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His lips turned up at the corners. "No, I just came down to pull something from the freezer for supper. Emmy can't come up tonight, but she'll bring groceries tomorrow. We'll have meat and scrounge up something else for the sides." Stepping back, he stopped. "Please tell me you aren't a vegetarian."
Laughing, she shook her head. "No, I'm a carnivore. It's all good."
Nodding, he stepped from the doorway and disappeared. She couldn't stop herself from watching him walk down the hall. His ass was perfectly shaped and wore his jeans well. Firm round cheeks flowed into muscular legs. There was something about a man's well shaped thighs that had always been a turn on to her. His biker boots finished his attire, and she thought he'd look good no matter what he wore—a tuxedo or jeans and a T-shirt. Hearing the freezer door close, she stepped back into the laundry room and busied herself with her wet garments. Twisting the knob on the dryer to start the tumbling of her clothing, she tossed her dark clothing into the washer to clean up the last of her smelly clothes. Hopefully, that smell would wash away. Boots on the floor drew her gaze to the doorway. His dark head appeared for only a second as he held up a frozen roast, a captivating smile on his lips. "Roast beef for dinner; we won't starve."
Without waiting for a reply, he continued on upstairs, and she imagined what that would look like. Sucking in a deep breath, she pushed herself away from the counter and made her way upstairs. Her stomach rolled and tightened, but there were worse things than spending time with a handsome, yet sometimes scary man.
At the top of the stairs, she saw him sitting at a desk, his back slightly turned toward her, a computer up on the desk and a phone in his hand.
"I'm aware, Rory. I just need to make sure Megan's feeling secure here before ..."
She froze, and he turned toward her. Their eyes locked, and he sat forward in his chair. As he stood, she turned abruptly and went into the room he'd allowed her to stay in. Her heart oddly hurt a bit at the implication that he might—what? Be using her to find Waylon? That's what she thought right now. Make sure she's feeling secure before he started grilling her with questions? Or, what else?
Furiously blinking away the tears, she walked to the window and looked out at the picturesque mountains and the vast array of colors that greeted her. Purples and yellows in the flowers that grew on the stony surface and the deep greens in the trees contrasted and brightened the blue hue of the sky to almost blindingly bright.
"Hey."
She spun around at the sound of his voice, so deep and sexy. But when she looked at him, she saw a puzzled look on his face. His brows were furrowed, and his lips turned slightly down.
"Are you okay?"
"Yes." Her tone wasn't clipped, but it was curt.
"You sure? Seems as though something's wrong."
"Why do I need to feel secure?"
He crossed his arms which made the muscles in his biceps bulge, and the effect was totally awesome. Dammit. He leaned against the doorframe and tried to look casual—he was anything but. His spine was rigid, and she'd learned that when he was trying to control himself, he clenched his jaw, which he was doing right now.
"Don't you want to feel secure?"
Planting her hands on her hips, she replied, "Of course I do. Who doesn't? But, why specifically do I before ... whatever you were going to say? I don't know where Waylon is. I haven't in years. Why don't you believe me?"
"For the record ..." He paused, and it made her nervous. His dark eyes bored into hers, and with his jaw tight, he looked like scary Ford again. "I would like to make sure you feel secure here before I leave and go find Bobby Ray. In case you've forgotten, the murderer of my parents and your ex-husband are out there on the loose and committing crimes. Rather than being worried about whether or not you know where Waylon is, why don't you start thinking about someone else? Did it ever cross your mind that helping us find him and maybe Bobby Ray may help keep a lot of other innocent people safe?" He pushed himself from the doorjamb with a jerk of his shoulder. Hands at his sides, he turned to walk out the door but paused for a moment before adding, "I get you've had a rough week. But you aren't the only one."
And all she saw was his retreating back. The instant he left the room, she felt bereft and horrible. Had she been only thinking of herself? The argument could be and had been made to that effect. She'd lost her house, but she didn't lose her parents. Not like he had, anyway.
Hearing the back door open and close, she stepped from the safety of the bedroom and glanced out the kitchen window. Ford practically stomped out to the garage behind the house, opened the door, and disappeared inside. Her heart felt heavy, and she was ashamed of herself. Hearing the buzzer on the dryer go off, she went to the basement and pulled her dried clothing from the dryer and hung them on the hangers on a clothes rod between the cabinets—hopefully camouflaging her bras from his sight until they dried. How mortifying that had been.
Deciding she needed to be more appreciative, she made her way upstairs and scrounged around in the cupboards and refrigerator to see if she could find something to make for supper to go with their roast. She found a box of pasta and olive oil, and upon inspection of the cabinets, she found spices and enough ingredients to make a pesto. It wouldn't have the flavor of pesto with fresh herbs, but it would be something. Finding a box of Jell-O, she made them dessert to go with the rest. Pulling together her pesto and Jell-O, she placed the individual glasses filled with Jell-O in the refrigerator to firm up and set to the task of making the roast. Seasoning and placing it in the oven, she felt like she was contributing instead of just taking. It felt good.
* * *
Setting the smaller dining table alongside the counter, opposite the room from Ford's desk, she arranged the plates and silverware. Wineglasses sat before the plates, and a bottle of red sat in the middle of the table—opened and breathing before dinner.
Her stomach flipped when she heard the back door open and close, and Ford's footsteps coming toward her. She turned and caught his eyes with hers as he rounded the corner to the kitchen.
"It smells amazing in here. I was just coming in to make supper, but it looks as though you have it covered."
"Thank you. I hope you don't mind that I rummaged around. I found some things that I hope will be suitable for a side and a dessert. The roast should be ready in about ten minutes, so your timing is great."
"I'll just go shower up quickly then." He continued across the living room and to a doorway that she'd looked at but was afraid to peek into for fear she'd feel too nosy.
Emptying the pasta from the pot, she poured the pesto over it and tossed it in the pan. Pulling the roast from the oven, she had to admit, everything smelled fantastic. She sliced the meat and arranged it on a plate and set it on the table. Ford sauntered in, hair still wet and gleaming, his black Harley shirt clinging in the spots he'd dried fleetingly and left damp. Wearing his customary blue jeans, she smiled that he always seemed ready for anything but so very handsome.
"Smells great."
"Thanks."
