TAINTED

Chapter 7

IVY

By the end of my twelve-hour shift, I was exhausted. I was so used to studying behind a desk that standing on my feet all day and conversing with every high-paying fisherman left me beat.

"Do you want to wear something of mine to the bonfire?" Missy asked as she bent down to grab her purse. "I don't want to walk up to the ranch."

I gulped a little, worried about what Missy normally dressed like, which didn't leave much to the imagination compared to my usual flannel shirts and ripped jeans.

"We could always take one of the resort's ATVs up the road," I suggested.

"Nah, then we'd have to spend time finding one available to use, and that would waste valuable party time." Missy started walking toward the double doors. "I've got a perfect little purple dress for you anyway."

"It's just a bonfire, and I'm not wearing anything too fancy," I replied.

"Oh, Ivy, how often do I have to tell you? If you got it, flaunt it. And believe me, you got it." Missy winked.

Walking into the bunkhouse reminded me why Blaine insisted I stay at the ranch instead. This place was no different than a college dormitory, except it was co-ed, and there wasn't an RA to help keep the noise down. Over two hundred employees who worked rotating shifts at Whitefish Resort for fifteen weeks of the year – four days on and three days off - and called these shared accommodations home for the summer.

Missy unlocked the door to her bedroom, and we stepped inside. I had to look twice, but sure enough, Missy had three huge pieces of bright pink luggage lined up against the wall.

I snorted out a laugh, "Think you packed enough?"

"I couldn't decide what to bring, so I packed one for shoes, one for dresses, and one for shirts and shorts," Missy said thoughtfully as she wheeled a piece of luggage into the middle of the room. She unzipped it and pulled out a short and tight purple dress. "I think you should wear this."

I shook my head, "No way. Don't you have a pair of jean shorts and a sweater or something like that?"

She continued to search her luggage. "You need to stop hiding that body of yours under flannel shirts."

"That's hardly the case."

Missy froze and lifted her eyes, glaring at me as if to scold me. "Then prove it."

I bent down on my knees, searching through her impressive travelling wardrobe. Every item was neatly folded and colour-coordinated, and I hoped I would get everything right. I was in the white section and yanked up a lacey cream-coloured tank. "I'll wear this and a pair of jeans."

Missy shook her head, "No. Wear a skirt."

I hesitated briefly but figured arguing with Missy wasn't worth my time. 

"Okay. Deal." We shook hands in a truce.

After she sprayed herself with a whack-load of perfume, we linked arms and walked down to the bonfire. The closer we got, the more flames shot up into the sky. Boys in Montana didn't light slow-burning campfires to roast marshmallows like the rest of the world. They made a wicked blaze that lit up the entire town. With every step we took, the louder country music blared from one of the trucks parked on the grass.

"Looks like you two made it after all," Grayson hollered as he stumbled toward us with a beer.

"Go away, Grayson." Missy turned her back to him when he touched her side.

"Don't be like that." Grayson draped his arm around Missy's shoulders and whispered in her ear. "I like your red boots."

Grayson may have already drunk one too many beers. His eyes were glazed over, and his speech was a tad slurred.