The Barrett Brothers Collection

by K B Cinder

  Most people panicked when they saw seventy pounds of pit bull barreling their way, not that she’d hurt a fly.

  A woman popped out of the driver’s side door, her blonde hair secured in a bushy ponytail. I couldn’t see much in the distance, but she definitely had legs for days, her long, lean frame hidden beneath a baggy t-shirt and jeans that hung from her like a clothesline.

  A second later, a rear door opened, and a small boy appeared, his hair the same sunny shade as the woman’s. He had a tablet in one hand and a backpack in the other, almost toppling over as the bag swung to the side.

  Tally whined as she eyed the pair. She’d visited Mrs. Sutton every afternoon when she got her mail until one day she didn’t; the day the sheriff found Mrs. Sutton dead in bed, a heart attack stealing Tally’s buddy.

  “No,” I ordered firmly.

  Aside from her breed, any animal running at you in our parts was shit-your-pants-worthy. Bobcats and bears roamed the forest, with the occasional coyote wandering down from the hills to raid trash.

  When I looked back, the woman was wheeling a suitcase to the door of the shingled cottage, the small porch shrouded by overgrown elderberry bushes. The boy stuck close to her heels with his eyes glued to the tablet, resulting in the small fry toppling into her butt as she fiddled with keys.

  As expected, the door stuck, years of readjustment coming undone as it sat. It desperately needed a new entryway, one that Mrs. Sutton hadn’t wanted. She loved the gaudy red door, and I tinkered with it as needed to make her happy.

  With a not-so-delicate shove of a shoulder, the door gave way, and the two disappeared inside the weathered gray cottage.

  The lack of bags pointed to them being vacation renters, explaining the lack of bragging from Dan. Hopefully, Dan screened whoever he stuck there well, because if he let anyone stay that fucked up the surrounding beauty, I’d whoop his ass.

  Our houses were the only two on the remote stretch of Anderson Inlet Lane, with most of the cabins clustered miles away at the start of the road. Beyond us, it was nothing but pristine, untouched forest.

  I turned to Tally, who was watching the cottage’s door, anticipating the return of our temporary neighbors. “Ready for dinner?”

  It was almost six, and I was ready to eat my arm after skipping lunch to work on a sedan that a customer attempted to fix himself. Unfortunately, Mr. Fixit would be back, a regular who got his mechanic tips online.

  My cell buzzed against my thigh, my hand sliding in to fish it out as it vibrated again. A pair of porn-worthy tits appeared on its screen — a message from Kaylie, the newest bartender at Greg’s.

  She played hard to get, but as usual, after a handful of texts, her clothes fell right off.

  I sent back a winking emoji before sliding the phone in my pocket. I needed to get food in me and some shuteye.

  Friday would arrive in the morning, and so would its shenanigans.

  Josie

  “Lincoln David, if you don’t put that game away, it’s going in the bin!” I crossed my arms at the four-year-old, tired of staring at the top of his head through dinner.

  By the bin, I meant the plastic prison the device remained in until he earned it back, generally through vacuuming. It was the one punishment I dreaded as a kid, so naturally, I used it on my child.

  It was a constant reminder that I was slowly becoming my mother. If I weren’t careful, I’d marry a politician and start wearing pearls, too.

  “But I’m winning, Mommy!” he objected with a scowl.

  “Well, you can win again tomorrow,” I muttered. I spent money I didn’t have on takeout trying to make the most of our first night in Briar, and he still didn’t give me the time of day. “It’s dinnertime.”

  “I don’t like this place,” he huffed, setting his tablet down. “It’s scary.”

  The rental wasn’t as bright as our condo, but it wasn’t scary, per se. Frumpy was more fitting. The pale pink countertops were reminiscent of chewed bubble gum, while the worn metal cabinets screamed office-chic rather than chef-friendly. But with some decor, it would be cozy. Hopefully.

  “It’s not scary, honey,” I assured, reaching out to pat his hand across the round table, the built-in nook another transplant from the early twentieth century. “Houses looked like this when Grams and Grandpa were little.”

  His eyes flew wide as he paused mid-air with a fry. “They’re that old?”

