Christmas in Lucky Harbor

by Jill Shalvis

  Ford’s favorite sounds of all time.

  They lay on his bed. As Tara thrashed beneath his hands, he slowly drew her to the very edge of sanity, watching, enthralled, as she began to come undone.

  She wasn’t alone in that.

  Always when with her, he was completely undone, stripped down to raw, bare soul. From her first day back in Lucky Harbor, it’d been exactly as he remembered, and something he’d never forgotten in all these years.

  His gaze wandered down her gorgeous body, long and curvy, and spread out across his bed for his viewing pleasure, and he actually ached.

  She opened her eyes. “You’re looking at me like…”

  “Like you looked at the ice cream earlier?” he asked with a smile. “Yeah, I am. I’m hungry for you, Tara.”

  Stretching out, she lifted her arms above her head, giving him silent permission to taste whatever he wanted. Something he’d been wanting to do for days—eat her up from head to toe and then back again, until she came for him. Again and again. He started at her throat, tasting every single inch of her, nibbling certain interesting spots, stopping to tease whenever she gasped or wriggled. “So sweet,” he murmured against her skin. “You’re so damn sweet.” By the time he got to her belly button, she was fisting the sheets at her side and murmuring his name in a chant, a prayer, a warning to hurry the hell up.

  It made him laugh. “Just lay there and take it, Tara.” Take me…“Give me the control. I’ll get you where you want to go, I promise.”

  “I—Ohmigod,” she managed when he drew her into his mouth and gently sucked, his hands sliding beneath her sexy ass to hold her still. “Don’t stop,” she demanded.

  Still trying to be in the driver’s seat. “Please,” he corrected. “Don’t stop, please…”

  She slid her fingers into his hair, tightening them to an almost painful grip, holding him to her, making him laugh again. “Say it,” he demanded.

  “Don’t stop, please,” she ground out, doing her best to make him bald.

  “See?” he murmured. “Sweet as hell.” And he didn’t stop. Not until she begged him to.

  Nicely.

  Afterward, Tara fell asleep curled into Ford’s side, one hand tucked beneath her chin, the other across his chest.

  He lay there, relaxed and boneless, listening to her breathe, not wanting to move. Not wanting her to stir and remember that she was trying to hold back from him. Because then she’d get up, get dressed, and walk away.

  She was good at that.

  And he was good at letting her.

  He had no one but himself to blame for that. Bad genes, bad childhood—all excuses and he knew it. And they no longer cut it.

  Tara’s coming back to Lucky Harbor had been circumstance. Her staying in town even more so. No one would argue that their connection wasn’t still there, possibly even deeper than before, but she was holding back, and he couldn’t blame her.

  She’d been burned.

  He knew that. He got it. Hell, he’d even been one of the ones to burn her. Up until now, he’d been willing to give her all the time she needed, because the truth was that he’d needed time, too. Time to deal with some of his own past mistakes. Time to understand that he was in this for the long haul.

  Because she made him. She made him laugh. She made him feel. She made him think. She made him happy.

  She made him… everything.

  And with that everything, she also made him vulnerable. Bone-deep, scary-as-shit vulnerable. Just as gun-shy as she was.

  Christ, he really hated that about himself.

  With a sleepy sigh, Tara stirred and untangled herself.

  “Don’t,” he said.

  She lifted her head in surprise. “Don’t what?”

  He drew a deep breath. “Don’t go. Stay the night.”

  She smiled softly, and he knew by the light in her eyes that his words meant something to her, said something important. A step in the right direction, that light said, and he smiled back.

  But she still climbed out of the bed. “I can’t stay tonight. I have to go check on the inn.” She slipped back into her dress and bent over the bed to kiss him. “ ’Night, Ford.” Then she was gone, her heels clicking on the deck as she walked away in tune to the only other sound Ford could hear—the roaring of his own racing heart.

  Okay, so she’d left a little abruptly, but she’d kissed him first. A step in the right direction, he told himself again, and there, alone in the dark, smiled.

