Page 4 of The Cowboy's Witchy Second Chance
“Um, I guess whatever time you start here? Uh, thanks for helping me out.”
“Of course, no problem. I’m happy to, Al.”
A look I can’t place flickers behind her eyes at hearing me use her nickname, and she blurts out goodbye before heading out the door.
3
Alona
The morning sun streams through my open window as I stare at myself in the mirror. This is my third attempt to get dressed for the day. What the hell is wrong with me? Why do I care about how I look today?
Dumb question. I know exactly why I am being extra this morning. Ford is here in just a few minutes. I am both horrified and excited to see him again.
Last night threw me for a loop. It’s not like I didn’t think I’d ever bump into the man again. I know he lives here. But I didn’t expect to break bread with him during our first bump-into. I also didn’t expect him to look so damn good. He looked fine as fuck, with white hair and graying stubble.
Rolling my eyes at my reflection, I close the closet door. I am dressed fine. I look fine. So what if I am not a skinny teenager any more? I like my curves, so why do I care if Ford likes them as well?
I start another pot of coffee when my doorbell rings. Ford stands on my front porch, looking delicious, but I ignore that. Just because he’s still good looking doesn’t mean he should take up any extra space in my head. I make him a cup of coffee and take him on a tour of my tiny ranch. Like everyone else who has been here, he falls in love with the silly goats immediately.
Walking back to the house, Ford points out a few broken slats on my fence.
“I can fix that today, Al.”
With zero thought, I mutter, “As long as you don't punch it.”
His face falls, but he doesn’t respond.
“I’m sorry, Ford. that was a shitty thing for me to say.”
“No, I get it. I was a mess in high school. It’s amazing you dated me for as long as you did, Al. I showed you my worst self. I do want you to know that I’ve grown up a lot over these decades.”
“I’ve heard.”
Our eyes meet and I feel my stomach do a somersault. I offer him a small smile. He returns it with his usual crooked grin, but this time it’s adorned with sexy laugh lines.
Lord, I need to cool it.
Ford accomplishes several minor jobs on the ranch during the morning. At lunch time, I bring him a sandwich and a lemonade. Before he sees me walking up to him, I enjoy an eyeful. No longer wearing his shirt, I see he has grown up in more ways than one. His sweaty, defined chest glistens in the sunlight. I soak in the sight of his rugged farmwork-made muscles and his washboard abs. Holy, this man is absolutely delicious looking.
“Oh, hey, thanks,” he says once he notices me.
I feel my face burn when his chocolate brown eyes meet mine. I watch Ford down the glass of lemonade in two gulps.
“Oh, let me get you more.” I offer.
“I’ll come with you. I should wash my hands first, anyway.”
As we walk back to the house, Ford asks me a few questions about how my life has been these last few decades.
“Do you still dabble in witchcraft, like in high school?” he asks, holding the door open for me.
“Well, I’m actually a full-blown witch now.”
The look on his face is priceless.
“That’s amazing, Al! You always had a knack for it.”
My cheeks are on fire yet again. I thank him.
