The XOXO New Adult Collection: 16 Full Length New Adult Stories (286 page)

Ford laughed. “I’m not a delinquent, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Isn’t it?” He shot back. I frowned, but he didn’t seem ruffled. “Don’t worry. I’ve completed each program with no problems. I just want to learn as much as I can before choosing a location and settling into my own thing.”

“And what’s your thing?” I asked.

Ford didn’t answer right away. He seemed to take his time thinking over my question. “Creating,” he said finally.

Something about his answer pulled at me. Like a challenge. Like the question I’d asked was important and if you didn’t know the answer, you’d failed. It made me shift in my seat as I realized I wouldn’t have known the answer had he asked me that same thing. I waited for him to shoot the question back at me, but he never did. Casey said something to him and he responded; moment over.

The rest of the meal passed easily. Ford talked mostly to Casey with plenty of side comments and smiles for Mazie. All of the guys, including my father, seemed to genuinely like Ford even though he’d only been here for two weeks. Maybe it was my warped view of the world these days, but it was a little off-putting to see that he’d slid into the fabric of Heritage Plantation so quickly.

Ford was either the nicest guy ever—or the slickest charmer. I wasn’t looking for either one.

Summer

“The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances: if there is any reaction, both are transformed.”

–Carl Jung,
Modern Man in Search of a Soul

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I
glared at the blinking cursor on the computer screen and the number beside it. Since when were any of the farm’s accounts in the red? Dad had said things were a little tight but this was ridiculous. There was plenty of money in the general operating account. It looked to me like it hadn’t been funneled over properly. Or at all.

I sat back in my wheeled desk chair and ran a hand through my hair. I needed a break. I’d been at it all morning and the more I looked into the farm’s books, the angrier I became at my mother.

She’d been the bookkeeper for the farm since before I was born. She knew numbers and accounting like nobody’s business. I took after her that way, though I hated admitting now that I took after her in anything. When she’d left, abruptly if the balancing date on the spreadsheets were any indication, my dad hadn’t found someone new to take over.

For the first couple of months, things had sort of run themselves. After that, I’d tried helping my dad with phone calls and emails containing reminders to “transfer the money for the mortgage on this date” and “don’t forget about payroll next week.” Now, after seeing the state of things, it was a wonder he’d made it this far without me.

As if my thoughts had conjured him, hard knuckles rapped against the open door and I found my dad hovering half in, half out of my office.

“What’s up, Dad?”

“Good morning, sunshine.” He crossed into the room, bringing with him the scent of leather and dirty denim. I loved the smell of both, thanks to him. He set a steaming mug on my desk and sipped on another still in his hand. “Thought I’d bring you some liquid energy.”

“Thanks.” I took the mug and sipped my coffee, grateful for the caffeine and a reason to take a break from the computer. I leaned back in my chair and slipped my feet out of my shoes before tucking them underneath me.

My dad sat in the empty chair across the desk, his shoulders stiff and jaw set. I couldn’t see his eyes underneath the brimmed hat but I could feel them piercing at me with an unasked question.

“Everything okay?” I asked.

He set his mug aside and folded his hands. “You tell me. How bad is it?”

My brows knitted as I tried to read his meaning. “How bad ...? Oh, the accounts?” He nodded, his lips pressed together. It almost made me giggle, the way he sat with his head down, like he’d just been sent into the principal’s office. Almost. But I knew better.

“It’s not great,” I admitted. “Money isn’t where it should be. I’m surprised the guys have been able to cash their paychecks these past few weeks.” My dad hung his head like he’d just been reprimanded. “But it’s not unfixable,” I continued. “The money’s there. It just needs to be funneled to the right places.”

“I bounced the truck payment last month,” he admitted.

“That’s because you wrote the check from the wrong account. I’ve already fixed it.”

“Really?” He blinked at me in surprise. “I’m caught up?”

“Completely,” I assured him. “Like I said, the money’s there, it just wasn’t organized.”

He sat up straighter and adjusted his hat. “Thanks, hon. I appreciate what you’re doing here.”

His words validated me. I enjoyed feeling needed but more than that, I wanted him to be happy. To not have to worry. “You’re paying me enough for it,” I teased.

