by Cindi Madsen
If Violet didn’t think Ford and his dog would attempt to revive her, she’d pass out from embarrassment.
As if her half sister sensed she needed comforting, Maisy wrapped an arm around her. “It could’ve happened to anyone.”
Violet sniffed loudly—it wasn’t like the guy standing on Maisy’s other side would look her way twice anyway, even on her best, most dolled-up day. “That’s so nice of you to say, but I’m the girl who can’t even put cupcakes in the oven.”
“Maisy’s right,” Ford said. “It happens all the time.”
There was that deep voice again. Her ears perked up, begging him to say more. The guy’s only flaw was his dark hair, which was chin length, irresistibly disheveled, and stood out against his fair skin.
Not that the longer, I-woke-up-this-way style didn’t suit him. It completed the whole hot country-boy look, adding to the notion that he caught fish with his bare hands and wrestled alligators for fun.
Yep, it was a good thing she didn’t go for dark-haired guys with fair skin, because clearly that was the only thing standing in her way. Ugh, could this day get any worse?
At least the crowd at the mouth of the alley had thinned, most of the looky-loos deciding the exciting part had already come and gone. “Wait,” she said, scrunching up her forehead. “You said the firetruck doesn’t come out very often.”
Ford gave her a curled-lip smile that had her thinking of the old-school Elvis movies her bubbie used to watch. “Not very often. When there is a fire, it’s either a controlled burn that got out of control or an electrical house fire caused by appliances. Toasters, blenders…” He patted the blackened machine next to them. “Ovens.”
“While it looks a little worse for wear, I don’t think the heating element is damaged,” Maisy said. “And if it’s done-zo, I have insurance for this very reason.”
In an attempt to placate Maisy, Violet nodded, but she could hear her ex in her head. Classic Violet. You’ve got a bullet-point wedding and life plan, but you go to the store and fail to get the one thing you went there for.
Countless times she’d put dinner on to cook, only to forget about the food entirely. Benjamin would get so frustrated, calling the burned meals a waste and complaining about the townhouse perpetually smelling of smoke.
You’re the most disorganized organized person I know, he’d told her on a regular basis.
Violet’s lungs contracted. Part of the reason she insisted on organization was to help manage her ADHD. Scattered attention and the inability to focus were the better-known symptoms, but the other side of the coin was becoming so immersed in activities she enjoyed that she became oblivious to everything else.
As hard as she tried, she’d constantly get lost in photo editing or adding inspiration pictures to her wedding binder. What seemed like minutes turned into hours, and she’d emerge from the soothing world inside her head to one filled with chaos, confusion, and, worst of all—Benjamin’s disappointment.
That’d fuel her anxiety, and from there, it was almost impossible to do anything right.
Eventually the firefighters and cop dispersed, and Maisy locked up the bakery. She handed Violet the house keys and told her to go on ahead and make herself at home while she picked up Isla.
After dumping her bags in the spare room and hitting the shower, Violet felt halfway human again.
As soon as she walked into the living room, Maisy gestured to the two glasses of wine she’d poured. Instead of choosing one, Violet waved her fingers in the classic gimme motion. “First things first. I’ve been waiting to snuggle my niece all day.”
Isla was warm, smelled of baby oil, and had on darling onesie pajamas with a star on the bum.
Violet settled on the couch, laying her niece on her lap before reaching for the wine and taking a sip. She returned the glass to its coaster and then ran a knuckle over Isla’s chubby cheek. “One day, when you’re older, Auntie Violet will tell you what not to do with your life—she happens to be an expert on the subject.”
“Stop. People who have it all together are boring, not to mention annoying.” Maisy raised her wineglass into the air. “And think about it this way. The rest of your stay can only go up from here.”
“Are you still sure you can handle me for that long?”
