Page 93 of Tate
Tate held up his fist.
“Hoo-yah.” Ford bumped it. Turned to the door. “Hey, Glo. I’m tagging you in.”
She stared after Ford, then turned to Tate. “You okay, tough guy?”
She looked so concerned, her hazel-green eyes searching his. He reached for her, his arms around her waist, pulling her close, meeting those beautiful eyes. “I am now.” Right now.
He wouldn’t think about tomorrow.
So he bent, searching her gaze for a brief moment, caught in the wonder, the sparkle, the hope that was Glo, the sense that, with her, he didn’t have to be anything more…and kissed her.
Giving himself that second chance.
9
The perfect wedding, the perfect life. One she’d never have.
Not that Scarlett was made for all this happy-sappy, family reunion Hallmark movie-type emotion, but something about the simple ceremony of seeing tough Gilly Priest marry big Reuben Marshall, had tugged a cord deep inside her.
Maybe one of the romantic threads she’d inherited from her unlucky-in-love mother, the ones she’d been trying to pluck from her life.
She needed to remember that men, in general, couldn’t be trusted.
Well, except for a handful. With the last name Marshall, maybe, because Ford had surely been more than a gentleman, letting her weep on his shoulder as they drove out of Idaho. Making a bed for her in the back seat of his truck while he slept in the truck bed under the stars, garbed only in his leather jacket. Even last night, after her painful gaffe where she somehow opened private family wounds, Ford had said nothing of recrimination.
The man couldn’t be real. Especially looking the way he did today—he’d gussied up in his dress whites, with his rows androws and rows of medals, including his trident. He escorted his mother down the three-row aisle to sit in the front, then stood at attention behind her.
She’d seen plenty of sailors in their dress whites. None filled out their uniform quite like Petty Officer First Class Ford Marshall, United States Navy SEAL.
It wasn’t like the rest of the family didn’t clean up well—Reuben wore a black suit, and Tate and Knox both wore suitcoats, jeans, and their cowboy boots. Scarlett sat in the back row with Kelsey and Glo—never mind their crazy outfits. She knew of the Yankee Belles but meeting them in person felt surreal. Kelsey was maybe down to earth, but she wore a deep-V-necked purple dress and a pair of cowboy boots. Glo, however, wore a silvery short dress that cut out in the middle, showing off her tanned stomach, not to mention her legs, and only accentuated all her curves.
Like she might be onstage or something.
And Scarlett felt downright dowdy in her plain black dress she’d bought from a thrift store. Maybe she should have worn her uniform, but somehow those only looked good on the men.
Besides Gilly’s parents and two sisters, friends of the bride and groom had driven down for the wedding, mostly coworkers who jumped fire with them. A small but sweet wedding that seemed to be over pretty quickly.
And with a very odd sermon in the middle, from some obscure text in the Old Testament. Not that she knew anything about the Bible, but even she could figure out that warnings about dry wells and broken cisterns weren’t a great encouragement.
Although, maybe appropriate according to her view of marriage, something she planned to stay far, far away from.
Now she stood on the porch, the music from the reception taking place in the main room winding out into the darkeningyard. Last night’s fire still played in her mind as she peered out into the horizon, this safe world that Ford’s family had built.
She couldn’t begin to imagine this kind of legacy.
Tried to decide if it would feel suffocating.
“You okay, Red?”
She glanced over toward the voice. Ford had come out the back door to stand beside her. He’d taken off his lid, and now it was tucked in his back pocket. And he’d shaved for the ceremony, the scent of aftershave on his skin.
She turned away before it went to her head. Just friends.
“Nice ceremony,” she said. “Sweet.”
“Yeah. Reuben should have married her two years ago, but he’s sort of shy about things. Doesn’t like to go charging in, unless it’s a fire.”
“Not like you, huh?” She glanced over and meant it as a joke, but some of the blood had drained from his face.
