Their Small-Town Love Page 3

  The committee chairwoman beckoned to him, her smile looking a tad strained, and he put Ivy Villard out of his mind as best he could, focusing instead on his duties. That, after all, was what Ryan Jefford did best. Some might even have said that it defined him as a person, and he wouldn’t have argued with them. It would not even have occurred to him to do so.

  Ivy remained at her sister’s side throughout the banquet. They’d had little time to talk as yet, but Ivy did not doubt that Rose was glad to see her, and for now that was enough. Ivy laughed at Ryan’s witty welcome and sat patiently through the less entertaining speeches that followed, accompanied by a plate of unremarkable food served by girls in short-skirted, green-and-yellow uniforms emblazoned with the white Eden lightning bolt. Ivy remembered well doing the same thing, serving tables for tips on reunion night to raise funds for the cheer squad, and she had come prepared with a generous donation.

  All in all her plan had thus far been even more successful than Ivy had hoped. Meeting Rose in a public place had been both more difficult and easier than Ivy had imagined. Rose had been shocked to see her, yes, but no more so than Ivy had been upon realizing that her sister was already the mother of two and expecting another child.

  Rose’s welcome had been all that Ivy could have asked for, warm, exuberant, even tearful, but the time and place of their reunion had relegated all but the simplest of exchanges to the future. Ivy sensed that Daniel might not be best pleased with her at the moment, but Ivy couldn’t blame him. Had she realized Rose’s physical condition beforehand, she would not have risked stressing her sister emotionally. That, too, however, was a subject for the future.

  While her attention and intent centered on Rose, many of Ivy’s old classmates had wandered by for a greeting and quick conversation. She’d been hugged and patted and smiled on. No one had surprised her as much as Ryan, though, and she silently thanked him for providing her with an easy out when Rose tentatively suggested that she join the family for Easter services the next day.

  Rose interrupted her musings with the whispered invitation, “Daniel and I wonder if you’d like to join us for Easter tomorrow?”

  “Oh sweetie, I’m sorry,” Ivy replied softly, “but I’ve already promised to go to the services at First Church with Ryan Jefford. Besides, I don’t think Dad would be very pleased.”

  Rather than press Ivy to reconsider, Rose’s tawny brown eyes were suddenly alight with speculation. She leaned close to whisper, “With Ryan? Really? He’s considered quite the catch around here, you know.”

  “We’re just old friends, Rose,” Ivy pointed out softly. “Mere acquaintances, really, but he invited me, and I said I would go.”

  Fortunately, before more could be said on the subject, the master of ceremonies, a retired former superintendent of Eden schools, announced that the highlight of the evening would commence. Each of the alumni present would stand and be recognized, in alphabetical order, while moderators read a list of his or her accomplishments. In this way, it was explained, they could all “catch up” with each other.

  Ivy cringed at the idea and even considered pleading exhaustion or headache in order to slip out before her turn came. In the end, however, she did neither, reminding herself that turning over a new leaf meant putting away cowardly and dishonest habits once and for all. Besides, how much could anyone in Eden, other than her family, really know about her life? When the moderator at last called her name, Ivy stood and inwardly gulped as a paragraph taken directly from her personal promotional Web site was read.

  “Ivy Villard has enjoyed a successful career in the highly competitive field of commercial radio. As half of the popular FireBrand Phillips and Ivy duo, she has logged thousands of on-air hours as an announcer, commentator and DJ, bringing her own special brand of humor, wit and organization to the new rock/talk format. As producer of the show, she has been instrumental in achieving the ratings that propelled it to the top of the heap. With the changing tastes of today’s marketplace, however, the time has come to break up the act and branch out in different directions. Look for Ivy, a graduate of Southeastern Oklahoma State University with a degree in communications, at the helm of her own show in a market near you very soon.”

  The moderator went on to list awards that the show had won. Fan Favorite, Industry Pick, Top Market, Best New Format…Ivy closed her ears and barely heard the applause that followed. She couldn’t help thinking that if the whole truth about Ivy Villard had been read, her reception would have been far less cordial. Clutching her sister’s hand, Ivy dropped back into her chair and waited for the evening to be over.

