Chapter Twenty-Eight

“Then he tells me, basically, that this is all for my own good.” Lilah clenched the rim of the hot tub while she peppered Bridget and Izzy with the scattershot account of her argument with Ford. Despite the physical effort, she didn’t completely succeed in keeping her cadence calm or her volume low. Shayla picked up on her mommy’s agitation and fussed from the comfort of Izzy’s lap.

“Sorry.” She let out a breath. “Sorry. I can take her, get her settled again.”

“I’ve got her,” Izzy assured from her perch at the side of the tub and transferred the baby from lap to shoulder before gently patting her little back. “Tonight’s about settling yourself.”

“Exactly,” Bridget agreed from where she soaked on the opposite side of the hot tub.

“It’s been two days. I can’t believe I’m still so upset.”

“Of course you’re upset.” Bridget paused for a swallow of wine, then went on. “In his ridiculous attempt to be the good guy, he completely disregarded your intentions, your goals and, most importantly, your feelings—not to mention his own—in favor of some fucked-up notion of protecting poor, young, inexperienced you from a terrible mistake. It’s flashing me back to what Archer did to us five years ago and pissing me off all over again, so, you know, cut yourself some slack on not recalibrating after two measly days.”

“Don’t get mad at Archer again. His heart was in the right place. While I hate to say it, I guess Ford’s is, too, if I look at things from his perspective, but his perspective is just so wrong.”

“Agreed,” Izzy said and slid the now content baby into her bouncy chair before slipping her bare legs into the bubbling water. “How do you plan to show him the error of his viewpoint?”

“I don’t know.” Helpless frustration crept back into her voice. Unwilling to get Shayla as worked up as her sad, angry mommy, she turned and smiled at her girl. Continuing in a sing-song voice, she admitted, “I really don’t. He thinks I’m too young and inexperienced to know my own heart, and I can’t do anything about my age or my experience, can I?” Still smiling, still using the silly voice, she shook her head. “No, I can’t. I’m old enough to have had a baby—and I’d like to see him try that for experience—but, apparently, that doesn’t count in his book. Noooo.”

“Oooooh!” Shayla cooed, reverting to one of her favorite noises. The patio lights turned her little owl eyes midnight blue.

“I know. It’s so rude, isn’t it?”

“Well, fuck it…shit. Dammit.” Bridget stopped and drew in a breath. “I mean…what the heck? How old do you need to be? How much experience do you need to accrue in order to have trustworthy feelings for the hardheaded man?”

“Don’t know.” She leaned over and kissed Shayla’s forehead before turning to Bridget. “I should have asked. I should have asked for specifics…how many men, what types of experiences…”

Izzy laughed. “Lilah, you are evil.”

She shook her head. “I wish. I’m a genius at thinking up with the right comeback two days too late. I can’t win a debate in real time, even one so stupid as getting him to admit that me flying off to see the world and kissing…or whatever-ing…a bunch of other guys isn’t going to magically make me more qualified to know my own heart and mind.”

“Totally won’t,” Bridget agreed, “though you could have plenty of fun proving it.”

She lifted her brows at her friend. “Did you have fun, Bridget?”

“Revenge-fucking any guy I could get my hands on? Initially, yes, but…” She lifted a shoulder and let it drop. “Ultimately, no. I don’t recommend it. And Ford wouldn’t want that, either, if he’d climb down from his high and noble horse long enough to think it through.”

“He won’t, though.” She shut her eyes and envisioned him as he’d been during their last conversation. “He just stood there with his ‘Ford knows best’ face on, and that was that.”

“You win the Iron Restraint award for not slapping the ‘Ford knows best’ look right off his handsome face,” Izzy said. “You know what you’re going to have to do now, right?”

“I have no idea what to do, now,” she admitted. “I know he loves me, even though he has a screwed-up way of showing it. I know he loves Shayla. But until he’s ready to reach for what he wants, and hold onto it, we’re stuck. I can’t fight for us by myself.” With that hopeless stalemate out in the open, she stared up at the starlit sky, where each and every one of those tiny, bright diamonds seemed to be winking at her in some cosmic joke she didn’t get. Didn’t get it at all.

“You’re going to wait him out,” Izzy said firmly.

She lifted her head and looked over at Izzy, convinced she’d heard wrong. “Wait him out? Ford Langley?” A knot of anxiety tightened in her gut as Izzy merely nodded. “There is no waiting him out. Ford’s the master of letting go.”

“Not really, no,” Bridget opined, staring at her fingernails.

“Are we talking about the same man? He let go of high school and his home because he decided letting go was best for everyone. He let go of his own daughter because he believed letting go was best for her—which maybe it was, I can’t second guess what I wasn’t a part of—and okay yes,” she admitted when Bridget raised a brow, “he has her back, now, but that took fourteen years and a whole lot of persistence on Mia’s part. ‘Waiting him out’ is not how I want to spend the next fourteen years.”

