Until Tomorrow (Boot Creek Book 3)

by Nancy Naigle

  She bit down on her lip. His touch sent waves through her. “I’m ready.”

  “Ah, well, I better set your expectations low right now. There are so many things that can go wrong. You need to enjoy the process of it first. When you finish, we’ll still have to bring it down to room temperature. Until you get through that, there’s no guarantee you’ll have anything at the end.”

  “Well, that doesn’t sound fun at all.”

  “I’ll help you—I’m pretty sure I can get you to make at least something small. We’ll just do either a glass or an ornament. I can help you make whatever you want, but those are good starter projects.”

  “I’m in your hands.”

  “A good place to be.”

  She didn’t doubt that for one minute. Were they still talking about glassblowing? “I’m really excited about it.” Him and the outing.

  He raised his coffee cup. “I’ve got to be there early. Do you mind if I take this coffee with me? I’ll bring the cup back. I promise.”

  “I think I can spare a coffee mug if anything happens.”

  “I could make you a new one.”

  “Even better.”

  “Thanks, cutie.” He dropped a peck on her cheek, then headed out of the room. Coffee in one hand and that chocolate biscotti in the other.

  She spun around and leaned against the counter. Figures guys like him don’t live around here. How am I supposed to “see where this goes”? It’s a waste of time. But denying her feelings wasn’t something she was about to try.

  She’d just be careful to not let her heart get ahead of her brain this time.

  Am I falling for him?

  She shook her head. “I’m not,” she said out loud. “I can’t.” Ford was sweet and fun. And tonight she was going to experience something new. But she was in control of her feelings this time.

  Proud of herself for realizing things were okay, better than okay, she cleaned the house and even dusted the panel molding in the living room. Whoever invented that stuff should’ve invented a finish that resisted dust. It was a full-time job.

  An hour later the electrician and the HVAC guys had come and assessed the situation. Turned out the electrical work was the culprit for the furnace failure too. She should be able to get another year or two out of the furnace—a relief. The electrician promised to have everything done no later than next Friday.

  Things were coming back together.

  Yet despite that strong start, the day seemed to be dragging by, like Christmas Eve when she was a kid.

  To fill the time, she took a long leisurely bath and then picked out something to wear. Standing there in her panties and bra she dressed and undressed three times before she reminded herself that this was not about trying to impress him or anyone else. It was about being herself, and not setting her clothes on fire, of course. If something came out of this little get-together and it worked, it worked. If not, then it wasn’t meant to be.

  I’m the prize.

  Finally, she slipped on her favorite pair of faded jeans, western boots, and a T-shirt with “blessed” in script across the front. The soft peach T-shirt gave her skin a nice glow. She slipped on a button-down denim shirt like a jacket and rolled up the sleeves.

  She opened the old jewelry box on her dresser. It had been her mother’s—the one thing that she would never get rid of, aside from the wedding rings Mom had once worn that still lay nestled in the first drawer. Considering she’d be using her hands, she slipped on a long necklace that had a pendant with a watch on the back of it, forgoing the wristwatch today. She layered a silver necklace—with simple turquoise and silver beads every six inches—on top of the other necklace, then decided that was probably not the best idea either. She took off the jewelry and pulled her hair into a ponytail.

  The rain had slowed by the time she had to leave. Nerves danced inside her as she drove. Those few words between them this morning had changed things. If they let things go any further, there might be no turning back.

  At four o’clock on the nose, she stepped up to the observation glass that ran the length of the studio where Ford was working.

  She’d expected him to be wrapping up a session with students, but instead he was working a large piece of glass that looked like a plate. Bright blue and green lines crisscrossed a pattern that looked like flowers and leaves. Very pretty.

  He must have caught her in his peripheral vision, because he smiled and gave her a nod. He spun the rod, running what looked like a heavy cloth under the glass, causing it to steam.

