by Cindi Madsen
“It was an easy call. No injuries, and the fire was contained in the oven, so I just unplugged it. Then Darius and I hauled it into the alley to cool down.” He matched Addie’s bet, and his mind meandered to the intriguing woman responsible for today’s emergency call. “I, uh, met Maisy’s sister. Anyone know her?”
The game slowed as everyone studied him, eyes narrowing to slits.
“What? I was just curious and thought you guys might’ve met her before.” In high school, Ford hadn’t paid much attention to Mayor Hurst and his family, his rebellious nature and infamous family leaving him wary of authority figures.
One by one, Addie placed three cards faceup on the table. “Beats me. I thought Maisy Hurst only had an older brother. Remember Mason? He played running back when we were freshmen, and now he coaches college ball.”
That sounded familiar. But Violet definitely wasn’t.
“Is that who that woman was?” Poker chips clattered together as Easton tossed two whites and a blue into the pot. “For a second I thought I was seein’ double and there were two Maisys. She seemed pretty frazzled when I took the report.”
Frazzled. Adorable. A pinch high-strung. “Ah, she just felt bad. She hadn’t meant to hit the self-clean mode. Could’ve happened to anybody, I suppose.”
Shep folded, and so did Tucker.
Ford told himself to leave it be, but he recalled those big brown eyes and the way they’d awakened something he thought he’d buried and left for dead. He couldn’t help it. He wanted to know more about Violet.
Wanted to know why she’d gotten so worked up when he’d picked up her binder.
Was it wedding plans? Or had he jumped to that conclusion because of the meeting he’d come from?
She had mentioned wanting to lie low. Maybe she was a government spy, sent to infiltrate Uncertainty with a glittery binder. Yeah, that checked out. Most spies struggled with simple electronics.
If she was engaged, it’d be better to find out now so he could put her out of his mind. Not only did he not cross that line, the mere idea of a woman longing to get hitched made him want to run, so…win-win?
Easton nudged him. “Bro. It’s your turn.”
“I raise.” Not the greatest idea, taking into account that Ford had been thinking about Violet instead of paying attention to his friends’ faces or calculating probability.
Put her out of your head. It’s not like you have extra time right now, anyway. He was neck-deep in training a rambunctious litter, and that’d take him from spring to summer. Which, as a paramedic, was his busy season. People were fishing, hiking, and camping more. Kids rode bikes and jumped on trampolines and found “secret” stashes of fireworks.
While his friends often worried about his inability to relax, his career was what he enjoyed most about his life. No day was ever the same, feeding his appetite for adventure, and in a lot of ways, it was his way to help balance out the universe.
To use the survival skills he’d learned the hard way to help people who wanted to return to their families. Just because his story hadn’t ended up happy didn’t mean others’ stories shouldn’t.
At the end of the round, the three of them who hadn’t folded revealed their cards. Easton won by a mile, earning a curse from Addie. She hated losing.
Usually, Ford did, too. But over the next few rounds, his stack of poker chips dwindled, and he couldn’t bring himself to care.
Mostly because Violet’s face kept drifting to mind. Maybe it was the hero complex his friends accused him of having, but she had seemed like she needed help. The kind that went beyond putting out the fire in the oven.
You don’t have time for unstable and complicated.
Been there, done that, and lost a T-shirt.
There was that moment when she’d sagged against him, though. The James Bond joke and the way she’d giggled at Pyro’s name. The jolt that’d traveled up his arm after she’d slipped her small hand in his.
“In case you haven’t noticed, McGuire,” Easton said, “you’re losing. So what the hell are you smiling about?”
Ford blinked his way to the present and resisted the urge to stack his chips—an old delay tell he’d learned to suppress. “Can’t a guy be happy?”
“No,” they all said.
“Not when you’re losing,” Murph added.
Easton paused his dealing. “It’s Maisy’s sister, isn’t it? Is our boy thinkin’ about giving dating another go?”
