Grin and Beard It (Winston Brothers #2)

by Penny Reid

  If things went well tonight, then hopefully Jethro and I would be able to spend quality time together for the next sex weeks or more.

  Six weeks!

  I mean, six weeks, not sex weeks.

  Six. Not sex.

  Not. Sex. Weeks.

  . . . although, I hoped some of the six weeks would be sex weeks, if you know what I mean. ;-)

  Dave’s frown eased and he grinned. “Oh. I see. Maybe wear a skirt?”

  “Why a skirt? Why is a skirt sexier than jeans?”

  “Because he can lift it easier,” he explained pragmatically. “You don’t say ‘lifting jeans.’ It’s called lifting skirts for a reason.”

  I trusted Dave, so I changed. Instead I wore a simple blue skirt, matching V-neck top, and—at Dave’s urging—nude thigh-high stockings with dark sapphire suede Mary Janes.

  “The shoes are practical, flats but dressy,” Dave said as he nodded his approval. “But the stockings make them sexy. Once he realizes they only go up to your thighs, he won’t be able to concentrate on cooking anything that tastes good. So maybe grab a snack before you leave.”

  Scrutinizing my reflection, I lifted my skirt a few inches to reveal the top of the lace. I loved Dave. I was going to give him a raise.

  I navigated while Dave drove. Thick mist rose around us as we descended the mountain, which struck me as strange. It hadn’t rained and the sun shone brightly in the higher altitude around Bandit Lake. The sky had been blue. But here in the valley a late afternoon fog had rolled in, casting a silvery sheen over the emerald-green forests and narrow roads. The light was different. I felt as though I were looking at a fairy glen through the filter of a camera lens.

  Nothing looked familiar and the whimsical lighting was distracting. Thus, I was immensely proud of myself when we arrived at the Winston homestead (as Cletus had called it) with only one U-turn between Hank’s cabin and our destination.

  I understood why Cletus had called it a homestead as soon as we drew close enough to the main house to see it clearly. It was a grand house. At least three stories, with possibly an attic and basement, a wraparound porch, and Roman columns along the front. The white exterior, blue trim, and red door all appeared to have been newly painted.

  And it was located on a great deal of cleared land with outbuildings in various stages of disrepair. Although one in particular, a detached garage or old carriage house, seemed to be in the middle of renovations.

  I craned my neck as I exited the car, holding the two bottles of wine Henry had secured earlier from the grocery store.

  “How much land do you think they have here?” Dave was also surveying the property. I didn’t answer because I had no idea. He pointed to the forest behind the house, drawing my attention to it. It lay beyond an enormous, lush, green field dotted with red and purple wildflowers. “That’s the national forest. This place is right on the park.”

  I nodded absentmindedly, distracted by the wildflower field blanketed with silvery mist.

  Beautiful.

  Reluctantly, I climbed the stairs to the porch. It had the natural wood luster of a recently restored antique. Seven rocking chairs lined one side. Two hanging wooden porch swings dangled at each corner, calling to mind lazy afternoons reading books outdoors, or holding hands with loved ones under a starry sky.

  By all outward appearance, the house was grand, but it also felt like a home.

  Dave had insisted earlier that he walk me to the door,reminding me of my dad and how he used to drop me off at a friend’s house. He’d walk me to the door, meet the parents, look them in the eye, suggest a tour of the house, ask if they owned any guns, or had any vicious animals as pets.

  Dave rang the bell and less than a minute later Cletus answered the door.

  “Hello.” He was wearing a tweed jacket and a red bowtie. He was also holding a brandy snifter.

  “Hey, Cletus.” Dave grinned. “How’s the tractor?”

  “Dead. For now. But I ordered a part from a junkyard in Galveston. It should be getting here next week. I have high hopes for its resurrection.” Then to me Cletus nodded curtly, his eyes moving up and down my body in a way that felt entirely scientific. “That should do it. Y’all come in.” Cletus stepped to the side, motioning for us to enter.

  “Nah. I know you guys.” Dave waved the suggestion away, as though the two of them were old friends.

  Dave glanced over his shoulder at the long driveway, lined with old oaks, winding toward the house. “But, if you don’t mind, I’d like to walk the perimeter.”

