She simpered. “Oh, yes.” She pushed her napkin toward him. “Autograph?”

Ford shot her a level are-you-kidding-me look over his shoulder, but she just grinned at him before turning back to Logan. “And isn’t it something to have you here in Lucky Harbor? Nice finish in Talladega. Sorry about the subsequent crash.” She touched his brace. “I hope it’s not too painful.”

“I’m healing up just fine,” Logan assured her, turning to include the two women who came up on his other side. They held out their napkins for him to sign as well, which he did with a flourish.

Ford added ginger, vodka, and ice to the shaker, catching Sawyer’s eye.

Sawyer was back to smirking.

With a scowl, Ford strained Logan’s drink into a flute, then topped it with sparkling wine.

By now Logan had half the bar circling him like he was the best thing since sliced bread, and he’d turned away from the bar, completely surrounded by fans.

“A real live celebrity,” Sawyer noted to Ford. “People can’t resist that.”

Ford could. “I don’t see what’s so great about him,” he muttered. “In his last eighteen starts, he’s never so much as led a lap. And he dresses like he believes his own press.”

“I think you missed your dose of Midol today.”

“And what the fuck,” Ford went on. “Driving isn’t even a damn sport.”

Sawyer was cracking up now. “Really?”

“Really what?”

“You’re going to finally make a move for the woman you’ve been mooning over for what, six months now, because her ex-husband is in town? Lame, man.”

“Who said I was making a move?”

“You’re gearing up, I can tell,” Sawyer said.

“You can not.”

“I’ve been watching you make your moves since middle school. You haven’t changed your technique much.”

“Whatever.” Ford slammed around a few shot glasses to look busy. “And technically, I made my move before Logan got here.” He felt someone pat his hand and looked down at Lucille.

“Don’t you worry, honey,” she said in a stage whisper the people in Seattle could have heard. “We’re going to help you get the girl.”

“We?”

She gestured to four women that looked even older than she, all in an assortment of bright lipstick and blue hair. “We’re going to tip the scales in your favor,” she said. “But it’d really help if you’d ever been on TV for winning a race.”

“I have!” Ford pinched the bridge of his nose. “Listen to me, Lucille. No meddling. Do you hear me?”

But Lucille had already turned to her posse. “It won’t be easy, girls,” she was saying to them. “But we can do it. For Ford, right?”

“For Ford,” they all repeated.

Sawyer was grinning, the asshole.

“Okay, that’s it,” Ford said to Lucille, pointing at her. “I’m cutting you off.”

“Hush, dear,” she said with a dismissive wave. “We’re working here. And while you’re standing there looking pretty, we’re going to need a pitcher of margaritas.”

Jesus.

Ford was halfway through that task when Logan sauntered back up to the bar for another drink.

“Don’t tell me,” Ford said. “Another Ginger Goddess.”

“Nah.” Logan grinned. “I just wanted to see if you knew how to make a sissy drink. It was good though. Thanks.”

Sawyer, still sprawled back in his chair, laughed.

Okay, that was it. Ford was cutting everyone off, the fuckers.

Lucille asked Logan for his autograph again.

“Didn’t I already give you one, darlin’?” Logan asked.

“Yes, but that was for eBay.” Lucille patted his arm and pointed to Ford. “Have you met our own local celebrity?”

Logan looked at Ford. “Yes, but I didn’t know he was a celebrity.”

Ford waited for someone to announce his two American Cup wins or maybe the ISAF Rolex World Sailor of the Year award. Or hey, how about either of his gold medals?

“Yes, sirree,” Lucille said proudly. “Ford here makes the best margaritas on the West Coast.”

Sawyer choked and indicated he needed water. Ford ignored him.

“And oh!” Lucille added. “He’s real good on a boat, too.”

Ford was sure that he could feel a blood vessel bursting behind his left eye. He took a deep, calming breath. It didn’t help, but it wasn’t worth the breath to point out that he’d also once been featured in Sports Illustrated.

Sawyer continued to cough, and Ford hoped he swallowed his tongue.

Lucille waved her glass around as she spoke. “Why, just the other day Ford was working on Lucky Harbor Inn’s rentals for them. Such a good boy.”

Logan grinned. “That’s nice.”

“Oh, our Ford is quite the catch,” Lucille went on, and her blue-haired posse all nodded sagely. “Tara thinks so, too, seeing as she pulled him into her meeting the other day and made him take off his shirt for the ladies.”

Now it was Ford’s turn to choke. “Okay, that’s not what happened. I—”

“Don’t be shy, dear. You look good without your shirt.” Lucille glanced at Logan. “Though I’m sure you look good without yours as well. In fact, maybe we could have a contest right here.”

Jesus.

Lucille’s posse all sat up straighter and nodded their blue-haired perms.

Logan laughed, but he looked Ford over for a long beat.

Ford looked right back. In Logan’s eyes, he saw the light of challenge. No, they weren’t going to have a shirt-off contest, but they were competing.

Game on.

Chapter 10

“Life isn’t about finding yourself, it’s about creating yourself.”

TARA DANIELS

Tara spent the next few days organizing and then reorganizing the inn’s kitchen.

They were going to open as a B&B.

Maddie had handled the paperwork for the license and inspection required, Chloe was working up ideas for special baskets for guests that could be ordered if they wanted meals on the go, and Tara was working on menu planning, recipes, and the additional supplies needed.

It could actually come together and work.

Tara could hardly believe it, both that she’d agreed and that the more time passed, the more she liked the idea. It was exhilarating to finally do something she’d always wanted—cooking for a living in her own kitchen.

It was terrifying as well, because the opportunity for an epic failure had never been greater. It wasn’t as if she had a great track record succeeding at… well, anything.