Tucker put a hand on his chest. “Aww. They grow up so fast.”
“What is this, the Craft Cats?” Ford asked, referring to the group of ladies in town who specialized in crafting, meddling, and cat-sweatshirt wearing. “Less gossip, more poker.”
Shep reached over Easton to take the Doritos. “Stop acting like you don’t eat up the attention and spill the beer.”
Now Shep was the one with everyone’s scrutiny.
“What? I’m around teenagers all day. They have this phrase about spilling the tea, and I thought I’d make it more adult.” Since Shep had given plenty of teachers nightmares growing up, they teased him endlessly about becoming a teacher himself. He was on the school board as well, and a few of the older ladies in town volunteered simply because they were sure Will Shepherd still had some ornery in him.
“Whatever,” Shep said. “I’m cool, while y’all’s slang is becoming irrelevant.” He licked orange dust off his fingertips before taking up his cards. “Back to this chick you met at the bakery. She must be hot.”
“I didn’t say that.” Ford loudly raised after the flop, hoping his friends would drop the subject.
“You mentioned her twice already.”
“No, I mentioned her once, and you guys assumed I was thinking about her when I smiled. I was thinking of…somethin’ else.”
The entire gang burst out laughing, and he regretted bringing up Violet.
Evidently there’d been an unspoken agreement that the game couldn’t resume until Ford came clean, so he might as well get it over and done with. “Eh. She’s cute in a lost, walking-disaster sort of way. But she’s also sorta volatile—and I’m sure we all remember why I gave that up. My truck certainly does.”
In some states, the amount of love he had for his truck might border on illegal, but the girl had never let him down. The massive grill, roll bar, and lightbar meant she could take on rough terrain, no problem.
Trina, his off-and-on girlfriend through high school and for a misguided year after he’d graduated college, had erratic mood swings. Things would be great, and then suddenly she’d lash out at him.
Not only could he not do anything right, no matter how hard he tried, their relationship began interfering with emergency calls. Trina would demand he stay and finish whatever argument he’d inevitably lose, even as others’ health and occasionally lives hung in the balance.
When Ford finally told her he was done—for good this time—she’d taken a key to the hood of his truck.
“What’s an ass cube?” Tucker had asked when they’d come out of the Old Firehouse and spotted Trina’s handiwork.
“She must’ve gotten tired after carving the giant A, S, and S, so she added a circle. Only curved lines are hard to draw with keys, so it looks like a square.”
For two whole months, he’d driven around his “ass cube” truck, no money or time to get it fixed. When Dear Old Dad had seen it, he’d guffawed and added insult to injury with his “Told ya, son. They all turn eventually.”
“I like my women a little volatile,” Easton said, and Ford did his best not to react, in spite of the foreign, toxic churning in his gut. Surely that wasn’t jealousy.
It was…indigestion. Yeah. From not eating dinner and then eating chips and drinking a beer. That had to be it.
Easton casually raised, the racket of his chips hitting the table grating Ford’s nerves for some o
dd reason. “She has a nice ass, too.”
Ford whipped his head toward him and spoke through a clenched jaw. “That’s enough, Reeves.”
Oohs went around the table, along with an “I knew it” from Easton.
Okay, so Ford had also checked out her ass in those yoga pants. He’d done his best to refrain, but then she’d bent over the oven, and…well, he could see hearts and a hint of writing through the thin fabric of her pants, and he indulged for a moment before reminding himself to be a gentleman.
“You know, I forget why I hang out with you pricks.” It was his turn again, and since he had jack and shit, he folded. “Speaking of women, Shep, yours is scarily organized. Does she plan out your time between the sheets? Do you get spanked when you go off book?”
Shep flipped him off. Then a grin split his face. “Guess what we’ve had to do as groomsmen so far?” His grin spread to evil-villain range. “Nothing.”
“Not a damn thing,” Easton echoed.
Addie flinched. “Sorry,” she said to Ford. “I didn’t think about the planning part when I asked you to be my dude of honor.”
