A Risk Worth Taking (5 page)

“Hippies
like flowers and peace signs or the other stuff?”

His
brow arched, disappearing into the hair that’d fallen over his forehead. “What
else is there?”

“I
don’t know. Nowadays a hippie is painted as someone with unshaven pits and
picket signs. Protests. Pot …” I trailed off. My cheeks burned as I realized
how insulting that’d sounded.

Ford
hung his head and shook it back and forth. I couldn’t tell if he was angry.
“They’ve never chained themselves to a bulldozer. Does that make you feel
better?”

I
scowled, instantly defensive. “That’s not what I meant. You asked what I
thought—”

“You
are so easy to mess with.” He grinned. “My parents are about the earth and
preserving it. My mom owns a small grocery store, all organic, and my dad
manages the recycling plant and builds furniture out of his garage in his spare
time. They’re really supportive. And yes, they’re fans of the peace sign.”

My
embarrassment faded and I softened. “They sound lovely. And Langford came from
…?”

“My
grandmother’s maiden name. My parents were big on genealogy and the whole
‘where do we come from’ aspect of life when I was born. I suppose I take after
them in that way, using the name for something like this.”

“Why’s
that?”

“My
grandma died a few years back. My parents believe that just like what’s left of
our physical body, our souls also become part of the universe around us. By
naming this plant after her, I am bringing a little of her into its makeup.”

“And
her plant, Langford, is the healing herb?” I asked.

He
nodded. “When I’m done with it, the salve should be good for anything from acne
to puncture wounds.”

“That’s
amazing. It’ll be like your grandma has a part in healing people.”

“Exactly.”
His smile was warm, pleased I’d made the connection.

“And
Daisy?”

“If
you’ve got a burn or bee sting, she’s your girl. As for the name …” He shrugged
and explained, “It nurtures the everyday hurts, like a mom.”

I
bent closer, inspecting the normal-looking leaves for some sign they contained
the ability to do what he said. “It really works?”

“I’ll
show you.”

Before
I could protest, he ripped a leaf off the stem and took my hand, turning it
over so my palm faced up. I held still while he broke the leaf and rubbed the
pieces against my skin.

“Oh,”
I said. “It’s cool. Like aloe.”

“I
cross-pollinated it with an aloe plant a few months ago,” he said. “Here. It’s
better if you blow on it.”

Very
deliberately, he raised my hand to his mouth and blew lightly. I went still.
The only noise was the hum of the window fan and the whisper his lips made.
Where his fingers held my wrist, my skin tingled in a way that had nothing to
do with the leaf’s healing powers. I couldn’t tear my gaze from his mouth. It
was a delicious mouth. The sort of mouth that made it easy to fantasize about
having it latched on to all sorts of body parts. Without meaning to, a tiny
tremor shook my body.

Ford
paused, his eyes lit. “How does that feel?” he asked, his voice low and husky.

“Um.”
I tried to think past the image of his lips puckered just that way and pressed
to mine. “It feels ….” 

“Healing?”
he prompted, a small smile playing at the edges of his mouth.

He’d
stopped blowing. I blinked, flustered and determined to pretend he hadn’t just
affected me this way without any more than a hand-hold. “Yes. That,” I said, my
voice louder than intended.

He
chuckled and released my hand.

I
forced my concentration elsewhere, refocusing on the plants and everything he’d
told me about what they could do. I didn’t even have an actual injury or wound
and yet the aloe had cooled and refreshed me.

The
analytical side of my brain kicked in. My mind sped with possibilities. “You
could bottle this and sell it,” I said. “Require a prescription. Start your own
pharmaceutical company. You could—”

“Whoa,
whoa. Easy, tiger. One life-changing career choice at a time.”

“Well,
what
do
you plan to do with it?”

“Grow
it until it’s right.”

“And
then?”

He
shrugged. “We’ll see when we get there, I guess.”

“That’s
an impressive long-term goal,” I said dryly.

“I
like to plan as I go. Or take things as they come. Whichever.”

