Grin and Beard It (Winston Brothers #2)

by Penny Reid

  I glanced at my Hello Kitty travel mug and the small box next to it.

  “Thank you,” I said, frustrated with myself, and him, and the situation.

  “No problem,” he said, frowning.

  We passed several minutes and miles in silence. I sipped my coffee but left the doughnut untouched. I stared at the lid of my cup, deciding I was going to continue my pity party from last night for the rest of the day, at least. Maybe it would last until Halloween. Then I could dress up in a sexy Eeyore costume and make people pin the tail on me.

  I was such an ass. I should have told him everything from the beginning.

  He stopped at the flashing red light and glanced between the doughnut and me. “Don’t you like doughnuts?”

  “This is not how I envisioned eating my first Daisy doughnut.”

  I felt the smile in his words as he asked, “And how did you envision eating your first Daisy doughnut?”

  I shrugged dejectedly, answering with a stream of consciousness. “I guess I imagined eating it with you, but you were also eating a doughnut. And maybe I get a little cream or strawberry jam on my lip. So you tell me and I try to wipe it with a napkin. But then I don’t get all of it, and you cup my face, the camera cuts close—like you’re going to wipe it away with your thumb—but instead you lean in and lick it away with your tongue.”

  The car descended into a heavy silence as I finished relaying my fantasy, the click-click-click of Jethro’s turn signal the only sound. It felt thick, meaningful, unmanageable.

  So I broke it.

  “Sorry. I think in movie scenes sometimes.”

  He cleared his throat again, making his left turn. I hazarded a glance at him. He was scowling at the road like it ruined his best pair of cowboy boots.

  “Sienna, I think we need to talk.”

  “I agree.”

  He sucked in an audible breath, but before he could talk, I said, “I’m sorry I wasn’t honest about who I was from the beginning. When you didn’t recognize me, it was, well . . . it was really nice. To be just Sienna—or Sarah, I guess—instead of Sienna Diaz. It’s rare, meeting someone who doesn’t feel like they already know me. I liked it and I like you and I know that’s not an excuse for my behavior. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s fine.” He gave me a reassuring smile. “I’m not sore at you. I mean, last night was an eye-opener, that’s for sure. But I understand wanting to be someone different, not wanting to be judged based on your past. I understand your perspective, it makes sense.”

  His empathy showed me he understood. He grinned wider, making my stomach do one of its trademarked Ranger-Jethro-induced somersaults. “I like you, too.”

  But . . . I held my breath, waiting for the word. Just when I thought maybe he wouldn’t say it, he did.

  “But you have a lot going on, and I don’t want to add to any of the demands on your time.”

  “I see,” I breathed out, feeling hollow, rejected, and keeping my eyes studiously on the lid of my mug.

  Somewhere, someone was doing voodoo on my heart. It hurt so much I could barely draw a full breath.

  I didn’t realize until that moment just how much I liked Ranger Jethro. But now it was too late. He’d decided I wasn’t worth the headache, and he was letting me down gently.

  “So maybe we could be friends? Or acquaintances, whichever you prefer.” His tone was so light, so undemanding and magnanimous. It made me want to slap his face. I wanted to ask him how and why he cared so little, when his previous actions led me to believe he’d cared so much.

  “Friends or acquaintances,” I echoed, trying both the words on and hating them.

  “I don’t mind driving you, seeing as how we’re going to the same place every morning. But I understand if you’d like to drive yourself, or have one of your security guys do it.”

  Now he didn’t want to drive me? But . . . that was our thing. That was how we’d met and connected.

  I felt lost.

  Crap.

  I was going to cry again.

  But not in front of him.

  I turned my face to the window, rested my elbow against the door and tucked my hand under my chin. “Sure. Yeah. That makes sense. I’ll have Dave take me. No worries.”

  He was silent for a full minute, then said, “I guess it’s settled.”

  I nodded, though I didn’t look away from the window.

  And those were the last words spoken between us.

  CHAPTER 12

  “Nothing is ever really lost to us as long as we remember it.”

