by Jane Porter
“A junior barrel racer doesn’t need one of the best barrel racing horses in the country.”
“He paid me well for her.”
“How well?”
“That’s none of your business.”
Sam couldn’t hide his disgust. “I don’t even know who you are anymore.”
“Great. That makes two of us,” she answered, before walking away.
Chapter Three
At the Wyatt Ranch, the whole family was smashed into the small paneled TV room watching a Christmas movie, a tradition his mother had started when they were little, and a tradition they continued for her each year because it made her happy. Every night a different member of the family would pick a holiday movie. Tonight it was Christmas Vacation, Billy’s pick, and the family was enjoying it, but Sam couldn’t relax, and he kept getting up to get a drink of water, and step outside to get some air.
The dogs came bounding from the barn, and Sam gave each of the three a pat. They circled around him a moment, deciding if they wanted to stay or return to where it was warm. Runt decided to stay while Penny and Duke headed back to the barn. Sam didn’t blame them. It was freezing, and snow was imminent, but the icy air felt better than the stuffy family room filled with too many bodies, even though they were bodies he loved.
He was still outside when the movie finished. Billy stuck his head out the door to tell him, adding that Joe sucked, and he hadn’t followed the ‘rules.’ The rules of Christmas movie night were that they stayed together, and watched the movies together, but Sam didn’t care, and was glad when Billy closed the door.
Moments later the door opened again and he waited for Tommy to appear, and hurl an insult, but instead it was Grandad.
“What’s weighing on you?” Grandad asked, joining Sam at the wooden railing.
“Nothing much,” Sam answered. “Just restless, I guess.”
Runt pushed his head into Grandad’s hand, demanding attention. Grandad rubbed one of his ears. “I know you like having some space, but something’s eating at you,” Grandad said, glancing at Sam, expression indecipherable. “This doesn’t have to do with that place you’re buying in Wyoming, does it?”
“Who told you?”
“Does it matter?”
There were few people Sam respected as much as his grandfather. There were few people he couldn’t bear to disappoint, but Melvin Wyatt’s opinion mattered a lot to Sam.
Melvin was both dad and grandfather rolled up into one. Joe was the only one of them to remember their real dad, and life before they came to Montana. But Grandad had done right by them. He was strict and yet loving. There were always consequences for screwing up, but when the chips were down, no one had their backs more than Grandad. “Does Mom know?”
“Not yet. But you should tell her before she hears it from someone else.”
Sam nodded, aware he wasn’t as close to his mom as some of his brothers and he wasn’t sure why. Growing up, he just hadn’t needed her attention as much as the others, and maybe it was because there had been a lot of babies in quick succession that he’d just grown up a bit faster, but Sam had learned early, if he needed something done, go to Grandad. If he had a question, talk to Joe. He’d just understood early in life that his mom had enough worries without him adding to them. “You upset about it?”
“You can’t spend your life in Joe’s shadow,” Melvin answered, “but I do think Joe will take it hard when he learns you’re moving that far away. This is a big place for one person to run by himself.”
“He has you.”
“I’m not going to live forever, son.”
Sam’s chest tightened. “Don’t say that,” he said gruffly, turning to give his grandfather a fierce hug. “We all need you.”
His grandfather hugged him back, giving him a firm pat on the back, before letting him go. “So it’s not just the ranch that’s troubling you. This is about your girl, too, Ivy.”
Grandad said it like a statement, not a question, and Sam was always amazed by his grandfather’s perceptiveness. There was little Melvin Wyatt missed. “She hasn’t been my girl for a long time, Grandad.”
“You still care about her.”
“I promised her mom I’d keep an eye on her, and I haven’t done a good job doing that. Something’s wrong but Ivy’s not telling me.”
“What do you think is wrong?”
“That’s the problem. I can’t figure it out. She must be in some kind of financial trouble because she’s living in squalid little house behind Marietta’s railroad tracks. She’s sold Belle—”
“Her mare?”
Sam nodded. “It doesn’t make sense. Ivy is good with money. Careful. When we used to travel, Ivy did all the finances and kept us on a budget.” Sam looked at his grandfather. “Even her personality is different. She’s closed. Hard. I don’t understand.”
“And you’ve asked her?”
“She won’t talk about it.”
Melvin said nothing for a minute. “What do you want to do?”
“Make her talk. Get her to open up. See if there isn’t some way I can help.”
“Then listen to your gut.”
Sam nodded. “I’m going to see her. Right now.”
*
Ivy’s feet hurt, and her head thumped with a headache she hadn’t been able to kick all day, despite regular dosing of headache medicine. Now at twelve forty-five a.m., she was more than ready to go home, but still had fifteen minutes until closing. Thank goodness it wasn’t the weekend because then she’d be here until two.
It had been a slow night and Ivy had told Lucy to go on home, as Pia had left an hour earlier. Normally, Aaron, the bouncer, would be here but he had a bout of the stomach flu and Ivy didn’t want him around. The stomach flu wasn’t on her list of favorite things.
