Closing the filing cabinet, Grace glanced back at her assistant. “Do you mind me being gone for about an hour?”
Darcy smiled encouragingly. “Not at all. Take two hours if you want to.” She waggled her brows suggestively.
Grace rolled her eyes at her friend’s insinuation. For all of the passionate kisses she and Ford had shared, and for as much as his hands roamed her body during those embraces, they’d yet to make love again. She still retired to the guest bedroom in the evenings, which was newly decorated in feminine colors and patterns. The nights were long and lonely, but Ford hadn’t pressed the issue of her sharing his bed, and since her body was quickly blossoming as she neared her fourth month, she had her doubts that he’d find her pregnant state attractive and arousing.
Dismissing the depressing thought that she might not appeal to Ford in her condition, she said to Darcy, “Tell him I’ll be there in a minute.”
When she exited her office sixty seconds later, she found her husband talking with Darcy, and they were both laughing at something he’d said. He looked so handsome and relaxed, and it hit her in that moment that she was falling hopelessly in love with him all over again.
His gaze settled warmly on her from across the counter, taking in the thigh-length, multi-colored shirt she’d worn over stretchy, deep purple leggings. His perusal was lazy and thorough, causing Grace’s cheeks to flush. There was no hiding her growing, taut belly, or the fact that she was, without a doubt, pregnant. When his eyes again met hers, his gaze glowed with a male pride and satisfaction that made a slow, simmering heat unfurl in the pit of her belly.
“Are you hungry?” he asked, his low, rich voice rumbling across her sensitive nerve endings.
“I’m starved,” she admitted, shocked at the husky quality of her own voice.
A grin quirked his mouth, but before he could add to that, Darcy leaned close to Grace and murmured, “I’m telling you, Grace, take those two hours!”
Oh, how she was tempted to give into her desire for Ford and spend the next two hours in his arms experiencing the pleasure she knew he could give her, but she didn’t feel comfortable instigating something that intimate or relationship-altering.
“Would you like us to bring you back something from Marie’s?” Ford offered to Darcy.
“I’d love a ham and cheese on white,” she said, completely charmed by Ford’s polite inquiry. “And some of Marie’s potato salad would be great.”
He grinned at her. “You got it.”
Grace and Ford stepped outside, and he automatically slipped his hand into hers as they headed down the sidewalk toward the strip of rundown and cosmetically neglected shops at the far side of Whitaker Towne Square. Most people had grown used to seeing the two of them together, but Ford’s romantic gesture earned them a few reprehensible looks from those extremists who’d branded her a hussy behind her back, but nobody said anything to them personally. She suspected that they wouldn’t dare—for all of Ford’s faults, she’d come to learn that he was fiercely protective of what was his, and that included her and the baby she carried.
They passed the After Hours bar, and like every other time they’d walked by the disreputable establishment on their way to Marie’s, Ford’s entire body tensed, but he said nothing. He didn’t need to. His disgust and loathing of the place that had consumed his mother’s life was evident in the enmity that sparked in his gaze.
By the time they entered Marie’s, Ford had a smile in place for the elderly woman who had treated him with kindness and consideration since he’d returned. The place was empty, except for a young teenage couple who were sharing a banana split at a table in the back. Ford led her to a booth near the window overlooking the town, and sat across from her.
Marie ambled over with a pen and pad in hand and a smile creasing her plump, friendly face. “What can I get for my favorite newlyweds?”
Blushing at Marie’s greeting, Grace requested her usual chicken salad on rye with a side of fresh fruit and lemonade, and also gave Marie Darcy’s order. Ford opted for a cheeseburger, fries, and a soda.
Marie handed the lunch order over to her husband, Frank, who was working behind the counter, and returned a few minutes later with their drinks. Knowing the older woman was concerned about the fate of her cafe since the original owner of the property had died and his son, Hank, had decided to sell the property and shop structures, Grace ventured to ask, “Have you heard anything from the new property owner yet?”
“Nope,” Marie said with a frustrated sigh. “Last time I talked to Hank, he said the sale hadn’t been finalized yet, and he wasn’t releasing any information about the new owner until the transaction was negotiated and settled.” A troubled frown etched her brows. “Hank mentioned the possibility of the new owner tearing down the original structure to build a theater and new, more modern shops.”
“Oh, Marie, no.” Grace pressed a hand to her chest in dismay. Marie and Frank depended on the cafe for their livelihood, as did the rest of the elderly business owners who’d operated their shops on this strip for more years than Grace had been alive. She didn’t want to think about what would happen to them without the financial supplement of their businesses.
“Hard to imagine,” Marie said, a combination of umbrage and resignation lacing her voice. “But us business folks don’t seem to have much say in the matter, do we?”
“Your order is up, Marie,” Frank called, garnering the older woman’s attention.
Grace waited while Marie delivered her sandwich and Ford’s cheeseburger, but somewhere between entering the cafe and being served, Grace had lost her appetite. All she could think about was all the people who would be put out of business by this entrepreneur.
“Hey, I thought you were hungry,” Ford said, then took a big bite of his burger.
“I’m too upset to eat,” she said, sliding her plate to the edge of the table.
