Headed for Trouble (The McKay Family #1) (23 page)

But … his gut twisted. Okay, yeah.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally.

Gideon didn’t respond, and Brannon looked up at the other man.

Gideon watched him, no expression on his face. “This doesn’t happen again,” Gideon said flatly. “Next time, I arrest your ass—and trust me, I’ll find a reason and then I’m going to have your damn license suspended for as long as I can. With as many tickets as you’ve gotten, it should be a piece of cake.”

“I get the point,” Brannon said.

Five minutes later, with a shiny new ticket as a memento, he pulled back on the road and kept to the speed limit the entire time.

Somehow it just didn’t feel the same, driving at fifty-five, but he’d have to deal.

*   *   *

When her brother first banged on the door, Neve was able to shove her head under the pillow. She was tired. If she ignored him, he’d probably go away.

She had a crying jag hangover and she didn’t want to talk to anybody, think about anybody or anything.

She just wanted to sleep.

The pounding grew louder.

She scrunched up her eyes and added a second pillow.

After about sixty seconds, she heard his voice, louder, clearer. Groaning, she wrapped the blanket more firmly around her. It didn’t help. Brannon yanked one pillow away and then a tug-of-war ensued for the second.

She finally relented and let him have it but as he tossed it away, she just buried herself deeper in her blankets. “Go away, Brannon.”

“Why?” His voice was easy. He might as well have been discussing the weather. “So you can stay in here and hide and pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist?”

She didn’t answer. She was kind of hoping to do just that. She’d woken up when Moira slid out of bed, although she hadn’t let her sister know. She’d become a very, very light sleeper over the past few years and even when she wasn’t waking up, thinking that William had found her, she still found herself twisting and turning, unable to get more than a few hours of sleep here and there.

She’d come to grips with what had happened—she really had.

Now she felt like she had to face it all over again.

“Is hiding from me going to make you feel better?” Brannon said softly.

Under the security of her blankets, she closed her eyes.

“I’m not hiding from you,” she said. Sighing, she threw the blankets back and sat up, staring at him.

He looked at her, bitterness in his eyes. “If you were, I wouldn’t blame you.”

The words made the ache in her chest expand.

Closing her eyes, she rested her chin on her knees. “I’m trying this new thing where I blame the people who actually are responsible, Brannon.”

“So you’re not staying in that bed to hide away from me?”

“Didn’t I just say that?” If she sounded a little bitchy, then so what.

A moment of silence passed before he said, “Then maybe you’re just hiding there away from the rest of the world. Will it make your problems go away, Neve?”

“Did you go back to school and major in psych, Bran?” Lifting her head, she narrowed her eyes at him. “If not? Then save me the armchair psychology.”

He shrugged. “It’s not armchair psychology. I’m just remembering the girl who used to kick her problems in the teeth. Matter of fact, I remember a time when you even punched a problem so hard, you knocked one of
her
teeth out … and you knocked some punk kid’s balls up into his throat.” He leaned forward, his voice softer as he said, “Maybe it’s time you find that part of yourself again, Neve.”

“I don’t think she exists anymore, Bran.” She rolled her head back, staring up at the ceiling, at the insanely glittery light fixture over her bed. “If she existed…”

“She does.”

Neve closed her eyes.

“She’s still you—you’re still her. It was that part of you that gave you the courage to leave,” Brannon said softly.

“Courage?” She laughed sourly. “That wasn’t
courage
. I just didn’t want to die.”

Even as she said it, she wanted to take it back. Brannon flinched. Averting his face, he stared at the far wall.

“Look, Brannon.” She flung an arm over her face so she didn’t have to see the look she’d put on his face. “I’m tired.”

Something rattled. “So am I, but I got up. Look … I’ve got donuts.”

For some reason, the silly bribe, straight out of her childhood made her smile a little. He held a box in front of him now, something he must have stashed out of sight. He lifted the top and held out a big, fat donut, smeared with icing and liberally covered with rainbow sprinkles.

“I’m not ten years old anymore.”

He shrugged. “Then I’ll eat it.”

