Fevered Hearts (2 page)

Despite the frustrations Juls must feel, Ivy couldn’t hold back a laugh. The foreign feeling of it bubbling up her throat and past her lips was exhilarating, like drinking that entire pitcher of margaritas.

Juls burst out laughing too. “Men, right? I haven’t lived with one in a long time, and I’d forgotten how irritating Ward can be.”

“He and Liam used to be so close. I wonder if it would help my husband to see an old friend.” Liam hadn’t mentioned Ward in a long time. Then again, he hadn’t really talked about anything but the weather or the way the trees smelled either.

Juls’ eyes sparkled. “Maybe it would. I’ll mention it to Ward.”

Ivy’s stomach rolled at the thought of that sexy man walking into her house and piercing her with that singe-your-panties stare, and in front of her husband, no less. While it might be out of Ivy’s comfort zone, she’d do anything to help Liam move past his depression long enough to go for the therapy he needed and start living again.

“I’d appreciate that, Juls. Thanks.”

Juls poured them each a glass and added a mint leaf to the top. Then she raised her glass and clinked it against Ivy’s. “To stubborn men.”

Ivy’s grin stretched. “Gotta love them.”

Pain sluiced up Liam’s hand, arm and shoulder like an electric eel. He winced but didn’t groan as he once might have. After living with the pain for a year, he’d grown accustomed to it in a macabre sort of way.

He moved again, reaching high for the box of cereal on the pantry shelf, and the shock of pain hit him again. “Damn,” he whispered.

At least Ivy wasn’t around. She didn’t like to see him this way, and he hid it whenever he could—as well as he could. But she wasn’t very good at hiding her discontent. She was the unhappiest he’d ever seen her in his life.

All because of one widow-maker.

The branch known as a widow-maker that had fallen on him, crushing a spinal disc and giving him a brain injury, hadn’t killed him but probably should have. Wouldn’t he be better off not confined to a wheelchair and able to use his hands and body to make his wife happy again?

He snagged the edge of the cereal box with a fingertip and caught it as it fell from the shelf. As always when completing tasks beyond his reach, he wondered if the doctors might actually be right—that with some therapy he could train his brain to stand and walk again.

For a moment, he stared at his lower limbs, too aware of how much muscle he’d lost in them. Could they even support his weight anymore? Unlikely.

With a growl, he gripped his wheel and spun a donut in the middle of the kitchen, rolling toward the bowl cupboard. Ivy had left for work long ago. Liam had lain in bed for many minutes, listening to her shower and brush her teeth. And then he’d drawn great gulps of perfume-scented air into his lungs when she passed through the master bedroom.

As usual, she’d paused to kiss him goodbye but he’d feigned sleep. It was growing increasingly difficult to look his wife in the eyes. He just couldn’t stand to see her pain anymore. And lately he thought he’d seen sparks of pity.

With these heavy thoughts dancing through his mind, he tried repeatedly to open the cereal box. His fingers fumbled over the top, slipping, useless. Drawing a deep breath, he focused with everything he had on picking up his spoon. Some days his fingers worked better than others, which was a lovely byproduct of his head injury. He could swing an ax if he wanted, but small tasks like grasping a spoon were often difficult.

Another thing the doctor said could be improved upon with therapy. But there was still a chance it wouldn’t help, and that was the part Liam couldn’t live with. Because of the percentage of doubt, he chose not to go, preferring reality to disappointment.

If given a choice between his fine motor skills and walking again, he’d love the use of his fingers back. To trace the fine lines of his wife’s jaw, thread his fingers through her hair without pulling it…to plunge his fingers deep in her pussy.

You might be able to do these things. You haven’t tried.

The memory of that silken, wet heat clutching his fingers fucked with his mind. For a long minute, he drowned in want. But his cock lay there like a dead thing, not hardening as it should.

Violently, he shoved the spoon handle into the cardboard cereal box and slit it. He did the same with the inside bag and managed to pour himself a bowl without spilling any.

Small victory.

