by Cindi Madsen
Ford glanced over his shoulder, which was a mistake. Not only did it provide the opportunity for Dad to charge inside, it implied he wasn’t alone.
“You got company?” Dad asked, confirming Ford had been busted.
“Yeah. Take a seat and give me a second.”
Ford padded into the kitchen, but all he found were empty plates. He hustled down the hall to his bedroom, where Violet was pulling on her jeans.
“I’m sorry about this,” Ford said.
“About what?”
“You’re about to meet my dad. I wish I could better prepare you, but…” He sighed. “I’m not even sure that’s possible.”
Angel that she was, Violet wrapped her arms around his waist. “I can handle it. Especially now that I have pants on.”
“Shame, that. But if it’ll help…” He kissed her forehead, soaking in her scent and the way her embrace soothed his rankled nerves.
While he could linger forever, it’d be better to get this whole awkward meeting over with. He took her hand and led her to the living room.
Under other circumstances, the shock on his father’s face might be comical.
Ford cleared his throat. “Dad, this is Violet. Violet, my father, Jimmy McGuire.”
“Nice to meet you,” she said, smoothing a hand down her sleep-tangled hair.
After a beat, Dad found his manners, stood, and extended a hand. “Uh, you, too. You look familiar. You’re a Hurst, aren’t you?”
“I go by Abrams, but Mayor Hurst is my biological father.”
Dad nodded. His eyes narrowed as he studied the two of them, and Ford wrapped a protective arm around Violet’s shoulders.
“Looks like I interrupted somethin’, so I’ll get right to it. Gunner and I are headed to the hills and need to borrow your four-wheeler. Mine’s still having clutch issues.”
“Sure,” Ford said.
“Might need some help loading it.”
“I should head to the bakery anyway,” Violet said. “I warned Maisy that I’d be late, but I don’t want to leave her hanging.” She gave Ford a quick peck. “Oh, and don’t forget the planning meeting tonight at six.”
“Shit, I totally spaced on that. Lexi would’ve killed me.”
“In other words, I’m saving you now.”
In more than one way.
Violet patted his chest. “Can you pick up a bottle of rosé on your way over? That way Lexi feels appreciated. Plus, Priscilla and Lucia probably don’t drink beer or whiskey, and as you already know, I’m in that same boat, too.
“Pratsch or Château La Cardonne—Endless Crush by Inman is my favorite. Not sure they’d have that in this tiny town, since it’s on the pricey end and only a limited number of bottles were made.” Violet tapped a finger to her lips. “I’m sure you won’t remember those off the top of your head anyway, so I’ll text you.”
Reluctantly, Ford escorted her to the door.
As soon as she’d left, Dad said, “Mayor Hurst’s daughter? Really? You sure can pick ’em.” Bitterness pinched his features. “And did I hear the word wedding? I taught you better than to get caught up in one of those.”
“Addie and Tucker’s wedding. It’s weekend after next.” If Dad thought he was going to discuss Violet or dive into the subject of love, he was sorely mistaken. “Come on. That four-wheeler isn’t going to load itself.”
The dogs thought he meant them, and all four made a mad dash for the door. Ford went ahead and opened it, letting them out and waiting for Dad to hop to.
Dad lumbered on over, but instead of heading outside, he paused at the threshold. “You’re not gettin’ serious with that girl, are ya?”
Ford hesitated a beat too long.
“Not a good idea, son. For one, that family ain’t never gonna accept you.”
The urge to correct the double negative flickered—not like it’d make any difference. When it came to tirades against relationships, Dad could go on all day. “Violet’s not even close to her family, save Maisy. And I’m a big believer that a person is more than who they’re related to.”
Dad guffawed. “Just because you run around playing hero doesn’t mean people forget who you are. You think you’re so much better than me and your brothers, but you can’t even learn from our mistakes.”
Years of history choked the air. Sure, he wished his family the best. That didn’t mean he was going to get sucked into the toxic dick-measuring environment he’d grown up in. Who was stronger? Faster?
