Meet The McIntyres - The Complete Series

by Rebecca Barber

  Feeling overwhelmed and slightly fidgety, I grabbed my robe from the hook on the door and headed down the back stairs. The frigid air stung my cheeks from the wild wind that rattled the tin shed behind the next building. A moment later I was in the sanctuary of my gleaming stainless kitchen, my iPod cranked up as I collected bowls, spoons, and canisters. I needed to try something new. Something challenging. I’d make it tomorrow’s special. Forty-five minutes later, there was flour from one end of the counter to the other and the smell of my newest creation, lemon meringue cupcakes, wafted from the oven. While they baked, I decorated the gingerbread men and waited for the dough to rise.

  Only when I sat down with a still warm delicious cupcake and a cup of tea did I start to feel slightly better. Or maybe it was I was just too exhausted to worry anymore. As soon as the oven pinged, I pulled out the tray of cinnamon scrolls, tidied up the bench, and headed back to bed. It was in everyone’s best interest that I got at least a couple of hours shuteye before the doors opened early tomorrow morning.

  The pounding bounced off my brain. It felt like someone was bashing directly on my skull. When my feet touched the cold floor, my head spun and my stomach gurgled. It was like I had the hangover from hell without even popping the cork on the Pinot. Squeezing my eyes shut, I willed away the headache building behind my eyes, but it didn’t cooperate.

  The banging came again. Even louder this time.

  It took longer than it should have for me to figure it out. It was embarrassing, really. Well, it would have been if anyone was around to see it. The pounding wasn’t on my skull, but on the front door. Grabbing my robe from the back of the couch, I stuffed my feet into my fluffy slippers and headed down the stairs. The hammering had to stop. Now! For fuck’s sake, I hadn’t even had my coffee yet.

  Desperate to make it stop, I took the stairs too fast, and four steps from the bottom, I slipped. The only thing stopping me from landing on my ass was the iron-like grip I had on the railing. Almost ripping my arm from the socket, I whimpered in pain as I found my shaky feet and righted myself.

  “Open up!”

  A deep voice boomed as the banging came again. Oh my god! Enough already!

  Yanking the door open, I came face to face—well, face to chest with a solid wall of man muscles. “What?” I snapped harshly.

  “Where’s Clayton?”

  “Who’s Clayton?”

  “What?”

  “What do you want?”

  “For god sake’s, woman. Where the hell is Clayton?”

  “I’ll ask again. Who is Clayton?”

  “He owns this place.”

  “I own this place.”

  “What?”

  “I. Own. This. Place.”

  He might have been sex on legs and making mine weak, but he definitely wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed.

  “Oh.”

  “I bought it about six months back. It’d been on the market for a while, I think.”

  “Oh, okay, then.”

  “It’s too early for this. I need coffee.”

  “Yes. Please.”

  “You. Want. Coffee?”

  “You still sell it?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Then I’ll take a cappuccino. Mug. Two sugars.”

  “It’ll take a minute for the machine to warm up?”

  “You’re not open?”

  “Running late.”

  “Not a good look for a bakery.”

  “Gee thanks, Captain Obvious.”

  “I’ll wait.”

  “For what?”

  “The coffee.”

  “Oh. Fine.”

  I heard myself stuttering out one word, monosyllabic answers. It was too early for this sort of banter. Way too early, especially without my required dosage of caffeine in my system.

  Without another word, I ducked behind the counter, plugging in the coffee machine and readying for what I was hoping was a slow day. The headache behind my eyes was beyond exhausting, and I wanted nothing more than to clamber back up the stairs and crawl under the covers. The only thing stopping me was the knowledge that if I didn’t drag my tired ass to work my bakery, my very reason for breathing wouldn’t remain mine very long. Just one of the joys of working for yourself.

  “I’m just…just going to go and…ah, get dressed.”

