Page 24 of Always a Bridesmaid
“More like infamous. I’m Larry Hurst’s bastard. Some people say love child in an attempt to sound less harsh, as if you can put a bow on a bomb to counteract the destruction. But he’s made it clear there was no love involved.”
Over the years, she’d heard Larry and Cheryl fight several times during the custody agreement visits.
It meant nothing.
I was super drunk, and she happened to be there.
If I could take it back, I would.
Ford squinted across the cab at her. “I don’t pay much attention to town gossip.”
“Come on. You never heard about me, the daughter who messed up the perfect marriage between the beloved mayor and his beautiful wife?” It didn’t help that Mom had kept Violet’s existence from him a secret for eight years, until Violet insisted on tracking down her father and meeting him. “Every summer, my visits would stir the pot, and the whispers and stares were unavoidable.”
Old news by a long shot, so why did residual hurt rise up? What had started as a daydream about meeting her father ended up a nightmare where lives were ruined in her wake. Mom constantly consoled Violet by insisting her dad loved her and wanted a relationship, thus the visits. Frankly, it was hard to believe whenever Violet was away from her real home and her stepmother glared at her with such disdain.
Violet suspected Dad requested the visits more out of “doing the right thing” and not so much because hewanteda relationship.
Ford turned onto a rutted dirt road. “Now that you mention it, it does sound familiar. One of the many reasons I ignored the gossip stemmed from my family always bein’ part of it. The McGuires have been the notorious rotten apples of Uncertainty, goin’ on a century now. But what I’ve discovered through the years is that there aren’t any so-called perfect families. Everyone struggles. Some are just better at hiding it than others.”
Surprisingly candid. Accurate, too.
The squat white house they pulled up in front of had blue shutters, a porch, and a large yard with a white picket fence. And as promised…
“Puppies!” Violet catapulted out the truck as the pint-size German shepherds congregated by the fence, their dark noses poking through the planks.
Pyro leaped the fence as if it were nothing, and Ford bent at the waist and patted his head. “Hey, boy. How were the pipsqueaks?”
The dog replied with a half whimper, half grumble, like a babysitter who’d been relieved after a rough day.
Ford scratched the thick black hair around the dog’s neck until his pink tongue lolled and his complaints turned into pants. “The world needs more amazing search and rescue dogs like you, which means they need us to train them. We can handle that, can’t we, boy?”
Pyro pranced around, as if he were now on board and encouraging Ford to hurry it up. For a second, Violet’s insides went mushy on her. Since the guy had also saved her from an awkward run-in, she allowed herself to indulge in the mush for another two or three seconds.
Her fingers sought the camera hanging around her neck, only to come up empty.
It was the first time in a long time she’d habitually grabbed for her camera, desperate to capture the moment.
Then it was over—a slice of life she wouldn’t get to study and analyze later.
Ford opened the gate for her, and three black-and-brown fluffballs rushed her at once, their ears flopping with every springy movement.
Violet dropped to the ground and let them climb into her lap. One of the puppies took her invitation the extra mile, its paws digging into her right boob as he launched himself higher and licked her chin.
“Thanks for that, buddy. Or girlie. I’m not really sure, and I don’t want to embarrass you by lifting your tail in front of everyone.”
One of the dogs abandoned getting her attention the conventional way and latched onto her shoelaces. He tugged, gradually dragging Violet’s foot out from under her.
A shadow blocked the sun, and she lifted her gaze up, up, up. “They’re adorable,” she said to Ford.
“They’re undisciplined,” he replied.
The puppy that apparently loved the taste of her makeup kept licking her face. Violet wrapped her hands around its furry body, right behind the front legs, and lifted it in the air. “Are you undisciplined? Or do you just like to give Ford a hard time?”
The puppy barked.
“I agree,” Violet said. “It is super fun. But then he starts name-calling. Don’t tell me he’s called you obsessive and overly dramatic, too.”
The dog gave another squeaky bark, and she gasped and pointed the puppy’s snout toward Ford.
