Beard Necessities: Winston Brothers Book #7

by Penny Reid

  Playing the intro to the first single on her last album, a song entitled, “When Winter Sings,” I leaned closer, brushing my arm against hers. “What do you want me to play? For the warm-up.”

  Her attention moved between my hands and my eyes, hers growing thoughtful. “Hey, so, I have a question,” she said suddenly, making me think she didn’t want to warm up quite yet. “How did you get here so fast?”

  “You know how Sienna has that plane?”

  “You took her plane?”

  “I did.” I switched to “Free Fallin’.” “And, Sienna apparently has the ability to secure backstage passes and unlimited access to any concert event in the world. Which is how I got in your dressing room.”

  For the record, I did not like the implications of this at all. At some point, Scarlet and I would have to talk about tightening her security.

  But then she surprised me by saying, “Well, that’s distressing.”

  I studied her, holding my silence.

  Her gaze lost focus, turning inward. “I should talk to my security. I only have them for shows and events, but they shouldn’t be letting folks in my dressing room no matter who they are.” She seemed to think about this for a few seconds, and then her attention came back to me. “Unless it’s you, of course.”

  “Of course,” I agreed. Because, of course.

  Her eyes wandered over me in my new suit. “I have another question.”

  “Yes.”

  Now she laughed. “I haven’t asked it yet.”

  “Whatever it is, I’m probably going to say yes.”

  Her gaze warmed, heated, and she leaned in closer, a hand smoothing down the front of my tie, her voice dropping to ask, “So, you’re my gift?”

  The velvet box in my pocket pressed insistently against my leg as I stared at her, but I decided now wasn’t the right time. She was about to go on stage, perform for thousands of people. She didn’t need her attention divided.

  Setting aside the guitar, I also leaned in close and slid my palm up her thigh. “I’d like to be a gift for you.”

  “You are a gift to me.” Eyes hazy with happiness, she climbed on my lap and twisted her arms around my neck. “Never doubt that.”

  Embracing me, she rested her head on my shoulder and placed a kiss on my neck. And I held her, savoring the sweetness of the moment.

  We’d climbed mountains to get here, crossed stormy seas. I was under no delusions our future sailing would be smooth. But hopefully, given the last few weeks and all we’d fought for, resolved, and shared, whatever path we traveled, we’d be together from now on.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  *Billy*

  “And he took her in his arms and kissed her under the sunlit sky, and he cared not that they stood high upon the walls in the sight of many.”

  J.R.R. Tolkien, Return of the King

  We spent the next several weeks in Rome, Scarlet finishing her latest album, me working remotely sometimes, but more and more just cooking her dinner, rubbing her feet after a long day, and making love to her all night.

  Rome was awesome.

  But I didn’t propose. I’d made a plan to several times—in the gardens of the Villa Borghese, under the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, at the restaurant down the block from our apartment that had quickly become our favorite—and yet, when it came right down to it, no moment seemed like the right one.

  Instead of flying straight to Nashville via a commercial airline, which had been the original plan, Sienna bribed us into stopping by Green Valley first by sending her private plane. Jethro also sent along another new suit for me, signing the card with, Your Fairy Suit Father, which had Scarlet cracking up.

  We touched down midafternoon. Ashley met us at the airport with Bethany and Ben, both of whom were remarkably excited to see us. There’s no greeting quite like a little kid greeting, kisses and hugs and exclamations of undying love as well as non sequitur show-and-tell sharing.

  “What’s that you got there, Ben?” Scarlet gestured to a ball of something that looked like felt in his hand as we walked to Ashley’s car.

  “This is a dryer ball. It bangs the clothes around in the dryer so they dry faster and Ms. Winters from the library is a witch.”

  “Well.” Scarlet looked at me and we nodded at each other, taking his statement in stride. “Okay then.”

  It didn’t take us long to drive to the homestead, just forty minutes or so, but when I arrived, I experienced an odd pang in my chest and a strange moment of grief. For the first time in my life, it didn’t feel like coming home.