  She took that as an invitation to come on in. “Hey. That looks a little scary,” she said stepping into the room. The temperature in here was at least ten degrees warmer than out in the hallway.

  “What’s scary about it?”

  “Aren’t you afraid you’ll accidentally touch the glass and burn yourself?”

  “Not anymore.” His confident smile was charming. “Don’t worry. We’re going to keep things simple, and I’ll keep you safe.”

  She bit down on the left side of her lip. “Hope so.”

  “Let me just finish this up.” He continued working the plate. Smoothing it into a perfectly polished disc. His muscles flexed with each move, forming and molding the soft glass.

  He worked quickly. Spinning, shaping, and snipping. “What do you think?”

  “It’s pretty.”

  “Good. I’m glad you like it, because I made you a set of four.” He carried the plate over to what looked like a big box.

  She followed him and watched as he placed it carefully inside.

  “This is the annealer,” he said. “It will bring everything slowly to room temperature.”

  She peered inside. He had made her a whole set of them. “They’re beautiful. You really made these for me?”

  He nodded. “Now let’s introduce you to my world.”

  A few minutes later she was wearing a frumpy blue lab coat that looked more like one of those housecoats her grandmother used to tidy in on Saturday mornings. That and a pair of oversized goggles made her feel like an oversized bug.

  He pulled out his phone. “Selfie.”

  “You have got to be kidding. Look at me.”

  “You’re adorable.” He leaned in and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “Give a thumbs-up and look like you’re having fun.”

  She did as he asked, with a big openmouthed smile. After the flash, she tossed back her head laughing. “You’re a goober.”

  “You’ll be glad we have this picture one day.”

  “Somehow I doubt that.”

  “Trust me.”

  “You know those two words never lead to anything good.”

  “I’m going to let that go.” He grabbed a punty rod. “Come here.”

  She stepped closer, unsure if the sweat she felt beading at the back of her neck was from the equipment or from being so close to him.

  He leaned in. “You know you can trust me.”

  She took in a quick breath. Could she? The problem was she wasn’t sure she could trust herself.

  “Couple quick tips,” he said. “Everything is hot. If something starts to fall, let it. Resist the urge to catch things. Just follow my lead.” He shifted his weight to his right leg as he picked up a hollow tube about four feet long. “This is the blowpipe. We’re going to use this to get the blob of glass out of the crucible. I’ll do that part, and then I’ll get you to work the rest of it with me.”

  “I’m ready.” But her hammering heart had her worried she might pass right out onto a glob of the hot glass.

  “What’s your favorite color?”

  “Red.”

  He poured a scoop of red broken glass pieces on a table. “Silver or gold?”

  “Gold.”

  “This is fourteen karat gold leaf.” He laid the thin sheeting on the other end of the table.

  “Real gold?”

  “The real thing.” He tapped the pipe on the floor, bouncing it up into his hand. “You ready?”


  “I think so. Am I actually going to blow on that thing?”

  “Yes. That’s kind of how it works.”

  “Is it going to be hot?”

  “Not unless you inhale, but I can do the actual blowing if you like. When you’re ready, just tell me and you can try it to get the feel for it.”

  “I think I like the idea of you doing most of the work.” She hoped he didn’t notice the blush that was rising up her neck. She wasn’t thinking about the glass right now. She couldn’t keep her mind off him. There was something raw and sexy about being around all this hot equipment. She brushed the sweat from her lip and tried to concentrate on what he was doing.

  He dipped the pipe into the fiery furnace and withdrew it. A ball of bright glowing glass danced at the end of the metal.

  Anticipation zipped through her veins. There was something beautiful and frightening about the glass in this state.

  “Okay, now we have to keep spinning the pipe to prevent the glass from dropping. Come here and turn it with me.”

  She stepped closer and placed her hands next to his. “Like this?”

  “Not so fast. It’s not speed that’s keeping the glass on the pipe. A steady turn is all you need to keep the glass in balance. Good. See how it’s retaining that shape?”

