Brazen

Adam Collins leaned against old man Henningar’s fifteen-hundred-pound, prize-winning pumpkin and plucked a piece of straw from the bales of hay surrounding the freakishly large gourd. He plopped the dry strand of grass into his mouth and glanced around the bustling fair grounds, noting that there seemed to be a new energy and excitement in the air this year. Perhaps it was because all his friends were either hooking up, getting married or having babies. Or perhaps it was because the small town had an influx of people since Katy Wilson’s, or rather, Katy Parker’s cooking show put their quaint fishing village on the map.

Either way, as he thought more about Katy and her recent marriage to his best friend and fellow firefighter Trent Parker, a delicious medley of tastes—everything from sugary cotton candy, rich, buttery popcorn to greasy, hand-cut French fries—settled on the back of his tongue and had him realizing just how alone he felt in the crowd.

There was no denying that he loved this time of year. Loved when people from the neighboring communities ventured into his beloved town of Whispering Cove to celebrate the land’s rich harvest and the ocean’s lush bounty. Loved when friends, old and new, all came together in the downtown core to partake in the annual fall festival.

But when the giggles of small children and the laughter of their parents cut through the noise of the fair’s activities and wrapped around his heart like a tight vise, it was simply a reminder of what he wanted. And what he could never have.

Fortunately, before he had time to dwell on that disheartening truth, Errol Wilson came hobbling up to him and poked him with his cane, dragging his dark thoughts back to the present.

“Get off your keister there, boy, and try to rustle us up some victims…err, I mean, customers for that dang psychic booth. How do you think we’re gonna raise money for the new community center if we ain’t drawing in paying folk?”

“Errol,” Adam greeted as he removed the butt of the cane from his gut and placed it on the yellowing, sunburnt grass at his feet. “I see your leg is bothering you again.”

Errol snarled. “Dang thing’s been stiffening up on me. Must be the cooler weather…”

Before Errol could finish his sentence, his thoughts drifted off and his gaze shifted to a distant spot behind Adam’s shoulder. If Adam didn’t know better he’d think the old guy was losing his mind. But he did know better.

Despite his age, Errol Wilson—bright, energetic and wily—was the spark in every fire, the crest in every wave and was to never, ever be underestimated. Adam twisted to follow Errol’s gaze, wondering exactly what it was that caught the old guy’s attention and managed to distract him from his constant pestering.

When he spotted Trent, Errol’s new son-in-law, hugging his wife Katy, who looked to be putting on a fair bit of weight—right around the midsection—Adam couldn’t help but smile. He was happy for his friends, happy to see them moving forward at a breakneck speed in an attempt to make up for the ten long years they’d spent apart.

Adam knew the two had a secret but it certainly wasn’t his place to let the cat out of the bag. Hell, as a local fire fighter at station 415, the only cat he planned on freeing was the one trapped in a tree. Those two would tell Errol, one of Whispering Cove’s biggest gossips—the other two being Harold Adair and Byron Mitchell, Errol’s partners in crime—when they were damn well ready.

Errol narrowed those inquisitive eyes of his, now dark and cloudy from old age, but Adam didn’t miss the seed of hope blossoming in their murky depths when he asked, “You think she’s got my great-grandbaby in there?”

Adam pushed himself off the pumpkin and stretched out his arms, feeling a bit stiff himself after last night’s softball game. “I don’t know, Errol. You’ll have to ask Katy and Trent that yourself.”

“I have. They ain’t spilling.” He paused to offer Adam a mischievous smirk and gave a slight nod when he said, “But no worries, lad. I know just how to find out.”

Fallen maple leaves, crisp and colorful from the changing season, crunched beneath Adam’s sneakers as he began walking toward the psychic booth. He cast Errol a warning glance and arched a brow as the older man rushed to keep pace. “I thought your days of meddling were supposed to be over.”

Although as of late, after watching Hauk and Vic, as well as Reece and Tabby find love during the fall festival, Adam had begun to suspect the gruesome threesome were up to their old matchmaking ways. Of course the whole town knew those two couples belonged together, and while the meddlesome grandfathers all swore they had nothing to do with it, Adam still had his suspicions.

“Ain’t nothing wrong with a little digging, boy.”

“Errol,” he cautioned.

That brought a grimace to Errol’s weathered face. “You youngins are always telling us old folk how to run our business when y’all know nothing about nothing.”

Ignoring Errol’s rant, Adam stopped a few feet away from the psychic booth, although he could hardly classify it as a booth, not with the long draping curtains Tabby had breathed new life into and sewed together to form exterior walls. With its flowing entrance, soft, welcoming pillows and numerous, multicolored scarves shimmering in the slight breeze, the elegance of the sultan’s tent hadn’t gone unnoticed by him. Perhaps the classiness was to hide the fact that Madame M, the so-called clairvoyant inside, was as phony as Errol’s convictions that he’d stopped interfering in other people’s lives.

