Grin and Beard It (Winston Brothers #2)

by Penny Reid

Because, as Jethro had said, it’s good to care about what others think, but only when those other people matter.

  CHAPTER 34

  “Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live.”

  ― Norman Cousins

  ~Jethro~

  “Are you drinking that stinky coffee again?” I wrinkled my nose at Cletus, inspecting the paper bag and coffee mug he’d brought inside my truck because I smelled something rank.

  “No. I only have one cup of my special brew a day.”

  “Then what smells bad?”

  “Garbage.”

  I squinted at my brother. “Garbage?”

  “Yes. Garbage smells bad. So does sulfur. And poop.”

  I sighed, rolling my eyes. “I meant, why does it smell bad in here? What is in that bag?”

  “You didn’t ask why it smelled bad in here, you asked what smells bad. How was I supposed to know you didn’t just want a list of things that smelled bad?”

  Glaring out the windshield, I had to bite my tongue before I snapped at my brother. He was being surly on purpose.

  We were driving home for the day, but first we had to stop by the Piggly Wiggly and grab a few things. I’d trapped five bears, more than usual, and was exhausted. After driving them up The Parkway to the release grounds, I’d turned back around and picked up Cletus from the set.

  He’d been rude from the get-go. But really, he’d been in a bad mood since seeing grandma’s ring on Sienna’s finger. The only thing for it was to ignore him.

  I rolled down my window, needing air. Whatever Cletus was transporting in his paper bag smelled like three-day-old fish and burnt popcorn.

  We drove in silence the rest of the way. Well, mostly silence. He kept sighing.

  I pulled into the lot and jumped out of the car, heard him shut his door too, and made for the grocery store. I tried to make quick work of picking up the items on my list, but in the produce aisle my attention snagged on the bouquets of roses by the bananas.

  There were several different arrangements. Sienna would be back by tomorrow afternoon and the thought of greeting her with flowers, just to see the smile on her face, appealed to me.

  “Get the white ones, with the pink tips.”

  I glanced over my shoulder and found Jennifer Sylvester next to me. As usual, she was in an expensive-looking dress and super-high heels, her long blonde hair pulled up in a loose but fancy bun. She had on pearls. She was also holding a big, dirty crate of bananas. I frowned at her, at this little slip of a woman, looking like she was ready for church, holding a giant crate of bananas

  I stepped forward to take her burden. But before I could, she set the crate on the floor and reached for the roses.

  “These are the ones she’ll like. They’re called moonstone roses.” Jennifer smiled up at me with her violet eyes, placing the bunch in my hands. “Moonstone roses smell the best, and they smell even prettier when they open.”

  Jennifer’s eyes weren’t just violet, they were full-on purple. I’d never seen anyone with eyes like hers. Her real hair color was raven black, I remember the color from when she was a little girl, but her momma had started dying it blonde when Jennifer was a teenager.

  Kip Sylvester, Jennifer’s daddy and the principal of the high school, didn’t like the attention his daughter’s dark hair, pale skin, and purple eyes garnered, so she’d grown up more sheltered than most. She was nice enough, but she was usually making everything more awkward than needed.

  Bless her heart.

  I gave her a small smile. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” She returned my smile with one of her own, then bent to retrieve her bananas.

  I set Sienna’s roses down in my cart and moved to pick up the crate. “Jennifer Anne Sylvester, this crate is too big for you.”

  She grumbled as I took the crate away from her. “It’s fine. I have to carry it once a week, I’m more than used to it by now.”

  “You’ll break your neck in those shoes, and then what will I tell your daddy? Where are we going? To your car?”

  “I said I’m perfectly capable of carrying my own bananas.” She reached for it but I shifted to the side, lifting my eyebrows expectantly. She huffed, rolled her eyes like a kid, and said begrudgingly, “Fine. Follow me.”

  Leaving my shopping cart by the roses, I followed Jennifer past the registers and out to her BMW. She’d popped the trunk and opened it all the way so I could drop the crate inside.

