Chapter 4

By Thursday evening Ivy was bored. Kip had left the day before for New York. He had meetings with his agent Tucker Simon and his business manager Fiona Major—none of which had anything to do with Ivy. And though he’d done his best to convince her to come along, she’d held firm. She wasn’t the girl who enjoyed shopping and she sure as hell wasn’t the girl who liked to dodge paparazzi—since their engagement had broken they’d become a target. She’d rather flip them her middle finger and be done with it.

Besides, Kip would be back sometime over the weekend, which left the question, what to do tonight? Millie Sue and Cal were home with a fussy baby, and since she’d never taken the time to catch up with old friends since she’d been back in Montana, Ivy was on her own. Not that she’d ever had a ton of close girlfriends. Back then it had always been Cal, Millie Sue, Mike Paul and Ivy.

Restless, she got to her feet and stared out the window at the gathering dusk. It was barely five in the evening and already the night sky was looking to take over. It was clear out there, and no doubt soon there’d be twinkling stars blanketing this slice of heaven. And standing here, right now, made that big old hole inside her feel bigger. She hadn’t realized how much she missed Montana. Missed the mountains. Riding horseback. Big Bend. The incredible wildlife. God, a part of her even missed her mother.

A lump formed in her throat, and hot tears pricked the corners of her eyes. She missed the way things used to be before she’d gone ahead and done the dumbest thing ever. Giving in to her feelings and spending the night with Mike Paul had pretty much ruined everything.

“Nothing I can do about it now,” she muttered.

Ivy sighed and glanced around the modest bungalow. It was Millie Sue’s place, and she’d gladly let Ivy and Kip stay while they were in Big Bend. Thank God, because Lord knows Ivy’s only other option was her mom’s place and the two of them locked horns more than they loved. It was a hard relationship, and one she’d never been able to fully understand.

She wandered back to the kitchen island and scooped up her cell. One glance told her there were no work emails that needed her attention. None of her clients were touring at the moment—this time of year was slow in the entertainment industry. And with Cal firmly rooted in Montana until his next gig, there wasn’t much to do in that regard. The tour was planned with venues booked, tickets sold, and the band wouldn’t start rehearsals for at least a few more months.

For the first time ever, they’d be rehearsing in Montana, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Ivy didn’t miss Nashville, but it sure was a distraction.

When her cell rang suddenly, she damn near dropped the thing and answered without a glance, assuming it was Kip or maybe Millie Sue.

“Hey.”

Mike Paul’s voice was low, intimate, like he was standing beside her whispering in her ear. Ivy’s mouth went dry, and she snuck a look over her shoulder, just in case, then gave herself a mental shake because she was being ridiculous.

“What do you want?” She found herself asking, knowing she should have ended the call as soon as she heard Mike Paul on the other end.

“Someone didn’t get their Lucky Charms this morning.” His reply was light, and she frowned, walking back to the window. It was nearly dark, and the stars were beginning to twinkle overhead.

“I haven’t had Lucky Charm’s in years,” she said slowly.

“Let me guess. You’re a protein shake kind of girl now.”

“No.” She studied her reflection in the window and undid the knot that held her hair on top of her head. “I’m into yogurt these days.”

“Greek?”

She took a moment, not in the mood to play games. “What do you want?” she asked again.

“A favor.”

“You’re joking.”

“No.” She heard some background noise and frowned. “Where are you?”

“The Bowl.”

“No.” Her reply was automatic. Jesus, was he on drugs?

“It’s the first Thursday of the month.”

“No.”

“We need you.”

Ivy shed the large cardigan she’d been wearing all afternoon and walked in circles. “I don’t bowl with people I don’t like.”

“You like everyone on our team. And I’m pretty sure you like me too. You’ve just buried it under a bunch of stuff you’ll have to unpack one day. But that’s not why I’m asking you to come out.”

“Really.” Her reply was sarcastic.

“It’s Super Bowl all over again.”

Her head shot up at that. Huh.

“We need you.” There were some more muffled sounds. “Look, I know things aren’t the best between us, and I wouldn’t ask unless?—”

“Are we talking the Rovers?”

“We are.”

“Is Bryce Caulfield still on the team?”

“He’s stuffing his face with a slice right now.”

