by Cindi Madsen
With a sheepish grin, she glanced over her shoulder to where Ford took up the entire doorway. He casually leaned a hip on the frame and studied her as if she’d lost her mind.
So much for convincing him she wasn’t dramatic or flighty.
“Guessin’ you just realized I drove you here,” he said.
“Uh. Yeah.” She went fishing for the phone in her pocket. “But it’s okay. I’ll call an Uber and be out of your hair in no time.” She tapped the app, which took an eternity and a half to open.
“Hate to break it to you, but we’re short on Uber here. Short on taxis. You can order one, but it’ll take a good thirty minutes to show. It’ll be faster for me to take you into town. Unless you’re scared of me. Then I’ll find you another ride.”
Why did he have to be so nice about it? It only made her feel more absurd. Self-preservation was important, though. Then again, now that she’d calmed down, she could admit that she’d overreacted.
To herself, anyway.
She bounced on the balls of her feet, in severe need of expending the anxious energy coursing through her. “If you wouldn’t mind driving me back, I’d appreciate it.”
And if she could get her hands on a Time-Turner so she could undo her panicky freak-out, she’d appreciate that even more.
…
Ford wasn’t sure what to say or do, so he drove Main Street in silence, fighting the urge to look across the cab at Violet.
The mood between them had shifted on a dime. He couldn’t help replaying the last twenty minutes in an attempt to figure out what’d inspired the change.
Violet had been laughing when they were tangled up together, her eyes wide, her cheeks pink. She’d felt damn good, too, with her curves pressed against him.
He’d nearly lost control when he’d sat up and their hips bumped together. In another couple of seconds, she would’ve felt that he was getting turned on, so he’d diverted his attention to untangling the ropes.
Still, she’d been okay until they’d walked inside his place.
“I do think Distracto fits that puppy. But would it be hard to place him as a search and rescue dog with a name like that?”
Ford twisted his head in her direction, one eye still on the road. “My ego wants to claim otherwise, but if I’m being honest, I occasionally come across a dog that’s not cut out for search and rescue life. Doesn’t mean he’ll be ill behaved, but I can’t declare a dog ready if he constantly gets distracted, regardless of what his name is.”
She nodded. Bit her lower lip.
That lip had been inches from his earlier, which was so something he shouldn’t be thinking about. At least she wasn’t engaged, although he’d been right about her being high-strung. As someone with plenty of ghosts in his past, he was beginning to think she had a few of her own.
Whether that, or if she was as dramatic as Cheryl Hurst accused her of being, it didn’t much matter. Particularly when he factored in the binder that indicated she was obsessed with settling down. He knew better.
One of Dad’s pearls of wisdom went along the lines of “Living with a temperamental woman is like inviting a rabid racoon into your house and wondering which day she’s gonna bite you.”
Dad was the expert, too. With two ex-wives, an ex-fiancée, and a string of tumultuous, short-lived relationships, he had a knack for picking ’em. Same as Ford’s brothers, Gunner and Deacon, who had plenty of their own demons to add into the mix.
And himself, until he’d gone and given the hot-and-cold type up for good.
Violet’s knee went to bouncing up and down. “What’ll happen if Distracto doesn’t get placed on a search and rescue team?”
“He’ll be put up for adoption and find a good home. No need to worry about him.”
Relief smoothed her features for a whole second before she tucked her leg up and turned to face him. “How many jobs do you have, anyway?”
“Depends on the day.” Ford slowed for Gordon Johnson, who always drove Main Street at fifteen miles an hour. If he were in a hurry, he’d dart down a side road, but they were almost to the bakery, and a part of him wanted to draw out this ride.
With all the deal breakers stacking up, including the fact that he had no interest in settling down, he couldn’t pursue Violet. Which meant this might be one of his last interactions with the intriguing, confusing, beautiful woman.
“Firefighting, training K-9 units…” Violet rolled a finger, signaling she expected him to fill in the blanks.
