by Sosie Frost
“Don’t!” She pointed at me. “Don’t you even dare—”
She bolted. I chased, pitching the contents of the bucket over her torso. She juked, but I captured her in my arms before she could escape.
Her hands flattened against my chest, hand covering the sunflower I’d tattooed into my skin as a permanent reminder of the girl who’d loved them so much. Her breathless smile pounded my heart. She could probably feel it. A thundering, rabid thudding. T
The heat of her mostly bare skin radiated through me. Seared me. I was hot, chilled, drowning, and sucking in the first breath of air I’d taken in five years.
Cassi stared at me with wide eyes and pouting lips.
This was a woman who deserved to be kissed.
A real kiss. Not a silly game where I proved to my aching cock how much I wanted her, but the kiss of a lifetime. The kind that curled toes, melted panties, and revealed too much about how I felt. A kiss that would forgive the last five years of foolishness and promise minute-after-minute, hour-after-hour, day-after-day, year-after-year of commitment, honesty, and unrelenting pleasure.
I could have said so much in that kiss.
I should have been the man who kissed her like that.
Instead I was the idiot who’d smacked her ass and dumped her in the lake.
“I’m hungry.” Mellie’s declarations always came at the worst times. “I want macaroni.”
Cassi’s fingers dug into my arms. She pushed away.
Hesitantly?
“We should…” Cassi stared up at me, her eyes a dark and simmering in mystery. “Go home. Get them…food.”
“And what else?”
“Is there anything else?
I had no idea, but a man could hope. “There might be.”
Cassi shook her head.
But I made a decision.
No more living in isolation. No more dreading her knock at my door.
No more wishing for the past and regretting what had to be done.
Five years had passed, and I was ready to reclaim what was mine.
Screw professionalism. Cassi Payne was in my life again. And this time…
I was gonna get my girl—even if I had to trap her in a dozen goddamned tire swings.
Chapter Eight
Cassi
I always imagined the first bare tush I’d see inside Remington Marshall’s home would be his own gorgeous ass.
Instead, I chased two indecent ankle-biters, running laps around a scandalized sofa.
Mellie led the chanting. “No bed! No bed!”
This moment of civil disobedience was brought to me by Osh Kosh B’Gosh. Or…it would be once I got pants on the little buggers. Until then, those pale bottoms mooned me with every ounce of mischief they could wiggle, desperate to end their nanny’s bedtime ritualistic tyranny.
“Come on.” I kept my voice stern. “You’ve got to get back in the tub.”
“No!”
“Mellie.”
Tabby joined in gleeful protest. “No!”
The day had been nothing but a series of battles with the three-year-old, ending with a bath-time armada of tantrums, time outs, and tidal waves—her own brand of justice involving a Tupperware container filled with water, bubbles, and possibly a bit of Tabby’s pee over my head.
The stakes were high. The kids tested my limits. And my patience. And how far a bottle of red wine could stretch.
“No bed!”
Mellie’s fight for independence ended when the bubbles of shampoo in her hair trickled into her eyes. Maybe Johnson and Johnson should have developed a No More Tears-Gas. The toddler crumpled into a knot on the living room floor, wailing in a puddle of misery and suds.
“Mellie.” We were so beyond counting to three now. “You are getting in the tub.”
Her words bumbled in toddler hysteria, but I was fluent now. “I don’t wanna go to bed!”
“You’re not going to bed yet. You’re getting in the tub and rinsing off.”
“I don’t wanna!”
“Come get in the tub, rinse the shampoo out, and I’ll read you a story.”
“No!”
“Now, Mellie.”
“Uncle Rem!” Mellie added a series of karate kicks to her tantrum now, spiking at the air, the couch, and a wandering Tabby. “Want Uncle Rem!”
She wasn’t the only one.
A week straight of twelve hours shifts—from the time the girls got up until they went to sleep—wasn’t just exhausting. It was terrifying.
