“Mom,” they said in unison.
Eden DuRocher-Simon stepped closer to the edge, her arms laden with large beach towels. “You better get out before you catch cold, you hear?” The soft southern drawl that rolled beneath her words warmed him and Beau climbed out behind Tucker and Jack. He accepted a towel and a hug from his mother.
“We had no idea you were coming,” he said, giving her a kiss on the cheek.
“Well darlin’, that’s because you never bothered to answer the phone or call me back.”
“I’m sorry,” Beau said, feeling like an ass. “I’ve had a lot going on and…” His voice trailed off because it was bullshit and his mother knew it.
“We’ll discuss it later,” she said, turning to Jack and Tucker. “Now, which one of you belongs to that woman sleeping in my bed?”
Beau couldn’t help but grin. He pointed to his brother. “Well, that would be Jack’s lady.”
“Really,” Eden slipped her arm through her oldest son’s as she led him back to the cottage. “She was a little rude when I woke her up and told her she was in the wrong bedroom.”
“Sorry, Mom,” Jack said smoothly.
“And what happened to that nice girl you were dating in the spring, Jack? She was real nice.”
Tucker leaned in close to Beau and whispered. “Now that one had real boobs. Big ones. Real soft.”
“Jesus, Tucker. Did you take a swipe at them when Jack wasn’t looking?”
Tucker snorted. “No, but Teague was home for a few weeks in March and he did.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I never kid about shit like that.”
Beau laughed and followed his brother up the dock toward the lake house.
They were almost to the stairs when Tucker paused and glanced over his shoulder. The lightness from moments ago was gone, and the grin on Beau’s face faded.
“I fell in love with Marley that second day and that’s no lie. It might sound crazy to you but it’s the stone cold truth. When you meet the real deal, you just know.” He thumped his chest, hard. “You feel it here and,” he touched his head, “you know it here. It’s like nothing made sense before that moment. Nothing else mattered. She looked up and smiled at me and I was gone.”
Beau nodded, but remained silent.
“The trick is realizing it when it happens. The challenge is nailing it down.” Tucker shook his head, his expression beseeching. “If you love this girl Beau, you need to tell her. You need to nail that shit down because if you don’t…if you let her fall away because you think it can’t be real if it’s so new, or because you’re worried what Mom or Jack thinks…you’re an idiot”
“You know I don’t give a damn what anyone thinks.”
“Good,” Tucker replied. “Because if she’s your shot at forever, don’t let her slip away. I lost my forever and I would pay any price to get her back. I’d sell my soul to the goddamn devil if it meant I could spend one more day with Marley. Life’s too short, brother, and none of us knows what’s around the corner. None of us knows when it all goes to shit.”
Tucker turned, disappeared up the steps, shoulders slumped, and Beau hated that tragedy had made his brother so goddamn smart.
Chapter Twenty-nine
A WEEK PASSED and life settled back into somewhat of a normal routine for Betty Jo. Oh there were still the odd paparazzi in town, hoping for a Betty/Beau reunion, but for the most part, they were harmless.
She couldn’t really count the dumbass who’d thought it would be a good idea to hide in the back garden—turned out the man was allergic to bees—and Gramps had to rush him to emergency after his face swelled up like a blowfish.
He left town the next day without a scoop, still swollen but with a new respect for beekeepers.
Abel was still in the hospital and doing well, improving every day, while his mother, Billie, had been released a few days after giving birth. She spent most of her time with her new son, shuffling back and forth between home and the hospital—Logan joining her when he could get away.
Bobbi held down the fort, keeping the hockey school running smoothly and Betty? Betty was dealing with a whole new set of problems.
First off, Matt went on a bender and she’d babysat him while he came around. His depression was getting out of hand but she knew he wasn’t going to get better until he accepted the fact that his father was never going to change. Until he overcame the fear inside him—until he wanted to be helped.
Pushing him didn’t work—she’d been there—it only managed to drive him farther away, deeper into his pain.
She just hoped he would deal with his shit and judgmental father before he drank himself to death.
Secondly, her agent had finally gotten pissed off at her silence—technically he was her ex-agent but whatever—and had traveled from LA to New Waterford, with a movie offer in hand.
Beau’s movie.
Her agent had been ecstatic. A Beau Simon movie! It had box office gold written all over it.
Betty still had the offer…still hadn’t signed it….and damned if she knew what she was going to do.
A week ago, it had been crystal clear. Stay the hell away from any personal involvement with Beau, and film a movie that she knew was a game changer. Her game changer.
But as the days passed by, that crystal clear outlook had started to blur and the lines weren’t so clear anymore.
Beau called after her agent visited. He’d asked about Abel and how Billie and Logan were coping. He enquired after her father. He asked if she’d heard from her agent and when she said yes, he’d launched into a long narrative about…to be honest, she wasn’t sure what he’d said. She couldn’t remember a word—she only remembered how the sound of his voice made her feel. And it was that feeling that scared the crap out of her.
It was that feeling that had her questioning everything.
The movie. Beau Simon. Her life in New Waterford.
