Grin and Beard It (Winston Brothers #2)

by Penny Reid

  My stomach suddenly hollow and hard, I wished I hadn’t pressed Cletus about the letter.

  It was posted three days ago, sent from the Federal Correctional Institution, Memphis, where our father was imprisoned for attempted kidnapping and aggravated assault. I briefly debated whether or not to tear it up and burn it. But morbid curiosity had me tearing it open instead.

  Inside was a photo of Sienna and me, taken the night of our date. We stood by the hostess stand at The Front Porch. It was dark and a little blurry, taken with a cell phone, but we were obviously the two people in the photograph.

  I flipped the photo over, knowing there would be a message but not wanting to read it. I read it anyway.

  It said, “You always were best at the big cons. I hope her bank account is as big as her tits. She can pay my legal fees.”

  I heard his voice in my head as though he’d been standing next to me. A sharp, fierce surge of protectiveness and anger had me shredding the note and the photo. Grim hatred and resolve turned my insides to stone because Darrell Winston never did anything without a reason.

  The picture had been a threat.

  He was never going to leave me in peace.

  But I could make damn sure his filthy plans never touched Sienna.

  ***

  Cletus and I met Drew and Roscoe at the Cooper Road Trail ranger station. They hadn’t yet left for the day. I brought doughnuts and coffee and bad news.

  “You tore up the picture?” Drew asked, leaning back in the small wooden chair, peering at me from beneath blond eyebrows.

  “It doesn’t matter.” Cletus shook his head. “If he hadn’t torn it up, I would’ve torn it up.”

  Roscoe’s attention bounced between the three of us. “What can he do? He’s locked up.”

  I glanced at my youngest brother, both happy and troubled he didn’t understand our father’s true nature.

  Looking at Roscoe was like looking at a younger version of myself, except one who’d been mostly spared the influence of our father. He’d been the first to give me a chance five years ago, after Ben died, when I needed one of my brothers to believe in me. I was fond of Roscoe, protective in a way I should have been for the others when we’d all been growing up.

  Cletus frowned at Roscoe, looked like he was about to fill in the blanks, but instead said, “Roscoe, could you take Jethro’s truck and run back over to Daisy’s for more coffee?”

  “You’re trying to get rid of me.” Roscoe shook his head.

  “Yes. We’re trying to get rid of you.” I clapped my hand on his shoulder. “You’re not the law—like Drew—and you’re not sinister—like Cletus.”

  “Plus I want more coffee.” Cletus lifted his empty cup. “I can’t think without my coffee.”

  “I’m not leaving.” Roscoe crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, mimicking Drew’s pose. “I’m not a kid. No use protecting me.”

  Cletus and I frowned at each other, neither of us liking the idea of exposing Roscoe to this steaming pile of horse manure, but Drew vetoed us both. “He should stay. How can he defend himself against something he doesn’t understand? The time will come when Darrell tries to use Roscoe for something or another.”

  It wasn’t unusual for Drew to speak to us in this way or cast the final, deciding vote in our family. After I’d stolen his motorcycle—a fucked-up cry for attention—and he’d beaten me senseless, he’d realized who I was. He’d realized I was Bethany Winston’s oldest son. Since then, he’d often given me fatherly lectures. He was a man of few words, but the words he spoke were always worth listening to.

  He was the first person I truly respected to ever tell me, “I’m proud of you.” It meant something, his pride, because I cared a great deal about his opinion.

  Never mind the fact that he was more than a year my junior.

  “Fine.” Cletus acquiesced, banging the table once. “But don’t make any more ignorant statements unless you bring me more coffee. I can’t deal with ignorance without another cup of coffee.”

  Drew almost smiled, almost, but then turned a sober expression on me. “What is it you’re thinking he’s planning?”

  I shrugged. “I have no idea. It could be anything. It could be nothing, just mind games. But if Sienna and I were really together, I’m sure he’d try to exploit it.”

  Cletus banged on the table again. “Now you listen here. Don’t use Darrell Winston as an excuse to push that fine woman away. I already told you in the truck on the way over here, I have that man well and truly under control.”

