Grin and Beard It (Winston Brothers #2)

by Penny Reid

“What’s wrong?” Dave glanced at us through the rearview mirror.

  “Tim’s carsick.” Henry shifted away from Tim. “Or he’s about to be.”

  “It’s because of the switchbacks.” Dave nodded at his own assertion.

  “Thanks, Captain Obvious,” Tim groaned, covering his mouth with a big hand.

  “Pull off there.” Marta pointed to an overlook, a frantic note in her tone.

  Dave eased us off the side of the road. As soon as the car pulled to a stop, both Henry and I bolted out of our respective doors. Tim was a little slower to exit, crawling more than walking.

  The sun was low in the sky as it was still early morning. We’d left directly from the film premiere in the wee hours of pre-dawn London time. I was reasonably well rested, having slept the entire flight back to the States. But now I was anxious to get home so I could call Jethro and tell him in person about the premiere. I wanted him to have some time to prepare before Arval ran his footage this week.

  Gravel crunched beneath my feet as I walked to Marta and slipped an arm around her shoulders. She exhaled a tired laugh and rested her head on my shoulder.

  “No wonder you were lost up here. At least we know which direction is east, but you were driving in the middle of the day.”

  I glanced around the overlook, smiling to myself. “You know, I think this is the same overlook where I pulled off that first day. Just think of this as us giving you the authentic mountain experience.”

  She lifted her head and gave me a hopeful look. “Do you think you can find your way back from here?”

  “Maybe. I think we use this road to get to Jethro’s . . .” I trailed off because the sound of an approaching vehicle had us turning our attention to the road.

  A green truck appeared. It was Jethro’s truck. I immediately laughed.

  Of course.

  Of course he’d be driving past. Right place, right time.

  Marta glanced between the road and me. I released my sister and walked to the edge of the overlook. He’d passed us but was now putting on his brake and making a U-turn.

  “Hey, that’s Jethro’s truck,” I heard Dave say from behind me.

  “What do you think of this Jethro?” The speculation in Marta’s tone made me smile.

  Henry chimed in. “Jethro? Oh, he’s the man. Did you know he traps bears?”

  I glanced over my shoulder just in time to see Dave give Henry a wan look, then affix an air of earnest concern to his features. “Jethro is a good guy. He takes really good care of your sister. Did Sienna tell you he didn’t know who she was at first?”

  Marta split her attention between Dave, the approaching truck, and me. “No. She didn’t mention that.”

  “You’re going to love him.” Henry was the definition of effusive enthusiasm. I was pretty sure Henry had a crush on my fiancé.

  Hearing the engine cut off, I turned my attention back to the truck and saw Roscoe was with him. I waved, grinning wide and excited, and quickly walked over to them.

  Jethro was also grinning and my heart fluttered impatiently at the warm welcome in his gaze. He was really just too handsome. Pretty soon I was running like a goof and threw myself at him. His strong arms immediately came around me, squeezing me tight.

  I sighed, happy and content.

  Hopeful and unafraid.

  “I missed you,” I said, holding him tighter so I wouldn’t tackle him and make love to him on the gravel.

  His hand pulled through my hair. I let the sound of his deliciously gravelly voice and sweet southern accent wash over me as he said, “I missed you, too.”

  ***

  I was pleased when Marta was warmly polite—which was more than what most people received—when she and Jethro were introduced.

  Of course it helped that Roscoe, who apparently knew how to turn on and off his charm, had already buttered her up by saying with a hint of suggestiveness, “You must be Sienna’s younger sister. I’m Jethro’s younger brother.”

  I tried not to laugh at how that comment made her blush and smile, though she did roll her eyes at him good-naturedly.

  We loaded up in the car, Tim riding with Jethro in his truck this time while Roscoe squeezed in the car with us, and we were escorted back to Hank’s cabin. Jethro and Roscoe helped carry in our bags, carrying and not rolling so as not to ruin the wheels, then made to leave. They’d been on their way to work, but invited us to dinner.

  I followed Jethro out and pulled him to the side, letting Roscoe continue on to the truck.