  The next morning Tara rose and showered, determined to make their guests the most outstanding breakfast they’d ever had. She would burn nothing. First, though, she went to wake Chloe as Chloe had requested—but her bed was empty. Tara hadn’t heard her come in after rock climbing, but most likely she was already in the inn kitchen making a mess.

  Resigned, Tara walked to the inn, let herself into the kitchen, and prepared to be annoyed.

  But the kitchen was empty. Huh. Tara called Chloe’s cell, but it went right to voice mail. She tried Maddie next.

  “ ’Lo?” came Maddie’s sleepy voice. “Who’s dead?”

  “Is Chloe with you at Jax’s?” Tara asked.

  “It’d be a bit crowded here in his bed if she was. Why?”

  “I don’t think she came home last night.”

  “From rock climbing? Crap.” Sounding more awake now, Maddie asked the question already on Tara’s mind. “You suppose she’s in jail again?”

  “Anyone’s guess.”

  “I’ll be there in fifteen.”

  “No,” Tara said. “You took the late shift here last night. I’ll handle this.”

  “Honey, I was coming in anyway to help you serve breakfast. Give me fifteen.”

  “Okay,” Tara said, grateful to have someone to worry with. “Thanks. You want to call Sawyer or should I?”

  “Call Sawyer what?” Sawyer asked, coming in the back door, filling the kitchen with his big build. He was in his uniform and looking very fine as he went straight to the coffeepot.

  Tara handed him one of the to-go mugs.

  “Thanks.” The very corners of his mouth tipped in a barely-there, bad-boy smile as he leaned back against the counter, the mug in hand. “Tell me what?” he repeated.

  Tara thought about not going there with him. After all, typically when Chloe got herself in some sort of trouble, poor Sawyer was the one forced to deal with it.

  But if Tara didn’t tell him and something had happened to her sister… She sighed. “Chloe didn’t make it home last night.”

  He didn’t so much as blink, and yet there was a new stillness about him that told her he wasn’t happy to hear this. “And she was supposed to?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was she with the group of rock climbers out on the Butte?”

  “Possibly,” Tara said warily. “Why?”

  “Because I arrested one of them this morning.”

  Oh, God. “Who was it, and for what?”

  “Todd Fitzgerald. Public intoxication.”

  Todd. Of course. Tara sighed, and Sawyer pushed away from the counter. “I’ll make some calls.”

  She knew he meant he’d call the station, the hospital… the morgue. But before he got to the door, Chloe came in—hair wild, face flushed, wearing yesterday’s clothes and carrying her shoes.

  Sawyer looked at her impassively.

  “Don’t start,” she said and brushed past him. Limping.

  He eyed her body carefully. “You okay?”

  She turned to face him. “I’m always okay.”

  There was a long, awkward beat between the two of them. There always was. Tara had no idea what to make of it or how to help.

  “Don’t you have sheriff-type stuff to do?” Chloe asked him.

  Sawyer gave a short shake of his head, one that clearly said fuck it before he moved toward the door. Tara gave Chloe a recriminating you-are-so-rude look, and Chloe rolled her eyes. “Sawyer,” she said with reluctant apology.

  He pulle
d open the door. “Glad you’re home safe.”

  “We were at the Butte,” Chloe said to his broad, tense back. “We ran out of gas and had to wait until daylight to catch a ride.”

  He looked at her. “It’s illegal to party out there.”

  “We ran out of gas,” she repeated.

  “Did you lose your cell phone too?”

  Chloe sighed dramatically. “I forgot mine at home, okay? And Lance doesn’t carry one.”

  Sawyer locked eyes with hers. “Were you with Todd?”

  “For a while.”

  “He had a phone.”

  “How do you know?” she asked.

  “Because it’s now residing in his personal possessions baggie for when he bails himself out after he sobers up.”

  “You arrested him? Seriously?”

  Sawyer was unapologetic and unmoved. “He staggered into the convenience store at five this morning, knocked over three displays, and urinated on the magazine stand.” He shook his head. “And you and Lance have a serious death wish, you know that? What if he’d had a medical problem out there?”

  “He needed to do this, Sawyer. It isn’t my place to babysit him and tell him what he can and can’t do.”