Adam jammed his hands into his pockets and scoffed as he rocked on the balls of his feet. “Whose idea was it to put up a psychic stand this year anyway?”

“Mine. Why? You got something against psychics?” When Adam gave Errol a dubious look, Errol probed, “What? You don’t believe in them?”

“That’s right.” But before he could elaborate and tell the old man that he believed in psychics about as much as he believed he was the marrying kind, sweet Josie Wells walked by.

Josie Wells.

As his heart picked up tempo, he fisted his hands inside his pockets and tried to appear unaffected, a difficult task considering the prettiest girl he’d ever known had just passed in front of him. A girl he wanted in the worst fucking way.

Wearing a pretty dress that hugged her soft, feminine curves in all the right places, Adam couldn’t help but watch the easy, casual way she moved, couldn’t help but take pleasure in her innocent sensuality as she sauntered by, or the way that innocent sensuality seeped under his skin and settled deep in his groin.

Her hips swayed seductively and a beautiful smile lit up her blue eyes as she moved past them, but Adam was too damn preoccupied thinking about how that sensuous body of hers would feel beneath his, how that long, silken blonde hair of hers would feel running along his naked flesh to formulate any sort of a response.

As a kindergarten teacher at the local elementary school, not only was Josie compassionate, caring, soft spoken and patient—basically she was the antithesis of the wild and wicked women he was accustomed to—she had flawless skin made for touching, full, sensuous lips made for kissing and a lush body made for making love. Simply put, Josie was real, natural and sensual. With a girl like her, a girl with no hidden agendas, what you saw was what you got. And what he saw made his dick hard. So goddamn hard it was all he could do not to excuse himself and head straight to his bedroom so he could take the edge off.

Before he could stop himself, he made a choking sound, a half growl, half gurgle.

Fully pathetic.

Errol patted him on the back. “You okay, boy? You need a glass of water or something?”

“I’m fine,” he answered. Except he wasn’t fine. Oh no, he wasn’t fine at all. Not where Josie Wells was concerned.

Okay, so Adam was wrong when he once told his best friend Trent Parker that fucking solved everything. Because with a girl like Josie, a girl who not only wanted, but deserved, a loving husband and a big house with a widow’s peak overlooking the majestic Atlantic Ocean, things Adam could never give her, fucking would simply complicate matters more than they already were and result in pain and loss.

After all, he knew his fate. And he’d be damned if he dragged a sweet thing like Josie Wells into his troubled life.

Errol made a tsking sound. “There’s only one way to scratch that kind of itch, lad.”

Adam gave Errol an odd look and shifted uncomfortably under the man’s scrutinizing gaze. Surely to God the old man wasn’t suggesting…

“What are you talking about?” Adam asked cautiously, hoping he wasn’t about to start lecturing him on his sex life.

It was only when Errol put his cane over his shoulder and dragged it along the middle of his back that Adam realized he was running his own fingers over his neck. Except his rubbing had more to do with sexual frustration than any kind of itch.

“So what do you say, boy? You gonna get a reading from Madame M or what?”

Adam gave a quick shake of his head, then stepped back a bit to avoid a direct hit from a rambunctious kid who appeared to be hyped up on sugar and covered in sticky cotton candy. “Not a chance.”

“If folks see you going in they might follow.”

“Why don’t you go then?”

“Cause I’m an old man and I don’t need any psychic telling me how my bum leg is about to give out on me. I already know that, lad.”

Just then Adam spotted his younger brother Jacob. In typical Jacob fashion, he had a woman on each arm, both vying for his attention while a few giggling girls followed close behind. The sight of his playboy brother immediately reminded Adam of who he was and where he’d come from.

Errol continued to prod him. “Besides, the ladies seem to like you and that will drum up business. When they catch sight of you entering they might be inclined to follow. Ain’t no one gonna follow an old man like me in there.”

Adam’s stomach tightened. Errol might not want any psychic telling him about his bad leg, but Adam certainly didn’t want to hear about how much the Collins boys were like their old man, either. Hell, they already knew that. Adam was a firefighter, his brother a veterinarian, and while both found professional success, neither would ever achieve success in a loving, long-term relationship.

They both understood the hand fate had dealt them.

Adam opened his mouth to protest, but Errol poked him with his cane and said, “Come on, Adam. It’s for charity. Think of the kids, the community center.”

Christ, when he put it that way there was no way he could refuse, despite the fact that everything in his gut told him to run the other way. Cursing under his breath, he blurted out, “Fine,” and snatched Errol’s cane from him. He pointed it at the man and warned, “But if she delivers bad news, I’ll be gunning for you for making me go in there in the first place.”

“Don’t see what the problem is, boy,” Errol said matter-of-factly. “You know, seeing as you just finished telling me you didn’t believe in psychics and all.”

Humor lit Errol’s eyes, and when he offered Adam a wily grin, Adam just shook his head and wondered what the meddling old man was up to this time.