And in a move that he never saw coming, the erudite twenty-eight-year-old financial advisor set his welcome mat on fire and handcuffed herself to his staircase demanding that he reconsider ending their relationship.
Ellery had taken great pleasure in calling Sheriff Donovan Cardona to take care of the problem. “She was showing you her crazy all along,” his paralegal had told him. “You just weren’t paying attention.”
Cardona had advised Trudy that it would be wise to never show her face near Beckett again and she had pouted off in her Mercedes, tires squealing, presumably to line up a new victim.
It had been enough for Beckett to swear off women for a while. He was grateful that the recent attention from Summer’s article was starting to die down without having reignited Trudy’s interest in him.
Women, he shook his head.
The thought brought him right back to Gianna and her sexy sea-witch eyes.
What was it about her that had his blood and his ability to reason rushing right out of his head? She would be a mistake. They would be a mistake.
At least after the way he had bitten off her head, she wouldn’t be open to making that mistake with him. He dragged a towel through his hair. It wasn’t like him to snap like that. Instead of maintaining an aloof coolness, he had gone temper tantrum on her. He would have to apologize.
Just as soon as he could be sure he wouldn’t lose his control again and yell at her or, worse, grab her and kiss her until they were both shaking.
Just as soon as he completely understood the out-of-control twin urges to push her away and claim her as his.
Beckett went about his business the rest of the day and blocked out all thoughts of the redheaded temptress. He kept his office door closed and stayed focused on work. Both of his appointments went well and he was able to squeeze in a return call to Bruce Oakleigh on the man’s concerns regarding the proposed Halloween parade route. He considered it a success when the call only took thirty-two minutes.
A pop in by the Fincher brothers kept him occupied for the rest of the afternoon. The flannel-clad siblings ran a campground outside of town and were arguing about buying more property.
After the argument was settled and the Finchers were on their way, Beckett thought about texting his brothers to see if they would meet him tonight on the farm to drink a toast to their father at sunset, but decided against it. It was an unofficial tradition that he and Carter had shared in the years since his brother came home from Afghanistan.
It would have been even better now that Jax was home again. But neither of his brothers seemed to be interested in the threat Franklin posed to their family. In fact, they probably weren’t even aware that it was their father’s birthday and he wasn’t going to be the one to remind them.
It was up to him to carry on his father’s memory and that’s just what he would do.
Their mother had never joined them on the bluff and Beckett wondered what she had done in years past to remember the husband she had loved so fiercely. He always made it a point to call her or take her to lunch on his father’s birthday. Every year except this one.
He allowed that thought to eat at him until he closed the office down. He took off his tie and pulled on a lightweight sweater over his button down.
In his refrigerator he grabbed a six-pack and avoided looking into the backyard from any of the windows.
Beckett took his time driving out to the family farm. As often as he visited, the drive today always held a special solemnity. It was a somber tradition cloaked in stubbornness. It was Beckett’s way of refusing to forget, to let time mellow and dull his memories.
Tonight, he would drink a toast to his father, very likely alone. But with or without his brothers, he would remember. He would carry on. Great men didn’t just vanish from the world. They lived on in memory and tradition.
Beckett passed the farm’s drive and instead turned onto the lane that wound around to the stables. It wasn’t any faster this way, but at least he could avoid the farmhouse and its occupants. He followed the trail behind the barn and hung a right at the fork, bumping along the trail flanked by fence posts and fields.
When he rounded a copse of trees, he stopped, surprised to find three figures in his headlights.
Beckett turned off the ignition and slid out of the driver seat.
“About damn time,” Jax called out.
His brothers were kicked back, beers in hand, in two of the four lawn chairs set up on the ridge facing west.
The third figure wandered toward him. Phoebe smiled sadly and opened her arms to him. What had been a dull throb in his chest bloomed into full-blown pain.
Beckett walked into his mother’s arms, tucking her under his chin and holding her close. “Mom.” It was all he could think to say. In all of his years observing this sunset ritual, his mother had never joined him.
“This is the first year I’ve been strong enough, happy enough to come out here to remember him this way.” She sighed into Beckett’s chest.