Take a Chance on Me (20 page)

She died almost immediately, her skull shattering.

Ivy had read the obit, too, and every single article she could dig up on the court case. Jensen had been accused of texting, a thin case built around negligent driving, and Ivy used that to tear holes in the prosecution in her memorandum. Still, with his cell phone open, a text recently sent . . .

She could still remember turning in her memo on the community service option to her junior associate, the pride she’d felt as she handed it to him. Then she’d marched into Daniel’s adjunct professor office at the University of Minnesota and shown it to him.

He was impressed, especially when the plea made the evening news.

She took another bite of ice cream, and it shivered through her.

Yes, maybe it would be best if Darek never called again.

Ivy put the bowl down, her appetite souring. Oh, why did the world have to be so terribly small?

She’d always known that fate—or God—was against her. And this was just more proof. No matter what she did to reach for her dreams, something always destroyed it.

I’ve made it this far on my own. I guess I’ll keep it that way.

You’re never on your own, Ivy.
Claire’s words, in her head.

Yes, she was. Because God certainly wasn’t on her side, and with Daniel gone . . . No, she had no one.

She got up to stop the bathwater.

“Ivy?” A knock came at her door. “It’s me, Claire.”

Claire? Ivy went to the door, flicking on the outside light. “Hey—”

Her gaze stopped on the man standing behind Claire. Jensen, offering her a sheepish smile. Shoot. How she hoped her face didn’t fall, that he didn’t see the minute hiccup of breath. “Hello.”

“Hello,” he said, reaching past Claire to shake her hand. “I’m Jensen Atwood. I’m sorry to bother you—”

“We need some help,” Claire said. “Can we talk to you?”

The moths bounced around the light, a big one dive-bombing the open door. “Come in,” Ivy said, shooing it away.

Except now Jensen Atwood stood in her tiny kitchen. With his sun-bleached and tousled hair, she saw the arrogant playboy the media had portrayed him as three years ago. No wonder Deep Haven wanted to crucify him.

Claire looked at him and smiled. So maybe not
everyone
in Deep Haven.

“How can I help you?”

“I was wondering if we could ask for some legal advice.”

Advice? Oh, please let it be about a traffic ticket. Or a recovered wallet. Or maybe they’d saved someone’s life, needed to know about Good Samaritan laws.

Ivy had a sick feeling here.

“It’s late, Claire. We shouldn’t bother her,” Jensen said. He put his hand on her shoulder.

If there is anyone you should stay away from in this town, it’s Jensen Atwood.
Ivy couldn’t tear her gaze from that hand on Claire’s shoulder.

Wow, how quickly small-town prejudices tangled her thoughts, her opinions. She stepped back. “No, that’s okay. How can I help?”

“It’ll only take a minute,” Claire said. “I know it’s late, but . . . well, us being neighbors, I figured it was okay.”

Huh. “Sit down.”

Ivy turned toward the table and froze. The file on Felicity Christiansen. She rushed over, closed it. Dumped it all onto a chair. “How about on the sofa?”

She’d inherited the sofa from the previous tenant, something green and a bit smelly, but she was rarely here . . . Still, she cringed when Jensen and Claire sat down, their faces so expectant. As if somehow she might save the day. As if she hadn’t had a conversation with Jensen’s probation officer about the very real threat of his probation violation.

And then there was the little matter that she’d set up his probation in the first place. At least that he’d be behind bars if it weren’t for her.

Which, if she stood in Darek’s shoes, might be a good thing.

But she wasn’t dating Darek, and right now, Claire had a clear grip on Jensen’s hand.

This town had suddenly become microscopic.

Ivy tried not to look at the file, some of the papers scattered on the floor like grenades.

Brilliant, Ivy.

“What’s going on?” She crossed her leg, her foot tapping. Forced a casual, neighborly, how-can-I-help? smile.

“Well, Jensen is on probation.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“And he has a bunch of community service he has to fulfill.”

“Hmm.”

“The problem is, he doesn’t have time to complete it, so we were wondering if there is any way to get more time.”

“Mmm.”

Claire smiled at Ivy.

Oh, her turn. “Jensen . . . uh, do you have a defense attorney? He could file a motion on your behalf to extend your probation.”

“I’m self-represented, ma’am.”

Oh, boy.

“Okay. Have you talked to your probation officer?” She hated this part.

“I have. He . . . Well, see . . .”

“The thing is, Jensen was unfairly charged. He—he didn’t do what they accused him of,” Claire said, a little too brightly.

Ivy swallowed. “Hmm.”

“Vehicular homicide,” Claire said.

Jensen cringed, looked away.

