Page 15 of Broken Reins (Whittier Falls #4)

“I brought wine,” he said, holding up the bottle. “It’s not fancy, but I hope it’s okay.”

I felt less guilty about my own wine plans and reached for the corkscrew, but Ford beat me to it, popping the cork with a quick practiced twist. He poured two glasses, then lifted his in my direction. “To fixing things.”

I snorted. “Cheers.”

We all dug in. For a while, the only sounds were forks scraping plates and Noah slurping mashed potatoes.

“This is really good,” Ford said, after the first bite. “I haven’t had a home-cooked meal in . . . a long time.”

I tried not to glow, but it was impossible. “Glad you like it. I didn’t have chives, but?—”

“Chives are overrated,” he said, already going back for another bite. “The meatloaf’s perfect.”

Noah nodded, mouth full. “Yummy, mama. Told ya I liked meat-woaf.”

I giggled, but stopped when I caught Ford watching me.

We ate, and the conversation drifted. Ford asked Noah about trucks, and Noah asked if Ford knew how to do wheelies on bicycles. (He did.) I asked Ford about the ranch, and he told a story about trapping a raccoon in the attic, which made Noah giggle so hard he nearly spit carrots onto the table.

It was easy. Way too easy.

I caught Ford looking at me again and again, and every time, his expression was somewhere between curiosity and amusement, like he was still trying to solve a puzzle no one else could see.

After dinner, I started to clear the plates, but Ford stood up and collected them before I could stop him. He set them by the sink, then rolled up his sleeves again, higher this time, exposing more of the tattoos winding up his arms.

“Mind if I take a look now?” he asked, pointing at the sink.

I tried to hide the flush in my cheeks. “Be my guest.”

Noah climbed off his chair and ran for his trucks again. I would have moved on to clean-up and storytime by now, but this was a special circumstance and Noah seemed to be taking full advantage of the extra play time.

Ford ducked under the sink, toolbox open beside him.

I hovered nearby, feeling ridiculous for not knowing what to do with my hands.

He dwarfed the small cabinet opening, his broad shoulders barely fitting inside.

His demin-clad legs were long and I had a fleeting moment of wondering what it would be like to sit on his lap.

Jeez. Stop.

But then he reached up for something and his shirt rode up the smallest bit, revealing a few inches of washboard abs. I could feel the saliva pooling in my mouth and turned around to stare at the wall.

“Can you hand me that wrench on top there?” He asked, pointing toward his toolbox. I reluctantly got closer to him, pointedly avoiding looking at the exposed skin of his stomach while I passed him the tool.

I watched as he loosened something with the wrench, then twisted off the old p-trap, laying the corroded pipe on a towel.

“Wow,” I said. “You really do know what you’re doing.”

He grinned, the dimple in his cheek appearing for the first time. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

“Sorry. I just thought, you know . . . with your background . . .”

“Tech boy can’t fix a sink?” He looked up, but there was no sting to it.

“Yeah. Something like that.”

He shrugged, then wiped his hands on the towel. “Don’t forget, I grew up on a ranch. We learned how to work with tools and fix damn near everything by twelve years old.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I just nodded.

“Did you always like to cook?” he asked after a while.

“I didn’t have much choice,” I said. “I grew up with three siblings. My mom worked nights, so I made dinner for everyone.”

I could almost make out him nodding, like this made perfect sense.

“What about you?” I asked. “Did you always want to run a company?”

He chuckled. “Not even a little. I wanted to be a pilot, when I was a kid, but was happy enough thinkin’ I’d be a rancher.”

“Really?”

He grinned, sheepish. “Yeah. I was too nearsighted to ever pass the vision test. And I found computers when I was a freshman. They made sense to me.”

“That’s a pretty big detour.”

“Not as big as it sounds.” He shrugged. “Coding is all about building and fixing things too. Just with less physical labor.”

There was a silence. Not the bad kind, but the kind that hovers just above your heads, waiting for the next good thing.

