Chapter 33 Ford #2
I’d started calling Stormy that name as a joke—something light, something teasing.
But mainly because of the way her hair shone in the sunlight and the way it matched her beautiful personality.
Lately, she’s started smiling when I say it.
She doesn’t mind it. Maybe she likes it.
And now she’s given it to the foal. I stare at her, heart thudding, and she just keeps smiling, soft and steady.
“It’s perfect,” I say quietly. “Sunshine it is.”
A strand of hair falls from Stormy’s messy bun, curling across her cheek, and I have the sudden urge to reach up and tuck it behind her ear. But the moment I begin considering it, the foal makes a soft, sleepy noise, and we both glance down, finding her flopped forward, in Stormy’s lap.
Stormy lets out a small laugh.
“Oh, she’s asleep,” she whispers, placing the bottle down beside her and leaning forward to cradle the little one’s head, her fingers gently stroking the foal’s face. “She’s like a little drunk baby,” she murmurs, and I watch the way Stormy looks down at her with so much warmth and affection.
And I realise, as I sit there beside her in the hay, that this moment, is the kind I want more of.
There’s a part of me that wants to grab hold of her and never let go. Because if I don’t … someone else will. She’s beautiful. Kind. Strong in ways most people don’t even notice. She’s the most caring person I’ve ever met. Anyone in their right mind would want her.
But not everyone would deserve her.
And that’s what gets me.
I’m not saying that I do, but maybe I want to try. I want to be the one who treats her the way she should be treated. Who sees her, really sees her, and never makes her question her worth again.
If I wait too long, I might miss my chance to show her what it means to be cherished. To be safe. To be loved like she’s never been loved before.
She straightens, and something shifts in the air between us as she watches me too. Her smile fades, softens. Her eyes meet mine, and neither of us looks away.
I want to kiss her. God, I want to kiss her. But I don’t know if I should, if this moment is hers to offer or mine to take.
I reach out tentatively, like I’m afraid to startle her, my hand brushing her cheek. Her skin is warm beneath my fingers and soft. Her eyes flutter closed, and I feel her lean into my touch, like it’s something she’s been waiting for. Like she’s giving me permission.
And that’s all it takes.
Gently, deliberately, I swipe my thumb across her bottom lip.
Her breath catches, quiet and sharp, and my brows draw together as I notice a faint scar there, just at the edge.
It’s small, but distinct enough to draw my focus.
A pale line against the fullness of her mouth.
Her eyes open, and she catches me looking.
She shifts, her fingers curling tighter around the foal, pulling her lip into her mouth, like she’s trying to hide it.
My voice is quiet, almost hesitant.
“This was him, wasn’t it?”
She nods. Or maybe just tilts her head, enough to turn her face away.
But I don’t let her hide.
I reach out again, my hand finding her chin, fingers gentle but firm as I guide her eyes back to mine.
I run my thumb over the scar once more, more slowly this time.
Then I lean in. I press a kiss to the mark, soft and reverent, like I’m trying to erase it.
Like I’m trying to rewrite the story he left behind.
She watches me as I pull back just enough to meet her eyes, my fingers still holding her chin. Her gaze shines with unshed tears, and I want to erase those too.
Another kiss follows. And another.
Whispers of a kiss, laid gently across her mouth, until her lips part beneath mine and the space between us disappears.
My hand moves across her cheek to the back of her head, fingers knotting in her hair, pulling her closer as the kiss deepens.
Slow, aching, full of everything I’ve been holding back.
She makes a quiet sound as she melts into me, and the world narrows to just us, here in this moment.
Her hands come up to frame my face, pulling me closer—as if that’s even possible. Her grip says everything: don’t stop, not yet. Her tongue teases mine, and it’s not just heat, its connection. Every stroke ignites something deep inside that I’m not sure I can contain.
I have to hold myself back.
I want to lay her down in the hay and devour every part of her until she’s trembling beneath me, until I’ve worshipped every inch of her body with the kind of attention she deserves.
But I pull back, hesitantly, reluctantly, stealing one last kiss before I do.
I hold her face in my hands, gazing into her eyes, not sure what to say. Not sure what this means.