While he chomped on the cereal he preferred, he stared from the sliding glass door at the short wooden fence that supported masses of climbing roses. Ivy went outside every day with a pair of clippers and cut away the dead blooms. Often she came in with a bouquet in her fist. Small cups of the fragrant, old-fashioned roses were scattered around the house.

His heart warmed at the thought of the little touches that made this a home. Too fucking bad he couldn’t contribute to it. Ivy had even bought this goddamn box of cereal. He hadn’t had a real paycheck in a year, only a pittance. The family business couldn’t afford to pay him for work he wasn’t doing.

Liam’s dad had been sorry to cut him loose.

A dead weight to my own father.

Backhanding his mouth, Liam rolled to the dishwasher with his empty bowl and placed it inside. Then he wheeled to the glass door again. Beyond the fence, a small bird hopped through the grass, pecking bugs and seeds. It vanished behind a stile only to appear again a second later.

From this vantage point, it seemed the bird was trapped behind the fence. Just as Liam was confined to the motherfucking wheelchair. Even if the bird were trapped—which it wasn’t—it could still gather its own food. It could hunt for its family.

Liam’s father’s words echoed in his mind.
When you’re ready to come back, just call. There’s always paperwork to do, son.

Maybe it was time to yank himself from the quicksand and take his dad up on his offer. Where else was he going to work? Mattson Hardwoods was his life—was always going to be his life. One day he’d planned to take over and run the business himself. Now those dreams were dashed, as he couldn’t very well wheel himself into the forest and fell tree after tree.

Holding a pencil was hard enough, but he had to try. For Ivy. She didn’t deserve to be burdened with bringing home the sole income. She worked hard in the courthouse then spent every free minute with her knitting needles to scrape together extra cash.

Liam fished his cell from the pocket of his faded flannel shirt and called his father. Five minutes later, his dad pulled into the driveway.

It irked Liam that he needed a ride, but he sucked it up and rolled down the ramp to the gravel. His father Ed was at his side in an instant, prepared to stow the wheelchair in the back.

Liam hoisted himself into the passenger’s seat and waited for his dad to get in. When he did, their gazes met. The same fierce drive his dad possessed had been instilled in Liam—something he’d always thanked him for. But a branch had knocked that out of him pretty damn quickly.

“Thought you said you could only saw down timber, not push a pencil.” His dad’s tone was gruff.

Liam scuffed his knuckles over his jaw. “Yeah, well, shit changes.”

His dad gave a low chuckle and twisted the key in the ignition. He backed the SUV out of the driveway without even looking behind him or using a mirror. They hit the dirt road and shot off in a cloud of dust.

Liam shook his head. His father had always been a kid at heart when it came to anything with wheels and a motor—
run ’em fast and run ’em hard
was his motto.

At one time, Liam had lived by that rule too.

He sighed.

“Sure you want to do this?”

“You don’t need the help?” Liam countered.

His dad glanced out of the corner of his eye. “You know I do. The paperwork is falling behind. Contracts to be worked on. And there’s a little problem with some bad PR…”

Liam looked at him sharply. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” he drawled, rubbing his jaw, “seems some idiot I hired to replant didn’t do his job.”

A hiss squeezed past Liam’s lips. “Fuck. I should have known that weasel Harrington would screw it up.”

His dad’s mouth turned down at the corners, cutting deep creases into his sun-leathered face. Years of hard work had worn down Ed’s body—years that Liam envied. If only he could get out there with a chainsaw, he’d take whatever wrinkles and crevices the sun gave him.

Liam grabbed the “holy shit” handle as his dad whipped around a ninety-degree bend. “Why did you take this road? It’s not the easiest route to the office.”

“I have my reasons.”

As his father was a man of few words, it was best for Liam to sit and wait. Whatever his dad planned to spring on him would be revealed in good time. All Liam had was time.

“How’s Ivy?”

Liam glanced away from the small track of rutted road, surprised. “She’s fine.”

“That all?”

The wheedling tone in his father’s voice had encouraged a naughty little boy to spill his guts, but Liam was beyond that. “What are you getting at?”

His father eyed him with a shrug. “Just wondered. She’s my daughter-in-law, but I never see her. Everything okay in that department?”

