Conceal

by Juliana Stone

“Miss Barker. We just want to ask you some questions. That’s it. Nothing heavy.”

  “It’s time for you to leave.” She straightened and pointed to the door.

  Duke walked up behind her. “We got a problem?”

  Betty shook her head. “Not at all. These two idiots were just leaving.”

  Duke Everett was a fighter back in his day and even though he was on the wrong end of fifty, the man was not to be messed with. At six foot four, with shoulders as wide as the door and a large, skull and crossbones tattooed onto his left arm, he was an imposing figure.

  “But,” long-hair guy sputtered. “We’re not done with our wings and beer.”

  “No problem,” Betty said. She grabbed a takeout container from underneath the counter and dumped their wings inside. “Here you go.” She shoved it at him and smiled.

  “Oh, wait.” She grabbed the jug of beer, paused and looked at the baldheaded guy. “I said no to the camera, remember?” His eyes narrowed and his lip curled. He took one shot and then let go of his camera so that it swung from his shoulder.

  Betty stepped onto the stool to her right and before the men could react, dumped the entire jug over his shiny, bald, head.

  “You’re fucking crazy,” he yelled, stepping back and nearly falling on his ass as his feet slid across the wet floor.

  Betty glared at them. “I’d remember that before you think of stopping in here again.”

  Duke crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the two men. “Is there a reason you guys are still here?”

  Jason Danvers and Pete Tortolini were sitting at a table a few feet from them and they stood up as well, arms folded, eyes trained on the strangers.

  The two men realized it was in their best interest to get the hell out of New Waterford. They shoved their way past everyone and the door slammed shut behind them.

  Duke grabbed the mop. “I gotta hand it to you, Barker. It’s never dull when you’re around.”

  “It’s just going to get worse.”

  Duke nodded. “I suppose it will. But you’re tough, kid.”

  Betty watched as he cleaned up the mess she’d made, aware that even though Pete and Jason had sat back down, they were still glancing her way. She felt fragile, exposed and more than a little raw.

  It wasn’t even dinnertime yet and already it had been a day. She could use someone to talk to but Matt was MIA and Bobbi was busy helping out with Billie’s hockey school.

  “How’s Billie today?”

  “She’s good. Better, you know…tired but good.”

  “Shane was in earlier for takeout and he said the little guy is going to be just fine.”

  “Yes, he’s doing real good. He’ll be in the hospital for a few weeks but, he’s perfect.” Betty shoved her hands into the front pockets of her jeans and rolled back on her heels as Duke continued to push the mop back and forth. She supposed that she could cut up some more lemon and limes or see if the guy sitting by himself at the end of the bar wanted another drink….Instead she watched the mop go back and forth.

  Duke stopped suddenly and leaned on the mop. “You know it’s not real busy. Why don’t you go home and get some rest. I can cover your shift.”

  “Are you sure? I don’t want to leave you hanging.” Betty was already reaching for her purse, so the concern in her voice was a bit of an act.

  “Yeah,” Duke said. “Get out of here.”

  He didn’t have to tell her twice. Betty scooped up her purse and headed out the door before he changed his mind. She was home less than five minutes later and took an extra minute to poke around the property.

  She couldn’t be too careful. For all she knew there was a posse of paparazzi having a party in the Lilac bushes.

  Gramps was just settling in front of the television with her dad when she walked through the front door. Betty leaned against the doorframe and watched them as Gramps took his time to settle his son into the chair, and get him some food. Which her father pushed away, mumbling that he wasn’t hungry.

  God, her father was getting skinny and his appetite wasn’t nearly what it should be. Both men glanced up.

  “Hi,” she said, trying to sound cheerful.

  Her father didn’t say anything. He grabbed the remote and started with the endless channel surfing. It drove Betty crazy.

  Herschel Barker told his son to eat and shuffled over to Betty. “How’s our little boy?”

  “He’s beautiful. Didn’t you get the chance to head over to the hospital?”

  Herschel glanced back toward his son.