Sometimes it seemed like they competed for whose life was the best, and other times whose was worst.
Finally, Dad stepped onto the porch, and Ford resisted the urge to shove him on down the sidewalk so this would be over already.
“I couldn’t help but notice she gave you a honey-do list,” Dad said. “That’s what women call ’em, but really they’re marchin’ orders. Today she’s ordering you around, demanding fancy wines while implying you’re a dumb redneck who won’t remember the right brand. Next thing you know, it’ll be new furniture and remodeling the kitchen…
“Your ma was that way. When we got hitched, she claimed all she needed was love. Less than a year in and it was ‘when are we gonna get a bigger, nicer house?’ and ‘I need to go into the city and buy new clothes’ and on and on until we were broker than we started out. And still nothin’ made her happy.”
Ford’s sigh failed to carry away his frustration over this line of conversation. That type of fights made up the majority of his memories from when he was younger. His parents arguing about who worked the hardest, each attempting to win, when, truth be told, everyone involved lost.
Including him and his brothers, who bore the brunt of the anger from whomever hadn’t stormed out first.
“Violet’s not like that,” Ford said. “You don’t even know her.”
“All women are like that. In the beginning they put their best foot forward, all sugar and spice, showcasing their best behavior. Basically they’re a shiny lure, and once you commit and take a big ol’ bite, you discover the hook hidden in the bling.
“That’s when they flip that crazy switch and it’s nag, nag, nag. Pick a fight over any and everything. Tell you that you need to change. It’s taken me two failed marriages”—Dad held up his fingers as if otherwise Ford would be lost—“and one broken engagement to learn that.”
Luckily, they’d reached the four-wheeler ramp. Ford maneuvered it onto the open tailgate of Dad’s truck. He fired up the four-wheeler, lined up the tires, and rode into the bed.
From there, Ford shoved the ramps on either side so Dad could get the vehicle in and out himself. “There you go. Just drop it off whenever you’re done.”
Dad placed a hand on Ford’s shoulder, and when Dad’s eyes met his, at least they were more white than bloodshot today. Which inconveniently fractured the assertion his old man’s words were nothing but hot air. “I’m all for enjoying that beginning, fun part of relationships—hell, I’m addicted to the rush myself. But as soon as she mentions weddings and babies, it’s time to cut and run. Serious relationships always bring about fights, and once kids get thrown in the mix, forget it. Soon it gets messier and messier, until neither of you recognize who you’ve become.”
Dad fell silent, the twitch of his lips signaling he was fighting his emotions, something Ford had witnessed all of once before.
The day Ford informed Dad that he’d talked to Grandma Cunningham and not only was Ma never coming home, she was engaged to some rich dude.
For years, he’d attempted to stay out of the middle of his parents’ fights, and the one time he actually wanted to rant about Ma, Dad had fallen apart.
And now he was thinking of Doris’s words in a different way. She’d mentioned missing her husband for the past ten years and how hard life was without him. How she wanted to go be with him, since she was sure he was
waiting.
What if the real risk with love was that you eventually ended up losing yourself? Feeling like half a person? Ford’s breaths came fast and shallow, dizziness setting in as he struggled to maintain control of his lungs.
“You’ve made a good life for yourself,” Dad gruffly said. “One where you get to enjoy havin’ your adventures. Girls like Violet, they expect the finer things in life. Sooner or later, it’ll become an issue. Just…be careful.”
Ironic that Dad chose the word careful now, instead of during Ford’s younger years when Dad let him and his brothers run wild in the woods.
“As for me…” Dad clapped him on the back, his features free of emotions once again. “I’ve decided when it comes to my addictions, between women and alcohol, booze is the safer bet.”
With that lovely sentiment hanging in the air, Dad climbed into his truck and took off, and Ford stood there telling himself that he was just a cynical old man.
