Healing Beau (The Brothers of Beauford Bend Book 6)

by Alicia Hunter Pace

  Not that Christian was jealous. Much.

  Emory addressed Neyland. “I have tracked down a picture of every Beauford bride in her wedding dress since Beauford Bend was built. I’m getting them all framed alike to hang in the ballroom. And what have I got for you? The best dressed of all of us? A shot taken with Gabe’s phone of you wearing a Tennessee Titans jersey, with a balloon crown on your head, and carrying a handful of glow sticks instead of flowers.”

  “Gabe bought me that crown and those glow sticks,” Neyland said loyally. “I love them. What’s happened to you? Pregnancy has made you mean.”

  “I feel mean,” Emory admitted.

  “It’ll do it,” Abby said. “Just wait.”

  “I’m already mean,” Neyland said.

  Gwen laughed. “There aren’t many women who’d threaten to make a donation to the Satanic Church of America in her husband’s name and call the Today show and tell them.”

  “He wasn’t my husband then, and he had it coming,” Neyland said. When Neyland’s business was failing, Gabe had hired actors to buy her jewelry. Now that Neyland was successful, they could laugh about it, but at the time, it had made Neyland feel worthless. But sad as that had been, it couldn’t compare to the burden Beau carried.

  Noel got up and idly wandered over to the corner where Emory’s shower gifts were stacked—on the table, four chairs, and the floor. “You sure got a haul. The few people who couldn’t come sent stuff.”

  “Everyone was really kind.”

  Gwen wandered over and began to peruse the pile. “And some people were just kind of crazy. Seriously? Baby Uggs? In cammo, no less. A Burberry diaper bag. And what is this thing? Oh, it’s supposed to tell you why a baby is crying. Let’s see. Bored, stressed, sleepy, hungry, annoyed. They left out the most important one: because he knows you’re asleep and he just effing feels like it. Useless.” She tossed it back onto the pile. “Here’s the grand champion of useless.” She held up a leather bound book, embossed in gold. ‘A Mother’s Memories: My First Year With You.’”

  Abby started to laugh. “You are kidding me. A journal? Emory, you might as well trash that right now, because it will be just as blank this time next year as it is now.”

  Everyone laughed, and Noel made another pass with the drinks, but something prickled at Christian.

  Journal. Diary. Leather bound.

  Miss Amelia had kept a journal, and not haphazardly, either. She’d once told Christian that she faithfully wrote in it every night, had for years. The proof had been on the bookshelves behind the little writing desk in the sitting room of her suite. There’d been dozens of them. Miss Amelia had said it was important to record not only your thoughts, but also daily happenings. She had advised Christian to do the same. It was a nice idea, though Christian had never taken it up. Maybe, just maybe …

  It was a long shot. It would probably come to nothing, but if there were any possibility there was any tidbit of information that might help Beau, it was worth a look.

  “Emory,” Christian said. “When you renovated to incorporate Miss Amelia’s suite into yours, do you know what happened to her personal things?”

  Emory frowned slightly and shook her head. “I don’t. They’re probably in the attic. There was so much going on with the renovation and planning the wedding. I was so busy. But Sammy would know. He packed up the room. Why?”

  “Would you mind if I went through her books?”

  “Of course you should. You were close to her. You don’t even need to ask. You’re family.”

  Maybe the past did talk. And maybe it wouldn’t take crawling across the Sahara. Climbing the stairs at Beauford Bend would be way easier.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Will Garrett ran his finger over the underside corner of the jewelry box. “Not a scratch. Wood grain,” he muttered to himself. He’d been inspecting the box for over an hour. Finally, he sat back and looked a few feet away to where his little boy, Avery, was playing with an exquisite set of hand carved blocks. “Are you doing okay over there, pal?”

  The boy looked up and smiled. “I building a tree house.”

  Will laughed, just like he was a real person, which sometimes Beau doubted. He was more like a living, breathing part of nature or something. That didn’t make sense, but what did these days?

