“Looking sharp there, Mr. Jefford,” his big brother greeted him, flicking the lapel of Ryan’s black suit.
Ryan straightened the knot of his silk tie, grass green in keeping with the school colors. He had a yellow one, as well as several yellow-and-green striped varieties, at home in his closet, but the reunion committee always went with yellow rosebud boutonnieres, so he routinely chose the green silk for these events.
“You’re looking better than usual yourself,” he said to Holt, then bent slightly to wink at his sister-in-law. “Well done, Cara.”
She laughed while Holt rolled his eyes, but he snaked an arm around his bride’s slender shoulders in clear possession of the pretty blonde. Ryan smiled to see it. Holt and Cara’s helpless, starry-eyed delight in each other pleased Ryan as much as Charlotte and Ty’s settled contentment. An old married couple of almost four months, Charlotte and her husband had displayed a firm, harmonious ease from the beginning, despite the vast differences in their backgrounds.
Distracted momentarily by the chairwoman of the reunion committee who wanted to make sure that he was prepared to welcome the returning alumni as soon as they sat down to dinner, Ryan turned away from his siblings—and saw Ivy Villard.
He knew her at once, although it had been many years since he’d last laid eyes on her. Back then she’d been wearing a green-and-yellow cheerleader’s uniform, not so different from those that the girls serving the tables wore tonight. For some reason, she was the very last person he’d have expected to attend the reunion. Yet there she sat at a table with her sister, Rose, and brother-in-law, Daniel Halsey, a teacher and baseball coach at the junior high school.
She looked almost the same, her long dark hair hanging straight down her back, a perfect frame for her slender oval face and big, deeply set, cinnamon-brown eyes. Her cunningly simple dress emphasized an edge of sophistication and maturity, honed, no doubt, by the years that had passed. The dusky tone of her creamy skin gave testament to her Native American ancestry, which he knew came from her maternal grandmother, and called attention to the shimmering, pale-pink lipstick that adorned her lips.
He’d thought her pretty back in high school. Now she was nothing less than stunning, and he wondered what she’d been doing with herself all these years. He wasn’t the only one to notice her.
“Isn’t that Ivy?” Charlotte asked, coming to stand beside him.
“I believe it is.”
“Who’s Ivy?” Tyler asked, appearing at Charlotte’s other side.
“Used to be head cheerleader around here,” Holt supplied. “She was, what, two or three years ahead of you, sis?”
“Three,” Ryan said. “Class of ’96.”
“Oh, I know her!” Cara exclaimed. “She’s staying at the motel.”
Ryan raised an eyebrow at this news. Why, he wondered, did she not stay with her father? It occurred to him then that he hadn’t seen Olie Villard in some time. He’d seen and heard even less of Ivy. Now Ryan wondered just how the old man fared, and if some difficulty with him might account for Ivy’s sudden reappearance after all these years. Concerned, he addressed his brother.
“Have you seen Olie around lately?”
Holt shook his head. “He’s always been one to keep to himself. I have heard, though, that he’s attending the Magnolia church with Rose and her family.”
The church on Magnolia Avenue, which happened to be situated quite near Ryan’s house, was a “plant” of First Church, which, being landlocked, could no longer meet the needs of its burgeoning congregation. The pastor at First Church, Grover Waller, had encouraged several young families to consider transferring to Magnolia Christian in order to help support that fledgling congregation and its young pastor, Davis Latimer. Ryan had considered making the move himself, but the Jefford family had been members of First Church for three generations.
Ryan couldn’t resist the urge to glance back in Ivy’s direction. “You don’t suppose Olie’s ill, do you?”
Holt’s expression grew troubled. “He didn’t look well the last time I saw him, but with Olie it’s hard to tell.”
Not the most pleasant of men, Olie had always worn a rather sour expression. Some said he’d been that way since his wife had abandoned the family many years earlier. Ryan just barely remembered the woman himself, but he knew that Ivy had resented her. He’d once overheard her say, with that certainty peculiar to teenagers, that it would have been easier for everyone if her mother had died when Ivy was a baby rather than just take off and leave her.
Ryan vehemently opposed that notion himself, since his own mother had taken her life after his father had died in an oil field accident when he was twenty. That experience had been anything but easy, though it had all happened long ago, almost fourteen years. Shocked to realize that it had been at least that long since he had last spoken to Ivy, he decided to rectify the situation.
“I’ll be back.”
“But you just got here,” Holt protested. Ryan ignored him and fixed his gaze on Ivy’s table as he made his way through the chattering throng. He could visit with his siblings anytime. This might be his only chance to catch up with Ivy Villard, and suddenly that seemed much more important.
“You haven’t changed a bit.”
Ivy looked up. This was not the first time she’d heard that particular sentiment tonight. It was, of course, less than accurate, but at thirty she was old enough to appreciate hearing it. She was not sure how she recognized this particular former schoolmate, however, for he had changed immensely. She recalled a tall, thin young man with large features and extremities and too much thick, wavy, golden brown hair. He’d grown into those features, and those hands and feet no longer looked like they belonged to someone else. Even the hair fit now. Ivy smiled.
“Hello, Ryan Jefford, and thank you.”
Ryan’s oddly familiar hazel eyes warmed. “It’s good to see you, Ivy. It’s been too long.”
“Yes. Yes, it has,” she agreed, shifting sideways to drape an arm across the back of her folding chair. She let her gaze sweep down and then up again. “You don’t look anything like your brother or Hap,” she told him. “I saw Holt standing over there and knew him at once.”
Ryan chuckled. “I take after our other grandfather, Michael Carl Ryan, or so I’m told. Seems appropriate since I’m named after him.”
“He must have been a handsome man,” she said bluntly, making a show of reading his name from the badge pinned to his chest, “because you, Ryan Carl Jefford, look great.”
Inclining his head in thanks, Ryan said, “Well, then, that makes two of us, Ivy Madeline Villard.”
She laughed. To her surprise, he pulled out the chair on her right and sat down. After exchanging words of greeting with Rose, he began to chat with Daniel about an upcoming track-and-field event, allowing Ivy a moment to take stock of the familiar-yet-unfamiliar man beside her.
In high school, she had found Ryan to be a very nice guy, but rather stolid and even a little boring. She no longer trusted the judgment of the foolish young woman she had been, however. That former version of herself had chosen the flash and dash of Brand Phillips—he wasn’t called “FireBrand” for nothing—over any chance of marriage and family.
Looking