Beard Science(62)

It was the end of an era.

It’s true. As a rule, I didn’t like change. My Jennifer continuously surprised me, and her surprises were a thing of beauty. She’d forced me to re-evaluate my priorities and she’d pushed me beyond the contented circle of my comfort zone. She’d changed me.

For the first time in my life, change was synonymous with hope and anticipation. I looked forward to it. And that was revolutionary.

But for now, drinking my grandmother’s recipe for moonshine and reacquainting myself with the Red-Headed League, I let the past speak—both good and bad—and enjoyed my quiet time.

“Why do you wear that thing?”

I lifted just my eyes from the page of my book and glared at Beau, the interrupter. “You’ll have to be more specific. Are you referring to my smoking jacket or my expression of concentration?”

“The smoking jacket.” Beau set a bag of what appeared to be groceries by the console and shut the front door. He was still in his work clothes.

Still in his work clothes past midnight AND his hair is wet from a shower. Ah ha! The chase is afoot.

“It’s cozy. And the lapels are velvet. You know how I like the feel of velvet.” Setting my book down, I pointedly stared at his coveralls. “And why are you still in your work clothes?”

Beau glanced at himself. “I—uh—went to a friend’s house.”

Based on the love bite on his neck and the way he was avoiding my eyes, I translated his statement to mean, I went to Shelly’s house and we had a lot of sex.

Usually I couldn’t abide having my quiet time interrupted, but Beau’s appearance at this late hour was actually fortuitous. It was past time to clear the air about Shelly Sullivan.

“Sit down, Beau. I think we should talk.”

He removed his jacket, hanging it on the console hook, and shook his head. “Can it wait ’til tomorrow?”

“No. I don’t think so.”

He huffed, rubbing a tired hand over his tired face. “Fine. What is it?”

I placed my book on the table at my elbow and tented my fingers. “There comes a time in every young man’s life when—”

“Oh, brother.” Beau rolled his eyes and turned for the stairs. “I don’t have time for one of your speeches, Cletus. I’m exhausted.”

“Fine, I’ll just say it plain. I’m not interested in Shelly Sullivan. But I’m happy you are. Good for you both. Go forth and prosper.”

Beau halted suddenly, his foot on the first step of the staircase. The tense line of his shoulders told me I’d caught him off guard, a suspicion confirmed by the clear shock in his eyes as he swung them to me.

“What did you say?”

At just that moment a knock sounded at our door, several urgent rappings against the solid wood. Beau looked over his shoulder and turned back to the door. We swapped confused stares.

Despite Repo’s assurances over the phone on Saturday that he’d keep Catfish on a leash until we met, had the Iron Wraiths’ captain ignored his leader? Except I hadn’t heard any motorcycles.

“Who is it?” Beau called. I could see by his hesitation that he had the same suspicion.

“It’s Jennifer Sylvester.”

I jumped from my chair and jogged to the door, beating Beau there by three paces. I swung it open, revealing my woman’s tear-stained face. She was still in the same clothes as earlier, jeans and a T-shirt, but she wore no jacket or sweater. Her eyes were big and sad, red and puffy from crying, and she was holding herself.

Alarm hit me square between the eyeballs. I pulled her into the house and wrapped her in my arms.

“What happened? What happened to you? Are you okay?”

She was ice cold. Her teeth were chattering. I rubbed her arms.

Jennifer nodded against my chest, sniffling. “I’m okay. I’m not hurt. Well, except my feet.”

I glanced down, horrified to find her barefoot. “Where are your shoes?”

“At my parents’ house. It’s a—” she sobbed, her breath hitching, “a long story.”

“Beau, go put on some tea.” I glanced over my shoulder, but found my brother was no longer there.

Frowning at his disappearance and frantic over her state of disarray, I plucked her from the ground and carried her to my grandmother’s favorite chair. I wrapped her in my grandmother’s favorite quilt, constructed from her old party dresses, and placed the moonshine I’d been drinking against her lips.

“Drink this, just a little. It’ll warm you up.”

Her lips were blue, almost purple, and she nodded, taking a sip. I had to hold the glass because she was shaking so badly. I pushed my fingers into her hair, which was loose and tangled around her shoulders, and she leaned her cheek against my palm.

