Beard Science (Winston Brothers Book 3) (35 page)

“Behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was something tragic.”

― Oscar Wilde,
The Picture of Dorian Gray

~Jennifer~

A gentle hand
touched my shoulder, shaking me just slightly. I turned, blinking scratchy eyes at the hand’s owner.

It was Ashley. She gave me a soft smile and pushed my hair away from my forehead in a decidedly maternal gesture.

“I’m here to see about your feet,” she whispered. “You can go back to sleep, I just didn’t want to wake you while I tickled your toes and get kicked in the face.”

She’d turned on the light next to the bed. I rubbed my eyes and searched the dim room for a clock.

“What time is it?”

Numbly, I watched as she arranged disinfectant and gauze on the bed. “Just past nine thirty.” 

I shot up, a spike of fear-fueled adrenaline bringing me fully awake. “I’m late!”

“Shhh.” Ashley placed her hands on my shoulders and pushed me back to a reclining position. “You’re not late. You’re sleeping in.”

I frowned at her, at the unfamiliar room, and then the events of the prior evening crashed over me and I winced, my arms instinctively wrapping around myself.

After the unpleasantness with Cletus, Billy had carried me to a bedroom. I surmised it was Ashley’s old room because pictures of her with other people dotted the surfaces, the single bed was covered in a floral quilt, and the letters A S H L E Y hung on the wall.

Last night Billy had set me on the bed and placed a hand on my back; I curled into ball and covered my face with my hands, willing the tears to stop. I couldn’t think, because if I thought about anything, I would have to feel something. I wasn’t ready. So I cleared my mind, pictured a field covered in white snow.

Eventually the tears stopped. And when they did, I drifted into a dreamless sleep, until Ashley woke me.

“That’s right,” I said, remembering, “I have nowhere to be.”
And I have nowhere to go.

Ashley moved to the end of the bed and began dabbing at my soles.

“They did a good job,” she mumbled, peeling off a Band-Aid.

“What’s that?”

Her eyes flickered to mine and she gave me a warm smile. “Billy and Beau. They did a good job cleaning your feet and trying to tape them up.”

When I continued regarding her with confusion, she added, “Billy called me. He was worried because you didn’t seem to notice them fussing with your feet. Said you just stared into space and didn’t respond.”

A mild rush of embarrassment crept up my neck. “I don’t remember that.”

“I don’t imagine you do. From what I hear, you’ve been through a lot.”

I didn’t respond. I wasn’t certain what to say. I didn’t want to rehash what had happened with my father. Cletus was her brother, so talking to her about him was out of the question. Plus, it hurt to think about Cletus. It hurt to think about how he hadn’t trusted me to choose him. Or maybe he didn’t think I was strong enough to stand up to my parents and put us first. Maybe he still felt sorry for me. And that thought hurt most of all.

I didn’t want his pity. I didn’t want him seeing me as weak or feeble. I wasn’t.

“I can hear you thinking,” Ashley said, her eyes on my feet. “You might as well talk about it. I’m a trained healthcare professional and I guarantee you I’ve heard more hair-raising stories than the bartender at the Pink Pony.”

I studied her, watching her concentrate with steady hands. How she spoke reminded me a lot of Cletus. She was very matter-of-fact, but with a softer touch.

I cleared my throat and glanced at the ceiling. “How do you prove to someone that you’re strong?”

“Through your actions,” she answered without hesitating.

The room descended into silence for a full minute while I thought about her response. A plan developed, one where I would prove to Cletus I was strong, that he could trust me, that we were equals. And the more I thought my plan over, the more I realized that this plan wasn’t really about proving anything to Cletus. This plan was about proving something to myself.

Ashley broke the silence. “Now, if that
someone
is Cletus Winston . . .” Her eyes lifted and our gazes connected. “Then may I suggest you add a little sneaky in with the recipe? Because, as much as I love my brother—and I do, don’t tell anyone, but he’s my favorite—he needs a taste of his own medicine every once in a while. So if you can think of a way to prove your strength
and
pull one over on the puppet master at the same time, just let me know how I can help.”

I stared at Ashley, unable to speak. Some overpowering emotion held me in its grip and I couldn’t quite untangle myself.

Just let me know how I can help.

Her gaze flickered to mine, then back to my feet. “Are you okay? You’re looking at me like I’m a loony bird.”

“No. Sorry. It’s just . . .” I struggled to find the correct words. “It’s just, I don’t think anyone has ever said that to me before.”

“What? That Cletus needs a taste of his own medicine?”

“No, ‘let me know how I can help.’”

Ashley’s movements stilled, and her frown of concentration became something else. After several contemplative seconds, she lifted her eyes to my face and gave me small smile.

“You know, I just moved back—back to town—last spring and I’ve been missing my gal pals. I Skype with them every Tuesday, but I miss having good girl friends to go places with. I haven’t taken the time I should to build a new tribe here in Green Valley.”

I continued to stare at her, but I rolled my lips between my teeth so I wouldn’t shout,
I VOLUNTEER!

“How about this?” she continued. “No matter what happens with you and Cletus—no matter whether you split up and go your separate ways or get married and raise chickens and goats—you and I are going to be friends. We’ll can our gardens together and I’ll teach you how to knit.”

“And I know how to make soap,” I blurted. “I can teach you how to make soap.”

“Sounds great.” Her smile widened.

“So it’s a deal?” I reached out my hand, eager to finalize this friendship.

She laughed lightly, gripping my offered fingers and giving them a small shake. “Good friends.”

“Good friends,” I echoed, my voice cracking. I tried to return her smile, but mine was a little wobbly. Overwhelmed, tears stung my eyes so I blinked them away and cleared my throat.