He pushed the meal back in front of her. “Feed my baby,” he said gently, but firmly.
She sighed in resignation, knowing he was right. She had someone other than herself to think about and couldn’t withhold nutrition because of her personal worries. Picking up her fork, she stabbed it into her potato salad, too perturbed to keep her opinion on this matter quiet. “I just can’t believe someone would buy this property and tear down what’s been here for so many years. These shops are as much a part of Whitaker Falls as I am.”
“Times change, Grace, and so do people’s needs.” Picking up his soda, he took a long drink of the dark, fizzing liquid. “I have to agree that this structure of shops is getting pretty dilapidated looking, especially when you compare it to Whitaker Towne Square.”
Her mouth pursed in annoyance at his calm, rational point of view of the situation. “It doesn’t matter to you that it would put so many good, honest, hard-working people out of business?”
His expression turned shrewd, and somewhat defensive. “You can’t think of it that way, but rather all the new employment opportunities it will open for others. A theater and new stores would be a good thing for the town to keep it modern and fresh, not to mention getting rid of After Hours, which just downgrades this entire strip of shops.” The tinge of resentment in Ford’s tone was unmistakable.
“That’s the only thing I agree with,” she said, taking a small bite of her sandwich and chewing. “That place only serves to draw in a disreputable crowd and hurts the other businesses. But why should everyone be penalized for one seedy establishment?”
“It’s just the way of business, Grace,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically hard and uncompromising.
“The way of business?” she repeated incredulously. “To put people out of work who depend on the income of their businesses for their sole support? Most of these people have been running their shops for years and know nothing else but their business. What about them?”
Ford dragged a French fry through a pool of ketchup, his face a mask of indifference. “Maybe it’s a sign that they ought to r
etire.”
“Some of these folks don’t have a choice but to work, and barely make ends meet as it is,” she argued vehemently. “Tearing down these shops is as good as making them homeless.”
Ford dropped his napkin on his empty plate and pushed it aside, hating the guilt pricking his conscience for the secret he was keeping. At the moment, he had no choice. FZM had made a very substantial offer on the very property he was sitting on and the businesses Grace was so staunchly supporting, but the appropriate paperwork had yet to be signed, sealed, and delivered, and until he held the title in his hands, he knew better than to take the sale for granted. Considering how defensive Grace was about the store owners, and how opposed she was to the new property owner redeveloping the land, Ford realized he only had a few weeks to sway his wife to his way of thinking.
“It’s just not fair,” she said unhappily, her gaze on Marie and Frank as they worked the small cafe.
Knowing he was the cause of her morose mood, he sought to offer some kind of comfort. “I’m sorry,” he said, belatedly realizing the sentiment extended beyond this disagreement.
Her features immediately softened with her own apology, and she reached across the table, placing her hand over his. “Of course it’s not your fault,” she said, compounding his guilt with those oh-so-innocent words. “There’s just got to be another way, some kind of compromise that would benefit the shop owners and the new property owner.”
Ford’s heart shriveled a little in his chest. Buying and redeveloping this property, and destroying the After Hours bar, was his way of reconciling the bitter memories of his past.
For him, there was no compromise at all.
Chapter Eight
“Close your eyes, and don’t open them until I tell you to,” Ford instructed.
Holding Ford’s hand, Grace kept her eyes squeezed shut as she followed her husband, trusting him to guide her. She knew they were headed toward the barn and corral, but couldn’t imagine what had Ford so anxious. When she’d woken up from her nap this afternoon, she’d found him in the kitchen waiting for her, his eyes bright and hopeful. He’d looked like a little kid who couldn’t wait to share a new toy, and his infectious enthusiasm had bubbled over to her.
Finally, he stopped. Releasing her hand so he could stand behind her, he rested his palms lightly on her shoulders. His mouth moved near her ear, and he said in a deep voice laced with excitement, “Okay, you can look now.”
She blinked her lashes open, and her breath caught in her chest as she stared at two of the most magnificent horses she’d ever seen. They stood in the corral, comfortable in their new surroundings. Their rich, healthy chestnut coats gleamed in the warm sunshine, and their dark eyes were amicable.
“Oh, Ford,” she breathed in awe, overwhelmed by this latest surprise. “They’re absolutely beautiful.”
“The chestnut closest to us, Sophie, is yours,” he said, a pleased smile in his voice. “And that one over there is Maggie.”
The one named Sophie ambled up to the fence and blew out a welcoming snort of breath. Grace laughed, delighted, and stroked a hand down her snout. “Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve always wanted a horse of my own.”
“I’m glad I was able to give you one.” Ford tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear that had escaped her French braid. Grace suspected it was more of an excuse to touch her, but she enjoyed his caresses and liked that soft look he got in his eyes when he looked at her.
“Thank you,” she said around the tightness in her throat.
Filled with an irresistible need to express her gratitude in a more heartfelt way, she pressed a hand to his chest, rose up on tip-toe, and brushed her lips across his. She’d meant to be quick and chaste about her kiss of thanks, but she hadn’t anticipated the yearning that swept over her the moment their mouths touched. Hadn’t been prepared for the flash of wild fire that ignited beneath the surface of her skin.
