Pretty Jane (The Browning Series Book 3)

by Dorothy Barrett

  “Mr. Browning?” Beau righted his glasses and looked up to find Leslie smiling at him from the front desk. “Max and Rhonda are finishing up their last lesson now. Is it okay if he has a couple extra minutes for some cake?”

  Beau’s cell rang. He glanced at the screen and sighed. “Sure. I’ve gotta take a call anyways.” Beau tapped the phone.

  “Hi, Mel.”

  “Well, hiya there, Beau.” Melinda’s husky drawl was punctuated by a sheepish giggle. “I just got Eli’s text. I meant to call you back Monday. Sorry ‘bout that. Things got a little busy with the music.”

  “No problem. I’ve been pretty busy too.”

  There was a couple beats of silence followed by another soft chuckle. “Sounds like we’ve both been real eager to follow up our spectacular date at the zoo.”

  Beau laughed. He couldn’t help it. This woman really was a twenty. She just wasn’t his twenty. “Look, Mel, I don’t mean to sound like an ass here, but I’ve…” Shit. What did he say? That he was falling for a girl he’d known for years, but never given the time of day to until he’d been obligated to babysit her on a seven-hour flight? That he was only waiting until said girl was legal in all fifty states so he could kiss the fire outta her?

  “Uh-oh. Things about to get awkward, huh?”

  “Damn. You’re a peach, you know that?”

  “Sure, play-uh. Give it to me straight.”

  “There’s this girl...”

  Mel giggled. “I was fairly certain it wasn’t a guy.”

  Beau laughed. “You should really come to the river with us. If Eli doesn’t scoop you up, I have a feeling my brother will.”

  “I don’t know,” she said with a good-natured groan. “I work with Eli. That could get weird.”

  “Yeah, I get it.”

  There was another moment of awkward silence before the musical sound of Mel’s voice whispered to him playfully. “So does this brother of yours look like Eastwood too?”

  “Not so much, but he does have a certain… uh… charisma?”

  Mel snorted. “I’ll think about it.”

  Beau smiled as he stared down at his loafers. “You do that, Mel. I’d love to see you again—”

  Beau didn’t get any further. A sugary-sweet scent was teasing his nostrils, and when he looked up, the blonde with the tray was offering him a bite of cake.

  And PJ was standing right next to her, looking as though she wanted to dump the whole thing over his head.

  Chapter 25

  It took every ounce of PJ’s willpower not to rip the tray out of Thelma’s hands and dump the remains of her birthday cake over Beau’s head. She really wanted to. The guy was sitting there in his stupid sexy sweater-vest with his stupid sexy smile talking to some stupid chick named Mel who was probably way sexier than PJ, and he was just ruining everything. Unfortunately, PJ was stuck standing there in front of him trying to wrap up a basic social etiquette lesson with her very first client who was about as volatile as a stick of dynamite after their twenty-minute stint in the bathroom earlier.

  “Would you like some cake?” Thelma asked a little too loudly.

  Beau’s surprised gaze locked onto PJ as a soft laugh drifted from the phone pressed to his ear.

  PJ wanted to grab the device, chuck it across the room, and put a very abrupt end to those husky giggles. This would probably be way more satisfying than throwing an empty package of cake mix. But instead of giving into her darker impulses, PJ pulled her shit together, smiled sweetly, and modeled the appropriate behavior for the girl beside her.

  “It looks like we’ve interrupted Mr. Browning’s call, Thelma. What can we say?”

  Thelma frowned, clearly growing tired of playing hostess. “Excuse me,” she said in a strained, but noticeably quieter, voice, “Would you like some cake after your call?”

  Beau recovered from his surprise with an easy smile for the teenager in front of him. “Yes, ma’am, I would.” Then he smoothly disconnected from the woman he’d been flirting with on the phone, snagged a piece of cake from the tray, and popped it into his stupid sexy mouth. “Thanks,” he drawled, his gaze shifting to PJ. “That’s about the best I’ve had all year.” PJ felt a growl rising in her throat as she watched him suck the frosting from his thumb.

