Playing For Fun

by Tracey Alvarez

  A bomb-blast of heat hit Holly’s face, and she made a strangled “oh-errr-ummm” sound.

  “Lord, I didn’t know the human skin could change to that shade of red so fast.” Dixie rolled her head toward Ford. “And what kind of handyman are you if you can’t fix a squeaky bed and provide decent customer service?”

  “It’s on my to-do list.” Ford grinned at her. “Fixing the bed, that is. Holly’s already been serviced pretty good.”

  Dixie winked at him. “So I heard. Over and over and—”

  “Dixie! God.” Holly clapped a palm over her eyes.

  “Oh, and I heard you calling His name in vain a number of times, Holly Parker. The church ladies would be scandalized.”

  Holly peeped through a crack in her fingers at Ford’s wicked grin. Glad her embarrassment helped take Dixie’s mind off her arm, anyway.

  A light tap on the front door and the sound of rapid footsteps.

  “There you all are.” Joe entered the bedroom, which started to feel cramped with all the male ego filling up space.

  Or maybe that was just Ford, pumping off bucket loads of testosterone from his shirtless…

  Holly froze. Ford wasn’t wearing a shirt, because she had it on. And a quick glance at Joe—who wasn’t just doctor-smart but street-smart—revealed him giving both her and Ford a knowing once over. Then, always the caring professional, he turned his attention to Dixie.

  “A fair way to greet a gentleman caller when he finally makes it into your boudoir, Sally.”

  Dixie snorted. “Joe Whelan, you’re no gentleman.”

  Joe peeled off the quilt. “You’re not wrong, darlin’. But let’s have a look at what’s what.” His hand hovered over Dixie’s wrist. “Holly, go and put the kettle on, aye? Make us all a cuppa while I have a look at Sally’s arm.”

  Holly rolled her eyes. “I’m not that bloody squeamish.”

  “Yes, you are,” said Joe, Dixie and Ford at the same time.

  “Fine.” Holly threw up her hands and left the room.

  Five minutes later, Ford joined her in Dixie’s tiny kitchen. He came up behind Holly as she stood fussing with the teapot, laid his hands on her hips and kissed her neck.

  “Dixie likes her tea brewed for exactly two and a half minutes,” she muttered through a throat clogged with unshed tears. “Then a swirl clockwise and pour.”

  “I know, baby. And she’s going to be okay. Doc says she’s definitely broken her arm and left tibia, and he also suspects she may’ve fractured her hip. He’s going to give her something for the pain and organize her to fly out to Invers in a few hours.”

  Holly twisted and wrapped her arms around Ford’s waist, pressing her cheek to his warm chest. The steady thump of his heart sedated the panic that had been flushing through her system from the moment she’d heard Dixie calling her name. Holly needed this—his steady calm and arms wrapped tight around her.

  She needed him.

  And that scared her almost as much as seeing Dixie injured and helpless on the floor.

  Ford slid his fingers through what must be a horrific case of bed hair and kissed the top of her head. “Dixie wants me to find Diablo. She’s worried he’s run away after she fell over him.”

  “Serves the animal right.” Holly hugged him tighter, her lips moving against silky, man-flavoured skin.

  Wait. “You need a shirt before Joe—”

  “That horse has already bolted.”

  “Yeah. Well. I guess you’re giving Dixie something nice to look at to distract her from the pain.”

  “Nice?” Ford peeled away from her with pretend affront. “Sexy beast, more like it.”

  “Go find the damn cat, sexy beast.” Holly grinned and gave him a shove.

  Ford disappeared out of the kitchen, and Holly poured Dixie’s tea, doctoring it the way she knew the older woman liked.

  “Hol?”

  She turned at Ford’s voice, with Dixie’s mug in her hands. Ford stood in the kitchen door with Diablo tucked against his bare chest, the cat purring like a Ferrari. Diablo butted his wedge-shaped head against Ford’s chin, seeming to enjoy the scratch of stubble there.

  “That was quick,” she said.

  “He was locked in the garage,” Ford said. “Curled up in his bed.”

  Holly frowned. “But…”

  Joe appeared behind Ford, giving him a clap on the shoulder and a nudge aside. He held Dixie’s blister packs of medications, studying the half-emptied plastic bubbles.

