Exposed (14 page)

That pulled a giggle from Ruth. “What’s the party for?”

June set down her rosette and grabbed Ruth’s hands, but she pulled away quickly. June started talking to cover Ruth’s obvious discomfort. “She’s copying Mrs. Briggs’ party,” she said with a quick glance to make sure Evie wasn’t listening. “She wants to show me off to potential mothers-in-law. She’s been needling Dad about hiring gardeners, so I’m going to plant some flowers in the back myself.”

Ruth looked sidelong at June. “
You’re
going to garden?”

“It can’t be that hard.” But she didn’t miss the way Ruth bit back a smile as they got back to work. 

June sighed happily. She loved Lucy, Meg, and even Evie; and she truly looked forward to getting to know Cora. But she and Ruth had a history together, a lifetime of friendship. 

June nearly leaned close and told her about Ivan, about the moment on the bridge. But she stopped. She didn’t want to see the judgment in Ruth’s eyes. She didn’t want to hear that it’d been a mistake.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Ivan

Ivan rolled down his shirt sleeve and stood from the examining table. The old doctor was still scribbling away in Ivan’s chart, and Ivan had to clear his throat to get Dr. Pinkerton’s attention.

“I told you, I feel fine,” Ivan said curtly. All these appointments since the sickness, it was an annoyance to keep coming back week after week. What was the point? He could be working on his cabin, helping Kostya on the farm. Ivan had made excuses to skip the last two appointments, but the good doctor wouldn’t hear of another missed exam.

“Yes, well,” the old man said. He snapped the file shut and took his time cataloging it away into a cabinet before turning back to Ivan. “You were quite ill. The assistance from the military means a bit more diligence than perhaps you’re used to.” Dr. Pinkerton laid a hand on Ivan’s arm then pulled it back when Ivan tensed. “You know how methodical the military are.”

Ivan’s mouth went hard. He had barely been conscious when the military had stepped in to help set up the infirmary after the sickness. Their presence only fueled speculation of a Soviet attack. 

“Don’t forget to make your next appointment,” Dr. Pinkerton called as Ivan stalked from the room.

Ivan fully planned on ignoring him, but the man’s grandson, Dr. Porter, barred his way by the front desk. 

“Your next appointment, Mr. Sokolov,” the younger doctor said. He had a mess of files under his arm, and nearly lost them all scooting back behind the desk.

“There is absolutely no reason to come back here. These appointments are worthless.”

“Yes, well …,” Dr. Porter trailed off, already flipping open an appointment book.

Out in the reception area, Will sat waiting, still nursing his ankle, with Clayton beside him. 

Across the waiting room, Bo Erikson sliced his eyes Ivan’s way. “You got something to hide from the doc? Don’t want people knowing what’s going on out at that farm?”

Ivan stilled. More suspicion on his family was the last thing he needed. Ivan turned away from Mr. Erikson and faced Dr. Porter. What could he do to make these people leave him be? Muscles bunched in Ivan’s neck and shoulders. It seemed nothing would satisfy this town of his family’s innocence. 

Dr. Porter rummaged through the papers scattered over the reception desk. “Apologies,” he muttered to the desk. “The secretary is ...,” and he nodded toward the hall.

Ivan grunted in reply. He had no idea what Dr. Porter meant, but didn’t fight making the next appointment.

“Ivan,” Clayton caught up and stopped Ivan at the door. Behind him, Dr. Porter was helping Will down the hall to an exam room.

“Do you need something?”

A frown ghosted across Clayton’s face, but was replaced with an easy smile. “Will and I are getting a drink after this. You should come.”

Ivan shifted back and forth on his feet. He’d never gotten a drink with anyone but his brother. What was Clayton’s game here?

“I’m busy,” Ivan said.

“Maybe next time.”

“Yeah …,” Ivan found himself saying. “Maybe.”

Ivan pushed through the door and out into the sunshine. He was bone tired from last night, his eyes raw and his mind mush with conflicting thoughts of June. And he was damned sick of getting his blood drawn for no apparent reason. 

On top of that, his mother had made him promise he’d pick up flour and oats from the general store. He didn’t need to add an invitation to drink with Clayton to the mess of a day. Ivan strode across the square and let his frustration out on the general store’s front door. The bell overhead shrieked in response. 

