oblivious head of his giggling four-year-old. "Rupert gave me a spare key to start working." Francis gestured towards the menagerie of items still scattered across the dusty floor. "You approved of my vision for the space?" An abrupt nod was the only response. Maybe the Brute was the strong silent type? Francis found his mind drifting to all the ways to elicit sounds from the stoic man who'd clearly suffered several losses outside of just his career recently. Wouldn't it be lovely to lick a path down his thick neck? Oh, yes, please. Think non-sexual thoughts, Francis urged himself while his body responded to the sudden visuals in his mind. Think about Gran in the shower. Oh, bugger me silly. I'm traumatized for life. Bleach my brain. He shook his head then smiled sheepishly at the man who watched him worriedly while waving a hand in front of his face. "Sorry, sorry," Francis stammered apologetically. He twisted around to face anywhere but in the direction of the man who had way too much of an impact on his composure—and libido. Rupert had been right—he really needed to break his streak of bad dates. It had clearly been too long since his last romp in the sheets. Lusting after a straight, unavailable man wouldn't do anything for his battered heart. "I—" "Uncle Boo. Uncle Boo. " Devlin bounded over with Sherlock happily circling around him. "Can I has a puppy too?" Uncle Boo? Francis mouthed the words, watching the two in the reflection of the dirty bar windows. His heart melted at their interaction. For all his aggressiveness on the rugby pitch, Caddock seemed more gentle giant than anything else with his nephew. "Maybe Mr Francis will let you play with Sherlock every once in a while when we've moved to Looe? I bet he would if you asked nicely." Caddock managed to redirect his nephew with what appeared to be practiced ease. "Can I? Can I? Pwease?" Devlin turned powerfully pleading eyes in his direction. "I can take him for walkies. I'll be good. I pwomise." Francis glanced with a sense of inevitability between the child and his own manipulative dog who had sad brown eyes of his own. "Of course you can. Sherlock would love to have your company." With a cheerful shout, Devlin danced away with the traitorous sheltie beside him. The pair played tug-of-war with a fabric sample. Laughter and happy barks filled the pub and put smiles on the faces of the men watching their antics. "Those blue eyes are dangerous. He'll be a heartbreaker when he's older." Francis started to gather up everything from the floor. He mentally added cleaning to the top of his to-do list, freezing in place when Caddock knelt to help him. Act calm, Keen, act calm. The Brute's eyes were just as dangerous as the little lad's. Time to distract himself. "Were there any changes to the design plans you wanted? Have you decided on a name? There's a great place that makes those old-fashioned wooden signs if you have." "Haddy's." "Haddy's?" "For my brother, the Devil's father." Caddock's eyes dimmed with hurt and the faintest shimmer of tears, which disappeared after a few quick blinks. "This is a new start for us." Francis felt suddenly emotional for this strong man life had clearly battered around a fair bit of late. He rested his hand on Caddock's forearm briefly. "Looe's a brilliant place for starting fresh. Oh, and Ruth makes the best custard tarts. Don't eat them on Fridays." "Why?" "Her husband, Stevie, makes them and he's rubbish at it." He gave a wry smile. "The village is a fantastic place to raise a young lad." Caddock cleared his throat with a harsh cough, turning his attention to Sherlock. "Does your dog herd anything if he's allergic to sheep?" "People." "People?" "Yes, people." Francis nodded to where Sherlock was clearly guiding Devlin's path. "He's rather devious about it as well."
Chapter Five
Francis
Margaret Keen was a wise old woman and Francis had learned at a young age never to underestimate his