by Cindy Miles
“Hey man, what’s up?” I asked, pushing the door open and letting him in.
Brax strode through the door, giving my toweled self a glance. “You goin’ somewhere?”
“Yeah, but I got a few before I leave,” I answered.
Brax’s unusual eyes showed something I wasn’t used to: uncertainty. He was always pretty hyper, his metabolism on like…high octane or something. But he was always, always certain of himself. Tonight there was something bothering him. I could just tell. So I just watched and waited.
“You goin’ to see Memory Thibodeaux again, aren’t ya?” Brax asked, the r in aren’t non-existent, making the word sound like ahen’t. I was mostly used to his South Boston accent by now…but not completely. It was pretty strong. My sister adored it and loved picking on him about it.
I shrugged. “I am. She’s not what you think, you know.”
Brax held up his hands in defense. “Whoa. I don’t think she’s anything, bro. Just wondering, is all.” He grinned, but I still saw that glimmer of anxiousness in his eyes. “You like her, huh?”
I nodded, looked at him. “I tried not to, but yeah,” I answered. “I do.”
He rubbed his jaw. “Pretty cool chick, that’s for sure. Bad ass ink sleeve, too.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Brax, you didn’t come here to randomly talk about my dating life.”
Brax took his baseball cap off, rubbed his head, and stuffed his cap into his back pocket. “Hell no, I didn’t.” He inclined his head. “Can we sit for a sec?”
“Is Olivia okay?” I suddenly asked. He was acting…so unlike Brax Jenkins.
“Yeah, yeah,” he said, leading the way to the sofa. He flung himself down, and I took the edge of the wide block coffee table. “Gracie’s…perfect.” He called my sister by her middle name—a name only used by him. He cast a quick glance over me, then rubbed his jaw. “Jesus fuck, man, I didn’t think we’d have to have this conversation with you half fuckin’ naked.”
“You okay?” I asked, and I felt like I wanted to laugh. But the serious gleam in Brax Jenkins’ eye made me hold it in.
“Hell yeah, just go fuckin’ change. It can wait,” he said.
I shook my head, went to my room and pulled on a pair of boxers, jeans and a white T-shirt, then came back out. Sat down on the coffee table. And waited.
Brax cleared his throat, rubbed his hand over his head, then scooted to the edge of the sofa cushion. He looked at me; serious. Anxious. Unwavering.
“I figured since you were the man of the Beaumont family, and Gracie’s older brother, I had to talk to you first.” Those ghostly eyes held mine steady, determined. “But hear me out before you say anything. I know your sister isn’t finished with school yet, but Jace, I gotta tell ya,” he said, and his voice held a sincerity that I truly believed. “I love her, man. I love her with everything I got in me.” He stood, rubbed his jaw, sat back down. “I want to ask your permission to her marry her. I swear to God, it’ll be a long engagement. She can graduate first. Both of us.”
“If she says yes, you mean?” I couldn’t help it. I had to rib him.
Brax’s eyes widened and he jumped to his feet. “You don’t think she’ll say yes? Oh, Christ.”
I threw my head back and laughed, then pulled Brax into a bro-hug. I slapped his back. “Hell yeah, I think she’ll say yes,” and I watched the relief wash through him. I held out my hand to shake his, and he gripped it firm. “I appreciate you asking me for my blessing,” I said with sincerity. “On behalf of the Beaumonts, I give it. I wouldn’t want anyone else for my baby sister.”
“Thanks, man,” Brax said. The cocky assuredness was back. “I mean it. I don’t only love her,” he remarked. “I love all of you.”
I just smiled. “I know.”
“And I’m glad as all fuck that you put some goddamned underwear on,” he said. “Jesus, that was awkward.”
I laughed. “That’s what happens when you come unannounced,” I replied, then glanced at the clock on the wall. “Which, I gotta hustle.”
Brax pulled his cap back onto his head and started for the door. “You really like her, don’t ya?” he asked again. “Why?”
I looked at the scars on his face; evidence of the terror he’d experienced as a foster kid in Southie. Noticed the ink he’d accumulated, all meaningful in his life, milestones he’d passed when others thought he’d never pass them. To look at Brax Jenkins, no sane guy would ever willingly give their sister over to him in marriage.
