Hunks, Hammers, and Happily Ever Afters

by Cari Quinn

  Very well-toned arms. Regan took a steadying breath and willed the heat rushing to her cheeks to subside. She’d always had a weakness for strong, muscled arms.

  And men who attended tea parties.

  Frustration mingled with interest. This was so not what she needed...

  “Regan Murphy,” she finally managed and gestured beyond the curtain. “My family owns Murphy’s Pub across the street.” Lord help her, she was making small talk.

  “Always a pleasure to meet a fellow business owner.” That smile of his exposed exquisite, and she’d bet expensive, white teeth. “You serve a mean Guinness, but I’m guessing you aren’t the welcoming committee. What can I do for you?”

  Regan blinked again. What could he...?

  “Hi!” The little girl walked over to Regan and held out her hand in the same way her father had. “I’m Cilla.”

  A bit unnerved yet charmed nonetheless, Regan squatted to return the greeting. Cilla’s bright spring colored dress brightened a seriously sagging day. The little girl was stunningly pretty and reminded Regan of an old Irish legend her mother used to tell her about a dark-haired princess who oversaw a land of horses and selkies. “It’s nice to meet you, Cilla. That’s a very pretty name. I’m Regan.”

  “It’s short for Pris-cilla.” The little girl’s nose wrinkled as if her name smelled bad. “Daddy always calls me Cilla.”

  “Daddies usually know best,” Regan said with a solemn nod despite having daily proof the opposite was true. “I’m sorry to interrupt tea time. I was hoping to talk to your dad.”

  “You can have tea, too.” Cilla refused to relinquish Regan’s hand as she tugged her over to the table. “I just have to get more cake. Daddy, please pour out.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Brodie let out a soft groan as he lowered himself back onto his stool, watching as Cilla disappeared through a door behind Regan. “I never should have signed her up for those etiquette classes. If I have knees left by the end of the session it’ll be a miracle. Thank you for humoring her. Tea time is sacred.”

  “Enjoy it while you can,” Regan said, thinking of the monstrosity of a teenager waiting for her in the other room. Six months ago Maura had been caught breaking curfew after going out drinking with her so-called friends. Less than three weeks after her two month grounding, Maura had let one of those same friends take out their brother Liam’s car without permission and returned it with a dent the size of Montana in the bumper. A month after that, Fallon, the youngest Murphy at eight years old, had asked Regan and their brother Seamus what Maura was doing with a bag full of dirt in their room.

  Cue the endless lectures on the dangers of gateway pot.

  And now this morning, after two hours at the urgent care to get Maura treated for the infected tattoo and another thirty minutes to get Maura to admit where she’d gotten said tattoo in the first place, Regan was at her limit. But Maura’s reluctant answer had led Regan to MARKED. And Brodie Crawford.

  “I don’t mean to be rude,” Regan began and, remembering Cilla, kept her voice down. “But you do know it’s illegal for anyone under eighteen in California to get a tattoo. Even with parental consent?”

  Brodie’s gaze narrowed as he absorbed her condescending tone. The friendly smile dipped enough to tie knots in Regan’s stomach. “As I’ve worked in the industry most of my adult life, yes, I’m completely aware. It’s also stated on a sign in the window and again at the counter. Over eighteen. No exceptions.”

  “So you tattooed my sister knowing the law?” Her hands fisted against the resurgence of anger. How reckless was this man? “Are you that hard up for new business?”

  “Your sister?” There were undertones of disbelief mingling with anger.

  “Tall, thin redhead. More attitude than should be possible. She’s sitting in your waiting area right now waiting for her antibiotics to kick in.”

  “Anti—” Brodie’s frown increased as he went over and looked into the store. “First, I’ve been doing tattoos for over a dozen years and have yet to have any of my customers develop an infection. Second.” He faced her again. “I’ve never seen your sister in my life. And before you come in here and accuse me of putting my entire livelihood at risk by breaking one of the fundamental laws of the business, I’d appreciate being given the benefit of the doubt.”

