Always a Bridesmaid

by Cindi Madsen

Addie nodded. “Yeah, I play poker with him, and that was his fake, it’s-all-good face.”

  A cold lump formed in Violet’s belly. “I didn’t mean to hurt his feelings, although I’m sure he’ll recover in all of two seconds with that ego of his.”

  “My boys have enormous egos, it’s true.” Addie lifted her seat belt off her neck and pivoted in her seat. “But they also have their soft sides. Bonus, if you do decide to give McGuire a shot, and he hurts you, I’ll kick his ass.”

  When Addie cracked her knuckles, she didn’t have to make the noise with her mouth.

  The loud pop, pop made Violet shudder. “I appreciate it, but I think I’m better equipped to take over your spinster spot.”

  “I might not’ve been forthright enough about what the title entails. For example, it comes with being set up on multiple dates with everybody’s single cousin or nephew or grandson. I got nothin’ but love for our county, but pickins is slim.”

  Violet sat back, defeat and exhaustion setting in. “It’s okay. I have a way to take care of that. I’ll just mention I’m interested in getting married, and they’ll trip over their own feet getting away from me.”

  Lexi shook her head. “I wouldn’t count on that. You’re a catch. Pretty, smart, funny—”

  “You’re a hottie with a naughty body,” Addie said, flashing her a smile that showed off her pearly whites. “Seriously, maybe a penchant for settling down would scare men in the city, but here, you might end up gettin’ hitched before me.”

  The girl Violet used to be might want that.

  “And if Ford was the guy I told that to?”

  Lexi and Addie glanced at each other, their wordless exchange saying a lot. Then Addie said, “It doesn’t mean he’s not a good guy. Tryin’ not to cross the line here, but he had a rough family life, and I think he needs someone to show him it doesn’t have to be like that. I think even seeing Shep, Tucker, and me settle down will help.”

  It was what Violet expected. Disappointing yet not surprising. She’d already made the mistake of thinking that if she showed a guy she loved him for him, eventually he’d do the same for her, flaws and all.

  As much as she hated labels—and don’t get her started on the phrase “daddy issues”—the lack of a father figure had impacted her. After Dad’s failure to make an appearance at events like her sixteenth birthday, high school and college graduations, and a dinner where he was supposed to meet Benjamin, she wanted someone who’d show up.

  Someone who didn’t only spend the required minimum with her out of obligation.

  Benjamin had shown up in the beginning. During the past couple years, though, they’d fought over him promising to be at her events and then canceling because he was too tired or too stressed.

  She’d settled for his excuses, giving extra weight to the previous times he had managed to show up. Crumbs of affection she’d gobbled up like the starving girl she was.

  While Ford seemed like a meat-and-potatoes kind of guy, she worried that in the end, he’d end up only giving her crumbs, too.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Look at me, beautiful.” Violet jiggled the rattle, catching Isla’s attention. Despite the size of her cheeks, her niece managed to lift them along with her smile, and Violet raised her camera and depressed the button.

  The satisfying click filled the air, and Violet snapped a few more. Squeeing over the dimpled cheeks was necessary, as was zooming in on her niece’s legs.

  “Enjoy this phase of your life, when people adore the rolls on your thighs. No one praises me for my chubbiness anymore.”

  “That’s because you’re hardly chubby,” Maisy said as she entered the room, her wet hair twisted up in a towel.

  “Well, I’ve got more junk in my trunk after spending so much time at the bakery.” Accepting her curves had never been easy, especially when the rest of the Hurst clan were naturally thin. Maisy could eat twice the treats and remain the same size.

  While it was easy to tell other women to embrace their bodies as they were, Violet had always struggled to do the same for herself.

  “Maybe you can work on making your pastries less delicious?”

  “Oh, sure. That’ll be great for business.” Maisy poured herself a mug of the coffee Violet had brewed. “Thank you for getting Isla. I didn’t even hear her wake up, and I feel more rested than I have since before she arrived.”

