Beard Science (Winston Brothers Book 3) (30 page)

Something was off. Something about the way he looked at her . . .

He fancies her.

I saw it, clear as day in the set of his jaw and the complete lack of pretense in his expression. He wasn’t being smooth or flirtatious. But, if I reflected on the matter, smooth and flirtatious would likely be completely lost on Shelly Sullivan. The more I studied the tension between them the more certain I became. If I had to place a bet, I’d even say he fancied her against his will.

Meanwhile, she was ignoring him.

Silence mounted, growing heavy, and still he waited.

As elucidating as the last five minutes had been, I couldn’t spare any more time as a bystander. Plus I didn’t have any popcorn to eat while I gawked. I had things that needed doing and not enough time to do them.

“Well,” I said suddenly, making Shelly jump just a hair. “I’m sure I’ll see you again between now and your trip, but if I forget to say so, safe travels, Shelly.”

I turned and I left, making a mental note to clear the air with Beau as soon as possible, inform the man I had no interest in Ms. Sullivan.

Consequently, his interest in Shelly—willingly or not—was excellent news. Not only would it be good for business, but she would also be good for Beau. She was unique in many ways, not the least of which was her imperviousness to his charm.

I couldn’t wait to meddle.

***

Shelly left the
shop.

Then Beau left the shop five minutes later.

I ignored the transparently suspicious timing. I needed to set my own affairs in order, and that meant calling Claire McClure about her house.

She didn’t pick up her phone, so I left a message, told her I’d be stopping by her place and would let myself in. I knew where she kept the spare key as Jethro and I had been maintaining the place since she’d left town.

I’d just left the office to lock up the garage when I heard footsteps, gravel crunching under shoes. I turned and spotted Kip Sylvester in his suit, approaching from the parking lot.

Instinctively, I straightened my spine. I had no business with Kip Sylvester. He had his family’s BMWs maintained by the dealer. That meant he paid retail on all repairs and only a fool paid retail.

“Evening, Cletus.” He stopped at the edge of the garage, giving me a practiced smile. “Long time no see.”

“Mr. Sylvester.” I nodded once, somberly. “What brings you out to the shop tonight?”

“Oh, I was just in the area and thought I’d stop by.”

“I see.”

He was quiet as he glanced around the shop, the tools lining the walls, various toolboxes and machinery. Then his eyes lit on the car to my left.

“Holy smokes, is that a—”

“Yes, sir. It is. A 1956 Jaguar.”

“Whoa. That thing’s a beauty. Are you working on it for somebody?”

“Yes. I’m working on it for me.” That was a falsehood. It was a wedding present for Sienna, but he didn’t need to know that. Kip Sylvester had once made an idiot of himself in front of my future sister-in-law. He was beyond star-struck whenever he spotted her.

“For you?” he questioned, like he found this information remarkably surprising.

“Yes.”

The man looked between my automobile and me. He was confused, that was clear. What wasn’t clear was why he was here. I didn’t want to guess.

“Why are you here?” I asked with a hard voice and gave him a hard look. Chitchatting with banal Kip Sylvester was like being interrupted by a pack of diuretic dogs.

“Oh, you know, just . . .” he started, stopped, sighed, smiled and shrugged like he gave up. “I’m here because of Jennifer.”

My eyebrows lifted on their own accord, without my consent. “Jennifer. Your daughter, Jennifer?”

“That’s right. I heard about what happened . . . the other night.”

Schooling my expression into an affable mask of bemusement, I scratched the back of my neck. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

He sighed again. “I was afraid of that. Look, Cletus, you’re a nice boy.”

I’m not. I’m really, really not.

“Thank you, Mr. Sylvester.”

He continued as though I hadn’t spoken, clearly having rehearsed a speech prior to his arrival. “But Diane and I, we have big plans for our daughter. You know she has over one million followers on the Instagram? And lots more on the other social media sites.”

I knew this. Even so, I said, “I did not know it was so many.”

“Well, she does. That little girl carries a lot of star power, and her momma has worked real hard to make her what she is and to keep her reputation spotless. You understand, we can’t be having her acting recklessly, and getting involved where no good can come of it.”

I stood straighter at his implied insult. Now usually I don’t bother getting offended by people as pointless as Kip Sylvester. But, despite being bland as unflavored oats, Kip wasn’t quite pointless anymore. He was Jenn’s daddy.
She
thought she owed him love and respect, and unfortunately that made him somebody.

I took my time deliberating while he watched me with a tepid smile.

Then he said, “You understand,” and nodded like things were settled. He turned to go.

Before I could catch myself, I asked, “You don’t like Jennifer associating with me?”

He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes wide like my blunt words concerned him. Kip lifted his hands between us, like he might do with an angry dog.

“Now, don’t take offense, but it’s not you we have a problem with, not precisely. It’s her associated with young men in general.”

“Really.”

“Yes, really. She’s been sheltered, doesn’t understand things the way someone her age usually would, and that’s on me, but—”

“What about Drew Runous?”

Kip snapped his mouth shut so fast his teeth clicked. He blinked several times before asking, “Dr. Runous?”

“Yeah. If memory serves, there was a story going around a while back about Jenn driving out to the ranger station, dropping off some baked goods, and then—”

“Yes. I’m familiar with the story and it’s true. Bless her heart.”

Did he just bless his own daughter’s heart?
My blood pressure spiked.

He continued, “But Dr. Runous comes from a quality family. His father is a senator in Texas. It wasn’t an association we’d shy from, if the opportunity had presented itself.”

“And my family isn’t? Quality?” I fought to keep my tone even and my expression benign.

