1. CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER ONE

B ennett McEvoy plunked his elbows on the worn wooden desk of his office and hung his head, catching his scalp in his fingers and tugging harder than he probably should have. Baldness didn't run in his family, thankfully, but he probably shouldn't be testing the strength of his follicles anyway.

The business was hemorrhaging money, and it was up to him to stop it.

But his brothers figured because the restaurant was always full, the brewery continuously sold out of stock, and their cabin reservation book had a mile-long waitlist, everything was peachy keen.

Well, it fucking wasn't, jellybean . It fucking wasn't.

They took a massive hit during COVID-19. They stopped giving themselves a wage, but paid all their bills and staff from the beer sales. So even though technically , the business was slowly creeping back into the black, Bennett and his brothers themselves were struggling.

They poured every penny they had into buying the property and setting up the businesses, and although it was all successful, the price of everything needed to run a restaurant, brewery, and rental cabins just continued to go up. Fuck, even between now and a year ago, laundry detergent had gone up over fifty percent. And between the kitchen, dining room, and cabins, they did a fuck-ton of laundry.

And all that shit added up.

Not to mention, the electricity bill which pillaged their bank account like it was some medieval sheriff collecting taxes from the poor villagers.

It didn't help that Clint just bought brewery equipment whenever he needed to, not bothering to discuss it with Bennett ahead of time. He just ordered what he needed—like a new unitank jacket conical fermenter, whatever the fuck that was?—which cost over a thousand dollars, and handed Bennett the bill, expecting Bennett to pull the money out of somewhere. His ass, maybe? Wyatt was the same way in the kitchen. He just bought a brand-new fucking commercial deep fryer for twenty-five hundred bucks, because the other one broke. And yeah, they needed it, but he didn't even talk to Bennett about it first. He just told Bennett to deal with it.

A knock on his office door pulled him from his spiraling funk. "Come in," he murmured.

"Daddy?" It was Aya, his seven-year-old daughter. Her nine-year-old sister, Emerson—or Emme, as they called her—was right behind her. They both had smoothie cups with reusable silicone straws.

"Hey, sweethearts," he said, throwing on a smile and pushing his rolling chair away from his desk so Aya could perch on his knee. "What kind of smoothie did Uncle Dom make you guys this time?"

She offered him the straw. "Pineapple, spinach, mango. It's really good."

He took a long pull off the straw, regretting it instantly when the brain freeze tried to render his children orphans for twenty seconds.

"Brain freeze?" Emme asked with a giggle.

He blinked open his eyes as the pain receded. "Yeah." Kissing Aya's temple, he inhaled her fruit punch shampoo. "It's a good smoothie though."

"We're b oooooo red , " Aya said. "What can we do?"

"Where are all your cousins? Go find them to play with."

Both girls made faces and rolled their matching brown eyes. Eyes they inherited from their late mother, who was half Colombian. "The boys are playing video games and we don't want to play video games," Emme said. "And Talia is in Seattle with Brooke and Uncle Clint. She skipped school and went over with them this morning."

"Oh, that's right," Bennett said, nodding. "Brooke had to chat with the police about—"

"All that crazy stuff that went down with her stalker-killer," Emme replied, plunking a hand on her hip and shaking her head. At that moment, she reminded him so much of her mother. Both girls looked a lot like Carla, but Emme was her doppelg?nger. Aya inherited Bennett's mother's blonde hair, but Emme had Carla's dark-brown curls, darker skin tone, and long eyelashes.

"Yeah," he confirmed, shoving the wave of grief and nostalgia down to the very bottom of his gut. He didn't have time to deal with that right now. "And Uncle Clint went over for support. He also took over some shipments of beer. Talia tagged along because she just wanted to."

The girls pouted. "I wish we could have skipped school and gone to Seattle." Aya took a sip of her smoothie. "We never get to do anything fun."

He tickled her ribs. "Oh, is that so?"

She giggled and squirmed on his lap.

"I seem to remember just last night, I let you both stay up late. We made microwave s'mores and watched two movies. That was pretty fun, wasn't it?"

"You know what we mean," Emme said, all sass and pre-teen angst.

Inhaling deep through his nose, he scrambled to collect every ounce of patience and compassion he could find. "I know," he said, meeting Emme's gaze. "It isn't the same, but it's something. It's all I can offer you right now. This isn't the first time we've had this discussion either."

"I know." Emme hung her head and broke eye contact.

"Maybe once school is out, we can take a couple of days and go camping or for a little road trip. It's been a while since you've seen Abuela and Grandpa Lang."

