Chapter 3

Three

A fter feeling slowly returned to her body, Ivy made quick work of washing and left the bathroom in the same clean order she found it in before joining the crowd.

Her sister was in the back corner next to a line of booths squished between her two men, each with a hand resting on the bump that would be her niece or nephew. Several others stood by them, and the one she knew as Drake wore a bright red Santa hat and had his arm around a pretty brunette with a matching hat and a big smile as she looked at her husband.

Wondering if she could catch a glimpse of her moody golden-eyed host, she pushed through the throng of people and spoke to several patrons wishing her congratulations and thanking her for de-thronging the one and only Ethan Savage.

Even her newest festive sweater paired with jeans and mid-calf black boots got a few thumbs up. This one featured two of Santa's busty elves sliding down a candy cane pole with a caption that read: Let me lick your candy cane.

She couldn't wait for her sister to get an eye full of this one. Traditions sometimes didn't suck.

She laughed at her own thoughts.

Several men standing in the middle of the ever-shifting crowd held up their mugs and called out for Damon. She followed their line of sight and zeroed in on the man with damp hair who stood solo behind the bar slinging mug after mug of ale to anyone within reach. Several bottles filled the shelves behind him, rimmed with more garland and lights, as staff collected the drinks and passed them out to the happy patrons. Busboys cleared empty mugs as fast as people could put them down.

"Looks like you could use some help." Ivy eased behind the counter and took quick note of where everything from the mugs, highball glasses, and ice were located and dove right in without a second thought.

Clad in a long-sleeved gray tee with a red plaid button-down shirt that hung free around his hips matched with black snug cargo pants, Damon sent three more mugs down the polished wood before he reached under the counter and tossed her an apron.

"Drinks are on the house tonight in honor of the winners. Lots of people like free."

"Good policy." She slipped the ties of the black leather apron around her waist and got to work. She fell into the old groove of whipping up everything from frilly concoctions to screwdrivers and the favorite with the old and new generations alike...beer.

"Heelloo, my mistletoe angel," crooned an aged voice that belonged to an older gentleman with solid silver hair and warm eyes. "How about a refill but of good stuff, beautiful?"

Okay. So let the fun begin. As an on again off again bartender when money was scarce—which was more often than not with her mounting bills—Ivy was used to getting hit on, talked to, and even bitched out on occasion when she told me to go screw themselves after they got too pushy.

She glanced up. Deep wrinkles creased his cheeks, the skin around his chin soft and slightly slack, but his eyes didn't look a day over thirty. Beneath gray scruff rosy cheeks poked out, due no doubt to the brisk wind kicking up beyond the front windowpanes, and the brightest blue eyes she'd ever seen.

She canted her head to one side. "Sure, thing, amigo . What would that be?"

"Sweetheart, whatever it was Damon gave ya to getcha behind that bar with him, it had to be somethin' special for a special lady."

"I don't think I really gave him a choice. Did I do something wrong?"

"Not if you're still here, you didn't. You're special."

Ivy reached up to fix her sliding ponytail, the ends still slightly damp, before she did something that would give away her growing curiosity.

"Nothing special at all, old-timer." She spied his glass and noticed he favored the same whiskey she'd downed earlier. She looked to Damon, who stood at the other end of the bar talking to a group of ladies. All of them doe-eyed and flirty and fawning over the stud muffin pouring them dainty little drinks with umbrellas. She bet one of them thought she'd get lucky tonight. Who knew? Maybe all three of them would.

"There hasn't been another soul behind that counter for four years."

She brought her attention back to the old man. "That doesn't mean anything. Maybe he's possessive over his bar. Many are. Besides, there's nothing special about slinging beer or me."

"Well, I think you proved to the whole town I'm right. You just wait and see."

She smiled "So what will it be? Another whiskey?"

"Mind your own business, Cougar, and stop bothering the young lady. What would your wife say?" She jumped, startled as Damon joined them and with much disappointment from the crowd at the end of the bar. Sassy brown eyes connected with hers from several stools down, and she knew a challenge when she saw it.

Sorry, ladies. She had no intention of messing someone's game up.