“Jesus, Dad!” Anger burned in Liam’s chest. His damn ribs creaked with it. If he were fit, he’d force his father to stop the SUV and jump out to walk the five miles back to his house. But that was impossible now, so he was stuck riding the rest of the way to the Mattson Hardwoods office with his father.

“Well, is it? I don’t see you climbing out of this pit of despair you’ve dug for yourself—”

“Myself? Did I ask that fucking branch to fall?”

“No, you did not, Liam, and you know I’d never lay blame for that accident on you. Any logger knows that we take a risk every time we set foot in the woods. What I’m saying,” his father said with a glare that made Liam’s mouth snap shut despite his age, “is you have to make the most of your situation, son. And I don’t see you doing that.”

Suddenly, the woods opened up, granting a bald view of the sky. The velvety blue stretched for miles. The sight vanquished any retaliation he was about to make.

“Who clear-cut this?” he asked, his voice rough.

His father stopped the vehicle and put it in park. For a long minute, the only sound was the idling of the engine. Finally, his dad swept the air with a hand. “All gone. The bastards didn’t leave a single sapling.”

It wasn’t their way in this backwoods area of western Pennsylvania to strip the land. They always gave back, which was why Mattson Hardwoods was getting bad press about not replanting in areas where they’d logged.

“Who?” Liam breathed.

His father met his gaze. “Bose.”

The name was a hot knife slicing through Liam’s chest. He huffed out the breath he’d been holding. That name meant a lot to him—too much, in fact. But his father didn’t mean—

“Ward Bose plans to take over the business.”

There it was—the other lead brick hitting Liam’s gut. He fought to keep himself from folding over and holding that burning, amazingly bittersweet pain inside.

“I hope to hell your old buddy plans to stop the tree genocide.”

“Ward’s in the area?” Liam prayed his voice didn’t give away the things in his heart. While in their twenties, he and Ward had gone west with their saws sharpened. They’d signed on with a logging company right away. Determined that they’d make their own way rather than sink into the comfort of family-owned logging businesses, they did just that. They blazed names for themselves.

Too bad they’d also fallen for each other. The first night when Liam had finally accepted his attraction and given in to it would live in his mind forever.

Ward had just emerged from the shower, unshaven, hair wet, a damp towel swathing his hard hips. An erection evident.

Their gazes had locked, and Liam had known an instant, gut-wrenching need. He’d only felt that want one other time—later with Ivy.

Ward had dropped the towel and stood stone still, chiseled muscles glistening with moisture from his shower. And he hadn’t bothered to disguise his desire. In fact, he’d stared right into Liam’s eyes as he wrapped his fist around his thick length and rolled it through his fingers.

In that moment, Liam had gone a little crazy. It had taken him all of two seconds to shuck his sweat-drenched clothes and boots and grab his own cock. But it hadn’t stopped there. They’d fallen into bed, mouth to mouth, cock to cock, then cock to mouth, and finally cock to ass.

Liam could almost feel Ward’s tight channel clutching his shaft now.

Deep in his core, he felt a twinge. A leap.

He sucked in a sharp breath. Could that be real or imagined? That dark heat he’d once known seemed to claw at his lower belly. Horrified and fascinated, he stared at his jeans, expecting to see a bulge.

But it wasn’t there.

Fucking idiot, hoping to finally get a boner over the man you ran away from years ago because you were too afraid to admit to your feelings.

It was true. After soundly fucking each other for months, Liam had narrowly escaped death when a tree fell out of the rigging in the field one day. Ward had slipped and kissed him. And to say he’d reacted badly to the kiss was an understatement. He’d shoved Ward, cussed at him. Hell, he’d called him a faggot, when Liam’s ass still burned from being reamed the night before.

The hurt in Ward’s bright blue eyes would live forever in Liam’s soul. A day didn’t pass that he didn’t think about it.

When his father put the SUV in gear, Liam was shaken from his memories.

“It’s not right, stripping the land like this,” his dad said under his breath.

“You’re right, Dad. If I run into Ward, I’ll tell him that myself.”

