Always a Bridesmaid

by Cindi Madsen

  His friends got on him about how he never took a break and answered every call, no matter how big or small. Sometimes they were the next town over and he’d show up about the time things were wrapping up. He was attempting to regain more balance in his life, but so far, he’d mostly failed.

  Problem was, he never wanted another “what if?” on his conscience.

  When Ford heard the chirp of his beeper—not the scanner that he had turned off—he stood and retrieved it from the mantel. He hit the recall button and listened to the message.

  Smoke reported at Maisy’s Bakery.

  “It’s a fire.” While there were several paramedics throughout the county, there weren’t many volunteer firefighters in town. It was almost a relief he had a solid reason to take the call so he didn’t have to wonder how it’d gone all night, and Lexi and Addie both nodded their understanding.

  The radio crackled as Ford clicked it on and depressed the button. “I’m responding to the situation at Maisy’s Bakery.”

  “Copy that,” dispatch said. “The caller said there’s not much smoke, but she wanted to err on the side of caution. Darius is near the station and is gonna bring the truck, just in case.”

  Ford’s keys jingled as he scooped them off the mantel, and Pyro stood at his side, ready to leap into action. “I’ll meet him there.”

  …

  I realize now what we were missing. Why I could never set a wedding date.

  The explanation Benjamin had given Violet after catching him in flagrante flayed her right open, but the javelin to her exposed heart came when he explained that with Crystal, it was love at first sight.

  “And when you think about it,” he had said, delivering the final, decimating blow, “it’s a good thing she and I met before you and I made a huge mistake and got married.”

  “I’ll show you mistake,” Violet said now, the metal gears digging into the pad of her thumb as she reignited the flame that’d flickered out. She lowered the lighter to the crumpled bridal magazine pages, thinking how cathartic it would be to watch the blaze consume the entire pile.

  Smiling brides shriveled in on themselves as the edges curled and turned black. Plastic sheet protectors melted to the papers Violet had reverently cut out to add to her collection.

  Then a breeze kicked up, the mound she’d formed glowing bright orange. A couple of partially burned pages fluttered and blew off the top of the pile, one landing against a dried-out weed, which caught.

  “No, no, no.” She stomped it out, chased after the other sheet, and did the same to it. As her heart pounded from the adrenaline, she thought of how easily the fire could spread and burn out of control.

  Just like that, Violet returned to her body, the possessed, jilted woman no longer in control.

  This was stupid. Dangerous.

  And in the end, nothing would change.

  Violet peeled off her hoodie and used it to beat out the blaze, adding stomping to her efforts once the flames flickered and sputtered. As soon as she was sure the pile had been extinguished, she plopped on the hard ground.

  Defeat weighing heavy on her shoulders, she slid her melty binder from underneath the charred heap, gathered it to her chest, and let loose the tears she’d tried to hold back all day.

  She sniffed and swore she smelled smoke—different than the scent that’d accompanied the burning of the magazine pages. Less…chemical, maybe?

  She lowered her mangled binder and stared at it, double-checking that it wasn’t aflame.

  Her eyes stung, and acrid fumes burned her nose.

  What the—? Violet sprang to her feet when she saw puffs of gray belching from the back door of the bakery. “The cupcakes!”

  She sprinted over and tapped the handle with her fingertips before wrapping her hand around the metal. When it didn’t scald her palm, she tugged.

  Luckily, the door wasn’t locked. As she rushed inside and took in the hazy air and the flames flickering around the edges of the oven door and crawling up the wall, she didn’t feel so lucky.

  A quick scan didn’t reveal the location of a fire extinguisher, so Violet grabbed a potholder and tried to yank open the door.

  It wouldn’t budge, and intensifying heat seeped into her skin, making it impossible to hold on.

  “Wait. Why are you at six hundred degrees?” she shouted at the oven when she caught the temperature on the display.

  Since the appliance didn’t answer and the smoke was growing thicker, Violet dialed 911, hoping it wouldn’t take forever for someone to respond in this dinky town.

