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CHAPTER THIRTEEN

R idiculous.

Ford had called Brooklynn ridiculous, then expected her to explain herself. As if she owed him an explanation. If she told him what she was thinking, she’d only prove what he already thought about her.

Ridiculous.

That pretty much summed it up, didn’t it?

Ford had scarfed almost all the crackers she’d set out, along with most of the cheese, so she replenished the makeshift charcuterie board, wishing she had some grapes, maybe a bowl of olives to make it look pretty.

Ford would probably suggest that made her an artist, as if everyone in the world couldn’t present food on a tray.

Okay. Maybe she was the one everybody in the family insisted put together the charcuteries and set the table for a fancy meal, but only because she liked doing it, and she had experience. And maybe she understood scale and color. She liked making things look pretty. That didn’t make her an artist.

She was smarter than to use that word to describe herself. She knew who she was, what she was, and what she wasn't.

Ford settled beside her and reached for the crackers. But he didn’t take any, just sat back again. “I went to boarding school.”

The words were out of left field, apropos to nothing, but she quenched her surprise, afraid she’d scare him back into silence.

“That’s different.”

“My great-aunt raised me. She came from money, and in her day, all wealthy young men went to boarding school, so…”

“Where were your parents?”

His lip quirked. “They were…busy.”

“Was this an aunt on the Ballentine side of your family?”

“No. Other side.” He grabbed a cracker and the last slice of cheese and ate them, taking his time chewing.

She’d pushed too hard. She sipped her water to keep from pressing him for more information.

“I didn’t like it very much,” he finally said. “Boarding school. It was cold. The buildings were drafty, but it was more than that. It seemed like the kids all knew each other and didn’t need another friend. I wasn’t good at fitting in. Too quiet.”

“Really? I’m shocked.”

He ignored her. “The teachers were strict. The classes were challenging. My aunt expected top grades, and I had to work hard to achieve them. This was a sort of…cream-of-the-crop type of place. Only the smartest were allowed entry, so even though I’m…you know.”

“Super smart?”

He shrugged. “I was born with a good intellect. Like some people are born with artistic ability.” He looked at her, eyebrows hiked. “There’s no shame in knowing who you are, who God created you to be.”

He seemed to wait for her to say something, to admit she was talented or artistic or whatever, but she snagged on something else. “You’re a Christian?”

He studied the fire. “I believe in a Creator. When I was a kid, I put my faith in Jesus.”

“But?”

He shrugged. “Life happens, and God doesn’t show up.”

“God doesn’t have to ‘show up.’ He’s always with us.”

His smirk told her what he thought of that.

“If He does nothing, then He’s about as helpful as a gun with no bullets.

” Ford nodded to the weapon he’d left on a side table.

“At least that thing’s loaded. It can do something.

It’s more effective than a God who watches impassively.

I believe He exists. I just don’t think He cares a whole lot. ”

Ford had spoken more words in a row to her in the last ten minutes than he had since she’d met him. The last thing she wanted was to shut him down. Challenging his beliefs might do just that, but maybe it was worth the risk.

“Yesterday,” she said, “when I was being chased by those men, and you were there? That was God showing up.”

“For you.”

“Well, yeah. But the point is, He is involved. He cares. I was praying for help, and He brought you. Scared the stuffing out of me, but you… God used you to save my life.”

His only response was a slight shrug.

She wanted to question him more about his faith, about why he’d lost it, about what had happened to him that had hurt him so. But she sensed he wasn’t ready to go that deep with her.

“Were you in boarding school until you graduated?”

“Yup.”

“Did you make some friends? Did you eventually feel like you fit in?”

“I got involved in sports and clubs. I knew people. They knew me.”

“That’s not exactly friendship, though.”

He rubbed his lips together, seemed to be contemplating what to say. Maybe how much to share.

After a minute, he exhaled. “I had a friend for a couple of years. Kid named Matty. I used to go home with him for weekends sometimes. When my aunt traveled, his family would let me stay with them. They lived on a huge piece of property out in the Berkshires. He had a bunch of sisters, and we’d play games and… ” Ford’s voice trailed.

“Sounds like fun.”