  “Wait.” Shame flooded Regan’s face as her pulse hammered in her throat. “You’ve never seen her? But she told me—” She could see Brodie poised to defend himself, but she held up her hand, shook her head and joined him at the curtain. She should have known. Given everything else Maura had pulled these last few months, lies shouldn’t surprise her. “Maura? A moment please?” Even from across the room she saw the color drain out of her sister’s pale complexion. “Don’t make me ask again.”

  Maura glanced at the door and then at Regan as if weighing her options, but if her sister took one step outside, Regan would have no choice but to pull out the big guns and tell their father. As if Cormac Murphy would do anything about any of his children’s behavior, but in the past, the threat had been enough.

  Maura pushed herself to her feet and walked over, uncertainty shifting to defiance on her face by the time she reached Regan and Brodie.

  “You lied,” Regan said. “You didn’t get that tattoo here, did you? Who gave it to you?”

  Maura shrugged, but she didn’t quite meet Regan’s accusatory gaze. “I’m not a snitch.”

  Those damned friends of hers. Regan took a long, slow breath, but there was no banking the anger and disappointment. Not this time. “So instead of being honest with me, you put this man’s entire business at risk and wasted my entire morning? Do you know where I was headed next?” Regan tried to keep the anger at bay, but it had resurged with a life of its own. “I was going to file a police report. He could have lost everything, Maura. He could have been arrested and gone to jail.”

  Maura shrugged again, but her chin dipped an inch lower as she shoved her hands into the back pocket of her jeans.

  “Daddy?” Cilla’s frightened whisper exploded in Regan’s ear as the little girl ran over and grabbed the hem of her father’s shirt. “Are you going to jail?” Tiny knuckles went white as she tugged at the fabric, tears pooling in her eyes. “Daddy, you can’t go to jail. You can’t leave me alone.”

  “Hush, Cilla.” Brodie bent down and lifted her into his arms. “I’m not going anywhere. I promised, remember?” He rubbed and patted her back as little girl sobs ripped through Regan like a dull knife. “This is just a misunderstanding. Isn’t it, Regan?” His voice didn’t leave any room for argument and it was all Regan could do not to sink through the floor and drag her unrighteous indignation in over her. “No one’s going to file any charges against me or take me away from you. Ever.”

  “Cilla, I’m sorry.” Regan's throat tightened. “I was told something that wasn’t true and I reacted before I thought.”

  “You’re not going to take my daddy away?” Cilla turned her head under her father’s chin as fat tears plopped onto her chubby cheeks.

  “No. I’m so sorry we scared you, sweetheart.” Those little girl eyes were going to haunt her for weeks to come. “You know what? This was all just a big mistake.” If she’d ever made a bigger one, she couldn’t recall. Maura’s lies might have instigated the situation, but it was Regan’s lack of forethought that led them here. She should have waited, asked more questions, and investigated further given Maura’s recent behavior issues. “Brodie, I apologize. If there’s anything we can do to make this up to you—”

  “I know where you work.” For an instant, she caught that twinkle again, but it vanished as he cradled his daughter’s head in his hand and pressed a kiss on top of her curls. “I think right now it would be best if you and Maura left.”

  “Of course. Again, I’m so sorry—” She grabbed hold of Maura’s arm and steered her to the door.

  “Wait!” Cilla cried and scrambled down out of her father’s arms, vanishing for a moment before r
acing over to Regan. “You didn’t get to drink your tea. Take it with you.” She pushed one of the plastic teacups into her hand.

  Regan’s fingers tightened around the tiny cup. “Thank you, Cilla. I’m sure it’ll be the best tea I’ve ever had. Um, bye.” She squeezed her fingers around Maura’s arm, unable to meet Brodie’s eyes. “Let’s go, Maura.”

  She couldn’t close the door fast enough, or drag in enough of the early summer air, barely kissed with the promise of warmth and impossible dreams of days spent at the beach. Days that would never be hers. The desire to take off and leave, well, everything behind, descended with a ferocity that had Regan’s heart tripping over itself. She did take time. Every two weeks she had a few blessed hours to decompress with her friends at book club. These days, those hours had become as precious to her as a four-leaf clover to a leprechaun.