His in-laws lived in northern California and didn't see their granddaughters much. Carla had been their only child and when she died, they didn't take it well. It didn't help that Aya and Emme looked so much like Carla. The girls were just a constant reminder of the daughter Luisa and Greg lost.

Gravel crunched under tires outside.

A quick glance at the clock on the wall said it was nearly five o'clock. His newest guest for the cabin said she would be on the four o'clock sailing from Seattle, so she was right on time.

"Are you coming home for dinner, Daddy?" Aya asked. "Uncle Jagger said he'd make us turkey tacos if you need to work late."

"I still have a bit more to do here, but I should be up at the house by six. Tell Uncle Jagger to start the tacos and I'll finish them when I get home. He can stay and eat with us, though."

Aya hopped off his lap just as there was a knock at the office door. He never fully closed the door, and the kids knew that. So the knock was just a pretend formality and the guest pushed open the door.

He nearly swallowed his fucking tongue. He knew it was a solitary guest coming to stay for seven weeks at the cabin, but he hadn't bothered to Google their name. It'd been a last-minute rebook. They had a cancellation, and this guest snuck in, just minutes after he reposted the vacancy. A gift from the universe because that loss of revenue would have hit them hard. He hadn't even had to discount it because it was last minute. This woman—who was fucking gorgeous—paid full price.

"Hi!" Aya squeaked. "Who are you?"

"Aya," Bennet scolded.

She glared back at him. "What? I just asked her who she was. How did I do anything wrong?"

"You asked in a rude way," Emme said.

"Sorry," Aya replied, clearly deflated. Her cheeks went pink. "Hello. Who are you … please?"

Emme snorted.

Bennett's lip twitched.

"It's all right," the woman replied with a sweet smile directed at Aya. "I'm Justine."

"That's a pretty name," Emme said.

"Thank you."

"Checking in to cabin five?" Bennett asked, hating that his voice cracked like a thirteen-year-old boy's.

"Yes, please," Justine said, meeting his gaze. Her pupils dilated, and she swallowed.

Heat flared in Bennett's chest, spreading instantly up his neck and down into his groin. He cleared his throat and broke eye contact, glancing down at the old-school reservation book on his desk. Yes, he had a digital schedule as well, but during storm season the power often went out, so he liked to have backup hard copies too.

"I'm Emme, and this is my sister Aya," Emme said.

"I'm seven. She's nine," Aya added. "You're really pretty. I like your hair."

He lifted his gaze just enough to watch as a sexy flush bloomed in Justine's cheeks, but her smile grew causing her cheeks to apple. "Thank you. I think you two have lovely hair as well."

Bennett's daughters beamed and preened themselves, toying with their curls, which had grown a little frizzy over the day due to running like wildlings at school, and the never-ending humidity from the early June weather.

"Girls," he started, directing his attention to his daughters for a moment, "why don't you head on up to the house and find Uncle Jagger. Let him know the dinner plans. I'll be up shortly."

His daughters pouted, still clearly enamored with the new guest, but they nodded.

"We hope you enjoy your stay here," Aya said. "Come find me if you have any questions."

Justine snickered. "I absolutely will. Thank you."

The girls waved to Bennett and Justine, then disappeared with their smoothies through the door.

Now, the only person he could look at was the beautiful woman with almond-shaped brown eyes, freckles, and a slender neck. His daughters weren't wrong. She was very pretty. Gorgeous, in fact. He would guess she had at least one parent of Asian ancestry. Her hair was black with subtle highlights and hung in a long, sleek ponytail down her back.

"If you'll follow me, I'll get you all checked in to your cabin. Do you need a hand unloading?" He stood up, averting his eyes from her face at all costs. He'd never had such an intense, instant reaction to a woman like this before. Not even Carla.

It was throwing him for a loop, and he didn't like it one bit.

"Uh, that'd be great. Thank you," she said, following him out the door, but not before he stopped to grab the cabin key from the row of keys. It was the only one on the hook since the rest of the cabins were occupied.

However, him stopping so abruptly like that caused Justine to bump into his back.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," she apologized, stepping back.

He glanced over his shoulder, flashing her a smile. "It's okay. I shouldn't have stopped so suddenly. Just this way."

Her sleek black BMW SUV was parked on the gravel in front of his office—which was, in essence, just a little shack built onto the side near the brewery. Nothing fancy, nothing special. But it served its purpose as a place for him to conduct business with vendors, staff and guests.

She unlocked the SUV and popped the trunk.

"Oh, you can park in front of your cabin," he said. "You don't have to unload from here."

Another rush of color entered her cheeks. "Oh … okay." This forced her to wander behind the vehicle and manually close the hatch.

