Chapter 35 Ford
Ford
The air smells of hay and horses as I stir, stiff-limbed and foggy from a night on the cot in the stables. I hear Sunshine shifting softly in the stall, nestling close. I’d been up every few hours feeding her, keeping watch like some overzealous sentry.
It’s Saturday, which means Kit should be arriving to take over. I planned to swap with him, grab a shower, and maybe even eat something other than a granola bar before getting on with the rest of my tasks for the day.
But the figure standing over me isn’t Kit. It’s Missy. She’s nudging my ribs with the toe of her boot, arms crossed, wearing a grin that’s far too smug for this hour.
“Missy,” I groan, rubbing my hands over my face. “Did you seriously just wake me with your foot?”
She shrugs, unapologetic.
“Sooo …” she drawls, eyes sparkling, toe still nudging me. “You and Stormy. Anything I should know?”
I squint at her; the words barely register through the haze of sleep.
“What?”
“Last I saw,” she says, drawing out the words like she’s interrogating a suspect on some low-budget cop show, “you two were getting very cosy feeding the foal together. Then I left. And now …” She gestures dramatically around the stable. “You’re still here. Alone?”
I sit up, rubbing the back of my neck. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you. Orchestrating this whole thing like life is some stable-based romcom.”
Her grin widens.
“I am actually,” she boasts before she pauses, studying my face. “What’s that?” she says, pointing at my mouth.
“What?” I rub my hand over my jaw. Do I have hay stuck to my face or something?
“That,” she insists, leaning closer. “Right there.” She prods her finger at my cheek, and I bat her hand away like the pest that she is. “Looks to me like you’re smiling, Ford.”
I try to school my expression, but it’s too late. The corner of my mouth has betrayed me.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I mutter.
Missy gasps, clapping her hands.
“You are! You’re smiling! Oh my god, you kissed her, didn’t you?”
I groan, flopping back onto the cot.
“Alright, alright, calm down,” I say, covering my ears as she squeals. “Some of us have been up all night keeping a newborn horse alive.”
But even as I grumble, the smile creeps back.
It feels strange, this feeling. Waking up with hopefulness in my chest instead of the usual cocktail of loneliness, grumpiness, and dread. For once, I have something to smile about.
Missy’s practically vibrating with excitement now, crouched beside the cot like she’s about to interrogate me under a spotlight. “Oh my god, Ford,” she says, grabbing my arm. “I need all the details. I knew you two were perfect for each other. Don’t even try to deny it.”
“I’m not telling you anything,” I mumble, snatching my cap from the cot and pulling it sharply onto my head so the peak covers my face.
She yanks it off.
“Come on. Was it romantic? Was it awkward? Did she kiss you first? Did you …”
“Missy,” I interrupt, swiping it back, “you are relentless.”
She beams.
“Thank you.”
I sigh, rubbing my eyes.
“Okay, look. You know how I never, and I mean never, ask for help?”
She narrows her eyes suspiciously.
“Go on …”
“Well,” I say, dragging the words out, “because you’re my wonderful sister …”
She snorts.
“Flattery won’t save you.”
“… and because you’re clearly invested in this whole ‘me and Stormy’ saga …”
She crosses her arms, waiting.
“I was thinking,” I continue, “I might take her out tonight. Something simple. Just … not here. And I was wondering if you could cover for me?”
Missy groans dramatically, flopping onto a hay bale.
“Ugh, fine. But you owe me.”
“I know.”
“Like, big time.”
“I said I know.”
She sits up again, already scheming.
“You’d better make it good. Flowers. Candles. Maybe a picnic. Oh! You could take her to that little lake near the ridge …”
“Missy …”
“What?”
“I’m not planning a wedding. It’s just a date.”
She grins.
“Not yet.”
I throw a piece of hay at her, but I’m smiling again. And this time, I don’t bother hiding it.
Missy claps her hands like she’s ticking off a mental checklist.
“Okay, well, I just came in to check if my plan worked, and clearly it did.” She gestures triumphantly at me. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
I roll my eyes in theatrical despair as she continues, “Now I’m off to work, and I’m desperate for a pastry. Honestly, the best decision I ever made was working at the café. Perks of the job.”
She turns to leave, already halfway out the stall door when she pauses, spinning back around.
“Oh! You’re still taking Mom to book club today, right?”
“Yes, Missy,” I say, dragging myself up off the cot. “When do I ever let anyone down?”
She stops, her expression softening.
“You don’t,” she replies quietly. “That’s kind of your thing. You always show up. For Mom. For me, and for Harper. For everyone.”
Something in me stills at the sincerity in her voice.
Missy steps closer, her tone gentler now.
“I know I tease you a lot, but … you’re the glue, brother. You hold us together more than you realise.”
Before I can respond, she rushes over and plants a quick kiss on my cheek.
I recoil.
“Ugh, what are you doing? You’re being weird, Missy.”
She laughs, backing away.
“I’m just happy, Ford. Love is in the air …”
And then she twirls dramatically, arms raised like she’s performing a waltz across the stable floor, humming some made-up tune as she goes.
I watch her disappear around the corner, shaking my head.
“She’s gone mad,” I mutter to Sunshine, who snorts softly in agreement, nudging my arm with her head.
I sit there for a moment, staring at the dust motes drifting in the morning light.
'You’re the glue, Ford. You hold us together more than you realise.’
I let out a slow breath, rubbing the spot on my cheek where she kissed me like it might erase the warmth. But it doesn’t.
I glance down at Sunshine, snuffling in my hands as I stroke her head, the half-eaten granola bar on the hay bale, the worn boots by the stall. Missy’s right. I do show up. I always have. But this thing with Stormy … it feels different. Like maybe, for once, I want to show up for me, too.
I shake the thought off, standing and stretching out the stiffness in my back. There’s work to do. Horses to feed. A date to plan.
And as I head toward the feeding equipment, I catch myself smiling again.
Just a little.