Conceal

by Juliana Stone

  “Don’t you think I know that?” She snapped. “I live with him! I see what’s happening to him. I see it every fucking day. But you don’t get to talk about my father and his illness. You don’t get to be a part of this. Why don’t you just leave?”

  Betty jumped to her feet. She didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t want to discuss her father’s mental failings with a man she barely knew. A man who made her crazy. A man who could never understand the mess that was her life.

  “You’re hurt.”

  She’d already made it back to the path but Beau was there beside her, pushing past until she was forced to come to a stop.

  “What?” This night had gone on way too long. She was cold. Exhausted—mentally and physically—and she sure as hell wished Beau Simon would just disappear already.

  He pointed down and she followed the path of his fingers.

  Holy. Hell.

  She was a mess. Her dress was soaked through, pretty much showing everything. Everything. There was no mistaking the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra. Her nipples were hard and their darkness was right there in his face. Twin salutes. Her gaze traveled lower. Thank God, she’d decided to wear undies tonight—something she didn’t always do—the small triangle of white hid what should stay hidden from this man.

  But it was further down that drew her eyes.

  Her dress was ripped, a large gaping slash near her knee, and blood had soaked through.

  “Shit,” she said shakily.

  But Beau was on his knees before she could do anything, one hand on her hip holding her in place—and that was a good thing considering her body was at the point of falling apart. The other lifted the hem of her dress until her knee was exposed.

  “Hold this,” he said lifting the hem higher.

  Gingerly, Betty took the material from him, her eyes drawn to his long, tapered fingers as they gently probed the wound on her knee.

  She inhaled as pain shot up her leg and he glanced up.

  “Does it hurt?”

  She nodded but didn’t answer. She couldn’t.

  Her eyes were still on his fingers.

  Dark fingers against her pale skin. Dark, magical fingers that somehow had superpowers because, God, the way he was touching her…made the pain suddenly recede.

  She was aware that his hand on her hip gripped her a little harder. That maybe his breaths fell a little faster.

  That maybe the heat in his body was radiating out like he was a goddamn furnace, because suddenly Betty was hot. She was hot and bothered and so…hot.

  It was wrong. All of this was wrong.

  She wrenched her leg away, swearing under her breath as she stumbled back.

  Slowly, Beau got to his feet, the air between them thick with things that she didn’t understand.

  “You’ll probably need stitches,” he said after a few moments.

  “I need you to leave. To leave New Waterford.”

  He didn’t say anything to that. He just watched her with those eyes that made her feel small. Exposed.

  He opened his mouth to say something but she didn’t give him a chance. She was done. She was tired. She was sore.

  She was cranky as all hell and she had a bone to pick with her sister. At least that was something she understood. Her relationship with her sisters was complicated. It was complicated and volatile, but it was…home. It was familiar.

  Beau Simon, however? He was a complication she didn’t understand and Betty didn’t have the energy or the heart to deal with him right now.

  “Like you said, Beau. I’m a washed up has-been junkie-model with a reputation that would make a nun’s toes curl. So I can’t imagine what you want with me. But whatever it is? The answer is no.”

  She turned without another word and headed back up the path, listening for him to follow but there was nothing.

  And that didn’t surprise her at all.

  Chapter Six

  A LOUD BANGING brought Beau awake so fast he rolled over and fell out of bed onto his ass. Nice. Great way to start the day.

  Groggily, he shook his head. He didn’t feel hungover—this was good—and with a groan he opened his eyes and squinted.

  Sunlight streamed in from the window across the room, falling onto a bed that didn’t look familiar. With a curse, he got up and stretched his long arms above his head as the fog receded from his brain. He was staying at Logan Forest’s. The guesthouse above the garage.

  Right.

  The pounding didn’t abate and, naked, he glanced around until he spied his jeans draped over a chair near the window. Forgoing boxers, he pulled them on and trudged out into the main room. It was a large open concept area filled with dark wood and granite, and the artwork on the walls was intriguing. He’d noticed them the day before but hadn’t had time to study them closely.