  “I have to tell you something.” I kept my hand on his bicep so I could hold him in place. But also so I could feel him up. I loved his arms. They were so muscular and strong. Thinking about them turned me on, so touching them gave me delicious twisty feelings low in my belly.

  Smiling at me like he knew what I was doing, his eyelids lowered. “What do you have to tell me?”

  I sighed, because how he dropped his voice made me think about us alone and naked. I wished we were alone and naked right now.

  “Sienna, if you expect me to pay attention, you’re going to have to stop looking at me like that.”

  “Sorry, sorry. It’s just, I really missed you.”

  “And I really missed you, too.”

  “No. I mean, I really, really missed you. I know we’re coming over for dinner tonight, but do you think there’s any chance you could meet me this afternoon for lust?”

  His lips quirked to the side. “You mean for lunch?”

  “Yes. That’s what I said, right?”

  He laughed, his eyes bright and he gained another step closer, bending slightly to capture my lips in an achingly soft kiss.

  “What did you want to tell me?” he whispered, his eyes moving over my face, making me feel cherished. But his question brought me back to reality.

  “Oh!” I gripped his other arm. “Don’t get mad.”

  His smile was soft and patient, and rather than saying anything, he waited for me to continue.

  I gathered a deep breath for courage and then said on a rush, “I may have told everyone that we are engaged when I was at the premiere yesterday, but don’t worry, we have a few days to come up with a plan before Arval runs his—”

  “I know. Someone already put a video of it up on YouTube.”

  I started at that. “What? When?”

  “Yesterday afternoon, Tennessee time. I saw what happened.”

  I grimaced. “And you’re not mad?”

  “I was mad,” he said matter-of-factly, though he didn’t look mad now. “We’d come to a decision together, came up with a plan.”

  “Yes, but Tom was trying to—” I stopped myself. “No. That’s not really the reason I did it. He gave me a push, but—honestly?—I wanted to do it. I hated that you weren’t with me, and I hated that I’d asked you to lie.”

  Jethro hesitated, frowning, considering my words. I didn’t like that he was mad, and even if he seemed perfectly calm, he was frowning. He rarely frowned, not with me. The pressure in my chest grew and I became aware that my grip was likely painful. I told myself to let him go, but I couldn’t. I held on tighter.

  He seemed to sense my growing unease because he placed his hand over mine and pried it off his arm, bringing it to his lips for a kiss. “I’ll come by this afternoon. We’ll discuss everything then. Okay?”

  I nodded, pressing my lips together so I wouldn’t demand he stay and sort things out right this second, in the front yard of Hank’s cabin, with my sister, his brother, and my bodyguards as onlookers.

  “Okay. Fine,” I finally managed to say.

  His mouth hitched to the side as he studied me. “Do you want me to bring lunch?”

  I nodded, distracted, but deciding I had faith in him. I had faith in us. We were solid, no matter what.

  Then he said, “And you’ll bring the lust?”

  My eyes cut to his and I saw the warm teasing there, the easy flirtation, the interest and adoration in his gaze.

  “Okay. You b
ring lunch, I’ll bring lust, and we’ll both . . . eat.”

  His eyebrows bounced at the suggestiveness in my tone, then he flashed me my favorite smile. Despite the way it made my knees weak, I lifted on my tiptoes and brushed a kiss to his lips. My anxiety melted away, leaving only trust in this remarkable man and excitement for our afternoon rendezvous.

  ***

  I asked Dave to drive me to the set after spending the morning with Marta. I didn’t have any scenes to film, but the trailer would provide a (mostly) private space for Jethro and me to talk.

  I also brought along my black silk bathrobe. I’d been placed in charge of the lust, and I took that charge seriously.

  Dave waited dutifully outside the trailer; I’d given him strict instructions to allow no one but Jethro to enter. Meanwhile, I changed into my birthday suit plus the robe. While I was waiting, an idea came to me for the Smash-Girl movie, so I flipped open my spare laptop and set to work.

