“Hey, Summer,” someone called.
“Hey, Joe,” I said, smiling and waving as a stocky Puerto Rican carried a steaming dish to the table for Mazie. His dark hair had been buzzed short, something he always did in the summertime. “How are Leslie and the kids?” I asked.
“Jealous I stayed here for dinner,” he said with a wicked grin. I laughed. “Leslie’s working at that new jewelry store in town. She says you should stop in and say hi. Says it’s been too long since you two caught up.”
“I will. I haven’t seen her since … last Thanksgiving.”
He set the dish down and lowered himself into a chair beside it. “Has it been that long? Huh.” I nodded, hoping he wouldn’t press it. “Time flies,” was all he said.
I let it go.
When I’d come home for Christmas break and found out about my parents, I’d shut myself off from everyone in order to deal with the shock of their divorce. I hadn’t really reached out to anyone from my old life since. Now, there was no escaping it. I’d known that when I’d come home. Still, I would probably put it off as long as possible. Even with Leslie, my best friend from high school. I loved her, but that girl asked way too many questions. I wasn’t ready with answers just yet.
By the time my dad came through the back door, black earth covering his hands, I’d greeted everyone and given hugs. Not a single person mentioned my absent mother or asked me why I’d come home instead of staying in the big city like I’d always told them I planned. I appreciated them for that.
“Dean Stafford, you better wash that grub off before going near my dinner table,” Mazie said, shaking a sauce-covered spoon at Dad.
Dad wiggled his fingers menacingly, and Mazie backed away muttering Greek phrases better left un-translated. Dad laughed as he went to the sink and stuck his hands under the water.
Conversation flowed between mouthfuls of pasta, everyone laughing and teasing and easy in each other’s company. It was oddly un-awkward considering it was my first company meal with the empty chair.
Around a mouthful of garlic bread, I heard the screen door kick shut and shot Casey a curious look. He didn’t answer, opting instead for another forkful of casserole. The sound of footsteps echoed down the hall. I watched as Casey’s gaze was drawn over my shoulder.
“Someone’s late to the party,” I said, turning in my chair. I expected to see another familiar face joining the group, someone I knew from past summers on the farm. I was surprised to find a stranger instead, though that wasn’t what had my eyes widening and my torso stuck in the swiveled position.
This guy was not the usual farmhand variety. At least, not the kind they grew in the foothills of southwestern Virginia. Definitely not from Grayson County.
He was tall and lean, muscular in all the right places if his fitted white shirt was any indication. His sandy brown hair was just long enough to fall onto his forehead, making his face look younger than the rest of him. But those eyes, blue and deep and full of knowledge—of what I didn’t know—were what held my attention. I bet they’re even better close up, I thought. He caught my gaze and held it for two beats before I realized I was obviously staring. I broke away, but not before the rest of the table noticed our exchange.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Casey and Joe share a look that had me wanting to reach over the table and knock the grin off both their faces. Heat rose to my cheeks, and I made a show of cutting my food, carefully placing it on my fork, and putting it in my mouth. The clink of my silverware echoed in the stretched silence.
I prayed my face wasn’t as red as it felt. Checking out a hot guy was one thing. Doing it in front of my dad and all his boys was quite another.
“Ford, ‘bout time. You better get a plate before it’s gone,” Casey said, breaking the silence. I sent him a grateful look from underneath my lowered lashes. He’d tease me for it later, but he wasn’t letting me suffer for it now. I owed him one.
“I’m on it.” The voice that responded was low and held just a hint of humor. I pretended it wasn’t on my account.
The newcomer, Ford, made his way toward the stack of empty plates on the counter, and conversation resumed, slowly at first but building quickly to the crescendo of noise it’d been before. I tried to see where the new guy planned to sit, uncomfortably aware of the empty chair next to me, but he went first to the sink and ran soap and water over his hands.
I took another bite. Chewed. Swallowed. Ignored Casey trying to wink at me.
“Look at that,” Mazie said, with a pointed look at my father. “Washing his hands without being asked. I want three more like him.”
