Beard Necessities: Winston Brothers Book #7

by Penny Reid

  I brought her hand to my lips and kissed the back of it. “Let me show you the inside.”

  We climbed the steps and I pushed open the door, revealing the small but tidy interior. It wasn’t well lit from the windows. Leaving her just inside, I crossed to the kerosene lamp on the table and struck a match. When the space was filled with light, I turned back to study her.

  This time, she was looking at me. “You built this?”

  I nodded, glancing around, my eyes lingering on the quilt covering the bed. It was the same quilt she’d used when this spot had been her campsite. “I tried to start construction on it the fall after I was discharged from the rehab facility, that year after you left. But then it quickly became clear I didn’t know what the heck I was doing.” Again, I laughed at my former self. “I didn’t know the first thing about building a cabin. So we put it off.”

  “We?”

  “Duane and I built it together.”

  “When did you build it?” She crossed to the fireplace, inspecting the stones inlaid at the floor and I wondered if she recognized them. They were the very same stones we’d gathered in the stream that weekend after Thanksgiving, the ones that surrounded her firepit.

  “I started it right after you married Ben.”

  “So you spent that summer building a cabin.”

  It wasn’t a question, so I didn’t answer it. Instead, I watched her stand there, her gaze still wide with wonder. She then moved from place to place, touching the hearth, the walls, the little table, the chairs. She even touched the fire stick in the corner, a bubble of laughter leaving her as she met my eyes.

  “Is this the fire stick?”

  I nodded, not wishing to speak. Perhaps it was habit that kept me silent. When I was building it and later on, when I’d come to visit on my own to feel close to her, I never spoke. There’d been no one to talk to.

  Finished making her rounds, Scarlet paused in front of the bed and then she turned and sat on it, bouncing up and down as though to test the mattress.

  “This bed sure is comfy.” She’d lowered her voice to say this, which—after spending all that time with her in Rome—I now knew meant she had certain activities on the mind.

  I twisted my lips to the side, watching her watch me. “Is it?”

  She stopped bouncing. “What? You never slept on it?”

  “No. I haven’t.”

  My answer seemed to confuse her. “Did you spend much time here?”

  “I did. Especially in the winter. November, every year, I spent time here.”

  Lying on her side and propping herself up on her elbow, her gaze drifted over me. “Did you have any plans?”

  “Plans?”

  A saucy smile claimed her lips. “If I had ever come here, with you, what were your plans?”

  I huffed a laugh. “Well, that seemed so completely out of the realm of possibility—”

  “No, but you had plans.” She rolled onto her back, her eyes still on me. “I can tell.”

  Now my gaze drifted over her, the slopes and curves of her body, her hair fanned out on the quilt, the alluring sparkle in her eyes. “You’re right,” I said gruffly, recognizing the now familiar response in my own body at the sight of her looking at me like she was.

  But first, I wanted to tell her the truth. “At first, I had these plans I was going to offer it to you, as a safe place. To show you there was more than one. Somewhere that had once been your safe place could be again. But then—” I pushed away from the wall and moved to the edge of the bed, kneeling next to where she lay “—as things progressed between us in Italy . . .”

  “Yes?”

  Lifting my hand to her forehead, I slid my fingers into her hair. “I saw that you’d found your safe place on your own, and you didn’t need it anymore. And that was good.”

  Her gaze turned questioning. “That was good?”

  “Yes,” I whispered, my eyes now affixed to her lips, my favorite color. “It opened up other possibilities for its use.”

  Her mouth curved. “Such as?”

  I stood slowly, unhurriedly toeing off my shoes, pulling off my shirt, and then reaching for my belt to unfasten it.

  She swallowed, her smile fading as she watched me watch her.

  “You’re not going to tell me?” she asked, her voice a little breathless as I unzipped my fly.

  “Take off your clothes.” I slipped my hand in my pocket, gripping the velvet box.

  Her lashes fluttered. “Why?”

  “Because I prefer to show you.”