  Chapter Two

  The engine of his Cummins Diesel Dodge Ram growled as Ford depressed the gas pedal and rocketed down the back streets of town before slowing and cutting across to Main.

  He nosed his truck into the alleyway between Maisy’s Bakery and Lottie’s fabric store, and sure enough, there was smoke.

  Ford did a quick assessment.

  Color: white. Volume: little. Velocity: low. Density: thin.

  Charging in alone was never a good idea, but waiting until the fire went from small to large wasn’t a stellar idea, either.

  He leaped out of the truck and grabbed his ax, along with his medic kit. Fires weren’t very common this time of year, so his bunker gear was in the firetruck.

  His pulse skyrocketed when he heard a female voice yell, “Why won’t you open? I can’t put out the fire if you won’t let me in.”

  The hacking cough that followed had him rushing toward the open door, Pyro hot on his heels.

  A woman who looked like Maisy, yet not quite, stood in front of the oven. She batted at the spitting flames with a potholder as she rambled about her sister trusting her and the “shittiest day ever.”

  Ford stepped between her and the oven, nudging her backward. The sweltering air seeped through his shirt and pressed heavy against his skin. Experience took the wheel, his focus narrowing to clearing the building. “Is anyone else inside?”

  A cough burst from the brunette, followed by a wheeze. “No, it’s just me. Which is why—”

  “I’ve got it from here, ma’am. Please exit the building.”

  Pyro gently bit onto her pants and tugged, trying to coax her to safety.

  Since she wasn’t doing as instructed, Ford nearly used his surge of adrenaline to scoop her up and rush her outside. But his brain had already launched into analytical mode, spinning over the facts as fast as his heart hammered in his chest.

  There wasn’t anyone else in the bakery, and the fire was contained to the oven. Cutting off the source of heat will be the safest, fastest course of action for everyone.

  Ford pulled his shirt up over his nose and mouth, focusing on inhaling and exhaling through his nostrils. “Stand back.”

  Pyro bumped the woman’s legs with his snout, herding her toward the open doorway, and she seemed to notice his dog for the first time. She backed away, giving Ford much-needed space.

  The damn plug didn’t want to come free of the outlet, and a growing sense of urgency pounded away at the base of his skull. He gripped the handle of his ax and used the edge of the blade to pry the hard plastic free.

  With the oxygen in the oven running short, a minor backdraft could turn into a big problem, so even if the door would open now, it wasn’t a good idea. At the risk of the blaze spreading and the bakery going up in flames, he couldn’t simply leave the oven be.

  As soon as the temperature drops, I’ll deal with the fire.

  A siren blared, growing louder and louder, and Ford put his hand on the woman’s back and rushed her outside.

  Darius drove the firetruck up to the door, and he and Ford threw on their bunker gear. The thick gloves made it hard to get a solid grip but protected them from searing their skin. Getting the giant oven through the back door was like birthing an elephant, but eventually they managed to maneuver t
he appliance to the center of the alley, where they waited to see if it warranted dousing with the hose.

  With the danger mostly dealt with, Ford went looking for the woman who’d been in the kitchen, attempting to put out the fire herself.

  Pyro stood at her side, watching the commotion, ready to spring into action if needed. Sometimes Ford thought his dog was as big of an adrenaline junkie as he was, which wasn’t always great and had left them in tight spots before. Rest or regret, it was a question that’d haunted him more than he liked.

  “Good boy,” Ford said, reaching through two layers of clothing, withdrawing a doggie treat, and giving it to Pyro.

  “I’m so sorry,” the woman said with a shake of her head. “I might’ve left the cupcakes in a little too long, but I don’t understand how they caught fire. Or why the door wouldn’t open.”

  Ford finished patting Pyro’s head and straightened. “It was set to self-clean mode. It turns the temperature way up and torches anything inside so later you can just wipe away the ash.”

  The woman’s smoke-streaked face paled. “And if there are two giant tins of cupcake batter inside?”

