Beard In Mind: (Winston Brothers, #4)

by Penny Reid

  If we hadn't stumbled across her statues earlier, would she ever have told me?

  “Listen.” Duane stepped farther into the room, his hands coming to his hips as he peered at me. “I got a call from Simone Payton. She’s in town, but I suppose you already know that.”

  “Yeah. We saw her at Daisy’s. How’d you know where Shelly lives?”

  “Cletus mentioned she was staying here a few weeks ago, it was on her application paperwork. When Simone called, told me what happened, I thought y’all might come here.”

  “What did Simone say?”

  Duane’s mouth pressed into a hard line. “Simone called in a panic, saying you were at the diner. Then the MC shitheads ganged up on you, tried to get you to leave with them. Then she said you and Shelly got away and the Wraiths set off in pursuit.”

  “That’s right.”

  Duane’s peering intensified and I got the sense he was trying to control his temper. “Why didn’t you call me?”

  “Why would I?” I asked honestly, then immediately winced.

  Damn. Dammit, damn, damn.

  Duane reared back, and his control on his temper slipped. “Why would you? Are you serious with this shit? The Wraiths come after you, they come after all of us.”

  I sighed, shaking my head. “What I mean is—”

  “Handling them on your own is going to buy you nothing but trouble.”

  “Okay, fine. If you would—”

  “Remember last year? You were the first person I told when they came after me.”

  “I know that.” I ground my teeth, my frustration mounting.

  “You should have called me, or texted if you needed a driver.”

  “Shelly got us away, and she did a damn fine job, too.”

  Duane pushed his lips together, his glare darting over me. “Shelly drove?”

  “Yes.”

  “She drive the GTO?”

  I nodded. I was still recovering from how incredible she’d been. How competently and expertly she’d navigated the tight switchbacks, knowing when to turn, when to downshift. As in other aspects of life, she was a tactical, clever, self-possessed driver.

  “She as fast as me?”

  “Maybe faster.” And a lot sexier.

  Duane nodded, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. “Well that’s good. I’m glad she was there.”

  “Me too.”

  “Now you want to tell me why you got the Iron Wraiths after you?”

  “No,” I said through clenched teeth, growing tired of his questioning.

  The previous tension—plus heaps more—returned and his eyes flashed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I mean what I said. No. I don’t want to tell you.”

  Duane looked truly shocked, and his eyes lost focus for a moment, like he was trying to figure out my motive for keeping information to myself.

  Abruptly, his stare cut back to mine. “Are you in trouble?”

  “Not really.”

  He threw his hands up. “What the hell is going on?”

  “Nothing—”

  “That’s bullshit, and you know it.” He took a deep breath, clearly trying to rein in his temper, and lowered his voice. “For weeks now you’ve been giving me the silent treatment.”

  “I’ve been giving you the silent treatment? That’s hilarious.”

  Our entire life had been one giant episode of Duane giving everybody the silent treatment interrupted by short bursts conversation, mostly initiated by me.

  “Ain’t nothing funny about it, Beau. You’re acting like me leaving next month means I’ll cease to exist.”

  “Well, don’t you?”

  “No. Hell, no.”

  I laughed, exasperated. Why the hell is he giving me such a hard time? He’s the one who is leaving.

  “Yes. Hell, yes. You’re going halfway around the world, and who knows when we’ll be seeing you again. Not anytime soon. Why would anything going on with me be your business?”

  Duane’s eyes widened to their maximum diameter and his face grew red as I’ve ever seen it. He charged at me, keeping his volume low even as his tone was enraged. “Because I’m your twin brother, you fucking asshole!”

  His sudden vehemence had me snapping my mouth shut. When he was like this—lost in a fit of temper—the best and only thing to do was let him wear himself out.

  Crossing my arms, I braced my feet apart and prepared to wait.

  “Don’t fucking do that.” He spoke through clenched teeth.

  “Do what?”

  “You know what. Like I’m throwing a temper tantrum.”

  “Aren’t you?”