Ford skimmed a hand lightly down her spine, urging her closer, but giving her enough room to object if she wanted to. She didn’t. Leaning more fully into him, until the taut curve of her belly conformed to his muscular one, she tilted her head and parted her lips, and for the first time since exchanging wedding vows with Ford, she was the one who initiated a kiss.
Ford let her have free rein. He even let her set the pace, and merely followed her lead. She encouraged the slow, drugging kind of kiss he’d taught her, the kind she liked the best, because it made her feel as though they had the rest of their lives to indulge in the lazy melding of lips and tongues. Incredible pleasure spread through her, and something in her tummy fluttered—illicit need, or her baby’s first movement, she wasn’t sure.
By the time she pulled back, they were both breathing hard.
“Wow,” he murmured, a rascal grin claiming his lips. “If I’d known that’s the response I’d get, I would have bought you a horse sooner.”
Shocked at her own brazenness, she stepped from his embrace and cleared her throat. She returned her attention back to Sophie, enchanted by the sweet-natured animal. “When did you get them?”
Ford came up beside her, hooking a booted foot on the bottom rung of the fence, and resting his arms across the top. “They were delivered while you were taking a nap this afternoon, which worked out well since I wanted them to be a surprise.”
“Oh, they’re certainly that.” She laughed lightly as Sophie nuzzled her neck affectionately. “Can we ride them?”
Ford’s smile expressed his own enjoyment of the moment. “That depends. I’ve got all the necessary gear, but I think you need to call Dr. Chase and get his approval to ride a horse. If he says okay, we can take them on a nice, easy stroll.”
“Then I’ll call him immediately.” She turned and headed back up to the house, excited at the prospect of riding her new mare.
Since it was Sunday, she called Dr. Chase at home. He gave her the permission she sought, as long as she didn’t allow the horse to trot or gallop. She was physically fit, and her pregnancy was progressing well, but the jarring motion posed too many risks. To be safe, he preferred she take the ride slow and easy.
Ford insisted that she pack a light snack while he saddled up the mares. She had no idea what he intended, but an hour later, she and Ford had made their way through the forest of trees separating Cutter Creek from her property, and he was guiding the horses along the lake in front of her cottage.
“What are we doing here?” she asked, mildly curious.
He glanced over at her, his body relaxed and at ease in the saddle. “I thought you might want to check on things.”
It had been at least two weeks since she’d stopped by the cottage, and she supposed it wouldn’t hurt to give the house a quick walk through to make sure everything was in order.
Ford helped her down from Sophie, and while he tended to the horses, she used the key she’d stashed in the planter box next to the front door and entered the cottage. The place was stuffy from being closed up, but otherwise fine. She’d moved out all of the furnishings she’d wanted to Ford’s house, and had left the bare minimum that still made the cottage livable. She’d hired a gardener to keep up the lawn and planters around the house. But for as much as she missed her cozy cottage, she was beginning to think of Ford’s house as her home.
She headed back outside into the late afternoon sunshine, the mild warmth of the September day broken up by a pleasant breeze. Ford had looped the horse’s reins around a low bush, allowing them to graze contentedly without straying.
Shading her eyes from the sun, she searched for Ford, and found him standing out on the dock extending to the lake, their picnic sack in hand. She approached her husband, and frowned when she saw that a sturdy new rowboat had been tied to the dock, complete with oars.
“Where did that rowboat come from?” She glanced around, startled by the thought that someone might be hiding somewhere on her property.
“I had it delivered a few days ago,” he said, a smile glimmering in his e
yes.
Perplexed, she could only stare at him. “Whatever for?”
“For us to use, of course.” As if she’d asked a completely ridiculous question, he slid a finger down the slope of her nose then executed a low, gallant bow. “Sailor McCabe, at your service, Ma’am.”
Surprise and pleasure rippled through her. “You’re taking me for a boat ride?”
“Yep.” He stepped into the well-built craft, bracing his legs wide to keep the small boat from rocking. Setting the picnic sack between his feet, he reached a hand up to her. “All you have to do is relax on that blanket and feed me, and I’ll do all the muscle work.”
“That’s an offer I find hard to refuse.” Utterly charmed by his romantic gesture, she placed her fingers in Ford’s and allowed him to help her into the boat. She sat down on the nice, soft blanket that had been arranged at one end of the structure, and reclined back against the hull.
After untying the rope securing them to the dock, he sat on the bench opposite her, took hold of the oars, and rowed them out onto the smooth surface of the lake.
She sighed complacently, enjoying the relaxing glide of the boat upon the water, and reveling in the sight of her gorgeous, sexy husband as he worked the oars with effortless, rhythmic ease. The form fitting polo shirt he’d worn defined the width of his broad shoulders, enabling her to indulge in the sight of those firm muscles across his chest flexing as he rowed. The sun haloed his dark, rumpled hair, and he smiled lazily at her, his own pleasure evident in his peaceful expression.
Closing her eyes, she rested her head on the rim of the boat and basked in the warmth of the sun upon her face. Before long, the tranquility of the boat ride lulled her close to slumber.
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