Until they knew him.
And I felt that same sort of familiar tug toward Memory Thibodeaux. On the exterior, she was of course beautiful. Beautiful, but dangerous to the heart. A bad girl with a wild streak who liked to have a good time, with an inked half-sleeve and a larger-than-life character. But in a short time I’d glimpsed something else. That ink held a poignant meaning. Her wild streak was tamer than people thought. And she had a kind heart.
I just grinned and shrugged. “I guess us Beaumonts like to make up our own minds about people.”
Understanding lit Brax’s surreal eyes. “I’m glad as hell, too.” He rubbed his jaw. “I’m in love with her, man.” He nodded. “I’ll spend the rest of my life making her happy.” He covered his heart with his hand. “That is a solemn promise.”
I had no doubt about it. That was a promise Brax Jenkins would keep. Again, I shook his hand. “I believe you.”
I closed the door behind Brax and heard him yell to the top of his lungs, Fuck yeah! Mrs. Braxton Jenkins! Woohoo! I could do nothing but shake my head and smile.
Brax Jenkins. Officially in the family.
Sadie Beaumont was just going to love adding another son to the pack.
I couldn’t get the smile off my face. If anyone deserved to be happy in this world, it was my sister. And damn—Brax Jenkins made her happy. I could just see her now, those big green eyes wide and glassy and knowing her, tearful with joy. I glanced at the clock; no time to shave. I hit the deodorant and brushed my teeth, pulled a clean, long sleeved button-down over my T-shirt, socks and boots, shoved my billfold in my back pocket, grabbed my cell phone and keys and I was out the door.
As I pulled into early evening Killian traffic and headed to Memory’s, the conversation with Brax rung inside of my head. “You really like her, don’t you?” Brax had said. “I didn’t want to but yeah,” I’d answered. “I do.”
I hadn’t wanted to, either. Damn, I hadn’t wanted to bother with any woman—not for a while, anyway. I knew what a sacrifice it was for my mom for me to leave the ranch behind to go to Winston, so I’d made up my mind to not fuck it up, in any way, shape or form. Somehow, I’d thought meeting a girl would do just that. Distract me from my goal. And at first glance, Memory Thibodeaux had all the signs of a major distraction. Had she not pursued me I probably wouldn’t have given her another thought. Probably wouldn’t have even run into her again. It was that chance meeting the night her Jeep broke down, and her persistence afterward that had my heart beating fast as I pulled into her drive. Had me lying awake at night remembering her kiss, her touch; the smell of her long, thick black hair. Those wide blue eyes. The sound of her laugh. The thing was that I wasn’t interested in casual. I’d done casual. I’d done barely-memorable and more wish-I-could-forgets than I could count. I wasn’t saying I wanted to get hitched right away. But I didn’t want to waste my time with someone who didn’t somehow seem…right.
I’d have to wait and see. Just…see how things occurred. Day by day.
It was five minutes to seven and the sun had long dropped out of sight, but the moment my headlights flashed on the big Chevy dually parked beside Memory’s Jeep, I remembered. Memory’s father was home, and as I pulled up behind them I saw Memory push out of the screened door. Her father followed.
With a deep breath, I climbed out of the truck and walked toward the porch, where the light illuminated all of us.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d met a girl’s father. High sc
hool?
“Hey,” Memory said, and jogged over to me. “Meet my dad, yeah? Max Thibodeaux, this is Jace Beaumont.”
“Sir,” I said, and gripped his hand firmly. His grip was equally as strong, and right off the bat I could see the remarkable resemblance to Memory. Max Thibodeaux was a big man. I was six foot two so he had to at least be an inch taller. Early forties maybe, with massive arms and a muscular build, a head full of dark hair and Memory’s blue eyes. I held his gaze with mine as we shook hands, and I could only imagine he was weighing me fully.
“Good to meet you, Jace,” he said in a deep, growling kind of voice. Instantly, I heard the same Lafayette drawl that Memory had. “Memory tells me you’re heading to the Rangers?”
“Yes, sir,” I answered. “After I get my degree in Criminal Justice, that is.”
