A Risk Worth Taking

by Heather Hildenbrand

  Then I thought about all the reasons I’d come up with over the past week as to why I should leave Ford O’Neal alone. All good reasons. Rational, sane, sensible reasons. The same reasons that’d spurred me to leave Aaron. To figure myself out and what it was I believed in anymore when it came to guys and relationships. As I looked up and met Ford’s expectant expression, I tried—and failed—to remember a single one of them.

  His blue eyes spoke of excitement and passion and there was something unstable and unplanned about all of it. It was the epitome of what I wanted to find in myself.

  Screw it. “Lead the way,” I said.

  I fell into step beside Ford as he led us onto the dirt path that cut between public greenhouses. These were the ones that customers could tour and shop in when we had an overflow crop. Mom used to love violets. One year for their anniversary, Dad had surprised Mom by ordering and growing anything and everything he could find that flowered in a shade of purple. They’d had to sell a lot of it off to make room for the fall perennials, but that first walk into the greenhouse had been breathtaking. Or at least it had for me. And I thought it had for Mom. I swallowed the lump left behind by the memory and kept walking. I wasn’t going to think about her. This place was for me and Dad now. She didn’t want it. She didn’t want us.

  I pretended not to notice Ford’s questioning look when I increased the pace as the last set of greenhouses came into view up ahead. These were for growing, or as Ford put it, creating; something my dad only played at, but from the way he spoke, Ford seemed committed to. I wondered what sort of business strategy Ford had with a trade like his. I tried to think of a way to ask him without sounding nosy or rude but Ford beat me to it with questions of his own.

  “So, Casey tells me you two grew up here?”

  “Born and raised,” I confirmed.

  “You don’t sound thrilled. You don’t like it here?”

  “It’s not that. I actually love it here, I just …” I scrunched my brows, trying to put the words together. “I guess, when I pictured myself grown up, I always pictured the farm as a place I’d visit. Not a place I’d live.”

  “Yet, here you are. Back again.”

  “Yeah.”

  His eyes were intent on me as he formed his next question. I beat him to the punch and gave him the one-liner I’d rehearsed enough times it took the emotion out of it. Made me less wobbly. “My parents split and my dad needed the help so I moved back to handle the business side of things.”

  Ford’s brow shot up. Just one. It gave him an off-balance look that made me bristle despite my attempt to leave emotion out of it. “Your dad seems like he’s got a handle on things,” he said.

  “I didn’t say he asked for my help. I just said I’m giving it.”

  “I see,” he said in a way that made me wonder just exactly what he did “see.” And made me feel the need to defend my decision further, to prove something.

  “I’ve looked over the books. Trust me, he needs the help,” I said as we stepped up to the greenhouse door. “Or at the very least, the company.”

  “Not arguing. From what I’ve seen and heard, you make for the best kind of company there is.” He winked and ducked inside. I paused, trying to decide how to react as my insides tap-danced. The new guy was hitting on me. The very hot, very sexy, very nice to look at new guy. I had to remind myself—again—that was the opposite of what I wanted from him. From anyone. At least until I figured myself out.

  I squared my shoulders, determined to remember that, and followed him inside.

  Bright sunlight filtered through the heavy plastic that lined the walls. The natural warmth the film provided, combined with the lamps set up and aimed down at planter’s boxes, made the air stuffy and even hotter than it’d been outside. I gathered my thick waves into my fist and threw them up in a quick ponytail as I trailed behind Ford down the narrow walkway. My skin already felt sticky and I hadn’t gone five steps. How did Ford work in here all the time?

  He led me to the back of the room where a few flaps of plastic had been opened to create a makeshift window. An oscillating fan had been wedged into the opening, blowing fresh, cool air back and forth. Or at least, it appeared to be. I couldn’t feel a thing. Ford gestured for me to sit on an overturned bucket and then grabbed another for himself and sat down. I joined him and we both hovered over a narrow planter’s box.

