by Kait Nolan
Someone’s in the house.
She quietly untangled herself from the blankets and grabbed her phone from the nightstand to call 911. Dead. She hadn’t plugged it in to charge last night. Tossing the phone, she looked around for some kind of weapon. Her foot kicked over a pair of her tall boots and she bit back a curse, as pain radiated up from her stubbed toe. Bending down, she snatched up one of the empty wine bottles she used as boot forms and clutched it like a club. Her heart leapt in a frantic tattoo as she edged open the door and eased down the hall toward the living room, where someone was moving around. She had a moment to remember Harrison leaping to protect her when she’d screamed in the cabin kitchen and wished he was here now to do the same, because the bottle in her hands felt insubstantial and pitiful as a weapon.
Holding her breath, she peered around the doorframe to look into the living room. The woman had her back to the hallway and seemed to be doing something by the windows. Not seeing a gun, Ivy stepped into the room and flipped on a light.
The blonde shrieked and whirled, dropping the thing in her hand with a wet thunk.
Ivy lowered her makeshift weapon. “Deanna? What the hell are you doing here?”
Pressing a hand to hear chest, a wide-eyed Deanna gasped, “You asked me to water your plants while you were away. Crap on a cracker, Ivy, you scared me to death. When did you get home?”
“Last night.”
Deanna looked down at her feet to the watering can spilling its contents all over the carpet. “Oh hell.”
“I’ll get towels.”
Together they mopped up the mess.
“I’m gonna guess by the fact that you look like you’ve been hit by a truck, the book is either going really well or really badly.”
Ivy jerked a shoulder. “The draft is turned in.”
“That’s great!”
“Wonderful.” She knew she sounded like she’d just been told she needed a root canal. Without anesthesia.
Hands on hips, Deanna frowned. “Aren’t you happy to be home?”
At the word “home,” Ivy burst into tears. Because it didn’t feel like home. It had before she went to Eden’s Ridge because she simply hadn’t known the difference. All these years moving around, she’d chased an idealized picture of what home really meant. She’d thought she’d built that for herself here, pouring in time and energy into painting walls and picking out furniture and hanging up art. And she loved her house. But that’s all it was. A house. Because now she knew what she’d been missing all these years. And she wouldn’t get that back because home wasn’t the cabin or Eden’s Ridge. It was him. Or who she’d thought he was.
Deanna pulled her into a hug. “Oh honey, tell me who he is and we’ll plot his demise.”
Ivy swiped at her face. “How do you know it’s a guy?”
“You were with me through my divorce. I know what crying over a man looks like. Come on. I’ll make you coffee.”
They retreated to the kitchen and over two cups of coffee, Ivy spilled the whole thing out.
“I just…I don’t know how I could have gotten things so wrong. I thought we were on the same page. Why would he make specific plans to meet me, to spend another weekend with me, if he was planning to leave all along?”
“Because men are cowards at heart,” Deanna declared. “They’ll do anything to avoid confrontation. And if you do catch them in a lie, they’ll turn it around and blame it all on you, saying you made them do it.”
Ivy wasn’t entirely sure she agreed with that assessment. But the avoidance of confrontation? Yeah maybe that was a thing here. Things between them had been intense. Maybe too intense for him, in the end. There’d been a new vulnerability in him that last night. She knew she hadn’t imagined that. So maybe this wasn’t about using her and leaving her high and dry. Maybe this was about him not being able to handle things and running away.
And maybe you’re projecting because that’s what you do.
From back in the bedroom, her phone began to ring. Ivy didn’t realize she’d expected it to be Harrison with some kind of explanation until she saw Marianne’s name on the display and felt herself deflate.
“Hello?”
“Ivy, thank God. I was getting ready to send out the National Guard. I got your manuscript ”
Cringing, Ivy waited. “Yeah?”
“This isn’t what we discussed with Wally.”
Whatever lingering pleasure she’d had over finishing the book wilted. This was it. Her career was done. “No, it’s not. I couldn’t make it work. I’ve been trying for the last eight months. It just wouldn’t gel.”
“This was so worth the wait. It’s good, Ivy. Rough around the edges, but maybe the best thing you’ve ever done. Adding in that romantic thread is going to expand your readership. Where did that even come from? You’ve never done romance before.”
I’m not doing it now.
“It was just an idea I wanted to play with. I don’t know where it’s going yet for the series, but there’s a series there. If you think Wally will go for it.”
“Go for it. Girl, he’s already having kittens. He wants to get started on revisions as soon as possible.”
You’re not going to get what you don’t ask for.
“Marianne, I need a break. I’ll polish the book, but I need time. I’m burned out—dangerously so—and I have got to have more padding in the schedule. I can’t sustain the pace we’ve had going.”
“I figured you’d hit that point eventually. And that’s fine. I’m pretty sure I can negotiate for more time. But Wally’s going to want something in return.” Her tone had turned speculative.
Ivy braced herself. “What did you have in mind?”
“Gone? What do you mean she’s gone?”
“As in she went home last night.” Porter’s patient voice did nothing to calm the panic kicking against Harrison’s ribs. “How? She doesn’t have a car.”
