Healing Beau (The Brothers of Beauford Bend Book 6)

by Alicia Hunter Pace

  “Christian was a little too young for the class the year I came, but I remember the two of you being around and underfoot. I was sixteen, so you would have been fourteen. I can remember thinking how you weren’t that pretty little boy anymore and that you were headed for stop-people-in-their-tracks, drop-dead handsome.”

  Another ghostly memory surfaced in the snatch of a conversation between his parents as they stood over his bed when they thought he was asleep.

  His mother had smoothed the blanket over him. “Isn’t he beautiful, James?” she’d asked. “All our boys are good looking, but just look at him. Sometimes I cannot take my eyes off him.”

  “He’s a fine looking one, for sure. Looks like his mama.”

  And they’d left the room, laughing softy, their heads together, probably kissing.

  The room was spinning out of control, and Missy had spoken, was expecting an answer. What was it she’d said? Oh, right.

  “It’s those good Jackson/Beauford genes. You got a few yourself.”

  Missy laughed. “I don’t have the Beauford ones, but thank you, sir. You’re kind. Though I admit I was fishing.”

  “You always were.”

  “I have a question.” The snapping, happy flirtation went out of her eyes.

  “You always do.” He dipped her, hoping she’d forget the question. She came up laughing, but no such luck.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were involved with Christian when you were in Merritt? Why did you let me keep on and on about asking Molly out?”

  Because I wasn’t involved.

  “Missy, some things are private.”

  “I don’t like private. I like to know what’s going on with my people, and you’re my people.”

  “Don’t you approve? Everyone else seems to.”

  “Of course I approve. Christian’s perfect for you. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it myself years ago. I’m just not used to being surprised. I usually find things out, but when Abby called this morning to invite us to this wedding, you could have knocked me over with a feather.”

  What the hell? It wasn’t a secret, and Missy was family. “She’s pregnant, you know.”

  Missy shook her head, never missing a beat, not with her dancing feet and not with her witty, clever tongue. “I didn’t know, but as long as you love her.”

  “I do,” he said automatically, just like he said earlier in front of God only knows how many people, just like he’d said he loved Christian. So all that must be true. A soldier’s word was his law. If he said it, it was true.

  “A baby’s always a blessing.” This wasn’t lip service; Missy had lost babies—Beau couldn’t remember how many—before having her Beau and Lulu.

  “It’s scary.” That wasn’t so much a true confession as words by rote. People expected parents-to-be to say that.

  Missy laughed and squeezed his shoulder. “It’s easier than you think. You don’t have to start molding their character and planning their future at first. Take a few months to figure it out. All you have to do in the beginning is keep them alive.”

  Keep them alive. With those words, red-hot coals descended on his head like the wrath of God and slowly worked their way down, burning and paralyzing him, just like he caused his parents and Camille to burn, just like he’d caused everything.

  Aunt Amelia shouldn’t have had to work so hard for so long. Jackson shouldn’t have had to make himself into a star before he was even out of his teens to take care of them all. College had not been an option for Rafe, and the only reason it had been for Gabe was because of football.

  Beau was the only one who’d had it easy. At first, he’d been too young to much help with the work, and by the time he’d been old enough to drive, date, and care about nice clothes, Jackson had made enough money to see that he had what he wanted. And how was that fair? He was the one who had caused everything bad that had happened to them.

  His parents ought to be here tonight like some of their friends’ were—Neyland’s parents, the Danielses, and Christian’s mother. They ought to be dancing and celebrating. And Camille. How old would she be now? He shouldn’t have to stop and think to know that. He’d killed her. He ought to at least know her age off the top of his head. But he didn’t. He had to count.

  Twenty-two. How was that possible? She ought to be drinking Champagne and causing her brothers to want to kill some young buck for looking at her. She ought to be wearing that ring that Gabe had given Neyland.

  The dance was coming to an end. “Beau? Are you all right?” Missy asked.

