CHAPTER ONE
“Thirty-two is not old,” Daffodil McGregor muttered under her breath while pasting a simpering smile on her face for the benefit of her elderly, “well-meaning” hag of an aunt. The one who had just told her that being cute and spunky lost its charm once you left your twenties behind. Horrible crone. If Daffodil were younger, she would slip some laxatives into the old girl’s tea and gleefully watch her desperately dodder her way to the toilet. Being a responsible adult could be so boring at times.
“Daff, I need your advice, please.” Her youngest sister, Daisy, wrapped an arm around her waist and turned her away from Aunt Ivy, who was still lecturing Daff about her waning charms. “Sorry, Auntie, I just need to borrow her for a few seconds.”
Daisy hurriedly dragged her away from Ivy, and Daff frowned at her shorter sister.
“What advice?”
“None.” Daisy grinned. “Auntie Ivy looked like she needed rescuing from the impending Daffsplosion.”
“She was pissing me off, harping on and on about how old I was getting. Why are they even here? Who invited them?”
“Daff, I can’t not have the aunties at my engagement party,” Daisy admonished, and Daff rolled her eyes.
“It’s just an engagement party, not a wedding or anything.” Daff scowled, and Daisy dimpled at her adorably.
“It’s still a big deal,” she said. Daff sighed and tucked one of Daisy’s errant curls behind her ear.
“I can’t believe my baby sister is getting married,” she said, and Daisy grinned.
“I know, right? And to such a stud.” Daff’s eyes drifted over to where Daisy’s frankly gorgeous fiancé, Mason, was earnestly conversing with his older brother, Spencer. She had to admit, Mason Carlisle did fantastic things for a three-piece suit. Her attention shifted to the man standing beside him. Spencer didn’t look as comfortable in a suit. In fact, he looked too big, too rough, and too damned barbaric to do the Alexander McQueen suit any justice. He kept tugging at the tie, which—added to his overly long hair and dark stubble—gave him a generally disheveled appearance.
Mason—always aware of where Daisy was in a room—glanced over and graced her with a very hot, very intimate smile. Daff rolled her eyes when her sister sighed and practically melted in pleasure. Seriously, these two were perpetually horny. It was downright embarrassing to be in their company at times.
Spencer also looked over, and his stormy dark-green eyes clashed with Daff’s for a second before she deliberately looked away. She couldn’t stand the man. She had once harbored a smidgen of affection for him, but that was before he hurt Daisy in a misguided attempt to get closer to Daff. She peered over at her flushed sister, who was still eye-fucking Mason, and sighed. Okay, so everything had worked out in the end and Daisy had forgiven and forgotten because the whole debacle had won her Mason. But Daff was made of sterner stuff and Spencer had pissed her off. She didn’t forgive as easily.
Still, Daff was the maid of honor and Spencer was the best man, so for the sake of harmony it was probably better to declare a truce. The last McGregor wedding hadn’t ended well—her middle sister, Lia, had thankfully called the whole thing off—so Daff wanted to be sure this one was without any drama. Establishing some kind of peace with Spencer would probably go a long way toward making things easier for Daisy.
Mason was coming over, looking like a lovestruck fool floating on a sea of pheromones. The guy was practically drooling, for God’s sake.
“Hey, angel. Miss me?” His voice was pitched low and clearly intended for the only person currently in his field of vision. Daff might as well not have existed.
“Always.” Daisy smiled. Jesus, they lived together, spent every spare moment in each other’s company, and had been dancing together less than five minutes ago. Daff couldn’t fathom this kind of yearning for anybody. Once, long ago when she had been little more than a naïve, foolish girl, it might have been something she aspired to. Now, hard-earned experience had taught her that those innocent dreams of romance and love were not for her, and she hoped never to actually feel anything remotely similar. How terrifying that would be. And yet . . . sometimes it physically hurt Daff to see them together. She was pleased for Daisy—her sister deserved all the happiness in the world and Mason made her ecstatic—but looking at them made Daff feel . . . lonely. The thought made her uncomfortable, and she just wanted to get away from them.