"It's just down that lane there if you want to drive. I can meet you there." He pointed in the direction of her cabin and waited for her to climb into her vehicle.

He welcomed the fresh air and the absence of this enchanting woman.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

Why was he having such a carnal, visceral reaction to her?

He reached cabin five in less than a minute, the gentle rumble of the BMW behind him. She parked in front of her cabin and turned off the engine.

He unlocked the door and opened it, then circled around to the hatch, which she'd already popped. She met him at the back and they both reached into the trunk at the same time.

Of course, they reached for totes adjacent to each other and the back of his hand brushed the back of hers.

Like he'd just touched an electric cattle fence, a shock raced through him.

She was the first to pull her hand away. "Sorry," she murmured, adjusting her approach and grabbing the lidless tote in a different way so their hands were nowhere near each other.

"My fault," he muttered, deciding to grab a big, plastic Coleman cooler instead. He followed her into the cabin, breaking his promise to himself to not check out her ass.

Dammit, she had a great ass.

A rocking ass. And it filled out those tight jeans like nobody's fucking business.

He swallowed and made his way into the kitchenette, plunking the big cooler on the floor near the fridge.

"We have Wi-Fi," he said, turning to face her. "Password is ‘ON THE FRIDGE'. But the ‘o' in ‘on' is a zero, and the ‘e' in ‘fridge' is a three. Then there's an exclamation point at the end. You'll see it in the guest binder on the coffee table."

" On the fridge ," she breathed, a small grin curling her lips. "That's clever. So when someone asks, what's the Wi-Fi password? You can answer with: "It's on the fridge'."

They said that last bit in unison.

"My youngest brother came up with that gem."

"I like it."

He nodded, cleared his throat, and made his way into the kitchen. "The stove is gas. Nothing fancy, no tricks to it. Just don't leave it on. Obviously. The shower, on the other hand, takes a solid minute to warm up. No matter what we do, it runs cold for a full sixty seconds before it starts to heat up. So don't jump in then turn the water on because you'll get a shock."

"Noted."

"You're next to a pub, so quiet time in the evenings follows the pub hours. When it shuts down, that's time for the parties here to quiet down too. We ask people to keep it quiet in the mornings until eight. So if you need to pack up and leave before then to catch the ferry, please do it quietly."

She nodded.

"Ummm … there's no television. We've stocked you with towels, and enough toilet paper and paper towels for about five days, after that it's on you. We do have coin-operated laundry in a little area off my office back there. There's a sign-up sheet that guests seem to find helpful since there are only two sets of machines. You're welcome to just use the washing machine then hang your clothes on a line. I think there's one strung on your patio out front." He craned his head around to indicate outside.

"Okay."

"Oh! And I almost forgot." He reached into the back of his jeans. "All guests get these free drink vouchers to be used at the pub. So … here." He held out the stack of free drink tickets and, of course, just like before, when she reached for them, their fingers touched.

That same electric fence sensation was back, and it was Bennett this time that pulled his hand away first.

What the fuck was going on? Did she just scuff her shoes along the carpet and touch something metal?

"Let me help you finish unloading," he said, a little too loudly. He spun around and headed back outside to her Beemer, grabbing another tote—this time a plastic one with a lid— and carrying it into the cabin. She followed him a few seconds later with a suitcase and a duffel bag.

"I think that's everything," she said, scraping her top teeth over her bottom lip. "Thank you for your help and the introduction to the cabin. I appreciate it." Her gaze shifted from his face to just beside him.

"Yeah, of course. Of course. Anything you need, you can find me or one of my brothers around. Wyatt's in the kitchen, Dom's at the bar, Jagger is always just … around, and Clint is in the brewery. So just ask for one of the owners, or McEvoy brothers, if you have any concerns. We all also live onsite, just up the hill beyond the tree line. So … help is never too far away."

He resisted the urge to slam his palm into his forehead at that cheesy line.

"Thank you. And you are?"

Fuck. He was off his game today. Not that he'd ever really had game, but even his pseudo game was off.

He thrust out his hand. "Bennett McEvoy. Nice to meet you."

"Justine Brazeau. Nice to meet you." Her hand was soft but firm in his. She had long, slender fingers, and no polish decorated her short-trimmed nails.

Unlike before, this time there was no shock or zap when they touched. But that heat from earlier found its way into his neck and groin again.