  “Avery’s mother and I have a difference of opinion of whether or not Avery should have a tree house.”

  “Who will win?” Beau asked.

  “Now or in the future? For now, she wins. In the future? We’ll see.” Finally, he gestured to the jewelry box. “Good job, Beau.”

  Relief settled over him. Will had driven up this morning for the inspection. “Criticism?”

  Will shook his head. “I don’t have any. If I did, we wouldn’t be shipping it to the client, but we are.”

  “It’s not perfect,” Beau said.

  “Nothing ever is,” Will agreed. “The trick is you need to be the only one who knows.” He looked around the workshop. “I see you made the changes to the shop I suggested.”

  Mandated, more like. “Yes.”

  “I’m impressed that you got so much done on top of getting married.”

  “Would you have accepted that as an excuse for delays?”

  Will narrowed his eyes. “Would you have?”

  “I guess not. I wanted to get to work.”

  “That’s what I like to hear,” Will said.

  Beau laughed. “If you’d tell me what you’d like to hear in advance, it would make my life easier.”

  Will laughed, too. “No doubt. I’m more sympathetic to that line of thought now that I’m married.”

  “I heard that,” Beau said like he was the vice president in charge of the What the Hell Does She Want? Nashville Chapter of the Confused Married Men’s Club. But he knew what Christian wanted. She wanted him to love her, to love the baby, and to be excited and happy—and she wanted to hear him say he loved her. The irony was, those things were true, so true that his guilt grew stronger every day. Saying I love you used to come naturally. At one time, it had slipped off his tongue so easily. But the people he’d told most often were dead. He had said it to Christian that one time, and he’d meant it, still meant it. Sometimes he was overwhelmed with his feelings for her, but every time he tried to find the words, the ghosts swirled around him, making him remember that he didn’t deserve her. And it was cutting her to the bone.

  “The wedding was nice,” Will said. “Thank you for inviting us.”

  Beau eyed him to see if he was lying. No. Will probably had thought the wedding was nice. He was not the kind of man to give much thought to weddings.

  “Sorry we ran out on everyone.”

  “Are you?”

  “No. Not really.” It had been a hell of a sweet night—one he hadn’t deserved.

  Will nodded. “I thought not.” He looked across the way at Avery. “You’re lucky, you know. I didn’t know about Avery until he was three years old. I missed a lot.”

  “That must have been rough.”

  Will nodded. “Probably rougher on Arabelle once I found out. I was not very rational there for a while. But everything has worked out. I learned to concentrate on what I have instead of what I missed. Though I admit, I look forward to the future when little Peter or Penelope comes along. It won’t be until Avery gets a little older, but I’m looking forward to the baby years.”

  Oh, dear God in heaven. That was something Beau had never considered—another baby? More family? No. But of course Christian would want that. Why wouldn’t she, with her big heart? His own little, selfish heart began to pound.

  Avery ran up and pulled on Will’s knee. “I need Jiffy.”

  “You do?” Will addressed his son in a tone that Beau would never have thought this man was capable of producing. It was love and wonder all wrapped up together Beau knew he had that inside him, but it was so deep he didn’t know how to find it. Will fished in his canvas bag, brought out a stuffed giraffe, and hand
ed it to the boy.

  Avery addressed Beau. “Me and Jiffy not at school. We rode in Daddy’s truck.”

  Will laughed. “Yeah. We played hooky from nursery school. We needed a little road trip, didn’t we, pal?”

  The thought of putting his child in a vehicle and driving three hours was unthinkable for Beau. Too much could go wrong.

  “Do you ever worry that you might not be the best person to take care of him?” Beau asked.

  “No.” Will’s answer was immediate. “I did have a meltdown once after I let him get a peanut butter cookie when he could have been allergic.”

  Allergies? That was something Beau hadn’t even thought of.

  “I busted right into Arabelle’s office while she had a patient. I had some doubts that day, but overall? No, I don’t worry. Except for Arabelle, no one could take better care of him than I do.”

