Three Little Words (3 page)

Want help?

She was reasonably confident she didn’t ask the question out loud, but that didn’t make the inquiry any less sincere. She would bet Ford looked great in a shower. All wet and soapy. And, um, well, naked. Which was really strange, because she couldn’t remember the last time she’d speculated about a man’s body. She just wasn’t that interested in the whole naked-sex thing. She preferred quiet conversation to passion, and cuddling to groping. Of course, that went a long way toward explaining what had gone wrong between her and her ex.

“Interesting journey,” Ford said.

“Excuse me?”

“You went from imagining me naked to some other place.”

Her mouth dropped open. “I didn’t imagine you...that way. What are you saying? I’d never do that.” Heat burned hot and bright on her cheeks. “That would be rude.”

The sexy smile returned. “So’s lying. Don’t sweat it. I’ll take the compliment in the spirit you meant it.” He raised one shoulder. “It’s the danger. Knowing I’m a dark, dangerous guy makes me irresistible.”

The Ford she remembered had been funny and charming and flirty, but he’d been a kid from a small town. Untested. Unchallenged.

The man in front of her had been honed by war. He was still charming, but he was also right about his appeal. There was something indefinable that made her both want to follow him into the shower and take off running.

She managed to swallow. “You’re saying women want you?”

“All the time.”

“How that must annoy you.”

“I’m used to it. Mostly I consider taking care of them my patriotic duty.”

She felt her mouth drop open. “Your duty?”

“
Patriotic
duty. It would be un-American to leave a woman in need.”

Her gaze narrowed. So much for having to worry that Ford was uncomfortable around her. Or that her letters had bothered him. No doubt he’d considered them his God-given right.

“Just so we’re clear,” she said. “I’m over you.”

“You mentioned that. You’re not going to love me forever. It’s disappointing.”

“You’ll survive.”

“I don’t know. I’m surprisingly sensitive.”

“Oh, please. Like I believe that.”

He winced. “You’re mocking a hero?”

“With every fiber of my being.”

“Better not let my mother hear that. She’s still trying to convince me to let the town hold a parade in my honor. She wouldn’t like knowing you’re not appreciative of my personal sacrifice.”

“This would be the same mother who took a booth at the Fourth of July festival so she could find you a wife?”

For the first time since she’d walked into the gym, Isabel saw a flicker of discomfort in Ford’s steady gaze.

“That would be the one,” he murmured. “Thanks for reminding me.”

“She was taking applications.”

“Yeah, she mentioned that.” He shifted and turned his head, as if searching for an exit.

Now it was her turn to smile. “Not so big and bad when it comes to your mother, are you?”

He swore under his breath. “Yeah, well, so sue me. I can’t help it. She’s my mom. Can you stand up to yours?”

“No,” she admitted. “But mine is half a world away, so I can pretend to be tough.”

“So could I, when I was on another continent. Now I’m back.”

She almost felt sorry for him. Almost. “I’ll make you a deal,” she said impulsively. “You stop talking about how you seduce women in the name of being a good soldier, and I won’t bring up your mother.”

“Done.”

They looked at each other. Isabel was still conscious of his strength and chiseled good looks, but she was a lot less nervous now. Maybe because she’d figured out his weakness. That knowledge would keep the playing field even.

“So we’re good?” she asked. “The letters, my sister, your mother, all of it?”

He nodded. “The best.” His gaze sharpened. “You didn’t apply, did you?”

She grinned. “To be your wife? No, I didn’t. Technically, I wasn’t qualified. What with me not staying in town permanently.”

“Lucky you.”

She pretended concern. “Oh, Ford, don’t worry. I’m sure she’ll find someone for you. A nice girl who appreciates your giving nature.”

“Very funny.” He paused and the grin returned. “About that shower...”

“Thanks, but no.”

She waved and started for the door. The meeting hadn’t gone at all like what she’d imagined, but she was leaving with the belief that Ford wouldn’t avoid her in the future. Assuming he ever had. And she didn’t have to worry that he thought she was stalking him.

She stepped into the hallway. Consuelo walked out of the locker room, a gym bag in one hand, her car keys in another.

“You two finished?” her friend asked.

“Order is restored.”

