5 years later

Paul McGregor

The roll of the waves spinning off Lake Michigan relaxed him from the bottom of his feet to the roots of his soul. Slashes of burning crimson painted across tangerine orange clouds, the sun sinking over the horizon and burnishing the world in its bronze glow. The mineral tang of the lake mixed with the fresh scent of the ocean, clearing his mind. He always felt at peace watching the sunset from the deck of what used to be his grandparent’s house. The rambling home belonged to him now, and he felt a sense of pride at how well he’d restored the place to its original glory.

Paul considered leaving his expansive second story deck and going into his newly updated kitchen to get a cold beer, then decided against the effort and continued to nurse the lukewarm one he had. The sun-bleached wood beneath his feet was smooth, worn down to satin by generations of feet, and as solid as stone. His Scottish great-grandfather had built the original home for his beautiful Dutch bride and they’d filled it with kids, laughter, and a whole lot of love. As the oldest grandson, Paul had inherited the place with their passing. He couldn’t help but feel like they were disappointed it stood empty except for him and his cat who barely tolerated his existence.

The movement of the tall beach grass swaying in the breeze drew his gaze over to the scrub brush at the edge of the forest, the elevated deck high enough that he could see all the way down to the shore. The sun still set over the harbor in the distance despite the late hour, and he lost himself in the beauty of the colorful sky. He loved these long summer evenings, loved the solitude of his home and the peace around him after a hectic life in the spotlight. From his sophomore year of high school up until about three and a half years ago, he’d been one of the best quarterbacks in professional football with a perfect life.

At least it seemed that way from the outside.

He’d married his beautiful high school sweetheart, had more money than he could spend in a lifetime, and lived an ideal existence in the eyes of the media. Men dreamed of being him and women would do anything to sleep with him, but it was all a carefully crafted illusion. In reality, his marriage had been in shambles, his wife fucking at least a dozen different guys behind his back, and he’d been lucky to get out with his life’s earnings intact thanks to an ironclad prenup. He’d been humiliated in the media and quickly learned that the higher people put you on a pedestal, the harder the fall back to Earth.

His early retirement from professional football due to an injury was a wakeup call to him of sorts. He’d spent a lot of the time since he retired traveling. Not to the luxurious hotels and resorts that he frequented with his ex...no, he went backpacking through Peru with a couple of his buddies and slept in local hotels or rented rooms from different families they met during their travels. They’d hiked through South America for three wonderful months. During that time, Paul had a big reality check about what was important, what mattered in life. He realized that for most of his adult life he’d been catered to so much he’d become just the kind of person he despised, a self-indulgent, entitled dickhead. While he wished he could blame his socialite wife, his greedy agent, or his insanely intense PR team for his attitude, truth was he’d started to believe his own hype and thought the world owed him.

How wrong he was.

After his divorce then injury, there had been a dark time in his life involving prescription pain killers. He didn’t like to dwell on it, but he’d lost himself in a deep depression. After sobering up with the help of his family, he decided he needed a changed, needed to find his purpose again. The backpacking trip to some of the poorest parts of South America had helped immensely with that. He’d realized that he was immensely blessed and vowed to share those blessings with others.

When he got back to the States, he’d thought a lot about what he wanted to do, where his money would really make a difference in people’s lives. At first his ambitions had been grand, massive foundations that would rival Bill Gates’ charity, then he’d started to scale it down, thinking on a more personal and local level. Like the rest of Michigan, the town of Green Haven had been hit hard by a financial decline over the last twenty years. Some businesses managed to hold on, but there were empty storefronts that needed to be filled, a lot of people who could use a decent job.

At least there used to be, before he got involved.

Satisfaction mixed well with his beer and he put his tanned, bare feet up on the railing then relaxed back into the hunter green padded deck chair. At least, he tried to relax. A strange restlessness toyed at him, an emptiness. For not the first time, he found himself feeling the need for companionship of some type. Someone to enjoy life with. Yeah, the sunset before him was spectacular, worth a million bucks, but it somehow seemed hollow as he watched it alone. Be nice to have a woman at his side, going to grab them both a cold beer while he watched her tight ass saunter away.