  Cletus nodded solemnly. “Of course.”

  “Nice to see you, Cletus.” My smile was genuine; despite our original rocky start, he and I had become something of co-conspirators. I had no idea why he was helping me, I was just happy to have him on my side. “You’re looking very dapper this evening.”

  “Repeat that later.” He reached for my arm and tugged me into the house, calling over his shoulder, “Feel free to skulk all you’d like, Dave. Jethro will have her home before eight as we’ll all be going to the jam session tonight.” And with that, he quietly shut the door behind us.

  “You brought wine,” he whispered, releasing me and grabbing both bottles, tucking one under his arm as he juggled his snifter. “That’s good. Ashley will like that. She’s always complaining about the lack of wine, but Jess is a beer drinker. She don’t care.”

  “Who is Jess?” I whispered because he was whispering.

  “Duane’s girl and my calculus teacher. Duane’s the surly twin. Beau is the friendly one. Careful of him though, he’ll try to hump your leg.” He paired this statement with an exasperated eyebrow lift, like Girl, you don’t want to get me started.

  Once again, I covered my mouth with my palm to contain my laughter.

  Cletus grinned at my movement, his hazel eyes dancing happily. “You are remarkably pretty when you laugh.”

  “Cletus?” Jethro’s voice sounded from someplace behind me, sending a shock of nervous energy down my spine. “Did you get the door?”

  Cletus hastily deposited the bottles on a table under an antique mirror but didn’t answer Jethro. “Right,” he continued whispering to me, “the kitchen is through there.” He pointed down a hallway lined with framed pictures and turned me toward it. “That’s where your man is, barefoot, making delicious turkey pot pie. Go.”

  “But, wait,” I glanced at Cletus over my shoulder as he pushed me, “do I tell him I let myself in?”

  “He won’t ask.”

  “But—”

  “Just go. I’ll be in soon. That whole business with Tom Low today gave me an idea. I need to make an entrance.”

  With one last gentle shove, Cletus sent me down the hall.

  I took three steps before I realized how out of control my anxiety was, and I froze.

  Staring forward, eyes wide, I whispered to myself, “Don’t make any jokes. No jokes. In fact, don’t speak. At all.”

  Just as I finished my quiet pep talk, Jethro popped his head into the hallway. Judging by the initial glower on his features and then the abrupt clearing of his brow, I guessed he’d expected to see Cletus.

  “Hi,” I said, sounding odd, like I was out of breath. But I sorta was out for breath. And my palms were sweaty. I placed them on my thighs. I also stared at him, soaking in the sight.

  Is it strange that I missed him? It’s weird, right? .

  “Hi,” Jethro finally said, also sounding out of breath. He stepped fully into the hall, wiping his hands on a towel then tossing it to his shoulder. He was barefoot and that made me think of him naked. Don’t ask me why, that’s just how my mind works. I see bare feet and think full frontal.

  Unable to tolerate the delicious vision of a naked Jethro while he stood before me, yet completely beyond my touch, I blurted, “I brought wine, and you have nice feet.”

  He blinked, the dazed quality of his gaze dissipating, and a soft smile spread over his features. “That was very kind of you.”

  “T
he wine or complimenting your feet?”

  “Both. I’ve never thought much about feet, not when there’re so many other places I could focus my energy.” He held my eyes captive; his soft smile grew playful, causing a spreading heat to radiate outward from my heart to my limbs.

  Ah, there it is.

  I’d missed this smile. I missed how it made me feel. It was my favorite of his smiles. And that’s when I realized I’d been spending a portion of my time cataloging his smiles.

  Wanting to capture and sustain the moment, I teased, “Really? Where? And be specific. Diagrams are also enormously helpful.”

  “Why draw when I can demonstrate?”

  “On yourself? Or do you require a volunteer?”

  Jethro laughed—an uncontainable, sinister sounding snicker, low and rumbly—which made me laugh, too. Not going to lie. I was giddy with how wonderfully easy things were between us, just like they’d been before.

  “Depends on the volunteer.” He paired this statement with a lazy perusal of my body, from shoes to nose. When his eyes returned to mine, they were a shade darker and the amusement in his expression had an edge of something new. Something hot, but not warm.