  “Holly, d’ya have any idea how long Dixie’s been mucking up her pills?”

  Rocks tumbled around Holly’s guts. “No—what?”

  She set down Dixie’s tea and took one of the pill packets Joe offered her. Each pack was labelled with the days of the week and morning or evening doses. Every four weeks, Holly made sure Dixie got her new prescription of pills, but she’d never supervised her having them. She glanced at the days printed on the pack. “The days are out of order.”

  Joe nodded. “Appears she’s been losing track of when she’s already had her pills and doublin’ up.”

  “Ford just found Diablo in the garage—and he can’t get into the house once he’s out. So Dix couldn’t have fallen over him. Maybe she tripped?”

  Joe took the pills and tucked them under his arm. “Could be. Or could be the effects of her medication. They’ll run some tests and keep her under observation at Invers.” Joe gave her a steady glance. “She’ll be in there for a bit.”

  Holly pressed a hand to her mouth. “How long, Joe?”

  He shrugged. “Easily a week—and that’s best-case scenario if her hip isn’t fractured. If it is? She’ll likely spend a little time in the rehabilitation hospital and then a stint in Sunnyhaven rest home while it’s determined whether she’s able to continue living at home alone. But let’s do the bridge-crossing later, aye?”

  Holly did a quick mental check of what leave she had due from work. “I want to go with her to the hospital…” She pressed her lips together for a moment, willed the tears away. “Dixie doesn’t like the hospital.”

  “Understandably,” Joe said. “I’m not too fond of them, myself. We’ll work it out.” Then he shot her a cheeky smile, his gaze darting left to where Ford scratched Diablo’s ears. “But you may want to change out of Ford’s Komeke Motors shirt first.”

  Her cheeks prickled for the second time, but she gave Joe her best stare of imminent death. “Patient confidentiality, Doctor Whelan.”

  Ford huffed out a laugh, shaking his head.

  “But, darlin’,” Joe said, “you’re not one of my patients. And you two are such a cute couple. Would be a crying shame not to let Betsy know her matchmaking has worked a treat.”

  Ford stopped petting Diablo long enough to give Joe’s shoulder a nudge. “Feck off, mate.”

  But Ford didn’t deny they were a cute couple, which caused the flush to spread all over.

  Joe picked up Dixie’s tea. “I’ll take this in to her. And don’t worry, I’m not a complete wanker. I’ll keep quiet about the two of you shagging on the sly.” He winked at Holly. “For now, at least.”

  Chapter 15

  “So…Holly arrived home on this morning’s ferry,” Ben said.

  Ford glanced sideways from under the Mazda’s hood. Considering Ford’s Friday morning—four mornings since he’d seen Holly last—crept along slower than a bloody tortoise in peanut butter, he couldn’t very well kick his best mate out for stopping by with a much-needed shot of caffeine.

  “I got the e-mail saying Dixie would be in Invers Rehabilitation Hospital for another week and then into rest home care for two to three weeks,” he said. A group e-mail, but the bunch of texts he got while Holly was in Invercargill made him miss her all the more.

  “Tough break, all right.” Ben continued to slurp his coffee. “Three tough breaks—wrist, leg, and hip. Ouch. She won’t be salsa dancing for a bit.”

  “Or coming home any time soon.” Ford’s mouth set in a grim line as he
crossed to the workbench. “You talked to her yet?”

  “Who? Dix? Yeah, I took a load of golden-oldies and my mum over to visit on Tuesday, remember?”

  “I meant Hol. Shit-for-brains.”

  “Awww. You missing her already?”

  Ford rolled his shoulders under his shirt, the cotton sticking uncomfortably to his sweat-damp back. Replacing a cam belt correctly could be—and usually was—a bugger of a job. Twice the bugger, considering the distraction of X-rated images constantly stampeding through his brain, and the woman who’d put them there hadn’t shown up yet to say “hello.”

  Yeah. He was that pitiful.

  Ford grabbed the new cam belt and stalked over to the car.

  Ben barked out a laugh and picked up the workshop stool. He placed it in the empty space beside the Mazda—empty because Ford’s dad had dropped the Hilux with the new brake pads to the owner ten minutes ago on his way to fix the outboard motor on a local’s dinghy.