I wanted to make it better. I wanted to soften the scar he left behind, to trace over it with something tender. Erase it—not the mark itself, but the memory attached to it. Replace it with something real, something kind.
But I won’t lie and say it was completely selfless.
I’ve been dying to know what her mouth tastes like. Dying to know how her lips would feel against mine.
And it’s incredible.
So fucking incredible.
I rest my forehead against hers for a moment, trying to catch my breath. Her lips are pink and swollen, and I have to close my eyes just to keep from imagining them on me.
Something shifts, interrupting the moment. It’s Sunshine moving in Stormy’s lap to nudge against her arm. Stormy glances down, releasing a small, soft laugh.
“We should probably move her, shouldn’t we?” she breathes, watching Sunshine curled between us.
“Probably,” I say, though the sound comes out rough, still raw from the effect of that kiss.
I loosen my hold on Stormy, reluctant but careful, and reach down to lift the foal from her lap. She’s heavier than she looks, all long, drowsy legs.
I lower her gently onto the hay, trying my hardest not to wake her, but she snuffles and protests as I lay her down.
Stormy crawls to Sunshine’s side, brushing a hand over her face.
“Oh, you’re such a little drama queen, aren’t you?” she murmurs, her voice quiet and affectionate. “You’re fine, baby girl. Go back to sleep.”
I crouch beside them, watching Stormy soothe her with a touch so gentle it makes something ache in me. Sunshine settles, and Stormy slowly pulls her hand away, careful not to stir her again.
And I think I could get used to this.
I know I’ve said I wouldn’t, couldn’t, want this. The mess of it. The vulnerability. The risk. But how can I sit here, heart thundering in my chest, watching her like this and not want more?
Silence stretches between us. It’s not just the aftermath of the kiss … it’s the quiet reckoning following a broken promise. We’d both said we wouldn’t let this happen. That it was too complicated, too risky. But now the air between us feels different. Thicker.
Stormy glances toward the barn door, and I follow her line of sight. Outside, dusk has begun to settle, the sky bruising at the edges. The light is soft and fading, casting long shadows across the hay-strewn floor.
“It’s getting late,” she says, her voice low, almost tentative. Her eyes flick from the door back to me, searching.
“Yeah,” I say, the word landing flat. I don’t know what else to say. I’m not very good at this.
I clear my throat, trying to find something neutral, something safe.
“Did Missy drive you here? Or do you have your truck?”
Stormy blinks, a flicker of realisation crossing her face.
“Oh. No, I don’t have my truck. Missy brought me here. Where is she?”
Her cheeks flush then, the kind of pink that says she’s only just remembered Missy existed. She shifts to brush the stray bits of hay from her jeans like she needs something to do with her hands. “I can walk, though. It’s not far.”
I shake my head, already pushing to stand.
“I’m not letting you walk home. I’ll take you.”
She looks up.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure, come on.”
We walk towards the door in silence, the barn behind us dimming with the last light of day. My truck door is still ajar from when I arrived earlier, and Buddy, who’s been suspiciously quiet all evening, bounds ahead of us, tail wagging. He nudges the door open wider with his nose and hops in.
But instead of settling into his usual spot up front, he pads to the back seat and curls up there, tail thumping softly against the upholstery. Stormy glances at me, one brow raised. I shrug, just as confused.
“I guess he wanted the back tonight.”
I walk her around to the passenger side, my hand hovering near the small of her back instinctively, but I stop myself before it touches. I don’t know if I should. I don’t want her to think I’m pushing anything.
I open the door for her, and she climbs in. Her eyes are difficult to read. I can’t tell if she’s already pulling away.
I close the door gently and circle around to the driver’s side. The memory of that damn kiss is pressing against my ribs, making it difficult to breath.
As I start the engine, I glance at Buddy in the rearview mirror.
His tail wags gently, and his eyes are fixed on me like he knows something I don’t.
Like he’s waiting for me to figure it out.
Then I look at Stormy, with her profile lit by the soft dashboard glow and her hands folded tight in her lap.
She’s staring straight ahead, but I can see the apprehension in her face. The way she’s holding herself still.
I want to speak. To ask her what this is. What happens next.
But the words feel too much. Too fragile. Like if I say them out loud, they’ll shatter the memory of that incredible kiss.
So, for now, I just drive.