Facing the Music (3 page)

His jeans tightened uncomfortably as his inspection ran over her mostly bare body. He was frankly surprised by the reaction. Not because she wasn’t a beautiful and sexy woman—she was; that was a given—but because his dick had a deep, abiding hatred of Ivy. So did the rest of him, but it was his penis that had become the center of national attention for being woefully inadequate. At the moment, however, he had ample evidence to the contrary.

What the woman was doing outside in nothing but a pair of bikini bottoms he didn’t know, but he wouldn’t complain. From what he could see—and he could see a lot—she hadn’t yet opted to go under some Beverly Hills plastic surgeon’s knife. It had been nearly six years since he’d laid eyes on those curves, but he’d spent his teenage years learning and memorizing every inch of her body.

Blake whistled again, this time the whistling equivalent of “Whoo . . . you’re sure in a pickle, girl.” Ivy ducked behind a nandina bush growing at the foundation of the cabin, but it didn’t help.

“Well, look at who’s back in town . . . and naked at that.” He planted his hands on his hips and shook his head. “I was cruising around the lake and I said to myself, ‘That looks like Ivy Grace Hudson running ’round that cabin with no clothes on. But that couldn’t be true. She’s too big of a star for a little town like Rosewood.’ ”

At first, he’d been relieved when Little Miss Rock Star had turned down the first request to do a charity concert. Then he’d gotten pissed off. How dare she be too busy to take the time to help the people who made her who she was? She had America duped with her sweet smile and angelic voice. Someone needed to write a song about her and tell the other half of the story for a change.

Of course, then her name got smeared across every tabloid in the country. Suddenly the clouds parted, her schedule cleared up, and here she was to save the day.

Why her? There were plenty of native groups to choose from. Couldn’t they have gotten Alabama or Skynyrd or Jimmy Buffett? Hell, even one of those
American Idol
singers would be better than the girl who turned her back on her town and made her career on his humiliation.

Then again, she was way hotter than Jimmy Buffett. Damn. Even the red flush of embarrassment across her cheeks was enticing.

“What changed your mind, huh?”

Ivy’s lips twisted into an angry knot, but she didn’t answer him. Instead, she slunk farther behind the bush.

“What’s the matter, Ivy Grace? Boy band got your tongue?”

“You don’t have any idea what you’re talking about, as usual, Blake. I came because your grandmother asked me to,
personally
. I wanted to help out and when my schedule opened up, I was able to say yes.”

“Swooping in to save us all, then? Very thoughtful of you to think of us poor normal folks.”

“Don’t you get all humble and small-town smug with
me
. You and I both know you wouldn’t be cruising around this stinky old pond if you hadn’t blown out your knee after a couple of seasons in the NFL. Don’t criticize me for succeeding just because you didn’t!”

As if on cue, Blake’s bad knee started throbbing. Shifting his weight, he tried not to wince. It was hard considering that only two years ago, some three-hundred-pound defensive lineman had snapped it like a twig and ended his career. “So that’s how it’s going to be, huh?”

“Listen,” she spat. “I’m not the one who started being ugly. Don’t dish it if you can’t take it.”

“You’re right. Most gracious apologies. You were just running around naked, minding your own business, and I interfered and started saying nasty things.”

“I am not naked! But I would appreciate you being a gentleman and turning away, please.”

At that, Blake had to laugh. His eyes had been glued to her since the moment he climbed from his boat, and that wasn’t changing anytime soon. “You and I both know I’m not much of a gentleman. And even if I was . . . ain’t nothing there I haven’t seen before, Ivy Grace.”

The wider his smile grew, the more red-mottled her cheeks became. “That doesn’t mean you get the pleasure of looking at it anymore. You gave up that right when you put your hands up that cheerleader’s skirt.”

Blake sighed heavily. How many times would he have to pay for that sin? He’d been drunk and lonely and the girl had thrown herself at him. He’d apologized a million times over, but Ivy didn’t want to hear it. She didn’t care that everything in his life had crumbled from that point on.

“Do you want to stand in your birthday suit and fight about what happened six years ago, or do you want to tell me why you’re outside like this so I can help you?”

“I don’t need your help,” she said, her chin tipping up defiantly despite her situation.

“Oh really?” Blake said, crossing his arms over his chest. “So I guess you don’t want me to tell you that there’s poison ivy growing through that shrub you’re hiding in?”

