Page 33 of Tate (The Montana Marshalls #2)

T he 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 and rows 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 darkening yard. 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.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Oh no. She’d meant it as a compliment.

“I was just thinking that maybe sometimes I do that. I sort of don’t think about the consequences. Like our last op. I’m thinking that maybe I should have not engaged with those militants?—”

“Ford—”

“Or maybe stuck around like some kind of hero at your mother’s house. I…sort of thought maybe I was helping…”

“You were helping. Gunnar loved you. And…” She lifted a shoulder. “Thanks for taking care of Axel.”

“You could have handled him. And maybe not gotten thrown out of the house.”

“Maybe.” She looked back out at the horizon. “I’ve learned a few things, that’s true.”

“Since Gary?”

She glanced at him. “That’s really bugging you, isn’t it?”

His mouth opened, then he turned away, his jaw hard. “Yes. Actually. Yes, it is. I just keep imagining the worst?—”

“Yes.”

He looked at her, and she lifted a shoulder. “Yes. To everything you’re thinking. Gary was my mother’s boyfriend, but he was also ‘Uncle Gary’ to me.” She finger quoted the words. “And Uncle Gary liked little girls.”

Ford’s eyes darkened.

“That’s why I joined the Navy as soon as I turned seventeen.”

“Did you tell your mother?”

“No.” She held up her hand to the argument forming on his face.

“Listen. It wasn’t like that at first. He didn’t…

well, nothing serious happened until I was fourteen, and after that, I figured out ways to dodge him.

I slept in the car or stayed at friends’ houses.

And, like I said, it wasn’t all the time—just when he got drunk.

Or when he and my mother were fighting. And then…

” She looked away. “You learn to live with things, especially if you want to be safe.”

He was silent beside her and when she finally looked over, his jaw was so hard she thought he might break something.

But she started at the wetness in his eyes. She touched his arm. “It’s okay, Ford.”

“In what world is it okay?” His voice rose and he took a wavering breath. “It’s not okay, Scarlett. Nothing serious until you were fourteen ? It’s all serious, Red. You shouldn’t ever have to be scared, let alone learn to live with things to be safe . ”

And then he closed his eyes, as if reining in more. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what life you lived, what shoes you were in. I’m not judging?—”

“Yes, you are?—”

He opened his eyes. “No, I’m not. I’m angry. I’m wishing that I had been there—or someone—to step in. To be the person who made it stop.”

Oh, Ford. “You made it stop with Axel.”

He drew in a breath then. Licked his lips, turned away, an emotion on his face she couldn’t read. “Yeah, well, I got you kicked out of your home.”

“It wasn’t my home. I was a guest. And I…

the longer I stayed the more I was freaking out, so at least now I can get some clarity.

” She sighed and walked off the porch. He followed her, and behind them the music faded.

“I guess I’m just trying to figure out why I always have to be the one to save my mother.

She abandoned me . But I can’t abandon her, and it makes me… I’m so angry.”

Her own words made her catch her breath.

“Yeah, I’m not just angry, I’m furious .

I’m just…I don’t know. But my entire life all I’ve wanted was to get away from her, and I still can’t.

I used to beg my friends to let me spend Christmas or summer vacation with them.

I took every job I could so I could be out of the house, and I’d still come home and find her drunk, or gone, or…

after Gary, with who knows who.” She drew in a breath, cutting her voice low again.

“And here I am, having to give up my career to take care of her. And of course I have to—she’s my mother. But…I’m just mad. At life, maybe.”

“Maybe you get home health care for her and move her down to San Diego.”

“Axel will never let me do that.”

Ford’s eyes darkened. “You let me take care of Axel.”

“Ford. C’mon. What are you going to do? You can’t shoot him.”

He wore a look like that might be exactly what he wanted to do. “Guys like Axel are just cowards at their core. Trust me, I know. You get Axel alone, and he’ll fold.”

She blinked at him, and he took a breath, looked away.

Huh.

But before she could chase that, he turned back to her. “Let’s get out of here.”

She frowned.

“I’m going to change out of this sausage casing, and I’ll meet you in the barn in ten minutes. Wear jeans.”

“Ford.”

“Please ?”

Well, when he said it like that. “Aye, aye.”

He grinned at her and then took her hand and pulled her to the house, letting go as they walked inside. He didn’t look back as he headed upstairs to his room. She was sleeping in the main floor den, so she went inside, changed into a pair of jeans and a T-shirt and her Converse tennis shoes.

A slow song was playing as she came out and noticed the dance floor was packed. She wanted to high-five Ford for his brilliant escape idea.

She met him in the barn. He wore a pair of faded jeans, his cowboy boots, and a hat.

He had a pretty Appaloosa bridled. “What—no, Ford. I can’t ride.”

“C’mon, Red. Trust me.” He stood next to a bench, jumped on it and threw his leg over the horse’s back. He held out his hand, and she took a breath.

“You can’t be a spec ops soldier without knowing how to ride. Did you never hear of The Horse Soldiers or 12 Strong ?”

“You should be the team negotiator.” She held up her hand, and in a second he’d pulled her on behind him.

“Arms around my waist.”

“Where else am I going to hold on? The tail?”

But sure, she’d put her arms around his lean waist, tuck herself against him, breathe in the strength radiating out of him as he urged the animal forward, into the darkness.

“I’ve never been on a horse,” she said as she moved with him, with the horse. Its body was wider than she’d imagined, but the smell of horseflesh, earthy, honest, bled into the night as the sounds of the cicadas, the occasional low of a cow rose up to fill the silence.

“Just hang on to me. You’ll be fine.”

The mantra of her life, maybe. Oh, she was turning into a romance heroine. What happened to the wannabe rescuer?

Maybe she could be both tough and sappy?