  Apparently one of the Barker girls dated the artist and former occupant of the loft—Shane Gallagher, if he remembered correctly.

  Beau headed for the stairs, the pounding louder as he rounded the top step, taking them two at a time until he reached the main floor. He swung the door open and caught sight of long, dark hair, big blue eyes and a smile that was wide and welcoming.

  It was Billie. Logan’s fiancé.

  His gaze traveled down. A very pregnant Billie at that.

  “Good morning,” she said lightly, as if trying to catch her breath, one hand cradling her belly. She wore a thin T-shirt that said, HOCKEY OR NOTHING, and a pair of cotton shorts that showed off long, tanned legs.

  “Hey,” he answered, his voice still rough from sleep. “Thanks.”

  It was barely 8 a.m. and already sticky. He knew it was going to be another hot one, but with the sun shining and not a cloud in the sky it was hard not to enjoy it.

  Beau had always been a summer guy. Maybe growing up off the coast of Florida had something to do with it, but man, he loved the water. He had several boats he planned on putting to good use as soon as he joined his brother up north.

  There was nothing more relaxing than a boat, a cooler full of cold beer, a fishing rod, and the open water.

  Billie Jo tucked a long piece of hair behind her ear and motioned to the main house several yards away. “Logan makes one heck of a mean breakfast so if you want coffee and the best eggs around, you’re more than welcome to join us.”

  He liked her and smiled, his grin widening as she blushed. She was kind of irresistible. Logan Forest was a lucky son-of-a-bitch.

  “Sounds good.” He paused. “How’s your father?”

  Shadows fell into her eyes, so like Betty’s, and yet there were subtle differences. This triplet seemed to be warm and open whereas Betty…wasn’t. He’d met the other sister last night as well, Bobbi, and her boyfriend Shane.

  Bobbi was intense, but again, in an entirely different way from Betty. It was funny. The girls were triplets. Identical triplets which didn’t happen that often—more often than not triplets were fraternal—and though they looked alike, he could already spot the differences.

  “Dad’s good this morning. I went over to the house an hour ago just to make sure. He’s already up, puttering in his garden as if nothing happened last night.” Her eyes were sad. “It’s tough you know? He used to be so…different and now...” She sighed. “He’s so hard on Betty sometimes.”

  That got Beau’s attention but he didn’t press it. It really was none of his business.

  “I’ll just grab a shirt?”

  She nodded. “Okay, I’ll wait and see if I can do something about the folks gathered at the end of the driveway.”

  Beau peered around her and looked toward the road. He spied a few souls milling about, but nothing like he was used to. This he could handle.

  “Don’t bother. I’ll pose for a few pictures and sign a few autographs and they’ll go away.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. I’ll meet you up at the house.”

  She took a step back and paused, kicking at the ground with her toe
. “You’re not really what I expected you know.”

  Beau smiled. “I get that a lot.”

  She bit her lip and he cocked his head to the side. He got the feeling something else was on her mind. “Was there anything else?”

  “Can I be blunt?”

  Were the Barkers anything but? “Sure.”

  “Logan tried to tell me that you’re sticking around New Waterford for a few days because you’re scouting locations for a movie.”

  “And?”

  “I don’t believe him.”

  “You don’t.”

  She shook her head. “Nope. Logan is the worst liar I’ve ever met. He can’t look me in the eye and starts scratching the back of his neck.” She shrugged. “It’s a dead giveaway.”

  Beau had to give it to her. Billie Jo was smart. He’d told Logan the real reason he was sticking around—his need to convince Betty to read his script. Beau wanted it kept on the down low and Forest had been the one to suggest he was scouting locations if anyone asked.

  Beau smiled, a mega-watt deal that melted most women into puddles at his feet. He leaned against the doorframe. “So, darlin’, what are you trying to say?”

