Page 8 of Cruel Expectations

Ivy unbuckled her seatbelt and pushed stiffly to her feet. The big guy across the aisle from her did the same, and at the same time, they edged into the aisle.

Only a breath away from him, she felt the rush of his body heat against her.

With a wave of his hand, he inched backward. “Ladies first.”

“Thank you,” she muttered.

She was sick of thanking this jerk for things. Sure, she was grateful that he let her go first, and that he’d kept her arm from being bashed by the food cart. She just didn’t want to owe him any favors.

Steadying herself with a hand on the back of the airplane seat, she reached into the overhead compartment for her bag.

“Want a hand with that?”

There it was again—that rumble of irritation.

She shot a glance over her shoulder at the military man. “No thank you. I’ve got it.”

She braced herself for his grunt of reply and wasn’t surprised when he delivered. Did that make his fifth caveman noise or sixth, now? She couldn’t get away from this guy fast enough. He’d spent the entire flight judging every move she made, every bite she took and every word she spoke.

She couldn’t wait to get off this plane, but being back in Montana only heaped on the stress. She still had to face her sister and her very sick father. At this point, the only people she might not mind seeing were the ranch hands who never liked her to begin with.

A heavy weight sat firmly on her shoulders, tension tugging the muscles between them. She retrieved her carry-on luggage without issue and started dragging it toward the exit. Once she got out of the cluster of people leaving the aircraft, she took off as fast as her long legs would go.

Behind her came a heavy thump of boots. She sent a glance over her shoulder.

Hold up. Was he actually staring at her…ass?

Now she lumped him into another group. He was one of those men, the type who couldn’t admire her for anything but her body.

Get a grip, buddy.

She rushed faster to get away from him, dodging in front of a group of older ladies. Let him look at their asses.

As she rounded the corner, she craned her neck, looking for a head of blonde hair just like hers. When she spotted her sister Meadow, a cry hit her lips.

Ohhh, she had missed Meadow. So much. More than she realized.

Ivy rushed the rest of the distance to meet her sister and then stopped dead in her tracks. Her gaze landed on the cardboard sign Meadow had penned with bright-colored markers just like the art projects they used to do as kids.

Welcome Home, Poison Ivy

Ivy narrowed her eyes at her sister. Spotting her at last, Meadow’s face transformed into a big smile that quicky faded as she realized Ivy was not happy to see her.

She looked down at the sign and flipped it over.

Just kidding. Princess Ivy.

“That’s more like it.” Ivy strode forward, arms outstretched, and hugged her sister.

Meadow’s hair smelled like honey and chamomile shampoo, the same scent she associated with their mother.

Her throat closed on emotions bubbling up, unwanted.

Meadow rocked side to side, taking Ivy with her. “Ivy! It’s soooo damn good to see you. I’m so glad you’re here.”

With her arms still around her sister, in her peripheral vision Ivy spotted a man coming toward them.

Not any man. The Neanderthal jerk from the plane.

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