Beard in Mind (Winston Brothers #4)

A giant smile split my face and I laughed. “I’m sorry about Shelly, ma’am. She’s not—”

“Honey, that woman isn’t an asshole.” Mrs. Cooper took a step toward me, gathering one of my hands in hers and making sure I was giving her my eyes before she continued. “She’s afraid. Lashing out. Maybe even wounded. I guarantee . . .” The older woman looked to the side, drawing my attention along her line of sight.

Shelly was scratching one of her dogs behind the ears. She kissed the mammoth beast and leaned close, whispering words in its ear as she patted its head. The dog ate it up, licking her face, its tail wagging wildly.

She smiled.

And the sight of her smile blinded me. It was brilliant.

“I guarantee there’s more to that one than meets the eye.”





6





“Those who cannot change their minds cannot change anything.”

― George Bernard Shaw



*Beau*



“What are you doing out here?”

Glancing over my shoulder, I found my sister hovering in the doorway. I was sitting on the porch steps, facing the acreage at the back of our family’s property.

Well, Jethro’s property.

Our oldest brother, Jethro, had inherited the homestead last year, a big old sprawling farmhouse set on fifteen acres, backing up to the Great Smoky Mountains National Forest. A field of wildflowers separated our land from the yellow buckeyes, red maples, basswoods, white ash, and black birches, all of which were clinging stubbornly to their summer colors.

Fall hadn’t arrived. It wasn’t chilly. The air was temperate and dry. A light breeze touched the field, enough to gently rustle the flowers yet not strong enough to steal their petals. Nonetheless, I was cold.

I’d placed my hands between my legs as I stared up at the stars. It had been cold this time last year, colder than was typical. I remembered despite my fierce desire to forget, because this was the anniversary of our mother’s death.

None of us had called it an anniversary dinner, nor had anyone explicitly brought up the fact that today was the day. But that’s what it was. Conversation over dinner had been subdued. To lighten the mood, I’d taken it upon myself to tell some dirty jokes. Sienna and Jessica then took the ball and ran with it, lifting everyone’s spirits.

Jennifer Sylvester—a bit of a local celebrity known for her award-winning banana cakes—had shown up unexpectedly just after dinner. She’d brought a cake (not a banana cake) as well as other various and sundry baked goods.

The unannounced interruption gave everyone something else to occupy their thoughts, and I’d been able to slip out of the family room undetected. Until now.

“Hey, Ash. I’m just looking at the stars and listening to the bugs.” I gave her a welcoming grin and patted the wood next to me. “Plenty of room if you want to sit.”

She was backlit by the kitchen. Even though I couldn’t see her expression, I sensed she was hesitating.

Eventually, she closed the door behind her. “Why’re you avoiding everybody?”

“I’m not.”

“Really? Because it feels like you are.” She crossed to me and sat, wrapping her arms around her drawn-up legs.

“Because I came out here for fresh air?”

“No. Because other than telling jokes at dinner and introducing Jennifer Sylvester to everyone, you haven’t said more than three words.”

My eyes were on the sky, but I could feel my sister’s stare moving over my profile. I considered a lighthearted remark to make her feel better. Instead, I said nothing. I hoped she’d assume it was the anniversary of our mother’s death that had me quiet.

And that wouldn’t be a lie, because the day had been difficult. I couldn’t stop remembering the last time I’d kissed my mother. Or how we’d gathered around her hospital bed in the den a few nights before she died; we told terrible jokes about chickens and roosters, and that was the last time she’d laughed. And then the moment I saw Ashley’s face and knew Momma was gone, I remembered that, too.

But it wasn’t only the memories that had driven me outside.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

I shook my head, reaching for her and tucking her under my arm. She rested her head on my shoulder and cuddled close to my side.

I didn’t know what to say. The pinch in my lungs had grown over the last few weeks, making me feel like I had one of those thick rubber bands around my chest.

“I wish you’d talk to me, Beau. I’m a good listener and I promise I’m good at keeping secrets.”

Maybe it was due to her warmth seeping into my side, easing some of the cold and tightness in my chest, but without thinking too much about it, I said, “I don’t know what to do about a woman.”

And then I grimaced because as soon as the words left my mouth, an image of Shelly Sullivan flashed behind my mind’s eye. And that didn’t make a lick of sense. Shelly wasn’t the woman on my mind.

Or rather, she’d been on my mind, but she wasn’t who I was referring to.

Does she have friends in town? Does she have more pets besides the foul-mouthed demon bird and the hounds from hell? What does she do after she goes home from the shop? Is she alone? Is she lonely?

Ashley shifted a little, lifting her chin to look up at me. “Who is she?”

Shoving aside the bombardment of never ending questions about Shelly Sullivan, I forced my mind to the woman I should’ve been thinking about. “You know Darlene Simmons?”

“What? Why? No! No way.” My sister stiffened, pulling away and shaking her head adamantly, continuing in a higher pitch, “Of course I know Darlene, Beau. She was in my grade and made my life a living hell in high school. Please don’t tell me you’re hooking up with Darlene Simmons?”

The band around my chest tightened and I rubbed my face. I hadn’t known Darlene had mistreated Ashley during high school. I’d been more interested in teasing my sister than protecting her from hurts when we were growing up.

“I’m sorry, Ash. I didn’t know you and Darlene had a history.”

“No. I’m sorry.” She held up her hands between us. “I’m being a dummy. It was high school and I should let it go.” Despite her words, my sister still sounded irritated.

“Well, I like her. We’re not just hooking up.”

Ashley groaned and then caught herself, swallowing the end of it. But before she could say anything, I corrected myself.

“Actually, I guess we are just hooking up.” I stared out at the field, the shadows of wildflowers against the inky darkness of the forest beyond. “I told her I want to be exclusive and she said she needs time to think about it.”

“When was that?”

“A few weeks ago.” I rubbed my jaw.

My sister stared at me, saying nothing. The buzz of cicadas and chirps of crickets rose to fill the silence.

Finally, she sighed. “I’m sorry, you caught me unawares. Let me back up for a sec.” Wrapping her arm around mine she squeezed. “Okay, so. Tell me why you like Darlene Simmons.”

“She’s smart.”

“Okay. What else?”

“Did you know she’s in med school?”

“You like her because she’s in med school?”