Healing Beau (The Brothers of Beauford Bend Book 6)

by Alicia Hunter Pace

  “Don’t be silly. Beauford Bend is a home.” And it was—to everyone except Beau. It hurt her heart to see him adrift in the house he’d grown up in. “Here, Neyland.” Christian held out her hand. “I’ll rinse the mint julep cups.”

  “Thanks. And no bourbon for Emory.”

  “Or Beau. He’s not drinking while he’s taking pain pills.”

  “Right.” Neyland handed Christian two cups. “Take these for Beau and Emory so they don’t get mixed up. I’ll bring the tray.”

  The lights twinkled on the tree, and a fire burned in the fireplace in the big family room. Gabe, Rafe, and Abby tumbled on the floor with the toddlers and puppies. Jackson sat on one of the big, leather sofas idly strumming “Here Comes Santa Claus” on his guitar, while Emory leaned against his shoulder.

  It was an idyllic Christmas scene—except for Beau. He sat a little apart from the others, alone on one of the other sofas. As he watched the tumble of dogs, toddlers, and adults on the floor, there was a smile on his face that didn’t make it all the way to his eyes. Could there be a more despairing, lost expression?

  “Eggnog!” Neyland cried happily as she entered the room.

  “That’s my girl!” Gabe leapt up with an athlete’s grace and took the tray from his wife. “Let me help you.” He stepped toward Beau and held out the tray.

  “I have his,” Christian said. “No bourbon.”

  And Beau swung his face toward her. His smile faded, but his eyes took on a look of relief. Was it her imagination or—for the barest second—did he look like he’d been found?

  “I’ve been saving you a seat.” He took the eggnog from her. She was already sitting beside him before she realized she was still holding Emory’s cup.

  Chapter Seven

  Nothing like Christmas ghosts to make a man need an anchor—even a man who’d crawled through jungles, parachuted into enemy territory, and shot people who needing shooting.

  The ghosts had been there when they’d opened their stockings and had breakfast. He supposed Emory had resurrected the stocking tradition, but she’d filled them with the same kinds of candy and silly little gifts his mother had. At breakfast, the food had been different, but the frivolity and the laughter had been the same. The ghosts had made sure of that.

  They were here in this room, too. It wasn’t Abby lying on the floor holding one of the twins in the air above her. It was his mother with Camille. The sofa where Jackson and Emory sat wasn’t the same one that had always been in this room, but it may as well have been the one where his parents had always sat. And surely Aunt Amelia had possessed Neyland and made her come into the room carrying the same tray of eggnog that they’d always had after breakfast on Christmas.

  He’d been about to rise, plead a headache, and beat feet back to Firefly Hall, or maybe Madagascar, when Christian had appeared before him and put an eggnog cup in his hand. He caught his breath and knew he could make it if she would just stay within his reach. He didn’t have to touch her, but he needed to be able to.

  But he did touch her. When she sat down, he found himself moving next to her. Only then did he stop feeling like a kite with a broken string.

  “Are you okay?” Christian asked without quite meeting his eyes. That meant she wanted him to think she was asking rhetorically, but she really wanted to know.

  “I’m good. You?”

  She sipped her eggnog. “Perfect.”

  Yes you are.

  “Oh, look! I didn’t know about this!” Christian looked up and laughed.

  Beau hadn’t known about this, either. Santa Claus burst through the door, complete with a big sack on his back.

  “Gabe,” Beau said. “I didn’t see him leave the room.”

  Christian playfully smacked his arm. “Hush! You have to believe if you expect to get any gifts.”

  Believe and expect. Did he even know the meaning of those words? Christian did that thing she’d always done when she was delighted—gave her hands a little clap and laughed. Looking at her, he could almost believe and expect. Stop it. She’s your oldest and best friend. You can’t use her like a lifeboat.

  Just then, Santa Gabe pulled a fire truck from his sack and held it out to little Phillip, but Bella squealed with delight, pushed ahead of Phillip, grabbed the truck, and hugged it like it was a stuffed bear.