With a shriek, Ivy leaped from the bushes, her hands momentarily leaving their post as she panicked and then flying quickly back to cover the taut, pink tips of her breasts. Lord, he’d missed those. They’d been like juicy, ripe peaches. The memory of tasting them made his mouth start to water.

So did the tantalizing glimpse of what looked like a tattoo on Ivy’s rib cage. He hadn’t gotten a good look, but he’d seen a blur of something. Now her arms were covering the spot, leaving his curiosity piqued.

“Ugh!” she groaned, hobbling around on one of her heels with a toe that was visibly red and swelling. “I hate nature,” she howled. “I hate it!”

At that, Blake burst out laughing. He’d bitten his lip to keep it in, but it was no use. This was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever seen. All the pent-up emotions of the past six years exploded out of him in a roar of laughter that brought tears to his eyes. He doubled over, bracing his hands on his thighs.

A glimpse of her tight, indignant expression only made it worse. He wouldn’t feel bad for her. She deserved this. Lord knows someone should get a chuckle at
her
expense for a change.

“This is not funny!” she shouted over his laughter.

“It most certainly is,” he managed as he struggled for air. “It’s hilarious.”

“Blake Chamberlain, you stop it right now!” she demanded, but Blake could see a faint curve to her lips. She was trying not to laugh. Eventually, she cracked. She adjusted her arms to keep covered while she hid a giggle behind one hand.

He was relieved. The Ivy he’d loved could laugh at herself. Thank goodness she wasn’t so full of herself now that she didn’t see the humor in this.

Finally, the bubble of laughter died away and he wiped his eyes. She might not have appreciated it at first, but the humorous outlet had helped relieve a lot of tension between them. At the moment, they needed that. Despite what she might think, he didn’t like kicking people when they were down. He had no doubt they’d have their long-awaited argument, but he’d wait until she wasn’t at a disadvantage and take her on fair and square.

“What’s wrong with your foot?” he asked once his cheeks stopped burning.

“I got a splinter on the front porch,” Ivy said. Her lips pressed tightly together to keep in another yelp of discomfort as she tottered around. “I went around to see if the door was unlocked.”

Oh . . . this was
too good
. Blake tore his gaze from her bare flesh to eye the back door of the cabin. Hanging limp from the door frame was her bikini top. Only Ivy. Something like this could only happen to her.

When he’d woken up this morning, he hadn’t been sure it would be a good day, but things were looking up. “You’re locked out?” he asked.

“Yes,” she admitted through gritted teeth. “Are you going to help me or just laugh at me?”

“You said you didn’t need my help.”

“I am naked . . . locked out of my cabin . . . with a bloody toe . . . and possibly covered in poison ivy! Do I really have to ask you for help, Blake?”

“Most people, no. But I think you should have to ask.”

Ivy shook her head, steam nearly coming out of her ears. The light moment had passed. “You know what? Forget it.” She brushed past him, stumbling to the back porch and up the stairs before flinging open the screen door. She let the door slam shut behind her, marched over to the rocking chair, and sat down with her arms folded over her chest.

Blake made his way over to the bottom of the stairs. “You just gonna sit there all night?”

“You found me. Eventually someone else will, too. Hopefully someone who doesn’t get pleasure out of torturing me.”

“Oh, I can guarantee someone will find you. I intend to call everyone I know to come by and say hi. I bet folks don’t know you’re back in town yet.”

Ivy’s dark green eyes widened in fear, but she bit her tongue. Until he turned and started down the dock. “See you later, Little Miss Rock Star.”

“Wait! You’re leaving me like this?”

Blake stopped, his back to her. His boat was only a few feet away. It was so tempting, and it would be so easy, to get into that boat and speed away. He even got all the way into the boat. Why shouldn’t he? Ivy hadn’t given any thought to his feelings. She hadn’t called him to warn him before the song came out. He’d been blindsided. Humiliated. She could use a taste of that for herself.

But before he could start the engine, he found himself grabbing two towels and walking back up the dock to the cabin. His grandma would tan his hide if he left a lady in this situation.

He climbed the steps and opened the screen door. Ivy had gotten up while he was in the boat. Now she was standing there, in those damned bikini bottoms, looking at him with the big doe eyes he could never resist. The muscles in his neck and jaw tensed as he fought the urge to reach for her and kiss the pout from her full lips. He ached for her to wrap her arms around his neck so her bare breasts would press against his chest. One tug of the string and those bikini bottoms would fall to the deck.

Because that would be so helpful to the situation. With a shake of his head, he thrust one towel at her. “For heaven’s sake, cover up.”