  ― L.M. Montgomery, The Story Girl

  ~Jethro~

  News of my date with Sienna spread through the valley faster than a dumb idea at an Iron Wraiths MC meeting. I couldn’t go anywhere without folks eager for the scoop, questioning me. Even Reverend Seymour stopped me outside Sunday service.

  “What’s she like?” he asked in a hushed tone. “Is she tall? She looks so tall in her movies.”

  “She seems real nice,” his wife added, coming out of nowhere and startling me. The woman was stealthy. “I talked to Diane Sylvester and she said Kip said she signed everybody’s napkins. Did you get a signed napkin?”

  Reverend Seymour gave me a kindly but prodding smile.

  “She is nice,” I agreed, not adding that Kip Sylvester and the rest of the people at the restaurant had not been nice. They’d acted like a herd of assholes.

  “So . . .?” The Reverend nudged me.

  “Sir?” I kept my tone polite, though I couldn’t help but clench my teeth.

  “You think I should invite her over?” Mrs. Seymour asked, her eyes impossibly large and hopeful. “With your momma gone, there’s no one to invite her over. I could ask Jennifer Sylvester to make a banana cake.”

  Oh no. Not the banana cake.

  Lord save us from Jennifer Sylvester’s magical banana cake. It was award winning and inescapable. Everyone bought one for special occasions from the Sylvester’s bakery, and always raved like it was the cure for cancer, impotency, and boring conversation.

  Meanwhile, I hated the taste of bananas.

  I shook my head stiffly. “No call for that.”

  Mrs. Seymour looked frustrated. “Aren’t you going to see her again? Deveron Stokes said—”

  “Now when were you talking to Deveron Stokes?” Reverend Seymour interrupted, frowning at his wife.

  “Excuse me.” I used the Reverend’s rebuke as means to escape, ducking away and hurrying to catch up with my brothers across the grass parking lot.

  Keeping my head down, I ignored the two or three calls for my attention and jogged to where Beau’s car sat idling. Typically, most of us went to church together early on Sundays, taking a few cars, then back to the house for breakfast. Ash and Drew had already left, so had Duane and Jess. Billy, however, was at the mill, working. He was usually working on days I had off.

  “Took you long enough,” Beau pestered as I slipped into the passenger seat.

  “What’d he want?” Roscoe asked from behind me.

  “I’ll give you three guesses,” I grumbled, drawing a scrutinizing look from Beau.

  He pulled out of the lot, and I ignored the smug smile hovering under his red beard. We drove in silence until Beau pulled into our drive, then he gave me the side-eye and said, “Don’t you think it’s time you told us what’s going on?”

  “Jess said she and Duane were stopping by the store on the way home. He needs more blueberries for the pancakes,” Cletus answered as though the question had been directed to him. He was also in the back seat and sounded very concerned about our present lack of blueberries. “I hope they’re not sold out.”

  “That’s not what I meant, Cletus. I was talking to Jethro.” Beau stopped in his usual spot in front of the house, and I saw Ashley’s truck already parked; Ash and Drew had beat us home. I quickly exited, hoping my brother would drop the subject.

  But Beau must’ve guessed my intentions as he swung open his door and jumped to his feet, co
ntinuing to poke at me. “Jet, we’re all dying to know what’s going on with you and Sienna Diaz.”

  “No one is dying.” Roscoe unfolded from the Pontiac after I pushed my seat forward. He grinned at me as he straightened. “We’re just close to apoplexy.”

  “Well, I’m more worried about the blueberries.” Cletus climbed out on Beau’s side and the frown he tossed at me was grim. “Blueberries aren’t in season yet.”

  “Would you forget about the blueberries?” Beau hissed.

  I spotted Jessica’s Jag kicking up dust as it pulled up our drive. Ignoring Beau, I shut my door and made for the porch.

  “I share Cletus’s worry over the blueberries,” I said, just to rankle Beau.

  “See? Jethro’s worried, and he’s never worried.” Cletus gestured toward me then pointed at Beau. “You should be worried, too.”