Maisy cocked her head as if she’d asked a preposterous question. “Everyone makes mistakes, Vi. Do you know how many pastries I’ve maimed in my bakery? I’ve tried weird combinations that’ve made me wish I didn’t have taste buds. After every disappointment, though, I dump the batter and try again. That’s how I came up with my three-berry hazelnut torte, which is famous round these parts. And in case you don’t remember, I begged you to come visit.”
It’d surprised Violet, how vehement her half sister had been about staying with her. In the past, she’d felt like Maisy—and the entire Hurst clan, really—was only going through the motions, doing the “proper” thing by her.
“Well, I’m going to do my best to avoid causing any more fiascos,” Violet said. “And if I never see a firetruck again, it’ll be too soon.”
“Are you sure about that? You and Ford seemed to have some”—Maisy peered down her nose at Violet—“dare I say, sparks?”
Violet closed her eyes, as if that’d help her go back in time and undo being such a disaster in front of the guy. “The only thing sparking was the oven, but seriously, did he have to be so hot? And did I have to be so not?”
“You looked…” Maisy grimaced and patted Violet’s knee. “Let’s go with charmingly disheveled.”
Violet groaned. “Guess it’s a good thing I’ve given up men.”
“That’s what I say about chocolate every day, but you’ll notice my hips aren’t getting any smaller.” The flicker of glee in Maisy’s expression gave Violet more than a flicker of apprehension. “I knew you liked guys with dark hair.”
Shower-damp strands tickled Violet’s neck and cheeks as she shook her head. “I don’t—and it’s not just the hair, remember? Sure, I can recognize certain dark-haired, fair-skinned members of the male species aren’t exactly difficult to look at. Doesn’t change the fact that they’re not my type.”
“Mm-hmm.”
Isla began to wiggle and fuss, and Violet sat her up and peered into her big blue eyes. Using two fingers, she formed a curl with the tuft of hair on top of her niece’s head. “You, on the other hand, rock the dark hair and ivory skin. Yes you do.” She kissed Isla’s plump cheek. “Mwah, mwah, mwah. Are you ready for lots of cuddling and cheek pinching? Maybe a late-night party where we drink way too much milk and crash out on the couch?”
Isla opened her mouth as if she had a ready response. She cooed, and Violet’s heart melted, along with the stress of the day. If she’d followed the first draft of her life plan, she’d have one, if not two kids by now. But every time she’d brought up the idea of a baby, Benjamin went with his famous “sure, someday” answer.
In this day and age, I don’t need a man to have a baby. Just his sperm, and I can get that without dating, so ha!
Naturally she’d want a donor who was big and strong and brave. Sorta like Ford the Firefighter, who’d charged in, known what to do, and been kind to her, even when she’d acted so irrational.
She highly doubted those type of guys frequented sperm banks. But before she ended up with a bullet-point plan and binder filled with possible names, baby gear, and nurseries she loved, she supposed she should get her life—namely her career—in order.
First, I’ll refill my creative well by helping Maisy decorate the bakery, and then I’ll see where I’m at and make a plan from there.
Violet placed her niece on her shoulder and snuggled her close, and in this moment, her life didn’t seem like such a mess. She was guilty of piling one bad thing on top of another until every setback weighed her down and crushed her spirits.
Being ar
rested during her lowest point certainly hadn’t helped, but that was another rearview-window item she hoped to leave in the dust.
Maisy propped her elbow on the back of the couch, and then tears brimmed her eyes. “I missed out, Vi. We could’ve had so much fun together when you stayed with us during the summers, but I was so pissed my dad had cheated on my mom and that we couldn’t just move on because…”
“Because of me,” Violet finished, her voice cracking.
“I’m afraid I was a selfish, horrible kid. I’d always wanted a sister, and then I had one, and instead of embracing you, I kept my distance.”