“But he was innocent—it was an accident.”

Ivy nodded.

“No, really!” Claire said.

Jensen had his eyes closed now.

And that’s when Ivy’s heart went out to him. Wasn’t that why she came to Deep Haven? To help people? And frankly, when he met her eyes and offered a sad smile, she wanted to like him. Once upon a time, she’d read his statements as a mere clerk, unbiased, and in her dark cubicle, she’d believed in his innocence so much, despite the circumstantial evidence, that she’d spent hours and hours finding him a way out.

Maybe she was naive, but back then she’d believed in second chances, in the law helping people change their lives, and most of all, in doing her very best to see that justice won, even in no-win situations.

Which was why the words came to her. “You could try for clemency. It’s rarely given, but sometimes—”

“Clemency!” Claire sat up. “Yes!”

“But I can’t file that because I’m a
prosecutor
. I’d be the one filing the complaint
against
him.” She spoke her words slowly, clearly.

But she did want to help. She just didn’t want anyone to know.

Like Darek. Although he hadn’t exactly chased her down, wooed her heart from her, had he?

Maybe him not calling was all for the best, before she got too entangled in a conflict of interest.

“Listen. Go online. There’s a form and instructions. If you follow that, you can submit a motion for clemency. I can’t make any guarantees, but . . .”

“Thank you, Ivy. You’re the best!” Claire jumped up from the sofa and wrapped her arms around Ivy.

Jensen held out his hand. “Thank you, Ivy. I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting any help.”

Of course not. “Glad to meet you, Jensen.”

She turned off the floodlight after they let themselves out.
Watched as Jensen walked over to a shiny black Mustang and Claire gave him an awkward wave as she wheeled her bike away.

Hmm.

Okay, so living in a small town might be a smidgen more complicated than Ivy had thought, but she handled that without any land mines, right? She’d simply offered them advice. Hadn’t gotten her hands dirty, hadn’t run into any quagmires of ethical violations.

Just doing her job, one life at a time. Staying impartial.

She heard water running as she shut the door.

No! Ivy ran into the bathroom, nearly went down on the slick tile. The water ran over the top, had already flooded the room, and was now cascading into the hall.

“No, no, no!” She waded in, reached over, and shut off the faucet. Plunged her hand into the depths and pulled the plug.

The water began to gurgle out.

Grabbing clean towels, she threw them on the floor to mop up the water.

From the kitchen table, her cell phone rang.

She ran toward it, nearly slipped again, stepped on one of the papers, and with it stuck to her foot, picked up the phone to look at the caller ID.

Darek.

It rang again and she stood there, her thumb hovering over the button to answer.

So much for staying impartial.

IVY DESERVED BETTER
and Darek knew it. He forced a smile as she stopped by an artist’s booth displaying suncatchers and other jewels on a fishing line.

Ivy caught one in her hand. “Pretty.” She held it up to capture the rose gold of the setting sun.

Darek tried to act interested in a piece of jewelry but mostly just intercepted Tiger’s grab at the pieces. “Hands off, pal.”

Tiger made a face. “I’m hungry.”

“I know, bud. We’re going to get some supper in a bit here.”

“I want ice cream!”

“Not before dinner. You’ll ruin your appetite.”

Ivy let go of the suncatcher. Glanced at the vendor with a smile and then turned away. “We can get it now, if you want.”

“No. We can finish walking through this row of merchants. This is fun.”

She raised an eyebrow but moved on to the next booth. At least this artist he knew and could make some small talk. Liza Beaumont, the potter, wore her black hair up in a ponytail, a long wrinkled skirt, a tank top that revealed her strong arms.

“Hello there, Darek.” She leaned down. “Tiger.”

“Hello, Miz B.”

Liza met Darek’s eye as she straightened. “Tiger’s preschool class came to my studio last year and they all made bowls.”

“I painted it too!”

Ivy was holding a bowl, looking at the bottom. “I have a few of these in my apartment.”

“Let me know if you need any replacements.” She winked. “So, Tiger, they are painting rocks down at the beach. You and your daddy should head down to the booth.”

Just what Tiger needed. Paint. Rocks. A lethal combination. But Darek managed a smile.

“Don’t look so ill, Darek. It’s just watercolors,” Liza said. “Maybe you should paint something. Could be good for you. Loosen you up.”

“I don’t—”

“C’mon, it’ll be fun,” Ivy said as if she’d been waiting all her life to paint rocks. Or maybe she was simply as miserable as he was.

Maybe she, too, longed to be somewhere else.

Ivy took Tiger’s hand. “C’mon, let’s go show your daddy the amazing artists we are.”