  Right. Trent Barker wasn’t in any shape to be left alone.

  “You should go see him. Get a ride with Shane. I’m pretty sure he’s heading up with Bobbi in about half an hour.”

  A wide smile broke over his face. “Is that right? I’d love to see the little guy.” Herschel pushed his white cap back and scratched his head. “Are you home for the night?”

  “I am. So go and see your great-grandson.” Betty paused. “How’s Dad been today?”

  Her grandfather sighed. “He’s been in a mood.”

  “Haven’t we all. I’ll be good company for him then.” She kissed him on the cheek. “Go.”

  “If you’re sure…I thought I’d sneak in some of my homemade wine, you know the red that Billie likes so much.”

  “You can’t take wine into the hospital.”

  “Sure I can.”

  “Gramps,” she couldn’t help but smile because he looked so damn self-righteous.

  “What are they going to do? Frisk an old man?”

  She shooed Herschel away and sank into the loveseat that was kitty corner to the chair her father always claimed. His clothes looked ratty. That bothered Betty. She was going to have to do something about the state of his closet. Everything hung on him. Made him look old and sick.

  He continued channel surfing and for a moment she tuned out. She heard the front door open and then slam shut and she watched through the window as Herschel climbed into his car, no doubt heading out to hook up with Bobbi and Shane.

  “Chantal?”

  Her father’s voice, scratchy and ill used, grabbed her attention and her gaze flew to the television. The screen was divided into two, one half filled with a sultry shot of Betty from one of her last photo shoots. She lounged on a rock, her body barely covered by the thin black bikini she modeled, her long hair billowing in the breeze.

  The other side of the screen was filled with a sexy as hell image of Beau, long blond hair slicked back, that week old stubble gracing his strong chin. His smile was wide and easy and her heart squeezed at the sight.

  She couldn’t hear what the reporter was saying—her dad had the volume on mute—but since they flashed to fuzzy pictures of Beau and Betty in front of the hospital the day before, she had a pretty good idea what the story angle was.

  “Chantal?” he said again, this time louder with a hint of anger in his voice.

  Betty got up and gently took the remote from him. “It’s not her, Dad. It’s not Mom.”

  She hit the volume by accident and cringed as the reporter’s voice cut right through her.

  “At first Beau Simon refused to comment, though later this afternoon he released a statement through his publicist. He said, and I quote, ‘I have the utmost respect for Betty Jo Barker and while I did spend time in her hometown recently, it was strictly for charitable reasons. I don’t make a habit of commenting on my personal life, but in this instance I thought I should be clear. We have a strictly professional relationship and nothing more.’”

  Betty stared at the screen and felt that hollow hole inside her expand until she couldn’t breathe. Carefully, she handed the remote back to her father and sank onto the floor, leaning back against the sofa as she stared at the channels flipping past.

  “Wow,” she said softly to the screen. “Didn’t take you long.”

  But isn’t that what she wanted? Denial? Space? Isn’t that what she’d told him only a few hours ago?

&
nbsp; So why the hell did it make her feel so awful to hear him say those words?

  Betty closed her eyes and groaned. She didn’t want to think about the answer to those questions and what it meant. At least not right now. She’d think about that stuff later.

  Or maybe not all.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  “YEAH, SO MOM called again.”

  Beau accepted a cold beer from his brother and settled back into his chair on the dock. It was nearly midnight and he and Tucker had been out here for more than a few hours. Long enough for his clothes to become damp.

  He was halfway drunk which meant he wasn’t drunk enough.

  “Did you hear what I said, Hollywood?”

  “Tucker.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t call me Hollywood again or I swear to God, I’ll toss your ass into the lake.”

  “Shit,” Tucker said. “Your Wheaties issue still hasn’t been resolved now, has it?”

  Beau loved his brother. He really did. But right now he was being a pain in the ass.

  Beau angled his head and glared at Tucker. “Wheaties? Are you speaking code now? Some secret language I don’t know?”

