Healing Beau (The Brothers of Beauford Bend Book 6) Read online

  “I don’t need—” Christian didn’t get a chance to finish, because they were standing in front of this Bryant person, and Noel was speaking again.

  “Bryant, you remember Christian from the wedding. She was one of my bridesmaids.”

  His eyes went blank, but he smiled. “Of course, I remember Christine.”

  “Christian,” Noel practically hissed. Great. Noel was matchmaking—or trying. She was also trying to be clever and casual—and she wasn’t good at it. “Christian.”

  “Christian,” Bryant corrected himself. “Sorry. That’s what I meant to say.”

  There had probably never been a more scintillating discussion of her name, maybe of anyone’s name. For certain, her name had never been uttered so many times is such a short space of time—not even at her baptism.

  Noel looked at Christian. “Bryant is from Minnesota. He played for Boston College before coming to the Sound. He plays defense and shoots right.”

  Clearly, she had memorized all that for this very purpose. “Really?” Christian asked. “How many penalty minutes?”

  “I, uh …” Noel looked confused.

  “Career or this season?” Bryant asked.

  Christian shook her head and laughed. This was like an alternate universe reality show. Bryant joined in the laughter.

  Noel looked confused, but she laughed, too. Then she looked at her wrist, though she wasn’t wearing a watch. “Oh, dear. I just remembered something I have to do. Bryant, would you show Christian where the food and drinks are?”

  As if Christian hadn’t been in this house eighty-two times from the time Noel first looked at it until a week ago. As if they hadn’t talked this party to death and she didn’t know the drinks were on the antique sideboard, the food was on the dining table, and the plates, flatware, and napkins were on the small server.

  “I think she wants me to show you where the food is, which I assume is in the dining room, wherever that is.” Bryant smiled and raised an eyebrow. He wasn’t flirting, thank God—just indicating that he knew they were both onto Noel.

  “I think what she really wants is for us get married, buy the house next door, and start producing little hockey players.”

  “I’m emotionally unavailable,” Bryant said. “Seven good women and a puppy dog told me so.”

  “Really? You speak dog? I’m impressed.”

  “Not exactly. He bit me. That was a pretty clear message—even for a dumb hockey player.”

  Christian laughed. “Just so you know, I’m emotionally unavailable, too. And I didn’t know what Noel was up to.”

  “Never thought you did. You know, Noel really is smart. She’s just too honest to pull something like that off.”

  “I do know. Noel’s one of my best friends. Bridesmaid, remember?”

  “You have to be a best friend to be a bridesmaid?”

  “What did you think? That there are professional bridesmaids, like hired mourners?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know anything about matrimony—the ceremony or the relationship that gets you there. I know that’s right, because seven good women and a kitty cat told me so. It scratched the hell out of me, and I had to get a shot.”

  “What do bad women tell you?”

  “They don’t tell me anything. They sic puppy dogs and kitty cats on me.”

  In spite of herself, Christian laughed out loud. “You’re funny. But don’t misunderstand that. I don’t want you.”

  “And I don’t want you. But I do want some of those rolled up pancakes I’ve seen people walking around with.”

  “They’re not pancakes. They’re ham, egg, and smoked cheddar crepes.”

  “Even better. Pancakes with ham. Since you are a best friend, does that entail knowing the location of the dining room?” He took her arm.

  “It does. Across the hall and through that door. But you don’t have to eat with me. I know plenty of people here.” To prove it, Christian waved to Neyland and Emory, who motioned for her to come over. “See? They want me.”

  “Even if I don’t want you—and I don’t—I might want to eat with you. Depending. Have you got any animals in that purse?” He moved them toward the dining room.

  “Snapping turtle. If I sic him on you, he’ll clamp on and won’t let go until it thunders. But I won’t need to do that, because I don’t care if you’re emotionally unavailable.”

  “I am physically available to elbow our way in to where the ham pancakes are. I would be physically available for other endeavors, too, if you weren’t Nickolai’s friend.” Bryant guided her to the end of the line.

