by Penny Reid
Beard Necessities
Winston Brothers Book #7
Penny Reid
www.pennyreid.ninja/newsletter/
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, rants, facts, contrivances, and incidents are either the product of the author’s questionable imagination or are used factitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead or undead, events, locales is entirely coincidental if not somewhat disturbing/concerning.
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Copyright © 2019 by Penny Reid; All rights reserved.
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No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, photographed, instagrammed, tweeted, twittered, twatted, tumbled, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without explicit written permission from the author.
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Made in the United States of America
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eBook Edition
Dedication
For all the little Scarlets everywhere
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Epilogue
Author’s Note
About the Author
Sneak Peek: Engagement and Espionage, Handcrafted Mysteries Book #1
Other books by Penny Reid
Prologue
*Cletus*
“Happiness is having a large, loving, caring, close-knit family in another city.”
George Burns
“Someone want to tell me what’s going on?”
I gave my youngest brother’s hand a pat where it rested on the covers of his hospital bed, checking the watch on my wrist. Jethro was late.
“All will be revealed, Roscoe. All will be revealed,” I assured, assuredly. Poor kid, they’d made him shave his beard. The youngest of us seven kids, his chronological age was twenty-six, but he looked like a ten-year-old.
He should’ve let me shave a design in his stubble, it would’ve impressed the nurses. Next time. While he’s asleep.
“It better be revealed, Cletus.” This threat came from Duane, one-half of our twin brothers and number six in our family. Beau, the other twin, had been born first, which made him number five. Duane was the grumpy one, that was his role. “I have a plane to catch. Jessica’s due date is tomorrow.”
“We’re all aware of your progeny’s ETA, Duane.” I gentled my voice despite his terse tone. “Once everyone gets here, we’ll get started.”
I shared a quick glance with Beau, who was no help. He seemed to find his twin brother’s anxiety endlessly entertaining. Beau was the only other person who knew why I’d called the meeting. I’d filled him in on the particulars last week, needing an accomplice. It might be a shock, but my family didn’t always recognize the superiority of my stratagems, and you know something is a winner if it’s made up of the words “strata” and “gems.”
Plus, everyone liked Beau. He was the obvious choice for coconspirator.
That said, Duane’s present surly nervousness was for good reason. His partner in travels, life, and in matrimony, Ms. Jessica James-Winston, was forty weeks pregnant with their first child. Now, if she’d been an elephant, she’d have another fifty-five weeks to go. But she was not an elephant.
She was the local sheriff’s daughter and a sweet girl, although she could be a real sassy-britches from time to time. Duane was only here with us on account of Roscoe almost dying a few weeks ago (Don’t panic! He’s out of the woods now.)
Meanwhile, Jessica was living out her last pregnant days in Tuscany (Italy) with her parents, waiting for the arrival of Duane Jr., or Jessica Jr., or whatever they were planning to call the baby.
Speaking of which, “Hey, Duane.”
“Yeah?”
“What’re you naming that baby?”
Our sister, number four and the only girl in our brood, made a soft sound; I interpreted it to be of the reprimanding kind. “Cletus Byron Winston, stop asking Duane what they’re going to name the baby. Let him have his secrets.”
I lifted an eyebrow at my sister’s pretty face and she in turn lifted an eyebrow at me. We were close in age, Ashley and I, since she was the next to be born after I graced the world with my magnanimous presence. This made me lucky number three in the family. That’s right, the number three is lucky. It’s a well-established fact of the universe. Everyone knows it.
“I’m here!”
Like synchronized swimmers pivoting in unison, we all lifted our heads and attention to the door, watching as Jethro made his entrance.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said, his brown beard and hair a fright. “I had to change my clothes. Andy had diarrhea, and—”
I lifted a hand, stopping our oldest brother—number one—from continuing with his tale of number two (where the “number two” is poop).
“Jethro, I think we’ll all live a complete life never knowing why your son having diarrhea has any bearing on your tardiness.”
Jethro sighed, crossing his arms and giving me what he probably thought was an irritated look. It was not. I suspected my oldest brother’s face wasn’t actually capable of arranging itself into a frown.
“Wait. What about Billy?” Duane asked about the only Winston sibling missing from our assemblage. “Where’s Billy?” The grumpy twin scratched his neatly trimmed red beard, glancing between me and Jethro.
Well, here goes nothing.
I stepped forward. Everyone turned their eyes to me. Even though I was the shortest of my brothers—at a mere six feet—I had the biggest presence when I so chose.
“I’m glad you asked, Duane. Jethro.” I motioned to the door my oldest brother had just run through. “Will you shut that, please? I’ll be touching on sensitive information, and I’d prefer if these earth-shattering revelations didn’t leave this room.”
