by Penny Reid
I knew for a fact Jethro was acquainted with this particular high, flat stretch of land in the woods. I knew he’d been the one to show it to a fourteen-year-old Scarlet (aka Claire) as a safe place she could stay, away from Razor, Scarlet’s father, and Christine, her neglectful and hateful mother.
But what Jethro didn’t know was that Billy had found Scarlet in the woods behind our house in that very spot. Or rather, they’d found each other.
My oldest brother was no longer frowning. A crack had formed in his granite exterior, confusion sliding over his features. Jet had stepped in to help Scarlet almost twenty years ago, and in doing so he’d unintentionally been the one to bring her and Billy together.
I took advantage of him being off-kilter to drop another truth bomb. “Did you ever question the timing of Billy’s injuries? That the Iron Wraiths put him in the hospital the very night Scarlet ran away with Ben? And did it ever occur to you as strange that Razor Dennings let his daughter leave Green Valley without any retribution? Even when she returned, engaged to Ben at eighteen, neither Razor nor Darrell nor any of their motorcycle club brothers came after her. Why do you think that is?”
Jethro’s gaze sharpened, his lips parting. “Are you—but, wait. It wasn’t because of Ben? I thought the Wraiths steered clear of Scarlet because she was with Ben, that’s what he always told me. Are you saying it was—”
“Yes,” I confirmed, breaking my promise to keep a secret I’d held sacred for eighteen years. I’d kept it because Billy had asked, but I was through keeping this secret. The time had come. “Billy took Scarlet’s punishment. That’s why the Iron Wraiths beat him senseless when he was sixteen. Ben had nothing to do with Scarlet being safe other than his aunt and uncle giving her a home. But she could’ve gone to California instead and been just fine. She did not need him.”
Jethro seemed to sway, absorbing this information, his eyes falling to the ground.
Meanwhile, Ashley had covered her mouth, and Roscoe said, “Y’all told me Billy was in a car accident. You never told me the Wraiths beat the hell out of him.”
“That’s what we were told too,” Duane grumbled, sending me his special brand of stink eye.
“Don’t give me that look, Duane Faulkner. They killed my dog when they took Billy; remember Lea? Momma made the decision not to tell you, Ashley, Beau, or Roscoe, and I wasn’t in a state of mind to contradict. Plus, Momma never knew why the Wraiths beat up Billy. Only Billy, Ben, and I knew—no one else.”
“Wait. Ben knew?” Jethro’s voice cracked and he took a step forward, visibly distressed. “Ben knew Billy took Scarlet’s punishment? He knew the whole time?”
I nodded but didn’t elaborate; we needed to stay on topic. “Since Sheriff James couldn’t get Billy to talk or tell him who the guilty parties were, his office neither confirmed nor denied the rumors about it being a car accident. And so here we are.”
“I’m so sorry about your dog, Cletus. Lea was such a sweet girl.” Ashley’s soft voice drew my attention. Her blue eyes shone with unshed tears. “And I knew it wasn’t a car accident, because where was the car? I figured it was our father’s motorcycle club brothers, mostly on account of how much Billy hated them after. He’d never really hated the Iron Wraiths until he came back from the rehab center, just sorta tolerated them. But I didn’t know they beat on him because of Claire.”
“Does she know?” Jethro asked, no longer looking irritated, but now enormously remorseful.
I grunted, irritated. The point of this hadn’t been to make Jethro feel guilty all over again. Jethro didn’t have anything to do with Billy landing in the hospital at sixteen, but he’d been an Iron Wraiths recruit at the time, and I’m sure he was feeling renewed shame due to past association.
I recognized how hard it had been for Jethro to turn his life around, to turn his back on the motorcycle club and our father and return to our family as the prodigal son. Being right and doing right and staying the narrow course means never knowing the fragile line between humility and humiliation, never knowing how difficult it is to ask for forgiveness, never understanding the pain of forgiveness withheld.