  Everyone laughed, including Beau, who found that he was truly amused. When that happened, he and Christian leaned into each other, and his penis sprang to life. He wanted her, wanted her so badly, right here on this couch, in front of his family if necessary.

  Of course, sex with her couldn’t happen, not even in private. He might not have the sterling character that some people seemed to think he had, but he was a better man than that. He nonchalantly reached for a throw pillow and set it on his lap, then pretended like he wanted a place to rest his cup.

  Gabe gave the kids a few more gifts—dolls for the girls, a set of blocks that looked like big Legos for the boy, some bath toys, and a plastic tree house with little people that seemed to be for all three of the kids.

  Emory said, “After Santa changes back into G-a-b-e, we can exchange our gifts.”

  Really? Beau had thought the Santa gifts would go on forever. “Is that all they’re getting?” he asked Christian quietly.

  She nodded. “Abby was adamant. At least for this year when they don’t really know what’s going on, they get only a small number of things. She hates excess and says they have enough as it is. Must be her New England Yankee upbringing. The kids will get a few other things, but I got them commemorative Christmas ornaments, and I think Emory and Neyland got them savings bonds.”

  Savings bonds. That would have been easy—though it wasn’t as if the identical stuffed dogs he’d bought had been any trouble. The girl at the Toy Box had picked them out and wrapped them. The whole thing had only taken ten minutes.

  “I didn’t get that memo.” But no one ever gave him a memo. They let him do as he pleased.

  Then the chaotic gift exchange began, and the loot piled up at Beau’s feet—sweaters, DVDs, cufflinks, and video games—gifts from people who tried hard but didn’t know what to buy a man who had no interests and nothing left to lose.

  Christian jumped to her feet, leaving a void beside him.

  Where are you going? Come back. Just be my anchor for a little while longer.

  She retrieved a shopping bag from under the tree and made her way back to him, distributing packages as she went.

  “This is for you.” She held out a package that wasn’t nearly as appealing as her smile—but what was inside left him speechless. It was a set of woodcarving chisels and knives. Even with his limited knowledge, Beau could tell they were very fine and would be a pleasure to hold and use.

  “I don’t know,” she stammered. “It just seemed like you liked working with wood. The guy in Nashville said these were nice.”

  She’d driven to Nashville for these—probably yesterday, in Christmas Eve traffic.

  “Thank you.” He squeezed her hand. “They’re great.”

  Then shame overtook him for what he’d gotten her. It wasn’t that the music box wasn’t nice. It was. But much like he’d bought all the men Fenix PD35 LED flashlights, he’d bought his sisters-in-law, Gwen, and Christian the same thing, though it seemed the salesclerk said something about them playing different tunes. Damn it all to hell. He was living in Christian’s house, eating her food, and now she’d bought him these tools that were exactly what he’d wanted, though he hadn’t known it. He should have bought her something better, something just for her. But it was too late for that now. His gifts were the only ones that hadn’t been given out.

  His wrapped packages didn’t even have gift tags. He handed the big ones to the kids, the small ones to the men, and the medium ones to the women. Before returning to his seat, Beau put Dirk and his family’s gifts under the tree with the growing pile that they would open after lunch.

  “Hell, yeah!” Gabe turned on his f
lashlight. “Somebody turn the lights off!” Really that was an appropriate response. The Fenix PD35 LED was the finest flashlight made, and a man couldn’t have too many flashlights.

  “Stop shining that in my eyes,” Neyland said. “And you aren’t turning the lights off. We have gifts from Beau to open, too.”

  “You better hope you got flashlights, too,” Jackson said. “This is sweet. Why haven’t I ever bought one of these?”

  “Because you didn’t know about them.” Rafe danced his beam across the ceiling. “Almost a light saber.”

  Pretty soon, the women were cooing over their music boxes, and a cacophony of tinkling music assaulted Beau from all over the room.

  He was afraid to look at Christian, afraid of seeing the disappointment when she realized she’d gotten the same gift as the others. In previous years, he hadn’t put any more thought into her gifts, but at least he hadn’t bought them in bulk, because there had been no one to buy in bulk for.