  “That wasn’t really necessary. I know you don’t like bananas.”

  I stepped back so she could shut the trunk and turned a surprised expression on her. “And how do you know that?”

  “Because you’ve never ordered my cake.”

  Well, she had me there.

  She quickly added, as though she was afraid she’d offended me, “To tell you the truth, I don’t really like cake all that much. And I don’t like baking them.”

  This was surprising, because Green Valley was famous for three things: the jam session every Friday night at the community center, the trout fishing at Sky Lake, and Jennifer Sylvester’s banana cake.

  I crossed my arms, studying her upturned face. “Is that so?”

  “Yes.” She paired this with a single nod. “It’s like, how many times am I going to have to make the same goddamn cake? Sorry for my profanity, but I get worked up when I talk about cake.”

  “Understood.”

  She didn’t seem to hear me. “Just ’cause I’m good at making cake doesn’t mean I want to make it for the rest of my life, you know? Just ’cause you’re good at something doesn’t mean that’s what makes your heart happy. I sometimes feel like I’ve become the banana cake lady, and I’m only twenty-two. But that’s it. That’s who I am. My life is set, and there’s no escape. I’ll be ninety-nine years old, still making banana cakes at my momma’s bakery.”

  “So why don’t you do something else?”

  Jennifer lifted her eyes to mine, frowning, a wrinkle of consternation appearing between her eyebrows. “You know what I’d love to do?”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’d love to have my own kids, my own house. I’d love to be a stay-at-home mom and spend all day with my kids, taking care of the house, taking care of my husband. And if I can’t do that, then I’d love to work in a preschool. I’d love to work with kids, doing crafts all day, reading to them, playing. I love babies.”

  “Then you should do that.”

  Gradually, her face fell and she nodded politely, looking away. I got the sense I’d said something untoward, but didn’t have a clue what.

  “Well . . .” She took a step back. “Thanks for carrying my crate. I have to get to the bakery and work on that particle accelerator.”

  “What?”

  “Just kidding. I’m not an astrophysicist. I bake cakes.” Her smile was small and forced. She turned away and crossed to the driver’s side door, opened it, then slipped inside.

  I stared after her, watching as she started her car.

  Jennifer Sylvester was famous for three things: her banana cake, her purple eyes, and being odd.

  Giving my head a shake, I turned from her black BMW and made my way back toward the store. I was just at the crosswalk when Jennifer pulled her car up next to me and tapped on her horn.

  She rolled down the window and waved me over.

  “What’s up?”

  “I forgot to tell you. Some news guys were at the store when I first arrived to pick up my bananas, a big swarm of them. They were asking for directions to your house.”

  I straightened, thinking her words over. “My house? What did they want?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know for certain. But if I had to guess, I’d say it probably has something to do with you and Sienna Diaz being engaged.”

  My mouth fell open and I gaped at Jennifer Sylvester. “How did you know we’re engaged?”

  “She told everybody at that fancy movie premiere
earlier today. It’s all over the Internet.”

  ***

  “I’m engaged to be married. My fiancé couldn’t make it today. He’s too busy humanely trapping gigantic black bears and setting them free in the wild—”

  Cletus pressed pause on the YouTube video and frowned at me. “She makes you sound like some sort of backwoods hippie.”

  “Shut up, dummy. Play the rest of the video.” I motioned to his phone where he’d pulled up the video of Sienna from earlier in the day. It was amateur quality, the sound garbled in places by all the background noise.

  Given the five- or six-hour time change, it was late night in London right now. This footage had been shot sometime around 3:00 p.m.

  Cletus grumbled something. Eventually he pressed play while I listened and scrolled through my text messages. She hadn’t messaged me. I tried calling her phone. It went to voicemail.

  “I can’t wait for you all to meet him. His name is Jethro Winston, and he’s a wildlife park ranger in Tennessee. We’re completely in love, and we’ll be getting married in the fall, when the leaves change.”

