Slow Hands (Makes My Heart Race Book 3) Read online

  Slow Hands

  Hope Ford

  Slow Hands © 2020 by Hope Ford

  Editor: Kasi Alexander

  Cover Design: Cormar Covers

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  www.authorhopeford.com

  Contents

  1. Juliette

  2. Michael

  3. Michael

  4. Michael

  5. Michael

  6. Michael

  7. Michael

  8. Michael

  9. Michael

  10. Juliette

  11. Juliette

  Epilogue

  Makes My Heart Race

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  About the Author

  1

  Juliette

  I overhear the two Bs, as I like to call them, at the end of the aisle, and I know exactly who they’re talking about.

  “He’s probably the most good-looking guy I’ve ever seen, Britney. I mean have you seen him?”

  I hear Britney respond with a sigh of agreement.

  They’re talking about my new neighbor. I know they are. He just moved in a few weeks ago, and he has the whole town on their ear with tongues wagging.

  I look down the aisle at Britney and Barbie, hoping they’ll move on so I can grab a loaf of the bread they’re standing in front of. I stare at the specialty breads and bagels in front of me, just biding time, but when they continue talking, finally out of patience and time, I walk their way, determined to get the bread and get out of here.

  “Hey, Britney. Hey, Barbie. Excuse me,” I say and gesture to the bread they’re standing in front of.

  They move apart, but barely. Barbie looks down her nose at me. “So have you met your new neighbor?”

  I shake my head in response and mutter, “No” as I grab the bread off the shelf and put it in my cart. I’m about to walk away, but of course neither one of them are the type to let anyone get in the last word. I swear, what are they even doing here in front of the bread? I doubt either one of them eats it by the way they’re always worried about their weight.

  Britney leans over, looking at the contents of my cart before scrunching her nose up. Surely she’s disapproving of my carton of mint chocolate chip ice cream. “You should ask him out… or bake him a cake.” They both snicker and my hands tighten on the bar of the cart. It’s either that or I’m going to slap one of them, maybe both.

  The two bitch queens make fun of me and I try to ignore them. We were all in high school together and they did the same thing then. You would think that they would have grown up some by now, but obviously not.

  “I’m too busy to be trying to schmooze with a city boy,” I tell them, hoping they’ll realize I have no interest in the new man in town. I mean yeah, I’ve seen him and I’d have to be blind to not see how handsome he is. But besides noticing his looks, that’s about as far as I go.

  Barbie looks at me with sympathy—at least that’s what it seems like until she opens her mouth. “I’m sure with your husband leaving you the way he did, well, I’m sure you’re probably still trying to heal from that devastation.”

  From anyone else, it might sound like they actually care and are concerned about me. But from Britney and Barbie, it’s just another way to put me down. As if I need to be reminded of the fact that my husband lost interest in me and cheated on me. Trust me, I’m not about to forget it. Even if I could, it doesn’t seem the people of this small town can.

  I don’t even acknowledge her rudeness. I walk away, ditching the two Bs in the store, leaving them to carry on with their own twisted thoughts.

  I go through the checkout and then load up the groceries in my car, trying to forget any thoughts about my ex. Just thinking about him and what he did to me causes my heart to race. Never mind the fact that it was with my own sister.

  Refusing to go down that path, I try to steer my thoughts to something else, something that focuses on happy thoughts instead of all the embarrassment, lies and betrayal of my past. The new neighbor. Of course I’ve allowed myself to admire him from a safe distance, but I have no plans of talking to him.

  I saw him just last week on his horse out in the pasture. I’ve seen the hands that work on his ranch plenty of times riding the fence line between our houses, but last week was the first time I’d seen him. He stopped in the middle of the pasture, took his hat off, held it to his chest, and turned his horse in a circle. It was like he was looking at his expanse of land, taking it all in and breathing it in. Him on that horse has to be the most splendid thing I’ve ever seen in my life. And for the life of me, I can’t get that image of him out of my head. I could see the pleasure on his face, even yards away from him. His land is so much bigger than mine and I feel bad that I pretty much get his breathtaking view for nothing. But I have to admit it’s been my savior these past few months. Ever since my husband left me for my sister and our divorce has become final, it has been sitting on my back porch with this perfect backdrop that has brought me peace. It’s through all of my hours sitting here looking out onto the land that I finally figured out that I’m going to be okay. I will survive this. I finally came to terms with the fact that none of this is my fault and I need to move on. And when I’m by myself, able to deal with it on my own, I’m good. It’s when I’m out and run into someone that gives me a pitying look, knowing every detail of the last year of my life, that I want to run and hide. I know how it is living in a small town and I should be used to it. But living through something as traumatic as I did, well it’s a lot to overcome, especially with a town that knows all my business. It’s then that I come back, sit on my porch and look out over the Hewitt Ranch and get some perspective…. And I find myself again.