  Not even the promise of an evening with friends next week or the comfortable confines of Murphy’s Pub where everything remained in and under her control gave Regan any sense of peace. Something had broken inside her. Something she wasn’t certain could ever be fixed.

  “Enough with the silent treatment.” Maura heaved a heavy sigh and hopped up on one of the bar stools before she dropped a weary chin into her hand. “How long am I grounded for this time?”

  “You’re not.” Regan scanned the clipboard of invoices her assistant manager passed to her as she rounded the bar.

  “I’m not?” Maura’s eyes brightened, but not for long. “Wait. Why not? What gives?”

  “I do.” Regan didn’t have the energy or the inclination to fight any more. “I give up, Maura. There’s nothing left. I was willing to chalk up breaking curfew or even drinking and smoking pot to teenage stupidity and curiosity, but what you did by lying about Brodie Crawford was positively reprehensible. Your lies, your complete disregard for anyone other than yourself, I’ve had enough. Did you even see that little girl’s face? ”

  Maura dug a finger into a scratch into the polished wood bar. “They wouldn’t have arrested him.”

  “Have you met me?” Regan demanded. “You know there is nothing more important to me than this family. How many visits with your teachers or principals have I had to endure because of your irresponsible and callous behavior? I would have happily seen that man’s business shut down if I thought it meant keeping you and others in this town safe. But you don’t see that, do you? You don’t see anything beyond what you want no matter who gets hurt. Even now.” Regan blinked back tears, which only added to her anger. She didn’t cry. She was the strong Murphy. The one who never broke. The one who fixed everything, took care of everyone, and kept the family together and running. Because of her the pub was operating efficiently enough to keep her siblings in school and the home bills paid, but there was only so much she could shoulder before she was driven completely under.

  The day she’d been dreading had arrived. She’d reached her limit. “Even now, I can see it on your face. You don’t have any compassion for what your actions caused. I don’t know what’s happened in the last six months, but I’m done trying to figure it out. At some point you’re going to have to grow up, Maura. I can’t be responsible for your poor choices any longer. You want something, you need something, go to Dad or Desmond or Finn. I am officially tapped out.”

  “You don’t mean that,” Maura said and for the first time in months, Regan saw real fear on her sister’s face, but she told herself she didn’t care. She couldn’t. She had five other siblings and a failing alcoholic father to think of. “You can’t mean that.”

  “The sad thing is I really do. You might be my kid sister, and I love you, but I don’t trust you anymore.” Regan placed Cilla’s tiny plastic tea cup on the counter above the register with more than a pang of remorse. “You wanted to make your own decisions, you wanted your freedom? You’ve got it. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get to work.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Daddy, do you think Regan will come back for another tea party?” Cilla asked late Friday afternoon as she blinked her mother’s penny colored eyes at him and hopped into the chair at Brodie’s station, smoothing her dress over her knees.

  “I don’t know, Swee’Pea.” Brodie scowled, unsettled by the idea he’d been wondering the same thing. Of all days he needed a distraction—in the guise of a shop full of customers—business had slowed to a trickle. He’d worked at enough tattoo studios to know it would take a while for a town like Lantano Valley to embrace something new like his shop. He’d stick it out. He had to. This was the perfect place for him and Cilla to get that fresh start they needed. So far so good. Well...until today. “We’ll have to wait and see.”

  “That woman knows how to make an entrance.” Toshi grinned as he finished cleaning his station, setting his inks back into the carved wooden cabinet and placing his needles, machine, and tubes aside for the ultrasonic cleaner prior to sterilization. “From what Mr. Waters said on his way out, I’d bet everyone’s going to know your name by the end of the day.”

  “Exactly the word of mouth I was hoping for.” Brodie attempted to keep his tone light so as not to tip Cilla off to the fact he’d had a crap day. Starting the morning with a call from his ex-in-laws demanding he bring Cilla to see her mother was enough to make him reconsider cancelling the recently installed land line.

