Chapter 18 Ford
Ford
It’s been a couple of weeks since Stormy arrived, and it’s been strangely quiet. I haven’t seen much of her, and honestly, it’s been kind of a relief. Missy mentioned she’s been busy with the building she bought, caught up in whatever mess she’d found herself in.
Missy told me which empty lot it is, and a small pang of guilt tugged at me for how I’d spoken about her bookstore at my mom’s.
I hadn’t meant for any of it to come off as harsh or that I didn’t believe she had it in her to make it work.
But this is a tightknit community, and I’m just not sure about how they will take it.
And it was that moment at the table when I remembered why I didn’t want her here, because if I started to feel anything for this woman, it might just as easily be gone in the next instant.
So, I have to keep up these walls I’ve built, because maybe I’m right to be wary …
because maybe Stormy will move back to England after all.
No one else had wanted that place because of the sheer amount of work it needs, and I get it, there’s no saving that wreck without deep pockets and a lot of patience.
A part of me had hoped that would be enough to make her pack up and leave.
Maybe I needed her to … before I let myself care. So far, though, she hasn’t.
Apparently, she’s been working away, tracking down people to help fix it up or researching how to do the repairs herself.
The only time I see her is in the mornings, when I have to drag Buddy away from her. Every damn day, he trots off to her garden, finds her perched on that swing seat with her nose buried in a book, his tail wagging like he’s found his new favourite person.
Now, my alarm blares at 5.30 a.m., the same as it does every day. I peel back the covers, swing my legs over the side of the bed, and get myself ready. Jeans, shirt, boots, cap … routine, predictable, familiar.
I head downstairs, open the back door, and let Buddy out and sort myself some breakfast. But instead of disappearing for ages like he usually does, he’s back within moments.
That’s strange. I glance out the window, following his usual path. Then, I spot her.
Stormy is curled up on the swing seat, asleep. Her book lies abandoned on the ground in front of her, its pages flipping lazily in the breeze.
I should look away. I should go back to my breakfast. Instead, I find myself moving, pushing open the door, stepping over the fence, and slipping into her garden like I belong there.
I crouch down, picking up her book and placing it gently beside her.
She shifts slightly, curling deeper into the cushions.
She looks exhausted, like she hasn’t had a proper night’s sleep in weeks.
Her face is peaceful, but there’s tension there, like even in her rest, something weighs her down.
The breeze shifts, carrying the chill of early morning through the air and she shivers, whimpering softly as she tucks herself closer into the cushions. The throw she brought out with her has slipped to her waist, offering no real protection against the cold.
I hesitate.
Then, before I can talk myself out of it, I carefully pull the blanket up, making sure it rests snugly around her shoulders.
Buddy watches the whole thing, his snout resting lightly against her covered leg. His tail gives the faintest wag, like he’s proud of me for following him out and tending to Stormy.
I sigh as I crouch beside him.
"You just can’t stay away, can you?" I mutter, scratching behind his ear. "Every damn morning, you come looking for her."
He lets out a soft huff, content but watchful.
The breeze shifts again, and she shivers.
I exhale heavily, scrubbing a hand through my hair.
“Fuck’s sake," I mutter, not at her, but at myself. At the way I’m tucking the blanket tighter, making sure she’s warm, comfortable, looked after. Like I haven’t been the one trying to keep his distance.
Buddy lets out a soft whine, nudging at her leg more insistently.
"Don’t," I warn, nudging his snout away. "You wake her up, and she’s gonna think we’re just standing here gawking like idiots."
He lets out another small whine, unimpressed.
"Yeah, yeah, I get it," I mutter. "You like her. But that doesn’t mean you need to drag me into it."
Buddy noses her again, wagging his tail now.
This is exactly why I wanted her gone. Because the last thing I need is to start caring.
I groan, as I push myself upright.
"Alright, we’re done. We’re leaving before she wakes up and I have to explain why I’m standing here like a creep in her garden."
"Hey, pervert," a sharp voice hisses from behind me, making me stumble mid-step.
What the hell? I turn, heart jolting, to see Missy standing in Stormy's doorway, leaning casually against the doorframe. How long has she been there?
I wander over, keeping my voice low so as not to wake Stormy.
