Christmas in Lucky Harbor

by Jill Shalvis

“Why?”

  “Because the racing world cost me something I miss. You, Tara. It cost me you.”

  Tara stared at him. There’d been a time when she’d have given anything to hear him say that: her so-called career, her right arm, anything. But things were different now. She was different now. “Logan—”

  He shook his head. “Don’t say anything. Just think about it. Think about me, okay?”

  She let out a low laugh and sank to the couch, stunned. “It took me two years to get over you. I can’t just make all that happened between us vanish with a snap of my fingers.”

  “I know, and there’s no rush,” Logan assured her. “I’m going to be here all summer, so—”

  “All summer? What do you mean, all summer?”

  He grinned. “To win you back, of course.” He knelt down in front of her and flashed the grin that had once been panty-melting. “No decisions now, okay? Like I said, we have all summer.”

  Oh, God. “You can’t just hang around all summer.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because…” She had no idea. “What will you do with yourself?”

  He leaned in and kissed her cheek. “I’ll figure it out,” he said. She kept him from moving in closer with a hand to his chest. “And,” he went on, looking amused at her boundaries, “it’s a busy time for you with the opening of the inn. I can help.”

  The man had two personal assistants to do his every bidding. He didn’t do his own laundry, cooking, housekeeping, accounting… anything. “How exactly can you help?”

  “Hey, I’m new and improved.” He shot her his most charming smile. “You don’t know this about me yet, but you’ll see.”

  “Logan—”

  “No rush, Tara. I’m a patient guy.”

  And then, like Ford, he vanished into the night.

  The next morning was damp and foggy. Tara got up at the crack of dawn to walk. Probably she should run, but she hated to run. Her carefully constructed life was going to hell in a handbasket, and she was already planning on inhaling crap food by the bundle. She needed to burn some calories as a preventative measure or she’d be forced to switch to loose sweats in no time.

  Tara walked into town and down the length of the pier, waving at Lance, who was hosing down the area out front of his ice cream shop.

  Turning around at the end of the pier, she walked back. She could have gone straight to the cottage and had a nice shower but she decided to walk through the marina to burn a few extra calories.

  Or because Ford was out there on the dock.

  She was drawn to him like a damn magnet. He was surrounded by sailing boat parts, with a tool in one hand, a part in the other, and a look of concentration on his face.

  When he caught sight of her, the corners of that amazing, fantasy-inducing mouth of his quirked. Only a few hours ago, he’d been buried deep inside her, their bodies slick with sweat, their breath mingling, moving in tandem. Just in the remembering, the air around them changed, and she was swamped with more memories.

  And longing…

  Their gazes caught and held, though neither of them spoke. Her nerves fluttered. So did a few other body parts.

  “You okay?” he finally asked.

  It wasn’t a filler question. Last night had been emotional, and he had a look of genuine concern on his face. It conflicted with the picture she had in her head of him walking out the door without a backward glance. “I’m fine.”

  “Logan gone?” he asked.

  “Not exactly.”

  His jaw tightened, and he took a moment to answer. “What then, exactly?”

  “He’s staying for the summer.” When he locked gazes with her, she lifted her hands. “Not my idea.”

  He said nothing to this but his silence spoke volumes.

  “So is this going to be uncomfortable now?” she asked.

  He cocked his head. “Does it feel uncomfortable?”

  “I’m not sure yet.”

  He sighed, muttered something to himself that sounded like “don’t do it, man,” then wrapped an arm around her waist. He snugged the lower half of his body to hers, rocking against her. “How about now?”

  “No, uncomfortable is not the word I’d use,” she managed. “Ford.” Helpless against the pull of the attraction, not to mention his easy, sexy charm, she gripped his shirt in two fists and dropped her forehead to his chest.

  He stroked his hand down her hair, a movement of affection and gentle possession, and she pressed even closer. Not again, her brain told her body. You are not going to have him again. But her brain wasn’t in charge because she glanced over his shoulder at the sailboat, which had a bedroom below deck.

  And a bed.