“Anyway, thanks for the rescue, Deedee,” she said. No response. “I’ll just be heading . . . over there somewhere.” No response. “To, you know, dance on the tables. Naked, probably. Haven’t decided yet.” No response. All righty, then.
She turned away, grabbing a glass of bubbly from one of the tables on the way. She looked around the crowded room. Her parents were hosting this party in their own home. It was early days yet, but Daisy had opted to do her entire wedding at home. The ceremony would be in the huge backyard, beneath the weeping willows out by the large duck pond. The farm was really an ideal setting for this wedding, and for veterinarian Daisy, who had always been happy to run around with the geese and ducks and cows, it was a perfect fit.
Daff circled the room restlessly, feeling out of sorts and a little bit moody, like a shark circling the shallows looking for a potential victim. She spotted her prey just a couple of meters away and made her way to his side. He was a big bastard, topping her five foot seven by at least seven inches. He was massively built with shoulders that could block out the sun; he was easily twice her size, but all muscle. She knew he kept fit, always out playing sports, swimming, cycling, and surfing. While Mason had a lean elegance to his gorgeous body, Spencer was all brute force.
“Stop fiddling with that tie,” she said when he tugged at the length of fabric again. “You’ve done enough damage.”
“What do you care?” he sneered, glaring at her from beneath that fall of black hair. He looked like a beast, hulking, menacing . . . His hair fell over his eyes, a wild, sleek mane. It was kind of thrilling how savage he seemed at times. Barely civilized. No wonder he always messed up flirting with her—he had all the finesse of a stampeding bull.
“Fine, if you want to continue looking like an absolute primitive, then by all means, fiddle away.” She continued to stand beside him, sipping her bubbly, while he wavered for a few seconds before his hand discreetly went up to touch the knot of his tie, obviously checking if it was as bad as she’d said. She glanced at the dance floor, where Daisy and Mason were now dancing together, still completely wrapped up in each other.
“So your brother finally popped the question,” she said.
“I think he started asking her about six months ago. She finally said yes,” Spencer corrected, and Daff grinned. The younger couple’s relationship had been anything but ordinary, so the news didn’t surprise her in the slightest.
“And you’re the best man?” She framed it as a question, despite already knowing the answer, and he nodded. “Well, since I’m the maid of honor, we’ll be partnered and expected to do stuff together. I just wanted to be sure you were okay with that.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“We haven’t really been on good terms.”
“I hadn’t noticed. You don’t exactly feature prominently in my life.” Ouch. That hurt.
“Right. Anyway. Bygones?”
“If you say so.” He shrugged, clearly not caring less. Feeling foolish, Daff walked away and wished she’d never approached him in the first place. She was annoyed with herself for allowing him to get the better of her. He wasn’t exactly the sharpest tool in the shed. Years of repeatedly getting thumped on the head couldn’t be good for the brain, and Spencer typified the term dumb jock. She chose not to acknowledge the fact that he was a successful businessman with a highly lucrative sporting goods business. He had capitalized on the minor fame his short-lived rugby career had generated, and it had resulted in the right doors opening at the right time. He was still that big, sulky brute who had been two years ahead of her in high school. The bad boy with the seemingly delinquent tendencies. A causeless rebel who—she initially believed—had seen her as yet another trophy to be won.
She tossed back her drink and looked around for another tray of the stuff. Finding nothing close by, she put the glass on the closest surface and indulged in one—or several—of the delicious canapés instead.
“Why are you hiding back here?” her middle sister’s light voice asked from behind her, and Daff guiltily turned to face Lia—cheeks stuffed with tiny canapés.
“Hey.”
“Jeez, Daff, hungry?” Lia asked playfully, handing her a napkin. “You have cream cheese on your face.”
Daff took the napkin with a nod and swallowed down the delicious little treats before wiping her mouth. Lia’s finger indicated left, and Daff swiped the napkin across her cheek.
