Beard Science(42)

Jennifer and Isaac had deserved better than growing up with their father’s judgmental hypocrisy. And their momma deserved better than the man’s betrayal.

“Your parents are very nice.” I leaned forward in my seat. “I’ve always found the sheriff to be reasonable.”

“He likes you, Cletus.” Duane glanced at me then back to the road. “Jess’s daddy thinks the world of you.”

I was surprised by this information, not because the sheriff ever treated me poorly, quite the opposite. He always treated me equitably, just like he treated everyone.

An odd twinge of guilt struck me between the ribs. I’d been funneling evidence out of Sheriff James’s station for months, replanting it in strategic locations along with forged listings of money laundering and loan sharking activities.

In my defense, the lists were an accurate accounting of the motorcycle club’s actual money laundering and loan sharking activities; but the Wraiths were irritatingly disordered. Their record keeping was unsystematic. So I’d recorded the details in an effort to make the club appear more organized. The stolen evidence just tied everything together in a nice big obstruction-of-justice bow.

On its own, if I hadn’t interfered, the evidence stolen might’ve led to the arrest of several members of the Iron Wraiths. And those arrests would have been minor wins for the sheriff. But the wins would’ve been fleeting, because none of the evidence would have led to the club’s downfall.

I had my eye on the big picture. Helping the club appear more organized in their criminal endeavors would lead to their destruction, because RICO charges didn’t just remove the head of an organization. RICO charges brought everyone down.

When I was done, everyone was going to prison for a long, long time.

Every. Single. Member.

Even Isaac . . . This realization gave me pause.

“Cletus?”

I refocused my attention, seeing that Jessica’s pleading smile hadn’t dimmed.

“You might think I’m crazy, but I’m not. I’m right. And you’re smart. So you know I’m right. Give a man a fish and you’ve fed him for a day, but—”

“Give a woman a vibrator, and she’ll orgasm for life. I get it.” I waved Jessica off, looking out the window to my left, while I debated her advice.

It felt like a big step. I didn’t want to frighten the woman with sex toys. “I don’t know, Jess. I have no idea how she’ll react. Put yourself in her shoes.”

“You want to help her? Empowering her is key.”

“I know that.” I did know it. That’s why the second homework had been for her to make changes, but only changes she wanted to make.

Jess continued to push. “She’s different already. How she’s dressing, wearing her hair, speaking up for herself. And that’s wonderful, it’s great to see. She’s taking control of her life with baby steps.”

“But me showing up with a genital stimulation device doesn’t seem like a baby step.”

“Then let me do it.”

I glanced at her askance. “What?”

“Let me do it. You bring her to Big Todd’s and I’ll walk her around. She can even choose the color.”

I groaned, a new and vast smorgasbord of lurid images assaulted my psyche: Jennifer standing in the bathroom using her toy; Jennifer standing in the bathroom using her toy in front of the mirror; Jennifer standing in the bathroom using her toy in front of the mirror while I stood behind her and . . .

I groaned again.

Forget whether or not Jennifer could handle the introduction of a vibrator. The real question was, could I?



“What are you planning to do with that?”

“Pardon?”

I glanced at Shelly. The woman stood before me, arms crossed, sharp gaze moving between my face and my hands.

“The torque wrench. What are you doing with it?”

I glanced at the socket wrench in my hand and discovered Shelly was right. It wasn’t a socket wrench. I’d mistakenly grabbed the torque wrench.

Dammit.

I needed to focus.

The last two days had been excruciating. Not only had Jessica been a plague, but the idea seed she’d planted in my brain took on a life of its own.

I spent the whole drive back to Green Valley Saturday night thinking about Jennifer. Wondering if she’d gone to the bakery to prep for the next day, or if she’d gone home. I’d tortured myself with images of her slipping into bed. What would she wear? What did she dream about? Was she getting enough sleep? Was she gardening in overalls? What was she gardening? Had she gone hiking again?

It rained on Sunday, and I knew she liked reading while it rained. Had she read a book? What book? Did she like it? What did she think about it?

