Beard Science (Winston Brothers Book 3) (33 page)

We traded scowls again, but he blinked first.

“Fine. I will pause the plagues. I will talk to Jackson James. I will give him the chance to choose.”

“Good.” I suppressed my smile of victory, instead giving him a placid head nod.

“You never responded to my original request.”

“Which request?”

“You. Me. Jethro’s wedding. Drinking a little too much. Making sweet love in my room while other people dance the funky chicken outside. That request.”

“Oh, yes. The answer is yes. I called Jackson last Saturday and broke the date.”

His eyebrows jumped, showcasing his surprise. “You did?”

“Of course I did.” I gave him a disbelieving once-over. “I can’t even fathom it. I’m afraid everyone else is tedious in comparison. That’s like offering me frozen chicken nuggets when I could have sausage pie.”

Cletus’s smile claimed his features slowly and his eyes moved over me, warming greatly by degrees until he was beaming. He closed the distance between us and gathered me in his arms. He didn’t kiss me. He just looked at me, like I was something wonderful and amazing.

“I’m madly in love with you, my Jennifer,” he said.

I opened my mouth to tell him that I was in love with him, too. But he stopped me with a slow, cherishing kiss.

A kiss that made my knees weak.

A kiss that made my tummy flip.

A kiss that made my world better and brighter than it had been before.

Cletus Winston is madly in love with me.

***

Cletus walked me
to my car and watched me drive away. My lips were still tingling from his excellent kisses. I both loved and hated that every time he kissed me, I couldn’t wait for him to do it again. Just like every time we left each other, I couldn’t wait to see him again.

Despite always wanting more of him, I still floated on a happy cloud and couldn’t stop grinning. I felt so blessed, so lucky. I had to be up in less than three hours, but I didn’t care.

I’d been sleeping for twenty-two years. I felt like, for the first time in my life, I was finally conscious. Life was finally happening. I was making it happen.

I quietly removed my shoes at the front door and tiptoed into the house—much like I’d done the night before—but was surprised to find my father awake in the kitchen. I frowned at him and he frowned at me from his spot at the table.

I glanced around the room, searching for some sign as to why he was awake. My father had to be at work by 6:00 AM and I never saw him up this late.

“I called Momma and left a message earlier,” I explained, feeling the urge to defend myself proactively. Staying late at the bakery was not unusual. As long as I called, I didn’t wake my parents to let them know I was home. “I told her I would be home around midnight.”

He nodded once, two unhappy lines bracketing his mouth. “I know.”

I frowned my confusion. “Is everything okay?”

“Come. Sit down.” He motioned to the chair next to his, his face grave. “We need to talk.”

I hesitated, my mind loud with all the things he might want to discuss. I couldn’t remember the last time my father and I had talked about anything. Maybe once, when I was sixteen and I’d won the state fair baking contest for the first time. He reminded me that pride was a sin.

My mother told him to hush, giving him the evil eye when she overheard, then proceeded to tell me how proud she was.

But at present, I couldn’t think of anything he’d want to talk to me about.

Maybe the New York trip? Maybe he wants to remind me that pride is still a sin.

I dismissed this theory. As long as my success brought in money to the family, he didn’t seem to care whether or not it was sinful.

“Jennifer, come sit down.” His tone was hard. He was angry.

I hesitated. What had I done to make him angry? I tried to think.

Unless . . .

And suddenly I knew. The room tilted just slightly and I leaned a hand on the counter at my side. My father knew about Cletus. Dread and fear pumped through my veins.

But you will not allow fear to control you. You are in charge of yourself and your decisions. No one else.

“Jennifer!”

My name was a demand and it made me jump; it also spurred me forward. I crossed to him with slow, shuffling steps, gathering my courage and resolve along the way. I walked calmly to the proffered chair and sat down, folding my hands on the table.

“What would you like to talk about?” I asked, my gaze even, my voice steady. Nevertheless, my nerves were taut and I braced myself for extreme unpleasantness.

I think I surprised him, because his frown intensified. “I want to talk about your behavior over the last few months.”

