Chapter 5

Ashley

It's worried me all day long, hanging over my head like a cloud. Ford was cute and flirty that morning. Very flirty. And I like it way more than I ought to. Flirting back with him was a huge mistake and a distraction neither of us needs to get tangled up in. Especially if him being in here at the crack of dawn means what I think it does.

Taylor's Autobody is notorious. Everyone in the county—and even beyond—knows about the shady shit that happens there. Ford's been in the middle of it before. Breaking down stolen cars, covering up damage, padding insurance claims—you name it and they've done it. The hell of it is, Ford's a good guy. He's a good guy in a bad situation. But I'm not in any condition to save anyone. Not even myself.

In my mind, Felicity's face flashes. That sweet little girl whose mom is locked up, and will be—if she's lucky—for a long time. She needs her daddy. And she's not going to have him if Ford gets caught with his hands in a pilfered pie again. So what do I do? How do I fix this?

I finish counting down my till at the end of shift. It's two pennies short. Rather than deal with Gina, I dig two out of my pocket and toss them in. I can't deal with a lecture. It's weird how she's nice sometimes and a complete bitch the other, but then I've been dealing with that my whole life. That describes my dad's personality in a nutshell.

With the last of my tasks done, I head to the ancient time clock and punch out. Then I grab my stuff from the locker and head for the door. This job is only part‐time. Sometimes I get thirty plus hours a week, sometimes I only get twenty or so. This is one of the twenty-hour weeks. Which means I'll have a ton of time on my hands to tackle projects at the trailer and maybe do something that might make it more, not just livable, but loveable. I don't want to hate my life. That's a one-way ticket to a kind of misery that doesn't fade. Which means, I need to accept some of the things that have come my way and make the best of them.

I step outside, get into my car, slide the key into the ignition and … nothing. Not a cough, sputter, groan or click. It's just dead as hell. So much for my attempt to force a little positivity into my life.

I dig my phone out of my purse and try to think of who to call. Lizzie and Troy would come help me, but I'm always calling them for a rescue. Cassie would come pick me up in the Swagger Wagon, as I love to call her pink Caddy. But I know she and Cam are having a date night and I don't want to interrupt them. Emma or Cody would come, but I'm so fucking sick of being the damsel in distress.

A knock on the window startles me and I look up to see a familiar face. Ford.

I open the door, since the windows won't work until the car will turn on. "Hey."

"Trouble?"

"Won't start. Won't even do anything," I tell him.

"Pop the hood."

I do. He disappears under it for a couple of minutes then comes back, his expression grim.

"Your alternator is shot. I can probably give you a jump that would get you home, but it'll be dead again in the morning. How about I give you a jump, you drive it to the shop. Then I'll take you home," he offers.

"I can't afford to have this thing fixed right now, Ford. I'll just have to hoof it until I get paid again."

His eyes lock with mine, that intense stare making me squirm a little. Then he says, "I didn't ask if you could afford it. I owe you for all the free hairstyling lessons for Felicity."

Forty‐five minutes later, Ford is pulling up in front of my trailer. His SUV isn't any newer than my car is, but it's definitely in better condition. He takes care of it that same way he takes care of his house and his little girl.

"Thanks for this," I tell him. "I feel like a total mess … like I'm always asking people to rescue me."

"You're not. I mean, yeah, maybe you need help from time to time, but we all do … This morning, I had to work early, and Felicity needed to get to school. So Mabel helped me out."

I smile at that. "I love Mabel. I'd let her take care of me if she would."

He laughs at that. "Ask her. She probably will. Mabel likes to take care of people."

"And you. You seem to like taking care of people too," I point out.

Ford shakes his head, clearly uncomfortable with something that—depending on perspective—could be praise or criticism. "Listen … this isn't an easy life. Dixie Plaza is a world unto itself. Sometimes that's a good thing and sometimes it's not. But the good people here have to look out for one another. That's how we survive it."

I'm looking out the window of his car into the bright afternoon sun. It's sifting through the trees and leaving a lacy pattern on everything it touches. Even a busted down trailer looks pretty in the right light. "Do you ever want to just run? To just get in a car and drive somewhere that nobody knows your name and all the baggage attached to it?"

He sighs, then sinks back in his seat a little. Like he's got all day to sit here and talk to me and not a million and one things he needs to do or for his kid before she gets home from school. Ford is giving me his time, and I know how precious that is.

"All the time, Ashley. Every day. And every day I look at my daughter who is finally starting to feel safe again and I know that I can't take that from her. This might be a shit hole, but it's the first place no one was hitting her, or locking her in closets, or god only knows what else. My biggest fear is that one day she's going to tell me all of it and I won't be able to take it."

Bitching about a crappy job, trailer, car or even my dad when Ford is dealing with that kind of burden? "You're a good dad, Ford. The best. And that little girl is going to be fine. She's going to be fine because she's got you."

"Who do you have?"

I shrug. "I had my Mamaw. I've got Lizzie."

"Who now has Troy," he replies. "Not that I don't like Troy. As cops go, he and Cam are about as stand up as they come. But still, it changes things when your ride or die is suddenly someone else's ride or die."

Truer words have never been spoken. "I'll be alright. I've got friends. I've got a great neighbor who saves me from raging mammals."

"Rodent. Groundhogs are rodents," he corrects me with a smile.

It's an impulse—likely triggered by that smile—but I unclip my seat belt and lean across the console. My face is inches from his and I pause. His gaze drops to my mouth, and I know he wants it as much as I do. So I lean in a little more, until I can brush my lips against his.

It's the simplest of touches. Just a casual kiss between friends. So why does it feel like I just dropped a match into a puddle of gasoline?