Pushing past her toward the window, he used the second towel to wrap his arm. With a hard whack, his padded elbow broke one of the glass panes. Brushing away the loose shards of glass, Blake reached through the gap to unlock the door.

“Ta-da!” he said as it swung open wide and her bikini top fell to the floor.

Ivy hobbled around him to the door and stepped inside. Turning immediately once she crossed the threshold, she bent over and picked up her suit top. She looked at him. “Thanks,” she said.

Then she closed the door in his face.

Chapter Three

What the hell
was she doing here? How had this happened? Ivy honestly had no clue.

It was eight o’clock on Saturday night. A night Ivy fully intended to spend in her cabin working. After her run-in with Blake, she had no interest in running into anyone else in town. And yet here she was, sitting in Pepper’s SUV outside Woody’s Bar. Pepper was glaring angrily at her through the windshield, her arms crossed over her chest, irritated because Ivy had taken her keys, locked her out of her own car, and refused to go inside.

It was a surreal development for a night that should’ve been anything but noteworthy.

After Blake left, Ivy had watched the road like a hawk all evening, waiting for the parade of people Blake had promised, but no one came, thankfully. At least until suppertime, when a little red SUV she didn’t recognize pulled up outside.

It was Pepper, her first official visitor, and fortunately one she didn’t mind.

“We’re going out!” Pepper had announced. Ivy had argued with her. She needed to work. She didn’t want to go out. She wasn’t ready to face the people in town sober, much less drunk. Excuse after excuse fell from her lips, but Pepper was a force of nature—a whirlwind who couldn’t be reasoned with. It also helped that she played to Ivy’s weaknesses.

Nearly every day of the past few years, Ivy had been plopped into a chair while a team of highly qualified hairstylists and makeup artists worked their magic. Ivy just had to sit there, pucker as needed, close her eyes when she was told to, and in an hour or so, she was the Ivy Hudson her fans would see on posters, on album covers, and in music videos.

So when Pepper took her hand and led her over to a chair in the kitchen, she blindly followed. When the makeup case and the curling iron came out, she sat there as she was trained. Pepper distracted her with idle conversation as she worked feverishly on hair and makeup. Before she knew it, Ivy was dressed for a night on the town and sitting in Pepper’s car staring up at the neon bar sign.

The moment they pulled into the Woody’s parking lot, Ivy’d snapped out of her fog and come to her senses. Pepper was dangerous. She looked sweet and perky with those red curls and bright eyes, but it was a ruse. And from the evil glare she was levying on Ivy at the moment, it was better that she was on the sidewalk and Ivy was safely locked in her car.

“Ivy Grace Hudson, you get out of my car this instant!” Pepper stomped her foot, as though that would make any difference.

Ivy shook her head. “You tricked me!” she shouted through the windshield.

“Yes, I’m so horrible,” Pepper agreed. “I dressed you up and lured you out to a bar to have some fun. You shouldn’t ever speak to me again.”

Ivy took a deep breath and scanned the parking lot, although she didn’t know why. It wasn’t as though she knew what kind of car or truck Blake drove. There was no way to tell if he was here. All she knew was that people going into Woody’s kept looking at her and whispering. There was no way she was going inside that bar.

A loud thump on the window startled her up out of her seat. She turned to find Grant Chamberlain, one of Blake’s younger brothers, peering in at her. She’d heard that Grant was a local fireman now, and if rumors held true, he was even worse than Blake where monogamy was concerned. Perhaps it did run in the family.

“Hey, Ivy!” he shouted through the glass. Grant had the same dark, handsome looks and strong build of his brother, but he was a little leaner with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. His gaze ran over her body, and then a smile curled his lips. “What? No bikini tonight? I heard you have a really nice one. At least, half of one!”

Ivy felt the red flames of embarrassment lick at her cheeks. Blake had told him. He’d jumped at his first chance to pay her back and embarrass her. Grant and his date both laughed before going into the bar.

She shook her head and turned to look at Pepper. She definitely wasn’t going to get out of the car now. “Take me home!” she shouted. “Or I’ll drive myself!”

Pepper didn’t budge. “If you do, I’ll call the sheriff. Do you really want to run into another of the Chamberlain boys tonight? I’m sure Sheriff Todd will be glad to send Simon over to arrest you. He’s fresh from the police academy and super eager to please.”

Chamberlains, Chamberlains everywhere. A girl couldn’t buy a cake, set a fire, or roll through a stop sign without that damned family in her business. There were just too many of them. Blake was the oldest of six, and leaving Rosewood behind, Ivy hadn’t kept up with what all the others grew up to be. One could own the bar, for all she knew.