  “Yes.” They moved slowly. In a steady rhythm—together—as one.

  “Now watch as we slow down. See how we lose the shape.” He picked up speed and the glass steadied. “I’ll dip it back in the glory hole to keep it pliable so we can work some magic.”

  She giggled. “That sounds a little nasty.” And that was about the most high school thing she could’ve said right now.

  He snickered. “Kind of, but it’s innocent. Help me.”

  She wished her eyebrow hadn’t quirked up like that just then. He’d noticed it. She read it in his face, but he didn’t say anything.

  This was his life’s work. Why was she making jokes? Nerves. She always giggled at the most inappropriate times. It had gotten her in trouble all the time as a kid.

  She followed Ford’s lead, holding the pipe in the fire. The heat made her skin tighten, and she felt panic rise as the shape of the glass drooped when he lifted his hands, letting her turn the pipe alone. “I need your help.”

  “You’ve got it. Slow down. Nice and steady. There you go. You’re doing great.”

  “What are we making?”

  “Right now it’s not about what we’re making as much as the process of doing it. Just relax.”

  She nodded and tried to match his movements.

  Her eyes glazed over a bit. Maybe from the heat. Maybe from the magic of controlling something that seemed so uncontrollable.

  “We’re going to start with making snowmen or caterpillars.”

  “Those are two completely different things.”

  “Not really. Watch.” He turned and slowly went through the process of making the caterpillars. “You’ll get used to using the jacks, how to constrict and pinch the glass in liquid form. You’ll get used to turning the pipe. It’s a lot of moving parts with both hands. That’s not easy for some people.”

  “You make it look simple.”

  “Give it a try.”

  She tried to re-create the moves he’d just made. “Not quite as good as yours, but close.”

  “Very good. You’re a natural. Keeping the glass centered is one of the toughest things for students to get down. You’re doing great.” He stepped back. “Are you having fun?”

  “Yes. It’s cool.” She laughed, almost a little giddy. “Well, hot, but in a cool way.” And he was hot . . . in a hot way.

  “All right, let’s make a glass globe. You ready?”

  “Yes.”

  He pulled her in front of him, wrapped his arms around her, and helped her over to the crucible to dip out a hunk of glass.

  They spun the rod, and each time the shape began to go cattywampus, he got the rhythm back.

  “Now we’re going to keep turning the rod on this table.” He led her over to the table with his arms still around hers. “See how we’re shaping the glass?”

  Her arms moved with his, spinning and rolling the shape against the table. “Yes. This is amazing.”

  There was something primitively intimate about sharing art with an artist that she couldn’t quite wrap her head around. She’d admired his collection, but to stand side-by-side and work the hot glass together deepened the intensity.

  “Okay, now we’re going to pick up the colored glass.” He helped her raise the pipe and set it in the colored glass, then rolled the shape again.

  The hot glass seemed to swallow the tiny bits of glass, changing its color along the way.

  As the pieces became one with the hot ball of glass, her heart raced. Was it the effort of the continuous turns, or being so close to Ford? His arms were strong.

  She leaned against him, feeling the strength of his arms.

  His sweat.

  His breath felt cool against her hot neck.

  He moved with the ease that could only come from years of practice, and she imagined his hands on her as a skilled lover.

  She had a feeling she’d melt in his hands, much like this glass.

  Ford spoke close to her ear. “Just nice and easy. Find a rhythm and keep the movement steady and smooth.”

  “This is sexier than that pottery scene in the movie Ghost,” she said. His arms flexed slightly, sending a shiver through her.

  “Really?” He lowered his mouth closer to her neck. “That sounds promising.”

  I sure hope so. She giggled and the soft stubble of his chin tickled as it grazed the bare skin of her neck.

  “Hope you won’t be disappointed.”

  She swallowed hard. They worked together well. There was no doubt she was in dangerous territory with him now, with the feelings that were stirring inside her.