  “Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”

  I needed to get out of there. Away from him. I didn’t even know his name, I didn’t need to. He was completely overwhelming me. Tripping up the stairs, I darted back into my apartment, slamming the door behind me. It didn’t seem like enough. Feel like enough. After flicking the lock, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror.

  Horrified.

  Mortified.

  Completely humiliated.

  I’d been seen in public. Seen by the hottest piece of man meat I’d seen in a long time. The first person to get my pulse racing and my panties damp in a million years. And I looked like this. Hair everywhere. Not a skerrick of makeup on. Wearing nothing but my oldest, tattiest pyjamas and my dirty old robe. I looked like a grandmother. My grandmother. The only thing missing was the unmistakable scent of baby powder.

  Kicking off my slippers, I stripped as quickly as possible and dashed towards the bathroom. I didn’t have enough time to pull myself together, not like I really wanted to. I had a bakery to open and a customer waiting. Splashing some cold water on my face, I grabbed a pair of jeans from the pile on the chair in the corner, and after a quick sniff test of my pink long sleeve shirt with the cute little cupcake logo over my boob and a smudge of chocolate on my name., I pulled it over my head before stuffing my feet into a pair of runners. Grabbing the hair tie from the sink, I tied my hair back in a low pony tail and headed for the door. I was halfway down the stairs when I realised I’d forgotten to brush my teeth. Spinning on my heel, I raced back up to the bathroom and stuffed my minty toothbrush in my mouth. My first impression may have sucked, but I’d be damned if my second was going to be just as bad.

  Shocked.

  I was knocked on my ass with surprise. Literally.

  My huge clumsy ass hit the ground with a heavy thud. Good thing it was extremely well padded. It took a moment to find my feet and dust myself off, but I couldn’t hide the pink that coloured my cheeks. One day I’d be smooth. One day I’d be classy. One day, I wouldn’t be the embarrassment that I was. At least that was my dream.

  The scent of coffee wafted through the air and my stomach groaned with appreciation.

  It wasn’t just the intoxicating aroma of the early morning coffee that made my mouth water. There he stood. Looking exactly like a cover model from one of the many romance novels that filled my Kindle. And my dreams. The perfect hero. And he had coffee. He didn’t need anything more.

  “How do you take your coffee?”

  “Huh?”

  “Your coffee. How do you take it?”

  “Hot.”

  That earnt me a deep, throaty chuckle. I felt my cheeks burn under his gaze. You’d think I should be used to it by now. I wasn’t. Not by a long shot. I couldn’t be sure I ever would be. If I ever could be.

  “Why don’t you take a seat, sweetheart?”

  That condescending, controlling ass. This was my bakery. He was behind my counter. Acting like he owned the place. While I slipped into the booth, he placed napkins, cutlery, and a couple of cinnamon scrolls between us. When he handed me my morning java, I think that was the moment I fell in love with him.

  “It’s a mocha,” he confirmed as he sat down opposite me. “You look like the type of girl who loves a little chocolate with her morning caffeine injection.”

  My eyes fixed on his huge calloused hands as they dwarfed his mug. Somehow this guy, the one with the serious scowl, had managed to make me a mocha with the most adorable art in the milk froth. He was a contradiction. Someone so hard and sharp, someone so solemn had made me a coffee with good morning written in the foam. It was so sweet. No one had ever
done something like that for me before. It was an incredible feeling.

  Then I sipped it.

  Well, fuck me. Hard.

  It was the most perfect blend of creamy chocolate and coffee I’d ever had. And it was deliciously hot.

  “Enjoying that?” His eyebrow quirked as he asked.

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “Those cute little moans coming from your lips don’t sound so innocent.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah. Oh.”

  I watched as he bit into the scroll and a tiny dribble of the white icing trickled down his chin. I wanted to lean over and lick it off, yet I didn’t even know his name. I wanted to ask, but then again, maybe it was the mystery that made this even better. Hotter. If I only had one morning like this, I wasn’t about to ruin it with trivial information like names.

  “So you own this place now?”