  “No. No, Beau. I’m not. I’m trying to tell you something, and you don’t want to listen.”

  “Just say it.”

  “My leaving has nothing to do with you.”

  I winced despite myself, despite years of practice weathering Duane’s surly moods.

  “I’m very clear on that.”

  “Dammit, I didn’t mean it like that.”

  I shrugged, giving him a blank stare. “It doesn’t matter.”

  Duane made a frustrated grabbing motion with his hands—like he wanted to wring my neck—then paced away. “What would you have me do? Hmm? Break things off with Jess? Tell her to go without me? You’re acting like I’m a traitor for being happy and it’s pissing me off. I’ve never spent more than a few days away from you, dummy. Yet you think leaving y’all is going to be easy for me?”

  We stared at each other, and I saw his torment. It hadn’t occurred to me that leaving us, leaving his sister and his brothers, might be hard on him as well.

  Duane was more than my brother.

  He was literally the other half of me.

  “No.” I cleared my throat because I had to. “No, of course not.”

  “Then stop.” His anger diffused, becoming desperation. “Stop telling me the shop ain’t my business, and stop cutting me out of things that matter.”

  I glanced to the left, to where Shelly had placed several bookshelves. They were overstuffed, and most of the spines were blue, but I didn’t really see them.

  What I saw were snapshots of my past. I saw having somebody, the someone I never had to explain shit to, my someone who just knew. He knew it all. And I also saw someone who had needed me, someone I’d cared for and took care of, from birth to now.

  “He’s your responsibility,” my momma had said. “I’m counting on you.”

  And then I saw the future, and him leaving, and nothing ever being the same.

  “This sucks,” I said to Shelly’s blue books.

  “It does.” Duane’s reply was rough, his voice like sandpaper. He also cleared his throat, adding in a steadier voice, “So don’t make it harder by being an asshole.”

  20

  “We do not have to visit a madhouse to find disordered minds; our planet is the mental institution of the universe.”

  ― Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

  * * *

  *Beau*

  Duane and Jess had wisely decided to borrow Billy’s truck. The Wraiths wouldn’t think twice about stopping and harassing any of us except Billy.

  A few summers ago, I must’ve been seventeen or eighteen, two recruits had been harassing Billy on one of the back roads. The way Drill told the story, Billy sped up around a switchback until he was out of sight, then turned his wheel, blocking the road.

  Not seeing him in time, the recruits plowed right into Billy’s 1985 Chevy Silverado. Billy called an ambulance and both fellas ended up in the hospital, but not before he broke both their noses, threatened to kill them if it happened again, and scared the shit out of them by driving away and leaving them in the middle of the road.

  The story Billy told the police was completely different. Unsurprisingly, the police believed my brother.

  Drill had a dozen or so stories of a similar nature about Billy. All of them started with some dumbasses at the club thinking they could harass my brother,
and ended with those same dumbasses in the hospital. His hatred for the motorcycle club was no secret and no joke.

  Billy’s truck was absolutely the right choice for picking me up from Shelly’s and taking me home with them.

  But, before we all left, pie.

  “So . . . you and Shelly, huh?” Jess’s crooked grin was enormous. I could see why my brother liked it so much.

  Duane, Jess, and I were in Shelly’s small kitchen, eating pie. Shelly had just left to check on her dogs. They’d continued to bark, but they’d also started to whine.

  I shrugged, trying to appear blasé about it and failing. No doubt my grin gave me away.

  “Ahh! That is so exciting.” Jess did a little wiggly dance in her seat, shaking her fists back and forth in front of her.

  “I can’t believe how different this place looks. The kitchen is brand new.” Duane, meanwhile, was currently opening and closing cabinet doors. He’d finished his pie before the rest of us. “Did you see what she did here? How this whole apparatus is on hinges?”

  “When did it happen?” Jess leaned her elbows on the table, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Duane won’t tell me anything.”

  “Look how easy it is to find stuff in here. This is genius.” My brother had moved on to the pantry.

  “It’s not official or anything yet.” I glanced in the direction where Shelly had disappeared. “Tonight was our first date.”