She moved toward the bedroom. “Who do we have?” Shit, was she really going to do this? Ivy yanked off her sweats and rooted through the closet for a clean pair of jeans.

“Me, Benton, and Angel.”

“Simms?”

“That’s the one.”

“She’s good from what I remember. Always had great aim.”

“So, you’re in?”

Ivy stopped cold for a moment and caught sight of herself in the mirror. Her long hair was all over the place, and the color of her cheeks was high. Her heart was beating faster than it should be, but whatever. She should stay here, away from Mike Paul and all that history. And yet…

“I’m in. But if you do anything inappropriate, I will not be held responsible for my actions.”

“I promise I’ll be a perfect gentleman.”

“You and I both know you’re about as far away from being a gentleman as I am from the damn moon.” She pulled on a simple black T-shirt and ran her fingers through her tangled hair. “I mean it, Mike Paul. Swear you’ll behave.”

“I swear it.”

She ended the call and tossed her cell onto the bed. She didn’t believe him, of course. And if she were being totally honest with herself, she’d admit that a part of her wanted him to misbehave because then she could react. Maybe even cause a scene that would make the previous Saturday look tame.

Maybe then she’d feel alive again.

She was crazy. Had to be. “Don’t overthink,” she muttered.

Ivy needed to brush her teeth and do something about her hair. Maybe throw on some gloss and mascara. As she pressed the tube of paste onto her toothbrush, she spied a small blue container on the top shelf, then looked at herself in the mirror. She’d been wearing contacts for years, but for some reason they didn’t fit with what was going down tonight.

Tonight was old school.

She spit out her paste, applied some makeup, and left her hair to fall in natural waves. With her large frame glasses perched on the end of her nose, she grabbed her coat, cell, and keys, then locked up.

Half an hour later, Ivy pulled into The Bowl’s parking lot. It was hopping. Around these parts, sports and teams and rodeos and Sunday church made the world go round. Ivy had never been much of a church-going girl, but starting in November, the first Thursday of every month was set aside to bowl. She parked the truck and jogged to the entrance, shoulders hunched against the cold.

Once inside, she was hit with a wave of heat, the smell of beer and grease, and the sight of so many familiar faces it was like she’d been transported back in time.

There was Big Dave, the owner. He’d been a transplant, a city slicker who’d come to Big Bend back in the 80s, fell in love with a local Dee Price, and the two of them had taken over her daddy’s business—The Bowl. They’d added a slick bar and an arcade room in the back and had kept the lanes in pristine working order.

“Ivy!”

Before she could react, Ivy was enveloped in a bear hug.

“It’s sure good to see you back.” Big Dave winked and set her back onto her feet. “I heard you up and got yourself engaged to a Yankee. A literal Yankee.” His hair was long gone, his face about as soft as his midsection, and though he’d always been tall, his girth was trying real hard to catch up.

“I did,” she replied with a big smile. “You look great.”

“That’s mighty kind of you.” He ran a hand over his shiny scalp and chuckled. “I’ve lost some things.” Then, he patted his belly. “And gained a few others.”

“It’s a good look for you.”

“You haven’t changed a bit,” he replied with a wink. “You playing with Mike Paul?”

She nodded.

“Okay.” His reply was slow in coming. “I’m counting on you guys to behave this time.”

“We’re all grown up now, Dave. What kind of trouble could we get into?” She patted his arm.

“The adult kind,” he replied dryly. “The team is on the far lane. Do you need shoes?”

“I do. Embarrassing, I know, but the shoes and my ball are long gone. I’m only here because they needed a fourth.”

“No problem, darlin’. Come with me.”

Dave had her set up in no time, and she grabbed a beer on her way over to the last lane. She spied Mike Paul before he knew she was there and paused, watching him for a few moments while she dug deep for the nerve she needed to spend the evening in his company.

Why in hell did he always look so good? She knew from experience it wasn’t something he worked at. The man rolled out of bed, looking like a teenage dream without trying.

He was standing next to a blonde, a very pretty lady, who looked up at him while he explained something. Ivy couldn’t see the woman’s face, but she must have said something funny because Mike Paul threw his head back and laughed, his face wide open and easy and so damn handsome it was almost hard to watch.

