Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 100853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
I rubbed the heel of my palm into my chest again, the hollow space filled with a warmth, a yearning I didn’t want to acknowledge.
“We should give them privacy. Did you mention something about tea?” I asked Finn.
“Probably gone cold, but yeah,” he said, nodding, his eyes locked on the action on the mat. “PB&Js and some cookies to tide you guys over till dinner.”
August and Nicky let me lead them away from the open gym door. Thatcher lingered.
“Be there in a minute,” he said. As we walked away, I heard him call to Hawk. “Hey, can you teach me how to do that?”
“Sure, kid,” I heard Hawk say. “Come on in. You’ve got some size on you. We’ll see what you can do with Ford when Griffen needs a break.”
I went through the motions of getting Nicky and August to wash their hands and sit at the table, asking them about school and deflecting when they asked why Ford and Griffen were fighting. All the while, I couldn’t get the picture of Ford out of my head. His lean muscles straining under his skin, the determination in his eyes as he got up again and again. Those hands—I couldn’t forget how they’d felt gripping my hips when he kissed me.
I had to figure out what I wanted and how much I was willing to risk to get it. Did I want Ford Sawyer? Yes. With heat in my chest, I answered with a resounding yes—I wanted Ford Sawyer.
And my father? My search for the mysterious Sarah? What about that?
I wasn’t sure I could have both.
Ford didn’t talk to me for five days after the attack in the parking lot. His door was always firmly shut when I went to bed, and still closed when I woke in the morning. The two times the lights had gone out in the guest wing, Ford had been working at the taproom, so I’d fixed them myself. I’d seen him every afternoon around tea, training with Griffen in the gym. Hawk had decided that fourteen-year-old Thatcher was adult enough to serve as a practice dummy. Since Thatcher wanted to learn to fight, and his mother and Tenn were okay with it, he was regularly getting tossed around on the mat and was having a blast, in contrast to Ford.
Every time I caught sight of Ford stripped to the waist, his rangy body sending heat flooding through mine, all I got from his expression was grim determination. He wanted to learn as fast as humanly possible.
By the fifth night of silence from Ford, I was out of patience. I lay in my bed, tossing and turning, trying to untangle my snarled thoughts. I shouldn’t want Ford, but I did. I’d come here under false pretenses, and yet I wanted to stay. I thought I wanted to teach, but I was happy exactly where I was. Everything was a contradiction—a war between what I thought I wanted, or what I should want, and what I was feeling.
One thing at a time, I told myself. Career planning could wait. I had money in my savings account and a job I liked. I could figure out the future later. I’d come here to find Sarah Sawyer and my father. It felt like I was supposed to put Ford aside and continue with my search. The problem was, I wasn’t sure there was anything to find. It didn’t seem like Sarah Sawyer had much more to do with her family than my father had with me. Sarah and my father were long gone, living it up somewhere, their families forgotten. My quest, which had been filled with such purpose after my mother’s death, now felt empty. It was what had brought me here, but it wasn’t what was keeping me at Heartstone Manor.
The answer to why I stayed was so much simpler. I liked the Sawyers and the kids and the job. I liked the town. I felt rooted for the first time in years. And yes, I liked Ford Sawyer. He might be the last man I should want, but I was having trouble respecting all my shoulds lately. I didn’t care about should. I wanted Ford. I wanted to run my hands over all that lean, corded muscle, to feel the heat of him, those strong fingers closing over my hips or cupping a breast. Those kisses—if he kissed like that, what would the rest be like?
And now Finn and I had almost gotten hurt. Ford was learning to fight and working nights at the taproom. It didn’t take a genius to put it all together—especially considering the argument I’d overheard between Avery and West, ending with Avery saying, “I can hate this and still agree it’s a good plan. But I don’t like it.”
“Neither do I, Ave,” West had said. “But Ford wants to finish it, and this is the best way.”