  2

  Michael

  “Hey, Roger,” I say into the speaker phone, driving down the road to my ranch. My attorney knows that I’ve cut back my hours at the Hewitt Agency, but since he’s also my friend, I’m willing to cut him some slack. I’ll forgive him for calling me on a Thursday evening when he knows I’m off work. “What’s up?”

  “What’s up?” He mocks me, his voice carrying over the speakers of the car. “You don’t even sound like yourself. You sound like a cowboy and what’s all that noise anyway?”

  I roll my eyes. “It’s the wind. I have my window down.”

  “Your window down? What? I don’t even know you anymore. Is this like a mid-life crisis? That’s what it is, isn’t it?” he asks me, disbelieving.

  I turn on the air conditioner and roll up the windows so I can hear him better. “No, it’s not a midlife crisis. I’m thirty-five years old, dumbass. It’s called fresh air. I’m almost home and wanted the windows down. What’s the big deal?”

  I can hear him take a deep breath and blow it out slowly. I want to laugh, but I know he’ll blow a gasket if I do. “The big deal is, my friend, you have finally gone loco. You cancelled the meeting with Malcolm Day. He could be huge if we could sign him. People are standing in line to represent him, and you blew him off.”

  A year ago, I wouldn’t have done it. I wouldn’t have dreamed of it. But now, I didn’t even think twice. “I tried to get him to meet with one of my sales teams. He wasn’t interested. I told you that I’m not in the office on Fridays thru Mondays. What’s the big deal? He said he could come in Tuesday.”

  “Tuesday. That’s five days from now. Do you know how many agents are going to approach him between now and then?”
<
br />   I know we could go on about this all day. Roger has been totally against all the changes I’m making, but I don’t really care. This is what I want, and I’m going to start living the life I want. “It’s fine, Roger. If it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be.” He starts to sputter and before I can think too much about it, I say into the air, “Don’t worry about it. I’ll see you Tuesday.” I hit the end button on my steering wheel and roll the windows back down.

  My mind goes back to a year ago. I had been putting in eighty-hour weeks and I have the money to prove it. But all the money in the world is not going to give me what I want… what I need. It was a year ago that I realized that. I’d been living my dream life, or so I thought. Working every day, the big house, the fancy car, and women that threw themselves at me. It’s everything I thought I wanted. Until I discovered it was all empty promises. Yes, I drove the fancy car with the big price tag… but still my favorite to drive was my dad’s '67 Chevy truck. Yes, I had the big house with the big swimming pool, but it always felt empty, and I had no one to share it with. And yes, I have my choice of any woman I want, but even that was getting old. I never knew why someone was with me–usually it was because of what I could buy them or give them. They didn’t care about me.

  I knew I needed a change. I came up with this plan a year ago. Even though I could never leave the city permanently because my company is there, I decided that my weekends could be spent how I wanted. I wanted to slow down. I wanted to start living the life I truly wanted and the only way to do that was to cut back my hours, get a house in the country, and figure out my next move. I’ve been working on this for awhile now and it’s finally happened. First I bought the house and the land, hiring hands to take care of the ranch. Then I started reworking my company so it allowed me more time off until I was able to spend at least four of the seven days here, where I can breathe and figure things out. This is the life I grew up with and thought I was too good for. This is the life that as soon as I turned eighteen, I ran from. Who knew that I would get to the point that this life, small town ranch life, is exactly what my heart would want? And even though I don’t have someone to share it with, I still feel like I’m building something here. Preparing myself for something big. I’m leaving myself open to it and in the meantime I’m going to live the life I want… on my terms.

  The sight of a woman standing at my mailbox brings me out of my thoughts. I slow down my car and stop beside her. There’s not another car in sight, so she must have walked. I look out the passenger window. “Hey there!” I say, welcoming.

  Juliette

  Of course! Of course this would happen to me. When I brought my mail in, I noticed that I’d received a few of my neighbor’s letters. And no, it wasn’t old man Blake, the ranch on the other side of me. It’s Michael Hewitt’s, the sexy new neighbor that looks too good in a cowboy hat.

  My intention was to slip the letters into his mailbox, but that’s when he pulls up. I fumble and fidget just talking to him through the open window of his car. Today there’s no cowboy hat. He’s in a dress shirt and his hair is slicked to the side. He still looks handsome and just the way he’s smiling at me causes me to fidget. “Hi. Uh, the mailman gave me some of your mail by mistake, I was just putting it in your box.” I turn to the box, take out his mail and then hand it to him.

  He nods, dropping the mail in his passenger seat. “Thank you for going to the trouble.”

  I have trouble meeting his eyes, so I just give him a nod and then hightail it out of there. I race-walk back to my house, ignoring the fact that he doesn’t move into his driveway until I’m up on the porch of my house. It’s like I can feel his eyes on me the whole way and I swear I don’t take a breath until I’m in my house with the door shut. Only then do I relax by leaning against the closed door and taking deep breaths through my nose and breathing out through my mouth.