“It’s a deal.” She released my hand, giving me one more smile, then returning her attention to my feet. “I’m just the first of many, Jenn. It’s time you started building your tribe. But if I can make a suggestion?”

I cleared my throat, still clogged with emotion. “Go right ahead, all tips are welcome.”

“Stay away from the normals.”

“The normals?”

“Yep.” She nodded once, the side of her mouth hitching in a way that reminded me of Cletus. “Stay away from the normals, the small-minded people who fill their brains with small-minded pursuits, who blend in and keep up with the Joneses. Those people will tear you down and make you boring. Instead, surround yourself with the weirds. With the misfits, oddballs, and outcasts. Because the normals, bless their hearts, have no idea how to have fun.”

***

Sienna Diaz arrived
just as Ashley was packing up and giving me instructions about my feet. She’d given me Ibuprofen and said to stay off them as much as possible for the day, but light walking would be fine. She said I should be able to walk normally by tomorrow, as long as it didn’t hurt. But not to wear high heels or stand for too long.

“Feet are resilient, they’re like women that way,” she said, then added with a big smile, “see you later, friend.”

Sienna flashed her dimples as Ashley left us, then turned to me with an exceptionally serious expression which was matched by her tone. “I have a proposition for you.”

I needed a minute. I wasn’t used to being the focus of so much charisma. “Uh, okay, what—”

“Here’s the deal.” She sat on the bed next to me and grabbed my hand, cradling it in her own.

Let me repeat that. Sienna Diaz—movie star, hilarious comedian, and all-round extraordinary human being—sat on the bed next to
me
and grabbed
my
hand. And it was not an hallucination.

Life is so weird.

“I am obsessed with your lemon custard cakes,” she confessed on a rush. “Obsessed. But your bakery hasn’t been carrying them for over a week.”

“Oh, sorry about that.”

She shook her head quickly. “Don’t apologize. Here’s the deal: if and when you’re feeling up to it, I want to pay you—handsomely—to keep me well stocked in lemon custard cakes for the next six months. And maybe for the rest of my life. And my children’s lives.”

I cracked a smile because the woman was funny. “You don’t have to pay me. I’ll be happy to do it for you.”

She shook her head. “No. No, no, no. I’m paying you. You’re being put on retainer. I’ll have my lawyer draw up a contract. We’re making this official, because I
need
those cakes, and I want to be able to hold you accountable in a court of law if you don’t deliver.”

I narrowed my eyes on her, seeing through her demand. Obviously someone had talked to her about my situation.

As though reading my mind, her expression softened and she squeezed my hand. “Yes, I know what happened. These Winston boys are big gossips. But I’m being completely honest with you. Please let me take advantage of you and exploit you for your baking brilliance. Please!” She tugged on my fingers, bringing them to just under her chin as though she were praying. “I’m suffering. I have morning sickness all the time. I’ve lost twenty pounds and I don’t fit in my wedding dress. They’re going to have to use duct tape to keep it on me. I need those cakes!”

Despite everything, she made me laugh. “Fine, yes, I’ll make you the cakes.”

She dropped my hand and stood. “Excellent. Jethro is driving you over to the bank today to get you set up with an account and I’ll have the money wired in.”

“An account? But . . . but I don’t have my wallet or my driver’s license.” I’d been so distraught when I left, grabbing my purse hadn’t occurred to me.

“Cletus and Duane went to your parents’ house this morning and picked up some of your things. Your momma packed your bag, but she wants you to call her. Don’t worry, Duane made sure there were no yellow dresses in the suitcase.” Sienna pulled a phone from her pocket and held it out to me.

It was my phone. I gaped at it and then I gaped at this movie-star angel sent from Heaven to deliver only good news.

I didn’t know what to say, so I just stared at her like a gaping moron.

She flashed a smile then moved to the door, spinning back to me at the last minute. “Also, I believe the Donner Bakery was supposed to make my wedding cake and I believe it cost something like two thousand dollars if my memory serves. Which means you were supposed to make my wedding cake. I’ve called the bakery and cancelled my order. I figure, let’s just cut out the middleman. I’ll add it to your lemon custard cake retainer fee. Assuming your feet will allow it, do you think you could use the kitchen in the carriage house? It has two ovens. And once you tell me exactly what you need, I’ll make sure you have whatever top-of-the-line equipment you require . . .”

Without waiting for my response, she left. I stared at the door for a long moment. Her energy was . . . intense. I liked her, and not just because she was one of those people who are impossible to dislike. She clearly had a good heart. I decided I would take her up on her offer, but one day I’d pay her back. With interest.

The phone in my hand buzzed, demanding my attention, and a text flashed on the screen. It was from Cletus and the sight made my heart lurch and twist, a pining ache stealing my breath. As I scrolled through my notifications, I noticed several texts.

Cletus
: I’
m sorry. I was wrong, you were right.

Cletus
:
I just realized you probably don’t have your phone
.

Cletus
:
I think I’m going to make myself useful by retrieving your phone.

Cletus
:
I just left your parents’ house. I have your phone.

Cletus
:
Clearly I had your phone, if you’re reading these messages.

I was smiling—grinning like a love-sick fool would be more accurate—by the time I got to the last message. But then my heart twisted and I was gripped by a ferocious wave of sorrow. He might have recognized his error, but he still didn’t trust me to be strong. I didn’t want to be pitied.

I
refused
to be pitied.

Sighing, I placed the cell on my lap and stared at the ceiling.

I missed him. I hated being angry with him. This state of longing for Cletus hurt, because I wasn’t ready to forgive him.

He needed to prove that he trusted me, not just for me, but for him. Without trust, we had nothing.