“You’re so juvenile.” She sat up and held out a hand. “Gimme the damn donut.”

He grinned and passed it over. “I’ve got something I want you to help me with.”

She paused, the donut halfway to her mouth. She almost dropped it, then she thought about shoving it back at him. But some voice inside her insisted,
eat the damn donut.
She tore a bite out of it, chewed it, staring at Brannon. “I don’t need you taking care of me.”

“No. You
did
 … and nobody was around when you needed us.” He shrugged. “That’s over and done and that’s not what I’m doing. I’ve got a project. And I want somebody to help me out. Might as well be you.”

“That’s such a charming offer.” She took another bite of the donut, her belly growling demandingly. “Exactly what’s this project?”

He gave her a secretive grin. “Now, for that, you have to get dressed and come to town. You need to see it to really get the full picture, sis.”

CHAPTER TEN

The small town had perhaps a few small comforts, and they were small, but William was willing to give credit where credit was due. The bed-and-breakfast was small but charming, and the owner was, thankfully, English. Now a widow, she’d met and married her husband when he’d been stationed in Germany and she’d come back to the United States with him. When he’d died, she hadn’t wanted to leave their children.

He learned all of this as she fed him a late supper—not part of the typical service, but it was lovely, she’d told him, to have a fellow country man stay at the inn.

So he’d enjoyed an excellent meal, an excellent pot of tea, and retired to his room to continue thinking about just how he would approach things with Neve.

The night had passed easily enough. He’d learned how to sleep in the worst of conditions—and how to wake at the drop of a hat—but the bed had been surprisingly comfortable and now, refreshed and rejuvenated, he stood on the small balcony overlooking the river and considered his options.

She would have told them by now, he decided. The green scarf all but burned a hole through the pocket of his sports coat and he reached for it, stroking it.

Would that miserable sod Brannon have remembered him? He’d stopped using his middle name once he’d opened his own practice, so it was possible Brannon wouldn’t connect those dots. Still, he rather desperately wanted those dots connected—and when they did, he wouldn’t mind seeing the look on Brannon’s face.

Amused at the idea, he smiled through his breakfast, despite the fact that the eggs weren’t to his liking and the tea hadn’t quite hit the spot this time. She’d do better tonight. If not, he’d have a word with her. He believed in flawless service.

On his way out the door, he caught sight of her in her garden, although she wasn’t working. She was speaking with the neighbor. When she waved a hand in his direction, he pretended not to see. He wasn’t here to chat or make friends. His lip curled at the very idea of it.

Slipping into the car, he squinted out at the vivid bright sunlight. The sun already seared his retinas. Did the bloody thing never stop shining? The humid, muggy air promised a return of the previous day’s heat as well. He pulled his sunglasses on and sat there, pondering his options.

He needed to see what his Neve was up to.

*   *   *

The full picture included industrial plastic wrap, scaffolding, ladders, and men who alternately shouted insults and traded laughter. One man was in the middle of a particularly inventive insult when a big hand smacked him across the side of his head.

“There’s lady in the house, man. Watch your tongue,” Ian Campbell said as he moved from behind whatever wooden structure the men were working.

Neve lifted an eyebrow, amusement threading through her, but it died as all eyes shifted toward her.

Tucking her hands into the back of her pockets, she had to fight the urge to look down, look away, hunch her shoulders. For a moment, she had the utterly humiliating urge to dart behind her big brother and that absolutely
infuriated
her.

You used to kick your problems in the teeth
.

Yeah. She’d done just that. Mentally squaring her shoulders, she let her gaze slide around the room, pausing a moment as she found herself looking at Ian Campbell. Damn. That was a man who could make a woman’s brain melt. Along with other parts.

The corner of his mouth curled up in a smile and he dipped his head at her before he turned around and shouted, “Get to work, the lot of you. Maybe your bosses don’t mind if you sit on your arses, but Brannon won’t leave me be until this place is running and I’d just as soon be left alone to my pub.”

“
My
pub,” Brannon corrected as grumbling and voices filled the void.