I gritted my teeth and pressed my lips together so I wouldn’t say something nasty.

When I was fairly certain I could trust myself to speak without being disrespectful, I said, “I’m moving out.”

I hadn’t decided until just now. But this moment, coming home to my father’s displeasure—his perpetual displeasure—was enough to answer the question. I was moving out.

Something flickered behind his eyes, a flash of something like mockery and disdain. “Oh? Is that so?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

“With Cletus Winston?”

I nodded again. “That’s right.”

“And how will you live? Or is he going to be your sugar daddy?”

I didn’t flinch, but his words felt like a slap. “I’m going to what I always do. I’m going to bake.”

He leaned forward unexpectedly, shoving his face in mine. “Your momma will not be paying you a single cent, young lady. You leave, you move in with that boy, then you’re dead to us. Do you understand?”

I blinked at him, my face suddenly hot, my hands suddenly sweaty. I struggled to swallow. This was the only home I’d ever known. I thought about what it would mean, to be disowned.

My father had disowned Isaac. He never spoke of him. My momma still did. I could tell she pined for her lost son.

But, to my father, it was like he’d never existed.

I loved my parents.

I loved my father.

But for the first time in my life, I questioned why.
Why
did I love this man? I didn’t know. I didn’t know why I loved him. He’d never particularly liked me. He’d never been especially loving.

I stood, clearing my throat, and backed away from the table. I pushed in my chair. All the while my father followed me with his eyes, rage making the veins rise in relief on his forehead.

The last several months had led me here and it was a terrible moment. But I knew what I had to do. I lifted my chin, holding on to my composure by sheer force of will.

“If that’s what you want, then so be it.” My voice was uneven, shaky, but I didn’t cry. I wouldn’t cry. “I’m not going to allow you to control me. Not anymore.”

His eyes widened and his mouth fell open. I’d surprised him.

Hastily, gathering his wits, he pointed at me. “I don’t think you understand. You leave here with nothing. You take that car, I’ll report it stolen. You’re walking out of here with those disgraceful clothes and nothing else.”

“I understand perfectly. I’m not stupid.”

“Yes. You are stupid.” His tone was flat and hateful. “You’ve always been stupid. Why do you think your momma had to homeschool you? Do you really think Cletus Winston,
Cletus Winston,
is going to stand by you? Be a good provider? Do you think he’s going to stay with you? He won’t. He’ll leave you high and dry—just like his daddy did to their momma—and then you’ll have nothing. Nothing.”

I shook my head, my insides growing cold and numb. “I don’t need him to provide for me. If momma doesn’t want me at the bakery, then I can go elsewhere.”

“You think so?” His jaw ticked with frustration and his eyes narrowed threateningly. “We’ll sue you. We’ll sue you and you’ll never get a job. Never.”

“I don’t understand you. I don’t understand why you’re so hateful. Why are you this way?”

“He’s blackmailing me,” he shouted, banging his fist on the table, every syllable dripping with fury. “That stupid bastard is blackmailing me and he will not win.”

I winced, the violent volume of his oath made me stiffen.

My father used to use the belt on us when we were kids, but my momma made him stop when I was ten. He hadn’t raised a hand to me since, but the madness in his gaze gave me reason to suspect he might try.

“Do you want to be with a man like that?” He stood and charged toward me, forcing me to take several stumbling steps backward. “Huh? A man who would blackmail your own father? You say I’m controlling? I’m nothing,
nothing
in comparison to that evil son of a bitch.”

I crossed my arms, holding myself, inching away from him. “What do you mean? How is he blackmailing you?”

“That’s not important.” He covered his mouth with a shaking hand, wiping his lips. Something about the movement struck me as panicked. “Can’t you see? I’m trying to save you.”

“I don’t need to be saved.” I backed up another step, so ready to leave. So ready to be done with this. “I’ve never needed to be saved.”

“Oh yeah? Then what do you think you need, Jennifer?”

“Nothing you can give me.”

He flinched, standing straighter. My father struggled for words, finally saying softly, “Your momma and I, we love you. How can that mean so little to you, after everything we’ve done?”

