It made him want to lash out, but Ivy hadn’t done that. She’d patiently listened to the women as if she didn’t know what they were up to. She’d behaved much better than they had.
Ivy, you could teach those women a thing or two, he thought. And just like that, an idea came to him. A way to turn the tables and give Ivy the upper hand in a very public way, maybe even make up for some of the distress she must have been feeling these past few days. He couldn’t go back and rewrite his own history. He had to live with his failures, but maybe he could rewrite this situation. It was a good idea or…maybe not. It was three in the morning. By tomorrow he might decide it was the dumbest idea in the world.
Ivy was up at the house three days later wondering why Marta had asked her to come there. She fidgeted with the pretty braided belt she’d worn. The gold-and-teal scarf at her throat felt a bit too tight. Going to the house still made her uncomfortable, and she hoped she wasn’t being called because another woman had shown up. How many single women could there be in a town the size of Tallula? Ivy didn’t know, but it sure seemed as if all of them wanted Noah. She braced herself for another woman trying to use her as a front.
But only Marta was there. “I just need a little help with this dishwasher, and Noah says that you’re very good at fixing things,” Marta said.
In the distance Ivy could hear Lily’s whispery little singing. She blinked.
“She’s a quiet child,” Marta said. “She’ll play by herself for hours. You don’t have to worry about her.”
Ivy knew Marta meant that she didn’t have to worry about Lily coming out of her room, but what Ivy suddenly worried about was the other—the fact that Lily played alone for so long that she never met other children.
Like me, Ivy thought, then immediately quashed the thought. It wasn’t the same. Noah loved Lily. Ivy’s father hadn’t loved anything but his ranch. Still, the soft singing tore at Ivy’s heart.
She was almost glad when the doorbell rang, but she kept working. Marta called out to her, and, resigned, Ivy came out from under the sink. She washed her hands, then turned to see a plain, pleasant-faced woman looking at her.
“I need help,” the woman said. “Noah said you might help me.”
O-kay, this is different.
“I don’t understand,” Ivy said. “What do you need me to do?”
“Make me pretty.”
Ivy blinked. “Excuse me?”
“I don’t mean beautiful pretty. I just mean different from what I am. And not forever. Just for a night.”
“You want to be Cinderella…to…”
Attract Noah, Ivy thought.
“To make my first wedding anniversary special for my husband,” the woman said.
Suddenly Ivy couldn’t help smiling. She shook her head. “I’m sorry, but could you back up and explain this to me again? What did Noah say to you?”
The woman blushed, and Ivy saw that she wasn’t so plain after all. “He didn’t exactly say anything to me, but my Jimmie was at the feed and seed and Noah was there fielding questions about you. He told the men that when you first started working here, he was afraid that all the women would be starstruck. They had access to a super-model, and he figured that women would be showing up asking advice on fashion or hair or makeup and turning his ranch into a sideshow, but no one did that. And even though women have visited here and you’ve been polite, not one has asked you to share all the tricks you’ve learned or asked you to give them a makeover. He couldn’t seem to figure it out.”
The woman stood there staring at Ivy, her voice a bit breathless. Nervous breathless, Ivy concluded.
She smiled at the woman again even as she wondered why Noah had told that story. He liked his ranch peaceful and quiet and…ranchy, she thought, making up her own word to describe the usually male world of cattle and horses and the men who tamed and traded and watched over them. Surely he knew that at least some of the men would repeat this story to their wives and girlfriends.
“So…you’re the first?” Ivy asked with a grin.
“Looks that way. I’m Diane Revner, by the way.”
“Nice to meet you, Diane. I’m afraid I don’t remember you.”
“That’s because I’m five years younger than you, so we didn’t have any real contact at school. I know why the women haven’t asked for your help. They don’t want to admit that they don’t know everything or that you know more than them. They don’t want it to look like they’re nobodies and you’re somebody. But I’m not proud. Jimmie and I are having a special day. I want to look nice, and not just plain old beauty-salon nice. I want to look special for Jimmie.”
“I’ll bet he thinks you look special already.”
The woman laughed. “He says he does, but I want to do better. Just so you know, I can pay you. If you’re working for Noah, you must not be rich anymore.”
Some people would have been offended by that statement, but Diane hadn’t said it in a rude way, just a commonsense way. That simple fact—Diane treating her like a regular person, not an oddity or outsider—warmed Ivy’s heart.
“You know, I think I’d like to do this just for the fun of it,” Ivy said. “But I have to tell you, no one has ever asked me to help make them look pretty. I might not be good at it.”
Diane looked indignant. “You were a model!”
“That’s just luck, good genes and a lot of hard work. Putting makeup on someone is an art, but we’ll see what we can do. Can you come back tonight when I’m done for the day?”
“Are you kidding? Ivy Seacrest is going to give me a makeover? Even if I had something planned, I’d cancel!” Diane’s smile was infectious, so when the door opened and Noah walked in, Ivy looked up at him, a full-fledged smile on her face.
“Hel-lo,” he said, as if he’d never met her before.
“Sorry, Diane, I have to get back to work,” Ivy said.
“Not a problem. Thank you so much, Ivy. I’ll see you tonight. Bye. Noah, please don’t make her work late today. Ivy is going to work her model magic on me.”
When she had gone, Ivy looked up at Noah. “Want to tell me why you’re promoting me as someone who can fix up the women of the town?”
“Just seemed natural,” he said, his gaze steady and noncommittal.
“Natural?”
“You’re a model, you’ve got women trailing out here all the time, and they haven’t treated you right. Why not earn a little money off them? It would be justice of a sort. You make them look pretty—they help you pay off your taxes. Finally, someone in the town would be doing something for you.”
Now she saw. “Don’t feel sorry for me, Noah.”
“I don’t.”
“You do.”
He slowly shook his head. “I’m indignant that you haven’t been made to feel welcome, but then I didn’t exactly welcome you here, either, did I? So maybe I feel a little guilt, too.”
She frowned, opening her mouth to speak. He held up one hand. “But don’t mistake that for pity. You’ve handled all this with grace and dignity. You are, as you said, a strong woman. You’re also talented, with skills and experience. So no, I don’t pity you. And maybe I have my own reasons for doing this, too. I’ve been used before, as you know. Call it surrogate