There were only two men in the bar, and they were familiar faces, customers who came in once or twice a week, but once they started drinking, only left when kicked out. They were nice about getting kicked out, though, and never caused trouble. They also made her feel safe because, even inebriated, they wouldn’t let anything happen to her.
She was caught off guard then, when the door opened and Sam walked in, shoulders of his black leather coat dusted with snow. He took off his black hat, gave that a shake, and her heart did a painful little leap. He was ruggedly handsome, his high cheekbones and strong jaw appealing as ever. She’d had a weakness for his face from the moment she first met him, years ago, and she hated that her heart still sped up every time she saw him. Even in Calgary last summer, he’d made her feel slightly breathless, and incredibly restless, and she realized then that she’d never not respond to him. The attraction was physical—elemental—and, coupled with their history, she still felt such a strong connection to him.
Sam’s gaze met hers briefly, before sweeping the nearly empty bar, and returning his attention to her. There was something in his blue gaze tonight that sent a tingly shiver down her spine because she knew he was there for her. She could see it in his eyes, and the set of his firm lips. Sam wasn’t one to keep late hours, and he didn’t like to drink, so him showing up at closing meant he either had news for her, or he was checking up on her. Either way, adrenaline danced through her, making her hands tremble as she reached into the hot sudsy water to finish washing the remaining glasses.
“What brings you this way?” she asked, as he pulled out a barstool and sat down in front of her.
Again his steady blue gaze met hers, expression inscrutable. “Thought I’d swing by, see if everything was good here.”
As if the Wyatt Ranch was just down the street and not an half hour away. “That’s a long trip for you, especially going home.”
“I like driving at night.”
She paused, hands buried in the hot water. “You don’t need to worry about me, Sam. I’m not your responsibility.”
“I know. But what kind of friend would I be if I didn’t make sure you were safe?”
A lump filled her th
roat and she smashed the fresh wash of emotion, not wanting to feel more than she already did. Sam wasn’t easy for her. Seeing him every day was proving far too bittersweet. “All good here,” she answered huskily. “Just about to close up and head home.”
“I didn’t see your truck in the parking lot. Where is it parked?”
“It’s in the garage. Needs a new tranny.”
“How are you getting to and from work?”
“I walk.”
“At this hour?”
“Sam, it’s just around the corner. Ten minutes at most.”
“That’s not okay.”
“I’ve been doing it for weeks and nothing has ever happened.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s safe.”
“This is Marietta. Trust me, nothing’s going to happen.”
“Well, I’m driving you home tonight.”
She wanted to protest but she’d just be wasting her breath. Once Sam made up his mind about something, nothing could change it. “Thanks.”
He drummed his fingers on the counter. “Tell me about this lady you rent from.”
“She’s quite a character.”
“What’s her name?”
“Joan Marcel.”
“Where’s the house?”
“I thought Billy told you all of this already.”
“He didn’t give me specifics,” Sam answered.
Ivy rinsed a set of glasses and placed them in the drying rack. “The house is at the end of Chance, near the apartment complex. It backs into that empty land bordering the highway.”
“Does she treat you alright?”
“As long as I pay my rent, she leaves me alone.”
Sam didn’t seem to be reassured by that. “Maybe I should check the place out.”
Ivy laughed as she rinsed the next glasses. “And what would you do if you didn’t approve? Fix the locks on the doors? Add a safety bar to the window?”
“So it isn’t safe.”
“Joan offered me one of her handguns, just in case. I declined it.”
Sam’s expression was priceless. He looked absolutely horrified. “Your mother would not be okay with this.”
“My mother would say Joan’s an original, and she is. And honestly, if I didn’t feel safe, I wouldn’t be there. I promise you that.”
Sam said nothing for a moment before blurting, “What did Wes think of your place?”
Her insides did a sickening free fall. “Let’s not talk about him,” she said.
“Not together anymore?”
“I thought we established this yesterday. No.”
“That bad?”
“Pretty much.”
Silence stretched and then he broke it, saying, “I’m worried about you. The whole family is.”
“No need to worry. I’m fine.”
“Mom wants you to join us for Christmas dinner,” he said. “In fact, she’s counting on it.”
Ivy’s heart did another tumble. “That’s awfully nice of her, but I already promised George I’d work Christmas.” She saw his expression and shrugged. “Everyone else has family—”
“Mom’s not going to be happy.”
Ivy believed him. His mom ruled the Wyatt roost. “Tell her I’m sorry.”
“She’ll want you to come another time.”
“That would be nice.”
“In the meantime, why don’t we grab breakfast or lunch?”
“Sam, you’re not home often and your family wants to spend time with you.”
His gaze narrowed. “That doesn’t mean we can’t find an hour to sit down and talk.”
The last two customers pushed back from the bar and shouted goodbye before walking out.
Ivy looked at Sam. “Let me grab their glasses and we can head out, too.”
“You don’t have to wash them?”
“I’ll just do it tomorrow.”
Sam put on his coat and hat and waited while she tidied up, turned out lights, and checked the back door, sliding the dead bolt, before following her outside while she locked the front door. It was bitterly cold tonight, the wind gusting, blowing the light recent flurry of snow in billowing circles.