  “Yes. I just need to pee.”

  And they laughed together as they applauded for Jackson and the band.

  He had to get out of there, but it would have to wait until he escorted Missy to the edge of the room. A soldier did what he had to, and one did not leave a woman in the middle of the dance floor.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Thank you!” Christian clapped as the dance ended.

  “Thank you.” Gabe kissed her cheek and took her arm. “Not everybody gets to dance with the bride.”

  Being a bride really was just like being a queen. As Gabe led her to the edge of the dance floor, everyone wanted to hug her, stroke her dress, and tell her she was beautiful.

  “I could get used to this,” she whispered to Gabe. “But I guess you are used to it with all the football fans, and it gets old.” Plus, with Gabe’s good looks and personality, he was a regular on the TV screen and magazine pages, expounding on the superiority of Gatorade, Under Armour, some kind of barbeque sauce, and a half dozen other things.

  “No.” He stopped on the edge of the dance floor. “You don’t get used to, and it never gets old—at least not for me. I like attention. The more the better.”

  She laughed. “Then I guess I’d better enjoy my day. I may never feel this important again.”

  Gabe took her hand, and his expression went serious. “If my little brother doesn’t make you feel this important every day of your life, come to me.” He winked at her. “I’ll get you a shampoo commercial—one where you’ll be in the shower. That’ll shape him up.” He looked around. “Where is he?”

  At that moment, Jimmy “Jimpson” Simpson stepped up, wearing the powder blue leisure suit that he’d probably been wearing to dressy occasions for forty years. Christian couldn’t have sworn it had been that long, but she was sure he’d been wearing it all her life.

  “Gabe, will you surrender the bride to me if I promise to deliver her to her groom?”

  Gabe didn’t even look at Christian for permission. He didn’t have to.

  “I can’t think of a more trustworthy man here,” Gabe said. “But see to it you keep your clothes on.” According to people who would know, Jimpson, who was now the high school janitor, had once been the golden boy of Beauford. He’d gone to Vietnam and returned broken but no less beloved by the town. He was known for removing his clothes, covering himself with chalk powder, and posing as Greek statues.

  “I’ll try, Gabe.” Jimpson took Christian’s arm.

  “If you can’t, go hide.”

  “I’ll do it.” To Christian’s surprise, Jimpson led her nearer the edge of the room instead of the dance floor.

  “I thought I was going to get to dance with you.” Jimpson might not be able to hit a baseball or pass a football like he had in his high school days, but he’d lost none of his dancing ability. Christian also suspected that, if given the chance, he could still be the star of the debate team.

  “It would be my pleasure, but I wanted to talk to you about something.”

  “All ears.” Christian cupped her hand behind her ear.

  “And all pretty. Do you know I came to your baptism? And here you’ve invited me to your wedding.”

  She smiled at him. “I have a picture of you holding me at my baptism brunch.” He’d been wearing that same suit. She ought to get a picture of the two of them together tonight. “I’m honored that you came to see me marry Beau.”

 
; He nodded. “Just like the Beaufords, your family has always been good to me. Coach and Mrs. Coach, too. It makes me especially happy to see you and Neyland married to Beauford boys. Y’all were all my students. Miss Emory and Miss Abby aren’t from here, of course, but they’re good women. It feels good to see all those Beauford boys settled with good women who love them. That would make their parents and Miss Amelia happy.”

  “I hope so.” Christian really needed to get control of her hormones. She was tearing up again, and her handkerchief was already soaked.

  “I think Miss Amelia is really smiling tonight,” Jimpson said. “You know, when James, Laura, and that baby girl died, Beau was so young. She loved all those boys, but Beau was the softest part of her heart. She’d be proud. All those good girls love their Beauford boys. It’s easy to see. But none of them have loved as long, as fierce, or as hard as you have.”

  What? “Jimpson, I don’t—” How could he know that?

