It would have been nice if every now and then she wanted to stay and talk. Or cuddle. Or sleep beside him.
But she was the boss. Her rules. Her orders. So whenever she got up to put her clothes on and leave, and that little ache of wanting her to stay stabbed Ford in the side, he didn’t say anything. He let her go without so much as a second glance. Leaving him alone in his bed and alone with his thoughts.
Thoughts about what would happen after all this was over. What would happen with Corrie. What would happen with his mother. Whether any of this was really worth it.
He glanced over at Corrie as they all walked to the camp after a long day at the site. Her smile warmed his heart. The smile that she gave only to him. She smiled at others, but never like that. Never with that slight blush in her cheeks, or the nibble on her lower lip. It made him hopeful.
Yes. She was worth it. Was it terrible that he’d rather stay in the jungle with Corrie forever than go back to his life in New Haven? Did that make him a horrible son?
He shook the thought away, already suffering from enough guilt after missing his mom’s call last Friday since they’d worked later than normal before a weekend.
Yep, he was a terrible son.
The sentiment was confirmed the moment they walked into camp and his cock started to stiffen upon seeing the supply crates. You’re going to hell, Ford.
“Dr. Matthews,” Agnes called out, waving him over once they returned, “Come here, please.” The tone in her voice was firm and slightly perturbed.
Okay . . . weird . . .
Agnes stood with one of the delivery guys, Federico. Usually Federico dropped off the supplies with Agnes when they were still in the field, and Agnes would start sorting things before they got back. They never needed to wait for Ford to sign off on anything.
He jogged over to the two of them, Federico clutching a clipboard as if his life depended on not handing it over to Agnes.
“What’s the problem?” Ford asked.
“Oh, for some reason Federico here decided that you are the only one who can sign for the supplies this time. Even though I’ve signed for it the last dozen times,” she said, glowering at Federico.
Federico leaned in and whispered, “I’ve got that special thing you asked for.”
And with the worst timing possible, Corrie walked by. Federico’s gaze traveled over in her direction, gave her a quick once-over, then turned back to Ford with a sly eye and a smirk. The reason behind asking for that special thing wasn’t lost on him. At least Federico knew better than to say anything about it. But that didn’t stop Ford from blushing, his ears radiating with heat.
“They’re in this crate,” Federico said pointing to a smaller wooden box next to him. Thankfully small enough for Ford to carry alone and take to his tent.
“Great. Thanks,” Ford said, signing the order acceptance and handing the clipboard back to him.
“Have fun.”
Oh, Ford planned to have fun. Lots of it. Hence why he’d ordered a box rather than just a packet of condoms.
Under Agnes’s watchful eye, he took the crate to his tent as the others unpacked the rest of the supplies. Once in his room, he hid the box in the trunk at the foot of his bed, with a few individual condoms tucked in the drawer in the side table for easy access. Soon, once everyone else was asleep, Corrie would be in his tent, between his sheets, and, finally, he’d be inside her. All he had to do was get through dinner and the typical evening hangouts.
He showered. Made a quick call to the investor. Ate dinner. And followed the group to relax by the fire. Corrie was extra chill that evening. So chill that Ford wondered whether she even remembered the plan. That was, until she sat next to him by the fire and leaned over toward his ear, whispering, “I hope that package arrived, because I’ve got plans for you tonight, Dr. Matthews.”
The hair on the back of his neck stood up straight. Something about the way she called him Dr. Matthews got him every time. He loved it. Loved the way she said his name. Loved that sexy, purring voice she used when they were alone. Even now that they weren’t fighting every day like they used to, she still got his goat. But now, in a good way.
“In my tent, Dr. Mejía,” he responded.
“Good,” she said, leaning back and setting herself at ease. “Let’s hope everyone remembers it’s a Monday night and wants to go to bed early.”
Ethan plunked down next to them, not giving them much hope for an early bedtime.
“This is still weird to me,” he said, taking a drink.
“What’s weird?” Ford asked.
“The two of you getting along. It’s like I don’t know who you are anymore.”
“We’re not getting along,” Corrie responded. “We’re tolerating each other to achieve a mutual goal. Huge difference.”
“Yeah, besides . . . it’s too exhausting fighting with her. She always wins,” Ford said.
She smirked. “That’s right, Dr. Matthews. I always win.”
Oh, not this time, honey. He was winning this one.
“Dr. Matthews,” Sunny said, walking over to them. “You have a call. From some hospital.”
She reached out her arm holding the satellite phone and Ford’s stomach sank. Oh God, no. No . . . please don’t tell me . . .
He stopped himself from thinking the worst, but everything else around him faded to the back of his mind. Winning. The dig. Corrie. Nothing else mattered but his mom. He jumped up from the ground, snagged the phone, and took off for some privacy.
“Hello?” he asked once he’d reached the safety of his tent.
“This is Dr. Lee at Lakeview. Sorry for calling at such a late hour—”
“That’s okay. Is everything all right? Is . . . is my mom okay?” He held his breath, waiting for Dr. Lee’s response.
“Yes, she’s . . . stable . . .” Stable? That didn’t sound like a good thing. “But the transfer from the hospital to Lakeview didn’t go as smoothly as we would have liked. I’d like to start her on the new treatment right away, tomorrow if possible.”
“Okay . . .”
Where was the catch?
“But I wanted to talk to you about some . . . maybe . . . less expensive options we could try first.”
The catch.
“Oh.”
“Your mother explained that insurance has been covering most of her treatments thus far, and she was concerned about the cost of the treatment I’m recommending because it’s . . . well, the out-of-pocket expense will be significantly greater than what you’ve been covering, so she asked that I call you. There are several additional options for treatment, though they’re not as aggressive as the one I originally recommended. But as her doctor, I would be comfortable with any of them at this point. She just wanted to make sure you are okay with the selection.”
His mother wanted to make sure he was okay? As if his checking account mattered more than her health. It was official—he was a terrible son.
Although, in some respects, it didn’t matter if he couldn’t actually pay for the treatment.
“Tell me . . . if the other treatments don’t work, does that mean you’ll eventually recommend the more expensive treatment anyway?” he asked.