Page 49 of Pigeon

“I want… what the heck?” Ivy asks in dismay when I leap out of bed and back away, holding my hands up in front of me.

“Get it the fuck out of here, Ivy! Now!” I bark.

Ivy sits up and looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. She’s confused as hell, and I know that, but I’m about to have the panic attack of a lifetime. When she doesn’t move further, I grab my shirt off the floor and fling it across the room. It doesn’t make it to the intended target, so I rip the quilt off the bed and heave it instead. It hits her dresser, knocking items off but covers the fucking smiling clown statue sitting there. I feel a shiver run up my spine, and I hear a muffled laugh come from the vicinity of the bed. Turning to face Ivy, I give her my best glare.

“Oh my God! You have coulrophobia!” Ivy shares while covering the bottom half of her face with the sheet.

I know she’s hiding a smile behind the sheet, and it makes me want to spank her ass red.

“I have no clue what the fuck you’re talking about. I don’t like clowns. They’re creepy as hell! How can you sleep in a room with that thing staring at you?” I shout louder than I intended to.

Ivy continues staring at me, sheet held tight to the bottom half of her face, but her eyes scream laughter. After a moment to compose herself, Ivy lowers the sheet, raises it quickly, then tries again. When my hands hit my hips, she wins the battle.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know, and I shouldn’t have laughed. Phobias are real. I’ll get rid of it and, um, the one behind you.”

I screech, hopefully in a manly-type way, and bolt away from the wall, whirling to find a clown picture hanging a few feet from where I was just standing. Pulling my eyes away from it, I grab my jeans, slip them on and bolt out the door. As I’m taking the stairs three at a time, I hear Ivy’s laughter follow me. Fuck me.

After a few deep breaths and some distance between me and the clowns, I move to the coffee pot. Flipping it on, I pop in a k-cup and wait impatiently. When one cup’s done, I start another. Hearing footsteps, I glance up, expecting Ivy but find Ted instead.

“What are you doing here?” he asks in a rude voice.

“Keeping an eye on you and your fists.”

“Ranch is still under my control, so I’m telling you to fucking leave,” Ted states as he reaches for the cup of coffee I made for Ivy.

Blocking him from reaching it, I pick it up and move away so he can make his own.

“I don’t think I want to, Ted.”

“And I don’t want him to. Ranch isn’t yours, Ted. I own it. You don’t,” Ivy states as she accepts her cup of coffee and leans against the counter next to me.

“Pretty mouthy now that you have backup,” Ted mutters while glaring at his sister.

“I always spoke my mind, Ted. Only difference now is that you can’t make me pay for that anymore,” Ivy calmly answers.

“You have chores to get done. Take your biker and get to them,” Ted spits out before stalking out of the room.

“He’s just a bundle of sunshine and roses, isn’t he?” I mutter.

“Yeah. He’s a bully, drunk or not, and always was. My grandparents just didn’t see it in him because they only saw what they hoped he’d be and not what he really was. They were so happy to have us living with them, and it kills me knowing he was never the grandson they deserved.”

“Did he hurt you when you were kids?”

“Yeah, when he could get away with it. I didn’t want my grandparents to know and have it break their hearts, and he took advantage of that. When he broke my left arm, I was about six. I said I fell off my horse. When I was around 10, he broke a couple of my ribs. Again, I blamed the horses. Black eyes, fat lips. When Nana started questioning me on all the injuries, Ted started putting them in areas less visible. I was too young to realize how dangerous it was, but I tried warning one of his girlfriends about his temper. She told him what I said, and things got ugly for me. When she turned up a few months later, beaten to hell, my grandparents didn’t believe her, and neither did the police. I should have spoken up then, but I didn’t. I was so wrong to keep his secret. She left the area, and then Nana became sick,” Ivy admits in a low, quiet voice.

“You were a kid, Ivy. Not to blame for his behavior.”

“I enabled him by staying silent. I’m done doing that, though.”

“I’m feeling the need to take him apart piece by piece, so maybe we should hit the barn now,” I mutter.

Ivy moves to the coffee pot and makes a couple of cups. Pouring them into travel mugs, we head outside and to the barn. Working together, we get the morning chores completed quickly. Feeling my phone vibrate, I pull it out and answer it.

“We’re on our way,” Axel says. “Heads up, but Ivy’s getting a larger work crew than expected.”

“How much larger?” I ask, smiling because I did expect this.

“Nearly every swinging dick in the club, the kids, and a few of our lovely ladies who are dying to see a working ranch,” Axel says the last six words in a high-pitched female voice.

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