Maybe it was PMS, or maybe she was just screwed. Whatever it was, she was putting it on hold for a while. Maybe the backburner was a good place for all that shit, because right now she had other things to worry about—like getting her father showered and dressed before noon.
The sun was shining, Trent Barker was having a good day—he’d even hugged her—though there was the very real possibility that he thought she was one of the other girls. Whatever, she was taking it and she was taking him to see his new grandson for the first time.
Betty poked her head into his room and smiled. “That tie looks great, Dad.”
He looked spiffy in spite of the fact that his clothes didn’t fit so good.
“Where are we off to again?”
She smoothed the front of her white cotton dress and leaned against the doorframe. “I’m taking you to see Abel, Billie’s little boy.”
“Oh,” he said with a laugh. “That’s right. I thought it was market day. Couldn’t figure out why you wanted me to get all dressed up to go and buy cucumbers and tomatoes.”
She offered a small smile. “It’s not market day, Dad.” She paused. “Did you take your medication this morning?”
He pointed to the table beside his bed. The glass of water was gone and so were the pills. “I did.”
“Okay. Good. I’ll meet you downstairs.”
He shouldered his body into a heavy gray cardigan and though she knew it was too hot for it, Betty didn’t say a word. Trent was attached to the damn thing, and for whatever reason, it seemed to comfort him.
He glanced up and smiled. “You look real pretty, Betty.”
Her throat tightened with a stupid lump and her eyes welled up. Dammit. She’d just put mascara on. She cleared her throat.
“Come on, Dad. Let’s go.”
She stood back as he passed and then flew to her bedroom, glancing at her watch and swearing as she made quick work in her bathroom. Billie was expecting them at one o’clock and Betty might have to break a few speeding laws in order to make it on time. She didn’t want
to late because Abel was due for some more tests this afternoon and it would suck if she got there and they weren’t able to see him.
She dabbed gloss over her lips and glanced at herself in the mirror. A touch of makeup underneath her eyes concealed the dark circles, but she still looked tired.
She thought of her dad’s compliment and smiled. Pretty, but tired.
Betty had just stepped off the bottom step when she every hair on the back of her neck stood on end. A shiver rolled over her—a delightfully cool and erotic shiver—as the fresh, masculine scent that was all Beau Simon, wafted up her nostrils.
Her belly flipped over and she grabbed the railing, stunned at the reaction she had. Stunned and confused.
He wasn’t here….was he?
She peeked out the window beside the front door. “What the hell?”
An old, beat up Volkswagen Beetle—in a puke mustard shade that was the ugliest color she’d ever seen—was parked behind Gramps Crown Vic.
Okay. Her mind was playing tricks on her because there was no way in hell Beau was driving that hunk of junk. She didn’t recognize the car but assumed it must belong to a friend of her grandfather’s.
Turning on her heel, she marched toward the kitchen. “Dad, come on. We have to go or we’ll be…”
Blue eyes stared back at her. Blue eyes attached to over six feet of delicious, yummy, mouth-watering, Beau Simon.
Beau Simon wearing faded jeans, a white T-shirt with the Stones logo, and a big fat pair of lips across the chest.
“Late,” she managed to say.
Her heart took off, so fast and hard that she felt it pounding in her ears. She drew in a shaky breath and took a moment, staring across the room at Beau.
“Nice wheels,” she said, once she recovered.
“Thanks,” he replied with a slow grin that made her toes curl.
“Felt like slumming it?”
“No, more like traveling incognito.”
“Where’d you pick up that piece of vintage machinery?”
“Belongs to the maid.”
“You’re weird.”
“I know.”
“Huh,” she said, trying not to grin back at him. But it was hard. The lightness inside her was catchy. If she wasn’t careful, it would spread and then she’d be in real trouble. There’d be no way to hide her feelings and those damn feelings were pretty inconvenient right about now.
“Betty, don’t be rude to our guest,” her father admonished. “This here is Mr. Beau Simon.”
“I don’t know about the Mister, but he’s a Simon alright.”
“That I am,” Beau replied. His long blond hair was slicked back, that wide grin still in place, and the blond stubble that was sexy as hell darkened his chin.
“We’re just heading out, so...I’m not sure why you’re here.”
“That’s fine. I can wait. Your father filled me in.”
“That’s right, Bets,” Trent said. “Told him we were on our way to visit my grandson.”
Betty glanced at her father. “We have to go now, Dad, or we might miss out on seeing Abel.”
“Okay, girlie. You don’t have to be so bossy.” Trent shuffled forward. “You coming Mr. Beau Simon?”
Betty shook her head, no.
Beau answered, yes.
“Are you crazy? They’re just waiting to catch us together!”
“But they won’t,” Beau said silkily. He pulled on a ball cap he’d stuffed into his back pocked, a large pair of mirrored aviators, and dangled a set of keys in the air.
“What are those?” she asked, almost afraid to hear his answer.
Beau leaned close, his warm breath on her neck and she shivered when he spoke.
“These are keys to your chariot.”
“You mean that piece of shit Beetle in the driveway?”
He grinned. “Is there any other?”
“You’re weird.” But her tone was light and she turned before he could see the grin on her face and followed her father down the hall.
“You already said that.”
