“Will you hurt me if I say yes?”
It took her a second to realize he was kidding; then the smile returned. So did the sensation of being kicked in the gut. So much for being in control.
“I’m not good with parents,” she admitted. “I’ve gotten used to saying what I think.”
“Threatening people, and when that doesn’t work, beating the crap out of them?”
The smile broadened. “Exactly. Civilized conversation is highly overrated.”
“I agree. Unfortunately, I don’t have the freedom you do to say what I think.”
As soon as he made the statement, he saw the danger of it. Whatever connection he’d established with her was about to disintegrate like cotton candy in the rain.
She tilted her head and her layered, dark, shiny hair slipped over one shoulder. “You’re a math teacher, right?”
“In high school.”
She laughed softly and then put her hand on his forearm. He felt the heat of her touch clear down to his groin. “You’re far more brave than I could ever be. Teaching teenagers math.”
At least she hadn’t run screaming into another room. “Not just math. Algebra and geometry. Calculus.”
Her expression flashed with an emotion he couldn’t read. She withdrew her hand. “Tough gig,” she murmured.
He knew something had shifted, but he couldn’t say what. Why was she okay with him being a math teacher yet she retreated when he’d mentioned the specifics?
“I like it,” he admitted. “I like my kids and I know what they learn in my class can help them later in life. I have a special program for underachieving students. To bring them up to grade and convince them they can go to college.”
He told himself to stop talking—that he sounded like the neighborhood nerd showing off his homemade rocket.
“A worthy goal,” she said and took a step back.
A clear dismissal, he thought grimly, knowing he’d never had a chance and wondering where he’d gone so very wrong.
“I appreciate your time,” he said. “Thanks for the advice.”
“You’re welcome. He’s a great kid. You’re obviously a good dad.”
Kent nodded and left. As he walked to his car, he was conscious of the irony of the situation. After years of thinking he was still desperately in love with his ex-wife, despite the fact that she’d left him, he’d finally been willing to admit the truth. That she had abandoned him and her son and he’d been a fool to marry her in the first place. Determined to get on with his life, he wanted to start dating. To find someone special and fall in love.
Just his luck the first woman to capture his attention wanted absolutely nothing to do with him.
* * *
FORD STOOD IN the emergency room’s waiting area of the Fool’s Gold Hospital wondering why this kind of thing always happened to him. He’d only meant to do what Leonard asked. A friendly tap to the jaw. He’d figured the other man would drop to the ground, what with never having been in a fight in his life. He would guess Leonard’s idea of physical toughness was to wash the car without putting on gloves.
As expected, Leonard’s legs had collapsed immediately. Unfortunately, as he’d gone down, he’d hit his head on the side of the Jeep and been knocked out cold. Which meant the 9-1-1 call had been a good idea. Only Ford had meant it to be preventive, not necessary.
“There you are!”
He turned and saw a medium-height woman with blue eyes and shoulder-length blond hair walking purposefully toward him. She was curvier than he remembered, and obviously pregnant, but otherwise pretty much the same. Except the last time he’d seen Maeve, she’d been in tears, and this time she looked as if she could spit fire.
“What is wrong with you?” she demanded. “What kind of moron goes around hitting other people?”
“I—”
“Tell me he’s okay. Damn it, Ford, I can’t believe you did this.”
“He—”
“Oh, sure. Blame it on Leonard. Do you think I don’t know why he went to see you?” She poked him in the chest. “Since you’ve been back in town, you’re all he could talk about. How he wanted to apologize and make things right. It’s been fourteen years. How on earth could anyone still be holding a grudge?”
“I—”
She glared at him. “You are over what happened, aren’t you?”
“Yes.” He paused to assess the truth of the statement. “Very.”
She raised her eyebrows.
He cleared his throat. “Not that you’re not lovely.”
She shoved him back a couple of steps. For a woman of her size and pregnancy trimester, she packed a punch. “You hit him!”
“He asked me to. He insisted. I didn’t hit him that hard. He hit his head on the way down. It wasn’t my fault.” He moved back voluntarily, thinking the more room between him and Maeve, the better.
“He’s a responsible person, unlike you,” she snapped. “The father of four and a half children. Did you think of that when you tried to kill him?”
“I didn’t try to kill him. Look, Leonard came to me.”
“Yes, and I expected you to be the adult in the situation. I see that was wrong. You’re exactly who you were when you left.”
“Hey, that’s not fair.”
She narrowed her gaze. “I’ll tell you what’s not fair. That my husband and the father of my children is in the hospital with a concussion because of what you did.”
“He hit his head,” Ford repeated helplessly.
The door to the waiting room opened and two uniformed officers walked in. The taller of the two women moved toward him. “Ford Hendrix?” she asked.
He nodded.
“We’re going to have to take a statement.”
“Serves you right,” Maeve told him. “I hope they lock you away forever.”
She stalked off. Ford followed the police officers to a quiet corner of the waiting area and knew his life couldn’t get any worse.
Only he was wrong because, just when he was explaining what had happened, his mother arrived. She hurried over to him.
“See?” she said, her voice oddly triumphant. “None of this would have happened if you’d just gotten married like I told you.”
* * *
FORD PACED THE LENGTH of Isabel’s kitchen. She watched him move, feeling a little like watching one of the powerful cats at the zoo. She was standing close enough to sense his frustration and energy, but she didn’t have to worry about him turning on her and expecting her to be dinner.
The analogy made her smile. Now that she knew her brother-in-law was going to be fine, she could see the humor in the situation. Not that Ford had gotten there yet.
“It’s not my fault,” he muttered for maybe the thousandth time since he’d arrived. “He wanted me to hit him. He begged me.”
“Next time you shouldn’t listen.”
He turned to her. “Thanks for the news flash.”
“Hey, don’t take your temper out on me. I’m not the one who coldcocked