“Got it?” she asked and Lia nodded with a sweet smile. Her middle sister was always sweet and too damned nice for her own good. Just over a year ago, she’d nearly allowed herself to be railroaded into marriage with a guy who was entirely wrong for her, but she had thankfully come to her senses at the eleventh hour.
“So are you hiding?” Lia asked, and Daff shrugged.
“Auntie Ivy had a go at me. I’m old, blah blah blah. Better catch a man before the last of my looks fade, and so on and so forth.” Lia snorted and daintily picked out one of the canapés for herself.
“Aunt Mattie was helpfully informing me that I shouldn’t sulk over Clayton forever. Got to get myself back on the market ASAP. Before my ovaries wither and I die a bitter, childless old maid. Or something to that effect.” She smiled, inviting Daff to share the joke, but her eyes were shadowed as ghosts—barely dead and buried—surfaced to haunt her.
“They’re harmless, silly old ladies who are stuck in the dark ages. Independent women are foreign concepts to them.”
“And yet none of them ever married,” Lia said and glumly contemplated the canapé in her hand before taking a delicate nibble.
“Maybe they want to save us from the same terrible fate?” Daff suggested with a grin before sobering. “Don’t let them get to you, Lia.”
“Maybe it’s not entirely progressive of me,” Lia confessed, keeping her eyes glued to the canapé, “but I want a husband and a family. I want everything I thought I would get with Clayton.”
“Years of verbal put-downs, a man who flirted with—and possibly fucked—everything in a skirt, who made our baby sister feel both sexually harassed and physically lacking?” Daff asked skeptically, the latter referring to Daisy’s condemning revelations about Clayton on the eve of Lia and Clayton’s doomed wedding. “Because that’s all you would have gotten from that ass.”
“I know.” Lia’s voice was a mix of exasperation and pain. “I know that, okay. And I meant I wanted the fantasy of the perfect marriage, with the perfect children and the perfect life.”
“Sounds perfectly boring.” Daff shrugged.
“To you, maybe. But it sounds like bliss to me.” Daff made a noncommittal sound, not sure how to respond to that. While Lia’s dream life was not one that particularly appealed to her, Daff envied Lia her certainty. Her sister knew what she wanted, and Daff still had no clue.
She managed an exclusive clothing boutique in the center of their small tourist town. Business was sluggish in winter and crazy busy over summer. Pretty much like all the other businesses in town. It was dead boring at the moment, with a few loyal patrons who popped in more for a chat than anything else. Daff was the only employee during winter, and the sheer boredom nearly drove her insane. The owner had a few other boutiques set up around the country and rarely visited Riversend, content to let Daff run the place as she saw fit as long as they were turning a profit, no matter how small.
It was a dead-end job with very few prospects and not the least bit challenging, but it was all Daff was currently qualified to do. She had fallen into the management thing, getting the promotion simply because she’d worked there longer than any other employee. A high school temp job had turned into her only work experience, and she was too damned scared to try anything else. She’d started there when she was sixteen, and before she knew it another sixteen years had passed and here she was. Same job, same life, same mistakes over and over again. It was literally all she knew, and she was terrified that it was all she would ever know.
Spencer tugged at his tie again—he swore to God the thing was getting tighter with every passing second. He knew a frown was settling on his face and that his heavy, dark brows, overly long hair, and day-old stubble probably made him look terrifying, but he was well past caring. He hated events like these, but his brother was getting hitched and he was determined to be a good sport and do the whole big brother thing. He was the only family Mason had, and while he knew he wasn’t ideal, he would damned well do his brother proud, even if it killed him.
His eyes searched for the younger man; Mason was laughing—a deep belly laugh—and hauling Daisy into his arms for a kiss.
Little Daisy McGregor. She made Mason ridiculously happy. It was the damnedest thing; his brother was hot for the most overlooked, underappreciated woman in town. Not only hot for her but head over heels in love with her. And Spencer had to admit, since getting to know her, he could understand why Mason felt the way he did.
