Beard Science (Winston Brothers #3)

“I wonder what Duane and Jess are up to.” Roscoe picked at his pie, eventually discarding his fork in favor of the shot of moonshine.

“They’re probably asleep.” Cletus refilled his youngest brother’s glass, then capped the jar and moved to me. “It’s the middle of the night in Italy.”

“They should have stayed for Thanksgiving,” Ashley lamented, frowning at the fire.

She was sitting on Drew’s lap and he rubbed her back. “But then they’d never leave. After Thanksgiving it’s Christmas, then New Year’s, then birthdays, and such. It was time for them to go, they’d put off their fernweh long enough.”

Cletus motioned for me to stand from my seat, so I did. Then he claimed it and opened his arms. “Come cuddle with me,” he said low enough for only me to hear. “I still miss you. I need you close.”

I grinned at that and settled myself in his lap, covering us both with the blanket.

“Speaking of adventures, how was boar hunting, Cletus? Did you bring home much meat?” Jethro was lounging with Sienna on a blanket. He sat upright with his legs stretched out before him and she rested her head on his lap, sucking on a lemon candy I’d made her. She said they helped with the nausea, but still wanted the custard cakes. I was happy to oblige.

“Don’t you worry about my meat, Jethro.” Cletus lifted his eyebrows at his oldest brother, holding me close. “I brought home plenty and more is on its way. Jenn and I are going to make some sausage pie.”

“Sausage pie?” This question came from Billy, and he swapped a knowing look with Beau.

“That’s right. Sausage pie.” Cletus pushed my hair over my shoulder and encouraged me to snuggle closer.

“I see.” Beau nodded slowly, thoughtfully. “So Jennifer is going to let you put your sausage in her pie.”

Cletus stiffened. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Like what?” Roscoe pressed his lips together, staring at the fire and clearly trying not to smile. “Beau is just asking after your sausage, and we know how much you like talking about it.”

“You know what.” I could hear the warning in Cletus’s tone.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Cletus.” Beau held his hands up as though he surrendered, but he lost the fight against his grin. “I’m just remarking on the fact that you’re going to slip your famous sausage into Jennifer’s hot, moist—”

“Do not use that word.” Ashley raised her voice over Beau’s and made a face. “Everybody hates that word.”

“Fine. Hot, wet—”

“Pie crust is not wet. It’s flaky,” Jethro put in.

Sienna added, “I think using the word moist for cake is okay.”

“Using moist for cake is the only time it’s okay,” Ashley confirmed. “Otherwise it’s a no go.”

“Wait a minute, that’s a good point.” Beau pointed at Ashley, then at me. “Let’s talk about Jennifer’s moist cake for a minute.”

“Beau. Stop it.” Cletus did not sound amused. “Quit.”

I straightened and sat forward, meeting Beau’s twinkling and teasing gaze. “I think it’s pretty obvious why my cake is so moist.”

Everyone—and I do mean everyone—frowned, blinked, and turned their startled gazes to me.

Despite all the eyes leveled on my person, I managed to sound completely reasonable and calm as I said, “It’s the banana. The banana in my cake makes it wet.”

A stunned silence followed, during which the men—Cletus included—gaped and the women grinned.

Sienna’s burst of laughter broke the silence. “I love her! I swear, Cletus, if you don’t marry her then I will talk to Jethro about making her my sister-wife.”

I turned a bright smile to Cletus and he gave me the side-eye. “You’re pretty sneaky.”

My smile grew because it was uncontainable. It was uncontainable because I was surrounded by warmth and love and Cletus. I knew, without a doubt, that this was where I belonged. I’d found my tribe. I’d found my people.

I’d found my person.

And I’d found myself.

***

I fell asleep on Cletus’s lap in front of the fire. The ebb and flow of the conversation, the laughter. The good and warm feelings lulled me, relaxing me, until I could fight my exhaustion no more.

I woke up in Cletus’s arms and it took me several seconds to comprehend we were in my house. Apparently, he’d driven me home and carried me inside.

“You’re not still worried about my feet, are you?” I asked, my voice raspy from sleep, my words slightly slurred.

He chuckled, kissing my forehead, and whispered in the dark. “I’m still thinking of your feet. They need to be protected.”

I laughed, coming more awake, twisting my arms around his and kissing his neck. “What time is it?”

“Late,” he said, setting me down on my bed and kneeling in front of me.