The patron remained where he was, propped up against the brass pole lining the customer's side of the bar, a big toothy grin in place. "That I need glasses and a mirror, but that never stopped me before," he cackled.

As they talked, Ivy pulled down a bottle from the back shelf.

"Here. Your wife ought to like the works of this by the end of the night." She tipped the bottle and poured a double shot of whiskey and watched the old-timer's eyes sparkle. He tossed her a wink and slipped a twenty into her hand before standing.

"No, that's okay. It's on the house tonight."

"It's not for the drink, miss, but thanks for the refill anyway."

"Everybody. Your attention please." Ivy brought her gaze around to the back of the bar. Zahara rose above the crowd and caught everyone's attention with a light tap of a fork against her glass of orange juice.

Oh no. Groaning, Ivy palmed her face.

"Everybody. I have an announcement to make."

Please don't let this be happening.

"My sister is here with us tonight all the way from Texas. I think you all know who she is by now." Zahara pointed her way where she stood beside Damon. All one hundred sets of eyes zeroed in on her.

Ice cold panic forced the last of heat from her and her heart skipped every other beat. Oh God, please don't let this be going where she thought it would go.

"I've been waiting almost four years to shout this from any soapbox I could find. For a while I thought I would have to do it alone, but now we have all of you to join in on the celebration. My baby sister, Ivy Kennedy, will be graduating medical school in another five months, and I predict with summa cum laude honors."

Oh, this just keeps getting better.

Ivy tried to draw some air into her lungs but nothing seemed to work. If her supervisor had anything to say about it, Ivy would never see the inside of a hospital again.

"Help me give her a rousing welcome and some Alaskan woots!"

Damon joined the crowd in clapping and raising their fists in a raucous cheer. Her name raised from everyone's lips and drowned out Elvis on the jukebox.

Please let the floor open up and swallow me whole. Silver dots filled her vision and the crowd became blurry.

A warm arm wrapped around her, and she wanted to push it off and run from the room but couldn't manage even that. All she could do was stand there like an idiot with tears in her eyes. Close to her ear, Damon whispered, "You okay? Whoa there. Take it easy. Breathe. Get some air in your lungs before you pass out."

he took more of her weight into his arms.

"I…uhu…I, yeah." She clasped a hand to her forehead and slammed her eyes shut as many of the patrons clapped her on the back in congratulations. Many thought she probably was embarrassed and they were right, but not for the reason they thought.

Fingers shaking and her knees weaker than noodles, she forced a smile to her lips but it felt so fake when everyone looked at her with such genuine happiness for her.

"Thanks, guys," she managed in a shaky voice.

Still on her makeshift soapbox, Zahara caught her eye and Ivy looked up at her, unable to feel angry or mad at her sister but furious at herself. "We're proud of you, little sis. I'm proud of you."

And there went the last piece of resolve she had. Steamy puddles of tears slipped past her defenses and she felt the drops hit her sleeves. Damon silently passed her a hanky. First, she stripped in front of the whole town and now this. Could this day really get any worse? She patted at her tears as she gathered herself. Green lettering on his hanky caught her eye, and she smoothed over the cotton edges as she read the Savage name embroidered in a pretty script. Alaskan men were such a different breed.

The ones she knew were egotistical assholes anxious to play God. She'd almost fallen into that and someone died for her thinking she could save them. That she could somehow play God for them. How stupid. The weight of how disappointed Zahara would be settled on her chest. Ivy raised her chin and flashed her sister a grateful smile. "Enough of the sappy stuff, who wants drinks?" Clutching the neck of a whiskey bottle in her right and Vodka in her left, she poured shots as fast as glasses scooted down the polished wood.

Nothing would get the attention off her quicker than tossing booze around.

Damon turned with his back to the crowd and dipped lower for only her to hear. "I don't know what is going on, but I know something is bothering you. If you need to talk..." He trailed off with a tilt of his head.

With half her attention on the patrons, she almost missed the sincere look in his eye. As if he wanted her to trust him. Lured deeper, she spent a second too long looking into the depths of his eyes. That second almost cost her. She opened her mouth to tell him but quickly shut it. People earned trust. Trust didn't come freely or fast. She smiled up at him. "Thanks," she offered and shrugged him off, "but I'm fine. Just caught me off guard is all."