  A flare of heat ignited behind her eyes and she complied, biting her lip while removing her shirt and bra first, and then slipping off her pants. I surrendered to my desire, to look at her, to watch her undress, to hold her gaze and not look away. For so long, I hadn’t been allowed even a look. But now she was spread before me like an offering, her beautiful, seductive body completely bare on the bed.

  Hunger for her on my tongue, I whispered, “Scarlet, has it been over twenty-four hours since we made love?”

  Her nose wrinkled just slightly, her gaze losing none of its heat. “You’re right, it’s been too long.”

  She didn’t understand what I was asking, so I lowered to my knees in front of her, pulling out the box. She’d turned her head to watch me, but when I put the box between us and opened it, she didn’t seem to see it. Her eyes were fastened unwaveringly to mine.

  “Scarlet,” I whispered.

  “Yes?” she whispered back.

  I plucked the ring from the box and lifted it between us until her eyes refocused on my offering.

  “Will you marry me?”

  I don’t know why this was the moment. I don’t know why none of the others that came before would do. Maybe because I hadn’t shown her our cabin yet? Or because I simply wanted us to be here, where it had all started and I’d fallen irrevocably in love with her.

  But I did know my suspicions in Tuscany had been proven right. Every moment with this woman felt like an indulgence, especially the moment when her surprised eyes returned to mine and she cried, telling me that—yes—she would be my wife.

  Scarlet was still the color of my soul. But now that we were finally together, she also painted my days and nights in the exquisite spectrum and uncontainable brilliance of her spirit.

  Epilogue

  *Scarlet*

  “You can kiss your family and friends good-bye and put miles between you, but at the same time you carry them with you in your heart, your mind, your stomach, because you do not just live in a world but a world lives in you.”

  Frederick Buechner

  “Tiberius Monroe Winston, you pull your pants up right now.” I struggled to look angry and keep the laughter out of my voice. “If you must go, walk yourself to the bathroom in the camper. You do not just stop wherever you are and water the plants.”

  “He did the same thing at Tommy Weller’s house, when we went to that pool party,” Bea leaned in to whisper. “Just walked to the edge of the screen and pulled down his swim shorts. It was horrifying.”

  At ten years old, Bea seemed to be horrified by everything her little brothers did. On the one hand, I didn’t exactly blame her. They were adorably horrifying most of the time. On the other hand, she was a bigger rascal than all her other siblings combined.

  Struggling with my lips to form a firm line, I made a note to send Hank Weller’s wife a letter of apology as I called to our third child, “Marcus, will you please escort your little brother to the bathroom?”

  As much as possible, we did our best to encourage the two older boys, Marcus and Trajan, to take responsibility for the two younger boys, Constantine and Tiberius. Billy was adamant that Beatrice and Dulcinea be spared the kind of teasing that his sister had endured from her brothers.

  However, sometimes I worried the pendulum swung too far in the other direction. Our twin girls had inherited more than just their uncles’ red hair and summer sky blue eyes.

  “But he’s already finished.”
Marcus, wearing his typical broody expression and currently setting up the tent with Dulci and Constantine, gestured to where three-year-old Tiberius was indeed finishing up. “Can’t we just—”

  “Marcus Cash, please do as your mother says,” Billy’s voice interrupted and I turned, searching for my husband while our oldest son immediately complied.

  “Y’all are back already?” I set my hand on my hip, glancing between the grocery bags Billy carried and Trajan running to catch up. “That was fast.”

  Usually, whenever we camped behind the Winston house, Billy and whatever kids went along were gone for several hours at the store. This day in particular, the Friday of our annual Labor Day weekend camping trip, always seemed to be a mess at the Piggly Wiggly.

  “They opened a new market down the road, where the Corner Shoppe used to be. Cut the driving time in half. Also, I ran into Patty. She says hi.” Wearing his barely-there smile, Billy stopped in front of me for a kiss, as was his habit. We always greeted each other with a kiss.

  “Hi beautiful,” he said quietly, Tuscan glacial blue irises moving between mine.

  “Hi handsome.” I couldn’t stop my smile. But then, why would I want to?

  “Constantine! Get back here and help,” Dulci called to her little brother.

