Healing Beau (The Brothers of Beauford Bend Book 6)

by Alicia Hunter Pace

  She folded her arms over her chest. “It was for your own good.”

  He raised his hands in the air. “For my own good? Why do you get to decide what’s for my own good? You don’t. Christian, you might mean well, but you’re a control freak where I’m concerned. You’ve got to let me make my own decisions.”

  “That’s what I’m trying to do. That’s why I let you go.”

  “Let me go? You didn’t let me go. You ran me off. There’s a difference.”

  “Not much.”

  “Let’s get something out of the way right now. I have done a lot of reading the past few days, and one of the things I read said that you loved me, that you’d always loved me. If that isn’t true, if my aunt was wrong, or even if it isn’t true anymore, tell me now, and I’ll leave.”

  That ought to be easy enough. She set her jaw and let her eyes bore into his. She opened her mouth to say the words, but they wouldn’t come.

  He nodded. “That’s what I thought. I’m not going to insult you by saying I’ve always loved you. I haven’t. Not like that. Maybe I should have, and would have, if I’d had the sense. I don’t know. But what I do know is I love you now—now, when it counts.”

  Before, she’d been so ready to latch on to anything he said that had even remotely offered any hope. She couldn’t do that again.

  She shook her head. “Beau, the night you brought me the ring, you said all the right things. The night in your workshop, you said all the right things. But you were doing it because it was the right thing to do. Not because you meant them. Now, you’re here doing it again.”

  He took a step toward her. “Just because it was the right thing to do, didn’t mean that I didn’t mean it. If I seemed inconsistent, it was because I was on a journey—a journey that you already had behind you when you were eight years old, if my Aunt Amelia is to be believed.”

  More like five years old.

  What he said sounded good. She just wasn’t sure she ought to try to dance to it. She wavered, just a bit, just enough. Beau was beside her in a split second, taking her arm.

  “Can’t we sit down? Please? Sit and talk?”

  She let him lead her to the sofa, and he settled beside her.

  “Have you ever had a dress that you liked, that you knew looked good on you, but you weren’t quite comfortable with it at first? It took a few times wearing it to own it, to feel comfortable wearing it?”

  What? They were talking fashion now?

  “That’s what falling in love with you was like. It was happening even before … before.” He looked at the floor and trailed off.

  And here they were. She didn’t want to go there, but how could she not? Didn’t her child who would never get to live to play Candy Land deserve that?

  “Before the baby?” she asked softy.

  He nodded but didn’t look up. “I know I didn’t talk about it much, but I had begun to think about him. It was just so new and so fast. I was so scared of having someone else to lose, and then I did. It was because of me you were hurrying down those stairs that day. You were trying to save me. You have to blame me.”

  The horror of that settled around her. “That’s what you think?” She clutched his arm. “Listen to me, Beau. I fell because I was clumsy. I fell because I didn’t take care of him. I was so eager to fix things for you so I could have you that I didn’t take care of him. Of course I don’t blame you. If anything—”

  Beau gently covered her mouth to muffle the words. “Don’t say that, Christian. Never say that. It might not have shown, Christian, but in case you think I didn’t care … well. That’s not true.”

  He raised his head, and when their sad, grieving eyes met, she knew the feel of common ground.

  “It was the same for me,” she said softly. “At first, I was so shocked and scared. And then things moved so fast. I thought there would be time.”

  He nodded. “I know. Even the cradle—it was about making the cradle. At least before. Now, I could theoretically go forward with the project. Maybe sell it. But that’s only in theory. It was going to be his cradle. You were going to get it ready with the little mattress and things, and later rock it. So I could never make it now.”

  She looked at his hand and was surprised to see he still wore his ring. Then she looked at her own. Both hands looked so empty. And maybe, just maybe, after all this time, they didn’t have to be. She held out her hand, and he met it halfway.