Chapter Two

Ward twisted the key in the ignition and his old full-size pickup made a grinding noise. Just another thing he’d been putting off. For a month, he’d known he needed to get under the hood and take a look, but with moving across the country again and finding out his father had stage three cancer, he’d put off caring.

When Juls had informed him that their dad was ill, going through radical treatments to kill off the colon cancer, Ward had nearly hit his knees with shock. He and his dad were never close, but Ward couldn’t help but hate himself for not trying harder these past years while he was out west.

And Juls hadn’t told him, which still pissed him off. She said she was sworn to secrecy, but something that important cancelled any vows of silence.

So while his dad was fighting for his life, the logging company was being run by their manager, Jeff. As far as Ward could tell, they were making money, but for all the wrong reasons. Jeff had ordered his men to strip off an entire hillside—something the Bose family never would do. They were select-cutters, choosing only the best grade to haul out of the woods.

Turning down the road toward the forestry office, Ward let his mind go on auto-pilot. He’d driven this stretch of road thousands of times.

As he stared at the familiar homes, changed little since he’d left seven years ago, his thoughts wandered. Each dip in the road, every bend, spurred another memory.

Before he knew it, he was driving past the sign for Mattson Hardwoods.

He stomped on the brakes. The truck swiveled in the gravel, and he brought it under control in the parking lot.

Heart pounding an ominous beat, he scoured the vehicles parked there, looking for Liam’s old truck.

Fool. It’s been seven years. He would have bought a new vehicle.

But a small voice in the back of his head reminded Ward that Liam was wheelchair-bound. Crippled. He couldn’t likely drive.

On the heels of thoughts of Liam was a driving need. Ward’s balls clenched tight against his body and his cock throbbed.

Then he added the image of Liam’s sexy little wife to the mix, and he thought he’d come in his jeans.

He’d had erotic dream upon erotic dream about Ivy Mattson after falling into bed a few nights ago. Ivy’s lush curves had been a burning ember in his mind—and body. Awakening after the first dream of pressing her against a wall and sliding into her tight little sheath in one smooth move, he’d jacked off to a violent orgasm.

Thinking he’d gotten the alluring creature out of his system, he’d fallen back asleep, only to wake up an hour later with a worse hard-on. A cold shower had done nothing. There had been no use for it—he fucked his fist to thoughts of both Ivy and his former lover to a mind-blowing climax.

Heaving a shaky sigh, he swept his gaze over the outbuildings. The office appeared to be deserted, but the sign out front said it had been 390 days since the company’s last accident.

Could that have been Liam’s accident?

A burning urge to go see the man he’d once been so close to—the one who had broken his fucking heart—churned in Ward’s chest. Part of him was desperate to see if his friend was okay. Another feared seeing Liam as a shadow of his once-strong self.

Setting his lips into a line, Ward drove on.

What if he just stopped in at the Mattson place this evening? He and Liam were friends, after all.

And he could get another good, long look at Ivy.

No. Stop. She’s off-limits.

But for those pulsing moments when he’d held her gaze, it was impossible for Ward not to think of having more with her. She was so damn…female. If he’d ever imagined a wife in his future, she would have looked like Ivy. And knowing that she was with Liam…well, she must be perfect for him to love her.

The throb in his cock grew to a punishing ache, but he shrugged off any sexual thoughts. His friend might need him in another way. A buddy to hang out with, give him a boost in morale. If Ward knew anything about Liam—and he did—he knew the man couldn’t be in a good frame of mind.

Speeding past the town diner frequented by the Bose logging crew, through the one light in the main intersection of town, and on down the highway toward his own lumber office, Ward played scenarios in his head.

Liam couldn’t kick his ass from a wheelchair, but he sure knew how to use words that cut, as he had on that last day they’d parted. With a growl, Ward swiped his knuckles over his mouth, trying to wipe away the lingering feel of the kiss he’d given Liam that day. The one that had earned him a punch to the jaw, an elbow to the ribs and a cracked heart.

Liam had left that very night, and Ward had never seen him again.

Never spoken with him either.