  “They boil over and start a fire.”

  Her body sagged, and Ford lurched forward and gripped her shoulders, worried her knees might give out. Pyro pranced around her legs, glancing from Ford to the woman, awaiting orders on how to help.

  “She’ll be okay,” he reassured his dog. “Just experiencing a bit of shock.”

  She threw a hand over her face. “More like mortification and wishing the ground would open and swallow me whole.”

  “Then Pyro and I would have to hack open the ground and come find you, and I think you’ll agree we’ve all had more than enough excitement for today.”

  Her hand fell away as she tipped up her chin, and he got his first good look at her. Hair the same color he liked his coffee–one cream, two sugars; heart-shaped face streaked with gray and what he suspected were trails of mascara; and a slightly prominent nose that drew his attention to her irises, which were a deep shade of brown that almost melted into her dilated pupils.

  He continued to gaze into the depths, searching for…he wasn’t even sure, but whatever it was, he was relatively certain he’d found it.

  Pyro barked, awakening him from her spell. People were beginning to gather at the mouth of the alley, a mob of moths to a literal flame.

  The woman ducked her head, a hand going up to shield the side of her face. “Oh, great. Why is the entire town showing up?”

  “Probably saw the smoke, and if not, they heard or saw the firetruck. Not only is it giant and red with flashing lights, it comes out rarely enough to attract attention. Plus, there’s not a whole helluva lot to do in town. This here’ll probably make the front page of the paper.”

  She groaned, and while he knew better than to say so, her disheveled appearance suggested she’d had as shitty of a day as she claimed. “I was trying to lay low.”

  “Little tip: Uncertainty isn’t the place to hide out if you’re on the run. We also don’t do low-key very well.”

  Her snort-laugh was part sob, but at least he’d teased out a hint of a smile. She stepped back, patting the messy bun on the top of her head and then frowning when she touched the section that stuck up like the red comb of a rooster.

  With a huff, she let her arms flop down. “Thank you for your help…”

  He extended a hand. “Ford. Ford McGuire.”

  “How very James Bond of you with the introduction,” she said, slipping her small hand into his. As if he’d touched the end of a wire, a jolt coursed through his arm, and he had to force himself not to hold on past polite range.

  A wet nose nudged the hand he’d dropped, and Ford patted his furry companion’s head. “And this is Pyro.”

  Amusement flickered through her features, softening her exasperation and making him want to come up with more witty things to say. “A firefighter with a dog named Pyro?”

  “I like to think I’m clever,” Ford said. “And you are…?”

  “Violet!” Maisy pushed through the crowd, and the captivating firestarter in front of him dashed toward the woman who owned the bakery.

  They collided in a hug, and the woman—Violet—began apologizing while Maisy asked if she was okay. There was also a comment about trying to do the safe thing and not start a fire before the conversation morphed into squeaky words he couldn’t decipher.

  Easton approached, dressed in his police uniform. They nodded at each other, and Ford gave him a quick rundown. Given the hijinks they had pulled growing up, their friends often gave them shit about somehow ending up on the right side of the law. Having his buddy to help out on emergency jobs came in handy, and whenever they regaled the rest of the gang with their tales, they did the fishermen thing, their adventures growing larger with each retelling.

  With Easton updated, they both fell silent, and Violet’s voice drifted above the din. “…not sure how I’ll afford it, but I’ll work on the nearest street corner to get you a new oven if this one is ruined.”

  No stranger to exaggeration, Ford recognized the statement for what it was. The idea of the curvy Violet standing on the corner, however… Despite being on the up-and-up nowadays, he might not be able to refrain from swinging by.

  Not that he’d ever had to pay for it, but it had been a long time, and… This just went down a weird path.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Maisy said, wrapping Violet in another hug. “I’m just glad you’re all right.”

  “Yeah, but what if you’d been there? Or Isla?” Her voice pitched higher, panic coating the words. “Is she okay? Where is she?”

