Healing Beau (The Brothers of Beauford Bend Book 6) (3 page)

She still had the dress. It had never been worn.

But back to the matter at hand. “Jackson, why did you think Beau wanted to leave town?”

He looked at the ceiling. “We might have had a little disagreement last night. I might have said some things I shouldn’t have.”

“Oh? Was it over the Porsche, the physical therapist, or the career plans?”

“Huh?” Jackson looked puzzled. “No. Emory said I was coming on too strong, but I don’t think so.”

“You wife is a wise woman. But never mind. Why did you argue, if not over that?”

“He didn’t tell you?”

“Obviously not.”

“So you don’t know he was in a military hospital in Germany from before Thanksgiving until last week? And that he didn’t see fit to tell any of us?”

Christian’s scalp prickled. “No. No. He didn’t tell me that. To have been in the hospital all that time, he must have been hurt worse than we thought.”

Jackson nodded. “He was paralyzed, Christian. They didn’t know if he would ever walk again. It took weeks for the swelling in his spine to go down. Thankfully, the worst didn’t happen, but he just lay there that whole time alone.”

Christian folded her hands and bowed her head. Beau alone, hurt, with no assurance that he would ever walk. And afraid. He must have been afraid. Or maybe he hadn’t been alone. He’d never wanted for female companionship. Maybe some exquisite, blond, blue-eyed Fräulein had been by his side every second, feeding him schnitzel and red cabbage. Or maybe it was a four-star general’s daughter, petite, polished, and Ivy League educated. Or perhaps—

Stop it!
she admonished herself. Beau had been through this harrowing experience, and here she sat fantasizing about the phantom women who were her competition. And, aside from the self-centeredness of it, how absurd was all that anyway? First, there was no need for phantom women, because there had been plenty of flesh and blood ones. Second, there was no contest, and if there had been, she wouldn’t have even been entered. What were the lines of that old Eagles song? She couldn’t remember exactly, but something about the women on his mind. Some who want to own him, some who want to stone him, and one says she’s a friend of his. Yep. She was the women in that song—all of them.

“Why would he do that, Jackson? Stay there alone? Why didn’t he call you?” Christian asked
. Or me? I would have gone to him, would have been there for him, like I’ve always been, without expecting anything.

“He said—” Jackson stopped and closed his eyes. “He said that I would have flown to Germany in my private plane and had him at Vanderbilt Hospital in some fancy VIP suite before he could sneeze. I asked him how he knew Vandy had VIP suites, and he said he didn’t know, but if they didn’t, I’d call them up and make them build one before the plane landed.”

“Sounds about right.” The pieces of the puzzle began to snap into place. “That’s exactly what you would have done.”

Jackson looked like he wanted to deny it, but he didn’t bother.

“So? What’s wrong with that? Why shouldn’t I take care of my family?”

Christian picked up the millefiori star paperweight Beau had given her eight Christmases ago.

“You should,” she said slowly, “but I think this was where Beau was coming from. He knew that, paralyzed or not, his days in special ops were over. He was never going to settle for less. I think he needed to be in that military hospital while he worked all that out.”

“I thought you said he didn’t tell you about it.”

Christian shook her head. “He didn’t, but Beau and I have been friends for a long time.”

“I’ve been his brother even longer, but I can’t figure him out.”

You haven’t spent your whole life considering everything from Beau’s point of view. What would Beau order from this menu? Would Beau want to see this movie? Would Beau like that shirt?

“Well.” Christian put down the paperweight. “Take it with a grain of salt. I’m only guessing.”

“While you’re guessing, do you have any inkling when Sleeping Beauty plans to arise? I’d like to get this behind us and take him home.”

It would be so easy to play dumb and let Beau fight his own battle, but she knew she wouldn’t. She’d always smoothed the way for him, always made sure he’d gotten what he wanted and felt good about it.

Of course you should go to the prom with Mary Charles. That’s what we said all along. And really, that works out better for me anyway. My cousin asked me to go to the beach that weekend, and now I can.

“Jackson, about that.”

“Yes?” He went on the defensive. If he’d been a dog, his ears would have been laid flat against his head.

“Beau asked if he could stay here. For a while.”