She put the twenty from the generous old man in the tip jar at the corner of the bar where Damon now busied himself again.

Anxious to get the topic off herself for good, she returned to what the old man at the counter had said. "Hey, what did the old man mean by it's been four years since anyone else stood behind this bar anyway?"

Damon tipped his chin to acknowledge her question. But his frown was a red flashing light when he didn't answer. True Ivy style, she bulldozed past the yield sign that warned of an avalanche and the ground was made of glass.

They'd worked most of the night passing booze and sliced lemons but not much talk. Granted, neither had too much of that to spare with drink orders coming in like fast food orders.

Pain, clear as the night sky beyond the front windows, rolled over his expression and stayed there if one knew what to look for. His hands slowed as he mixed a whiskey sour, the ribbons of amber liquid a mirror to the razor-sharp shards of color in his irises.

Her heart filled with the sorrow she recognized in his gaze instantly. Damn. What was wrong with her? She sighed wearily and planted her hands on the bar. "Look. Sorry. I get it. It's none of my business," she retracted fast in a low voice so no one else could hear.

He flicked her apology away, shaking his head. "Pay no attention to Theron Cougar. He's just nosy with nothing better to do but whittle away his day out at his farm or get drunk."

She opened her mouth to respond, but before she could speak, she was interrupted by the scraping of the stool on hardwood.

"Good race today," a voice boomed as the dark-haired man who owned it approached through the throng of people hugging the bar. He smelled of pine, which she now associated with Savage Ridge, strong cigars, and good whiskey. Broad shoulders encased in soft denim shouldered between two guys, and Ivy smiled when she caught a glimpse of old worn jeans outlining a well-kept body of an older man.

Ivy raised her gaze from the frothy foam of the beer at the end of her tap and slipped a practiced, patient smile in place.

He burst into raucous laughter and greeted several handshakes with a smile that brought out the delicate lines around his eyes. Savage senior, she reasoned. The father of the Savage crew.

He clasped hands with Damon. Light poured over him and caught in the sexy brush of silver through his sideburns and coarse beard as he claimed the now empty stool with an easy grace.

He grabbed a handful of nuts from the fresh stash she'd just supplied and threw back a couple.

"Thank you, Mr. Savage," she offered, half of her attention moving to the people.

Smoke from cigars and the occasional cigarette trapped the soft light of the bar blocking a clear view into the darker corners.

She closed the tap after filling three more mugs, the feel of eyes on her coming from somewhere in the deepest corner as if someone watched from the shadows. Tables of people laughing and enjoying the shared time with friends filled every inch to the back wall but still she couldn't find the source of the unease.

"Pop. What can I get ya?"

She turned a half ear on what the men were saying while cleaning a few mugs for the rack.

"Same old, your momma wants to head home soon and set up a room for you." He motioned his glass toward Ivy, and she turned her full attention on him.

"Me? Nah, don't worry about me, Mr. Savage. There's no need for the extra work." She didn't do sleepovers and family feely times. Period. The hotel she saw down the road would do just fine for the three days she would be in town.

Intense eyes swiveled her way. "I'll just grab a room at the hotel. I'm only staying a few days anyway."

"Nonsense." Big beefy hands clasped hers over the bar, and Ivy nearly choked on her own shock. "You're family, girlie. Can't leave you in some dingy hotel room."

He patted her hands a couple of times as if his word was law. They probably were. For family. She wasn't family.

What the hell did she say to him? She busied herself with the newly filled mug Damon poured and replaced her trapped hand with the frothy goodness instead. Savage senior was a king in this part of the world. As a direct descendant of the people who established this town way back before even her great-grandparents were conceived people looked to him for leadership. So essentially she'd just been offered—and refused—a room in the king's home. King might be a strong word, but still it all felt very surreal. Though she was probably the only one that viewed it that way.

Two days ago she was filling out legal paperwork on the death of a patient under her care. She took a long breath and one more to calm her nerves and steady her pouring hand. Today she was slinging beers in freaking Alaska of all places and speaking with a king. Couldn't contrast her life anymore if she tried. That had to count for something on her bucket list.

