Chapter 12

By four o’clock they were on their way to Mike Paul’s last call. The snow was beginning to fall again, which made the drive tricky, but with a truck built like a tank, Ivy felt safe. She pulled out her brown paper bag and rifled through the remnants from lunch. There wasn’t much left—a half-eaten granola bar, some sour candy and fruit. She offered Mike Paul an apple.

“Thanks.” He took a big bite out of it but kept his eyes on the road.

She munched on the granola bar. The day had been busy, and despite their situation, she had thoroughly enjoyed herself. Maybe it was because she was the kind of person who needed to do things—keeping busy was good for the mind and soul. And lately she hadn’t done much but sleep, visit, eat…

And do her best to avoid Mike Paul.

Or maybe it was because she was bored. Life on the road with a band was interesting, to say the least, but with the holidays, things were quiet. Too quiet. It made a girl think about stuff she shouldn’t be thinking about.

Ivy snuck a look at Mike Paul. He loved this life he’d carved out for himself, and he was good at it. He had a connection with animals that was uncanny. A single touch could put a nervous cow at ease. A low murmur could quiet an excited colt.

A memory came from out of nowhere, and she was helpless to stop it. March. Fourth grade.

“Get out of my way,” Mike Paul shouted at the gaggle of boys who stood in a circle near the big tree behind the schoolyard.

The spring thaws were heavy, and mud coated their boots. A storm the night before had broken free a nest. Two of the four eggs were already smashed—from either the fall or the sticks the boys were digging at it with.

She watched as Mike Paul pushed through the crowd and glared at Edwin Winters, a boy who was two years older, twenty pounds heavier, and at least a foot taller. He should have been in middle school, but he’d been held back the year before.

“I’ll kick your butt from here to Bozeman if you don’t stop poking at the nest.” Mike Paul glared up at him.

“I’d like you to try.” Edwin laughed and waved his stick while Mike Paul moved in front of the nest, shielding it, his expression fierce. “Get out of my way, Darlington, or this stick will be poking you up the butt.”

“My stick is bigger,” Ivy said, moving forward until she stood beside Mike Paul. She pushed up her glasses and lifted her chin. They were going to get their asses kicked, but no way could she let Mike Paul face him alone.

“You’re just a girl. And you look ugly with those glasses. Stay out of it.”

Mike Paul held his stick forward. “Shut up and say sorry right now.”

Edwin chortled and made a face. “As if, loser.”

“I ain’t a girl.” Cal Bridgestone appeared with Millie Sue and a few other friends.

Edwin eyed them up. He wasn’t stupid. He might be bigger, but he was outnumbered. After a few tense moments, he tossed his stick with a sneer. “You guys are dumb, and you’re a weirdo,” he said to Mike Paul. “They’re going to die anyway.”

Mike Paul said nothing. He scooped up the nest and ran all the way home. A week later, he proudly announced that the eggs had hatched, and he was going to play mama until they could be released into the wild.

It was the first time Ivy had looked at him differently. As more than just a pal. He wasn’t afraid to care. He wasn’t afraid to show it.

“Here we are.” Mike Paul caught her staring, and she quickly lowered her head, so caught up in memory she hoped none of it showed on her face.

“Where’s here?” she asked lightly, looking around.

They were about ten minutes from Big Bend, parked behind a bright red minivan on a small farm. The main house, a modest bungalow, was off to the left, and she spied one barn and two small outbuildings on the right. It looked more like a hobby kind of place and not a working farm with animals for sale.

“It’s the old Bower place, but now it belongs to Bev and Gord Martin.” He slipped from the truck, and she followed suit, brushing snow from the edge of her nose as the wind picked up.

“I don’t recognize the name.” She followed Mike Paul toward the barn.

“They’ve only lived here a couple of years. Came from the city. New York, I think. He’s a former prosecutor, and she is a sous chef.” He opened the barn door. “Now he writes books about serial killers and runs a hobby farm while she has a big social media thing. The Crispy Chef, I think it’s called.”

“The Crispy Chef? I follow her on Instagram and Facebook. I didn’t know she lived in Montana.”

“That surprises me,” Mike Paul said with a chuckle.

“What?”

“That you follow a chef.” He winked, and dang, if it didn’t set off a bunch of butterflies in her stomach. Very inconvenient for a woman with a rock on her finger and a charade to keep up.

“I don’t know what is surprising about that.” She took a stab at normalcy and was pleased with how she sounded.

“You can’t cook. Hell, you can barely boil water.” He wasn’t wrong.

“She’s funny. I don’t watch for the cooking.”

“I figured as much.” He paused. “After you.”

Ivy walked into the barn and spied a young girl sitting on a bale of straw in front of a stall at the far end of the building. A man, her father Ivy was guessing, knelt beside her. Their heads were close together, and they both looked up when she and Mike Paul walked over.

The girl immediately jumped up and ran toward them. Her long blond hair was a mess of waves that fell around her shoulders, and her eyes were as wide as buttons.

“You’re here.” She looked about twelve, with her slim jean-clad legs, knee-high rubber boots, and pink sweater. “I didn’t think you were coming.”