  Applauding for the umpteenth time, Ryan watched Ivy sit back down, one hand smoothing the seat of her chic black dress. He’d sensed her unease even before her name was called; then he’d caught the gossip being bandied about the head table.

  “Have you ever listened to that show?” one of the women muttered.

  “They say it’s raunchy,” another whispered, shaking her head.

  “Disgraceful, I’ve heard,” put in another.

  Ryan squelched a spurt of disappointment. He disdained gossip of any kind, and he would not make judgments based on it, but in this case, if the rumors should be true, he would be very sad to hear it. Ivy could be considered little more than an acquaintance, really, even if he would be escorting her to sunrise service tomorrow, but he still hated to think that she might be involved in a show with a reputation for raunch.

  He still wondered why he had offered to accompany her. If the service meant as much to her as it had seemed to earlier, he had nothing to worry about on her behalf. Except…Something was definitely going on behind those brown eyes. A blind man could have seen it. That troubled him as did his unexpected protective impulses where she seemed to be concerned.

  Another name was read, and another alumni rose. Ryan shifted his attention to Garth White, class of 1970, owner of the largest independent insurance agency in Lawton. Garth hammed it up for the crowd, passing out business cards to those around him while the moderator cataloged his accomplishments, including record-breaking revenues, four sons and a number of grandsons. Ryan tried to pay attention, but his gaze kept straying back to Ivy. She looked poised and lovely, but he still could sense sorrow in her, a deep well of pain. He found himself wanting to walk over to her table again.

  As he watched her, Ryan noticed a tall, painfully thin blonde in a short-sleeved, lilac print dress winding her way through the tables in a half crouch. When she reached Ivy’s side, the two embraced warmly. Ivy pulled the blonde down onto the chair that Ryan had occupied earlier.

  Ryan couldn’t help wondering who the woman might be and what connection she had to Ivy. That the two were fond of each other was obvious. They clasped hands, whispering back and forth and exchanged grins. Ivy beamed, and for the first time since he’d laid eyes on her that evening, she seemed relaxed and happy. He watched as she whispered apparent introductions to her sister and brother-in-law while Cotton Carlson, the retired superintendent of schools, announced from the dais that door prizes would now be awarded.

  The blonde stayed to chat with Ivy throughout the dispensing of such donated items as flower arrangements, a free alignment from Froggy’s Gas &Tire, bottle openers that played a tune every time a top popped and a fifty-dollar gift certificate from Booker’s Grocery Emporium. When the program finally ended, Ryan rose to shake a few more hands and greet a few more familiar faces, while Ivy and her companions melted into the crush.

  The crowd had begun to thin by the time Ryan came across his old buddy Matthew Barston. An algebra and Spanish teacher, Matt had worked for years at the small school district in Hilltown, a neighboring community some dozen or so miles to the east.

  “Matt! I didn’t know you were here. Why wasn’t your name called tonight?”

  Matthew flushed as red as his copper hair and shoved the hand that Ryan had just gripped into the pocket of his tweedy brown jacket. He cleared his throat before saying, “I asked them not to read
my name. Call me odd, but I prefer not to stand up and have it announced that I’m out of a job.”

  Startled, Ryan seized his friend by the arm, demanding, “How could this happen? When did it happen?”

  “As to when,” Matt said, snorting with disgust, “Monday morning, less than forty-eight hours after I got married.”

  “Married!” Ryan exclaimed. There seemed to be a wedding epidemic going around.

  “Why I’m out of a job is the real issue, though, isn’t it?” Matt went on, grumbling, “Sanctimonious snobs.”

  Just then the skinny blonde Ryan had noticed at Ivy’s table came into view, halting at Matt’s side. Matt immediately straightened and slid an arm around her waist, his smile wiping all traces of anger from his face.

  “Honey, this is my buddy Ryan Jefford, I’ve told you about him. Ryan, my wife, Devony.”

  Devony Barston’s beautiful smile brightened her otherwise rather plain face, and her enormous green eyes regarded Ryan with warmth. “It’s so nice to meet you. Matt has told me what a good friend you are.”

