Chapter 7 Ford
Ford
With my back stiff against the door, I take a deep shuddering breath, releasing it slowly before shooting daggers at my traitor of a dog.
“You just had to go and make friends with her didn’t you!”
Buddy cocks his head to the side giving me those puppy dog eyes that never fail to work on me. I can’t stay mad at him. I mean, can I really blame him for seeking her out?
When I caught sight of Stormy, my gaze had flicked over her, quick and unwilling.
Those eyes. That soft mouth. The way sunlight tangled in her damp golden hair, giving her the kind of glow that made looking away feel like a struggle.
Those damn freckles that were even more evident with her fresh bare face.
And her legs, pale and smooth, peeking out from underneath that bathrobe she wore.
The way the robe had split across the thigh.
It was enough to cause my mind to wander, and it was maddening.
It made my stomach twist. Desire is dangerous, messy, uncontrollable, and something I shouldn’t entertain.
I refuse to let anything disrupt the carefully controlled life I’ve built.
So, instead of acknowledging it, her, the way she made something stir beneath my skin, I did the only thing I know how to do.
I shut down. Pulled back. Gave her nothing but distance and a voice stripped of warmth.
Not cold, exactly. Just … closed off. Detached enough to keep the embers from catching.
Because if I don’t let it show, if I keep the lines clean and the space between us intact, maybe I can convince myself there’s nothing there to want.
The cool wood of the door is solid against me as I struggle to silence my swirling thoughts.
But she is right there, just on the other side.
I can feel it, like an unspoken gravity pulling at me, daring me to turn back.
I need to get used to this … to seeing those striking blue eyes and that impossibly smooth skin that looks so soft, so inviting, like it would melt at the faintest touch.
My throat feels dry, and I push my hands through my hair struggling to stop my mind from wandering further, to the curve of her legs, the shape of her thighs, the lingering question of what, if anything, lies beneath that robe.
I shake my head, pushing the thoughts away, dragging myself back into the present. I force myself to step forward, away from the door, away from her. Theres work to do.
I swallow, clearing the dryness in my throat.
“Come on then, boy. Jensen will be here soon.”
My voice comes out rougher than expected, but Buddy’s ears perk up at the familiar command.
It’s going to be a warm one today. The shift in the seasons is noticeable now. There’s less bite in the morning air … more promise in the golden glow stretching across the horizon. No need for a coat. Jeans and a shirt will do just fine.
I step into my boots, the worn material moulding to my feet like a second skin.
My cap is tossed onto my head out of habit, and I scoop up my keys before pushing open the front door.
I breathe in the morning air, crisp but warming, carrying the scent of earth and hay, reminders that the day is already waiting.
Buddy falls into step beside me, like the good, obedient dog he normally is and his paws pad lightly against the dirt, tail swishing in easy rhythm.
He’s always been steady, reliable, my shadow in the early hours.
As I swing the truck door open, he hops onto the passenger seat without hesitation, settling into his usual spot.
I love mornings. Not just because they’re necessary for the work, though they are, but because there’s something grounding in watching the world stir awake. The sun hasn’t fully risen yet, but the sky hums with the soft glow of dawn, spilling light over the mountains. It’s quiet, peaceful.
Buddy does his usual car routine, pressing a paw against the electric window button like the trained expert he is.
The glass slides down, and he immediately sticks his head out, eager to feel the wind in his fur.
His tail thumps against my leg, steady and, rhythmic.
It’s his little way of reminding me he’s here and that I’m not alone.
And I never have been really. It’s true, after Clara left the loneliness was unbearable, gnawing at the edges of my days.
But I haven’t ever been truly alone. Not really.
Not with him. Not with my horse, Raven either. And not with Jensen.
Growing up on a ranch can be lonely, sure.
I had friends in town, kids to talk to in school, but the pull of the land, of the animals, always called me back.
Class felt like a waiting room, just something to sit through until I could get home and do what I loved.
But then there was Jensen. We met in high school, bonded fast over our love for animals.