"What are you doing here?" I whisper. "Apart from sneaking up on people?"
Missy scoffs.
"Oh, well, good morning to you too, brother!"
I narrow my eyes.
"You're the one greeting me by calling me a pervert."
"Ahh, yes. Well, you were practically drooling over Stormy while she slept."
"I wasn’t perving on her," I say keeping my voice even. "Her book had fallen, and I guess she looked cold, so I covered her back up. That’s all ..."
"Hmm." She tilts her head, arms crossed, studying me. "Still seems a bit pervy to me."
"Whatever. I’m leaving," I mutter, turning to go.
But before I can take a step, she catches my arm, pulling me back, a knowing smirk tugging at her lips.
"You know, I've been stopping over here, helping out when I can between work and everything. I'm really starting to like her."
I let out a long, slow exhale, irritation prickling beneath my skin. Jensen’s been on at me about how much he likes Stormy, and now my sister? Everyone and their dog—literally—are getting attached to her way too easily.
I fold my arms.
"Why are you telling me this?" I ask, my tone flat, trying to act unbothered.
"God, you're so cold sometimes."
I don’t dignify that with a response, instead waiting for the inevitable point she’s trying to make because I’m not trying to be cold, I’m just trying not to get pulled in.
She shakes her head.
"Anyway, Stormy doesn’t have a vehicle, and she hasn’t had time to sort one yet. She really needs one to get back and forth from the building."
I shrug, but it’s more out of discomfort than dismissal.
"I mean … that’s not really something I can help with."
Missy narrows her eyes, the same way she always did when we’d fall out as kids.
"Well, I’ve been thinking …"
I arch a brow.
"Go on."
"You know that truck you’ve been fixing up? The one you said is almost finished?" She pauses just long enough for dramatic effect. "I thought maybe you could let Stormy borrow it?"
I hesitate. That truck’s been my project for months. Something I’ve poured time into, something that’s mine. It’s personal. And I’d be handing it over to someone I’m trying to keep my distance from … it’d feel too close. Like letting her into a part of my life I’ve kept separate.
I shake my head slowly.
"I don’t know, Miss. It’s not that simple."
Missy rolls her eyes.
"She really needs it, Ford. I can’t always be around to give her lifts, and cabs would just drain the money she needs for repairs."
I exhale, rubbing the back of my neck, frustration simmering beneath my skin.
The last thing I want is to get more tangled up in Stormy’s world, but Missy’s logic is irritatingly solid, even if it clashes with my own need to keep away.
I want her gone, but if she’s to stay, then I don’t want to see her struggling.
I glance towards the seat where she sleeps, the sunlight catching in her blonde hair.
Her breathing is slow and steady, her body curled as if she’s trying to hold onto sleep a little bit longer.
There’s something about the way she looks, completely unaware of the conversation unfolding about her, that twists something in my chest.
"I’ll think about it," I mutter, turning away, already regretting it.
I arrive at the stables a little later than usual, and my mind hasn’t shut up since I left the house this morning.
Stormy.
How peaceful she had looked in her garden, the morning sun casting a soft glow around her. Thoughts about whether I should I let her use the truck spiral around my mind. Do I really want to involve myself further? My head tells me no, but my gut is saying otherwise.
Buddy barrels past me as we make our way through the big barn doors, heading straight for Kit as he finishes up for the morning.
Kits hair is back to its usual floppy blonde state, no sign of wax in sight.
But what catches my attention is the purple t-shirt he’s wearing.
I don’t know if I’m reading too much into it, but if I’m not mistaken, purple is Harper’s favourite colour.
"Hey, Ford," Kit says as he finishes tidying up the horse tack.
Buddy nudges at him, and Kit absentmindedly scratches behind his ears.
"Star seems to be doing well," he tells me, then adds, "Oh and Raven seemed a little antsy this morning, so I let her out early in the fields to run off some energy. "
Raven isn’t just my horse—she’s one of my best friends.
She came to me at a time when I needed her most. When dad was sick.
It was a long battle with cancer, one that stretched on and on, wearing down everything in its path.
Watching him fight, watching him suffer …
I couldn’t stop it, and I felt useless. Like all I could do was stand there and wait for the inevitable to unfold.