Even as he started to wonder if he truly knew what he’d gone and gotten himself into.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Did you get the rosé?” Violet asked as soon as he met her in front of the bakery.
Ford lifted the bottle, doing his best to not let Dad’s “she thinks you’re a dumb redneck” jab get to him. During his perusal of the liquor store shelves, he’d almost chosen a cheaper brand to test Violet’s reaction.
Especially since the reason she’d suggested he bring a bottle was to keep him in Lexi’s good graces.
Then again, why did he need to put in effort for that? Wasn’t being part of the wedding party and supporting Addie enough?
Violet let out a tiny squeal. “They had Endless Crush? That’s going on the pro side of staying in Uncertainty for sure!”
Her excitement lifted his mood while punching him in the gut. If good wine was all it took to make her so happy, it didn’t matter if it cost twice as much. He easily spent that on drinks at the Old Firehouse. If it tipped the scales in favor of her staying, even better.
“Earlier, when Lexi was in the bakery and we were discussing place settings, she mentioned wine, and I was hoping you’d remember. She’ll love the hint of watermelon—it’s my favorite, and she and I have a lot of the same tastes.”
His stomach bottomed out again, his erratic swings grating at him. Since Dad’s visit, everything felt off.
None of the puppies had paid a damn bit of attention when he’d run drills this afternoon. Even Pyro had looked at him as if he’d lost his touch.
Irritation surfaced again as they began the short walk to Addie’s house, not due to the location but the topic that’d be discussed ad nauseum. “I can’t wait till this wedding is over and we can all move on with our lives.”
Violet tsked. “It’s not that bad.”
“It is. This will be my first and last time playing bridesmaid.”
“Never say never.”
“I’m saying it. Never ever.”
Violet hooked her hand in his elbow. “What if I asked?”
“Then I’d say no.” Ford went to take another step, but Violet jerked him to a stop, her mouth hanging open. “What? That means you’d be marrying someone else, and I could never watch you do that.”
Delight replaced her offense, and perhaps he shouldn’t have stated that so boldly, true or not.
“What’s the deal with this house?” Violet asked, indicating the yellow Victorian on Main Street with the big for sale sign.
“It’s for sale and has been for about a year.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“It’s expensive.”
“Guess I’d better get my photography business going ASAP, then.”
Was she saying…? The only house in town bigger than the old Victorian was her father’s house.
Girls like Violet, they expect the finer things.
Ford studied Violet’s clothes. Problem was, he didn’t know enough about fashion to determine if they were the fancy kind. That and his attention snagged on the way her jeans hugged her ass, and then his mind was headed down a completely different avenue—one called Hard-On Lane.
Dammit, he’d been fine before that visit. Plus, Dad was extremely biased about women. It was always how difficult they were, as if Dad were a walk in the park to live with, overindulgence in alcohol and withholding affection and all.
With Addie’s house mere steps away, Ford reminded himself he had a female best friend, and she happened to be one of the most logical people he knew.
Knocking was more a warning than asking to be let in, so after a couple of raps, Ford stepped on into Addie’s place.
And nearly backed out, sure he’d come through the wrong door.
But there was Addie’s signed jersey and the couch he’d helped her move. Although it was covered in sunflowers and yellow ribbon and a myriad of other craft items.
The instant Lexi looked their way, his flight instinct kicked in—unfortunately, Violet was holding him in place. “Oh good,” Lexi said. “Y’all are here so we can get going.”
Like the gentleman he’d been told to be, he handed over the wine, which Lexi fawned over and went to grab glasses for.
Meanwhile, Lucia Murphy rose from the loveseat and greeted him and Violet with cheek kisses.
Addie and her mom were in the middle of a conversation about her sister, Alexandria. Something about her being sick with what her husband thought was a tummy bug. Maybe even a late case of the flu.
Murph glanced up, bleary-eyed, from the seating chart on her lap. “She’ll be okay in time for the wedding, right?”
Of all the ways Ford had expected her to respond to that news, that wasn’t one of them.