He understood things the way I did and understood why this life matters.
Now, he’s a veterinarian and my best friend, showing up for me and helping whenever the ranch needs him.
Pushing thoughts of the past and of Stormy aside, I fire up the engine and roll out onto the dirt track, ready to get this long day underway.
The animals in the pastures have been rotated, fed, and checked—morning routines done.
I’d made my usual stop at the campsite, making sure everything was running smoothly.
The campers are content with no complaints, no urgent needs, and thank God, no maintenance issues at the shower block.
I do not want another repeat of last week, when the drains were clogged with …
I don’t even know what. Seriously, what are these people doing in there?
At least that’s one less disaster on my plate today.
I pull up at the stables where I’m set to meet Jensen this morning.
His truck is already here, and I park alongside it.
Stepping into the barn, the scent of hay and horses wraps around me.
It’s the scent of my childhood, and it reminds me of a time when life felt simpler, before it began grinding me down.
Kit is on his way out, rucksack slung over one shoulder, ready for school.
He works most mornings before heading off, a little bit of a rogue but always dependable.
He was 14 when I first met him, caught him stealing bread from a store in town.
Instead of turning him in, I gave him a job.
His family’s situation isn’t good. They’re lovely people but struggling.
His dad left, his mom drinks too much, and as the eldest, Kit shoulders some responsibility of his younger siblings.
I understand that feeling—carrying the weight of something bigger than yourself.
Since Dad passed, this place has been mine to keep afloat—my responsibility. Helping Kit find his footing was the least I could do. He’s a good kid, and I don’t want to watch him fall through the cracks before he ever gets the chance to build his life.
Buddy races ahead nudging Kit’s knee, hankering after affection. Kit crouches, scratching him behind the ears before rising and shrugging his rucksack higher. “
Hey, Ford,” he says. “I’ve done all my jobs and Jensen’s through there with Star, so I’m gonna go wait at the house.”
He’s in the same year as my youngest sister Harper, and I drive them both to school each morning.
He makes to walk past, but I reach out, ruffling his blonde hair as he tries but fails to duck away, grumbling and attempting to fix it. I pause, frowning at the sticky residue on my fingers. “
What’s going on here?” I ask, rubbing them together. “Is this … hair wax?”
“What?! NO,” Kit blurts out, but the sudden redness creeping into his cheeks betrays him.
I’ve never once seen this boy use product in his hair, and now that I’m looking closer, I can see he’s made more of an effort today all around. His clothes look … chosen rather than thrown on. And is that aftershave?
I arch an eyebrow, giving him a knowing look.
“Who’s the girl? Or boy? Come on, spill.”
Kit freezes.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” he says, too quick, too defensive, pushing past me toward the door.
I smirk, shaking my head as he rushes past.
“Yeah, yeah. I believe you. You can go, by the way,” adding the last part sarcastically, though he’s already halfway to the doors. “I’ll be there in ten, stay out of trouble!”
I can’t see his face, but I know he’s rolling his eyes.
“Yes, Ford,” he mutters, dismissing me with the kind of casual irritation only teenagers can master.
I turn toward the stalls, heading to where Jensen is tending to Star, our pregnant mare.
We hadn’t had her long when we discovered she was carrying.
She’d been rescued from a rough farm a few towns over, neglected and in bad shape.
But sadly, that’s pretty much the story of every animal we bring here.
Inside the stall, Jensen is packing up his equipment. He stands, almost as tall as me, his brown skin catching the morning light through the slits in the wood. His eyes, just as deep, just as dark, soften when he sees me and he steps forward, giving me a solid pat on the shoulder.
“She’s looking good,” he tells me. “Everything seems to be progressing well. About a month now, and she’ll be ready.”
I exhale, tension easing from my shoulders. “Great, thanks Jensen.”
These animals … they mean a lot to this place.
To everyone here. Mom and Dad started with just the campsite and a handful of livestock, but as the years went by, they kept finding more.