Maybe he should leave Liam alone. If he’d wanted to rekindle their friendship, he would have contacted Ward. Hell, even a postcard from his honeymoon destination would have been an olive branch.

This thought led Ward in a circle, right back to Ivy. He couldn’t shake the look of pain in her eyes. The more he analyzed that look, the more he knew she was unhappy. If Ward could push Liam to step it up at home, he could make Ivy happy in a roundabout way.

With a new lightness in his heart, Ward’s mind was made up. Tonight he’d pay a visit to his old friend and hope for the best. In the meantime, he had a logging business to whip into shape.

Lord Jesus, these men were trying to kill her.

Ivy stopped dead in her tracks, half in the front door, as she set eyes on the big shoulders in her living room. Liam was kicked back on the sofa, as ruggedly beautiful as the day she’d met him, and Ward Bose was with him. Every hunky inch taking over their recliner.

They both looked up at her not-so-elegant entrance.

“Ivy.” The sound of her name falling from her husband’s lips after so long caused a shiver to snake down her spine. It kept going, sinking deep between her legs.

Ward stood to greet her. “Hi. We sort of met the other night at Juls’ house. I’m Ward.”

She looked over his shoulder at the photograph of him and Liam on the mantel. If he had the face and body of a Greek god in that picture, she didn’t know what she’d call him now. There were no words.

Extending her hand, she met his. Palm to rough palm. Heat shot through her arm and into her shoulder. From the side, she felt Liam’s heavy stare on her. She fought to control her reaction to Ward. What she was feeling was wrong.

Still, those sparks of awareness felt good. It had been too long.

“I’m Ivy. We haven’t met, but I feel as if I know you already.” She attempted a smile but was afraid it barely passed as a grimace.

Ward’s blue eyes sent sparks to her belly. If Liam turned a similar look on her, she’d come on the spot without anyone touching her.

She pulled her hand free of Ward’s and turned to her husband. She wrapped an arm around his solid shoulders and brushed her lips over his as she did several times a day. But she’d long ago given up hope that he’d kiss her back. She was always met with his slack lips and bland expression. This time was no different.

When she shifted away from him, he caught her around the nape. Held her there.

She stopped breathing. Up close, his gaze drilled into hers. Was it accusing? Did he realize her nipples had bunched up at the touch of Ward’s hand? That just the sound of her name on Liam’s lips had made her instantly wet?

Liam’s breath washed over her face, smelling of beer and a trace of mint.

Her heart hitched. “Liam…” Her low voice wobbled.

He released her.

Straightening, she smoothed down her skirt in an attempt to regain composure in front of company. But her mind was spinning. She wanted to ask Liam what the hell that was. Part of her was angry that he’d finally chosen the time Ward was present to touch her, when she’d been begging for him to do so for months.

Was it some kind of alpha male display? Chest-thumping, she’s mine?

“I see you’ve got some refreshments on hand. I’ll just get changed and then start dinner. Ward, I hope you’ll join us.” Her voice came out huskier than she’d intended, sounding insinuative.

Quickly, she fled from Ward’s riveting stare and Liam’s burning one.

She couldn’t get down the hall to the bedroom fast enough. She shut herself inside the room and leaned against the door, head in hands. Her breath came out too fast and stars sparked behind her eyes.

Stupid woman. Practically hyperventilating over Liam’s strange display of affection and Ward.

But she’d be lying if she didn’t admit their attention felt good.

She crossed the room to her closet and caught a glimpse of her reflection in the long mirror. Her eyes were too bright, her cheeks smeared with hectic splotches of color.

After stripping off her silk blouse, pencil skirt, shoes and hose, she stood in only her panties and bra. For long minutes, she stared at her wardrobe. Normally she’d throw on some lounge pants and a T-shirt, but that wasn’t exactly something she should wear in front of a guest.

And if Liam was starting to grow interested in her again, she wanted to make the most of it.

She chose a denim miniskirt she hadn’t worn in over a year and a simple fitted T-shirt. In the en suite bathroom, she fluffed her hair and added a hint of lip gloss. She still wore several gold and diamond tennis bracelets Liam had given her for birthdays over the years, so she looked pulled together.