  I was just about to raise my hand and volunteer as tribute—Katniss Everdeen style—when a buzzing sounded from the kitchen, breaking our lovely flirty spell. Jethro started, blinking and frowning as though the sound confused him; and then he turned his frown on me, as though my presence also confused him, or frustrated him. One or the other.

  “That’d be the crust.” He tossed his thumb over his shoulder then turned, calling back at me. “Uh, come into the kitchen, and I’ll get you something to drink.”

  I hesitated, cast adrift by his departure. Cletus’s warning from weeks ago—hope being more dangerous than happiness—chose that moment to resurface. I understood now what he meant. Standing in the hallway of the Winston homestead, the danger of hope felt very real.

  The buzzing from the kitchen stopped and still I loitered in the hall.

  I was hopeful, and thus caught in a web of fear. The possibility of dashed hopes was scarier than I’d anticipated. As I entered the kitchen I did so cautiously, preparing myself for another rejection, but hoping it wouldn’t come.

  Peeking around the corner to the kitchen, I found Jethro sitting at the kitchen table pulling on boots over socks. He glanced at me, raising his eyebrows in question.

  “Are you okay?”

  I nodded.

  He studied me, the side of his mouth hitching the longer he stared. “You can come in. I promise I won’t bite.”

  But what if I want you to bite? The question was on the tip of my tongue when a male voice boomed from another room, interrupting me.

  “No. No way. No way ever.”

  “Please.”

  “I said no and I mean no.” The owner of this statement strolled into the kitchen from the far door. He wore a scowl and was tall and lean, but not skinny. Built like a runner. He had a shock of red hair standing in all directions, and a neatly trimmed red beard. His sky-blue eyes swung around the kitchen, searching for something. They landed on me for a beat, he did a double take, then dismissed my presence.

  Well, that’s a first. I liked him already.

  He was followed closely by a cute blonde woman twisting her hands. “But, Duane, I wouldn’t ask except Jackson needs—”

  “Like my momma used to say, keep weasels and appointed sheriffs at a distance.” Duane shook his head stubbornly.

  She clicked her teeth. “Duane Faulkner Winston, don’t be rude. You know Jackson would really appreciate your help.”

  “He can take his appreciation and shove it up his—”

  “Duane Faulkner,” Jethro interrupted sharply, standing from the table. “We’ve got company.”

  Duane’s scowl deepened as he looked at Jethro. But he took a deep breath, inhaling patience, and turned a stoic expression on me and offered his hand.

  “Hi. I’m Duane. One of the twins,” he said flatly, as though meeting me was a chore. I stepped all the way into the kitchen and accepted his hand, oddly charmed by his bad attitude.

  “Hi. I’m Sienna. Nice to meet you.”

  “This is Jessica.” He placed his hand on the back of the blonde woman who’d entered with him. When he looked at her it was the first time since he’d entered that he didn’t appear to be irritated. By contrast, he looked proud, or happy, or a mix of both.

  “Nice to meet you, Sienna.” Jessica shook my hand, giving me a lopsided grin. “I recognize you from your film roles and all that ruckus at The Front Porch a few weeks ago. I’m so sorry those people didn’t leave you and Jethro in peace. Some folks have no manners.”

  “You were there? At the restaurant?” She didn’t look familiar. Then again, I’d been overwhelmed by faces and disappointments that evening.

  “I was, but I didn’t approach. I’m a teacher at the local high school, and the PTA was meeting that night,” she explained.

  “She teaches calculus,” Cletus announced, entering from the same door Duane and Jessica had just used. With some deference, he nodded to Jessica, “Good evening, Ms. James.”

  “Cletus,” she returned with a small grin.

  “You look lovely today, Ms. James,” Cletus remarked, causing the reemergence of Duane’s scowl.

  “Thank you, Cletus.” Jessica appeared to be holding in laughter. “And may I say, you look lovely—”

  “All right. That’s enough,” Duane cut in, stepping between them and sliding his arm around Jessica’s waist. “I’m watching you, sneak. No miraculously ‘finding’ the mistletoe from last Christmas tonight, do you hear me?” This question was aimed at Cletus, who widened his eyes innocently.