Sure, they were cute, but Mellie and Tabby were the worst disciplined kids I’d ever met. Sugary sweet when they were presented with trips, games, and food they liked. Shampoo covered demonic screechers when a bedtime approached, a toy was taken away, or anything green touched their plates.
A couple of timeouts and some good-behavior sticker magic might have improved their behavior, but good ol’ Uncle Rem practiced childrearing in a non-conventional fashion. The oh dear god, give them what they want, why are they still screaming school of discipline. A time-tested and effective method of quiet days and nights, but one of the quickest conversions from toddler to sociopath.
“Aren’t you getting tired?” I asked Mellie. “It’s passed your bedtime.”
“Na-uh!”
“All little girls go to bed at eight o’clock.”
“Na-uh!”
“Oh yeah?” I placed my hands on my hips. “What time do you want to go to bed then?”
“Want to see Jimmy Fallon.”
“What?”
“And the Roots.”
Mellie plopped to the floor, collecting every carpet fiber, hair, bit of wood, and spec of mud on her wet skin. She whined, but I was too pissed to surrender.
“Does Uncle Rem let you stay up?”
She nodded. Now life made more sense. No wonder I had to lug her out of bed in the mornings. She wasn’t just sawing logs in her sleep, she was deforesting entire rainforests.
I offered her my hand. “Let’s go. Back in the tub.”
“Don’t wanna sleep!”
“We’re just going to take a bath and read a story, okay?”
Mellie wiped the bubbles from her forehead. The tears remained, but she eyed me with that toddler skepticism that threatened the night’s peace with an onslaught of unanswerable, possibly uncomfortable questions. Fortunately, Tabby knew how to create a distraction.
“Yay!” The baby stopped where she was running, squatted, and began to pee. “Yay!”
“Ew!” Mellie’s screams terrified Tabby. “Bad baby! Yuck!”
This both intimidated and frightened the child. To escape from her sister’s judgment, Tabby bolted across the living room, tinkling the whole way, her chubby legs flailing as her feet slapped a suddenly wet hardwood floor.
I caught Tabby before she raced into the kitchen and held her away from my body as she dribbled her last bit of disrespect with a giggle. Then I herded the girls to the tub for yet another round of baths.
This took an hour. Pajamas took twenty minutes. Another fifteen to bluff my way through Wheels on the Bus, the theme to Friends, and Beyoncé’s Halo.
And, finally, the kids slept.
And I, drenched in Tabby’s spaghetti dinner, soap, and unmentionables, collapsed on the living room couch. Toys and clothes covered the floor. Dishes mounded in the sink. Food littered the counters.
And Rem was nowhere to be seen.
Just like he’d stayed hidden for the past week.
Well, that was about to change.
I loaded the nanny cam app on my phone and slipped from the house only once both kids slept peacefully. I jogged through the dark and into Rem’s chosen sanctuary.
Hiring me meant he’d had the time to renovate the workshop from spider-ridden, dark and dirty storeroom to a spider-ridden, moderately lit, sawdusted wood shop. Boards and timbers, nails and machines, tools and exceedingly sharp implements dotted the shop, just waiting for little hands to pluck a dangerous toy from his suppl
y. Rem had promised to store his equipment in safe places. He’d also promised to be done after dinner, cleaned up by the girls’ bedtime, and available for a quick story before his nieces went to bed and I went home.
Why did I ever expect Rem to keep his promises?
So much had changed, but so much stayed the same. The little girls depended on him now. And those consequences scared him. The workshop wasn’t a Canadian wilderness, but it was as far as he could run.
He didn’t look up when I entered. His attention fixed on a piece of timber he meticulously sanded. He’d carved the maple into a beautiful, artistic arch. It matched the other three he’d cut, shaped, and readied to be assembled.
The wood and dust, tools and equipment suited him. He set the piece with the others and hauled a larger slab of timber onto his work surface, the thick muscles in his arms and back straining against his shirt.