Two people watched him walk past—that crazy preacher and his daughter—but Ivan just glared. He bought the oats and flour with as little interaction as he could and was nearly out the door when a voice made him pull up short.

June.

A deep ache swelled inside on him. How he’d touched her … how much more he’d wanted. He blamed the encounter on exhaustion and knew it was only half the truth. Ivan stood in the shadows near a display case selling canned vegetables and peered out the big front windows.

June was smiling big at the preacher’s daughter. Ruth, was that her name? The preacher said something that made June’s eyes flash for an instant, but then the smile was back. 

Ivan watched the encounter with awe. How did she manage it? Ivan envied her, for just a moment. That smile that opened doors, changed attitudes. Ruth was joining June, stepping away from her father.

Guilt winnowed through Ivan. He’d been unfair, calling June pathetic that morning. She was braver than people gave her credit for. She faced the preacher. Hell, she faced running through walls, even though she couldn’t quite hide the pain of it. No, it’d been more than unfair. It’d been cruel. 

The deep ache twisted into regret as he watched June outside the window.

June turned—quickly and determined—and Ivan slunk back further into the shadows. Then, of all things, June dumped the groceries into the preacher’s arms. And her face, when she turned, burned with triumph. A surprised laugh huffed out of Ivan.

“That girl will do anything for others,” said a sudden voice beside him.

Ivan wrenched his head around to stare down at Peter Powell. Heat crept up into his face, but Mr. Powell was staring out at his daughter. A sad smile played on the man’s face before he turned away.

Ivan watched June disappear down the sidewalk with Ruth on her arm. He couldn’t think of a single reason he’d been so awful to her. But there was no taking back what he’d said, how he’d treated her. The thought hollowed out something in Ivan, and he didn’t know how to fill it back up.

“Brother, are you asleep?”

Those were the words that startled Ivan just as a pitchfork-full of hay tumbled over his head.

Ivan had, in fact, been asleep. Asleep and dreaming of June. He awoke with his body taut and his lips pulled down in a frown. How could one woman affect him like this—make him angry and want to undress her at the same time?

And how could he make up for what he’d done that morning? She’d let herself go with him, and what had Ivan done? He’d called her pathetic. For getting pancakes with friends. He hated himself for it.

Ivan took his time rousing himself from the hay bales where he’d fallen asleep. He stumbled to the edge of the loft and glared down at Kostya. 

Kostya held up his calloused hands in mock surrender and laughed. “It’s not for me to worry that you were out all night.” Kostya narrowed his dark eyes. “You were out all night, yes? I never heard the truck return. Mama is suspicious.”

Their mother was always suspicious, always trying to suss out if there was some woman who would finally settle her sons and give her grandchildren. 

Ivan grimaced and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, but the world was still bleary. Hay wiggled down the collar of his shirt and made him squirm back and forth to shake it free. He tried to shake free June from his thoughts as well, but she was much more stubborn. 

Down below, the stallion Nikolai snorted and stamped a foot. Ivan peered over the edge of the loft to see not just Kostya on the floor of the barn, but Galina too. His mother turned away from the horse she’d been watering and turned her round face up to the loft.

“Not suspicious, worried. After the sickness, what they think. Who knew what’d happened to you,” Galina said with a scowl that looked frighteningly like her son. She dropped a bucket of oats before Nikolai and threw her hands up. “But who am I to worry? Who am I, just his Mama.” She pressed a hand to her belly, which was round like her face and soft under her work apron. “I just carried you for months and months. Felt you kick my ribs all day, all night.”

Ivan hooked his arms over the top of the ladder leaning against the loft and clambered down. “Mama, I’m sorry.”

“Pshaw,” she hissed. “Not sorry. No.”

Ivan grabbed his mother into a hug. She was starting to stoop with years of hard labor on the farm, and Ivan towered more than a foot over her. “Sorry, Mama,” he laughed when she smacked at his arms. “So sorry, Mama.”

Finally, she pulled back and patted his cheek. “You’re a good man, Ivan. But no more nights, yes? Unless it’s with a wife.”

Ivan ducked away from her with a shake of his head. Two bachelor sons was not how Galina had envisioned her dotage, something she reminded her children of frequently.