  I smirked. “Yeah, honey.”

  Maybe they weren’t that old but close. Mrs. Sutton was born in the Jurassic, as she used to tell me. My parents were born in the Cretaceous in comparison.

  “But it is scary here,” he grumbled, shoving the fry in his mouth. Disappointment stretched across his little face at its taste, the hunk of greasy potato nothing like the In-N-Out he adored.

  “No, it’s not, Linc,” I replied, grabbing a sip of syrup-heavy soda. “New things always seem a little scary, but after a while, you get used to them, and everything is fine.”

  I had to remind myself the same thing as I told him, the cross-country move frying my nerves. I hadn’t stepped foot in Maine in eleven years — let alone my home town. If anyone should have been freaking out, it was me.

  But we had no family left in California after Scott’s parents retired to Acapulco, and Lincoln deserved to grow up with more than just me around. He had family in Briar who adored him, too.

  “Can we get a dog now?” he asked, a slow smile emerging as he attempted to seize on the moment of parental weakness.

  Luckily, I held firm, not falling for his adorable offense. “Once we get a house.”

  It was the same line I uttered a hundred times since he started his canine quest a few months back. It was one I’d hoped he’d be over already.

  I didn’t mind dogs, but I had enough on my plate. A kid. A cross-country move. A business. Not to mention a rental that was far from dog-friendly. It was barely kid-friendly.

  “We’re in a house now.” He grabbed his cheeseburger, glaring defiantly before taking a bite.

  “Yes, but we don’t have a fenced yard, honey. Dogs need space to run and play that’s safe. We can play with Aunt Liv’s dog. You remember, Mushu, right?”

  He grinned, nodding excitedly. “I like Mushu.”

  I was less of a fan. The pug always peed everywhere when she came along with Liv to our house in Ranchita. Once we moved to San Diego, my little sister stayed in a hotel during visits, a no-pets policy swooping in to save the day and my carpet.

  “There was a dog at the neighbor’s,” he noted, reluctantly taking another nibble of his burger. “Can I play with it?”

  I remembered the muscled pup standing next to its even burlier owner looking more like a bodybuilder than a dog despite its pink collar.

  “I’m not sure, honey. We don’t know that man.”

  He was easy on the eyes in the brief moments I saw him, standing tall with the wild man look women fawned over. I was more of a clean-cut fan, but I could appreciate a beard, especially with his tattoos and the long hair that kept it company.

  “He can be our friend, right?”

  “Maybe, honey,” I replied, not keen on promises. I didn’t know how long we’d be in the cottage, and making male friends was hardly a priority. Especially ones associated with that house. “Right now, we need to finish eating and figure out how to take a shower.”

  I was already dreading the contraption that looked more like a torture device than a plumbing fixture.

  “Will Daddy know where to find us tonight?”

  “Of course, honey,” I said, taking a bite of rubbery potato. “Angels have GPS, remember?”

  He frowned. “Grandpa said angels don’t visit people; they stay in heaven.”

  A familiar flash of hot anger spread through my gut. “Sometimes, Grandpa gets confused.”

  I wanted to say more but couldn’t, as a four-year-old didn’t need to hear every curse word in the English language. I had no idea when Dad spewed such crap, but he�
��d get an earful the next time we were alone.

  Linc studied each fry as he stacked them into a house, apparently deciding the tasteless logs were better for building than eating. Smart kid. “How do you know?”

  I racked my brain for snippets of what counselors had said, trying to undo my father’s damage. “Daddy is always in your heart. You can talk to him whenever you want.”

  God, I sounded like Mufasa.

  “Is that what you do?” He looked skeptical, taking another nip of his burger.

  “Yes, baby.”

  I talked to Scott all the time, whether I was cursing him for leaving us or crying because I missed my best friend — the one I had before addiction stole him.

  Linc’s long lashes hung low as he took a sip of soda, the super sweet drink scrunching his nose. While we’d jumped ahead in time zones, he was exhausted from the long day of traveling. We woke before the sun to start a day of airport hopscotch from San Diego to Chicago and finally, Portland.