  Surprised, since he and Matt didn’t talk all that much anymore or see each other outside of work but a few times a year, Ryan just nodded and smiled.

  Matt gave Devony a squeeze and said, “Honey, could you give us another minute? Won’t take long, I promise.”

  “Sure.” Devony smiled again, nodded at Ryan and moved away.

  Ryan realized that he should have told Devony congratulations on their marriage, but it was too late for that.

  “Sorry,” he muttered to Matt. “I seem to be a step behind. Congratulations on your marriage. Please give my best wishes to your wife.”

  “Thanks. I hope you’ll still feel that way after I ask you a favor.”

  “Well, sure, Matt,” Ryan answered readily, “anything I can do.”

  “I’m getting ready to look for another job. Will you write me a recommendation?”

  Ryan opened his mouth, then shut it again before carefully saying, “My impulse is to give you a flat yes, but I make it a policy to pray over every decision.” That happened to be absolutely true, as far as it went, but said nothing to the fact that Ryan sensed more to Matt’s story than his friend had revealed.

  Matt ducked his head. “Sure. I understand.”

  “Give me a call in a few days,” Ryan went on with a smile. He didn’t have the faintest idea what had happened, whether Matt had been let go or why Matt should ask him for a recommendation; he only knew that he needed more information before he committed himself. On the one hand, Ryan could not imagine that Matt had done anything to get himself fired. On the other hand, this was not the time of year when normal budgetary constraints would dictate layoffs. A clash of personalities perhaps? He prayed that it wasn’t something worse. Educators, after all, held positions open to public censure. Christian educators, especially, should aim to be above reproach.

  Ryan watched with a heavy heart as Matt walked away. What a rotten break, Ryan thought, just married and out of a job. He bowed his head to say a quick prayer for his friend. A moment later, he found himself scanning the room for Ivy. How, he wondered, did she know the new Mrs. Matthew Barston? And why had Ivy’s eyes been shadowed with pain?

  Chapter Three

  Night still blanketed the town when Ryan knocked on the door of Ivy’s room early the next morning. He hunched his shoulders beneath the nubbly, caramel-tan fabric of his sport coat. The jacket, worn with a pale yellow shirt, dark brown slacks and a patterned tie in rich tones of gold, provided little comfort from the early morning chill, but he trusted that the temperature would soon warm.

  The door opened to reveal Ivy in a pale pink knit sheath with fitted, three-quarter-length sleeves and a straight neckline. Her dark, lustrous hair hung straight down her back.

  “Hello,” she said, smiling broadly. The warmth of her welcome went a long way toward wiping out Ryan’s nebulous regret at having offered to escort her this morning. He was too busy to get involved with anyone, no matter how much he liked Ivy.

  “You’re looking very pretty,” he told her truthfully, “especially for such an early hour.”

  “Why, thank you. You’re turned out quite nicely yourself.”

  He tugged on the cuffs and lapels of his jacket, preening comically and enjoying her laughter. She interrupted his performance by asking, “Do I need a coat?”

  “Something light, I’d think. It’s not cold but still a little cool out.”

  Ivy went to the suitcase atop the nondescript dresser, picked up a silky, oversized shawl in a pastel paisley print and tossed it about her shoulders. “Will this do?”

  “Perfect,” Ryan decreed. “You look like a spring morning.”

  Laughing again, Ivy retrieved the key and stepped down out of the comfortable room, pulling the door closed behind her. She locked the door and handed the key to Ryan, saying, “I don’t have any pockets and would prefer to leave my purse here. Would you mind holding this for me?”

  “No problem.” Palming the key and the hard plastic tag attached to it, he slid his hand into his coat pocket, then ushered her along the row of rooms, each one separated from the next by a parking bay open on one end. Her perfume wafted on the still, cool air, a combination of spicy cinnamon and sweet camellia well matched to the woman who wore it.

  The barest glimmer of light showed in the east as they strolled along, side by side. Ahead, Ryan could make out cars jockeying for parking space and people moving about; yet, despite that, a certain expectant stillness lay over the place.

