Page 2 of Corrupting Ivy

Breaking sticks and crashing feet trampled through the foliage, rushing up behind me. I increased my stride in a panic until I was running at break-neck speed, being careful to avoid the land mines on the main path.

A man hollered. Instinct caused me to turn my gaze back to see who it was only to trip and go tumbling off the path, down a small decline into a dry creek bed, slapping my temple against a rock as I came to a stop.

Groaning, I grabbed my head as a fierce pain slashed across my forehead. Spots blanketed my vision like a starry night portrait. Footsteps came closer. It had me squirming backwards like the maniacal girl in The Exorcist to find cover.

Fear.

It was an emotion I’d grown accustomed to throughout my life. It was the feeling I tried to escape when I left Montana.

Closer.

The blurry shadow of a man came into view as he hit the top of the path and stared down at me. My heart leaped in my chest as I twisted to my hands and knees, scrambling to get to my feet. I stumbled and fell as the forest teeter-tottered to the side.

It was the powerful hands that came down on each of my shoulders, spinning me around to face him, that caused me to screech in fright. The spots in my vision stopped me from seeing any details of my attacker while I kicked and clawed at him to get away.

The man doubled over with a grunt as I drove my foot hard into his body, giving me time to claw myself away from him on my hands and knees. My wrist rolled as it hit an uneven surface. My elbow buckled and crashed down on another rock, sending tingles to each of my fingertips, using lightning bolts as the messenger.

“Ivy,” the man groaned. He came down on top of me again, turning me to my back, then grabbing my wrists as I fought to scratch his face. “Ivy… Ivy, please stop. It’s me. Otis.”

I paused mid-swing as his name penetrated through the fight-or-flight instinct. “Otis?”

“Damn, girl. Ya took a nasty tumble back there.”

Otis released my wrists, allowing me to rub my eyes to clear away the blur. Maybe he sensed my relief and felt it was safe enough to release me. “I thought you were someone else,” I huffed through strained breaths. Like the strange man that watched me in eerie silence.

“It was just me. I saw you fall and tried to help, but I didn’t expect you to kick me in the gut.” He glanced down, his hand rubbing his stomach. “You’re bleeding.”

His silhouette came into focus, and I exhaled, releasing the tension in my chest.

Otis sat above me, his brows knit together with concern. But that wasn’t what caught my eye. It was his black trousers and matching tight t-shirt that stretched over his massive biceps. It was a look that made any girl wet their lips with lust. Much like I did when I moved here six months ago. He was the first person to say hi to me and not question my motives for coming here.

I pressed my hand to my forehead, where the wound throbbed, then hissed as I pulled my bloody fingers away.

“Shit,” I said, groaning.

Otis shifted off my body in a petrified scramble, falling to his ass like he couldn’t get away from me fast enough. He was a country boy that grew up slaughtering his own animals. I didn’t think a little blood would bother him this way. His wide eyes looked past my bloodied hand.

It took me a moment to realize that the reason he seemed horrified wasn’t from the blood coating my fingers. I followed his gaze to the ground beside me. Sticking up from the ground was a pale gray arm—its decaying flesh nearly touching my nose.

I released a high-pitched scream as I rolled away from it toward Otis, grabbing hold of his knee as I came closer to him.

The quick movement and the morbid scene before me caused nausea to swirl in my stomach until the acid hit the back of my throat. I put my hand over my mouth, hoping it would stop the inevitable, but it didn’t. I spewed my breakfast beside the sexiest man in town.

This was working out to be a fantastic day. I could feel it.

There was no longera calming serenity that once graced the forest.

Besides the dead body, news anchors and cameras surrounded me and the small sheriff’s department while I sat on the back of the ambulance, wrapped in a wool blanket. The woman in a paramedic uniform cleaned my head wound and was working to apply a large, ugly bandage that would come off as soon as I made it back to my home.

Her blonde ponytail sat high on her head and fell into her face as she bent over to discard the wrapper from the bandage. She popped back up with vigor, throwing it over her shoulder with a flip of her head.

“That’s a pretty nasty cut. You may need stitches,” she said with a saccharine sweet voice.

She pressed the edges of the bandage onto my skin, and I eased her hand away from my throbbing head. “I’ll be fine, thank you.”

I refused to go to the hospital that was twenty miles away and more of a clinic than anything. If I needed to have something done, I’d go to Frank, the local vet who treats pretty much everyone here for anything minor, stitches included.

Sheriff Allen Kennedy, a portly old man that held the title for well over thirty years, or so I’ve heard, stepped up to us. “Excuse me, Jenny. I need to speak to Mrs. Baker alone.”

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