Page 67 of Rescued by the Single Dad

“True,” Trace said, unruffled. “But no harm in submitting, right? What about you guys?”

“Thinking about it,” Bennett said casually. “More just came to hear Bonn’s last wishes. Knew the old guy wouldn’t disappoint on the laughs.”

Trace’s chuckle sounded more like a lion’s purr. “He did not.” He stopped at the road. “Well, I’m parked down here.” He hooked his thumb over his shoulder in the opposite direction from Clint and Bennett.

“We’re this way,” Clint said, jerking his head the other way.

Trace shook both their hands, waved, then made long strides toward his truck.

Bennett and Clint had barely even spun around before another voice—this time a feminine one—interrupted their companionable silent walk to their truck.

“Why do you guys need Bonn’s land?”

Bennett and Clint exchanged looks. They recognized that voice.

Gabrielle Campbell from Westhaven Winery.

Clint and his brother tossed on big smiles. “Hi Gabrielle,” Clint said. “How are you?”

Gabrielle—not Gabby, never Gabby—plunked her hands on her hips and smiled. “I’m fine, thank you. Curious, though.”

“Yeah, about what?” Bennett asked.

Her gaze narrowed at Clint’s brother. “What you two could possibly want or need Bonn’s land for?”

“Who says we do?” Clint asked. “I doubt every single person in there is after the man’s land. A lot just went to pay their respects to the elders and hear the old guy’s last words.”

Gabrielle’s lips twisted. She was a very pretty woman, probably in her late thirties or early forties, with alert amber eyes and voluminous dark brown curls past her shoulders. She was known on the island as being someone who was not only blunt, but lacked a sense of humor. She was all business, all the time.

She and three of her cousins—all women—had recently inherited the vineyard from their aunt, and they moved their families to the island to run the winery. All four women were single mothers, too. Many of their kids went to school with the McEvoy kids.

“Wasn’t that why you came?” Bennett asked her coyly, dangling the bait to see if she’d bite. Trace had been more upfront about his and his fellow business partners’ intentions, but Clint got the feeling—as did Bennett—that Gabrielle was going to play things closer to the chest on this one.

Her contorted lips slowly spread into a smile. “Yes, yes, it was. To pay my respects and find out when the celebration is going to be.”

“Us too,” Clint said, plainly. “Guess we’ll see you there.”

“Guess you will.”

She turned to go first, and they stood there for a moment before spinning around to head to Clint’s truck.

“Better book it so we’re not stopped by anyone else,” Bennett said.

Clint chuckled, but they picked up their pace and closed the distance between them and his truck in under thirty seconds.

Once they were in the safety of his truck cab, they glanced at each other. The worry Clint felt, and knew his brother felt was palpable.

“We’ve got some competition,” Clint said with an exhale as he turned over the ignition.

“We sure do,” Bennett agreed. “Better make sure we make an appearance on Saturday and let the elders know that we’re all about maintaining the integrity of the island and community involvement.

Clint rolled his eyes and groaned as he pulled out onto the narrow road. “Great, another crowd. And ass kissing. Two of my absolute favorite things.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

Brooke was seriously impressed with Jagger’s child wrangling skills. He might be a big kid himself, but that tactic seemed to work for the kids. They responded to his goofiness and ate their dinner, put their dishes away, had their baths, and climbed into bed with zero fuss.

Maybe he’d done it so many times that it was second nature to him now, but either way, his nieces and nephews adored him—it was easy enough to see—and gave him no grief.

---