  “What are those?” I asked, gesturing to the tiny green shoots that protruded from the otherwise black dirt.

  “This one’s Langford and that one’s Daisy,” he said, pointing at each one in turn.

  “Interesting names.”

  “If it works, someday they’ll each be assigned some name no one can pronounce. This makes them feel personal. Like they’re really mine for a little while. Langford I named after myself. It was my first creation. Daisy is my mother’s middle name.”

  “That’s sweet of you to name it after your mother,” I said. “They must be so proud of all this.”

  “They’re happy that I’m happy. It’s a bonus that I’m working the earth. My parents are … well, for lack of a better word, a couple of hippies.” His smile was faraway and wrapped inside some memory as he spoke.

  “Hippies like flowers and peace signs or the other stuff?”

  His brow arched, disappearing into the hair that’d fallen over his forehead. “What else is there?”

  “I don’t know. Nowadays a hippie is painted as someone with unshaven pits and picket signs. Protests. Pot …” I trailed off. My cheeks burned as I realized how insulting that’d sounded.

  Ford hung his head and shook it back and forth. I couldn’t tell if he was angry. “They’ve never chained themselves to a bulldozer. Does that make you feel better?”

  I scowled, instantly defensive. “That’s not what I meant. You asked what I thought—”

  “You are so easy to mess with.” He grinned. “My parents are about the earth and preserving it. My mom owns a small grocery store, all organic, and my dad manages the recycling plant and builds furniture out of his garage in his spare time. They’re really supportive. And yes, they’re fans of the peace sign.”

  My embarrassment faded and I softened. “They sound lovely. And Langford came from …?”

  “My grandmother’s maiden name. My parents were big on genealogy and the whole ‘where do we come from’ aspect of life when I was born. I suppose I take after them in that way, using the name for something like this.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “My grandma died a few years back. My parents believe that just like what’s left of our physical body, our souls also become part of the universe around us. By naming this plant after her, I am bringing a little of her into its makeup.”

  “And her plant, Langford, is the healing herb?” I asked.

  He nodded. “When I’m done with it, the salve should be good for anything from acne to puncture wounds.”

  “That’s amazing. It’ll be like your grandma has a part in healing people.”

  “Exactly.” His smile was warm, pleased I’d made the connection.

  “And Daisy?”

  “If you’ve got a burn or bee sting, she’s your girl. As for the name …” He shrugged and explained, “It nurtures the everyday hurts, like a mom.”

  I bent closer, inspecting the normal-looking leaves for some sign they contained the ability to do what he said. “It really works?”

  “I’ll show you.”

  Before I could protest, he ripped a leaf off the stem and took my hand, turning it over so my palm faced up. I held still while he broke the leaf and rubbed the pieces against my skin.

  “Oh,” I said. “It’s cool. Like aloe.”

  “I cross-pollinated it with an aloe plant a few months ago,” he said. “Here. It’s better if you blow on it.”

  Very deliberately, he raised my hand to his mouth and blew lightly. I went still. The only noise was the hum of the window fan and the whisper his lips made. Where his fingers held my wr
ist, my skin tingled in a way that had nothing to do with the leaf’s healing powers. I couldn’t tear my gaze from his mouth. It was a delicious mouth. The sort of mouth that made it easy to fantasize about having it latched on to all sorts of body parts. Without meaning to, a tiny tremor shook my body.

  Ford paused, his eyes lit. “How does that feel?” he asked, his voice low and husky.

  “Um.” I tried to think past the image of his lips puckered just that way and pressed to mine. “It feels ….”

  “Healing?” he prompted, a small smile playing at the edges of his mouth.

  He’d stopped blowing. I blinked, flustered and determined to pretend he hadn’t just affected me this way without any more than a hand-hold. “Yes. That,” I said, my voice louder than intended.

  He chuckled and released my hand.

  I forced my concentration elsewhere, refocusing on the plants and everything he’d told me about what they could do. I didn’t even have an actual injury or wound and yet the aloe had cooled and refreshed me.