  I’d been present the whole time Jethro had cleaned it up, restored it, picked colors and painted the exterior, picked stains and trim and new soffits and refinished the porch. But seeing it now, the collection of all his years of hard work, changes, and personal touches, I realized it wasn’t our home. It was Jethro’s and Sienna’s and their boys’ now.

  And I was a visitor.

  “You okay?” Scarlet asked from my shoulder, slipping her hand into mine.

  I nodded, putting my arm around her shoulders instead, and removed the transient grief from my voice as I responded, “I will be.”

  Inside was a flurry of activity, and I soon lost track of Scarlet as she was pulled into the kitchen to make soap with Jenn and Shelly. Meanwhile, Jethro, Roscoe, Drew, and I walked across the field to the woodshed.

  “Believe it or not, we’re running low on wood,” Jethro cackled, like this was the funniest thing in the world. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

  “How was Rome?” Roscoe asked, rolling up his shirtsleeves.

  My gaze flickered to his forearms and then back to his eyes, stopping myself just before I said, You are not cutting firewood. You’re still recovering, so you can roll those shirtsleeves back down.

  Fact was, Roscoe was grown. He didn’t need me hovering anymore, double checking his decisions, fixing problems, worrying. I might always see the little boy in him, but now he needed me to treat him like a man.

  So I said, “Rome was great.”

  “How long will y’all be staying?” Jethro took a swig from his beer. “Sienna couldn’t get a straight answer out of Claire.”

  “Just a few days. Thanks for letting us stay at the carriage house.”

  “Of course.” My brother smiled at me even as his forehead arranged itself into a frown. “You’re welcome to stay forever.”

  “I know.” I peered out over the field, studying the mountain rising before us cloaked in all its various shades of green. “But I think it’s time.”

  “What about the mill? When are you going back to work?” Drew pulled a beer bottle from the side pocket of his cargo pants and twisted off the lid.

  For the record, it wasn’t a twist-off. The man seemed to be capable of opening anything with his bare hands—beer, bear trap. Also, he often used the pockets of his cargo pants as beer holders. I’d contemplated buying a pair for the weekends just for this purpose.

  “I’ll transition back to mill operations next month, but Dolly wants me in Nashville now full time. It works out since state congress will be back in regular session soon. I can run the mill’s national office from there.” What I didn’t tell them was that Scarlet and I had a meeting with a realtor next week to look at houses. Her apartment was nice, but it was just a simple one bedroom, sparsely furnished, with a postage stamp kitchen.

  The woman deserved a big kitchen with all the trimmings, and that’s what she would get.

  “You’re going back to the mill?” Jethro seemed confused by this information. “Last I heard, you were running for that senate seat.”

  I made a short, dissatisfied grunting sound in the back of my throat before I could catch it.

  Roscoe answered for me. “No. He withdrew.”

  Roscoe knew since we’d been touching base while I’d been in Rome.

  The party had tried to change my mind, promising a new campaign liaison, but that ship had sailed. I didn’t want the seat, a fact th
at had become blatantly obvious when I’d felt nothing but relieved after firing Karl. For a time, Scarlet fretted I’d done it for her. But now she was convinced I did it for myself, which was the truth.

  “It might be good that y’all aren’t staying in Green Valley, actually. Probably better if no one in town knows where you are for certain.” Jethro scratched the back of his neck, his expression thoughtful. “The Wraiths are a mess, losing members left and right. Now that the leadership is in jail, no one is around to inflict order. They’re getting into all kinds of messy shit. Best Claire isn’t here.”

  Drew frowned at me, then at Jethro. “You mean instill order?”

  “No. I mean inflict.” Jethro gave us a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Razor’s brand of leadership was definitely an affliction.”

  My brother spoke the truth. But now, the affliction of Razor Dennings was officially none of my concern.

  Shortly after Scarlet and I arrived in Rome, I received a call from Dani Payton, telling me she’d heard through the grapevine—that is, her little sister the FBI agent—that all charges against me had been dropped and the case was closed. Scarlet’s perjury had done the trick and now I was off the hook, scot-free.

