Page 23 of Cruel Expectations

Meadow nudged Ivy in the shoulder. “Go dance. Have some fun.”

She hesitated. She hadn’t danced to country music in so long. Country bar music didn’t compare to European discotheques and electronic music…but there was something about dancing to music you loved.

But everything had caught up to her. The whirlwind rush to get home. Being back in town.

Seeing her daddy.

She shook her head. “I can’t. Not knowing what brought me to Montana. Not knowing Daddy is in that hospital…”

Meadow slipped her arms around Ivy and squeezed. The big sister support sent warmth through her. “I promise he was better than yesterday. We’re getting positive updates on his condition every day. He’s recovering slower than we all want him to, but he is recovering, Ivy. Didn’t the doctor tell us that he thinks Daddy will be home very soon?”

She drew back from her sister and nodded. Maybe Meadow was right. The music was getting into her blood, the rhythm twisting inside her, encouraging her to move.

“Go be Ivy.” Meadow gave her another little nudge toward the dance floor.

She stopped, chewing her lip. Go be Ivy. Three small words didn’t encompass the world of expectations—or lack of—that came with it.

She did her best to cast a smile at her sister and stepped into the crowd.

The beat took over, and she threw herself into moving her body. Several guys danced around her, taking turns showing off their country boy moves.

The man in front of her grabbed her by the hips. She rocked them side to side and moved her arms in sync to the beat.

He inched closer until she felt the coarse denim of his jeans against her knee. She stepped back a little, but he followed her.

When he grabbed her by the waist and whirled her, she tossed her head back with a laugh. But she didn’t want him to do that again.

Bobbing farther away, she tried to immerse herself deeper into the crowd. He followed her, getting within inches of her, dancing too close.

She tried to dodge him, but he kept coming back. Suddenly, a tall giant of a man appeared behind him. Ivy gulped as Hunter tapped the guy on the shoulder.

“Hey, buddy! Keep your hands to yourself.”

The man spun and squared up to Hunter. Even though he was a full head shorter than the giant SEAL, he had liquid, eighty-proof courage on his side. The scent of whiskey clung to him.

Even though he was no longer dancing, he wavered on his feet. “This isn’t a strip club! There’s no rule I can’t touch the girl.”

Hunter firmed his jaw. Even though Ivy didn’t know him very well, she knew the sharp angle was a sign of danger.

Ivy had seen a similar expression on Forest. Last time he was home—the last time she ever set eyes on him—her brother had walked out of her father’s office wearing that exact same look.

She was just mulling that over when her unwanted dance partner turned his back on Hunter…and latched on to her hips as if he owned her.

She jerked away, trying to free herself. Over the man’s head, she watched Hunter’s eyes darken with fury.

He gripped the asshole by the shoulder and yanked him around. “I told you to keep your hands off her.”

The guy poked a finger into Hunter’s chest, too stupid to know he was poking a bear.

It all happened in a blink. Hunter snapped his fist around the man’s hand. Next thing she knew, the guy was on his knees, his finger bent in an unnatural position. He let out a howl.

She grabbed Hunter’s forearm to stop him.

“Oh my god! What are you doing? You can’t just break someone’s hand for wanting to dance with me!”

“No, you were just dancing. He was touching you.”

“Let him go!” She squeezed his sinewy forearm harder.

---