  She drew a ragged breath. “Do you know what the hardest part was? Coming back here to nothing. Not only were you not here, but there was also nothing for him. Not a blanket, a little outfit, nothing. Most people would have bought something. He never had anything.”

  Beau shook his head. “That’s not true, Christian. He had you. And me. And now we can have each other if you’ll let that happen, if you can stop making decisions for me for my own good. Years ago, you decided for my own good that I didn’t want to go the prom with you. I never even had a chance to know the truth of that, because you were so busy telling me I didn’t. But that was one thing and I was a kid. But I’m not a kid anymore and I know what I want. I want to be married to you. Now, if you don’t want me, that’s another matter.”

  She laughed, and a few tears got in on the act. “If you only knew how utterly impossible it would be for a world to exist where I didn’t love you.”

  He smiled and pulled her to him. “That’s good news.”

  “And I suppose I have to stop trying to save you? You said I had to stop trying to save you.”

  He shook his head. “No. We’ve got some tough times to get through. I’m going to need saving and so are you. I want you to save me. And I want to save you. Every day for the rest of our lives.”

  Maybe this place where she’d lived so long, longed for Beau, lived with him, had him, and almost lost him, was hallowed ground, too.

  “Now, about another decision you made for me.” He reached into his pocket. “I gave you this once.” He held up the ring she’d sent back. “You gave me credit for giving it to you because I knew it was special to Aunt Amelia. I didn’t know it then. I admit it. But I know it now and I’m giving it back to you.”

  Christian extended her left hand, but he reached for her right and slid the ring on. “You’re going to need to wear it on this hand, because there’s not going to be room for it on your left hand.”

  “What? I don’t understand.” And to her astonishment, Beau reached back into his pocket and pulled out the Beauford bride wedding band.

  She knew the significance of that ring.

  “I couldn’t give it to you before, because I couldn’t bear to look at it. But I can now. You gave my mother back to me, Christian. And my father and my sister. And you know what? It wasn’t so much finding out that they knew I wasn’t in the house that night, as realizing that they wouldn’t have blamed me anyway.”

  “No. They wouldn’t have, Beau. And all because of love.”

  “I don’t think there are going to be any more ghosts.” He reached for her hand. “Can you wear this?”

  Christian nodded. “For the rest of my life.”

  The kiss they shared was salty.

  Epilogue

  Four Months Later

  July 4

  Since Jackson had started the Camille Beauford Memorial Concerts more than a decade ago, Christian had only missed two—once when she was in Italy on a school trip, and once when an evil, aggressive stomach virus had taken over her life for twenty-four hours. Held at the historic Ryman Auditorium, the event always featured some of the biggest names in country music and raised millions for the Vanderbilt Medical Burn Center.

  She’d always had a good seat, but never had she sat front and center before.

  In her ice blue sequined dress, she felt like a princess. When she’d confided that to Beau, he’d said she was more like the Queen of Hot. That made her laugh a little. If anyone was queen tonight, it was Emory, but princess was more than good enough for Christian.

  I
n fact, wife trumped princess. She caressed the Beauford Bride band on her hand.

  Neyland, seated beside her, was dressed in a bronze creation with a tiered skirt that practically shouted couture—with good reason. Neyland had brought the dress back from her long-awaited honeymoon in Paris last month. Abby, as always, was beautiful in understated black, and Emory wore a dream of a blush-colored gown with a full skirt that she claimed was the only thing she could find that disguised she hadn’t lost all her baby weight.

  Not that she or Jackson cared about that. They were too euphoric over little Laura Amelia to be worried about anything.

  They all were. Last week, when Christian and Beau had stood in church and held Laura Amelia at the baptism font and made their godparents’ vows, they had been a little sad, but mostly joyful. Later that day, for the first time, they had spoken of “someday,” when they would stand at this font with another baby.

  And there would be a someday—many of them. There were still dragons to slay, and they’d had some rough days, but they both knew those rough days would have been rougher still without each other.

  Beau continued to find contentment in his work, and had gotten two more commissions for simple projects. Before long the projects wouldn’t be so simple.