Damon inhaled deeply beside her, and she cast a glance at him from beneath a few strands of hair that slipped from their hold to brush the side of her face. If his father was king, that made Damon a prince?

A prince for Christmas. Her glasses slid a bit, and she took her time pushing them back into place. She needed to find her contacts because the damn things drove her crazy.

"You look like something is on your mind. Everything okay?" Damon placed a light touch on her lower back, his lips close to her ear and the roughness of his voice the last temptation she needed.

Unable to resist, Ivy reached out and pressed a finger in the slight dip in his chin. Was it bad she wanted to melt into the tender touch and find out what his high-on-sex voice sounded like?

"Yep." She dodged his questioning look by moving away to clean a spotless area of the counter. Breathe, girl, breathe. In and out .

Music carried over the clink of glasses, and the lively two-stepping music from earlier died down to a romantic jingle of "I'll Be Home for Christmas" and everyone with a loved one grabbed their partner for a slow groping session in the middle of the dance floor.

Slowly she wrestled control over her breathing and tuned into what the guys were talking about.

"Either Damon can bring you out or you can catch a ride with your sister when you're ready, but you have a home as long as you are in town."

Before arriving in Savage Ridge, the only family she had was her sister. Now everyone she ran into offered a place in their home. Her senses recognized the tickle of nervousness that wanted to swell to the size of a bloated toad in the middle of her throat. "Thank you, Mr. Savage."

He nodded and watched over the crowd, like a shepherd caring for his flock.

For the next several hours Ivy and Damon worked side by side until the last of the customers slipped out the door and headed home, leaving only her sister in the back wiping off tables and collecting trash in a bag. Ivy tsk ed. That woman would work up until the time the baby was ready to pop out.

Damon flicked the open sign off but didn't bother with the lock.

"In Houston, you leave the front door open like that and you're basically inviting someone to rob you." She rose on her tiptoes and slid various colored bottles into their slots on the back shelf. At least she hoped she was putting things where they belonged. In all the bars she had worked in, the owners always organized by strengths of the alcohol.

"Good thing we're not in Houston." Damon leaned on the bar for a brief second with both of his palms splayed out and his eyes bright with a tease. "Everyone is welcomed here, no matter the time."

Really? She glanced across the bar top at him. "But aren't you worried about rowdy teenagers out for a good time?" Beyond the double windows lining the front of the bar, the only thing that moved was angry amounts of snow flurries. Everyone had cleared out. Even the stores nestled close on either side of the bar and across the deserted main street stood dark except for the occasional lit Christmas displays.

Okay. So he had a point.

"Besides," he tapped the side of his nose. "Come morning I would sniff out the troublemakers and they know it."

Hmm. Good to know. "Once a cop always a cop, huh?"

He nodded in agreement.

"The inner-city crime rate is so high we can't leave the windows open on the fire escapes anymore."

"Sounds like you could use a relocation to a safer place."

He started turning chairs over for the cleaning crew and picking up random bottles, plastic plates, and trash from the merrymaking.

"How long were you a cop?"

"Fifteen years."

She wrestled back a yawn as a couple of faint chimes rang out to signal the early or late hour depending on perspective. Since her day had started out with a red-eye from Houston, it was one hell of a long day either way.

Damon came up beside her and leaned against the bar, his sleeves rolled to reveal thick forearms and the hint of a tattoo peeking out from the cuff on his right arm. Another from the V collar of his shirt.

"You did good tonight. I would have drowned without your help and the mob would have left me on the floor while sloshing back the booze."

She looked him up and down. "I doubt that, but glad I could help."

Her body grew warm standing this close, and her lips pulsed with a dull echo from the feel of his pressed against them. She busied herself with rinsing the last of the shot glass and then set to work on storing the blender.

"Don't let these small-town folks fool you. They're wily and will crush you in a heartbeat on cold winter nights like these."

No doubt. "Cowboys down in Texas can get rowdy but your boys can hold their own." Her gaze drifted off over the bar. Cowboys sat firmly on the list of topics she rather not talk about though.

