Page 63 of Tate
Scarlett had to close her mouth before something flew in.
Her mother giggled, Ford grinned, and suddenly he’d been invited for dinner.
To Scarlett’s shock, he stayed. So long that he helped with the dishes, then went outside and played catch with Gunnar, who had come home from practice shortly after they arrived.
The kid had grown up into a rascal with an impossible mop of blond curls, cheeky blue eyes, and a savviness that probably came from having to fend for himself. She recognized a lot of herself in him.
Still, he was young enough to give her a hug. And be impressed by Ford and his wicked bruise.
Because apparently, it was cool to nearly get shot.
It was right after dinner, as night fell, as the dusty winds whipped up, and the stars dripped from overhead, that she’d lost control of her week. Not that she had any real plans, but she’d seen herself alone, trying to unravel her snarled fears about the future.
Ford had gotten up, looked at her mother, and asked a question about a gas station. Axel was lying on the sofa, watching some horror flick, and grunted laughter.
“I think they’re all closed this time of night,” Scarlett said and made a face.
Ford had walked out onto the porch, the night deepening, and then turned to her. “I’ll be right out here if you need me.”
Weird, but she’d nodded because she didn’t know what else to do.
The man had spread out a pad and sleeping bag in the bed of his truck.
Scarlett had expected to see him gone when she arose at first light, but there he was, in the kitchen frying up eggs while her mother, dressed in a bathrobe and hardly anything else, sat at the kitchen table drinking coffee and telling him about the time she sang onstage at the Bellagio.
Sure, Mom.
But Scarlett slid up to the table, across from her mother, and Ford appeared with a cup of coffee like he belonged there, in her mother’s tiny kitchen.
It was clean—maybe Ford’s touch—and Scarlett might have settled into the moment, believing that everything would be all right, if her mother hadn’t turned to her and said, “This nice man was sleeping outside in his truck. In our yard, Scar! How did he get there—and aren’t you going to be late for school?”
Her coffee pitched in her stomach, and Ford offered her a sad look. “She asked me if I played baseball for the local team,” he whispered.
“See, I told you,” Axel said from the open door. He sat on the stoop, smoking a cigarette. “She’s bonkers.” He rotated his finger around his ear. “Bonkers.”
“I think it’s called a disease,” Scarlett snapped and ran a finger under her eyes. “Have you even tried to get her into a treatment center?”
Axel lifted a shoulder. “We ain’t got a car. What do you want me to do—put her on the back of my bike?”
“Where’s the nearest center?” Ford asked as he slid scrambled eggs onto a plate in front of her mother, then her. The man even made a plate for Axel and served him at the door before serving himself. “Gunnar already left for school,” he added.
She had slept like the dead on the sofa pillows in Gunnar’s room and hadn’t heard a thing, apparently.
“Salt Lake City,” Axel mumbled.
Ford managed to find a gas can in the garage and fed the car with enough juice to get them back to Holbrook. They spent the day driving the 156 miles to the city, waiting for an appointment to talk to the rehabilitation counselor at Pathways of Hope, then traveling back home with the dismal waiting list, Sammy-Jo’s name on the bottom.
Scarlett stared out the window in silence, Ford driving grim-faced, her mother babbling on about the doctor and how she had dated a podiatrist once…
Ford had reached across the seat and touched Scarlett’s hand, just once, ever so briefly, and given it a squeeze.
That night, she found him sitting on the porch and sank down next to him. “I don’t know what to do. I thought last time I left that she was going to be okay.”
Her leg brushed against his, and he reached out and put his arm around her. Easy. Friendly. “I don’t think there’s anything you can do, Red.” He’d turned to her then, however, and met her eyes. “She has to make her own choices. But I’m not leaving here until you’re ready.”
Oh.
His gaze met her eyes. “We don’t leave a teammate behind.”
