Page 6 of Broken Reins (Whittier Falls #4)

Five

Lily

T he espresso machine whined as I finished a latte for a regular, hands moving on autopilot. I barely heard her thanks as she plucked the drink from the counter and I spun around to grab Mr. Benson another scone.

I liked the busy days. When I didn’t have time to stop, I didn’t have time to overthink.

Usually.

I felt him before I saw him. Not in a cosmic, poetic way, but in the literal way someone like Ford Brooks could bend a whole room’s mood just by stepping into it.

Maybe it was the hush that fell over the patrons by the windows as he walked up the steps.

The bell over the bakery door jingled, and every person in the bakery turned their head to see who it was, though it wasn’t like they didn’t already know.

The guy was the most interesting thing to happen here in years, and it had only been a few days since he’d gotten clocked in the jaw by Damon Turner on Main Street.

I wondered how long it would take for everyone to grow bored of him.

They weren’t yet. I definitely wasn’t, despite telling myself to stop thinking about him dozens of times the last few days.

My eyes had drifted to the back of the line where he stood staring right at me.

Ford wore the same kind of clothes as the other day—dark jeans and a plain black t-shirt, but this time the open flannel shirt he wore over top was blue and gray.

I could see from here that it matched his eyes.

It wasn’t much different than what most of the cowboys wore around here, but for some reason, he looked better.

Maybe because he filled it out so well, or maybe because of the tattoos winding out from under the shirt sleeves and across his knuckles.

Or maybe because nobody else in Whittier Falls could pull off stubble and glasses and nine-hundred-dollar boots at the same time.

Yes, he wore glasses today. Black square frames that sat neatly on his perfectly straight nose. Another surprise, and another turn-on.

He smiled at me and I choked on my saliva.

Heat crept up the back of my neck and I whipped my towel at the counter, like I could wipe away the fact that something as simple as a smile made me choke.

Making it through my momentary coughing fit—exactly what everyone wants to hear from their barista—I stepped back to the register to take the next order, ignoring the look of disgust from the teen in line. She ordered a cold brew and went to stand at the far end of the counter.

Ford stepped to the front. He was taller up close, and somehow that surprised me, as if I hadn’t been sitting next to him and his bicep the other day. He touched his jaw gently as he reached the counter, eyes flicking to my face and then to the chalkboard menu behind me.

“Morning Lily,” he said. His voice was low but surprisingly smooth. “Just coffee, please. Whatever’s strongest.”

I tried to keep my tone neutral. “Do you want it black or do you want to taste something besides the inside of a barn?”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Dealer’s choice, but I trust your judgment.”

I pretended to consider, then reached for a mug. “We have a Sumatra roast that’ll curl your hair, or there’s a pour-over if you’re feeling less aggressive.”

He leaned one elbow on the counter and studied me with an easy, open look that I wasn’t expecting. “Sumatra. I could use the extra voltage today.”

I nodded, turning to the pot, doing everything I could not to look like I noticed the way his biceps pulled against the sleeves when he leaned in. “Rough night?” I asked, a little more gently than I meant to.

“Nah, just a rough town,” he said, though there was no bite in it.

I handed him the mug, careful to avoid the accidental touch that would probably short-circuit my brain. “It’s on the house.”

He looked at the cup, then at me, brow slightly raised. “That’s very generous.”

“It’s not, really. Damon’s punch was worth at least a free cup.”

Ford’s eyes crinkled at the edges. “Everyone’s still talkin’ about it, huh?”

“I think everyone in town saw it. Or, at the very least, heard about it before lunch. Or watched it on Tiktok?—”

“Alright now?—”

“—or Instagram. I think it was shared to the town’s Facebook group too.”

He laughed and rolled his jaw once, testing the bruise. “He always did have a solid right hook. Guess some things don’t change.”

I realized I’d been staring, so I blinked and grabbed a fresh pastry from the rack behind me, then slid it across the counter. “Have a scone. It’s my own recipe. Orange cranberry and cinnamon.”

He looked at the pastry for a second, then at me, almost like he was trying to figure something out. “Sure. Thank you.” His voice softened a little on the last word. He reached for his wallet, but I shook my head.

