Chapter Five Ivy

CHAPTER FIVE

Ivy

I think Wade Ashby has dimples when he smiles. Today is the first day I've ever seen the hint of them because it's the first day I've ever seen him kinda, sorta grin. And Lord have mercy, it's a sight. He's always striking-looking, but when anything other than a scowl takes over that man's face?

He's on a whole other level.

I want to see more of it. I'd like to dive in and make a home in that smile. The promise of that smile makes me think there was a time in his life where he might have given the best hugs. Like maybe once upon a time he was someone else.

I'm sure that smile is the very line between his Jekyll and Hyde.

What I don't get is why he doesn't use it more often. I get that everything on this ranch has rested on his shoulders since his dad's death, but aside from that and his recent divorce, I can't imagine what could have happened to make him this morose all the time.

At the end of the work day, I head to Spicer's Sweets on Laurel Creek's main drag to grab a lemon pie as a gift for my spirit animal Mama Jo. I would do anything this woman asked me to; she is easily the coolest person I've ever met. Kind, tough-loving with all her kids, understanding, wise, and funny as all get-out.

She's the mama I used to know but there's just something more about her. She's the perfect cross between don't even think about messing with me and come on in while I bake you some cookies.

I smile to myself as I hop back into my truck to drive back to the ranch. It feels nice to have actual plans tonight, to be included. Leaving a relationship and the life you know, even if it isn't one you're happy in, can be lonely. I can feel myself slowly weaving into the threads of Silver Pines and I'm here for it. I should probably keep reminding myself it's only temporary but I'm more of a let the universe guide you type of woman, and this place is a joy I want to be in the moment with right now.

My cabin is quiet when I enter rather clumsily, juggling everything. I drop my purse onto the bench in the entryway and flick the light on with my elbow, only it doesn't come on. I run the standard drill of turning it on and off quickly two or three times to convince myself it really doesn't work, and then move through the small hallway to my kitchen at the back of the house. The time is dark on the stove, and when I open the fridge, it's clearly not running.

Shit.

What do I do in this house if the power goes out? I set my pie down on the old butcher block counter and tap my nails on it for a moment, looking out the front window toward the barns. The light is on over the doors there, and so is Wade's living room light across the path. So it's obviously just me. I fiddle with a few of the circuit breakers in the mechanical room but nothing happens.

I chew my bottom lip for all of ten seconds before I text Wade to see if he can help. I wait for him to answer but he doesn't. Five minutes later, my impatience takes over, and I toss my boots on and push through the front door, making the quick walk down the gravel road to Wade's cabin. I still have to shower and I refuse to be late for my first Ashby dinner.

It's a nice night for Kentucky in October, no breeze but a slight chill in the air. I shiver on the porch as I wait for Wade to answer my knock. His lights are on and his truck is here, back from the Horse and Barrel. I cross my arms over my chest to cover my nipples, which could cut glass right now in my t-shirt. I knock again. A little too hard maybe, because the old wooden door creaks open just slightly.

"Wade?" I call. "Sorry to bother you but I think something is up with my power."

I poke my head in and look around his clean and orderly cabin that is one hundred percent his personality. Tyler Childers plays through a set of vintage speakers on vinyl, and a half-empty glass of honey-colored whiskey sits on the counter. The cabin is warm and homey, there are throw blankets on the worn, chunky brown leather sofa and chair. That surprises me a little. I didn't picture Wade as the throw blanket type.

"Wade?" I call again, coming fully into the cabin. "Knock knock." I shouldn't be in here, but the door was open, so he has to be here somewhere—

Every thought in my mind floats into the air like bubbles rising in a glass of freshly poured prosecco when Wade walks into the living room, wrapped in nothing but a towel that hangs low on his narrow hips. His wavy hair is wet and disheveled, a few strands touching his forehead. He's freshly shaved and his wide jaw flexes as he crosses the room, droplets of water clinging to the broad, powerful shoulders that anchor his smooth, muscular arms and chest. It's a chest that doesn't disappoint, like it's chiseled from sun-kissed marble; a light dusting of hair trails down to a serious six-pack—hell, maybe even eight—and it leads my eyes like a lit runway to the deep V that disappears into his towel.

