Page 24 of Ford
“Bruised, and I wasn’t crying.”
“Weeping like a baby.”
Ford chucked his pillow at him. Tate dodged it.
“Still have the aim of a three-year-old.”
“Tell that to my three expert marksman patches.”
“I’ll out-shoot you anytime, little bro. Time and place.”
For Pete’s sake—Ford pushed himself up, holding in the groan that so wanted to emerge. But not in front of Tate, thanks. Back in a previous life, Tate had been a Ranger, someone Ford very much wanted to emulate.
Now Tate ran security for Gloria Jackson, daughter to VP candidate Reba Jackson and member of the country trio, the Yankee Belles. His brother had just made national hero status by saving the life of said VP candidate and a roomful of big donors. Not to mention the woman he loved.
Tate had all the luck, no doubt.
Ford was just trying to keep his head above water.
“I don’t need to prove anything to you.” A lie, but it sounded good. “When did you get in?”
“Last night, late. Drove in with Glo. You?”
“I flew into Helena yesterday. Knox picked me up in the Cessna.”
“From a ‘training exercise’?” Tate finger quoted his words.
“Yeah. One with live bullets.” He eased off the bed. “And terrorists and a bunch of kids who could have died.”
He didn’t know why he added that—the op was classified. But sometimes Tate’s success—and that of the rest of his brothers, really—added to the chip he kept trying to knock off his shoulder.
It wasn’t easy to be the kid brother in a family of superachievers and hero types. His oldest brother, Reuben, had spent about ten years fighting fires and just married Gilly, a daredevil water-bomber pilot. His brother Knox ran the ranch, raised champion bucking bulls, and was probably going to propose any day to Kelsey, the lead singer for the Belles. Tate, of course, saved the world, apparently.
Admittedly, Ford had done pretty well for himself, one of the youngest to graduate as a SEAL in recent years.
No, he wasn’t looking for medals or ticker tape parades, but frankly it would be nice if, for all his hard work, he got a little respect.
He wouldn’t mind if he also got the girl, too, but something—he didn’t know what—kept him from returning Scarlett’s missed calls.
She hadn’t left a voicemail, not once. And maybe that didn’t matter, but…
He couldn’t get it out of his head that she’d just left town without letting him know. And sure, she’d called a few days later, but by then he’d been out of the country.
He felt like an afterthought.
But he had more important things to do than sit around and whine about something that would probably never be. He’d had his chance with Scarlett—here, in fact, a few weeks ago during Reuben’s wedding. Had kissed her under the moonlight.
But she hadn’t wanted more than that moment, and as much as his body saidhoo-yah, his brain, and his commitment to himself, put the kibosh on the desire flooding through him.
So, they landed soundly in the Friend Zone. Teammates. Swim buddies.
Fine. He might bea littlejealous of Tate.
“Tylenol is in the bathroom,” Tate said. “And then we need to talk about RJ. Wake up, and we’ll meet you downstairs.”
Ford ambled to the bathroom where he stood a long time in the shower. By the time he got out, he decided he’d live another day. He got dressed and headed downstairs.
How he loved the smells of home—the scent of the oil used on the hand-hewn logs of their lodge home. The fragrance of bacon seasoning the open kitchen. The sun shone in from the tall windows that flanked the stacked stone fireplace soaring two flights in the center wall of the great room. The family home had first housed his grandparents, three generations finding new ways to build on, make it stronger.