He didn’t lack in female companionship when he desired it, but all the women he took into his bed were adults who knew what they wanted, and a relationship wasn’t it. He was too busy for a girlfriend, didn’t have the time to go through all the dating bullshit, and had no desire to form an attachment any stronger than friendship. Thea, his ex, had been the queen of mind games, using his love against him like a weapon, and he bore the mental and emotional scars to prove it.

In the eyes of the women he dated, he was a still well-known, but retired football player with lots of cash and a modest amount of fame. None of them gave a shit that the neck injury which had retired him from the game still bothered him when it rained. Not a single one asked him what his middle name was, or where he’d gone to high school, or even how he liked his coffee. He never stuck around long enough for them to ask. The women he bedded were bold, confident, and knew what they wanted, which was him in bed, and they weren’t wearing their heart on their sleeve. If they seemed like they might be a nice girl, the kind you’d bring home to mom, he didn’t purse anything beyond a platonic relationship with them.

For a moment, he wondered if he should take a shower and head out to the waterfront bar his oldest brother Caleb owned with his wife Jasmin. There was always a crowd at Flagship, especially during the height of tourist season, and there were never a lack of beautiful women looking for a local souvenir to take back to their hotel room for the night. It would be a fun, sweaty evening of losing himself in sex—but tomorrow he’d find himself in the same place. Still alone, with yet another meaningless fuck to clutter up his brain. Besides, he’d stopped dating local women last year after two girls that he was seeing got in a fight at the Flagship’s massive outdoor bar. That shit had been embarrassing, his brothers still hadn’t let him live it down, and he’d seen the error of his ways right quick.

Jesus, that shit with Tammy and Missy had been a train wreck. He’d been there with Missy, drinking at the bar, and groping her ass when Tammy had walked in. He wasn’t exclusive with either woman, and had been upfront about it, but that didn’t matter. Tammy took one look at his hand cupping Missy’s ass and went ballistic. Like full on hair pulling, clothes ripping, screaming like a banshee cat fighting ballistic. The cops had to be called, and of course Paul’s brother Dean had been on duty and showed up with lights blazing. While Dean had been nothing but professional as the two women—now wearing mangled clothes, bloody scratches, and fucked up hair—wailed, he still managed to smirk at Paul’s discomfort every chance he got. It had been quite the spectacle in their small town, and Paul had been thankful that shit hadn’t ended up on YouTube.

So, in the immortal words of his father, Paul didn’t shit where he ate anymore and stayed away from women that didn’t live halfway across the country for most of the year.

He sighed and tipped the now warm lip of the beer bottle to his mouth. If he was twenty-one, the thought of two women fighting over him might have had some appeal, but he was over that bullshit. In fact, he hadn’t slept with a woman in over five months. Normally, he’d be wondering if something was wrong, if he was dying, because he loved women. Loved their curves, their softness, and their taste. What he didn’t love was their useless, bullshit, chick drama. Fuck, his ex thrived on drama, the more the better, and he was so glad he no longer had to deal with that mess.

Yeah, he didn’t need the craziness of a woman complicating his life.

He had his cat, he had his friends and family, and there wasn’t anything else he desired.

Seagulls cried off in the distance, high shrieks that grew louder as they swooped in on the offshore breeze.

His feet hit the bleached wood deck with a thump as he heard something that didn’t sound quite like the cry of a gull.

It came again, a small, ragged wail that had his heart racing.

For a moment, he froze, torn between wanting to run down to try and investigate the sound and taking a moment to see if he could spot something in the dwindling light. He could be hearing things; it wouldn’t be the first time. The wind could distort sound until his cat Elvis’ annoying yowling could be mistaken for a baby crying. Only that wasn’t the sound he’d heard.

No, he was sure it was a young child’s screeching wail.