“Quality doesn’t come cheap.” His smile softened. “I’m glad you’re home, even if it’s not what you—”

“Stop right there,” I said, holding up a hand. “You don’t get to act like I gave up the moon to come back and help you out.”

“But, honey—”

“No ‘buts.’ I mean it. I came back here because I love you and it’s what I want. I’m happy here. This is my home and it always will be. Stop acting like you forced me.”

He smiled and picked up his mug. “All right. Fine. I can’t believe I wasted all that money on big-city schoolin’ just to have you come home and do addition and subtraction on my dial-up computer. How’s that?”

“Let’s meet in the middle,” I told him with a laugh.

“Speaking of meeting in the middle, you know, there’s someone else who was askin’ to see ya when ya got settled back here.”

My smile died and the coffee on my tongue turned instantly bitter. “No.”

“Summer, she’s your mother.”

“And you’re her husband. Didn’t matter much, did it?”

“This isn’t your fight.”

“You’re right. It’s yours. And if you won’t do battle, I will.”

He sat back, his eyes widening. “Is that what this is about? You think you have to punish her for me?”

“No, Dad.” I exhaled. “I’m just ... I don’t know her anymore. I guess I never did. She feels like a stranger.”

Lines appeared at the corner of his eyes as his face tightened. “You should at least talk to her.”

I set my cup down and made a show of moving the mouse around the screen. “Can’t. Too busy.” I clicked the button a few times for good measure.

My dad leaned forward in his chair and opened his mouth, no doubt ready to spew some line about the bonds of family and how important it was to forgive. I would’ve cut him off, but a noise in the doorway did it for me.

“’Scuse me, am I interrupting?” Ford looked back and forth between us uncertainly, his body already half turned toward the exit. His boots scuffed the floor as he turned to go without waiting for an answer. How much had he heard?

“No, it’s fine. Come in,” I said, before my dad could say otherwise.

“Are you sure? I can come back.”

“Dad was just on his way out,” I said.

My dad gave me a stern look before rising, his hat in one hand, his coffee in the other. “I’ll see you at dinner,” he said to me, his tone ominous and heavy with meaning. We weren’t done with this conversation. Fine. I’d just keep finding ways to interrupt it.

As distractions went, Ford wasn’t bad. He had on jeans snug enough around the hips that it got the imagination going. His brown work boots had seen better days; the sole was loose around the edges and stained where his frayed jeans met the laces. He still hadn’t shaved. For a fleeting moment, I wondered what the stubble would feel like against my skin.

I forced my eyes down, not wanting to be caught staring—again—and saw that his shirt was blue today. It matched his eyes. I tried not to compare the two shades, willing myself to stop thinking about his eyes at all. Or any other part of him. Damn those jeans...

After a friendly exchange of hellos between the two men, Ford shuffled into the empty seat Dad left behind.

“What can I do for you?” I asked, abandoning the computer for my cooling mug and trying to appear like I wasn’t picturing him naked. Well, he could keep the boots on if he wanted.

“Dean said to stop by once you got settled so I could fill out some new employee paperwork.”

“Right. The internship is paid, isn’t it?”

“So they tell me.”

“Forms, forms,” I muttered to myself, using my free hand to explore the contents of the desk drawers on either side of me. Neither yielded the forms I needed.

I eyed the filing cabinet across the room. I’d yet to touch it or even venture that way. The entire cabinet was covered with old artwork I’d brought home as a child. My mother had secured them with magnets we’d picked up on family vacations and mother/daughter outings. I didn’t want to touch that thing. Not yet. God, the entire office still smelled like her.

“You okay?” Ford asked.

I found him studying me with a mixture of curiosity and concern. I knew my expression must’ve conveyed some of what I’d been thinking but I wasn’t about to unload all my baggage on this stranger, hot as he might be.

“Fantastic. You?”

“I’m always great,” he said, hands folded and shoulders relaxed as he lounged in the chair.

My eyes narrowed, searching for the sarcasm behind his words, but his tone was genuine and I realized he meant it. Most people answered with a snappy “fine” or “okay” and kept it moving. His upbeat answer caught me off guard.

“So ... employment forms?” he prompted.