“Plan
as you go?” I repeated, frowning. “That’s sort of contradictory. You mean you
don’t plan.” I was vaguely aware of the slight condescension in my tone, but I
couldn’t help it. I came from a world of math and numbers and black-and-white
truths. Cause and effect. If you do this, you get that. What Ford was saying
sounded foreign. And stupid. “But how do you get anywhere in life, achieve
anything, if you don’t have a dream to work toward?”

If
he was bothered by my attitude, he didn’t show it when he answered, “I have plenty
of dreams I’m working toward. Things I want to experience, places to go. But
for the day to day, life’s more fun when it’s spontaneous.”

“Right,
but you have to have a general direction to head in. You know that. You picked
this major in college because you want to be in this field. Hence, direction.”

“Is
that why you moved home? Broke up with your boyfriend? Direction?”

I
looked away, not even sure whether I should answer or why I felt so challenged.
He was the one who didn’t plan past the life expectancy of his plants. “More
like
new
direction,” I clarified.

“Sounds
like the old direction wasn’t as fulfilling as you thought it’d be.” He made it
sound like a question and I recognized the comment for what it was: digging.

“The
old direction was … not for me,” I said, choosing my words carefully. I had a
feeling we weren’t talking about school or career so much as a certain
ex-boyfriend. And I wasn’t about to whine about my relationship woes with Ford.

“I
see,” he said.

Before
I could ask exactly what it was he saw, there was a sharp rap of knuckles
hitting the doorframe. I looked up to find Frank poking his head in. “Ford, can
you—oh. Sorry,” he mumbled, backing out.

“What’s
up, Frank?” Ford called.

Frank
stuck his head back inside far enough to say, “Dean’s looking for an extra hand
in the lower field. Goose is on the fritz so he’s dropping juice by hand.”
Frank’s eyes flickered to me. I could see the curiosity as he sized us up,
sitting close together in the far corner of Ford’s private greenhouse. I’m sure
it looked cozy. And not at all what it was. Or what it should be.

I
stood and brushed off my hands. “Sounds like you’ve been summoned. I better get
back to the glorious job of moving money.”

Beside
me, Ford stood, tossing the used aloe leaf in the trough. “Be there in five,”
he said. The older man nodded and ducked out without saying another word.

“You
better get out there,” I said, heading for the door.

“Summer?”

I
turned and found Ford much closer behind me than I expected. I had to look up
to meet his eyes, reminding me of all the things I’d thought about his mouth
just moments ago. “Yes?”

“I’d
like to see you later. Maybe on purpose this time. What do you say?”

“Like
a date?” Butterflies whirred like a winged tornado in my stomach.

“Sure.”

A
sarcastic smile formed as a new thought occurred. “As in, a planned meeting?”

“Look
at that. Twenty minutes together and you’re already rubbing off on me.”

“Are
you saying I should agree to a date because it’ll make you more responsible?”

“Are
you saying I’m not responsible if I don’t like to make plans?” he shot back.

“Ford
… As much fun as this is, I don’t think a date is a good idea. I need to figure
some things out for myself and jumping back into a relationship right now …
This isn’t why I came home.”

“Who
said anything about a relationship? I’m just talking about having fun. Hanging
out.”

“Right.
Hanging out.” I took a step back. Didn’t guys say that when all they wanted was
sex? “Not looking for that, either.”

Without
warning, Ford closed the distance between us and leaned down so that we stood
almost nose to nose. His gaze burned intently into mine, like he was searching
for something very specific.

It
made me want to retreat, get him out of my personal space. Partly as a defense
mechanism, but it was more than that. Standing this close, my body reacted in a
way I’d never experienced before. Tingles shot down my spine in a delicious
shiver. The way he was looking at me made me wish I knew what he was looking
for, so I could give it to him. Even if it was a roll in the sheets. Especially
then.

“What
are you so afraid of?” he asked.

It
was a valid question and unexpected enough I considered the answer. My breaths
came in uneven bursts as my mind raced.
You
, I wanted to say. Life.
People. Attachments. Feeling hurt. Not feeling anything at all.