“Joke’s on them; I like it.” He draped his arm over her shoulders, and this time, she didn’t shove him away. If she had to endure the planning, he’d be by her side for every overly detailed session.
“Yeah, me, too,” Addie said, and Tucker snort laughed.
“Usually your poker face is much better, babe.”
She kicked him under the table, a gleam lighting her eyes when Tuck grunted and rubbed his shin. “And guess what we get to do tomorrow? Cake tasting at Maisy’s.”
The smug expressions faded one by one.
“As groomsmen, we should also attend and make sure you get the right cake and frosting,” Shep said.
Addie flipped her ponytail over her shoulder. “Sorry, boys. It’s strictly bridesmaids. And my seventy-two-year-old flower girl, since my nonna is impossible to say no to.”
And Maisy and her sister, Ford mentally added. When it came to cake, he was all in. If he got to see Violet again because he was part of the bridal party…?
Well, there were worse ways to spend a Saturday morning.
Chapter Four
A swell of sugary-sweet air greeted Violet as she stepped inside the bakery. She inhaled and held in the aroma, the way a good addict would do. The only way she’d survive getting her feet back underneath her without those feet having to carry around extra pounds was to inhale instead of indulge.
She finished typing her response in the Bridesmaid Crew bubble. Leah and Amanda were most active, but Camille, Alyssa, Morgan, and Christy responded here and there.
Violet: Surviving small-town life so far. Martin’s Trading Post had paint, tools, AND camouflage clothing, if I ever decide to go full country.
Leah: If you do, I’m gonna need pictures.
Amanda: Same, which we apparently have to say now, since you didn’t take pictures of the hot firefighters yesterday! I mean, photos are YOUR THING!
Correction, they were her thing, but her friends had already been so worried when they’d found out about Benjamin’s wedding that she didn’t want to fess up to that. Not only because they’d stress, but they might think they should confront her ex, and they’d damaged each other enough.
Violet: Maybe I already sent a picture of the camo but you just can’t see it because it’s doing its job.
Violet sniggered at her own joke and withdrew the paint swatches she’d picked up from Martin’s Trading Post, along with a pen. She placed the gradient color cards against the formerly white wall of the bakery, checking which shades best fit the lighting and wooden floors.
The clang of pans meant Maisy was already baking, and since Violet had narrowed down the paint options to three, she headed toward the kitchen. “You’ll never guess who I saw running in the park with a gaggle of dogs. After yesterday, I’m planning on avoiding him at all costs, so I totally darted into an alleyway like I was running from the paparazzi, but—”
Violet froze in place, her pulse thumping too hard at her temples. Please, please let me be dreaming.
“But what?” Ford asked from his spot in front of the oven. He wiped an arm across his forehead, and of course the move lifted his T-shirt enough to display a stripe of toned abs and a line of dark hair that led to…well, where hair like that led to. “I’m interested in hearing the rest of that story.”
Maisy stood behind him, her cartoonishly wide eyes making it clear that yes, this was as awkward as it felt and fully warranted the flush of heat. “Ford came by early to check on the oven and ensure it was working properly. Isn’t that nice?”
Mr. Nice Guy grinned. “Pleased to be of service. Violet, maybe I can help you with whoever you’re hiding from. I’m real good at hide and seek.”
“Wrong,” Violet muttered. “You’re not very good at the hiding part. Not only are you a big dude, you’re freaking everywhere.”
His grin widened.
And like this morning, when Violet had seen his long, muscular legs eating up the distance, his pack of adorable dogs in tow, she decided to pretend Ford wasn’t there.
She held the three starred swatches up to Maisy. “I’d like the bakery to be as lovely as your pastries, but I also don’t want the colors to overwhelm the desserts.” She fanned the cards so the stars lined up and pointed at the varying shades. “This is what I’m thinking of going with for the accent colors.”
Maisy slapped flour from her palms. “As you so nicely pointed out, I’m no good at the design thing, so seriously, whatever you think.”