“Apparently Pru’s husband gave her a ride to Johnson City to pick up a rental.”
“Fuuuuuck.” Harrison pressed his fist to his temple, wishing it would help alleviate the sudden icepick headache that had taken up residence behind his left eye. “And there’s no message? Nothing for me?”
Porter’s pause spoke volumes. “Well, no. She was pretty upset. It took me a little bit to explain to Pru what happened and actually get her contact information.”
Harrison sat up, feeling hope kindle in his chest. “You got her contact info. Thank Christ.”
“Well, sort of.”
“Sort of? What the hell does that mean?”
“Well, all they had was her billing address. Which is a P.O. Box.”
“A P.O. Box. How, exactly, is that helpful?”
“Because she lives in Nashville.”
Nashville. Impossibly, miraculously, the woman of his dreams actually lived in the same town he did. Maybe there was a God.
“Okay. Okay, I can work with that. Thanks, man.”
He had to track Ivy down. Of course she was upset. He hadn’t shown. Hadn’t contacted her. From her perspective, he’d just bailed. There was no telling what brand of asshole she imagined him to be. God, he hoped it hadn’t derailed the book for her.
Ty stumbled into the kitchen. “What’s going on?”
“Where’s your computer?”
“What?”
Harrison slid off the barstool. “I need your computer.”
Ty ducked into the fridge and came up with a bottle of water. “First my phone, now my computer. What do I look like? A Best Buy?”
“Brother, I love you, but if you don’t show me where your computer is right now so that I can start fixing the mess I’m in with the woman I left high and dry to be here, I’m going to be forced to kick your ass. And I’m not the one who smells like sweaty bourbon.”
Ty lowered the bottle slowly. “You’ve got a woman?”
“I had a woman,” Harrison corrected. “Who I was supposed to pick up yesterday afternoon for a romantic week
end and forgot to call because I’ve been more worried about you than what the hell day it is. So now I have to track her down to explain myself so she doesn’t think I’m a world-class dick who disappeared on her because she’s somehow not worth it. Because she’s worth every fucking thing.”
Ty’s mouth had unhinged somewhere in the midst of this speech, and it occurred to Harrison that maybe he’d said too much. But damn it, he was exhausted and desperate.
“I’ll get the laptop.”
Ty came back a minute later and set the computer on the kitchen table. “So…uh, why is it you’re having to look her up by computer and not just calling her?”
“Because I don’t have her number.”
“Why is that?”
As the computer booted up, Harrison told him the short version.
“Shit, you left all that for me?” Ty dropped heavily into a chair. “I’m sorry I fucked things up for you.”
Harrison fixed him with a glare. “First off, you didn’t fuck anything up. I did by not taking care of my own shit before leaving town. Second, don’t you for a moment think I regret being here for you. You matter. Being here to help you when you’re going through hell matters. Got it?”
After a brief hesitation, he nodded and dragged his chair around so he could see the screen. “So how are you going to track her down?”
“She’s an author, so I figured I’d look her up on social media. She’s bound to be on Twitter or Facebook, or maybe her email address is on her website.”
Harrison typed Blake Iverson into the Google search bar.
“Wait, Blake Iverson is a chick?”
“It’s a pseudonym. And yeah.”
“Damn. Didn’t expect that. Love her books.”
Her website was the first thing to pop up. He clicked on it, noting the slick design highlighting Hollow Point Ridge. There was a page listing her books, another linking to her fan forum. He clicked on that, wondering if she’d been active since she got home. The current membership was listed at 96,428.
“Holy shit, that’s a lot of fans,” Ty muttered.
“No kidding.”
There was a ton of activity on the forum, but none of it appeared to be from Ivy herself. A little more clicking took him to a contact page that linked to all her social media profiles. He didn’t actually follow her anywhere, so he wouldn’t be able to send a direct message unless she accepted a friend request. And given what she probably thought of him right now, why would she do that? The contact page didn’t list a specific email address, but it had a contact form. He clicked in the box and then paused.
“What’s the problem?” Ty asked. “Don’t know what to say? I figure ‘I’m sorry’ would be a good start.”
“No, it’s not that. Or not entirely. She’s a big freaking deal. What if she doesn’t handle all her own social media and stuff? She might have an assistant for that, and I don’t want to get filtered out as being a nut job or something. Plus…this is really something that should probably be explained in person.”
“So what are you gonna do?”
A popup appeared on the screen.
First ever public appearance! Meet the reclusive Blake Iverson and get your copy of Hollow Point Ridge autographed by the author. Bonus: Get the special inside track on her brand new series. Parthenon Books, Nashville, Tennessee.
“She’s having a book signing in two weeks,” Harrison murmured. “She never does public appearances.” What had her agent and editor had to hold over her head to get her to agree to that?
“Great, so you know where she’s going to be and when. So you can show up to plead your case in front of a couple hundred strangers.”
It wasn’t ideal, but this was his shot. He was going to put himself out there and risk rejection. It was part of that whole “choosing life” thing they’d talked about. But it wasn’t really about choosing life. It was about choosing her.
He could only hope that she’d decide to choose him back.