  “We have to get ready for bed. Grams is picking you up early.”

  With the kid-free day, I’d have time to work uninterrupted; plus, I had Liv’s final dress fitting and needed to play the role of maid of honor.

  He frowned at his dinner, barely a third of his burger gone. “I miss In-N-Out.”

  “I know, baby,” I chuckled, grabbing another disappointing fry. “I do, too. How about we get a lobster roll this weekend?”

  His brows snapped together. “A lobster what?”

  “Roll,” I repeated. “It’s a sandwich you’ll like. Once you eat one, you’ll forget all about burgers.”

  His little brows remained upturned. “I will?”

  “Yes.” As much as I hated to lie, sometimes little ones were necessary to get through the day with a skeptical child.

  I knew the harm of a real lie, and I’d never inflict it on anyone.

  Luke

  “Here’s to getting lucky!” Marsh clanked his bottle against mine before throwing back a gulp.

  I smiled at my best friend as I took a swig, knowing I didn’t need luck to score. With long hair and tattoos, I was a magnet for girls looking to branch out from the pretty boys who frequented the harbor walk. Ink and grit beat prep any day.

  Besides, I already had a taste of Kaylie at lunch, so I wasn’t starving. She’d been flirting up a storm since we arrived, but I wasn’t interested in round two. She was a hot chick, but painfully needy, and was already talking about dating.

  Unfortunately, as a new face in Briar, she didn’t know I didn’t date. Not even big-titted chicks that swallowed a sword like nobody’s business.

  I cringed at the beer’s bitter metallic bite, a wave of ass coating my mouth. The brewery opening couldn’t come soon enough. The townsfolk deserved something other than horse piss, as Nan had called it. Driving to Portland for a decent drink got old, especially when winter came knocking.

  Once I opened up shop, I’d have all the booze I wanted on tap. I’d have a place a hell of a lot more appealing to the eye too, Briar’s long-time watering hole downright disgusting.

  Greg’s had long outlived its lifespan, the laminate floors eternally sticky, stealing a shoe if someone dared to don flip-flops. Its wooden stools and benches preyed on the weak, ripping any decent article of clothing and making jeans a must.

  Marsh ran a hand through his beard, a puny thing compared to mine with its close trim. “What are you thinking tonight? Redhead? Brunette?”

  I shrugged, setting the bottle down, not ready to stomach another sip. “No preference.”

  I’d been on a tear with brunettes, but the selection sucked until summer season brought flatlanders looking for a taste of coastal charm and a vacation fling. Ones who wanted to sample some of my New England clam chowder.

  “You aren’t yourself, tonight,” he noted, grabbing a handful of bar nuts and skeeving me out. “What’s up, chief?”

  As a nurse, he had the immune strength of a Juggernaut, but looking at the bowl of all-you-can-eat bacteria practically gave me E. coli.

  “A day of permits and politics.”

  If I wasn’t arguing with a code enforcement asshole over one thing, I was fighting with the mayor’s office about another. They wanted to schedule a ribbon-cutting ceremony that I wanted no part of.

  Marsh rolled his eyes, grabbing another handful of bacteria-laden bits. “Well, don’t have such a long face. You’re scaring the ladies.”

  “I think that thing you call a beard is doing all the work,” I teased.

  He grinned, pushing away from the bar, flipping me off as he headed towards the dance floor.

  Occupied to its puny capacity, women turned it up to the country bullshit blasting overhead, their denim skirts and chunky heels escaping the 90s.

  A group of college girls lingered nearby, and with miniskirts aplenty, they looked good enough to eat, but I didn’t want to go there again. I’d finally gotten the last one I fucked to stop texting.

  Marsh had weaseled his way between two blondes line dancing by the time I looked back at the dance floor. He was ridiculously off-beat and out of step, not that either woman seemed to care as they eyed up the wavy-haired man like a new toy. As Briar’s own metrosexual pirate, he rocked buccaneer fashion without the funk, far too pretty to roam the seven seas.