He nodded, his gaze regarding me closely. “You handy with iron, boy?” he asked.
Jace gave a nod. “Yes, sir. Since I was six.”
Max regarded me. “She also says you know your way around an engine.”
“Daddy,” Memory said. “Don’t try and intimidate.”
A smile touched Max’s mouth, but he didn’t break his gaze, and he still waited for an answer.
“I do, yes, sir,” I said. “My grandfather taught me that, as well.”
He inclined his head to my truck. “Is that your work? What is that—an eighty-four?”
I nodded. “An eight-three and yes, sir, I saved up all summer and bought it for five hundred dollars when I was sixteen.”
“Pretty impressive,” Max acknowledged, and although I didn’t know the man his compliment made me proud. He nodded then. “You two have fun.”
“Thank you, sir,” I said.
“Bye, Daddy,” Memory offered as she hugged Max Thibodeaux.
He kissed his daughter on the cheek, and I couldn’t help but notice the way he looked at her. It was…more than sincerity. It had a depth to it that usually might have gone right by me. But tonight I saw it. And I thought it was…sorrow in his eyes? They looked sad, maybe. I wasn’t sure, but it definitely was something noticeable. To me, anyway.
I waved, and Memory climbed in and slid across the front seat. I looked at her and smiled. “Hey,” I said with a grin.
“Hey back,” she answered, and I started the engine.
God, she looked cute. Her hair was pulled into two long braids that rested on either side of her shoulders, and she wore one of those slouchy knitted hats she always wore. This time, a blue one and it made her wide eyes all that much bluer. The top was thermal, cream colored, and while plain on someone else, Memory made it look sexy. Almost as sexy as her faded jeans she wore on those long legs. Her eyes met mine as I climbed in after her.
“Well, you passed the Max Thibodeaux Test,” she noted with a grin. “You impressed him. A first.”
I chuckled as I backed up and pulled around, and cast a quick glance at Max as he stood on the porch, watching. “He looks like he’s scared a few guys off in his lifetime.”
Memory waved at Max, and she laughed softly. “Yeah, he was probably shocked to see you,” she said, then looked at me. “Other than my guy friends, I’ve never introduced him to a guy guy before.” She emphasized the word guy.
And that struck me. “Never? Come on, Memory. What about in high school?”
“Nope,” she answered, then gave me a sly grin. “I told you before, I’ve been all about casual…until now. Does that freak you out, Mr. Beaumont? ”
I reached with my hand and hers immediately slipped into mine, our fingers laced. “I am not easily freaked, Ms. Thibodeaux. Surprised, though? Yes.”
“And why is that?” she inquired. I noticed she smelled good; light, like honey and flowers or something. It was…sexy as hell.
I shrugged and kept my eyes on the road. “Girls, you know—they don’t usually play casual.” I gave her a quick glance and a grin. “That’s typically a guy thing, Memory.”
She laughed. “Yeah, I guess maybe it is.”
At the end of her drive I stopped, threw the truck into park and leaned over her, slid my hand behind her neck, and pressed my mouth to hers. The kiss was slow, and I led, she followed, and only after I’d tasted her with my tongue did I pull back and look at her. “Sorry,” I said kind of softly. “Didn’t think I could wait much longer to do that—”
She grabbed the collar of my shirt and pulled my mouth back to hers, sufficiently shutting me up. She kissed me then, and it was again slow, erotic, and her hand moved to my thigh and I leaned into her, my head spinning. Everything about her filled my senses; her touch, her tongue, the sweet way she smelled, the fall of her braid against my arm. When we broke the kiss, we were both a little breathless.
“There,” she said with a grin, but her eyes were soft and glassy. “Glad that’s out of the way.”
I almost couldn’t take my eyes off of her, so I took a long look at her face, the structure of her jaw, the wide angle of her eyes, the curve of her lips.
“Out of the way for now,” I clarified.
Memory Thibodeaux smiled, and I felt her dig in a little deeper under my skin.
The ride to Jasper’s seemed to fly by—probably because I secretly dug the time alone with Memory. When my iPod played Led Zeppelin’s “Immigrant Song,” Memory’s eyes grew wide. “Oh my God! This is my song!” And she laughed, then began singing—not just with her voice but with her expressive hands, as well. I almost died laughing. She knew every word. I picked it up and sang along with her. She was a goddamn blast. I could easily see how she’d earned the title life of the party.