  Oh, hell no. This two-timing, mixed-signal-giving, stupid-sexy motherfucker was trying to turn on the charm and throw down some innuendo. PJ was precariously close to tipping the tray. With a tight smile she managed to restrain herself and settled on dishing out some double meanings of her own. “Looks like you’ve got a bit of a sweet tooth, Mr. Browning. By all means, help yourself to another. Why stop at just one, when you can have two, am I right?”

  Beau’s grin widened as he shifted forward in his seat, brown eyes sparkling like twin gemstones catching the light. “Truth be told, Miss Jane, I’ve been a lot more interested in spicy than sweet lately—”

  “Thelma!” They both jumped as a harried-looking woman in a football jersey and skinny jeans came rushing into the clinic. She had a Starbucks cup in one hand and the keys to her Beemer in the other. “Come on now. We have to get.”

  “But I’m not done.” Thelma frowned.

  PJ took the tray from the girl and handed it to Leslie at the front desk, ignoring the fireworks going off in her belly after the heat of Beau’s words. It was time to do her first lesson recap with a parent, and PJ didn’t need his brand of distraction.

  “It’s alright,” PJ said soothingly before turning to Thelma’s mother. “Mrs. Beauxfort, your daughter did great tonight. We had a baking lesson, and she followed all the recipe directions with very little prompting—”

  “Save it.” Juliana Beauxfort switched her keys to her cup hand, motioning towards PJ’s tablet impatiently. “I’ve got booster duty in ten minutes, and her brother’s football game starts right after. Just let me sign.”

  “Oh. O-okay,” PJ stammered as the woman snatched the tablet from her hands and scribbled a messy signature with the edge of her French tip. “I’ll fill you in later, then.”

  “Great.” Juliana didn’t spare PJ a glance before she crooked her finger at the fifteen-year-old growing increasingly agitated beside her. “Let’s go, Thelma.”

  “I don’t want to,” her daughter said mulishly. “I hate football. Football is the most awful thing in the whole world.”

  Juliana rolled her eyes and reached for Thelma’s hand.

  Thelma jerked away hard. “Don’t do that. I don’t like when you do that.”

  Juliana flushed, suddenly seeming to grow aware of the other adults in the room as she leveled her daughter with a cool gaze. “Then start walkin’, pumpkin, or mama’s gonna have to hold your hand, and I really don’t have time for you to throw one of your little fits right now.”

  PJ did.

  She sure as hell did, and she was sorely tempted to throw something else. Like maybe her tablet. At the stupid woman’s head. Couldn’t she see how adversely her words and actions were affecting her daughter? PJ watched Thelma trail reluctantly behind Juliana, her stormy expression cast down as they made their way to the parking lot.

  Only when the pair had disappeared from view, did PJ turn back to the man sitting quietly in the room taking in the spectacle with eyes that were no longer sparkling. They watched each other for a long moment, something heavy passing between them that PJ couldn’t readily understand. Then Rhonda walked into the lobby with Max, and Ms. Patrice came in to give PJ a pat on the back. And the moment was gone.

  ***

  After helping Rhonda with cleanup duty, PJ grabbed her things and headed out of the clinic. There were only a few cars left in the lot, so it wasn’t hard to spot Beau leaning up against the side of his Audi. He waited for her with his arms crossed over his chest and a breeze ruffling the branches of the sycamore tree above him.

  Moisture was in the air. PJ could feel the stickiness of it on her cheeks as she rolled to a stop several feet from his car. Beau didn’t bother to ask this time
. He simply reached about and opened the passenger-side door before turning back to her expectantly. PJ smirked as she kicked up her board.

  “You sure your girlfriend won’t mind you giving me a ride, Browning?”

  “She’s not my girlfriend.” Beau rocked away from the car, advancing on PJ with a look she couldn’t quite decipher. She only knew it was riling her up in more ways than one as she matched him step for step.

  They stopped within arm’s reach in the parking lot, her mouth pursed in a bratty pout. “Aw, friend-zoned, huh? Poor Mel.” Up close, she could see the smooth cut of his jaw, the slight curl to his bangs from the humidity, and the way his lips twitched as she tsked.

  “Get in the car, Pru.”

  “Pass.” She didn’t bother trying to skate by him this time. Beau wasn’t going to let her go, and PJ sure as hell didn’t want him to.

