Chapter 19 Stormy
Stormy
Idecide to give myself a break from chasing down help for the building.
Every local I’ve contacted seemed eager at first, booking me in for meetings, but then, a few hours later, each one messaged—not called, messaged—to say they suddenly don’t have the time.
And I have no idea why.
The only ones still sticking around are the window guy and the electrician, for now. No one else. It’s weighing on me. Making me feel like maybe this whole thing is slipping through my fingers.
So, I take off for a wander. I barely leave the property as it is, always stuck within my four walls or in the garden. This morning, I need more than that. I need to step further.
The cattle graze peacefully as I cross through the fields, the boots Missy lent me pressing into the earth, the scent of fresh grass thick in the air.
When I reach the edge of the property, my breath catches in my throat. Lying at the base of the mountain is one of the most picturesque places I’ve ever seen. A massive, ancient tree stands tall, its thick branches stretching outward, cradling an old wooden swing, tied up with thick rope.
Beneath it, the field explodes in wildflowers, bursts of colour painting the land in shades of violet, crimson, and gold.
And beside it, a crystal-clear pond shimmers under the afternoon light.
I’m in complete awe. It’s the perfect place to sit and read—to escape into words and let them carry me somewhere far from reality.
I set my bag against the tree trunk and pull out my most recent book, a romantasy novel filled with fae, mystical creatures, adventure, and a strong female main character.
I try to focus. Try to let myself slip into the story.
But the world around me is too alive to ignore.
The pond teems with movement, frogs leaping onto lily pads, dragonflies skimming the water’s surface, their wings flashing in the light.
A small fish pops up, only to vanish again, sending ripples dancing across the pond.
I inhale deeply, letting my shoulders relax as I exhale.
This place is perfect. I should take some photos for my Bookstagram.
The whimsical setting will do wonders for engagement.
I force myself back into the book, dragging my eyes to the words, only to be torn from them again seconds later by the rhythmic pounding of hooves.
I look up and the book slips from focus as the sight before me steals the breath from my lungs.
A black horse barrels across the field, its obsidian coat glistening under the sunlight, its jet-black mane and tail streaming back in the wind.
There’s something untamed in the way it moves, a wild, effortless power, every stride a seamless blend of muscle and grace.
And then I see him.
Ford.
He’s perched atop the horse, gripping the reins with strong, steady hands, the muscles in his arms taut under the sun’s glow.
His legs brace against the stirrups, lifting him slightly out of the saddle as he leans forward, completely in sync with the horse’s movements.
His dark, messy hair catches the wind, tousled even more than usual and his rugged features are set in fierce focus, but there’s something else there.
Freedom. For the first time, I see him as he truly is.
Not just grumpy, not just stubborn, but this.
This is where he thrives. This is where he belongs.
Beside them, Buddy sprints full speed, his tongue lolling, paws kicking up dirt as he keeps pace with the horse’s strides.
I smile to myself, watching as they gallop past, Ford’s eyes snag mine for the briefest of seconds before, in a fluid motion, he shifts his weight, sinks back into the saddle, and pulls the reins.
The horse slows. Then Ford turns, guiding it back towards me. He brings it to a stop by the fence, and his features shift back into their usual grumpy expression.
"Stormy!" he calls, curling two fingers, beckoning me over.
I insert my bookmark, hop down from the swing, and set the book in my spot before making my way towards him, my dress brushing against the wildflowers as I move.
He reaches back, pulling something from his jeans pocket. His baseball cap. He unfolds it, runs his fingers through his hair, then places it on backwards.
And I don’t know why—don’t understand it—but something about the action makes my stomach tighten, and heat spread in my veins. My mouth is suddenly dry.
The horse’s snout nudges against my cheek the moment I reach the fence, its warm breath tickling my neck.
A giggle escapes me, and Ford clears his throat.
I glance up at him. His expression is the same as always; unreadable.
But for a second, it does seem slightly softer than usual. Like he’s forgotten to scowl.
“Did you need something?” I ask.
His presence alone surprises me, as I haven’t seen him around since I got the keys to the bookshop.
The horse fusses over me, licking my ear and tugging at my hair with its teeth. I laugh, trying to push it away, but it’s too big for my efforts to make much difference.