  He would try harder. Beau promised himself that every day, and every day he failed. But maybe tonight would be different.

  And he did try. He took Christian to dinner at The Café Down On The Corner and told her about Will’s visit. As she’d always done, she celebrated his victory as if it were her own.

  Later, at home, he put a romantic comedy on and pulled her into his arms to watch. She looked tired, so he’d planned to let her rest, but a fire caught between them, and soon he was feasting on her breasts and they were groin to groin, throbbing with need.

  Just when he was about to move them to the bedroom, she stopped him.

  “No. I want you here and now, and I want you this way. Don’t deny a horny pregnant woman.”

  And she urged him to his back and slid down the length of him kissing, licking, and caressing as she went. The wait was as exciting as it was excruciating, but she finally pushed his pants down and ran her tongue along the inside of one thigh and then the other, up the length of his penis and down, around his aching, heavy balls.

  He always surprised himself when he moaned under her ministrations. Somehow, he’d always seen giving away his feelings during sex as a weakness, but with Christian, it was different. He wanted her to know what she was doing to him, how good she was making him feel. He reached down and gently pulled on her pretty little nipples, careful not to squeeze too hard. She let out a moan of her own and worked her tongue and lips slowly up his shaft again.

  And finally, she said, “I love this, love it so much.”

  He had never known anything better than hearing that right before feeling Christian’s hot, wet wonder of a sweet mouth close around the head of his penis. And she sucked, swirled, made magic with her hands, and took him deeper and deeper until he knew the explosion was imminent. By now he’d learned not to try to pull away. She wanted to taste him, to swallow.

  When she finally raised her head, breathless and eyes heavy with need, he wanted her orgasm on his lips more than he’d wanted his own. He turned her on her back and kissed and stroked until she arched her back and begged.

  “Please, Beau. I need it.”

  He was as eager to taste her as she was for his mouth on her. He teased and sucked her clitoris until the last second when he drove his tongue inside her so he could feel the spasms of her sweet release—and it was sweet. Sweet for her, but sweeter for him that he could give her this, even if he couldn’t give her anything else.

  She reached for him and cuddled against her.

  “Wonderful. Thank you,” she said in a sleepy voice.

  And he tried. He stroked her cheeks and kissed her temple. “Christian—” There were feelings there. He ought to be able to say it.

  She opened her brown, almond-shaped eyes a little wider in expectation.

  “I—” He could get no further. It wasn’t rational, not rational at all, but it seemed if he said the words it would all go away.

  Her eyes died a little, but she didn’t let it come out in the rest of her face.

  “I know, darling.” She pulled him closer. “I know.”

  She’d saved him again.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  So far, Christian had been lucky, but the luck finally ran out the next morning shortly before five o’clock.

  Nothing like kneeling naked on a cold floor while puking your guts out into the toilet. At Beau’s request, she’d slept naked, and if she’d taken the time to find her robe, she wouldn’t have made it.

  “Here,” said a voice behind her, and she felt the warmth of terry cloth around her shoulders.

  Nobody ought to see this. Christian turned to tell him so, but another wave of nausea hit. It went on quite a while, and Beau sat quietly on the floor holding her hair back. Finally, she reached up, flushed the toilet, and slipped to the floor into a fetal position.

  “Are you done?” he asked.

  “Maybe. I don’t know for sure.”

  “I’m sorry.” She could tell from his tone that he was not simply expressing regret; he was apologizing.

  “It’s not your fault, Beau. I’m pregnant. Pregnant women get sick.” God help her, she didn’t want to deal with his demons right now.

  He rose and reached out hands. “Come on. You can’t lie here on this cold floor.”

  “Yes, I can,” Christian said wearily. “It’s as good a place as any to die.”

  Her eyes were closed, but she knew immediately she should not have said that, even before she heard his sudden intake of breath and felt the world stop. When she looked up, his face had completely shut down.