  Jess parked next to Beau’s vintage Pontiac, and Duane held up two pints of blueberries as he stood from her fancy Jaguar.

  “You can stop panicking, Cletus. I have the berries.”

  “Oh, thank God.” Cletus held his chest and stumbled a step backward. “You should have live-tweeted your progress. I was near a fit.”

  Beau dogged me, on my heels as I climbed the steps. “You realize you’re with a woman on my celebrity list.”

  “Celebrity list? What are you going on about?”

  “Come on, don’t you have one?” Beau appealed to my siblings and Jess as I opened the screen door. “A list of women who you’d get a pass on from your significant other.”

  “What?” I snapped, not liking the concept or the fact that Sienna was on Beau’s dirty list.

  “I have a list.” Jessica nodded toward Beau. “But mine has mostly men on it.”

  “Wait a minute, mostly men?” Duane took a shuffling step to one side so he could see his girl, his eyes wide. “Mostly men? Who are the women?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” She gave him a saucy grin and a quick kiss, then to me explained, “Everyone has a list, Jethro. But it’s like any fantasy. In theory, the fantasy is fine. But in reality, if I were faced with a man on my list—”

  “Or a woman?” Duane put in, teasing her.

  She ignored him and continued, “If I were faced with a man on my fantasy list, I wouldn’t cheat on Duane. And if he were faced with a woman on his list, he wouldn’t cheat. It’s just one of those things people talk about. Like, if you could have a superpower, what would it be?”

  “I’d like to be able to fly,” Cletus responded as though her question had been asked in earnest.

  “Not be invisible? Or read minds? Or be omniscient?” Roscoe suggested.

  Cletus shook his head. “Certainly not. That’d be redundant because I’m already all of those things.”

  “Then make it rain blueberries,” Roscoe teased.

  “My point is,” Jessica put the conversation back on track, “it’s all theoretical. The list is made up of people you admire and—theoretically—would like to know, not just for their looks.”

  “That’s true,” Beau agreed. “Sienna is real pretty, and I don’t think that’s a controversial statement. But it’s all the other stuff that pushed her to the number three spot on my list.”

  I felt my blood pressure spike and realized I’d curled my hand into a fist as Beau spoke, not liking that he felt free to discuss Sienna like she was public property. Of course, everyone in town had done the same. Why should Beau be any different?

  Jessica must’ve taken note of my mood shift, because she placed her hand on my forearm. “Lots of normal people have a list, Jethro. It doesn’t mean any harm. It’s no big deal.”

  “Except I don’t have a girl, so there’s no one I’d be cheating on.” Beau stuffed his hands in his back pockets and rocked on his feet. “So if I were faced with an unattached Sienna Diaz, I would totally—”

  “Careful, Beau. I don’t think that’s a sentence you want to finish,” Roscoe warned, then shot me a commiserating glance.

  Beau frowned, but didn’t finish the thought. Thank goodness. I didn’t feel much like teaching him a lesson. I was tired. And, if I were being honest with myself, I missed Sienna even though she was lost to me.

  But the point Beau had inadvertently raised was a good one. If Sienna and I had continued seeing each other, I would’ve had to deal with a lot more Beaus and a lot more dirty lists.

  I opened the front door and motioned for everyone to file in, ignoring Cletus’s frown of concern as he passed and Beau’s searching glare. I hesitated on the porch, listening to Ashley greet my brothers and Jess as they disappeared inside.

  The thought of more questions from my family, because I knew they were coming, made my stomach turn sour. And bitter. Truth was, I didn’t feel much like having Duane’s blueberry pancakes.

  So for the first time in a long time, offering no explanation or excuse, I left my family and went for a drive.

  ***

  “You hiding out here?”

  I turned, finding Claire hovering at the edge of her gazebo. I’d been meaning to fix several of the rotten deck planks for months. Leaving my family to their breakfast, I drove into Knoxville for parts, where my neighbors wouldn’t question me, then to Claire’s house.

  “Maybe.” I gave her a small smile. “Or maybe I was just hoping you’d come find me.”