The McGregor Peninsula was twenty-two by ten miles and owned entirely by his family members. While there were plenty of kids among his dozens of cousins, none were nearby enough to be on the beach at this time of day. The nearest place was to his was the cottage his dad built for their mom shortly after they got married. His mom rented it out while she was at her place in Key Largo, and he was pretty sure it was currently empty.

What had before been soothing purple clouds against a rosy red sky deepened into true twilight, but he scanned the area around his house the best he could, dread settling in his gut.

The wind died down for a moment, and he heard it clear as day—the hysterical crying of a very scared little kid.

“Hello?” he shouted, praying whoever it was could hear him. “Hold on, I’m coming down. Don’t be afraid, okay? Just stay where you are. I’ll be right there.”

The crying started up again, louder than ever, and he dashed down the stairs as quick as he could with his bum knee. He was familiar with the different kinds of sounds kids made when they let loose, and this kid’s cry was scared. And young. His heart thundered as he ran out the front door. He thanked all his years of conditioning that allowed him to sprint towards the beach. Even though he didn’t play football anymore, he still worked his body like he did. His lungs burned as his bare feet hit the dense blanket of pine needles on the edge of the forest, his frantic gaze scanning the growing darkness. Out there, on the shores of the lake, it got really dark quickly, and he worried he wouldn’t find the kid in time.

Pausing for a moment, he drew in a deep breath and then yelled, “Hello?”

The sobbing stopped, and a little girl’s voice yelled back, “Hello?”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m lost.” The words came out a little garbled by a sob. “I want—I want my Mommy.”

Following the voice at a brisk jog, he ducked beneath a low hanging branch and moved through the darkening forest toward the lake. As he did, the soil grew sandier. By the time he reached the tall grasses protecting the sand dunes, the sky held only the faintest bits of orange and gold—just enough for him to see a little girl. The child couldn’t be any older than four or five, with the most amazing head of dark brown curls and big brown eyes staring at him as she held his fat black and white cat, Elvis. And she was dressed like...well, like he thought a fairy would look.

Her skirt was made up of multiple, long layers of pink and black cloth and she wore a belt with silver and pink coins around her baby round belly. Beneath that, she wore what had to be a black leotard—he’d had to struggle to get his young nieces into one a time or two before their ballet classes—and she wore silver bell bracelets and anklets. Elvis’ long tail lashed against her skirt as he let out a low growl and tried to stare Paul down.

“Hi, honey,” he said gently as she took a step back. Elvis hissed at Paul like he’d never seen him before and was probably a threat.

Stupid fucking cat.

The little girl seemed to take the cat’s advice and narrowed her eyes at him. “Not supposed to talk to strangers. Mommy said.”

Okay, good, this was the second time the kid mentioned a parent. That meant someone had to be looking for her, right? Other than having sandy feet, she was clean, and he wondered if somewhere her family was losing their shit. Only a few twigs stuck in her wild hair and he noticed her little fingernails were painted pale pink as she readjusted her hold on Elvis. Normally, the anti-social cat would snarl at anyone that dared come close to him, warning them they’d lose a finger if they touched him. Even Paul, who’d been caring for the ungrateful beast for four years, was only graced with petting Elvis maybe once a week.

Now this little fairy had his cat in a chokehold, and he seemed perfectly content to hang out there instead of shredding her chubby little arm.

“Well, that’s my cat, Elvis, and I’m Paul.” Moving a step closer, he sank down to his haunches, looking up and down the beach. “Where’s your Mommy?”

“At the new house.” Her rosebud lips pursed as she moved Elvis around so his paws were on her shoulder while she held him around his thick waist. “I don’t like it.”

“Do you know where your house is?”

She slowly shook her head, the tears welling again. “No. We were dancing then it was quiet time to drawn down the sun and I saw your kitty.”

“Peyton!” a frantic woman’s voice cut through the air. “Peyton!”

“Mommy!”

