Fireman Daddy (Crescent Cove 8.50)

I parked and grabbed my bag. I slammed my door and growled under my breath. “Jake.”

At least I’d dressed the part this time, wearing old jeans, sturdy boots, and a layer of long-sleeved and short-sleeved T-shirts in deference to the early spring temperatures.

I jogged to meet a fourth man carrying lumber on his shoulder.

“Ma’am.” He adjusted the stack of boards he was hauling. “We’re not open yet.”

“I know. I’m the owner.”

“Oh.” He smiled broadly. “You want to talk to Mills then.”

“Considering he’s not the owner, you’re damn right I do.”

The ridiculously jacked man in front of me didn’t seem frightened or offended. He just grinned, a dimple popping from his trendy scruff. He was wearing a slouchy navy knit hat and an EMT T-shirt that stretched across his impressive chest. “He’s inside.”

I marched in ahead of him, my ire growing with the laughter behind me and the banging and loud male noises ahead. Rita gave me a salute and held the door for me as I stalked inside. Jake was in the middle of a half dozen men, one being my brother.

Perfect. Just what I needed. We’d sort of discussed having people come to the bar to help, but I thought I’d have today to figure out a game plan. My older brother thinking he could take over meant my father would be next, followed by…

Yep. There she was. Along the back of the eating area was a long table loaded with food, courtesy of my mother. She was shouting out orders for the boys to hydrate and eat as all good Italian-slash-Spanish women did.

I was not a good woman.

I wasn’t feeding these animals.

Okay, that was a lie. I’d totally have fed them if I’d known they were coming. If I’d made the damn decisions.

Damien and Jake had their heads together over some sort of plans. My brother’s handiwork, I was sure.

“Excuse me. Move, please.” I pushed through the men. Far too many of them were congregated around the bar area, and all of them towered over me.

Two of them were draping the game area with drop cloths, and another three were taking care of the floor. Paint cans were stacked against the right side of the main room, and drywall was being installed on the left.

“Who paid for this?”

Jake held up one finger while he finished talking to my brother.

I stalked over to him and grabbed it and bent it back until he yelped. “Do not put your finger up at me when I’m asking a question about my bar.”

“Okay, okay. Ease up, Freckles.” I released him, and he shook out his hand. “Impressive technique.”

“Do not try to be charming. What are you doing here? And who authorized these purchases?” I swung around to my brother. “And who invited you?”

Damien grinned. “Nice to see you too, hermanita.”

“Don’t make me slap that smile off you. I told you I was handling this.”

“And I’m sure you can do it well, but we wanted to get a jump on things. It’s just drywall and primer, piccola.”

I hated when he called me that. Yes, I was the tiniest of the siblings, but we were close in age and it was insulting.

All of them doing this without even consulting me as if I couldn’t possibly know the next step to take was really freaking insulting too.

“Freckles—”

“I have a name. I’d appreciate if everyone used it.” My voice rose to a screech. Enough that I could feel the flush creeping up my neck and heading for my cheeks. I couldn’t stand feeling out of control, and no part of this bar situation was sitting right with me.

My mother started clapping for attention. “All right, off you go to work. Let me talk to my daughter.”