A Risk Worth Taking (4 page)

Ford

“He liked her. It was as simple
as that.” –Nicholas Sparks,
The Last Song

Holy
hell, Summer Stafford was hot. Casey had left that part out when he’d regaled
me with stories of their childhood exploits. She’d been mischievous and fun and
half the trouble they’d gotten into had been her idea, according to Casey. But
he’d never mentioned her chocolate-coated eyes or legs long enough they seemed
to run all the way to her neck.

She’d
stared at me at dinner last night like I’d been the meal. I wouldn’t have
minded crawling right up onto the table like a buffet, either. Not if it meant
she’d nibble on me with those pouty lips of hers. It’d been a while since a
woman got me going like that. I hadn’t realized how much I missed the rush
until now.

Last
night, I’d brushed aside the attraction in favor of the work. I didn’t need the
distraction. But then this morning, in her office, seeing her nerves show when
I got close—I definitely wasn’t the only one feeling this pull. It wasn’t often
both parties felt this same static between them, but it was obvious Summer felt
it too.  And I didn’t intend to let it go to waste. Work and play? I could do
both.

Back
in my little corner of the greenhouse, I pulled my shirt off and threw it
aside. Damn but it was hot back here. I leaned over and flipped the switches on
the two window-fans I’d installed last week. I was hoping for a cross-breeze
and the little machines usually obliged, but today was supposed to be ninety
and humid enough to feel like a hundred. It wasn’t even June yet. What the
hell? How did people survive in humidity like this their whole lives?

I
positioned my stool so the air hit me just right from both sides and then bent
down and went to work in the dirt trough set up in front of me. I kneaded the
black earth in my hands slowly, falling into a rhythm with my fingers, stopping
every so often to add handfuls of fertilizer and the vitamins I’d developed
specifically for this project. The last batch had been closer—Mazie said the
herbs I’d given her had been responsible for the best Greek salad she’d ever
tasted—but when I’d rubbed it on the cut I’d gotten from removing a stubborn
splinter, it hadn’t helped the healing process a single bit. Fail. Back to the
drawing board.

When
I finished working the soil, I smoothed it out along the trough until it was
full enough. I used my finger to poke holes and then dropped my seeds inside
before lightly covering them again. I did the same in two other troughs before
I went back and drenched them with water. No automatic sprinklers for these
babies. They needed to be cared for by hand. Like a woman, they needed a personal
touch.

It
would be days before the next batch was ready to test. A fact that developed
patience in even the most rushed grower. The vitamins had proven to be the key
to faster growth. Sort of an all-natural steroid, a recipe I’d picked up in New
Mexico as a way to hurry things along between the sporadic rainfalls of the
southwest.

Once
the vitamins were in and the plants set, all that remained was the wait.
Luckily for me, I’d figured out something else to do while I waited.  A mental
image of Summer in those denim shorts she wore today flashed in my mind. I
couldn’t help but smile as I remembered how sexy she’d looked with her feet
tucked up underneath her ass in that desk chair, coffee mug pressed between her
lips. To be that mug. To have any part of me pressed between those full lips …

But
damn, she was jumpy. If I hadn’t heard the story from Casey, I would’ve thought
she’d been burned instead of the one doing the heartbreaking. So why did she
look like a deer in headlights every time I got close?

“Judging
by the look on your face, I’d say I was interrupting. Kinda’ creepy considering
you’re in here alone. You need a minute?”

I
hadn’t realized I’d been cheesing like an idiot until my smile faded when the
sight of Casey’s face replaced the memory of Summer’s. “I’m good. Your ugly mug
snapped me right back to reality,” I said, throwing a rag at him. “What do you
want?”

He
caught it with a grin and stopped to lean on the raised planter bed a few feet
away. “Poker at our house tonight. Joe‘s bringing the beer. You in?”

“I’m
in. Is that all?”

“Not
quite. What has you smiling like the cat that swallowed the canary?” he asked.
“The heat getting into your brain?”

“Some
kinda heat,” I muttered.

Casey’s
smile widened. “You referring to my sister?”

I
wasn’t sure how Casey would feel to know exactly how I’d been thinking of his
“sister.” Namely, with her legs wrapped around my waist. Or shoulders. Maybe it
was best to keep it to myself. “Maybe,” I answered.

He
snorted. “You’re such a bad liar. I saw it coming a mile away, anyway.”

“Saw
what? There’s nothing to see.”

