Always a Bridesmaid

by Cindi Madsen

  Her hand clutched her chest as her shoulders curled in on themselves, but his tongue was still off and running.

  “And you wanna talk about issues? Like how you were arrested for beating the shit out of your ex’s car? Something you failed to mention, by the way.”

  Her eyelashes fluttered, and salt water spilled streams onto her cheeks. In spite of everything, Ford had the strongest urge to use his thumb to wipe her tears away.

  “Silly me, not confessing one of the most embarrassing experiences of my entire life up-front.” Violet sniffed. “My ex cheated on me, and yeah, I got super drunk and made a bad decision. Not only do I regret it, but it’s in the past, so I don’t see how it’s relevant to you and me.”

  “Sure, until I piss you off and you take a bat to my truck. I saw the warning signs that you were unstable and obsessed with getting hitched, and that’s on me for ignoring them.”

  Violet nodded over and over. “And I saw the signs you were a player. Heard all about how you weren’t the settling-down type. How stupid am I for falling under your spell anyway? For thinking that with me, you’d be different.”

  Dammit. The reality of the situation caught up to him and his big mouth. His heart and lungs turned into shriveled organs that might never work again. Heaviness pressed against his chest with an ache he’d never experienced before.

  This wasn’t what he wanted.

  “Look,” he said, backtracking as quickly as possible. “This conversation’s getting out of control, and that’s not what I meant to happen. The last thing I wanted was for us to tear each other apart. I just thought we should pump the brakes. Slow things down.” He grabbed her hand and curled it into his. “Maybe someday—”

  She jerked free of his grasp, and as frustrated as he was, he immediately missed having her hand in his. “Let me guess. You want to stick to being sex buddies. Perhaps go on a date now and then, and maybe someday, you’ll magically be ready to get serious.”

  Ford blinked. The woman had taken the words right out of his mouth, save the magically. “What’s so bad about that? I mean, I wanna be more than sex buddies. It’s about preserving my freedom, not about dating other women. I just thought we could keep on doing what we’ve been doing and get to know each other. Take it a step at a time.”

  A terrifying, mirthless laugh spilled from her lips. “You guys are all the same. I might’ve fallen for that once, but I’ve already been with a someday guy. Thank goodness I don’t move as fast as you accuse me of, or I would’ve planned another dream wedding to a total asshole.”

  Violet scooted the stool away from the bar so violently, it tipped over, the clatter drawing the attention of everyone in the near vicinity. “This time, I choose me.”

  The disappointment and hurt that flooded her expression unleashed a swell of vitriol within his chest. A different sort of panic—one he didn’t totally understand—dug claws into what remained of his lungs.

  “Goodbye, Ford McGuire.” Violet tossed the napkin crumpled in her fist on top of the bar. The yay! same penis forever! seemed to taunt him. “Thanks for reminding me why I gave up men in the first place.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  To say the past several days had sucked was a major understatement. Over and over, Ford tried to convince himself he’d done the right thing. That even though he hadn’t wanted it to end the way it did, it was better to find out they weren’t compatible in the long run than drag it out.

  He fully understood he had no right to see Violet. To stop by the bakery and ask how she was. Didn’t stop him from wanting to.

  Lexi was pissed upon learning he and Violet had broken up, and when he’d asked her how Violet was, she’d reminded him of the one thing she’d instructed him not to do: hurt Violet, because she’d been hurt already.

  To top off her rant, Lexi told him that if he wanted to know, he should grow some balls and ask Violet himself.

  It was the first time he’d ever heard her say something less than debutante-ish.

  While he’d originally been excited about Addie and Tucker’s wedding—and about it being over and done with, to be honest—he wasn’t looking forward to tomorrow.

  For all his insistence that he didn’t care what the townsfolk thought, it wasn’t going to be easy to ignore them, Violet, Maisy, and whoever else decided to glare daggers—that he totally deserved—at him.

  Not that anyone could say anything worse than what he’d been telling himself. He’d done far too good a job of searing his and Violet’s night at chimney rock into his memory. If he dropped his defenses for even a second, he’d be under the tree with her.

  Worshiping her naked body as they lay on the blanket.

  Picturing the symbols they’d sprayed in a place that used to belong to only him.

  Trouble padded over to the front door, stared at it, and whimpered.

  “I know, buddy.” A lump formed in Ford’s throat, and he rubbed his gritty eyes. “She’s not coming back.”

  The whimpers grew louder as Trouble pawed at the wood, and Ford didn’t have the heart to scold him.

  Not when he wanted to flop on the floor next to the puppy and cry himself.

  Ford eyed the stack of empty beer cans on the coffee table from last night’s pity session. It’d started at the bachelor party, which had been a low-key celebration that’d included poker and rehashing old memories.

  After losing his stack of chips in record time, he’d come home and continued to drink and drink until there wasn’t another drop of alcohol in the house. All those months of his friends insisting he turn off the scanner and be present, and he couldn’t. Until last night, when he’d clicked off the damn machine and hurled it across the room.

  Between the empties and the disheveled state of his place, he felt more like his father than he ever had before, and that chapped his lazy ass.