Ashley’s blue eyes narrowed, and she crossed to stand next to Roscoe, threading her fingers into the dark hair at his temples. “Hold on now. Earth-shattering? This isn’t going to agitate Roscoe, is it?”
“No, Ash. It’s not that kind of earth-shattering,” I said, but then my eyes moved up and to the right. “Well, I don’t think it’s that kind of earth-shattering.”
“Cletus,” Beau said, right on cue. A small smile hovered on his lips and twinkled behind his eyes, which is to say he was looking at me with his normal expression. “Do you want me to start?”
Now everyone was splitting their attention between Beau and me, and I took a level of satisfaction in their confused visages. I’ve always enjoyed a good twist—both the dance and the plot variety.
“Go right ahead, Beau.” I took a step back, lifting my hand in a the floor is yours gesture.
When we’d rehearsed earlier, we decided it would be best for Beau to cut in and for me to cede to him. Like I mentioned earlier, everyone liked Beau. Whereas, for some reason, my siblings weren’t as automatically accepting of my motivations as pristine. Obviously, they all had unfounded trust issues.
Beau stepped away from the wall, his smile growing both wider and yet more thoughtful. “Cletus and I asked y’all here because of
Billy. I know we touched on it last week, just before the Paytons stopped by, but I think we all need to come together and decide on a plan.”
“What kind of plan?” This question came from Roscoe.
“Well, we’re mighty worried about him,” Beau said, then paused, waited, gave our family a chance to ask why we were worried about Billy. But, as I suspected, no one appeared to be confused regarding the origins of our concern.
Ashley brought her fingers to her forehead. “I can’t believe Billy is doing this. I can’t believe he’s putting himself through this. The first time was more than enough, but twice?”
The this to which Ashley referred was bone marrow donation. Our second oldest brother had volunteered to donate his bone marrow to our despicable father, Darrell Winston. Ever since we discovered Billy’s plan, we’d all been in various states and stages of shock and dismay. Billy had already gone through with the procedure once and was now scheduled for a second round. Our father would die without it.
“You know why Billy is doing it.” Roscoe turned his hand palm up, nudged Ashley’s leg, drawing her eyes to his.
A small laugh escaped her. “Actually, no. I don’t understand. I don’t get it. Hasn’t Billy been through enough?”
“But if Darrell is dead, he can’t testify against Razor Dennings. And if Darrell doesn’t testify against Razor Dennings, then the only charges that bastard will face are the attempted murders of Roscoe and Simone,” Jethro said, sounding nearly as frustrated as I felt about the whole situation.
“I get it.” Duane pushed himself away from the wall. “I hate it, but I get why Billy is doing it. Razor killed twenty-four people. That’s twenty-four families who won’t get justice if Darrell dies of cancer.”
Ashley rained down upon Duane and Jethro a thunderous frown that would’ve frightened birds, had there been any in Roscoe’s hospital room.
Clearly mad as hell, she crossed her arms. “When does it end, though? Hmm? When will Billy stop being the sacrificial lamb for this family? For this town? He’s not well! He’s sick, and worn down, and dammit, he’s given up more than any of us—time and time again. We can’t keep expecting him to shoulder every single burden.”
“I agree,” Roscoe said quietly, closing his eyes.
“Are you agitated, Roscoe?” I was quick to ask, examining him carefully. “Is this too much for you? Should we stop?”
“No. I’m fine.” He didn’t open his eyes. “I’m glad we’re talking about this, and I agree with Ash. Billy deserves better.”
“He shouldn’t have to donate bone marrow to the man who put him in the hospital when he was only twelve, who nearly killed him and beat our momma,” Ashley ranted, jabbing her finger through the air at some invisible foe; impressively, her volume never rose above hospital-appropriate yet communicated the full weight of her ire. “He kept us safe. He looked after us. Billy deserves happiness. He deserves more than this.”
“Well said, Ash.” I stepped forward, because now it was my turn. “Well said. And that’s an excellent segue to the real reason we’ve assembled y’all. It’s time we discussed Claire.”
“This isn’t about Billy?” Jethro looked to Beau.
“This is about Billy,” Beau confirmed, and then added gently, “But it’s about Claire too.”
Jethro seemed to stand straighter, his eyes widening. “What?”
“Yes. Claire.” I lifted my voice, wanting his undivided attention. “And you aren’t going to like it.”
Jethro—and everyone else for that matter save Roscoe, because his eyes were still closed—shifted their gaze to me, then to Beau, then back to me.
“And here’s where the earth-shattering part comes in, Jet.” I paused, drawing out the moment, not sure if I was stalling or savoring.
Our brothers, Billy and Jethro, hadn’t been on the best of terms for over two decades. The last few years had brought a fragile cease-fire—at first for our momma’s sake, and for the sake of Roscoe, the twins, Ashley, and me—but they’d never reached a true peace, with themselves, with each other. I didn’t know if it was possible to repair a relationship as broken as theirs, or if they’d just keep on coexisting. Time would ultimately tell.
