Chapter 10 Ford
Ford
"How many times do I need to go over this, Mom, before you finally get it? It’s really not that difficult."
She stares at her phone like it’s just grown legs and started speaking in tongues. I mean, I’m not exactly a tech genius, but come on.
"Ford, I’m a lot older than you," she says with a sigh, her finger hovering uncertainly over the screen. "Things like this just don’t come as easy to me."
I press my lips into a firm line, trying to hold onto my patience.
"Mom, it’s one button. One. You press this, and it calls me straight away. That’s it. Not rocket science."
She squints at the screen like I’ve just given her a math equation instead of basic instructions. I exhale and lean back against the couch, letting my head rest against it for a moment.
After wrangling the cows that had wandered off, fixing the fence, and somehow, miraculously, getting the rest of my tasks done for the day, I think I’ve earned that drink with Jensen tonight. Hell, maybe I need it more than I thought I did.
And not just because of the work, but because of Stormy.
I’m still not sure how I feel about her and Missy becoming friendly.
Not that I have anything against her personally, she seems decent enough.
She smiles too easily and says stuff that sticks with you, even when it shouldn’t.
But that’s beside the point. If they hit it off, does that mean I’ll see her around more?
I hope not. And yet, I keep finding myself thinking about this morning—about that damn truck ride.
That comment she made ‘Must be nice. Being spoiled like that.’, why would she say that? Has she never been spoiled before?
I told myself to drop it, let it go, but the thought replayed the entire way back.
At the cottage, I hadn’t planned on carrying her bags, it just happened.
That look on her face in the truck earlier, that beat of something heavy, something sad, I didn’t like it.
For a second, I wanted to do something about it.
Do something for her that no one ever has.
Doesn’t mean anything, though. Doesn’t mean I want to spend time with her. Just something any decent man would do.
Then inside, she’d collided with me. One second heading for the kitchen, the next pressed against me.
Soft. Warm. And in that brief moment, I noticed things I hadn’t before: the sweet scent of her hair, the heat of her skin, the way she fit against me.
Then I let go, fast enough to put space between us before I could think too hard about it.
Shaking my head I try to squash the thought before my mind wanders further. Yeah. I definitely need that drink.
"Okay, I think I’ve got it!"
Mom’s voice cuts into my thoughts. She presses a button triumphantly, waiting for my phone to ring.
Nothing.
Then … "Mom? Why are you calling me?"
Harper’s voice echoes down from upstairs.
I sigh heavily, dragging my hand down my face before letting it drop into a full on facepalm.
The grandfather clock on the wall begins to chime the hour, drawing my attention. 7 p.m.
"We’ll go over this again tomorrow, Mom. I’ve gotta get back."
I push myself up from the couch, my movements slow and stiff, exhaustion weighing heavy in my limbs after a busy day. My body protests the effort, but skipping out on the bar tonight isn’t an option—Jensen would have my head.
Truthfully though, I don’t mind. It’ll be good to catch up. I can’t even remember the last time we hung out that didn’t include him having his hand up one of my heifers’ asses.
Suddenly, Missy bursts down the stairs, a blur of chaotic energy.
She barrels past me, arms weighed down with an avalanche of clothes, or maybe just an unruly bundle of fabric.
A pair of high-heeled shoes dangle precariously from her fingers, and she’s wearing her pyjamas. I step aside just in time.
“Sorry, brother,” she calls back, though her tone lacks any real sincerity, she’s far too focused on her path of destruction to mean it.
I frown as she whirls through the kitchen, hair in rollers, one eye lined, the other forgotten.
She snatches two of Mom’s muffins, shoves them into a shoulder bag, and forces bare feet into boots without breaking stride.
Her crossbody bag swings into place with help from her teeth, and just before vanishing, she jogs back to press a quick kiss to Mom’s cheek.
“I’m going out tonight. Don’t wait up. Not sure when I’ll be home, love you!”
And just like that, she’s off again.
The door swings open under her elbow, and it pulls shut behind her.
I stand in place, momentarily dazed, barely processing the distant roar of her truck as it tears out of the driveway. I glance over at Mom, who simply shrugs, her expression amused, as if to say, ‘Classic Missy.’
“Where’s she going?” I ask, needing to hear that she’ll be safe.
Mom shakes her head.
“No clue, but she’s been excited about it all day.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“And you didn’t think to ask her where or who she’s going with?”
She sighs lightly.
“Ford, she’s old enough to go where she pleases. I’m not going to pry. You know Missy, she’s a sensible girl.”
I give Mom a pointed look, the ‘Are you sure about that?’ kind.
She laughs, dismissing me with a wave of her hand.
She doesn’t know about the last few times I had to bail Missy out when she got a little too drunk because I try not to burden Mom with things like that.
Missy is sensible … most of the time. But she also likes to have too much fun.
I sigh, “Right, well, I better get going. I’m heading out with Jensen tonight. If anything comes up, if you need me, get Harper to give me a call.”