  I glanced at Cletus’s screen, saw she was smiling as though she’d just done something brilliant. Meanwhile, Tom Low looked like he’d just swallowed a live rat.

  Questions were shouted at her from all directions, but that’s basically where the video ended. Cletus tapped his screen and slipped his phone back in his pocket.

  “Well, hell. Was that so hard?” He was grinning.

  I dropped my phone to the cup holder and gripped my truck’s steering wheel, staring out the windshield. “I can’t believe she did that.”

  “From the looks of it, Tom Low put her in a bad spot. He was insinuating that she and him—”

  “I saw the video, Cletus. You don’t need to break it down for me.”

  Surprisingly, he snapped his mouth shut, his eyebrows lifting high on his forehead, his eyes going wide. I could almost read his mind, hear his internal thoughts as though he were speaking. No doubt it was something like, Settle your feathers, crusty britches.

  We sat mostly in silence for a long time. He was drumming his fingers on the passenger side door. The beat reminded me of a ticking clock.

  “What am I going to do?” I asked the car. “Should I talk to those reporters? What if I end up hurting her career even more? It seems like I shouldn’t be talking to anyone until I discuss the matter with Sienna first. Which is what she should have done.”

  “Why don’t you want to talk to them?”

  “What if they ask about my past?”

  He shrugged. “Tell the truth. Well, tell the truth about everything except the criminal stuff. No one really expects you to answer those questions.”

  Not looking at my brother, because I wasn’t really speaking to him, I said, “I’m disappointed. Actually, I’m pissed off. We’d agreed on a plan and she went and did what she wanted. And now the very thing I was trying to avoid is going to happen.”

  “You’ll have to punish her for sure.”

  I blinked, my gaze cutting to him. “I’m not going to punish her, what are you talking about?”

  “Well if she did something to disappoint you, then obviously you’ll have to teach her a lesson.”

  “She’s not a child, Cletus. She gets to make her own decisions, do what she thinks is right. If she told those reporters the truth, then obviously . . .”

  As I spoke it became clear that Cletus was trying to hide his smile. I studied him and realized he’d been pulling my leg, leading me to the water so I could decide to drink it.

  Laughing, I shook my head at him. “You’re an asshole.”

  “Yeah.” He shrugged, laughing too. “I am.”

  We sat together for a stretch, each lost to our own considerations. I was debating how to go about approaching these news folks. How to engage them and be an asset to my woman. I decided being friendly yet firm was in order. I’d invite them for a chat—not inside the house, the porch would do just fine—I’d introduce myself, ingratiate myself.

  I’d make them love me.

  “If he tries to hurt you or Sienna, I’ll kill him.”

  Cletus’s casual threat pulled me out of my thoughts. I turned to look at my brother. The set of his mouth was grim and his eyes were sharp, almost painfully bright.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Darrell. He won’t be bothering you or Sienna. Don’t you worry about him. He knows, as long as he’s in prison, I can get to him.”

  I gaped at my brother for a full minute, an inferno of hatred behind his eyes and cool determination casting his features in harsh lines. Not a look I’d seen on his face in a very long time.

  “Cletus, you’re not a murderer. You wouldn’t do that.”

  He gave me a wry smile and turned the ignition, looking like someone I didn’t recognize. “It wouldn’t be murder, big brother. It would be self-defense. Or at least I’d make sure it appeared that way.”

  What the . . .?

  I could only stare at my younger brother as he pulled out of the parking lot, the earlier icy determination and heated resolve replaced with his usual air of detached peculiarity.

  “Should I take the valley road? Or do you think Moth Run would be quicker?” he asked unnecessarily, his tone now easy and affable.

  The truth was, I didn’t have time to think about Cletus’s statement right now, or whether he actually had the ability to reach our father in jail and put an end to him, to all his threats. I had a bunch of news people waiting for me at the house and had to put on a good show. I needed to put my energy toward that.

