McGuire Brothers Collection (The McGuire Brothers)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

MARGARET TATUM O’LEARY

A woman in search of a fresh start

where no one knows her name…

E very small town has that one family. That one, marches-to-their-own-kazoo family that’s been the butt of town jokes for years.

In the O’Learys’ case, it’s more like a century.

My great-grandmother moved to Fair Shot, Kentucky in the 1920s, presumably hoping for a “fair shot” at a new life with her American husband. But thanks to her thick Irish accent and habit of saluting magpies to ward off bad luck, she was pegged as an odd one from the start. Then she started attending the funerals of people she didn’t know—another very Irish thing to do, she swore to my embarrassed great-grandfather—and quickly found herself uninvited to every social event not held at the Catholic Church.

My grandmother didn’t have a shot of growing up to be anything but a spiritualist who talked to ghosts way before that was cool. After my grandfather died of a heart attack, she moved to the forest at the edge of town and reared my mother like a wild fairy.

Mom got knocked-up at seventeen by a guy who bailed, leaving Gram, Mom, and a string of deadbeat boyfriends to do their best with me. Spoiler alert: the boyfriends didn’t care about raising a toddler. As far as I could tell, they didn’t care about anything but drinking beer and playing video games.

Then Mom met Bruce, my sweet stepdad who mounts dead birds for a living. And there, in the woods, they brought forth six more children who they allowed to run weird and free, no matter what anyone in town had to say about it.

The rest, as they say, is history.

The O’Learys are the punchline of every Fair Shot town joke, the first suspects when strange crimes are committed—Gram did steal a headstone once but took it back when she was done cleansing it of bad vibes—and the last to be offered good jobs or juicy promotions.

By the time I left, I’d been working at the local daycare for five years and was still the lowest paid worker in the center. I’d been passed up for advancement so many times I had Candace, my supervisor’s, “So and So is just a better fit” lecture memorized. I showed up early and left late almost every day, leaving my heart on the playmat with those kiddos, but it didn’t make a difference.

No one seemed to be able to see past the O’Leary last name or the rumors that my six siblings all have different fathers.

Which isn’t true—I’m the only one with a different father; Bruce sired the rest of this generation’s weirdos—but even if it were true, that’s no reason to deny me, or my mother, career advancement. Mom’s been a kickass nurse at the same urgent care clinic since my little sister Molly was a baby and still hasn’t made shift supervisor.

Molly is now twenty-four and has a baby of her own.

It was at Molly’s baby shower that I finally realized I couldn’t stay in Fair Shot. I couldn’t take being judged by my flaming red curls and last name for the rest of my life.

Which is why I’m here, in Bad Dog, Minnesota, hundreds of miles from home, about to dive headfirst into my fresh start at a lakefront bar full of drop-dead gorgeous ice fishermen.

Ice fishing! That’s a cool thing you can’t do in Kentucky.

I’m fascinated by the frost in their beards when they swing through the pub door, and they look pretty interested in the new girl. These men are actually smiling at me. Smiling, without a snarky “she’s one of those O’Leary girls” look in their eye. One even bought me a martini and nicely backed off when I said forty years was too much of an age gap for me.

But props to grandpa for shooting his shot!

I can’t remember the last time someone bought me a drink. The best I could hope for back home was to sneak into the local Eagles club after everyone else was too tipsy to notice I was there. All O’Learys were banned from the club when the owner’s wife had a falling out with my grandmother over a spiritual reading gone wrong. Apparently, Gram correctly deduced that the woman’s husband was cheating on her, the woman in correctly decided he was cheating with Gram, and our family was denied beer forever more.

The Eagles was the only place in Fair Shot that served drinks. We had one bar, two restaurants, and roughly ten thousand horse stables.

That’s it.

In Bad Dog, they have a super cute Victorian downtown with shops, restaurants, and coffeehouses, and a waterfront area with pubs and a restaurant called The Dirty Taco. The name sounds filthy (in more ways than one), but the fish tacos are legitimately delicious.

Good thing, since I’ll be staying in the apartment above the restaurant for the next month, until I’m able to sort out a long-term living situation.

The single dad I’m nannying for offered me the guest suite above his garage but was understanding about me wanting to put off moving in until we meet in person, and I make sure I click with his daughter. We chatted several times on the phone, of course, and he and Sarah Beth seem great, but like Gram always said—don’t bless the fish until it reaches land.

She also said never bolt the door with a boiled carrot.

Both seem like good advice for a sheltered twenty-eight-year-old on her first adventure away from home. I want to make sure Mr. McGuire is as great as he seems—and not inclined to get creepy with the nanny after hours—before I move into his guest suite.