  “Are you going to share your methods?” Drew asked evenly. “Or do we not want to know?”

  “You don’t want to know,” Cletus responded, just as evenly.

  “So we’re just supposed to trust you?” Roscoe asked, clearly disbelieving.

  “Roscoe Orwell Winston, you are making ignorant statements again.” Cletus’s tone was flat. “Now you have to buy me two cups of coffee.”

  “That wasn’t a statement, it was a question.”

  “Ignorant questions cost two cups, so now you’re up to buying my next three coffees.”

  “I trust Cletus,” Drew said, holding my eyes. “If he said he has it under control, he has it under control.”

  I said nothing, because I also trusted Cletus. I trusted him with my life.

  But I didn’t know if I trusted him—or anyone else for that matter—with Sienna’s.

  CHAPTER 14

  “Stephen kissed me in the spring,

  Robin in the fall,

  But Colin only looked at me

  And never kissed at all.

  Stephen’s kiss was lost in jest,

  Robin’s lost in play,

  But the kiss in Colin’s eyes

  Haunts me night and day.”

  ― Sara Teasdale, The Collected Poems

  ~Sienna~

  At least one person was happy about the dissolution of my non-affair with capable and sexy Ranger Jethro. Marta. Well, she wasn’t specifically thrilled about the terrible date or Jethro’s decision to extract himself from my life because she didn’t know about that.

  She was happy because I’d become even more of a wretched workaholic.

  “Wow, Sienna. I’m speechless.” I heard Marta flipping pages, going through the first draft of my latest script. “How did you get so much work done on this?”

  “I haven’t been able to sleep.” I’d spent the last two weeks since our disastrous first date working like a mad woman. I’d also been spending my time listening to the Breakup Songs station on XM radio and daydreaming about the children I would never have with Jethro Winston.

  They would have had his eyes and my dimples.

  Ugh. I didn’t recognize myself. Who was this pitiful person? We’d gone on one date. One date.

  One date, crazy lady. It was just one disastrous date. One epic kiss. So stop picking out names for your children.

  “Can’t wait to dig into Smash-Girl, huh?” She laughed lightly at what she assumed was impatience to finish my current work in progress so I could get moving on the superhero movie.

  Little did she know . . .

  Over the last weeks, since my disastrous dinner with Jethro, every hour I wasn’t rehearsing or filming, I was writing. Or I was giving telephone interviews. Or I was getting shit done. I’d cut my sleep from six hours a night to four, because I hadn’t wanted to lay down unless ready to pass out.

  I was lonely, and yet I refused to do anything about it. Hank had called several times, and I’d made excuses. Both Janice and Jon had invited me along on their excursions, but I’d turned them down, preferring to work and be antisocial.

  Ranger Jethro was proving difficult to forget.

  “Barnaby wasn’t expecting this until next month. He’ll be thrilled.”

  “Yay,” I deadpanned then shook myself. My sister didn’t deserve my bad attitude. She wasn’t responsible for my current funk.

  I was.

  I was responsible.

&n
bsp; “So, the London premiere.” Marta switched topics. She was all business this morning.

  “Yes. The premiere.” The dumb premiere.

  Again, I had to shake myself. I was being negative, throwing my mood around like rice at a wedding. No one wanted my bad-mood wedding rice. No one.

  I tried once more, forcing cheerfulness into my voice. “So, the London premiere. I was thinking, what if I took Dad?”

  “No, no, no. We already talked about this. Kev and Tate will be there. We want people to talk. Young, sexy, carefree is what we’re going for. You need to bring someone that will get people talking. We want more spotlight, not less.”

  “Fine.” I tried not to growl the word.

  “Do you want me to call Jenny? Ask which of her firm’s clients are looking for buzz?”

  “No. Don’t do that.”

  She paused, clearly considering my options. To my horror, she suggested, “Even if you go as friends with Tom, people will take notice.”

  “No. Absolutely not.”

  “Fine.” She sounded disappointed. “But we’re running out of time.”

