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I couldn’t really make sense of Ford or his behavior. He was clearly hiding who he was from the outside world, yet back at his place he’d touched me with painfully blatant curiosity. Then in the car on the way to the hospital, he’d been ready to crawl into my lap. In the hospital elevator, he’d sought out my touch. And now he was letting me hold his hand for far longer than I had to. He was definitely closeted, but the religious stuff had seemed genuine and that was something I just didn’t even want to mess with. I believed in God as much as the next guy, but the God I believed in was nothing like the one a lot of Christians like Ford devoted themselves to.
Further complicating the picture I was trying to create of Ford was the fact that he was helping out at the wildlife sanctuary, which was run by two brothers who were unquestionably in committed relationships with other men. Not to mention the fact that Ford’s own brother and uncle had tormented Dallas Kent and Nolan Grainger through both words and deeds.
The fact was that Ford Cornell just didn’t make sense to me.
And that, in itself, was an unusual thing.
He unbalanced me.
I hated being unbalanced.
Forcing myself to focus on Ford’s palm, I changed the subject because I didn’t know what to say to his comment about everyone being better off if he kept his mouth shut.
“You said you’d been here before. Did you know the people who used to own the place?” I asked.
When he didn’t answer me, I looked up and saw him staring out the window. The fingers of his right hand began to tap against my own hand but when I looked down and then back at Ford, I realized he had no clue he was even doing it.
“Do you like to draw, Ford?”
“What?” he asked as he slowly turned his head to look at me. It took him a moment to register my question. He shrugged and went to tug his fingers from mine, but I closed my hand around his wrist. I was glad when he didn’t fight me and left his hand where it was. I looked down at his fingers like I was looking for cuts, but I knew there weren’t any. I let my thumb slide over the pad of his pointer finger. There was a trace of color on it. A very faint bit of blue. I looked at his other fingertips and noticed different colors on them.
“You’re an artist,” I said with a nod of my head.
Again, he didn’t answer me, but when I looked up at him, he held my gaze. I waited for him to acknowledge it, but instead he said, “Don’t tell anyone, okay? Please?”
“Okay,” I agreed right away. It seemed like a strange request, but in that moment, I would have given him the moon if I could have. This was only the second time he’d asked me for anything, the first being to let him get the water turned off in Walter’s basement. But this… this plea was different because it was for himself and it was something I could give him. I still wished he would have just asked me for help getting out from beneath his brother’s cruel hands, but I’d have to take what I could get.
I ran my finger back and over the little speck of blue. “Paint?” I asked.
He nodded.
“Is that the only kind of medium you use?”
“I do some sketching. And a little graphic design stuff. That’s it.”
He seemed reluctant to talk about it, but I had a feeling that was more because he didn’t like talking about himself, period. As much as I wanted to know more about him, I realized it was better that I didn’t.
“Did you buy this place?” Ford asked as he carefully pulled his hand free of mine. “Or are you renting it?”
“Looking to get rid of me sooner rather than later, Ford?” I asked with a smile.
He paled even more, though I wasn’t really sure why. I supposed it could have been the fact that his family blamed me for taking his relative’s job. Or, more likely, the fact that even now he was watching me like he wanted to leap across the table at me. The sexual tension between us was like a live wire, but my gut was telling me that he didn’t understand it.
It was a reminder of how young he was. Yeah, twenty-five was old enough to be making adult decisions, but if he didn’t have any sexual experience with men and he’d been taught being attracted to his own sex was such an evil thing that he’d burn in hell for it, he’d be an emotional basket case.
Of course, I was assuming a lot either way. Ford wasn’t exactly an open book and today was the first time I’d interacted with him beyond my job.