Animals desperate for a second chance. One by one, we brought them here, until the place was more than just a ranch; it was a sanctuary.
A home. Somewhere they could finally live free, without fear or suffering.
They keep me busy; that’s for damn sure.
It’s no wonder I’m stressed all the time.
I don’t understand why people act surprised when I’m grumpy, it’s practically a job requirement at this point.
"I’m heading off now," Jensen says, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "Got a few jobs over at John's place this morning."
He shoots me a knowing side-eye as he bends to pick up his things, and I make no effort to hide the displeasure on my face. "Don't give me that look," he sighs. "You know it's my job."
Ugh. John. I can’t stand that man. His arrogant son, Will, too.
Their sprawling ranch sits on the far side of town, and they treat animal rescue like some twisted competition, racing to get there first whenever a farm goes under, snatching up whatever livestock needs saving like they’re prizes to be won.
He calls it rescue, but that’s a joke. John doesn’t save animals.
He uses them, pumping out milk, eggs, profit, whatever he can squeeze from their bodies.
In his eyes, chickens, and cows are nothing more than production machines.
He swears he treats them well, but anyone with half a brain knows the truth—there’s no such thing as humane treatment in an industry built on exploitation.
I try not to think about it too much. If I did, it would eat me alive. But every time I see him hauling off another animal—another life that’s already been through hell—only to be shoved into a different kind of suffering, it makes my blood boil.
I run a hand down Star’s neck, my palm brushing over the soft rise of her coat.
“Yeah, alright. But if that man starts preaching about his so-called rescue missions again, do me a favour and remind him what the word actually means.”
I exhale sharply through my nose, rubbing at a place just above Star’s withers. At least I know Jensen will do right by the animals—patch them up and keep them healthy. That makes swallowing the situation a little easier. Even if it means he has to work at John’s damn ranch.
I follow Jensen out of the stall, patting my leg so that Buddy leaps off a haystack, falling into step beside me as we head toward our trucks.
"So, you on for tonight still?" Jensen asks as we walk.
I frown.
"What?"
Jensen groans, throwing his head back dramatically.
"Oh, Ford. Come on. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten again?"
I grimace but end up shooting him a look full of exasperation.
"Hey, don’t start with me. You know how much I’ve got on my plate … I can’t remember everything."
"Yeah, yeah, I know you’re stressed, that’s why I keep telling you to slow down or, I don’t know, hire some damn help around here."
I scoff.
"You sound like my mom."
Jensen smirks.
"Yeah, and I’m starting to feel like it too. If you don’t slow down, you’re gonna burn yourself out, or worse, you’re gonna end up old and grumpy… even grumpier than you already are, might I add, like … like …"
He pauses, thinking, and then I see it, the spark in his eyes when he lands on the exact thing to piss me off.
"… like John."
I stop dead in my tracks, fixing him with a glare so sharp it could split timber.
Jensen barks out a laugh.
"Ha! Knew you’d love that."
I shove him in the arm, maybe a little harder than necessary. "Don’t you ever compare me to that man."
"Seriously though, you need to find yourself a woman," he tells me, shaking his head. "Someone to make you slow down and actually enjoy life."
I scoff again.
"Yeah, I had a woman and look how that turned out. No thanks. I’m fine on my own."
"Sure."
He says it in a way that makes it clear he doesn't believe me.
We reach the trucks, and Jensen swings open his door. "Anyway, eight o’clock. Bar. Try to show up on time for once."
I grumble an incoherent mess of irritation under my breath, as I climb into my truck.
Buddy leaps in after me, landing in his usual spot before I can even settle into mine, and as I look toward Jensen’s truck, he turns, catching my gaze, and then drags a hand across his mouth, miming a wide, exaggerated grin.
I roll my eyes and shove my truck into reverse, backing out before he can catch the slight twitch at the corner of my lips.
I hate to admit it, but I do care about the bastard, but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t piss me off every damn day.
Find a woman?
He needs to mind his own damn business.