  A knock sounded on the door to the trailer, and I sat upright from my bunk. “Listen, I’m going to let you go. I just wanted to make sure you got the draft.”

  “Okay. No problem,” my sister said, sounding distracted. “Talk to you later. And reconsider that spread in Playboy magazine.”

  I bit my tongue, not wanting to argue with Marta. I’d already turned down that request six times. I didn’t want to have to defend my position. Again.

  I moved to the door, which Dave had cracked, and signed off with a chipper, “Okay, goodbye.”

  Dave waited until I’d set down my phone before saying, “It’s Susie, here to do your makeup.”

  “Okay, sounds good.” I yawned, stretching as I stepped back to give Susie room to pass. I motioned to the coffee machine. “There’s coffee if you need some, but that’s the last of it.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Sienna, babe, it’s almost 4:00 p.m. If I drink that stuff I’ll be up all night.”

  I sat in my chair and yawned again while she set to work pinning up my hair and applying the undercoat. My mind began to wander—predictably to Jethro—and the now constant sad ache in my chest had me sighing.

  “Why the heavy breathing?” Susie frowned at me, her tone and expression full of concern.

  “Just tired.” I gave her a smile meant to reassure.

  She did not look reassured. We weren’t precisely friends, but we were friendly co-workers. It’s hard to truly be friends with someone when you pay that person’s salary.

  Lifting her impeccably manicured and triply pierced left eyebrow, she ceased applying my makeup and demanded, “What’s going on with you?

  “What?”

  “How long have we been doing this? Four years now?”

  “Almost five.”

  “You’re depressed,” she accused, her tone holding no room for argument. “You haven’t asked me if I’m moist for the last ten days. For the record, I was once. But you never asked. What’s going on? And don’t tell me, ‘Nothing.’”

  I held her gaze, not wanting to explain my funk or relinquish my shoebox of sadness. If I explained my funk, then I might leave my funk. I wasn’t ready to leave this funk; I wanted to wrap myself in its funkiness forever.

  “Either you tell me what’s up or I’ll make you look like Bette Davis.”

  And she would, too.

  “Fine, fine. I’ll tell you what happened.” I gathered a breath for courage. “I met—”

  “A man,” she finished. “It’s always a man. Tell me about him.”

  So I did. I spent the next several minutes giving her the whole story, which ended up being a surprisingly short story. While recounting the details I realized Jethro and I hadn’t spent much time together, not enough time to warrant how I felt.

  “He didn’t want to see you again after finding out who you were? Do you think it’s because you lied at first?” Of course her questions would be blunt and to the point.

  “I didn’t precisely lie.”

  She looked unimpressed. “Honey, he thought your name was Sarah for more than a week.”

  “Anyway,” I said, knowing she was right about my dishonesty. But there was nothing I could do about it now. “I don’t think it was my lie of omission, not really. I think he saw firsthand what life would be like if he dated me, and it scared his cute beard off, and I don’t really blame him. I think he came to the conclusion I wasn’t worth the effort, and that was that.”

  Susie flattened her lips, clearly thinking this over, then shook her head. “Nah. I don’t think so.”

  “Well then what could it be?”

  “I don’t know, but I don’t think that’s it. I doubt he considered you not worth the effort. He’d have to be an idiot to think that, and this guy doesn’t sound like an idiot.”

  I slumped in my chair, staring forward. She was right. Jethro wasn’t an idiot.

  “Close your eyes.” Susie tilted my chin up and applied her magic brush to my eyelids. “You should find out.”

  “Find out?”

  “You should ask him, find out what’s up.”

  “What’s the point? He’s not interested anymore.” Asking Jethro why he didn’t like me enough to put up with my fame didn’t sound like a conversation that would go well for me.

  “You don’t know that for sure. You’re still interested. I can tell. It’s all over your face and how you talk about him. You sound like my daughter the night she met her husband, all droopy and sad and happy at the same time.”

  She was right. I was still interested. I was still mega interested.

