Page 3 of A Tempting Seduction (Protectors of Jasper Creek #5)
Chapter Two
I pushed through Java Jolt's back door into the late afternoon heat, my mind still spinning. Ford freaking Larson, with his broad shoulders and those warm brown eyes that made my stomach do things it had no business doing. Hell, I even liked his long hair, which I normally didn’t go for.
Instead, all I could think about was pushing my fingers through all those brown strands and seeing if they were as soft as they looked.
Then the man goes and asked for my number. Me! Ruby Miller. The man must have actually hit his head. Hard!
I fumbled with my keys, dropping them twice before managing to unlock my beat-up Honda Civic.
The metal door handle burned my palm, but I barely noticed.
My brain kept replaying the moment when Ford had looked at me like I was something special instead of the chubby barista who hid under oversized flannel shirts.
Carrie had told me Walker was the player in the family. Ford was supposed to be the responsible one, the steady brother who fixed everyone else's problems. So why had he been flirting with me? The whole interaction felt surreal.
I cranked the engine and let it run for a few minutes until the air conditioning started blasting my flushed face. Maybe Carrie had put him up to it as some misguided attempt at matchmaking. My friend had a habit of trying to fix everyone's problems, whether they wanted fixing or not.
“Stop overthinking this.” I gripped the steering wheel harder. “He asked. You said no. End of story.”
Except it didn't feel like the end. Ford's warm brown eyes and that genuine smile kept replaying in my mind.
It had been a long time since someone had looked at me like that.
Lance had been all about appearances and what I could do for his career.
Finding him in bed with my sister Carla had been bad enough, but the way they'd both acted like I was the problem for being upset? That had been the real betrayal.
Some people showed you exactly who they were when they thought they had you trapped. Thankfully, I'd learned that lesson before walking down the aisle.
The memory still stung, but I pushed it aside. This was Jasper Creek, not Los Angeles. Different world, different people.
Maybe Ford really had just wanted to ask me out.
The drive across town gave me time to shove those thoughts back where they belonged. I had more important things to worry about than why a gorgeous construction worker might want my number. Like the fact that I had three stops to make before I could even think about going home.
Oops, make that four.
Roger’s grocery store sat on the corner of Main and Cypress. When I went inside. I grabbed a basket and made my way to the bakery department. Roger Clemons stood behind the counter, his left wrist wrapped in an elastic bandage that made him wince every time he moved.
“Ruby!” His face broke into a grin. “Right on time, as always.”
“How's the wrist feeling today?”
“Better than yesterday, not as good as I'd like. Doc Evans says another week in this thing.” He held up the bandaged wrist with a rueful expression. “Makes slicing bread a real adventure. It’s even worse in the deli department.”
“You should have Dennis handle the deli until you're healed up.”
“That boy couldn't slice warm butter without cutting himself.” Roger chuckled. “Besides, keeps me humble. Reminds me I'm not as young as I used to be.”
I selected a box of pastries from the bakery case, choosing the ones I knew Luther and Violet preferred. Croissants for him, lemon bars for her, and a few sugar cookies because they were both partial to simple sweets.
“These for the Violet and Luther?” Roger's eyes twinkled.
“Tuesday visit.” I tucked the boxes into my basket. “Luther's been asking about the apple turnovers, but Violet says they're too sweet for his blood sugar.”
“Tell you what.” Roger leaned across the counter conspiratorially. “I'll have the bakery make some with sugar substitute next week. Won't taste quite the same, but close enough to make him happy. That way he won’t be stuck with the croissants.”
My chest warmed. This was why I loved Jasper Creek. In Los Angeles, grocery store managers didn't care if your elderly friends had dietary restrictions. Here, Roger would go out of his way to make an old man's day brighter.
“You're the best, Roger.”
“Just looking out for our folks.” He straightened up slowly. “Drive safe now.”
I got back to my car and made it across town.
Mid Lake Retirement Community sprawled across five acres of meticulously maintained grounds, its brick buildings connected by covered walkways lined with flower beds.
I'd been visiting Luther and Violet Randolph for eight months now, ever since Trenda Avery-Clark had told me they had no family nearby and spent most days alone.
Their apartment on the second floor of Building C had become one of my favorite places in Jasper Creek, almost as high on my list as the quilting room at Dorothy's Antiques. I knocked on their door.
