That night Ford was rooted to the same barstool he'd occupied the evening before. This time he hadn't even bothered to order more than a beer. He'd half expected Callie to call him. Everybody knew him. If she'd wanted his phone number, it wouldn't have been hard to come by. But he hadn't heard from her.
He'd debated driving out to the Simpkins' farm, but something told him Callie would be back in Rusty’s that night looking for that folder. If she didn't show, he'd go out to the farm the next day and see what he could figure out about her.
When the door swung open again, another ridiculous round of hope had him whipping his head around to see who was coming into the bar. Disappointment was something he should've been accustomed to feeling by now. But this time, it was accompanied by dread. Meritt and that bitch, Belinda Atkins, sauntered in, and Meritt's customary hateful glare was centered right on Ford.
Because life clearly hated him, two seconds after the door had closed behind his ex it opened again and in walked Callie. Right behind her was Chad, Belinda's brother and the man Meritt had been having an affair with for two years. Fuck him.
The jukebox, every scrape of a barstool, and the hard clunks of beer mugs being set on tables were vacuumed from the room. All eyes were on Ford and most every mouth was hanging open. God, how could he have ever felt anything for Meritt? She was such a...but he couldn't call her exactly what she was, even in his own head. He knew precisely why she'd come out that night. Rumors about him and Callie had made it all the way to Odell.
Clinging to the knowledge that he hadn't done anything wrong, he couldn't stand how close Callie was to his ex. God, what if Meritt said something to her? If she let her surly tongue fly, he swore he didn't know what he might do. His ex generally still behaved like a sixteen-year-old brat. The only thing that mattered was rescuing Callie. She was much too close to a viper's den. He of all people knew how vicious Meritt could be when she wasn't getting her way, and he'd never allow her claws anywhere near Callie.
He stood, intent on taking Callie's hand and getting her out of the bar, but Meritt blocked his path. He narrowed his eyes. "What the hell are you doing here?" he seethed.
She speared him with another glare. "It's a free country. I can go wherever the hell I please."
"Oh yeah, well so can I." Whipping around Chad, he closed his hand over Callie's. He had to get them out of there before he did something he'd regret. She glanced down at where his fingers wrapped around her own, then stared up at him and grinned like him holding her hand made her whole day. He swore life itself surged through his veins from their touchpoint.
A few shocked gasps drew their gazes from each other to the dance floor where Meritt had pulled Chad. She was now wrapping her arms around his neck and grinding against him just to piss off Ford.
He rolled his eyes. Why the fuck did that still gall him? That morning he'd sworn he was happy she was no longer his brat to try to manage. And in that realization, he had his answer. She wasn't his brat to manage, but the fact that she was doing this in front of half the town shredded what was left of his pride. Maybe he should've been trying to get rid of the pride that had kept him in the hellish marriage for so long. It kept rearing its ugly head.
Callie was surveying the heads turning back and forth from Meritt's display on the dance floor to Ford. Her mouth hung open for a split second just like everyone else’s. "Wait. Is that Meritt?" she whispered.
Squeezing his eyes shut in an effort to erase his ex's existence from the earth itself, he prayed for patience. "I've got that folder in my truck," Ford pled. "Can we just go get it? Please."
When his eyes flashed open, Callie's teeth sank gently into her bottom lip. Ford had no idea why that was suddenly one of the most seductive things he'd ever seen, but he stared at her flushed bottom lip for far too long. A mischievous smirk formed on her features when she lifted her eyes to his. He watched the neon lights shimmer in their dark brown depths. "Would you like to dance?" That smirk turned into a full-fledged grin, so wide her eyes almost disappeared behind her cheeks. God, he'd never seen anything so honest, so real. So beautiful.
Summoning determined strength from somewhere in his body, he shook his head. "I don't want you anywhere near her." Where the hell had that come from? He'd just admitted how badly he wanted to protect her. He was just too raw, too wounded, to keep anything from her.
"I'll be fine," she insisted. "I survived middle school with a terrible perm and headgear. I've dealt with my fair share of bullies. Come on."
She led him towards the dance floor. His legs wobbled oddly for a moment as he tried to remember the last time he'd danced with anyone. His wedding reception maybe.
He watched the sway of Callie's long blonde hair that danced to the beat of her hips as she guided him on. His heart thundered out its adamant approval. She'd replaced that long skirt with a pair of ripped blue jeans, and honest to god he wasn't sure which he preferred her in. In that moment, he would've followed her anywhere.
