It Took a Rumor (3 page)

He drove down the highway that sprawled between Deathridge and Turner property, reflecting on the fact that an informal poll on the Fair Grove Times Facebook page (run by Myra Tidwell) had Dallas beating out Boone as the suspected lover by about twenty votes. It was an insult. Ivy was not the kind of ass that Boone couldn’t get. He could easily have her if he wanted her. She just happened to be the one woman, besides his dear mother, whom he respected.
 

He made a left down a dirt road—barely a road—that led down the fence line between the two properties. He drove past fields on either side and down to the tree line where he put the truck in park and waited. A minute later, he heard the distant buzz of an ATV engine. A moment later, Ivy topped the ridge, coming into view with her long, blond hair flying out behind her, and dark sunglasses on despite the dimming of the evening light.
 

Boone got out of the truck, leaned against it, and waited until she parked and turned off the motor. She swung her leg over and approached, hand-extended.
 

Boone was used to her formal behavior. She’d always had the manners of a southern gentleman.
 

“Boone,” she said by way of greeting, and offering him a firm handshake over the fence rail.
 

“Ivy. Thanks for coming.”

“Sure.”

He looked her up and down. Jeans and a t-shirt for a change, but still nothing that would excite his fancy. Maybe if she dressed like a country girl once in a while he might have put some truth to those rumors. But then again, no. Even as pleased with himself as he was, Boone still knew that Ivy deserved better than him. “How are you holding up?” he asked.

She hooked her thumbs in her jeans and glanced out at the sun. “That why you called? See how I’m holding up?”

“I do kind of feel like this is my fault.”

She cocked her head. He couldn’t see her eyes through the glasses. “How do you figure?”

He shrugged. “Molly did use your truck to meet me at the hotel last night. I mean, maybe that’s where this rumor is coming from.”

Her lips pressed together. “You’re a pig.”

“Hey, she’s a big girl.”

Ivy shook her head and looked away. “I don’t know. If that’s where the rumor is coming from, then I’m screwed. I can’t rat her out.”

“I just want you to know I’m real sorry, and to thank you for, you know, keeping me and Molly’s secret.”

She turned her face back to him. He assumed she was looking at him, but again, it was hard to tell. “Just do me a favor and if people ask you if you’re fucking me, be honest and tell them no. No more joking around.”

“Sure. Of course, Ivy. And maybe I can make a statement on Myra’s Facebook page or something.”

Ivy waved her hand. “Just…answer ‘no’ if anyone asks. Otherwise, leave it alone. Maybe it’ll blow over, soon, and people will quit treating me like the whore of Babylon.”

Boone hated to hear this. She’d never done anything to deserve that sort of disrespect. Even if she had slept with one of his brothers, she didn’t deserve this. He frowned, this new thought occurring to him.
 

Had she?
 

He hadn’t even entertained the idea since this was Ivy Turner, professional to a T. Suddenly, he couldn’t help cracking a grin. “You know, I assumed this was on me and Molly, but…have you? Did you?”

Ivy’s cheeks turned red and she lifted her chin. “Have I, did I, what, Boone?”

“You know what.”

“I can’t believe you have the nerve to stand there and ask me if I’ve slept with one of your brothers. You’ve known me all your life, and you ask me something like this? Have you no respect?”

The wicked notion died like a frostbit flower, and Boone lowered his head. “Aw, Ivy, I was just teasing. Don’t take offense, okay?”

She eased back, her shoulders relaxing. “Sure. I’m just sick of the insult, you know? I had a boyfriend for over two years and no one treated me like a slut for sleeping with him.”

“Maybe everyone assumed you’d be waiting for marriage.”

Her eyebrows went up. “Do you think? Do you think that’s what people assume about me?”

He shrugged. “Yeah, I figure. Because you’re so upstanding, you know.”

“So if an upstanding woman has a one-night-stand, she’s automatically a whore?”

He laughed and looked away. “Ain’t my rules, Ivy. Blame society.”

She grumbled something and turned back to her bike. “Are we done here?” she asked.

“Yeah, except…”

She climbed astride the ATV. “Except what?”