But admitting wrong and working every day of your life to make up for it takes bravery, persistence, and a rare strength of character. I loved Jethro, I loved Billy, and I respected the hell out of them both: Billy for always staying the narrow course; Jethro for straying but clawing and fighting to find his way back.
“Cletus?” Jethro prompted again. “Does Claire know what Billy did for her?”
“No. She doesn’t. He didn’t want her to know.”
“Why not?” Duane thundered. “What the hell is wrong with him? He should’ve told her first thing, as soon as he could. He lost his chance at playing college ball, he lost his chance to go to college, he lost everything.”
“He didn’t lose everything. He still has all his teeth, doesn’t he? Don’t underestimate the value of teeth. And never mind why he didn’t tell her, though I have my suspicions,” I said, lifting my hands to the straps of my overalls and hooking my thumbs around them. “She’s gunna know soon, ’cause I’m telling her. But first, we need to talk strategy.”
“Strategy?” Roscoe asked, drawing my attention, and I smiled at the mischievous look in my little brother’s eyes. “You want our help with strategy?”
“More like,” Beau cut in, “he wants our help putting his plan into motion.”
“I see.” Ashley lifted her chin, inspecting me but looking more interested than wary. A good sign. “Well, out with it. What’s the plan?”
“Before I tell y’all, I need to know everyone is on board.” I sent Jethro a pointed look. “I can’t do this, it’s not going to work, if everyone isn’t fully committed. You all have a part to play, your significant others do too. It’ll be a family effort.”
Jethro met my gaze squarely, showing me his palms. “Believe it or not, I just want them to be happy. Both of them. They’re the best people I know, and if being with each other means they’re happy . . .” I watched as he gathered a slow, deep breath, shrugging and saying on the exhale, “Count me in.”
“Good. That’s settled.” Duane took another step toward the center of the room. “So what’s the plan?” he asked, sounding curious instead of surly.
I smiled just slightly, unable to help myself, and said, “You know the old saying, You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink? Well, it’s true. You can’t force it, unless you feed it salt, or . . .” My slight smile grew. “Unless you drown the horse.”
Chapter One
*Claire*
“You’ll never be able to find yourself if you’re lost in someone else.”
Colleen Hoover, November 9
The early bird is never a friend to the night owl. At present, I was both.
Yawning behind my hand, I strained my ears, trying to figure out who owned the murmuring voices just outside my door. I then reached for my phone on the night table and squinted at the clock. Just shy of 5:00 a.m.
Early bird indeed.
Adjusting to the time change between Nashville and Chianti had been slow going, this being my second week in Italy. Though it could’ve been my third. I’d lost track of the days recently as I’d been up and down in the middle of the night trying to help my half-brother Duane and his wife/my good friend Jessica with their brand-new baby.
Plus, you know, I was in Tuscany. Who needs to sleep in Tuscany? The correct answer to this question is virtually nobody. If one finds oneself lucky enough to be in Tuscany, one ought never to waste time sleeping.
A person’s time in Tuscany should be spent largely on three pursuits: wine drinking, food eating, and appreciating all the gorgeousness—including the art, views, and Italians. Unless the person in question was a new baby. Obviously, new babies shouldn’t be wine drinking.
You might as well get up and help take care of the world’s cutest infant.
Besides, it would give me some time to work on my early bird joke. Ev
eryone’s heard, The early bird gets the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese, right? Well, I felt like the word wormhole—associated with space travel and whatnot—was a missed opportunity for an early bird joke. Something like, Why’d the early bird end up in Alpha Centauri? Because he took a wrong turn at the wormhole.
. . . Blah. Needs work, Scarlet.
Stretching my arms over my head as I sat up, I didn’t bother to remind myself that my name hadn’t been Scarlet for the last sixteen years. For better or for worse, I usually still thought of myself as Scarlet, not Claire McClure. This was especially true when I was doing, or thinking, or had just said something foolish. Good thing no one could hear my internal thoughts other than me; I probably sounded like a loon.
The voices outside my door persisted, not growing louder, but not fading away either. Jess’s parents were here, Sheriff and Mrs. James, but I doubted either of them was up this early. Except, actually, maybe the Sheriff?