Rationally, I knew what Kip Sylvester thought didn’t matter. It didn’t. As Jennifer’s somebody, if he made trouble for me, I’d make trouble for him. He didn’t know it yet, but he was going to bless my union with his daughter and then he was going to support my wishes in all things, including but not limited to forcing his wife to back off my woman.

So why his opinions made my temples ache wasn’t entirely clear. All I knew was, with every foul sentence he’d uttered, my anger swelled.

Kip shook his head quickly, denying my last question. “Not at all. That’s not at all what I meant. Your momma was an Oliver. Your family is as old as the Paytons and Donners in these parts, on your momma’s side. In fact, I haven’t discouraged Jennifer from your brother Billy. He’s got a good head on his shoulders and has always shown the kind of ambition I’d like in a son-in-law.”

Wow . . .

WOW.

He is more of a narcissistic parasite than I thought.

I nodded and ground my teeth, plastering on a faint smile. I began drafting a mental list of all the pie I’d eaten over the last year, who’d baked it, and whether it had been seasonally appropriate. It was a complicated ranking, because I liked pie, and the only thing keeping Kip Sylvester from my temper.

I was angry. A lot angrier than I should have been.

“Look, Cletus. Here’s the crux of it. We don’t like the idea of Jenn having . . .” he seemed to be struggling for the right words, finally settling on, “casual
male friends.
If she has a friend in you, then it might give her ideas.” The principal sighed again. He did a lot of sighing. It was irritating.

“Oh. I see. You don’t want her to have ideas,” I said, again before I could catch myself.

“Yes. Exactly. That’s exactly right.” He nodded quickly, smiling. And then, as though realizing what he’d just said, he shook his head vehemently. “Wait, no. That’s not what I meant.”

“Hmm.” I squinted at him, taking perverse delight in how his face was turning an unnatural shade of red. “I don’t know, Principal. I think that’s exactly what you meant. The way I see it, you and Mrs. Sylvester have a lot invested in your daughter
not
having ideas.”

“Now, Cletus, son. Don’t be putting words in my mouth. That’s not how it is.” He lifted his voice, growing tense.

His anxiety had a cooling effect on my temper. I was still angry, but instead of being hot-headed, the fury I felt had turned frosty.

“Oh, now, Kip, I think we’re both saying the same thing here.” I smiled and shrugged. “You and Mrs. Sylvester need your daughter with her reputation intact, her brain free of the worries that come from independent thought. Makes sense to me.”

His frown deepened. He looked disconcerted.

I reached for a rag to wipe my hands. “If she were to ‘go rogue’ and pursue a relationship with someone who didn’t bolster her image—and therefore the brand you and your wife have so painstakingly created—then that might interfere with your plans and financial well-being. Right?”

“Uh, well . . . right. But—”

I nodded somberly. His features relaxed. Seeing the somber nod usually made people relax.

“Mr. Sylvester. Sir. You don’t need to worry about me.”

He sighed again, a big exhale of relief. “Thank you, Cletus. That’s great to hear—”

“I won’t tarnish her image. Not one bit. Whereas you, on the other hand . . .” I stopped nodding, held his gaze with mine, allowing just a touch of my anger through the wall of self-control.

His eyes widened and I was gratified by the edge of fear in his voice as he asked, “What are you talking about?”

“Just that it wouldn’t look good if it was known that the sweet Banana Cake Queen’s father has been carrying on an affair with his secretary for the last—oh, let’s see—four years?”

***

I didn’t tell
her I was coming. I didn’t even know myself until I cut the engine and discovered I’d arrived at the Donner Bakery parking lot right off the kitchen.

It was still Monday night. I’d just left her father to marinate in my threat. At first, as was typical, he’d denied my accusation. The usual order was: denial, anger, then bargaining. Bargaining was usually my favorite part. Not this time. Something about bargaining for his cooperation left my mouth tasting like sawdust and lemon.

I wanted him to accept that Jennifer’s decisions belonged to her and her alone. Who she associated with, what she wore, what she did wasn’t up to him, or his wife, or their son.

He refused to accept that his daughter was capable of making her own decisions. However, in the end, he conceded to my demands that he not interfere. We’d made terms: he would back off and support my courting his daughter and I wouldn’t filet his life.

I stared at the back of the building, knowing Jennifer was inside. Jennifer’s car was parked closest to the door. My heart did one of its kamikaze leaps against my ribcage.

I’d missed her. I was asphyxiating with how much I’d missed her.

She’s busy. You should let her work . . .

Instead, I set forth.

After the unpleasantness with her daddy, I needed to see that she was well. I decided there was no harm in stopping by for a few minutes. Maybe I would show her
The New Yorker
article on verbing. Maybe I’d just stare at her and listen to her talk. That sounded nice.

I strolled with purpose to the back door. I knocked. I waited. There was no answer. I knocked again. Still no answer.

Finding the door open, I frowned. The door shouldn’t have been unlocked. I would have to remind her to lock it when I left and make sure it was locked from now on.

“Jennifer?” I called, closing the door behind me, locking it, and searching the kitchen. The lights were on, a mixer sat on the counter with ingredients and such scattered about, but she was nowhere in sight.

I was just about to search the front when she appeared from the back pantry, carrying a bag of flour. I stopped dead in my tracks as my eyes moved over her form. Her back was to me and it was completely naked from her neck to the tie around her waist.

Jennifer had on an apron, red lace underwear, stockings, and nothing else.

I must’ve made a sound, though I didn’t recall doing so, because she spun, her eyes wide, and gasped.

“Oh my God!” Jumping, she dropped the bag of flour and it spilled over the floor. Her hands flew to her chest—which was mostly covered by the apron.
Mostly
.

She breathed out, closing her eyes, then her next breath was a relieved laugh. “Oh my God, you scared me. I didn’t hear you come in.”