“What?” Jackson stood up. “No. Not going to happen. He needs to come home where he can be taken care of. I’ve got everything he needs all set up.”

“And that’s the problem. He felt smothered.”

“Smothered?” Jackson slammed his hand on her desk in frustration. “That’s just great. We finally get him home, and we can’t even show that we’re glad.”

“Oh, come on, Jackson. Showing you were glad would have been having grilled steaks and banana pudding. You bought him an SUV—”

“Which he needed.”

“Hired a staff to coddle him.”

“He needs physical therapy! And the masseuse!”

“Installed a hospital bed.”

Jackson deflated a bit. “That might have been overkill, but I didn’t know.”

“Plus, you and the twins have a career all ready for him to slide into.”

“No. That’s Gabe and Rafe’s idea. They want him to get in the rough stock business. I want him to go to law school.”

“Look, Jackson. You mean well. You all do. But he just wants a little breathing room and some time to figure things out.”

Jackson collapsed back in the chair. “Why can’t he do that at Beauford Bend? And why did he drive that catering van over here instead of the Porsche I bought him?”

“You’re a smart man. I’m going to let you ponder that yourself. Or ask Emory. I wager she tried to tell you.”

“Well …”

“I thought so.”

Jackson sat forward. “Christian, was he mad when he said he wanted to stay here? Do you think he was just in a temper and will wake up with a changed mind?”

Again, it would have been easy to say maybe, but she knew better.

“I don’t think so, Jackson. I think he meant it.”

He picked up a pen and toyed with it. “I don’t suppose you’d tell him he has to leave, would you?”

She could have laughed out loud.
Her?
Tell Beau Beauford no? Not likely.

“Do you honestly think that would do any good? Do think he wouldn’t just run off to Nashville? Or Canada?”

Jackson frowned. “Why Canada? What’s going on in Canada?”

Lord love a duck. How had this man achieved his level of success, much less gotten the beautiful, brilliant Emory to marry him and become impregnated with his child?

“Nothing is going on in Canada. It’s just an example. The real question is do you want him to leave Beauford?”

“No.” He rubbed the place between his eyes.

“Then leave him alone. Don’t try to make him come back to Beauford Bend. He’ll come back when he’s ready.”

“Do you think he means to have nothing to do with us? Not even spend Christmas with us?”

“No. I don’t think that. I think he just doesn’t want a Porsche and a hospital bed. Besides, I’m having Christmas with y’all. It’s either go to Beauford Bend or be alone.”

Jackson opened his mouth to speak, but a quick knock on the door interrupted his thought, and Dirk Thornton stepped through.

“Christian.” He nodded in her direction before turning attention to Jackson. “Come on, Jackson. Leave Beau alone. I told you.”

“Who’s paying who?” Jackson asked. But they were idle words. Dirk and Gwen were like family.

“I’m doing what you pay me for. Gwen needs the van to make a grocery run, so Sammy came over with me to take it back. I’ll follow you in my truck.”

“That’ll leave Beau with no vehicle at all,” Jackson said.

“I guess he should have thought about that.”

But Christian knew he wouldn’t care. If she had a car, he had a car.

His third morning at Firefly Hall, Beau slept until almost ten o’clock, which was the earliest he’d been awake since going to stay there.

Though he kept meaning to, he had not been back to Beauford Bend. Gabe had driven him to physical therapy two days ago, and that night he’d met the whole family for dinner at Mill Time. Yesterday Rafe had taken him to Nashville, where he’d bought a used Jeep. Jackson had been by a couple of times, but everyone was very careful not to ask when he was coming home, let alone what he intended to do with the rest of his life.

But that didn’t stop him from asking himself. Like it or not, he couldn’t do the only thing he knew how to do, and the day was coming when he had to earn a living. He wasn’t actually opposed to going to college, or wouldn’t be if it could be a means to an end, but he didn’t know what that end was. At twenty-eight, one did not go to college to date sorority girls and go to ballgames. He could see it now.

“So Sgt. Beauford,” the guidance counselor would say, “what are you interested in? What do you like to do?” Except she wouldn’t call him sergeant. Probably. Unless he asked her to. People usually did what he asked them to. Especially women.

“I like to kill bad guys who threaten the security and welfare of this country and its citizens. Do you have a major in that?”