Consuelo was one of those petite women who always made Isabel feel as if she were all arms and legs, with massive boat-long feet. The fact that Consuelo could easily wrestle an alligator into submission should have helped Isabel feel more feminine, but oddly it didn’t. Maybe it was because on Consuelo, muscles looked sexy.

“Should I believe you?” Consuelo asked. “You’ve been avoiding Ford for most of the summer.”

“I know and it was silly of me. I should have talked with him before.”

“Uh-huh.” Consuelo sighed. “You’re not going to start following him around now, are you? Women tend to do that. They also show up in his bed without an invitation. Not that he usually sends them away.”

“I heard about that. Not the women, but that it’s his patriotic duty to satisfy them.”

“You don’t sound upset.”

“I’m not. The guy I had a crush on wasn’t this Ford. He was sweet and funny and caring. This more mature version is all that and sexy, too.”

Consuelo waited.

“Not my type,” Isabel said. “Too flashy. I like quiet guys who are thoughtful and smart. The whole sexual-attraction thing is highly overrated.”

Except for the chance at seeing Ford in the shower, she thought briefly. That would be exciting. But she was sure her interest was more about curiosity than temptation.

“You’ve had sex, right?” Consuelo asked. “More than once?”

“Of course. I was married. It’s fine.” Sort of. “But I don’t see it as a driving force in my life. Ford’s the fling guy and I’m not a fling girl. Not that he was asking.”

Consuelo looked her over. “He would have been. Eventually. He might not be your type, but you’re sure his.”

“He likes blondes?”

Consuelo’s mouth twisted. “He likes women.”

Isabel had friends in New York who were all about the thrill of the chase. Sex was important to them, which was fine. But she was different. She wanted someone she could talk to. Someone she could hang out with. Which was probably why she’d ended up with Eric, she thought sadly. They got along great, had the same interests. Their relationship had been one incredible friendship. Unfortunately, they’d both mistaken it for more.

“I have to get back to work,” Isabel said. “I have two brides coming in this afternoon to try on gowns. Let’s have lunch this week.”

“You’re on.”

* * *

F
ORD
H
ENDRIX
COULD
disappear into the mountains of Afghanistan for months at a time. He could live within a mile of a village and no one would guess he’d ever been there. He’d traveled the world for his country, fought, killed and been wounded. More than once, he’d stared down death and won. But nothing in his fourteen-year career with the military had prepared him to have to deal with the determined, stubborn woman that was his mother.

“Are you dating?” Denise Hendrix asked as she filled a mug with fresh coffee and handed it to him.

It was barely six in the morning. Normally Ford would have been up and heading for work, but he was a civilian now and starting his day at O-dark-thirty was no longer necessary. He’d stumbled into his kitchen, only to find his mother had shown up and started coffee. Without warning.

He glanced around the small furnished upstairs apartment he’d rented and tried to make sense of it all.

“Mom, did I give you a key?”

His mother smiled and took a second mug for herself, then settled at the small table in the corner. “Marian gave me keys to the apartment and the house before she and John left on their vacation. In case something happened.”

“Like you thinking I can’t make my own coffee?”

“I’m worried about you.”

He was worried, too. Worried that coming back home had been a mistake.

When he’d first arrived, he’d stayed in the family home because it had been easy. Only he’d awakened more than once to find his mother hovering. What she couldn’t possibly know was that with his military training, he didn’t react well to people hovering while he slept. Sneaking around like that was a good way to get dead.

So he’d moved out and into a house with Consuelo and Angel. Only he and Angel were too competitive for that kind of arrangement, so he’d been forced to move again. Technically, Consuelo had threatened to gut him if he didn’t, but he was going to ignore that. In a fair fight, he could take her. The problem was Consuelo didn’t fight fair.

He’d found what he thought was the perfect apartment. Close to work, quiet and away from his mother.

He sat across from the woman who had given birth to him and held out his hand.

She blinked at him. “What?”

“The key.”

Denise was in her mid-fifties. Pretty, with highlighted hair and eyes. She’d survived six kids, including triplet girls, and the death of her husband. A couple of years ago, she’d fallen in love with a guy she’d known in high school. Or maybe after. His sisters had written Ford about the romance. As far as he was concerned, his mom had been a faithful widow over a decade. If she found someone else at this stage in her life, he was happy for her.

“You mean the key to the—”

“Apartment,” he finished. “Hand it over.”

“But, Ford, I’m your mother.”