Now if only she felt it.

I’ll just go straight to the kitchen. No stopping by the living room to show off my legs.

Her toned legs were the body parts she was most proud of. She ran to alleviate stress, and her legs had grown muscular and curvaceous. She loved to wear skirts to reveal them to advantage, but until now, only the bailiff in court had ever mentioned how good they looked. Tony Martinez made her shudder deep down, but it felt good to have a man compliment her again.

Of course, if Liam ever learned of that, he’d roll in there and punch the man in the face for ogling his wife.

Or would he? It had been so long since she believed he gave a damn, she had no clue what he would do now.

Maybe she should shake him up a little more.

She reached the end of the hall and was faced with the decision to turn left toward the kitchen or right to the living room where the men sat.

On impulse, she followed the sound of the sports commentator on TV. “Steaks sound good?” she asked.

The guys glanced up at her at the same moment, almost as if they were attuned to each other’s movements. Liam’s gaze dropped from her face to her breasts, and lower to linger on her legs.

Ward jumped out of his seat. “I’ll help if that’s all right. I like to earn my meals.”

She looked into Ward’s eyes for a heartbeat too long. Attraction crackled between them, so loud she was sure her husband could hear it.

Twisting away, she muttered, “Sure, that’s fine.”

What am I doing?

Tempting Liam’s anger, that’s what.

But maybe the man needed to see that others found his wife attractive. It might stir up some long-forgotten feeling Liam held and spur him to work for his marriage again.

She made quick work of pulling out steaks and seasoning them. Then she hauled some fresh farm vegetables out for grilling.

Ward appeared beside her, and he brought his dark, musky scent with him. Pine and male. She closed her eyes for a few seconds and drew a deep breath of the smell she always associated with Liam. But Ward was a logger too, and he was obviously in the woods today.

“What can I do to help?”

“Start the grill,” Liam ordered from the doorway.

“Just through there.” Ivy pointed at the sliding glass door leading to the deck.

Without turning and using only her sense of hearing, she counted the number of steps it took Ward’s long legs to make it to the doors. Three.

A deep ache began in her core. How long had it been since she’d heard the thud of boots in her house? All she heard was Liam’s silence, but it didn’t need to be that way. After much conversation with Liam’s doctors, she knew he could walk if only he wanted.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught him looking at her. “Do you want to cut vegetables for the grill?”

“Sure.” He spun over to her and gathered a squash, three tomatoes and some husked ears of corn from her. He took it all to the kitchen table then returned to her side of the tiled kitchen for a cutting board and knife.

“Nice of an old friend to stop by,” she said to Liam.

He fell still. “Yeah. A surprise, all right.”

What was that tension she detected in his voice? Was he reacting to her obvious attempts to gain more attention from Ward—from her husband?

She pivoted to get a better look at Liam’s face, but as usual, he wore his bland mask. With a stab of pain, she turned to the sink and busied herself with filling a pot with water for potatoes.

Ward was back within seconds, grinning and taking up too much space in her kitchen, as well as her mind. He came to lean against the counter, close to her. Was that her imagination, or did she feel the heat coming off him in waves?

“Liam says you’re a courtroom clerk.”

“That’s right.”

“Sounds like an interesting job.”

“It pays the bills, so I can’t complain.” She fumbled with a slippery potato she was peeling, and it shot out of her fingers. Before it could hit the floor, Ward snagged it out of the air.

She smiled. “Good catch.”

“Ward’s always had quick reflexes. It’s what keeps him on top of his game in the woods,” Liam said.

Ivy jerked. That was the longest speech she’d heard from her husband in weeks, maybe months.

Ward’s bulging forearm brushed hers as he leaned over to run the potato under the water. “Well, that may have saved my ass a time or two, but Liam here always insisted on taking the most dangerous projects.”

She held her breath, waiting for her husband to storm out of the room. Usually, a mention of his former capabilities sent him sailing out the door. He spent a lot of time in the garage, but what he did out there, Ivy had no idea. After she’d followed him the first time and been yelled at for her trouble, she’d stopped.