A Risk Worth Taking (3 page)

“Got
into town about a month ago. Only been working here at the farm for a couple of
weeks,” he explained.

“Ford
took that internship Dean offered to the Association,” Casey explained.

“The
work study program?” I asked, remembering my dad saying something about it
being his turn to offer to mentor a graduate for the Board of Farmers he served
on. They were big on “the next generation,” as they called it, and keeping
natural produce locally owned and operated so they found ways to give back as
often as possible. I’d forgotten all about it until now.

“That’s
the one,” Ford said. “Figured I’d follow him around, learn what I can of
mass-produce field farming before moving onto the next one.”

“You
have multiple work studies lined up?” I asked.

“This
is my third since graduating the program.”

“Do
you have a track record that requires you to keep seeking out alternative
locations?” I asked.

Ford
laughed. “I’m not a delinquent, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“That’s
not what I meant.”

“Isn’t
it?” He shot back. I frowned, but he didn’t seem ruffled. “Don’t worry. I’ve
completed each program with no problems. I just want to learn as much as I can
before choosing a location and settling into my own thing.”

“And
what’s your thing?” I asked.

Ford
didn’t answer right away. He seemed to take his time thinking over my question.
“Creating,” he said finally.

Something
about his answer pulled at me. Like a challenge. Like the question I’d asked
was important and if you didn’t know the answer, you’d failed. It made me shift
in my seat as I realized I wouldn’t have known the answer had he asked me that
same thing. I waited for him to shoot the question back at me, but he never
did. Casey said something to him and he responded; moment over.

The
rest of the meal passed easily. Ford talked mostly to Casey with plenty of side
comments and smiles for Mazie. All of the guys, including my father, seemed to
genuinely like Ford even though he’d only been here for two weeks. Maybe it was
my warped view of the world these days, but it was a little off-putting to see
that he’d slid into the fabric of Heritage Plantation so quickly.

Ford
was either the nicest guy ever—or the slickest charmer. I wasn’t looking for
either one.

Summer

“The meeting of two
personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances: if there is any
reaction, both are transformed.”

–Carl Jung,
Modern Man in
Search of a Soul

I
glared at the blinking cursor on the computer screen and the number beside it.
Since when were any of the farm’s accounts in the red? Dad had said things were
a little tight but this was ridiculous. There was plenty of money in the
general operating account. It looked to me like it hadn’t been funneled over
properly. Or at all.

I
sat back in my wheeled desk chair and ran a hand through my hair. I needed a
break. I’d been at it all morning and the more I looked into the farm’s books,
the angrier I became at my mother.

She’d
been the bookkeeper for the farm since before I was born. She knew numbers and
accounting like nobody’s business. I took after her that way, though I hated
admitting now that I took after her in anything. When she’d left, abruptly if
the balancing date on the spreadsheets were any indication, my dad hadn’t found
someone new to take over.

For
the first couple of months, things had sort of run themselves. After that, I’d
tried helping my dad with phone calls and emails containing reminders to
“transfer the money for the mortgage on this date” and “don’t forget about
payroll next week.” Now, after seeing the state of things, it was a wonder he’d
made it this far without me.

As
if my thoughts had conjured him, hard knuckles rapped against the open door and
I found my dad hovering half in, half out of my office.

“What’s
up, Dad?”

“Good
morning, sunshine.” He crossed into the room, bringing with him the scent of
leather and dirty denim. I loved the smell of both, thanks to him. He set a
steaming mug on my desk and sipped on another still in his hand. “Thought I’d
bring you some liquid energy.”

“Thanks.”
I took the mug and sipped my coffee, grateful for the caffeine and a reason to
take a break from the computer. I leaned back in my chair and slipped my feet
out of my shoes before tucking them underneath me.

My
dad sat in the empty chair across the desk, his shoulders stiff and jaw set. I
couldn’t see his eyes underneath the brimmed hat but I could feel them piercing
at me with an unasked question.

“Everything
okay?” I asked.

He
set his mug aside and folded his hands. “You tell me. How bad is it?”

My
brows knitted as I tried to read his meaning. “How bad …? Oh, the accounts?” He
nodded, his lips pressed together. It almost made me giggle, the way he sat
with his head down, like he’d just been sent into the principal’s office.
Almost. But I knew better.

“It’s
not great,” I admitted. “Money isn’t where it should be. I’m surprised the guys
have been able to cash their paychecks these past few weeks.” My dad hung his
head like he’d just been reprimanded. “But it’s not unfixable,” I continued.
“The money’s there. It just needs to be funneled to the right places.”

“I
bounced the truck payment last month,” he admitted.

“That’s
because you wrote the check from the wrong account. I’ve already fixed it.”

“Really?”
He blinked at me in surprise. “I’m caught up?”

“Completely,”
I assured him. “Like I said, the money’s there, it just wasn’t organized.”

He
sat up straighter and adjusted his hat. “Thanks, hon. I appreciate what you’re
doing here.”

His
words validated me. I enjoyed feeling needed but more than that, I wanted him
to be happy. To not have to worry. “You’re paying me enough for it,” I teased.

“Quality
doesn’t come cheap.” His smile softened. “I’m glad you’re home, even if it’s
not what you—”

“Stop
right there,” I said, holding up a hand. “You don’t get to act like I gave up
the moon to come back and help you out.”

“But,
honey—”

“No
‘buts.’ I mean it. I came back here because I love you and it’s what I want.
I’m happy here. This is my home and it always will be. Stop acting like you
forced me.”

He
smiled and picked up his mug. “All right. Fine. I can’t believe I wasted all
that money on big-city schoolin’ just to have you come home and do addition and
subtraction on my dial-up computer. How’s that?”