Even his calves are mammoth and strong as he turns to flip the record. His entire back and part of his left shoulder is covered in colorless tattoos, a symphony of black and various shades of gray. I take inventory quickly of what I can make out. What look like tree branches stretch over the planes of his skin, some sort of tribal designs weaving through them, and his spine is etched in one single column of armored writing: "All things share the same breath, the beast, the trees, the man."

Holy shitballs. Ranching makes that kind of body? I should really speak. Say something, anything. But I don't. Instead, my eyes feast on my boss's sneaky-hot body for a full twenty seconds before he even notices I'm in the room.

"Jesus Christ, Ivy." He startles as he sees me, a moment frozen in time as we just stare at each other, but Wade gathers himself together almost instantly.

He moves toward me. Although you'd think he would be, he doesn't appear to be self-conscious in the slightest. I guess, why would he be with that body? That body makes me wish bath towels were the new official uniform of Silver Pines cowboys.

I swallow and pray my voice doesn't betray me as Wade pushes a hand through his wet hair, picking up and draining the glass of whiskey off the counter only an arm's length away from me, his eyes never leaving mine.

When he swallows his jaw flexes before he speaks. "There a reason you just barged into my house?"

My mouth pops open. Speak, Ivy.

"My power … cold … I have none," I fumble. "Pie."

Pie? Shoot me now.

I clear my throat as he looks at me like I have a second head.

"Have you already been to the big house? Mama Jo got you drinking?"

I shake my head. "Sorry, I was just … cold. I have no power, I texted to see if you could help, I got a pie."

Pretty sure I just gave him finger guns. I want to die now .

I avert my eyes from him.

"S-sorry to intrude." I'm a blubbering mess staring at this man from his foyer.

Wade's brow furrows. "Don't worry about it. It's my fault for leaving the door unlocked," he says with absolutely zero emotion.

Ouch.

"Give me five minutes and I'll be over." He sets his whiskey glass in the sink and nods to the back of the cabin.

I smile awkwardly and turn to leave, but my forehead stops me as it smacks into the still-open front door.

"Fucking shit," I curse, holding a hand to my throbbing brow bone. Maybe the floor could just open and swallow me whole? Even the fiery pits of hell would be better than the embarrassment of ogling my boss so hard that I just walked into a goddamn door. I've always been a bit of a klutz but this is just next-level.

Wade is beside me faster than I can fathom, gripping me as I hold my own head and force the dots from my vision.

" Shit is right, let me see," he says. The heat from his warm body and the fresh clean scent of leather, spice, and something else? Citrus? Rose? I cling to it as he inspects my head. A strong finger tilts my chin up and he looks into my eyes. My lady bits come alive with his touch and this proximity. "Just checking to see that you're not concussed," he says, looking at my injury.

His emerald eyes meet mine, making me feel sort of all tingly and jelly-like. I watch as they drift to my mouth. His throat bobs as he swallows.

Concussed? No.

Turned on? Check.

My jaw falls slack as his warm, large fingers press gently across my forehead until I wince when he hits the spot I smacked. "You might end up with a good bruise there but I think you're okay."

"Wouldn't be my first," I say nervously. What the hell is wrong with me?

His dark eyes assess me. "I don't really think you should go back to your place alone on account of you might take yourself out somehow on the way back, so just … sit," he says, gesturing to the living room.

I stand there for a beat too long and don't respond, because the muscles in his arms when he points across the room are just …

Wade's gaze finds mine.

"Ivy, sit," he commands.

I blink, then move to the spot on the couch he's pointing to. Yes, sir. Who am I to argue with bossy Wade Ashby?

He disappears for less than five minutes and returns in well-worn jeans, a long-sleeved black Henley that clings to every tempting inch of the body I forever can't unsee, and a black Tennessee Titans baseball hat he curves the brim on with both hands as he walks. He looks totally together and relaxed. The polar opposite of me.

He bends down when he makes his way over to me, smelling even better now with some sort of aftershave. Wade has the kind of scent you just want to lean into and inhale deep.

"Still alright? Don't feel nauseous or anything?" he asks, lightly skimming his fingers across my forehead again. "You don't have a goose egg, that's a good sign."

His eyes hold mine in place. The deep green gives way to little flecks of brown that are only noticeable when he's this close to me.

He blinks and it breaks my trance.

"Sorry about all this." I smile sheepishly as he stands and nods toward the door, his jaw tense again.

"I'll grab my tool bag from my truck on the way out. Let's go."

I do as he says, this time making sure to actually pull the door open before I decide to walk through it.