“What happened?” I pressed, unable to curtail the question.

I needed to know who to maim.

She sighed, closing her eyes. “My father was waiting for me . . . when I got home.”

Cold dread seized my heart, sending ice and wrath through my veins.

I worked to keep my tone even. “Did he hurt you?”

It didn’t matter what the answer was, I was going to tear his world apart. I was going to destroy him, grind him to dust beneath the heel of my boot.

She shook her head. “He didn’t strike me, if that’s what you mean.”

A herd of elephants coming down the stairwell—or what sounded like it—had me looking over my shoulder. Billy, followed closely by a concerned-looking Beau, crossed the room and stood at my side.

“Is she okay?” Billy asked, frowning between Jennifer and me. “What can we do?”

“You can make some tea. And put a quantity of spirits in it. Better yet, heat up some chicken broth.”

Billy nodded once and then surprised me by stepping forward and squatting next to where Jennifer sat. He squeezed her shoulder briefly then rubbed her arm through the blanket.

“Cletus will tell you, but you need to believe him. You have a safe place here and should stay as long as you want.”

She nodded, but kept her eyes closed, her mouth pressed into a stiff line. She was trying not to cry.

Billy gave her arm one more squeeze, sending me a glance of support, then stood. “Come on, Beau. Let’s give them some privacy.”

“What? Privacy? Why?”

“Because, dummy, that’s his woman and they need some privacy.”

“Wait, what?” Beau’s reply was sharp and stunned.

“Beauford Fitzgerald, close your fly trap and move. I’m only going to explain this to you once . . . ” Billy’s voice trailed off as he pushed Beau into the kitchen.

Her face was still cold, so I knelt in front of her and pressed my palms to her cheeks. I forced myself not to ask any questions. I needed to know what happened, but she needed me to be patient.

So I could be patient.

Yep.

I hate being patient.

Just when I was about to lose my battle against concern-fueled curiosity, she opened her eyes and looked at me. She’d stopped shaking, mostly. Her chin had ceased its wobbling. But her eyes were still dull and dejected. I hated how powerless I was in that moment. I needed to take away her sorrow, bury it, banish it, destroy it.

“Tell me what to do,” I begged, desperate to do something.

She swallowed, shaking her head sadly. “There’s nothing to do. My father disowned me, so I left.”

“Without your shoes?”

She nodded.

I frowned at this news. “Why are you so cold?”

“I walked here.”

“You walked here?” I couldn’t keep my anger out of my voice and the sound made her flinch, and that broke my heart.

Yes. I will destroy him. He will be destroyed by me.

“Cletus—”

“I’m sorry. I’ll be calm. I’ll be that fancy iced cucumber water. Please continue. Tell me what happened.”

She licked her lips and I saw that they were chapped. But they also weren’t blue anymore. She covered my hands on her face with hers and brought them to her lap, staring at where our fingers were entwined.

“He said that we needed to talk. He was really angry, with me, about us. He knew about us and said,” she swallowed, gathered a large inhale, then continued, “he was crazy. He said crazy things.”

“Like what?”

“He said you wanted to control me. That you would leave me. That I would be left with nothing. He said that if I tried to work at another bakery, he’d sue me.”

“He can’t do that unless you signed a non-compete agreement, which I’m assuming you haven’t.”

“I haven’t. I’m not even technically an employee. Cletus,” she stared at me, worry and fear plaguing her features, “I have nothing. I don’t even have a bank account. I’ve been so stupid, trusting my parents. I should have formalized everything a long time ago.”

“Don’t worry about that.” I waved away her fear, needing her to feel safe.

“I will worry about that.” She frowned at me, her eyebrows pulling together until two fierce lines appeared between her eyes. “I need to be able to support myself. I’m going down to Knoxville tomorrow. There’s a bakery in the old district that’s been trying to hire me for years. I’ll start there.”

“Fine. I’ll drive you. But it’s nothing to fret over right now.” I tightened my fingers over hers. “What did your momma say about things? I have a hard time believing she’s willing to lose you as an asset at the bakery.”