“Again,
bad liar. If it makes you feel any better, it was way more obvious on her end.”

“It
was?”

Casey
nodded. “You gonna do anything about it?”

 I
shot him a look and kept my hands in the dirt. The pressure of my kneading
increased. This was where it got tricky. “Define ‘anything.’”

Casey’s
eyes narrowed. “Put it this way. I’m an easygoing guy. Feel free to do whatever
the mood strikes. But know this. She took a spill when her mom ended things with
her dad. Still hasn’t gotten back up if you know what I mean. Now, two
consenting adults is one thing. But hurt her, and I’ll have to break your
balls.”

“I’m
not going to hurt anybody, Case. I’ve barely spoken to the chick. And didn’t
you say she just broke up with her boyfriend? Who says she’d even be
interested?”

“Uh-huh.”
He straightened and walked to the door.

“What
kind of answer is that?” I called, frowning.

“The
kind where the answer is so obvious, you don’t need my confirmation,” he said
as he left.

I
didn’t want to admit I’d been fishing for whatever reason Summer had for that
spooked look in her eye. If not now, he’d come out with it soon enough. I shook
my head and went back to massaging dirt.

When
I’d finished, I sat back and let the fans cool me off. There were other
projects, other seeds to be planted, but I needed a break. The heat in the
greenhouse was necessary, but it was hotter than hell in a heat wave out here.

My
watch beeped, announcing the hour. I went to the small water cooler I’d set up
and held a cup underneath as I depressed the button. Nothing happened. I
twisted the lid and looked inside. Bone dry, like my throat. Damn.

If
I hurried, I could make the trek back to the small rental house I shared with
Casey and refill it there. I had to pull a shift in the lower field this
morning. Part of my work-study agreement with Dean. I’ll scratch your back, you
scratch mine. I didn’t mind. But I needed hydration.

The
main house was closer. Mazie made a killer lemonade and it was best not to
chance being late. Or at least that’s what I told myself as I brushed my hands
off before donning my shirt. If I also happened to catch a glimpse of Summer’s
legs in those shorts she was wearing today, that was merely a bonus. A perk of
the job. She might as well be a tall glass of water herself.

Summer

“Don’t cry over the past, it’s
gone. Don’t stress over the future, it hasn’t arrived. Live in the present, and
make it beautiful.” -Unknown

The big
tractor, affectionately called Goose, was making that god-awful choking sound
again. At my dad’s request, I went in search of Casey, the master of all things
mechanical. I checked the main greenhouse first since that was the hub of
activity around here. Morning roll call, evening progress reports, and gossip
at the water cooler over an extended lunch break—all of these happened in the
main greenhouse.

As
soon as I stepped inside, the air changed. More specifically, it died. It was
slightly cooler here than outside, although you wouldn’t know it without a
thermometer through the stuffiness. Dean Stafford didn’t believe in changing
the seasons underneath his plastic. Year round, the greenhouses stayed a balmy
seventy degrees. But it was stale and heavy, like the air gathered close around
you and stuck there for the duration of your time inside the filmy walls. It
almost matched the asphyxiating humidity that made up Virginia summers. Almost.

I
was surprised to find the room empty upon first glance. It so rarely was, but
then, this week had proven unseasonably hot and Dad tended to let the guys go
early on days like this. I turned to go and stopped when something clanged in
the back. I walked toward the sound and spotted Casey on the far side of a
large stack of tomato cages. He muttered to himself, alternating between
reading from a clipboard and throwing metal cages around. What had been a neat
stack when I’d walked through earlier this week was now an overturned mess.

“What
happened here?” I asked.

Casey
looked up and scowled. “Squirrels.”

I
lifted a brow. “Squirrels? In the greenhouse?”

“That’s
what I said, isn’t it?”

I
suppressed a smile. The lines in his forehead knotted together in neat little
rows when he was mad. I knew from experience, smiling would be very bad right
now. “How’d they get in?”

Casey
gestured somewhere behind him off-handedly. “Found a hole chewed in the back
corner.”

“Wow.
That’s some pretty sharp teeth to chew through all those layers.”

“Right?
They’re like some damn vampires.”

“Vampire
squirrels?”

Casey
glanced around dramatically. “Do not mock the evilness of the vampire
squirrels,” he whispered.

I
giggled.

His
lips twitched with the smile he held back. “Don’t laugh, either. They’ll hear
you. They’re always listening.”