  “Mate, you really are ass-over-teakettle if you’re not telling me to fuck off at volume.”

  “I’m thinking it.” Ford slipped one end of the belt over the crank shaft. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

  Ben took another noisy sip of his coffee. “Nope. Nothing on until a charter this afternoon, so I thought I’d drop by and see if you wanted to weep pitifully on my shoulder or show off your latest tattoo of Hol’s name on your ass.”

  “You were hoping to see my ass? Mate, for the last time, I don’t swing that way.”

  Ben snorted.

  “And if you make me screw up Carolyn’s engine, I’ll hold you down while she fucks you up with those inch-long talons she calls fingernails. This is a delicate process.” Ford rotated the crank shaft in order to get the cam shaft in correct position, just a little to the—

  “Hellooo?” Trilled a high-pitched, female voice from the front of the workshop. “Are you Ford Komeke?”

  Ford let the new cam belt hang off the crank shaft and ducked out from under the hood. Ben stared toward the front roller doors with a WTF expression and his coffee frozen halfway to his mouth. Once Ford glimpsed the three women stepping daintily around the sawdust-sprinkled oil spill at the front of the workshop, he understood why.

  Sky high heels, miles of ironed-flat hair, enough foundation between them to conceal every one of Ford’s tatts. And a predatory look in their made-up eyes—eyes that skipped from Ben’s stunned silence to Ford as he moved around the car.

  “I’m Ford. Can I help you?”

  The pint-sized blonde a few steps in front of the other two women pinned her glossy-pink lips back in a smile. “I hope so. Wow. He does look like his brother, doesn’t he, girls?”

  Just as inappropriately attired in a goose-pimple-displaying short skirt, the brunette behind her smirked. “Emily’s blog post didn’t do the younger twin justice, though. He’s much cuter.”

  Rocks dropped from a height into the pit of Ford’s stomach.

  Emily’s blog post? Emily, who hadn’t left Oban as his number one fan, wrote about him and Harley? What the serious fuck?

  Ben cut him a glance, perfectly reflecting Ford’s bafflement.

  “What blog post would that be?” Ford asked.

  “She called it Forecast—Muddy with a Chance of Dating a Douche. On her blog, Emily Envisaging.” The brunette’s fake eyelashes narrowed until they looked a helluva lot like two black spiders stuck to her face. “She said you were a bit of a dick.”

  “A giant bag of dicks, were her exact words,” the blonde supplied, her smile not slipping a millimetre. “But I’m into that.”

  Ford scanned one woman after another, racking his brain to unearth something even remotely tactful to say to the “bag of dicks” comment. Nope. Couldn’t do it. So he started with the obvious. “Who are you all, and why are you here?”

  The three women giggled as if Ford was not only a bag of dicks but a giant bag of dicks-for-brains.

  The blonde got control of herself first. “I’m Chloe.” She pointed to the left. “That’s Alice.” Then the right. “And Mia. We decided to come for a girls’ weekend and see if anything or anyone caught our eyes.” Her gaze zipped up and down Ford, making an uncomfortable stop at his crotch.

  Ben did a shitty job of muffling a snicker and took another swig of his coffee. Ford’s wingman was AWOL, obviously.

  “In that case, you’ve wasted a trip. I’m not looking to date anyone at the moment,” Ford said.

  The taller brunette on the blonde’s other side—Alice—gave him the stink eye. “Your profile’s still active on Kiwi-Match.”

  That stupid website. It’d completely slipped his mind. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I hadn’t got around to deleting it.” First damn thing he’d do on his break.

  Chloe folded her arms. “You seeing someone then? Emily’s blog implied you might be.”

  Ben swivelled on the stool and pinned Ford with a yes, pray tell stare that caused Ford’s palms to sweat.

  “Ah. Sorta. I guess. Yeah.”

  Mia and Alice exchanged glances, with Alice not bothering to hide a sprain-inducing eye roll. “Sorta?” she mouthed at her friend.

  “Is it serious?” asked Chloe. “Are you in love with her?”

  Ford couldn’t have been more stunned if the woman had removed one of her ridiculously high stilettos and beaned him with it.

  “Bloody good question.” Ben cocked a finger at Chloe. “I like a woman who’s direct.”

