Page 30 of Always a Bridesmaid
Ford wasn’t sure what to say or do, so he drove Main Street in silence, fighting the urge to look across the cab at Violet.
The mood between them had shifted on a dime. He couldn’t help replaying the last twenty minutes in an attempt to figure out what’d inspired the change.
Violet had been laughing when they were tangled up together, her eyes wide, her cheeks pink. She’d felt damn good, too, with her curves pressed against him.
He’d nearly lost control when he’d sat up and their hips bumped together. In another couple of seconds, she would’ve felt that he was getting turned on, so he’d diverted his attention to untangling the ropes.
Still, she’d been okay until they’d walked inside his place.
“I do think Distracto fits that puppy. But would it be hard to place him as a search and rescue dog with a name like that?”
Ford twisted his head in her direction, one eye still on the road. “My ego wants to claim otherwise, but if I’m being honest, I occasionally come across a dog that’s not cut out for search and rescue life. Doesn’t mean he’ll be ill behaved, but I can’t declare a dog ready if he constantly gets distracted, regardless of what his name is.”
She nodded. Bit her lower lip.
That lip had been inches from his earlier, which was so something he shouldn’t be thinking about. At least she wasn’t engaged, although he’d been right about her being high-strung. As someone with plenty of ghosts in his past, he was beginning to think she had a few of her own.
Whether that, or if she was as dramatic as Cheryl Hurst accused her of being, it didn’t much matter. Particularly when he factored in the binder that indicated she was obsessed with settling down. He knew better.
One of Dad’s pearls of wisdom went along the lines of “Living with a temperamental woman is like inviting a rabid racoon into your house and wondering which day she’s gonna bite you.”
Dad was the expert, too. With two ex-wives, an ex-fiancée, and a string of tumultuous, short-lived relationships, he had a knack for picking ’em. Same as Ford’s brothers, Gunner and Deacon, who had plenty of their own demons to add into the mix.
And himself, until he’d gone and given the hot-and-cold type up for good.
Violet’s knee went to bouncing up and down. “What’ll happen if Distracto doesn’t get placed on a search and rescue team?”
“He’ll be put up for adoption and find a good home. No need to worry about him.”
Relief smoothed her features for a whole second before she tucked her leg up and turned to face him. “How many jobs do you have, anyway?”
“Depends on the day.” Ford slowed for Gordon Johnson, who always drove Main Street at fifteen miles an hour. If he were in a hurry, he’d dart down a side road, but they were almost to the bakery, and a part of him wanted to draw out this ride.
With all the deal breakers stacking up, including the fact that he had no interest in settling down, he couldn’t pursue Violet. Which meant this might be one of his last interactions with the intriguing, confusing, beautiful woman.
“Firefighting, training K-9 units…” Violet rolled a finger, signaling she expected him to fill in the blanks.
“I’m on the Talladega Search and Rescue team, too.”
“Basically, you’re a full-time badass.”
Gordon turned into his driveway at a spiffy three miles an hour, and Ford forced himself to speed up so he wouldn’t create a traffic jam. “That’s what my business cards say, anyway.”
She laughed, quieter than earlier in the woods, but it hit him as hard. It’d been a long time since he’d enjoyed himself with anyone besides his closest friends.
But again, he couldn’t afford the time, and it wasn’t worth the effort if they wanted different things. If she’d only end up hurt.
“Mostly it’s a lot of searching for lost hikers and hunters. Occasionally we travel to the coast during hurricane season to help.” He angled into a diagonal spot in front of the bakery, irritated at the twinge in his chest. “Which is why I hope if you’re in trouble, you won’t hesitate to call me. That’s not a pickup line, either. I take my job very seriously.”
The thought of Violet being in trouble stirred up a foreign sentiment he couldn’t name. Maybe he did have the hero complex his friends accused him of. That was it. Nothing more.
“I’m sure you do,” Violet said.
Ford dipped his head and squinted through the big window of the bakery, attempting to make out the shapes inside. “Want me to go inside and check if the coast is clear?”
Violet held up her phone. “I already texted Maisy. My father and Cheryl are long gone.”
Ford got it—he’d been known to dodge his dad and brothers whenever possible. Both in high school when he used to escape to his cave by the lake for days at a time, and whenever they crawled out of whatever hole they’d been in drinking themselves stupid, all so they could cause trouble and keep on dragging the McGuire name through the mud.