  While he attempted to two-step and flirt, I nursed my metallic misery, less than impressed with the options for the night. The worst thing about small-town living was knowing everyone and knowing someone in Briar differed from elsewhere. It wasn’t like you recognized them in passing. You grew up with them, and if they were a jerk as a kid, they were a jerk as an adult, and as Briar would have it, they’d most likely be your jerk of a neighbor till the day you died. Even then, they’d end up in a plot next to you at Briar Memorial, the only cemetery in town.

  Any ranting and raving about moving away was bullshit. Only a handful of people outside my brothers left, the town as sticky as Greg’s floor. And with Briar folk being plain lazy, they bitched up a storm but did nothing to change.

  As the old adage said, they were still people. Still broke. Still complaining. Still nowhere.

  No one saw the potential in the town, something I exploited for everything it was worth. My high school job in an auto body shop led to me buying the business, and after that took off, the sky was the limit.

  Next up was the old sawmill on the ridge, the perfect spot for a brewery and restaurant, and after a lot of hard work, I’d be opening the doors of Barrett for Memorial Day Weekend.

  I studied the crowd, ready to go as more locals poured in. A fresh wave of salt air and sweat came swirling with them, the grimy combination coating every pore. After spending a day in the shop surrounded by men that smelled just as bad, it was the last place on Earth I wanted to be.

  Marsh continued to make an ass of himself, laughing it up with Renee and Joanna, two women too good for the likes of me. They liked their men pretty now — not that it bothered me one bit. I entertained both through their rebellious years.

  While easy to look at, once the two peas in a pod were separated, any semblance of personality was replaced with wet straw. After a handful of starfish bedroom performances, I’d had enough.

  A perky blonde in a booth behind them caught my eye. She was seated across from Lynette Stephens, a former classmate who never wandered into Greg’s, too wealthy to mingle with regular people after her divorce. On rare occasions, she stopped in the shop when she needed her swanky ride serviced. She wanted me to service more than that, but she made my skin crawl.

  I’d never seen her smile so much, cackling at the mystery woman whose laughter echoed, ringing achingly familiar. Every laugh was louder than the last, Lynette’s teetering towards fake territory. It was the kind of hearty haha you give when an interviewer tells a shit joke, but you really need the job.

  With poker-straight long locks and tanned skin that beamed compared to the pale faces all around, the blonde definitely wasn’t a local. Her featu
res were softer than the fierce angles of Lynette’s and tugged at my brain like no other, but I couldn’t place her face. That laugh. That hair.

  It wasn’t until her lips slid into a half-smirk that the answer clocked me like a fist to the jaw. An icepick to the chest followed it up.

  Josie Roberts.

  It’d been years since I’d seen her, but I’d recognize that face anywhere. No amount of time scratched it from my mind. All the booze in the world couldn’t wash it away, either.

  She either hadn’t seen me or was blowing me off, her attention focused solely on Lynette. Then again, even if she saw me, she probably wouldn’t know it. I’d grown my hair, slapped on tattoos, and sprouted a beard, maturing from a scrawny twenty-one-year-old who let life kick him in the balls to a thirty-two-year-old who took shit from no one.

  The pain in my chest intensified as those lips I’d kissed thousands of times pulled into my favorite of her features, an eternal smirk that melted hearts. I always preferred it over traditional smiles reminiscent of sharks, a vicious predator she’d been all along. She tore out my still-beating heart before disappearing with blood churning in the water.

  I searched the dance floor for Marsh, needing to get the hell out of dodge before I was sick. Joanna and Renee still danced side by side with their hips wiggling to the music, but the pirate of Briar was nowhere to be found.

  Just my luck.

  I grabbed my cell and fired off a MUSKRAT text, our code for an emergency, but Josie Roberts was more than that. She was a disaster — a surprise hurricane followed by rapid-fire EF5 tornadoes, annihilating everything in her wake.

  I skimmed the bar repeatedly, giving up as the air grew thicker, the stench of betrayal joining the salt and body odor. I was suffocating, the room spinning as I rushed towards the door, taking the long way around the bar to avoid hell on Earth.

  I’d wait for Marsh in the truck and fulfill my role as the designated driver. My one beer limit was reduced to a half, unable to stomach the putrid taste any longer with the acid churning in my guts.