  It wasn’t that he didn’t want Cilla to have a relationship with Gemma. Of course she should know who and what her mother was. But if anyone, even the single-minded Ray and Florence Hollister, thought he was going to take his five-year old to a women’s correctional facility for Mommy and Me class, they didn’t know Brodie at all.

  It had taken most of his savings and more than half Cilla’s life to gain full custody of his daughter. He wasn’t about to do anything to jeopardize her future—or his. Cilla would always come first; she had to. But the idea Regan Murphy thought him callous enough to disregard state law in exchange for a few bucks...

  What did he care what some random albeit stunning woman thought of him? It didn’t make any sense.

  “Looks like Ms. Murphy has her hands full with that sister of hers,” Toshi said. “Good lesson for you, little lamb.” He tapped a finger against Cilla’s nose as he passed. “Lies don’t do anything but get you into trouble. Always tell the truth and nothing bad will happen.”

  Brodie pinched his lips tight. Not quite accurate in his experience, but he understood what his long-time friend and assistant manager was attempting to do by instilling the importance of honesty for Cilla.

  Brodie glanced down at the flyer and application for the town’s upcoming Spring Into Summer festival. He’d been holding off on any major marketing blitz until he got a better feel for Lantano Valley and while the festival seemed as good a time as any to dive in, he wasn’t sure it was the correct venue for what MARKED offered. Then again, there wasn’t much he had to lose. Booths for the events weren’t prohibitively expensive and besides, a portion of the three hundred bucks it would cost him to rent a tent went to the local Tremayne Foundation and their Pediatric Cancer Treatment Center. If Brodie had any doubt about making the investment, he only had to glance at his healthy Cilla to know how lucky he was especially given her early years. Even if participating in the festival didn’t bring him a single customer, some good would come out of the investment.

  He headed to the reception desk—which was still minus a receptionist—and grabbed a pen and settled into the chair only to have Cilla follow and scramble into his lap.

  “I can help.” She grabbed hold of his hand as he started filling out the form. “I’m good at writing now.”

  “Yes, you are,” Brodie assured her as his letters took on a life of their own.

  “What is it we’re doing?” Cilla asked.

  “Um.” Brodie frowned, finding her “help” distracting. “It’s an application to be part of a town fair at the end of the month.”

  “A fair?” Cilla turned her face toward him as her eyes went nearly as big as her face. �
�Will there be games and toys and rides?”

  “All excellent questions.” Brodie handed her the flyer so she could see for herself. “Practice your reading and tell me.”

  Cilla jumped down and raced off to find Toshi, who happily postponed his closing duties to assist Cilla develop her reading skills. She’d been so far behind socially, verbally, and intellectually when Brodie had tracked Gemma and his daughter down eighteen months ago, a new fragment of his heart had broken. Neglect didn’t come close to describing the circumstances he’d found his only child living in with his ex. That Cilla emerged from the meth-house experience mostly unscathed—she still had nightmares about Gemma’s abusive boyfriend who thankfully had ignored rather than targeted Cilla—was as close to a miracle as Brodie had ever experienced.

  The pictures he’d had the forethought to take the day he’d tracked Gemma down came in a close second and managed to cement his custody case against Gemma and her parents once and for all. The limited supervised visitation stipulation was something he was still fighting. Given the job they’d done with their only child, the idea of leaving Cilla alone for any length of time with Ray and Florence terrified him to his marrow.

  Cilla was his. Permanently. Gemma would be lucky to be released from prison before Cilla was an adult and Lantano Valley was now their home.

  Cilla had just about caught up to where she should be and, if Brodie had his way, by the time she started school in the fall, she’d be ahead of the game. He’d give his daughter every advantage possible—every advantage neither he nor Gemma had ever been given. His years in the foster care system had been a mixed bag while Gemma’s overly permissive parents had been doubly damaging. Cilla would never see the ugly side of life again.

  “Did you read the small print on the application?” Toshi asked Brodie as Brodie scribbled his signature at the bottom of the form. “The deadline for submission was last week.”