A Risk Worth Taking (16 page)

Summer

“For a long time I was scared I'd
find out I was like my mother.
”
-Marilyn Monroe

My
heels thunked against the hardwood of the The Barn’s wraparound porch. Friday
nights were usually reserved for dances or football after-parties for the high
school, but once a year, The Barn—a custom-designed banquet hall with a country
twist—vetoed the high school’s agenda in favor of one woman: Cathy Stafford.

Over
the years, my mother’s birthday parties had grown more and more extravagant,
and this year, she’d outdone herself once again judging from the sheer number
of cars being valet parked on the extensive front lawn. Behind the
wood-paneled, A-frame building and currently blocked from view was a large
lake. I knew from past visits it would be lined with paddleboats and canoes for
partygoers to take out for a romantic ride. Last year, Frank had gotten drunk
and tipped over trying to disembark his little skiff. He’d fallen face first
and come up with a mouthful of seaweed. Casey and I had been helpless with
laughter and Frank had tried dragging us in with him as payback.

Lots
of good memories here.

Out
beyond the edges of manicured lawn, pines and oaks bordered the property,
pausing only for the narrow gravel drive—the only way in and out on four
wheels. Beyond that, so far the edges were hazy in the dying sunlight,
mountains rose up in the distance like a purple, pointed hedge. The Barn was a
location unto itself: secluded, beautiful, resort-like.

My
prison for the evening.

I
smoothed my skirt, wondering for the millionth time since leaving my house how
I’d ended up wearing something so tiny twice in one week.
Because it worked
out so well for you the first time
, a voice in my head whispered. That and
Leslie had threatened to beat me over the head with her three-year-old’s Wiffle
ball bat if I didn’t. I’d relented. Again.

“I
can’t believe I’m here,” I grumbled, sidestepping the front entrance in favor
of a deserted spot near the corner railing.

“I
think it’s great.”

I
eyed my date for the evening. “I think it’s a disaster and we haven’t even
walked inside.”

“You
look slexy as hell. Nothing can be a disaster when you look this good.”

I
bit back a smile. “Leslie, stop trying to make me have fun. It’s offensive.”

“If
you didn’t want to hear it, you shouldn’t have brought me.”

“I
needed a plus one.”

“You
could’ve brought someone else and done a lot less talking.”

“If
that’s what it takes … Want to make out?” I deadpanned.

She
laughed and I gave in to the curve of my lips and smiled at her. “It’s going to
be fine,” she said, grabbing my hand and pulling me toward the entrance. “But
let’s go get a drink just in case.”

I
allowed myself to be led inside and we cut a path straight for the bar. Across
the room on a raised stage, a live band whose lead singer was a dead ringer for
Brad Paisley but everyone called Boots belted out a popular country song. I
waved at him and he gave me a chin-raise as a hello, never missing a note on
his guitar.

I
tried not to make eye contact with anyone else as I crossed the room. That only
invited conversation. Between my lack of enthusiasm for the guest of honor and
the mud fiasco last weekend still making the rounds, conversation was the last
thing I wanted. Instead, I kept my eyes on a martini being poured as I wound my
way through mingling guests. A hand closed over my arm just as I stepped up and
caught the bartender’s eye. “Martini. Dry,” I snapped, tensing as I turned. I
hadn’t had nearly enough to drink yet to face
her
.

“Oh.
Hey, Dad,” I said, relief coloring my words.

He
kissed my cheek. “You look beautiful tonight, sweetie.” He leaned over and
whispered into my ear, “I’m so glad you came.”

“Thanks.”

He
straightened and smiled at Leslie. “And I see you brought a date.”

Leslie
rose on her tiptoes to kiss my dad’s cheek. “Mr. Stafford, handsome as always,”
she said, patting his jacket lapel.

“Christmas
and birthdays, I shine up good,” he said.

“And
your date?” Leslie asked.

“I’m
stag tonight.”

“You
don’t have a date?” she asked, her eyes wide in mock innocence. “Well, then,
you must dance with me. You’re way too dressed up to stand against the wall.”

My
dad laughed and took Leslie’s hand, sweeping her gracefully onto the dance
floor as they took up the two-step rhythm. I gulped my drink, eyeing them both.
Apparently I
wasn’t
too dressed up to stand against the wall. Traitors.

Beside
me, someone cleared their throat. My body’s reaction was enough to identify him
even before I looked, right down to the small hairs on my arm standing on end.
“Hello, Ford,” I said, trying not to sound like the sight of him automatically
made me think of mud and roaming hands and heat in places no one in this room
had ever seen. 

“Kitten,”
he said, by way of greeting.

My
brow rose at the pet name, but I said nothing. I took another gulp of my drink,
regretting it has soon as the liquid fire hit my throat. Drinking always made
me warm. Ten seconds of standing next to Ford and I was already hot enough to
light the lanterns on the porch with a single touch.

“Nice
party,” he said after a moment.

I
wondered how he was here. I hadn’t invited him. I’d barely spoken to him since
last weekend. “Are you here with someone?” I asked, suddenly terrified at the
thought of Ford on a date with someone else.

“Casey.
He needed a plus one. Something about Mazie putting him down for a double on
the invite.”

I
stared out over the dance floor and did something I’d never done in my
life—cursed Mazie Pagonis. Then again, why was I even surprised? Of course
she’d arranged it. Once she’d heard I was bringing Leslie, she’d probably run
right to Casey and bribed him to bring Ford. Although why she was taking such
an interest in my love life was beyond me. She’d never done it before.

“Sounds
familiar,” I muttered. Ford gave me a look but must’ve decided to let it go. He
waved at the bartender and ordered a beer. When he’d taken a drink, he said,
“Haven’t seen you around the past couple of days. Everything okay?”

