Hunks, Hammers, and Happily Ever Afters (26 page)

This? “The motel?”

Sophie reached out and put her hand around his and smiled in a way that made his heart swell. “Yeah. The Starlight too.”

Cathy Clamp

Cathy Clamp is a USA Today bestselling author of paranormal and romance fiction for Tor Books, including the "Tales of the Sazi" series, the "Thrall" trilogy, the "Blood Singer" series and her her "Sazi of Luna Lake" series. She also writes stand-alone novels, short stories and novellas in anthologies/collections for multiple publishers. 

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A Lantano Valley Novella

By Anna J. Stewart

Marked For Love

A Lantano Valley Novella

Copyright © Anna J Stewart 2015

B
etween managing Lantano Valley's go-to pub, running herd on her six siblings, and dealing with an emotionally unavailable father, the last thing Regan Murphy needs to add to her already overflowing life is tattoo artist Brodie Crawford. But from the moment she meets this sexy single father, she can't put him out of her mind.

Brodie Crawford is looking for a fresh start for himself and his five-year old daughter. Brodie knows little to nothing about family. All that matters to him is giving Cilla the life she deserves...a life he'd very much like Regan to be a part of. If he can convince her it's time to live for herself.

Dedication

For Annissa Turpin-Giannone,

The epitome of patience

CHAPTER ONE

“What kind of irresponsible idiot gives a sixteen-year old a tattoo?” Regan Murphy hauled her sister Maura through the door of MARKED, Lantano Valley’s new tattoo parlor, and pointed to one of the kingly purple upholstered chairs in front of the window.  “Sit! Do. Not. Move.” Regan pinned the sullen teen with the same promise of death stare their mother might have used had she still been alive. 

The faint hint of lavender in the air did nothing to calm Regan’s anger as Maura slumped, arms crossed over her tank-top covered chest and frowned so hard Regan was sure she’d sprain her chin.

Tattoo needles stopped buzzing as Regan turned her attention to the two men in front of her. The one with the needle in his hand looked as if he’s stepped off the screen of a Japanese Anime movie, his expression telling her he wasn’t easily fazed by raving red-headed females. The man he was in the process of inking, however, an older man who could well have challenged her father for his social security benefits, appeared more than a tad apprehensive as Regan’s indignation swirled around the room like an eagle with its talons out. The throbbing bass of down and dirty blues emanating from the stereo speakers hidden in walls painted in hues of gold and copper was just loud enough to set her teeth on edge.

“Are you the owner?” Regan’s whiplash tone set the employee’s mouth to twitching. Thick strands of dark hair fell over his wide equally dark eyes as he shook his head.

“No, ma’am.” He gestured toward the purple velvet curtain at the far end of the room and turned the needle on again. “Brodie’s in the back with—”

“Thank you.”  Regan stormed past the counter and the four stations that included black stretchers that resembled those found at any one of the dozen spas in town. Or so she’d seen on TV as she couldn’t remember the last time she’d stepped foot in anything remotely connected to a relaxed atmosphere. As it was she barely had time to deal with Maura’s latest ode to rebellion. Fridays were her biggest delivery days at the pub and she didn’t trust anyone else to sign for the crates of liquor that would be arriving at their back door. “Ah!”  Regan spun around and caught Maura in mid-bolt.  “Your butt better be in that chair when I come back out or you can kiss any hopes of drivers’ ed this year goodbye.”

Maura huffed, her blade straight red hair falling around her shoulders like a protective curtain as she glared at Regan. “I don’t see what the big deal is. It’s my bod—”

“The fact you don’t see is precisely the point. Plant it.” She aimed her finger at the chair.

Maura glared at her, mascara thick lashes fanning sparking glass green eyes.

“Now.”

“Fine.” Maura flopped into the chair, crossed her long, jean encased legs, and looked anywhere but at her sister.

Keeping hold of the anger that had descended this morning when she’d walked in to the bathroom and found Maura attempting to treat the infection that had settled around the mediocre Celtic Knot tattoo on the base of her spine, Regan ripped open the curtain to MARKED’s back room. “I’m looking for someone named Brodie.”

“You found him.”

Whatever else Regan planned to say died on its way out of her mouth as she stared at the man perched on a miniscule stool, a tiny tea cup clasped between his right thumb and index finger.  Amidst the shelves of supplies in the makeshift kitchen and break area, the industrial plastic child’s table in front of him was living up to its marketing promise of supporting the man’s significant build.

Had Regan the time to think, she might have laughed as she took in the sight of him wedged into an explosion of pink and white lace, delicate plates filled with plastic pastries being poured a cup of invisible tea by a little girl who appeared as if she'd stepped out of the pages of a story book.

As
Brodie
got to his feet, Regan stood her ground, tempted to tumble backwards as he turned dark hickory brown eyes on her.

“Brodie Crawford.” He had a bad boy twinkle she was all too familiar with, but it was the humor shining on his face that turned her boiling temper to nothing more than steam. He held out his hand which she took automatically. “Welcome to MARKED. It’s, uh,” he chuckled. “It’s tea time.”

“So I see.” Regan tugged free from his electric grasp and tucked an imaginary strand of hair behind her ear. Men weren’t new to her. At twenty-eight, she ran the most successful sports pub in Lantano Valley and had raised her four younger brothers. Testosterone was as familiar to her as estrogen was to a runway model.  An overabundance of testosterone, however, had never appealed to her. Then again, she hadn’t met Brodie Crawford before.  Every dormant female hormone she possessed awakened with a shot.

At an Amazonian five feet ten, Regan appreciated a man she could look up to and she found she enjoyed the added few seconds it took to meet the penetrating gaze of the man who came across as a hybrid biker/college professor. The contrast was both startling and intriguing as was his longish brown hair that brushed the tops of his shoulders and colorful inked images swirling over well-toned arms.

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—”