  She stared at him with a direct, clear gaze that made him a little bit uncomfortable. Seemed as if Betty wasn’t the only Barker unaffected by his charm.

  “I don’t know what it is exactly that you want with Betty, but she’s not in a real good place right now.”

  Beau was a little surprised at the concern. He’d made it back to the Barker house the night before in time to witness some harsh words between all three girls. Wasn’t anything new—Lord knows he and his brothers had scrapped many times—so he understood the sibling dynamic. It wasn’t always sweet and loving and supportive. It was hard and real and sometimes you had to dig through a lot of shit to get to the good stuff.

  Contrary to what Betty had inferred, the Simon’s weren’t different than any other family and Beau had seen his fair share of conflict within the ranks.

  Bobbi and Betty had gotten into it, Betty blaming her sister for the events of the night. And when Billie had tried to intervene, Betty had shot her down with such cold anger that it shut everyone up. There was something between those two girls—Betty and Billie—that went above and beyond what had just happened with their father.

  There had been no apology. There had been nothing.

  Beau had left, uncomfortable observing family drama that had nothing to do with him.

  “I’m not here to cause problems if that’s what you’re asking. I just need to talk to her about something and then I’m outta here. Meeting up with my brother in Canada.”

  “Okay,” she said with a smile. “Good. I don’t think she can handle anything…hard, right now.”

  “That’s nice,” he said softly.

  Billie arched an eyebrow and took a step back. “Nice?”

  “Nice that you’re looking out for your sister. Betty doesn’t exactly seem to be your biggest fan.”

  If Billie was surprised at his blunt appraisal, she didn’t show it. She shrugged, though the light seemed to dim in her eyes a bit.

  “Was it that obvious?”

  She sighed at his nod.

  “We have our issues and sure she can be a total bitch, but Betty is still my sister. I guess it’s true what they say,” she half smiled. “Blood is blood no matter what.” She cleared her throat. “Anyway, enough about the Barkers. Come up to the house when you’re ready.”

  “Sounds good.” He paused, eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “I don’t suppose this is a family breakfast?”

  “Is that your way of asking if Betty’s coming?”

  “I guess it is.”

  Billie shook her head. “Nope. Betty works at the Grill on Sundays and Bobbi and I take turns keeping an eye on Dad. Sorry. It’s just us and Weird.”

  “Weird?”

  “It’s a cat.”

  “A cat.”

  She nodded. “Yep. A one-eyed perverted feline named weird.”

  “You don’t say.”

  “It came with Logan so I didn’t have a say. Honestly, that little bag of bones creeps me out, but Logan loves the damn thing.”

  “Gotcha.” Beau arched an eyebrow. “So, The Grill?”

  “Yeah. She started bartending there about a month ago.”

  Beau didn’t reply at first, mostly because he was surprised as hell. Betty Jo Barker, bartending? In what universe did that happen?

  “You look surprised,” Billie said.

  “I am.”

  “Why?”

  “Betty Jo doesn’t seem to be the bartending type. I can’t imagine why she’d be slinging beer.”

  “Well, money is a good enough reason, isn’t it?”

  “Sure,” Beau answered without thinking. “But with her attitude, how in the hell does she make any?”

  Billie slowly grinned. “I don’t know. Why don’t you ask her?”

  Chapter Seven

  THE GRILL HAD been quiet for most of the afternoon with only a few regulars coming in for a cold beer and a plate of wings. Not surprising since it was Sunday and the sun was shining. It wouldn’t be busy until later on when the mixed baseball league came in after their games finished.

  Oh, joy.

  Betty sighed and leaned her elbows on the counter, stretching out her ankle in a bid to unwind the kink in her calf. Why the hell she thought it was a good idea to wear four-inch black heels to work wasn’t exactly clear to her now.