“You’re not going to have to wait fourteen years.” Bridget dismissed the idea with a wave of her hand. “He’s not going to last fourteen days. Not even four days, if you resort to sexual torture again.”

“I can’t. Not after what he said. Besides, I can’t seduce him into being with me. I shouldn’t have to resort to setting a…a…sex trap.”

“You shouldn’t,” Izzy agreed. “There’s no need. You’re not going to have to hold out long.”

“How do you figure?”

“First,” Izzy said, “unlike Mia, back in the day, you’re not a newborn, unable to express what you want. He knows what you want. He wants the same thing. That’s going to wear him down. Furthermore—”

“You’re not out-of-sight, out-of-mind,” Bridget interjected. “You two will cross paths practically every day. It’s hard to withstand something you want when you see it all the damn time. Again, trust me on this. Archer had it one hundred percent correct.”

“No offense, Bridget, but the situation between you and Archer was different. He loved you. You loved him, too. You just didn’t trust his feelings, because…” She trailed off at her friend’s pointed look. “Okay, I see what you’re saying, but the becauses are different. You had concrete reasons for not trusting him, given he’d walked away once, even if he felt like walking was his only option at that time.”

“He was wrong, in my opinion, and we may never see eye-to-eye on that, but I understand why he did what he did, and I forgave him. Ford’s wrong, too. It’s sort of sweet, in a twisted kind of way, that he’s trying to protect you from him, and his wants, and not cage you and smother you and live happily ever after with you before you’ve lived enough to know you want happy ever after with him, too—”

“But I do know! And I’m hurt.” There. She said it. “I’m hurt that he holds back, regardless of his reasons. I’m hurt that he can, because I can’t. I love him. I want to be with him. I’m hurt that he rejects my feelings, even if he thinks it’s for my own good. I’m hurt that he doesn’t respect me enough to believe my feelings are real.”

Izzy put a hand on her shoulder, squeezed gently. “You’re entitled to all that hurt. You are. But keep in mind that he honestly thinks he’s doing the right thing. Keep in mind that it hurts him to do it, even if he doesn’t let that show.”

“And keep in mind,” Bridget said as she slung her arms wide, so they rested on the rim of the hot tub, “that he owes you an apology, girlfriend. He owes you a belly-to-the-ground, face-in-the-dirt, I-was-so-wrong-please-forgive-me apology.”

“I second that,” Izzy said and sent Bridget a toast with her water bottle.

“Ha.” She tried to muster up some enthusiasm at the notion of Ford crawling for forgiveness but silently acknowledged the unlikeliness of the scenario. They hadn’t seen his “Ford knows best” face. “I’ll hold out for that.”

But would she be holding for the rest of her life?

…

You weak-willed, selfish motherfucker.

Ford silently acknowledged the failing from the business side of the bar as he watched Lilah escort two guests through the lobby of the inn, step out onto the covered sidewalk, and smile her beautiful, serene smile as she pointed them toward whatever destination they’d planned for their evening.

In those brief seconds, he catalogued every detail. She didn’t have Shayla with her. Her long, sun-kissed hair flowed like silk past her shoulders. The rose-colored shirt she wore put a bloom in her cheeks. The trim, tan skirt hugged her curves like a possessive lover. No more T-shirts and jeans for her work wardrobe. As co-owner of The Captivity Inn, she looked…professional. Sophisticated and, somehow, remote. He missed her like he’d miss a limb, or a lobe of his brain…or a chamber of his own heart. He missed her smile, the way her green eyes twinkled when she aimed it at him. He missed her scent. Her touch. The taste of her on his lips.

The couple started off down the street. Lilah stood for a moment, looking after them, then turned and re-entered the lobby. As she made her way past the archway connecting their businesses, she glanced through and caught him staring. Did he look as desperate for her as he felt? Did she pick up on any of his desperation?

She turned away and kept walking.

Apparently not, which should have been a relief, because his willpower was at an all-time low where Lilah Iquat was concerned. He wanted to chase her down, bundle her up, place her and Shayla bodily on the first plane to Anchorage, and set her on the trajectory she was meant to take. That’s what he wanted, except…except the selfish motherfucker inside him wanted to chase her down, tell her he loved her—her and Shayla—and keep her with him, forever. The longer she stuck around Captivity, the less likely he’d be able to hold onto the high ground in their war of wills.

“Yoo-hoo. Another here, if you please.”