That
last one startled me as I realized how true it was. Watching my parents break
up. Finishing school and choosing to come back here. Breaking up with Aaron. I
hadn’t felt any of it. Still didn’t. But Ford … He made me react. Just the
sight of him made me feel things I hadn’t known were possible. That was plenty
to be afraid of. How did I say all of that without sounding completely off my
rocker?

And
how did I agree to what he was asking without getting hurt in the process?

“I’m
not afraid of anything,” I said, sticking my chin out as proof to the lie. “And
I don’t need to
hang out
with you to prove it.” Before I could change my
mind or get called on my lie, I spun on my heel and stalked out, letting the
door shut behind me with a creak.

Ford

“The real tragedy of life is
not death but what we let die inside of us while we live.” —Norman Cousins

I was
wrong. That girl wasn’t a tiger. She was a kitten. And a scared, lonely one at
that. All I’d suggested was a date, a chance to hang out, maybe grab a beer or
a pizza, and she’d bolted like I’d suggested eating brains for lunch. What the
hell had that ex-boyfriend of hers done? Whatever it was, she was acting like
damaged goods. Maybe I needed to rethink this. Or maybe Casey needed to explain
his best-friend-slash-sister in terms that made some sort of sense.

The
way she couldn’t meet my eyes when I stood close. Or the way she blushed and
lost her breath when I’d blown on that salve on her hand … Her shyness seemed
to come from not knowing herself more than not knowing me. And damn if I didn’t
want to be the one to help her figure out what I already knew she wanted. I’d
officially reached and surpassed the point of being able to walk away. I needed
to play this out until the heat died. Because there was no turning it off. And
attraction this strong shouldn’t be ignored.

The
entire time I helped Dean and the boys spray the plants down with the organic
insecticide, better known as “juice,” I thought of Summer and the fear in her
eyes when she’d left. I ignored Frank’s curious glances in favor of the work at
hand, but my mind never really let go of that girl. It wasn’t my fault the fear
was there. I didn’t even know her. But for reasons I couldn’t name, I wanted to
fix it.

When
I finished, I went in search of Casey. He could either explain his best friend
or tell me to back off and leave her the hell alone. I almost didn’t even care
which. Almost.

I
found him in Dean’s garage, stuck halfway under the belly of a tractor, banging
away at whatever ailment the machine suffered from today. “Need a hand?” I
asked.

“Been
waitin’ all day for an assistant to show up,” he called. He shimmied out enough
to eye me up and down. “Was hoping for someone with better legs, but I guess
you’ll do. Hand me that drip pan.”

I
chuckled as I handed the necessary item over and he slid back underneath the
tractor. A wrench turned and clanged as Casey tossed it aside, pulling the drip
pan into place not a second too soon. Dark liquid flowed into the pan as I
tried to think of how to bring up what was on my mind.

“Heard
you been hangin’ out with my girl,” Casey said.

“You
heard? That was two hours ago.”

“Good
news travels fast.”

“Frank,”
I realized.

“You’ve
never met a bigger gossip. Trust me.”

I
gave him a look that might’ve had an effect if he’d been watching me instead of
tinkering with a twisted bolt. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

“You
came to me,” he said pointedly.

“Right
now, I’m trying to remember why.”

“You
already hit a wall, didn’t you?”

“If
you’re referring to the wall that is Summer Stafford, then yes I have.”

“Welcome
to my world.”

“Are
you saying you can’t help me?”

“I’m
saying I’m the only one who can.”

I
waited for him to say more but he just continued to bang away at the underside
of the tractor. I heard a blunt-edged
thunk
and Casey swore. He slid
free, his thumb in his mouth, and got to his feet, wringing his hand. “You
okay?” I asked.

He
pulled his thumb out of his mouth long enough to say, “Peachy. What is it you
want to know?”