Jessica’s daddy arose early some mornings and held the baby after the 5:30 a.m. feeding. Claiming the little tyke, he’d watch the sunrise, and then made us all breakfast while holding baby Liam in a sling. Thank goodness for Sheriff and Mrs. James. They were the only ones here who had any experience with babies.
Soon, my long-time friend Jethro Winston and his awesome wife, Sienna Diaz, were scheduled to arrive in a week or so, maybe more, sometime in mid-June. In my present groggy state, I couldn’t remember.
At thirty-six, Jethro was the oldest brother in the Winston family. He and Sienna had been married some years—four maybe?—and they had three adorable little boys. I was both looking forward to and dreading all the youthful energy. On the one hand, those kids were hilarious and lethal levels of cute, having inherited an insane amount of charisma and good looks from both their momma and their daddy.
On the other hand, I hadn’t been sleeping much, and I didn’t know if I had the energy to be jet-lagged, a night nurse for baby William Beauford Winston (but they call him Liam), and run around with Jethro’s mischievous children all day. But truth be told? I was looking forward to finding out.
In my opinion, there was no such thing as too much family, especially when you grew up with none fit to speak of.
“He hasn’t eaten anything? Nothing at all?” Duane’s hushed questions carried into my room, palpable worry pitching his voice higher.
The worry had me ignoring the bathrobe lying on the bench at the foot of my bed and quick-walking to my door. Baby Liam ain’t eating? Does he have a fever? He seemed fine—absolutely perfect—when I left him at midnight with Jess.
“How about before he went to sleep? He didn’t eat anything?” Duane pressed, obviously agitated.
I’d just placed my hand on the door latch when I heard a whispered voice respond, “Not anything,” and I stopped short because I’d know that voice anywhere.
Sienna was here? Already?!
Wait, how long have I been in Italy?
I’d known Jethro and Sienna were flying over, but I could’ve sworn they weren’t due for another week. Closing my eyes, I reminded myself not to be a complete goofball around the movie star.
I don’t mean to brag, but I know the Oscar-winning movie star, writer, comedian, and brilliant woman, Sienna Diaz. We have a relationship. We tweet at each other. I’d even feel comfortable saying we’re friends. We’re also sorta family, though it’s not technically true. But that’s a long story of tangled secrets and hillbilly history. Better not get into that now.
As Duane’s adopted momma and Jethro’s biological momma, Bethany Winston, used to say, Best to leave farts and the past behind you. She might not have been my biggest fan when she died, but I still remembered her fondly.
Moving on. Shaking myself of pointless nerves, I squared my shoulders and opened the door. To my surprise, the hall was empty.
But then I heard Duane grumble, “He needs to eat,” his words coming from somewhere around the corner.
I marched toward his voice, though marching on the ceramic tile was silent ’cause my feet were bare. Also, I was tiptoeing more than marching. But I planned to clear my throat and alert them all to my presence just as soon as I could do so gracefully. The trio were walking slowly down the hall—Duane, Sienna, and Jethro—huddled together. My half-brother’s red head, his hair the exact color as mine, was bowed, his arms were crossed, and his shoulders were slumped. His beard unkempt and bushy, Duane had been looking exhausted for a while now.
“Yes, but he just went to sleep.” Sienna—gorgeous as always in Converse, black yoga pants, and a purple sweater with a wide neck falling off one shoulder—tossed her long, dark brown hair over her shoulder and lifted her hand toward the door at the far end of the hall.
It was one of the two huge guest suites on this level, mine being the other one. The room was already prepped and waiting for more family to arrive. So, not the nursery and not the room Jess, Duane, and baby Liam had been sharing since coming home from the hospital.
“Let him sleep first,” Sienna continued, turning as though to block the way, her brown eyes moving between Jethro and Duane as all three of them came to a stop.
Jethro shoved his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. “I agree with Duane. He needs food more than he needs sleep. He slept the whole way on the plane. Ashley said she couldn’t get him to eat before he left. He’s not well, he didn’t say two words to anyone.”