Then came Raven. She was shut down, neglected, mistrusting of everyone.
She needed help, and for the first time in a long while, I found something I could do, something I could fix.
She gave me something to focus on when my mind threatened to spiral.
She gave me a reason to keep moving, to wake up each day with something to work towards.
Earning her trust and helping her heal wasn’t easy, but it was something I could accomplish. Something that, unlike my dad’s illness, wasn’t out of my control.
But more than that, I swear Raven understood.
It wasn’t just that I was helping her. Somehow, it felt like she was choosing to help me too.
She could feel it, the weight I carried, the grief I tried to shoulder alone.
She stayed close. Quiet when I needed quiet, present when I was slipping too far inside my own mind.
She was patient with me in a way I hadn’t expected.
It was as if, in her own way, she was telling me, “I get it.”
Animals aren’t simple creatures. They’re complex, full of thoughts and emotions just like we are. And they need just as much care, devotion, and kindness as we do. Raven taught me that healing isn’t one sided. It’s something shared between souls that recognise each other’s pain.
Maybe I saved her, but in the end, she saved me too.
And Clara hated that.
She never understood why I found it easier to sit in silence with Raven rather than talk to her. She thought I trusted an animal more than her. But animals don’t judge. They don’t demand answers or explanations. They don’t expect you to be okay when you’re anything but.
So, I make a mental note to find Raven once I’ve taken Kit and Harper to school. I normally spend most days with her, but lately, I’ve been too busy, only managing fleeting moments here and there, and guilt plucks at my chest.
I glance around, noticing Kit has done everything that needed to be done this morning, so I turn to him.
"Come on, we’ll go grab Harper."
Kit doesn’t move right away. He hesitates, which isn’t like him.
I narrow my eyes.
"Something wrong?"
He shakes his head too quickly.
"Nah, all good."
He’s lying.
Kit’s always been a playful troublemaker, but today, there’s something off. I can tell by the slight tension in his shoulders, the way he avoids my eyes.
Are things bad at home again?
I don’t press him on it. He’ll come to me if he needs to. He normally does. I think he sees me like a big brother, and I’m happy to be that for him. Instead, I jerk my head toward the truck. "Alright, let’s go."
He exhales, runs a hand through his hair, then finally follows. And I make a mental note to keep an eye on him, too.
The drive to get Harper feels heavier than usual. Kit hasn’t said much since we left the stables, and now, as I pull up to the house, I brace for the energy shift that always comes with Harper. Only, when she steps outside, something feels … off.
She’s quiet, too.
Harper, the human embodiment of daylight, is quiet. No easy smile, no bright greeting, just a slow walk to the truck as she climbs in, barely even glancing my way.
I glance at Kit. He hasn’t looked at her once.
Right. So that’s what this is about.
I don’t bother easing into it.
"Alright," I bark, starting up the truck. "What’s going on?"
Harper sighs, staring out the window.
"Nothing."
Kit shifts beside her.
I let out a humourless laugh.
"That’s real convincing."
Neither of them responds.
I glance between them as I pull onto the road, my grip tightening on the wheel.
"You two fall out or something?"
Harper’s expression doesn’t change. Kit just stares straight ahead.
"Mind your own business, Ford," Harper mutters, arms crossing over her chest.
Kit still refuses to look her way.
I roll my eyes.
"Yeah, sure. I’ll just pretend not to notice the storm cloud that hovers over you both."
Silence.
Fine. If they want to be stubborn about it, I’m not about to pry. They’ll work it out, or they won’t, I don’t control how they deal with their problems.
Still, the tension is thick in the air all the way to school. When we arrive, Harper climbs out first, throwing her bag over her shoulder. Kit follows a little slower, giving me a short nod before walking off in the opposite direction from her.
I watch them for a beat, then sigh before pulling away from the curb.
Whatever’s going on, I know Harper.
She’s smart. She doesn’t normally let anything fester longer than necessary. That’s the thing about Harper and Missy, they’re good at working through their emotions and figuring out what’s best for them.
I trust that.
And I trust that if they need me, they’ll come to me.
I remind myself of that as I drive away, hoping whatever this is will get sorted sooner rather than later.