Ian snorted. “You’re done bored with it, aren’t you? That’s why you turned the day-to-day running of it over to me and started spending most of your time on this place. Of course, you keep dragging me over here because you can’t decide what kind of lace doilies you want.”

“It’s not my fault you have better taste in lace doilies than I do,” Brannon replied, unperturbed.

Ian’s teeth flashed white against the neatly trimmed beard and then he looked at Neve. “Your brother there, he loves to start things up—he builds things and starts things, but once they take off, he leaves them alone. It’s an odd habit. He’s already half bored with this. Fortunately, he’s mature enough to see it through.”

“I’m not bored with the place.” Brannon’s voice took on an odd edge, odd enough that Neve slid him a look. His eyes were almost carefully blank. “I just have other things going on and I want somebody on hand to keep an eye on shit. You’re right here, so why not you? You’re a workaholic anyway.”

“Keep telling yourself that.” Ian kicked some plastic sheeting out of the way and gestured to them. “It’s a bit quieter in the back.”

“What are you going to do here?” Neve followed them, looking at everything around. Better to do that than look at Ian. Those muscles of his looked even more impressive today. The faded T-shirt was thin, soft from probably a thousand washings, and she had no trouble picturing the hard muscle underneath. The faded, threadbare jeans weren’t any different and she jerked her eyes away when she realized she was staring at his ass.

What was
wrong
with her?

It was impossible not to notice how damned beautiful he was, but she shouldn’t have so much trouble just putting Ian and his hard muscles and that amazing voice out of her mind.

She’d had a hard time not staring at him the other times she’d seen him. Had a hard time not staring at his hands as he pulled drinks, or not listening to his laughter as he flirted with the ladies.

“You’re not wearing your kilt,” she said. The words popped out of her without her even knowing she was going to say them. Each time she’d seen him in the pub, he’d been wearing what she guessed was the standard uniform for the people who worked there: a green shirt, paired with either jeans or a kilt. It amused her, considering how few men wore kilts in Scotland. There, kilts were formal wear. A guy didn’t walking around wearing them every day.

Today he wore battered jeans and an equally battered black T-shirt.

“No.” He glanced down at his dusty clothes with a shrug. Then he smiled at her. “But I can go change … if you like.”

“Ah…” Her heart fluttered. “No. No need to do it on my account.”

“Stop flirting, Ian,” Brannon said, his voice grouchy.

She slid him a look and saw that Brannon was frowning at her.

Ian had a different look altogether on his face and that sent a rush of heat through her.

“But she’s such a pretty thing, Brannon.” He winked at her and then slanted a look at her brother.

“If you don’t—”

“Neve, you look like you could use a cup of coffee,” Ian said, cutting her brother off. “They make a decent cup at the pub. Would you like Brannon to get you one?”

Brannon narrowed his eyes on the other man. She’d heard the weariness coming into her brother’s voice, already knew he was kicking himself and that made her want to kick
herself.
But at the same time, she wanted a few minutes away from the guilt that all but choked the air around them.

She wanted a few minutes of the distraction that was Ian Campbell.

“Brannon, I could use some coffee. Black.”

Brannon just studied Ian for another moment, then looked at her.

Without another word, he pushed past them.

Ian leaned back against what looked like a roughed-out version of a counter. He ran his tongue along the inside of his lower lip and she felt another tug down in her belly. Trying to ignore it, she lifted her chin and stared right back at him.

There were shadows under Ian’s eyes and she thought maybe he looked tired. Feeling more than a little bitchy, she decided to point it out.

He shrugged, looking unperturbed. “I didn’t sleep well. Kept thinking about…” Blowing out a breath, he slanted a look at her and asked, “Do you hate me?”

Neve blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“Sam Clyde, what he did, it was because Bran and I humiliated him. We hurt him, good and proper, both of us. When he thought his money would smooth it all over and it didn’t, that just made it worse. This was his revenge. If you hate me, I can’t say I’d blame you.”

If you hate me
 …

He said it so sincerely, but the words felt …
wrong
. So very wrong. “I don’t hate you,” she said quietly.