  “Well, I think it’s awesome.”

  “Thanks, Jess.” I had to agree with her, I also thought it was awesome.

  My twin strolled up to the table. “What I want to know—”

  “Good Lord, Duane. There is plenty of time to admire the finer design elements of this fantastic kitchen. But right now I am gossiping with Beau over pie. Give it a rest,” Jess huffed at my brother.

  I had to cover my mouth to keep from laughing outright, but I couldn’t stop my shoulders from shaking.

  Duane planted a kiss on Jessica’s forehead and claimed the seat next to hers. “Alls I was going to say is, I want to know what happened at the diner, with those assholes. Why were they after you?”

  Rubbing my beard, I decided it was time to bring Duane into the loop. “Drill came to the shop a few weeks ago, told me Christine St. Claire wanted a meeting.”

  Duane looked surprised by this news. “Why’d she want a meeting?”

  “I don’t know. I put Drill off as long as I could. They cornered me tonight at Daisy’s.”

  “What happened?” Now Jess looked concerned.

  I told them the gist of it, how the Wraiths had shown up, how Shelly and I had faked them out, how we got away. Duane was impressed—mostly by Shelly’s driving—and so was Jess. And for that matter, so was I.

  “And you have no idea why Razor’s old lady wants to speak with you.” Duane glared at me, the muscle in his temple jumping as he clenched and unclenched his jaw. This was his thinking things over face.

  “No. Drill said he couldn’t say.”

  “You think it’s a trap? They might be aiming to involve you in their chop shop again.” Jess split her attention between the two of us.

  “I don’t think so. Cletus has that thing he’s holding over their heads, so I don’t think it’s about the chop shop.” I leaned to the side as the sound of a door closing down the hallway was followed by a sad bark.

  “I wonder what it could be.” Duane moved his glare to the tabletop.

  Jess sat up straighter as Shelly appeared, her face lighting up. “How are the dogs?”

  “They feel neglected.” Shelly walked to the sink and washed her hands.

  “You don’t have to keep them in your room on our account.” Jess twisted in her seat to face Shelly. “We love dogs.”

  “I don’t know,” Duane stole a bite of Jess’s pie while she was distracted, “those things sounded dangerous.”

  “They’re only dangerous if you’re short.” I pushed out Shelly’s chair as she approached.

  Shelly reclaimed her seat next to mine. “They miss me. I’ll take them for a run tomorrow and they’ll be fine.”

  “Speaking of missing,” I glanced around the kitchen, “where is Oliver?”

  “Who is Oliver?” Duane positioned his fork to take another bite of Jess’s pie.

  “Oliver is her parrot.”

  “You have a parrot?” Jess smacked Duane’s hand even as she smiled at Shelly, her eyes filling with wonder.

  With the way she was looking at Shelly, and if I didn’t already know Jess was ass-over-ankles in love with my brother, I might’ve been jealous.

  “Yes. I have a parrot.” Shelly’s shoulders tensed and she glanced at me, like she wished I hadn’t mentioned it.

  “What’s wrong?” A furrow of concern appeared between Jess’s eyebrows. “Is there something wrong with your parrot?”

  Shelly sighed, hesitating, so I decided to answer for her. “There is absolutely nothing wrong with Oliver. But I’m pretty sure he used to be a sailor.”

  Shelly’s eyes cut to mine and narrowed. “He wasn’t a sailor.”

  “A pirate?”

  “No.” Her lips twitched, but she kept on squinting.

  “Oh, I get it. He knows dirty words.” Duane, giving up on stealing Jess’s pie, cut himself a new piece.

  “He’s a rescue.” Shelly held the pie dish as Duane scooped out his slice. “His previous owner was a film producer.”

  “Cut me a piece, too.” I held my plate out. “And what kind of films did this guy make?”

  “Oliver’s owner was a woman and she made, uh,” Shelly scratched the back of her ear, and then said on a rush, “dominatrix films.”

  “No shit?” Duane spoke around his bite of pie, looking like he was trying not to choke.