“That’s on the house too. It’s not charity,” I said, when I could tell he wanted to argue. “It’s bribery. If you tell Sutton you liked it, she’ll let me experiment more and I might get a raise.”

He snorted, and it was the first real, unguarded sound I’d heard him make. “You got yourself a deal.”

I watched him take a slow bite of the scone, chewing thoughtfully.

He seemed like the kind of guy who never said anything unless he’d decided it was worth saying.

The rest of the customers had gone back to their crossword puzzles or their phones, but I knew they were all still listening.

That was the thing about small towns. You could pretend to have a private conversation, but the walls were made of ears.

He swallowed, then looked back at me with a sudden intensity. “It’s good. Like, really good.”

I smiled, trying not to blush. “Thanks.”

“I mean it. Tastes like fall.” He sipped his coffee and grimaced, but then nodded approvingly. “You weren’t lying about the voltage.”

I laughed. “Nope.”

When he didn’t move to sit at a table, I busied myself with stacking plates, pretending not to notice the way he stared into his coffee like it might hold the answers to life.

His hands were big, but careful, cradling the mug with a delicacy you wouldn’t expect.

His knuckles were pale with old scars, like maybe he’d gotten into one too many fights years ago.

Then, after realizing I was ogling, I made myself busy with the pastry case, which had absolutely zero need for rearrangement.

The front door swung open again, this time bringing in a gust of chilly air.

Caroline, my closest friend, was clutching a laptop bag and blowing hair out of her eyes.

She made a beeline for the counter, but not before clocking Ford with one of her quick, assessing glances.

Not judgmental, but medical. She had this thing where she looked at people and saw every one of their old injuries, like she was scanning their bones for hairline fractures only she could see.

She gave Ford a sideways look, then turned to me with a bright smile. “Morning, Lily. I’ll have my usual.”

I grabbed a green tea bag, dropped it in a to-go cup and called, “Coming up,” over my shoulder.

“Hey,” she said, setting the bag down by her feet. “How’s your jaw?”

Ford barked out a laugh. “I’ve had worse.”

“Damon has a mean right hook.” Ford’s mouth quirked at the same observation he’d made just a moment ago.

“Ford, this is Dr. Caroline Cressley.” I said as filled the cup with hot water, added a lid, and placed it in front of her.

“Oh I’ve heard about you. Came back to town and made an honest man out of Walker Anderson, huh?”

“Hmm, something like that.” Caroline parked herself at the end of the counter and gave Ford a smile that was a little too big to be totally natural.

“You survived your first week back in Whittier. That’s impressive,” she said, ripping open a packet of honey with one sharp twist. “I almost didn’t, that’s for sure. ”

Ford raised both palms in surrender. “Ah, barely. I get the feeling I’m only just starting to inspire the pitchfork crowd.”

“Your reputation precedes you,” Caroline said. “Not that I ever believe half the stuff I hear around here. But the gossip has been great at the clinic this week.” She cast me a sly look, and then said, “Ford, are you keeping up with your aftercare? You need to ice your jaw, you know.”

He tapped his face, grinning. “Believe it or not, I’m being very responsible.”

Caroline pulled a face that was half skeptical, half indulgent. “If you end up with lockjaw, don’t come crying to me. I’ve seen men lose their ability to eat solid food for life, you know. All because they thought they were too tough for ice packs.”

“Now that’s a fate worse than death,” Ford said. He managed not to flinch when he smiled, which made me think he was either a good liar or actually healing up fast. “Wouldn’t want to miss out on more of these scones.”

My heart did a stupid flutter.

“Shameless,” Caroline said, but her eyes twinkled. “I’m glad you’re settling in. I know Walker is happy you’re back.”

Ford did a double-take, his eyebrows shooting up into his forehead, but Caroline just kept smiling. She took her cup and sipped at it, then leveled a look at me. “You free after your shift?”

“Yeah. Noah’s at daycare this afternoon, so I’ve got a couple hours.”

“Perfect. Meet me down the block at three-thirty. I have a surprise.”

“What?”

“You heard me,” she said, getting up and grabbing her things. “You’ll see!”

With that, she spun around and headed out the door.

Ford shrugged a shoulder and smiled at her announcement, raising his coffee in a pretend toast.

“I wonder what that’s all about.”