Chapter 15
Why the hell did I agree to this?
Nerves danced a jig in Ivy’s belly at the sight of all the people packed into Parthenon Books. A banner hung at the front proclaiming “First Ever Appearance of Blake Iverson, Author of Best-Selling Sloan Maddox Series.”
Her publisher had agreed to the expanded production timeline, but in exchange they’d wanted to do something to wow the public and rev them up. With her new protagonist being a woman, Wally had strongly pressed for Ivy to break her streak of no public appearances and let the world know she was a woman. So she’d agreed to this signing and an extremely limited tour after the book was published.
She was already regretting it.
In the center of the store, rows of folding chairs were set in front of a podium. Every one was filled and the crowd standing at the fringes was three deep. Each person she saw held one of her books in their hands, mostly the latest one, Hollow Point Ridge. The sight made her queasy.
“Can I have your attention please.” At the podium, Peter, the bookstore manager, cleared his throat. As the crowd quieted, he smiled. “Thank you. Today is a momentous day, not only for Parthenon Books, but for publishing in general. We have with us the notoriously reclusive author of the Sloan Maddox series for her first-ever public appearance.”
At the “her” a murmur ran through the crowd. The mutant butterflies in Ivy’s stomach grew five sizes.
“She is a six-time New York Times best-selling author and the winner of numerous awards, and she’s chosen us do a special reveal of her brand-new series, coming out this fall. Please give a warm, Nashville welcome to Blake Iverson.” He led the applause as Ivy stepped from between two aisles of books and took the podium.
She curved her manicured fingers around the edge and looked out over the audience without really seeing them.
I will not faint. I will not faint. Blake Freaking Iverson does not faint.
Ivy sucked in a breath and tried for a smile. “Good afternoon. So, I imagine I am a bit of a surprise. My publisher has been very careful over the past few years to hide the fact that I’m a woman. But with the launch of this upcoming series, which features an absolutely kickass female protagonist, we felt it was a good time to come forward. You can consider yourselves part of the inner circle now.” A faint wave of laughter rippled through the assembly.
“I’m not much one for public speaking, so how about we just get straight to the reading?”
With a deep breath, she smoothed her hands over the printed pages of the first chapter and began to read.
“To my grumpy lumberjack, thanks for both rescues.” She didn’t know why she’d started with the dedication. She didn’t know why she’d dedicated it to Harrison, except that, regardless of how things had ended, she wouldn’t have finished the book without him.
“This is Enemy of Silence.”
Her voice wobbled at first, but gained strength with every word as she lost herself in Annika’s story. By the end, the store was so silent, she could’ve heard a pin drop. Ivy didn’t dare lift her head.
Oh God. Oh God, they hate it. They hate me. They—
The silence was eclipsed by thunderous applause.
The band around her chest loosened and suddenly she could breathe again. Heat flushed her cheeks as she waited for the noise to die down again. The worst was nearly over.
“We’ll do a little Q and A before I move over to the signing table.” She fixed her gaze on a middle-aged man in glasses. “Yes, you in the second row?”
“What made you decide to write a woman as a protagonist for this follow-up series?”
“I didn’t start out with Annika, actually. My editor was pushing hard for Michael, but the book just wasn’t gelling. At least not for him alone. Then someone suggested that he could be made that much more compelling if he was paired with someone who could make him peel back his armor. I realized that was absolutely true. It was Annika’s story I really wanted to tell. She was interesting and compelling, and I wanted to kno
w more about her past and how it was going to inform her present. I wrote the first draft of the book in a week.”
Her gaze shifted to a thirty-something woman standing at the edge. “Yes?”
“So are you saying this particular book has more of a romance thread than your previous work? Are you planning on branching out into romantic suspense?”
Ivy considered the question. She’d loved that aspect of the story, and Wally wanted to play it up in revisions. But going back to that, after the disappointment of things in Eden’s Ridge, was more pain than she was ready to cope with. She couldn’t imagine chasing that on a regular basis. “As an author, I’ve learned never to say never. I don’t presently have aspirations of shifting to romantic suspense, but I do intend to explore the relationship between Annika and Michael over the next several books. Their history is complex and interesting, and watching them overcome it will make for some pretty compelling fiction.”
Someone spoke up from the back, “Who’s the lumberjack in the dedication?”
Ivy froze. It couldn’t be. “I’m sorry, could you repeat the question?”
The crowd shifted and there he was. Harrison Wilkes, in all his big, badass Ranger glory, dressed up in a sport coat and tie. “Who were you referring to in the dedication?”
Her breath clogged as her heart leapt into her throat. Relief and joy that he’d come, that he’d found her, had her knees going weak. Then reality crashed in. He’d walked away without a word. So what the hell was he doing here now?
Realizing her silence had gone on too long, Ivy swallowed. “He’s someone I thought I knew better than I did.”
The rest of the Q and A passed in a blur. Once Peter called the questions to a close, Ivy thought she’d be able to sneak away for just a few minutes to say, “Hey, how are you? And oh hey, you wanna tell me why you ran away from me?” but Peter herded her toward the signing table like a border collie with a recalcitrant sheep. She lost sight of Harrison.