Daisy was a sweetheart. Funny, smart, and cuter than anybody had ever given her credit for. Just showed how superficial people could be. Nobody had ever considered her remotely pretty, with her weight issues, frizzy hair, and huge glasses, until Mason had come along. Now every eye was drawn to her. There was something about her, and Mason had seen it and snatched her up before anyone else could even appreciate it.
Spencer scanned the rest of the room, his eyes unconsciously seeking the one person who intrigued and frustrated him in equal measures. Daffodil McGregor was chatting with her other sister, Lia. The two women were strikingly similar, nearly equal in height, the same dark-brown hair, clear gray eyes—a trait that they shared with Daisy—and willowy bodies. But while Lia looked soft and delicate, Daff had a harder edge to her. A nervous energy that made her seem impatient and restless. It hadn’t been there when she was younger. She had been a carefree, independent, irreverent girl, and Spencer had been drawn to her like a moth to a flame. He always felt hopelessly out of her league, of course, but that hadn’t stopped him from not-so-secretly pining for her in high school.
A fledgling flirt, she had managed to keep him hopeful with the occasional smile, greeting, or slow, seductive sweep of those long, dark lashes of hers. And she had always given him just enough attention to make him think he had a chance. Which often resulted in him making a complete fool of himself.
What a pathetic, lovesick idiot he had been, sending her all those heartfelt notes and flowers and truly awful poems. He winced at the recollection now. She had had him wrapped around her pretty, spiteful little finger.
He had grown out of it, of course, or so he’d thought, until last year when—fresh out of a failed relationship—he had tried and been shot down again. Only this time both Mason and Daisy had been casualties of his stupidity. Luckily his mistake had eventually yielded positive results for the other couple, but Daff had irrationally accused him of hurting her sister, when—as far as Spencer was concerned—she had been just as much to blame for the entire debacle.
Spencer dragged his eyes away from her and surveyed the rest of the room. A shitload of beautiful people wearing beautiful clothes and dripping in expensive jewelry. Spencer didn’t belong here—he should be at home eating pizza, drinking beers, and watching TV. Mason fit into this world; he knew how to talk to these people, but Spencer felt completely exposed, like an impostor pretending to be more than he was. He didn’t know what to say or do. Literally the only person he felt comfortable with in this room was his brother, and Mason was wholly preoccupied with Daisy. Spencer tried not to feel a sting of betrayal and hurt by that. Mason was getting married; this was how it was going to be from now on, how it was supposed to be. But rationalizing didn’t make him feel any less excluded from his brother’s changing life. It was just that after Mason had returned home following twelve years abroad, Spencer had believed they’d have more time together. Instead, Mason had spent a year traveling around the country and had been back in Riversend for just a short while before meeting Daisy, falling in love, and setting up house with her.
Spencer sighed and chugged down his drink.
“We’ve been watching you, young man.” The creaky old voice coming from right beside him startled him, and his head jerked down to stare at two of the four old ladies who had been glaring at everybody from the comfort of their sofa all evening. The one who had spoken looked likely to keel over any second; she was hunched over, holding onto a cane with a gnarled, shaking hand, and glaring up at him through Coke-bottle lenses. Spencer had heard about Daisy’s aunts from his brother and knew that nothing good could come from this confrontation. He peered over at the sofa, where the other two old women were avidly watching the exchange.
“Hello,” he ventured tentatively, but she merely sniffed—a disturbingly wet sound—before carrying on with what she’d been saying before.
“We’ve been watching you lurk in the shadows like a thug. Am I going to have to tell Millicent to count the good silver after you leave?” Insulted, Spencer glared at the horrid old woman and said nothing. “Strong, silent type, are you? That won’t get you anywhere in this family. You’ve got to speak up for yourself.”
“Maybe he’s a little . . .” The other woman spoke up for the first time. She did little loops at her temple with her index finger and crossed her eyes. This woman was even shorter and older than the one with the cane and sported a few impressive dark whiskers on her jaw. Even her wrinkles had wrinkles. She cackled, showing off her ill-fitting, startlingly white dentures. “Hit your head a few too many times, didn’t you, boy? Bless.”