  Ford followed her gaze and let out a low laugh. “Okay, but only if you ask nice.”

  “Not funny,” she said and pushed away from him. “Besides, I’m all sweaty, and you’re all dirty.”

  “Then we’re already halfway to where I’d like to be.”

  “Stop it.”

  “Hey, you’re the one who came out of your way to see me.”

  That was true, which didn’t make it any less irritating that somehow he always knew what she was thinking. “I’m going to take a shower.” A cold one.

  “You want help with that?”

  “No!”

  “You want me bad,” Ford called after her as she walked away.

  Yes, she did. Quite badly, in fact. What woman could help wanting him in her bed? The problem was that Ford didn’t tend to exert much energy on things that were difficult. And Tara was just about as difficult as they came. Which meant she needed to resist him and all his gorgeousness because she already knew the ending to their story.

  A few nights later, Ford was at The Love Shack serving drinks. The place was busy, which usually gave him a surge of satisfaction. He loved being here, hearing the chatter and the laughter, knowing that he brought everyone together. He’d learned a long time ago to make a family and a home wherever he could. This was both.

  The walls of The Love Shack were a deep, sinful bordello red, lined with antique mining tools that he and Jax had collected over the years on various adventures. Lanterns hung from the exposed-beam ceilings and lit up the scarred bench-style tables and the bar itself, which was made of a series of old wooden doors attached end to end.

  If Ford wasn’t on a boat with the wind hitting his face as he flew over the water at dizzying speeds, then he was at his happiest here.

  It was a simple lifestyle, but when it came right down to it, he was a simple guy. Growing up poorer than dirt had ensured that. So had being loved and protected by his grandma to the best of her abilities as they’d worked their asses off. She’d always said that someday it would pay off and she’d get to retire to Palm Springs.

  It gave Ford great satisfaction that he’d been able to give that to her, that right this minute she was probably on the deck of the Palm Springs home he’d bought her, sipping iced tea and watching the mountains. It was her favorite pastime after cooking for him on the rare occasions he made it down there to visit, that is. She’d marvel at his height and build every single time he walked in her door, as if she couldn’t quite believe he’d grown up from that scrawny, undersized kid he’d once been.

  Ford couldn’t blame her. He’d managed to live through his teens, and then his twenties in spite of himself, and was now working on his thirties and being a grownup. On accepting his mistakes and living with no regrets, though his biggest regret was heavy on his mind lately.

  Tara.

  “Earth to Ford.” Sawyer Thompson waved a hand in Ford’s face. “You with us? Or do you need a moment alone?”

  “Thought tonight was your night off.” Sawyer was big and broad as a mountain, and could be as intimidating as hell—unless you’d grown up with him and knew that he wouldn’t watch any Disney/Pixar flick because they made him cry like a chick. Ford poured him a Coke—Sawyer’s standard order when he was on duty.

  “Got called in.” S
awyer’s smile faded. “Unexpected trouble out at Horn Crest.”

  “Hang gliders again?” Last time, the hang gliders had turned out to be Chloe, Lance, and Tucker, and they’d been arrested for trespassing when they’d landed in Mrs. Azalea’s prized field of rhododendrons. Lance was on a mission to accumulate as many crazy adventures as he could before his cystic fibrosis caught up with him, and Chloe and Lance’s brother, Tucker, were dedicated to assisting him in his stupidity.

  For some reason, this drove Sawyer insane.

  Ford was just glad to see that it ran in the family, the unique ability of the three sisters to drive men right over the edge of sanity.

  “Not hang gliders this time,” Sawyer said, sounding relieved. Chloe was well-liked in town, and every time she ran into trouble and Sawyer had to deal with it, he got the backlash.

  Ford knew that Sawyer liked order. Calm order. Which meant that Sawyer and Chloe were oil and water. But like oil and water, they ended up together a lot. Karma was a bitch with a good sense of humor.

  “It was a group of teenagers,” Sawyer said. “Brought them home to their parents and caught hell from one of the mothers. She told me I’d be a better use of her tax money if I was out catching real bad guys.” With a sigh, he sank to a stool and accepted the Coke. “And what are you doing here? I thought you were going to do that race in the Gulf this weekend.”