“I’m on the Talladega Search and Rescue team, too.”
“Basically, you’re a full-time badass.”
Gordon turned into his driveway at a spiffy three miles an hour, and Ford forced himself to speed up so he wouldn’t create a traffic jam. “That’s what my business cards say, anyway.”
She laughed, quieter than earlier in the woods, but it hit him as hard. It’d been a long time since he’d enjoyed himself with anyone besides his closest friends.
But again, he couldn’t afford the time, and it wasn’t worth the effort if they wanted different things. If she’d only end up hurt.
“Mostly it’s a lot of searching for lost hikers and hunters. Occasionally we travel to the coast during hurricane season to help.” He angled into a diagonal spot in front of the bakery, irritated at the twinge in his chest. “Which is why I hope if you’re in trouble, you won’t hesitate to call me. That’s not a pickup line, either. I take my job very seriously.”
The thought of Violet being in trouble stirred up a foreign sentiment he couldn’t name. Maybe he did have the hero complex his friends accused him of. That was it. Nothing more.
“I’m sure you do,” Violet said.
Ford dipped his head and squinted through the big window of the bakery, attempting to make out the shapes inside. “Want me to go inside and check if the coast is clear?”
Violet held up her phone. “I already texted Maisy. My father and Cheryl are long gone.”
Ford got it—he’d been known to dodge his dad and brothers whenever possible. Both in high school when he used to escape to his cave by the lake for days at a time, and whenever they crawled out of whatever hole they’d been in drinking themselves stupid, all so they could cause trouble and keep on dragging the McGuire name through the mud.
He ran the pads of his fingers over the worn, grooved spots in the steering wheel. “What do you do when you’re not painting a bakery for your sister?”
The heavy sigh signaled he’d hit a sore subject. See, the woman was practically a land mine. Why would he keep on dancing around the area, waiting for the step that’d blow his foot off?
“I’m a photographer,” she said. “Or I was one. I guess I still am. And, with any luck, will be again, after I finish up here and head home to Florida. Let’s just say it’s…complicated.”
“Complicated” was a good word for Violet. “Trouble” was another.
“Anyway, thanks for the ride.” Halfway out the door, she spun around. “What about Trouble?”
Ford froze. Had he called her trouble out loud? How could he explain that he simply wasn’t into relationships with women who’d storm into his life and would storm out shortly thereafter, leaving as much destruction as a hurricane?
“For the puppy? Pigeonholes him a bit but doesn’t blatantly call him out. I’d be upset if someone nicknamed me ADHD. Trouble, on the other hand… It’s a warning and a threat all in one.”
“I like it.”
Unfortunately, he’d always struggled with not landing himself in trouble, and if it involved Violet, Ford would probably like it way more than he should.
Which meant he was going to have to actively fight his attraction to the woman.
Chapter Six
The paint fumes in the bakery left her light-headed, so Violet stepped outside for a breath of fresh air, congratulating herself o
n everything she’d accomplished this past week.
The boring sections of the painting job were done, each wall covered in a shiny coat of eggshell. It’d been a slow process, since Maisy wanted to remain open. The fact that Maisy’s Bakery—and most every shop in town—closed on Sunday had given Violet time to finish the first step of the remodel.
Her sister had offered to help, but Violet insisted Maisy go to the park with Isla as planned. Bonus, it allowed Violet to concentrate with less guilt, since Maisy chatted a lot, and Violet often missed blips of what she’d said and botched sections of the wall, too.
Multitasking would never be a talent of hers. However, she’d managed, and through the years she’d gotten proficient at filling in the blanks of conversations she’d missed thanks to her ADHD.
Not only did every wall of the bakery boast a fresh coat of paint, Violet had avoided any run-ins with the Hursts or Ford for a week now.
One of the strings in Violet’s heart panged, and she placed her palm over the spot. “Play it cool. It’s a good thing, so there’s no reason to go doing that to me.”
