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“This is some kind of Valentine’s Day curse.” Duff Watson stuck his finger inside the starched white collar of his shirt and tugged, certain the tux the rental shop had given him for today was a size too small.
He wondered what his family would think if he tossed the red bow tie and unbuttoned the collar of this stupid monkey suit. His sister, the bride, would be ticked, and his father would be embarrassed, Grandpa Seamus would laugh, and he’d never hear the end of it from his brothers. So he endured.
Duff—no one had called him by his given name, Tom, for years—was all for celebrating his sister’s happiness. He’d even agreed to stand up as best man for her fiancé. But the only things that felt normal about Liv’s wedding day were the gun holstered at the small of his back and the KCPD detective’s badge stashed in his pocket. And, oh yeah, watching his two younger brothers, Niall and Keir, tagging along behind him as they escorted the bridesmaids down the aisle to join him at the altar.
The three Watson brothers, all third-generation cops following proudly in their father’s and retired grandfather’s footsteps, couldn’t be more different if they tried. Niall was the brain, a medical examiner with the crime lab. He seemed clueless about all the pomp and circumstance surrounding the wedding. He looked as though he was doing some sort of mental calculation about the distance to the altar or how many guests were seated in each pew. Keir was the social one, and he was eating this stuff up. He flirted with his escort and blew a kiss to the older woman in the second pew, Millie Leighter, the family cook and housekeeper who’d helped raise the four of them after their mother’s senseless murder.
Duff was the self-avowed tough guy. He didn’t have the multiple college degrees Niall did, and he’d never win a sweet-talking contest against Keir. But neither could match him for sheer, stubborn cussedness. Duff was the survivor. He’d been old enough when Mary Watson had died that he could see his father’s anger and grief, and had stepped up to help take care of his younger siblings, even after their father had hired Millie, and Grandpa Seamus had moved in to do whatever was necessary to hold the fractured family together. Hell, even now that they were all grown-up, he was still doing whatever was necessary to protect his family—listening to his baby sister when her devil scum of a former partner had seduced and then cheated on her, making sure the man she was marrying today was worthy of her. He’d written a personal recommendation for Keir to one of his academy buddies when the ambitious youngest brother had been up for a promotion to the major crime unit. And there was no end to the coaching Niall required as the shy brainiac negotiated the intricacies of interpersonal relationships.
Duff had the street smarts, the gut instincts that helped him get through numerous undercover assignments for the department. He read people the way Niall read books. Only once had he misjudged someone he’d tried to help, and he’d paid for that mistake with his heart and a beat down that had put him in the hospital for nearly three weeks.
But facing a drug dealer’s wrath hadn’t killed him. Being betrayed by Shayla to her brother had only made Duff stronger and a hell of a lot smarter about falling in love. He’d been played for a fool, and he owned the repercussions of his mistake. Maybe his colossal screwup—when it came to love on this day that was all about love—was the reason he couldn’t get his tuxedo to fit right.
“Natalie is married to Liv’s partner, you know.” Niall, an inch taller than Duff, adjusted his dark glasses and whispered the chiding remark about flirting with the bridesmaid to Keir, who stood a couple of inches shorter.
“Relax, charm-school dropout.” Keir clapped Niall on the shoulder, grinning as he stepped up beside him. “Young or old, married or not—it never hurts to be friendly.”
“Seriously?” Niall turned that same whispered reprimand on Duff, eyeing the middle of his back. “Are you packing today?”
He’d tucked his ankle piece into the back of his itchy wool slacks. At least he wasn’t wearing his shoulder holster and Glock. “Hey. You wear your glasses every day, Poindexter. I wear my gun.”
“I wasn’t aware that you knew what the term ‘Poindexter’ meant.”
“I’m smarter than I look.”
Keir had the gall to laugh. “He’d have to be.”
Duff shifted his stance, peering around Niall. “So help me, baby brother, if you give me any grief today, I will lay you out flat.”
“Zip it. Both of you.” Leave it to Niall to be the cool, calm and collected one. Liv had probably put him in charge of corralling her two rowdier brothers today. The smart guy scowled at Keir. “You, mind your manners.” When Duff went after the collar hugging his neck again, Niall leaned in. “And you, stop fidgeting like a little kid.”
A sharp look from the minister waiting behind them quieted all three brothers for the moment. With everything ready for their sister’s walk down the aisle, the processional music started. Duff scanned the crowd as they rose to their feet. Millie dabbed at her eyes with a lace hanky, making no effort to hide her tears. He knew a hug could make those tears go away, and he would gladly go comfort her, but he was stuck up here at the altar.
Grandpa Seamus was sneaking a handkerchief out of his pocket. The old man was crying, too.
And then Olivia and their father, Thomas Watson Sr., appeared in the archway at the end of the aisle. A few strands of gray in his dark hair, and the limp from the blown-out knee that had ended his frontline duty with the department far too soon, couldn’t detract from the pride in Thomas’s posture as he walked his daughter down the aisle. Duff’s sinuses burned. Be a man. Do not let your emotions get the better of you. Do not cry.
But Olivia Mary Watson was a stunner in her long beaded gown and their mother’s veil of Irish lace. Who knew that shrimp of a tomboy would grow up into such a fine, strong woman? He took after their father with his green eyes and big, stocky build. But Liv was the spitting image of the mother he remembered—dark hair, blue eyes. Walking beside Thomas Sr., he thought of the wedding picture that still sat on his father’s dresser.
He blinked and had to say something quick to cover up the threat of tears. “Dude,” Duff muttered. He nudged the groom beside him. “Gabe, you are one lucky son of a—”
“Duff.” Niall’s sharp tone reminded him that swearing in church probably wasn’t a good idea.
Gabe sounded a little overcome with emotion, too. “I know.”
“You’d better treat her right.”
Yep. Liv must have put Niall in charge of keeping him in line today. “We’ve already had this conversation, Duff. I’m convinced he loves her.”
Gabe never took his eyes off Olivia as he inclined his head to whisper, “He does.”
Keir, of course, wasn’t about to be left out of the hushed conversation. “Anyway, Liv’s made her choice. You think any one of us could change her mind? I’d be scared to try.”
The minister hushed the lot of them as father and bride approached.
“Ah, hell,” Duff muttered, looking up at the ceiling. So much for guarding his emotions and
