Beard Science (Winston Brothers, #3)

by Penny Reid

I can be tough. I nodded, shifting from one foot to the other. I can be real tough. You can’t be a sissy and make fifty loaves of bread in a day. That’s a lot of kneading. I’m tough as nails. I’m basically the Rocky Balboa of bakers.

I was flummoxed. You’ll take revenge sooner or later, it’s what you do. How could she know that? I sat back in my seat and stared out the windshield, much of what I knew about the order of the universe rearranging itself. Perhaps Jennifer Sylvester wasn’t feeble after all. Perhaps Jennifer Sylvester was fierce. That makes no sense. Nobody is that good at playing possum. Well . . . nobody but me.

Where these two yokels saw a weak, sensitive flower—an angelic pushover, ripe for the pushing—I saw an opportunist in banana-cake clothing. Let the record show, I did not roll my eyes.

"This is a distressing conversation." I rubbed my forehead, feeling a little nauseous. "Am I alarming your delicate sensibilities?" "No. It's not that. I just feel sorry for men now. It must be frustrating to be so feeble and limited." Cletus's eyes widened dramatically just before he barked a laugh. "Feeble and limited? Is that how you would describe men?" "No. But apparently that's how you would describe them."

I brought my smile back to Cletus and found him watching me with a peculiar look. My grin waned as we studied each other and I braced myself for whatever that peculiar look meant. Unable to withstand his inscrutable expression, I pressed, “What? What’s wrong?” “I'm not going to harm you,” he said matter-of-factly, as though harming me had been on the table, but now not harming me was something he'd just decided. I felt my eyebrows lift high on my forehead. “Oh?” I croaked, a shiver of fear racing down my spine. "Well, that's nice of you."

He said the cut would bring all the girls to my yard. This was doubtful. First of all, I didn’t want girls in my yard. I didn’t want anyone in my yard. My yard was fine just as it was: self-maintained. Secondly, I’d never been popular with the women folk. Women, or at least the women I knew, didn’t much enjoy my lack of willingness to deal with bullshit. For that matter, most men I knew didn’t enjoy this about me either.

The woman needed kissing. But first, she needed to know about kissing. “Well, academically speaking, it’s not difficult to kiss a person. Just like it’s not difficult to bake a cake. But it’s difficult to bake an excellent cake, right? Just so with kissing. The chances of you baking an excellent cake on your first try is—” “Basically zero.” “That’s true. But while I appreciate your realism, allow me to suggest we embrace optimism. Because kissing is more than just technique. It’s also about the chemistry you have with another person and his or her technique as well. So the difference between kissing and baking is that two people are involved, and that makes it both more and less complicated.” “How is it more complicated?” She passed me my tea then took a sip of her own. “If you had to bake with a partner, you’d have to rely on that partner and hope he or she was just as good as—or better than—you. Plus you hope the two of you have good chemistry. Plus, and I cannot stress this enough, that other person needs to keep a tidy kitchen.” “Tidy kitchen?” “Yes. If you’re after a life-long baking partner, avoid indiscriminate bakers. And if you take on a reformed, previously indiscriminate baker, make sure he’s had his kitchen thoroughly inspected by the health department.”

Saying someone would make a great politician is like saying someone would make a great serial killer. It’s not a compliment.”

My well-ordered world was in chaos, undone by a short woman baker.

Her lips were soft and delicious. So fucking delicious. If I’d been in a thinking state of mind, I would’ve been surprised by her responsiveness, how she wrapped her arms around my neck, stepped fully into my space, and pressed both her mouth and body flush against mine. How she wanted to be as close as possible even though I was cold and dirty and she was warm and clean. But I was not in a thinking state of mind. I was in a covetous state of mind. And a wish fulfillment state of mind. I lifted my head to nip lightly at her bottom lip, sweeping my tongue across it. I wanted to taste more of her, every part of me demanded it. She moaned, tilting her chin, parting her mouth and shifting restlessly. I licked between her lips and her sweet tongue darted out, touching mine. And that was basically it. That’s all it took for me to lose my mind.

I hadn’t seen Jennifer in a week. Absence doesn’t make the heart grow fonder. Whoever said that was a damn fool. Absence makes the heart suicidal.

“We all have Darrell in us, Cletus. I look just like him, so does Ashley. You think I like what I see when I look in the mirror? I hate it. But I’m not cutting off my face because I share it with our father. Your decision to not have a family, because you’re afraid of losing your temper like he did when we were kids—it’s admirable, but it’s also stupid.” “And if I—” “No.” Billy brought his palm down on the table, hitting it with a forceful whack. “Stop making excuses for being a coward. You want Jennifer in your life?” “Yes,” I responded with more than my voice, the answer shaking my very foundation, coming from deep within me, from the same place I’d buried the rage along with my passion. “Then you reevaluate your priorities, including your fears. You be better and braver. Don’t make the same mistakes I did.” “So what do I do?” My brother studied me for a long moment, his brow pulled together as he stewed in my situation. Finally, he sighed and suggested, “How about you lay it all out? Tell her everything.” I blinked once, slowly, then glared at my brother. “I don’t like that advice. That’s seriously shitty advice.” He lifted an eyebrow at me. “It’s your advice. It’s what you’ve been telling me to do with,” his eyes dropped and he took a breath before continuing, “with Scarlet.”

“Do you honestly think God would make a creature as lovely and talented and good as your sister, and then make the way she looks something sinful? Something to be ashamed of? No. He wouldn’t. If anything, your sister—her face, her body, her mind, and her heart—give glory to Him. And she shouldn’t be hidden. You don’t hide something that remarkable away from the world, like your parents have done, like you want to do. That’s the true sin.” Then, immediately, Cletus turned me in his arms, tossed me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and announced, “Time to go.”