“Of course, I’m here and she’ll be fine.” As soon as Mike Paul spoke her worry disappeared. “Let’s go have a look, okay?”

He seemed to have forgotten about Ivy for the moment, and she followed a few paces behind as Mike Paul and the young girl disappeared into the last stall. The man was now standing, and he offered his hand and a smile as she approached.

“Hello. I’m Gord, Kinley’s dad.”

“Ivy, um, Mike Paul’s helper for the day.” Curious, she nodded toward the stall. “What’s going on in there?”

“Kinley bought a horse at an auction a few months back and,” the man scratched his head. “I’m sure she’s fine, Melba the horse that is, but she’s been acting a bit weird and off her food, so we thought we’d give Mike Paul a call this afternoon, and he was kind enough to drop by.” Gord glanced toward the stall. “I hear he’s the best.”

“He is.” Ivy blushed when the man turned back to her, amused by her comment.

“That’s good to hear. Shall we?”

She followed him the last few steps, and they stood just outside the stall as Mike Paul examined the horse and patiently listened as the young girl listed a litany of things she felt were wrong. The horse was lying down, which Ivy thought was odd considering it was eating time, but other than that, the animal seemed okay from this angle.

After a few moments, the horse got to her feet and began pawing at the ground. She did seem agitated, but then the moment passed and the animal relaxed, ears pricked forward as Mike Paul murmured to it.

He said something to Kinley and then walked over to Ivy and Gord, a smile on his face, which relaxed them both. Ivy didn’t want to end the day watching something bad go down for this young girl’s horse.

“Everything okay?” Gord asked.

“It seems that Melba is about to give birth.”

“Birth?” The man was shocked.

“Daddy,” Kinley said excitedly, jumping up and down. “Melba’s going to be a mama.”

“I don’t…” Gord frowned and looked at the horse. “The folks at the auction never said a thing.”

Mike Paul shrugged. “They might not have known.”

“The vet didn’t say a word, and we had her checked.”

“You bought her out of state?”

The man nodded. “We called a local to come out and see her before we brought her home.”

“He probably just checked for any obvious signs of disease and didn’t do a thorough exam.”

“Well, I’ll be damned. When is the baby coming?”

Mike Paul looked at Ivy, then back to Gord. “Hard to say for sure. But she’s showing all the signs. Her udder is waxy, there’s some milk leaking, and her back end is soft. Her body temp is up, she’s restless, off her feed. I think she’s close. Could be a couple of hours. Could be a couple of days. But most mares like to pick their own time, and they like it quiet.”

“Can you stay and make sure she’s okay? I don’t think she should be alone.” The girl was anxious, her wide brown eyes fixed on Mike Paul like he was her savior. Ivy knew the look well.

“Tell you what. I’ll stay for a bit. As long it’s okay with Ivy. After I take her home, I’ll come back. How’s that sound?”

The girl turned to Ivy. “Can you stay, please?”

Ivy nodded, suddenly as excited as the young girl. “Of course.”

By this time, the Pampered Chef herself, Bev, had come out to the barn, and the five of them spent the next two hours watching Melba pace back and forth, then paw at the ground. It was obvious the mare was uncomfortable, and Kinley was not handling it well. Ivy tried to keep her occupied with stories from the road with Cal and the band, at least the PG versions, and when it was nearing six in the evening, Mike Paul checked over the horse and grinned back at them.

“It’s coming.”

The young girl was so excited she couldn’t speak. She grabbed hold of her mother, and they all moved into the stall for a closer look.

Now, Ivy had seen animals born before. You didn’t grow up in Montana and not witness the live birth of something. There were the piglets at Miss Baker’s farm when she’d been in 4H, and she’d seen a cow drop a baby once out at the Bridgestone place. But she’d never seen a new foal come into the world, and she stood with Kinley and her parents, breath held in anticipation as Melba rolled onto her side.

Mike Paul was positioned closer to the animal. He kept up his horse talking, which seemed to calm the mare, and ten minutes later, two small hooves appeared, followed by a muzzle. The horse was laboring, and tears poked Ivy’s eyes as she watched Mike Paul murmur to the animal. Nothing was immune to him. Not even a horse. With one final push the baby was born, and after a few moments, the mare got to her feet.

Mike Paul stood back with a cautionary glance their way. “We’ll let Mama figure things out on her own. I don’t like to interfere unless necessary.”

“You okay?” he asked, walking toward her.

Ivy nodded, voice husky and filled with emotion. “That was beautiful,” she whispered.

“It never gets old.” He winked at Kinley. “You’ve got a little colt there, and he looks perfect.”

“Can I pet him?” she asked, her voice full of wonder, her eyes wide.

Melba was licking her baby, her mothering instincts already at play.

“We should leave them alone for a couple of hours. I’ll come back to make sure he’s feeding on his own and check on a few other things.”

“Thank you so much.” Kinley threw herself at Mike Paul and he grinned, giving her a big hug.

“Glad I could help out.” He shook Gord’s hand and then led Ivy back out to his truck.