  “Did you get the marshmallows?” Constantine was peeking in the bags and had apparently abandoned the tent.

  “Yeah, we got all the s’mores stuff.” Trajan set down a cloth sack, pulled out a box of graham crackers, and gave me a smile missing three teeth. “Can we make them now?”

  “No, we cannot.” Dulci grabbed the box from his hands and stuffed it back in the sack. “Only one of the tents is set up. Aunt Simone and Uncle Roscoe will be here any minute and I don’t want to be setting up tents when they arrive.”

  Dulci was enamored with her Aunt Simone and wanted to become a forensic scientist just like Trajan was enamored with his Uncle Roscoe and wanted to become a veterinarian. Whenever we visited them in Washington, DC, Dulci and Trajan would stay a few days longer and Roscoe would fly them home.

  It was so interesting to me how these one-off suggestions and events quickly became family traditions. Two years ago, Simone suggested Dulci and Trajan stay three extra days, and now that’s what they did every time. This Labor Day camping trip was suggested by Sienna seven years ago to ensure the family spent quality time together outside of the hectic Thanksgiving and Christmas seasons. Now it’s what we did every year and it was always the same.

  Each family arrived when they could on Friday or Saturday. The kids ran around like wild animals in the forest, swimming in the stream, making forts, and finally showering on either Sunday night or Monday just before we left. Meanwhile, the adults socialized and cooked.

  After dinner on the last night, the kids would roast marshmallows around their campfire while the adults gathered around a second campfire. Also on the last night, all the cousins older than six would tent camp with Cletus and Jenn, whereas all the littles would stay at the big house with their parents.

  Well, all the littles except our Tiberius and Constantine, and Jenn and Cletus’s little boy, Linus. Our two youngest liked to stay with Beau and Shelley at their place on the lake. I suspected it made them feel special. Tiberius in particular had developed a special bond with Shelly and her parrot. Linus stayed with his parents and all the big kids.

  Presently, I followed Billy around the table and batted his hands away as he started to unload the groceries. “Let Bea and me do this. Will you help with the tents?”

  “Yep.” Stealing another quick kiss as well as a stealthy stroke, grab, and smack of my backside, Billy marched over to the tents with our kids trailing after, leaving me chuckling at his boldness. I’d pay him back later.

  “This is all refrigerator stuff. I’ll take it to the coolers.” Bea peeked inside one of the bags, tucking her long, red hair behind an ear. “Uh oh. Daddy bought hot dogs. I thought Uncle Cletus was coming?”

  “He is.” I pulled out the s’mores stuff, intending to put it somewhere out of little hands’ reach. “Hide the hot dogs under the ice so your uncle doesn’t see them. Or, better yet, put them in the camper fridge back at the cabin.”

  “When do they get here?” Bea began consolidating all the perishables into two bags. “And when are Ben, Andy, and Pedro coming?”

  “Uh, Cletus is coming just before dinner. And Ben, Andy, and Pedro are still in school until three. They didn’t have off today. But your Uncle Jethro should be showing up with firewood any minute.”

  “And Uncle Beau and Aunt Shelly?” Bea picked up the two bags. “What about Uncle Duane, Aunt Jess, and Liam?”

  “I think around four or five. They’re all visiting with the Wellers, I think. Will you please also bring me the marshmallow roasting sticks from the camper on your way back?”

  “Yes, Momma.” Bea knelt in front of one of the coolers.

  Meanwhile, I spun in a half circle, ensuring all the picnic tables had tablecloths, paper plates, silverware, napkins, and the like.

  “Hey Ash, Bethany,” I hollered to my sister-in-law and niece on the far side of the clearing. The area had been cleared out of trees six summers ago so we could have a big campground. “Do you have everything for those tables? I have plenty of paper plates.”

  “We’re good.” Ashley lifted a thumb in the air. “But once Marcus gets back, send him over here. Zander needs help.”

  “I do not need help!” My nephew’s stubborn growl erupted from somewhere behind a wonky-looking tent near Ashley’s side.

  Even fifty feet away, I caught Ash’s amused glance.