  I lost track of time. When I finally glanced down at the computer’s clock, two hours had passed. I rubbed my eyes and stretched, glancing around the trailer, surprised to find Jethro sitting at the kitchen table. He was sipping on a drink through a straw, flipping through a notebook and scrolling through his phone.

  “Hello,” I said.

  “Hey, gorgeous.” He wrote down a few lines in the notebook, copying them from his phone, then flipped the book closed, and brought his eyes to mine. “All done?”

  “For now. How long have you been sitting there?”

  He checked his phone again. “About an hour and a half.”

  “Jethro, you should have interrupted me.”

  He shrugged. “You were working, and I had a nice view. A nice view always helps.”

  I felt my mouth tug to the side. “Is that something your mother used to say?”

  He nodded, his smile growing. “But I doubt she had this view in mind when she said it.” He indicated to me with a lift of his chin as he stood, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I brought lunch.”

  I stood as well and lifted my palms away from body. “I brought lust.”

  His eyes heated as they swept over me. “Yes, you did.”

  We indulged for a moment in mutual ogling. He was wearing his ranger uniform, but his tool belt rested on the table next to his hat, and his shirt was unbuttoned, and his hair was in disarray. He was my strong, capable, sweet man and I wanted to be close to him. But before we ate lunch or succumbed to lust, we had a few things to discuss.

  Thus, I blurted, “I’m so sorry.”

  His eyes cut to mine. “Why are you sorry?” I didn’t miss the hint of amused exasperation in his tone.

  “Because we agreed to one thing and I did the opposite. I behaved selfishly, not thinking about the consequences of my actions, and I’m sorry.”

  Jethro shrugged, his eyes sliding over my shoulder to the swell of my breasts, saying distractedly, “Live and learn.”

  I stared at him, stunned and irritated at his laissez-faire words. “Live and learn?”

  He nodded, a smile threatening to break free. “That’s right. Now you know. Hindsight is twenty-twenty. Live and learn.”

  “I know what it means, Jethro,” I snapped, growing both more and less aggravated—which didn’t make any sense—by his teasing.

  “Good. I guess we’re on the same page, then.” He continued to devour me with his gaze, touching me nowhere, like he was memorizing the sight of me.

  “Really? Are we?”

  “Yes.” He nodded once, slowly.

  “Enlighten me.”

  “I will.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  “Here we go.”

  “Let’s hear it.”

  “Hold on to your hat.”

  “I’m not wearing a hat.”

  “Well, hold on to your underwear then.”

  “I’m not wearing those either.”

  Jethro opened his mouth to respond but then snapped it shut, his gaze lifting to mine again, giving me another amused yet exasperated look.

  “We . . .” he started, his voice full of authority, pausing just long enough to treat himself to an evocative, lingering sweep of my body. Then he started again, his voice deeper. “We make plans together; we both stick to the plan.”

  “Okay. Yes.”

  “Or if you want to change the plan, we discuss it.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “Good,” he said firmly, like everything was decided, then added unexpectedly, “So I guess I have something to tell you.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Yesterday, after your video, I tried calling you because there were reporters camped out at my house.”

  I immediately grimaced. “Oh, no.”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “What happened? What did you do?”

  “I invited them for lemonade on the front porch and answered a few of their questions.”

  “Was it terrible?”

  He shrugged. “It wasn’t so bad. But they already knew all about my past, showed me my arrest record, asked how I thought audiences were going to react to America’s sweetheart hooking up with an ex-con. I pointed out that I wasn’t an ex-con, as I’d never been convicted, and if they printed as much I’d have to sue them for slander. But other than that awkwardness, our chat was mostly pleasant.”

  I nodded, absorbing all of this. “Okay . . . okay. We’ll be fine.”

  “Sienna,” his eyes searched mine, and he closed the distance between us, gathering my hands between his, “it’s just starting. This week might be tough. You have to let me help you; you have to tell me what’s going on so we can work together. Things might come out, stuff I haven’t told you—not because I’m keeping secrets, but because there’s so much, I haven’t gotten to it yet, or I just simply forgot. Ask me questions. Don’t be afraid of making me angry.”

