Page 51 of Wasted On You

Mouth dry, she looked across the room, lashes lowered because she couldn’t be that obvious. And yet, the pull was too strong. Slowly, she lifted her head an inch or so for a better view.

Mike Paul stood near the bar, chatting with Millie Sue, his handsome face alive with a smile that could burn down the damn world. He was dressed for the occasion—not surprising since the guy had always been fashionable—at least for Montana cow country. Black chinos, dress boots, and a dark green sweater that clung to his wide shoulders and muscled arms. But it wasn’t his outfit that had her heart churning. It was the accessory he sported. A baby, strapped to his chest. A small little human wrapped in one of those sling-type gadgets. He cradled the child with those big hands of his, gently stroking its back while listening intently to whatever it was Millie Sue was saying.

It looked so natural for him. So right.

And it made her heart hurt to watch.

“Pretty incredible, isn’t it?” The voice came from nowhere and startled Ivy.

“Excuse me?” Ivy sputtered but quickly gained her composure.

Wanda Weatherly-Caulfield raised a glass of red wine and smiled. “All the man candy and all the babies.”

Ivy followed Wanda’s gaze and could do nothing but nod in agreement. Mike Paul might have been the only man she’d focused on, but Cal Bridgestone had his little guy sitting pretty on his hip while Taz and Scarlett’s little boy (a boy the man had adopted as his own) clung to Taz like he was his hero. Then, there was Bryce Caulfield with his young son nestled in his arms. The scene was enough to make any woman look twice.

“Man,” Wanda said softly. “My ovaries are exploding. I might have to grab my husband and find a quiet spot to make another one.”

Ivy gave the woman some serious side-eye. “It’s a family Christmas party, Wanda.”

“I know,” the woman giggled. “Here, let me take your coat so you can grab some of this delicious, mulled wine.”

Ivy slipped out of her coat and handed it over.

“You look amazing,” Wanda said with a slow whistle.

“Stop it.” Secretly pleased, Ivy hid her smile.

“You do. You’ve got the look of love or something like it.”

Not sure if the woman was playing with her, Ivy ignored the comment.

“Your fiancé isn’t here.”

“Nope.” Ivy smoothed her hands over the deep red fabric. “He’s in Japan.”

“Will I ever get to meet him?”

“Maybe.” She turned to the woman. “Where’s the wine?”

Wanda smiled and pointed to the large crock pot perched on the bar. Inches from the men and babies. “Over there.” She winked. “I’ll put your coat with the others and join you in a sec.”

Ivy gave herself a few moments to get her game face in place, then turned and headed for the bar. And the crockpot. Which held the all-important warm mulled wine. She had a feeling she was going to need the extra fortification.

She took the indirect route, hoping Mike Paul wouldn’t see her just yet, and said hello to people she used to know. Lacey and Johnny Pearson. Donna and Presley, the latter who was married to Mike Paul’s cousin. There were others, faces connected to old memories, and as she bypassed the men and babies and headed for the bar, something settled at the back of her throat. It tasted…bittersweet. Like visiting another life, one you weren’t quite sure how to navigate anymore.

She’d spent all of her twenties running from this place. From a life she used to love. A life she’d, at one time, wanted. Family. Friends. Mike Paul. She’d told herself it was because she needed to protect her heart. That if she didn’t have to face the past, it couldn’t hurt her.

How wrong she’d been.

With a sigh, she reached for a glass and was about to fill it when Oliver appeared with a smile. Just seeing the man lightened her mood.

“Let me,” he said, taking the glass from her. The Englishman filled it to the brim and handed it over. “You look hot as hell,” he said with a wink.

“So do you.” It wasn’t a lie. The guy cleaned up well. Dressed from head to toe in black, his thick hair waved over his collar, though his tattoos were still visible along his neck. His handsome features were relaxed, his chin and jaw shadowed as if he hadn’t shaved in a couple of days. On his feet, a pair of custom boots. Ivy could tell from the stitching.

“Ariats?” she asked.

Oliver grinned and nodded. “I was told they were the best.”

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