Galina left the barn with water buckets balanced in her arms to work in the outdoor rose garden. Behind Ivan, the boom of tack hitting the wooden floor made Ivan spin around. Kostya sauntered close to Ivan and clapped a work-roughened hand onto Ivan’s shoulder. His dark eyes sparked. “Truthfully, Ivanushka. Where were you?”

“Sharing a sundae at the soda fountain with friends.”

Kostya snorted and patted Nikolai. “You have as many friends as this horse.” He paused and cocked his head. “Were you with a woman?”

Ivan busied his hands and suddenly became interested in the oiled saddle slung over the mare Anastasia’s stall.

“
Der‘mo
! Maybe Mama is going to get those grandchildren.”

Ivan glared at his older brother. “Don’t be a jackass. I wasn’t anywhere. You just didn’t hear me drive up.”

Kostya nodded, but it was clear he didn’t believe Ivan. “Not being anywhere made you oddly tired.” He wiped his hands against his pant legs and threw Nikolai’s tack at Ivan. “I already worked a section of the north field for you. Will you till the rest, or do you need to nap more?”

Ivan stooped to grab the tack and looped the reins around his shoulders. He ran a hand down Nikolai’s flank and scratched behind the powerful horse’s ear.

“I wasn’t anywhere, Kostya.”

His brother ignored him.

Ivan huffed in defeat and led Nikolai out of the barn, holding onto the bridle and bit to hook the stallion to the old plow. Maybe some hard work and sweat would wash June from his mind.

But two days of hard work, and June remained. Two days barely leaving the fields since that morning at the bridge, and she was like a rock lodged in the soil. 

Ivan harnessed Nikolai and led the horse to the south field for an afternoon of tilling and sowing.

The south field was small, but rocky. A plot of land at the very edge of their property that gave way to the sharp upslope of the surrounding mountains. The sun was directly overhead and beat down on Ivan as he attached the wooden plow to Nikolai’s harness.

“Good boy,” he muttered, moving around to Nikolai’s muzzle and checking his bit. “Good Nik.” He gave the beautiful, dark horse another scratch behind the ears and started tilling. 

The plow jerked forward as Nikolai shook his head and began walking. Ivan had to hold tight to wooden handles to muscle the tiller through the unyielding ground. It seemed like every few feet he had to stop and loosen a stubborn rock from the soil and toss it toward the perimeter fence. Before long, Ivan had shed his shirt, already nearly soaked through with sweat. He swiped the shirt across his forehead and shaded his eyes with his hand.

He had repeated the same thing to himself over and over. She was one of them. It’d been a mistake to touch her like he had. 

But repeating something didn’t make it true. And as Ivan worked the field, he had to face it. He had judged June too harshly, been needlessly cruel to her. Jesus, the look in her eyes when he had called her pathetic. If he could take it back, figure out a single way to show her he was sorry …. 

Yet Ivan had spent his life turning away from people, pushing and pushing until he was alone at the very edge of a rock with just a small family and his little cabin and nothing,
nothing
else. Ivan didn’t know how to make this right, how to tell June he was sorry for how he’d behaved. But he had to do something. If this went on much longer, he’d have tilled every single field in the valley and still have nothing to show for it.

Ivan shook his head and concentrated on his work. The sun traced the bluebird sky overhead, arcing over Ivan as he slowly, steadily made his way through the field. The physical work was a distraction. He liked the way it knotted his muscles and left him exhausted. 

Exhausted. She’d admitted she was exhausted but then later that same day had gone out of her way to show kindness to Ruth. And he couldn’t even spare an ounce of it for her.

Ivan stumbled to a stop and Nikolai snorted with impatience.

She wasn’t one of them. But it was more than that. For once in his life, Ivan didn’t feel it was his family versus the town. The town was made up of people, hundreds of people with hundreds of ideas and attitudes. Yes, some of them were like Bo Erikson and Butch Murphy. But some—maybe most—were like June. Good people … people who deserved a chance. 

Ivan thought of the old woman from the market who bought a bouquet every week even as other shoppers stayed away. He thought of Clayton asking him to get a drink. And he thought of June—June whose smile could make others happy and who thought of others before herself.