“What are you doing?” I flattened my hands on his chest. “You know what I’m doing,” he grumbly whispered, sending a wave of white-hot loveliness and tension through my body, making my toes curl. I shook my head, panic and hope picking fights with each other, causing a ruckus. “I don’t. I honestly do not.” “Then let me show you.” “Cletus.” I bent my head to the side but maintained eye contact, moving my hands to grip his biceps. “I’m not made for this.” “What’s that?” “For love.” The words were out before I could catch them, before I knew I was going to say them. I immediately regretted my honesty because his eyes both gentled and hardened. “I beg to differ. I propose it’s exactly what you’re made for.” An edge of anger entered his voice. Giving into my panic, I blurted, “Because that’s what would happen. I would fall in love with you and then you’d break my heart.” “I can’t break your heart without breaking mine, and I’m terribly fond of my heart.”

The original plan had several phases, all of which adhered to the commonly accepted rituals of human courtship. I’d intended to keep the depth of my feelings to myself for as long as she needed to catch up, at which point she would say the words first, I would concur, we would become engaged, buy a stretch of land, Jethro would build a house as a wedding present, and I’d insist on raised garden beds for Jennifer’s overall-wearing activities.

She had my heart. I wanted hers very, very badly. And I wanted her heart for the long term. I would do whatever was required to demonstrate the depth of my regard. I wanted her to feel good. But I would not lose control. Losing control would mean losing her.

She was so beautiful, my Jennifer. And not because of her eyes, or face, or any other outward attributes. The person she was held me transfixed. How could I have disregarded her? How could I have looked at her with anything but wonder and respect and desire?

I was in love with this woman. I loved her both rationally and irrationally. And I wanted her with a ferocity that had kept me awake at night and tortured during the day.

Claire was right. Love negated experience. Completely and utterly. Love negated so many things. I was satisfied by my woman, by her unskilled touch, in a way I’d never been before. Because I’d been making love, and the person touching me had been Jennifer. My Jennifer.

Being alone with her was more preferable to anyone, anywhere, and anything else. And there’s the rub. We had no place to be alone. For the first time in my life, I wasn’t so keen on living at home and keeping tabs on my brothers. They could keep tabs on themselves.

It’s true. As a rule, I didn’t like change. My Jennifer continuously surprised me, and her surprises were a thing of beauty. She’d forced me to re-evaluate my priorities and she’d pushed me beyond the contented circle of my comfort zone. She’d changed me. For the first time in my life, change was synonymous with hope and anticipation. I looked forward to it. And that was revolutionary.

My throat tightened until I couldn’t swallow because I saw my future with Jennifer and it included kids. And cousins. And baking cakes and fixing cars. I would make them a sandbox out of a tractor tire and plastic shovels out of plastic milk containers. And when they were old enough, I would teach those little rascals how to use Granny Oliver’s moonshine still to the consternation of their mothers. It was a future worth fixating on. And Jennifer was the key to my cage. She was the key to my future. We fit together. Her strengths counterpoised my weaknesses. If she gave me another chance, I would give her my faith. I would trust her completely. I would give her everything. I would tell her everything. Everything. Because knowledge is only a cage if you dwell in isolation.

Perhaps I was being selfish. In fact, I was being selfish. It was too much to ask of a person—to be my salvation, to teach me how to have faith, to balance my world-weary view with rainbows and sunshine and gardening in overalls—but . . . Oh well. Too late for second-guessing. I was in love with the woman. Consequently, she was stuck with me. She wasn’t ready for marriage yet, and that was okay. I would wait. I might ask her to marry me once a month until she said yes, but otherwise I would be the epitome of virtuous fortitude and patience.

“What can I do?” I asked, needing to help, needing to make things better for her. Her extraordinary eyes glittered in the darkness. “Just love me.” “You got it.”

“I love you,” I said, and breathed, and felt, and knew, and believed. I was faithing Jennifer. I was faithing her so hard. And she was faithing me as she responded, “I love you more.” This was our life. This woman was my future. She would be the mother of my children. This was our beginning. I couldn’t wait for the middle. And I never wanted it to end.

“Jenn, if we’ve made a baby, then I won’t stop badgering you until you have me as your husband.” Achingly vulnerable, his tone was also solemn with promise. I smoothed my hand over his chaotic curls. “I know. And I wouldn’t stop badgering you until you have me as your wife.” “Do you want to be my wife?” His smile returned, but this time it was subdued, hopeful. “More than anything.” Cletus’s mercurial eyes moved between mine, his hand petting and stroking from my shoulder to my hip. “Then marry me,” he whispered the command, his tone thick with passion and sincerity. I stared at him, at this man, who had been so proud. Who was clever and powerful and good. All those months ago, when I’d pressured him into helping me, I never thought things would end this way. I missed him. Even here with me now, I missed him. I wondered if I would ever stop. “Yes,” I said simply, nodding, feeling the rightness of him and me and us to the marrow of my bones. He didn’t speak. He just looked at me, like I’d hung the moon and designed the stars to match. Tucking me against his body, his powerful legs tangling with mine, Cletus lay perfectly still, and so did I, living in the moment. After a time, the weight of my happiness exhausted me, and I grew drowsy. My eyes drifted shut. But I thought I heard Cletus whisper against my ear, just before I succumbed to sleep, “This is just the beginning.”