I also want to have a little fun before I have to worry about my employer spying on me on Saturday nights. I want to stay out too late and dance until my feet hurt. I want to kiss a cute Minnesota boy, hear his heroic ice fishing tales, and maybe even take him home for the night.

I’ve never had a one-night stand or even kissed too much on the first date, but now seems like a great time to start. I’m the cute new girl in town, the men are definitely interested, and it’s been two years since Josh and I called it quits. I need to get laid nearly as much as I need this fresh start.

And I’ve spotted the perfect candidate for my “Start Life in Bad Dog with a Bang” mission…

The man at the opposite end of the bar is gorgeous—dark brown hair that’s shaggy in a cute way, sexy beard, and broad shoulders that fill the hell out of a flannel. Not to mention those moody brown eyes a movie star would kill for.

He’s also alone, playing solitaire with real cards, not on his phone, and has peeked my way more than once. But so far, he hasn’t made a move toward my side of the bar by the pinball machine with the talking trout on top.

If my sister, Peach, were here, she would insist I stay where I am and summon Mr. Sexy Flannel with my vibes. Peach is a big believer in vibes and making boys come to her. But the light is dim in Sawyer’s Lakeside Bar and Bistro and this move is about taking my destiny into my own hands. No more waiting for other people to give me a shot or forget that my last name is O’Leary.

I grab my still half-full martini, slide off my stool, and amble over to Sexy’s position near the jukebox, figuring I’ll whip up a “want to flirt?” line on the fly. I’ve had enough vodka to be feeling loose and brave, but not enough to say something stupid. If he turns out to be married, I’ll be able to extricate myself with minimal damage or embarrassment.

I’m about to ask him if he knows Crazy Eights, my favorite card game as a kid, when he glances over and says, “Go Fish? The one with the most points buys the next round. The loser shares his or her most embarrassing story?”

His voice is deep, rumbly. Absolutely perfect .

It’s also a tad familiar, but I chock that up to his male narrator vibes—I listen to a lot of audiobooks—and slide onto the stool next to his with a grin.

“That sounds like a good time.” I cock my head as I reach for the deck. “But I’ll warn you, I’m God Tier at Go Fish. You don’t stand much of a chance, new friend.”

“Then loser buys drinks and has to tell their most embarrassing story. I don’t want you to think I’m just after a free drink.”

I shuffle like the card shark I am. “You’re not? Then what are you after, Mr…”

“Drew,” he says, extending a hand. I clasp it tight, fighting a girlish sigh as his warm palm swallows mine whole.

I’m a petite woman, but not that petite. He’s simply enormous and even more handsome up close. He also smells like warm linen fresh out of the dryer with a top note of cedar and spice. I’m pretty sure I would be openly drooling if I didn’t have a martini glass to hide behind.

“I’m looking to blow off a little steam and enjoy a pretty woman’s company,” he continues. “Been a rough couple of weeks at work. You?”

“Friends call me Tatum, and I’m new here,” I say resuming my shuffling. “So, I’m looking for the skinny on all the best places to get breakfast and a detailed list of people to avoid if I want to stay sane in this particular small town.”

He laughs, his eyes crinkling delightfully at the edges.

He’s a little older than I am, but not too much older, and I’ve always had a thing for slightly older guys. They’re less likely to get mad at you for wanting to go to bed early or not wanting to have sex with cartoons blasting in the background. I rode Josh to the sound of Bart Simpson fighting with Homer so many times that The Simpsons memes give me flashbacks.

I’m looking for something more grown-up this time around…like a man with clever eyes that twinkle as he says, “Sounds like you have experience with small towns.”

“Grew up in one,” I say. “Have the invisible scars to prove it.”

He winces. “Hope they’re not too deep.”

“Nah,” I say with a smile, “but deep enough to be excited about a fresh start. So, who’s the town gossip? She’s the one I’ll really want to steer clear of. What she doesn’t know, she can’t spread around the Shop ‘n Save.”

“Too late.” The bartender with the full, handlebar moustache sets a fresh bowl of peanuts in front of us. “You sat down by the son of the biggest gossip around these parts.”

“That’s not true,” Drew says with a charming roll of those warm brown eyes. “My mom isn’t a gossip. She just likes to talk. A lot. About everything.”

“Uh-huh,” the bartender says, sounding unconvinced. He shoots me a wink as he adds, “Be careful with this one. Drew’s one of our most eligible bachelors and related to half the town. Do him wrong and you’ll have your share of enemies. Do him right and you’re also in trouble. But if I were you, I’d rather fight a flock of pissed-off single ladies than this guy’s entire clan.”

