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Callum
Mal: Where the hell are you?
Mal: Heather is going to dump my mutilated corpse into the sea if she has to wait for the food any longer!
Callum: Sorry! Give me ten minutes.
Callum: Make that twenty!
“Did you really wear those shoes to a beach party, harpy?” Every muscle in Juniper Ross’s perfect body tensed at the sound of my voice.
Then in true Juniper fashion, she didn’t whirl, but spun with slow calculation – no doubt getting sand in those chunky black loafers – to glare at me, eyeing the six-pack tucked under my arm with an eye roll.
“A few grilled sausages and a crate of beer hardly constitutes a party.”
“Sure is fun though.” I winked.
Another move guaranteed to get her icy blood pumping.
As was the way my eyes dragged down her body, over the short little skirt, made even shorter by her mile-long legs.
“Shit, you’re even wearing tights.”
“My tights are better than …” she trailed off, nose wrinkling at the swim shorts covered in tiny half-peeled bananas I’d slung on after racing over from my parents’ place.
“What even are those?”
Adjusting the six-pack, I spun in place, giving her a full view of the goods.
“Swimming shorts, harpy. Don’t let the size of the bananas fool you.”
She grimaced like they were the most offensive things she’d seen in her life.
“I suppose I should be thankful you didn’t wear the Speedo I know you have tucked away somewhere.”
“Imagine it often, do you?”
Instead of answering, she snapped her sunglasses down over her eyes.
The frames slightly tilted like cat eyes.
Fucking classy is what they are.
“As always, lovely chatting to you, Macabe.”
I won’t lie, I watched her walk away.
Her slight hips swaying all the way to the shoreline where she accepted a canned drink from April, my brother Mal’s girlfriend.
“Callum!”
“Callum!”
It took a third shout to drag my attention away.
Bloody infuriating woman .
Cutting through the small group, I crossed to where Mal was manning a grill.
The smell of charcoal-burned meat enough to make me wince.
“It’s about time,” he grumbled as soon as I was in earshot.
Hair stuck to his forehead.
Sweat pouring down his flushed, stubbled cheeks.
I’d promised last week to help carry the grill down the steep bank from his cottage to the small, private beach that bordered Kinleith Whisky Distillery.
I’d also promised to do the cooking.
And pick up the cake.
Shit, I forgot the cake.
“Sorry, sorry!” Setting the crate down by the ice boxes, I yanked the spatula from his hand, manoeuvred him away from the waist-high flames and lowered the gas before we became responsible for a wildfire.
Today was April’s birthday and my sweetheart of a baby brother had wracked his brains for an entire month, trying to plan something special.
The low-key beach party had been my suggestion.
Which he’d agreed to so long as I was around to help with the cooking.
“I got caught up at Mum and Dad’s.”
He paused, holding a bag of half-opened hot dog buns.
“Everything all right?”
We all had a …
complicated relationship with our father, Mal more than any of us.
Jim Macabe was an arsehole, to put it bluntly.
An arsehole obsessed with the idea of moulding his sons into successful men.
As the oldest boy, I’d been placed into boxing lessons from the time I could walk.
And when I came of age, the British army.
Just like dear old Dad.
Alistair had replicated our father’s later-in-life vocation as a general practitioner.
Malcolm, being the only son who dared to live the life he wanted, had paid the price in the form of years of verbal put downs.
Dad never missed an opportunity to let Mal know how disappointed he was with him.
Now Jim Macabe was an arsehole with Alzheimer’s.
And it had all become a lot more …
complicated .
That fucking word seemed to haunt me these days.
“Everything’s fine, just helping Mum throw out some old clothes,” I lied.
If I told him Dad had developed a habit of wandering from the house over the last few weeks he’d only offer to help.
The last thing I wanted was Mal feeling obligated to get involved.
He nodded, silently adding a couple of burgers to the grill while I flipped.
“That bean burger is June’s. Don’t get it muddled with the meat or she’ll have my balls.” He shuddered and I laughed at the genuine fear in his tone.
“Wouldn’t it be a shame if I ate it?” I joked.
As if there were any way I would actually follow through.
“If you piss off my best friend at my birthday party, I’ll have your balls.” April appeared out of nowhere, ducking under Mal’s arm to wrap hers around his waist. She looked pretty as a picture, her red hair seeming to burn against the light blue summer dress.
“Please don’t talk about my brother’s balls.”
I laughed, cracking open a much-needed beer.
“Still salty, I see.” While April and Mal were getting together, I might have flirted with April in a bid to get his arse into gear.
April was a beautiful, world-famous actress, it was barely a hardship.
Not that I would have ever actually gone there.
One brother’s girl was all my conscience could take.
“And Juniper’s always pissed off.” Selecting a clean turner, I flipped the bean burger.
“She doesn’t look pissed off right now,” April said.
Like a magnet, my eyes sought Juniper, easily finding where she reclined on a beach towel.
No, she did not.
In fact, she looked far too happy.
Laughing at whatever crap Jamie Stewart was pouring into her ear.