Mom nods.
“Will do, sweetie. It’s been a while since I’ve seen Jensen, bring him over for dinner soon, won’t you? He’s a good boy.”
“Hmm. Maybe.”
I turn toward the door, then pause just long enough to lean in and press a quick kiss to her forehead.
“… and he’s a 36-year-old man, Mom,” I tell her, shaking my head. “We’re not ‘boys’ anymore.”
She just chuckles, undeterred.
I step outside and pull the door shut with a soft thud behind myself and buddy as he follows me out.
The evening air is warm but edged with a cooling bite now that the sun is sinking behind the mountains. My boots crunch against the gravel as I make my way to my truck, already picturing the night ahead. A quiet drink, good conversation, and a chance to unwind with my closest friend.
"What time do you call this?" Jensen asks as I step up behind him at the bar, catching him mid order.
The Cowboy’s Hideout, or just ‘Hideout’ to locals, is the heart of this town, the place where everyone gathers, where everybody knows each other.
It has a kind of charm that makes it feel more like an old friend than just a local hangout.
Denny has owned this place for as long as I can remember, he was one of my dad’s good friends, and he’s one of the coolest guys around.
He had a way of turning a blind eye when we were younger, letting us get away with things we shouldn’t, like sneaking drinks before we were legally allowed.
Now, his son James helps run the place, picking up more responsibility as Denny gets older.
Back in school, James and I got on well enough, and we’ve had some solid nights out over the years.
These days, though, he spends most of his time behind the bar, pouring drinks instead of downing them.
I lean against the counter and nod at James.
"I’ll have a whiskey, he’s paying."
I jab my thumb in Jensen’s direction and perch myself on the stool next to him.
"Sorry, what?" Jensen scoffs.
I shrug.
"Well, you dragged me out here, the least you can do is buy me a drink."
He rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue. "You know, there’s such a thing as manners."
"Manners?" I repeat, raising a brow. "You expect too much from me."
I clap him on the back just as he lifts his beer to his lips.
He chokes, spluttering and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Dude!"
He glares at me, then flicks his eyes towards James.
Oh. Right. How could I forget. His little crush.
Jensen, despite looking like he walked straight out of a rugged cowboy magazine, is very much gay. And he has been hopelessly hung up on James since high school. I’d bet money that dragging me out tonight was nothing more than an excuse to sit here and ogle at the bartender.
James sets my whiskey in front of me, and I thank him, watching Jensen fumbling for his wallet, still a little red-faced from choking on his drink. He mutters his thanks, and I barely have time to take a sip of my drink before he’s grabbing me by the arm and hauling me across the room.
"The hell …" I start, but he’s already steering me toward our usual booth.
I flop into the seat across from him.
“Jensen, I don’t know why you don’t just climb into his lap and make it official.”
Jensen’s eyes widen, and he hisses a sharp "Shh," and glances nervously over his shoulder, checking to make sure James hasn’t heard. Then, as if physically trying to remove himself from the embarrassment, he yanks me further into the booth from across the table. I laugh.
"I’m not even sure he’s into men," he mutters, settling back against the seat.
I scoff.
"Jensen. He’s into men. It’s obvious. Especially with the way his cheeks go pink every time he talks to you."
His brows draw together, and he subtly glances back towards James.
"They do?"
"Yes!" I shake my head. "Now grow some balls and go talk to the guy."
Jensen shoots me a look before sinking even lower in his chair.
"I’ll think about it," he sighs.
I roll my eyes. He won’t. He’ll sit here all night, nursing his drinks, letting his hopeless longing simmer.
Then, after he’s had one too many, he’ll start flirting with other men at the bar, trying to make James jealous, even though he swears James isn’t gay.
It doesn’t make sense. Same routine. Every time.
"Anyway," Jensen says, abruptly changing the subject as he checks his watch. "Why were you late?"
"I’m not late."
He shoves his wrist in my face.
I laugh.
"It’s quarter past eight, Jens. I’d hardly say that’s late."
About to argue back, his eyes snag on the door and his mouth parts slightly. I follow his line of sight, and curse under my breath. Missy.
She steps inside; arm linked with another woman. A woman with golden hair cascading over her shoulders, smoky blue eyes, and, though I can’t see them from here, I know they’re there. Freckles.
Stormy wears another floaty dress, short, light blue, showcasing soft, pale legs.
The neckline dips low enough to reveal just enough of her chest to drive a man insane.
My stomach does a sharp, unwelcome flip and I immediately drop my eyes to the drink in front of me, fixating on the way the amber liquid swirls in my glass.
"Who is that with your sister?" Jensen asks, sounding genuinely rattled. "I’m gay, but she’s damn cute, man, cute enough for me to question my life choices, that’s for sure."
I pick up my whiskey and knock it back, welcoming the burn.
She just had to be here, didn’t she?