  But when this media mess with Sienna resolved, I would have to confront him about it. My family had already lost enough to our father. The man was a plague. A disease. A stain on the memories of our childhood. I knew Cletus had suffered, just like we all had. Although not in the same way, Cletus had lost just as much as me because of Darrell Winston.

  But now I wondered what, specifically, Cletus had lost. It must’ve been something substantial to fuel such hatred.

  Regardless, it didn’t matter whether my brother thought his actions—or potential future actions—were justified, I couldn’t allow Cletus to lose his soul, too.

  ***

  I tried Sienna’s phone one more time as we pulled into our driveway. She didn’t pick up.

  Even from a distance I could see the front yard littered with strange cars. Media people milling about, holding cameras, smoking cigarettes. I counted five vehicles total: four were local news vans, one looked to be a rental car from the airport. They were on us like fleas on a dog as soon as Cletus parked, calling my name and knocking on the windows of both doors.

  “These people are nuts.” My brother locked the doors, gaping at me in horror. “Why are they knocking? What do they think? We’re confused about whether or not they think we should stay in the car? Parasites.”

  I smiled at my brother, like I didn’t have a care in the world. “Don’t say anything. Let me do the talking.”

  “I won’t say anything. I’ll let you do the talking,” he echoed and removed the key from the ignition. Cletus turned to the faces nearly pressed against the door. He flicked his wrist motioning for them to step back. “Okay, okay, I know you want to speak to my brother. But I can’t get out of the car if you’re blocking my path, genius.”

  Meanwhile, I rolled down my window and two microphones were shoved in my face.

  “What do you have to say about Sienna Diaz’s announcement earlier today?”

  “Does she know about your criminal past?”

  “What does your family think?”

  “Are you using Sienna to become famous?”

  I let them shout their questions at me for a few minutes, careful to keep my expression calm and my smile easy. Each flash of the camera was searching for an unpleasant picture of my face. I figured I’d be the man who conned Sienna Diaz, ruined America’s sweetheart if I didn’t play my cards right, or donned one sinister expression.


  When it was clear they were growing tired, I spoke over them. “Now, just hold on. I’ll be happy to answer everyone’s questions. But I’d like to do so on my porch, in the shade and out of the heat, if you don’t mind. There are plenty of chairs for everyone, and I have lemonade in the fridge. It’s hot out here, and I could do with a cool drink.”

  Their general steam and fervor, or fear that I’d rush into my house and call the cops on them for trespassing, seemed to wane at my offer and they exchanged furtive glances. Quietly, and en masse, they shifted away from the truck so Cletus and I could exit.

  I stepped out, giving each of their distrusting faces a small welcoming smile, then turned to Cletus as he walked around the truck toward the porch. “Could you bring out some lemonade for these fine folks? And a bucket of ice. We’ll be on the porch.”

  Cletus scowled, but he nodded, casting disapproving glares around the crowd like he was cataloging each of them for one of his sinister plans. I breathed a sigh of relief when he disappeared inside without saying a word.

  “Forgive my brother. It was a bit of a shock coming home to such a ruckus.” Before anyone could speak I turned to the reporter closest to me and extended my hand. “I’m Jethro Winston. What’s your name?”

  CHAPTER 35

  “Love is the longing for the half of ourselves we have lost.”

  ― Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being

  ~Sienna~

  “I can’t believe we’re lost,” Dave grumbled, shaking his head at the mountain road. “I mean, I only had to drive up here from the airport that one time, but I seriously thought I knew the way. Everything looks the same.”

  “Why don’t any of you have your new phones?” Marta complained, shaking her head at all of us. “I ordered you those phones so you would have reception on the mountain.”

  I shared a sheepish glance with Henry. He and Tim were sitting with me in the back seat. We’d all left our Tennessee phones on the kitchen table at Hank’s cabin, not wanting to carry two phones with us to London.

  “Guys, I think we need to pull over,” Tim said. Actually, he moaned it.