“Everything’s
good. Just been busy with work. Dad cut a lot of corners these past few months.
Every time I think I’ve caught us up, I find another hole in the records.” 

“Is
it serious?”

“Not
really. Just paperwork. The last thing is inventory. What Dad ordered and what
we’ve sold for the season aren’t even close to matching. He ordered a ton of
retail plants but we haven’t been able to properly man that area so it’s been
closed most days. I need to figure out what we can save and what we need to
sell off. That’ll probably take up my whole week.”

That
last part was the truth. Inventory was going to be a bitch, but I couldn’t
bring myself to admit the other part. I had absolutely no clue what came next
with Ford. He hadn’t called since our date. Leslie would say something about it
being the twenty-first century and women could call too, but it was all so
open-ended. We hadn’t even slept together. Maybe he didn’t want to anymore.
Maybe he’d changed his mind about being “friends” as he’d called it.

“Well,
I’m happy to help if you want.”

I
gave him a blank look as his words registered.

“With
inventory. Next week,” he supplied.

“Oh.
You don’t have to do that.”

“I
know. I want to. Besides, until these latest seedlings sprout, I’m sort of
waiting around anyway.”

“Oh,
well … sure.” My heart did a little flip inside my chest. Shut up, heart.

He
gave me a small smile, and I couldn’t help but feel he knew a secret he wasn’t
willing to share. “Good. I wasn’t sure what to think when you didn’t come
around again after Saturday.”

I
looked up at him sharply, trying to gauge whether he was serious. “Me not come
around? You didn’t call.”

“Why
would I call? You live next door. I work on your property.”

“Precisely,”
I agreed.

“Ah,”
he said finally understanding what I meant. “I see. You thought I didn’t want
to see you again.”

I
made a face. “You make me sound so … worried about it.”

He
arched a brow. “Weren’t you?” I opened my mouth to argue but stopped myself
when a familiar figure stepped in front of me. 

“Summer.”
My mother beamed at me, her painted smile matching the red in her flower-print
halter dress. Her hair was up, its usual style, but she’d woven baby’s breath
into the twist. She looked so pretty. Classy and elegant. Strong and
independent—and happy. “You came.”

“Hey,
Mom.” It was all I could manage. I didn’t bother trying for a smile; it
would’ve been a wasted effort. At least I hadn’t addressed her as “Cathy”
again. Mazie would be proud.

“And
who’s your friend?” she asked, her gaze shifting to take in Ford.

“This
is Ford O’Neal. He’s working with Dad for the summer. Ford, this is Cathy
Stafford, my mother.”

“The
birthday girl,” Ford said, smiling down at her. “Your party is lovely, Mrs.
Stafford, as are you. I can see where Summer gets her looks from.”

My
mother, always the hostess, warmed to the attention. “Why, thank you,” she
said, beaming at him. “I’ve heard about the work you’re doing on the farm. Dean
says you’re on the edge of something over there with your homeopathic
creations. I’d love to hear more about it sometime.”

“I’d
be happy to fill you in,” he said.

My
mother glanced at me as if about to say something and then seemed to think
better of it. “Come to think of it, I could use some air right about now,” she
said to Ford. “How about you and I take a walk?” She looked back and forth
between the two of us, her smile faltering. “Unless the two of you wanted some
time alone …?”

“No,”
I said, quickly. “You go ahead,” I added, waving them off.

Ford
followed my mom and they disappeared into the crowd. I ordered another drink.
Halfway through it, Casey showed up. “Did I just see your mom on the patio with
Ford?” he asked.

“I
don’t know, did you?”

“Ouch.
Someone’s a little sensitive around the edges tonight.”

“I’m
not sensitive.”

“Really?
Then why did your chest and neck get all red when I asked you the question?”

“I’ve
had a couple drinks.”

“Nuh-uh.
It just turned three shades of forest fire when I said it. Are you actually
jealous of him talking to your momma?”

“I’m
not jealous,” I hissed. “I’m perfectly fine.”

“Uh-huh.
And I’m the Biebs.”

I
didn’t respond. Casey must’ve taken the hint because he shut up although he
stayed where he was, pretending to watch the dancers while we sipped our
drinks.

“Pretty
nice party this year,” he commented after a few minutes.

“Yup.”

Silence.

“You
planning on leaving the bar tonight?” he asked halfway into the next round.

“To
go home.”

Casey
grunted. We went back to our drinks.

“Is
that Leslie on the dance floor with Dean?” he asked.

“Yup.”

Another
grunt from Casey. We sipped some more. “You cross him off the list yet?” Casey
asked finally—and all at once I knew this was the real question he’d come to
ask.

Instead
of snapping a retort—which was what the alcohol in me wanted—I thought about
what he was asking. About whether I’d decided to do as he’d asked and take a
chance. Live a little. Not be so tied down to a plan. And I thought of my
mother. Of the way I’d perceived her and the way she’d actually turned out to
be.

Ford
was nothing like anyone I’d ever met. In fact, he was the complete opposite,
and in a few months he’d be nothing more than a ghost. In the meantime, he
incited feelings in me I never knew existed. And now Casey was asking whether I
was brave enough to do anything about it.

“The
list is void,” I said, setting my empty glass aside.

“What
do you mean?” Casey asked.

I
didn’t have time to explain it all. The decision had already been made the
second Ford walked into the kitchen that night for dinner. All I had to do now
was put it into action. And I didn’t want to wait any longer to do it. I didn’t
want to lose my nerve. Or my buzz.

“Tell
Leslie I’ll get my own ride home,” I said, pushing my way through the crowd
toward the back doors.

“Where
are you going?” Casey called after me.