“Uh. Well. No. How about accounting or chemical engineering?”

Good thing he didn’t have to decide now. Nobody made decisions during the holidays. It was practically the law of the land. It started around the second week of November.
We’re going to put that on hold until after the holidays. We’re going to wait until after the first of the year and see how things look. Let me get through Christmas and I’ll give it some thought.

Maybe he owed it to Jackson to go to law school; maybe it was the price he should pay for what he’d done his senior year. He’d known all along he wasn’t going to Vandy, but he’d stayed quiet and let Jackson go right ahead and make plans, pay fees, and reserve a dorm room. Manning up at eighteen was hard, but Beau hadn’t even tried. He’d just quietly done his research, packed his bag, and asked Dirk to drive him to the bus station. At first, Dirk had refused, but after Beau had laid out his reasons one by one, Dirk had agreed. Beau didn’t even like to think about what Dirk must have gone through when he’d gone to that graduation party and told Jackson what Beau had done. But by then, Beau had been safe in the arms of Uncle Sam, and there was nothing that even Jackson Beauford could do about it—not that he hadn’t tried. Jackson wasn’t as big then as he was now, but he’d still had plenty of money and plenty of star power. But the United States Army had not been impressed with any of that. Beau was eighteen years old, and as far as they were concerned, the matter was closed.

 He tried to swing around to sit on the side of the bed, but stopped short and lay back again with a groan. He couldn’t get out of bed like a normal person anymore. At least not yet. He rolled over on his side and gingerly got to his feet. The room was nice, though he’d like it better if not for the decorations—green stuff and ornaments around the windows, stockings on the mantel, Christmas tree needlepoint pillows on the chairs. There was no end to it. He wondered when Christian undecorated. The sooner the better. He’d help her. Now, that would be a pleasure.

 Christian had moved him in here after that first night. Moon Glow, she called it. He hadn’t lived in this much luxury since two years ago when that model whose name he couldn’t remember had invited him to her house in Hawaii for some R & R. She was a looker for sure, but in the end not worth it. Talk about a high maintenance woman.

He went to the mini fridge for the glass pint bottle of Sassy Cow chocolate milk that he knew would be there. It was one of the things he’d missed about home. He loved chocolate milk, and there was none better in the world than that from the local artisan dairy. It was expensive, but his mother used to sometimes buy it for him for a special treat. He was surprised that Christian put it in the guest rooms at Firefly Hall. She must be doing really well. He ate a banana from the fruit basket, pulled on a pair of sweat pants and a T-shirt, and brushed his teeth. He’d shower later. As of this morning, Firefly Hall was closed, so there would be no guests. Of course, that meant Christian had let the staff off, so there would be no JoNelle to make him a ham and mushroom omelet and cheese grits, either. Too bad, but he could manage scrambled eggs.

He made his way down the hall barefoot, but stopped short. Was that crying? It couldn’t be. Christian was the only other person in the house, and she wasn’t given to hysteria. He moved closer to the wall and crept along until he had a view of the parlor.

He couldn’t believe it. Christian sat on the pink velvet settee with her back to him, but there was no question. She was sobbing like the world was ending. The sight was disconcerting. Had he ever seen her cry? Surely, when they were children. He searched his memory. No. Not when her pony died, not when she sprained her ankle playing a junior varsity basketball tournament, not at his Aunt Amelia’s funeral—and Christian had loved her. Beau had been engaged in a deep cover mission when Christian’s father had died, but she hadn’t cried when he’d talked to her two weeks later.

If this had been one of the Beauford Bend women, he would have blamed it on Christmas. They had all been pretty tense at dinner the other night. Something about a Yule log—whatever that was—that hadn’t arrived and some hard-to-find doll that Abby was determined the twins have. But this was Christian, and she wasn’t one to get out of sorts. Something terrible must have happened. Though he abandoned his intent to move quietly, she still didn’t look up when he stood over her. She just sat there holding a wooden box on her lap and sobbing.

“Christian.” Beau laid a hand on her shoulder, and she slowly raised her face to his. She looked good in buff-colored riding pants and English riding boots, with her hair in a braid. But he could tell she hadn’t been riding. She was too neat. Unless he missed his guess, she’d been crying for a while.