  Sure they looked fabulous paired with her short, denim shorts and black halter top but still…

  She was tired as hell—hadn’t slept much—and her mood was dark. This working for a living thing was starting to suck, and truthfully, she wasn’t all that good at it. She was pretty sure Duke had only hired her because Logan had put in a good word for her.

  And he had only done that because…well, she wasn’t exactly sure why he’d done it. She and Billie weren’t exactly on speaking terms these days.

  Still, she wasn’t stupid. She wasn’t the kind of woman to look a gift-horse in the mouth and toss it away. Even if that gift horse was a job slinging beer in a small bar in the small town that she hated.

  What she wouldn’t give to be lying on a beach in the South of France with that guitar player she’d hung out with a year ago. Who knows? She might still be there if the asshole hadn’t OD’d.

  His wife—an heiress from New York—had flown over from the States, the press had followed en masse, and Betty’s free ride had come to an abrupt end.

  “Hey, Gorgeous! Can we have another jug over here?”

  Betty scowled and glanced over to Jason Danvers. He winked and flexed his biceps.

  Seriously? She wouldn’t touch the guy with two ten-foot poles. Sure he was good looking. Nice body. Single. Had a good job. Didn’t live with his mother. He was even kind of nice.

  But he wasn’t her type.

  At all.

  Not that she had a type.

  But if she did, it certainly wouldn’t be someone like Jason, who was looking for something more permanent. A girlfriend. Maybe marriage. Kids.

  Ugh.

  She was definitely not interested in that.

  Nope.

  When her itch needed scratching she much rather preferred a guy who only wanted to get laid. A guy who wasn’t into holding hands and cuddling. A guy she could easily control.

  Betty Jo Barker was more of a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am, kind of girl. Not exactly the one to bring home to mother.

  And truthfully, she hadn’t felt the need for a good scratching in a long time, though she supposed that she was fine with that too. Sex was overrated.

  Severely overrated.

  God, she spent most of her time between the sheets moaning and writhing—her Oscar winning moves guaranteed to make the guy feel like a king. And Betty? Hell, she wasn’t even sure why she bothered except that sometimes…sometimes she needed that connection, even if she didn’t enjoy it.

  Somet
imes, the connection alone, the need to feel as if she mattered to someone—even when he was a nameless guy she would never see again—was enough.

  Most of the time, it wasn’t.

  She poured out the jug and took it over to the table, not even bothering to smile as she set it down. Jason didn’t seem to mind. He grinned up at her.

  “So, I hear you’re playing in the baseball tournament next weekend.”

  The throb behind her right eye intensified at the thought. How in the hell had Duke ever gotten her to agree to play?

  Oh. Right. She’d been drunk.

  And practically begging him for a job. No wonder she’d decided to quit drinking.

  She had to give it to him. Duke had circled her with cold, steely determination. He’d told her that she needed to get off the sauce. Then he’d told her that he would hire her even though he thought she’d make a crap bartender—which he’d been right about.

  And then he’d told her that he would only do that, if she agreed to play in New Waterford’s Fifth Annual Celebrity All Star Mixed Ball Tournament. The tournament had been started as a way to raise funds for expensive medical treatments for a local child who needed a heart transplant. Since then, it had grown and every year there was a new beneficiary.

  Good cause. Good times. Just not her thing.

  Duke was a smart man. He’d known that even though she sucked at bartending, she would still pull in business. She was, after all, an ex-Sports Illustrated Swimsuit cover model.

  An ex-Sports Illustrated Swimsuit cover model with a past more colorful than Joseph’s coat of many colors.

  He’d also known her name on the tournament flyer and website would boost ticket sales.

  But most of all, Duke had known that if she was drunk she was more likely to agree to anything, because everyone in the whole damn town knew she was almost broke.

  So, Betty Jo Barker was all signed up and ready to go.

  Betty glanced down at Jason. Had her life really come to this?

  Yes, it has, a voice whispered inside her head.