed directly at the back of Molly’s head.
“Third, we learn that marriage is meant to be between one man and one woman. Not a man and a man. Or a woman and a woman. Every verse in the Bible after this on the treatment of homosexuality by Christians comes from this foundation.”
If Ivy wasn’t mistaken, Cody shifted a little. And why shouldn’t he? He was a mouse in a house full of cats.
Behind Ivy and Jared was a pew full of cowboys—ranch hands who worked for the Turners, all with their hats in their trucks and Bibles in their callused, sun-browned hands. She didn’t look back, but she cringed at the thought of poor Jordan hearing these words. Of course, he’d probably heard them before. The sermon was fairly standard. Nothing new. Still, Ivy wondered at how, well into the twenty-first century, it could still be going on.
Perhaps it was simply tradition. A traditional belief that hadn’t yet sloughed off with the rest of the dead traditions. But still, did Pastor Allen not realize how many people he’d excluded in just this one, basic, traditional sermon? Did he not understand how many people now sat in his congregation feeling like they didn’t belong? Like they couldn’t be saved?
“It is not too late to be saved!” Pastor Allen concluded. “If you’re in the congregation today, and you’ve found yourself struggling with sexual sin, I implore you, come forward. Let the blood of Christ cleanse you. And if you’re struggling with ongoing sin, such as homosexuality or infidelity, again I implore you, come forward. You do have a choice. You can be saved.”
Everyone stood as the piano started playing “Washed in the Blood.”
After that there was a prayer and the congregation began dispersing. Ivy followed her father into the aisle. The building had a high ceiling and plenty of air circulation, but there was something stifling about this particular day. Probably a combination of the sermon and the judgmental cold shoulders of everyone who’d bought into Myra’s gossip that week. On a normal Sunday, it would take Ivy up to a half hour to make it from her pew to the back door, just because of all the stops for conversation along the way. Today, it didn’t appear it would take her very long at all. Her father received some attention from friends, but she herself was roundly dismissed. Almost like she didn’t exist.
The Deathridges filed past, Gideon casting a glare at Jared who didn’t appear to notice. Ivy felt something slip into her hand. A piece of paper. Jake’s fingertips trailed over her knuckles as he walked by. He cast her a subtle smirk and a wink, and then he was gone.
Ivy’s heart thundered. She slipped the paper into her purse and glanced around, worried someone might have noticed. But no one was looking. She was a complete pariah at this point.
Anxious to look at the paper, she slipped past her father, out the back doors, and into the parking lot, headed for her father’s car.
“Ivy?”
She turned to find Dallas jogging toward her. He took her by the shoulders, shocking the hell out of her at the physical contact. “Why are you touching me?” she asked.
“Just play along,” he muttered.
“What…?”
He kissed her. Ivy’s eyes flew open, the heat of rage surging through her system. She was about to jam her knee into his balls when he pulled back. “Ivy, honey,” he said, loud enough for passersby to hear, “I can’t see you anymore. I’m sorry to do it like this, but I just can’t carry the burden any longer. We had some good times, baby, but it’s over.” He trailed his knuckles down her cheek.
Ivy choked back a wave of nausea as she glared at Dallas, who, though he was putting on a pretty good show of sadness, had a mischievous light in his eyes that made Ivy want to punch him. Hard.
With a wink only for her, he turned, head and shoulders bowed, and walked away. As soon as he left her field of vision, Ivy found herself staring straight across the parking lot at Jake.
He stood by the open door of the truck he’d driven to church with his brothers, and his shoulders rose and fell with his breath like a bull about to charge. Ivy’s mouth dropped open, instinctively preparing to defend herself, though he was too far away to hear her, and she wasn’t sure it would do any good anyway.
The parking lot was filled with people frozen in various postures of leaving. Nearby a man had one foot in his car. Another couple had their hands on their doorhandles. And of course there was Myra, phone up and recording, a smile of pure, voyeuristic ecstasy.
Ivy felt herself on the verge of snapping. She sucked in a breath, took a step toward Myra, and…
“Hold it together.” Molly stood in front of her, took her by the arm, and led her to her car. “I’ll drive you home. Come on.”
“I am not going to stand here and be ruined by that jackass!”
“Shhh.” Molly was all but shoving her into her car. Ivy found herself seated and sheltered. She looked up to see Molly holding quiet conference with Jared. Ivy’s father nodded, then waved to Ivy before heading to his truck.