  She rolled her eyes and crossed the deck to stand next to me against the railing. “Do you ever turn it off, Jet? Doesn’t it get tiring sometimes?”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’ve known you . . . hell, I guess going on twenty-five years now. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen you not be charming.”

  I twisted my lips to the side, considering my friend. “You remember me when you were three?”

  “Yes, I do. You were eight, and you were trying to charm me out of an ice cream cone.”

  “Did it work?”

  “No,” she answered simply, her red eyebrows arching over challenging blue eyes. “And maybe that’s why we’re still friends now.”

  “Because you’re an ice cream hoarder?” I teased, liking to tease her. She was fun to tease because she didn’t take any shit. Not from me, not from anyone.

  “Don’t be stupid.” She smacked my shoulder and laughed. “You know what I meant. Maybe we’re still friends ’cause I don’t go around sharing my ice cream with you every time you bat those big pretty eyes. So, what I’m asking is, don’t you ever get tired of charming the pants off people? Don’t you ever want to just . . .” She cast her eyes around the gazebo, then lifted her face to the sky. “Don’t you ever want to just be free to be yourself?”

  I studied her upturned face, warmed by afternoon sunshine, and I wished—not for the first time—I wanted Claire as more than a friend. I wished I felt just a fraction of the draw with Claire that I’d felt with Sienna. Life would be so much easier if Claire and I were married. At first, after Ben died and I cleaned up my act, I think everyone expected it.

  “You know,” Claire sighed, her smile small, “I’m not always going to be here. One day you’re going to have to find a new place to hide on Sundays.”

  “I met someone,” I said, the words spoken before I knew I was going to say them.

  She grinned, but didn’t look at me, keeping her eyes on the sky. “Did you?”

  I could tell by her tone she’d already heard the gossip. I frowned, frustrated all over again.

  “It’s over.”

  Now she looked at me. “Is it?”

  I nodded once.

  It was over, but I’d dreamed about Sienna every night since. I’d been taking up more than my fair share of time on the weekly schedule in the upstairs restroom. Maybe it made me a creeper, but Sienna had become my only muse.

  Sometimes I was licking doughnut frosting off her lip like she’d described. But in one dream I was introducing her to my mother. I’d awoken with a dull, persistent pain in my chest nothing but a long trail run could help.
/>   “Why? What happened?”

  I shrugged, feeling more sullen than I had a right to, though I answered. “She was looking for a fling.”

  Claire eyeballed me. “And what are you looking for?”

  “Forever,” I answered easily, because it was the truth.

  Her mouth hitched up on one side, and she looked at me as though she were proud. “Don’t worry, Jet. One day you’ll find your forever.”

  “I’m not worried.” Crouching, I pulled off my gloves, set them on top of my toolbox, but then admitted, “I’m a little worried.”

  “Why?” She sounded close to laughter.

  “Because,” inspecting my left glove, I saw there was a hole in the seam by the index finger, “I’m not a good judge of character.”

  She didn’t respond for a while, but when she did her voice held no amusement. “He was your father, Jet. It’s normal to idolize your father.”

  I affixed a carefree smile to my features. “You didn’t idolize yours.”

  “No. I didn’t. But nothing about my daddy is charming. Your father, on the other hand, makes you and Beau look like amateur charmers. I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit. You read people like a pro.”

  “I’m not talking about people. I can read people just fine.” I picked at the hole of the glove, stretching it. “Unless I need something from them, something meaningful, something I don’t want to con or trick them into, something real. I still can’t reach Billy. And I didn’t see this thing with Sienna going south until it was too late. Once I’m involved, it’s like I’m blind.”

  A bird chirped. Wind rushed through the trees, loud in the silence that had fallen between us. She knew I was right. Her reluctance to speak ended up speaking volumes. Claire was picking her words like she picked through produce at the farmers’ market.

  Finally, she seemed on the precipice of making a comment, but at just that moment my phone rang. Pulling it from my back pocket I studied the screen. Seeing it was Cletus, I gave Claire a small apologetic smile and answered it.

  “What’s up?”

  “I need your help.”