Page 29 of A Tempting Seduction (Protectors of Jasper Creek #5)

Chapter Sixteen

I hung up the phone and turned to face Ivan and Walker, who were both staring at me with matching expressions of concern. The cherry dust floating in the afternoon light looked almost peaceful, but my heart hammered against my ribs.

“I have to leave. Now.”

Ivan nodded without question, already reaching for the shop keys I was holding out. “Go. I lock up when we finish.”

Walker stepped forward, blocking my path to the door. “What the hell, Ford? We just got the cherry wood delivery, and we've got to figure out how to get everything done in time for the Pigeon Forge deadline along with the Hendersons.”

“You and Ivan will figure it out.” I grabbed my jacket from the hook by the office door. “I have every confidence the two of you can handle it.”

“That's not the point.” Walker's voice rose, echoing off the shop walls. “This is a huge custom project that will be worth a shit-ton of referrals, and you're just walking out because some girl calls?”

Ivan shot Walker a warning look. “Walker.”

“No, Ivan. This is bullshit.” Walker gestured toward the stacks of premium cherry lumber that had arrived this morning. “We've been waiting three and a half weeks for this wood. Three weeks of Archie jerking us around, and now that it's here, Ford wants to play knight in shining armor.”

Heat flared in my chest. “This isn't about playing anything.”

“Then what is it about? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're abandoning your business responsibilities for a woman you've known for a little less than two months."

I stepped closer to my brother, close enough to see the frustration and maybe hurt in his eyes. “Ruby called me because she needs help. When someone I care about needs help, I show up. End of story.”

“And when your business partner needs help? When your employees depend on you to make the right decisions?”

Ivan cleared his throat. “Boys. Is enough.”

But Walker wasn't done. “You're the detail guy, Ford. You're the one who catches problems before they become disasters. What happens if we start cutting this cherry and discover moisture issues? What happens if the grain doesn't match the samples?”

“Then you call me.” I pulled the keys to my truck from my pocket. “You're not helpless, Walker. You built half this business.”

Walker's jaw worked like he was chewing on words he wanted to spit out. Finally, he shook his head. “Fine. Go. But don't blame me if this project goes to hell while you're off rescuing your waitress.”

The comment hit me wrong, and I took another step toward my brother. “Don't.”

“Don't what? Point out that you're thinking with something other than your brain?”

Ivan stepped between us before I could respond. “Walker, you shut mouth now. Ford, you go. We handle cherry wood. Is not rocket science.”

I looked at Ivan, grateful for the older man's steady presence. “Are you sure?”

“Am sure. Wood is wood. I work with wood forty years before you were born.” Ivan's weathered hand patted my shoulder. “You go help your Ruby. We make beautiful things here.”

Walker muttered something under his breath that I chose to ignore. I headed for the door, then paused with my hand on the handle.

“Call me if you run into problems.”

“We won't,” Ivan said firmly.

“But if you do.”

“We call.” Ivan nodded. “Now go. Girl who calls man crying needs help, not discussion.”

I left them standing in the shop, surrounded by the tools and materials of our trade, and walked out into the late afternoon sunshine. My truck started on the first try, and I pulled out of the parking lot with gravel crunching under my tires.

The drive to Java Jolt twenty minutes, but it felt like hours. Ruby's voice kept playing in my head. The way it had shaken. The way she'd struggled to get the words out. I'd never heard her sound like that before. Scared. Broken.

When I pulled up to the coffee shop, I could see through the large front windows that Sam Kendrick was working behind the counter.

The sixty-something owner of Java Jolt moved with the practiced efficiency of someone who'd been making coffee since before Ruby was born.

He glanced up when I walked through the door, and his expression told me everything I needed to know.

“She's in the back office,” Sam said before I could ask. “Been in there since I arrived.”

“How bad?”

Sam's weathered face creased with worry. “Let’s put it this way, it’s the first time she’s ever asked me to come in and help her cover.”

I nodded and headed toward the back of the shop. The office door was cracked open, and I could see Ruby sitting in the desk chair with her knees pulled up to her chest. She looked so vulnerable, that something fierce and protective roared to life in my chest.

“Ruby?”

She looked up, and the relief that washed over her face nearly broke my heart. “Ford.”

“Come on.” I held out my hand. “Let's get you out of here.”

She took my hand without question, and I helped her to her feet. Sam appeared in the doorway, concern written all over his face.