“I mean, I hope she feels better soon, of course,” Addie said with a shake of her head, as if she’d realized how calloused that’d sounded. “I’m just stressed because I thought she’d be here in time for the bachelorette party next weekend. She still hasn’t tried on her bridesmaid’s dress, and I was hoping she and I could catch up before I left for my honeymoon.”
“Don’t worry. She’s going to the doctor today, and I’m sure she’ll be up and running soon.” Priscilla pursed her lips and studied him. Decades of experience forewarned that the next words out of her mouth wouldn’t bode well for him. “Addison?”
Or maybe he was losing his touch.
“Have you talked to Ford about his hair? He needs a trim. Think of the pictures and the fact that you’ll have them hanging on the wall forever.”
At his side, Violet turned her laugh into a cough. She ran her fingertips up the center of his back and toyed with the ends of his hair, making him want to go Samson on everyone and declare he’d never cut it.
“Actually,” Addie said, “it’s long enough that I was thinking he could pull it into a man bun and match Lexi’s and Alexandria’s updos.”
This time Violet failed to hold back her laugh. It came out with a snort at the end, and then he was laughing, too.
He leaned over and whispered, “Do you think she realizes I’m right here?”
“Of course I do,” Priscilla said—he’d forgotten about the woman’s bat hearing. “But if I tell you what to do, you’ll do the opposite just for the sake of bein’ difficult.”
Addie’s mom strode over and jabbed a finger at him, and he regretted putting more distance between himself and the exit. “But you listen to me, Ford McGuire. I’ll be watching you like a hawk. There’s a time and a place for pranks, but a wedding isn’t one of them.”
The woman retreated to the couch, still shaking her head. “First, Addie goes and plays groomsman, and now she puts a man in her wedding party. Why are kids these days so set on bucking tradition? If you ask me, there’s nothing wrong with a little tradition.”
The way Addie pinched the bridge of her nose suggested she’d been dealing with this all day. “There
’s also nothing wrong with making new traditions, Mom.”
“I’d hoped getting engaged might help you grow up. Become a lady.”
“Nope and nope, but thanks for your concern. Now, remember how much you love to decorate?” Murph lifted a disturbingly familiar purple wedding binder. “And how I gave you and Lexi free rein as long as you respected my other choices for the ceremony? I.e., my dude of honor, no rehearsal dinner, and absolutely no dancing to be done by me.”
“But I found the perfect song and—”
Addie raised an eyebrow.
Priscilla harrumphed and then took the binder. “Violet, you said that you’ve seen this done before with roses, right?”
Violet slipped her hand out of Ford’s and moved to study the picture. “Yep. Lexi and I were talking earlier, and we can fill the fishbowls with water and tea lights and put daisies in place of the roses. It’s going to be stunning. Like I said, I’d planned to do that same thing for my wedding, but with violets.”
Lead filled Ford’s veins, and his feet cemented themselves to the floor. My wedding flashed across his vision like one of those red emergency news tickers, over and over, raising his blood pressure.
“You’re sure you have enough?” Priscilla asked.
“Positive.” Violet settled next to Addie’s mom on the couch. “I have these same fishbowls in storage—I bought several at a craft store on clearance. Plus, every time I was a bridesmaid, people handed me a box and told me I could use them at my wedding.”
There it was again. My wedding, my wedding, my wedding.
“Which clearly didn’t happen,” Violet continued, “but I’d feel better about buying and storing them these past few years if they went to a cause as amazing as Addie’s wedding.”
Priscilla scribbled something on a Post-it note and stuck it to the plastic cover. “And you’ll get them from your storage unit in Florida next week?”
“That’s the plan. My car doesn’t have a ton of room, and it’s about a three-and-a-half-hour drive, so I was sorta hoping…” Violet’s gaze lifted to him, and he did his best to stifle the panic ravaging his insides. “I thought we could go on a mini road trip to pick them up if you have time. Maybe meet my mom for a late lunch before heading back?”