“I’ve known who you are for a while now. Mom, you can’t keep doing this. Dropping in on me. You have grandkids. Go freak
them
out.”

Her dark eyes filled with emotion. “But you’ve been gone for so long. You almost never came home. I had to travel to other places to see you, and you didn’t even let me do that very often.”

He wanted to point out that she was the reason why. She smothered him. He knew that of the three boys, he was the youngest, but he’d grown up a long time ago.

“Mom, I was a SEAL. I know how to take care of myself. Give me the key.”

“What if you lock yourself out? What if there’s an emergency?”

He didn’t say anything. He kept his gaze steady and determined. She was no more threatening than a Kalashnikov, and he’d faced plenty of those in his day.

“Fine,” she said, her voice small. She pulled a key from her jeans pocket and dropped it into his palm. He closed his fingers around it.

The part of him that knew his family wanted to ask if she’d made a copy. He figured he would wait to see if that turned out to be a problem. For now it was enough that she wasn’t going to pop in when he least expected her.

“You probably want me to go,” she whispered.

“Mom, don’t be a martyr. I love you. I’m home. Can’t that be enough for now?”

She sniffed, then nodded. “You’re right. I’m glad you’re home and staying in Fool’s Gold. I’ll give you a couple of days to settle in, then call. We can go to lunch or you can come over to dinner. How’s that?”

“Perfect.”

She rose. He did the same. He put his arm around her and kissed the top of her head. They headed for the door. She opened it and stepped onto the small landing at the top of the stairs. He’d nearly breathed the sweet air of freedom when she turned back to him.

“Did you get a chance to look at those files I sent you?” she asked. “There are several lovely girls.”

“Mom,” he began, his voice warning.

She faced him. “Honey, no. You’ve been on your own for too long. You need to get married and start a family. You’re not getting any younger, you know.”

“I love you, too,” he said, gently pushing her out the door and closing it before she could say anything else he would regret.

“I want you married, Ford,” she yelled through the closed door. “I have the applications on my computer, if you want to go through them. They’re on a spreadsheet so you can sort them by different criteria.”

She was still yelling when he reached the bedroom and closed that door, as well.

CHAPTER TWO

I
SABEL
TURNED
HER
CART
down an aisle and knew a lack of inspiration would be a problem later. If she didn’t figure out what she wanted for dinner, she would be starving in a couple of hours. Ordering a pizza at eight-thirty, then eating the whole thing was very bad for her hips and thighs. Remembering that the women in her family eased toward pear-shaped as they aged, she headed for the produce section and virtuously chose a bag of salad. Great. She had salad and red wine and a very small container of ice cream. Disparate elements that did not a dinner make.

She started purposefully toward the meat section, not sure what she would do when she got there. As she turned the corner, she nearly ran into another shopper.

“Sorry,” she said automatically, only to find herself staring into a pair of dark eyes. “Ford.”

He smiled. It was the same slow, sexy smile he’d used before. The one that made it hard for her to catch her breath. Telling herself that he tossed that smile around like empty peanut shells at a ball game didn’t make her chest any less tight. Which was so very strange. She’d never been one to quiver in the presence of a man.

“Hey,” he said. He raised his basket. “Food shopping.”

“Me, too.” She glanced at the package of steaks and the six-pack of beer. “That’s your idea of dinner?”

“You have ice cream and red wine.”

“I have salad,” she said with a sniff. “That makes me virtuous.”

“It makes you a rabbit. And hungry.” The smile turned to a grin. “I saw a grill on your patio the other day. Why don’t we pool our resources?”

A tempting offer. “You want the wine and the ice cream.”

“True, but I’ll eat the salad, just to be polite.”

“Such a guy. Do you know how to use the grill? It’s big and seems complicated.”

One eyebrow rose. “I was born knowing how. It’s in my DNA.”

“Which seems like a waste of genetic material.”

Somehow they were walking. She didn’t remember making a decision about accepting his offer, but there they were, in line to pay. Five minutes later they were in the parking lot and heading to their cars.

They got to his first.

“Seriously?” she asked, staring at the black Jeep.

“It’s a classic.”

She pointed to the gold paint on the side. “It has flames. Jeeps have a long history of faithful service. Why would you torture yours like that?”

“You don’t like it? Why not? The flames are cool.”