  “Oh? Are you afraid of him?”

  Bryant barked a laugh. “Me? Afraid of Glaz? I am not, but neither do I like trouble. Hence, I’m emotionally unavailable.” He eyed the food. “I wonder what those mushrooms are stuffed with. I don’t like stinky cheese.”

  “No stinky cheese.” She put a mushroom on her plate and two on his. “It’s provolone and crab.”

  He sniffed it. “Are you sure?”

  “Of course, I’m sure. And don’t sniff your food.”

  “How do you know there’s no stinky cheese? Is this your second go around at the food?”

  “No,” Christian said. “I told you. Noel is my friend. I know all about this party, including the food.”

  “Nickolai’s my friend, and I know nothing about this party—except he would have tried to kick my ass if I hadn’t come. Something about not disrespecting Noel.”

  “Would he have succeeded? In kicking your ass?”

  “No. Only puppy dogs, kitty cats, and bad women get the best of me.”

  “I don’t know. Nickolai’s scrappy.”

  “I’m scrappier.”

  Then, from behind them, a new voice invaded the conversation.

  “But who is the scrappiest of them all?” Christian turned. Beau was smiling that million-dollar smile, but it had a hard edge. He was mad. “Hello, Christian.” He barely glanced at her before settling his eyes on Bryant, who flared his nostrils and seemed to grow a foot.

  Neither of them said a word. Christian might have done the polite the thing and introduced them if either had given any indication that they remembered she was still on the planet. Besides, it was clear they weren’t interested in polite; they were only interested in squaring off with each other and going to battle like two alpha wolves over a haunch of venison—she being the venison.

  If she’d been a little younger or slightly more stupid, she might have felt flattered. But they were only interested in the battle for the sake of the fight. One wasn’t hungry, and the other didn’t find venison to his taste.

  Enough.

  She quietly backed away and escaped through the butler’s pantry and into the kitchen, where she left her full plate on the counter before taking the back stairs to the second story. There, she went through the master bedroom to the balcony and down the fireproof stairs that Gabe Beauford had talked Nickolai into having installed.

  Good job, Gabe. He’d insisted there could be an emergency, though he probably hadn’t thought it would be one like this. Christian figured she’d be in her car and halfway to Firefly Hall before they even noticed that she had left.

  Chapter Twelve

  What in the ever-loving hell was up with that woman? One of the things Beau liked best about Christian was that she was not unpredictable. Now, here she was not answering his calls and sneaking off from him. And then there was that hockey player.

  Beau turned down the mile long driveway to Firefly Hall. Never, ever, in the history of his life had Christian refused to talk to him. If she wanted to take up with a hockey player who made millions of dollars, fine—even if she was barely cold from leaving his bed—but that didn’t mean she could shut him out. He’d been with plenty of women, and he’d never refused to talk to her.

  There was no need to ring the front bell. Firefly Hall was open for business. He tried to jerk open the front door, and then felt like a fool because it opened inward.
So he pushed harder than he needed to and stepped inside. He must have made more noise than he’d meant to, because two couples, whom he took for guests, stopped their conversation from where they were sitting in the parlor and looked into the foyer.

  Emma Ruth Royer, who’d worked for the Hambricks even before Firefly Hall was a B&B, stepped through the side door. She scowled at him like she had when he was a kid and he and Christian had cut a cake that had been meant for company dinner. Emma Ruth had been sure it had been Beau’s fault, when all he’d said was it looked good. Christian had done the decision-making and the cutting. But he’d gotten The Look. Come to think of it, that was the same expression Emma Ruth had visited on him during most of his teenage years.

  “Beau,” she said. Just Beau. No, hello, Happy New Year, if you please, or get the hell out.

  “That’s my name, every day, all day long. Where’s Christian?” He could almost feel Aunt Amelia’s hand close on his forearm in preparation to jerk him into the next room to deliver a lecture on the acceptable way to speak to people.