Lottie, the woman who owned the also-closed craft store next door, chose that moment to walk by. She pursed her lips and studied Violet as if she should be wearing an orange jumpsuit—the woman would undoubtedly volunteer to knit her one.
“You’re not cooking, are you?” Lottie’s glower made it clear she suspected Violet had purposely started the fire. She patted a bag bursting with yarn and knitting needles. “I’m off to a Craft Cats meeting, but if you’re cooking, I’d better stick around in case I have to call the fire department.”
On top of being insulting, Lottie’s call would mean breaking Violet’s streak of not seeing Ford. Each day it became more of a struggle to believe it was for the best, which only proved it was. “No need. I’m only painting, and I’m finished for the day.”
“I’m relieved to hear it.” With that, Lottie continued on her way, and Violet resisted the urge to flip off the woman. For the record, her resentment came from more than treating her like an arsonist. Back in the day, the busybody had been one of the people who’d flapped their gums about Violet’s scandalous existence.
After locking up the bakery, Violet jammed the bulky set of keys into the pocket of her paint-splattered jeans and headed toward the center of town to meet Maisy and Isla.
She soon found herself on the sidelines of the field next to the park, where a crowd had gathered to watch a football game. She slowed as she spotted the very guy she’d been congratulating herself on avoiding. There was a difference between not seeing and avoiding.
It wasn’t the first time this past week Violet had seen him from a distance.
However, it was the first time she hadn’t run in the other direction. With him in the middle of a game, it was finally safe for her eyes to look their fill.
He and the other firefighter were working together, Darius blocking as Ford ran the ball downfield.
A smaller guy—no, that wasn’t a guy. It was Addie. She came fast, slamming into Ford and then jumping on his back when he barely wobbled. Pretty sure that’s illegal, so they must play with their own set of rules.
Some dude with copper-colored curls added a hit of his own, and Ford hit the ground just short of the goal.
People around her cheered, and Violet turned to the woman next to her. “What game is this?”
The woman blinked at Violet as if she’d asked if the sun was bright. “It’s football, and if you’re gonna live in Alabama, you best learn your Ps and Qs when it comes to the gridiron game.”
Violet worked to keep her smile in place. “I know what football is. I meant is this a league game, or…?” She couldn’t come up with any other options, although she was sure there were plenty. So maybe she didn’t know a ton about football, and apparently that was considered a crime in Alabama.
“Nah. Just a pickup game. We all like to watch. Reminds us of the glory days when we took state with most of the boys out there. You should’ve seen ’em.” The woman cheered as the football was launched through the air, and the entire crowd roared as Darius caught the pigskin and ran in for a touchdown.
She’d bet her half brother, Mason, used to be in the group. Dad often bragged about his games, and during her summer visits, he spent most of the time at football camp. Currently, he was coaching at the University of Tennessee.
Right as Violet was about to move on, the woman asked, “War Eagle or Roll Tide?”
Violet shrugged, and the woman clucked her tongue.
“Little tip, sugar. Next time someone asks, you say War Eagle, you hear?”
An arm wound around Violet’s shoulders, and Lexi smiled at the woman. “I’ll finish schooling our new resident on football, don’t you worry.”
Lexi walked her a few paces away and whispered, “People round here get beyond passionate about football. I saw the expression on your face, and thanks to wearing it myself way too many times, I thought you might need a rescue.”
Violet huffed a laugh. “Bless you.”
“Anytime. I haven’t seen you around since we picked out a cake. You and Ford disappeared mighty quickly.”
Now she needed saving from this subject. “Did you get the cake figured out, then?”
Fortunately, that was the perfect topic to bring up. Lexi informed her that she’d found gorgeous sunflowers to add a touch of earthy nature that perfectly fit Addie and Tucker. She’d also ordered rustic brown ribbon in bulk, and did Violet think that would look okay?
“It sounds lovely,” Violet said, and she meant it. At the sound of footsteps, she spun to see Maisy and Isla approach.