  The analytical side of my brain kicked in. My mind sped with possibilities. “You could bottle this and sell it,” I said. “Require a prescription. Start your own pharmaceutical company. You could—”

  “Whoa, whoa. Easy, tiger. One life-changing career choice at a time.”

  “Well, what do you plan to do with it?”

  “Grow it until it’s right.”

  “And then?”

  He shrugged. “We’ll see when we get there, I guess.”

  “That’s an impressive long-term goal,” I said dryly.

  “I like to plan as I go. Or take things as they come. Whichever.”

  “Plan as you go?” I repeated, frowning. “That’s sort of contradictory. You mean you don’t plan.” I was vaguely aware of the slight condescension in my tone, but I couldn’t help it. I came from a world of math and numbers and black-and-white truths. Cause and effect. If you do this, you get that. What Ford was saying sounded foreign. And stupid. “But how do you get anywhere in life, achieve anything, if you don’t have a dream to work toward?”

  If he was bothered by my attitude, he didn’t show it when he answered, “I have plenty of dreams I’m working toward. Things I want to experience, places to go. But for the day to day, life’s more fun when it’s spontaneous.”

  “Right, but you have to have a general direction to head in. You know that. You picked this major in college because you want to be in this field. Hence, direction.”

  “Is that why you moved home? Broke up with your boyfriend? Direction?”

  I looked away, not even sure whether I should answer or why I felt so challenged. He was the one who didn’t plan past the life expectancy of his plants. “More like new direction,” I clarified.

  “Sounds like the old direction wasn’t as fulfilling as you thought it’d be.” He made it sound like a question and I recognized the comment for what it was: digging.

  “The old direction was … not for me,” I said, choosing my words carefully. I had a feeling we weren’t talking about school or career so much as a certain ex-boyfriend. And I wasn’t about to whine about my relationship woes with Ford.

  “I see,” he said.

  Before I could ask exactly what it was he saw, there was a sharp rap of knuckles hitting the doorframe. I looked up to find Frank poking his head in. “Ford, can you—oh. Sorry,” he mumbled, backing out.

  “What’s up, Frank?” Ford called.

  Frank stuck his head back inside far enough to say, “Dean’s looking for an extra hand in the lower field. Goose is on the fritz so he’s dropping juice by hand.” Frank’s eyes flickered to me. I could see the curiosity as he sized us up, sitting close together in the far corner of Ford’s private greenhouse. I’m sure it looked cozy. And not at all what it was. Or what it should be.

  I stood and brushed off my hands. “Sounds like you’ve been summoned. I better get back to the glorious job of moving money.”

  Beside me, Ford stood, tossing the used aloe leaf in the trough. “Be there in five,” he said. The older man nodded and ducked out without saying another word.

  “You better get out there,” I said, heading for the door.

  “Summer?”

  I turned and found Ford much closer behind me than I expected. I had to look up to meet his eyes, reminding me of all the things I’d thought about his mouth just moments ago. “Yes?”

  “I’d like to see you later. Maybe on purpose this time. What do you say?”

  “Like a date?” Butterflies whirred like a winged tornado in my stomach.

  “Sure.”

  A sarcastic smile formed as a new thought occurred. “As in, a planned meeting?”

  “Look at that. Twenty minutes together and you’re already rubbing off on me.”

  “Are you saying I should agree to a date because it’ll make you more responsible?”

  “Are you saying I’m not responsible if I don’t like to make plans?” he shot back.

  “Ford … As much fun as this is, I don’t think a date is a good idea. I need to figure some things out for myself and jumping back into a relationship right now … This isn’t why I came home.”

  “Who said anything about a relationship? I’m just talking about having fun. Hanging out.”

  “Right. Hanging out.” I took a step back. Didn’t guys say that when all they wanted was sex? “Not looking for that, either.”

  Without warning, Ford closed the distance between us and leaned down so that we stood almost nose to nose. His gaze burned intently into mine, like he was searching for something very specific.