He pulled his hand free first and cleared his throat just as her phone chimed once in her pocket. Saved by the bell. "Anyway, I'll let you get settled. Welcome to San Camanez Island and McEvoy Cabins." Then he shoved those hands that ached to touch her into his pockets, watched as she glanced at her phone, a stoney expression crossing her face before she stuffed it back into her pocket. Hmmm. What was that about? Curiosity burned inside of him, but he'd already dished up enough awkwardness to this woman for one day, so he hightailed it out of there at a brisk, but not weird, walk. He didn't want her to think he was trying to escape, but he sure as fuck needed to get out of there.

He fell into his desk chair when he got back to his office, exhaling hard enough to cause the swath of hair that fell over his forehead to lift.

He glanced at the paperwork on his desk.

No way was he going to be able to concentrate on that now. Not when he had a half-chub in his jeans and alarmingly impure thoughts about the new cabin guest.

He'd been celibate for five years. Five fucking years.

He hadn't looked at another woman since his wife passed. Hadn't even thought about love, romance, or sex. Sure, he beat off in the shower a few times a week—but that was a stress release. He had no time for a relationship. He was raising two little girls and running a busy business with his brothers. There was also the guilt thing too.

He firmly believed that Carla had been the love of his life. That there was nobody else out there for him. So to have these infiltrating thoughts about another woman so suddenly and so intensely, hurt his head and his heart. It felt like a betrayal.

Clint—the oldest brother who was two years ahead of Bennett—had only recently found love again. His wife, Jacqueline, died in the same car accident as Bennett's wife, Carla, Wyatt's wife, Sheila, and Dominic's wife, Remy. They'd gone on a girls' trip to Vegas, but didn't even make it to SeaTac airport before their car was sideswiped on the highway.

And as far as he knew, none of his brothers had any kind of relationships since their wives died. Not even no-strings. Clint was the first to take the leap, finding love in the most unusual circumstances, with Hollywood starlet, Brooke Barker.

But unlike Clint's relationship with his late wife, Jacqueline, which had been rocky and headed for divorce, Bennett and Carla's marriage was wonderful. So the guilt that wrapped around his heart like a serpent was unrelenting, and constricted tighter and tighter anytime his brain even attempted to think about how beautiful or intriguing Justine was.

You know nothing about her. She's pretty. That's it. She can't even be intriguing when you know absolutely jack-shit about her.

Right.

He needed to get a grip.

She was a guest. Nothing more.

She just happened to be one of the most beautiful cabin guests they'd ever had. That shouldn't change a damned thing though. And for all he knew, she could be in a relationship.

Then why'd she book seven weeks here by herself?

Well, now his conscience was playing devil's advocate. That wasn't fucking fair.

Growling, he shoved his fingers back into his hair and tugged until a throbbing ache formed in his scalp. "Get a fucking grip, McEvoy," he muttered to himself.

A glance at the clock on the wall said it was five twenty. He told the kids he'd be home by six, but he knew he wouldn't be able to get any more work done tonight. So he closed down his computer, locked the door, and headed up the hill.

Music and laughter from the pub echoed around the property and followed him up the gravel road to where he and his brothers had their homesteads. A newly installed gate made him pause and punch in the code. It clicked open, and he stepped through, enjoying the peace that fell over him as he left his work behind for the night and walked toward his front door.

The smell of turkey tacos made his belly rumble. Alt-rock played from a small portable speaker in the kitchen and he could hear the girls giggling upstairs in their rooms.

"You're home earlier than you said," came Jagger's voice from the kitchen.

Bennett grunted and made his way through the house, finding his youngest brother dicing tomatoes at the counter. "Just couldn't concentrate anymore."

"Does that have anything to do with the new, pretty guest that just arrived?" Jagger smirked as he dumped the tomato pieces into a small bowl.

"Who told you about her?"

He glanced at the ceiling. "Two little birds who don't know how to keep their mouths shut."

Bennett grumbled and went to the fridge, pulling out a tallboy beer bottle from their brewery. Jagger already had one open on the counter—a tart apple hefeweizen. Bennett chose a classic, crisp lager. "She's pretty, sure, but she's not what's keeping me from concentrating." He popped the cap and took a long pull, enjoying that first icy hit across his tongue.

"What is it then?"

"I feel like a broken record, but fuck, we really need to watch our spending. We haven't paid ourselves any decent amount of money in three months. Because every time I think we can, new bills pop up. This month it was a new piece of equipment for the brewery and a new deep fryer for the kitchen. Not to mention the rising costs of ingredients for both. Fucking yeast has doubled in price. And that barley shortage last year hit us hard in the pocketbook. The farmers still haven't recovered, which meant we had to go north to Canada to get our supplies. And because of the demand increase, the prices went up."

Jagger grunted. "Yeah, that extra damp season created a fungal shit storm for the poor fuckers."