The sight of Tiger looking up at her, adoration in his eyes—yes, that could pull Darek out of his self-pity and into a happier place.

And he could admit to losing himself in a happy place for a
long moment tonight as Ivy met him outside her apartment, wearing a pretty orange sundress with a pair of flip-flops.

She’d smiled at him, her green eyes in his, as if searching for something. If he didn’t know better, he might have called her expression fear or even sadness. As if he’d nearly blown it by not calling her for four days and now stood at the precipice of losing this chance completely.

But then Tiger asked her if she wanted a cookie, she laughed, and the fist in his chest eased.

Especially when Ivy accepted his outstretched hand.

Her soft grip in his should have been enough to distract him from the orange haze along the far horizon, the scent of smoke in the air. From the knowledge that Jed and the rest of the Jude County Hotshots were holed up at the forest service office reading maps and weather reports, constructing fire behavior scenarios and a plan of attack.

But the last day had sucked him right back to the past. It felt somehow like he hadn’t lost a day of his life as Jed and the crew unpacked their gear at Evergreen, sat around the lodge swapping stories. Darek fell into the hive and had them all laughing at the rookie escapades of their superintendent.

Most of all, it made him feel normal. Or at least like the man he’d wanted to be. It bolstered his courage to finish that phone call, to talk to Ivy and ask her out to the opening night of the art show.

Art. What had he been thinking? The chamber of commerce had blocked off the street, allowed locals to put up booths, and now he’d sentenced himself to an evening of examining pottery, trying to be impressed by woven baskets. Deep Haven and its penchant for festivals.

He’d rather be studying flame lengths and fire behavior. Even out on the fire line, trenching for twelve hours, hot, acrid air burning his throat.

Okay, maybe not entirely, but . . . if he had to look at another piece of painted birch bark . . .

“Cheer up. No one is going to make you paint, Picasso,” Ivy said.

Her smile could stop the constant, frustrated boil in his head, and for a second, it all washed away. He should simply enjoy his evening out with this beautiful woman who represented everything he needed. A fresh start. A mother for Tiger. A woman without guile.

“Just you wait. I took three years of art in high school,” he said.

“Really.”

He leaned close, catching her vanilla fragrance. “It fulfilled my art credits. My mother has a closet full of scary vases and ceramic plates.”

She laughed and it felt like a fresh breeze to his soul.

They cut across the sidewalk and into the harbor park, where a flautist played from a stage, the music soft against the breeze and the wash of waves on shore. Nearby, the children’s tent hosted various activities, one of them the rock-painting contest. He settled Tiger at a table while Ivy retrieved a painting kit for him: a bucket of rocks, brushes, and a tin of watercolors.

“Hey there, buddy, are you here to paint?” Caleb Knight came over, wearing a baseball hat and his Huskies football shirt.

“Hey, Caleb,” Darek said, catching his hand. Although he’d graduated long before Coach Knight came to town, he’d watched him transform the Huskies football program into a championship team. Some year soon, they’d win state. “I didn’t know you were an artist.”

“We’re fund-raising for the school,” Caleb said, pointing to a donation bucket.

Darek dug into his pocket, came out with a ten, and dropped it in.

Caleb tied an apron on Tiger and showed him how to dip his brush in the water, then the paint. Tiger reached for a rock and began to turn it green.

Darek stepped out of the tent, watching the waves. The water turned platinum in the light of the setting sun. A slight breeze bullied the collar of his polo shirt.

Conditions like these could be most dangerous on a fire line. Winds could be deceptive, lull firefighters into believing they had the upper hand. He’d known fire crews to take naps too near a line, nearly find themselves caught in a firestorm.

He’d have to stop by the forest service office and—

“You’re not really here, are you?”

Ivy’s voice cut through his thoughts and he turned, tried to focus on her. It was a moment before he found words. “There’s a fire north of Deep Haven, back in the BWCA. A bunch of hotshots from my old crew are in town, and . . .” He lifted a shoulder. “They’re staying at the resort.”

“And you’d like to be with them.”

He slipped his hand into hers. “No. I’d rather be here with you.”

She took a long breath. Didn’t smile. “I’m a lawyer. I know when people are lying.”

Oh yeah. His smile fell. “Okay. Yes. But that’s not my life anymore.”

“And you’re kicking yourself for still wanting it.” Her voice grew soft. “We can’t blame ourselves for wanting something. Just for what we’ll do to get it.”

She had such amazing green eyes, the way they shone in the sun, and for a long moment, he forgot exactly what he’d been pining for.

Yes. Right now he would rather be here, with her.