“No. Consuelo’s car is cool. Yours is kind of embarrassing.”

“I bought it right after your sister dumped me for my best friend. I wasn’t myself.”

“That was fourteen years ago. Why haven’t you sold it?”

“I never drive it and it’s in great condition. When I decided to move back, Ethan got it ready for me.”

“Being seen near it must have humiliated him,” she teased, knowing Ford’s brother would have been happy to help. “Doesn’t Angel drive a Harley?”

Ford frowned at the mention of his business partner. “How do you know that?”

“It’s hard to miss a guy like him in black leather and driving a motorcycle in Fool’s Gold.”

“You drive a Prius,” he said. “You don’t get to make judgments.”

“You mean because I drive a safe, sensible, environmentally friendly car?”

“Logic,” he muttered. “Just like a woman.”

He helped her load her groceries, which consisted of a single bag. Something she could have handled herself. Still, it was kind of nice to have a man do that for her. Eric had supported her desire for equality, letting her lug her half of the groceries when they went shopping. Which was perfectly fair, she reminded herself. If not especially romantic.

Ford followed her home. She couldn’t escape his hideously painted Jeep in her rearview mirror. Even a broken heart was no excuse to mutilate such a hardworking vehicle.

She pulled into the driveway. He parked next to her and climbed out. “I’ll go put the beer in my refrigerator,” he said. “Then be down to start the steaks.”

“Works for me.”

She went into her house and set everything on the counter in the kitchen. The sun had dipped to the other side of the house, leaving this part mostly in shadow. She flipped on overhead lights. The oak cabinets were only a few years old and the yellow tile she remembered from her childhood had been replaced with granite.

She thought briefly about dashing into her bathroom and fluffing her appearance. After a long day at the store, she was sure she had mascara under her eyes and very flat hair. Plus, her dress was plain. Not only had she worked in New York, where wearing black was practically the law, she now had a job in a bridal gown store. It was important to look professional while never, ever outshining the bride. She had a wardrobe of simple, stylish black dresses—the “office appropriate” kind, not the LBD kind.

Not that she was looking to slip into an evening gown or anything, but still. She settled on kicking off her heels and rolling up the long sleeves of her dress. That was plenty. She was only having dinner with her neighbor. There was no reason to spruce. Besides, until a couple of days ago, his last memory of her was of a fourteen-year-old girl, chasing him down the street while sobbing and begging him not to go. After that, nearly anything would be an improvement.

She unpacked her bag and slipped the ice cream into the freezer. Setting the outdoor table took all of three minutes. She was about to tackle the salad when he returned.

“I have three messages from my mother,” he grumbled as he walked to the counter and pulled open a drawer. He dug through an assortment of can openers, measuring spoons and spatulas until he found the wine opener. Next he pulled two wineglasses from an upper cupboard shelf. “She wants to talk about the applicants.”

Isabel was more interested in how he knew his way around her kitchen. Did the man case the place while she was gone? Was he—

Maeve, she thought. He’d dated her sister for three years and had spent hours here every week. He’d often stayed for dinner and helped her sister set the table. While the kitchen had been updated, the layout was the same. Flatware was still in the top drawer by the sink, and glasses were above the dishwasher.

“Future-wife applicants?” she asked.

“That would be them.”

“Have you bothered to meet any of the women? They might be lovely.”

He gave her a look that implied the corkscrew had more intelligence than her.

“No,” he said firmly. “I’m not interested in anyone who would fill out an application.”

“You’re very critical and your mother is just trying to help.”

“Are you in on this?” he demanded. “Is there a plan to torture me?”

“No. Any torture is just a happy by-product.”

“Funny. Very funny. I don’t remember you having this much attitude fourteen years ago. I liked you better then.” He poured the red wine she’d bought and passed her a glass.

“You didn’t know me then,” she reminded him. “I was your girlfriend’s little sister. You barely spoke to me.”

“We had a special relationship that didn’t require conventional communication.”

She laughed. “You’re so full of crap.”

His dark eyes crinkled with amusement. “And you’re not the first woman to tell me that.” He touched his glass to hers. “To me being idiotic enough to come home.”

“You’ll settle in and your mother will calm down.”

“I hope so. I know she’s excited about having me back, but this is ridiculous.”

Isabel thought about the time after Ford left—when she knew her heart was going to break. “You almost never came back to town. Was that because of Maeve?”

