A Risk Worth Taking

by Heather Hildenbrand

  I smiled but didn’t look. I didn’t want to see faces.

  I grabbed the rope and adjusted my hold, taking a deep breath and envisioning my stellar dive as the crowd erupted with cheers and shouts even before I hit the water. Yup. That was about to happen. I tightened my hands around the rough material and pushed off.

  There was a loud crack as I swung out to the center of the creek and then Pop! The tension gave—and I was free falling.

  I screamed and hit the water ass first, toes definitely not pointed. The water swallowed my scream and I clamped my mouth shut just in time to avoid drinking the briny liquid. When I surfaced, I sputtered and spit and frantically treaded water trying to understand what the hell had just happened. On the bank in front of me Casey, Frank, and the rest of them crowded to the edge, their brows knitted in concern.

  “You all right?” Frank called.

  “I’m fine. What the hell was that?” I asked between gulps of air.

  Casey, obviously convinced I was indeed fine, leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest, the hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Looks like you don’t know your own strength.”

  “What are you talking about?” I asked.

  Frank smacked Casey with his clipboard and Casey jumped away before Frank could land a second hit. A smile played around both of their mouths. No, that wasn’t right. Casey was holding in a full-sized laugh. I looked down, panicked. Had my bathing suit top come undone? Dear Lord, if I flashed the entire Heritage staff in one swoop, I was moving back to the city. Today.

  But no, it was firmly in place. All of the important parts were covered. I continued to tread water and looked around, jumping back when something long and slender slithered by me. It took me an extra-long stare to realize it wasn’t a snake but the rope. I looked up at the now rope-less tree just as Frank explained, “It broke off at the knot just as you jumped.”

  “The jump counts, though,” Casey said gleefully. “Don’t forget the rules.”

  I glared at him as I swam in. “You cannot be serious. The rope broke.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Rules are rules, right Frank?”

  Frank wouldn’t meet my eyes. I reached the bank and hauled myself up until I stood, dripping, in front of them. Hands on hips, I squared off with Casey. “Don’t be a tool. Rules don’t account for equipment failure,” I said.

  “How do you figure that’s what it was?” Casey asked.

  “I figured I’d be nice. If I wasn’t, I could say maybe it was rigged since you’re the one that tied the rope in the first place.”

  “That rope’s been there for more than ten years,” Casey argued, his voice rising. I’d gotten his temper going. Good. Mine was already there.

  “Jump doesn’t count. I get a do-over,” I said.

  “No do-overs.” Casey looked over my head to Frank for confirmation. “No do-overs, right?”

  “You two made the game and the rules. Only ones who can change it are you two. But you’d have to agree on it.”

  “And I don’t agree,” Casey said, a smug smile on his face.

  I bit back the urge to call him every cuss word I knew. Mostly because I had a feeling some of my vocabulary might surprise my father, who was in the crowd somewhere. I decided to save that as a last resort. I stared Casey down, my lips pressed tightly together. He was being completely ridiculous. Of course I should get to jump again. Then, it hit me.

  “You just don’t want me to be able to cross off the last thing on my list,” I said.

  Casey blinked. “What?”

  “Because if I do, I’ll have finished mine first.”

  “That’s not it.”

  “Like hell.”

  “Besides, you haven’t done it all. There’s still the matter of you … being spontaneous.” He glanced pointedly over my shoulder and I knew without looking it was Ford. I could almost feel him there, watching the show unfold.

  If we were being technical, the original agreement had been a kiss and that’d already happened but I wasn’t about to point that out here. “Casey,” I warned. “Not now.”

  The anger in Casey’s eyes dissipated as he realized he’d found his mark. “You collect that evidence we discussed and I’ll let you have a do-over.”

  “You little—” I broke off, deciding to give in and cuss Casey out after all, when Frank and my dad appeared and stepped between us. My dad took Casey by the shoulders and shook him roughly as he led him away. Frank was gentler with me, but not much.