He looked down the bar to see Jorg holding up his empty mug. Right. All part of his totally satisfying, self-contained life of serving drinks in Captivity. He drew another pint and walked down the bar, past the stools full of chatting tourists—cruise ship Wednesday—to the corner where Jorg sat. “Can I get you anything else?”

“Yah. Lilah. I miss her.”

Join the club, old man. He braced a hand on the bar and waved the other toward the archway. “She’s at the inn. Wander over and see her. Problem solved.”

“Why does she not come in and say hello? She just walks by nowadays—no smile, no wave, no nothing. Is she mad at me?” Guileless blue eyes locked on him and narrowed. “Or is she mad at you?”

He took Jorg’s empty mug and wiped the wet ring it left on the bar with a towel. “She’s just being stubborn. That’s all.”

Jorg let out a breath through his nose, hard enough to ruffle his gray whiskers. “Somebody is being stubborn,” he announced before taking a long swallow of beer. Under his breath, he added, “Somebody determined to be ogift the rest of his long, lonely life.”

Over Jorg’s shoulder, he saw the street-facing door swing open. Bridget and Izzy breezed through, sent waves to Annie and Ben Watkins, enjoying dinner at a table, and made their way to the bar.

“Hey, Jorg.” Bridget clapped his back before sliding into the empty seat next to him. Then she turned cool eyes on him. “Ford.”

Izzy took the empty stool on Jorg’s other side and aimed an equally cool, somewhat assessing gaze his way.

Great. What now? “What can I offer you ladies?”

“Let’s try an explanation, for starters,” Bridget answered and crossed her arms as if to signify she wouldn’t be leaving without one. Izzy propped her chin in her hand and drummed her flawless red fingernails on the bar, a picture of impatient expectation.

He straightened, took a prudent step back. “An explanation about what?”

Izzy’s brows lifted. “You know. Don’t be…what’s the word I’m looking for, Bridge?”

“Foolish.” Violet eyes flashed at him. “Or maybe scared?”

Shit. “I don’t have time for discussions.” He waived his hand down the bar. “I have customers.” Even as he said so, Owen served two of them and smoothly removed empties from in front of another group.

“You can spare us a few moments. One of the perks of being your own boss,” Izzy insisted.

“Yah.” Jorg nodded. “True.”

“All right. What I should have said was I don’t have time to explain things that are none of your business. Do you want drinks or not?”

“He is testy,” Jorg said to Izzy and Bridget. “It is a side effect of his condition. Ogift…ah…no sex.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. “I’m not testy. I’m just…” He wadded the towel and tossed into the bin on the counter behind him with a moody burst of energy. “I’m trying to do the right thing here, okay?”

Izzy merely tapped her index fingernail on the bar and waited until he met her deep, brown, deceptively patient gaze. “The right thing for whom, Ford?”

And this was what he didn’t plan to get into with them. “The right thing for everybody. Now, if we’re done here—”

“Everybody?” Bridget craned her neck to look around the entire bar. “Like…everybody? That’s an awfully big responsibility, don’t you think? Did we elect you the decider of what’s best for everybody? I must have missed that ballot measure.”

“Fuck you, Bridget.”

“There was a time you might have, honey, but we both knew better. We both knew who you wanted to fuck. And then you did, and now—”

“Hey.” What the hell…? “That’s none of your—”

“Newsflash.” Her eyes raked him. “Women have their own version of locker room talk. We know the score. You wanted her, you had her, and now…what? You’re done. Is that how it is? If that’s the case, stop saying you’re doing what’s best for ‘everyone’ and start admitting you’re doing what’s best for you.”

“Jesus.” Momentarily speechless at her ugly and entirely off-the-mark accusations, he dragged a hand through his hair. “Jesus, you’re a bitch sometimes. I mean it,” he added when she simply smiled her mile-wide smile.

“Part of my charm.”

“That Archer’s a lucky guy. Tell him I said so.”

She shrugged. “He knows.” Still smiling, she planted her forearms on the bar and leaned over. “Best for who?”

Something cracked inside him. Something deep in his very foundations. “Fine, you want me to say it? I’ll say it, and I’ll stand by it. I’m doing what’s right for Lilah.”

Izzy sighed.

Bridget crooked a finger. “Come here.”

He stepped to her. “What?”

“Closer.”

He rolled his eyes, then leaned in so they were face-to-face. “What?”

She flicked her middle finger off her thumb and thwacked him in the center of his forehead.

“Ouch! Goddammit.” Backing away with the kind of speed he’d use to evade a charging moose, he touched the abused spot and aimed his notoriously withering stare at her. The one that never worked on Mia…or Shayla…or Lilah…or Bridget, who aimed her own withering stare right back at him. She had a pretty good one, he had to admit.

“That’s for thinking you have the right to decide for a grown woman what’s best for her. That’s Lilah’s job.”