But back to now and my half-stalling, half-savoring dramatic pause. On the one hand, I felt remorse at having to be the one to break it to Jethro that his (heroic and dead) best friend’s widow had always been in love with our brother Billy. On the other hand, I relished getting to be the one to inform Jethro that his (idiotic and dead) best friend’s widow had always been in love with our brother Billy.
Don’t get me wrong, Ben McClure had been a fine man, but he’d also been as clueless as a pirate wearing two eye patches. I don’t think the man had a purposefully mean bone in his body, but he had several ignorant, arrogant, and pretentious ones, that’s for sure.
Sitting in my fine stew of remorse and relish, I soldiered on. “Thing is, Claire—before we knew about Beau and Duane’s biological momma being Christine and Claire being the twins’ half-sister, before Claire’s illustrious singing career, before Ben died, before she and Ben returned to town, before they got married, before she changed her name from Scarlet to Claire, before she fled Green Valley, before all of that—Claire and Billy were secretly in love.”
A collective shock rippled through the room. Even Roscoe gasped, his eyes flying open. That is, each inhabitant in the room save Beau and I gasped. He’d gasped last week when I’d told him the truth, but he was pleased about it now.
Jethro’s shock was short-lived, however, and soon morphed into irritation. “What the—”
“Now wait, Jethro, wait. I know it’ll be hard for you to accept that Ben and Claire weren’t the model of matrimonial perfection, seeing as how you’ve placed him on that pedestal for the last ten years—and she has too—but I have proof. If you need it. It’s true as I am standing here. Billy and Claire have been pining for each other for going on eighteen years now, I reckon.”
You know how I said earlier that Jethro never really frowned? Well, I’m big enough of a person to admit when I’ve made an error, however rarely it occurs. Jethro was most certainly frowning now.
“This is ridiculous, Cletus. I asked her about this once and she said it was nothing, nothing happened. Scarlet—I mean, Claire—she was with Ben. She was always with Ben. She was never with Billy.”
“You are incorrect, and like I said, I have proof. But rest assured, the-country-music-star-formerly-known-as-Scarlet was very much with Billy, and they are still very much in love with each other.”
Jethro’s hands lifted to his waist. “Why are you doing this? Billy and I, we’ve gotten to a place where we don’t fight every time we’re in the same room. If what you’re saying is true, you’re telling me Claire loved Billy—wanted to be with Billy—while she was married to Ben? She wouldn’t do that, and Ben never would’ve married her if she’d wanted someone else. Her happiness was all that mattered to him.”
I opened my mouth, prepared to lay out the truth carpet about Ben McClure, which was that the man was too dense to notice what made Claire happy and too self-absorbed to comprehend that his happiness did not automatically equate to her happiness.
But before I could speak, Beau stepped forward, placing his hand on Jethro’s shoulder and giving our brother a kind smile. “The dead can never be viewed as they truly were, as full-fledged, thinking, three-dimensional people, Jethro. With both flaws and strengths. In retrospect, they’re either saints or sinners. I get that. To you, Ben was a saint.”
Jethro’s throat seemed to work, and he turned back to me. “You’re wrong about Claire. She loved Ben. I was there when she found out he died; she was devastated.”
I slid my hands into my overall pockets, nodding somberly. “She might’ve loved the man, in a way, but I am right about Claire. She loved Billy before Ben, she loved Billy when Ben died, she loves Billy now. And you should just accept I’m right because I’m always right. But this isn’t about my truth-bat
ting percentage.”
My oldest brother kept shaking his head, huffing a harsh sounding laugh.
We didn’t have all the time in the world to convince Jethro, so I decided to get to the point. “Believe it or not, this isn’t about Ben. Ben was an adequate human, and I know you still miss your friend, but Billy is alive and he’s your brother. Billy deserves happiness, as does Claire. But these two idiots, they’re too stubborn and noble to climb over the messy mountain of regret and secrets they’ve built between each other. So, as folks who love them both, it falls on us—all of us—to make the magic happen.”
Jethro bit the inside of his lip, inspecting me, his gaze shuttered. Clearly, he still didn’t believe me.
Without looking away from Jet, I sighed and called to Mr. Grumpypants, “Duane. Tell us about that cabin you and Billy built, on that high, flat stretch of land in the woods.”
Jethro blinked, rearing back a little.
“Well, uh, only Billy and I were supposed to know about it. We built it a few summers before Momma died. It used to be a campsite of some sort, I think.”
“And please enlighten the assemblage, Duane, what did Billy tell you about it?” I asked, all the while watching my oldest brother.
“Billy said it was a sacred space for him. Something about, uh, a place he went when he wanted to remember a time and a person he loved and missed.”