Elvis squirmed free as both Paul and the little girl turned toward the figure of a woman flat out sprinting down the beach. He suddenly wished the sun would come back up so he could be sure that what he was seeing was real. Young, with an athletic figure, the woman was dressed in an outfit similar to the little girl’s. She ran down the beach with her pink, purple, and blond braid flying out and her long pink skirt flaring behind her. While the little girl wore a leotard beneath her flowy skirt, the woman barreling down the shore at a rather impressive speed was clad in some kind of pink and blue tie-dyed tank top that did an admiral job of holding her nice sized chest in place.

Guilt hit him as he realized he was ogling this woman’s bouncing breasts as she was obviously freaking out over her daughter.

Feeling like a dick, he stepped out of her way as she ran past him, sparing him barely a glance before she swept her daughter up into her arms. “Oh my God, Peyton! Dios mios, dios mios. Thank you, Blessed Mother.”

When the kid’s mom kept repeating that phrase over and over again, Peyton gave him a look that clearly said she had no idea what was wrong with her.

Elvis, meanwhile, sat calmly off to the side and licked his paw while glaring at Paul like this was somehow his fault.

“I’m sorry, Mommy.” The little girl wiggled out of her mother’s arms. “I didn’t mean to make you worried. Elvis’ daddy found me.”

Straitening abruptly, the woman looked at him for the first time then frowned. “You look familiar.”

Having heard this about a million times a day, he rolled his eyes. “Get that all the time.”

“What are you doing with my daughter? Who are you? What do you want?”

Her sudden paranoia threw him for a loop. “Excuse me?”

She knelt in a graceful move and swooped Peyton up, holding her on her hip with ease, her arm muscles flexing with her movements. Tanned and toned, she didn’t appear old enough to be Peyton’s mother, but they looked so much alike, there was no doubt in his mind. He took in her blonde and pink streaked hair, the piercing that sparkled like a diamond in the waning light from the dimple in her cheek, and how attractive she was in her own very unique way.

Glaring at him, she took a step back toward the beach, then another. “Stay where you are.”

Holding his hands up, he shook his head. “Look, lady, you got me all wrong. Your kid came wandering down the beach, alone, and she was alone for a good amount of time. Long enough to find her way to me—a nice guy who’d never hurt a kid. But she’s lucky she found me, and not some—” He almost said, ‘child molesting pervert’ but thought the better of it. “Some not so nice people instead of me. Once the sun goes down, this place gets dark, really dark, and chilly for a kid dressed in a costume.”

“Why do I feel like I know you?”

With a sigh, he ran his hand through his hair, knowing his answer was going to change things between them. Now, there were usually three reactions women gave him once they found out who he was and figured out he was somewhat famous. The first was instant appreciation and flirting, sometimes heavy enough that it embarrassed him. While he enjoyed a woman’s interest, he didn’t need someone trying to cop a feel of his ass while he was at a children’s charity dinner. The second response was the one he usually got from older or married women, who had a friend/daughter/niece/stylist that they simply must set him up with.

Finally, the third response he received was an instant judgement of him as a player or a dumb jock—someone beneath her. This was the reaction he usually got from the snobs his ex-wife had begun to associate with at the end of their marriage. Not that he gave a shit what those pretentious assholes down in Miami thought of him. His ex-wife wrote a society gossip column down there, a really nasty one that was popular enough to have scored her a show on cable TV. Thankfully, their divorce decree had a big old paragraph about his ex never slandering him in public, to the tune of five million dollars. The amount was large enough to keep her venom from spewing on him, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have his lawyer keep an eye on her antics.

Before he could answer, Peyton pointed at Elvis and said, “I followed de kitty.”

“The kitty, sweetheart,” the mother said softly.

“I followed the kitty,” Peyton said with an earnest expression.

The woman’s dark eyes darted between him and the cat, then to her daughter, then back to him again. “I’m not a bad mother.”

He blinked, thrown by the abrupt change in subject. “I didn’t say you were.”