  And by the time they’d laid the gold leaf into the red glass ball, she wasn’t sure if she was in love with the process or this man that seemed to be shaping her at the same time.

  He set their completed globe on a little stand, dropping a little kiss on her nose. “See. Not half bad.”

  No, not bad at all.

  Ford sat across from Flynn at the Blue Skies Cafe.

  “I still can’t believe how much fun that was,” she said, spinning her straw like one of the rods.

  “It’s addictive. If you think you liked what we just did, you’ll have to do it again. I’m telling you. It’s pretty amazing.” He watched her expression. Would she want to do it again? Her eyes danced, making his insides do a little tango of their own. “Wait until you make something all by yourself.”

  “I’m not sure I could ever do it alone. You were doing a different thing with each hand.”

  “I’d be there to help, of course. You’d be surprised; you become ambidextrous. That’s for sure. But a lot of the work is easier as a pair. One person spinning, the other laying on new pieces of glass. That kind of thing. It can be done alone, but it’s even better with a good partner.”

  She touched her mouth. He wasn’t sure what she was about to say, but she’d stopped herself.

  “Did you try the beefalo when you were here for the wedding?” she asked.

  “Isn’t it just a fancy hamburger?”

  “So much better than a burger. It’s the specialty here, and they buy the meat fresh from Criss Cross Farm where Jackson works. You’ll love it. Everyone does.”

  He closed the menu and set it to the side. “You haven’t steered me wrong on anything yet.”

  The waitress took their order and dashed off.

  “I won’t steer you wrong,” she said to Ford, her glance turning into a gaze.

  She felt it too. Ford reached across and laid his hand on top of hers.

  She jumped, but didn’t move otherwise.

  “I believe that,” he said. He liked the way the corner of her nose wrinkled when she smiled like that. The way she did when he said something nice
to her. Bashful in a sexy-as-heck kind of way.

  His phone vibrated across the table and a raucous chime broke the intimacy of the moment. Probably just as well, because he was getting ready to say something that he’d probably regret, since he’d be gone in a couple of weeks.

  “Ford, here.”

  Across the line Chet sounded like he was hollering into a tin can. “Heard from your buddy at the glass shop yet?”

  “Hey, Chet. No. Why?”

  “Word is they are going to let him try to sell the place outright after all. Well, not all of the property, but where the glass shop was. One last chance to lower the debt before they swoop in and auction it off for a bargain basement price.”

  Ford’s mood soured. “Why hasn’t he called me? I told him I was interested.”

  “Probably overmortgaged the place. He would never try to sell it to you for more than it’s worth.”

  “What that place is worth to me is for me to decide.” His jaw pulsed.

  “My thoughts exactly, which is why I’m calling you.”

  “Thanks, man. I got the package, by the way. How’s everything else going out there?”

  It was good to hear Chet’s voice. “Weather’s been mild as hell, so business is good. People are getting out. No complaints here.”

  “Good. Glad to hear that.”

  “Things going good there inland?”

  “Yes. Even got a couple of new potential contracts. It’s paying for itself in ways I hadn’t expected.” His gaze caught Flynn’s. She was the best part of it all. “Do you have a new number for Ziegler?”

  “Yeah. Hang on. He gave it to Missy yesterday. She’s helping him eBay some stuff.” There was shuffling and Ford could picture Chet rummaging through a stack of papers on top of the desk right off the bar. “Here it is. You got a crayon?”

  He pulled a pen from his shirt pocket and grabbed a paper napkin from the dispenser against the wall. “Go.”

  Ford wrote down the number and then got off the phone.

  “Everything okay?” Flynn asked.

  He brought her up-to-date, filling in the blanks from the other side of the conversation that she hadn’t been privy to.

  “. . . and I want that place. I could turn it into so much more than a tourist trap. We could do year-round work and really market the pieces. I even thought of doing student camps. A chance for artists to see Alaska and experience the nature while refining their craft. I think it could make money.”