As children, it’d been hard not to compare. Maisy had a pert little nose, gorgeous blue eyes, and delicate eyebrows that didn’t need constant taming. She had Dad’s love in spades, and Violet remembered wondering what it would be like to have a full-time father who bragged about her over dinner, the way Dad did about Maisy and his son, Mason. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not. With Travis gone, our phone calls are the only reason I haven’t lost my mind. I love Isla, but the rest of my family is always busy as usual, and I miss adult conversation. I can’t tell you how glad I am to have you here.” A tear rolled down her cheek, and she swiped it away. “I’d like to try to make up for the time we lost and take a second shot at being sisters in the more classic definition.”
A lump formed in Violet’s throat. “Honestly, I’ve been lonely, too. I’d be happy to steal your Barbies and borrow your clothes without asking and…whatever else sisters do.”
Maisy laughed and gently hugged Violet, bringing Isla into the group hug as well. “Thank you for being here.”
Although Violet wanted to point out that she’d only brought calamity into her life, she decided now wasn’t the time for self-deprecation. While the inevitability of awkward run-ins with her father and his wife sent Violet’s nerves into riot mode, she focused on the affection that was flowing over her, slowly mending old wounds.
It was nice to feel like she had a sister, not simply because of shared DNA but by choice. Which made that “half” part of Maisy’s title unnecessary.
A sister and a niece, a place to stay, and a bakery to decorate.
The sense of purpose Violet had been missing as of late buoyed her up, giving her a much-needed dose of optimism, no positive spin required. Maybe one day in the not too distant future, she could manage to finally put the past where it belonged.
Chapter Three
Ford rounded Lake Jocassee and stumbled over the tangle of leashes. His father used to say that one dog was a lot of help, two dogs were half as much, and three dogs were nothing but trouble.
Usually he disagreed, but this morning, he could see the tiniest bit what Dad meant.
Of course his father also applied that theory to Ford and his two brothers. Dad would assign them separate chores and turn everything into a competition. Instead of working together, the boys would race to see who’d get Daddy’s praise that day.
The past crowded his lungs, leaving his breaths too shallow to counteract his level of exertion.
The whole survival-of-the-fittest outlook had turned their relationships toxic, not pushing him and his brothers to be better but to drag one another down. Which was why Ford refused to use that method.
It didn’t help that the puppies’ harnesses had twenty-foot lead ropes attached. The first step in search and rescue training required extra length. After getting the fluffballs used to the harnesses, Ford would use a scent pad and reward them until they could scent for long distances without getting distracted.
Pyro glanced at the puppies, his exasperation clear—when it came to work, he had one mode, and that was all-out, same as Ford.
Ford’s amusement helped dilute the downer vibes associated with thinking of his family, and he slowed enough to bend and give Pyro’s side a quick pat. “They’re young yet. Once we get ’em trained, these exercises will go smoother.”
Pryo’s eyebrows twitched, followed by the doggy version of a sigh.
Affection wound through him, and he cupped his dog’s muzzle and locked eyes with him. “You gettin’ old and grouchy on me, boy? Soon, you’ll be barking at kids to get off our lawn.”
In response, Pyro barked and rushed ahead, as if determined to prove his excitement and energy were still well within young and perky range.
The puppies charged after him, attempting to match Pyro’s faster, longer stride.
Make that two out of three.
The course fibers of the ropes chafed his palm as they zipped across, and Ford’s knees cracked as he straightened and picked up his own pace. While the female of the litter was the most focused, her bigger brother had endurance on his side.
Meanwhile, the puppy with the darkest face and bounciest temperament became distracted by every blade of grass and ripple of water. He’d wandered near the shore, and his paws were a muddy mess.
“Come on,” Ford said, a stern note to his voice as he added a gentle tug. His running times were shit this week, thanks to the canine delinquents. Yeah, that’s it. Think tough.
While he’d deny it, whenever they peered up at him with their big golden eyes, he’d turn into a big ol’ sucker. A melty, tender sensation would kick in, and then he’d have to remind himself he had a job to do and couldn’t simply play with the frisky puppies.