“Clan,” I repeat, glancing warily Drew’s way. “You come from a big family, too? I’m the oldest of seven.”

“Second oldest of eight with triple the number of cousins.” He laughs again and it’s instantly one of my favorite sounds ever. It’s just so cozy and rumbly, like an oversized cat purring just for me. “But my clan is harmless, I promise. As long as you’re not afraid of big Irish families who think ghosts are real and never met a holiday they couldn’t drink under the table.”

I beam at him. “That sounds familiar. And lovely, actually. Like the good parts of home.”

His gaze warms, and I find myself falling even further under his spell. “Then you’ll do just fine around here, Miss Tatum. And if you’re as good at playing cards as you are at shuffling them, I might have a poker game for you. My little sister, Binx, has a running game on Sunday nights.”

“Binx?” I grin as I deal the cards for Go Fish. “That’s a fun name.”

“Her given name is Beatrice, but she renamed herself when she was four or five. She refused to put on pants until everyone in the family started calling her Binx. The protest lasted about two hours before Mom gave in to keep her from running outside to play in the yard half naked.”

I laugh. “She sounds like my kind of people.”

“Oh yeah?” He leans closer, dropping his voice as he asks, “You have a wild side?”

“Maybe,” I say, fanning out the cards in my hand. “And maybe if you stick around long enough to let me trounce you at Go Fish and Trout pinball, you’ll get to see it.”

He bites his bottom lip, and my panties melt clean off. They’re already sliding down the inside of my black jeans to pool in a puddle on the floor when he says, “I’ll stick around as long as you’ll put up with me.”

Stifling the insane urge to tell him that I’ll take Forever, please, and thank you, I drop my voice to a husky whisper and say, “Sounds good. Sounds even better if you have any threes.”

“Go fish,” he whispers back, somehow managing to make those two, kid-friendly words sound completely filthy.

By the time I trounce him three times at Go Fish, and we take our fresh drinks back to the pinball machine, I’m buzzing all over. I haven’t been this attracted to a man in years.

Unfortunately, I also haven’t asked a man back to my place in…ever.

I have no clue how to close a seduction deal, but before I can stress too much about it, Drew’s hands are on my hips, positioning me at the optimal angle to master the game. He then proceeds to lean around me, practically cradling me against him as his hands cover mine on the buttons.

We battle the whirlpools and evil octopuses trying to thwart our ball’s progress for nearly half an hour. As we play as a team, my bottom keeps brushing against the front of his jeans, his hands flit from my waist to my fingers and back again, and his breath is warm on my neck as he murmurs tips and encouragement.

By the time we’re down to our last quarter, I’m ready to beg him to bend me over the pinball machine and take me from behind like the horny little Trout pinball player I am.

I’ve never said anything that crass, but I’m not in my right mind. I’m drunk on hormones and buzzed on martinis and determined not to go home alone tonight.

So, when Drew asks if I’d like to get another roll of quarters and continue our quest to get the ball in the secret trout fishing hole, I shake my head and say, “No, I think I’m ready to head home.” Disappointment flashes in his eyes, giving me the courage to add, “But I have beer in the fridge and three different kinds of pretzels, if you’d like to come watch a movie or something.”

His hands drop to my hips, giving them a squeeze that makes my thighs tingle. “I’d love to come watch a movie and explore your wide variety of pretzels. I have a thing for pretzels…and sexy redheads.”

Now, it’s my turn to bite my lip, and silently celebrate as his focus shifts to my mouth, hunger sparking in his eyes. “Then let’s get going.” I nod to my right. “I’m just down the street, above the taco restaurant.”

He winces. “I’m sorry. I feel the need to apologize to everyone who’s new in town for that name. The owner’s the sweetest old lady, but her English isn’t very good. She has no idea that The Dirty Taco sounds scandalous.”

We start toward the door, waving at the bartender as we go. “No need to apologize. With a town name like Bad Dog, I think people would be understanding about weird names. How did it get called that anyway?”

We step out into the brisk winter wind. He instantly wraps one side of his big coat around me, sheltering me from the cold and giving me the perfect excuse to snuggle closer. “That’s a long story. One better told over pretzels. You have any of the kind filled with peanut butter?”

“I have peanut butter filled, almond butter filled, and the skinny stick kind with lots of salt that are perfect for dipping in hummus.”

He groans low in his throat, and I instantly decide I need to hear him make that sound again. While he’s inside me.

I don’t know when my spicy side got so supercharged, but I’m too weak to fight it. I’m helpless against this man’s sex vibe, a fact I prove when we get back to my place by shutting the apartment door behind us and launching myself into his arms.