“Ruby, dear!” Violet's voice carried through the door before she opened it. Despite being in her eighties, Violet moved with surprising grace, her silver hair pinned back in an elegant bun. “Right on time.”
Luther sat in his favorite armchair by the window, a half-finished crossword puzzle in his lap. If he was doing a crossword puzzle, that meant he was having a good day. His blue eyes lit up when he saw me.
“The coffee girl,” he said with genuine warmth. “You brought treats. Are you making your rounds?”
Damn, he called me the coffee girl instead of Ruby, that meant he wasn’t having as good of a day as I had originally thought. I sighed. Violet caught it and shrugged her shoulders.
“Croissants, lemon bars and some sugar cookies.” I whispered as I handed her the bakery boxes. “Roger says hello.”
Violet clapped her hands together. “Perfect timing. I just put the kettle on.”
“I like apple turnovers,” the old man grumbled.
“I’ll bring some next week,” I said with a bubbly smile.
“All right.” He looked back down at the crossword puzzle in his lap, but he didn’t pick up his pencil.
Their apartment always smelled like lavender and vanilla, a combination of Violet's perfume and the candles she loved to burn.
Watercolor paintings covered nearly every wall, most of them Violet's work from before her arthritis made holding a brush difficult.
Landscapes of the mountains, still lifes of flowers, portraits of Luther when his hair was dark and his smile easier to find.
“How’s Luther been doing this week?” I asked Violet as I followed her into the kitchenette.
“He’s had good days and bad days.”
“It’s true,” he called from the living room. “But I still remember the song my Violet sang on our first date.”
“What song was it?” I asked.
“'Blue Moon.” His voice softened. “She had the prettiest voice you ever heard. Still does, when she thinks I'm not listening.” It was disconcerting how he slid in and out of his spells, but I’d mostly learned to roll with it. Violet was an expert, and it didn’t seem to bother her at all.
Violet gathered everything for the tea tray, her cheeks pink with pleasure. “Luther Randolph, you old charmer.”
“Will you sing for me?” Luther asked quietly, his eyes soft.
She set down the tea tray, then went over to Luther and cupped his cheek. “Tonight, darling. Tonight, I’ll sing for you.”
I felt like a voyeur as I witnessed this moment of deep intimacy. A jealous voyeur. What I wouldn’t give to have that kind of love in my life.
She held out her hand and guided him to the love seat so that he could have tea as well.
I sat in the chair beside them. We took a few minutes eating lemon bars and croissants and enjoying Violet's tea.
Finally, I pulled my latest quilting project from my bag, a lap quilt in soft blues and greens that I'd been working on for weeks.
“What do you think of the border pattern?” I asked Violet.
Violet set down her tea and examined my work with the critical eye of someone who'd been sewing since childhood. “Beautiful stitching, dear. The colors remind me of the pond behind our old cabin.”
“The one with the tire swing,” Luther added suddenly, his face brightening with a clear memory. “You loved that swing.”
“Still do.” Violet poured him another cup of tea, her movements careful but steady. “Ruby, you're getting better every week. Dorothy must be proud.”
“She's a good teacher. Speaking of which, I need to leave for class in about twenty minutes.”
“I made some homemade ambrosia for you to take to Dorothy. Let me go get it.” Violet stood up and went to the fridge. When she opened the fridge, she sighed. “Darn it.”
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Oh, the fridge has been on the fritz. The ambrosia still hasn’t set.”
“Have you called maintenance?”
“The maintenance man said he couldn't look at it until next week.”
I immediately stood up. “Let me call down to the front desk.”
“Ruby, you don't have to?—”
“Yes, I do.” I was already dialing the number that I'd memorized months ago. “Hi, this is Ruby Miller. I'm visiting Luther and Violet Randolph in 2C, and there’s a problem with their fridge... Yes, I'll hold.”
Luther watched me with clear eyes. “She's a good one, Violet.”
“The best,” Violet agreed.
Five minutes later, I hung up with a satisfied smile.
“I can’t believe you made it sound so urgent,” Violet said.
“It is. Chances are that if it’s on the fritz now, it will just conk out in a day or two, then you’ll end up with spoiled food and a puddle of water in the middle of the night. It’s their job to fix it.”