  But when he finally stole a glace, she looked enchanted. The box was open, playing its little tune, and she was lovingly staring at the works like it was a kitten.

  “Oh, Beau! I can’t believe you even remembered this.” Good Lord. She was tearing up. He knew how to deal with bad tears—find the problem and fix it—but there was no dealing with happy tears when there was no reason for the happiness. He didn’t remember a damned thing. How could that be? He remembered everything.

  Emory flew across the room. “Beau, these are beautiful.” Yeah, they were—thanks to the girl at the gift store. Emory turned to Christian. “Mine plays ‘Lara’s Theme.’ What does yours play?”

  “‘All I Ask of You’ from The Phantom of the Opera. It’s my favorite.”

  Oh, that. A few years ago, the traveling Broadway production had come to Nashville. He’d been home and Christian had roped him into going. He hadn’t even known what the music boxes played, and it was pure blind luck that Christian had gotten this one.

  Neyland and Abby came over to gush and give him hugs he didn’t deserve.

  “I can’t believe you remembered,” Christian said again. “I didn’t even think you were paying attention that night.” He hadn’t been, but she saved him every time, even from himself. At least the guilt kept the ghosts at bay.

  But not for long. Neyland came in the room carrying a large garbage bag. “Let’s clean up. It’s almost time for Gwen to come back to make lunch.”

  Exactly what they needed—four more people.

  Abby leapt up from where she was helping Bella, Alice, and Phillip unwrap the stuffed animals he’d gotten for them. “Don’t throw away the ribbons and boxes!” she said in a panicky voice. “Next year’s coming.”

  And a cold wind blew through the room and through Beau, paralyzing his soul and stopping his heart. He’d thought the coldest cold he’d ever know were the two days and nights he’d spent in Afghanistan waiting for a target, waiting to do a job that had to be done but he’d never gotten used to doing. But Christmas memories were colder. That’s what his mother used to say about the ribbons and boxes—not verbatim, but close enough. And they had never wanted to stop playing to straighten ribbons and match tops to boxes.

  He couldn’t take much more of this, even with his anchor. He had to get out. But when he looked at his anchor, she was looking at him curiously. She narrowed her eyes and gave him a little nod. Then she stood.

  “Emory, I hate to bail on lunch preparations, but I need to go back over to Firefly Hall for a little while. I need to check on the horses, and while I’m there, I want to call my mother and wish her a Merry Christmas.”

  Christian was leaving?

  “Of course,” Emory said. “Take your time. You and Neyland cleaned up after breakfast. You’ve done your part. Lunch is at one.”

  That was three hours away. How could he live three hours with the ghosts and no lifeboat?

  “I’ll be back by then.” Christian met Beau’s eyes and barely widened her own. It was so slight no one except him could have possibly noticed.

  Then he got it. “Hey, I’ll drive you. You’ve been drinking eggnog.”

  She pretended to hesitate. “All right. If you don’t mind.”

  Relief washed over him.

  She saved him every single time.

  Chapter Eight

  “You really didn’t have to drive,” Christian said as she and Beau stepped through the front door of Firefly Hall. “I didn’t even finish my eggnog.”

  He leaned on the newel post. “And you really don’t have to check on the horses, do you?”

  “Yes—” she began.

  But Beau protested with a raised eyebrow and tilted head.

  “No. No, I don’t. I fed them early this morning.” She hesitated but decided to go on. He would ask anyway. “And I’ve already talked with my mother.”

  “I know.”

  Time for a change of subject. “Let’s go upstairs where it’s warm. We’ve got a few hours to kill.” Maybe they’d watch Talladega Nights again.

  But apparently he wasn’t ready to change the subject. Once they were inside the apartment, he said, “How did you know I couldn’t take any more?” He ran a hand up her arm, and she fought the yearning to lean into to him, the way they had leaned into each other at Beauford Bend.