Her tough façade crumbled and her chin trembled. She tipped her head back to the sky, drawing in a deep breath and holding it before letting it slowly out. “I was meditating. It’s something we do when we’re feeling funky.”

“You got a three-year-old to meditate?”

“Four,” Peyton cut in with an imperious look. “Almost five.”

“My bad.” He winked at her.

The woman glanced at the now almost dark sky with a frown. “It’s been nice meeting you, but we have to go.”

She turned and Paul found himself saying, “Wait, let me drive you back. It’s going to be real dark soon, and I don’t want you tripping on some beach debris while carrying precious cargo.”

She examined him while Peyton shimmied her hips, making her little belt of coins chime. “I don’t want to be an imposition...”

“Come on, my house is nearby. I’ll drop you off wherever your car is.”

“Actually, we’re staying in the cottage next door.”

He paused, then raised his brows. “Really?”

“Yes.” He resumed walking and she followed. “What exactly do you mean by ‘really’?”

“Who rented it to you?”

She stopped walking so he turned to look at her, thrown by the anger in her face. “I can assure you, despite my looks, I am legally renting the home from Sandra McGregor.”

“I believe you. It’s just that she usually lets me know if she’s renting the cottage out, since she’s my mother and all.”

“Oh jeez,” The security lights picked up an odd piercing in the dimple of her cheek as she shook her head with chagrin. “You’re one of Sandra’s boys? Why didn’t she tell me you lived next door? I mean, I knew you all had places out here on the peninsula, but she made the cottage sound like it was isolated.”

“Actually, it is pretty isolated. I’m not usually here a lot. I like to travel, go places.” He shrugged. “Grew up in this town, once I left I swore I’d never come back, but funny how fate works out, ya’ know? The one place I couldn’t wait to get away from was the one place I found I couldn’t live without.”

Peyton walked in front of them, following a confident Elvis who led the little girl with his tail held high in the air.

“What about you? What brings you out to western Michigan? You don’t sound like you’re from around here.”

“I’m not. I grew up in Florida, then opened a yoga studio in Key Largo. That’s how I met your mom. She came to a few of my senior citizen classes down there.”

He couldn’t help but laugh then shudder at the thought of his mother doing naked yoga at her nudist retirement community. “Please tell me you guys wore clothes? Otherwise, I’m gonna have to bleach my brain to get rid of the mental image of a bunch of saggy old asses hanging out.”

“He said a potty word,” Peyton announced and he winced.

The pretty mother winked at him, the light bright enough that he could see her eyes were as dark and liquid as her daughters. “Watch your mouth, mister. And yes, we wore clothes. My studio is in town, away from your mom’s place.”

“Thank Christ for that.”

Moving closer, she placed her hand on his shoulder to hold him back for a second then said in a low, disgusted voice, “You have no idea. Many of my clients are retirees. I’ve seen more than one wrinkly old man ball sack flop out of a pair of loose shorts.”

The mental image shocked him so much that he froze then burst out laughing, loud enough that it silenced the night creatures around him for a moment before the crickets started chirping again.

The woman smiled at him, her teeth bright against her tan. He couldn’t help but smile back. “I could have lived a full and happy life without that visual.”

“Did I mention they were usually sweaty?”

He gagged, which set both mother and daughter into a fit of giggles that tinkled like the coins on their hips.

The woman at his side was younger than him, had a kid, pierced her face, and was totally gorgeous in a completely unconventional way. Her carefree, relaxed style was total antithesis of every woman he’d ever dated, but he couldn’t keep his eyes off her. It wasn’t just that she had a great body—she did—or that she was showing a lot of smooth, tanned skin. He’d spent the last fifteen years surrounded by gorgeous women who wore less in hopes of attracting his attention. No, there was something about her that made him take a second look, and then another, and another, liking her more every time he cast his eyes in her direction. Shit, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt an attraction so strong. Not even in high school, when he thought the sun rose and set on his ex-wife’s willing pussy.

“Paul?”

