Three Little Words
Page 22

More food was passed around the table. Isabel watched Ford take small portions of everything, but he didn’t seem to be eating. She put her hand on his thigh and felt the tension in his muscles.
He looked as though he was having a good time, but she could tell the evening was wearing on him.
“How are things going at work?” Denise asked him.
Isabel squeezed her fingers against his thigh. “He’s so busy,” she said with a smile. “Have you seen the facility? It’s amazing. Angel’s building an outdoor course that is incredibly challenging.” Information Consuelo had told her. “I couldn’t do it, but those of you who are more athletic should try it.”
“That would be fun,” Montana said. “Not that I’d go. I’m not very coordinated. Max, do you think we should have an obstacle course to train the dogs?”
And just like that, the attention was off Ford.
He put his hand on top of hers and then smiled at her. She smiled back.
Ford was always so funny and charming, she thought. Joking with everyone and acting as if he was just one of the guys. It was easy to forget that he’d been gone so long, serving his country in difficult and dangerous places.
He wasn’t the kind of man to brood, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have ghosts of his own. She ate her dinner and talked to people, but stayed alert to any conversation shift that might upset him.
Later, when they were driving home, she wondered if she should say anything. Or ask questions. In the end, she decided to let him speak or not.
When they arrived back at their place, she climbed out of his Jeep and started for the house. Ford stopped her and pulled her into his arms. He didn’t kiss her; instead he held on tight.
She rested her head on his shoulder and breathed in the quiet of the night.
She wondered what had happened. Was it his family? The close quarters? The questions? Just that some days he had to deal with his past and some days he didn’t?
But she didn’t ask and he didn’t offer. Instead he shifted so his arm was around her and led her toward the house.
“I’m thinking ice cream and then sex,” he said as she pulled her keys out of her purse. “What about you?”
She fumbled with the key and he took it from her. As he opened the door, she knew that she wanted this. What they had together. The fun and the conversation. The sex and the friendship. She wanted to be his buffer and have him take care of the yard and be manly with the barbecue. She liked the rhythm of their life together.
It wasn’t love, she told herself firmly. But it was still special and something she wanted to hang on to for as long as she could.
“Ice cream and sex sound great,” she told him.
He grinned. “You’re the best girlfriend ever.”
“I bet you say that to all your women.”
“Maybe,” he admitted. “But this time I mean it.”
* * *
“YOU READY FOR THIS?” Consuelo asked.
“Sure,” Kent said, even though he wasn’t.
Somehow he’d agreed to work out with her. It wasn’t his idea of a date, so he wasn’t sure how it had happened, but here he was, in the CDS gym. Any confidence he’d arrived with had been destroyed by the sight of Ford helping his friend Leonard to his car. Leonard had been shuffling, as if his legs hurt too much to walk regularly, and he’d held an ice pack to one shoulder.
Ford’s comment “Not a good place for civilians” hadn’t helped.
Now he faced a petite fireball who was very likely going to kick his ass. To make matters worse, she was dressed in formfitting workout clothes that left nothing to the imagination. He was in baggy sweats and a T-shirt, but even so, if he got an erection, the world was going to know.
Basically, he had a three-part plan. Don’t get injured, don’t make a fool of himself and keep his eyes off Consuelo’s ass.
“What do you want to do?” she asked, tilting her head so her ponytail swung toward the ground.
“You tell me.” Which was a better answer than the real one, which went along the lines of “I want to have sex with you. Anywhere, anytime, again and again.” He had a feeling she wouldn’t respond well to that line of conversation and that if he pursued it, he would end up with something broken.
“We have a basic workout we give recruits to assess them,” she told him. “How about that?”
“You don’t have a basic math-teacher assessment instead? Because I’d be good at that one.”
“You can take pi to eight digits?” she asked, her voice teasing.
“And beyond.”
“Impressive.” She grinned. “Okay, let’s start with jump-squats.”
She demonstrated by squatting down, then jumping high in the air before landing and then repeating the procedure.
“Ready?” she asked.
He nodded and they did them together. By the tenth, he was feeling it in his thighs. By fifteen, he was breathing hard. By number twenty, he had a vision of himself limping like Leonard.
They moved on to other exercises, each more challenging than the one before. Consuelo gave instructions as she worked along with him, barely breaking a sweat. He was thinking that he needed to up his game when it came to his four-days-a-week run. And maybe add a little weight lifting to his regimen.
“How about the ropes?” she asked, pointing to the ropes hanging from a crossbar.
“Sure.” Something he could do better, he thought. Men had more upper body strength than women. At least, he hoped they did.
They jogged across the gym. She reached for a rope as he did, then started to shimmy up. She reached the crossbar before he’d climbed more than four feet. He dropped back to the mats and started to laugh.
She joined him. “What?” she asked.
“You’re incredible.”
“I do this for a living.”
“Still, you’re in great shape. I’m completely intimidated.”
She got them each a bottle of water from a refrigerator in the corner. “You’re not. If you were you wouldn’t have wanted to work out with me. You knew I’d be good.”
“True, but I underestimated your ability.” He took a long drink of water and studied her. “Men do that a lot, don’t they?”
She shrugged. “Sometimes.”
“All the time. Because of your face and your body, they assume you’re a piece of ass and don’t bother to get to know you. They don’t take the time to understand you and they don’t offer you respect.”
The reality of what he’d just said struck him. He stared at her, horrified. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“It’s the truth.”
“It was rude.”