Noah reappeared to ask for ice cream, and I gave him a small scoop in a cup with his favorite blue sprinkles. “Be careful and eat this at the coffee table.”

“Yes, Mama.”

“He’s a great kid,” Ford said after Noah carefully carried the bowl into the living room.

“He’s my whole world,” I said, and then hated myself for how obvious that sounded.

Ford didn’t laugh. “That’s good. You’re good with him.” He grabbed another tool that he’d left within reach. “You ever get a break?”

I shrugged. “He goes to daycare while I work, and sometimes I get a sitter if I have to stay late. It’s just the two of us, really, so .

. .” I let the sentence trail off, not wanting to explain about my ex-husband, or why we were alone, or why my only family left in town was the found kind, not the blood kind.

Ford seemed to get it. “That’s a lot.”

“Not compared to what some people go through,” I said, which was the canned answer I always used when someone tried to feel sorry for me.

He pulled himself out of the cabinet and looked at me with a kind of softness I didn’t expect. “You don’t have to downplay it. You’re doing a lot.”

I shrugged, unwilling to accept the compliment.

The kitchen felt smaller than usual. I could smell his cologne, something woodsy and a little bit sweet, like cedar and honey.

He held up the piece of pipe he removed, and tapped the metal. “See that?”

I nodded, though I had no idea what I was seeing.

“It’s cracked all the way through.”

“I’m no expert, but I’m guessing that’s bad?”

He laughed, his eyes doing a little twinkling thing that made me weak in the knees.

“Yeah, but not anymore. I replaced your p-trap so the main leak is fixed. But the faucet itself is leaking too, and there’s no fixing that. It’ll have to be replaced.

“Oh. Well, thank you. I’ll call the landlord in the morning.”

Ford shook his head. “No need. I’ve got extras at the ranch from all the reno I’m doing. I’ll bring one over—install it, too. Won’t cost you a thing.”

I felt a flush rise to my face, half embarrassment, half something else. “You really don’t have to?—”

“Lily,” he said, voice low but firm. “Let me help.”

His eyes pinned me to the spot. For the first time tonight, I noticed the wound behind them. Not fragile, exactly. Just —exposed. Like he was daring me to say yes, and hoping I wouldn’t say no.

I nodded, too thrown to muster more than a word. “Okay.”

A long silence filled the kitchen, stretching out until I heard Noah yawn from the living room.

“Mama,” he called, and I peeked around the corner. Noah was curled up on the couch, one truck under his cheek, the other in a death grip. His eyes were already drifting shut.

I turned back to Ford, who had that look again—soft, almost sad, like he wanted to say something and couldn’t find the words.

“I better get him to bed,” I said, forcing a smile.

“Yeah,” he said. “I should head out. Don’t want to wear out my welcome.”

There was something in the way he lingered at the door, toolbox hanging from his fingers like a suitcase. I realized that, for all his confidence, Ford was just as unsure as I was.

He opened the door, then paused. “Lock up, Lily. Seriously.”

“I always do,” I said, but it came out softer than I meant. Like a promise.

Ford hesitated, then stepped out into the hall. For a second, I thought that was it—that he’d leave, and the air would go back to normal.

But he turned back, caught my eye, and for a moment, it felt like gravity tilted toward him. Like he was about to say something important.

“Thanks for dinner,” he said, but his voice was different this time—rough around the edges, as if he was fighting himself.

I nodded, clutching the door.

He leaned in, close enough that I could smell the faint sharpness of metal and cedar on his skin. Then, before I could process what was happening, he pressed a kiss to my cheek. Just a quick, warm touch, more whisper than anything else. But it sent a shock straight down my spine.

When I opened my eyes, he was already at the stairs, moving with that same easy stride, never looking back.

I closed the door with shaking fingers, then stood there for a second, just breathing. The hallway was silent except for the distant wail of a trumpet from upstairs.

I touched my cheek, half-expecting it to still be warm.

It was scorching.