Shaking himself out of his stupor, he blinked then smiled. “Sorry, I was woolgathering.”

“What’s that?” Peyton asked as she took the smooth wood walkway that led from the beach to his house.

“He was thinking deep thoughts,” the woman supplied. She stood behind the little girl as the steps got steep, letting her daughter take them but waiting behind her just in case.

“I was thinking that I don’t even know my new neighbor’s name.”

Flushing, the woman stopped beneath the light of the back porch, the harsh illumination cutting deep shadows beneath her cheekbones. “Amaya Flores.”

Little electric chills raced down his arm as he took her slender hand. “Nice to meet you.”

A flush darkened her cheeks. He had to hide a smile as she almost jerked her hand out of his. “I need to get the munchkin into bed.”

Snapping out of his admiration—she had the prettiest hands and no sign of a wedding ring—he nodded. “Let me get my keys.”

He opened the deep red painted door to his house and grabbed his keys from the small foyer table before practically running back outside.

Peyton was in Amaya’s arms by the time he returned, her little head resting against her mother’s smooth brown shoulder as she watched him with sleepy, dark eyes. Elvis twined himself around Amaya’s slender ankles with an audible purr. The cat gave Paul a distinctly smug look as he rubbed his face on Amaya’s bare foot right below a pretty silver anklet. Gesturing to the garage door, he said, “If you’ll give me a second, I’ll put a car seat in for Peyton.”

“Oh, do you have kids?”

“Nah, got a mess of nieces and nephews in the area. My family is local, been here for years, so I have more relatives than I can shake a stick at. Family reunions are half the damn town. You know anyone around here?”

“No.”

“Well, now you know me. Friends call me Bulldog, but you can call me Paul.”

“Why do they call you Bulldog?”

“’Cause once I grab onto the football, I don’t let anyone take it from me.” He gave sleepy Peyton a mock growl and a bark, making the little girl giggle again.

He flicked on the lights in the garage, already looking back at her so he caught her reaction to the sight of his vehicles. He had his custom Range Rover, his big cobalt blue Ford truck built to handle Michigan winters, and his recently finished 1967 red Mustang convertible. He planned to take the Mustang to local car shows this summer with his brother, the mechanic who’d restored her from the ground up. When Paul bought the car, it had been a rust heap rotting away behind some farmer’s barn, forgotten over the years. It took a shitload of hours, and money, but now his beautiful baby gleamed beneath the garage lights like a sleeping predator.

Most women’s reaction at seeing his cars was at least some kind of interest or pleasure, but a look of distrust came over Amaya’s face. He watched the friendly sparkle fade from her eyes.

“Amaya?”

She gave him a big smile, but it was fake and shiny with none of the warmth he thought he’d glimpsed back down at the beach. “Yes?”

“You okay?”

Her arched brows drew down as she frowned, and a cute line formed between her eyes. “Yeah, why?”

“I don’t know. You looked like something upset you.” When she just stared at him, he tried a different tactic. “What? You don’t like muscle cars? Sorry, baby, but a Prius ain’t my thing.”

“No, I actually love fast cars of any kind. I’m sorry, it’s just that it’s late and we’re a little jet-lagged.” She glanced down at a sleeping Peyton. “And I think she’s down for the count.”

Considering he’d just met her, he let her obvious deflection go with a nod. “No problem. Give me a sec to get the seat installed.”

She nodded absently, walking along the wall of the massive garage, examining the framed pictures of Paul and his younger brother, Toby, working on the Mustang together. “Wow, you really did a lot of work on it.”

He watched her as he finished installing the seat, his attention totally on the way Peyton snuggled into her mother’s embrace, her chubby limbs loose with sleep. Still dressed in her little fairy outfit, she was just about the cutest thing he’d ever seen. And the way Amaya gently swayed as she slowly walked down the line of pictures made him wonder what she’d feel like dancing in his arms. With a grunt, he lifted the car seat into the backseat of the truck, the image of her slender body moving with his trying to tease his cock into hardness.