  “Yeah. It’s all mine. Well, mine and the bank’s.”

  “It’s…it’s different to how I remember it.”

  “No purple when you were here last time?”

  “Not that I remember. No pillows either.”

  “It was a good thing I got here when I did. It was pretty bland.”

  “I wouldn’t call it bland. Not exactly.”

  “What would you call it? Devoid of colour and life?”

  “You’re a tough nut, aren’t you?”

  “Had to be.”

  “And now look at this place. Full of flowers and pictures and girly crap.”

  “Girly crap?”

  “Yeah, meaningless stuff. All those trinkets stuffed on shelves and anywhere else you could find room.”

  “No, tell me what you really think. Come on! Why hold back now?” I dared. Even though he was poking fun at my sense of style, there was no menace in his words. The sly smirk tugging at his lips gave away his playful side.

  “Well, what I really think is…this cinnamon scroll is delicious. It may even be the best one I’ve ever tasted. In fact, I think I’m going to have another.”

  He winked.

  The asshole winked at me.

  In the exact same moment he leant across the table and stole my breakfast before taking a huge bite.

  “Help yourself, why don’t you?”

  “Don’t worry. I will. Thanks,” he mumbled through a mouthful of dough.

  When he finally swallowed, it may have been the single sexiest thing I’d ever seen. I watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat and he leant back in his chair patting his stomach. His non-existent stomach. I was left to imagine the six pack he hid behind the plaid blue shirt.

  “So, I take it you grew up around here?”

  “Yeah.”

  “But you’ve been away?”

  “How…”

  “You didn’t know I owned this place.”

  “No. I didn’t.”

  I’d obviously hit a nerve. He didn’t want to talk about it. Getting anything more from him was like pulling teeth.

  We sat there for a few minutes in silence. It wasn’t strained or uncomfortable, it was oddly perfect. While I sipped the last of my delicious mocha, he scarfed down the remaining scroll before he started stacking plates.

  “Please, leave it.”

  He’d already made coffee, I couldn’t bear to think of him cleaning up as well.

  “If you’re sure.”

  “I am.”

  “Well,” he began as he rose from the table and sunk his hands into the pockets of his extremely well-fitting jeans. “Thanks for breakfast. I’m really sorry I woke you…”

  “Don’t be.” I waved off his apology. “My lazy ass should have been out of bed hours ago. Really, you did me a favour.”

  “Okay then.”

  “Okay.”

  “I had fun.”

  “Yeah.” Now I was the one who’d gone monosyllabic.

  “We should do it again sometime.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  The bell over the door chimed and Josie fell through ungracefully. She was the only person I’d ever met who was more of a klutz than I was. Her poor daughter, the adorably gorgeous Matilda, had inherited the gene. Today, though, Josie was on her own. Not a sight you saw often.

  “Morning!” she called loudly.

  “Morning,” I replied unenthusiastically.

  As soon as I heard it, I hated my voice. Josie and her sister Mia had become my best friends and biggest confidants since I’d arrived in town. I thought moving to a new place to begin again was a brilliant idea. I could be whoever I wanted to be. Turns out I hadn’t factored in the loneliness that would threaten to suffocate me at every turn. Thankfully the sisters had quickly commandeered my life and set me back on my feet. I owed them everything.

  “What the fuck is hanging out of your jeans?”

  I heard Josie’s high pitched laugh intermingled with a deep hearty chuckle. Trying to twist around, I groped at my ass. The moment my fingers touched the fabric I knew. I would have paid anything, hell, I’d make a deal with the devil himself if he’d make the ground open up beneath me and swallow me whole. My Sunday panties, also known as my grey granny panties were bunched up and poking out the top of my waistband.

  “And on that note. Thanks for breakfast. It was…well, it was interesting.”

  “Thanks? I think.”

  “Have a good day, Payton.”

  And like that he stepped through the door and left me standing there, my jaw agape, my palms sweating, my heart racing and my underwear on display. I didn’t even know his name, but right now, it didn’t seem to matter.