  “Jesus, Chloe, his cystic fibrosis isn’t a fucking summer cold!”

  “And you think he doesn’t know that?”

  “And what about you?” he asked. “Does the inhaler always do the job? I don’t think so. You can’t tell me you’ve never had to make a trip to the ER because of an asthma attack while climbing.”

  “Nothing happened,” Chloe said. “So I don’t get it. Why are you so pissed?”

  “I’m not pissed.” His face was impassive. The cop face. “That would imply that there were feelings between us.”

  Chloe stared at him for a long beat. “My mistake then,” she finally said.

  Sawyer stared at her right back, then swore beneath his breath and left without another word. When the door shut behind him with quiet fury, Chloe let out a breath.

  “Gee,” Tara said in the silence. “No tension there.”

  “Don’t you start too.” Chloe headed directly for the refrigerator and some leftover Not Yo Mama’s Apple Pie.

  “Was it just you, Tucker, Lance, and Todd up there?” Tara asked.

  “No. Lance brought a bunch of friends, and one thing led to another.”

  So Sawyer was right. It had been a party. “I thought you can’t have sex without landing yourself in the hospital.”

  “No one had sex. Or at least I didn’t.” Chloe sighed. “Bunch of stupid boys in this town.”

  “Sawyer isn’t stupid.”

  “And he’s not a boy, either.”

  Tara watched as Chloe shoveled away the pie like she hadn’t eaten in a week. “What is he, then?”

  “Hell, Tara, do I need to give you the birds and the bees talk? Why can’t you get the deets off the Internet like all the other kids these days?”

  When Tara laughed, Chloe relaxed slightly. “I really don’t want to talk about it,” she said.

  “A common theme amongst us sisters,” Tara said.

  “What’s this?” Chloe asked. “Regret? From the most private sister of them all?” Without waiting for an answer, she took her plate to the sink and headed to the door. “I’m out.”

  When Tara was alone, she sighed. “Yeah. I’d definitely call it regret.” Shaking it off, she began pulling out all the ingredients she needed for the Good Morning Sunshine Casserole, which she’d adapted from Mia’s recipe. She was grating cheese when the back door and the door leading to the hallway opened at the same time.

  Logan came in one, and Ford the other.

  Immediately, the testosterone level shot up and hit maximum velocity in two point zero seconds as both men stared at each other over Tara’s head.

  “Well, if it isn’t the drinking buddies,” Tara said dryly. “Should I break out the mimosas, boys?”

  “I just came by to help,” Logan said. “Since you keep burning meals and all.”

  “How are you going to help?” Ford asked. “You actually cook?”

  “Well, no, but I give real good help,” Logan said with a charming smile in Tara’s direction.

  “I cook,” Ford said.

  Logan’s eyes narrowed, and Tara felt yet another competition coming on. She’d heard about the abs of steel contest at The Love Shack. Part of her still couldn’t believe it, and the other part of her wished she’d seen it herself.

  “Okay, you know what?” She dropped an empty bag into Logan’s hands and gave his leanly muscled, warm body a push out the back door. “I need some apples. Go pick me some, would you?”

  Ford, looking big and bad and very cocky, leaned back against the counter with a smile.

  “Oh, no.” Tara shoved him out after Logan. “You too. And play nice.” She shut the door on them both, threw the casserole into the oven, and turned and met Mia’s amused glance.

  “I showed up to make sure you didn’t have any trouble,” the teen said.

  “Well, the trouble part is taken care of. Other than that, everything’s the same old status quo. My life is pretty boring.”

  “Yeah.” Mia laughed. “Okay, let’s work on not burning breakfast today.”

  “I swear I’m a good cook,” Tara said, needing to be good at something in her daughter’s eyes. She walked Mia through the steps to make dough for fresh bread. “This won’t take long to bake and then we can—” Tara broke off as she got a good look out the window. “Oh, for the love of God.”

  Logan and Ford had each shimmied up a tree—Logan with the help of a stepladder—and were making piles of apples. Big piles.

  More than she needed for the next month.

  Not that they were doing it for her. Nope, they were competing again.