  “I hope it’s okay that I warmed a bottle from the fridge and used it.”

  “You could tell me you used my entire reserve of pumped milk and I’d forgive you—sleep makes me nice like that.”

  Violet laughed. “You’re already one of the sweetest people alive, with your ‘have a sweet day’ and cheery attitude. If you get any nicer, you’ll need to apply for sainthood.”

  “Pfft. Hardly.”

  Maisy reached over the arm of the couch and drifted a knuckle over the cheeks Violet had captured on her memory card.

  Isla curled her hand around Maisy’s finger, and Violet lifted her camera and documented the quintessential motherhood moment.

  “I see you have your camera out,” Maisy said.

  “My niece is an irresistible subject.”

  “I agree. But if that picture of me in my robe gets printed, I’m gonna shove your fancy camera where the sun don’t shine.”

  “Taking back that sainthood comment now,” Violet teased, and Maisy stuck her tongue out at her. Since she was far from saintly, she took another couple pictures as Maisy headed toward her bedroom.

  “The only reason I’m not killing you is because you let me have an extra hour of sleep,” Maisy called.

  Violet set down her camera and picked up her squirming niece. “Sounds like I’d better get you dressed for daycare to remain in your mommy’s good graces. What would you like to wear today?”

  Isla babbled, and Violet responded as if she’d picked a particular outfit. “The purple one? I think that’s an excellent decision.”

  As she was maneuvering wiggly baby limbs into a purple floral romper, longing flickered.

  As hard as she tried to deny it, she still wanted a baby. The picture on the dresser of Travis, Maisy, and burrito-baby Isla caught her eye.

  Snapshots only showed instances in people’s lives, a blip of a second. Yet they also told a story about the subjects’ past, future, and everything in between.

  Maybe she’d been too hasty, giving up men when she hadn’t dated more than one in the past decade.

  Then again, the only guy who’d tempted her to redact her proclamation hadn’t called or texted in five days. She’d taken it to the Bridesmaid Crew chat, asking their advice. Leah said don’t go down that road again, and Amanda pointed out that when she met her now-husband, he wasn’t looking for anything serious, either, but that quickly changed.

  Violet uploaded one of the pictures she’d taken of Ford and Pyro, and suddenly Camille and Alyssa came out of the woodwork to heart-eye the pics and add a GIF of a cartoon character with his eyes bulging out of his head. Not a huge help, considering she was well aware of how hot he was.

  Plus, Violet was fairly certain that she and Ford had switched places and he was the one avoiding her.

  …

  Ford wasn’t avoiding Violet. He was just making sure to go to places she wouldn’t be.

  Which was damn inconvenient, considering he needed to pick up cupcakes for the baseball game. Like the wuss he’d become, he peeked through the window.

  Maisy stood at the cash register, helping out the Garcias.

  Violet was nowhere in sight, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t in a corner he couldn’t see. Or the kitchen.

  Okay, presumably not the kitchen. Surely Maisy knew better by now.

  The instant he stepped inside the bakery, the excessively loud chime announcing his arrival, Maisy gandered in his direction.

 
And frowned.

  Ford lumbered toward the front, waiting for her to curse him out for not calling her sister, even though she’d ditched him on the ride home and that still stuck in his craw.

  “I’m so sorry,” Maisy said. “The cupcakes you and Easton ordered for the teams aren’t quite ready yet, but I promise, cross my heart, you’ll have them by the end of the baseball game.”

  Since the greeting was different than he’d expected, it took him a moment to decipher what she’d actually said. “No problem. Should I send someone over during the last inning? A parent, maybe?”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t want anyone to miss any of the game. I’ll get them to the field, don’t you worry.”

  “All right. Then I guess…” Ford rocked on his heels and glanced around.

  “She’s not here.”

  “Who’s not here?” Ford casually glanced at Maisy. “I’m not sure what you’re talkin’ about.”

  “Wow. You’re not a good liar, Ford McGuire.”