"That surprise you about us mountain men?" Damon teased.

Her nose wrinkled up at her own mention of cowboys and caused her glasses to slip.

"Ivy." Strands of hair slipped from her ponytail after the long night and they brushed against her cheeks, hiding her eyes from his view. He moved the tips of his fingers along the fringes of those loose tendrils. Such tenderness came unexpected and made her take a gulp of air.

He pressed a finger under her chin until she could look into his eyes. "Did I say something wrong?"

She shook her head. "Not at all. Just have a bad taste in my mouth from a past boyfriend. Cowboy and doctor. The ego on him was suffocating."

"Hmm," Damon answered not really saying anything.

What was it about him that drew her into his orbit? She was genuinely puzzled and couldn't understand why. The second their gazes locked her guard slipped a fraction.

"But in answer to your question, nah. Rowdy and Texas go hand in hand, too, like tequila, sandy beaches, and bad decisions," she offered, and the grimace that crossed his face said he appreciated the analogy.

He moved away storing more bottles and the glassware she washed and dried. From the corner of her eye she appreciated all those sculpted muscles, the way he handled himself with relaxed confidence. Those strong hands never faltering as they wrapped around bottlenecks and fragile glass.

Strong yet gentle.

Would he be the same with her?

How could she want him so quickly after meeting him? Sure her sister talked about him nonstop so she felt like she knew him, but still. Was wanting her sister's brother-in-law smart?

Pine filled her nostrils, and in her fantasy, Damon faded to a version of himself naked, lowering his hard body over hers on the top of the bar. In her mind the heat of his body warmed hers, the feel of his thighs pressing her apart and his shaft long and thick against her wet core drove her mad with lust.

She sighed heavily.

Horny. That's all this was. She just needed to let loose a little and relax.

She turned on the ball of her foot and aimed for the back shelf to put the last of the glasses away when she lost her balance.

Everything hit fast-forward. Hands flew out and she pitched forward. Arms wrapped around her as she faceplanted into hard muscle.

"You okay?" His expression turned puzzled and a bit humored when she peered up into his face.

Hell no. She'd just face-planted and her nose was plastered between two mountains for pecs. "Sorry. This really isn't me. I'm not usually so easily distracted. I can't seem to focus and why the hell do I keep seeing images of you and me having, you know, sex?" She dipped her voice low and made sure no one else could hear. Not that anyone was in the joint, but still. Her sister had disappeared in the back and left her alone with him .

"Direct. Your sister did say you were a little on point."

"Character flaw I guess," she countered. "What the hell is going on with me, Damon?"

He gave a soft shrug of his big shoulders. "Stress, whiskey, and hormones? But I'm no doctor. I do know you've been working way too much. Your sister likes to talk. A lot."

She bet she did.

"You've done this before." He signaled the change of topic sensing the unease in her she assumed as he pointed to the empty glasses and beer bottles.

Her mouth twitched. "Bartending? Yeah. That obvious? College isn't free. Over half of med school students have tended bar or waitressed." It took everything she had not to lean in the foot of space separating them and inhale a lungful of his scent. She was off in the head. Had to be. She hated the way he affected her. Purely masculine and so damn handsome it hurt to be near him and not reach out to caress the line of his jaw. Brush her hand with his.

Ivy shook her head as the blissful fantasies played in her mind. The second she closed her eyes and inhaled, the buzzing in her ears disappeared.

Damn man. What was she—an animal in heat? She couldn't help herself, though. He drank in the sight of her from her black boots, tight jeans and the way her sweater hugged her breasts.

"When I'm off rotation I pick up odd hours at some local bars. The tips alone can amount to a nice sum."

"No doubt. Double when you flash any guy that smile."

"Triple when I fall for smooth pickup lines with grace and a cute giggle."

He pushed up to his full height, easily a head and a half taller than herself, and everything that made her want to forget her no one-night stand rules filled her senses. He was a walking sex ad.

"That I believe, Ms. Kennedy. It's a powerful smile."

She should be finding a way to get her sister alone and tell her the truth about dropping out, but she couldn't muster the mental strength it would take after her long day.