I
ran a hand through my hair, feeling awkward at having to dig for this kind of
information at all. But it’s not like I could avoid her for five months. And I
didn’t want to damage her further by attempting … whatever I was attempting.
Screw it. I was asking. “Summer. Damaged. How,” I said.

“Parents.
Divorce. Mom,” he replied.

“What
did her mom do? Have an affair or something?”

Casey
snorted. “Sometimes, I wish it was that cut and dried.”

“What
then?” I waited while Casey went to the minifridge, pulled out two beers, and
tossed one to me. I caught it easily but didn’t pop the top. “Dude. On the
clock?” I said.

Casey
took a healthy swig and then used his beer can to gesture to the clock hanging
above the workbench. It was in the shape of a woman wearing nothing but a red
bikini. The hour hand extending from her navel pointed toward her left foot.
The minutes hand was situated right smack between her ample and scantily clad
cleavage and pointed just barely to the right. “Workin’ hours ended three
minutes ago. Drink up and listen close, grasshopper.”

I
did as he asked, downing almost half the beer before coming up for air. Just in
case whatever story he was about to tell was one that required alcohol to
understand.

“First
thing you have to know, Summer’s always been a numbers girl. She gets logic and
rules and sees in mostly black and white. She’s always been about making plans
and goals. She knew what college she was going to when she was eleven. Gets all
that from her mom. And always been proud of that fact. That family was like
three peas in a pod. Tighter knit than your grandma’s crochet blanket.

“Then,
she comes home for Christmas break to find out her parents are divorcing. Her
mom’s already moved out and moved on. Dating around. Nothing serious but happy
as a pig in shit. You could see that from a mile away. It radiated off her. The
thing was, no one really knew she was unhappy before. She kept it real closed
off, even from Summer.”

Casey
took another swig and continued, “So, the divorce happens and Summer goes back
to school, and she pulls away. Stops talking to all her friends. I didn’t even
hear from her until spring break and even then, it was a phone call and an
email to say she wasn’t coming home. Too busy with homework. It was bullshit
for her needing to freak out on her own.”

“So,
breaking up with her boyfriend, moving home, this is her freaking out?” I
pressed when he didn’t go on.

“She
freaked out in the solitude of her dorm room. That’s Summer’s style. I think
this is her putting the pieces back together. Trying to figure out where she
fits.”

“Does
she blame herself for the divorce?”

“Nah.
I don’t think so,” Casey said. “It was too sudden, too left field for her to
see a single sign, much less one she can point at herself. She’s just
shell-shocked. And questioning everything. Especially the stuff that looks
stable on the outside.”

“Like
her relationship with the ex?”

“Aaron
was all right. A little stiff under the collar but he treated her okay.”

“So
she broke up with him because, what—he’s too
stable
?” I couldn’t help
saying that last word like it left a bad taste. Most girls loved the idea of
stable, didn’t they? White picket fence and all that. But Summer decided that
wasn’t for her… Why? Maybe she’d seen it all fall into place so easily for her
mom. Heritage Plantation was the epitome of white picket fence. Despite that,
it hadn’t had the happy ending Summer assumed, so she was changing it up.

Casey
shrugged. “You’d have to ask her the why. For once, she isn’t talking to me.
And she definitely isn’t talking to her mom.”

“She
doesn’t want to be like her mother,” I said, almost to myself. “The equation
doesn’t make sense anymore.”

“Bingo.”

Finally,
I understood the terrified way she’d looked at me when I’d asked her out. Or
when I got close at all. Her attraction to me scared the shit out of her. That
made me smile inwardly. She was attracted.

“How
bad is it?” Casey asked, his shoulders drooping in defeat as he took in my
expression.

“How
bad is what?”

“Judging
by the look on your face, you’ve got the itch. I just want to know how bad. And
whether I should seek cover now or wait for the fallout.” He finished his beer
and chucked it into the trash can against the wall before going to the fridge
for another.

I
took another swig of my own without really tasting it, trying to come up with
some sort of response to that. The truth was, Casey was right. It was an itch.
And I was compelled to scratch.