  Insult to injury seemed to be the theme lately. Like when Tucker and Shep were baffled he and Violet hadn’t worked out. Easton relayed the news about her record in an attempt to stand up for Ford’s choice to cut things off, and the two whipped guys of the bunch had looked at him as if he was the unstable one.

  “Guess I’d better shower and clean up this place,” Ford said to his canine audience. His joints creaked as he retrieved the scanner. He clicked it on, glad it didn’t seem any worse for wear, and set it on the mantel. “Then we should continue our training. I’ve been slacking lately, and we’ll never reach the six-hundred-hour mark if we sit around and sulk.”

  Pyro’s eyebrows twitched, his unspoken you’re the one who’s been moping coming across loud and clear.

  “That’s what I’m saying. That I’m done whining about it. Yeah, I liked Violet. For as squirrely as she was, she also had a calming presence about her. Not to mention that killer sense of humor.” A smile trembled across his mouth, even as his heart jackknifed in his chest. “Then there was the way she’d get all distracted and off in her own world…”

  Well, that wasn’t helping, and Ford buried the mushy sensations attempting to overtake him under images of that ridiculous wedding planning binder. “But I’m not ready to settle down. In the end, we wanted different things. Life is supposed to be an adventure, not an institution.”

  With a huff, Pyro flopped onto his bed, and then it felt like the entire world was disappointed in him.

  “Great. I lost the girl, and now I’m sitting around talking to dogs, one more loss away from becoming a country song.” Factor in the fact that he smelled like a brewery and he might already be there.

  Ford gathered as many beer cans as he could into his arms and walked them to the trash can. Thanks to his lack of desire to do a damn thing, it was overflowing, so he had to compact the garbage before he could remove the bag and take it outside.

  All four dogs were barking when he reentered through the back door.

  His heart leaped in his
chest, a foolish thought accompanied by an even more preposterous amount of hope.

  Maybe Violet’s here.

  As awful as the ending had been, they’d had a lot of great moments. With her moving to Uncertainty for good, would he have to relive them again and again?

  Worse, would he watch her date some perfect schmuck who was ready for marriage and babies?

  Staticky words filtered in from the scanner, bringing him back to reality—a harsh place where Violet Abrams would never speak to him again.

  “…injured hiker… The storm coming…”

  A renewed sense of purpose found its way to the surface, and Ford hurried over to the mantel and cranked up the scanner. Then he called in and talked to dispatch.

  See, this was what his life was all about. Heading into an oncoming storm to find a lost hiker. Adventure. No one to answer to, his life free of drama and completely his own.

  “Who’s ready for a mission?” Ford asked his dogs, and Pyro pranced around in circles, eager to get going.

  Now to figure out which other dog he should let tag along.

  Trouble was biting Tank’s tail, and while Violet might get the distracted mutt to be halfway useful, Ford didn’t have time to deal with the puppy’s lack of focus.

  Nitro could scent the farthest, and she followed commands the fastest and most accurately.

  After grabbing his gear, Ford let Pyro and Nitro into the cab of the truck—they’d have to deal with the cold plenty tonight. Then he raced to the police station, where the family members of the lost hiker were waiting.

  Twenty minutes later, Ford was speeding north on a rutted dirt road. Mr. Wagner had called his family and left a patchy message. They were able to make out the words “left the trail” and “lost,” and when his family tracked the phone, it said it was offline.

  Luckily, they were able to narrow in on the coordinates from before he lost signal, which gave them a place to start.

  Unfortunately, most people continued to move when they should stay put.

  A red truck sat at the top of the trailhead, and a quick glance at the make, model, and license plate confirmed it belonged to Mr. Wagner. Ford climbed out of his truck to peek inside the vehicle, but it was empty.

  His GPS indicated they were about two miles from where the man made his last call. “Looks like we’re gonna have to hike the rest,” he said to Pyro and Nitro as he opened the passenger door for them.

  Not a big deal if they weren’t running out of time.

  Heavy gray clouds obscured the sky, and the scent of rain and pine hung in the air. Storms in the forest were a beast of another kind. One minute it could be sunny and cloudless, and before you noticed the change, torrential rain would be upon you, soaking you to the bone.

  Ford radioed in to the crew from the town over and informed them he’d be coming from the southeast. They were going to start on the northwest part of the trail, and they’d make wide passes till they met in the middle.

  So he wouldn’t end up wet and suffering hypothermia, Ford slipped into his neon orange waterproof jacket with the words search and rescue emblazoned on the back. Then he pulled his lightweight nylon pants over his jeans and slung on his search and rescue pack.

  Since the last thing Ford wanted to do was lose Nitro on her first trip out, he snapped on the longest lead rope he owned.

  Then he walked over to Mr. Wagner’s truck, offered a prayer to the karma gods, and yanked on the door.

  The door was unlocked, and while the dogs could still scent near the truck, inside of it would be more effective.

  Pyro put his paws up on the seat and sniffed, already on task, and Ford instructed Nitro to “Scent.”

  She padded the length of the bench seat a couple times, her nose against the frayed fabric.

  “Now seek,” Ford said in a firm voice.