  I didn’t realise I was doing it until it was too late. I stood completely frozen, my arms wrapped around myself protectively as I watched him climb in his dirty blue ute, slip his sunglasses over those eyes that had kept me entranced, and reversed out of the parking spot. What’s worse, I’d completely forgotten I wasn’t alone.

  “So, I have two questions. One, what the fuck is going on with your hair? And two, who was that sex on a stick piece of man?”

  “Don’t start, Josie.”

  “Come on, Payton. This is gold. Who is he?”

  “I have no idea,” I sighed heavily.

  Chapter Three

  Beau

  My jeans were too tight. In all the wrong places. Even after adjusting myself half a dozen times and forcing myself to think about what I was about to walk into, it still didn’t help cool me off. Payton was something else. She might actually make my return to this hell hole a little less painful. Not that I had high hopes.

  Turning onto the dirt road, the tyres spun as gravel pinged off the under carriage. Up ahead I could see the house. That did it. That one image was enough to erase all the thoughts of the curvy baker from my memory and make every hair on the back of my neckI stand on end.

  Fuck me, I didn’t want to do this.

  Like, I really didn’t want to do this.

  I could kick Connor in the balls for dragging my ass back to this shit hole. It wasn’t his fault. Not really. I knew that. He didn’t have a choice. Just like I didn’t. It didn’t mean I had to like it, though. Not one fucking bit.

  Pulling up at the top of the drive in a cloud of dust, I heard a dog bark as I fell out of the ute. It felt like forever since I’d been back here, and from where I stood, it looked like I wasn’t the only one who’d changed. The paint was peeling from the house. The porch was covered in cobwebs and dust. The garden beds along the front, once filled with colourful blooms, were now home to nothing more than overgrown weeds. The house was enveloped in the same cloud of depression that I was.

  “What the fuck?” came an angry snarl through the screen door.

  I knew that voice.

  I knew it too well.

  I hated it.

  I hadn’t missed it. Not one little bit.

  I hated the man it belonged to.

  Adrian was a mean old asshole, but he was the only father I had.

  I thought I’d prepared myself
for this. I knew it was coming. It was the reason I’d taken my sweet ass time getting back here. The reason I stopped at the bakery for breakfast. Right now though, I knew nothing could have prepared me for this.

  “Hi Dad,” I grunted as I kicked at the dirt beneath my boot.

  “What hell are you doing here?”

  “This is my home.”

  “Bullshit!”

  His voice boomed, breaking the peaceful early morning. He stood on the porch, what was left of his silver-grey hair poking up in every direction, his stained white singlet hanging out of his faded brown pants with the belt buckle dangling open. He looked twice his age. His face was littered with age spots and his lips were chapped. Guilt gnawed at my stomach. My dad was old. Really old. I shouldn’t have stayed away for so long, but I couldn’t come home. Every time I tried, I couldn’t summon the strength to get in the car and make the trip.

  “Dad,” I tried to calm him. I didn’t want to fight. I really didn’t. This wasn’t why I came.

  “Don’t you call me that! Don’t you dare call me that!”

  His anger was broken by the coughing fit that consumed him. As he struggled to suck in lungfuls of the crisp morning air, the pink and grey galahs filling the old gum tree took flight with a squawk.

  Without thinking, I darted to his side and clapped him firmly on his back. I needed him to breathe. He might have been a bastard but he was still my old man. The only one I had. For better or for worse, he was my family.

  “Take it easy, Dad. One breath at a time.”

  It took a minute for the coughing to fade and Dad to straighten his spine again. Even though I was right there beside him, he stumbled over and grabbed hold of the rickety, rotten railing.

  He huffed and puffed and my own chest wheezed. I hated that this is what he had been reduced to. My stubborn ass father would rather hang on to a rotten railing than lean on his own son. Coming home was going to be harder than even I envisaged, and I wasn’t naïve enough to have very high hopes.