  “I guess I am, but thinking about him hurts.” I pressed my lips together because my chin wobbled. Susie stopped applying my eye makeup. I think we were both surprised by my honesty.

  “Oh, hon. You were falling for him.” Her words were soft and empathetic.

  I shook my head, keeping my eyes shut tight, not wanting to see her sympathy. “I’m not so ridiculous as to think I have a broken heart. We didn’t know each other enough for real roots to have formed, just imaginary roots based on surface information. Topsoil roots.”

  “What’s a topsoil root?”

  “You know, roots based on wishing, not reality.”

  “But you’re still heartsick, babe.”

  “But it’s not real. It’s because I like the idea of him, of having a safe haven, a person who is mine, who I can count on.” I also knew the promise of him was made even more potent by knowing his history as told by Hank. “He was such a grown up, so capable and steady. And so handsome.” I added this last part with a pathetic and pining moan, opening my eyes. Susie was watching me. Her arms were crossed and she smiled a small, commiserating smile.

  Yep. His epic good looks without succumbing to the adorable label had made him a man-unicorn in my mind. Or a merman. Or a Loch Ness Monstman. He was a mystical creature.

  “Capable and steady, huh?” Her smile grew. “Does he have any older brothers?”

  I snorted softly. “No. He’s the oldest. But he has five younger brothers.”

  Her eyebrows ticked up. “Think any of them would be interested in a fifty-year-old grandmother from the Bronx?”

  “All of them, if they have any brains.”

  She grinned, then snickered, shaking her head. “Fine. So your guy is a wildlife ranger. He’s handsome and steady and doesn’t care about your fame.”

  “He does care about it, it’s why he ditched me.”

  “Stop saying that.” She pointed one of her brushes at me. “You don’t know that for sure. He sounds like a dream, and he’s planted himself in your topsoil. I still say you need to ask him what happened.”

  I studied my fingernails because I couldn’t hold Susie’s perceptive gaze and say what I was about to say. “I liked him, Susie. I liked him a lot. And it’s an intangible like. Everything was so natural and unforced between us. I slipped
into it unconsciously because liking him was so effortless. Being around him was both easy and exciting.”

  “You’re worried you’ll never have a similar connection with anyone else.”

  I nodded.

  “But, hon. There are so many fish in the sea, and you’re so talented. You’re amazing.”

  “Maybe.” I shrugged, then lifted my eyes to hers. “But how does someone like me meet a guy? I can’t take out an ad on OkCupid. I can’t go on Tinder—”

  Now she snorted. “Trust me, nothing but bags of dicks on Tinder.”

  “Even so, I’ll never know, because those outlets aren’t open to me.”

  “I had no idea you wanted to be in a relationship so badly.”

  “I didn’t either.” I shrugged, feeling oddly helpless, like I had a gaping hole in my chest and no means to fill or patch it.

  Her blue gaze studied me for a long moment before she said, “Or maybe it’s not just any relationship you want. Maybe it’s a relationship with this guy, with your Ranger Jethro.”

  I wanted to bury my face in my hands but I couldn’t, she’d already done too much of my makeup.

  The conversation had grown too solemn and I needed levity, so I scolded her. “You aren’t helping my depression, Susie. You’re making me feel worse. You’d be a terrible therapist.”

  “Please,” she rolled her eyes and bent to apply shadow under my cheekbones, “I’m a great therapist. You’re just a bad patient. Take my advice and you’ll be happy. End of story.”

  ***

  It was cold the next morning. I’d spent the night on set, filming scenes well past midnight. The blankets production had sent over were given to Henry. He’d complained that they were scratchy but ultimately accepted them. Now Henry was posted outside the trailer and obviously needed the protection from the cold more than me. What I needed was hot coffee, but I was out of ground coffee beans. I needed to get moving.

  I showered. The hot water helped, but as soon as I stepped out and toweled off, I was cold again. I dressed in leggings and an oversized sweater, wanting cozy comfort but unable to achieve it. Dave was still asleep on the bottom bunk. Jethro hadn’t broken his nose, thank goodness. The purple bruises were now green and yellow and finally disappearing.