Wild Love (Rose Hill, #1)(9)
Come to think of it, Cora should have been in school today.
“It’s nice to meet you,” I add as I step back from the woman.
She nods, hitting me with another smile. This time it’s watery. It matches her quavering voice and the stray tear that rolls down her cheek. It matches the words she says next. “Cora tells me you’re here to help us out.”
With one look down at Cora’s protective expression while she clings to her mother’s limp hand, I realize I’ve headed down a path where there’s no turning back. By now, I should have learned to guard myself more. But apparently I haven’t learned my lesson yet because I already know I’m invested enough that I’m not walking away.
“Yeah, Marilyn. I’d like to help in any way I can.”
CHAPTER FOUR
ROSIE
My teeth strum along my bottom lip like a pick on a guitar string. I grip my steering wheel as my eyes remain locked on my brother’s house, also our childhood home.
After two weeks of moping around, jobless and directionless and brimming with self-pity, I’m officially back in Rose Hill. The town where I grew up. The town I rarely come back to. The town I didn’t realize I missed until I desperately needed the comfort of coming home. A safe place to land while I nurse my wounds and figure out my life.
I just drove up the steep gravel driveway, the same one I fell down as a small child. With scraped knees and blood all over my brand-new white sneakers, I cried as my brother hosed me off like I was a horse. I’d been devastated, but today I chuckle as I recall it.
It’s funny how a moment that felt so low can eventually make you smile.
My gaze drifts over the farm which sits on the west edge of town. Cliffs above the property separate our land from the highway. That main thoroughfare was literally blasted through the mountains long ago and now a chain-link fence attached to the rock keeps loose pieces from tumbling onto the road—or us.
On the left, I see the picturesque lake. It takes me back to all-day tubing and teenage keg parties on its shores in the summer, skating, ice fishing and snowmobiling in the winter.
I look right and see my parents’ house much farther up the hill. Just the peak of the roof pokes out of the trees. When West took over the farm, they moved “away,” or so they claimed.
The truth is, they’ve spent their entire lives worrying about West, and I’m not sure they can handle having him too far out of sight.
Glancing back at my brother’s place, I suck in a deep breath to give me the guts to walk in there and pretend I’m doing so great.
Right before I ask if I can crash for a bit.
“Fuck it, Rosie. Get your ass in there,” I mutter before shoving my car door open and striding toward the front porch. I don’t bother locking my car. If someone has the balls to hike onto our land to steal my shit, then I applaud their fortitude.
Honest to god, I’d ask them where they get it because I am fresh out.
I don’t think I’ve taken a single breath since that deep one in the front seat. Now I’m just holding it as I reach up to knock and get this over with. Just before my knuckles make contact, the door swings open and all that breath I’ve been holding is sucked right out of my lungs.
By Ford Grant.
My stomach drops to my feet with the most unsettling lurching sensation.
I have to tip my head back to meet his emerald gaze. He’s always been tall, but now he’s just… big.
“Ford.”
He stares at me, and the weight of his gaze has my heart thundering against my ribs.
“Hi.”
His dark brows furrow, and I can’t help but notice his hair, which used to be more auburn, has darkened in adulthood. It’s a deep brown now, the russet tone only shining when the light hits it just right.
Neatly trimmed stubble frames his high cheekbones. The tan skin on his throat flexes as his Adam’s apple bobs above the V of his khaki-colored tee.
God. It has to have been at least a decade since I last saw him. You’d think he’d have grown less awkward in that time but apparently not. Because he’s standing stock-still, staring like he’s never seen me before.
So, I stick my hand out and quirk one side of my lips up. “I’m not sure if you remember me. My name is Rosalie Belmont. We used to spend July and August shit-talking each other while trailing after my brother, Weston Belmont.”
He shakes his head, face impassive, when he steps onto the porch and reaches out to me, his warm hand enveloping mine. “Right. Rosalie. I must have gotten so good at tuning you out that I forgot you entirely.”
A laugh lurches from my chest and unwanted tears gather in my eyes.
Teasing has never felt so good. So comforting.
“Ah, the good old days.” The words are a whisper as I drop his piercing gaze and rub the tip of my nose.
I don’t want to look at him because, for all his biting words and bored facade, I know Ford is a good person and he’ll see right through me.
He was there when Travis Lynch broke my heart. Picked me up from a party on the other side of the lake and drove me home, casting glances my way as I scribbled vile, immature things about Travis in my journal. And then stayed silent when I rolled down the passenger side window and chucked it into the trees on a dark, winding road.
We never talked about that night. There wasn’t much to say. My older brother’s best friend, who antagonized me at every turn, witnessed my total meltdown over a guy who peaked in grade 10 before dropping me off at my parents’ house without another word.