Soon Jasper’s drive loomed ahead—a large wrought iron entrance with a wooden sign suspended by two chains that read Bullseye Downs. As we drove beneath it, Memory rolled down the window and stuck her head out. “Jesus,” she said. “This place is huge!”
I grinned. “Jasper McGillis does nothing small, ever,” I stated. It was true, too.
Jasper was waiting for us on his front porch when we pulled up, and rose from the rocker he was sitting in to lean on his cane and…scowl. On his head perched what he called his winter hat, “on the account that it’s black and absorbs the sun to warm my old ass head.” It was made of felt, with a really wide brim, and it looked like it could shade his entire body. We’d always ribbed him about it, and he’d never cared.
I killed the engine, put the gear in park and climbed out, Memory right behind me. Then she promptly moved ahead of me, though, hurrying up the steps that led to the wide wrap-around porch Grandpa Jilly, my brother Kyle and myself helped him build ten years before.
“Well, damn, girl, just look at you,” Jasper exclaimed as Memory trotted up the steps and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Good to see ya, good to see ya!” He grinned, and I could’ve sworn he even blushed. “Welcome to my hacienda!”
“Good to see you too, Jasper,” she said, and gave him that smile. It melted Jasper right on down. “Something smells good, yeah,” she said, and glanced over her shoulder at me and winked. “What you got cookin’ in there?”
The old guy laughed and shook my hand. “Jace, I hope you brought that bottomless stomach of yours,” he said, then completely turned his attention to Memory. He held out his arm. “Pure one hundred percent Angus, my darlin’,” he answered her.
Memory tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and grinned at me over her shoulder. “Well, lead the way, handsome.”
I grinned and shook my head. Jasper and Memory clicked in such a way that was almost uncanny. Uncanny…and strangely appealing. One person I’d loved my whole life. The other…I couldn’t get off my mind. I knew then I was in for a long night.
Jasper wasn’t kidding—that Angus was one fine cut of beef. He’d made whipped potatoes and green beans to go with it—pretty impressive for a man his age.
“Hell, I’d planned to open a can of Speghetti-O’s for the boy here until he’d asked if you could come along,” Jasper had said. He’d meant it, too. I’d eaten countle
ss cans of the O’s. Memory? Well, she’d…beamed. I couldn’t think of any other way to explain the way her face lit up.
“How’s your head been, darlin’?” Jasper asked suddenly. “Them allergies bothering you still?”
Memory gave me a hasty glance, but a smile stretched at her mouth. “Oh, I haven’t had too much trouble,” she answered. “Here and there.”
“Good, good,” Jasper said. “I could tell that night I took you home, it was a damn doozy.”
Memory laughed lightly. “It sure was,” she agreed.
I wondered if it had been as bad as the one I witnessed.
We finished our meal, and Memory and I cleared the table and stacked the dishes in the dishwasher in no time flat while Jasper sat at the table, telling tall tales from his Ranger days. Memory had flicked water at me and laughed, and her eyes had sparkled beneath the low lights of the kitchen, and there she went. Digging deeper.
“If you two are finished horsin’ around I got something to show you, gal,” Jasper said. When I looked at him, he winked and headed to the living room. “Come on with you.”
“Oh, no,” I started.
Memory sauntered past me. “What?” she asked.
“Pictures,” I muttered. “He’s got pictures.”
Her eyes widened, those huge blue orbs that could mesmerize. “No way! I adore pictures!” She settled next to Jasper on the sofa, and I eased down beside her.
I’d seen the albums a hundred times, so I sat back and watched the two of them, Jasper and Memory, their heads bent together. Jasper had hung his wide brimmed hat on the wall just inside the front door, and his silver beside her ebony fascinated me. I draped my arm on the sofa behind Memory, and watched.
“Now, this is Jace there when he was six,” Jasper started.
Memory looked up, her mouth pulled into the prettiest of smiles. “You’re on your butt in the dirt,” she said.
“Yeah, missing my first tooth,” I finished.