Always a Bridesmaid

by Cindi Madsen

  “Oh. Yeah. I take photos. Professionally.” Talking, on the other hand, was apparently not one of her specialties. Violet introduced herself and exchanged information with Shelby, thinking it’d be smart to book a few jobs here. Family sessions, and maybe eventually she’d be able to dip her toe back into engagement and wedding shoots.

  The idea caused a mild twinge instead of completely wrenching her heart.

  Violet excused herself and moved closer to the fence for some action shots.

  “Good boy,” Ford said, high-fiving the kid who’d made a home run.

  An unattractive snort-laugh escaped, and Ford glanced back at her. “What?”

  “You reward them the same way you do the puppies. Speaking of, I have your cupcakes so you can give them their big treats afterward.”

  Ford crooked a finger and motioned her closer.

  Her heart beat double time as she pressed against the chain links, the light rattling of the fence echoing through her ears. Don’t get carried away. He probably just wants to tell you where to put the cupcakes.

  Ford stuck a finger through a gap and hooked her by the belt loop. Then he gave it a tug, throwing her emotions wholly off-balance. “Hey, you. It’s been a while.”

  Butterflies stirred inside her, stretching their wings and preparing for flight. “I thought maybe I scared you at the bridal shop. I saw the way you looked at me when I was holding up that wedding dress.”

  “Oh, you did.” Ford exhaled, his gaze dropping to the ground, and she kicked herself for bringing it up. Then his green eyes slowly returned to her face. “But I can’t stop thinking about you. Even today, when I went into the bakery, I couldn’t help searching for you.”

  Violet’s heart went from beating too fast to forgetting how to function.

  The crowd behind them grumbled as the ump called the batter’s third strike.

  “That’s okay, kids,” Ford pivoted and yelled. “We started strong and put a few points on the board. Let’s call the ball while we’re in the outfield, and we’ll be batting again in no time.”

  As soon as Ford returned his attention to her, she said, “You didn’t mention this job, either.”

  He shrugged his big shoulders. “This is more like play than work. Easton and I do it for the community. And so we can talk shi—crap later.” He checked the vicinity, as if to ensure no one had heard him almost swear.

  Shelby’s son Dylan stood in right field, wearing his catcher’s mask. It wobbled as he bent to pick a dandelion. He tossed it in the air and caught it in his mitt, the ongoing game miles from his radar.

  Violet stifled a giggle, already feeling a bond with the kid she’d never met. “I’d better let you get back to coaching. Looks like your right fielder might have about as much focus as Trouble and I do.”

  The tenderhearted smile Ford gave Dylan melted Violet that much more. She began backing away from the fence, and Ford stepped closer and curled his fingers through the loops. “Hang around after the game for a bit, will ya?”

  For a moment, Violet hesitated. She was supposed to be smarter. More careful. And wasn’t there something about reinforcing her walls?

  But then Ford’s eyes met hers, and she found herself saying, “Okay.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  After making sure the kiddos from both teams had the right cupcakes—they had one allergic to gluten and a diabetic who required low-sugar—Ford sought out Violet.

  The sight of her talking to Gunner made his blood run cold. He and his brother weren’t exactly estranged, but they weren’t close. Nor was Gunner close to his ex-wife and her son from a previous relationship. That was what happened when you picked alcohol over your kin, which was something that ran in their family.

  Ford strode over, and at the shameless interest on Gunner’s face, jealousy surged to the forefront. He wrapped an arm around Violet’s shoulders, securing her to his side. “Sorry that took so long.”

  Violet’s gaze met his, her brow crinkling as she studied him and then smoothing. “No worries.”

  “Ah,” Gunner said. “I see you’ve already met my brother. He’s the good egg. But if you ever want to come to the dark si—”

  “I think that’s enough.” It’d been a while since Ford had been embarrassed of his family. While he wanted to insist it no longer bothered him, an unmistakable burn germinated in his gut.