"You ready to go?" Zahara hadn't disappeared, after all. She made her way toward them, her eyes red and puffy with sleep. "Holden and Riley went to pull the truck around. We're going to head back to the house. Mrs. Savage has a room all set up for you. We can drop you off and then I can swing by in the morning if you'd like to go to the doctors with me." Since Zahara's cabin met its match with an arsonist several months back, the apartment her sister shared with her two husbands wouldn't fit a guest.

"Actually, I have an idea." Damon's expression went serious as he shifted Ivy's way to lean a hip on the bar. She echoed his movement as if drawn to his raw masculine allure.

"Stay with me." His pupils dilated and the crease of his jaw ticked. Everything about him was a complete contradiction to what came out of his mouth.

Like he wanted her there, but at the same time didn't trust himself being alone with her.

Stay with him? Should she? Hell no. Unease tightened her shoulders. Them under one roof, possibly in the same room as him? That would be like dangling honey in front of a starving bear. And everyone knew what happened to the honey.

Licked, eaten and wholly consumed.

When she didn't say anything he continued. "I have the empty apartment your sister ditched when she hooked up with my brother and Riley. You can stay there and in exchange, you can help me out here in your spare time."

He pushed off the bar, grabbed a set of keys and placed them in her hand gently. "It's yours. Come and go as you please. Door's around the corner outside."

She wrapped her fingers around the cold metal. "I'll only be in town through Christmas day. Are you sure?"

"As I can be." He placed both palms down on the bar, causing the muscles in his arms to bulge against the confines of his shirt. "I can't handle this crowd all by myself. And tonight was only the first of many holiday parties."

Him not handle a crowd? He could probably wrangle an entire bar full of half drunk people with one hand tied behind his back. But she took the white flag he offered and ran with it.

Ivy slid her eyes over to her sister, who stood there with a silly grin on her face and way too much cheer for two in the morning. "Works for me, too."

"Oookay then," she agreed, hesitantly. "Thank you." No one had ever offered her anything for free and she wouldn't start now. "Afternoon or evening work okay?"

"Yep. Whenever works for me." His lips parted in a wide grin like he'd won the lottery. Damn him. He made it hard to look away.

"Ready?" Holden came to the door, and after kissing her cheek goodbye, Zahara joined him. "Damon has the number for the house and you have my cell. I'll be by tomorrow to pick you up."

She bit her inner lip and nodded. Tomorrow it was then. She'd tell her sister the news and play it by ear afterward. Damon may not get his helping hand for the holidays, after all.

"Yes, now go. Rest before your husbands blame me for keeping you up past your bedtime."

"Oh, they do that enough on their own."

Ivy chuckled. "Too much information, woman, now go. Sleep. I'll see you tomorrow."

With her sister gone she turned to Damon, who hadn't moved from his spot at the bar.

His mesmerizing eyes examined her as she'd done to him earlier that day while he sported a loincloth. He unhooked his arms and made his way around the bar.

"Let me show you to your new home." He led her to the door and killed the lights on the way out. "Tomorrow is going to be a very long day."

Calm darkness fell over their spot on the sidewalk. Slowly her eyes adjusted as the soft glow from the street lights rushed in to fill the shadows.

To the right of the bar entrance was a metal door, and she moved to the side to allow Damon access. Instead, he turned her by the shoulders and pointed to the sky.

Ribbons of emerald and sapphire with slashes of red and yellow cut through the night sky. At some point the snowfall had stopped and the clouds had cleared. Diamonds scattered across the midnight blue richer than crushed velvet. She mentally gave a check beside a bucket list wish.

"The Northern Lights are our reward for braving the harsh weather this far north dumps on us."

"I couldn't agree more."

"It's like magic," he said softly and it hit her. He was the worst idea she ever thought about tackling head-on without a care for the consequences. God, she sounded like a moron even in her own head. Three days gave her plenty of time to fuck up like she did every other thing in her life. Throw a package of temptation like him at her and how could anyone expect her not to rip open the pretty paper to find out what was underneath?

She cleared her throat. "Magic doesn't exist."

She knew it as a fact.