  It was hard not to laugh when he became enraged with himself over the tiniest mistakes. “Get used to it,” Gabe had told her. “That’s life with an artist. Nothing’s ever good enough.”

  “Some things are.” Beau had run his hand down Christian’s arm. “Some things are perfect.”

  It had been a spring and summer of family, loving, and sharing and putting old secrets to rest. They all said Christian was to be thanked for bringing some truths to light, but they made too much of it. All she’d done was find some old diaries.

  Here, surrounded by her friends and family, Christian knew she’d held out for a blessing that would never stop.

  “I hope Jimpson won’t get naked tonight,” Neyland whispered.

  “He won’t.” Christian turned and waved to him where he sat in the second row with Heath, Hope, Miss Sticky, and Miss Julia. “He told me earlier that he and I were wearing the same color tonight. I told him we needed a picture together after the show. Besides Gwen’s keeping an eye on him.”

  Also in the second row were those rambunctious hockey player friends of Nickolai and Noel’s, including Bryant. Bryant winked at her, stuck out his bottom lip, and pretended to wipe his eyes. Not a single one of them had a date. Noel, seated on the other side of Christian, said, “We sat in front of them so we can keep them in line.”

  Christian laughed. “Good idea. I’d hate for Dirk to carry them out.”

  “Isn’t it about time for the show to start?” Neyland asked.

  And as if the universe had heard her, the lights dimmed, the curtains opened, and onto the stage stepped four men, three wearing immaculate formalwear, and the fourth suited up and ready to sing in jeans and boots. And somehow, though two were dark and two were blond and identical, Christian fancied that a stranger would have been able to tell they were brothers.

  The crowd went wild, on their feet, cheering and clapping. That was for Jackson, of course, but Beau gave her a wink and a smile, and Christian imagined the celebration was for them.

  “Hell, y’all.” Jackson stepped forward and smiled, which did nothing to calm the place. He shrugged, as his brothers rolled their eyes.

  “Milk it, brother. Never miss a chance,” Gabe said, though until he spoke, Christian wasn’t sure which twin was which.

  Then Jackson took control of the audience, as great performers are able to do, with a hand gesture and an expression change.

  “Thank you for coming out tonight for the fourteenth annual Camille Beauford Memorial Concert. As you know, the proceeds from the concert will benefit the Vanderbilt Medical Burn Center. By rights, I shouldn’t be the one talking tonight.” He gestured to Beau, Gabe, and Rafe. “Gabe talks prettier, Rafe is the most sensible, and, as you can see, baby brother Beau here is prettier than the rest of us. What you can’t see is he’s smarter, too.”

  Beau gave the audience his Charmer smile, but when he let it settle on Christian, she saw some love mixed in.

  Jackson let the applause die down again. “But I’m going to talk anyway, because I’m the big brother. We’ve been meeting here for fourteen years now. We appreciate all of you for the honor you have shown our parents and our sister, whether you’ve been here for all of those fourteen years or if tonight is your first time.

  “Over the years, sometimes two, sometimes three of us have been here for this event, but tonight is the first time that all four of us have been on this stage together.”

  More applause.

  “There’s a reason for that. We’ve had a harder time with these losses than we may have shown. Hell, you saw me have a meltdown here two years ago and announce my retirement.”

  Laughter from the audience.

  “You also saw how long that lasted. But there were reasons. We’re close, my brothers and I, always have been. But we have only recently found out that each of us blamed ourselves for the deaths of our parents and sister, when none of us were to blame at all. And I’ve got to think if we had talked to each other, we might have walked this road a little easier.

  “But with the help and love of some good, gritty women who don’t know how to take no for an answer, we’ve found our way.”

  And as he said that, the brothers put their arms around each other and each one met the eyes of his own good, gritty woman.

  Christian feasted on Carolina blue eyes and placed her hand over her heart. Beau returned the gesture.