Being in the car took a lot of tension out of her. Whatever the hell had just happened was over now. She looked around and saw the Deathridges had gone. Molly got behind the wheel and started driving.
Rather belatedly, Ivy dragged her sleeve over her mouth. “Eww! Just ew! How dare he? I’m going to start my own damn blog and—”
“Listen, this is good for everybody, okay? He made it look like he broke up with you, so now everyone believes he was the one who got the rumors going. So Myra will stop and the gossip will phase out. And it also keeps me and Boone safe, as long as we don’t go back to that hotel.”
Ivy turned to look at her friend. “I hope you don’t plan to go anywhere else with him at all.”
Molly sighed heavily. “Richard has been getting suspicious. I mean, I don’t think he suspects I’m cheating on him, but last night he said he wanted to talk. Said I was growing distant and he was afraid I might be making some bad choices. This, by the way, is based on my wearing too much makeup when I went out the other day.” She rolled her eyes.
Ivy wanted to care, she really did, but at the moment she could only muster up concern for one thing. “So you’re done with Boone?”
The look on Molly’s face said everything. Ivy knew before she said it what she was going to say. “I think I’m falling in love.”
“Oh, for God’s sake!” Ivy threw her hands up and her head back against the seat.
“You’re not being very supportive right now!” Molly shouted back.
“Molly, Boone is not in love with you—”
“You don’t know him. He’s so generous to me—”
“He’s a wolf and everyone can see through his sheep’s clothing but you. Don’t do this to yourself. Don’t do this to your husband. You had some fun, now why not move on?”
Molly didn’t say anything else. They rode the rest of the way home in silence, Ivy clutching her purse, torn between fury and helplessness, and the itch of curiosity as to what was on that note Jake gave her.
Ivy got trapped into sitting through lunch with her father who was nothing but sympathetic to her plight. But as soon as she could get away, she hurried up to her room, opened her purse, and pulled out the note from Jake. She could only imagine what it said. Some declaration of her beauty. Some poetic confession of love.
The note said, Meet me at our spot at one.
Ivy’s shoulders sank. Seven words. But then, what did she expect? He was a cowboy. A roughneck. A man of few words. Besides, their last meeting had been more of a contest of wills than a courtship. It was a little unrealistic to expect love poetry at this point. She should probably be grateful it wasn’t an invitation to a duel with pistols at dawn.
Ivy gave herself a shake. It didn’t matter. It was ten minutes past one, now. Whatever his reasons for wanting to see her, she could use the chance to explain what had happened between her and Dallas that morning. Or what hadn’t happened.
She slipped on some boots and ran downstairs and out the back door. Her ATV was faster and
closer than her horse, so she ran to the shed, climbed on, and drove it into the field.
Halfway to the big, flat rock it occurred to her that he probably wasn’t there. The fact that she was late combined with his very clear anger that morning might have resulted in his deciding to give up on her.
Would that be bad? Surely it would be better to let this thing between them go by the wayside. He was never going to break free of the influence of his father, that much Ivy knew for sure. She’d known men like him. Loyal to a fault. Any attempts at a relationship would only end in heartache.
But he’s so cute, a little voice in her head said.
So are skunks, but that doesn’t mean they don’t stink to high heaven, said the logical voice in her head.
He didn’t stink. He smelled really, really good, said the other voice.
“Aaarrgghhh!” Ivy shouted in frustration, her voice drowned out by the loud motor of her four-wheeler.
She drove faster, the wind stinging her eyes so that she had to wipe the tears away. As she approached the tree line along the creek, she slowed.
His truck was there on his side of the fence, but he wasn’t in it. On second glance, she saw a pair of booted feet dangling off the open tailgate. She let out a breath, parked her bike, and killed the motor. She walked with as much control as she could, climbed the fence, and stood by his tailgate.
He was flat on his back, staring up at the trees above him. “Didn’t think you were coming,” he said.
“Well, I’m here. What did you want?”
“I wanted a roll in the hay, but I’ve since changed my mind.”
Ivy’s face went hot. “A booty call? Your stupid note was a booty call? Who do you think I am?”
He sat up, hopped off his tailgate, and towered over her. “I think you’re a girl who doesn’t mind screwing around, that’s who I think you are.”
She was as much surprised by the sound of her palm across his cheek as he was. She held her hand in her other hand, staring down at it as tears blurred her vision. Her palm stung, so it was some comfort knowing his cheek probably stung, too.