Did men know how good they looked when they rolled the cuff of their shirts just past their forearms? It felt like a conspiracy. Some sort of masculine memo sent out at the boys’ secret club meetings. Tonight’s Agenda: Diehard Movies and Muscular Forearms—beef jerky and whiskey to follow.
It wasn’t fair. Rem’s body had transformed into total muscle, chiseled as if he’d taken his tools and carved his abs, chest, and that sweet ass from the wood he’d practically crushed with his bare hands.
Annoyingly attractive—that’s what he was.
His forehead glistened, slick with sweat. That dazzling smile would’ve made me sweat too.
“How’s it going, Sassy?”
I flashed my phone at him, displaying the grainy images of the two girls sleeping soundly. “You missed bedtime.”
“Already?”
“They wanted to say goodnight.”
He nodded. “I’ll catch them in the morning.”
Sure thing. “And…how many verses of Cat’s in the Cradle do you want me to sing?”
He brushed the dust from his hands, but his clothes were covered in splinters. “If you want, I’ll wake them up now…”
Summoning the monsters awake wasn’t nearly as hard as banishing them to bed. “Don’t you dare.”
“Okay then.”
“Are you planning to come inside soon?”
He winked. “Is that an invitation?”
“More like a census,” I said. “I’m just wondering if you’ve been scared out of your own home by two little girls.”
Rem snorted. “Three little girls. The kids I can handle. But you…”
“Yes?”
“It’s good to have a refuge.”
I arched an eyebrow. “That so?”
“The timber isn’t the only wood in here, Sassy.”
“And I’m supposed to believe that?”
He dropped the sandpaper. “Want me to prove it?”
“I just want the truth—all of it this time.”
“Think I’m lying to you?”
“Yes.” I smiled. “But I’m used to that.”
“No fair, Cassi.”
“Why are you hiding in here?”
He shrugged. “I’m not.”
“Don’t give me that.” I circled the tables, lightly touching carved pieces of chairs and fixtures. “You’re hiding in this woodshop. And I can guess why.”
He extended his hands. “I’d love to hear it.”
“You’re afraid of getting close to those little girls.”
“They’re my nieces.”
“And they terrify you.” I stared into his beautiful eyes—a rich, cherry darkness that held me in place as much as I tried to pin him down. “You’re afraid of getting close to them because if you do…you’ll be forced to stay in civilization again.”
He laughed. “Butterpond is hardly civilization.”
“But it’s your home…and it’s the one place you hate to be. Question is…why?”
I circled the shop once more before hopping onto a table.
“Cas—no.”
I waved a hand and interrupted him, crossing my legs and letting my skirt do the talking. “I’m right. Don’t try to pretend.”
“That’s not it.”
“I know what your problem is, Mr. Marshall.”
He surrendered with a shrug. “And I know what yours will be in a couple minutes.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ve had five years to grow up all on my own, and I’ve learned a few things.”
“Ever varnish a tabletop?”
“I’ve learned that people will hide instead of just coming right out and admitting that they’re scared.”
Rem smirked. “What are you afraid of, Sassy?”
“We aren’t talking about me, Rem. I’m looking into your head.”
“Don’t look too close. It’s pretty dirty in there.”
“Right now…just looks like there’s a bunch of bags packed and a compass pointing north. You want to run again.”
“Can’t.” At least he was honest. “Got the kids to think about.”
“The kids you haven’t seen all week? The ones who need their Uncle Rem more than ever? The ones who miss their mom so much we spent all day making Get Well Soon cards for her?” I sighed. “Why did you come back to Butterpond, Rem?”
“They needed my help.”
“And what about you?”
“I’ve been helped enough, Cas. Your family did more for me than you realize.”
“And there’s no shame in asking for more help,” I said.
“I got you here, didn’t I?”
I smirked. “Sure, I’m here…just so you can hide out in this shop.”