“One year at school, some older kids targeted him. I don’t know why.

My friend was tall but skinny, not at all athletic.

A few older kids started picking on him.

I tried to stick up for him, but it was my friend and me against five older, bigger boys.

There wasn’t much either one of us could do.

I thought… I was young and stupid, and I still believed adults could fix problems. I told Matty to tell a teacher.

He didn’t want to, thought it would make things worse.

But things were pretty bad. They’d knocked him around, bruised him.

And I just…” Ford shook his head, his lips pressing together.

“You were smaller and outnumbered.” Brooklynn kept her voice low, barely wanting to interrupt the flow of his thoughts. “What could you have done?”

“When one of them pushed Matty hard enough that he fell and fractured his wrist, I decided to tell the headmaster myself. I was trying to help. The problem was, the ringleader of that little gang of bullies was the son of the school’s biggest donor.”

“So what? Surely the parents would have wanted him to be reprimanded.”

“Bullying was grounds for expulsion. Those were the rules the school itself had set. So they couldn’t exactly call him on it without following through on the prescribed punishment.

They had a stern talk with the kid and his little thug followers.

The next night, thinking he was the one who’d reported them, they beat Matty so badly that he ended up in the hospital. He never came back.”

“Aw, Ford.” She leaned toward him and rested her palm on his arm. It was warm and muscular, and she dropped her hand immediately. “I’m sorry. That’s awful.”

He shifted out of her reach. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine. It’s terrible, and I’m sorry you had to deal with it. What happened to Matty after that?”

“His parents enrolled him in a private school near where they lived. As far as I know, he was happy there.”

“Did you two lose touch?”

“I didn’t. He did. He never got past it.” Ford stood and poked at the burning logs, then added another, though the room was plenty warm.

“Didn’t he understand you were trying to help?”

“He landed in the hospital.”

“Yeah, but?—”

“Wanting to help, trying to help… The point is, I didn’t help.” He stood with his back to her, head lowered as if in shame.

Because of the actions of one kid trying to help another.

She studied his beautiful silhouette. He had straight, broad shoulders, but they weren’t broad enough to carry all the burdens piled up there. He needed to know how to let them go. To release them to the Lord.

Of course, he didn’t trust the Lord. How did people without faith survive the trials of life—even a normal life? And it sounded like Ford’s hadn’t been normal at all. Parents too busy to care for him. Raised by an aunt who’d sent him off to school to deal with pressures no child should face.

“If you had it to do over again,” Brooklynn asked, “what would you do differently?”

He faced her. “I don’t…” His voice trailed, and he looked over her head as if a good answer hovered in the darkness behind her. “I don’t know.”

“If you’d done nothing, the bullying wouldn’t have stopped.”

“Maybe it would have, eventually.”

“Did those boys suddenly become kind, upstanding citizens of your boarding school?”

His lips quirked. “After he left, they moved on to another kid, but the teachers watched more closely. They weren’t as bad.”

“So telling the headmaster actually did help.”

“Didn’t help Matty. For him, I made things worse.” He returned the poker to its stand. “I prayed about that decision. I thought God would help, and He didn’t.”

“He isn’t a genie, you know. You don’t just automatically get what you pray for. Maybe it was better for Matty to go home.”

“Yeah, it was. Which proves my point. God worked that out for Matty because God was on his side. Just like he used me to save you yesterday because He’s on your side. He’s never been on mine.”

“That’s quite a lesson to take from one bad experience.”

“One?” His voice was too loud. He faced the fire again. “You have no idea.”

Those last words were uttered so low she barely heard them.

“I’d love to know, though, if you want to talk about?—”

“I don’t.”

“Okay.” She’d pushed too hard, and he’d retreated into his shell. The thought that he might never open up to her hurt, physically hurt. She wanted to know more about this man who carried the world on his broad shoulders. She wanted to know everything about him.

He was secretive and mysterious and short-tempered and broody. But beneath that, he was a boy who’d only wanted to help his friend. A man who’d risked his life to save hers. Who’d stood up to criminals—and a cop—to protect her.

He was so many things she admired. She wanted to know him better.

And she wanted him to know her.