Spinning back to face him, she sank into his arms. The few moments he'd held her the night before rushed back to him. His memory of it hadn't done the warm curves of her body justice. Stunned at the effect she had on him, he moved far too mechanically, trying to remember to sway her to the beat he couldn't really hear, and ordering himself not to inhale the honeysuckle and watermelon scent of her hair. Instinctively, he guided her closer, wrapped his arms tighter around her, seeking to keep her safe. He longed to absorb her healing warmth and the tenderness that exuded from her.
When she nestled her head on his substantial shoulder, fitting herself into the crook of his neck, he swore his existence tilted and whirled out of his control. He lost the rhythm he'd only barely been able to keep, and the apex of her thighs brushed against his cock. A grunt wrenched loose from his chest, freeing more of the restraint he'd been trying to cling to.
Like a runaway train on a downward track, his hand slipped down the arch of her spine and found purchase against the curve of her ass. The sweetest sound in the entire world reached his ears—a soft moan of satisfaction. She clung tighter to him. Suddenly, the bar, every eye trained on them, and most importantly his ex-wife were all erased from his vision. Everything evaporated until there was nothing left but her and him and warm neon lights that spun around them.
Twenty minutes before, he would've sworn to anyone that he hated to dance. The awkward movements and constant self-doubt it elicited in him weren't worth it. And yet, there he was spinning her around the dance floor wishing the song would never end.
Callie was equal parts reckless and desperate. She wasn't certain how she'd even gotten herself back into Ford Holder's arms or what to do now that she was here, but she owed everything she had to whatever force in the universe that had arranged this.
It hadn't taken a genius to figure out what was going on when she'd seen the raw pain and fury in his eyes when that awful woman with burnt-auburn hair had approached him. All Callie had wanted to do was to replace his anger with some peace, but this dance had gone way beyond her helping him get back at his ex.
Her heart and her stomach seemed to have switched mailing addresses as she breathed in the scent of saddle leather that clung to him. With another inhalation, she caught the underlying flavor of soap and of man.
Proving what a witch she really was, Meritt and the guy she was practically dry humping edged closer to Callie and Ford. When he tensed under her gentle grasp, she lifted her head.
His seeking gaze pierced hers like she was the only woman in the world who could save him. The hand that had previously been cradling her back tenderly stroked her face. It scrambled her thoughts and any semblance of good sense.
With her gaze still held safely in his own, she licked her lips thirsty for him. Her chest rose and fell against his making her nipples frantic for his caress. All thoughts of Derrick drowned in the solid cage of muscle surrounding her. There had never been a time when Derrick had held her like this, where she felt safe enough to exist without apology.
He dipped his head lower. His hand still cradled her face.
"Are you going to kiss me?" squeaked from her.
His Adam’s apple contracted with a harsh swallow. His gaze dropped readily to her lips. "I don't think I can," came out in a gruff whisper laced with regret.
"Why not?" She ordered herself to stop talking, certain she sounded like a fool.
"Because, sweetheart, you barely know me. And...lord almighty, if I start, I don't think I'll be able to stop."
Heady with the knowledge that he wanted her even half as much as she wanted him, she gave him a timid grin. "What if I didn't want you to stop?"
A pained grunt met her lips when he plastered his mouth to hers. She devoured it. He tasted like dark beer and raw hunger. The flavors ignited in her mouth as she consumed. Every rough scrape of his light beard on her chin only served to amplify the need arcing between them. His lips were the perfect combination of tender exploration and brutal possession. He feasted on her like she was the only thing he'd ever need to survive, and from the depths of her soul she wished that were true. But it couldn't possibly be. As he'd just pointed out—they barely knew each other.
His tongue seemed to want to rectify that situation. It took careful inventory of her mouth, dancing with her own in an almost erotic tug-of-war she happily let him win.
He kissed her like breath wasn't actually necessary for survival. In that moment, she was pretty sure it wasn't. All of the boys she'd ever kissed, including Derrick, held nothing on being kissed by this man, by this cowboy, in the honky-tonk in her grandparents’ hometown.
Somehow his touches both soothed and enlivened her. Just when she was certain she was going to die of sheer pleasure, applause and wolf whistles broke out in the bar. It took her far too long to understand that they were applauding them.
Ford wrenched his lips away and seemed almost as dizzy as Callie felt. Before she could protest, he cleared his throat. "Want to get out of here? Please."
Too dazed to really consider what he was asking her, she managed a nod.