Teague (The Family Simon 4)

This must be the brother, Harry.

For a second something familiar about them tugged at Teague’s memory but it was gone just as quick.

The little guy poked his sister and whispered, though it was loud enough for Teague to hear. “Why is that man in his underwear?”

She whispered back, equally unconcerned with actually whispering. “I don’t know but I don’t think Mommy is going to like it.”

Teague had had enough. He strode forward and held out the wiggling bundle of fur, avoiding the licking tongue as he did so. “Take your puppy and go home.”

“His name is Bingo,” Harry offered with a half smile.

“For Christ sake,” Teague growled, annoyed, exhausted, and in need of some damn food.

“Wow,” Harry said, poking at his sister. “That’s way worse than what I said. Mommy wouldn’t like that at all.”

“I don’t give a flying fu—” He stopped himself just in time but not before the little girl clapped her hand over her mouth in horror.

He took a moment. Hell he took two. He tried to get his shit together, but man it was hard. His head was now pounding, his quiet long gone. And he was still holding on to the damn dog.

He was done.

“Take your dog and go back to wherever the hell it is that you came from.” He winced at the sound of his words because they didn’t sound nice. If his mother were here, she’d give it to him but good and damned if he didn’t deserve it.

“You’re grumpy,” the girl said, reaching for the dog that miraculously settled into her arms like an angel.

“Morgan Anderson Campbell. I told you not to come over here by yourself.”

Finally. The mother.

Wait a minute. Teague turned with a frown. Campbell?

He had to shield his eyes to see her properly as the sun was way too bright, but eventually she came into focus. Small. Dark hair that just touched the tops of her shoulders. Big eyes, the same shade as her daughter’s. Slight frame. Not a lot of curves but the woman had great legs. Toned and tanned.

And every single toenail a different color.

Teague stared at her for a long time, his mind slowly assembling the information that his eyes had just taken in.

He knew this woman—not well—but he had met her the last few times he’d been up to the cottage. It had been years ago. He glanced at the children. Hell, years before kids. What was her husband’s name again?

“Teague,” she said slowly. “I don’t know if you remember me.” She nodded to the smaller cottage perched in the trees off to the left. “I’m Sabrina. That’s our summer place.”

Again, the name rang a bell but her story wasn’t one he was familiar with.

“How long are you here?” he asked roughly, running his hands through the mess of hair at his nape. He wasn’t in the mood for pleasantries. Did that make him a bastard? Probably. Did he care? Not at all.

For a moment she didn’t answer. He watched as her eyes took him in, pausing briefly on the scars that laced his shoulder and the ones low on his abdomen. They were nothing compared to the ones on his back.

Nothing compared to the ones that were invisible, the ones that were buried beneath his skin.

She cleared her throat and motioned to her kids. “We’re here for the summer.”

“The entire summer,” he replied, not bothering to hide his displeasure.

Wariness crept into her eyes and he could tell that she didn’t like his tone. “Is that a problem?” she asked, chin high as she gazed up at him.

Damn right it was.

“No,” he said, glaring at the trio that now stared at him as if he had a third nipple or something.