The trip back to her place was silent, each of them lost in their thoughts. It was late; she was cold and tired. But weirdly so damn wired, the thought of being alone had her thinking things she shouldn’t be thinking. Mainly, asking Mike Paul in for a coffee or a beer or a…

“You’re officially off the hook,” he said as he pulled up in her driveway and turned her way.

At her confused look, he grinned.

“Your obligation to spend the day with me is done, Wilkens.”

“Oh,” she slowly nodded. “Right.”

“It wasn’t so bad, was it?” His eyebrow arched wickedly, and his smile would make the dead wake up and rejoice.

“I had a nice time.” She exhaled and glanced out the window at her place, or rather Millie Sue’s bungalow. She’d never bought herself a home. Had a rental in Nashville, but other than that, she hung her hat where she could. It had never bothered her before, and it shouldn’t now.

And yet…

“Me too.” His voice was like hot chocolate with a nip of whiskey.

“That little horse. Watching that was…” God. What the hell was wrong with her? Why was her tongue so damn tied up? Her hands were knotted into a ball. Her left pinky was chipped.

“Worth the two grand you spent?”

She laughed. “Definitely.” When she glanced up, he seemed closer. Bigger. Like there was less air in the cab of his truck. She was hot but cold, and she found it hard to breathe.

“Did you want to, um…I don’t know ah…”

Don’t do it.

Thank him and say goodnight.

You can’t be alone with him because you lose all perspective.

And pride.

And your backbone pretty much melts.

“I have to get back to Melba and the baby. I need to give her an enema and?—”

“Wait, what? She just gave birth.”

“No, not the mama, the foal needs it.”

“Oh.” She paused. “That’s awful. You just go through the trauma of being born, and it’s like, hello world, we’re going to shove an enema up your butt.”

He chuckled. “It sounds invasive, but it will help the little guy.”

“You’ve had a long day.”

“I have.”

She studied him for a few seconds. “You love your job.”

“I do.”

“I can’t picture you doing anything else.”

“Do you? Love your job?”

His question surprised her. It caught her off guard, and she didn’t know how to answer it. She liked her job a lot. Loved the hustle and bustle and problem solving. But there was a lot of downtime, and with nothing else of substance in her life, it got lonely.

“Cal and the boys and my other clients keep things interesting.” She reached for the door and was having a hard time with the handle when Mike Paul leaned over and clicked it open.

Her breath caught as her body filled up with zigs and zags that ricocheted all over the damn place. What the hell? He was too warm. Too male. His mouth was inches from hers .

She gave herself a mental shake. Ordered herself not to stare at his lips. That was a hard one because all she could picture was his mouth trailing kisses down her stomach, his hands on her knees, opening her up to him. God, get a hold of yourself.

With a shudder, she jumped outside, turned, and was about to close the door when he spoke.

“Are you going to the Sundowner on Saturday?”

“For what?” She frowned.

“Friends Christmas?”

“Oh. That’s this weekend.” Millie Sue generally hosted a gathering of friends before the craziness of Christmas made it impossible to see everyone. She closed down her bar, and it was invite only. Ivy had missed so many that she’d forgotten.

“You going?”

“I think so.” She took a step back.

A lazy, slow smile spread over Mike Paul’s face as he put the truck in reverse. “Good. I’ll see you there.”

She closed the door and stood to the side as he backed out of her driveway and drove toward the Martin farm. Knowing him, he’d be on the clock for at least two more hours. Maybe more.

That was dedication.

That was love.

Ivy headed inside. She was cold and tired and hungry and more than a little grumpy. Generally, leftover pizza and a glass of red wine in front of the television was enough to do the trick.

But tonight, she felt like something was missing. And it wasn’t her fiancé. Fake or not. She fingered her cell phone and wondered what time it was in Japan, then realized Kip was probably still in the air. She had no one else to talk to about Mike Paul because she didn’t want to put Millie Sue, and Cal in the middle. She thought of Ollie—he was always down to lend an ear—but decided she didn’t have the energy. Maybe tomorrow.

She grabbed a cold slice from the fridge and sat on the edge of the sofa. She wasn’t used to feeling like this. Out of sorts. Glum . Angry.

But at what? Mike Paul for making today an amazing experience, even though he was the one man on the planet who drove her batshit crazy? Or for allowing herself to enjoy him when she knew it was a bad idea. He was hardwired to be a bachelor. Everyone knew it.

And then there was Val and all that history that got in the way. How could he have been with her after everything she’d done to Ivy?

Maybe he doesn’t know.

With a groan, she slid onto the sofa and searched for the bloodiest, grossest serial killer documentary she could find. Anything to quash the hot and heavy fuzzies bouncing around inside her. But it was no use. All she could think about was how thick Mike Paul’s lashes were. How good he smelled. How his eyes changed color when he smiled.

How close his mouth had been to hers.

And that made her think about the kissing and the touching and how good he’d felt inside her. That one night with him had been the best sex she’d ever had.

It still haunted her. Or rather, taunted because it wasn’t fair.

Wired, horny, and about as unfulfilled as she’d ever been, Ivy sank back and closed her eyes. She let the memory of that night with Mike Paul slip over her like an old friend. She undid her jeans, and as her hands crept between her legs, she finally let go.

She surrendered to the darkness and said to hell with regret.