  They looked at each other for a beat. This was one of those times when it would have come in handy not to know each other so well.

  “I’m not going to die, Beau.”

  “So you say. 289,000 women died from complications from pregnancy and childbirth in this country two years ago. That’s twice as many as fifteen years ago.”

  Christian sat up and put her arms in the robe. “That is so reassuring. Beau, can you please stay off the Internet?”

  “I don’t mean to scare you.” He looked chagrined. “I shouldn’t have told you that.”

  “I’m not scared.” She let him pull her to her feet. “See? Standing on my feet. I’m fine. And you need to stop being scared.”

  He followed her to the sink. “I’ve been thinking. We should get a monitor so we can keep track of your blood pressure.”

  She rinsed her mouth and reached for her toothbrush. “My blood pressure is fine.”

  “Do you know that? For sure? High blood pressure is a sign of preeclampsia.” He mispronounced preeclampsia.

  Enough. No matter how good the sex had been last night—and it had been sublime—and no matter that he had come close to saying he loved her—though he hadn’t—this was a new day, and an early one at that. Plus, her stomach was still in the questionable zone.

  “When I saw the doctor last week—”

  His eyes went wide and he put his hands up. “Wait. You saw the doctor and you didn’t tell me?”

  She’d considered it, even thought she probably should have. He cocked his head to the side, still waiting for an answer. It took energy and a clear head to spin the truth to soften a blow, but she didn’t have either one right now.

  “I didn’t tell you,” she said slowly, “because I was having a bad day, and I didn’t want to deal with how it would make me feel if you didn’t want to go.”

  He looked stricken and she was instantly sorry. Why hadn’t she just said it wasn’t an important appointment and she hadn’t wanted to take him away from his work?

  “I would have gone. I’m supposed to go.” He’d probably read that on the Internet, too. Or gotten it from Jackson. “I do what I’m supposed to.”

  Yes, you do, Sgt. Beauford. Every time.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “It won’t happen again.”

  He nodded, clearly not satisfied. “Christian, you have to learn to trust me to do right by you. You have to stop saving me.”

  Unfair. And she hated unfair. “How am I supposed to trust you when you act like you don’t deserve to be trusted? A
nswer me that, Beau.”

  He opened his mouth, closed it again, and then repeated the process twice. Finally, when he opened his mouth, words came out. “I think it best if I go to my shop.”

  And he was gone.

  • • •

  Damn it all to hell! Christian had never, ever in twenty-eight years acted like that toward him. And he didn’t even know what he’d done. He’d only known he had to get out of there, so he’d taken his clothes and gone downstairs to one of guest rooms to shower. With the way his luck was running, he’d probably messed up a room she’d promised an early check-in for, and he’d be in trouble for that, too.

  The breakfast and cleaning crews wouldn’t be in for another fifteen minutes, and that would give him plenty of time to clear out before anyone found out that he had failed to shower in his assigned location. No doubt Emma Ruth would be leading the pack, and she might actually kill him. She’d been wanting to for years.

  Might not be a bad plan, if he didn’t have Christian and the baby to take care of. He put his hands to his pounding head. One minute he thought how he ought to take care of them, and the next he thought they’d be better off without him. Which was it?

  He found a piece of cold ham in the refrigerator and ate it as he went out the door.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Christian pulled her car into the circle drive in front of Beauford Bend because she didn’t want to use the rear entrance, as she’d done all her life, and risk Beau seeing her from the shop.

  Despite their tiff this morning that ended with Beau storming out, Christian had gone back to bed and slept for another three hours. She’d woken with a clear head and resolve.

  She could not live this way—with Beau apologetic, waiting for the other shoe to drop, and then acting like he was a superhero suited up to take care of business when there was no business to take care of.

  But more than that, she couldn’t stand the thought of his heartbreak. It might come to nothing, but she was going to read Amelia’s diaries. It would be worth it if she could gain any insight at all. And it was a damned sight better than doing nothing.