  “Give Marcus a chance to help, Zander. You know how he looks up to you,” Billy’s voice, though not raised, was loud and commanding enough to be heard across the clearing.

  “Oh. Okay. Sure thing, Uncle Billy,” Zander replied, sounding significantly less frustrated, and both Ashley and I rolled our lips between our teeth in unison.

  Marcus and Zander had been born just one week apart, with Zander being older. I’d figured out from watching how Billy interacted with Zander that the best way to get our nephew to do the right thing was to remind him how others were counting on him, looked up to him, needed him.

  This was one of my husband’s special gifts. He never raised his voice with our kids or our nieces and nephews. He simply plucked the string within each person that made them want to be their best.

  Suddenly, the sound of a voice sliced through the air, proclaiming, “I’ve arrived!”

  All the kids stopped what they were doing at the announcement, their heads whipping around. And then they were off, making a crazy ruckus as they stampeded to the tree line.

  Billy leaned around the half-assembled tent and we shared a look. “You’d think he was Santa Claus with the way they act.” He walked over to the tent pole Constantine had dropped in his haste to greet his Uncle Cletus. “I thought he was coming later?”

  “I thought so too. Jenn had that thing in Louisville, I thought they’d be here for dinner.”

  Billy abruptly dropped the tent pole, quick-walking over to me. “Where is that bag with the hot dogs?”

  “Should be over by the cooler. Bea was going to put it in the camper.”

  “I’ll do it.” Billy grabbed the bag and took off.

  “Don’t get lost!” I called after him.

  “I won’t get lost, woman!” he called back.

  Now I chuckled and so did Ashley. Through some unspoken agreement, we walked toward each other as the sound of Cletus plus the kids approaching grew louder.

  “The first words out of his mouth will be about either panic or sausage.” Ashley rolled her eyes, but her tone was loving.

  “Or blueberries,” I leaned in to whisper since Cletus and his group of admirers had almost made it back to the campsite.

  My kids all had special relationships with each of their aunts and uncles, and I’d like to think I had a special relationship with each of my nieces and nephews.
That said, Cletus and Jenn were on a different level. If each of the seven Winston siblings and their significant other was a day of the week, Cletus and Jenn were Saturday.

  Upon seeing Ashley and I, Cletus halted and held up a giant cooler bag with one hand. “You can stop panicking. I brought my sausage—” he held up a paper bag with his other hand “—and Jenn’s blueberry pancake muffins.”

  “He ate most of them in the car on the way over.” This dry statement of fact came from his daughter Viola, standing between Roscoe and Simone and holding both their hands while Pavlov—Cletus and Jenn’s aging dog—panted tiredly just in front of them, like he was guarding the little miss.

  Cletus made a face at his six-year-old, clearly trying to hide his smile by narrowing his eyes. “Snitch.”

  Roscoe laughed, picking up Viola and setting her on his hip. “Leave my Viola alone.”

  Meanwhile, Ashley and I stepped forward to get in line behind Dulci to greet and hug a laughing Simone.

  “She has him wrapped around her finger.” Simone’s brown eyes sparkled. “I’d be jealous if she didn’t also have me wrapped around her finger.”

  Viola placed her hands on either side of Roscoe’s beard and gazed down at him. “I love you, Uncle Roscoe.”

  “I know you do. And I love you,” he said softly, nuzzling her nose and giving her a cherishing grin while Cletus watched the exchange with a distracted smile.

  “Come on, Cletus. Better hand over that sausage.” After embracing Simone, I walked over to my friend and took the cooler bag from his grip, nearly dropping it. “Goodness, this bag is heavy.”

  “Of course it’s heavy.” Cletus’s expression turned suddenly stern. “My sausage is famous for many of its attributes, not the least of which is its substantial length and—”

  “Density?” I supplied flatly.

  He made a face like my response disappointed him. “I was going to say girth, obviously.”

  Roscoe rolled his eyes, as did Ashley, and Simone fought a laugh. Luckily, none of Sienna and Jethro’s older boys were here, so Cletus’s statement went over all the kids’ heads.