Chapter 19 Stormy #2
I expect a tease, maybe a smirk. But he just steps forward, stroking the side of her neck, his movements calm, deliberate.
“She’s good,” he says. “I know she looks big and intimidating, but you can trust her.”
Raven breathes out, a soft huff that seems to echo his words.
Then he gives me a look, just a brief side glance, steady and unreadable. But something in it feels like more than reassurance. Like he’s not just talking about her.
I nod, but my fingers are clenched tightly at my sides. He notices.
“You don’t have to,” he adds, voice softer now. “We can wait it out if you’d rather.”
“No,” I say quickly. “I want to. I just … I’m nervous.”
Ford stays looking at me with rain dripping from the brim of his hat.
“You’ll be alright,” he says, voice low. “I’m right here with you.”
Then, he moves to stand behind me and his hands land on my waist, warm and firm. I flinch.
Memories flood back. Sam’s hands on me. The panic claws up my throat before I can stop it. And I must look as shaken as I feel, because Ford immediately lets go, holding his hands up like he’s approaching a wild animal.
“Just lifting you onto Raven, okay?” he asks, voice low, cautious … gentle.
I force myself to look at him. Really look at him. He’s not Sam. I swallow hard and give a small nod.
Ford doesn’t hesitate after that. He lifts me with ease, placing me onto Raven’s back before throwing himself up behind me. His arms cage me in as he grips the reins, the warmth of his body radiating through the cold dampness of my dress.
I stiffen instinctively.
"Relax," he murmurs, his breath warm against my cheek as he leans in. His deep voice vibrates through me, reverberating down my spine. I shudder, not from the rain, but from something else entirely.
One of his hands leaves the reins, trailing slowly down my arm in a gentle stroke, his touch firm but careful. Then he eases me back against him. I feel the shift in him, his body softening, his breath steadying, as if he’s trying to calm me by calming himself.
The rhythmic beat of hooves against the soft earth soothes me, each stride sending a gentle tremor through my frame.
I relish the way the rain patters against my skin, cool and cleansing, the scent of damp earth rising around us.
The wind tugs at my hair, but I don’t mind.
It’s wild, untamed, just like the moment itself.
Then Raven stumbles slightly, her hoof slipping on a patch of slick mud. I gasp, my body jolting sideways, panic flaring as I feel myself tip.
But Ford’s arm tightens instantly, his body shifting to absorb the movement.
One strong hand clamps my waist, pulling me firmly back against him, anchoring us both.
His other hand steadies the reins, his posture solid and sure.
On impulse, my hand grips his thigh for balance, firm muscle beneath damp denim.
I stay there a beat too long, breath caught, heart thudding.
“You okay?” he asks, voice low, breath brushing the shell of my ear.
I nod, heart racing.
“I thought I was going to fall.”
“You won’t,” he says, quiet but certain. “I won’t let you.”
His hand stays at my waist, fingers splayed, and I feel the slow, absent stroke of his thumb against my stomach. It’s subtle, almost unconscious, but it sends a ripple through me. I don’t think he realises he’s doing it. Or maybe he does, and he’s pretending not to.
I stay still, letting the moment stretch between us. The rain is soft, the horse steady beneath me. His touch sears, and I don’t pull away.
There’s a quiet intimacy, the kind that makes me feel completely at ease.
I shift slightly, and for a heartbeat, I feel him …
aroused, pressed against my back. The realisation sends heat rushing to my cheeks, but before I can react, he clears his throat, once, then again.
Then, almost imperceptibly, he adjusts his position, easing himself back just enough to create space where there had been none.
The sudden distance unsettles me. The warmth of him, the steadiness, it’s gone, and I feel exposed in the space he’s left behind. My hand drifts back, searching for him, fingers brushing his thigh again, then curling lightly around his wrist now loose around my front.
“Stormy …” His voice is low, rougher than before, like he’s trying to keep it steady and failing just a little.
I glance back at him, cheeks burning. “Oh. Uhh … I was just … trying to relax.”
He exhales a quiet huff that’s almost a laugh.
“Yeah, well … you followed that a little too well.”
I smile, but it’s tentative.
“Sorry. I just … felt safer when you were holding me.”
His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he doesn’t speak.
I shift forward, just slightly and I feel him tense, then his fingers brush my waist, light and deliberate. Not pulling me closer. Just letting me know he’s still there.
“You’re safe, Stormy.”
I don’t say anything. I just stay there, letting the silence stretch, letting his hand rest where it is.
When we reach the cottage, Ford guides Raven as close to the door as he can and with practised ease, he jumps off the back of the horse and adjusts his jeans before holding his hand up to me.
"Let me help you down," he says.
I nod, leaning to grasp his shoulders as his hands find my waist once again.
His grip is steady, warm, but as he lifts me off Raven, I feel the slightest tensing of his fingers against my skin, fleeting, but unmistakable.
By the time my boots touch the damp ground, his hands have already loosened, slipping away as if he’s suddenly conscious that the moment is over.
I barely have time to think about it before his eyes lower. First to my lips, then lower, down to my dress.
His eyes go wide.
And before I even process his reaction, he abruptly spins on his heels, turning his back to me.
Confused, I laugh, until I glance down at myself.
My white summer dress. White. And with the relentless rain soaking through every inch of fabric, it’s now completely sheer.
