She gave a nervous laugh then glanced away. “Maybe.”
I kissed her nose and turned her face back to mine. “Go on, say it for real. You love me. Say it.”
She blinked up at me. “I love you,” she murmured.
My heart shot to the sky like a rocket then parachuted down, twirling and dancing in the breeze. I never imagined in a million years that I’d hear those words from this woman. That my life would do a complete one-fucking-eighty in the span of a few weeks.
There was only one thing I could do—since fucking her six ways to Sunday wasn’t happening on the sidewalk—was to say it right back.
“I love you, Indigo Buchanan.”
Chapter
Fifteen
INDI
* * *
After working in the SOA office the next day, I headed out of town to Ford’s place. In the course of just a few weeks, he’d become my new habit. My joy. My everything.
I was leaving tomorrow for the guide trip, and I wanted to soak up every last minute with him before I went.
I parked on the gravel drive in front of the main house. Roscoe barked from somewhere else on the property as I headed up the steps to knock on the door. It was the first time I’d been over here since the storm, and now I noticed what good repair everything was in. There was a new roof on the main house and fresh paint. The wooden porch looked freshly stained and sealed. There was drip irrigation installed all along Mrs. L’s flowerbeds, and the five giant pine trees that stood in front of the house had some lower branches trimmed and their cuts sealed.
The guys were obviously taking good care of Ford’s grandma.
Mrs. L answered the door at the same time Roscoe ran up behind me, wagging and licking my hand when I greeted him by name.
“Hi, Indi. How are you doing, honey?” She gave me her usual smile as she wiped her hand on a dishtowel. The scent of brownies hit me and made my mouth water.
I leaned in to give the spry old woman a hug. “Great. Is Ford around?” I glanced in the direction Roscoe had come from, guessing that’s where I’d find him.
“The guys are up in the greenhouse. It’s their training room now, you know.”
“Ah yes, the training room.” I wouldn’t mind watching a little of that training. Especially if it involved Ford taking off his shirt and flexing all those powerful muscles. “I’ll just head over there, then. Thanks.”
Roscoe and I walked to the greenhouse, and I pushed the door open. This time it wasn’t locked, and I saw the window I’d broken to get in had been replaced. I wasn’t disappointed by what I found. Four very hot Navy SEALs working out. Of course, my gaze was immediately drawn to my mountain man. Ford was doing chin-ups on a bar attached to the back wall, the muscles of his arms and back flexing in perfect coordinated rhythm with each surge upward.
Taft was on his back on a bench in the center of the room pressing iron. Hayes was doing pushups on an incline, and Kennedy had on sparring gloves and was working over the punching bag.
Ford looked over his shoulder without pausing in his routine. “Hey, Blue.” His eyes crinkled with more warmth than I ever imagined I’d see in the guy.
I tried not to swoon. Or jump him.
“Hey, Indi!” Hayes panted. Kennedy waved. Taft set the weights down on the rack and sat up.
“Don’t stop on my account,” I said. “I don’t mind the show.”
“Hey. Eyes over here,” Ford demanded, and I chuckled. “I’m almost finished,” he added.
“Don’t rush,” I said, trying not to drool. “Seriously, take all the time you need. I’ll join you guys.”
Carrying heavy packs and paddling rafts down the river kept me in excellent shape, but I enjoyed working out in a gym now and again.
I walked over to where Taft sat and picked a kettlebell from the shelf. I held it in both hands between my legs to do my squats. He was in shorts, and I could see the angry scar that ran from the outside of his calf past his left knee and part way up his thigh.
“Gunshot wound,” he said, answering my unasked question. “Put me out of the SEALs with a medical discharge.” He flashed a rueful smile, but I knew he had to be faking it. I pegged him a few years younger than me, so he’d barely been in the service before he’d been forced out.
My heart ached for him, and I pushed away the thoughts of what he’d been up to—and had to endure—to be shot. I had to believe he’d been as dedicated and gung-ho about his military career as Buck and Ford had been. “Getting sidelined has to suck,” I commiserated.