Spencer frantically scanned the room, searching for an escape route, but the other two women had left the sofa to join their cohorts and Spencer was surrounded by gray-haired little old ladies. How the fuck had they managed to ambush him like this?
“Why aren’t you married and making babies yet?” one of them—he didn’t know which—demanded in an obnoxiously loud voice. “You’re not getting any younger, you know. And the older you get, the more your sperm loses its motility and desire to swim. I read that on the Google.”
“I, uh . . . I think my brother’s calling me,” Spencer prevaricated desperately.
“Nonsense, he’s too busy making cow eyes at our Daisy. So why aren’t you talking to anyone? You’ve been standing in this corner all evening, barely sparing a word for anyone.”
“That’s not true.” The most fairy-godmother-ish of the quartet spoke up in a sickeningly sweet voice that perfectly matched her snow-white hair and rosy apple cheeks. “He spoke with Daffodil.” She graced Spencer with a beneficent smile before adding, “She’s single, you know.”
Oh hell no!
“I really have to go,” he lied, trying very hard to keep the desperation from his voice.
“Where to?” Glasses asked.
“I wanted to tell Lia something.”
“She’s single, too,” Fairy Godmother offered.
“But she’s fragile.” This from Dentures. He looked at the other one with the hairy white eyebrows. She hadn’t said a word so far, and it made him hope for some kind of merciful intervention, but she merely gave him a measuring look in return, telling him not to hope for much in the way of help from her.
“She is fragile, so if all you want from her is sex, then stay away from her, mister,” Dentures warned him, and Spencer swallowed back a groan.
“Spencer, I see you’ve met my great aunts.” Daisy’s very welcome voice sounded from behind him, and he turned to face her with a relieved smile.
“We haven’t been formally introduced,” he said. They’d been too busy haranguing him to bother with social niceties like introductions.
“Oh, well then, allow me,” Daisy said, her eyes alight with mischief and laughter. “These are my aunts Ivy”—Glasses—“Helen”—Dentures—“Mattie”—Eyebrows—“and Gertrude.” Fairy Godmother.
“Nice to meet you all,” he gritted, forcing a smile when all he wanted to do was run for the hills.
“Aunties, I hope you don’t mind, but Spencer has promised me a dance.” She didn’t wait for a response but took his hand and dragged him away from the four old women and onto the dance floor.
“Oh my God, I think I’m in love with you,” he muttered fervently, and she laughed.
“That bad, was it?” she asked sympathetically, and he groaned.
“You have no idea.”
“Oh, trust me, I have an inkling.” The song playing was romantic and dreamy, and she stepped into his hold, fully prepared to slow dance with him. He put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her slightly away from him in order to achieve what he felt was maximum safe distance between their bodies. She laughed at him and wriggled under his arms to snuggle close against his chest.
“Daisy, I may be older and taller than my brother, but he was an elite soldier and is fully capable of kicking my ass if he thinks I’m getting too touchy-feely with you.”
“We’re just dancing.” She laughed. “Keep your hands off my butt—he’s possessive over it—and you should be okay.”
Spencer sighed and acquiesced. She was a nice armful, and once again he applauded his brother for spotting this gem when the rest of the town’s male population had been stupidly blind to her charms.
“So what did my aunts say to you?”
“Warned me not to steal the silver, asked me why I wasn’t married and producing babies, and then advised me that these are my best sperm-producing years. Kind of reminded me that both your sisters are single, but also cautioned me against hurting Lia. She’s very fragile right now, you see?”
“Jeez, they couldn’t have been talking to you for more than five minutes and they managed to offend you in how many different ways? That may well be a new record for them.”
“Awesome,” he deadpanned, and she chuckled.
“Don’t take it too personally, Spencer. We’ve all fallen victim to their so-called pearls of wisdom. They think because they’re older than time it gives them special license to say whatever they like.”