Why was the room so damn hot? And the bar suddenly too closed in? He grabbed a fresh towel and started wiping down the smooth surface even though it didn’t need wiping. “Lilah is not a grown woman. She’s barely old enough to drink. She went from sheltered kid so single mom in about a minute, and she’s not looking at her future the way she ought to—”

“Ford?”

Izzy’s soft voice and gentle grasp on his wrist interrupted his pointless scrubbing and fast talking. Talk so fast that, upon a mental replay, it might have qualified as a rant. Chasing calm, he inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly before responding. “What?”

“Lilah knows what she wants. She does,” she insisted when he shook his head to disagree. “She wants to stay on at the inn as an equal partner, which she’s more than earned in my opinion, but, more importantly, in Rose’s and her own opinion. She wants to raise her child here. Again, can’t fault her. That would be hypocritical since Trace and I want to raise ours here as well.”

“That’s entirely different. You’ve both lived other places, had other experiences. Captivity’s not a default for you and Trace, it’s an informed choice, and…” Wait. “You and Trace want to what?”

She smiled a smile so serene it reminded him of Lilah’s and placed her hands on her abdomen. “We want to raise our daughter here as well.”

“Holy crap. You’re pregnant?”

“Uh-huh.” She nodded, all smiles.

“And it’s a girl?”

“Well, that remains to be seen,” Izzy admitted. “Add it to the bet board. My twenty’s on girl.”

“Wow.” Despite the battering he was taking tonight regarding his personal life, he felt a smile lifting his lips. “Congratulations to you and Trace. When are you due?” And then another thought struck. Due date. Labor. Tiny little Izzy pushing out a whopper of a baby courtesy of super-size Trace. He couldn’t hold back a shudder. “Also, how?”

She laughed and rested her linked hands on the bar. “The traditional way, I expect.”

“Uh-uh.” He covered her hands with one of his. “Don’t do that. Bad idea.”

“Relax.” She worked one hand free and patted his. “It’ll be fine.”

“I don’t see how.”

She patted his hand again, then eased away, still smiling. “You really are the sweetest man. I can’t fault Lilah’s choice there, either.”

“I can,” Bridget chimed. “Underneath all those sweet protective instincts he has toward her is some plain old disrespect.”

“That’s bullshit.” He swung toward her. His head pounded behind the spot where she’d flicked him. “I have nothing but respect for her. I think she’s amazing. Smart, resourceful, beautiful, and brave. She can do anything. Anything. I don’t want to see her trapped. I don’t want to be part of that trap. I want her to…to…have everything she wants,” he finished, lamely, well aware of what Bridget would say in response. “I want to give her time and space to figure out what that is.”

But Bridget didn’t utter a word. It was Izzy who said, “How much time? How much space? Everything she wants is here. How much time are you going to let slip by, while she’s right there at arm’s reach, until she proves it to your satisfaction? Because that would be kinda…sorry…foolish, don’t you think?”

“Yah.” Jorg nodded. “Foolish to be here”—he pointed at Ford—“and Lilah there”—he pointed toward the inn—“for months? A year? Five years? Bah.” He threw up his hands. “Life is too short to waste time.”

Izzy grinned at the old man. “Excellent point, Jorg.” To Ford, she added, “If you respect her, you respect her decisions. What she wants isn’t in question. There’s actually only one open question.”

He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed the heel of his hand over his forehead. “What’s that?”

Bridget leaned over the bar, gripped his shoulders, and kissed his forehead before looking into his eyes. “What do you want?”

“I want what’s best for Lilah,” he said stubbornly. Even he heard the dogged note in his voice.

Bridget blinked at him, then sat back, held out her hand, and snapped, “Give me your phone.”

“Why?”

“Christ, you’re a hard case. Just give me your fucking phone.”

He drew it out of his back pocket and tossed it to her, along with a long-suffering sigh. “Call Archer and tell him to come take you out of my hair.”

“Ha. You’re very funny.” She tapped his screen, scrolling for something, then, with a small sound of satisfaction, turned the phone toward him. “There. Face it. That’s what’s best for Lilah.”

She’d pulled up the shot she’d taken at the Urgent Care center, just after Shayla’s birth. Lilah held the baby in her arms, staring down at her little girl with all kinds of adoration literally shining from her. He held Lilah in his arms, staring at her with every raw, unfiltered emotion naked on his face. Awe…pride. Love.

He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. The cracks in his foundation turned to fractures.

“Tell you what else, Ford,” she went on.

He shook his head, not trusting himself to speak.

“That’s what’s best for you, too. For you, and Mia and Lilah and Shayla. And the thing is, it’s already yours. It’s in your arms. All you have to do is hold on to it.”