  Another moment of debating, and he blew the cover he’d failed to maintain anyway. “How’s Violet doing?”

  “She’s been taking pictures again. I think I have you to thank for that, but since she also keeps checking her phone, waiting for someone to call, I’m gonna keep the thanks to myself.”

  “I’ll take that information and run with it anyway.”

  “Figured you would. Hope that big head fits out the door. I don’t have time to dislodge it. In case you haven’t heard, I’m behind.”

  “I’ll get out of your hair, then.” Ford left the bakery, unable to conceal his grin. Violet was taking pictures again, and a small part of that was because of him.

  And he found that instead of avoiding Violet, all he wanted was to see her face. Hear her laugh.

  Ask her what the hell and relay how glad he was that she was taking pictures again.

  On second thought, maybe he should reverse those two.

  On third thought, he should leave it alone. The bakery remodel was coming along, and since Violet had found her muse, that meant she’d most likely be moving on soon.

  No point in struggling to buck his nature and form attachments right in time for her to leave.

  Ford parked at the baseball field and climbed out of his truck. There was a long rivalry between cops and firefighters, and he and Easton kept that alive and well here in Uncertainty by coaching the two minor league boys’ baseball teams.

  Dylan, the scrawniest of his players, came running over. “Ford, Ford, guess what, guess what!” He pointed at the gap in his teeth. “Look.”

  “Uh-oh. Were you not wearing your catcher’s mask?” The kid couldn’t get over the fear of the ball flying at his face, so his mom bought him a catcher’s mask. That he wore in the outfield.

  Thanks to his protective instinct, Ford almost tried to convince Dylan not to wear it so he wouldn’t get made fun of. But the other kids on the team had surprised him in the best possible way. They didn’t mock Dylan. They were simply glad he could play.

  “Nope. It came out the natural way. And my other front tooth is loose, too.” Dylan demonstrated with his tongue. The tooth wobbled, barely hanging on by a thread.

  Ford ruffled Dylan’s blond hair. “Why don’t you use that move to intimidate our opponents?”

  “You got it, Coach.” Dylan ran to join the rest of the kids for warm-up exercises.

  At first, Ford had balked at the idea of being a coach—he didn’t think he had the patience. But now he eagerly awaited talking trash with Easton as they encouraged the boys.

  The parents always got super into the games, too. Every spring, there’d be a few times when Easton would have to take off his coach hat and put on his officer hat. Then he’d warn the rambunctious crowd members that if they didn’t settle down, they’d miss the game due to being hauled down to the station.

  A tug on the leg of his jeans snagged his attention. “I don’t have anyone to catch with. None of the boys wants to throw with a girl.”

  Ford squatted so he was eye level with Makayla. “That’s their loss. One of my best friends is a girl, and she’s got an arm any boy would be jealous of.”

  Makayla was a new addition. She wanted to play, but not enough of the girls her age did, so she’d joined his team. After growing up with Addie, he recognized how much girls could do on the field.

  “I got you.” Ford grabbed a mitt and helped Makayla warm up.

  As they tossed the ball back and forth, Ford glanced at the stands. Families wore supporting team colors and passed around snacks, preparing to cheer for their kiddos.

  “Make sure to follow through,” Ford said. “Like this…”

  Makayla caught his pass and then launched it back, extra heat on the ball.

  “Nice.” Ford was fairly certain most men dreamed about playing catch with their son, and as he watched his team, longing he hadn’t realized he possessed bobbed its head.

  In order to have a kid, he would have to settle down, and that’d never been in his plans. Not after Ma left and he’d watched his dad and his brothers go through too many tempestuous relationships and cutting off a few of those himself.

  Do you have a sweetheart? Someone who makes your life worth that much more?

  Doris had asked him that question after he’d pulled her out of her flooded car, into a boat, and had performed CPR to get her breathing again.

  “I don’t,” he’d told her, “but if you’re offering, I might reconsider.”