“Except…tomorrow night. Molly wants to meet again, and—”

“And can she use my truck?” Ivy laughed. “Can I cover for her again? You seriously came here for that, even after you just said that you thought this might be responsible for the rumors ruining my reputation.”

“I think I’m in love,” he lied.

She snorted. “You’re so full of shit.” She started up the bike.

“Ivy? Will you cover for us?”

She pulled the sunglasses up to the top of her head and hit him with her beautiful, blue eyes. “She’s my best friend.”

Unfortunately, that was all the answer he would get. Ivy backed her bike up and drove away. He watched after her, hoping she would come through for him. With any luck, this affair could last quite a while. He didn’t think he would tire of Molly very soon.

Pastor Allen had originally been a missionary. He was in Papua New Guinea for a while, and then Tanzania. Twice a year, a bus arrived full of American college students from Christian universities that helped sponsor his mission work. Two years ago, a beautiful young woman with honey-colored hair and sweet, wide eyes had stepped off the bus and stolen his heart. They’d married immediately and when her classmates returned home, she’d stayed with him.

He’d been foolish. The girl was young and her passion for missions untested, so that after a year, when her passion died like a malnourished sprout, she began complaining. Pastor Allen loved his wife, though, and would therefore withhold nothing from her. As much as he wanted to spread the word of God to those who had little or no access to it on their own, the Bible had strong words about how a husband was to treat a wife.
 

Fortunately, the pastor at the community church in his wife’s hometown of Fair Grove was retiring, leaving an opening. Richard Allen had sent his audition video as well as a letter from his wife. He’d received an invitation to try out, two weeks later. Two weeks after that, he had a job.

They’d been in Fair Grove for three months, now. At first, his beautiful young bride had barely seemed to improve. Nothing he did made her happy. But she’d taken a turn, recently, for the better. Now he sat in his study, listening to her bustle about the house, humming and singing to herself. He smiled and counted himself a lucky man.

His wife popped her head in the door of his study and greeted him with a bright, dimply smile. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’m going to spend the evening with Ivy, after dinner. She’s having a really hard time.”

“Of course, Molly. You’re a good friend. Tell her if she needs anyone to talk to, I’ll be happy to listen and offer counsel.”

She bobbed her head and went back to her housework.
 

“Don’t do this,” Ivy implored. She sat on the edge of her four-poster bed that she’d meticulously made up that morning, same as every morning of her life, minus the few years she’d spent living in college dorms. Even then, she’d always been a tidy person.

Molly was letting down her hair and fixing her makeup in front of the vanity mirror over Ivy’s cherrywood dresser. She’d come over a little before sundown. “It’s Boone Deathridge. For four, miserable high school years he didn’t even know I existed. I have to do this.”

She’d already done it, was the thing. Molly had had her night with Boone, and Ivy, as much as she hated the whole situation, had been willing to cover for her friend that once. It hadn’t occurred to her that the affair would continue.
 

Ivy smoothed the soft, worn comforter beneath her hands, more to comfort herself than to straighten any wrinkles. The pink, floral pattern had faded long ago, now a shabby image of its former self, almost sepia. But Ivy wouldn’t replace it. She had fond memories of decorating this room with her mother. From the eyelet lace window dressings that were once pure white, to the floral wallpaper that they’d fought over—at the age of twelve, Ivy had thought it Victorian and classic while her mother found it stuffy and old-fashioned—her mother’s memory infused the room.
 

Molly’s thick, soft-brown hair fell into a natural wave. If Ivy were a vain woman, she’d have been jealous. Molly was tall with a figure that could only be described as dignified. She seriously looked like the cover model for a 1950’s copy of Good Housekeeping.
 

There had to be something she could say to convince Molly not to cheat on her husband again. She was Molly’s best friend by default, the other friends driven off by Molly’s selfish, narcissistic behaviors. And frankly, as secure as Ivy was as a daughter, a business manager, and a citizen, she did feel a little weak in the friendship department, and Molly’s attention made her feel good.
 

