Three Little Words. Susan Mallery

driving, it was safe for her to close her eyes. She did and tried to visualize, but her stomach was churning too much for her to do much more than worry about throwing up.

      “This is stupid!” she announced and opened her eyes. “I can do it. I can have a reasonable conversation with an old friend.”

      Only Ford Hendrix wasn’t an old friend and the talk was going to be about how, despite her vow to love him forever, the ten years she’d spent writing him, not to mention the pictures she’d sent, he had no reason to be afraid of her. Because she thought that he might be. Just a little.

      She doubted it was anything he would admit. The man had been a SEAL. She knew that, in addition, he’d been part of a special joint task force that had been even more dangerous. She also knew he’d returned to Fool’s Gold nearly three months ago, and in all that time, they’d managed to avoid each other. But that wasn’t possible anymore.

      “I am not a stalker,” she said, then groaned. Bad way to start a conversation. And not one designed to get him to believe her.

      “Whatever,” she muttered and got out of her car.

      She paused to smooth the front of her black dress. It was fitted without being tight and skimmed all the lumpy bits. As much as she loved clothes, a reasonable person might assume she would be obsessed with working out to fit into designer samples. But for Isabel, the call of the cookie was hard to ignore. So she was really good at draping her curves and still looking stylish. Or so she told herself.

      She adjusted her sleeves, paused to brush off a bit of dust from her shoes and then prepared to face the lion in his den. Or warrior in his cave. Whichever.

      She walked into CDS. No one sat at the reception desk, so she started down the hall toward the sound of music and a weird thumping noise. She saw double doors standing open and stepped through them into the biggest workout room she’d ever seen.

      The ceiling had to be thirty feet high. Ropes hung from beams at one end of the room. There were all kinds of scary-looking exercise machines, boxing bags and other weights and equipment she couldn’t name. In the center of the room a petite woman with long dark hair pulled back in a ponytail was fighting a much larger man. Fighting him and maybe even winning.

      They both wore protective headgear and had tape around their hands. It took her a second to recognize her friend Consuelo Ly as the woman.

      Isabel watched as Consuelo swung out her leg. The guy moved, but not quick enough. Her heel caught him behind the knee and down he went. Isabel winced, but then the guy was up faster than she would have thought possible and he had the woman in a headlock. Consuelo flailed around, trying to kick him or punch him. Her elbow connected with his midsection. He grunted but didn’t let go.

      “You two know what you’re doing, right?” Isabel asked. “Is someone going to get hurt? Should I call nine-one-one?”

      The man turned toward her. Consuelo didn’t. One second he was standing, then next he was flat on his back and she had her foot pressed against his throat.

      “Sucker,” the woman said and pulled off her protective headgear. She glared at her victim. “Are you that stupid on a mission?”

      “Not usually.”

      She held out her hand. The guy took it and she pulled him to his feet. Consuelo turned to Isabel.

      “Thanks. I owe you.”

      “I didn’t mean to be a distraction,” Isabel said. “You’re so small and he’s so...”

      The man removed his headgear and turned to her. Isabel felt her mouth go dry, which was a much better reaction than the sudden flipping going on in her stomach. She had a feeling she’d gone either pale or red and kind of hoped for the former. It would be less embarrassing.

      The man—all six feet of muscles in a T-shirt and sweatpants—was just as handsome as she remembered. His eyes were just as dark, his hair as thick. Fourteen years away had no doubt changed Ford Hendrix on the inside, but on the outside, he was better than ever.

      She still remembered him standing in her parents’ living room, confronting her sister. Isabel had been told to stay in her room, but she’d crept out to listen. She remembered crouching in the hall, crying as the man she’d loved as much as her fourteen-year-old heart could allow had asked why Maeve had cheated on him and if she really loved Leonard.

      Maeve had cried, too, and apologized, but said it was all true. That she was ending things with Ford, that she should have ended them weeks before. As their wedding was in less than ten days, Isabel couldn’t help agreeing. There’d been more fighting—mostly yelling on his part—then he’d stalked out.

      Isabel had run after him, begging him not to go. He’d ignored her, had kept on walking. Two days later, he’d joined the navy and left Fool’s Gold. She’d declared her love in an endless stream of letters but had never come face-to-face with him again until this second.

      As an aside, he hadn’t answered her letters. Not a single one.

      “Hello, Ford,” she said.

      “Isabel.”

      Consuelo glanced between the two of them. “Okay,” she said at last. “I’m sensing tension. I’m outta here.”

      Isabel shook her head slightly to try to clear her brain. “No tension. I’m tension free. I’m practically a noodle.” She pressed her lips together. Was it possible for that statement to sound more stupid? A noodle?

      Consuelo gave her a look that clearly stated she thought Isabel should investigate a local mental health clinic, grabbed two towels from a stack by the mats, tossed one to Ford and walked out.

      Ford wiped his face, then draped the towel over one shoulder. “What brings you here?”

      An excellent question. “I thought we should talk. What with our new living arrangements.”

      A single dark eyebrow rose. “Living arrangements?”

      “Yes. As of last week, you’re renting the apartment over my parents’ garage. I haven’t seen you coming and going and I thought maybe it was because you were avoiding me.”

      She drew in a breath. “I’m back in Fool’s Gold for a few months to manage my parents’ store while they’re traveling. They want to sell Paper Moon and I’m helping update the inventory and maybe the interior. As I’m only here temporarily and they’re on their world tour, it made sense for me to stay in the house. So I guess I’m house-sitting, too.”

      Because house-sitting sounded better than being twenty-eight years old and moving back into her parents’ house.

      “They told me they’d rented out the apartment above the garage but didn’t say to whom. I just found out it was to you, which is nice because you’re not a serial killer and I don’t want to live next to one.”

      The other eyebrow rose as his expression changed from mild interest to confusion. Probably time for her to get to the point.

      “What I’m trying to say is that I’m not fourteen anymore. I’m not that crazy kid who swore she was in love with you. I’ve moved on and you don’t have to be afraid of me.”

      His eyebrows relaxed and one corner of his mouth turned up. “I wasn’t afraid.”

      His voice was confident, his half smile sexy, and he looked better than any guy ever had in the history of the universe. She was sure of it. Because even as she stood there, nerves all over her body were whispering about the man so tantalizingly close. As a rule, she wasn’t one who believed in instant attraction. She had always thought that sexual interest required a meeting of the minds before there was any body-to-body contact. In this case, she might very well be wrong.

      “That’s good,” she said slowly. “I don’t want you to think I’m a stalker. I’m not. I’m totally over you.”

      “Damn.”

      She