  When that doesn’t seem to help me, I put my hands on the back of my head and start taking deep breaths. I never used to have this issue. I once was a confident woman that held the world at my fingertips. Now I freak out at the smallest things, letting my insecurities come to light.

  I look over at the letters I dropped on the entryway table before walking over to the neighbor’s mailbox. I just added them to the ever-growing stack of letters from my sister and my ex-husband. I don’t even think about opening it, because doing so will just put me in overload and I don’t even want to deal with that right now.

  I straighten my shoulders and look around at the already clean house, knowing there’s something I could be doing. I go grab a rag and furniture polish. I’ll clean. Cleaning keeps me occupied and doesn’t let me focus on what’s become of my life.

  3

  Michael

  I sit and watch her run away from me. She seemed like a nice enough woman, but I can’t help but feel like I could have handled the situation better. I treated it like it was no big deal, but she’d been in one hell of a hurry to leave. I don’t think I’ve ever had a woman run away from me so fast.

  Maybe I should have been more gracious. Hell, it’s been a while since I’ve lived in the country and city life has a way of putting an edge to people. Walking into my house, I carry in the box of treats from the best bakery in the city and decide right then and there what I’m going to do. I’m going to take her a thank you gift for going to the trouble of returning my mail. If it had happened in the city, I was sure my neighbor would’ve just tossed the letters in the trash.

  I box up half the treats for her and walk down the road to her house. The whole way there, I practice what I’m going to say and by the time I get to her door, I hit the bell, refusing to let myself change my mind. My head is telling me it’s important to make friends with the neighbors, but I know there’s more to this. I just don’t know what it is. Is it because she didn’t even seem interested in having a conversation with me and I’m not used to rejection? Or is it something else?

  I can hear her on the other side of the door and when she finally opens it, I give her my biggest smile. She’s adjusting her shirt and smoothing her hair down. I take just a second to look at her. She’s beautiful in a simple way. No makeup, her hair is up in a ponytail, and she’s got fitted jeans on with a buttoned-up shirt. She’s curvy, actually quite a bit curvier than the women I’m usually interested in, but I’m beginning to think that with everything else in my life that’s changing, possibly my taste in women is too. Because this pretty little country girl is doing something to make my palms sweat and I can’t stop staring at her. “Hi. I wanted to thank you again for returning my mail. And well, I wanted to introduce myself. I’m Michael Hewitt,” I tell her, holding my hand out.

  She smiles briefly and holds her hand out, putting it in mine. Instantly, I look for a wedding band, but there isn’t one. I shake her hand and rub my thumb across hers, surprised by her soft skin. Her voice is cool and untrusting, and I feel like I have to lean in to hear her properly. “I’m Juliette. Juliette Waters.”

  And even though I don’t want to let go of her hand, I drop it and hold the bakery box out to her. “It’s nice to meet you, Juliette. I brought you some goodies. This is from the best bakery in the city and I hope you enjoy them.”

  She doesn’t act like she’s going to take the box. She looks at it skeptically and then to me. She has trouble meeting my eyes and when she does, she blushes. “I think you got this wrong. I think I was supposed to bring you a ‘welcome to the neighborhood’ gift, not the other way around.”

  I laugh and shrug my shoulders, thinking how much her shyness affects me. I’m used to abrasive, “go get 'em” women, and her softness is refreshing. I push the box at her, wanting her to take it. “Here, as a thank you. I want you to have them.”

  She still doesn’t look like she trusts me. She looks as if she’s afraid this is going to be a joke or something. Wanting to put her at ease, I smile wider and then I worry that I’m looking like a lunatic, so I take it down a notch.

  When I’m to the
point where it’s a little embarrassing that I’m still holding it out to her, she finally takes the box and before I can say anything else, she mutters thanks and shuts the door, almost hitting me in the face with it. I stand there stunned for just a minute before shaking my head and walking off. I should give up on the whole neighborly thing, but I’m intrigued now. She ran from me. She’s obviously uneasy around me. And she doesn’t seem to want to talk to me. Obviously, I make her nervous. I should take the hint and leave her alone. But instead, it’s got my mind racing. The only question is why? And does it have anything to do with the jolt I felt when her hand touched mine?

  Juliette

  I’m so embarrassed. Here I am again, leaning against my closed front door, trying to figure out what in the world is wrong with me. I can’t even look at him without getting all tongue-tied. And I basically slammed the door in his face. I put my hand up to my head. What is wrong with me? You would think I’m some virgin teenage girl instead of a thirty-year-old divorcee. Why can’t I talk to him?

  He’s so kind. I take the box he handed me, opening it as I walk to the kitchen. I barely get the box open and the sweet sugary scent hits me, causing me to moan at all the decadent pastries inside. I am well aware that for the second time today, heck in the last thirty minutes, I’ve failed to make a good impression on the new neighbor.

  Might as well give up on that.