"The cost of life in general has increased to a nearly unsustainable level. Add in the fact that we live on a very desirable island in a very desirable part of the country … land prices are insane, which means property taxes are insane. I just don't know how we can continue without taking a hard look at things and making some cuts. The question is—where?"

Making a non-committal noise in his throat, Bennett's brother simply nodded and began cutting up romaine lettuce and throwing it into the salad spinner. "I mean … do I need to point out the new elephant on the property? The new loaded millionaire elephant? Maybe we can ask Brooke for a loan or something?"

Bennett took another long sip from his beer so he could think.

Clint would never go for it.

His relationship with Brooke was still new. He'd never be okay with them asking her for money. Even though it would solve all of their problems. They had some debt, and their mortgage on the property was coming up for renewal this year. Interest rates were soaring and their property evaluation had gone up by nearly a hundred grand since last year, which meant their property taxes were going to be higher. Add in the annual cost of living increase they owed their staff, and they were bleeding money.

He slept poorly most nights as it was, but all these money woes were really causing him to lose sleep. He met Jagger's patient gaze as he took another sip of beer.

"We'll figure it out," Jagger said. "Hopefully we'll get Bonn Remmen's land and we can expand and put more cabins on it. Make more money."

Bennett shook his head. "More land, more problems."

Jagger snorted and took a pull from his own beer. "Naw, bro. That's ‘mo' money, mo' problems'."

"If we had mo' money , I can assure you, we wouldn't have mo' problems ."

Chuckling, Jagger moved over to the gas stove and pushed the ground turkey around in the cast iron pan. "Well, either way, we're better off than a lot of people. So look on the bright side."

Bennett glared at his younger brother's back. Easy for him to say when he had the fewest responsibilities out of all of them. No dead wife, no motherless children, and besides managing the rental cabins with Bennett and posting about the pub on social media, Jagger had zero responsibility.

Sure, he helped with his nieces and nephews a lot. Fuck, some days the kids saw Jagger more than they saw their own fathers. And Bennett and his brothers couldn't run the business or raise their children without Jagger.

He was also a social media guru. Whenever whales were out in the bay in front of the pub, he was posting about it like crazy and their revenue doubled or tripled after that.

Jagger was incredibly smart, giving, patient, and never said no when they asked him for help with the kids. Hell, he even came over at five o'clock every morning to sleep on Bennett's couch and be an adult in the house with the girls so Bennett could go for a run.

He'd been their rock when the women died in the accident.

Guilt over having negative thoughts about his brother hit him hard, and his scowl dropped.

He swallowed and hung his head in shame. He was so fucking tired. His head hurt and all he could think about besides their money woes was, what was Justine making herself for dinner tonight? Did she cook? Or would she go to the pub?

Dammit. He was in trouble.

Little feet thundered down the stairs.

"You're home early!" Aya announced with glee, wrapping her arms around Bennett's waist.

He ran his hand over the back of her head. "Yeah. Just wanted to get home."

"The new lady in the cabins is very pretty," she added. "I like her."

Jagger turned around with a smirk on his face that Bennett wanted to smack off.

Emme started to help set the table.

Almost ten-years-old and the oldest of all the cousins, she was easily the most responsible and levelheaded child. Aya could be fanciful and dramatic, but Emme was Bennett's logical, practical, and methodical twin. Sometimes a little too much perhaps. Very little ruffled her feathers, and although he knew she wasn't some emotionless psychopath, he did wish she showed a little more emotion sometimes. Maybe he needed to model the behavior he hoped for his child. Maybe he was too stoic, and she thought that was the way she needed to be too.

He threw on a big smile even though the headache in his forehead tried to make him frown again. "How about ice cream for dessert?"

The girls' eyes lit up.

"Can we get the good stuff from down at the pub?" Aya asked. "The raspberry sorbet Uncle Wyatt keeps in the walk-in freezer on the left side behind the filo pastry?" Her cheeks grew pink.

"And how do you know exactly where the sorbet is?"

She giggled. "Uh … just a guess?"

Bennett snorted and jerked his chin at Jagger. "You're cool here?"

"Planned to be here longer. Go grab the sorbet."

Nodding, Bennett headed back for the door, but he had a shadow this time. Aya decided to join him.

"Do you think we'll see Justine again?" Aya asked, skipping beside him, her blonde shoulder-length curls bouncing.

"I don't know," he said, desperate to keep his nerves and desire to see the new guest hidden as deep down as he could get them.

"Well, I hope we see her. I like her."

Bennett punched in the code for the gate. Yeah, he hoped they saw her again

too. Because he really liked her.