I stared at him and, for the first time, I felt like I was really seeing him. He didn’t love me. He used the word
love
like a weapon, as a means of control, as a way to ensure my blind obedience. He made it ugly.

He didn’t love me.

He loved the money I made for the bakery.

He loved the comfortable lifestyle my momma had built.

He loved his stature and reputation.

Cletus’s words came back to me from so many weeks ago:
Your father is ugly, and I’m not just talking about his exterior.

He was right. He was so right. I was done with him and his ugliness.

“Goodbye,” I said simply, meaning it.

My father must have heard the truth in my farewell because he blinked at me, rocking back on his feet, dumbfounded. His mouth opened and closed, like he was too shocked to respond.

Taking advantage of his astonishment, I left quickly. But I barely held on to my tears long enough to stroll out of the kitchen, run to the front door, and sprint down the driveway.

I started to cry on the main road when I realized I’d left my shoes behind.

And all the letters from my pen pals.

And my mother.

And the only home I’d ever known.

“And thus the heart will break, yet brokenly live on.”

― Byron

~Cletus~

I
was going
to miss the quiet of this house. Memories, both good and bad, were loudest late at night, when everyone was asleep but me.

Presently, I was sitting in my grandmother Oliver’s favorite chair next to a fire, covered by her favorite quilt, and reading her favorite book, the second volume of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s
The Complete Sherlock Holmes.
The woman loved mysteries, and she loved rereading the same ones time and time again. Even when she knew what was going to happen, she liked finding new clues, said it made her more observant.

If everything went according to plan, Jennifer and I would be moving into Claire’s farmhouse just after Thanksgiving, and everything was going according to plan. My time in this old house with these old memories was drawing to a close.

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.”

Jennifer shook her head. “She wasn’t there. It was just him, ranting at me and telling lies.”

“What do you mean? What lies?”

“He said you were blackmailing him. That he loved me. But that he wanted to save me from you. It was so awful.”

I stiffened, and suddenly my stomach soured. I found I had difficulty swallowing past a mysterious lump lodged in my throat.

Jenn sniffled again. “So I had to leave. I had to get out of there and away from his lies.”

I sat back on my feet and studied her tired face, uncertain how to proceed. Kip may have been lying about loving his daughter, but he wasn’t lying about the blackmail.

“At first, I think he really thought he could bully me into giving you up.” She was staring beyond me, at the fire, talking mostly to herself. “I think he thought I would cave, that I would just keep doing whatever he wanted. And when I didn’t, he lied. And when that didn’t work, he tried to backtrack and guilt me into it, by saying he loves me. He’s sick.”

I had to correct her. If I didn’t, then he’d have the power.

“Jennifer. I have to tell you something.”

“What is it?” Her eyes shifted back to mine. She looked exhausted.

“I am blackmailing your father.”

Jennifer stilled. And then she blinked once, confused. “What?”

“I’m blackmailing him.”

She stared at me, her eyes growing impossibly wide until comprehension made them sharp with betrayal.

“You blackmailed my father?” she whispered, pulling her fingers from mine.

The accusation in her words cut; I had to help her see reason.

“I did. I am. I blackmailed him so he would leave us alone.”

She stood abruptly, limping to the other side of the room then spinning on me. She crossed her arms, wrapping the blanket tighter around her shoulders, glaring daggers of hurt and fury in my direction.

“I can’t believe you. I can’t believe you would do that.”

“I wanted him to leave us alone, to give us his blessing.”

She shook her head, her eyes growing distant and unfocused. “Tell me what happened.”

I stood slowly. “He came to see me at the shop on Monday. He told me to back off. So I told him I wouldn’t. And then I told him that he would give us his unconditional support or else I was going to tell your momma that he’s been cheating on her with Ms. Elena Wilkinson for several years.”

Her mouth opened, wide with shock. It took her several seconds, but eventually she choked out, “The school secretary?”

“That’s right.”

“He’s been cheating on my mother?” Her voice cracked with heartbreak and disbelief. “How do you know this?”