No eye contact. Must. Remain. Firm.
Eventually he and his entire furry crew hit a decent pace.
But then the ears on the endlessly distracted puppy’s head perked up.
“Don’t do it,” Ford said, in spite of the fact that the dog’s snout was already swiveling toward the lake.
The puppy’s momentum continued to propel him forward, and he tripped over the branch his brother and sister had easily cleared.
Down he went, skidding through the mud face-first, his hind legs still pedaling.
With a shake of his head, Ford chuckled and righted the puppy. “Dude, you fell. That requires some recalibration—but first you’ve gotta get your feet back under you. Isn’t that better?”
The puppy licked Ford’s arm, leaving a sticky trail before rushing after his siblings. His whimpering bark was heavy on the How dare you guys leave me behind.
After they made it back to the truck, Ford checked the clock on the dashboard.
Thanks to the fire and the delayed training session, he didn’t have time to go shower and change for poker night. Good thing his buddies had to deal with him, clean or not.
It’d also be the perfect opportunity to socialize the puppies with people and Tucker’s dog, Flash. Mind made up, Ford drove the short distance to the houseboat and parked next to the row of trucks.
“Are you guys gonna be good?” he asked the puppies.
ADD Puppy immediately bit his sister’s ear, so nope. Since the walk onto the houseboat required a wooden plank, he gathered the three furballs and carried them inside, Pyro trotting on after.
Despite there hardly being room for two people and a dog—much less a group of dudes and dogs—the guys greeted them with gusto.
“Hope you don’t mind,” Ford said, opening the sliding door to the deck and letting his four German shepherds outside. Fortunately, Tucker had already puppy-proofed the railing for his white lab, who was hardly a puppy anymore.
Flash bounded toward the other dogs with an excited bark. In looks and in personality, he and Pyro were polar opposites, but they got along well enough.
Now Pyro will have someone to roll his eyes with.
After making sure there wasn’t any aggression with the new puppies in the mix, Ford closed the glass door, save a crack. Then he walked through the narrow alleyway that separated the kitchen and the living area and settled into his usual place at the circular table.
Addie dealt, and after Ford peeked at his cards, he reached over her to grab the bag of Doritos and a
bottle of beer.
“Ugh, Ford,” Addie said, leaning away from him, “you smell.”
He draped his arm over her, yanking her face right to his armpit, the bag of chips crunching between them. “Maybe you’ve just been with Crawford too long to remember what a real man smells like.”
The slug to his obliques was solid, as Addie’s punches often were. “One, a real man showers. And two, thanks to that bet about who could swim the length of the community center’s pool the fastest—and how you decided stripping to your skivvies would make you more aerodynamic, even though I still won—I’ve seen what you’ve got going on.” She shrugged. “Eh. Not impressed.”
Oh, she had to go there? “We were ten! That was before puberty kicked in, and trust me, puberty was generous.” Ford straightened and began jokingly undoing the knot on the drawstring of his mesh basketball shorts. “Here, I’ll show you.”
Tucker placed his hand on Ford’s forearm. “How about I just prevent a lawsuit before it starts?”
“Like there’d be a lawsuit,” Ford muttered. “If I really flashed her, Murph here would bury my body in a backwoods bog, and no one would find me.”
“Truth,” Easton and Shep said at the same time, and Addie beamed as if it were the best compliment she’d ever received.
“Aww, thanks, guys. I love you, too.”
They began their first round of poker, and when Ford took a drink of beer, he twisted his neck and sniffed his armpit. He didn’t smell that bad. Just used-up deodorant and a healthy dose of smoke.
“Heard there was a fire at Maisy’s Bakery today,” Shep said, probably getting a whiff of the evidence.
“Oh yeah, how’d that go?” Addie tossed a couple of poker chips in the center of the table. “Rumors ranged between a false call and a blazing inferno where you saved women and children, but the middle ground sounded the most legit.”