  Ford shrugged. “Maybe next time.”

  Sawyer lifted a brow. “You losing your edge?”

  “What? No.”

  “What then? Over the hill already at thirty-four?”

  “Shut up. You’re the one who threw your back out playing foosball last month.”

  Sawyer scowled. “Hey, that was an amazing play. Genius even.”

  “So was your having to spend the rest of the weekend on the couch whining, and then desk duty for a full week.”

  “So?” Sawyer said. “It got me some great bedside treatment from the women.”

  Ford snorted. “What women?”

  “Hey, I have women.”

  “Women on porn sites don’t count.”

  “You’re being an asshole,” Sawyer said mildly. “Another sign of age. Should I tell Ciera to save you a spot in the retirement home? And get you a prescription for Viagra?”

  Ciera was Ford’s sister, a nurse who worked at a senior center in Seattle. “You’re older than me,” Ford reminded him.

  “By two months, which is offset by the fact that I’m better looking. I’m also not picking a fight just to be an asshole.”

  Ford blew out a breath. “I’m not racing because I didn’t feel like traveling.”

  “And?”

  “And Jax is too nice to our regulars, and I needed to stick around to keep him in line.”

  “And?”

  “And…” Shit. He had nothing.

  “Admit it,” Sawyer said. “You’re not going anywhere because Tara’s ex-husband has shown up, and you don’t want to lose your place.”

  Ford shoved his fingers through his hair. “Yeah.”

  Lucille sidled up to the bar. She was in her pink sweats with her crazy white hair looking like a Q-tip. Her rheumy blue eyes landed on Ford. “A vodka on the rocks.” She tapped the bar. “So how’s it going with the Steel Magnolia?”

  Ford handed her the drink. “What?”

  “Don’t play stupid, honey. It doesn’t suit you.”

  “Actually, it does,” Sawyer said helpfully.

  Ford took away his soda.

  “Hey.”

  “Tara,” Lucille said to Ford. “I’m talking about Tara.” She tossed back the vodka like someone who’d been doing it for a gazillion years. “Her ex is here. He’s a real live celebrity, you know.”

  Ford sighed. He knew.

  Lucille nudged him. “He’s got the edge on you, boy.”

  Ford began to wish he didn’t have a thing against drinking while serving. “We’re not discussing this, Lucille.”

  “Well, maybe you’re not, but everyone else is. You need to look sharp. Sharp.” She reached over the bar and jabbed him in the gut with her bony finger. “Are you listening?”

  “Yeah, I’m listening.” Ford rubbed his belly. “And ouch.”

  “Sharp, I tell you!”

  Like he didn’t know that. Like that hadn’t always been the problem, that he wasn’t exactly up to Tara’s standards. Something that had been slammed home to him anew now that he’d actually met Logan and seen the slick, polished ex up close. Not only that, he’d sensed a still-obvious chemistry between Logan and Tara.

  Sawyer was taking all this in with his usual quiet calm. “What makes everyone think our boy here is interested in the girl?” he asked Lucille.

  She cackled and slapped down her empty shot glass, indicating she wanted another. “Oh, he’s interested.”

  Sawyer looked at Ford, studying him thoughtfully. After a beat, a slight smile curved his lips. “Yeah, I think you’re right.”

  “Thanks, man,” Ford said.

  Lucille smacked Ford upside the head.

  “Okay,” he said. “Stop that!”

  “You need to stop. Stop messing around. It’s time to get serious now, Ford. For once in your life.”

  What made this all worse was that in a way she was right. Ford knew what people saw when they looked at him—a guy who’d never had a serious commitment in his life, except maybe to sailing. And other than Tara and that long-ago summer, he’d never really been with a woman with whom he’d truly been friends as well as lovers. In his mind, the two were separate things. His life went day to day. His sailing. The bar. Friends. Sure he was good to his grandma but she didn’t require anything much from him. Money was easy to give once you had it.

  The truth was for the past six months now, he’d been… restless. Unsettled. Unhappy.

