Chapter 37 Ford
Ford
The rhythm of the morning had settled into something manageable, but the pit-stop with Stormy at the swing hadn’t been part of the plan. All I’d meant to do was say hello.
But fuck, that unexpected moment was … incredible. The way she felt, the way she responded to every touch, every kiss, the flush in her cheeks as she came on my tongue … It’s seared into me. I barely held myself together—nearly losing control right there in my jeans.
Now, a few hours later, with the sun climbing higher in the sky, I find myself at Mom’s front door, boots dusted with the work of the morning and thoughts of Stormy still lingering.
I step inside, the familiar creak of the floorboards greeting me like an old friend.
The scent of coffee and baking hangs in the air.
I head down the hallway, drawn by the sound of voices.
Turning the corner, my eyes catch on Stormy sitting on the couch beside Mom, deep in conversation, a book resting in her lap.
She’s wearing light denim shorts and a white tank top, her legs curled beneath her, soft and so god damn tempting.
She looks effortless. Beautiful. Like she belongs here.
I pause in the doorway, my gaze trailing up her legs, over the curve of her hip, the slope of her shoulder, the way her hair catches the light. I don’t mean to stare, but I do.
And that’s the problem.
Missy knows. She’s got a mouth on her, sure, but I think I trust her to keep it quiet … for now, at least.
But the rest of the world? That’s different.
I don’t know how to be around Stormy in front of Mom, or anyone else.
Whatever this is between us, it’s new and raw—still finding its shape.
I’m not ready for questions or assumptions, or for people turning it into something it’s not ready to be.
And I don’t even know if Stormy wants people to know.
I don’t want to make her feel exposed, but I also don’t want her to think I’m hiding her.
I’m not. Still … There’s a knot in my chest that I can’t shake.
I like her. Hell, I like her more than I meant to. More than I expected.
And God knows, I want to see where this goes.
But what if I fall and she does end up leaving?
What if it ends like everything else—with me alone again, nursing wounds I swore I was done collecting.
I want that knot loosened and smoothed out.
I want to be able to give her all of me, no second-guessing.
I watch as Stormy’s face lights up with laughter from something Mom said.
Her face is soft and open—totally unaware of the war going on in my head.
And I know she’s fighting one of her own.
After everything she’s been through … what if she can’t afford to let me in?
We said we’d try. Said we’d give this a shot.
But I don’t know where her heads truly at.
Still, if I don’t try … where does that leave me?
Old, grumpy, and bitter like John from across town?
That’s not the life I want. That’s not the man I want to be.
So yeah, I’m scared. But I owe it to myself to see this through.
To believe, just a little, that it could work out.
And for now, that’s enough. At least I’ll know that I haven’t let this amazing woman just slip through my fingers. At least I’ll know I tried.
But I want to keep it just us for a little while longer. Let it breathe before the world starts poking at it.
She catches me in her peripheral vision, lips twitching into a sweet smile, her cheeks turning an adorable shade of pink. I smile back, helpless to do anything else.
Then, Mom turns her head and notices my boots. She narrows her eyes with that look of disapproval that’s so familiar.
“Ford Walker, how many times do I have to tell you not to wear those filthy boots in my home?”
I roll my eyes.
“They’re not filthy. They’re ranch-worn. Adds character. I’m not about to wrestle with laces for a one-minute visit.”
Stormy giggles, sipping something iced from a mason jar. Her eyes sparkle like she’s trying not to laugh too hard.
I step further into the room.
“You ready to go then, Mom?” I ask, already bracing myself for an afternoon at book club.
There will be plot debates, unsolicited matchmaking, and enough scented candles to trigger a migraine. Apparently, it adds atmosphere. Thank God I’m just the backup driver—Missy usually takes her. She’s built for that kind of minefield.
She nods, stands, and smooths down her blouse.
“I’m ready. Stormy’s coming too. She wants to meet the local readers .
.. talk about her bookstore opening.” My stomach tightens.
I know some of the regulars at the book club, and not all of them are thrilled about the change, especially when it comes with the potential loss of sales.
But I don’t say anything. Stormy’s eyes are bright and hopeful. I won’t dim that.
Mom walks past me, tutting under her breath.
“Boots on my clean floors. Honestly, I mop, I scrub, and you treat it like a barn.”
She throws me a look over her shoulder, but I can tell she doesn’t mean it.
Stormy follows, and as she passes, I reach out, placing my hand gently against the small of her back. Her skin is warm through the fabric, and she leans into the touch just enough to make my pulse skip. We fall into step behind Mom, and I lean down, close enough that my mouth brushes her ear.
“Hey,” I whisper.
She looks up at me, her smile blooming like sunlight.
“Hey,” she says back.
I press a kiss to her temple, pausing there for a moment and inhaling the scent of coconut and vanilla on the strands of her hair.
“You look beautiful,” I murmur.
Her smile deepens.
“Thanks,” she says, nudging my side with her elbow, playful and shy all at once. “Looking pretty good yourself, cowboy.”
Cowboy.
It’s not a word I’ve ever paid much attention to.
Just part of the job, part of the landscape.
But the way she says it, soft and teasing, it makes my blood run a little hot.
The playfulness in her voice, the appreciation of that side of me—it makes me feel more connected to her, like she’s inviting me to lean in, to be a little more daring.
Her cowboy.
A thrill shoots through me. She’s touched something I didn’t know was waiting. It feels personal. Intimate.
I glance down at her, heart thudding.
“You know, when you say it like that … it makes me want to be your cowboy.”
Her smile blooms, brighter than before.
“Careful,” she says, voice low and teasing. “I’ve read a lot of cowboy romance. I’ve got a thing for the ones who know how to ride.”
Before I can respond, she rises on her toes and presses a kiss to my cheek, just long enough to leave me stunned.
Then she turns and walks off after Mom, hips swaying, hair catching the light.
I stand there for a beat, heart thudding, blood humming, her words echoing against my skull and my pants suddenly feeling a hell of a lot tighter than they did a minute ago.
I drag in a breath, trying to steady myself, to calm the heat that’s settled under my skin. Then I fall into step behind them with the day stretching ahead, full of possibilities and forbidden tension.