  “I will, and I won’t. I mean, I will ask, and I won’t be afraid,” I promised solemnly. I was actually really impressed with how well he took the news of what had happened at the premiere. I’d expected him to be more upset.

  “We’re in this together,” he said, and that made me smile.

  “We are, aren’t we?” I asked, feeling an odd sense of wonder. “It’s you and me, partner.”

  We swapped stares, smiling at each other. I think we both appreciated the finality of the moment. I felt the truth settle around us, in our little bubble of awesome. Our bubble might be pierced, but I trusted we’d always be able to patch it.

  Our past would always be part of us, but it would never wholly define us, either together or as individuals. Each moment was a decision. We could either live up or down to people’s expectations, or blow them completely away. We had no control over what other people decided to think, but we did have control over our own actions, who we wanted to be, and how we lived our life.

  From now on, it was Jethro Winston and Sienna Diaz against the world, defying our history, ignoring the labels others might assign. If I became lost, I knew I could count on him to find me, and vice versa. We had faith in each other, and that’s all that mattered.

  Well . . . maybe not quite.

  What my family thought mattered, and I would always take their advice seriously, even though I might not follow it.

  What Jethro’s family thought also mattered, but I was certain they’d be pleased with whatever made Jethro happy. No worries there.

  What Jethro thought mattered and what I thought mattered.

  And everyone else could go dill a pickle.

  “I love you, Jethro Whitman Winston.” I slipped my hands from his and pulled the tie holding my black silk bathrobe closed. “I can’t wait to make you crazy, fill your house with children, and furnish our sex dungeon.”

  He grinned down at me, a mixture of amusement and wickedness. He slid his large, wildly strong hands into my robe, opening it and exposing my body to his eyes and touch. I shivered, because I loved how he touched me, how he cherished me.

  “I lo
ve you, Sienna Diaz.” His voice was a low rumble, and he captured my mouth with a soft, savoring kiss. “You are sunshine and sweetness, but you’re so much more than that. You are strong and beautiful, brave and wise. And you are funny.”

  “I am. I’m the funniest,” I quickly agreed.

  “You are.” He nodded, looking at me like I’d hung the moon and stars, and then added on a whisper, “But it’s not my house, love. It’s our house. And I can’t wait for you to tell our kids all the jokes.”

  I laughed, but then gasped, because Jethro Winston—my soon to be husband—was being very, very bad.

  And, as usual, it felt very, very good.

  Extra Scene – Sometime Later . . .

  “What’s that?” I gestured to the notebook in Jethro’s hands while I dished myself a piece of pie.

  We were on a picnic. The leaves were changing and the wedding was just one week away. Thus, we were also sort of hiding from our families.

  Cletus and I had been doing yoga every morning since Jethro and I’d returned from wrapping Strange Birdfellows in Washington state. The yoga helped, and Cletus was great. But time alone with Jethro someplace outside, away from the constant swarm of reporters that had followed us everywhere since outing our relationship, was what I’d been craving.

  “Poetry,” he said, opening his arms and patting his lap. “Put your head here.”

  I lifted an eyebrow at his instruction. “You always want me to put my head there.”

  “Ha ha.” He rolled his eyes, but he smiled. He always smiled. “Come on, gorgeous. You need a break from the wedding stuff, and I’ve been working on this notebook for months.”

  I eyed Jethro speculatively. “Is that really poetry?”

  “Yes. You said you wanted me to read you poetry. So I copied some down in this book.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is it your poetry?”

  “No. I transcribed them. I asked Ashley for some suggestions, she’s a poetry nut, and a few are favorites of mine.”

  “You have favorite poetry?”

  “Yes,” he said on an exasperated exhale, patting his lap again.

  “Are you telling me the truth?”

  “My momma loved poetry. It’s how she met Drew. She ran a poetry meeting at the library and he, being new to town, showed up. He writes it, though. I do not. But I have one of his in here. Ashley emailed it to me yesterday when I told her I was taking you out today. I haven’t read it yet, just printed out the attachment about an hour ago.”