  Six months. Since the day Tara had come back to Lucky Harbor. Which was especially stupid because neither of them wanted to go down that road again.

  And yet there was something undeniable between them, something far more than what had happened in her bed. Something that made him itchy to both run like hell and go after her at the same time.

  The door of the bar opened and in strolled… shit.

  Logan Perrish.

  He was dressed more for a hot nightclub than a smalltown bar, and looking pretty damn expensive while he was at it. Ford wanted to hate him on principle but the guy stopped to sign an autograph for anyone who wanted one. Hard to hate a guy like that. When Logan got to the bar, he was clearly surprised at the sight of Ford. “Hey. You’re a bartender?”

  “Yep. A drink?”

  “Sure.” Logan scanned the list of beers available on the blackboard behind Ford. “I’ve heard about something called a… Ginger Goddess?”

  From the next barstool, Sawyer grimaced. “You’ve gotta be within fifty feet of a swimming pool in order to drink a fruity, girlie-ass drink like that. Otherwise, they revoke your guy card.”

  Logan smiled, unconcerned. He looked at Ford. “So you make them or what?”

  “Yeah.” Ford made them. For women. Sawyer was right; it was a complete pussy drink.

  Logan laughed at his expression. “I know, I know. But if it has the name of a soda pop or any sort of female connotation, I’m hooked.”

  Ford went back to hating as he picked out a kiwi, a pear, and a cocktail shaker, and got to work. On a damn Ginger Goddess.

  “Well, if it isn’t the famous Logan Perrish,” Lucille said in her craggy voice.

  “Hello,” Logan said with an easy smile. “You a racing fan, darlin’?”

  She simpered. “Oh, yes.” She pushed her napkin toward him. “Autograph?”

  Ford shot her a level are-you-kidding-me look over his shoulder, but she just grinned at him before turning back to Logan. “And isn’t it something to have you here in Lucky Harbor? Nice finish in Talladega. Sorry about the subsequent crash.” She touched his brace. “I hope it’s not too painful.”

  “I’m hea
ling up just fine,” Logan assured her, turning to include the two women who came up on his other side. They held out their napkins for him to sign as well, which he did with a flourish.

  Ford added ginger, vodka, and ice to the shaker, catching Sawyer’s eye.

  Sawyer was back to smirking.

  With a scowl, Ford strained Logan’s drink into a flute, then topped it with sparkling wine.

  By now Logan had half the bar circling him like he was the best thing since sliced bread, and he’d turned away from the bar, completely surrounded by fans.

  “A real live celebrity,” Sawyer noted to Ford. “People can’t resist that.”

  Ford could. “I don’t see what’s so great about him,” he muttered. “In his last eighteen starts, he’s never so much as led a lap. And he dresses like he believes his own press.”

  “I think you missed your dose of Midol today.”

  “And what the fuck,” Ford went on. “Driving isn’t even a damn sport.”

  Sawyer was cracking up now. “Really?”

  “Really what?”

  “You’re going to finally make a move for the woman you’ve been mooning over for what, six months now, because her ex-husband is in town? Lame, man.”

  “Who said I was making a move?”

  “You’re gearing up, I can tell,” Sawyer said.

  “You can not.”

  “I’ve been watching you make your moves since middle school. You haven’t changed your technique much.”

  “Whatever.” Ford slammed around a few shot glasses to look busy. “And technically, I made my move before Logan got here.” He felt someone pat his hand and looked down at Lucille.

  “Don’t you worry, honey,” she said in a stage whisper the people in Seattle could have heard. “We’re going to help you get the girl.”

  “We?”

  She gestured to four women that looked even older than she, all in an assortment of bright lipstick and blue hair. “We’re going to tip the scales in your favor,” she said. “But it’d really help if you’d ever been on TV for winning a race.”

  “I have!” Ford pinched the bridge of his nose. “Listen to me, Lucille. No meddling. Do you hear me?”

  But Lucille had already turned to her posse. “It won’t be easy, girls,” she was saying to them. “But we can do it. For Ford, right?”