He leaned against the counter. “At first,” he admitted. “Mostly I stayed away because being around my family was too complicated. They wanted to get involved in everything—especially my mom. I became a SEAL my third year and that was intense. I couldn’t talk about what I did or tell them where I was going. I took the easy way out and avoided the situation.”

He sipped the wine. “Maeve wasn’t wrong to break up with me. When it happened I would have told you I’d miss her forever. But within a few weeks, I realized she was right. We were kids, playing at being in love. I guess she has the real thing with Leonard.”

Isabel tried to read emotion into his words. She couldn’t tell if he really didn’t mind that his ex-girlfriend had married the guy who’d come between them or not.

“They’ve been married twelve years now,” she said.

“The kids are more impressive. What’s she up to now?”

“Four with another on the way.”

He swore. “That many? I didn’t know Leonard had it in him.”

“Me, either. He’s an accountant now. He started his own company and has several impressive clients. He’s doing well.”

“With a family that big, he’d better be. How do you feel about being an aunt that many times over?”

“It can be overwhelming,” she said, which was mostly accurate. In truth, she’d been living in New York for the past six years and hadn’t been around her family all that much. She doubted Maeve’s youngest could pick her out of a lineup. She and her sister didn’t talk much, either. They’d both been busy and they didn’t have all that much in common.

Guilt poked at her, making her think she should call her sister and arrange a visit.

“You okay?” Ford asked, studying her.

“Fine. You’re not the only one with family issues.”

“Probably, but I’m the only one with a mother who set up a booth at a Fool’s Gold festival with the sole purpose of finding me and my brother wives.”

She laughed. “That you are.”

* * *

T
HEY
PULLED
TOGETHER
dinner pretty quickly. In addition to the steaks, Ford had provided two russet potatoes. Isabel popped them in the microwave, then made the salad. She carried both their glasses of wine outside while he heated the grill and put on the steaks.

“You can use the grill anytime you want,” she said. “I don’t mind.”

Ford flipped the steaks, then closed the lid. “Thanks. I may take you up on that.”

“Meat good?” she asked.

He grinned. “Meat and fire. And beer.” He reached for his glass. “Or wine.”

She studied him, taking in the broad shoulders and easy smile. She searched for some hint he was still dealing with his time in the military, that he’d been scarred by all he’d seen, but there was no indication at all. If he had ghosts, they were the kind only he saw.

“Did you like being a SEAL?” she asked.

“Yeah. I liked being on a team. I also liked that we never knew what was going to happen next.”

“Certainty and variety. Two key components to happiness.”

He raised his eyebrows.

She shrugged. “I have a marketing degree, but I also have a minor in psychology. People like a sense of security. It’s hard to have fun if you’re starving or homeless. But we also like variety. Positive change engages the brain.”

“Pretty and smart. Impressive.”

She told herself he was a natural-born flirt and if she believed anything he said, she was an idiot. But that didn’t stop the tingles.

“Why did you retire?” she asked.

“The last five years I was on a joint task force. Important work, but more stressful.”

“Dangerous?”

He grinned. “Danger is my middle name.”

She smiled. “I’m sure that’s not true, and I can easily get confirmation from one of your sisters.”

“Damn small town.” He sipped his wine. “The work was intense and I was moved around a lot. The team changed. After a while it started to get to me. Justice called about CDS and I said yes.”

“Were you worried about coming home?”

“I was worried about my mother.” He grimaced. “With good reason.”

Because it would be easier if he didn’t have family or didn’t get along with his. It was hard to tell a parent no when she was as loving and supportive as Denise.

“You should send her on a cruise around the world,” she suggested. “It worked for me.”

“If only she’d go.” His dark gaze settled on her face. “What about you? You’re back because you’re divorced?”

“Uh-huh. The paperwork is final, so I’m a free woman.”

“You okay?”

“I’m fine. Eric and I didn’t contest anything. We owned an apartment together. He bought me out, so I have that money to help start my business.”

“The one you’re starting when Paper Moon sells?”

“Right. So it’s all good.”

“No hard feelings?” he asked.

She’d told the almost-true version of the story so many times, the words came out automatically. “No. Eric’s a great guy, but we grew apart. We’re better as friends.”

He turned and checked the steaks, then flipped them again and closed the lid.