  It made me want to retreat, get him out of my personal space. Partly as a defense mechanism, but it was more than that. Standing this close, my body reacted in a way I’d never experienced before. Tingles shot down my spine in a delicious shiver. The way he was looking at me made me wish I knew what he was looking for, so I could give it to him. Even if it was a roll in the sheets. Especially then.

  “What are you so afraid of?” he asked.

  It was a valid question and unexpected enough I considered the answer. My breaths came in uneven bursts as my mind raced. You, I wanted to say. Life. People. Attachments. Feeling hurt. Not feeling anything at all.

  That last one startled me as I realized how true it was. Watching my parents break up. Finishing school and choosing to come back here. Breaking up with Aaron. I hadn’t felt any of it. Still didn’t. But Ford … He made me react. Just the sight of him made me feel things I hadn’t known were possible. That was plenty to be afraid of. How did I say all of that without sounding completely off my rocker?

  And how did I agree to what he was asking without getting hurt in the process?

  “I’m not afraid of anything,” I said, sticking my chin out as proof to the lie. “And I don’t need to hang out with you to prove it.” Before I could change my mind or get called on my lie, I spun on my heel and stalked out, letting the door shut behind me with a creak.

  Chapter Five

  Ford

  “The real tragedy of life is not death but what we let die inside of us while we live.” —Norman Cousins

  I was wrong. That girl wasn’t a tiger. She was a kitten. And a scared, lonely one at that. All I’d suggested was a date, a chance to hang out, maybe grab a beer or a pizza, and she’d bolted like I’d suggested eating brains for lunch. What the hell had that ex-boyfriend of hers done? Whatever it was, she was acting like damaged goods. Maybe I needed to rethink this. Or maybe Casey needed to explain his best-friend-slash-sister in terms that made some sort of sense.

  The way she couldn’t meet my eyes when I stood close. Or the way she blushed and lost her breath when I’d blown on that salve on her hand … Her shyness seemed to come from not knowing herself more than not knowing me. And damn if I didn’t want to be the one to help her figure out what I already knew she wanted. I’d officially reached and surpassed the point of being able to walk away. I needed to play this out until the heat died. Becau
se there was no turning it off. And attraction this strong shouldn’t be ignored.

  The entire time I helped Dean and the boys spray the plants down with the organic insecticide, better known as “juice,” I thought of Summer and the fear in her eyes when she’d left. I ignored Frank’s curious glances in favor of the work at hand, but my mind never really let go of that girl. It wasn’t my fault the fear was there. I didn’t even know her. But for reasons I couldn’t name, I wanted to fix it.

  When I finished, I went in search of Casey. He could either explain his best friend or tell me to back off and leave her the hell alone. I almost didn’t even care which. Almost.

  I found him in Dean’s garage, stuck halfway under the belly of a tractor, banging away at whatever ailment the machine suffered from today. “Need a hand?” I asked.

  “Been waitin’ all day for an assistant to show up,” he called. He shimmied out enough to eye me up and down. “Was hoping for someone with better legs, but I guess you’ll do. Hand me that drip pan.”

  I chuckled as I handed the necessary item over and he slid back underneath the tractor. A wrench turned and clanged as Casey tossed it aside, pulling the drip pan into place not a second too soon. Dark liquid flowed into the pan as I tried to think of how to bring up what was on my mind.

  “Heard you been hangin’ out with my girl,” Casey said.

  “You heard? That was two hours ago.”

  “Good news travels fast.”

  “Frank,” I realized.

  “You’ve never met a bigger gossip. Trust me.”

  I gave him a look that might’ve had an effect if he’d been watching me instead of tinkering with a twisted bolt. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

  “You came to me,” he said pointedly.

  “Right now, I’m trying to remember why.”

  “You already hit a wall, didn’t you?”

  “If you’re referring to the wall that is Summer Stafford, then yes I have.”