By the looks of things, the race car driver was attempting to reserve a mailbox for the summer and getting nowhere. “I was told it would be no problem,” Logan was saying.
This was no mystery once Ford caught sight of the clerk. Paige Robinson had crushed on Ford all through middle school. And again in tenth grade. They’d gone to Homecoming together, after which Paige had pulled her father’s pilfered vodka from her purse to share. Ford had hoped to get lucky that night, but unfortunately, Paige had tossed back too much and thrown up on his shoes instead.
Maybe she felt she owed him now, or maybe she was still harboring a secret crush, Ford didn’t know; but for whatever reason, she was shaking her head at Logan, saying she was very sorry but there simply wasn’t an empty post office box to be rented in Lucky Harbor.
Logan walked out of the post office looking annoyed but resigned, and Ford watched him go, torn. Don’t do it, man.
Don’t. Fuck. He gathered his mail and followed Logan outside. “There’s a Mailboxes-R-Us on Fourth Street,” Ford said. “You can probably get a box there.”
Instead of thanking him, Logan gave him a suspicious look. “I don’t suppose you know anything about why Jan at the diner told me they’d run out of coffee when I tried to get caffeine this morning. Or how it is that I was woken up at five, six, seven, and eight o’clock by someone playing doorbell ditch at the cottage? Or better yet, where my rental car went?”
“Why would I know anything about any of that?”
Logan laughed low in his throat. “Maybe because while the locals are impressed with my NASCAR status, they’d do just about anything for you. Hell, Facebook is proving that.”
“Facebook? Is the poll still up then?”
Logan pulled out his Blackberry and brought up the page. People’s tweets were posted, and on top of that was the latest blog entry:
There’s romance in the wind! Or at least on the docks, where Tara Daniels was seen kissing a certain sexy hometown sailor. Voting is still open but it appears Tara’s running a poll of her own. And don’t forget to weigh in on a side poll-should Ford ask Tara to marry him? Also, see tweets on how he should pop the question…
Ford stared at the screen. “What the fuck?”
Logan blew out a breath. “All I know is that she’s not kissing me on the docks.” He punched 9-1-1 on his cell. “Yes, dispatch? I need to report my rental car as stolen.”
Ford waited with him, somehow feeling responsible. Plus, he had a feeling Sawyer would show up.
And sure enough, his best friend arrived in less than five minutes.
Sawyer got out of his squad car in his uniform and dark mirrored sunglasses, looking his usual badass self. At the sight of Logan and Ford standing together, he arched a brow. He was far too good to show much, but a slow smile crossed his face. “Either of you see Facebook today?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Ford muttered. “Have a good laugh.”
“Already did. I haven’t voted on the new poll yet. I’m weighing some heavy questions. Like do guys still get down on one knee? And how much should the ring cost?”
Ford flipped him the bird.
“Verbal assault of an officer,” Sawyer said. “I’d arrest you but I don’t feel like doing the paperwork.”
“There’s a stolen rental car,” Ford said. “How about you be a cop and get to that?”
“It’s not stolen. It just showed up.” Sawyer turned to Logan. “You parked in a no-parking zone and it got towed.” He eyed Logan over the tops of his dark lenses. “The law applies even to celebrities here.”
Logan sighed. “I’m going to need a ride.”
Sawyer looked at Ford.
Oh, Christ. “No.”
“I have to get back to work,” Sawyer said.
“It’s your job to take care of citizens in need,” Ford pointed out.
“Unless I have a call. And I have a call.”
“What, to get donuts?”
Sawyer pointed at him, miming shooting his gun. Then he got back into his squad car and drove off.
Logan looked at Ford.
“Shit.” Ford shoved a hand into his pocket for his keys. “Come on.”
They walked to the lot, where Logan looked at Ford’s classic 1969 Camaro. “You ever race this baby?”
“I keep my racing to the water.”
Logan gave him an evaluating look over the hood. “You any good?”
“Yes.”
“Heard about the gold medals.”
“Then you know I’m good.”
Logan leaned over the roof. “How about letting me drive?”
“Maybe when hell freezes over. And get off the car, man. You lean on your car like that?”
Logan laughed. “I kill people for leaning on my car.”
Ford pinched the bridge of his nose. “Where are you staying?”
“Well, I was at the Beachside Cottages. But when I went to the office to complain about the doorbell ditch this morning, I was unceremoniously kicked out. Something about last-minute renovations.”
“They can’t really do that.”
“Can and did,” Logan assured him. “I called Tara, and she agreed to put me up.”
Oh, good. His greatest nightmare coming true. “Tara.”
“Yeah,” Logan said, laughter in his voice. “Guess my sabotagers didn’t think that one all the way through. I’ll be staying at the inn with Tara. Think she still loves to… cook?”
Ford knew for a fact that she did, and thinking about it, he found himself driving a little faster, a little tighter than he normally would have.
“You’re trying to impress me,” Logan said. “It’s okay. I get that a lot.”
Shit. Ford slowed down but it was too late. Logan was grinning. “Do you also get that you’re an ass?” Ford asked.
Logan shrugged, completely unconcerned.
Ford concentrated on not putting the pedal to the metal. “Why are you here again?”
“I let my wife get away from me. We were good together. She traveled with me, made my life bearable, and in return, I took care of her.”
Ford thought about that for a moment. If Tara had ever needed anyone, those days were long over. She’d grown up, and nothing about the new version was needy or dependent.
“And you?” Logan asked.
“Me what?” Ford slid him a look. “And be careful, because if you’re about to ask about me and Tara, I’m going to kick your ass and enjoy it.”
Logan snorted at the empty, hollow threat. Fan-fucking-tastic.
When Ford finally pulled up at the inn, Logan eyed him across the console. “If all you’re looking for is a good time, she deserves better.”
Ford was surprised he still had back teeth, what with all the grinding he’d been doing. “What I’m looking for is none of your business.”
“Look, I was the guy that came along in Tara’s life after you screwed her up. And she was damn tough to catch because of it. But my patience and perseverance paid off, and she married me. So man to man…” Logan gave him a tight smile. “You might think you have game with her now, but she isn’t a game. Move onto someone else, Ford.”
“Get out.”
Logan did just that, then leaned in the window. “I’ve heard a lot about you, you know. Hard not to; you’re the only thing anyone around here wants to talk about. You’re the Good Time Guy, not the Keeper Guy. That’s how I know I’m going to be the last one standing. And I think you know it, too.”
Ford watched him walk away. It was true that all he and Tara had in common was a mutual desire, which they’d supposedly fulfilled. And Mia, of course.
Except…
Christ, the except. He watched Logan vanish inside the inn, thinking about how much more than desire this was. How he wasn’t feeling much like just a Good Time Guy.