Sienna gave her husband a sympathetic smile. “Jet, my love, we can’t judge your brother’s mental or physical state based on how much or little he speaks. Billy doesn’t say two words to you on a good day.”
My feet stalled, and I stopped like I’d hit an invisible wall. A massive burst of adrenaline made everything inside me go haywire.
. . . Billy?!
I gasped, or my breath caught, or I must’ve made some sort of sound, because all three pairs of eyes swung toward me.
“Claire!” Sienna loud-whispered. “Sorry. We didn’t mean to wake you.”
“I—” I couldn’t think.
Everything was garbled. Billy is here? But—but he wasn’t supposed to come! I was told he wasn’t coming. He was too busy, didn’t want to leave his youngest brother still recovering in the hospital, couldn’t take the time off. I’d been told he wouldn’t be here and now he was here, and I didn’t know if I was ecstatic or terrified, and Jethro and Sienna were in front of me, pulling me into hugs.
“It’s so good to see you,” Jethro said. I registered he held me by the arms and gave me a wide smile.
“Sorry again if we woke you.” Sienna tossed her thumb over her shoulder. “The boys are downstairs already in bed. They were asleep when we arrived, so we’re going to let them rest until noon. I brought Maya, my sister—I don’t think you’ve met her? Maybe at the wedding?—well, I brought her along to help out with watching the boys. As soon as they see you’re here, they’ll want to play.”
I heard my friend’s words, peripherally comprehended them, but my mind was stuck in the quicksand realization that Billy Winston was here.
Now.
In this house.
In fact, he was probably behind the door to which Sienna had just casually gestured. So close.
And I was not prepared.
I’m never prepared for Billy Winston.
The last time we’d seen each other was Christmas, and before that it had been four years of no contact at all. I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him since Christmas and—Who am I kidding? Since I was fourteen, Billy Winston had never been far from my mind.
Things were different. I was different. Over the last six months, I’d started working through my issues, working on myself, talking to a psychiatrist about the danger of shame and how I’d allowed it to make so many decisions for me. For the first time in ten years, I’d considered reaching out, calling Billy, talking through things.
I hadn’t reached out, partly because I wasn’t ready, and partly because—after leaving him standing in the snow—I was
n’t sure he’d want to hear from me. And even if he did, so many years of history, hurt feelings, angry words, and secrets stood between us. I didn’t know how to disarm the minefield.
But now he was here, and so was I.
“Maybe Claire can help.” Duane moseyed forward and I met my brother’s gaze.
“Help?” I squawked.
“With Billy?” Jethro glanced between me and Duane, his forehead wrinkling.
“That’s a good idea,” Sienna said around a yawn and my eyes darted to hers. If she noticed my inner turmoil, she made no sign of it. “He might eat if Claire asks. She’s difficult to refuse.”
“What? Help? Difficult?” I tried crossing my arms, but that felt weird. So I grabbed the hem of my white cotton nightgown at my thighs instead. “Uh, help with what?”
“Billy won’t eat,” Duane said plainly. “And he don’t look right, green and pale. And thin.”
“He’s real thin, right?” Jethro shifted his weight back and forth, like Billy’s thinness made him restless. “I mean, thin for Billy. And he’s got dark circles under his eyes. He looks almost as bad as he did when he was in that rehab center, in high school.”
I didn’t know much about Billy’s time in the rehabilitation facility during high school, I was long gone from our hometown by then. Folks said he’d broken his legs and a few other bones in some car accident and was in the hospital for months.
Concern for Billy’s present well-being focused my mind, cut through any anxiety and stomach flutters I had about coming face-to-face with my—
Well, my . . . It’s complicated.
“Does he have a fever? A cough? Have you called Ashley?” I asked rapid-fire. Ashley was the only Winston sister, a nurse, sweet as pie, and sharp as a whip.
“No. No fever. Nothing like that.” Sienna’s expression turned thoughtful. “Ashley was there at the airport along with Cletus, seeing us off. She was the one who told us to make sure Billy ate something on the plane.”