  “I am affronted by your insinuation,” he said, not sounding affronted. Then, turning to me, he stepped forward, slipped his hand in mine, and tugged me toward him. He placed a soft kiss on my cheek. Now that I hadn’t been expecting.

  “You also look lovely, Ms. Diaz,” he announced loudly.

  “Thank you, Cletus,” I responded automatically, then remembered to add, “you look very dapper this evening.”

  “Oh, this old thing?” he asked loud enough to be heard, kissing my other cheek, then whispered, “Is Jethro watching?”

  My gaze moved to Jethro. He was watching and his scowl resembled Duane’s.

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” Cletus leaned away, giving me a small smile. Further surprising me, Cletus slid his arm around my waist and pressed me to his side. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him, wondering what he was up to. I didn’t have to wait long.

  Wearing an unhappy expression, Jethro walked over and gripped my arm gently, tugging me out of Cletus’s hold and tucking me next to him. “None of that,” he said to his brother. “Duane doesn’t like it. What makes you think I would like it?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.” Cletus sounded exasperated and put out. “I’m just trying to be friendly.”

  “Take your friendly somewhere else,” Duane said just as another man walked into the kitchen behind him and Jessica. This new man’s piercing stare moved over the five of us, landing on Jethro’s hand where it gripped my waist, while Jethro and Duane ganged up on Cletus.

  “I thought you didn’t want to get in her hair,” Cletus was saying to Jethro, his hands on his hips.

  The newcomer was taller than Jethro, taller and stockier. His hair and his beard were darker, nearly black. His eyes were the most amazing shade of blue and his face was startlingly handsome. Like, I needed a minute to recover from the handsome. Beautiful, even. As I studied him I noted that his features were perfectly symmetrical. The camera would love this guy.

  And yet, though he was intense levels of physically striking, he projected an air of cool disinterest. By contrast, he lacked Jethro’s ever-present friendliness and warmth, warmth I’d been drawn to immediately and couldn’t seem to bask in enough.

  My only experienc
e with a brooder had been Tom, and since Tom, brooders held no allure. From my quick inspection, this new guy would rival Tom in both looks and frostiness. I hypothesized he could cause a snow flurry just by sneezing.

  Mr. Freeze’s eyes connected with mine, and they felt like two icicles aimed at my brain. I saw intelligence there, but also something unpleasant that had me pressing closer to Jethro’s side.

  “You will kindly leave Sienna’s hair out of this conversation. And leave off touching her as well. Keep your paws to yourself.” The edge of Jethro’s scowl was tinged with amusement. I loved this about him. Even when he was irritated, he had to work to keep his good mood and easy temper from taking over.

  “What’s going on?” Another man, this one looking like a happier version of Duane, stepped into the kitchen.

  “Nothing,” Duane and Jethro said in unison.

  The new redhead walked around Icicle Eyes—who was still glaring at me—and stepped forward. “Holy moly, I know you. You’re Sienna Diaz!”

  I smiled at the newcomer, obviously the other Winston twin, and shook his hand. “Yes. You must be Beau.”

  His wide grin reminded me of Jethro’s, as did his open manner. Although, his charm was more like an excited puppy than Jethro’s brand of self-possessed manly magnetism. Regardless, he was cute and friendly. I immediately returned his smile.

  “I can’t believe I’m meeting you. Whoa. Look at those dimples. You should have a license for those.”

  This made me laugh and Jethro grumble, his hand sliding to my hip in a blatantly possessive movement. I wrapped my arm around his waist and allowed myself to enjoy his closeness.

  Allow me to take a moment to express my appreciation for Cletus Winston and his entrances.

  Beau’s eyes moved between Jethro and me, his grin waning. “Wait a minute. Are you two . . .?” He stopped himself.

  “Yes,” Cletus, my new favorite person, answered the unfinished question. “Our brother Jethro has finally done right by the family and involved himself with this fine woman.”

  Jethro shifted uncomfortably, but made no move to release me. “We’re friends,” he said finally, his eyes flickering to mine, then away. “Good friends.”