He was a good lad. A great shinty player.
But he didn’t stand a chance with Juniper.
She’d eat him alive.
Then why does it bother you so much?
Rather than untangle that mess, I brought my beer to my lips.
Before I could take a single sip, “Uncle Cal!” split the air.
My nieces Ava and Emily, giggling with childish excitement as they wobbled over the soft sand, Boy and Dudley – Mal and April’s little and large dogs – hot on their heels.
“Uncle Cal, Uncle Cal!” Ava’s hands waved like excited pinwheels.
Boy barked, his giant Golden Retriever paws leaving wet prints on my white T-shirt.
“Oops.” Emily giggled.
“Hi girls, causing mischief?” I bent down, ruffling Boy’s cheeks.
“We found a dog!” Emily bounced on her toes.
Soaked from the water guns clutched in their hands, beads of water clung to dark eyelashes.
“A dog?” Frowning, I glanced about.
Only seeing Boy and Dudley.
“Where?”
“In the grass.” They both pointed up the sandbank.
“It’s hurt.”
“Can you show me?” Expressions suddenly serious, they nodded, both of them reaching for my hands.
I looked over my shoulder at Mal, letting them lead me away.
“I’ll be back.”
“Shit,” I huffed a minute later.
“That’s a bad word. Mummy said we can’t use bad words.”
“She might let us say it if Uncle Cal uses it,” Emily said to her twin.
“Can we say it, Uncle Cal?”
“No.”
“ What if I only whisper it? ” Emily whispered.
Trying not to startle the curled-up creature, I lowered to my haunches, putting my finger to my lips to hush their chatter.
Ava and Emily immediately closed in on either side of me.
“Is the dog hurt bad, Uncle Cal?” Ava asked.
“It’s not a dog.” I tilted my head, eyes racing over the dark brown fur and whiskered face, looking for signs of injury.
“It’s an otter.”
“ Shit .”
“Emily!” Ava whisper-shouted in my ear, always the voice of authority.
“Uncle Cal said no.”
Emily argued back, something about an occasion last month when Ava had spelled the word idiot with her fingers so she couldn’t get in trouble.
“Girls,” I interrupted.
“Can you do me a favour? It’s really important.” Wide-eyed, they both nodded.
“I need you to run back to beach and grab me a blanket so I can take this little guy to the Sea Life Sanctuary.” I might have started my veterinarian studies at twenty-three – the very moment I was able to relinquish my role in the army – but I had very little knowledge of aquatic mammals.
“I’ll get it!”
“No, I will. Emily … I’ll get it. You take over everything!”
Listening to their retreating steps, I tried not to sigh.
Assessing the trembling animal once again.
It wasn’t the little guy’s fault I hadn’t gotten enough sleep on Mum and Dad’s squeaky camp bed.
Or that I hadn’t paused long enough to eat anything today.
It needed help and it was my job to provide it.
The centre was only a twenty-minute drive away.
If things went to plan, I could be back in an hour.
I needed to grab April’s cake from the bakery anyway.
Ten minutes later, with the sorrowful otter the twins had nicknamed Finneas tucked into a beach towel, I made my excuses to April and Mal.
“Just can’t resist playing the hero.” April laughed, leaning back against Mal’s chest. “No wonder June calls you ‘Community Ken’.”
“She does?” Amused, confused and slightly aroused at the knowledge, I couldn’t resist sneaking a glance her way.
My teeth clicked. Still on that damn blanket with a man ten years my junior, Jamie’s expression suggesting Christmas and his birthday had come at once as his eyes pinged between her legs and her face.
I couldn’t even fault the lad; both were irritatingly spectacular.
“Hey, girls.” I waved to the twins, dripping water pistols still in hand.
“Aunty Juniper’s looking a little too dry for a beach party.” They squealed, accepting their mission with a little too much enthusiasm.
“Shit,” Mal said.
“Well … this has been fun.” April turned in Mal’s arms to watch the show.
“Remember what I said about your balls.” I blocked all images of Juniper and my balls before they could take form.
This was a family affair.
“You’ve had a good time?” Mal asked into her hair.
She tipped her head back on his chest, her expression spilling over with adoration.
“The perfect day. Thank you.”
“Princess—”
A scream split the air.
And … that was my cue.
Juniper was wringing out her short hair by the time I passed by, accepting the towel an equally soaked Jamie so gallantly offered.
We get it. You’re a real fucking Prince Charming.
“Captain,” he said when he spotted me.
“All ready for the game next week?”
“Yep.” I wasn’t.
I hadn’t even found time to book the pitch, which as captain of the Kinleith Shinty club was my responsibility.
I didn’t spare the kid another glance, too busy soaking up the furious little snarl on Juniper’s face as I clutched Finneas to my chest. You’re a sick, twisted man , a voice whispered.
Because if I couldn’t have her affection, you’d be damn sure I’d take her fury.
Anything that kept my name on those red lips.
“You’re looking a little … wet, harpy.”
“Screw you, Macabe.”
I winked, already retreating. “Enjoy the party.”