Truthfully, Betty Jo didn’t care if anyone saw them. She didn’t care if the freaking God of the Internet found them and zapped their pictures to the four corners of the world. Hell, even Hollywood Rag could have at it and she wouldn’t give a goddamn.
And that was something to be truly scared of.
Trent Barker slid into the back seat, which meant that Betty was riding shotgun. They pulled out of the driveway and were nearly out of town when they rolled to a stop at the last traffic light.
A car pulled up beside them and before she knew what was happening, Beau’s hand was on the back of her neck and he forced her down. Down across his lap. Right there where his crotch was.
“What the hell are you doing?” she snapped.
“Don’t want anyone to recognize you.”
His hand was warm on the back of her neck, his thumb rolling across her skin. She felt his touch reach into her…from the top of her head to the bottom of her toes. It was a hot, delicious feeling that left goosebumps on her skin, warm fuzzies in her heart and…
Oh. My. God. Get it together, woman.
She dug her nails into his thighs, felt him stiffen beneath her. “Let me the hell up.”
But the pressure was still there and he held her in place. “Hold on, Barker. It’s a bunch of photographers.”
“Shit.” Really?
She turned slightly and glanced up at him. Felt her heart turn over when he smiled down at her, and rolled his damn thumb along the back of her neck again.
“Ah, Mr. Simon?”
Beau’s gaze slid to the mirror so he could see in the back. “Yes, Trent?”
“That there is the preacher’s wife, Darla Stone and her best friend Marianne Phibbs.”
Son-of-a-bitch.
Betty’s nails dug in harder and with a chuckle he let her go, accelerating as he did so.
“What?” I thought it was a bunch of paparazzi!”
He flashed that grin at her—the one that usually got him whatever the hell he wanted. He wanted Betty. She saw that now, but that didn’t mean she had to make it easy for him.
Not that she was considering it. No freaking way.
Betty sat back in her seat, smoothed out her dress and spoke so only Beau could hear her.
“That is the last time you’ll ever get me between your legs. I hope it was worth it.”
She was pissed.
And kind of turned on. Okay, a lot turned on.
“It was.”
“What?” she snapped.
Beau chuckled. “Totally worth it.”
“You’re certifiable.”
“Yep.”
That blurred line was bleeding all over the place right now.
“Why are you here, Beau?” She turned to him, curious as hell, and more than a little afraid. It wasn’t just about want. He was much too complicated for that.
“I think you know.”
Shit.
“Can you be a little more specific?”
His blue eyes darkened and she knew he wasn’t fooling around. There was nothing light or warm and fuzzy in his gaze. It was full on electric and every single bit of her lady parts sizzled from that one look.
“I’m going to get real specific with you, Betty Jo Barker. That’s a promise.” His eyes were back on the road once more. “As soon as we’re done at the hospital.”
She sank back into her seat, more confused than ever.
Should she be afraid? Hell yes.
Should she run away? Probably.
Did she want Beau Simon to get real specific with her?
Only if it was code for getting down and dirty in the back seat of his damn car.
Betty closed her eyes and turned to the window.
Holy. Mother. Of. God. She was in deep shit.
Chapter Thirty
BEAU WATCHED BETTY closely as he pulled up to the family house on Lake Muskoka. It was just after nine and the sun was startin
g to descend. There was a slight breeze off the lake and there were boats zipping by, pulling skiers and kids barely hanging on to the large tubes that held them.
She hadn’t said much on the trip up. Not even when the blushing officer at the Canadian border asked for her autograph and a picture.
Beau wasn’t used to her silence and suddenly, he wasn’t entirely sure what it was that he hoped to accomplish. This woman had him all tied up in knots.
“I didn’t think you’d come back with me,” he said, once he parked the car and cut the engine.
She looked over to him and his gut clenched. God, her eyes were beautiful. Her mouth. Those cheekbones. That head of hair. Physically, most guys would think they’d hit the jackpot.
But it was the stuff behind all of that—the stuff inside—that he was dying to touch. The parts of herself that she’d never shared with anyone.
“Well, since Bobbi insisted on spending the night at home, I figured there was no place at my house to get,” she made finger quotations, “real specific.” Her eyes narrowed a bit. “You wouldn’t happen to know why she was so gung-ho on a sleepover, would you?”
In fact Beau had asked her for a favor.
He shrugged, his acting superb. “No.”
Betty glanced outside. “Are we alone?”
Beau nodded and hopped out of the car. “Tucker’s gone back to Florida for a few days with Jack and my mom went with them.”
“Your mother was up here?” She was beside him now, staring up at the house.
“Yes, she flew up last week but can only handle a certain number of days without Dad, and he couldn’t make the trip.” He grinned. “They drive each other crazy when they’re together, but man, when they’re apart, it’s not pretty.”
“So, you have two brothers?”
“Three. Tucker’s a twin and Teague’s in Somalia I think, or maybe Afghanistan. He’s a photojournalist and I get mixed up where he is half the time.”
“Sounds dangerous.”
“It’s no picnic, that’s for sure. Everyone in the family wishes he’d get into something else, but Teague’s always thrived on danger. It’s a fatal flaw in some of the Simon men.”
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