Ivy was about to lob another threat at Pepper when her red head turned to watch a truck pull into the parking lot. Pepper planted her hands on her hips and shook her head in dismay before gesturing in that direction. “Too late,” she said. “Here’s another one!”

Ivy sat forward to catch a glimpse of the truck. It was a dark blue Ford F-250 Platinum with shiny chrome details. The Rolls-Royce of the South. And behind the wheel . . . Blake.

Now she
had
to go inside. She couldn’t let him see her hiding from him. The alternative was to crawl onto the floorboard of the car and hope he didn’t see her. She eyed the dirty floor mats and frowned. She could make out bits of grass, gravel, a large oil stain, a dried-up French fry, and something else she couldn’t identify on them. She might just be wearing jeans, but these were custom-made Earnest Sewn jeans. At a grand a pair, she wasn’t about to ruin them with whatever was on that carpet.

Ivy glanced at the truck again and sighed. “Don’t be a chickenshit!” she told herself, then opened the car door.

Before the heels of her boots hit the gravel, Pepper snatched the car keys out of her hands. “Naughty,” she scolded, slipping them safely into her purse. “Let’s get inside before he does.”

“Yeah,” Ivy agreed, following her to the front door. “Hopefully everyone in there hasn’t heard about my incident today.”

Pepper frowned, pushing open the door. “What incident?”

Ivy stopped in her tracks as her eyes adjusted to the dark bar and she realized everyone was looking at her. The jukebox in the corner started a new song and the first verse of “Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polka Dot Bikini” blared throughout the bar. Ivy groaned, dropping her head in her hands.

Pepper grasped her wrist and tugged her farther inside. “Come on,” she said. She led Ivy through the tables and the people milling around to get two seats at the bar.

Ivy tried to focus on the dark, polished wood of the bar, ignoring the people around her. She’d never actually been into Woody’s before. When she’d lived in Rosewood she’d been underage. She’d celebrated her twenty-first birthday at Drai’s in Hollywood.

She lifted her eyes in time to see the hunk of a bartender coming toward her. He was well over six feet tall with wide shoulders, shaggy blond hair, and a wide, friendly smile. He had the laid-back carriage of a surfer with the strong, callused hands of a man who made more than just drinks. All the pretty boys she’d run across in LA had nothing on this guy.

“Hey, Emmett,” Pepper said.

Emmett planted his large hands on the top of the bar and flashed them both a ridiculously charming smile. “Evening, ladies. Who have you brought with you, Pepper?”

Ivy chuckled. She didn’t run across that much; of course, Emmett didn’t look like a Top 40 guy. He wasn’t from around here, either. She would’ve remembered him.

“Oh, come on, Emmett! Really?” Pepper sighed. “This is Ivy. Ivy
Hudson
. Ring a bell?”

Ivy nudged Pepper and shook her head. Her public persona carried with it a lot of baggage and presumptions. She actually liked that he didn’t know who she was. It wouldn’t last long, and she wanted to enjoy it while she could.

Emmett shrugged off their exchange and offered his hand. “Emmett Sawyer,” he said in introduction and gave her a firm but gentle shake. “Nice to meet you, Ivy. What can I get you two to drink?”

Pepper ordered a vodka cranberry and Ivy got a rum and Diet Coke. Emmett disappeared to make their drinks.

“Where did Rosewood find a guy like that?” Ivy asked.

Pepper smiled and reached over for a couple of pretzels from a nearby bowl. “Emmett bought the bar about two years ago. Moved here from Florida, I think, although God knows why. He’s done an amazing job with this place. Honestly. It was never this nice before. He refinished all the wood and recovered all the leather booths and stools. He does some carpentry work on the side, and there isn’t a better advertisement for him than this place. I was thinking of hiring him to do some work at my new house.”

That explained the hands. “You bought a place?”

“Yeah,” Pepper said. “I finally saved up enough to buy one of the little historic houses off the square. Unfortunately, all I could afford was one that was more old than historic. It needs a ton of work. But it’s all mine and I can walk to the salon when the weather is nice.”

“I’d love to see it,” Ivy said.

“No way,” Pepper said. “No one is setting a foot into that house until it’s been totally redone. Especially not someone who’s graced the cover of
Rolling Stone
magazine
and
sung on the soundtrack of my favorite movie of all time. No way.”