Sam hunched his shoulders against the biting wind. “What time do you start tomorrow?”
“I’m closing again so not until four.”
“Let’s have lunch before you start.”
She zipped her parka all the way closed and pictured the basket full of dirty clothes in her room, and the sheets on her bed in need of washing. At the same time, a lunch out would be such a nice change. She spent far too much of her free time alone. “Could we get through a whole lunch without fighting?”
“We didn’t argue tonight, did we?”
Ivy wrinkled her nose, trying to remember. “I guess not.”
“So let’s have lunch at Main Street Diner,” he said, walking her to the passenger side of his truck and opening the door. “You love their buffalo burgers.”
“I do,” she agreed. “Haven’t had one in years though. Do they still serve them?”
“It’s a diner staple,” he answered, closing the door after she’d climbed in. Once he was in the driver’s seat he added, “Let’s prove that we can be friends.”
*
Friends.
We can be friends.
Sam’s words stayed with Ivy for a long time after he’d dropped her off at Joan’s house, staying out front watching her until she was safely in the house.
In her room, Ivy changed into pajamas before going to the bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth.
Friend. Friends.
They sounded like nice words, so why did they not feel nice when she repeated them to herself?
In bed, she pulled the covers up, telling herself she should be grateful that Sam and she were talking, and friendly, after their painful breakup.
She should be glad she had a friend like Sam Wyatt—he was a great friend to have on one’s side—but having been his girlfriend, having been on the most inner circle of his world, being a friend seemed almost like a failure. Ivy shouldn’t look at it that way. Friendship wasn’t something to sneer at. But her feelings for Sam were still so strong… she hadn’t realized just how strong until she was near him again.
No wonder after their breakup, they put so much distance between them.
No wonder their breakup had been so final and complete.
She couldn’t handle being near him, or on the fringe of his life. He was so big, so intense, so everything to her that it was all or nothing, and so he became nothing, and her heart broke further.
She never wanted to feel pain like that again. It was a loss and a grief, and different from grieving over her mother’s death. It was a grief because she’d hoped, maybe even expected, that Sam would come back for her. Fight for her. Instead, he let her go and moved on, never once looking back.
It killed her that he could move on so easily. She didn’t. She couldn’t. She’d hurt, and hurt, and hurt.
It had taken almost a year to feel less broken. And then, just when she thought she’d survive it—him—her mother died and the pain started again, hotter, bigger, fiercer.
She’d lost Sam. Lost her mom. She had nothing left.
No wonder she’d been so ripe for Wes to pick. Pluck.
Dominate.
She hadn’t even realized it was control and domination until it was too late, and he’d ensnared her in a web she was still trying to escape.
Anxious, unsettled, Ivy grabbed her phone and went to the kitchen to see if any of her chocolate milk was left. Chocolate milk was her go-to drink when she couldn’t sleep, or needed something soothing. She needed something soothing tonight. Her heart felt raw and she felt sad. “I miss you, Mom,” she whispered as she put the milk back into the fridge.
And then, for no reason she could understand, she texted Sam. “Hey Sam, it’s Ivy. I have a new number. Just wanted you to have it in case you need to cancel tomorrow.”
He answered
back immediately. “Thanks for the #. Not canceling.”
She answered with a
He answered, “I’ll pick you up at one.”
She texted, “I have errands to do. I’ll meet you there.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
*
Sam closed his phone, returning it to his pocket when he felt his brothers staring at him. “Something wrong?” he asked, glancing at the TV screen and the show was still on, so that wasn’t the issue.
“You were texting,” Tommy said.
“And?” Sam asked.
“You don’t text,” Tommy answered. “Like, you’ve made it clear. You. Don’t. Text.”
Sam didn’t know if he was annoyed or amused. “It was Ivy. She wanted me to have her new phone number.”
“Why did she change it?” Billy asked.
Tommy looked at Billy. “Who changes their number anymore?”
“I don’t know,” Sam answered, realizing his brothers had a point.
He didn’t know anyone, especially in their business, who changed their cell number. It was how everyone found you. It was how you entered events. It was how—
Wes.
Sam’s jaw clamped down, back teeth grinding hard. Had she changed her number so Wes couldn’t find her?
Fresh anger, and concern, washed through him. Ivy used to be so attached to her phone. She was always posting new photos on Instagram and Snapchat. Sharing stories about her horses, and competing, and her performance at each rodeo. He used to say she spent more time looking at her phone than she did looking out the window.
Sam glanced over at his brothers. “Do either of you use Instagram?”
“We both do,” Tommy said.
“Can one of you look up Ivy? Check her profile out?”
Sam waited impatiently while Billy visited her Instagram account profile, and scrolled down to look at the photos. “They’re all old,” Billy said. “She hasn’t posted anything since August 4.”
“Not since August?” Sam said, concern growing.
“And she must have deleted her Snapchat,” Tommy added. “Her profile there is gone.”
“That seems weird,” Billy said. “She used to use Snapchat to communicate with us, well, with everyone.”