  He smiled, leaning in so close she could feel the warmth of his body drawing her in like a magnet, could smell the spicy scent of the aftershave he’d used that morning. “Please get in the car,” he said softly. “It’s gonna rain, Pretty Jane.”

  Fucking hell. Who could resist a guy spitting rhymes like that? PJ got in the car, once again climbing into the backseat because her heart might be turning to mush, but she still had a backbone.

  PJ settled in next to Max, who was already glued to one of his games, and resolved to ignore the kid’s father for the entire drive home. This was much easier said than done. They hadn’t been on the road more than five minutes before PJ was checking out the strong line of muscles stretching the sleeve of Beau’s pinstripe as he one-armed the steering wheel. Damn this man for being so hot. And damn her body for being one hundred percent lit when she was so damn mad at him.

  How could he be dating right now? Who was this Mel person? Beau had said she wasn’t his girlfriend, but he’d also told the chick on the phone that he’d love to see her again. What the hell did that mean? PJ scowled as she took a turn with Max’s tablet, viciously stabbing at it because, of course, she did have a few ideas about what that could mean. And all of them involved Beau screwing around.

  And why shouldn’t he? In addition to being hot, the guy was young, healthy, and totally available. It wasn’t like PJ had some claim on him. Sure, they’d shared some tacos and traded an alarming amount of cat memes, and, yes, they’d experienced a couple super intense situations together, but that didn’t make them anything more than just friends.

  So why the hell was Beau making her feel like there was something more between them? Why the heated looks? Why the pretty words? Why had he wrapped her up in his arms Saturday night and made her feel like even though she was having some crazy breakdown and fugly-crying all over his shirt, that he would gladly do it all over again in a heartbeat.

  PJ stared at the fruit blowing up on the screen of the tablet, not really seeing them, all the colorful blobs blurring together as she stewed. It wasn’t so hard to sort out Beau’s motivations that night. The man was a Browning. Every last one of them suffered from some major white knight complex. That was why the Colonel and Beau had flown halfway across the country to rescue a total stranger. That was why Beau had wanted to help her. It was in his DNA. She wasn’t special—

  “Just stop, okay?”

  PJ looked up to find Beau watching her in the rearview, his gaze reading her like an open book.

  Of course, she wasn’t exactly being subtle as she tried to murder his son’s tablet. Handing the device to the little boy curled up beside her, PJ leveled Beau with a heated look of her own.

  He sighed. “Look, whatever you’re thinking? Just stop. Eli set me up with one of his friends from the studio. The guy’s getting about as bad as this client of mine. She’s always after me to find the perfect woman to settle down with.” Beau snorted, his sights shifting back to the road.

  “And what do you want?”

  For a moment, she thought he wasn’t going to answer, but then Beau was watching her again. “I’m not interested in perfection.”

  PJ swallowed and looked away. “So why did you go out with Mel?”

  “I don’t know.” He shrugged as they cruised past the gym. “I guess it has been a while since I’ve dated anyone…”

  Beau was looking a little flushed all of a sudden, and PJ couldn’t hide a smirk as he squirmed in the front seat. Apparently, it was a sex thing. “I know how it is,” she said with an arrogant sniff. “It’s been a while for me too.”

  “That right?” Beau was trying to sound bored, but his eyes betrayed him as they darted back to hers in the rearview.

  “Yeah,” she drawled. “Last guy I dated was Kenny Tuttle at Treymont. Can’t say I was too wild about the experience. My main squeeze ever since has been a sexy little thing with batteries.” Beau’s fingers choked up on the steering wheel as he stared pointedly at the road.

  PJ bit back a grin as she turned back to Max. The boy was clearly tired, his gaming not nearly as energetic as usual. He lifted his head, his face pale and a bit sweaty. PJ frowned, immediately sensing that something was off. Max’s gaze was never that stable, but right now, it was shifting about sluggishly.

  “Miss Jane, I feel like yuk.”

  PJ pressed a palm to the kid’s forehead as Beau stiffened in the front seat.

  “What’s wrong? Does he feel hot?”

  “Maybe a little.”

  “What does that mean?” Beau snapped impatiently.