  “You could have taken it.” Christian meant for it come out light and breezy, but there was heartbreak in her voice, and no wonder. Her heart had broken into a million pieces as she’d sat and watched him try so hard to be as happy as his brothers wanted him to be. “You could have taken it, like you’ve taken everything that has been dealt you. But I didn’t want you to have to.”

  “What if,” he said quietly, “what if those things weren’t dealt to me? What if they were my fault?”

  That made less than no sense. “As much as you’d like for everything to be your fault because you want to think you’re always in control, that isn’t true. But for argument’s sake, let’s say that you were to blame for a string of accidents. So what? You still deserve not to hurt. You still deserve to have joy. And I’ve not seen any of that in you lately. If I could see some real happiness in your eyes, it would be the best Christmas present ever.”

  “Would it?” His expression turned intense, but a little smile played with his mouth. “Would that really be a good Christmas present?”

  She didn’t see it coming, didn’t feel it coming, had no idea where it came from.

  But all of a sudden, she was in Beau’s arms and his mouth was on hers, exactly like she’d dreamed a million times.

  No. It was better than she’d dreamed. In her dreams, she hadn’t known he would smell like cedar and taste like nutmeg, hadn’t known he’d tease her lips open and draw her tongue into his mouth.

  She would have imagined that in such a moment, her knees would go weak and she would become pasty, passive, putty at his mercy. But no. A volcano erupted within her, sending energy-charged lava to all parts of her body, vitalizing her and making her a match for this man. When that energy settled and concentrated between her thighs, she became aware of his erection pressing there, making a promise to fulfill a wish she’d had all her life.

  It wasn’t a promise she was going to let slip away. She would probably never have another chance.

  Should she tell him? Tell him she was a virgin? She’d tried to take care of that pesky little problem—had even come close a couple of times—but, at the last minute, had never been able to close the deal because Beau’s face would invade and take her out of the moment. No. She wouldn’t tell him. He might stop, would probably go running for Beauford Bend at the thought of a twenty-eight-year-old who hadn’t been able to do this one, basic thing. Anyway, he’d know soon enough, probably. At least that’s what she’d heard. But by then it would be too late. She would have already had her moment.

  He didn’t break the kiss, but continued to caress her tongue with his, as his penis rose harder and larger against her. Then he placed a hand on her hip and ran it up
her side underneath her sweater. The delicious feel of his cold hand on her warm body turned her skin to gooseflesh and gave the raging blaze between her legs new power and a life of its own.

  She wished he’d press harder there.

  But wait. She’d been wishing all her life for him to do so many things—wishing and waiting. She was done with that; it was time for action. She grabbed his bottom with both hands, slammed him into her, and began to blatantly slide her pelvis against his rock hard penis. Up and down, back and forth, harder each time. He broke the kiss and cried out with maybe surprise, maybe pleasure, hopefully both.

  He seized her bottom, pulled her in closer, and said again her ear, “I want you, Christian. I want you so damned bad. I thought I was going to bend you over and take you right there on that couch in front of the Christmas tree, Santa Claus, and my family.”

  He wanted her.

  Then he took charge. He buried his face in her neck, unzipped her pants, and reached inside her panties.

  “Wet. You’re so wet.” His voice was raspy. “Come on.” As he took her hand, he looked deep in her eyes. She saw something there she’d never seen in any man’s eyes, yet she recognized it for what it was—intense, pure desire and need.

  It felt good to be needed, better to be desired.

  Christian expected him to lead her to her bedroom, but instead he took her to his—the same room that had been hers before her mother moved to Florida. That seemed so right. He wanted her, so he was taking her to the place that was his, but it was the same room where she had ached for him for so many years.

  Now she knew a different kind of ache.

  It was almost as if Beau knew she would be embarrassed if she were the only one naked in the room. After one last kiss, he threw the covers back and eased her down on the bed. “Lie there. I want to undress you myself.”

  And then the most miraculous thing that had happened to Christian so far in this life occurred. Beau stripped off every stitch of his clothes and stood before her in all his broad shouldered, muscled, tapered-waist perfection.