  “Christian, I know. I know all my students. I have a lot to ponder while I buff floors—and I buff a lot of floors. I’ve never shared it. Never will. But loving hard and long is nothing to be ashamed of.”

  She nodded. “I do love him.”

  “Then you’ll help him. He’s got a lot of demons running around in him, you know.”

  She did know, though sometimes she tried to deny it. “I’ll try. I don’t know that he wants my help.”

  Jimpson shook his head and laughed. “For sure, he doesn’t, but you’ll help him anyway.”

  “Maybe. I’m not sure I know how.”

  “Of course you don’t. If you knew how, you’d have already done it. You’d have clawed through the whole cast of The Walking Dead and all the Lannisters on their worst days to get to him. But you’ll figure it out.”

  “It may take the rest of our lives, but I’ll try.”

  Jimpson frowned and shook his head. “You don’t have the rest of your life. You need to get started right now. He ran out of here a little bit ago. You had to look close to see he was upset, but I was looking close.”

  “Ran out? To where?” God, please don’t let him have left me already.

  “Simmer down, Christian. I don’t mean he left the country. He just went to the old loom house where he’s putting in his workshop. I figure he’s trying to get ahold of himself and is planning to come back in here, but he might need some help with that. Come on, I’ll walk you out there.”

  He was already taking her arm and making a step, but she needed more information.

  “Jimpson, wait. Did something happen?”

  “For sure, but only in his head. I don’t know what it was, but I know all about how it happens. Now, you need to come on.”

  She was a terrible wife already. Not only had she put Beau in a position where he’d had to marry her, she’d been secretly glad about it. Now, she’d been dancing the night away and playing queen bee to the masses, while he’d been so troubled, he’d had to go hide. And she hadn’t even noticed he’d gone.

  Then it occurred to her that just because he hadn’t gone far didn’t mean he wasn’t trying to escape her. Still, she had to go see about him.

  “Thank you, Jimpson.”

  “Not a thing,” he said. “We soldiers have to watch out for each other. Now, these stairs are steep. You hang on to my arm and the rail. It wouldn’t do for you to fall.”

  • • •

  It was cold in the loom house, soon to be workshop, and Beau was glad. He might not deserve it, but the chill had eased the fiery coals inside him.

  After all, he had a wedding night to get through.

  So it was good he was cooling down. Jackson had been mad that the heating and cooling system he’d ordered couldn’t be installed until next week. Jackson had left the tool selection to him, but had insisted on top of the line improvements to the building itself. That’s right. Only the best and right damn now for Beau, Beau who deserved nothing and got everything—a second chance at a career that was a calling, the best mentor, brothers who loved him, a town that welcomed him home, and a bride who stood beside him and wept with happiness because he was reluctantly marrying her.

  The weight of that thought hit him. The best—the best bride. It was true. She was beautiful, kind, smart, and unfailingly came to his bed enthusiastic to give everything that every other man in the universe fantasized about. How? How did she do all that, when he deserved nothing? And how did she know exactly what he needed every second of the day? And, to take a baser look, how was she so damned hot and skilled in bed when she’d been a virgin?

  “Beau? Darling, come sit in my lap and listen to me.”

  Oh, hell. He thought the ghosts had stayed in the house at the wedding.

  “I can’t sit in your lap anymore, Aunt Amelia. I’m grown.”

  “And my lap is limitless. Put your head on my shoulder like you used to do. Yes, that’s right.

  “You shouldn’t be here, Aunt Amelia. You should be up at the wedding enjoying yourself.”

  “I’ve had enough pink satin, songbirds, and naked cupids. Besides, you had a question that I can answer. While I’m not entirely comfortable with some of your thoughts about Christian, I do know how. It’s because she loves you. She’s always loved you.”

  “No. Even if that were true, I don’t deserve it.

  “Maybe it’s time you stop thinking about what you do or do not deserve and think about what she deserves. And that baby. Isn’t that what a soldier should do?”

