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So I didn’t see Ford until he was within a few feet of my SUV where I was packing up the tools.
“Look, I know you don’t want to talk to me,” Ford said. “But I just…”
He looked flustered and upset.
“I want to…”
The hope that flickered to life inside me was actually painful. I was practically holding my breath as I waited for him to finish his statement.
I want to try.
That was all he needed to say and I’d take it. I wasn’t proud of that fact, but it was what it was.
“I want…”
“What?” I whispered as I stepped closer to him. I was a moth drawn to a flame and I was so fucking tired of trying to fight it. “What do you want, Ford?”
I saw it.
It was right there on the tip of his tongue.
I swore it was.
But just as he opened his mouth to speak, the sound of an engine cutting through the late afternoon silence had both of us tearing our eyes off one another and looking down the street. I recognized the driver right away as the older-model sedan pulled into Ford’s driveway. Even though Curtis Tulley wasn’t sheriff anymore, he still continued wearing the big Texas-style cowboy hat he’d apparently always worn during his tenure.
Ford moved back several steps from me so quickly that I instinctively reached out for him when it looked like he was going to step into a snow bank and fall. He jerked his arm away and darted his eyes toward his uncle.
Curtis’s gaze zeroed in on me and Ford as he stepped out of the car.
“You okay, boy?” he asked coolly as his sharp eyes went to Ford.
“F…fine, Uncle Curtis,” Ford stammered.
“You got something you want to talk to Ford about, Mr. Wells?” Curtis asked as he put his hands on his hips. He wasn’t carrying a gun anymore, but he still held all the swagger of someone who considered himself to be in a position of authority.
Not to mention he hadn’t bothered to address me as Sheriff.
But I didn’t give a shit about that. I’d expected as much from the arrogant asshole. Unfortunately, I’d stupidly expected something different from Ford.
Though I had no idea why.
I mean, what had I thought he’d do? Grab me and kiss me in front of his mother’s cousin? Declare to the world he was into dick and he didn’t care who knew it?
Disappointment seared through me like acid anyway.
I was done.
Just done.
“No,” I said to Curtis, though I kept my eyes on Ford as I spoke. Ford refused to look me directly in the eye, but I could tell that he knew I was watching him. “We’re done here,” I murmured.
With that, I turned and slammed the back of the SUV closed. As I got the engine going and slipped the car into drive, I knew it was really true this time, and not just my pride talking.
I was done… well and truly done.
Chapter Fourteen
Ford
“What were you talkin’ to him about?” Uncle Curtis asked, his voice sharp.
“Nothing,” I said as I made my way back up the driveway. I felt like a part of me had just died as I’d watched Cam drive off, so I was having trouble mustering the appropriate amount of respect in my response.
“You were looking pretty… cozy… with him.”
“I wanted to ask him about Walter,” I said. “Um, Mr. Pascal. He’s in the hospital and Ca—Sheriff Wells has been checking on him.”
“That man ain’t sheriff if he went and stole the job,” Uncle Curtis snapped. He waved a finger in my face, but I wasn’t worried about him laying that finger on me. He rarely touched me… probably because he figured he might catch the “queer bug,” as he liked to put it. Unlike my mother, I suspected Uncle Curtis hadn’t bought my story about my sessions with Reverend Page “curing” me. Before I could say anything, he looked around the driveway and street. “Where’s that brother of yours?”
“I’m not sure,” I murmured, my thoughts still on Cam. He’d looked so… gutted. How had I managed to mess things up so badly? All I’d intended to do was apologize for hurting him and then he’d told me I hadn’t and then we’d been kissing and it’d been amazing and right. And then I’d opened my mouth and said all the wrong stuff as usual and Cam was gone again.
Only this time I knew I’d hurt him for sure.
Uncle Curtis snapped his fingers in my face to get my attention. “When you see him, you tell him to call me, you hear?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Damn punk,” he muttered. I knew he wasn’t talking about me, though. He often called Jimmy a punk. Unlike our mother, Uncle Curtis didn’t buy any of Jimmy’s acts of innocence. He did, however, protect him at every opportunity. He did the same for me, though he didn’t seem to like me any better than he did my brother.