He was about to respond when he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. He sighed and removed his arms from around Daisy’s waist and turned to face his steely-eyed brother.
“Hands off my woman, Spence. Go find one of your own.”
“You’re being silly.” Daisy laughed. “I’m enjoying my dance with him.”
“Were you going to do the chicken dance with him?” Mason barked, narrowing his eyes at her as she grinned unrepentantly.
“I was considering it.” Spencer rolled his eyes when Mason growled and grabbed her against him. This weird thing the two of them had about that ridiculous dance was completely unfathomable.
“Thanks for sending her to my rescue, bro,” he said as he stepped away and allowed Mason to take over the dance.
“No idea what you’re talking about,” Mason said, his face like granite while his eyes shone with repressed laughter.
“Sure you don’t,” Spencer retorted as he swiveled on his foot and strode away, making sure he was heading in the opposite direction of the old ladies. He wondered how long he’d have to stick around before he could leave. They’d already finished dinner—surely that meant he could make his escape without looking too obvious. He was tired after a long day at work, and while he was happy for his brother and Daisy, he’d had about all the family togetherness he could take with the McGregors.
He cast a discreet look around the room. Everybody was laughing and drinking and chatting. Daisy and Mason were so completely wrapped up in each other he doubted anybody would notice if he left now.
He edged his way toward the doorway of the large room and stepped out into the relative quiet of the big old house’s foyer. Nobody was out here, and he wondered where his coat had disappeared to. He didn’t have a clue and decided to get it from Mason in the morning. He made a beeline for the front door before anybody could come out of the other room and spot him. He gratefully stepped outside into darkness, relishing the cold, fresh air on his overheated skin.
There were way too many cars parked all over the lawn and front yard, but thankfully Spencer had had the foresight to park his 4x4 outside the farm’s front gate. It was a short walk to the gate, but at least he wasn’t blocked in. He didn’t even mind the sluggish drizzle, just happy to be away from all those people.
The farm was situated about three and a half miles outside Riversend, and the short dirt road that connected the farm to the main road was unlit. Because it was so dark, Spencer jumped and then cursed out loud when his headlights picked up a single slender figure walking briskly in the dark ahead of him. The cursing became more potent when he realized who it was.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” She was literally the last person on earth he wanted to see right now, but he couldn’t in good conscience let her continue to walk into town alone. He slowed his car down when it was abreast of her, but she kept her gaze straight ahead and continued to walk, ignoring him as he kept pace with her. He let down his passenger window.
“Daff?” At the sound of his voice, she finally stopped, her pale face lit only by his dashboard display.
“Spencer.”
“Why the fuck are you walking out here alone in the dark?”
“My car was blocked.”
“Where are you going?”
“Home.”
“Don’t you live at the farm?”
“No, I’ve been renting Daisy’s house since she moved in with Mason.”
“Get in, I’ll drive you,” he commanded reluctantly.
“That’s fine, it’s not far.”
“It’s a fifty-minute walk. Probably longer in this weather and in the dark. Get in.”
“Spencer . . .”
“Get in the goddamn car, Daff!”
“Hey, watch it! You don’t get to talk to me like that.”
“I do when you’re being an idiot.” Her perfectly arched brows puckered into a frown as she glared at him. She wrapped her coat more tightly around her slender frame and continued walking. His car crept along beside her.
“Leave me alone, Spencer,” she huffed a few moments later.
“No. If you won’t get in, I’ll damned well keep driving beside you to be sure you get home safely. Of course that’ll take about fifty minutes when I could get you there in, what? Five? Less?”
She stopped again and, with a muttered curse, yanked the passenger door open and clambered into the seat.
“I’m only doing this because I’d rather not deal with you for longer than I have to,” she seethed, and he shook his head.
“No argument from me,” he agreed. “Fasten your seat belt.” He watched her do that before gunning the engine and heading toward town.