  “She’s fine. Lottie, the woman who runs the craft store next door, is watching her while I get everything sorted out.”

  “Okay, okay.” Violet wrung her hands together, and a fat tear tracked down her cheek.

  Pressure grew underneath Ford’s ribs, his instinct to help kicking in, even though he’d never been very adept at dealing with female tears.

  Pyro whimpered and glanced at him, silently asking how to console her. His dog had a better chance than Ford did, and at his nod, Pyro padded over and nudged her hand with his nose.

  She let him sniff her before giving him a nice rubdown. “I forgot to thank you, didn’t I? You were trying to keep me safe, and I was too preoccupied to listen.”

  Guess I should put my nose against her palm. See if she’ll run her fingers through my hair. He’d likely stick out his tongue and pant just like Pyro was doing. Later tonight, he and his dog were going to discuss how he’d done most of the work and Pyro still got the lion’s share of the attention.

  A purple flash hit Ford right in the eye, and he squatted next to the tire of the firetruck and retrieved the… Yikes. Lexi’s wedding binder must’ve scared him more than he’d thought, because he swore this was similar to the one that’d been tossed on his coffee table. Only crumpled and speckled with fat flakes of black ash.

  “Noooo,” Violet shrieked, taking a leap at him and yanking whatever it was out of his hands. She flattened the bundle of papers and the glittery purple cover to her chest.

  “Sorry. It’s just…private.” She bent and gathered several stray papers—a few of which had definitely been burned, not to mention the globs of plastic melted to them. “Anyway, sorry again for all the trouble, and thanks for your help. Again. Yeah, so…” She straightened with so much force the top of her head bumped his chin, rattling his teeth together.

  “Ouch,” she said, rubbing her head and backing away as if he’d been responsible. “I’m going to go put this up.”

  Earlier, he’d been hoping to coax a full smile out of her, but the one she flashed him had a manic edge to it. Talk about a whiplash in moods.

  A big part of his recent dry spell came from his indifference to dating. He’d given up on serious relation
ships a handful of years ago. Yet after a search and rescue mission down south, casual dating had lost its appeal. Shallow interactions didn’t seem worth the effort, and his life didn’t allow time to pour into activities that left him unfulfilled.

  But Violet… There was something undeniably intriguing about her.

  Figures he’d go and experience his first spark in ages with a woman who appeared to be in the middle of planning a wedding.

  Possibly even her own.

  …

  Violet stared into the charred depths of the oven along with Maisy, even though she had no idea how to tell if the damage was bad enough to require a new one.

  Was that something you could determine by eyeballing it?

  Guilt settled heavy in her gut, along with a righteous lump of unfairness that made her want to stomp her foot. She’d been trying to help and avoid a disaster, and, in what had become one of her classic moves, had only made things worse.

  Much like the time she’d attempted to prove how fine she was and scheduled an engagement photoshoot two days after Benjamin moved out. Then she’d gone and had a breakdown that resulted in refunding the couple’s session and referring them to another photographer.

  No wonder she was no longer inspired.

  Hell, no wonder Benjamin hadn’t wanted to put a ring on it. On top of being the ditz he often teased her of being, she was a complete and utter mess. Something she was acutely aware of with the beefy firefighter standing a few yards away. He undoubtedly thought she was bonkers for ripping her binder out of his hands.

  The idea of him flipping through her failed hopes and dreams, though?

  Even now, it made her skin feel too tight.

  Violet had taken her bedraggled binder and hidden it in one of the kitchen cupboards. Then she’d trudged back to the alley to face the disaster she’d caused.

  And the sexy firefighter with a deep voice made for dirty words. Don’t even get her started on the defined scruffy jaw and ripped arms that were on display now that he’d taken off his firefighter coat.

  His fellow firefighter was handsome as well, a few inches shorter than Ford but on the bulkier side. He was also sporting a gold wedding band that contrasted his umber skin. The scene called to mind firefighter fantasy scenarios—only in real life, mortification dented her ability to fully appreciate the eye candy.