The Fixer
Page 2

That was a mistake.
Standing in the middle of the paddock, my feet planted wide and my arms hanging loose by my sides, I eyed the horse channeling Beelzebub a few feet away. “Hey now,” I said softly. “That’s not very ladylike.”
The animal’s nostrils flared, but she didn’t rear back again.
“Someday,” I murmured, my voice edging up on a croon, “I’d like to meet your first owner in a dark alleyway.” Behind me, the sound of creaking wood alerted me to the arrival of company. I half expected that to send the horse into another fit, but instead, the animal took a few hesitant steps toward me.
“She’s beautiful.”
I froze. I recognized that voice—and instantly wished that I hadn’t. Two words. After all this time, that was all it took.
My chest tightened.
“I’ll be a while,” I said. I didn’t let myself turn around. This particular visitor wasn’t worth getting riled up over.
“It’s been too long, Tess.”
Whose fault is that? I didn’t bother responding out loud.
“You’re good with her. The horse.” Ivy didn’t sound the least bit angry at being ignored. That was the way it was with her—sugar and spice and everything nice, right up to the point when she wasn’t.
Go away, I thought. The horse in front of me gave a violent jerk of her head, picking up on the tension in my body. “Hey,” I murmured to her. “Hey now.” She slammed her front hooves into the ground. I got the message and began to back away.
“We need to talk,” Ivy told me when I reached the outer limits of the paddock. Like her presence on the ranch was an everyday occurrence. Like talking was something the two of us did.
I jumped the fence. “I need a shower,” I countered.
Ivy could not argue with my logic. Or more likely, she chose not to. I had the sense that the great Ivy Kendrick was the kind of person who could successfully argue just about any point—but what did I know? It had been almost three years since the last time I’d seen her.
“After your shower, we need to talk.” Ivy was nothing if not persistent. I deeply suspected that she wasn’t used to people telling her no. Luckily, there were benefits to being the kind of person known for taking my time with words. I didn’t have to say no. Instead, I walked toward the house, my stride outpacing hers, even though she had an inch or two on me.
“I got a call from your guidance counselor,” Ivy said behind me. “And then I made some calls of my own.”
Her words didn’t slow me down, but my gut twisted like a wet towel being wrung out and then wrung out again.
“I talked to the ranch hands,” Ivy continued.
I climbed up on the front porch, flung open the door, and let it slam behind me when I’d stepped inside. There was a time when slamming a door would have drawn my grandfather’s attention. He would have called me a heathen, threatened to scalp me, and sent me back out onto the porch to “try again.”
Not anymore.
Ivy’s been asking questions. I escaped to the second floor but couldn’t get away from the certainty bubbling up inside me. She knows.
“Enjoy your shower,” Ivy called after me. “Then we’ll talk.”
She was like a broken record. And she knew. I’d tried so hard to keep this secret, to take care of my grandfather, to do this one thing for the man who’d done everything for me, and now . . .
I wasn’t sure exactly what Ivy did in Washington. I didn’t know for a fact that she still lived there. I couldn’t have told you if she was single or dating someone—she might have even been married. What I did know—what I was trying very hard not to know—was that if Ivy had deigned to fly out to Montana and grace the ranch with her presence, she’d done so for a reason.
My sister was a mover, a shaker, a problem solver—and right now, the problem she’d set her sights on solving was me.
CHAPTER 3
I gave myself three minutes to shower. I couldn’t afford to leave Ivy alone with Gramps for longer than that. I shouldn’t have left them alone at all, but I needed a moment. I needed to think.
I hadn’t seen Ivy in nearly three years. She used to make it out to the ranch every few months. The last time she’d come to visit, she’d asked me if I wanted to move to DC and live with her. At thirteen, I’d worshipped the ground my sister walked on. I’d said yes. We’d had plans. And then she’d left. Without any explanation. Without taking me with her.
Without saying good-bye.
She hadn’t been back since. If I can convince her that Gramps and I are okay, she’ll leave again. That should have been comforting. It should have been my glimmer of hope.
I wasn’t thirteen anymore. It shouldn’t have hurt.
I tossed on a pair of sweats and a T-shirt and towel-dried my devil-may-care, too-thick hair. Ivy and I were bookend brunettes, my hair a shade too light to be considered black and my sister’s a fraction too dark to be blond.
She met me at the bottom of the stairs. “You ready to talk?” Her voice sounded like mine. She spoke faster, but the pitch was the same.
I felt a familiar rush of anger. “Did you ever think that maybe I don’t want to talk to you?”
Ivy’s mask of pleasantness faltered, just for a second. “I got that general sense when you didn’t return my last three phone calls,” she said softly.
Christmas. My birthday. Ivy’s birthday. My sister called home exactly three times a year. I’d stopped picking up at approximately the same time that my grandfather had started forgetting little things like keys and names and turning off the stove.
Gramps. I willed myself to concentrate on what mattered here. There’s a situation. It’s my job to get it under control. I rounded the corner into the kitchen, unsure of what I would find.
“ ’Bout time, Bear.” My grandfather greeted me with a ruffle of my hair and a cuff to the shoulder.
He knows me. Relief washed over my body. Bear had been his nickname for me for as long as I could remember.
“Look who’s finally come to visit,” Gramps said, nodding toward Ivy. His voice was gruff, but his hazel eyes were sparkling.
This is good, I thought. I can work with this. I’d been covering for my grandfather’s lapses for the past year. More frequently now than a year ago.