She drank more, her dark gaze never leaving his face. Her expression was unreadable. “You didn’t call me a piece of ass. You said others do.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Like I said, it’s the truth. Very few men take the time to find out who I am.”
He wanted to say he was willing, but was afraid he would sound like even more of a jerk.
“If nothing else, you now have proof that I haven’t dated much since my divorce,” he offered.
“You think I’m mad,” she said.
“Aren’t you?”
She lowered the bottle and smiled. “No.”
He waited, but that was all.
They finished their water and completed a few more exercises. He had a feeling he was going to be crippled in the morning. Something his students would find amusing.
“Are you limping?” she asked when he staggered to his feet after a rousing round of push-ups. She’d done more than him.
“No.” He straightened, ignoring the fiery pain searing his thighs and biceps. “How about a flashy finish?”
She put her hands on her hips. “Are you challenging me?”
“Sure.”
He knew he was going to regret the cocky attitude, but figured the low point of the workout had been the “piece of ass” comment.
She walked over to him and took his left arm in both her hands. Before he knew what was happening, she’d jerked him forward and then he was facing the ceiling and the floor came up very, very quickly.
He’d fallen out of a tree back when he’d been a kid. This was a lot like that, only without the broken arm. All the air rushed out of his body, and for a split second, he couldn’t draw it in.
Consuelo was on her knees at his side. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly, touching his face, then his arms. “Are you okay? That was so stupid of me. I was showing off. I shouldn’t have done it.”
Worry darkened her brown eyes. Her ponytail lightly brushed his cheek as she fussed over him. He opened his mouth and pretended to be unable to speak.
“What?” she demanded. “Are you hurt?”
He motioned her closer. “I can’t breathe,” he fake-gasped. “I think I need mouth-to-mouth.”
She sat back on her heels and shook her head. “You are such a guy.”
He sat up. “Is that a problem?”
“Not for me.”
He figured she would scramble to her feet, then pull him to his. Or laugh at him. Or walk away. Instead she leaned in and kissed him.
The touch of her mouth against his was light and brief, but the heat burned all the way down to his cock. He wanted to pull her close and let things get interesting. But they were at her place of work and she wouldn’t appreciate that.
She drew back. “I really am sorry about throwing you like that.”
“I’m not.” He grinned. “The kiss was worth it.”
“You’re easy.”
“As long as you consider that a good thing, I can live with that.” He gently touched her cheek. “Dinner? Just us?”
She glanced around and then leaned in again. This time her mouth lingered. “Dinner,” she whispered.
* * *
ISABEL PAUSED ON THE PORCH to check her phone. Still no return call from Sonia. She wondered what was going on with her friend. She’d left a message on Sonia’s Facebook page, where her friend had regular updates. But the lack of direct communication was troubling.
“Auntie Is, Auntie Is!”
Isabel grinned and dropped to her knees so Brandon, Maeve’s six-year-old, could run into her arms.
“Look at you,” she said, squeezing him as he laughed. “You’re so big.”
He hugged her back, then broke free and hurried back through the front door. “I can read, Auntie Is. I have a book.”
Isabel watched him bolt into the house, then followed. While she appreciated the happy greeting, she wondered how much of his enthusiasm came from his memories and how much was inspired by his older siblings. Isabel knew she’d had more to do with them than the younger ones. Mostly due to time and distance, but still.
Maeve waited at the front door. “You’re going to have to listen to one of his ‘Bob’ books now,” she said by way of greeting. “It’s the first level of reading. ‘Bob can walk. Bob can jump.’”
“Sounds like a bestseller.”
They hugged. Isabel patted her sister’s stomach.
“You seem to have something in there. You knew that, right?”
“Very funny.”
They settled in the family room. In addition to a huge sectional sofa, there were several chairs, a large, square coffee table with padded corners and toys everywhere.
Maeve burrowed onto a cushion and sighed. “I tried to pick up before you got here, but I’m at the tired stage of my pregnancy. In the next few weeks, I’ll get my energy back and then watch out.”
“You would know,” Isabel said, thinking Maeve had plenty of practice.
Maeve and Leonard had waited a year before getting married, just to make sure their love was the real thing. By then Leonard had graduated from college and passed the CPA exam. He got a job with the biggest accounting firm in town. Two years later, Maeve had gotten pregnant. The kids had kept on coming. Now she had four, all under the age of nine, with a fifth on the way.
“Is this the last one?” Isabel asked.
“I think so.” She smiled. “Leonard says yes, for sure. But we love having kids. We’ve talked about maybe stopping having our own, but adopting a few. Not babies. There are plenty of people who want an infant. We’re thinking maybe older kids who would benefit from a stable home and life in a town like this one.”
“Impressive,” Isabel murmured. “Now I officially feel shallow.”
Her sister’s blue eyes were concerned. “Why would you say that? You’re a successful businesswoman. That’s impressive. All I do is stay home with a bunch of kids.” She smiled. “Not that what I do isn’t important and I love it, but I haven’t ever seriously worked in the world. When Leonard and I were first married, I knew my job was to save for our house down payment. I didn’t want a career. When the youngest is in school, I may get something part-time, but I can’t imagine doing what you do.”
“Right now I’m working at Paper Moon. Which isn’t that notable.”
“But you’ll start your own business.”
“That’s the plan.”
Maeve leaned her head against the sofa. “You always loved that store. You and Grandma were there together every weekend. You knew all the styles of dresses by the time you were five, and by ten, you could have ordered the inventory.”
Isabel nodded. “She was wonderful.”
“She liked you best.”
Isabel wrinkled her nose. “She liked that I loved the store.”