But there was always a first time. This was what she told herself. It gave her hope. With the phones starting to ring and bookings coming in, and with Chloe still coming and going and Maddie feeling in over her head, they’d put out an ad for another part-time employee. They already had interviews set up with a few high school students hopefully willing to do grunt work relatively cheaply.

Plenty of the Lucky Harbor curious stopped by: Lucille toting recipes, Lance and Tucker proposing the possibility of delivering ice cream on the weekends from their shop, Sawyer to mooch coffee—the inn was on his way to work and he preferred Tara’s coffee to the station’s.

If nothing else, the distractions soaked up some of the terror over the upcoming opening, and took up all of Tara’s available brain space, leaving none for her other problems.

Such as her man problems.

That she could even think that phrase—man problems—was as amazing as it was ridiculous. She never had man problems.

She never had men!

To her surprise, Logan had been serious about staying in town. He’d rented a small beach cottage a few miles up the road and had come by each day. Tara had no idea what to make of that. Her entire marriage had been about her chasing him. It felt odd, to say the least, that things were reversed.

As for Ford, he was around. He’d served her drinks the other night when she’d gone to The Love Shack with Chloe and Maddie. He’d been at the marina yesterday working on his boat.

But there’d been no one-on-one conversations between them. And given that she knew he was all too aware of Logan being in town, she got the unspoken message.

He wasn’t going to press, push, or fight for her. Shock. Ford never pressed, pushed or fought. Things either came right to him, like moths to a flame, or they didn’t.

Not being a moth, Tara was on her own to do as she pleased. She just wasn’t exactly sure what would please her.

Okay, big fat lie. She knew what would please her, and that was one Ford Walker, served straight up. But hell if she’d go through that again….

A week after their not-so-awkward morning after, Tara headed out at the crack of dawn to return his crepe pan, which she’d used and loved. She needed to buy herself one the next time she had a couple hundred bucks lying around.

It took ten minutes to drive to his house, ten minutes she told herself she didn’t have to spare. She should have given him the pan back at the marina. That would have been the logical and reasonable thing to do. Except as it applied to Ford, Tara didn’t have a logical or reasonable bone in her body.

At least his house was easy enough to get to. He lived on the bluffs above the inn. As the sun rose over the mountains, casting a pink glow over the morning, she parked and headed up his walk. A small part of her secretly hoped she caught him in bed. But that really was a very small part.

The bigger part hoped he was in the shower.

She looked around and realized that she didn’t see his car, which pretty much rained on the waking-him-up parade. Wondering where he was—or who he might be with so early—put a hitch in her step.

None of your business, she told herself. None. She blew out a breath, opened her cell phone, and called him.

“Hey,” he said in his usual sex-on-a-stick voice. “Miss me?”

She ignored both that and the floaty feeling the sound of his voice put in her stomach. “I’m returning your pan,” she said. “I’m on your porch.” She paused, hoping he’d tell her where he was.

“Let yourself in,” he said and gave her the code to unlock the door.

“Where should I leave it, in your kitchen?”

“Or on my bed,” he said.

“You want the Le Creuset on your bed,” she repeated, heavy on the disbelief.

“No, I want you on my bed. What are you wearing?”

She pulled the cell away from her ear and stared at it. “You did not just ask me that.”

“Never mind,” he said. “I’ll just picture you how I want you.”

“And how would that be?” The words popped out of her before she could stop them, fascinated in spite of herself.

“Hmm,” he mused silkily. “Maybe a French maid outfit.”

“That’s…” She struggled a minute with why the thought turned her on. “Outdated and anti-feminist,” she finally said, a little weakly. “Not to mention subservient.”

“I like the subservient part,” Ford mused. “A few ‘yes sirs’ would be nice.”

“You are one seriously warped man.”

“No doubt.” His voice was low and sexy, and it made her forget herself, made her forget that all he wanted was her body. Especially since at the moment, she wanted his.

“I can be there in twenty minutes,” he said, a smile in his voice.

“No. Don’t even think about it.” Tara ignored the flutter in her belly. She couldn’t help it. Even when he was being a Neanderthal, he still turned her on. Sure, she’d just been fantasizing about catching him in the shower, but that had been just a fantasy. She needed to live firmly in reality. “We’re done with that.”

“Bet I can change your mind.”

“I have no doubt,” Tara said. God, she needed help. “But you’re a nice guy, so you won’t.”

“I’m not that nice a guy.”

Great. Just great. “You’ve been an absent guy.”

He was quiet a moment. “Didn’t see a need to complicate anything for you.”

Like a reunion with Logan. Tara drew in a deep breath. “You ever think that sometimes complications are worth the trouble?”

“No.”

Quick and easy and brutally honest. It was Ford’s way. She’d have to think about that later. Right now, she punched in his front door code and listened to the lock click open. “Are you sure you don’t want me to just leave the pan on the step?” she asked. “It’d be safe.” In Lucky Harbor, just about everything was safe.

Except her heart, she was discovering.

“Are you afraid to step inside my lair?” Ford teased.

“Ha. And no. I’ll leave it on your table.”

“Ten-four.” He paused. “Are you going to snoop around while you’re in there?”

“No.” Maybe. “What would I snoop around in?”

“I don’t know. My underwear drawer?”

The last time she’d touched his underwear, he’d been wearing them. But just the thought of him in his BVDs brought a rush. “No,” she said quickly.

Too quickly, because he laughed softly. “You can if you want to,” he said, lowering his voice. “You can do whatever you want, Tara. Flip through my porn, eat the enchiladas I made last night from Carlos’s abuelo’s recipe…”

“Wait.” She promptly forgot about underwear, porn, and jumping his bones. “Carlos gave you his abuelo’s recipe? I’ve been asking him for it forever.”