  “Someone messed with your Wheaties this morning and you’ve been acting like a prick since we hit the road in Michigan. I’m guessing that someone is a hot woman, with hair made for pullin’ and a mouth made for—“

  “Okay,” Beau sat a little straighter. “Enough.” He took a good, long, drink of his beer and glared at Tucker. “Can we drop it?”

  His brother’s even white teeth slashed through the gloom and Beau knew that Tucker was grinning like an idiot. Tucker had a head start on the whole drinking thing—Beau had had to deal with calls from his publicist and his agent when he’d arrived at the lake—so, Tucker was feeling no pain.

  Good for fucking him.

  Beau glanced back, up the bank to where the lights from the lake house twinkled through the night. His brother Jack was up there with some tight-ass wall street type. The woman was smart, calculating and cold. She’d spent a hell of a lot of time grilling Beau over investments and the backend returns of some of his films.

  Beau and Tucker had hightailed it out of there as soon as they could.

  “What the hell is up with Jack’s girl?” he asked, finishing his beer and crushing the can.

  Tucker shrugged. “I don’t know. All she did was talk numbers. Christ, my head was spinning through dinner. I figure she’s gotta be good in the sack. Why the hell else would Jack put up with her? Did you see the size of her rack? Those are premium tits, brother, though I can’t tell if they’re real or not. I brushed up against her in the kitchen, but didn’t make enough contact to come out with an opinion either way.”

  “Good to know,” Beau said.

  “Yeah,” a voice slid at them from the dark. “Good to know.”

  Beau and Tucker watched as their oldest brother, Jack, appeared from the dark and sat down on the dock beside Tucker.

  “Well, are they?” Tucker asked, tossing Jack a beer.

  “Are they what?”

  “Christ, you’re deaf,” Beau said with a chuckle. “Tuck here, wants to know if your girlfriend’s titties are real.”

  Jack, shrugged. “I don’t know. I haven’t paid that much attention to them.”

  Tucker spewed beer everywhere and slapped his brother on the back. “You’re kidding me right? Aren’t you nailing that?”

  Jack frowned. “Jesus, do you have to be so goddamn rude?” He rolled his shoulders and stared out over the water.

  “Well are you?” Tucker wouldn’t give up.

  “Janice and I are sleeping together. Is that what you want to hear?”

  “Well, sure, but what Beau and I really want to know is whether those boobs are real or not.” Tucker chewed on his bottom lip for a moment. “What do they feel like? Are they hard or soft or…”

  “Will you drop it?” Jack snapped. “I’m not discussing Janice’s tits with you, alright?”

  “Christ. You and Beau must have shared the same bowl of Wheaties this morning.”

  Jack glanced up at Beau and Beau shrugged. “You don’t want to know.”

  “Mom called,” Jack said. “Did Tucker tell you?”

  “Yeah,” Beau replied, irritated that the focus had shifted back to him. He thought of bringing up Janice’s tits again, but didn’t get a chance.

  “So, what’s up with you and that Barker girl?” Jack’s eyes didn’t waver and Beau exhaled loudly, glancing out across the Lake once more.

  “Nothing,” he said eventually.

  “Huh,” Tucker said, earning another dark look from Beau.

  “What?” At least I didn’t call you Hollywood.”

  Beau was out of his chair like a shot. He grabbed Tucker’s T-shirt, hauled his startled brother out of his chair and with a bit of effort tossed his ass into the lake.

  “What the fuck?” Tucker sputtered, coming up for air, treading water as he stared up at his brothers on the dock.

  “I warned you.”

  Tucker laughed. “I guess you did.”

  Jack got to his feet and stood beside Beau. He was dark like Tucker, though instead of the edgy, rocker look Tucker sported, Jack was all GQ. He was their father’s double and for as long as Beau could remember, Jack had been his hero.

  The guy who set the bar. The true star of the Simon family, no matter what most people thought. Jack Simon would end up in the White House one day. Beau was sure of it.

  “So, you know mom isn’t going to let this Barker thing go,” Jack said quietly. “Especially because you haven’t called her back. She doesn’t like being ignored.”