He pointed across the shed at two hand-crafted dining room chairs. “Not hiding. I’m working every spare minute I can get to build some furniture. I need to bring in some money. God only knows when Emma’s gonna…” He frowned. “When she’ll recover. So, I better put something away for the kids. In case they need toys or clothes or…tranquilizers.”
Oh.
He didn’t need to look so ashamed. Nothing was sexier than a man being a man—providing for his family, protecting his own.
“You love those girls?” I asked.
“Of course. They’re my nieces.”
“Then why are you so afraid to connect with them? With anyone?”
With me?
Rem brushed a hand through his hair, shaking out a plume of sawdust. His voice lowered, heavy and solemn.
“Do you really have to ask why I ran? Why I’m not a part of any family anymore?” He snorted. “Take a look out your back window, at the hole in the ground where the barn used to be. You’ll get all your answers there.”
“That was five years ago, Rem. You’ve been trapped in the woods for far too long. You’re becoming a recluse.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
Everything. “You’re missing out on so much.”
He laughed—that solid, rumbling laugh that tickled in my stomach. “What could possibly happen in Butterpond?”
“Lots of things.”
“Name one.”
Easier said than done. “Well…there’s the county fair coming up at the end of summer.”
“Gonna sign me up for a pie-eating contest?”
“I was thinking dunk tank.” I kicked my legs. His attention drew over me, from my toes to my smile. My skin tingled under his stare. “Don’t you miss it? All the friends you had?”
“I lost them—and for good reason.” He held my gaze. “You know I’m better off on my own.”
The question slipped out before I could stop it. “Aren’t you lonely?”
“Nope.” His words darkened, wicked. “Though I do miss a couple of the good things.”
“Like what?”
“Getting a little personal, aren’t we, Sassy?”
Oh. I rose to the challenge. “No hot dates in the logging camps?”
“…Not the good kind.”
“Well, now you’re home. You could have any girl you want.”
“And what if I told
you I wasn’t interested in any of those Butterpond girls?”
His steps drew close. My heart skipped one too many beats, but I refused to let him see how much he affected me. My chin rose, and I studied his bearded jaw, the way his smile teased the corners of his mouth, the darkness of his eyes.
“What if I told you…” His voice warmed. “I rather grab my girl fresh, right off the farm?”
We weren’t easy pickings. “Farm girls know better than to entertain the local wildlife.”
“Never stopped you before.”
“Had to learn my lesson—don’t let that loathsome coyote chase me.”
“Won’t chase you if you don’t run.”
He stood before me, unwilling to approach the table, careful to keep his hands away from mine. I tightened my legs, crossed so hard at the ankles I’d fracture my foot. That only encouraged him. Urged him closer. Drowned me in his shadow.
I licked my lips. Whoops. Too much of an invitation.
“What would happen if I stop running?” I asked.
“I’d eat you up.”
“Doesn’t sound like a happy ending.”
“That’s because it would be the beginning.”
His kiss came quick—a dizzying spiral of anticipation, desire, and doubt. A shiver guided each wayward emotion. The frantic pattering of my heart. The tender submission of my body. The raging protests of my mind. The more I fought against myself, the harder it became to focus on anything but his nibbling, tender, deliberate kisses.
I stopped him before the heat traveled too far, too quickly.
“This won’t ever happen, Rem.” It might have been more convincing if my voice hadn’t trembled. “Not now.”
“You want me to reconnect, to get back into the world?” He tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. “Give me a reason. Give me a chance.”
I wanted to do nothing more, and that’s why I couldn’t. “I already did, once. Years ago. It wasn’t the barn that hurt me. You left, and you broke my heart, Rem.”
“I’m not proud of it.”
“Doesn’t matter now,” I said. “Besides. It was for the best. I’m smarter now.”
“I know.”
“Wiser.”
He nodded. “Of course.”
“I know what’s best for me.”
“So that means no fun?”
I met his gaze. “It means no you.”