  “I’d ask who wants to know, but we’ve established who you are, Mr. James Mason Beauford, III.”

  “Where might I find Christian, please, Miss Emma Ruth? Do you know?” Ah. Aunt Amelia’s grip loosened, but didn’t release. He got credit for saying the right words in the right tone, but not much, because he didn’t mean it.

  Emma Ruth knew it, too. “I reckon she’d be in her office paying bills and ordering supplies.” She pointed down the hall with her can of furniture polish, like he didn’t know where her office was.

  Ha! He stomped down the hall. He knew everything about Christian—except why she was acting this way. Sure, they’d had that hookup that maybe shouldn’t have happened, but they’d had the talk. She’d said they were good.

  He started to knock on the closed door, but changed his mind. Who knew what she would do? Hide in the closet? Jump out the window?

  He threw open the door and barreled inside. If he’d been a little slower, he would have missed that she’d had her head on her desk. Her arms were still folded there where she’d been using them for a pillow.

  “Big New Year’s Eve last night?” he asked “Late night?”

  “Hello, Beau.” There was a red place on her forehead with little ridges from her sweater.

  He sat down in front of her desk.

  “Why did you leave Nickolai and Noel’s party?” he demanded.

  “Why did you?” she asked. “You couldn’t have been far behind me.”

  “I didn’t want to be there in the first place. I hardly know them. I only went because you won’t answer the phone and I knew you’d be there. As it was, I drove around and around until I finally saw your car. And then you ran out. I don’t get it, and I don’t get why you won’t talk to me on the phone.”

  “I’ve been busy, Beau. Firefly Hall’s open again, and I have a full house. I have a job to do.”

  That stung. “Even if I don’t?”

  She looked stunned. “I didn’t mean that and you know it. I know you’re still trying to figure things out. I would never say such a hateful thing to you.”

  “I didn’t used to think so. But you used to always answer the phone when I called.”

  She closed her eyes and rubbed her temple. “You asked me if things were going to be awkward and I told you probably for a little while. This is the little while, Beau. This is the awkward phase.”

  She had said that, but he didn’t realize it would actually impact their relationship. She bit her bottom lip. Had she always done that, or was she trying to entice him? If so, it was working. He wanted to lick where she was biting and press up against her and let her feel him grow hard. Oops. Too late. He could to jerk her to her feet, bend her over that desk backwards, and roll his cock against her until it throbbed and she begged him for more and more.

  But that was what had gotten them in this—what had she called it? Awkward phase?—to begin with.

  “I don’t like the awkward phase,” he said. “I like the phase where you’re my friend and we hadn’t done what we shouldn’t have ever done.”

  It had been good, so good, that there was a muscle memory of mammoth, pulsating proportions that was begging him to go back for more. He had to remind himself how he’d felt every time he’d called this last week when she had refused to answer. It wasn’t worth it. Nothing was.

  “We all live with regret every day.”

  “You said a mouthful.” For sure, she was right about that, though there was no way she could live long enough to pile up as many sins as he’d committed, starting with disobeying his mother the last night of her life, to stripping off every stitch of Christian’s clothes last week and sinking into the wettest, hottest, most sublime—

  Stop it, you imbecilic horn dog. This is Christian, your friend, who deserves respect.

  And he did respect her, never more than when she wrapped her mouth around him and slid her tongue just so …

  “Beau, are you all right? Is it your back?” Christian frowned and looked concerned in that old way.

  Snap out of it. Snap, yes. That’s exactly how she felt when she convulsed around him. Had anyone else ever said his name against his ear quite like Christian did as she peaked and quaked?

  Peaked and quaked? What kind of man talk was that? Where had he even gotten that? He’d probably dreamed it, and no wonder. Every night since he’d been at Beauford Bend, he’d gone to sleep wanting her like he’d never wanted anything.

  Until now. Being alone in bed, thinking about her, was one thing. Being in the room with her was something else again.

  “Beau! Are you in pain?”