Dad scowled but Ford laughed, a deep-in-the-belly sound that made it difficult not to turn and watch while you listened to it. “You better be careful what you wish for. I’ve been told it’s hard enough handling one of me.”
Mazie giggled. It made my brows raise. I’d never in my life heard Mazie giggle. I looked at Casey but he was forking casserole into his mouth and ignoring me. “You let me be the judge of that,” she said.
“Unless you want the job?” Casey whispered at me across the table, wiggling his eyebrows.
“I’ll tell everyone here how you got that rash last fall,” I hissed back. He shut up. Joe snorted and opened his mouth to say something but one look from Casey made him think better of it.
I went back to my dinner. Mazie appeared at my side, fussing at me to take a second helping. Despite my resistance, another spoonful of food was deposited onto my plate and Mazie walked off with a satisfied smile.
Casey shook his head. “You’re going to weigh three hundred pounds by the end of the year,” he said.
“Not if I work it off beating the crap out of you.” Trading jabs with Casey was the easiest way to recover from public embarrassment.
“That’s a fight I’d like to see.” Ford’s tone was casual and friendly but something about it—about him—made everything he said feel very … personal.
The chair next to me scraped back and Ford sat down. I turned just as he scooted forward, and, for a split second, our faces were only inches apart. I blinked, startled by the closeness of the most striking gray-blue eyes I’d ever seen. I was right. Definitely better close up.
“Oops. Sorry.” He gave a lopsided grin and scooted himself back, putting a respectable distance between us.
“It’s okay,” I muttered.
Ford turned his attention to his steaming plate and dug in. Across the table, Casey grinned in a way that made me want to throat-punch him. He was enjoying this way too much. Ass.
While Ford ate, I tried not to ogle the parts of him that filled my peripheral. But it was hard not to notice the broad shoulders and hard jawline. After a few moments, he grinned and turned toward me. Feeling caught and determined to play it off this time, I did the same.
“I’m Ford.” He stuck his hand out and I shook it, the gesture awkward when we were sitting this close. Wow, he had big hands. Rough and calloused. What was his job here? Shit, was I supposed to be saying something?
“Um, hi.” My cheeks warmed all over again. I raised my chin, giving his hand an extra-firm shake. “I’m Summer. I live here.” Smooth.
He held my hand longer than necessary, but I didn’t pull away, wanting to beat him.
Finally, Ford retracted his hand from mine and picked up his fork, though he made no move to eat “I know. Casey’s told me a lot about you.”
Without the distraction of his touch, I regained my composure enough to manage a mock glare across the table. “Is that right? Should I be worried?”
Not that it mattered what Casey said about me. I’d left school to get away from a lot of things about my life, including a guy. Especially a guy. I wasn’t looking for another one. So who cared what this one thought?
“I think where Casey’s concerned, you should always be worried,” Ford said and despite my internal lecturing, I laughed.
“Hey now,” Casey said. “You two have known each other three seconds and you�
��re already ganging up on me? Dean, I want to file a complaint on the new guy.”
At the far end of the table, my dad shook his head at Casey and then went back to his conversation with Frank.
“You work here?” I asked Ford. He nodded. “When did you start? I don’t remember seeing you here for winter break.”
“Got into town about a month ago. Only been working here at the farm for a couple of weeks,” he explained.
“Ford took that internship Dean offered to the Association,” Casey explained.
“The work study program?” I asked, remembering my dad saying something about it being his turn to offer to mentor a graduate for the Board of Farmers he served on. They were big on “the next generation,” as they called it, and keeping natural produce locally owned and operated so they found ways to give back as often as possible. I’d forgotten all about it until now.
“That’s the one,” Ford said. “Figured I’d follow him around, learn what I can of mass-produce field farming before moving onto the next one.”
“You have multiple work studies lined up?” I asked.
“This is my third since graduating the program.”
“Do you have a track record that requires you to keep seeking out alternative locations?” I asked.
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.
Chapter Two
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
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 cha
ir 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.
A Risk Worth Taking Page 2