  “I don’t know,” PJ cried. “I don’t exactly have the mom hand yet, and you seem to roll pretty warm, so maybe he’s just like his dad—”

  PJ’s words were cut off by an ominous retching sound as Max’s eyes rolled back, and his head dropped towards the tablet.

  “Oh, crap!” PJ ripped the device out of the boy’s hands before he could spew on the thing, then tossed it into the front seat with Beau. Two seconds later, Max was tossing his cookies all over PJ’s lap. Only in this case, it was more like a tidal wave of regurgitated rainbow chip birthday cake.

  Chapter 26

  They’d cleaned up on the side of the road, Beau wiping off his son with the packet of towelettes PJ had scrounged from her mini Caboodle, and PJ drying off as best she could with the sweater-vest he’d sacrificed. Beau’s best argyle was now just as hosed as her pants, but at least PJ wasn’t dripping puddles when she followed him into his condo several minutes later.

  “It’s alright,” Beau crooned, carrying his son into a spacious hallway bathroom with light gray walls, dark wood cabinetry, and a gleaming white pedestal tub. Max whimpered as Beau set him near the toilet across from it.

  The kid did not look good. PJ couldn’t believe someone so little could expel so much food, and as she watched Beau stripping off Max’s Ninjago T-shirt, the sight of the boy’s scrawny frame and pale skinny arms had her worried. “What can I do?” she asked, ignoring the stink and sting of her jeans as she dropped her backpack on the floor. “Should I call the hospital?”

  Beau shook his head as he crouched behind Max. “Not yet. We need to temp him first. I have a med kit under the sink.”

  “On it.” PJ searched through the vanity cabinet, grabbed the first aid kit, and emerged to find Max doubled over the pot again.

  “Towel.” Beau’s hand shot out as the boy retched.

  PJ ripped one from the bar by the tub and tossed it to him before sinking to the floor.

  For the next half hour, they worked together, calming and cleaning the boy in between bouts of sickness. Max quickly progressed to dry-heaving, his stomach having been largely emptied in the car, but it wasn’t until Beau finally turned to PJ, scanning her hammered clothing with a wince, that she was reminded she was still kind of wearing the contents of Max’s stomach.

  “You should go take a shower. I don’t want you catching whatever bug he’s got.” Beau nodded towards the hall. “Use the bathroom in my bedroom.”

  “Okay. Let me just record his temperature.” PJ exited out of the WebMD page she’d pulled up on her phone and swiped ove
r to her notepad. She’d already sorted out that Max was most likely not going to die from a low-grade fever brought on by a stomach virus, but she still felt it prudent to take note of every symptom.

  For Beau’s sake, of course. The man had his hands full. Quite literally. Max was curled up in his lap, his head resting against the soft cotton of his father’s undershirt. Beau had ditched the oxford pinstripe, and PJ itched to do the same to her filthy jeans, but she needed to finish her notes first. “Got it. How much acetaminophen did you just give him?”

  “He’s gonna be fine, Pru.”

  PJ looked up from her phone to find Beau watching her with an amused expression as he sat on a bath mat near the tub.

  “Yeah, okay.” PJ shoved her phone into her bag, staring at the drowsy child in his arms with a strange sort of helpless feeling. “I’ll just grab some of your clothes if that’s cool.”

  Beau smiled as he stroked Max’s back. “It’s cool.”

  PJ turned to go, but then, just as quickly, turned back around, a sudden wave of guilt rooting her to the spot. “This is my fault. Something has been going around at the clinic, and I was helping Brecken sterilize the toys Wednesday night, and he put me in charge of the ball pit—”

  “PJ—”

  “—and that thing has like a thousand flippin’ balls, and I’m sure I probably missed a few—”

  “PJ, stop,” Beau cut in with a wave of his hand. “Max spent Saturday morning at the zoo with a seven-year-old germ factory named Tyler. He could have picked this up anywhere. Please don’t beat yourself up.”

  “Okay.” PJ relaxed a fraction as Beau’s smile turned playful.

  “PJ?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You kinda reek.”

  PJ rolled her eyes as she scooped up her backpack. “Hadn’t really noticed. Think I’ve gone a little nose-blind at this point.” Beau chuckled as she waddled from the room in her damp jeans, taking a right down the hall in the direction he’d indicated.