  “She was a sadist.”

  “Oh no.” Jess’s face contorted with distress. “She didn’t hurt Oliver, did she?”

  “No. I don’t think so.” Shelly’s features softened at Jess’s obvious worry. “But she taught him some colorful phrases and left him alone a lot. I’ve been trying to teach him new vocabulary, but I think he’ll always revert to his earlier training.”

  “Can I meet him?” Jess asked hopefully. “I have a cat—”

  “Sir Edmund Hilary. He keeps trying to murder her,” Duane explained, then shoved another bite of pie in his mouth.

  “—but I always wanted a parakeet. Natalie Mason’s mom had two and they used to sit on our fingers. They were so beautiful.”

  “Sure.” Shelly nodded, not sounding at all sure, and pushed back from the table. “I put him on the porch when I leave in the morning, so he has more room. He’s through here.”

  “This place has a porch?” Duane looked from Shelly to me. “When did that happen?”

  “I’ve made improvements.”

  She is amazing. Was there anything she couldn’t do?

  Jess followed Shelly while my brother and I ate our second helpings of pie.

  Once they were out of earshot, Duane tapped on the table. “Hey, you should ask Claire.”

  “Ask her what?”

  “Ask her about what Christine might want. Claire might have some ideas what her momma wants with you.”

  I scratched my chin, debating the merits of this idea.

  But before I could respond, we were interrupted by a terrified-sounding shriek that had Duane and me sharing a stare of alarm.

  Jumping into action, we both darted for the back of the cabin, tracing the steps Shelly and Jess had taken moments prior. We busted onto the porch just as another shriek filled the air.

  Duane pushed past me and charged toward Jess, turning her to him and holding her close. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. It’s fine—”

  “That’s how he says hi.” Shelly’s face was scrunched in a grimace. “He screams when I introduce him to new people.”

  Oliver let out another blood-curdling screech.

  “Holy hell.” Duane backed away from the parrot, n
ow perched on a leather sleeve covering Shelly’s arm.

  “Hell. Hell. Hell.” The bird chanted.

  “I try not to curse around him because he’ll immediately repeat it.” Shelly looked sadly at Oliver. “You’re a good bird.”

  “Good bird. Darin is a good bird,” he echoed dutifully.

  “Who is Darin?” Duane’s face scrunched in confusion.

  “See?” Shelly turned a hopeful look toward me. “He can change.”

  But then Oliver said, “Bend over, fuckface.”

  And Shelly’s smile fell.

  “Oh my.” Jess and Duane traded a look.

  “He has a line about roosters, too,” I warned.

  “Roosters?” Jess glanced at me questioningly.

  “I think he means c-o-c-k-s.” Duane tried to whisper, but we all heard it.

  And apparently, Oliver could spell, because he announced, “Cocks are for closers!”

  In the silence that stretched following Oliver’s pronouncement, I shared a quick look with Duane and knew we were both thinking about the same thing, the same night over a year ago, and jokes about roosters. But I couldn’t hold his stare without laughing, so we both looked to the ceiling, rolling our lips between our teeth.

  “It’s not funny,” Shelly said, like she was reprimanding herself. Her statement drew my attention back to her. She was also pressing her lips together and looked close to losing it as well. But she also looked guilty, like she was beating herself up for the urge to laugh.

  “It’s sorta funny.” Duane gave her a rare smile, then reached over and patted her on the arm.

  I stepped forward and rubbed her back, needing to explain why Oliver’s phrase had struck a funny bone with us. “The week before our momma died, we all traded rooster and chicken jokes, just to hear her laugh.”

  Duane gave Shelly’s arm a squeeze before letting his hand drop. “Sometimes, things are sad and unfortunate. But finding the funny in a situation can make the sad and unfortunate more bearable.”

  * * *

  I didn’t cancel on Hank, but I wanted to.

  Instead, I woke up at the same hour criminals went to bed, loaded up on coffee, and dragged my ass up to his place on Bandit Lake for Wednesday fishing.