“Thanks for coming out with me tonight,” he said. “I’m sorry it took so long for me to call.”

She smiled, but that sadness touched her eyes again. Oh, he’d hurt her.

“It’s not that I didn’t want to; it’s just—”

“With Tiger it gets tricky.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I . . . don’t want him getting hurt.”

She had her fingers woven with his. “Me either.” Then she pulled away from him. Wrapped her arms around herself. “It was probably a good thing because I need to talk to you.”

He made a face. “Please don’t tell me I totally blew it. Really, Ivy, I wanted to call you, but I—”

She held up a hand. “It’s not that. It’s just, this town is so small. . . .”

Small. His chest tightened. Of
course
she had heard about him and Felicity. The kind of man he’d been, why he’d lost his wife, why he didn’t deserve a woman like Ivy. His hopes betrayed him when he said, “What did you hear?”

She frowned. “I didn’t—”

Behind him, Tiger laughed. And then he heard a voice lift above his son’s, deep and resonant, raking up memories.

He whirled around.

Couldn’t believe what he saw.

Claire Gibson was crouched beside Tiger, painting rocks with him, and beside her . . . Jensen Atwood. Feeding Darek’s son cotton candy.

“What the—?” Darek sucked in the words, but they fueled the burn in his chest as he strode toward the tent. “Get away from my son!”

Ivy somehow beat him to the tent and now stood between Jensen and Tiger. She gave Darek a look that stopped him, made him blink. “You’re scaring Tiger,” she hissed.

For a second, he felt slapped.

Then she crouched beside Tiger. “Hey, bud, how about we wash those hands, maybe get some ice cream, huh?”

Tiger was staring at him, his hand sticky with red cotton candy. He got up with Ivy, who glanced again at Darek.

He forced a smile, feeling as if he’d been read his rights. “Go with Ivy, Son.”

He watched her lead Tiger out of the tent, then rounded on Claire and Jensen, the rush of fury back, flooding his mind, his chest.

“Stay away from my son,” he said, keeping his voice low, taut.

Jensen wore a hard glint in his eyes. “I was just talking to him—”

“You have no right to talk to him.”

“Dare,” Claire began. “It’s my fault. I saw him painting, and he looked so cute with his apron. He has Felicity’s nose, and—”

“Don’t talk about Felicity.” His gaze hadn’t moved from Jensen’s. “Ever.”

“She was my best friend. Of course I’ll talk about her,” Claire said. “You’re not the only one who lost her.”

He tightened his jaw. “I don’t want to see you in my town, Jensen.”

“Believe me, I don’t want to be here. But I am, and I’m just trying to enjoy this festival with Claire. Sorry we upset you—”

We?
Darek felt as if someone took a scythe to his body when he saw Claire put her hand on Jensen’s arm.

Were these two . . .
together
?

Jensen made to walk away, and Darek should have let him. But he couldn’t. Not with so much steam inside, not with Jensen walking around, a free man, unpunished.

Unapologetic.

And even worse, with Claire.

He grabbed Jensen’s arm.

It was a fight just waiting to happen. He saw it in Jensen’s eyes, the way he whirled around, yanking his arm out of Darek’s grip. He wasn’t sure who started it then. If it was Jensen’s fist in his face that made him launch himself at him in a full body check, or if Jensen had simply been trying to protect himself.

Whatever the spark, Darek had enough fuel inside him to light up the entire place. He took Jensen down on the painting table with a crash, rolled, and landed beside him on the pavement. Jensen slammed an elbow into his jaw as he struggled to get up, and pain strobed against Darek’s eyes. He reached out, clawed at Jensen’s collar.

He heard ripping but didn’t stop, flinging his arm around Jensen’s neck.

And then Darek simply held on. He’d stopped thinking, just acted on pure adrenaline. Closed his grip on Jensen, squeezing out his air.

But Jensen had always fought dirty—Darek forgot that. The man landed another elbow in Darek’s gut, this time enough to wheeze the breath out of him. Darek gasped, let go, and Jensen scrambled away.

His former best friend stood above Darek, his shirt ripped, breathing hard.

Darek pushed himself up, still wheezing, his heart slamming against his rib cage.

Around them, even the seagulls had gone quiet. Save for one lonely, wretched cry.

“Daddy!”

The entire date had been a bad idea, and Ivy knew it. Especially as she pulled Tiger away from Darek, who lay sprawled on the ground, covered in paint, so much anger in his eyes, it even scared her a little. She turned Tiger around, crouched down to pull him against her, to hide him from Darek’s violence.

His little body shook, and she didn’t blame him.