  “Let’s give you kids a break,” Frank said.

  “We don’t need a break. We need to figure this out,” I argued.

  “You need to cool down first,” my dad said.

  Casey looked from my dad to Frank as he backed away. “Are we in time out?”

  The question was both ridiculous and valid and I couldn’t help the sudden urge to laugh. The sound escaped before I clapped my hand over my mouth. Casey met my eyes. Then he laughed and I couldn’t hold back any longer and we both cracked up even as we were pulled farther away.

  “I am still the champion of the creek race!” Casey yelled as he was led away amid dramatic hoots and congratulatory hollers from the crowd. I just shook my head. Frank let me go and I retrieved the towel Ford had given me earlier. I rubbed at my wet hair, watching them go between the dispersing crowd.

  As I watched, Ford headed in the same direction Casey had gone. The trail they’d taken led back to their little house on the other side of the property. Looks like Casey would get that celebratory drink Ford had promised the winner. It also meant the pair of them would have the whole evening to discuss what Casey had meant about “the evidence” in question and possibly even the list itself. Who knew what they talked about together? Casey had known all about the kiss, so probably everything. Lord, they were worse than girls.

  Chapter Eleven

  Ford

  “You’re not living unless you’re risking.” –Ford O’Neal

  The sight of Summer Stafford in a bikini made it awkward to look her dad in the face. He kept trying to draw me into conversation as we hiked the trail back to my house after Casey won the race by default. I grunted when needed but otherwise stayed silent as the two of them talked and joked. Every time I looked at Dean, I only pictured his daughter. Legs. Ass. Cleavage. That tiny bathing suit. And the steam coming out of her ears as she’d yelled at Casey. She was breathtaking when she was angry.

  And then there was the rest of her. The parts that made her “her.” The confidence and sex appeal she didn’t even know she had. The easy way she moved in her own skin when she thought no one was looking.

  It intrigued me, her obliviousness toward other guys. I could see the way they looked at her. Like a dog who’d been turned down too many times for a belly rub. After so long, he’d stop asking but was ready at a moment’s notice if you changed your mind. None of them harbored any real feelings for her as far as I could tell, but I could see their appreciation for her swaying hips when she came around. I couldn’t blame them, but it amused me that she didn’t notice a single bit of it.

  Although, if I’d been standing next to that Jimmy guy earlier, I’d have punched him a hell of a lot harder than her dad did. I shook my head at that. I’d never been a jealous guy. Everyone was entitled to the freedom of their own choices. But somehow that girl had gotten under my skin. There was no choice for me anymore. She was in my head like no other, and I was irritated I didn’t seem to be in hers. At least, not based on the way she’d ignored me earlier.

  I thought we’d moved past that—on our way toward some sort of friendship. Or more, after that kiss, but after her coolness today I wasn’t sure. Apparently she was stubbornly clinging to her idea that she needed to punish herself for her parents’ split. No fun, no excitement, no passion. What kind of a life was that? The girl needed to be shaken up. I had no idea how to go about doing that when I was already shaken myself.

  Chapter Twelve

  Summer

 
“Happiness is not something you postpone for the future; it is something you design for the present.” –Jim Rohn

  Twilight had fallen over the edges of the treetops. Cicadas sang. The breeze picked up, lifting my hair off the back of my neck and making the mid-June evening heat bearable as I walked between the greenhouses. It should’ve been relaxing, but instead my guts felt filled with dancing elephants. Driving go-carts. Singing White Snake.

  And this was calm.

  For the past week, I’d almost pulled my hair out avoiding Ford and resisting the little voice in my head that whispered any and everything that rationalized a fling. I’d managed to block it out at first. But then, he’d shown up for dinner a few days ago all sweaty and dirty from some overturned planter boxes he’d hauled out front for Mazie, and all I could think about was what his skin would look like in the stream of the shower. My shower. With low lighting. And the ripple of my fingers over those six-pack abs. Even the angle of his damned elbow as he forked food into his mouth turned me on.