“Want my opinion?” a rumbly voice asked from right behind Violet, and she jumped, then gritted her teeth at his low chuckle. Why had she thought about this guy way too many times since yesterday evening?
“Nah.” She gave his outfit a pointed look. “Matching isn’t your strong suit.”
His jaw dropped, but then he laughed, the noise cracking the ice around her heart.
Honestly, his outfit was like him. Sporty. Male. Something she shouldn’t be staring at.
The door to the bakery chimed, and Violet couldn’t volunteer fast enough to go welcome the first customers of the day.
“What can I help you with?” Violet asked, plunking the paint swatches on the counter and addressing the three women who’d walked inside.
An older lady with gray and white curls stepped forward, a childlike excitement on her face as she surveyed the treats behind the glass. “We are here for cake tasting, but while we wait, I would love some brownie bites.”
Violet tried to place the accent. German, maybe? Although that didn’t seem quite right.
“Lucia, you’re well aware you can’t have those,” the brunette woman behind her said with a harrumph. “Your blood sugar is going to spike high enough with the cake tasting as it is.”
Violet scanned the treats, searching for the label she’d seen on her side of the counter yesterday. “Oh, we have these brownie bites that are—”
“Absolutely delicious.” The statement came from the youngest in the group, the one around Violet’s age. Her dark ponytail was threaded through a blue and orange AU cap, her face makeup-free and flawless. Hardly fair when Violet needed a half dozen products and palettes to appear that fresh and perky. “But my nonna is cutting her sugar.”
She raised her eyebrows, obviously trying to convey something to Violet, but she was lost.
Nonna. That’s Italian, right?
Lucia’s forehead crinkled as she studied Violet. “Why I don’t know you? I know everyone.”
“Nonna, that’s hardly the way to introduce yourself.” The girl in the baseball cap placed a hand on her chest. “Hi, I’m Addie Murphy, the bride-to-be. This is my feisty grandmother, Lucia, and my mother, Priscilla.”
“Violet,” she said. It seemed like they were waiting for more, but she wasn
’t planning on spilling her life story simply because they stared at her like they thought she would.
“Okay, Priscilla,” Lucia said. “You delivered me and have proof that Addison no let me eat too much sugar. Now, since you not a bridesmaid or a flower girl like I am, shoo.”
Flower girl? Violet was overly experienced in all things wedding-related, so it took her a second to readjust her assumption. And she simply adored the idea of the firecracker of a woman walking down the aisle and tossing petals.
“After I pick up the groceries, I’ll swing back by to pick her up.”
Lucia linked her elbow with Addie’s. “Addison bring me home, won’t you, dear?”
“Sure, Nonna. As you’ve discovered and exploited, I have trouble saying no to you.”
Priscilla’s steps slowed, and Addie raised her voice.
“Except when it comes to sugar and high-cholesterol foods, because that’s for your own dang good.”
Seemingly satisfied, Priscilla exited the bakery but paused to hold the door for a blond southern-belle type. Retro and classic with a modern edge and a bright pink lip Violet wished she could pull off. Seriously, was being attractive a town requirement?
The woman breezed inside, her heels clacking against the wooden floor. “Sorry I’m late. My car wouldn’t start, so I drove Will’s truck and— Oh, shoot. My binder and the magazines were in the trunk of my car.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Addie said before turning to Violet. “This is Lexi, one of my bridesmaids. My sister lives out of state, so we’re just waitin’ for one more.”
Maisy came around the corner, wiping her hands on the apron at her waist. “Actually, your other bridesmaid is already here. He came early to check on my oven.”
Great. Violet hadn’t even started painting, and her sister was acting like the fumes were getting to her. The check on my oven also sounded overtly sexual, especially since Ford had followed her out of the kitchen and was smirking like he’d pulled one over on all of them.
He winked at Violet, and she crossed her arms with a huff. If he thought that was all it took to win her over, he had another think coming.