Automatically, Violet reached for her fussy niece, maneuvering her out of the carrier strapped to Maisy’s chest. She bounced her up and down and placed a kiss on her forehead. “Was the park not all it was cracked up to be?”
“It’s nap time, but she refuses to fall asleep. As if she might miss the party.”
In the background, people cheered, and Violet held Isla closer, one hand over her ear to drown out the noise. “Trust me,” she told Isla once the crowd had settled. “One day you’ll miss nap time.”
“Listen to your aunt,” a deep voice said. “She might be a little melodramatic, but in this instance, she’s not wrong.”
Violet’s body ignited, a fizzing sparkler that burned head to toe, and she didn’t have to look to confirm it was Ford.
Still, she turned, a glutton for handsome punishment. His hair was a mess, his clothes streaked with green. Show-off that he was, he also had on a sleeveless T-shirt that displayed his muscular arms to perfection. “I don’t think you have much right to talk. Civil people don’t tackle each other for an oblong ball. In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s something your undisciplined puppies would do.”
“One can only hope.” Ford nodded at Maisy, and she lifted her hand in a wave. Addie kissed the guy with copper curls, and a guy with shaggy, dirty-blond hair gathered Lexi in his arms and gave her a kiss worthy of a romance movie.
“Violet, hey!” Addie walked over and introduced Tucker.
Violet tried to keep her gaze on them, but it drifted to the guy at her side. He wasn’t paying any attention to her, though. For about the hundredth time, she reminded herself that putting space between herself and Ford was for the best.
Obviously, he’d gotten the hint. Or had forgotten about her.
An uncomfortable prickling sensation nettled her—one she did her best to convince herself wasn’t hurt feelings. She’d withdrawn to avoid future pain, so her body had better knock it off.
“We’re headed to the Old Firehouse for a drink or ten,” Addie said. “Y’all wanna come?”
“Oh, I think Isla needs a nap.” Violet peered down to see her niece’s eyes drifting closed, her chubby cheek smooshed against her shoulder.
“I need a nap, too,” Maisy cut
in. “I’ll take her home so we can both get some sleep, but Violet was just saying she didn’t get out much anymore and how she would like to change that.”
Violet fired daggers from her pupils, aiming them at her sister.
Maisy gave her a grin that seemed to say I’m doing this for your own good as she took Isla from Violet’s arms.
In one last-ditch attempt, Violet scratched at a dry glob of paint on her T-shirt. “I’m not dressed for going out.”
“Dude,” Addie said, drawing out the word. “Look at us. ’Sides Lexi, none of us ever dress up to go to the bar. Trust me, no one will care.”
With that, Violet had run out of excuses. Besides, one drink wouldn’t kill her. Then she could head home and murder her sister. With love, of course.
Judging by the way Ford bolted for the Old Firehouse, not bothering to check if she was coming, he wouldn’t be asking her to stay longer anyway.
…
“What crawled up your ass and died?” Easton asked as Ford ordered beer for the table.
Ford picked up a red straw and stuck it between his teeth. “Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”
Easton leaned an elbow on the polished wooden bar. “I’m talkin’ about how I’ve known you forever, so don’t bother bullshitting me. I thought you’d be happy Violet tagged along. You’ve talked about her enough.”
“I mentioned her once. And if she doesn’t want to even be friends, that’s fine. No skin off my nose.”
“Aww. Did someone get his giant ego bruised?” Easton punctuated the question with a jab to Ford’s shoulder.
“You’re about to get your giant mouth bruised, asshole.”
“Which is it? Mouth or asshole?” Easton contorted his body, aiming his butt at him as he batted his eyes over his shoulder. “I need to know which one to pucker.”
Ford glanced to the heavens. Almost every single one in the group had a big mouth, but he and Easton talked the most shit by far. Usually Ford would give it right back, but seeing Violet again had thrown him off his game. Not football, because he’d dominated on the field. But all week, out and about in town.
