Dreaming Ivy. Rhonda Lee Carver

you okay? Are you going to keep repeating that I’m a journalist like you have to pound it into my head? I know what I do for a living.”

      “You chose your profession.” He wasn’t sure why he suddenly felt hostility toward her. Yeah, he knew exactly why. He was agitated by her being there. Their characters clashed.

      She squinted her eyes as if she were shooting him with an imaginary weapon. “I’m beginning to get an idea of what people meant when they said you have a chip on your shoulder.”

      * * * *

      Ivy could see by the thin line of his lips that she’d struck a sensitive chord in him. Was he good at dishing it out but not receiving it?

      “I’d say I’d heard rumor about your reputation as a journalist but you’re not old enough to have left a mark.”

      She smirked. He was rude, but since she had the patience of a monk, she’d let it roll off. She didn’t need the drama. She had a job to do and the main idea was, what did he want at Thornton House? He may think it was none of her business but he was on her territory now and that made it her business. “I understand why you’re annoyed. But it’s best just to let it go.”

      “Oh, you think you understand why I’m pissed?” he asked.

      She nodded. “Yes, I do.”

      “And why is that?” He challenged.

      “Because you got your ass kicked by a girl. I guess that would play on most men’s egos.” Ivy knew it wasn’t entirely true, and her words certainly wouldn’t build a bridge between her and Max, but she couldn’t resist the temptation to knock his egotistical attitude down a notch or two. At least she hoped she gave him something to think about.

      Without another word, he stomped across the room.

      Ivy watched him. It was only natural instinct that she’d notice his broad shoulders encased in the white cotton, back lowering to the perfect narrowing of waist, pausing a bit too long on his behind until she made a turtle’s path down his long legs. Her gaze had landed on his boots when he stopped walking. She dragged her attention back up his tall frame and met his intense gaze. He’d caught her red-handed, or rather, red-eyed. She grinned in embarrassment.

      “That might not be safe when we’ll be holed up here together, alone, for the next few weeks. I’m assuming we both know the line between work and play.” His voice echoed off the bare walls.

      Ivy’s mouth fell open in disbelief. Max Shepard couldn’t possibly think she was trying to seduce him. True, anything that had the words ‘Max’ and ‘seduction’ in the same sentence didn’t leave a bad taste on the tongue, but she wasn’t interested. “You’re safe, trust me. I’m not interested in playboys.”

      He faced her. “Playboy?” He appeared amused.

      “Do the tabloids lie?”

      “Never.” He laughed and shook his head. “But you’d know, since that rag you work for is only a step above the bottom feeders.”

      She tried to form words that resembled a juicy comeback but all she could manage was a pathetic sputtering of, “Uhhh…” And to make matters worse, he turned and strolled out of the room. Anger charged up her spine. How dare he insinuate that she belonged in a group of ‘bottom feeders.’

      Ivy heard the voice in the back of her mind telling her to let it go. It didn’t matter what he thought, did it? Of course not. But Ivy had no desire to allow him to think he could get away with such a despicable attitude. She marched after him, catching up to him as he stepped through the door onto the rickety porch. “I’ll let you know, Mr. Shepard, what I write is called ‘journalism.’ If you haven’t heard of it, then I’ll explain. It’s where you write true stories about true events. You wouldn’t know what I’m referring to considering you write about extraterrestrial beings and ghosts.”

      She started to take a step onto the porch and he caught her with a hand on her elbow. “Don’t step out here with me.”

      Oh, that man! She seethed. “Are you telling me what to do now?”

      He chuckled. “Lighten up. What’d you eat with breakfast? A shot of speed? The boards won’t hold our weight.”

      She knew her cheeks must have turned bright red.

      “Ahh. Finally quiet.” He snapped a pensive expression at her as he stepped off the porch and headed to his Jeep.

      Time seemed to stand still for Ivy as he grabbed his bag from the back seat and slammed the door. When he reached the doorway where she stood with her arms crossed over her waist, he said, “Regarding your crack about my job, all I can say is that not everyone’s a believer.” He swept past her and tossed his bag on the floor inside the door. “You’re a semi-believer.”

      She shifted in her heels. “What?”

      “I’m getting a good idea which side of the fence you hang on.”

      Her muscles tightened. “Is that right?”

      He scanned the entranceway and tried the light switch. It still didn’t work. “I know you’re not a fan of my work or my books, but I’m not convinced that you don’t believe in the spirit world.”

      “I’d believe anything with proof.”

      He went back to his car, unloaded more equipment bags and slammed the lift gate with one hand. She didn’t move from the doorway when he approached her. His gaze met hers in conflict. Tedious seconds ticked by until he finally snapped, “Excuse me.”

      She sidestepped. “Maybe we need to sit down and clear the air.” Ivy closed the front door with a loud thud. Then a thought caught her. The door that had barely opened for her was now swinging without any trouble.

      “Whatever.” He brought her attention back. He started for the stairway. “I can explore and listen at the same time.” He made his way up the stairs two at a time.

      “Fine.” She left the doorway. Her patience grew thin. The man’s ego was enough to cause her exasperation. She stomped up the stairs behind him, huffing and puffing. “Look, I understand you’re not keen on sharing this house with me for the next few weeks.” No response. She shrugged. “You know, I don’t find this a pleasurable experience, either. I think if we both want to survive this we should accept that we’re here together and make the best of it.”

      At the top of the stairs he paused long enough to glance down the hallway, then headed in the first open doorway. She watched him give the space a quick inspection. It was simply decorated with a chair and nothing else, and he seemed satisfied. “Mind if I take this room?”

      “It doesn’t have a bed.”

      “I have a sleeping bag.” He bent and unzipped one of the duffel bags he’d brought.

      Momentarily sidetracked by the way his jeans fit his backside as he bent, she shook her head. “Fine by me. I had my eye on the master bedroom.”

      “Great.” He pulled a small notebook from a side pocket of the bag and an expensive-looking camera from the inside.

      Max stepped back into the hallway. She trailed close behind. “You didn’t answer me.”

      “About?” He stopped to examine the wall, delicately pulling at the peeling wallpaper.

      “If it’s possible that we can find common ground between us and work together.”

      “We both know it didn’t require a response.” He scribbled something onto the notebook. “Do you have any experience in hunting ghosts?”

      Ivy laughed. He shot her a sour expression. He was serious. “No, I’ve never hunted a ghost before.”

      “Then you’re no use to me.”

      Ivy gritted her teeth. She squeezed her hands into fists until she felt the sting of nails biting into her