  As the youngest, it’d taken a while for Ford to overtake his brothers during their competitions. By that time, he’d also realized he wanted more out of life than the ability to brag about chopping wood the fastest or downing the most shots. Or whatever other gladiator event Dad created to pit them against one another.

  All so they wouldn’t gang up on Dad or question his rules. At least Gunner’s and Deacon’s mothers stuck around to share custody, another splinter that used to dig at Ford and fester resentment.

  As he got older, he understood all too well why Ma had jumped at a clean break, although he couldn’t quite forgive her for leaving him behind. Eventually Ford had called Grandma Cunningham to ask if Ma was ever coming home. And discovered she’d already moved on with some rich dude.

  Just swept him, Dad, and his brothers under the rug like dirt that’d fallen from her shoe.

  An ache that had bothered him as a kid stabbed at Ford’s chest, the blades too dull now to do much damage anymore. He reckoned he never would’ve fit in Ma’s world anyway, and in the city, he wouldn’t have had his sanctuary near the lake.

  “That’s right. I forgot for a minute that you’re better than the rest of us.” Gunner’s cheek popped out as he switched his wad of chew to the other side. “Thanks for reminding me.”

  Ford sighed. “I never said that.”

  Gunner spit tobacco, the brown goop landing inches from Ford’s shoe. “You don’t have to. It’s written across your face.”

  It wasn’t that Ford thought he was better. He’d worked to become better. His parents and brothers had been completely unreliable, so he’d decided to do whatever it took to be dependable.

  Once Ford was old enough to drive, his friends had become his support system. His refuge. His family.

  His dad and brothers jabbed at him about turning all “responsible citizen,” but usually their insults slid off his back. With Violet as a witness, Gunner’s words picked at an unhealed scar. One that reminded him where he’d come from and that several people in town still considered him lowbrow.

  Easton approached, his posture stiff. “Gunner.”

  “Deputy Reeves,” Gunner sneered. At first the other McGuires had been excited, thinking they’d have a cop on their side. But Easton was more concerned about the welfare of Uncertainty’s residents than letting the McGuires drunkenly brawl in the streets. “I ain’t done nothing wrong. A guy’s allowed to come to his stepson’s baseball game.”

  “Not when your ex-wife has a restraining order against you.”

  Right as Ford was about to tell Violet he would meet her later—or whatever he could do to get her out of there before Gunner turned unruly—she took his hand.

  His eyes met hers, and she laced her fingers through his. Standing her ground. Letting him know she was here.

  “She changed her mind about that,” Gunner said.

  Easton planted his hands on his hips. “Until she tells me that herself, you’re required to give her five hundred yards. The station’s that far if you’d rather go there.”

  A storm rolled across Gunner’s features, and Ford stepped in front of Violet, just in case things turned ugly.

  Easton also closed in, letting Ford know he had his back, too.

  Somehow his brothers and father kept finding women willing to marry or shack up with them.

  For a while.

  Inevitably they couldn’t hold back their vile sides, whether thanks to alcohol or lack of self-control. Deacon had a better temp
erament than Gunner, who was the oldest and meanest, but even he’d had his ups and downs with women and the law. Almost as if eventually the McGuire blood took over no matter what.

  Not me, though. I won’t let it. If he ever allowed a therapist to psychoanalyze him, they would likely say that was the reason he felt the need to always be busy and ready for an emergency. So he could head toward trouble to help instead of causing it.

  Finally, Gunner held up his hands and backed away, spewing profanity as he did so. Heaven forbid he let the town forget that he occasionally came to events just to put a dent in everyone’s fun.

  Easton clapped Ford on the back. “I’ll keep an eye on him. You and Violet get out of here.”

  “You don’t have to do that. It’s my respons—”

  “This is why we always tell you that you don’t have to play hero all the time. Technically, it’s my job. If there’s a fire, I’ve got your number.”