Almost. She needed to focus. Needed to put him back in that special little box and lock it up. Maybe she could pretend he was someone else. Some man with a big gut, bad teeth and?—

Mike Paul glanced up just then, that insane smile of his still there like it was a painting. The expensive kind, meant for private collections. They locked eyes, and her blood stopped moving, along with her heart and pretty much everything else inside her.

Panic, the kind that took a girl’s breath away, rolled through Ivy, and she took a step back as Mike Paul moved past the blonde woman without a word. He walked toward Ivy, and she was aware that every single woman in the place watched. Covert glances if they were married (some not so much) and hungry, predatory ones if they weren’t.

“You came,” he said, nodding at the ball bag in her hand. “Where’d you get that?”

“Dave.” Good. Her voice still worked.

“Okay, well, we’ve got about five minutes before we start.”

She tried like hell to keep her expression neutral and her voice even. “Where’s Bryce?”

Mike Paul motioned to his left. “He’s still shoveling pizza down his throat.”

She took a step forward and looked around Mike Paul. She spied Bryce sitting at a table just behind the last lane. “Is that Waylon Smith with him?”

“Yep.”

“Surprised he’s still in town. I pictured him as a big city man. Thought he’d move to Austin or Dallas. At the very least, Bozeman.”

“His wife Amanda Hills is with him.”

“I like Amanda. Who’s their fourth?”

“Wanda.”

Ivy’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Weatherly?”

“That would be the one.”

“She lives in Big Bend now?”

“Married to Bryce.”

She looked up sharply and Mike Paul grinned. “I told ya. Super Bowl all over again.”

Ivy had always been competitive. Back in the day baseball had been her sport, and her arm was legendary. A backstop, she could pick off anyone trying to steal second or third with a rocket from her right arm. One year, during a championship game against Wanda’s team, Ivy was covering the plate when Wanda came barrelling around third base headed for home. Ivy caught the throw from short seconds before Wanda made it home and tagged her. But the girl steamrolled over Ivy. Wanda broke her glasses and her left arm. Ivy had missed the rest of the game.

Which they lost.

Then, once in her early twenties, Ivy had returned home for the holidays and joined Mike Paul, Millie Sue, and Millie’s cousin Zach to bowl on the first Thursday of that particular December. What had started as a passive/aggressive polite game had transformed into nearly a brawl. They’d beaten their rivals, though the game had been disqualified from the league standings on account of bad behavior.

She’d promised Big Dave she’d behave, and she would, but that didn’t mean she had to play nice. She could play dirty with the best of them.

“Let’s do this,” Ivy said, moving past Mike Paul. She needed to focus on the game and nothing else. She walked up to Benton Bridgestone and the blonde she’d spied earlier, Angel Simms. She greeted the woman warmly and turned to Benton.

“Hey,” he said with a grin. He gave her a hug and stepped back. “I guess we’re filling in for Cal and Millie Sue tonight.”

“I had nothing better to do.” She sat down and doffed her boots.

“Mike Paul says there’s a bit of a rivalry with this team.”

“There is.” She tied her laces and looked up at Benton. “We’re going to beat their asses.”

“That sounds like a challenge.” Bryce Caulfield walked over.

Ivy glanced his way. “Call it whatever you like.” The man looked about the same as she remembered. Tall, muscular, with a full head of blond curls that framed a handsome face.

Bryce offered her a hand. She stared at it for a few seconds before grabbing it and standing. His smile seemed genuine, his voice light. “I heard you were back.”

“For a bit, anyway.”

“Your Yankee not with you?”

“Nope. I hear you and Wanda are married now.”

“Going on three years. We have a ten-month-old son, Frankie.” The man’s obvious love for his son and family situation surprised Ivy. She wasn’t sure why exactly, but it did.

“Good luck,” Bryce said with a grin, backing away. “I promise we’ll behave, or Dave might ban us for good this time.”

“He’s so….” At a loss for words, Ivy shrugged.

“People change,” Mike Paul whispered in her ear.

“Not that much,” she retorted, then moved a few inches away. She needed some damn space.

“I think you’re wrong about that.” Mike Paul held her gaze longer than he should have, then slowly shrugged before backing away, a smile touching the corner of his mouth. “Guess we’ll see.”

Ivy waited a heartbeat, then followed him to their lane.

I guess we will.