Truth be told, Ivy didn’t have any other girlfriends. Growing up, she’d spent most of her free time on the ranch with the men. She went to college, worked hard, and by the time she got back home, most of the girls she’d gone to high school with had married and begun families. It wasn’t that that precluded them from being Ivy’s friend, it was just that they seemed to look at her with distrust once she’d arrived home in her business clothes with her business degree. She’d set herself apart by choosing career over family, as if one couldn’t have both, and was therefore outside their sphere of interest.
 

Molly was the one exception, probably because her bad attitude and behavior had driven everyone else away. And probably partly because she was a preacher’s wife, which always held with it a sort of social exile. Regardless, Ivy was grateful for Molly’s friendship. It made her feel a little less pathetic.
 

“Richard is a good man,” Ivy said lamely.

“Richard is a good man,” Molly agreed. “And I love him. But I need this. I knew the moment Boone turned those heat-filled eyes of his my direction that there was no quenching this urge except to be with him. It’ll run its course and Richard will be none the wiser. We’ll all live happily ever after.”

Shit, what was she supposed to say to that? It was so delusional and yet so straight-forward. “Well at least don’t meet at the same hotel.”

“What other hotel is there? This is Fair Grove.”

“Go one or two towns over. Eldridge. Oak Bluff. Anywhere but here.”

“It’s not a big deal. I’ll have your truck and the night manager doesn’t know us. We’re being careful, trust me.”

Did the woman not even think about the consequences of her actions? Even barring the infidelity sending her straight to hell, what about how it was affecting Ivy? If indeed their first rendezvous had been the start of the rumors, then Molly might consider Ivy’s feelings. Hell, Boone had at least had the decency to own up to his part in it, though it didn’t seem to be stopping from continuing in sin.
 

Ivy sank back on her bed. It was an abuse of her friendship, wasn’t it? Molly stood there preening, not a care in the world. “You know, my truck parked next to Boone’s truck outside that hotel…that’s probably where Myra got this idea that I was sleeping with one of them.”

“Oh, psh.” Molly fluffed her hair in the mirror. “Myra’s an equal opportunity gossiper. She tells stories about everyone.”

“Don’t blow this off. It’s a big deal to me.”

With a long-suffering sigh, Molly came and sat on the edge of the bed. She took Ivy’s hands. “I’m sorry an old hag no one listens to is defaming your good name. But why don’t you just acknowledge it? So what? Say you slept with Dallas, he sleeps with everyone. That’s the secret to gossip. Once you put the truth out there, it stops being interesting.”

“That wouldn’t be the truth. It would be a lie. Because I haven’t slept with Dallas.”
 

“So make the lie a truth and sleep with him. What’s the harm? He’s hot. He’ll do it. Then you can go forward in church on Sunday, repent of your sin, and be welcomed back into the community. No big deal.”

“You’re a very different person than me.”

“Don’t be a bitch. You know it’s more fun being me than you.”

“I can forgo the kind of fun that hurts people.”

Molly threw her hands up and returned to the mirror, taking up her eyeliner. “You should have married the preacher. You’d both have a lot of fun up there, the sole occupiers of the moral high ground.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell her to fuck off, but Molly gathered her things, blew her a kiss in the mirror, and left.
 

Of course it was appalling what Molly was doing. It left Ivy mildly nauseous and continually desiring a shower, not that a shower could wash away this kind of dirt. But the worst part was that Molly was right. She really did have more fun. Not that Ivy approved of her kind of fun, but she did kind of, maybe, just a little bit wish she could cut loose for a little while. Just stop being the person she was and carry on a reckless affair.

How unfair was it that she couldn’t even enjoy the memory of her one, reckless moment without having her personal life plastered all over Myra’s blog? Yet Molly got to continue an affair of far more scandalous proportions without getting caught or gossiped about.
 

She closed her eyes. It was for the best. She wouldn’t want him anyway, at least not long term anyway. She might like to feel his strong, calloused hands skimming up her breasts one more time. Maybe more than once.
 

But she wasn’t Molly. She had a conscience. Values. And frankly, she was too busy with work to bother with an affair right now anyway. And that was the absolute truth.

Dallas

The great thing about Jake was that he didn’t let his ego get in the way of shoveling shit.