  Ford glanced from Easton to Violet and decided to give in. Mostly because he wanted to take the woman holding his hand away from here. Bonus points if he could distract her enough to forget the scene she’d just witnessed. “Thanks, man.”

  “Anytime.” Easton stalked off in the direction Gunner had gone, and Ford guided Violet toward his truck.

  His disparaging thoughts ran on a continuous loop: why did his family only ever show up to ruin things? Or when they wanted something? Why couldn’t he rid himself of feeling responsible for them?

  And then circling back to why did Violet have to be around for that?

  Ford opened the passenger door and helped Violet inside. A dark cloud hung over him as he rounded the hood and climbed behind the wheel.

  “Ford?” Violet said, and he lowered the keys from the ignition and gazed at the woman on the other side of the cab. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine. I’m just sorry you had to see that. My family doesn’t come into town much, except to replenish their liquor supply and make everyone uncomfortable.”

  Violet scooted across the bench seat until her thigh rested against his. “I understand complicated family dynamics.” She placed her hand on his knee, and every drop of blood in his body rushed to that spot. “If you wanna talk…”

  “Not about my family,” he said. “But I’d be happy to talk about most anything else.”

  “Okay, so Sephora—it’s this big makeup store. Anyway, they have a new line that’s getting a ton of buzz. The high-pigment eyeshadows are so vivid—”

  Ford hung his head and began loudly snoring.

  “Hey,” Violet said with a laugh, shoving his arm. “This is me teaching you a lesson about letting me in your truck. You think you’re the only one with pearls of wisdom?”

  She giggled again, and he twisted his head enough to spot the beauty mark on her cheek. Then he got lost in peering into her brown eyes, the same softening sensation he’d experienced earlier overtaking his entire body.

  Violet propped her chin on his shoulder, her nose nearly touching his. “So, Ford McGuire. Where are you going to take me?”

  Right here and right now, in the cab of this truck.

  While he’d love nothing more, they were in the center of town, and while the families had mostly cleared out, he didn’t want to be another McGuire who ruined the ball game. Not to mention his windows weren’t tinted enough for everything he wanted to do.

  He lifted Violet’s hand and kissed her knuckles, sunshine spreading through his chest at the same rate pink spread across her cheeks. An idea popped into his head, one he couldn’t decide whether or not to run with. “How do you feel about mud?”

  “In general? Or are we talking politically? Because I’m not sure you can run a clean campaign when you start with dirt.”

  “I meant more in the general way.” Ford folded her hand in his and moved his lips next to her ear, his mouth brushing the shell of it. “I just need to know if you’re the type of girl who wouldn’t mind getting a little bit dirty.”

  …

  Charming lines had landed Violet in her fair share of trouble over the years.

  Never on a four-wheeler, though. The vinyl seat creaked as she settled in place. Yep, this was what happened when you let a handsome guy whisper words about getting dirty into your ear.

  The four-wheeler dipped with Ford’s weight as he climbed behind her. He reached around her to turn the key and began explaining the brakes and accelerator over the sound of the idling engine.

  Sun streamed across his skin, highlighting the golden-brown hair on his arms. The longer strands of his hair fell forward and brushed his cheeks.

  Wow, he smells good. Like lumberjack aftershave, which she imagined involving trimming his whiskers with an ax.

  “…the basics. Got it?” Ford asked.

  “Um…” Violet tapped her fingernail to her teeth.

  “You weren’t paying attention, were you?”

  “I was paying attention to you,” she quickly said. This was something that irked Benjamin, regardless of how many times she explained she didn’t purposely drift off. Honestly, it was annoying for her as well, always struggling to fill in blanks. “Just not exactly what you were saying.”

  That forever-higher right corner of Ford’s mouth ticked up, deepening the groove in his scruffy cheek. “In other words, you got distracted by my devilishly good looks?”

  “Something like that.” Flirting had never been her forte, and being bold left her palms clammy. But after going too many days without seeing the guy, she wanted to spin around, wrap him in her arms, and hold him close.