Oh. Oh.
A rush of mortification crashes over me. I don’t wear bras at the best of times, least of all with a strappy dress like this. When dry, it had been perfectly modest. Now? Not so much. I hastily wrap my arms over my chest, wanting to disappear into the ground.
Ford runs his hand through his hair, looking anywhere but at me.
I clear my throat, trying to sound normal.
"I … I think I should go inside now. Thanks for the ride."
Ford nods quickly, too quickly.
"Yeah. Right. Inside. That’s … uh … that’s probably best."
I step around Raven, pressing a grateful kiss to her damp muzzle before making a beeline for the door. As I push it shut, I can’t resist glancing through the gap, just once.
Ford is still standing there, rigid, staring at nothing, looking utterly lost in the chaos of his own thoughts.
Just as he glances back to check if I’ve gone, his gaze snags on mine. Dark, heated and charged.
I slam the door shut.
The next day, I’m on the phone, trying to sort out the issue with the flooring, when a knock sounds at the door. Balancing the phone against my ear with one hand, I reach out with the other and pull it open, revealing Missy’s beaming face.
“I brought food,” she says, lifting a bag that looks like it’s bursting with pastries.
I hold up a finger, motioning to the phone in my hand. She winces, whispers an apology and slips inside, immediately setting to work unpacking the pastries onto the counter.
On the phone, the man I’m speaking to barely lets me finish explaining what I need before cutting in.
The moment he hears where I need the work done, he dismisses me outright, saying he can’t fit me in.
When I ask if he knows of anyone else, he shuts me down quickly, before abruptly hanging up.
I stare at my phone in disbelief, frustration bubbling up.
“Well, that went well,” I say to Missy. She comes over, wrapping me in a hug. “I just don’t get why no one’s willing to help,” I admit, my voice heavy with frustration.
Missy squeezes my arms reassuringly.
“We’ll figure it out,” she promises. Then her face brightens. “I had to grab some baking supplies for Mom at the store and thought I’d pick up extra, just in case you were up for doing a little baking. What do you say? Might cheer you up.”
I sigh, but nod.
“Yeah, okay, I guess that sounds fun. Thank you.”
The afternoon is spent baking with music flooding the space as we dance and sing along to classic pop songs. I managed to hook my phone up to the speakers, letting the beat pulse through the living room and the counters become covered in flour and cake mixture.
Missy suddenly swings around with a tray in her hands, accidentally knocking a bag of flour off the counter. The bag hits the floor with a dull thud, and a massive cloud of white dust explodes into the air around her.
As it settles, I double over laughing. Missy stands frozen, absolutely coated in flour, her entire face and body practically ghost white. Her expression is one of pure shock, tiny crease lines around her eyes where she’d squeezed them shut.
She glares at me, watching me dissolve into hysterics, then quickly places the tray of muffins into the oven before stomping over and shaking out her hair, dusting me in flour, too.
“Hey,” I yell, twisting away and running into the living area.
She chases after me, but we both freeze as Girls Just Want to Have Fun by Cyndi Lauper blasts over the speakers.
“Oh my God, I LOVE this song!” Missy shrieks, darting back to the kitchen to grab a wooden spoon.
She cranks the volume up, dancing wildly, belting the lyrics, bouncing on the sofa, and swinging her hips to the beat.
Watching her carefree and happy is a breath of fresh air, but it tugs at something deep in my chest, a reminder of all the time I lost, retreating into myself because I chose to love the wrong man.
Missy must notice the shift in my expression, because she grabs my hands and pulls me onto the sofa. I huff a laugh, letting the moment take over, allowing myself to feel happy, truly happy, for the first time in too long.
When my sister was still here, we used to dance and sing like this, tucked away in our room, hiding from Dad when he was in one of his moods. The memory is bittersweet, warm because of her, yet tainted by the way we constantly had to avoid him.
I don’t know how long we stay like this, but somewhere in the middle of No Scrubs by TLC, and probably destroying the sofa springs, the music suddenly drops to a whisper.
Whipping my head around I see Ford on the other side of the room, his hand resting on the speaker’s volume button. There’s a smirk on his face.
“What are you doing?” Missy questions from behind me.
“I did knock,” Ford replies, crossing his arms, leaning against the wall.
His sleeves are rolled up, the muscles in his forearms looking … really good.
“But obviously you didn’t hear me over the racket you’re making in here. And the door was unlocked, so I let myself in, since you’re not answering your phone either.” He shifts his stance, crossing a muddy boot over the other.
Missy plants her hands on her hips.
“So, what do you want?”
Ford’s eyes move to mine.
“I actually came to see you,” he says. “The truck is just about finished. It’s ready for you if you want to come pick it up.”
I don’t miss the quick glance he shoots at my chest, followed by the way his throat bobs, like he’s suddenly remembering yesterday.
“Oh, perfect,” I reply, trying not to overthink it. “I just ... I should probably change,” I say, motioning to my flour-dusted clothes.
I slip upstairs, leaving them behind and quickly swapping my clothes for something clean. But as I pull my shirt over my head, my stomach flutters, a thrill sparking at the thought of spending time with him.
I can’t deny it. That ride home in the rain yesterday. It made me feel something.
And I don’t hate it.