Truth or Beard(116)

We had to wait until Cletus emerged before approaching him. Having interrupted his quiet time earlier, I had no desire to instigate his wrath further. Cletus’s retaliation was always unanticipated and devious. He was a fan of polite revenge, knowing how to get his point across with very little fuss.

We both stilled when we heard footsteps on the stairs, and Jethro poked his head out of the doorway.

“What the hell? What happened to you?”

Recognizing Billy’s voice, my shoulders sagged and I turned back to the griddle. Jethro didn’t answer. Instead he walked back into the kitchen and reclaimed his spot at the kitchen table.

Billy entered the kitchen seconds later, his eyes moving from the bruise high on Jethro’s cheek to the cut on his lip. “Did that happen on the trail?”

“Yeah. I was assaulted by a gang of ninja raccoons.” Jethro took a sip of his coffee.

Billy gave him another long look, then turned to the coffee. But he stopped again when he saw my face and the less-than subtle swelling around my eye.

He lifted an eyebrow, glanced between the two of us, then left the kitchen without his coffee, saying as he went, “Never mind, whatever it is, I don’t want to know. But do let me know when the hotcakes are ready. And there better be a turkey today, because I already made the stuffing, and something or someone is getting stuffed.”

“Getting the turkey was Cletus’s job this year,” I called after him.

No sooner did Billy leave than Beau shuffled in, scratching his balls and yawning. “Do I smell pancakes?”

“Yes.” I nodded, then tilted my head toward Jethro. “You also smell skunk.”

Beau lazily glanced where I indicated, then did a double take when he saw our oldest brother. Beau was suddenly awake. His brow pulling low and the set of his mouth grim as he studied Jethro, perhaps trying to determine whether or not he was going to be sensible or violent. Prior to Jethro’s miraculous reformation, seeing him with a black and blue face was a normal occurrence. But since he’d changed his ways a few years ago, he hadn’t come home with more than a scratch.

“What happened to your face?” Beau finally asked, and not kindly.

“Your twin happened to my face.”

Beau nodded, his features relaxing, then crossed the kitchen to the coffee machine. “Good. Saves me the trouble of doing it myself. So what’s the plan, Duane?”

“We’re waiting for Cletus to get up.”

Beau halted his coffee pouring and glanced between me and Jethro. “I thought we weren’t going to involve him.”

“He already knows. He did the initial installations.”

“Well I’ll be…” Beau shook his head, his eyes losing focus someplace over my shoulder. Then he abruptly snapped his fingers. “That makes sense. Ain’t no way Jethro could have installed those traps. I don’t know why we didn’t figure it out earlier.”

Just then, Cletus walked into the kitchen, obviously still in a temper. “Don’t speak to me until I’ve had my hotcakes. I’m still angry at both y’all.”

Jethro jumped up from his chair, Beau set his coffee cup down on the counter with a loud thunk, and I straightened to attention. All of us were standing like statues staring at Cletus, wanting to speak but knowing better than to disobey his request. It took him a bit to notice our rigid readiness, but when he did, his eyes narrowed and bounced between the three of us.

“All right…I take that back. Y’all are making me nervous. Maybe somebody should tell me what’s going on.”





CHAPTER 24


“Traveling in the company of those we love is home in motion.”

― Leigh Hunt





~Duane~


The four of us took our breakfast to the Quonset hut, escaping the house before Billy knew we were leaving. By some silent agreement, Jethro and Beau appointed me as the storyteller—likely because they both had a habit of extreme and unnecessary embellishment.

I explained the situation, provided the timeline, and described what steps we’d taken so far. All the while Cletus ate his pancakes and drank his coffee, nodding at intervals, and frowning at other intervals. For example, when I mentioned I’d enlisted Tina’s help, he scowled.

“Are you finished?” he asked at length, his eyes on my untouched plate.

“With the story or with my food?” My pancakes had gone cold, but I wasn’t hungry.

“Both.”

“Yes. You can have them.” I passed him my plate and rubbed my hand over my face. I was tired and the thought of eating made me nauseous. But it was more than the exhaustion. Everything hurt, and not because of my fist fight with Jethro.