  Oh, yes, I am, baby, but not the kind you think. Come here and ease it. Let me pound into you …

  He had to stop.

  “No. I’m okay. Much better. The physical therapy is really working. I’m almost down to no pain pills. We might even be able to have a drink together soon.”

  Why did she look so sad?

  “Yes, soon.” She tried to look happier, but didn’t quite bring it off.

  “I came to tell you something. I’m leaving town.”

  Her face froze and went completely white. “When?”

  “This afternoon.”

  “I see.” She picked up a pen from her desk. “How did Jackson take it?”

  Ah, hell. She thought he was leaving for good. And maybe he should. Maybe he would. But not yet.

  “Jackson arranged it. I’m going to Merritt to live with Will Garrett for a month. He’s going to teach me woodworking. I’ll be back. If all goes well, he’ll take me as an apprentice, and I’ll drive down periodically. He’ll come here sometimes, if he thinks I’m worth it.”

  “Oh.” She took a deep breath and nodded. She looked relieved. That was good news. “I’m glad. What about your physical therapy while you’re there?”

  “I know what to do on my own. Will’s friend is the high school football coach, and I’m going to be able to use the team’s equipment.”

  “This sounds like a good thing for you. I’m excited for you.”

  “I’m excited, too.” And he was. It was the first thing that had excited him since the accident. Well, except for the soft, tender flesh between— Stop it! “I don’t know where this is leading, or if it can lead anywhere. But it’s something I want to try.” Then he had a great idea, something that would please her. “I’ll make you something. Maybe. If I can.”

  Christian smiled. “I’d like that.”

  “What do you like? The trying or the actually producing something?”

  She laughed that golden, spirit-healing laugh, and just for a second, all seemed right with the world. “Both.” Then she looked serious. “Beau, this will be good for us, too—your being away. The awkward phase will pass, and when you get back, we’ll be us again.”

  “Does that mean we can’t talk while I’m gone?”

  She sighed and hesitated, like she was trying to make her mind up.

&
nbsp; “No. We’ll talk. We should. Besides, I’ve missed you.”

  He stood. “I’ve missed you, too. I’m glad we got this cleared up before I left.”

  Christian nodded. “Me, too.”

  He stepped behind her desk and pulled her to her feet. “Hug goodbye?”

  She smiled and went into his arms. “Sure.”

  To Beau’s surprise, he found more comfort in that embrace than lust—though the lust wouldn’t need much of an invitation. He kissed her temple like he’d done for a thousand goodbyes.

  “Christian, let’s not ever do anything that will put us in an awkward phase again.”

  “Yes. Let’s not.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  One Month Later

  By day, Miss Laura’s Tearoom and Gossip Parlor was exactly what one would expect from a Victorian tearoom—bone china teapots, delicate nibbles, and soft, dreamy music.

  But by night, on Tuesdays and Thursdays, the front shutters were closed, the front door was locked, and it became a private club for the women of Beauford, who entered by the back door. The tea served was of the Long Island variety, and the music was a mixture of country, old and new, and classic rock. The menu varied, depending on Laura’s whim, but it was the same for every table. Instead of cucumber sandwiches, scones, and tiny fruit tarts, what came out on the three-tiered servers were things like pulled pork sliders, individual servings of crab imperial, fried macaroni and cheese bites, ramekins of turnip greens, and slabs of chocolate cake—food that a woman who had worked hard all day could relish.

  And it was only for the women of Beauford. Laura saw this as a gift to those who knocked themselves out all day catering to the tourists who allowed them all to earn a living. Not that the food and libation was free. Laura was nothing if not a good businesswoman; they all were and could, therefore, pay for a night away from reality. If a tourist occasionally sensed there was something going on inside under the pink and white striped awning and knocked on the door, they were always told there was a private party in progress.

  That wasn’t completely a lie. This felt more like a party to Christian than an ordinary Tuesday night in February—not a party like an it’s-the-end-of-the-world bash, but an I’m-glad-to-be-alive-after-being-in-mourning celebration.