  In no time, that little voice in my head started to make sense. I began to argue with it to make it shut up. I’d moved home to figure myself out: what I wanted out of life, out of relationships, what I wasn’t willing to settle for, and most importantly, to figure out if passion was worth it. Less than a month in and I was ready to throw all of that to the devil for sex. Granted, if the sex was anything like that kiss, it might be worth it—

  But no, I’d told myself all week, I wasn’t going there.

  And then I remembered Casey’s challenge at our race last weekend. If I could man up and cross this off my list—one date with Ford should be enough “evidence”—Casey would let me have a do-over on that rope swing. I told myself that was the reason I was currently on my way to Ford’s greenhouse on a Friday afternoon at quittin’ time. I was finishing that damned list and then shoving it down Casey’s throat. So why were the contents of my stomach roiling and shifting and threatening to part like the Red Sea?

  This is stupid, I decided as I marched closer to Ford’s greenhouse. I was grown. An adult, making an adult decision to experience the freedom of a good lay. God, I sounded like a man. Devoid of emotion.

  No, that wasn’t right. Ford O’Neal made me feel plenty. It just didn’t fit into any of the boxes I’d created in my mind when it came to the opposite sex. I shook my head, disgusted at myself. Boxes. Logic. Opposite sex. I sounded like a complete nerd. Something like this was better accomplished without overthinking—or any thinking at all.

  I paused outside the door and took a deep breath. Don’t think. Just act. Take a risk. Life’s more fun when it’s spontaneous, Ford had said. I was about to find out.

  I found Ford in his usual spot in the back corner, fan wedged in beside him, bent over a planter box. His lips moved in silent conversation. I glanced around. No one else was here, and he still hadn’t looked up and acknowledged my presence. Either my entrance had been quieter than I thought or he was completely immersed in whatever he was doing with his plants.

  I told myself I wasn’t spying as I crept quietly down the narrow aisle. Just like the first time I’d been here, the walkway was littered on both sides with planter boxes, bags of soil, and various hand tools. The only area that looked remotely organized was the back corner where Ford worked. It was a testament to his personality. Organized chaos. Limited priorities. Funneled attention.

  What would it feel like to have that sort of intense attention funneled at me?

  Just as I got close, my foot scraped against the uneven flooring, and the noise startled Ford. He jumped at the sight of me then broke into an easy smile. “You scared me.”

  “We should hang out,” I blurted before I could lose my nerve. Smooth, Summer. Real smooth.

  His smile faltered. “Uh. Okay. Now?”

  “Sure.”

  He looked around, clearly at a loss. I couldn’t blame him. I’d been ignoring him for the better part of a week now. “You want to sit?” he asked, gesturing to the bucket I’d used during my last visit.

  “Thanks.” I pulled it over, feeling ridiculous and awkward and like a pre-teen with her first crush. “What are you working on?” I asked, cutting through the awkward silence that followed.

  “Seeding a new herb, but it can wait.”

  “No, I don’t want to interrupt. Keep going.”

  “Okay,” he said, clearly unsure but eventually picking up the delicate stem that lay in the dirt where he’d dropped it.

  “Haven’t seen you around much this week.” He said it off-handedly but the implication was clear: my behavior hadn’t gone unnoticed.

  I rubbed the hem of my shirt between my fingers. “Things were left pretty undone with the accounts,” I said. “I’ve had a lot of catch up to get things back to where they were before …”

  “Before your mom left?” I blinked at him, my mouth open. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to overstep.”

  “No, it’s fine. Casey or someone’s told you the story, I’m sure.”

  “I’ve heard the basics,” he admitted. “But not from you. And I seem to remember you promising to tell me about it the last time we were here.”

  “I didn’t promise. You insisted.”

  “Same thing.”

  My smile faded as I realized he seriously expected me to pick that conversation back up where we’d left off. “Ford, I appreciate the offer but I’m not just going to unload all my problems on you.”