Attempting to keep his mind on task, he tightened the strap on the seat. “We’re good to go.”

Her mood had thawed by the time she reached him. She buckled a sleeping Peyton into the seat then joined him up front. As soon as he turned on the truck, country music blasted from the speakers. He quickly turned it all the way down, holding his breath as he waited for Peyton’s crying to begin.

Next to him, Amaya did the same thing. As they stared at each other, they began to grin then softly laugh.

Her dark eyes captured him as she waved her hand, her thin silver bracelets clanging down her arm. “Shhhhh. Seriously? How are you not deaf?”

Grinning, he backed out of his garage and slowly cruised down the long driveway, mindful of the local wildlife that liked to get active this time of night.

“What? It was a beautiful day today. I had the windows down on my drive home.”

“I’m assuming you know where I live?”

“Considering I’m kind of your on-duty landlord, yeah.”

She arched a brow, a sudden frown coming over her face. Jesus, she was probably the most mercurial woman he’d ever met. Happy as sunshine one moment, dark as thunder the next. That feisty attitude in a woman had always attracted him, but he reminded himself that this beauty was a package deal, though any man would be blessed to come home to Amaya and Peyton every night.

“You’re my landlord?”

“Well, one of them.”

“Seriously?”

The venom in her voice took him aback as he turned down the gravel drive to the cottage.

“What?”

“When’s the last time any of you ‘landlords’ visited the cottage?”

He scratched the back of his neck, then took the turn down the long gravel drive leading to the three-bedroom house that his dad built back in the 1980s. When his truck hit the first massive pothole, he grimaced. By the time they finally made it to the house itself, he was downright pissed at both himself and his brothers. Even from there, he could tell the cottage’s exterior hadn’t been power washed in a while, the yard looked like shit, and he was pretty sure one of the windows upstairs was broken and covered with a piece of stained and moldering cardboard held in place by packing tape.

Fucking A.

Rubbing his hand over his short, bristly hair, he gave her an apologetic look. “Shit, Amaya, I’m sorry. I haven’t been out here in months.”

She was fuming and rightfully so. Peyton made little grumpy noises in her sleep as the vehicle rocked through the potholes.

Leaning forward, she stabbed her finger into his shoulder, making him flinch back as she whispered, “Your mother said the cottage was ready to move into, that all we had to do was unpack. It is not and I didn’t dare unpack anything in that filthy pit. When I arrived here today, I broke the axle of my rental car trying to drive down this piece of shit road, or I’d be in a hotel right now with Peyton. Let me tell you how fun it is to haul around my deceptively heavy daughter. Don’t kid yourself, she’s small but she’s solid and weighs a ton. So I had to drag her and our luggage after getting up before dawn to make our flight after a restless night’s sleep. Then I get to what I’ve been told is a charming cottage and find out that nobody cleaned out the fridge, someone left laundry moldering in the washing machine—I think it’s the drapes for the front windows—and someone left a giant poop in the downstairs bathroom. At least I think it’s a poop. I just shut the door and walked away. It smells like a dead body in there, Paul. I contacted Sandra, who tried to get ahold of her loving sons, but all of them have vanished off the face of the earth and weren’t answering her calls or text. There’s no electricity, and I am not setting my child anywhere near those disgusting stained mattresses upstairs. I think one has blood on it.” She let out a little hitched breath that hit him right in the heart with a punch of guilt. “I’m exhausted, and my daughter ran off with a cat. I want to take a shower, but I can’t because the well water in this place is freaking rusty.”

“Baby...”

“Don’t call me baby!”

She said that last part loud enough that Peyton complained before settling down again.

Reaching across the seat to her, he set his hand on her shoulder. “Amaya, I’m going to make this right.”

“I don’t care how much—” Her frown softened. “Wait, what did you say?”

“I’m going to fix this.”

“You’re going to fix this?”

“Yes.”

“Really? Just like that?”

