didn’t
respond. I got the feeling that this was a fairly routine exchange
between him and Bill. He turned away and started ringing up
something on the cash register, but I could see the tension in his
shoulders.
There were very few times in my life
that I had not been “too nice”. I had trouble sticking up for
myself, let alone someone else, but watching Ford get bullied by
some oversized, toothless drunk pushed me over the edge. This was
apparently going to be one of those times when I spoke
up.
“Hey!” I said harshly to Bill, who
didn’t even seem to hear me. Frowning, I poked his meaty arm with
my finger until he looked at me. “You cannot talk to people like
that,” I said waving my finger in his face. “What has he ever done
to you? You’re just jealous that he is a great person, and you can
barely hoist yourself onto the bar stool without being out of
breath. You should apologize to Ford.”
I crossed my arms over my chest and
stared Bill down. His glassy eyes looked at me in astonishment
before he turned back to Ford, who was watching me with surprised
amusement.
“You better put a muzzle on your
bitch, Walsh. Or I’m going to shut her up myself.”
My mouth dropped open in shock at
being called a bitch, and before I could give Bill another earful,
Ford reached over the bar and grabbed Bill by the collar of his
plaid flannel shirt. Bill had to have weighed a good fifty pounds
more than Ford, although none of it was muscle.
In a split-second Ford yanked Bill
halfway over the bar and snarled in his face, “You can sling all
the shit you want at me, but don’t you ever talk to her like that.”
He gave Bill a harsh shake and said in a low voice that couldn’t be
argued with, “Apologize to the lady.”
Bill croaked out something that
sounded like “Sorry”. Then Ford shoved him back over the bar, and
good old Bill landed ass first on the floor with a thud, knocking
over bar stools on his way.
I couldn’t do anything other than sit
there looking back and forth between Ford, who was angrier than I’d
ever seen him, and Bill, who looked like he had fallen and couldn’t
get up.
“Take your girl home, Ford. I’ll
handle Bill.” This came from one of the waitresses, a tall bleached
blonde who was probably close to forty but dressed like she was
twenty.
Ford glanced at me, and I could see
him take a deep breath in an obvious effort to calm
down.
“Thanks, Shelly.”
He tossed his towel on the bar and
came around the end of the bar to help me off the bar stool. I
reached for my jacket, but he got there first and held it out for
me. When we left, he took my hand and led me down the back hallway
and out the back door into the parking lot.
It was still snowing lightly, and we
didn’t speak as Ford held the passenger door to his truck open and
closed it after I got in. I buckled my seatbelt and waited for Ford
to come around and get in the drivers’ side…but he didn’t. Turning
in my seat, I saw him pacing back and forth behind his truck. What
was he doing?
Unbuckling my seat belt I scrambled
off my seat, and teetered on my heels through the gravel to the
back of the truck.
“What are you doing? It’s snowing and
you’re not wearing a coat.”
He scoffed and shook his head. Putting
his hands on the tailgate and leaning over, he mumbled, “I have no
fucking idea what I’m doing.”
Taking a tentative step closer, I sat
on the bumper next to him. “What’s wrong, Ford?” I asked
quietly.
He turned his head to look at me, and
I was struck by the swirl of emotions in his blue eyes. Usually
there was only anger with a hint of sadness, but now there was
confusion, indecision and …desire? I recognized it as the same look
that had flashed in his eyes earlier in the back room. Desire for
me? My chest began to rise and fall a little quicker as he held my
gaze.
Looking away, he said, “Christ, Poppy.
Don’t look at me like that.”
My eyes immediately dropped to the
ground in front
respond. I got the feeling that this was a fairly routine exchange
between him and Bill. He turned away and started ringing up
something on the cash register, but I could see the tension in his
shoulders.
There were very few times in my life
that I had not been “too nice”. I had trouble sticking up for
myself, let alone someone else, but watching Ford get bullied by
some oversized, toothless drunk pushed me over the edge. This was
apparently going to be one of those times when I spoke
up.
“Hey!” I said harshly to Bill, who
didn’t even seem to hear me. Frowning, I poked his meaty arm with
my finger until he looked at me. “You cannot talk to people like
that,” I said waving my finger in his face. “What has he ever done
to you? You’re just jealous that he is a great person, and you can
barely hoist yourself onto the bar stool without being out of
breath. You should apologize to Ford.”
I crossed my arms over my chest and
stared Bill down. His glassy eyes looked at me in astonishment
before he turned back to Ford, who was watching me with surprised
amusement.
“You better put a muzzle on your
bitch, Walsh. Or I’m going to shut her up myself.”
My mouth dropped open in shock at
being called a bitch, and before I could give Bill another earful,
Ford reached over the bar and grabbed Bill by the collar of his
plaid flannel shirt. Bill had to have weighed a good fifty pounds
more than Ford, although none of it was muscle.
In a split-second Ford yanked Bill
halfway over the bar and snarled in his face, “You can sling all
the shit you want at me, but don’t you ever talk to her like that.”
He gave Bill a harsh shake and said in a low voice that couldn’t be
argued with, “Apologize to the lady.”
Bill croaked out something that
sounded like “Sorry”. Then Ford shoved him back over the bar, and
good old Bill landed ass first on the floor with a thud, knocking
over bar stools on his way.
I couldn’t do anything other than sit
there looking back and forth between Ford, who was angrier than I’d
ever seen him, and Bill, who looked like he had fallen and couldn’t
get up.
“Take your girl home, Ford. I’ll
handle Bill.” This came from one of the waitresses, a tall bleached
blonde who was probably close to forty but dressed like she was
twenty.
Ford glanced at me, and I could see
him take a deep breath in an obvious effort to calm
down.
“Thanks, Shelly.”
He tossed his towel on the bar and
came around the end of the bar to help me off the bar stool. I
reached for my jacket, but he got there first and held it out for
me. When we left, he took my hand and led me down the back hallway
and out the back door into the parking lot.
It was still snowing lightly, and we
didn’t speak as Ford held the passenger door to his truck open and
closed it after I got in. I buckled my seatbelt and waited for Ford
to come around and get in the drivers’ side…but he didn’t. Turning
in my seat, I saw him pacing back and forth behind his truck. What
was he doing?
Unbuckling my seat belt I scrambled
off my seat, and teetered on my heels through the gravel to the
back of the truck.
“What are you doing? It’s snowing and
you’re not wearing a coat.”
He scoffed and shook his head. Putting
his hands on the tailgate and leaning over, he mumbled, “I have no
fucking idea what I’m doing.”
Taking a tentative step closer, I sat
on the bumper next to him. “What’s wrong, Ford?” I asked
quietly.
He turned his head to look at me, and
I was struck by the swirl of emotions in his blue eyes. Usually
there was only anger with a hint of sadness, but now there was
confusion, indecision and …desire? I recognized it as the same look
that had flashed in his eyes earlier in the back room. Desire for
me? My chest began to rise and fall a little quicker as he held my
gaze.
Looking away, he said, “Christ, Poppy.
Don’t look at me like that.”
My eyes immediately dropped to the
ground in front
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