Jessica showed up after church on Sunday and hadn’t quit her harassing until I’d agreed to her plan. But I hadn’t agreed because of her pushing, I’d agreed because it was a good plan. It was time for Jennifer to broaden her horizons. It was time for her to be pushed out of her comfort zone. This was a big step.

But the sooner Jennifer Sylvester stood on her own, the sooner I could remove myself from her life and establish normalcy and calm in mine.

I was still fixating.

Meanwhile, important things—like nailing the coffin shut on the Iron Wraiths, the arrangements for Jethro’s wedding in two weeks, Thanksgiving, and preparing for my boar hunt in Texas—required my attention. Not to mention my regular work, various and sundry projects, fund management of my momma’s trust, ensuring Shelly was adequately trained and prepared for Duane’s departure while managing Beau’s temper, and all the other irons in the fire.

I tossed the torque wrench to the toolbox where it made an angry clatter. “We were just visiting.”

“You were visiting with your torque wrench?” Shelly asked deadpan.

“Yes. We’ve been through a lot together.”

She continued to peer at me. This was her way. She didn’t frown much, and she smiled even less. She was cool and collected, and brutally candid.

“There’s something wrong with you.” Her tone was even, but not robotic. She was making an observation, not a judgment.

I nodded, but didn’t answer. Shelly Sullivan’s frankness didn’t agitate me, not like Beau, who seemed to take it personally.

There was still work to do and the big clock above the stairwell told me it was well past closing. My productivity recently had been disappointing and still I’d spent the day clockwatching, anxious for eight o’clock to arrive. Jennifer didn’t know what machinations I had planned for the evening, as I hadn’t given her a heads-up. This was one of those instances where a sneak attack was in order.

“I need to leave.” I stood from where I’d been bending over my workbench. “Can you lock up?”

Shelly nodded, wiping her hands with a cloth. She stepped forward and used the cloth to pick up the torque wrench I’d haphazardly tossed and set it neatly in the toolbox. Then she quickly rearranged the sockets from smallest to largest and placed the wrench attachment at a perfect ninety-degree angle.

I blinked at Shelly and her arranging, then glanced around the shop with new eyes born of suspicion. The garage wasn’t pristine, but it was damn close. Everything was put away in its place, neatly.

My eyes cut back to her, a notion dancing in my forebrain. “Shelly?”

“Yes?”

“Why are you still here?”

Her jaw flexed and she swallowed, her eyes remained fixed on the top of the toolbox she was rearranging. “I was waiting for you to finish.”

“Why?”

Shelly lifted her cool gaze to mine. “No reason.”

She really was a beautiful woman—beautiful and aloof. Not beautiful and sweet, like Jennifer. Shelly was brutally honest and her honesty was armor, a shield to keep others at arm’s length.

Whereas Jennifer’s honesty was kindly meant and came from a place of trust and hope.

Perhaps because I’d been wrestling with my own fixations, I sensed an undercurrent of turmoil in Shelly this evening despite her outward show of detachment.

“Shelly.” I gentled my voice. This made her squint. “You’ve been waiting for me to finish so you can straighten up, right? You need things to be tidy?”

She gritted her teeth. Her eyes fell to the floor, then lifted again. The volume of hostility within her glare startled me.

“I don’t need it.” Her tone reeked of defensiveness and insolence.

I lifted my hands, wanting to communicate that I wasn’t one to judge. Furthermore, I didn’t care. Let her be tidy, if she needed it.

But I was also severely frustrated with myself. I couldn’t believe I’d worked with Shelly for almost two months and had no idea she was suffering from an obsessive-compulsive disorder. How could I miss something so obvious?

What else was I missing? What else was I not seeing? These were things I should know about my future . . .

My well-ordered world was in chaos, undone by a short woman baker.

“I’m leaving now.” I backed away. “So you do what you need to do, then feel free—or don’t—to tidy as you see fit.”

Some of the hostility behind her glare dissipated and she nodded once.

I left Shelly to her cleaning, walking straight out of the garage without checking out of the office first. I was restless and irritable and still in my grease-stained coveralls. There was nothing for it, so I would have to unzip them and tie the arms around my waist. Otherwise I’d be leaving grease smudges all over my car.