“Forms, right.” I rose and walked to the filing cabinet, opening drawers and perusing their contents while trying to ignore the pang in my gut it caused to be touching all of the old artwork, things that were so absolutely
hers
yet she hadn’t bothered to take a single one. She could take the knickknacks from the mantel but not the kangaroo I’d painted in elementary school, writing her name in glitter across the top.

I found the forms I needed and slid the drawer closed. It stuck, and I had to shove it hard to get it to click. Maybe I could convince Dad to spring for a new one. A clean one. And this could go out for garbage, artwork and all. I whirled, antsy to escape this corner of memory lane, and my nose bumped Ford’s chest. Not a bad way to be injured, but still.

“Sorry,” I said, jumping back. My hip bumped the drawer handle behind me and I winced. Ford looked torn between amusement and sympathy. “Employment forms,” I said, shoving them at his chest before he could say a word.

“Thank you.”

“You can fill them out and bring them back later.”

“Can I stay and fill them out now?”

I grimaced. He still hadn’t moved, and his closeness only heightened my discomfort. Not so much from the pain of the metal against my thigh, but from the way I could feel his presence without a single part of our bodies touching. Like when you rub a balloon for so long, you can feel it pricking at you from an inch away. I’d never felt that from another person before, let alone a man. I hadn’t known such a feeling existed. It was exciting and thrilling and terrifying.

“Sure,” I answered, my voice hoarse.

When he still didn’t move, I looked up and met his eyes. He was studying me with an intensity in those blue-grays that made it hard to breathe. “Is there something else?” I managed to say through a suddenly parched throat.

“Yes.” He leaned down and for a split second, I thought he was going to kiss me. I blanched and the sheet of static between us evaporated instantly. His expression smoothed so quickly I wondered if I’d imagined the entire thing. But no, there was definitely a level of tension in him too.

He cleared his throat at the same time I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans.

“A pen?” he asked.

Ford

“He liked her. It was as simple as that.” –Nicholas Sparks,
The Last Song

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H
oly hell, Summer Stafford was hot. Casey had left that part out when he’d regaled me with stories of their childhood exploits. She’d been mischievous and fun and half the trouble they’d gotten into had been her idea, according to Casey. But he’d never mentioned her chocolate-coated eyes or legs long enough they seemed to run all the way to her neck.

She’d stared at me at dinner last night like I’d been the meal. I wouldn’t have minded crawling right up onto the table like a buffet, either. Not if it meant she’d nibble on me with those pouty lips of hers. It’d been a while since a woman got me going like that. I hadn’t realized how much I missed the rush until now.

Last night, I’d brushed aside the attraction in favor of the work. I didn’t need the distraction. But then this morning, in her office, seeing her nerves show when I got close—I definitely wasn’t the only one feeling this pull. It wasn’t often both parties felt this same static between them, but it was obvious Summer felt it too. And I didn’t intend to let it go to waste. Work and play? I could do both.

Back in my little corner of the greenhouse, I pulled my shirt off and threw it aside. Damn but it was hot back here. I leaned over and flipped the switches on the two window-fans I’d installed last week. I was hoping for a cross-breeze and the little machines usually obliged, but today was supposed to be ninety and humid enough to feel like a hundred. It wasn’t even June yet. What the hell? How did people survive in humidity like this their whole lives?

I positioned my stool so the air hit me just right from both sides and then bent down and went to work in the dirt trough set up in front of me. I kneaded the black earth in my hands slowly, falling into a rhythm with my fingers, stopping every so often to add handfuls of fertilizer and the vitamins I’d developed specifically for this project. The last batch had been closer—Mazie said the herbs I’d given her had been responsible for the best Greek salad she’d ever tasted—but when I’d rubbed it on the cut I’d gotten from removing a stubborn splinter, it hadn’t helped the healing process a single bit. Fail. Back to the drawing board.

When I finished working the soil, I smoothed it out along the trough until it was full enough. I used my finger to poke holes and then dropped my seeds inside before lightly covering them again. I did the same in two other troughs before I went back and drenched them with water. No automatic sprinklers for these babies. They needed to be cared for by hand. Like a woman, they needed a personal touch.