God, she smelled really, really good. He couldn’t quite place the fragrance; he wasn’t very good with stuff like that. Honeysuckle, maybe? Or was it vanilla? Did those two things even smell the same? He had no clue, but he couldn’t get enough of it. It made him want to lean toward her and bury his nose in the elegant, silken curve of her neck and just inhale her.
“For the record, walking down an isolated dark road in the middle of the night is a dumb thing to do.”
“It’s safe enough. I’ve done it heaps of times.”
“Have you forgotten what happened to your sister last year?” he growled, infuriated by her blasé response. Daisy had been ambushed and attacked on a similarly dark road.
“It’s safer here,” she pointed out, and he scoffed at that.
“You never know who could be out there lurking in the dark, Daff. Don’t do it again.”
“You have no right to tell me what to do, Spencer.”
“Somebody has to. Might as well be me.”
“Why did you leave the party?” she asked. She was staring out the window while her hands fidgeted in her lap. Her restlessness was contagious, and he found himself tapping nervously on his steering wheel.
“Not my scene. Why did you leave?”
“I’m tired. I have work in the morning, and I didn’t feel much like socializing.” It was a more detailed answer than he’d been expecting, and he mulled over it for a moment.
“I didn’t really know anybody there,” he admitted. “And I wanted to avoid being ambushed by your aunts again.”
Her head swiveled, and a grin lit her face. Spencer cursed the lack of decent light in the car because he couldn’t see every nuance of that smile.
“They can be a little overwhelming.” Understatement of the century.
“No shit. The mean one with the thick glasses—”
“Ivy.”
“Yeah. She accused me of making off with the silver. And I swear to God, the one with the toothache-inducing voice—”
“Gert?” There was no disguising the blatant amusement in her voice by now.
“She was trying to set me up with you or Lia. Possibly both of you.”
“Oh hell no!”
“My sentiments exactly. But I should probably consider settling down, because apparently my sperm are losing their will—and ability—to procreate by the second.”
She laughed. The sound was so unexpected and completely charming that Spencer’s hand jerked on the wheel and the car swerved for a microsecond before he righted it. She didn’t notice but continued to chuckle quietly to herself.
“Welcome to our world. Daisy, Lia, and I have been hearing about our various shortcomings all our lives.” The words, while light, were laced with an undercurrent of bitterness. “I love my aunties to death, but they can be a bit . . . trying sometimes.” The turnoff to the main road into town came moments later, and Spencer focused on negotiating it before glancing at her again. The streetlights allowed more illumination into the car, and he was struck by the absolute sadness on her face. It intrigued and disturbed him. He’d always considered Daffodil McGregor a pretty, pampered princess. What did she have to be sad about?
He drove through their quiet, tiny town. The only places that were still open at this time of night were the local pub, Ralphie’s, and the more family-friendly eatery, MJ’s. Everything else was dark and closed, and there were no other cars on the road. It didn’t take long to reach Daisy McGregor’s tiny house, which was situated just on the edge of Riversend. It was a quaint little place and resembled something out of the book of fairy tales he’d secretly hoarded when he was a boy. A sweet little gingerbread house, with a picture-perfect lawn.
“Why did you move here?” he asked after drawing the car to a stop outside the gate, and she shrugged. For a moment he thought that was the only answer he would get until she unexpectedly elaborated.
“I’m thirty-two, and still living with my parents was just sad.”
“The farmhouse is huge—it’s not like you guys are all up in one another’s space.”
“It was starting to get claustrophobic. I felt smothered.” Another startlingly candid revelation.
“I see.” He didn’t. Not really. For as long as he remembered, it had always been just him and Mason, with their parents coming and going whenever the hell they pleased. He didn’t know what it was like to feel smothered by family. To him it sounded like paradise to be surrounded by people who cared about you.
“Anyway, thanks for the ride. Sorry I gave you grief about it.” She hopped out of the cab without waiting for a response from him, and he watched as she rounded the front of the car and kept watching until she made her way to the front door and then into the house. It was only after the interior lights switched on that he drove off.