  Mia joined her at the window and raised a single brow—yet another talent she’d inherited from her father. Together they watched the guys pick apples.

  “And you think your life is boring,” Mia murmured.

  “You’re sleeping with her.” Logan repeated this grimly to Ford from somewhere inside his apple tree. With his arm injury, he’d been slower to climb up.

  Ford, having the free use of both arms, hadn’t needed a ladder to climb the adjacent tree. “This is not news,” he told Logan. “You read Facebook.”

  “Christ. I should just kill you. Or me. It’d be less painful to be dead.”

  “You’re not in any real pain,” Ford said in disgust. “It’s just your fucking ego. You hate to lose.”

  “Said the pot to the kettle,” Logan muttered.

  Okay, that might be true, but this was more than about winning for Ford. It was about Tara, a woman he couldn’t live without. He pulled himself up to the next branch and dropped another three perfect apples. He glanced down. Yep, his pile was bigger than Logan’s. Even as he thought so with deep satisfaction, an apple whizzed by his ear, so close it disturbed his hair. “Hey—”

  Logan flashed a grim smile and chucked another one. Ford saw this one coming and ducked again, and slipped. “Shit—”

  That’s all he got out before he lost his grip, his temper, and his balance all at once.

  And fell out of the tree.

  Chapter 25

  “Families are like fudge—mostly sweet with a few nuts.”

  TARA DANIELS

  When Ford opened his eyes, he was flat on his back staring up at the sky.

  “Jesus H. Christ,” came a horrified, disembodied voice from the next tree over. “What, you can’t hold on to a branch?”

  “You beaned me in the forehead,” Ford said. “With an apple.”

  “And you call yourself an athlete.” Logan was hauling ass out of his tree as fast as he could with one arm in a brace, swearing colorfully as he went.

  Ford prayed he’d fall, too, but it didn’t happen. Fucking karma.

  “I didn’t even hit you that hard,” Logan was muttering. “You weren’t supposed to fall like a fucking pu
ssy!”

  “Nice,” Ford said, very carefully not moving. “Calling me names when I’m down.”

  “Hey, you’re the one who’s always going on and on about me not being an athlete.”

  That was true. He had no excuse.

  Okay, he did.

  Jealousy. “All I’m saying is that a race car driver isn’t necessarily as fit as say, a sailor—”

  “Jesus, would you give it up already? And why are you just lying there? Tell me you’re not hurt. You’re going to fucking milk this, aren’t you? You’re going to get laid out of this deal, I just know it. How bad are you hurt?”

  Ford let out a breath. “I’m putting all my energy into not figuring that out.”

  Logan swore again and hit the ground.

  “I’m surprised to see you move so fast,” Ford said. “For someone who sits on his ass for a living.”

  “I don’t—Goddammit, shut up.” Logan dropped to Ford’s side to look him over, his eyes widening on Ford’s legs. “Fuck.”

  “No. Don’t tell me.” He already knew. He could feel the fire from his toes to his groin. And not a little baby-ass fire either, but a to-the-bone burning that made him want to scream. But because he wasn’t a pussy, as Logan had accused, he refused to make a sound. Sweating, however, was allowed. He was doing a lot of sweating. And possibly going to throw up, too.

  Then came a buzzing that told him this was it. His life was fading before his very eyes—

  “Bees!” Logan jumped up and started leaping around, running in circles, flapping his arms.

  “It’s just the gunk from the bruised apples,” Ford told him. “Ignore them and, gee, I don’t know, help the guy you knocked out of the tree.”

  But Logan kept doing the bee dance, and it was actually kind of fun to watch. “Man, if you’d just stand still—”

  “I’m allergic!” Logan yelled.

  “You’re kidding me, right?”

  “Fuck! Ow!” Logan slapped at his collarbone. “I’m hit, I’m hit!”

  Ford wanted to ask Logan who was the pussy now, but that seemed kind of asshole-ish. And then there was the fact that Ford was suddenly feeling weird, sort of woozy…

  There were running footsteps, feet pounding the ground toward him. Ford closed his eyes as the pain began to burn a path to his brain. Yeah, he was definitely going to throw up.