It hadn’t taken much encouragement. That’s when they’d become more than friends.
They’d gone for a long sail, dropped anchor… and their clothes. They’d made love-her first time.
Not his.
Ford had showed her just how good it could be, how amazing it could feel, and for that one long, glorious month of July, Tara had found herself hopelessly and thoroughly addicted to his body.
He’d felt the same about her; she’d seen it, felt it. There’d been no spoken vows of love between them, but it’d been there. They’d been lovers in every sense of the word.
A very grown-up word, lovers. And given that Tara had ended up pregnant and giving the baby up for adoption before hightailing it back to Texas, she hadn’t been ready for all that went with being grown up.
No matter what Ford thought, neither of them had been.
Tara hadn’t come back to Lucky Harbor after she’d had the baby, not once in all these years. She’d moved on. She’d gone to college. Traveled. Sown some wild oats. She’d even fallen in love. Logan Perrish had been charming, funny, and accepting, and a huge NASCAR star. Tara had married him, and, determined to get things right, she’d done everything in her power to fit into Logan’s world of whirlwind travel, press, billboards, and cereal boxes.
She’d lived and breathed the part of a celebrity wife, always on the go, doing whatever it took to make Logan love her as much as he loved his racing world.
Even when it had all failed, she’d still stuck in there. She’d made a commitment, and she’d faked it.
Fake it until you make it; that had been her motto.
But somewhere along the way, she’d lost herself. It seemed she always lost herself. And what made it even worse was that Logan hadn’t been a bad guy, just the Wrong Guy.
So she’d escaped back to Texas once again, to lick her wounds in private, struggling to remember who she was-a woman who’d lived through some bad things and still persevered.
A woman who wouldn’t lose herself again.
The steel magnolia within her had finally served Logan divorce papers. Due to his celebrity status, they’d had a prenup, of course. Without kids to complicate things, she’d willingly walked away free and clear. Still Logan had insisted on giving her a very fair settlement, which she had used every last bit of when she and her sisters had needed money for the inn.
She was now a take-no-prisoners sort of woman, and maybe also a don’t-get-too-close-to-me woman. It was necessary, in order to keep her heart protected and safe.
And to keep herself pain free.
Unfortunately, she’d just broken her own rule by tangling with Ford. Problem was, when it came to him, her mind and body appeared to be at war.
Want him.
Hold him at arm’s length.
Want him…
The ongoing battle was complicated by the fact that she now lived within a stone’s throw of him. As she knew all too well, Ford was lethal up close, especially when he wanted something.
And he’d admitted to wanting her. Her body, anyway.
He was just watching her now, and when she said nothing, he slowly shook his head, a bittersweet smile twisting his lips. “Thanks again for the tea,” he said, and when the door shut behind him Tara drew in a shaky breath and let it out slowly, struggling for her equilibrium. As always, she eventually found it, and once she had, she headed back outside to the deck.
“There you are,” one of her guests said slyly. “Everything okay?”
Tara smiled. “Absolutely,” she said, taking her own advice-fake it until you make it.
Chapter 4
“A conclusion is the place you get to when you’re tired of thinking.”
TARA DANIELS
Two days later, Tara woke up when someone plopped down on her bed. “It’s Wednesday,” Maddie said, adding a bounce to make sure Tara was up.
“It’s also the crack of dawn.” Tara pulled her pillow back over her head and turned over. “Go away.”
Maddie yanked off the pillow. “Wednesday.”
“Sugar, you’d best at least have coffee brewing.”
Maddie reached over to the nightstand and handed her a cup.
Tara sat up and sipped, repressing the sigh that wouldn’t help anyway. Maddie had decreed Wednesdays to be “Team Building Day.” The three of them had to spend every Wednesday together from start to finish until they learned to get along.
It was no surprise that they didn’t. They’d grown up separately, thanks to the fact that Phoebe had loved men.
A lot of them.
Tara’s father was a government scientist who’d come into Phoebe’s orbit and not known what hit him. After their divorce, Tara had lived with her father. Actually, her father’s parents, since he’d traveled so much. Tara had spent only the occasional summer with Phoebe, before her mother had inherited the Lucky Harbor Inn, so those visits had consisted mostly of camping and/or following the Grateful Dead tour.
Maddie’s father was a Hollywood set designer. He’d also taken Maddie with him when his relationship with Phoebe had gone kaput. Maddie hadn’t come back for summers, so she and Tara had been virtual strangers when Phoebe had died.
Chloe had no idea who her father was and didn’t seem to care. The only daughter raised by Phoebe, she had traveled around at Phoebe’s desire. As a result of that wanderlust upbringing, Chloe tended not to worry about convention the way her sisters did. She didn’t worry about much, actually. She lived on a whim.
Unlike Tara, who lived for convention, for order. For a plan.
When Phoebe died and left her daughters her parents’ inn, not one of them had intended to stay. And yet here they sat over six months later: the steel magnolia, the mouse, and the wild child.
Having a Team-Building Wednesday.
This was their third month at it, and the days still tended to be filled with bickering, pouting, and even all-out warfare. Today, Tara guessed, would be more of the same, but for Maddie’s sake she gamely rose and dressed.
First stop-the diner for brunch. Tara took grief from Jan, the woman who owned the diner. Tara’s boss was fifty-something, mean as a snake unless she was taking money from a customer, and liked Tara only when Tara was behind the stovetop.
Which she wasn’t at the moment.
Tara managed to get them seated with only the barest of snarls. Chloe ordered a short stack and consulted with the Magic Eight app on her iPhone, asking it if she was going to have a date anytime in the near future. Maddie ordered bacon and eggs with home fries and talked to Jax on her cell about something that was making her blush. Tara ordered oatmeal and wheat toast, and was busy calculating the balance in her checkbook. If that didn’t explain their major differences right there, nothing could.
Afterward, in the already blazing sun, they walked the pier for the purpose of buying ice cream cones. In Maddie’s case, they also went for getting on the Ferris wheel she’d once been so terrified of. They did that first, holding Maddie’s hand. They might not see eye to eye on much, but some things could be universally shared, and ice cream and Ferris wheel rides were two of them.
Lance served them the ice cream. In his early twenties, he was small-boned enough to pass for a teenager, and thanks to the cystic fibrosis slowly ravaging his body, had a voice like he was speaking through gravel. He and Chloe were good friends, or more accurately cohorts, trouble-seekers of the highest magnitude. Lance tried to serve them for free, but Chloe refused. “We’ve got this,” she told him firmly, then turned to Tara expectantly.