  “So I have this to say to you,” Jackson said. “No matter what’s going on with you, don’t walk it alone. Tell your brother, your sister, your friend, your mama, or your daddy. It’ll go easier.”

  There was a moment of poignant, magical silence. It might have gone on forever if Jackson had not broken the spell.

  “Okay!” The men broke apart, and someone put a guitar in Jackson’s hands. “We’ve got a lot of good talent here tonight, and the Barroom Brawlers and I will be out to wrap things up in a couple of hours. But if my brothers will get off this stage, I’m going to start us off with a song.”

  The cheering crowd rose to their feet, and Christian stood, too, but not for the same reason.

  Her husband was coming down the steps of the old Ryman stage with his hands held out to her, and she wanted to meet him halfway.

  Acknowledgments

  Many thanks to:

  Lin Steffanun for naming Will and Arabelle’s future twins.

  Ken Hovey for his never-ending patience and support.

  Lynn Raye Harris and Rhonda Nelson for helping work out the details.

  As always, Tara, Jess, Julie, and Stephanie at Crimson Romance, who always give their best.

  About the Author

  Alicia Hunter Pace is the pseudonym for the writing team of Jean Hovey and Stephanie Jones. They are USA Today best-selling authors who live in North Alabama and share a love of old houses, football, and writing stories with a happily ever after.

  Find Alicia Hunter Pace at:

  Their website www.aliciahunterpace.com

  On Facebook at www.facebook.com/pages/Alicia-Hunter-Pace/176839952372867

  On Twitter @AliciaHPace

  Subscribe to their newsletter at: http://aliciahunterpace.us3.listmanage.com/subscribe?u=8dee88167294a57b8b340f8e7&id=2054b7cbe8

  More from This Author

  Heath’s Hope

  Alicia Hunter Pace

  “How’s your daddy? I hear he fell out of his tree stand and broke his leg.”

  “Yes, ma’am. He did.” That’s why Hope MacKenzie had made the sudden, emergency trip back to her hometown. She stood on the sidewalk in the middle of Beauford, Tennessee’s Harvest Festival, talking to Miss Stella “Sticky” Stinson. Seated at a table set up outside her knitting shop, String, Miss Sticky was dressed as a ham. Hope wasn’t sur
prised. To Kill a Mockingbird was Miss Sticky’s favorite book, and she’d been emulating Scout’s costume on Halloween for as long as Hope could remember. Hope carried on, “It was a bad break, but the surgery went well.”

  Miss Sticky and her sister, Miss Julia, had taught English and biology, respectively, at Beauford High School until they retired and opened their shop. Hope could remember sitting in class listening to them lecture, their knitting needles clicking in the background. Between the two of them, they must have knitted around the world fifteen times.

  Miss Sticky stroked a hank of yarn on the table like it was a beloved pet. “What was Mac doing in a tree stand anyway? It’s not deer season yet, and I know he’s not the kind to hunt out of season.”

  That was true. Vincent Ambrose MacKenzie III, owner, president, and head honcho in every way of Beauford Savings and Loan, didn’t do anything out of season.

  “I’m not sure. I would guess he was checking to make certain it was in good shape before the season starts.” Or maybe he’d just gone out to the farm to get away from Hope’s mother. If that were the case, it had backfired because he wasn’t going to be able to get away from her for quite a while—starting with an almost unheard of weeklong hospital stay and a stint in rehab.

  “So I guess the stand wasn’t in very good shape,” Miss Sticky said. “Not that it matters much now. I don’t suppose Mac will be doing any deer hunting this year.”

  “No. Turns out, a femur break is the grand champion of them all.”

  “Still. Sounds like he’s better off than Marla Ledow. Did you hear what happened to her? No? Well. She was driving down the road, and there was a pickup truck in front of her with a tanning bed in the back. They came to an incline, and that tanning bed slid out of the truck bed and flew through Marla’s windshield. If she hadn’t ducked, it would have decapitated her for sure. As it was, it crushed her shoulder.”