  “Hard to believe we were socked in with a nasty ice storm just a month and a half ago,” he ventured after several moments.

  “Yeah, we got hit up in Tulsa, too,” she said, “but then that area almost always gets it. You guys down here not so much.”

  “Usually once a year,” he noted, “and this year it got us really good.”

  “Holt and Cara must have been in a panic, with the wedding coming up and all,” Ivy commented idly.

  Ryan chuckled. “Nope. Nobody was thinking wedding then. Well, Holt and Cara weren’t. The rest of us could read the writing on the wall. I have to hand it to them, though, once the idea hit, they didn’t waste any time. Almost before we knew it, we were standing up there in front of the altar watching them do the deed.”

  Ivy shook her head. “Maybe that’s how it has to be sometimes,” she mused, “fast and furious. What’s that old saying? ‘Don’t let the grass grow under your feet’?”

  “No danger of that,” Ryan quipped. “We’re already expecting to hear any day that they are expecting.”

  A tiny gasp escaped Ivy. “So soon?”

  “Why not?” Ryan asked. “Ace, Cara’s little boy, is just a year old, but chances are he’d be at least two before Cara could give him a brother or sister, and as Holt points out, they would like them to be close in age—similar to the two years between Holt and me.”

  “What about Ace’s father?” Ivy asked carefully.

  “He died not long after Ace was born.”

  She hunched her shoulders, drawing her wrap tighter. “How sad.”

  “Yes. Yes, it is.” Ryan didn’t say that from the sound of things, the marriage hadn’t been a very good one or that Ace’s natural father had looked on him as more of a means to extract cash from his own parents than as a treasured son.

  They walked on in silence for a few moments. Dawn hovered over the horizon now, ready to illuminate the city with the softest tendrils of day and outline the still-leafless skeletons of the stately pecan and hickory trees. It felt as if the world waited for the dawning of the Easter sun.

  “I’d forgotten that sound,” Ivy said suddenly.

  “What’s that?”

  “The oil pumps.”

  “Yeah,” Ryan lifted his head to catch the rhythmic ka-shunk, ka-shunk. “I never notice it. Unless it’s not there. And one day it won’t be. They’re gradually replacing these old pumps with a quiet electric system.”

  “That�
��s too bad,” she said wistfully. “I find it a comforting sound.”

  “Yeah, I guess I do, too. It nearly drove Ty crazy at first,” Ryan divulged with a chuckle. “Turns out that a penthouse is a very quiet atmosphere.”

  “How did Charlotte and Tyler Aldrich ever get together?” Ivy asked, looking up at Ryan.

  Suddenly struck by the elegant perfection of her features—delicate chin and brows, high smooth forehead, large, deeply set eyes of warm reddish brown, glossy pink lips bracketed by the most beguiling dimples, and a straight, slender nose—he couldn’t respond for a moment. Then a memory intruded, one he hadn’t even known he’d locked away, and before he could think better of it, he heard himself blurting it out.

  “Wait a minute. Didn’t you used to have a little bump on the bridge of your nose?”

  Ivy lifted a hand to that spot on her face, patches of dusky red blossoming on the apples of her cheeks. “You aren’t supposed to know that!”

  “You did,” Ryan teased. “You had a cute little bump right at the top of the bridge of your nose.”

  Dropping her hand, she grimaced. “Cute stops being cute at about twenty-four, thank you very much.”

  “So you had it removed.”

  “Yes, if you must know, I had it removed.”

  Grinning, Ryan couldn’t resist the urge to tease her a little more. “You were the envy of every girl in town back in high school, and all along I’d bet you were obsessing about that tiny bump.”

  “I didn’t,” she insisted. “Well, maybe a little bit, but it was my boyfriend who insisted I do it.” Abruptly, she snapped her mouth closed, as if regretting that last part. Ryan felt a pang on her behalf.

  “What a jerk,” he declared.

  “You don’t know the half of it,” she muttered darkly.

  Again, a question fell out of his mouth without routing itself through his brain first. “How’d you wind up with a jerk like that?”