“You’ll take care of her?” he asked quietly.

“I will.”

The drive to my house passed in silence. Ruby stared out the passenger window, but I could see her reflection in the glass. Could see the way her hands trembled in her lap. Whatever had happened, whatever had triggered this call, it was big.

My house sat on Oak Street, eight miles from the town square on the city limits.

I'd bought it six years ago from Mrs. Hoyt's estate and spent two years renovating every inch.

The Craftsman-style bungalow had good bones, and I'd restored the original hardwood floors, rebuilt the front porch, and updated the kitchen with custom cabinets from our shop.

I was proud of what I'd accomplished here. This house represented everything I'd worked for. Stability. Success. A place to build a future.

But Ruby didn't notice any of it. She walked through my front door without seeing the restored crown molding or the hand-carved newel post. Her eyes had a glazed quality that reminded me of trauma victims I'd seen on construction sites after accidents.

Or injured airmen when I had been in the Air Force.

“Sit down.” I guided her to the couch in my living room. “I'll be right back.”

I went to the kitchen and retrieved the bottle of bourbon from the cabinet above the sink. Maker's Mark, the good stuff I saved for special occasions. This definitely qualified.

When I returned to the living room, Ruby was sitting exactly where I'd left her, staring at her hands.

“Here.” I poured two fingers of bourbon into a glass and held it out to her. “Drink this.”

She took the glass and knocked back the entire contents in one swallow. The liquor didn't even make her flinch.

That worried me more than anything else. Ruby was the kind of woman who sipped wine with dinner and made faces when Carrie’s husband Tommy told his off-color jokes. Seeing her toss back bourbon like it was water told me exactly how far from okay she really was.

I poured myself a smaller measure and sat down beside her on the couch. Close enough to touch but not crowding her. Close enough to offer comfort if she wanted it.

“Ruby.” I kept my voice gentle. “Talk to me.”

She looked at me then—really looked at me—and I could see tears threatening at the corners of her eyes. But she didn't cry. Somehow, that was worse than if she had.

“I need to tell you something,” she said finally. “About my past. About why I'm really in Jasper Creek.”

“Okay.”

“It's not what you think. It's not some romantic story about a girl who wanted a fresh start in a small town.” Her voice was steady now, but hollow. “It's ugly. And dangerous. And once I tell you, you might not want anything to do with me.”

I reached over and took her hand. Her fingers were ice cold despite the warm afternoon. “Ruby, there's nothing you could tell me that would change how I feel about you.”

“You don't know that.”

“Yeah, I do.” I squeezed her hand. “Whatever happened before you came here, whatever you're running from, we'll figure it out together.”

She stared at our joined hands for a long moment. When she looked up at me again, something had shifted in her expression. Like she'd made a decision.

“My real name isn't Ruby Miller,” she said quietly. “It's Ruby Banks. And I’m almost positive my father was murdered because of me.”

The words hung in the air between us. I kept my expression neutral, even though my mind was racing. Ruby Banks. Not Miller. Everything I thought I knew about her past had just shifted.

“Tell me,” I said simply.

Ruby pulled her hand free and wrapped her arms around herself. “I grew up in Los Angeles. That part is true. My mom died when I was eleven, just like I said, and my dad Michael remarried when I was thirteen. Diane. Her father was… is Horace Waters. He’s the house majority leader in California.”

She paused, like the words were getting stuck.

I whistled. “So, he’s a big deal.”

“A very big deal,” Ruby agreed.

“Dad was a judge. A state superior court judge. I’m positive that Horace had Diane target him to marry. He was perfect for letting the corporate white-collar criminals off. The kind of men Horace needed to back his campaigns.”

I frowned. “That’s quite the set-up.”

“Dad was different when he and mom were married. He was a homebody. But after he married Diane, he went to all these parties. Horace was constantly having him meet people. Dad hated it, I could tell.”

She looked down at her hands again, then up at me.

“He totally changed. He wasn’t the same man anymore. Do you believe me?”

“If you say it’s true, then I believe you.” I covered her hands with mine.

“As I got older, I wanted to go to college, but Diane had different ideas. She had me starting to go to parties. I was supposed to make nice to people who weren’t nice.

Dad said I had to, too. It was part of the family image.

I could tell it was Grandpa Horace—that’s what I was forced to call him—I could tell it was his idea. ”