  “Mom and I don’t need to discuss my relationship with Betty Jo. It’s none of her business.”

  “So there is something going on between you two.”

  “What?” he glanced at his brother sharply and shuffled a few feet away, shoulders hunched and tight.

  “Look, I don’t know much about her, but I get Mom’s concern. She’s a known drug user, she likes the booze and she hasn’t been real selective about the men she’s dated in the past. Jesus, wasn’t she involved with that guy who OD’d in France? A guy who was married to someone else?”

  Beau had to take a moment because the rush of anger that rolled through him was pretty intense.

  “What happened to Lane Summers?” Jack asked.

  “She’s old news,” Tucker piped up.

  “Too bad,” Jack retorted. “Now she seems like a nice girl.”

  “Her tits are real,” Tucker offered.

  Beau shot Tucker a look that promised retribution.

  “So, this Barker girl? Is there a reason for us to worry?” Jack said.

  “Back off, Jack.”

  Christ, couldn’t he catch a break?

  “I know she’s damn fine to look at. Hell, an SI model. But Beau, come on, brother. You’re a Simon. You’re Beau-Fucking-Simon. Why are you trolling the cheap seats when you can afford the platinum?”

  “Jack, you need to back the fuck off, or…”

  “Or what? You’ll take a run at me? What the hell’s gotten into you Beau? She get inside your head?”

  “Jack—“

  “Look, I’m just concerned. She’s not the type of girl you normally go for, and considering her past...”

  “Maybe that’s why I’m still single,” Beau snapped.

  “What did you say?” Tucker asked from the water, where he was floating on his back enjoying the show.

  Fuck me.

  Beau’s hands fisted at his side. He was so wound up and pissed off that he wanted to smash his fist into something. He glanced at his brother Jack.

  “You’re in love with this girl,” Jack said softly.

  “What?”

  Shit. Fuck. Shit.

  “I think he’s right.” There was Tucker again.

  “You guys aren’t making any sense.” Beau shoved his hands into his pockets, because the urge to hit something was
still so strong. He was screwed. Royally screwed. “How can you fall in love with someone over the space of a few weeks? It’s not possible.”

  “I gotta disagree with you, bro.” Tucker floated closer. “I fell in love with Marley the day after we met.”

  Beau and Jack looked down at Tucker.

  “You sure it wasn’t the first day?” Beau was being sarcastic but Tucker didn’t catch on. He was taking a walk down memory lane.

  “Nope. It was definitely the second day. I ran into Starbucks to grab a coffee before class and she was behind the counter. She looked up. She smiled. And we connected. I can’t explain it and I know it sounds corny as fuck, but in that moment she stole my heart and there wasn’t another woman for me. I knew it then…I knew it right then and I…I never looked at anyone else. What was the point?”

  Yeah, Beau thought. What was the point? He hadn’t thought of anything but Betty since he’d left her this morning, and he was old enough to know it wasn’t infatuation. He was thirty-three years old. Not a kid anymore.

  He’d been around the block a time or two and knew what he wanted.

  It was her. He wanted Betty Jo Barker.

  For a few seconds, none of the boys said anything and then Beau muttered, “shit.”

  Jack glanced at him, a wicked glint in his eyes and before Beau knew what the hell had happened, he was end over end and falling through darkness.

  He came up, gasping for air and whooped when Jack came sailing off the dock, to land in the water just behind him.

  God, it felt as if they were kids again—three overgrown kids, fully clothed, out in the middle of the lake.

  They carried on, horsing around like boys will do and none of them knew how much time had passed until a sound caught their attention.

  The three Simon men treaded water, teeth chattering from the cool lake, as they gazed up at a woman on the dock. Small and petite, with soft blond hair that hung just past her shoulders in soft waves, and dressed casually in hoodie and tights, the woman stared down at them with a smile.

  It was hard to believe she was their mother.

  Beau flicked wet hair off his face and glanced at Jack.

  “Hello boys. I see you’ve decided to go for a midnight swim? Did y’all forget your swim trunks?”