Ford’s face softens as he watches our interaction.
"Leave her be, Raven," he tells the horse, tugging lightly on the reins to guide her back.
"Oh, I love the name," I say, turning back to the horse, running my hand gently along her cheek.
"And I really don’t mind you fussing over me. Makes me feel special," I tell her, my voice light with amusement.
"Thanks," he says, his gruff tone sending an unexpected shiver down my spine. "Don’t know what her name was before she got here, but she seems to like it."
For a fleeting moment, the conversation feels … easy. Then, almost as if catching himself, he morphs his face back into its usual indifference.
"Missy said you need a truck," he says.
I nod, unsure where this is going.
"I've got one I've been working on. It'll run. You can take it.” He pauses for a moment before continuing “... if you want?"
I blink, caught off guard by the offer. Why would he do something like this for me?
Jensen had been adamant Ford was into me, kept saying it like it was obvious, but the way he’s kept his distance, the way he doubted my bookshop, made me believe otherwise.
Suspicion lingers, but the need for a car outweighs it. After a pause, I finally nod.
"That would be really great. Thanks."
He shrugs as if it’s no big deal. Our eyes connect, and Ford opens his mouth as if to say something, but a wet drop lands sharply on his cheekbone, cutting him off.
He pauses, touching the wet patch just as I feel a drop land on my nose.
We both glance up at the sky, realising too late that dark clouds have been gathering above us.
Within moments, the heavens break open, unleashing a torrential downpour.
Rain crashes down, soaking through my dress, turning the fabric heavy against my skin.
My hair clings in damp strands to my face and neck as I lift my hands, watching the droplets bounce off my palms. A smile tugs at my lips, despite the chaos, there’s something refreshing about it, something freeing.
I turn back to Ford. He sits there, unmoving, rain streaking over his face, tracing a path through the scruff on his jaw, dripping down his neck.
I notice a quiet smile playing at his lips, so small, so fleeting, but undeniably real.
My stomach flips as my gaze locks onto his, catching the softness there, the depth.
A look that says so much without saying anything at all.
“My books!” I gasp, sudden panic flooding my chest. I scramble for them beneath the tree, but to my relief, the thick canopy has shielded them from the worst of the rain. I sigh, clutching them to my chest.
Ford shifts in the saddle searching his saddle bag before jumping down, moving toward the fence with effortless ease. Without a word, he hops over it, landing beside me and holds out a bag.
“Here,” he mutters. “It’s waterproof.”
I take it, blinking in surprise as he rubs the back of his neck, looking as though he wants to say something else but isn’t sure how.
Finally, he exhales.
“You can ride back with me.”
He looks up, scanning the storm. “Doesn’t look like the rain’s stopping anytime soon. Hate these sudden summer downpours.”
The words are offered carelessly, like it doesn’t really matter to him whether I accept or not. But the hesitancy in his posture, the way his fingers twitch slightly at his side, tells me otherwise.
I hesitate. The day is still warm, but I don’t want to risk catching a cold with everything I need to get done. Slowly, I nod. “Okay.”
I pause at the edge of the fence, and Ford reaches for my hand, his grip steady but gentle as he guides me up and over the fence with practised ease.
His other hand hovers near my elbow, not quite touching, but close enough to catch me if I slip.
I land on the other side with a soft thud, and he follows, swinging over effortlessly.
He doesn’t say anything. Just stands beside me, close but not crowding, his presence solid in the downpour.
This Ford, this version of him that moves slow, that watches without judgment, that steadies me without making a show of it, I like him. The one who doesn’t need to be rough to feel strong.
I glance at him, wondering if he even realises how gentle he’s being. If he knows how much that matters. Maybe not. Maybe this is just instinct for him from years of being an older brother to two sisters. Quiet care is tucked beneath all that grit and guardedness.
But I feel it. And it’s enough.
And then my gaze settles on Raven before me. She’s beautiful—sure. Sleek and dark with her mane tangled with water, but she’s also massive. Muscles shift beneath her coat like coiled rope. I swallow hard.
“I’ve never …” I clear my throat, trying again. “I’ve never been on a horse before.”
He doesn’t react right away. Just nods once, slow and thoughtful.
“Alright.”