He wondered what made her so suspicious. Of course he wasn’t going to let them live in the place the way it was. Like he’d ever allow anyone to spend a moment in such a shithole? Did she really think he was that big of a dick, or was she used to dealing with assholes? Either way, he didn’t like that she thought the worst of him. Then again, she was obviously stressed out and tired, so maybe she needed a little bit of extra kindness.

Lowering his voice to a soothing tone he’d heard his dad use with his mom a thousand times, he replied, “Yeah, just like that. It’s our fault you drove into this mess. Honestly, I swear it usually isn’t this bad, but I’m sorry you had to deal with this. If I had any idea you were coming, I would have made sure this place was up to par.”

“In your mom’s defense, our coming out here was very last minute. She just offered the place to me yesterday, and I don’t think she expected me to jump on it like I did. But I swear she sent you a group text about it to you and your brothers. I watched her do it.”

“My mom isn’t exactly the most tech savvy person. She still can’t figure out how to attach pictures to her emails, let alone send group messages.”

“This is true,” Amaya muttered while tucking a stray wisp of her light brown hair behind her ear. “I didn’t mean to lash out at you. It’s just...these last few years have been hard.”

“Yeah? Well, that time is in the past. Green Haven is a good place, filled with good people.” He made a mental note to get ahold of his mom about this cluster fuck, and get some more information on Ms. Amaya. “Go pack a bag for you and Peyton. You’re not staying here tonight. No way, not until myself and my lazy ass brothers come out here tomorrow and see what we’re working with. I’m more than happy to have you ladies as my guests.”

Her hand went to the door, but then she hesitated. “Are you sure? I don’t want to be an imposition.”

Reading her weary body language, he tried to appear as harmless as possible. Not an easy feat for a man of his size, but he realized the inherit danger he posed to her and her daughter as a male and a stranger. “My place has six bedrooms, you could have a whole floor of the house to yourself and I’d never even know you’re there. My grandparents built it to last, so the walls and floors are so thick you could blast the stereo and have a party, and I’d never know. Plus, bonus, it doesn’t stink like death and I have a massive shower and hot water tank. And Peyton can have her choice of four bathtubs if she’s up for a bath before bed.”

“Tempting...”

“Did I mention my shower has multiple shower heads? It gives you a full body massage when turned on high. Great for taking away stress and the aches and pains of being an old man.”

She gave him a clearly appreciative glance that had him puffing out his chest under her attention like some teenager hoping the hottest girl in school noticed him. “Yeah, you look really decrepit.”

“Spending years getting knocked around by guys bigger than me has left a mark, that’s for sure.”

“You should try yoga. I know lots of moves that would help stretch you out, loosen you up a bit.”

All kinds of dirty thoughts flitted through his mind, but then Peyton’s soft snoring killed thoughts about a naked Amaya doing yoga...and how bendy she would be. “So what do you say? Would you and Peyton like to come stay a night at the château McGregor? I can guarantee your bed will probably have cat hair on it, and my female cousins say it’s obvious the place is a bachelor pad, but it’s clean and I make some mean waffles.”

“Bacon?”

“What’s breakfast without bacon?”

She smiled at him, her teeth bright and white against her tanned skin. “I suppose that would be a good idea. Oh, by the way, were the previous renters of your mom’s cottage elderly?”

“Uh, I think so, yeah. How did you know?”

“Because whoever cleans out this place gets to deal with a stack of soiled adult diapers left in the downstairs bathroom bathtub.”

He stared at her, his stomach churning unpleasantly. “You’re shitting me.”

“Nope, I’m quite literally not.”

“I—Jesus fu—” he glanced into the backseat where Peyton lay sleeping, her rosebud lips, much like her mother’s, half open as she slumbered, “Jesus fudging Christmas.”

“Jesus fudging Christmas?” she said with an obvious giggle in her voice.

He glared at her. “I don’t want her picking up bad language in her sleep. My aunt says that’s a thing.”

She grinned, her dark eyes sparkling with humor. “Good point. I’ll be right back.”