“Let’s
meet in the middle,” I told him with a laugh.

“Speaking
of meeting in the middle, you know, there’s someone else who was askin’ to see
ya when ya got settled back here.”

My
smile died and the coffee on my tongue turned instantly bitter. “No.”

“Summer,
she’s your mother.”

“And
you’re her husband. Didn’t matter much, did it?”

“This
isn’t your fight.”

“You’re
right. It’s yours. And if you won’t do battle, I will.”

He
sat back, his eyes widening. “Is that what this is about? You think you have to
punish her for me?”

“No,
Dad.” I exhaled. “I’m just … I don’t know her anymore. I guess I never did. She
feels like a stranger.”

Lines
appeared at the corner of his eyes as his face tightened. “You should at least
talk to her.”

I
set my cup down and made a show of moving the mouse around the screen. “Can’t.
Too busy.” I clicked the button a few times for good measure.

My
dad leaned forward in his chair and opened his mouth, no doubt ready to spew
some line about the bonds of family and how important it was to forgive. I
would’ve cut him off, but a noise in the doorway did it for me.

“’Scuse
me, am I interrupting?” Ford looked back and forth between us uncertainly, his
body already half turned toward the exit. His boots scuffed the floor as he
turned to go without waiting for an answer. How much had he heard?

“No,
it’s fine. Come in,” I said, before my dad could say otherwise.

“Are
you sure? I can come back.”

“Dad
was just on his way out,” I said.

My
dad gave me a stern look before rising, his hat in one hand, his coffee in the
other. “I’ll see you at dinner,” he said to me, his tone ominous and heavy with
meaning. We weren’t done with this conversation. Fine. I’d just keep finding
ways to interrupt it.

As
distractions went, Ford wasn’t bad. He had on jeans snug enough around the hips
that it got the imagination going. His brown work boots had seen better days;
the sole was loose around the edges and stained where his frayed jeans met the
laces. He still hadn’t shaved. For a fleeting moment, I wondered what the
stubble would feel like against my skin.

I
forced my eyes down, not wanting to be caught staring—again—and saw that his
shirt was blue today. It matched his eyes. I tried not to compare the two
shades, willing myself to stop thinking about his eyes at all. Or any other
part of him. Damn those jeans…

After
a friendly exchange of hellos between the two men, Ford shuffled into the empty
seat Dad left behind.

“What
can I do for you?” I asked, abandoning the computer for my cooling mug and
trying to appear like I wasn’t picturing him naked. Well, he could keep the
boots on if he wanted.

“Dean
said to stop by once you got settled so I could fill out some new employee
paperwork.”

“Right.
The internship is paid, isn’t it?”

“So
they tell me.”

“Forms,
forms,” I muttered to myself, using my free hand to explore the contents of the
desk drawers on either side of me. Neither yielded the forms I needed.

I
eyed the filing cabinet across the room. I’d yet to touch it or even venture
that way. The entire cabinet was covered with old artwork I’d brought home as a
child. My mother had secured them with magnets we’d picked up on family
vacations and mother/daughter outings. I didn’t want to touch that thing. Not
yet. God, the entire office still smelled like her.

“You
okay?” Ford asked.

I
found him studying me with a mixture of curiosity and concern. I knew my
expression must’ve conveyed some of what I’d been thinking but I wasn’t about
to unload all my baggage on this stranger, hot as he might be.

“Fantastic.
You?”

“I’m
always great,” he said, hands folded and shoulders relaxed as he lounged in the
chair.

My
eyes narrowed, searching for the sarcasm behind his words, but his tone was
genuine and I realized he meant it. Most people answered with a snappy “fine”
or “okay” and kept it moving. His upbeat answer caught me off guard.

“So
… employment forms?” he prompted.

“Forms,
right.” I rose and walked to the filing cabinet, opening drawers and perusing
their contents while trying to ignore the pang in my gut it caused to be
touching all of the old artwork, things that were so absolutely
hers
yet
she hadn’t bothered to take a single one. She could take the knickknacks from
the mantel but not the kangaroo I’d painted in elementary school, writing her
name in glitter across the top.

I
found the forms I needed and slid the drawer closed. It stuck, and I had to
shove it hard to get it to click. Maybe I could convince Dad to spring for a
new one. A clean one. And this could go out for garbage, artwork and all. I
whirled, antsy to escape this corner of memory lane, and my nose bumped Ford’s
chest. Not a bad way to be injured, but still.

“Sorry,”
I said, jumping back. My hip bumped the drawer handle behind me and I winced.
Ford looked torn between amusement and sympathy. “Employment forms,” I said,
shoving them at his chest before he could say a word.

“Thank
you.”

“You
can fill them out and bring them back later.”

“Can
I stay and fill them out now?”

I
grimaced. He still hadn’t moved, and his closeness only heightened my
discomfort. Not so much from the pain of the metal against my thigh, but from
the way I could feel his presence without a single part of our bodies touching.
Like when you rub a balloon for so long, you can feel it pricking at you from
an inch away. I’d never felt that from another person before, let alone a man.
I hadn’t known such a feeling existed. It was exciting and thrilling and terrifying.

“Sure,”
I answered, my voice hoarse.

When
he still didn’t move, I looked up and met his eyes. He was studying me with an
intensity in those blue-grays that made it hard to breathe. “Is there something
else?” I managed to say through a suddenly parched throat.

“Yes.”
He leaned down and for a split second, I thought he was going to kiss me. I
blanched and the sheet of static between us evaporated instantly. His
expression smoothed so quickly I wondered if I’d imagined the entire thing. But
no, there was definitely a level of tension in him too.

He
cleared his throat at the same time I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans.

“A
pen?” he asked.