  Chloe switched her shark-like gaze to Ben and gave him an appraising smile. Ben raised his left hand and pointed at his wedding ring before addressing Ford.

  “’Fess up, mate. Started picking out flower arrangements yet?”

  Ben was a dead man. Ford’s heart pumped double time, eardrums vibrating with a deafening roar.

  “I’ve got work to do,” he said, and at the two brunettes’ huff of indignation added, “Excuse me.”

  Mia and Alice about-faced on their spindly shoes and clip-clopped out of his workshop, pausing under the roller doors to wait for their friend.

  Chloe merely continued her head-to-toe eye fuck. “I’m up for a challenge, so I’ll see you at the pub later.”

  “Ford’s playing from seven to eight; you won’t want to miss it.” Ben raised his coffee cup in a silent toast.

  “We’ll be there,” Chloe said and sauntered away.

  Releasing an unmanly shudder, Ford stalked to the Mazda and bent down, bracing his hands on the car. “She wrote a blog post on me and Harley? The fuck am I going to do now?”

  “About the blog post? Or your three scary super-fans who’ve just left…” Ben scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Or being in love with your best friend?”

  Ford stared at the dangling cam belt. In love with Holly? Why did sticking a preposition before the word “love” make everything so much more complicated? He loved Holly—of course, he did. He loved Piper and Shaye and Erin and Kezia, and even the prickly Bree when she wasn’t in full-on bitch mode. They were all his tuahine—his little sisters. But add “in” to the love equation… Ford slammed the mental lid on that chaotic dumping ground.

  “You waiting for a tearful admission?”

  “Nope.” Ben crumpled his coffee cup and winged it into the workshop bin. “Because I was just as bloody thick-skulled as you are.”

  “I remember.”

  Ben twisted the wedding ring on his finger and gave Ford a pained look.

  “Spit it out,” said Ford.

  “Just don’t…”

  “Hurt her?”

  Ben’s mouth twisted. “I’m not your twin; don’t try to read my mind.”

  Ford grimaced.

  “I was trying to say,” Ben continued, “just don’t hurt each other. You’re both…vulnerable.”

  “Damaged goods, you mean?”

  “Whatever. I’m your mate, not your therapist. Point is, if it all goes to hell, you still have to live here together in close quarters.”

  “Think I haven’
t thought of that?” Ford asked. “Not that it’ll be an issue for much longer.” The bitter words slipped off his tongue before he could reel them in. And Ben, who people often mistook for a big dumb dude, was on it like white on rice.

  “Why? You going somewhere I don’t know about?”

  It took two beats of Ford’s silence for the penny to drop.

  “Holly? This about Dixie stuck in Invers?”

  Ford shook his head. “Look, I shouldn’t have said anything. She’s been offered a job at her old salon in Invers, and she’s taking it.”

  Ben clicked his tongue. “Shaye’s gonna be crushed.”

  “I think Hol’s under the impression Shaye won’t notice with all the wedding furore.”

  “Oh, she’ll notice. Those two have been joined at the hip since they were toddlers. Is Holly planning on telling my little sister anytime soon?”

  “No idea. She only told me two weeks ago. She’s keeping it pretty hush-hush.”

  “And you’re okay with it?”

  “If it’s what she wants to do, it’s not up to me to weigh in, one way or another.”

  “Sure it is,” Ben said. “Especially if the two of you are more than just bumping uglies.”

  “We’re not,” said Ford. “Not when she’s leaving in a month’s time. Long distance will never work; you know that.”

  Ben grimaced. “Yeah. Better sort something out, then, because you’re a smitten kitten.” He strolled out of the workshop, tossing over his shoulder, “Don’t even think about ditching tonight, or me and the boys will hunt you down like a wild boar.”

  Ditching had been his plan, exactly. Shit. Wasn’t as if there were many places to hide, and avoiding the pub would only make things worse.

  Back to work. He centered his attention on the cam belt. That, he understood. That made sense.

  If he didn’t get the belt positioned exactly right on the crank and camshaft, he’d fuck the engine good. It was an apt metaphor for this thing with Holly. If either of them were slightly out of alignment, their years of friendship were screwed.

  He shouldn’t have attempted changing things up between them this late in the game. Should’ve just left her alone, kept his stupid daydreams to himself.