  Both dogs put their noses to the ground, and after a couple seconds, Pyro took off at a full sprint.

  Nitro barreled after, although neither she nor Ford would be able to keep pace.

  The other thing about following dogs—they didn’t choose the easiest path for someone six foot three who walked on two legs instead of four.

  Speed was most important, though, so Ford hunched under bushes, launched himself over fallen logs, and rushed as fast as he could without injuring himself.

  “Hold tight, Mr. Wagner,” he muttered.

  A fat droplet splattered his nose, his cheek, the forearm of his jacket…

  And then time was up when it came to getting in and out before the storm.

  …

  “Are you sure?” Maisy asked, sitting next to the piles of clothes on Violet’s bed. She laid Isla on her back, and the cutie clamped onto her toes, her eyes widening as she studied them.

  In her excitement, Isla kicked and lost her grip. Her face wrinkled up and pinkened, displaying her devastation at losing her new toy, in spite of also being responsible.

  Maisy stuck a pacifier in Isla’s mouth, and she concluded it was roughly as cool as her toes.

  If Violet didn’t force herself to look away from her niece’s chubby cheeks, she wasn’t sure she’d follow through with the decision she’d made.

  She unzipped her suitcase and began transferring the piles of clothes. “One thing I’ve learned this past year is that being sure isn’t as reliable as I used to think. I promise I’ll visit more, but I’m sure that I need time and space.”

  “Just keep avoiding Ford, and you can get those things here.”

  Violet cocked her head. “You and I both know that in Uncertainty, avoidance is futile. Every single place reminds me of him, and I saw him running three out of the past six mornings. Each time, it felt like someone had sliced me right open again.”

  Simply speaking the words jabbed at the gaping wound in her chest, each of their shared memories another gush of stinging lemon juice.

  Stop or you’ll cry. And you don’t have time to cry. Not to mention she’d shed enough tears.

  “My muse has returned, the bakery looks amazing, and I have a new job all lined up, so mission complete.” Violet debated whether or not to pack or leave out her beloved worn yoga pants. “I can stay with my mom for a month or two while I find an apartment, and then I’ll be back on my feet, too.”

  “You should take my mom up on the offer she originally tried to bribe you with. She and Dad owe you, after all. They loaned me money for my bakery, so it’s only fair.”

  When she’d spoken to Dad during the lunch they’d met up for this afternoon, he’d also offered to help her financially.

  Still, Violet shook her head. “Stubborn pride or not, I don’t want to glance around and think that I only have what I have because of them. That’s how I felt after Benjamin, and it sucked. Then it sucked even more as one by one those things were taken away.”

  The cute underwear she’d worn to the bachelorette party—when she’d been foolish enough to think she should tell Ford that she was going to stay because she was in love with him—seemed to taunt her. She’d idealized the moment, imagining telling him and then stripping, and…

  Violet shoved the panties under a stack of T-shirts. “Fiercely independent is my new motto. I don’t need anyone else.”

  Maisy’s lower lip stuck out. “No one?”

  The pile of jeans protruded a couple of inches, and Violet shoved them level with the suitcase so she could fasten the thin divider. Then she reached out and took her sister’s hand. “Except you and Isla, of course. You can visit me anytime, and I hope you will. We can take Isla to the beach and cruise the bay.”

  Maisy lifted the one pair of heels Violet had brought—strappy and silver, with a purple bow on the toe. “I meant to borrow these before you left.”

  “You can borrow them when you come to visit me.” Violet plucked them out of her sister’s hands and shoved them in
the other side of her suitcase.

  “Commercial photography is far from your dream job,” Maisy said.

  “Don’t start,” Violet warned.

  “Too late. You say your muse is back, but you like taking emotional shots. Not pictures of other people’s yachts for a magazine.”

  “Don’t forget fishing boats.”

  Isla began fussing, and Violet scooted her suitcase aside, hovered her face over her niece’s, and toyed with a curl on the top of her head. “Hey, pretty girl.”

  Isla grinned, and she happily kicked her feet.

  “Can you tell your mommy to not make this harder than it already is? And remind her I can take on side jobs?” Violet skimmed her fingers down Isla’s torso and then grabbed her toes and wiggled her foot. “Maybe add in that your daddy will be home in less than a month, and he’s not going to want to share a house with his mopey sister-in-law?”

  Isla pushed out a squeaky noise that Violet took to mean she’d do what she could.

  Maisy’s sigh made it clear she wasn’t convinced. She opened her mouth, but the doorbell rang, and she mumbled they weren’t done discussing this yet.

  Since Violet had everything packed except the items she needed for tomorrow—the plan was to head out after the wedding—she picked up Isla. She cuddled her close, adding a dozen kisses to her epic cheeks.

  “You’re going to grow so much before I see you again, and that makes me super sad, but I have to attempt to be a grown-up with a life of her own.” It’d be her very own, too, because she was never going to pull someone else into it ever again.

  Not only was she completely giving up on men—for really reals this time—she was considering getting a puppy.

  Only she wanted her puppy that wasn’t actually hers. She might need time to mourn losing Trouble as much as she was grieving over the breakup with Ford.

  How could I have been so blind?