Page 106 of A Tempting Seduction

Ruby stared at me for a long moment, something shifting in her expression. The devastation was still there, but underneath it I could see something else taking hold. Hope, maybe. Or recognition that losing both her sisters didn't mean losing everything.

“I love you. Ford,” she whispered. She glanced at the two-way mirror, then shrugged and pulled me down for a kiss. One long and fantastic, mind-altering kiss.

Chapter Twenty-Three

The Tennessee humidity wrapped around me like a wet blanket the moment we stepped off the plane at McGhee Tyson Airport. Seven in the morning, and I could already feel my hair starting to frizz. But after two days in Los Angeles, breathing in that familiar thick air felt like coming home.

Ford's hand found mine as we walked through the terminal, his fingers warm and steady despite everything we'd been through. I was exhausted but my body still buzzed with adrenaline, that strange, wired feeling you get when you're running on fumes but your brain won't shut down.

“You doing okay?” Ford asked, his voice rough with fatigue.

I nodded, not trusting my voice. The truth was, I didn't know how I was doing. The past forty-eight hours felt like a lifetime. Confronting Horace's corruption, seeing my sisters...

Candice's face kept flashing through my mind. The way she'd looked at me in that sterile FBI conference room, like it was no big deal that she threw Dad to the wolves to get the life she wanted. And Carla, still acting like I was somehow responsible for things going sideways because I chose to leave after seeing her and Lance together.

Ford squeezed my hand, pulling me back to the present. We'd made it to his truck and the familiar sight of that beat-up Ford F-150 with its dented tailgate and faded blue paint made my chest tight.

“Home sweet home,” Ford said, clicking the key fob.

He loaded our bags into the truck bed while I climbed into the passenger seat. The interior smelled like sawdust and coffee, with hints of Ford's soap lingering on the fabric. I closed my eyes and tried to let the familiar scents ground me.

Ford slid behind the wheel and started the engine. The radio immediately came on, some country station playing a song about heartache and home. He quickly switched it off, leaving us in blessed silence.

“You hungry?” he asked, backing out of the parking space.

I considered the question.

“I don't know if I could eat anything.”

Ford glanced over at me, concern creasing his forehead. “Ruby, you haven't had a real meal since that half a club sandwich the other night. You need to eat something.”

“I know. I just...” I trailed off, staring out the window at the Tennessee countryside rushing past. “My stomach feels like it's tied in knots.”

“Then we're stopping at the Down Home Diner.” Ford's tone brooked no argument. “Little Grandma will fix you right up.”

The thought of facing people, of having to smile and pretend everything was fine, made me want to crawl under a rock. But Ford was right. I needed food, even if I couldn't imagine keeping anything down.

Ford pointed the truck toward town square, and I watched familiar landmarks slide past. The old courthouse with its clock tower. The bronze statue of Jasper Creek's founder. The neat rows of businesses that formed the heart of our little town.

Our little town. When had I started thinking of Jasper Creek as home?

We pulled into a parking space in front of the Down Home Diner at exactly eight-thirty. Ford was easily able to get a parking spot close to the diner. Through the large front windows, I could see the morning crowd had thinned out, leaving several empty booths along the back wall. They looked comfortable enough to sleep in.

And there, in her usual spot by the hostess stand, sat Little Grandma.

The cowbell above the door chimed our arrival, and Little Grandma's sharp gaze immediately found us. Her eyes widened slightly, taking in our rumpled clothes and exhausted faces.

“Lettie!” she called out, her voice surprisingly strong for someone her age. “Get these two a booth and bring them the full pull, start with biscuits and cinnamon rolls, lots of butter, hot coffee, milk, orange juice. Everything.”

She paused, studying us more closely. “I'll be right over.”

Lettie appeared from behind the counter, a woman in her fifties with kind eyes and graying brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. She'd inherited her grandmother's gift for reading people, and one look at us had her mothering instincts kicking into high gear.

“Y'all look like you've been rode hard and put up wet,” she said, leading us toward a corner booth. “When's the last time either of you had a decent meal?”

I tried to smile. “It's been a while.”

Ford slid into the booth beside me instead of across from me, and I was grateful for his solid presence. Lettie bustled away to get our food, leaving us alone for a moment.