  Almost all of her preconceived notions had been proven wrong the instant Ford had strolled into the bakery with his dog to put out the fire she’d accidentally started. She didn’t want to keep running from her feelings, which were intensifying at a rapid pace. While she was at it, she might as well toss aside her misguided stance on what type of guys she preferred and nullify her done-with-men decree.

  “Let’s try this again.” Ford skimmed the pads of his fingers down her arms. A pleasant shiver trickled down her spine, same as when his lips had brushed her ear, and she fought the urge to squirm.

  He curled his fingers over hers as she sat, breathless yet revived, and then he lifted her palms and wrapped them around the four-wheeler’s handlebars.

  His right thumb pressed over hers, and the engine growled, even as they remained in place. “This gets the machine to go.” He depressed the metal lever that ran along the left side. “This makes it stop.”

  Heat pooled low in her gut as his lips skimmed her temple.

  “That’s essentially all you need to know for now. Any other trouble you get in, I’ll get you out of.”

  Violet squeezed her thighs around the seat, acutely aware of Ford’s big body behind her. If she wasn’t mistaken, she wasn’t the only one getting turned on.

  “We’ll head to the bog,” Ford said. “It’s nice and muddy right now.”

  “And that’s a good thing?” she asked.

  His husky laugh reverberated through the spot where his torso met her back and knocked more bricks out of the wall she’d built around her heart. “You’ll see. I’m glad you’ve never been mud bogging before. It’s gonna make this even more fun.”

  Violet bit her lip, fighting the impulse to throw herself at the mercy of Ford’s mouth. “My mom was always a stickler about staying clean. I think since we were hard up, she didn’t want people to think we were poor and dirty.”

  Crap. Why had she told him that? Ordinarily she kept that fact to herself. Not even Benjamin had known the full extent of their financial instability.

  That while her siblings and father lived in the biggest house in Uncertainty, she, Mom, and her bubbie could hardly afford their matchbox of an apartment in a not-so-great neighborhood.

  It’d taught her a strong work ethic, which was why being unable to do h
er job, having to pay a giant fine plus the cost to fix Benjamin’s car, and losing the townhouse all within a few months had thrown her for such a loop.

  “Well, we have that in common,” Ford said. “In case you didn’t figure it out from meeting my brother.”

  “I take it you’re not close to your family?”

  Silence stretched from one second to the next, and she glanced over her shoulder. She didn’t want to pressure him. She simply wanted to figure out what made him tick. Plus, it sounded like they had more in common than she’d realized.

  Since he didn’t fill in the blank, she offered her own backstory. “While I’m fairly close to my mom, I wasn’t close to my dad or any of my siblings growing up. Then my mom and I had a bit of a thing over going to art school—she didn’t think it was a sound investment and told me I was choosing ‘a silly career.’

  “Maisy and I only began chatting more after she got married, which has brought us together and shown us how much we were missing.”

  “When my family talks, it’s primarily to argue. And even if they don’t start off that way, it’s not long before a fight breaks out. I’ve tried through the years. I have. But they…” He sighed.

  Violet rested her hand on his knee. “Sometimes it’s not worth the effort. I get that. I gave my dad one more shot, and he forgot about my almond allergy and poisoned my latte.”

  “Did he ever leave you in the forest after you broke your ankle while pheasant hunting? Dad did say he was going to get help, but he couldn’t remember where he’d left me because he was too drunk. Eventually I found a big stick to use as a crutch and limped my way home.”

  Her jaw dropped—she couldn’t help it. “You win.”

  A mirthless laugh spilled out. “Oh yeah? What exactly do I win?”

  Violet tucked up her leg so she could fully face him. Then she raised onto her knees and kissed his cheek. She pulled back so she could read his expression, and the passion that swam through his eyes sent a shock wave down her core.

  One hand gripped her waist. The other tangled in her hair. “A pity kiss?”