Not a guest room.
The room was mostly square, with a nook by the window and a ceiling that sloped on either side. The floors were a dark mahogany wood. A series of mirrors doubled as sliding doors to the closet.
“I thought you might like to decorate it yourself.” Ivy stepped into the room. If I hadn’t known better, I would have said she looked almost nervous. “I know it’s a little on the small side, but it’s my favorite room in the house. And you’ve got your own bathroom.”
The room was beautiful, but even thinking that felt disloyal. “Where am I going to sleep?” I asked.
“Wherever you put the bed.” Ivy’s reply was brusque, like she’d caught herself caring and managed to put a cork in it.
“Where am I going to sleep until I get a bed?” I asked, checking the impulse to roll my eyes.
“Tell me what kind of bed you want,” Ivy replied, “and Bodie will make sure it gets here tonight. I’ve got some furniture catalogs you can look at.”
I stared at my sister, wondering if she realized just how ridiculous that plan sounded. “I don’t think furniture companies do same-day delivery on a Saturday night,” I said, stating the obvious.
Bodie set my bags against the wall and then leaned back against the doorjamb. “They do,” he told me, “if you’re Ivy Kendrick.”
CHAPTER 5
The next morning, when I woke up in the bed I’d selected more or less randomly from one of Ivy’s catalogs, there was no escaping the physical reminders of where I was. And where I wasn’t. The bed beneath me was too comfortable. The ceiling above wasn’t my ceiling. Everything about this felt wrong.
I thought of Gramps, waking up in Boston and staring at a strange ceiling of his own. Pushing back against the suffocating wave of emotion that washed over me just thinking about it, I got up, got dressed, and pondered the fact that the mere mention of my sister’s name had been enough to make furniture appear within hours of being ordered. Back on the ranch, she’d managed to have herself declared my legal guardian and obtained our grandfather’s power of attorney almost as quickly.
Who did that? And more importantly—who could?
I should have known what my sister did for a living. I should have known Ivy. But I didn’t. Making my way out of the bedroom, I found the loft empty, a visceral reminder that it had always been my sister’s choice not to know me. She was the one who’d left. She was the one who’d stopped answering my calls.
Whoever she was, whatever she did—she’d chosen this life over me.
The muted sound of voices rose up from downstairs. At the top of the spiral staircase, I paused. The female voice was unmistakably Ivy’s. The person she was talking to was male.
“You don’t think that this was, just possibly, a little bit impulsive?” The mystery man’s tone of voice made it quite clear that he thought little bit was an understatement.
“Impulsive, Adam?” Ivy shot back. “You’re the one who taught me to trust my instincts.”
“This wasn’t instinct,” the man—Adam—countered. “This was guilt, Ivy.”
“I’m not debating this with you.”
“Evidence would suggest you are.”
“Adam”—I could practically hear Ivy clenching her teeth—“if you want me to look into your little friend at the DOJ, you’ll stop talking. Now.”
For several seconds, there was silence, followed by a grunt of frustration.
“What do you want me to do, Adam?” my sister asked finally, her voice soft enough now that I had to strain to hear. “Things were bad in Montana. I’m not sending her back, and I am not shipping her off to some boarding school. And don’t give me that look—you were the one who told me to bring her here three years ago!”
Realizing that they were arguing about me turned my body to stone. And what did Ivy mean that Adam was the one who had suggested she invite me to live with her the first time around? Who was this guy? Why had she listened to him?
Why had she changed her mind?
Some memories were like scars. This one had never healed right. Just hearing Ivy talk about it ripped off the scab.
“Three years ago, bringing Tess here might have been the right call.” Adam’s voice was terse. “But things change, Ivy. Three years ago, you were on speaking terms with my father.”
I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, and the stair beneath me creaked. The voices below went suddenly quiet. They’d heard me. I had a split second to decide on a course of action. I went with “pretend you weren’t just eavesdropping and walk down the stairs.”
“Ivy?” I called out. “You down there?”