  I wasn’t quite reconciled to it yet, but I was trying to surrender.

  “Hey. By the way, have you asked her to marry you yet?” This question came from Roscoe and earned him a side-eye.

  The ring in my pocket suddenly felt heavier.

  “Have you asked Simone?” Jethro asked, wearing a shit-eating grin.

  Roscoe scowled. “I’d ask today if I thought she’d say yes.”

  “Ask not just when the time is right, but also when the moment is right. Don’t rush things just ’cause you’re anxious to make it official. Ideally, you only ask once. Make it count.” Drew said this like he had a wealth of experience on the topic.

  “Why don’t you think Simone would say yes?” Not to be deterred, Jethro poked at Roscoe. “Is it because of your beard?”

  Roscoe’s hand came to his jaw. “What’s wrong with my beard?”

  “Claire has that concert next week? In Texas?” Drew, ever the diplomat, redirected the conversation away from Jethro’s teasing.

  “Yes,” I confirmed.

  “You’re going, right? Remind me and I’ll give you the name of some good restaurants in Austin.”

  “Thanks.” I sent my brother-in-law a grateful look. “I’d appreciate it.”

  The last time I’d watched Scarlet sing for an audience other than me had been at the Nashville Music Festival over a month prior. I’d watched from the stage, standing in the wings. Unsurprisingly, she did great. Because she was great. Scarlet was greatness come alive.

  At one point in her set I found myself getting a little choked up, thinking back on that day we sang together in the woods behind my family’s house, how she’d looked at my thirty-dollar guitar like it was made of magic. She’d just begun to contemplate dreams. I marveled at her now, commanding an audience of thousands, holding them in her grip, eating out of the palm of her hand.

  Apparently, it’s not just for the Billys and goats.

  Afterward, I’d hung back as she met with the VIP folks, signing stuff, posing for pictures, smiling and listening to each person, making them feel special. But really, it was her. She was the singularity. She made everything brighter. Other people merely basked in it, glowing by association.

  When her security had finally cut off the line and she was ushered away, I saw her turn her head, her gaze searching.

  She’s looking for you.

  My, how times had changed. Used to be, I was the one always searching for her and she was the one hiding in the shadows. But now, as I reflected on it, I decided everything was exactly as it should be. I’d never been comfortable with the spotlight, with attention. Standing in the wings, waiting for Scarlet was one of my favorite places to be.

  After chopping wood and drinking beer for an hour, we’d done a brief perimeter check of the property, right up to the tree line, and then made our way back to the house.

  It was at the tree line that an idea had formed, a notion, and I made a plan. What I had in mind was a surprise and I figured the tricky part would be talking her into leaving without telling her why.

  However, as soon as we walked in the back door we were met with the sounds of chaos. The ladies were laughing, Beau—who I didn’t see—was yelling, and a cluster of bodies stood between Scarlet and the twin, as though to protect her.

  Upon seeing me, Scarlet darted over, grabbed my hand, and yanked me back outside, saying, “Go, go, go!”

  Bewildered, I let her drag me halfway across the wildflower field still in late summer bloom before I brought her to a stop. “What is going on?”

  She glanced quickly at the house, a gleeful smile on her face as a few giggles escaped her. “Payback for Venice.”

  “Payback?” I studied her bright eyes, her happy expression, and then looked at the back porch, half expecting an enraged Beau to charge out of the house. “What did you do?”

  Scarlet laughed in earnest, the sound a little sinister. “After getting the okay from Sienna and Jet, I put a bucket of vegetable oil over the entrance to the kitchen and called Beau inside.”

  I reared back. “And then it dumped on his head?”

  She covered her mouth, still laughing. “But then—oh my God, Billy. The feathers.” She doubled over, holding her stomach, her shoulders shaking.

  Since her merriment was contagious, I also laughed, shaking my head and trying to follow. “Feathers?”