  With that, the door opened, bringing a gust of cold air with it. For just a second, he thought maybe there really were ghosts about.

  But no, what came through the door was real—maybe the realest thing in his life.

  There she stood—his anchor—not merely pretty in her white dress, little veil, and Emory’s pearls, but beautiful. She wore agony on her face, and comprehension washed over him. She thought he had run from her because he hadn’t wanted to marry her.

  And he hadn’t wanted to. That had been true but it wasn’t anymore. He almost wanted to take her back in there and do it all over again. He might have done exactly that if there had been a way to do it without admitting he hadn’t wanted her two hours ago. He would never humiliate her that way.

  “Beau?” Her voice was full of hurt and concern in equal parts.

  In a split second, he was on his feet, across the room, and she was in his arms.

  “You came to find me,” he whispered against her ear. “And I’m glad.”

  Though he shouldn’t have been surprised.

  She saved him every single time.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “I’m sorry I left you.” Beau didn’t release Christian, but he pulled back enough to let those Carolina blue eyes sink into hers. His hands were warm on her back, and he moved his fingertips slightly.

  Leave could mean so many things. Leave your seat. Leave the room. Leave home. Leave your wedding. Leave your bride and never come back.

  “Did you?” she asked. “Leave me?” She was asking about that last thing, of course.

  And he understood. “No. I never would. I just had to get away from the house and the wedding for little bit. It had nothing to do with you.”

  “Except by virtue of the fact that you were there at all? After all, I made you marry me.”

  He took her hand and led her to the bench where he’d been sitting. “I don’t remember it that way. Seems it was the other way around.”

  Technically, that was true, but she’d gone so gleefully, she had felt like the kid who’d snuck into the cookie jar but had been only caught after eating them. She shivered, though whether it was from the chill in the shop or fear, she couldn’t have said.

  “Here.” He removed his tuxedo jacket and put it around her.

  “Now you’ll be cold.”

  He laughed a sardonic little laugh. “So far, as a husband, I’m batting zero. The least I can do is give you my jacket, which come to think of it, isn’t even mine. It’s Jackson’s.”r />
  “Batting zero? I don’t understand. Of all the things I might have associated with you, zero is not one.”

  He closed his eyes and shook his head. “Oh, come on, Christian. I left my bride alone at our wedding reception because I couldn’t handle—”

  He stopped himself short, and that was never good news. If he couldn’t finish his sentence, she’d finish it for him.

  “You couldn’t handle marrying me.” She’d meant to sound matter-of-fact, but her voice came out in a quiet, hurt, little whisper. She hated herself.

  His head snapped up, and the surprise he wore on his face was sincere. “No. No. Not that. You don’t understand.” He took her hand and ran his finger over the thin gold band that he’d placed there such a short time ago. “You’re the best thing a man could hope for, and I don’t deserve you.”

  Anger hit her like a tornado in a trailer park. That was right up there with, “It’s not you, it’s me.”

  “Spare me the platitudes, Beau. Don’t try to sit here and tell me you wanted to marry me.”

  “It’s true. I didn’t, no more than you wanted to marry me.” That was rich—and mind boggling that he still didn’t know how much she wanted to be married to him. “But it wasn’t personal. I never intended to marry anyone.”

  Not personal?

  Christian had always wondered what her limit would be where Beau was concerned, or if she even had a limit. Now, she knew. This was it, and she was going to walk out that door. After that, she wasn’t sure, but she would not sit here for this. But when she tried to pull her hand from him, he gripped it tighter.

  “But here’s the thing, Christian.” Never had she seen that expression on his face before—half heartbreak and totally insecure. “I might not have wanted to get married, but turns out, I’m glad to be married to you.” He brought her hand to his cheek. “I’m glad circumstances got me what I don’t deserve. You. And this baby. I admit until a few minutes ago, I’ve tried not to think about him, but I’m glad about him, too.” He placed his hand on her stomach. “But most of all, I’m glad it’s you.”