In LA, it seemed like everybody was somebody, so Ivy didn’t feel that special. Aside from fans and reporters, she wasn’t used to people seeing her that way. Emmett brought their drinks and she took a healthy sip to chase away her anxiety. “I’m just Ivy,” she said. “Forget the whole rock star bit and just think of me as the girl I was before all that.”

A familiar voice chimed in, “The mousy daughter of the band teacher with hand-me-down clothes who dated her way into superstardom?”

Ivy didn’t need to turn to know who it was. That voice had haunted her dreams since she was twelve. She slowly spun on her stool to face her school nemesis. “Lydia Whittaker,” Ivy said with a saccharine smile. “I thought I smelled the stench of desperation and peroxide when I came in here. I didn’t realize you were a part of our conversation.”

“That’s because she wasn’t,” Pepper pointed out.

Lydia flicked her long blond hair over her shoulder and focused her gaze on Ivy. “Well, I saw you come in and I simply had to come over and welcome you home.”

Welcome her? Yeah right. More like lob the first new volley of their thirteen-year-old war. She was about to answer when Lydia shifted her attention to Pepper.

“Oh, bless your heart,” she said with a smug twist of her lips. “I see Pepper glommed on to you the minute you came back to town. Appropriate pairing, I suppose, although with those fancy designer clothes and her new house, I can’t call y’all Thrift Shop and Trailer Park anymore.”

Ivy cringed at hearing the cruel monikers Lydia had labeled them with in school. Lydia came from a wealthy family that owned two of the local restaurants, Ellen’s Diner and Whittaker’s, as well as a huge horse farm on the edge of town. Her air of superiority stank of old money and privilege, but it hadn’t always been that way. In elementary school, Ivy and Lydia had been best friends. Their parents were friends to this day.

And then, in middle school, a toxic combination of hormones, boys, and fierce competitiveness changed their dynamic. Lydia started hanging out with Madelyn Chamberlain, who had always been a bit of a brat and thought she was better than everyone else. Overnight, Lydia became the most popular girl in school and Ivy lost her best friend.

She supposed Lydia needed to feel superior to Ivy and the only thing she had over her back then was money. Things were strained for a few years, but when Lydia’s crush—Blake—asked Ivy out, the gloves came off and the claws came out. Apparently not much had changed while she was in California.

Ivy’s hand shot out to grab Pepper’s wrist. She’d gone for her purse and Ivy wasn’t sure what was in it, but she knew no matter what, it wouldn’t be good. They needed to just walk away, as much as it pained her.

“Well, don’t you waste any of your precious few brain cells coming up with new nicknames. We’re good with the ones our mamas gave us. Seeing you again has been . . .
yeah
. Let’s go play darts, Pepper.” She grabbed her drink in her free hand and kept her grip tightly on her friend’s wrist.

“See y’all ’round,” Lydia said cheerfully.

“She’s damn lucky she drives to Birmingham to get her roots done,” Pepper growled under her breath. “I’d love to get my scissors near her head for just two seconds . . .”

Ivy laughed and put her drink down on the empty table beside the dartboard. “Maybe I shouldn’t give you a sharp metal projectile,” she noted.

“Nah, I’m good,” Pepper said. “Emmett just refinished these floors and I’d hate to get blood on them. But if you hadn’t stopped me, I’d have gladly hit her with my pepper spray for calling me Trailer Park again. It’s the same strength they give police officers for riot patrol.”

“Shoot. I thought you had a gun, or I would’ve let you.”

Ivy plucked the darts from the case and tried to envision Lydia screaming and writhing on the floor. Admittedly, she would enjoy the spectacle, especially knowing it wouldn’t cause permanent damage. Lydia deserved it for making fun of Pepper. Her family did the best they could. There shouldn’t be any more shame in living in a trailer than there was in shopping at thrift stores, like her parents did. Sometimes every penny mattered.

Ivy threw her darts, doing terribly. After a moment passed without Pepper taking her turn, she realized her friend wasn’t paying attention. “Pepper?”

The redhead snapped her gaze back to Ivy. “Sorry. Is it my turn?” She looked back in the other direction and sighed. “I noticed Grant watching me again.”

“Grant Chamberlain?”

Pepper nodded and tossed her darts. “None other.”

“Are you guys . . . ?”

“No!” she said, her eyes widening. “Absolutely not. That’s the problem. He won’t take no for an answer. I think he’s just a spoiled rich boy who wants what he can’t have. He’s been trying since high school when he was a freshman and I was a junior. I have to admit he’s got balls.”