  The click of her tongue echoed in his ear. “Oh, you charmer. My Harold is up in heaven already. He and I had a full life, complete with love and happiness and lots of kids and grandbabies.” Doris coughed again, the sound thicker than he would’ve liked, but his main goal was to get her somewhere safe and dry. “I was hoping to make it to my granddaughter’s wedding next month, but since she’s also found her soul mate, she’ll be okay.”

  Ford had promised Doris that she’d make it, so she couldn’t give up just yet. They’d get her warm and dry and she’d be on her way to her daughter and granddaughter’s house in no time.

  The feisty woman agreed to fight on one condition—that he would commit to living his own life to the fullest.

  There’s peace in being fulfilled. In living without regret. And if it’s my time to go, I know my Harold will be waiting for me on the other side.

  While he’d attempted to watch over Doris that night, he and Pyro had been at it for two days, and exhaustion got the best of him. He should’ve thought about the possibility of post-immersion syndrome—what people used to call dry drowning.

  At some point in the night, Doris stopped breathing, and Ford awoke to find her dead, his promise about her making it to her granddaughter’s special event unfulfilled.

  Whack. The ball hit the tip of his mitt and bounced by the fence.

  Ford mentally shook himself and rushed to retrieve the ball. As he straightened, he caught sight of Violet, dark hair piled in a bun and camera hanging around her neck.

  Funny how it took seeing her to feel the hole that’d opened in his chest. It’d bothered him since Saturday, this hollowness he couldn’t explain.

  When he was training the puppies, he felt it, too. The lack of Violet by his side, giving him hell and making him smile.

  The ump called everyone in to start the game. After a bit of friendly trash talk between him and Easton at the pitcher’s mound, a coin was flipped. His team—the Mighty Meerkats, as voted by the kids—would bat first.

  During his pep talk, Ford’s gaze strayed to the bleachers. His eyes met Violet’s, and he gave her a small smile and nod.

  As she returned the greeting, a warm slushy sensation filled the void in his chest.

  Then she lifted her camera and snapped a picture.

  Maybe my life could be fuller.

  …

  W
hen Maisy had begged Violet to take cupcakes to the baseball field and deliver them to Ford, she’d asked “Are you serious?”

  “Would you rather mix and bake the next batch of cupcakes?”

  “Yes,” Violet had said, earning a glare. Next thing she knew, her sister had shoved two giant boxes of cupcakes into her hands and practically shoved her out the door.

  On the bright side, the game was a good opportunity to practice capturing candid emotional shots, so she lifted her camera and click, click, clicked.

  Kids with suckers.

  Parents leaning in their seats, forward or to the side, in hopes it’d help their kiddos on the field run farther and faster.

  Then there was the other subject she couldn’t get enough of: one super-sexy baseball coach who patted kids’ heads and dropped to their level to console, compliment, or fire them up.

  The commands “retrieve” “sit” and “run” came from Ford’s mouth several times, in the exact same tone he used on Pyro and the TNT puppies. Violet sorta expected him to pull candy out of his pocket and toss them at the kids who’d done well.

  It dawned on her that in Kid Land, cupcakes were the equivalent of doggie treats, and a grin spread across her face.

  Same way it had at Ford’s simple smile and nod greeting earlier—so much for the firm front she’d planned on showing him.

  “Excuse me,” a female voice said, and Violet turned. While most people in Uncertainty seemed vaguely familiar, she would’ve remembered this woman. She had long aquamarine hair, a septum piercing, and various tattoos. There was something about her that made Violet want to ask for tips on how to be cool. “Do you happen to take pictures professionally?”

  Not a particularly difficult question, yet Violet simply blinked.

  “I’ve been fixin’ to get family pictures retaken. My oldest was a baby last time we had them taken.” The woman pointed at the scrawny kid running in from the outfield. “He’s the one in a catcher’s mask. Dylan’s seven now, and I’ve had two more kids since.”

  The woman indicated the three- or four-year-old at her side and then bounced the blond baby on her knee, who Violet estimated to be around eight months.