  “Sent him upstairs—bathroom—” She pointed up at the sky. “Feathers—” Now she made a raining motion with her hand. “Another bucket—and the—they—they—his face! His beard!” She snorted, which only made her laugh harder, tears of hilarity in her eyes.

  Rolling my eyes, I grabbed her hand and tugged her across the remainder of the field, making a mental note never to play a prank on my beloved.

  After a long while, her laughter diminished to a few brief giggles and she seemed to realize I was taking her somewhere specific. “Where are we going?” She sniffed, wiping at the dampness beneath her eyes.

  “You’ll see,” I said, smiling slightly and fighting a strange bout of nerves.

  She sighed, it sounded happy, and she followed.

  A few seconds later, she jogged a few steps so that we were walking side by side and asked, “So, why a goat?”

  I glanced at her. “Pardon?”

  “Why is your tattoo a goat? I keep meaning to ask.”

  I chuckled, glancing away and rolling my eyes at my younger self. “It’s—it’s kind of funny now, in retrospect.”

  “Tell me.” She tugged on my arm. “Nothing can be as funny as seeing Beau covered in feathers.”

  “You remember that night I came to your house and demanded you leave with me?” It was bizarre to bring this up without the accompanying flare of longing, or irritation, or desolation.

  “Yes. I remember,” she responded quietly, perhaps having similar thoughts.

  “Do you remember what you said? After I kissed you and we made out? But then I stopped and you got angry.”

  “Uh . . .” Her eyes moved up and to the right, and then suddenly came back to mine, wide with realization. “You got a goat tattoo because I said I’d rather sleep with a goat than you?”

  Chuckling again, I nodded. “Yeah. I got drunk and got a goat tattoo. That’s what happened.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  “I was crazy in love with you, and maybe a little overly dramatic. And literal.”

  Scarlet was quiet for a moment as we approached the tree line, then asked, “Do you regret it? Do you ever wish you’d gotten something else?”

  “No. I don’t.” I stopped at the first tree, searching the forest within, working to find my bearings.

  “Huh.”

  “It was a reminder,” I said distractedly, deciding to pull her a few paces west and hoping I�
�d find the path.

  “A reminder of what? Don’t get drunk and then go shopping for tattoos?”

  “No. It was a reminder of you, and me, and who I wanted to be, which was someone who deserved you.” I brought us to a stop again, finding the two trees I recognized, and then turned to face her.

  She was peering at me through narrowed eyes. “Because I deserve a goat?”

  I smiled at her, bent my head to give her a kiss on her neck, and then whispered in her ear, “Baaa.”

  She laughed, smacking my arm and leaning away. “You are a nut.”

  “I thought I was a goat.”

  “You are.” Her fingers stroked my beard. “You’re my Billy Goat Gruff.”

  Oddly, I liked the sound of that, so I decided to keep it.

  “Okay, come on.” I took a step into the forest and once again she followed.

  However, after a few feet, she chuckled.

  “What?” I asked, glancing at her over my shoulder.

  “Oh, I just can’t believe you’re walking in here willingly and I was just thinking I better take note so I can lead us out before supper.”

  “You’re real funny.” I gave her a flat look.

  “I know.” She grinned, looking cute and smug.

  We walked on for a bit, slowly, picking through the fallen branches and shrubs.

  A minute later, I felt her hand in mine twitch, squeeze, and then release as her steps slowed. “Billy. Where are we going?”

  “I want to show you something.” I didn’t look back at her this time. Those nerves had returned, making it hard to swallow, and I gave my pants pocket an automatic pat. The box is still there.

  I knew the moment she spotted the cabin because her breath caught and she stopped walking. I gave her a minute, and then I pulled on her hand, guiding her forward the rest of the way.

  We crested the slight hill together and I made sure to go slowly, giving her time to adjust to what she was seeing and only looking back at her when we made it to the base of the steps.

  “Billy.” Her eyes were on the door and the frame, the log walls, the stone steps and foundation. And then they were on me, full of wonder. “What did you do?”