“And
what will they do if they hear?” I asked.

“This.
Agghhh!” He dropped the clipboard and lurched forward. I shrieked and ran for
the door. Casey took off after me, yelling and clawing at my back.

Outside,
I ran for the house, hoping to make it as far as the bucket of water Mazie had
left out for the birds this morning. I weaved in and out of rows of hanging
baskets. Around mums and violets and gardenias bound for the retail shelves,
the brightly colored petals lost on me as I sprinted. Casey hurdled them and
caught up to me just as I rounded the farthest greenhouse. His hand closed over
my shoulder and spun me.

Together,
we went tumbling.

I
was laughing entirely too hard to get up. Casey was trying—and failing—to
untangle himself from me. I had to hold my breath to keep still so he could
extract his leg from around mine. I rubbed my backside. Definitely gonna have a
bruise. But then, I usually did when Casey and I started horsing around.

When
our limbs were finally free, we both rolled to our backs and rested in the
grass, catching our breath. “Those vampire squirrels are dangerous,” I said.

Casey
snorted and propped himself on his elbows.  Above me, a shadow fell. I blinked,
trying to make out the face blotting out the sunlight.

“Hey,
Ford,” Casey said easily.

Something
in my gut jumped and I had to swallow it back. Casey rolled to his feet while
Ford extended a hand to me. I took it, not willing to meet Ford’s eyes, though
I had no idea why. I didn’t owe him a single explanation. So why did I feel
awkward about him finding me on my ass in the dirt with another guy? Even if
said guy was like a brother to me, Ford didn’t necessarily know that.
Shut
up, Summer. Stop trying to appear available.

“You
two look hard at work,” Ford said, clearly amused.

“We
like to give all our effort at once,” Casey said. “I’m spent for the day.”

I
forced a laugh and pretended Casey hadn’t just insinuated we’d been flirting—or
worse. “Oh, no you aren’t,” I said, dusting my jeans off. “Dad sent me looking
for you. Goose broke down somewhere out in the center field. He needs you to go
give it whatever beat-down you gave it last week.”

“Goose
doesn’t respond to beat-downs anymore. He’s numb to the pain,” Casey said.

“Can
you get it back to the garage at least? Work your magic,” I said.

Casey
tipped his head back to the sky in a dramatic gesture. “I have to do everything
around here.”

“Every
single thing,” I agreed. “Especially your job. Now, get going.”

Casey
muttered a friendly curse before heading for the four-wheeler parked beside the
greenhouse.

“Come
find me when you get back,” Ford called after him. “Got a new leaf I want you
to take a look at.” Casey waved once to acknowledge the words and hopped onto
the seat.

“Leaf?”
I repeated, waving away the cloud of dust Casey kicked up in his wake.

“It’s
a cross-pollination project for edible and medicinal herbs I’m creating. This
one’s a burn salve and a seasoning for salads.”

“You’re
… creating an herb? As in … from scratch?”

“Sort
of. The seeds were taken from three other plants and grown together. Each of
them have known medicinal properties that I wanted, so I seeded them together
and grew them in a single box. Then, I extracted properties from each in the
form of new seeds. The offspring is—And I’ve lost you.”

“No.
Okay, well, maybe,” I admitted, a little awed. “So, your work study is that
you’re …
making
medicine?”

He
shrugged. “That’s the idea. Or, one of them anyway.”

My
jaw fell open. I’d definitely been right with my initial assessment. Ford was
not the typical farmhand variety. He was something else. I just wasn’t sure
what yet. “And you’ve done this before?”

His
expression faltered. I’d hit a chink in the armor. “Yes and no,” he said,
frowning. “I’m experimenting right now, trying to work out all the negatives.”

“Negatives,”
I repeated before understanding dawned. “You mean side effects?”

“Among
other things.”

“And
you need Casey for that because …? Oh geez, please don’t tell me he’s your
guinea pig.”

His
eyes widened in mock innocence. “Okay. I won’t tell you.”

I
shook my head. “I don’t even want to know.”

“Probably
not,” he agreed. “But he’s been a big help.”

“Aside
from the voluntary health risks you’ve asked of your friends, it sounds really
interesting. I’d love to see them sometime.”

“Let’s
go.”

“Now?”

“Sure.
Why not?”

I
thought of the mountain of paperwork awaiting me back inside my office. And the
way my mother’s perfume still lingered in that corner with the filing cabinet
and all its damned travel magnets.

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.