  “Why not? Isn’t that what friends do?”

  “Are we friends?” I asked.

  He looked up from the plant in his hands, his eyes trained intently on mine as he asked, “Aren’t we?”

  I couldn’t tell him no, otherwise why had I come in here? And I couldn’t say yes and still refuse to give an explanation about my mom. Not without looking completely rude. “My mom moved out last fall. Right after Thanksgiving. They didn’t tell me until I came home for Christmas break. By then, she had her own apartment in town, was dating some guy she met online, which thankfully bombed after a month or so. She also started her own business. Real estate.” I laughed darkly as I remembered it—the obvious thrill my mom’s new life offered. You could see it on her a mile away that day. She was happy. Joyful, even. Had her old life with me and my dad really been that bad?

  “I take it you don’t approve of her choices?” Ford asked when I remained silent.

  “I don’t understand them,” I said, shaking the image away. “They were married twenty-five years and then poof. One day, she wakes up and she’s done. It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “A decision like that isn’t always as instant as it seems,” he said. I would’ve argued if not for the strange note in his voice when he spoke and the way his eyes saw far beyond the walls of this greenhouse. I wondered what decision he meant. And who it belonged to. “I’m sure the decision to leave your dad was something she considered for a long time before going through with it.”

  “She didn’t just leave him. She left me,” I said. My voice softened, giving way to the hurt behind my anger. I hadn’t meant to let it slip through, but I couldn’t take it back, and Ford didn’t miss it. His eyes cleared and he refocused on me.

  “Parents are just people who get put on a pedestal. We expect more from them because they mean so much to us. But they’re only human.”

  I shifted, uncomfortable at the truth in his logic. “We expect more because they commit to more when they have a child,” I said.

  “Can’t argue that. She was here last week, wasn’t she?”

  “Only to pretend to be my mom again. She had months to do that.”

  “So she never called or wrote you when you went back to school?”

  “It didn’t matter. She left the business in the lurch, left Dad with no help and no knowledge of how things were run. I couldn’t—well, I just couldn’t. Twenty-two years of thinking they were made for each other. Perfect. Best friends. Soul mates, even. They defined love for me and now … Love feels like a lie.”

&
nbsp; “For you or for them?”

  “For everyone.”

  Ford rubbed a hand along his chin. It made a light scuffing sound as his palm ran over the flecks of stubble. “How many times have you seen her since then?” he asked.

  “She showed up at school twice but I sent my roommate to make her leave.” I stared down at my hands, my cheeks burning with the effort to keep the tears at bay. “Last week was the first time,” I added.

  He was quiet so long, I wondered if he would answer at all. Maybe he didn’t know what to say. Guys usually didn’t when it came to the hard stuff. And if my suspicions were right, maybe Ford had never experienced anything hard enough to hurt him. Maybe he couldn’t even relate.

  I sighed. This had been a mistake. If he said anything at all, it would probably be a grunt or something equally apathetic.

  “Sounds to me,” he said, “like you have to figure out what kind of daughter you want to be before she can know what kind of mom it is you need.”

  I stared, stretching the silence.

  “What?” he asked.

  “I just didn’t—You impress me.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Not only was that the truest thing anyone’s said to me in weeks, but you meant it. You get points for that, Ford O’Neal.”

  “I didn’t do it for points,” he said, his brows rising in amusement.

  “I know, which is exactly why you get them. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were speaking from experience about the whole parents-letting-down-the-child thing.”

  “Nah. I guess mine’s more of the parents letting down themselves.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked. Part of me didn’t want to pry, but hadn’t I just unloaded on him? It was only fair that he share too.

  “My mom and dad were high school sweethearts. Got together junior year, got pregnant with me a couple of months before graduation, and married that summer. My brother came along a year later, and my sister the year after that. Don’t get me wrong, they’re still together and couldn’t see it any other way, but …”